“And what is that?” asked his wife.
“A lost soul,” said Patrick.
4
Rhys seriously considered Patrick’s advice regarding Zeboim’s priest. He chose, finally, to go to the ship’s captain alone. Rhys did not like the idea of being any more beholden to the goddess than he already was—or rather, than she thought he was. Truth be told, he’d done far more for her than she’d done for him.
He was kept waiting for hours, for the captain with a vessel making ready to sail is a busy man and has no time to talk to potential passengers, especially those who can’t pay their way. Noontime came and went and finally, late in the day, the captain told Rhys he could spare him a few moments.
Rhys eventually persuaded the man to agree to let him and Atta on board the vessel. The captain was adamant about Nightshade, however. A kender on board ship was bad luck. Everyone knew that.
Rhys suspected this was a superstition the captain had just conveniently made up, but all his arguments fell on deaf ears. Rhys finally and reluctantly agreed to leave the kender behind.
“We’ll miss Nightshade, won’t we, Atta?” Rhys said to the dog as they walked back toward the temple.
Atta looked up at him with her soft brown eyes and gently wagged her tail and crowded close to him. She didn’t understand his words, but she knew by his tone that he was sad and did what she could to offer comfort.
Rhys was truly going to miss Nightshade. Not a person to make friends easily, Rhys had found solace in the companionship of the other monks, but he’d had no true friends among them. He had not needed friends. He had his dog and his god.
Rhys had lost his god and his brothers, but he’d found a friend in the kender. Looking back on these last bleak weeks, Rhys knew with certainty he could not have gone on if it hadn’t been for Nightshade, whose cheerful outlook on life and unfailing optimism had kept Rhys afloat when the dark waters seemed about to close over him. The kender’s courage and—odd as it might sound when speaking of a kender—common sense had kept them both alive.
“The clerics of Mishakal will take him in,” Rhys said to Atta. “The goddess has always had a soft spot in her heart for kender.” He sighed deeply and shook his head. “The hard part will be convincing him to stay behind. We’ll have to sneak out while he’s asleep, slip away before he knows we’re gone. Fortunately, the ship sails with high tide and that is at dawn—”
Thinking about Nightshade, Rhys was not paying particular attention to where he was going and suddenly discovered he’d taken a wrong turn. He was in a part of town completely unfamiliar to him. He was annoyed by this mistake, and his annoyance grew to worry when he’noted the hour was far later than he’d thought. The sky was a pinkish red color; the sun was sinking behind the buildings. People around him were hurrying home to their suppers.
Fearing he would be late for his meeting with the clerics and the city guard, Rhys hurriedly retraced his steps, and after stopping several people to ask directions, he and Atta once more found themselves on the street that led to the temple.
He was walking as fast as he could, with Atta trotting behind, and not watching where he was going. His first notion that anything was amiss was Atta trying to nudge him out of the way by pressing her body against his leg. The dog had often done this, for Rhys would sometimes become so absorbed in his meditations that he would walk headlong into trees or tumble into brooks if the dog wasn’t there to watch out for him.
Feeling her weight against him, he lifted his head and looked right into the bright light of a lantern. The light blinded him, so he could not make out any details about those he’d nearly run down, except there was a group of perhaps six men.
He nimbly side-stepped to avoid a collision with the leader, adding contritely, “I am so sorry, sir. I am in a hurry, and I wasn’t watching—”
His voice died. His breath caught in his throat. His eyes had grown accustomed to the light, and he could now see quite clearly the burnt-orange color of priestly robes and the rose-symbol of Majere.
The priest lifted his lantern so that the light shone on Rhys, who could not believe his bad fortune. He had taken such care to avoid Majere’s priests. Now he had literally run right into six of them. What was worse, the lead priest, the one with the lantern, was, by his garb, a High Abbot.
The abbot was staring at Rhys in astonishment, his startled gaze taking in the monk who was wearing the robes of Majere, but in the aqua green colors of Zeboim. Astonishment darkened to disapproval and what was worse, recognition. The abbot swung the lantern close to Rhys’s face, so that he was forced to avert his eyes from the flaring light.
“Rhys Mason,” said the abbot sternly. “We have been searching for you.”
Rhys didn’t have time for this. He had to reach the temple of Mishakal. He was the only one who knew where to find Lieu, who was probably already on his way to the young woman’s house.
“Excuse me, Your Holiness, but I am late for an urgent appointment.” Rhys bowed and started to leave.
The abbot grabbed hold of Rhys’s arm, detaining him.
“Forgive me, Holiness,” said Rhys politely but firmly. “I am late.”
He made a swift, deft move to break the abbot’s grip. Unfortunately, the Abbot was also trained in the art of “merciful discipline,” and he executed a skillful countermove that kept Rhys in his grasp. Atta, at Rhys’s feet, growled threateningly.
The abbot fixed the dog with a look and raised his hand in a commanding gesture. Atta flopped down on her belly and laid her head between her paws. Her growl subsided. She feebly wagged her tail.
The abbot turned back to Rhys.
“Do you run from me, Brother?” the abbot asked in a tone that was more sorrowful than censorious.
“Forgive me, Your Holiness,” said Rhys again. “I am in haste. A matter of life and death. Please, release me.”
“The immortal soul is more important than the body, Brother Rhys. This life is fleeting, the soul eternal. I have received reports that your soul is in peril.” The abbot held Rhys firmly. “Return with us to our temple. We would talk with you and find a way to bring the lost sheep back to the flock.”
“I would like nothing better, Holiness,” Rhys replied earnestly, “and I promise I will come to your temple later this night. Now, as I told you, I am urgently needed elsewhere. The life that is in peril is not my own—”
“Forgive me if I do not entirely trust you, Brother Rhys,” said the abbot.
The priests of Majere, crowding around him, nodded their cowled heads.
“Members of our Order have been searching Ansalon for you, and now that we have found you we intend to keep you. Come, walk with us, Brother.”
“I cannot, Holiness!” Rhys was starting to grow angry. “Walk with me, if you do not believe me! I go to the Temple of Mishakal. Her clerics and I are on the track of one of the Beloved who intends to take the life of a young mother.”
“Are you the sheriff of this city, Brother?” asked the abbot. “Is it your responsibility to apprehend criminals?”
“In this case, yes!” Rhys retorted.
The sky was dark now, the stars were out. The young woman would have put her little ones to bed and would be watching, waiting for Lieu. “The Beloved is—or was—my wretched brother. I am the only one who can recognize him.”
“Nightshade knows him,” said the abbot imperturbably. “The kender can point him out to the guards.”
Rhys was taken aback. The abbot seemed to know everything about him.
“The kender knows Lieu, but he does not know where this young woman lives. I didn’t tell him or the clerics of Mishakal.”
“Why not?” asked the abbot. “You could have given the clerics the location of the young woman’s house.”
Rhys fumbled for an answer. “All the dwellings look alike. It would have been difficult—”