Rhys felt no sadness over his brother's death. His brother had died long ago. This thing had not been Lleu, though he still called it that.

"Yes, Rhys," said Nightshade. He didn't like the way his friend looked-sort of lost and dazed-and the kender held onto his friend's hand tightly.

Rhys stared up the street and down, and he realized, suddenly, this street and all streets were no longer highways to bleak despair. They all led one place. As Nightshade said, they led home. Rhys's grip on his staff strengthened. He longed to go back home, but he wasn't ready to be received there. He could not show up on the doorstop in filthy, discolored robes, stained with the blood of innocents and the black ashes of death. He had to discard the world, cleanse his body, cleanse his soul. Naked as a babe, chastened and humbled, he would stand before his god and beg his forgiveness. Then he would go home.

"Thank you, Nightshade," Rhys said. Bending down, he kissed the kender on the forehead. "You are a true friend."

Nightshade swiped his hand across his eyes and hid a sniffle in his sleeve.

Gripping his staff tightly, Rhys looked searchingly around the street. A crowd had gathered. The story of what had gone on was being eagerly bandied about, and the tale was growing wilder with each telling. The sheriff ordered people repeatedly to go home, but no one listened, and the crowd grew larger and more unruly. Several young rascals decided they wanted to see the gruesome sight for themselves and tried to rush the dwelling, precipitating a fight with the guardsmen.

The sheriff, envisioning even more crowds once the sun rose, determined that the best way to end this would be to tear down the hovel and leave the curious nothing but a pile of lumber to stare at. He sent men racing off for tools. Some of the guardsmen couldn't wait, but were already ripping down the shack, using their bare hands. Others were holding the crowd at bay. Patrick and Galena were nowhere to be found.

"I told them to take that poor woman and her children back to the temple," the sheriff told Rhys. "They've been through enough without this." He glowered around at the people standing in the street, craning their necks and pushing and shoving to get a better view view.

"Thanks for your help in this, Brother," the sheriff added. "Too bad we didn't get here a little sooner, but what's done is done and we're rid of one of these monsters at least." He turned back to the task at hand.

Rhys was quiet and thoughtful on his way back to the temple. Nightshade was quiet, too, and he glanced at Rhys every so often and then gave a deep sigh. Atta trotted after, looking from one to the other, not understanding.

They entered the temple that smelled strongly of fresh paint. The interior was quiet, after the hubbub of the street.

"How is the young woman?" Rhys asked, Galena has taken her to the kitchen and is urging her to eat something. On top of everything else, the poor woman is half-starved. She'll feel better once she has some nourishment."

"And the little boy?"

Patrick shook his head. "We will pray to Mishakal and leave the child in the blessed hands of the goddess. What will you do, Brother, now that your dark quest is ended?"

"I have some explaining to do," Rhys said ruefully, "and many prayers of contrition to make and sins to repent. Can you tell me where to find the Temple of Majere?"

"You mean the one in Solace?" Patrick asked.

"No, Revered Son. The temple here in New Port."

"There is no temple to Majere in New Port," Patrick said. "Don't you recall our conversation yesterday, Brother? There are only two temples to the gods in New Port-our temple and that of Zeboim's."

"You must be mistaken, Revered Son," Rhys said earnestly. "Just this evening, I met a group of Majere's priests, one of whom was an abbot. He spoke of a temple here..."

"You can ask the sheriff if you want, Brother, but as far as I know, the closest temple to Majere is the one in Solace. I have not heard of any priests of Majere hereabouts. If there were, they would have undoubtedly sought us out. You say you met these priests last night?"

"Yes," Rhys replied. "Our meeting was not particularly cordial. That is what delayed me. The abbot recognized me, knew my name."

He lapsed into silence, his feeling of peace and ease suddenly draining from him.

Patrick regarded him strangely. "Did you know this abbot?"

"No," said Rhys. "I had never seen him before. I did not think about it at the time-I was too upset-but now that I look back on our meeting, I find it very odd he would have known me. How could he?"

Nightshade tugged on his sleeve.

"Rhys," said the kender, and then he stopped.

"What is it?" Rhys asked somewhat impatiently.

"It's just that... if you hadn't been late, we would have reached the shack on time to stop Lleu before he could hurt the mother, then the little boy wouldn't have had to hit the Beloved, and he wouldn't have gone up in flames."

