Dominique yanked out the blood-smeared blade. Cam’s legs buckled. He fell to his knees, then toppled forward and lay unmoving.
“Blessed be Kiri-Jolith,” Dominique said reverently, and started to sheathe his sword.
Cam lifted his head.
“Hey, there, Huma. You missed!”
Dominique staggered backward, nearly dropping his blade in astonishment. Recovering himself, he leaped at the Beloved and brought down his sword in a slashing arc of white fire. The blow severed Cam’s head from his neck.
The body lay twitching on the ground. The head rolled a short distance away, ended up facing Gerard.
The Sheriff had managed to regain his breath.
“Cam, I’m sorry—” Gerard began then gasped in horror.
One of the eyes in the severed head winked at him.
The mouth opened and laughed. The headless body rose up on its hands and knees and began to crawl toward the severed head.
Gerard made a gargling sound. “Oh, gods!” he gasped, his throat raw. “Kill it! Kill it!”
Dominique stared at the grotesque corpse wriggling on the ground. He lifted his sword to strike it again.
“Get out of my way!” Jenna cried. “All of you!”
Rhys took hold of Gerard. Dominique joined him, and between them, they half-carried, half-dragged the sheriff deeper into the forest.
Jenna held a glittering orange gemstone in one hand and the burning red candle in the other. She began to chant the words of magic.
108
As Rhys watched, mesmerized, the candle flame grew larger and larger and brighter and brighter, until it blazed with such fierce intensity that the light made his eyes water.
By the brilliant light, he saw a grotesque sight. The arms of the corpse lifted up the severed head and affixed it back on the neck. Head and body melded together into one. Cam, looking much the same as always, except for a blood-spattered shirt, started walking toward them.
Jenna gave a cry and pointed at the Beloved.
A globe of light leaped from the candle, blazed through the darkness, and smote the Beloved.
Cam cried out and shut his eyes against the glare. He fell once again to his knees and remained crouched there, one hand covering his eyes, the other stretched out as though trying to fend off the spell.
He remained in that attitude, unmoving, his eyes shut against the glare until Jenna gave a gasp and sank, exhausted, to her knees. The bright light vanished, as though an immense breath had blown it out, leaving them in darkness so deep that Rhys was effectively blinded.
From out of the darkness came Cam’s voice.
“I guess I’ll be going now, Sheriff, unless you’ve brought along someone else who wants to try to kill me. . . .”
8
Gerard shook off Rhys’s attempts to restrain him and staggered to his feet.
“I may not be able to destroy you—or what’s left of you,” Gerard gasped, barely able to talk. “But I’ll set a watch on you day and night. You won’t hurt anyone else, at least not in Solace.”
Cam shrugged. “Like I said, I’m leaving anyway. Nothing for me around here anymore.”
His gaze swept the assembled group. “You have witnessed the power of Chemosh. Take this message back to your wizards and your holy paladins: I can be destroyed, but the cost of my destruction will be so great that none of you will have the stomach to pay it.”
Cam gave a grin and a cheerful wave, then turned and left them. He did not take the road back into town but headed east.
“Do something, Paladin!” Gerard cried angrily. “Say a prayer! Throw holy water on it. Do something!”
“I have done all I can, sir,” Dominique replied. “Hand me the torch.”
He held the torch over the area where trampled and bloody grass marked the fight with the Beloved, and began searching. Finding what he sought, he picked up the holy medallion the Beloved had knocked from his grasp.
Dominique regarded it thoughtfully, then shook his head. “I can feel my god’s rage. I can also feel his impotence.”
Rhys knelt beside Jenna, who was crouched on her knees, staring in disbelief at the place where the Beloved had been standing.
“Are you all right, Mistress?” Rhys asked in concern.
“That spell should have reduced it to ashes,” said Jenna, sounding dazed. “Instead ...”
She held out her hand. A fine sifting of ash, which had once been the orange gemstone, drifted through her fingers and fell to the ground next to a puddle of red wax—all that was left of her candle. A thin trail of smoke spiraled up from the blackened remnants of the wick.
“You’ve burned your palm,” said Rhys.
“It is nothing,” Jenna returned, sliding her sleeve hurriedly over her hand. “Give me your aid, Brother. Help me up. Thank you. I am fine. Go see to your poor dog.”
Rhys needed no urging. He hastened over to where Nightshade sat beneath the tree, holding fast to Atta. The dog was very still. Her eyes were closed.
Tears trickled down Nightshade’s cheeks.
His heart constricting in pain, Rhys knelt down. He reached out his hand to stroke her.
Atta stirred in the kender’s arms, lifted her head and opened her eyes. Her tail wagged feebly.
“I brought her back, Rhys!” said Nightshade in a tear-choked voice. “She wasn’t breathing, and she’d been so brave, and she tried her best to kill that thing, and I couldn’t bear to think of losing her!”
He had to stop a moment to swallow some tears. Rhys’s own tears were sliding down his face.
“I thought of all this, and how she and I shared a pork chop tonight, except that I didn’t really mean to share. I dropped it and she’s quick, when it comes to pork chops. Anyway, all this was in my heart and I said that little spell my parents taught me—the one I used to make you feel better that time we fought your brother. Everything that was in my heart just sort of overflowed and spilled out onto Atta. She gave a snuffle and then a snort. Then she opened her mouth and yawned, and then she licked my face. I think I must have some pork chop grease left on my chin.”
Rhys’s own heart was so full that he could not speak. He tried, but no words would come.
“I’m so glad she’s not dead,” continued Nightshade, hugging Atta, who was scrubbing his face. “Who would keep me out of trouble?”
Atta wriggled out of Nightshade’s arms. Shaking herself all over, she sat down on Rhys’s foot, looking up at him and wagging her tail wildly. The kender stood and brushed himself off, then wiped away tears and dog slobber. He looked up to find Mistress Jenna standing in front of him, regarding him with wonder.
She held out her hand—first removing all her rings.
“I apologize, Nightshade, for casting aspersions on you earlier,” Jenna said gravely. “I want to shake your hand. You are the only one whose spell worked this night.”
“Thank you, Mistress Jenna, and don’t worry about those aspersions you cast,” Nightshade assured her. “None of them hit me. I was up in the tree. As for your spell, it was a doozy! I still see blue spots dancing around in my eyes.”
“Blue spots. That was all it was good for,” Jenna said ruefully. “I’ve used that spell against undead more times than I can count. It has never before failed me.”
“At least the Beloved admits that it can be destroyed,” Rhys said in thoughtful tones.
“Yeah,” Gerard muttered. “At a cost so great none of us will be able to stomach it.”
“Of course there is a way to destroy it. Chemosh may promise unending life, but not even he can grant immortality,” Dominique stated.
“Why tell us then?” Jenna asked, frustrated. “Why not keep us in the dark?”
“The god hopes to frighten us from pursuing the matter,” Dominique surmised.
“He’s taunting us,” said Gerard, wincing as he massaged his sore neck. “Like a murderer who deliberately leaves a clue near the body.”