"You're not afraid of me. That is good. I like you, human. I like the kender, too. A kender with horns, by Sargas! Look at old Tosh there, flopping about like a fish on a hook!"

Reaching down with his enormous hand, the captain grabbed hold of Nightshade's collar, plucked the kender off his feet, and held him, kicking and flailing, high in the air.

"Bag him, lads."

One of the minotaurs produced a gunny sack. The captain dropped Nightshade into the sack, then reached down and grabbed hold of Acta by the scruff of her neck and flung her inside the bag along with the kender. Nightshade gave a cry that was extinguished by the sack closing over his head. The minotaur pulled the drawstring, hefted the sack, and slung it over his shoulder.

"Take them to the ship," the captain ordered.

"Aye, sir. What about Tosh?" the minotaur asked, as they were about to dash off.

Tosh was rolling about helplessly on the pavement, looking up at them with pleading eyes.

"Leave him for the city guard," the captain growled. "Serves the lubber right. Maybe I'll make the kender First Mate in his place."

"No, Capt'n, please!" Tosh groaned and struggled and succeeded only in making himself look even more pathetic.

"The rest of you get back to the ship afore the guard finds us. Leave me one of those torches."

The other minotaur ran off, carrying Nightshade and Atta with them. The captain turned to Rhys.

"What about you, human?" the minotaur asked, amusement glinting in his black eyes. "Are you going to kick me again?"

"I will come with you," Rhys said, "if you promise not to hurt my friend or the dog."

"Oh, you'll come with me, all right."

The captain laid a hand on Rhys's shoulder. Huge fingers bit deeply and painfully into Rhys's shoulder muscles, nearly paralyzing his arm. The captain propelled Rhys along, giving him a shove and another pinch when it seemed Rhys might be slowing down.

The captain glanced up ahead, to make certain his men were out of earshot, then said softly, "Could you teach me to fight like that? With my feet?" He massaged his belly and grimaced. "It is not honorable, but it would certainly take an opponent by surprise. I can still feel that blow, human."

Rhys tried to envision himself teaching the art of merciful discipline to a minotaur and gave up. The captain kept his grip tight on Rhys's arm and steered him along.

A short distance down the street, they came to the place where Rhys had flung away his staff and divested himself of his robes.

The captain saw Rhys's gaze go the staff and halted.

"I saw you toss that away. Why would you do that?" The practical minotaur shook his head. "The staff looks good and solid. The robe is serviceable and it is the color of our sea goddess's eyes."

He picked up the robes and smoothed them reverently, then tossed them at Rhys. "Nights at sea grow cold. You'll need clothes for warmth. Do you want your staff?"

From what Rhys had heard, slaves on board a minotaur ship measured their lifespan by days. If he had been carrying the blessed staff, he, Nightshade, and Atta might not now be in such dire peril. He looked at the staff, remorse filling his heart. To take it now would be wrong, like a small child who kicks his father in the shins, then runs sniveling back to his parent the moment he is in trouble.

Rhys shook his head.

"I'll take it then," said the captain. "I need something to pick my teeth."

Chuckling at his own jest, the captain reached down to pick up the staff. Rhys thrust his arms into the sleeves and was pulling the robes over his head when he heard a roar. He looked up to see the captain sucking his fingers and glaring at the staff.

Roses sprouted from the wood. Thorns as long as a man's thumb glistened in the torchlight.

"You pick it up," the captain ordered. He clamped his teeth over a thorn stuck in his palm, yanked it out, and spat it onto the street.

Rhys could barely see the staff for the tears in his eyes. He clasped his hand around it, expecting the thorns to prick his flesh, too, for he deserved the punishment far more than the minotaur. The wood was smooth to the touch. The staff did not harm him.

The captain gave the staff a wary glance. "I see now why you threw it away. The thing is god-cursed. Put it down. Leave it for some other fool to find."

"The curse is mine," said Rhys quietly. "I must bear it."

"Not aboard my ship," the captain snarled. He spat out another thorn. His eyes began to gleam. "Or maybe we should see how you handle that staff in a fight. We're alone now. Just the two of us. If you beat me, I'll give you your freedom." The minotaur reached for the hilt of the enormous sword he wore thrust into a sash around his broad waist. "Come, monk. Let's see how you handle the god-cursed staff!"

