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 both going to escape." going to escape."

"We'll talk about that after after you're free," Rhys countered. 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 followed. He removed his boots from the manacles and eyed them ruefully.

"Every dog from six shires will be chasing after me," the kender said grumpily. He pulled on his greasy boots and, grabbing another hunk of salt pork, bent down next to Rhys. "Your turn."

"Nightshade, look." Rhys pointed to the manacles that fit close around his bony ankles. He held up the manacles that were clamped tightly over his wrists, so tightly they had rubbed the skin raw.

Nightshade looked. His lower lip quivered. "It's my fault."

"No, of course, it isn't your fault, Nightshade," said Rhys, shocked. "What makes you think that?"

"If I were a proper kender, you wouldn't be stuck here to die!" Nightshade cried. "I would have lock-pick tools, you see, and I could pick these locks like that." He snapped his fingers, or tried to. Due to the grease, the snap didn't come off very well. "My father gave me my set of lock-pick tools when I was twelve, and he tried to teach me how to use them. I wasn't very good. Once I dropped the pick and it went 'bang!' and woke up the whole house. Another time the pick went right through the lock-I'm still not sure how-and ended up on the wrong side of the door, and I lost that one..."

Nightshade crossed his arms over his chest. "I won't go! You can't make me.'"

"Nightshade," said Rhys firmly. "You have to."

"No, I don't."

"It's the only way to save me," Rhys said in solemn tones.

Nightshade looked up.

"I've been thinking," Rhys continued. "We're on the Blood Sea. We must be somewhere close to Flotsam. There is a temple of Majere in Flotsam-"

"There is? That's wonderful!" Nightshade cried, excited. "I can run to Flotsam and find the temple, round up the monks, bring them back, and they'll kick butt and we'll all rescue you!"

"That's an excellent plan," said Rhys.

Nightshade scrambled to his feet. "I'll leave right now!"

"You must take Atta with you," Rhys said. "For protection. Flotsam is a lawless town, or so I've heard."

"Right! C'mon, Atta!" Nightshade whistled.

Atta rose to her feet but didn't follow. She looked at Rhys. She sensed something wasn't right.

"Atta, guard," he said and pointed at the kender.

He often had her "guard" something, which meant she was to watch over an object, not let anyone near it. He'd left her to guard sick sheep while he went to go seek help. He'd often told her to guard Nightshade.

In this case, however, Rhys wasn't leaving. He was staying, and the object she was supposed to guard was leaving. He didn't know if she would understand and obey. She was accustomed to watching over the kender, however, and Rhys hoped she would go along with this now as she had done in the past. He had thought of trying to form a leash for her, but she had never known what it was to be tied up. He guessed that she would fight a leash and he didn't have time for that. Night was coming very fast.

"Atta, here."

The dog came to him. He put his hands over her head and looked into her brown eyes.

"Go with Nightshade," he said. "Watch him. Guard him."

Rhys drew her near and kissed her gently on the forehead. Then he let her go.

"Call her again."

"Atta, come," said Nightshade.

Atta looked at Rhys. He gestured toward the kender.

"Walk away now," Rhys ordered Nightshade. "Quickly."

Nightshade obeyed, walking toward the grotto's entrance. Atta cast one more look at Rhys, then she obediently followed the kender. Rhys breathed a soft sigh.

Nightshade paused. "We'll be back soon, Rhys. Don't-don't: go anywhere."

"Be safe, my friend," Rhys replied. "You and Atta take care of each other."

"We will." Nightshade hesitated, then turned and bolted out of the cave. Atta dashed after the kender, just as she'd done many times before.

Rhys sank back against the rock wall. Tears came to his eyes, but he smiled through them.

"Forgive me the lie, Master," he said quietly.

In all the long history of the monks of Majere, they had never built a temple in Flotsam.

Chemosh was always in the Hall of the Souls Passing and he went there very little-a contradiction that can be explained by the fact that one of the aspects of the Lord of Death was always present in the Hall, seated on his dark throne, reviewing all those souls who had left their mortal flesh behind and were about to embark on the next stage of the eternal journey.

Chemosh rarely returned to this aspect of himself. This place was too isolated, too far removed from the world of gods and men. The other gods were prohibited from coming to the Hall, lest they exert undue interference on the souls undergoing judgment.

The Lord of Death was permitted his final chance to try to sway souls to his evil cause, to prevent them from traveling on, to seize them and keep them. Souls who had learned life's lessons were easily able to avoid his snares, as were innocent souls, such as those of infants.

