Amber and Blood

Rhys had not forgotten Gerard, however, and as he was walking down the town’s main street, cool beneath the dappling shadows of the vallenwood’s leaves, he stopped to speak to one of the town guards.

Rhys asked where he could find the sheriff and was told that Gerard was most likely in Temple Row.

“Some sort of trouble broke out there this morning, or so I heard,” the guard added.

Rhys thanked the guard for the information and continued on. Rounding a corner, he saw crowds of people-many of them bruised and bloodied-being escorted out of Temple Row by the city guard, who were pushing and shoving at stragglers and yelling at gawkers to “move along.” Rhys waited until the crowds had thi

He found Gerard assigning guards, giving them orders. Rhys waited quietly until Gerard had finished and was starting to move off, before addressing him.

“Sheriff-” Rhys began.

“Not now!” Gerard snapped brusquely, and kept walking.

“Gerard,” Rhys said, and this time Gerard recognized his voice and, halting, turned to face him.

The sheriff was red in the face; his corn colored hair was standing all on end, for he was in the habit of ru

“You,” Gerard growled. “I might have known.”

“It is good to see you, too, my friend,” said Rhys.

Gerard opened his mouth, then shut it again. His face flushed redder. He looked ashamed and reached out his hand to clasp Rhys’ hand and give it a remorseful shake.

“Forgive me. It is good to see you, Brother.” Gerard gave Rhys a rueful smile. “It’s just whenever there’s trouble involving the gods, you always seem to turn up.”

Rhys was trying to think how to answer this, but Gerard didn’t wait for a reply.

“Have you had breakfast?” The sheriff sounded and looked tired. “I’m on my way to the I

“Where’s your friend Nightshade? And Atta? Nothing’s happened to them, has it?”

“They are both fine. They are at the I

“Only a small riot,” said Gerard dryly. “There’s been discord brewing for some time now. The clerics and priests of all the gods have started snarling and snapping at each other like dogs over a bone. This morning a cleric of Chemosh got into a knock-down drag-out with a priest of Zeboim. Supporters from both sides rushed to help, and before long there was a pitched battle. To make matters worse, three of Kiri-Jolith’s paladins took it upon themselves to try to break up the fight. At the sight of the paladins, the clerics of Zeboim and Chemosh stopped fighting each other and turned on the paladins. That brought the clerics of Mishakal to their aid. And since Reorx’s worshippers like nothing better than a good brawl, they got into it, whaling on anyone they could find.

“Finally, that got boring, apparently, and someone suggested this was all Gilean’s fault and they should set fire to his temple. They were headed that direction with torches blazing when I arrived with my guards. We cracked a few heads and arrested the rest and that ended the altercation. I’ll let the holy fathers cool their heels in jail, then set them loose with a fine for disturbing the peace and destruction of property.”

“How did the fight start?” Rhys asked. “Do you know what the quarrel was about?”

“The clerics of Chemosh refused to say. Creepy bastards. I think it was a mistake to allow them to build a temple here, but Palin Majere insisted that it is not up to us to decree which gods people choose to worship. He said that so long as Chemosh’s clerics and followers don’t break the law they can have their temple. So far, they’ve behaved. Chemosh’s clerics haven’t been raising the dead or raiding graveyards-at least that I know of.

“As for Zeboim, her priests were eager to talk. They’re telling everyone that Chemosh is trying to take over as leader of the Gods of Darkness. What beats me is that all the clerics, even those of Kiri-Jolith, harbor resentment against Gilean. I have no idea why. His Aesthetics never take their noses out of their books.”

Gerard eyed Rhys. “For months, these priests and clerics have gone about their business peacefully enough and then within the space of a fortnight, they’re at each other’s throats. And now you show up. You’re personally acquainted with Zeboim. Something’s amiss in Heaven. What is it-another War of Souls?”

Rhys was silent.

“Uh, huh. I knew it.” Gerard heaved a sigh and ran his hand through his hair. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I would, my friend, and gladly, but it is extremely complicated-”

“More complicated than the goddess hauling you off to fight a death knight?” Gerard asked, half-joking and half-not.

“I’m afraid so,” said Rhys. “In fact, I am on my way to discuss the situation with the Abbot of my order to seek his advice and counsel. If you would like to accompany me-”

Gerard shook his head emphatically. “No thank you, Brother. I’ve had my fill of priests today. You go pray, and I’ll go eat. I suppose Atta’s keeping an eye on that kender of yours? I don’t want a riot to break out in the I

“Atta is with him, and I told Nightshade to meet me at the Temple.” Rhys glanced uncertainly at the guards patrolling the temple district. “Will your men let him pass?”

“The guards are here to keep an eye on things, not to prohibit anyone from going to the temples. Though if this violence breaks out again…” Gerard shook his head. “Let’s meet at my home tonight, then, Brother. I’ll fix my famous stewed chicken, and you can tell me what your Abbot says.”

“I would like that,” said Rhys. “Thank you. One other thing,” he added, as Gerard was about to depart. “What do you know of the name ‘Beckard’s Cut’?”

Gerard’s face darkened. “Don’t you recall your history lessons, Brother?”

“Not very well, I am afraid,” Rhys replied.

“Beckard’s Cut was a dark day in the a

“Who was the leader of the Dark Knights?” Rhys asked, though he knew the answer.

“That female fiend, Mina,” Gerard replied grimly. “I’ll see you tonight, Brother.”

Gerard went on his way, heading back down the street toward the I

Rhys watched him go. He wondered if the sheriff would run into Mina and, if so, would he recognize her and what would happen if he did?

I was a fool to bring up Beckard’s Cut, Rhys chided himself. Now he will be thinking about Mina. Perhaps I should go back…

Rhys looked at the green, tree-shaded grounds of Majere’s temple and he felt strongly impelled to go there, as if Majere’s hand had hold of his sleeve and was pulling him in that direction. Still Rhys stood undecided. He feared his own heart was leading him, not the hand of the god.

Rhys longed for the peaceful solitude, the tranquil serenity. At last he gave in, either to the command of the god or the wishes of his soul. He was in need of the Abbot’s advice. If Gerard did recognize Mina and came to Rhys, demanding to know what in the name of heaven was going on, Rhys trusted the Abbot would be able to explain.