"Come, Child. Speaking of Chemosh, he will be growing impatient. As for you, Monk"-Zeboim glanced back at Rhys over her shoulder and her look was not friendly-"I will talk to you later."

Storm winds blew into the tavern, caught up Rhys, and flung him back against the wall. Sand stung his face. He could not see for the sand and the lashing rain, but he could hear people cursing, crates being tossed about the room. The storm raged for an instant and then subsided. Rhys found Atta cowering under a crate. Lleu was still on his knees. Hoping against hope his brother's memory had returned, Rhys hastened over to him.

"Lleu, it's me, Rhys..."

Lleu shoved him aside. "I don't give a damn who you are. Get out of my way. Barkeep, more spirits!"

The barkeep appeared, rising up from behind the bar. He stared around at the overturned crates and upended drunks, and then he scowled at Lleu.

"Fine friends you have. Look at this mess! Who's going to pay for it? Not you, I suppose. Get out," he shouted, shaking a clenched fist. "And don't come back!"

Muttering that he had better things to do and better places to go, Lleu stalked out of the tavern, slamming the door behind him.

"I will pay for the damage," said Rhys, handing over his last coin.

Whistling to Atta, he started after Lleu, saying to Nightshade in passing, "Hurry! We have to follow him!"

A whimper from Atta caused Rhys to stop and look back.

Nightshade was staring at the place where Mina had been standing. His eyes were round and wide, and Rhys saw in astonishment, tears were rolling down the kender's cheeks.

"Oh, Rhys," Nightshade gulped. "It's so sad. So very sad!"

He buried his face in his hands and wept as though his heart would break.

Chapter 2.

Rhys hastened back to his friend.

"Nightshade," he said in concern. "I'm sorry for being so thoughtless. That was a bad fall you took. Where does it hurt?"

But all Nightshade could say was, "It's so sad! I can't bear it!"

Rhys put his arm around the kender and led him from the tavern. Atta trotted after them, looking anxiously at her friend, and every now and then giving his hand a sympathetic lick.

Torn between his worry for his friend and his concern that he might lose track of his brother, Rhys did his best to soothe Nightshade, all the while keeping Lleu in sight.

His brother strolled along the docks, hands in his pockets, whistling an off-key tune, not a care in the world. He greeted strangers as though they were old friends and was soon in conversation with a group of sailors. Rhys thought back to only moments before, when his wretched brother had been begging for death, and he assumed he knew why the kender was sobbing.

Rhys patted Nightshade consolingly on the shoulder, thinking he'd soon regain his composure, but the kender was completely undone. Nightshade could only repeat, gulping and blubbering, that it was all so sad, and he cried even harder. Rhys was worried that he was going to have to leave his friend in this state, but then he saw his brother enter a bar in company with the sailors.

Certain Lleu would be there for some time, especially if the sailors were buying, Rhys steered Nightshade into a quiet alley. The kender plunked down on the ground and sobbed dismally.

"Nightshade," said Rhys, "I know you're sorry for Lleu, but this won't help-"

Nightshade looked up. "Lleu? I'm not sorry for him! It's her!"

"Her? Do you mean Mina?" Rhys asked, astonished. "She's the one you're crying over?"

Nightshade nodded, prompting more tears.

"What about her?" Rhys had a sudden thought. "Is she one of the Beloved? Is she dead?"

"Oh, no!" Nightshade gulped. Then he hesitated. Then repeated, "No..." only this time more slowly.

"Are you crying for the terrible evil she has done?" Rhys's voice hardened. His hand clenched around the staff. "If she lives, that is good. She can be killed."

Nightshade lifted a tear-stained face and stared at him in amazement. "Did you really just say that? You want to kill her? You-the monk who lifted a fly out of puddle of beer so that it wouldn't drown?"

Rhys recalled his brother's despairing plea and Mina's callous and uncaring reply. He thought of young Cam in Solace, all the young people, slaves of Chemosh, driven to murder, the imprint of her lips over their hearts.

"I wish I'd killed her as she'd stood there before me," he said.

Rhys reached over and shook the kender, pinching his shoulder hard. "Answer me! What is so sad about her?"

Nightshade shrank away from him.

"I really don't know," the kender said in a small voice. "Honest! The feeling just came over me somehow. Don't be mad, Rhys. I'll try to stop crying now."

He gave a hiccup, but more tears slid down his cheeks, and he hid his face in Atta's fur. She nuzzled his neck and licked away his tears. Her brown eyes, fixed on Rhys, seemed to reproach him.

The kender rubbed his shoulder where Rhys had gripped him, and the monk felt like a monster. "I'll go fetch some water."