One of the gods of Light or Neutrality could intercede on behalf of a soul, but only by casting a blessing on that soul before it entered the Hall. One such soul was standing before the onyx and silver throne now-a soul that was blackened yet shot through with blue light. The man had committed foul deeds, yet he had sacrificed his life to save children trapped in a fire. His soul's journey would not be easy, for he still had much to learn, but Mishakal blessed him, and he managed to escape the bony, grasping hand of the Lord of Death. When Chemosh snagged a soul, he would seize it and fling it into the Abyss or send it back to inhabit the dead body that would now become its dreadful prison.

The gods of Dark might claim souls as well. Souls already promised to Morgion or cursed by Zeboim would enter the Hall bound in chains to be handed over by the Lord of Death to those gods they had sworn to serve.

Chemosh in his "mortal" aspect came to the Hall only during those times when he was deeply troubled. He enjoyed being reminded of his power. No matter what god a mortal worshipped in life, when that life ended, every soul stood before him. Even those who denied the existence of the gods found themselves here-a bit of a shock for most. They were judged on how they had lived their lives, not by whether or not they had professed a belief in a god during that life. A sorceress who had helped people throughout her life was sent on her way, while the grasping, covetous soul who had regularly cheated customers, yet never missed a prayer service, fell victim to the blandishments of the Lord of Death and ended up in the Abyss.

Some souls could have departed but chose not to. A mother was reluctant to leave her little children; a husband did not want to leave his wife. These remained bound to those they loved until they could be persuaded that it was right for them to continue on, that the living had to go on with their lives and the dead should move forward as well.

Chemosh stood in the Hall watching the line of souls form, a line that was meant to be eternal, and he recalled the terrible time when the line had come to an abrupt and unexpected end. The time when the last soul had appeared before him, and he had looked about in an astonishment that knew no bounds. The Lord of Death had risen from his throne for the first time since he'd taken his place there at the start of creation, and he had stormed out of the Hall in a rage only to find that Takhisis had stolen away the world and taken the souls with her.

Chemosh had then learned the truth of a mortal adage: One never appreciated what one had until it was lost.

One also vowed that one would never lose it again.

Chemosh watched the souls come before him, and he listened to their stories, and wheeled and dealed and passed his judgment, and seized a few and let go a few, and waited to feel the warm glow of satisfaction.

It did not come this day. He felt distinctly dissatisfied. What was supposed to go right was going all wrong. He'd lost control, and he had no idea how it had slipped away. It was as if he were cursed...

With that word, he realized suddenly why he had been drawn here, realized what it was he sought.

He stood in the Hall of Souls Passing, and he saw again the first soul that had come before him when the world was returned-the mortal soul of Takhisis. All the gods had been present at her passing. He heard again her words-part desperate plea and part defiant snarl.

"You are making a mistake!" Takhisis had said to them. "What I have done cannot be undone. The curse is among you. Destroy me, and you destroy yourselves."

Chemosh could not judge her. None of the gods could do that. She had been one of them, after all. The High God had come to claim the soul of his lost child, and the reign of Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, was ended, and time and the universe continued on.

Chemosh had thought nothing of her prediction then. Rants, ravings, threats-Takhisis had spewed such venom for eons. He could not help but think of it now, think of it and wonder uneasily just what the late and unlamented Queen had meant.

There was one person who might know, one person who'd been closer to the Takhisis than anyone else in history. The one person he'd banished from his sight.

Mina.

Chapter 9.

Nightshade left the grotto with a heavy heart-a heart that was too heavy to stay properly in his chest but sank down to his stomach, where it took offense to the salt pork and gave him a bellyache. From there, his heart sank still further, adding its weight to his feet so they moved slower and slower, until it was an effort to make them move at all. His heart grew heavier the farther he went.

Nightshade's brain kept telling him he was on an Urgent Mission to save Rhys. The problem was his heart didn't believe it, so that not only was his heart down around his shoes, flummoxing his feet, his heart was in an argument with his head, not to mention the salt pork.

Nightshade ignored his heart and obeyed his head. The head was Logic, and humans were impressed with Logic and were always stressing how important it was to behave logically. Logic dictated Nightshade would stand a better chance of rescuing Rhys if he brought back help in the form of monks of Majere than if he-a mere kender-stayed with Rhys in the grotto. It was the Logic of Rhys's argument that had persuaded Nightshade to leave, and this same Logic kept him moving ahead when his heart urged him to turn around and run back.