"You hold my friend and my dog hostage," Rhys pointed out. "I gave you my word I would come with you, and I will."

The captain's snout twitched. He rubbed it, eyed Rhys. "So your word means something, does it, monk?"

"It does," Rhys replied.

"What god put the curse on you?"

"Majere."

"Humpf. A stern god, that one. Not a god to cross. What did you do to anger him?"

"I betrayed someone who had put his faith and trust in me," Rhys answered steadily. "Someone who was good to me."

Minotaurs have a reputation for being savage and brutal killers. Their god, Sargonnas, was a cruel god, intent on conquest. The minotaur race knew something of honor, however, or so Rhys had heard.

The captain again rubbed his muzzle. "You deserve the curse, then."

"Yes," said Rhys. "The staff is my constant reminder."

"It will not harm me or my crew?"

"Not unless you try to touch it."

"No one will do that," said the captain, giving the staff a baleful glance. He yanked out another thorn, then, raising his head, he sniffed the air. "The tide is shifting." He nodded in satisfaction and spat out the thorn. "Make haste, monk."

Rhys fell into step beside the minotaur. He had to take two strides to every one of the beast-man's to keep up.

The minotaur's ship was anchored far out at sea, a long distance from the docks. A boat manned by stout minotaur crewmen was on hand to ferry them to the ship. Another boat, bearing Nightshade and Atta, had already set off and was crawling across the water.

Rhys sat across from the captain, who was handling the tiller. The boat jounced over the waves. Rhys watched the shoreline with its sparkling lights slip away from him. He did not curse his fate. He had brought this on himself. He hoped, somehow, to be able to bargain for the kender's life and for Atta's. It was not right they should suffer because of him.

The minotaur ship, silhouetted against the starlit sea, was a lovely thing to look at. Three-masted, it boasted a prow carved in the shape of a dragon's head. Its single bank of oars were drawn up out of the water. He watched the minotaur crew rowing the shore boat and saw the muscles ripple across their broad backs. Slaves aboard a minotaur ship manned the oars, and Rhys wondered how long he would be able to keep going in their place, chained to the bench, plying the oars in time to the rhythmic beat of the drum.

Rhys was strong, or he had been strong, before this heartbreaking journey had taken its toll. Poor food, lack of food, tramping the road, and sitting in taverns had taken its toll on both body and spirit.

As if to prove him right, weariness overcame him. His head dropped to his chest, and the next thing he knew he was being pummeled to wakefulness by one of the crew, who was pointing to a rope ladder hanging from the side of the vessel.

The small boat bobbed up and down and back and forth. The ladder was also bobbing, only neither the ladder nor the boat were doing it together. At times, they were close, and at other times an enormous chasm opened between the boat and the ship-a chasm filled with inky black seawater.

The captain had already gone aboard, ascending the rope ladder with ease. The minotaur crewmen were glaring at Rhys and pointing emphatically at the ladder. One of the minotaurs indicated with hand gestures that if Rhys didn't jump on his own, the minotaur would heave him.

Rhys lifted the staff. "I cannot jump with the staff," he said, hoping his gesture would be understood if his words were not.

The minotaur shrugged his shoulders and made a throwing motion. Rhys had the feeling the minotaur meant he should toss the staff into the sea. He considered it likely that was probably where they would both end up. He eyed the ship's rail, which seemed far, far above him, then, hefting the staff like a spear, he aimed and threw.

The staff sailed in a graceful arc up over the ship's rail and landed on the deck. Now it was Rhys's turn.

He stood on the bench, trying to time his leap with the wildly plunging boat. The rope ladder swung near him. Rhys lunged at it in desperation. He snagged it with one hand, missed with the other, and scrabbled for purchase. He very nearly lost his grip and plunged into the sea, but the minotaur boosted him from below and Rhys was able to clamber up the ladder. Two more minotaurs grabbed him as he reached the rail and hauled him over the side and dumped him on the deck.

All seemed confusion on board, with the captain bellowing orders and sailors running every which way in response, racing across the deck and climbing into the rigging. Canvas sails unfurled, and the anchor was cranked aboard. Rhys was in everyone's way, and he was bumped, shoved, trampled, and cursed. Finally a minotaur, on orders from the captain, picked Rhys up bodily and hauled him over to where crates containing cargo were being lashed to the deck.