He gave the kender an apologetic pat that only made Nightshade cry harder. Leaving him in Atta's care, Rhys walked to a nearby public well. He was drawing up the bucket when he felt a divine presence breathing down his neck.

"What secret have you been keeping from me, Monk?" Zeboim demanded.

"I have no secrets, Majesty," Rhys said, sighing.

"What riddle is that girl talking about then? What is the answer?"

"I do not know what Mina meant by that question, Majesty," Rhys said. "Why don't you ask her?"

"Because she is a little liar. You, for all your faults, are not, so tell me the riddle and tell me the answer."

"I have told you, Majesty, that I don't know what she was talking about. Since I am not a liar, I assume you must believe me." Rhys filled his water skin and started to walk back to the alley.

Zeboim fumed along beside him. "You must know! Put your mind to it!"

Rhys heard his brother's voice, his despairing plea for death. He felt Nightshade's tears on his skin. Losing patience, Rhys rounded angrily on the goddess.

"All I know, Majesty, is you had in your possession the person you commanded me to find. You have no business asking me anything!"

Zeboim halted, momentarily taken aback by his anger. Rhys walked on, and Zeboim hastened to catch up. She slid her arm through his arm and held on tightly when he tried to shake her off.

"I like it when you're forceful, but don't ever do it again." She gave his hand a playful slap that numbed his arm to the elbow. "As for Mina, I introduced you to her, didn't I? You know what she looks like now. I let her go, that is true, but I didn't have any choice in the matter. You recall my son? His soul trapped in a khas piece?"

Rhys sighed. He did, indeed.

"You'll be glad to know he's been freed," Zeboim said.

Rhys found his elation at this news easy to contain.

The goddess was silent a moment, watching Rhys through narrowed eyes, trying to see into his heart.

He opened his soul to her. He had nothing to hide, and eventually she gave up.

"You are telling the truth. Perhaps you don't don't know the answer to this riddle," Zeboim said in a hissing whisper. "If I were you, I would find out. Mina was troubled by you. I could see that. Don't worry that you can't find her, Brother Rhys. Mina will be the one to find you!" know the answer to this riddle," Zeboim said in a hissing whisper. "If I were you, I would find out. Mina was troubled by you. I could see that. Don't worry that you can't find her, Brother Rhys. Mina will be the one to find you!"

With that and a flurry of rain, she disappeared.

Nightshade and Atta were both fast asleep. The kender had his arms around Atta's neck. She had one paw laid protectively over his chest. Rhys looked at them, sprawled on the cobblestones of a squalid, refuse-laden alley. Atta's fur was matted, and her once glossy coat had lost its luster. The pads of her paws were rough and cracked. Whenever they passed rolling meadows and green hills, Atta would gaze longingly out over the grasslands, and Rhys knew that she wanted to run and run across the green sward and never stop until she came trotting back to him, exhausted and happy.

As for the kender, Nightshade was eating meals on a regular basis, which was more than he'd been doing before Rhys had found him. His clothes were ragged, his boots so worn that his toes poked through. Worse, the kender's cheerful, lively spirit was being ground out of him by the road they trudged, day after day, following a dead man.

Kender should never cry, Rhys thought remorsefully. They are not meant for tears.

Rhys slumped down on a barrel. He lowered his head into his hands and pressed his palms into his eyes. He tried, for comfort's sake, to bring to mind the green pastures and white sheep and the black and white dog racing over the hillside. But it was all gone. He could see nothing except the road-a road of bleakness, degradation, emptiness, death, and despair.

Shame filled him, and self-loathing.

"I was so smug, so arrogant," he said, as bitter tears burned his eyelids. "I thought I could flirt with evil and yet go my own way. I could make a show of serving Zeboim, yet she would never lay claim to me. I could walk a path of darkness without losing sight of the sunlight. But now the sunlight has vanished and I am lost. I have no lantern, no compass to guide me. I stumble along a path so choked and overrun with weeds that I cannot see where to put my feet. And there is no end to it."

The staff of Majere, which he had looked upon as a blessing, now seemed a reproach.

Think on what you might have been, Majere seemed to say to him. Think on what you have thrown away. Keep this staff always, that it may remind you and be a torment to you Think on what you have thrown away. Keep this staff always, that it may remind you and be a torment to you, Rhys heard off-key humming in a voice he had come to recognize. Wearily, he raised his head and saw Lleu sauntering past the entrance to the alley that was already growing dark with the coming of night.

Lleu-going to keep a tryst with some luckless young woman.

Rhys had no choice. He reached down and shook Nightshade awake. Atta, startled, jumped to her feet. Catching a whiff of Lleu, she growled.