Atta stayed close at his heels, as she'd been commanded. Her heart must have bothered her as well, for she kept stopping, drawing severe scoldings from the kender.

"Atta! Here, girl! You've got to keep up with me!" Nightshade admonished. "We don't have time for lollygagging about."

Atta would trot after him because that was what she'd been told to do, but she was not happy, and neither was Nightshade.

The walking itself was another problem. Solinari and Lunitari were both in the sky this night. Solinari was half-full and Lunitari completely full, so that it seemed the moons were winking at Nightshade like mismatched eyes. He could see the ridgeline up above where he walked and he calculated-logically-that on top of this ridge he would find a road, and that road would lead to Flotsam. The ridge didn't look to be that far away-just a hop, skip, and a jump over some sand dunes, followed by a scramble among some boulders.

The sand dunes proved difficult to navigate, however. Hop, skip, and jump failed utterly. The sand was loose and squishy and slid out from underneath his boots that were already slick from the salt pork. He envied Atta, who pattered along on top of the sand, and wished he had four feet. Nightshade floundered through the sand for what seemed forever, spending more time on his hands and knees than he did on his feet. He grew hot and worn out, and whenever he looked he found the ridge appeared to be moving farther away.

All things do come to an end, however, even sand dunes. This left the boulders. Nightshade figured boulders had to be better than dunes, and he started climbing the ridge with relief.

Relief that soon evaporated.

He didn't know boulders came in such immense sizes or that they would be this sharp, or that climbing them would be this difficult, or that the rats living among the boulders would be this big and nasty. Fortunately, he had Atta with him, or the rats might have carried him off, for they weren't in the least afraid of a kender. They did not like the dog, however. Atta barked at the rats. They glared at her with red eyes, chittered at her, then slunk away.

After only a short sojourn among the boulders, Nightshade's hands were cut and bleeding. His ankle hurt from where he'd slipped and wedged it in a crack. He had to stop once to throw up, but that at least took care of the salt pork problem.

Then, just when it seemed like these boulders must go on forever, he reached the top of the ridge.

Nightshade stepped out on the road that would take him to Flotsam and the monks, and he looked up the road and he looked down the road. His first thought was that the word "road" was paying this strip of rocky wagon ruts a compliment it did not deserve. His second though was more somber. The so-called road stretched on and on, as far as he could see in both directions.

There was no city at the end of either direction.

Flotsam was immense. He'd heard stories about Flotsam all his life. Flotsam was a city that never slept. It was a city of torchlight, tavern lights, bonfires on the beaches, and home fires shining in the windows of the houses. Nightshade had assumed that when he reached the road, he'd be able to see Flotsam's lights.

The only lights he could see were the cold, pale stars and the maddening winking eyes of the two moons.

"So where is it?" Nightshade turned one way, and then the other. "Which way do I go?"

Truth sank home. Truth sank his heart. Truth sank logic.

"It doesn't matter which way Flotsam is," said Nightshade in sudden, awful realization. "Because no matter which way Flotsam is, it's too far. Rhys knew it! He knew we'd never make it to Flotsam and back in time. He sent us away because he knew he was going to die!"

The kender sat down in the dirt and, wrapping his arms around the dog's neck, he hugged her close. "What are we going to do, Atta?"

In answer, she pulled away from him and ran back to the boulders. Halting, she looked at him eagerly and wagged her tail.

"It won't do any good to go back, Atta," said Nightshade miserably. "Even if I could climb down those stupid rocks again without breaking my neck, which I don't think I can, it wouldn't matter."

He wiped the sweat from his face.

"We can't save Rhys, not by ourselves. I'm a kender and you're a dog. We need help."

He sat in the road, mired in despair, his head in his hands. Atta licked his cheek and nudged him with her nose under his armpit, trying to prod him into action.

Nightshade lifted his head. A thought had occurred to him, a thought that made him burning mad.

"Here we are, Atta, half-killing ourselves to help Rhys, and what is his god doing all this time? Nothing, that's what! Gods can do anything! Majere could have put Flotsam where we could find it. Majere could have made that squishy sand hard and those sharp boulders soft. Majere could make Rhys's chains fall off! Majere could send me six monks right now, walking along the road to save Rhys. Do you hear that, Majere?" Nightshade hollered up to heaven.

He waited a few moments, giving the god a chance, but six monks did not appear.

"Now you've done it," said the kender ominously, and he stood up on his two feet, and he gazed up into the heavens, put his hands on his hips and gave the god a talking-to.