“Well, Brother,” said Jenna after a moment, “that is quite a story.”
Rhys inclined his head but did not comment.
Nightshade cleared his throat and said loudly, “Say, I smell pork chops. Does anyone else smell pork chops?”
Gerard sat forward. “We believe we have located one of these Beloved. What I propose is that we arrange to set a trap for him—”
“For ‘it’,” Dominique corrected. “These Beloved are shells of flesh, nothing more. The soul has managed to escape, or so I devoutly hope and pray.”
“It, then,” Gerard said grimly, remembering that “it” had been a friend. “We will set a trap for it. We must try to take Cam unawares, question him—it.”
Jenna was skeptical. “We can try to interrogate the Beloved, but I don’t think we’ll find out anything worthwhile. As the paladin says, the soul has departed. This is nothing more than a mindless slave of Chemosh. If left alive, it will commit more heinous crimes in the name of the Lord of Undeath. I think we should destroy it.”
“I agree,” said Dominique firmly. “Though from what Brother Rhys has told us, destroying it may not be easy.”
Rhys looked from one to the other in astonishment that warmed to a feeling of overwhelming relief. They believed him. He had been fighting this terrible battle with only two friends—a dog and a kender—to aid him. Now he had allies, formidable allies. Now he could share at least part of this unbearably heavy burden.
When Gerard asked for Rhys’s opinion, Rhys could not immediately answer. At last he said, his voice husky, “I am afraid I agree with them, Sheriff. I know that this Cam is known to you, but the paladin of Kiri-Jolith is right. This being is not the young man you knew. It is a mindless, soulless monster that will kill again if not stopped.”
“That’s all very easy for you three to say, but I can’t be going about murdering the citizens of Solace!” Gerard exclaimed wrathfully. “The townsfolk would be up in arms if I let a wizard roast poor Cam to cinders or a paladin stick a holy sword through him! People won’t see him as a monster. They’ll see Cam—the kid who won the sack race at the fair last year! Damn it, I need to be able to talk to him. I need proof he is one of the Beloved. I would think you two would want proof, as well. I mean, we all trust Brother Rhys, but—”
Mistress Jenna raised her hand.
“I understand, Sheriff,” she said mildly. “If you need us to capture this thing alive, we will do our best to capture it.”
She exchanged glances with Dominique, as much to say they must humor the poor man, then she continued smoothly, “What is your plan for this trap, Sheriff?”
“I was thinking of detaining him on his way home from work, then take him to my office where we could all have a talk.”
“That is far too dangerous, Sheriff,” protested Dominique. “Not only for yourself, but for innocent bystanders. We have no idea what havoc this thing could wreak if it felt cornered.”
Gerard sighed and ran his hand through his yellow hair, causing it to resemble a stand of corn after a high wind. “Well, what do you suggest, sir?” he asked glumly.
“I have an idea,” said Rhys. “The Beloved arranged to meet this girl at a place known locally as ‘Flint’s Lookout.’ This is located outside of Solace, just off the main road leading into town. It’s the highest point for miles around with a good view of the city. We could wait for the Beloved there. Few people travel the road after nightfall. It’s isolated and a safe distance from town.”
Mistress Jenna was nodding her head.
“A good plan,” said Dominique.
Gerard glanced around at them. “I want to make one thing clear. You give me a chance to talk to Cam first, alone. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” said Mistress Jenna, rather too readily, or so Rhys thought. “I, for one, would be interested to hear what one of these creatures has to say.”
Gerard grunted. Though bringing these two to Solace had been his idea, he was clearly not happy with any of this. They arranged a meeting time, then Mistress Jenna, rising, politely indicated it was time to leave.
“I have spells to study,” she said, adding, with an apologetic glance at Gerard, “Just in case.”
“And I have evening prayers at the temple,” said Dominique.
“And I have pork chops in the kitchen!” cried Nightshade happily.
The kender was the first out the door and down the stairs. Atta, after a glance at Rhys, received permission to accompany him. The paladin followed, and Mistress Jenna closed and locked her door, leaving Gerard and Rhys alone together.
“I really hate this!” Gerard muttered. “I know—I brought these two here to help stop these Beloved, but I didn’t know it would be Cam! I’ve watched that kid grow up. When I was posted here before the War of Souls, Cam was always hanging around the barracks. All he could talk about was wanting to be a knight. I taught him how to use a sword. They can say all they want about this monster not being him, but it has his smile, his laugh—”
Gerard stopped his ranting. He looked at Rhys, gave a rueful sigh, and ran his hand through his hair again.
“You are in a difficult position, Sheriff,” Rhys said quietly. “I will do what I can to help you.”
“Thanks, Brother,” Gerard said gratefully. “You know, sometimes I wish I’d been born a kender. No worries. No cares. No responsibilities. Nothing but pork chops. See you tonight, Brother. I’d ask you to say a prayer, but we’re up to our eyeballs in gods as it is.”
He ran down the stairs, hastening off on his own business. Rhys followed more slowly. He thought regretfully of that feeling of relief he’d experienced.
It hadn’t lasted long.
7
Flint’s Lookout was located atop a hill overlooking Solace. Gerard and his team assembled near the boulder where, according to local legend, the famed Hero of the Lance, Flint Fireforge, had stopped to rest on the momentous night when a Plains woman and a blue crystal staff had brought word of the return of the true gods, and the War of the Lance had begun.
The view was spectacular. Smoke from cook fires drifted lazily into the air. The sun’s dying rays glinted orange off Crystalmir Lake and sparkled in the diamond-paned windows of the Inn of the Last Home, one of the few buildings visible through the thick foliage of the vallenwood trees.
“It is lovely,” said Mistress Jenna, looking about. “So peaceful and quiet. The past seems very close here. One could almost expect the old dwarf to come walking over the hillside, along with his friend the kender. They would have more right to be here than we do.”
“We have problems enough with undead without you conjuring up more ghosts, Mistress,” said Gerard. He meant it as a jest, but in the tense atmosphere, it fell flat. No one laughed. “We better take our places before night falls.”
They left the road and the old dwarf’s boulder and entered the outskirts of the forest that blanketed the hillside. They walked among firs and oaks, maples and walnuts, coming to a halt when Gerard deemed they couldn’t be seen from the road, yet the road was still in sight.
“We have some time before Cam is due to come,” Gerard said.
He had made the walk in grim and somber silence, punctuated occasionally by soft, inward sighs. Rhys’s heart ached for his friend, but he knew only too well there was nothing he could say that would bring any comfort.
“I brought a blanket to keep off the damp.” Gerard unrolled a blanket and spread it on a bed of dead pine needles. “We might as well be comfortable while we wait.”
He gestured to the blanket with bluff gallantry. “Mistress Jenna, please be seated.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Jenna replied with a smile. “But I am not as limber as I was in my twenties. If I sat down on that blanket, it would take three gully dwarves and a gnomish infernal device to hoist me onto my feet again. If no one has any objections, I will commandeer this tree trunk.”