"We have to go," said Rhys.

Nightshade nodded, and rubbed his eyes that were gummed with tears. Rhys helped the kender to stand.

"Nightshade," Rhys said remorsefully, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. And, the gods know, I never meant to hurt you."

"It's all right," Nightshade replied with a wan smile. "It's probably just because you're hungry. Here." He dug into a pocket and produced the maltreated meat. He plucked off bits of pocket fuzz and removed a bent nail. "I'll share."

Rhys wasn't hungry, but he accepted a portion of the meal. He tried to eat it, but his stomach heaved at the smell, and he fed his half to Atta when Nightshade wasn't looking.

The three of them set off down the road and into the night, following the Beloved.

Chapter 3.

They tracked Lleu to a wharf where he had arranged to meet a young woman. She did not appear, however, and after waiting for over an hour, Lleu cursed her roundly and left, turning into the first tavern he came upon. Rhys knew from experience his brother would remain there all night, and he'd find him either here or near about the tavern the next day. He and a yawning Nightshade and a drooping Atta found a sheltered doorway and, huddling together for warmth, they prepared to get what sleep they could.

Nightshade was snoring softly and Rhys was drifting off when he heard Atta growl. A man dressed in white robes that gleamed in the light of his lantern stood over them, gazed down on them. His face was smiling and concerned, and Rhys soothed Atta's worries.

"It's all right, girl," he said. "He's a cleric of Mishakal."

"Huh?" Nightshade woke with a start, blinking at the lantern light.

"Pardon me for disturbing you, friends," said the white-robed man. "But this a dangerous place to spend the night. I can offer you shelter, a warm bed, and a hot meal in the morning."

Moving closer still, he held the lantern high. "Bless my soul! A monk! Brother, please accept my hospitality. I am Revered Son Patrick."

"Hot meal..." Nightshade repeated. He looked hopefully at Rhys.

"We accept your invitation, Revered Sir," Rhys said gratefully. "I am Rhys Mason. This is Nightshade and Atta."

The cleric gave them all polite greeting, even Atta, and though Patrick glanced curiously at Rhys's aqua-green robes he politely refrained from comment. He lit their way through the city streets.

"A long walk, I'm afraid," he said in apology. "But you will find peace and rest at the end of it. Rather like life itself," he added with a smile for Rhys.

As they walked, he told them that this part of New Port was known as Old Port, so-called because it was the oldest part of the new city. New Port had not existed until the Cataclysm had sundered the continent of Ansalon, elevating parts of the continent and sinking others, causing some parts to split wide open and other parts to break off. One of these massive splits allowed the creation of a vast body of water known as New Sea.

The first settlers to arrive at this location-refugees fleeing the destruction up north-were visionaries, who saw immediately the advantage of building here. The land configuration formed a natural harbor. Ships that would soon be plying the waters of New Sea could dock here, take on goods, refit and overhaul, whatever was needed.

The city began modestly, with a stockade overlooking the harbor. New Port's rapid growth soon overflowed the stockade and expanded along the waterfront and inland.

"Like an ungrateful child who discovers wealth and success, and then refuses to acknowledge the humble parents who brought him into the world, the wealthy parts of the city are now far removed from the lowly docks that were its cause for success," Patrick explained, sadly shaking his head.

"The flourishing merchants who fund the ships and own the warehouses live far from the stench of fish heads and tar. Brothels and gambling dens and taverns like the Dinghy have shouldered out more reputable establishments on the waterfront. Housing is cheap down by the docks, for no one of means wants to live there."

They passed row after row of ramshackle dwellings made of wood taken from abandoned warehouses, and walked dismal streets paved with mud. Drunken sailors and slovenly women lurched past them. Even though the hour was past midnight, several children ran up to them to beg for coins or rooted through heaps of refuse in hopes of finding food. Whenever they came upon such children, Patrick stopped to speak to them, before continuing on his way.

"My wife and I have started a school down here among the docks," he explained. "We teach the children to read and write, and send them home with at least one good meal in their bellies. Hopefully we can help some of them find better lives outside this wretched place."

"The gods bless the gift and the giver," said Rhys quietly.

"We do what we can, Brother," said Patrick, with a smile and a sigh. "We do what we can. Here we are. Come inside. Yes, Atta, you can come, too."

The Temple of Mishakal was not a grand edifice, but a very modest building that had evidently undergone recent repairs, for it smelled strongly of whitewash. The only sign that it was a temple was the holy symbol of Mishakal newly painted on one of the walls.

Rhys was about to enter when he saw in the lantern light something that stopped him in his tracks so that Nightshade bumped into him.