Mistress Jenna did not appear satisfied with these answers. “What do you think, Brother?”
“The god knows that his secret has been revealed. From now on, every wizard and cleric in Ansalon will be looking for these Beloved. Word will spread. Panic will set in. Neighbor will accuse neighbor. Parents will turn on their children. The only way to prove a person is innocent will be to kill him. If he stays dead, he is not one of the Beloved. The cost of destroying these creatures will be high indeed.”
“And Chemosh gains more souls,” Nightshade added. “That’s pretty smart.”
“I think you underestimate us, Brother,” said Dominique, frowning. “We will see to it that no innocents suffer.”
“Like your god’s clerics did in the days of the Kingpriest?” said Mistress Jenna sharply. “I daresay we wizards will be among the first to be accused! We always are.”
“Mistress Jenna,” said Dominique stiffly, “I assure you that we will be working in close contact with our brethren in the Towers.”
Jenna eyed him, then sighed. “Never mind me. I’m just tired, and I have a long night ahead of me.” She began sliding her rings back on her fingers. “I must return to the Conclave to make my report. It was good meeting you, Rhys Mason, former monk of Majere.”
She laid emphasis on that word. Her eyes, shining in Lunitari’s red light, seemed to challenge him.
Rhys did not take up her challenge. He did not ask her what she meant. He feared her mocking reply. At least, that’s what he told himself.
“You, too, Nightshade. May your pouches always be full and jail cells always be empty. Dominique, my friend, I am sorry I spoke with such ill will. We will be in contact. Sheriff Gerard, thank you for bringing this terrible matter to my attention. Finally, farewell to you, Lady Atta.” Jenna reached down to pat the dog, who cringed under her touch but allowed herself to be petted.
“Take good care of your lost master and see to it that he finds his way home. And now, friends and acquaintances, I bid you goodnight!”
Jenna placed her right hand over a ring on her left thumb, spoke a single word, and vanished from their sight.
“Whew!” Nightshade breathed. “I remember when we did that. Do you, Rhys? That time Zeboim magicked us off to the death knight’s castle—”
Rhys rested his hand on the kender’s shoulder.
Nightshade, taking the hint, fell silent.
Dominique had been listening. He regarded Rhys gravely, not liking the reminder that Rhys followed an evil goddess. He seemed about to say something when Gerard interrupted.
“A fine night’s work,” Gerard said grimly. “All we have to show for it is crushed grass, a few gouts of blood, and melted candle wax.” He sighed. “I’ll have to report all this to the mayor. I’d appreciate it, Sir Dominique, if you’d come with me. Palin’s bound to believe you, if he won’t me.”
“I will be glad to accompany you, Sheriff,” said the paladin.
“I don’t know what he’ll do, of course,” Gerard added, as they started off down the hill, “but I’m going to suggest we call a town meeting tomorrow to warn people.”
“An excellent idea. You can hold your meeting in our temple. We will end by praying for strength and guidance. We will send out messengers to all our clerics, as well as those of Mishakal and Majere—
“Speaking of Majere . ..” Gerard halted. “Where’s Brother Rhys?” He turned around to see Rhys, Nightshade and Atta still standing beneath the trees. “Aren’t you coming back to Solace with us, Brother?”
“I believe I will remain here for a while,” Rhys replied. “Give Atta a chance to rest.”
“I’m staying with him,” Nightshade added, though no one had asked.
“Suit yourself. See you in the morning, Brother,” said Gerard. “Thanks for your help tonight, and thanks to Atta for saving my life. She’ll find a big beef bone in her dog dish tomorrow.”
He and Dominique continued their walk and their planning and were soon lost to Rhys’s sight.
The night had grown very dark. The lights of Solace had gone out. The town had disappeared, swallowed up in sleep. Lunitari appeared to have lost interest in them now that Jenna was gone. The red moon draped herself in a bank of storm clouds and refused to return. A few drops of rain spattered. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“We’re not going back to Solace, are we?” Nightshade heaved a sigh.
“Do you think we should?” Rhys asked quietly.
“Tomorrow’s chicken dumpling day,” Nightshade said in wistful tones. “And Atta was going to get a beef bone. But I guess you’re right. The important people have taken over. We’d only be in the way. Besides,” he added, cheering up, “there’s bound to be chicken dumplings wherever we end up. Where are we going?”
“East,” said Rhys. “After the Beloved.”
Monk, dog, and kender set off down the long road just as the storm broke and rain started to fall.
9
Nuitari arrived late to the Wizards Conclave that had been hastily convened in the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth. He found his two cousins, Solinari and Lunitari, already there. The expressions on the faces of the gods were grim, reflecting the grim expressions of the faces of their wizards. Whatever topic was under discussion did not bode well for the Robed mages of Ansalon, apparently.
Nuitari had only to hear the words, “Beloved of Chemosh” to know the reason why. His cousins glanced at him as he entered but said nothing, not wanting to miss any of Jenna’s report to her fellows.
This meeting of the wizards that formed the Conclave was not a formal meeting. Formal meetings of the Conclave, held at regularly scheduled intervals, were planned months in advance. They were lavish affairs, conducted by proscribed ritual and ceremony in the Tower’s Hall of Mages. This emergency meeting was hastily convened with no time to waste on formal rituals, and it was being held in the Tower’s library, where the wizards had ready access to reference books and scrolls dating back to ancient times. The wizards gathered around a large wooden table; Black Robes sat next to White Robes who sat next to Red Robes.
An emergency summons from the Head of the Conclave is generally considered a life-or-death matter, requiring every member of the Conclave to drop whatever he or she is doing and immediately travel the corridors of magic to the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth. The penalties for not attending are severe and may result in the wizard being expelled from the Conclave.
An ancient spell, known only to the Head of the Conclave, permitted the mage to issue such an emergency summons. On her return to her home in Palanthas, Jenna had removed a rosewood box from its hiding place within the folds of time. Inside the box was a silver stylus. She dipped it in goat’s blood and then wrote the words of the summons upon lamb’s skin. She passed her hand over the words left to right, and then right to left, and back again, seven times. The words vanished. The lamb’s skin shriveled up and disappeared.
Within instants, the summons would appear to each member of the Conclave as letters of blood and fire. A White Robe, slumbering in her bed, was awakened by the bright light of fiery tracings blazing across the ceiling of her bedchamber. A Black Robe saw the words materialize on the wall of his laboratory. He left immediately, if reluctantly, for he had just finished summoning a fiend from the Abyss, who was undoubtedly smashing up the furniture in his absence. A Red Robe had been battling goblins when he saw the words emblazoned on the forehead of his foe. The Red Robe arrived bruised and out of breath, his hands covered in goblin blood. He’d been forced to leave behind a group of goblin-hunters, who were now looking about in baffled astonishment, wondering what had become of their magic-user.
“There goes my share of the bounty,” he muttered as he took his seat.