Mina regarded him with cold fury.
“You know that the man in the cave is not my lover.”
“I know no such thing,” Krell returned.
“A maiden does not usually chain her lover to a wall and threaten him with death,” Mina said caustically. “What of the kender? Is he my lover, too?”
“People have their little quirks,” Krell stated magnanimously. “When I was alive, I liked my women to put up a struggle, squeal a bit. I am not one to sit in judgment.”
“My lord is no fool. When he goes to that cave this night and finds an emaciated monk and a sniveling little kender chained to a wall, he will know you lied to him.”
“Maybe,” said Krell stolidly. “Maybe not.”
Mina clenched her fists in frustration. “Are you as stupid as you look, Krell? When Chemosh finds out you lied to him about me, he will be furious with you. He might well hand you over to Zeboim. But you can still save yourself. Go to Chemosh and tell him that you have thought this over and you were mistaken. . . .”
Krell was not stupid. He had thought it over. He knew just what he had to do to protect himself.
“My lord Chemosh has given orders he is not to be disturbed,” said Krell, and he gave Mina a shove that propelled her backward into the room.
He slammed the door shut, bolted it from the outside, and resumed his stance before it.
Mina went back to the window. She knew what Krell plotted. All he had to do was go to the cave, dispose of the kender and the dog, kill the monk and remove his chains, and leave the body for Chemosh to find, along with evidence to prove the grotto had been her love nest.
Perhaps Krell had already done this. That would certainly account for his smugness. Mina didn’t know how long she had been unconscious. Hours, at least. The castle faced east and its shadow lay dark on the blood-red waves. The sun was already sinking toward the end of day.
Mina stood at the window. I have to win back my lord’s trust and affection. There must be a way to prove my love. If I could give him a gift. Something he yearns to possess.
But what is there a god cannot have if he wants it?
One thing. One thing Chemosh wanted and he could not get.
Nuitari’s Tower.
“If I could give him that, I would do it,” Mina said softly, “though it cost me my life.. ..”
She closed her eyes, and she found herself beneath the sea. The Tower of High Sorcery stood before her. Its crystalline walls reflected the clear blue water, the red coral, and the green sea plants and multi-colored sea creatures—a constant panorama of sea life glided across its faceted surface.
She was inside the Tower, in her prison, talking with Nuitari. She was in the water of the globe, speaking with the dragon. She was in the Solio Febalas, overcome by awe and wonder, surrounded by the sublime miracle that was the gods.
Mina held out her hands. Her longing intensified, welled up inside her. Her heart pounded, her muscles stiffened. She sank to her knees with a moan, and still she held out her hands to the Tower that was everywhere inside her.
The longing took control of her and swept her up. She could not stop. She did not want to stop. She gave herself to the longing, and it seemed her heart would tear itself apart. She gasped for breath. She tasted blood in her mouth. She shuddered and moaned again, and suddenly something snapped within her.
The longing, the desire, flowed out of her outstretched hands and she was calm and at peace. . ..
Krell had figured a way out of his predicament, though not the way Mina had guessed. Her plan required that he leave the castle and he was terrified to do so, for fear Chemosh would return at any moment. Krell might have the brains of a rodent, but he had twice the low cunning to make up for it. His plan was simple, and it was direct.
He didn’t have to kill the kender, the monk, or the dog. All he had to do was kill Mina.
Once Mina was dead, end of story. Chemosh would have no reason to go to the cave to confront her lover, and Krell’s problem would be solved.
Krell detested Mina, and he would have murdered her long ago, but he feared that Chemosh would have murdered him—not an easy thing to do, since Krell was already dead, but Krell was fairly certain the Lord of Death would find a way and it would not be pleasant.
Krell deemed it safe to kill Mina now. Chemosh despised her. He loathed her. He couldn’t stand the sight of her.
“She tried to escape, my lord,” Krell said, rehearsing his speech. “I didn’t mean to kill her. I just don’t know my own strength.”
Having made up his mind to slay Mina, Krell had only to decide when. In this regard, he dithered. Chemosh had said he was going to the Hall of Souls Passing, but did he mean it? Had the god departed, or was he still lurking about the castle?
Every time Krell started to put his hand on the handle of the door, he had a vision of Chemosh entering the room in time to witness the death knight slitting his mistress’s throat. Chemosh might well despise her, but such a gruesome sight could still come as a shock.
Krell dared not leave his post in order to go find out. At last, he snagged a passing spectral minion and ordered it to make inquiries. The minion was gone for some time, during which Krell paced the corridor and pictured his revenge on Mina, growing more and more excited at the thought.
The minion brought welcome news. Chemosh was in the Hall of the Souls Passing and apparently in no hurry to return.
Perfect. Chemosh would be there to witness Mina’s soul arrive. He would have no reason to go to the cave. No reason at all.
Krell started to reach for the door handle then stopped. Amber light began to glow around the door frame. As he watched, frowning, the glowing light grew stronger and stronger.
Then Krell smiled. This was better than he’d hoped for. Mina had apparently set the place on fire.
He struck the door with his fist, drew his sword, and strode inside.
8
The grotto was redolent with the smell of salt pork. Atta licked her chops and stared longingly at Nightshade, who was dutifully, if dolefully, scrubbing the insides of his boots with a hunk of greasy meat. Rhys had reasoned it would be easier for the kender to slide his feet out of the boots rather than try to slide the boots out of the manacles.
“There, I’ve finished!” Nightshade announced. He fed what was left of the mangled pork to Atta, who swallowed it in a gulp and then began to sniff hungrily at his boots.
“Atta, leave it,” Rhys ordered, and the dog obediently trotted over to lie down at his side.
Nightshade gave his right foot a wriggle and a grunt. “Nope,” he said, after a moment’s exertion. “It won’t budge. I’m sorry, Rhys. It was worth a try—”
“You have to actually move your foot, Nightshade,” Rhys said with a smile.
“I did move it,” Nightshade protested. “The boots are on there good and tight. They were always a little small for me. That’s why my toes broke out there at the tip. Now let’s talk about how we’re both going to escape.”
“We’ll talk about that after you’re free,” Rhys countered.
“Promise?” Nightshade eyed Rhys suspiciously.
“Promise,” said Rhys.
Nightshade grabbed hold of the iron band that was clamped around his ankle and began to push on the band and the boot.
“Bend your foot,” said Rhys patiently.
“What do you think I am?” Nightshade demanded. “One of those circus guys who can tie both his legs in a knot behind his neck and walk on his hands? I know I can’t do that, because I tried it once. My father had to unknot me—”
“Nightshade,” said Rhys, “we’re running out of time.”
The daylight outside was fading. The grotto was growing darker.
Nightshade heaved a deep sigh. Squinching up his face, he pushed and pulled. His right foot slipped neatly out of the boot. The left foot 292 followed. He removed his boots from the manacles and eyed them ruefully.