Seating herself on the stump of an oak tree, Jenna smoothed out the skirts of her robe and carefully placed a lantern she had brought with her on the ground at her feet. The lantern was small and delicate, made of hand-blown glass set in silver wrought in intricate filigree. Inside, a red candle burned with a blue-white flame.
“I see you admire my lantern, Brother,” said Jenna, noting Rhys regarding the lantern with frank curiosity. “You have an eye for beauty. And for value. The lantern is very old. It dates back to the time of the Kingpriests.”
“It is lovely,” Rhys agreed. “More lovely than useful, it would seem. It gives only a feeble light.”
“It is not meant to illuminate the darkness, Brother.” Jenna chuckled. “It shields the flame that I use for my magic. The lantern itself is magical, you see. Even this small bit of candle, once placed inside the lantern, will burn for hours on end. The flame cannot be blown out or doused, not even if I was caught in a cyclone or had fallen into the sea. You can take a closer look, Brother. Pick it up, if you want. It won’t bite.”
Rhys squatted down. Despite what she said, he did not presume to try to touch it. “A relic dating back to the Third Age must be of immense value.”
“If I sold it, I could probably buy half of Solace with the proceeds,” stated Jenna.
Rhys looked up at her. “Yet you risk such a valuable artifact here this night.”
Jenna regarded him intently. He noted how the fine lines around her eyes had a way of intensifying her gaze, concentrating it, like sunlight shining through a prism.
“Either you do not understand the serious nature of this threat, Brother, or you imagine that I do not,” she said briskly. “I am not here as Jenna, a long-time friend of Palin Majere. I am here in my capacity as Head of the Conclave of Wizards. I will be making a full report to the Conclave immediately upon my return, for we must determine the best way to deal with this crisis. The same is true of our holy paladin. He will be making reports to the priests and clerics of all the gods of Light, as well as the assembled Council of the Knights of Solamnia. This is not a kender outing for us, Brother. Dominique and I have come armed for battle. We carry with us the best weapons we have at our disposal.”
“I am sorry, Mistress,” Rhys said quietly. “I meant no disrespect.”
He should be grateful. This was what he’d wanted, yet now he was filled with unease. On one hand, he was thankful that at last the world would know of this threat. On the other, fear could lead to inquisitions, torture, persecutions of the innocent. The cure might be far worse than the disease.
“For good or ill, the matter is out of your hands now, Brother,” said Mistress Jenna, guessing his thoughts. “Oh, no you don’t, sir!”
She plucked away a small hand, belonging to Nightshade, as it was reaching for the lantern. “Look over yonder. I believe I see a poltergeist wandering about the base of that oak tree.”
“A poltergeist?” Nightshade said eagerly. “Where?”
“Over there.” Jenna pointed. “No, more to the left.”
Nightshade hastened off in pursuit, Atta following along dubiously at his heels.
Jenna turned back to Rhys. “You must promise to keep that kender as far from me as humanly possible. By the way, can he really talk to dead people?”
“Yes, Mistress. I have seen him myself.”
“Remarkable. You must bring him to Palanthas some time for a visit. There are several dead people I would like to contact. One of them had in his possession a spellbook reputed to have been written by my father, Justarius. I tried to buy it from him, but the old fool said he’d take it to his grave before he sold it to me. Apparently he did, because I searched his house after his death and could not find it.”
Jenna glanced into the sky. “Lunitari will be full this night. Excellent for spellcasting.” She fixed her prism-eyes upon Rhys. Her expression was serious, her tone grave. “The paladin and I will handle the Beloved, Brother. You watch over our friend the Sheriff.”
She glanced at Gerard as she spoke. “He must not be allowed to interfere with our work. If he does, I won’t be responsible for the consequences. Now leave me, Brother. I want to go over my spells one final time.”
She closed her eyes and clasped her hands in her lap.
“No sign of a poltergeist,” said Nightshade, returning, disappointed.
Rhys steered the kender away from both Mistress Jenna and Dominique, not that the paladin would have noticed a hundred kender. Dominique was with them in body, not in spirit. Accoutered in full plate armor, and steel helm, he wore the tabard marked by the symbol of Kiri-Jolith. He knelt on the ground, his sword before him. His eyes shone with holy fervor as he murmured the words of a prayer, asking his god for strength in the hour of trial about to come.
The chill evening wind blew down from the mountains, picking up dry leaves and sending them rustling and skittering along the deserted road. That same chill wind blew through the emptiness of Rhys’s soul as he watched the knight pray.
“There was a time when I knew faith like that,” he said to himself softly.
A follower of Zeboim, he should be calling upon his goddess for help in his own hour of trial. He did not think the lady would much approve of his companions, however, so he did not bother her. His task, as he saw it, was to make certain everyone came out of this relatively unscathed, including—for Gerard’s sake—the wretched thing that had once been a fun-loving, good-hearted young man.
Gerard prowled restlessly beneath the trees, keeping watch down the road. He remained some distance from the rest of the group, making it clear he did not want company. Rhys looked back to see Nightshade creeping up again to stare at the lantern, and he hurriedly suggested that he and Atta and the kender play a game of “Rock, Cloth, Knife.”
Nightshade had recently taught Atta how to play this game that required each player to choose in three turns whether he was “rock” (closed fist), “cloth” (open fist) or “knife” (two fingers). The winner was determined by the following: Rock crushed knife. Cloth covered rock. Knife cut cloth.
Atta would place her paw on the kender’s knee and Nightshade would interpret this action to be whatever he thought she meant, so that by turns Atta might be “cloth” which covered the rock or “knife” which cut cloth.
“Everyone’s so serious,” Nightshade remarked. “Atta has knife, Rhys. You have cloth, so you lose. I have rock, Atta. You lose, too. I’m sorry. Maybe you’ll win next time.” He gave the dog a pat to soothe her wounded feelings. “I’ve seen livelier gatherings in graveyards. Do you really believe they’re going to be able to kill it?”
“Hush, keep your voice down,” Rhys cautioned, with a glance at Gerard. “We’ve both fought the Beloved before. What do you think of their chances?”
Nightshade pondered. “I know the wizardess doesn’t put much store in my spellcasting, and that holy warrior looked sideways at your staff. If you want my opinion, I don’t think they’re going to do much better. Atta! You won! Dishcloth beats both of us!”
The sun had set. The sky was lit with pale yellow that melted into shimmering blue, deepening to starlit black over the mountains. The red moon glimmered orange in the afterglow. The small flame from Jenna’s lantern seemed far brighter now that darkness surrounded them.
Jenna sat quite still, her eyes closed, her hands making elaborate motions as she rehearsed her spellcasting. Dominique had finished his prayer. He rose stiffly from his kneeling position and reverently sheathed his sword.
The night’s stillness was broken by Gerard.
“Cam’s on his way up here! Nightshade! I need you! Come with me. No, the dog stays here.”
Nightshade jumped to his feet and went off with Gerard. Rhys stood up. A word and touch upon her head kept Atta at his side.