Rhys stood in silence, gripping his staff.

"The priests kept you away just long enough, Rhys," Nightshade persisted. "Just long enough for you to be late, but not long enough for you to be too late. Now Revered Patrick here tells us that there aren't any priests of Majere for maybe a hundred miles in any direction and... well... I can't help but wondering..."

Nightshade quit talking. He didn't like the way Rhys looked.

"Wondering what?" Rhys asked harshly.

Nightshade didn't know whether he should go on or not. "I think maybe this should wait until morning."

"Tell me," Rhys said.

"Maybe these priests weren't real," Nightshade suggested meekly.

"Do you think I am lying about this?" Rhys demanded.

"No, no, no, not that, Rhys." Nightshade stumbled over his tongue in his haste. "I think you think think the priests were real. It's just-" the priests were real. It's just-"

He didn't know how to explain himself, and he looked to Patrick for help.

"He is saying that the priests were real, Brother-as real as Majere made them," Patrick said.

Rhys stood in the peace of Mishakal's temple, thinking back on the horrific events of that night. He was suddenly deeply and intensely angry.

"What do the gods want of me?" he cried out.

Patrick looked grave. Atta cringed at his tone, and Nightshade took a step backward.

"They play games with my life," Rhys continued in a rage, "and with the lives of others. That poor child and his mother. Was it necessary to make them suffer like that? They will be cursed with the terrible memory of this night for the rest of their lives. If Majere wanted me to know how to destroy these Beloved, why didn't he just come to me himself and tell me? Why does Zeboim bring Mina to me and then snatch her away?"

"Brother Rhys," said Patrick, resting his hand on the monk's arm. "The ways of the gods are not for mortals to understand..."

Rhys looked at him coldly. "Spare me the sermon, Revered Son. I've heard it all before."

He turned so suddenly he stepped on Atta, who yelped in pain. She gave her hurt paw a quick lick and then ran forgivingly after her master. Nightshade hesitated. He flashed Patrick an agonized glance.

"I think he's really mad at me," said the kender.

"No," said Patrick. "He's mad at the heavens. It happens to all of us at one time or another." He gave a wan smile. "I have to admit I'm not overly pleased with the gods myself at this moment, but they understand. Go after him. He needs a friend."

Rhys must have been walking very fast, for Nightshade saw no sign of him or Atta in the street. He called out Rhys's name, but there was no answer. The kender called out Atta's name, and he heard her bark.

Following the sound, he found Rhys's staff lying on the pavement. Rhys was dragging the aqua-green robes over his head.

"Rhys," said Nightshade, frightened. "What are you doing?"

"I quit," Rhys said.

He flung the robes in a heap by the staff and walked off, clad only in his breeches and boots, his chest and shoulders bare. He looked back over his shoulder to see Nightshade standing rooted to the spot and Atta nosing the robes.

"You coming or not?" Rhys asked coldly.

"Uh, sure, Rhys," said Nightshade.

"Atta!" Rhys called.

The dog looked at him and then lowered her head to pick up the staff.

"Leave it!" Rhys ordered savagely.

Atta jumped back. Startled by his tone, she stared at him.

"Atta, come!"

She assumed she was at fault, though she had no idea what she'd done wrong. Head down and tail drooping, the dog slunk toward him. Rhys waited for her, but he did not apologize for his bad temper, either to her or to the kender. He stalked off down the street.

Rhys had no idea where he was going. He needed to walk off his fury and let the sea breeze cool his fevered skin. He heard Nightshade panting behind him and Atta's nails clicking on the pavement, so he knew they were following him. He didn't look back. He just kept walking.

"Rhys," said Nightshade after a few moments, "I don't think you can quit a god."

Rhys heard the kender's voice and the dog's barking, but it was muffled and disembodied, as if wrapped in a thick fog.

"Rhys," Nightshade persisted.

"Please, just... be quiet!" Rhys said through clenched teeth. "Keep Atta quiet, too."

"All right, but before we're both quiet I think you might want to know that someone's following us."

Rhys halted. He had broken the first rule of the Master. He had given in to his emotions. He had allowed rage to overcome him, completely forgetting in his blind fury that he and the kender were alone in the middle of a dark night in the very worst part of the city. He started to turn around to confront the threat behind and realized there was also a threat in front.