The minotaur grunted something Rhys did not understand. He gathered from the jabbing finger that he was to stay here, out of the way.

Holding fast to the staff, Rhys watched the organized frenzy in a kind of daze until a familiar voice roused him.

"There you are! I was wondering where you'd got to."

"Nightshade?" he called, looking around and not seeing him.

"Down here," said the kender.

Rhys looked down, and there was the kender locked inside a crate. Atta, woebegone, was inside another crate. Rhys squatted down, squeezed his hand through the slats, and managed to stroke the dog on the nose.

"I'm sorry, Nightshade," he said ruefully. "I'll try to get us out of this."

"That's not going to be easy," said Nightshade morosely, peering out at Rhys from behind the slats.

The kender and Atta had been put with the rest of the livestock. A crate containing a slumbering hog was stacked next to his.

"There's something fishy about this, Rhys, and I don't mean the smell. Don't you think it's strange?"

"Yes," Rhys said grimly. "But then, I know so little about minotaurs..."

"I don't mean that. For one thing," Nightshade explained, "do you see any other prisoners? What sort of press gang goes out and only brings back two people, one of whom is a kender-though I am a I am a kender with horns," he added with considerable pride. kender with horns," he added with considerable pride.

"For another, the sight of a minotaur pirate ship anchored off a city like New Port should have the people up in arms. There ought to be bells ringing the alarm, and women screaming, and soldiers soldiering, and catapults flinging stones. Instead, the minotaurs were walking the streets as if they were at home."

"You're right," Rhys said, thoughtful.

"It's as if," Nightshade said in a hushed tone, "no one ever saw them. Except us."

He sat back on his heels in the crate and gazed at Rhys.

The ship was underway now, sailing over the ocean in a stiffening breeze. Catching the wind, the ship sliced through the water. Black waves curled back from the sides. Foam spattered Rhys's face.

With the strong wind to propel them, the oars were pulled inside. The drums were silent.

The ship's speed increased. Sails bellied out, the strain drawing them taut. The wind blew harder and harder. Rhys was nearly blown off his feet, and he clung to the rail to keep himself upright. The deck heaved, nearly plunging into the waves at one point, rising up over the tops the next. Salt water washed over the deck.

Certain they were bound to sink, Rhys looked back at the minotaurs, to see how they were reacting to this fearful journey.

The captain stood at the helm, his chest puffed out like the sails. He faced into the teeth of the wind, sucking it gratefully into his lungs. The crewmen, like Rhys, were in good spirits, drinking in the wild wind.

An enormous wave reared up beneath them. The ship slid up the surface of the wave, rising higher and higher and it kept going, taking flight.

The wave broke with a thunderous crash, far below the ship's keel. The minotaur vessel left the sea to sail the waves of night.

Atta howled in terror. Nightshade beat on the slats of the crate.

"Rhys! What's happening? I can't see! No, wait! If it's horrible, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

Nightshade waited. Rhys remained silent.

"It's horrible, isn't it," the kender said miserably, and he slumped over in his crate.

Rhys gripped the railing. The wind whipped around him. The ocean dropped away. The sea boiled and frothed far beneath the ship. Wisps of clouds fluttered like tattered sails from the mast.

"I told you so, Rhys," Nightshade shouted. "You can't quit a god!"

Rhys slid his hand over the staff. He knew every knothole and whorl, every imperfection. He could feel the grain of the wood, the stripes that marked the lifespan of the tree and told the story of its growth-the summers that were hot and dry, the gentle rains of spring, fall's glorious and defiant colors, and the silent, waiting winter. He could feel, within the staff, the breath of the god, and not just because this staff had been blessed by the god. The breath of the god was present in all living things.

The breath of god was hope.

Rhys had lost hope, or rather, he'd thrown hope away It kept coming back to him, though. Stubborn, persistent.

He stood braced on the lurching deck, the wind of a dark and evil night lashing him, the ghostly ship bearing him to some unknown destination. He rested his head on his staff and closed his eyes and looked within.

The kender was wise, as kender often are to those with the wisdom to understand.

You can't quit a god.

Book 4

The Tower Of The Blood Sea

Chapter 1.