A large minotaur stepped out from an alley.

Rhys had never seen one of these man-beasts before and he was taken aback by the sheer size and brute strength of the beast. Rhys was tall for a human male, yet he came only to the minotaur's chest. Clad in a leather vest and loose-fitting pants, the minotaur was a daunting sight. His feet were bare and covered with fur. A golden ring encircled the top of one of his sharp horns, and gold glinted in one ear. Dark eyes, set close together above a fur-covered snout, gazed coolly down on Rhys.

"Those are my lads coming up behind you," the minotaur remarked. He glared down at Atta, who was in a frenzy of barking. The minotaur laid a gigantic hand on the hilt of a huge dagger he wore in a broad sash at: his waist. "Silence the mutt or I'll silence her for you."

"Atta, quiet," Rhys said. Atta's barks subsided to growls interspersed with pants. He could feel her body quivering against his leg.

"We have no money," Rhys said as calmly as he could. "It would be useless to rob us."

"Money?" The minotaur snorted and then laughed so that the gold on his horn flashed red in the light of several flaring torches now surrounding Rhys and Nightshade. "We're not after money. We got money!"

The beast thrust his muzzle into Rhys's face. "What we need are hands and legs and strong backs."

He straightened and gestured. "Take him, mates."

"Aye, Capt'n," called out several guttural voices.

Two burly minotaurs approached Rhys, who realized now what kind of trouble had found them. They'd run afoul of a press gang, minotaur pirates, seeking slaves for their ships.

Chapter 7.

This un's a kender, Capt'n," stated one of the minotaurs in disgust. He held his torch so close to Nightshade's head that the smell of singed hair wafted on the air. "You want him, too?"

"Sure, I like kender," said the captain with a chortle. "Baked, with an apple in his mouth. And grab the dog. I like dogs, too."

"I would not grab me, if I were you!" Nightshade said in his deepest voice, which sounded rather like he was suffering from a cold in the head. He held up his left hand and pointed his finger at the minotaur. "Any who dare touch me will find himself feeble as a newborn babe. Er, make that calf."

All the minotaurs laughed uproariously at this. One of them started toward Nightshade.

"Whoa, I'd be careful if I were you, Tosh," said the captain, winking. "They're ferocious, these kender. Why, he might step on your little toe!"

The minotaurs grinned at their captain's humor. One offered to write to Tosh's widow if he didn't come back alive, and that drew more laughter. Rhys had no idea what Nightshade was up to, but he had confidence in his friend. He quietly watched and waited.

"I warned you," said Nightshade, and he began to waggle his finger at Tosh who was closing on him. Then the kender started to sing a little song, " 'By the bones of Krynn beneath my feet, I smite you on the beak and leave you weak.'

The minotaurs roared. Their mirth increased when Tosh suddenly collapsed and went down heavily on his knees.

"C'mon, Tosh," said the captain, when he could talk for laughing. "Quit your fooling now and get up."

"I can't, Capt'n!" Tosh howled. "He's done somethin' to me. I can't stand up nor walk nor nothin'."

The captain ceased his laughter. He stared at his man, as did the other minotaurs in silence. None of them said a word and then, suddenly, they all started laughing harder than before. The captain doubled over and wiped his streaming eyes.

Tosh howled again, this time in rage.

The captain straightened and, still chuckling, reached out his huge hand to seize the kender. Rhys leaped into the air, lashed out with his foot, and struck the minotaur in the midriff.

The blow would have crippled a human, knocked the breath from his body, sent him flying backward. The minotaur captain gasped, coughed once, and looked down at his gut in astonishment. He lifted his horned head to glare at Rhys.

"You hit me with your foot!" The captain was indignant. "That's no way for a man to fight! It's... not honorable."

He clenched fists that were the size of war hammers.

Rhys's foot ached. His leg tingled as though he'd kicked a stone wall. Hearing the other minotaur come up behind him, he tried to stand balanced, ready to fight. Atta crouched on her belly, growling and baring her teeth. Nightshade stood his ground, his spellcasting finger shifting threateningly from one minotaur to the next.

The captain eyed the three of them, and suddenly he relaxed his fists. With the flat of his hand, he clouted Rhys a blow on the shoulder that sent him staggering.