“You would have let me die,” she said, accusing.
“Yes,” he replied steadily. “Better that you should have died with your glory fresh upon you than live a slave.”
“She is our god, Galdar. If you serve me, you serve her.”
“I serve you, Mina,” Galdar said, and that was the end of the conversation. Mina might have dismissed him. She might have slain him. Instead, she started off on the long trek down the Lords of Doom. He went with her. She spoke to him only once more, and that was an offer to heal his injuries. He declined. They walked to Sanction in silence and they had not talked since.
The joy at Mina’s return was tumultuous. There had been those who were sure she was dead and those who were sure she lived, and so high was the level of anxiety and fear that these two factions came to blows. Mina’s Knights argued among themselves, her commanders bickered and quarreled. Rumors flew about the streets, lies became truth, and truth degenerated into lies. Mina returned to find a city of anarchy and chaos. The sound of her name was all that it took to restore order.
“Mina!” was the jubilant cry at the gate as she appeared. “Mina!” The name rang wildly throughout the city like the joyous sound of wedding bells, and she was very nearly overrun and smothered by those who cried out how thankful they were to see her alive. If Galdar had not wordlessly swept her up in his arms and mounted her on his strong shoulders for everyone to see, she might well have been killed by love.
Galdar could have pointed out that it was Mina they cheered, Mina they followed, Mina they obeyed. He said nothing, however, and she said nothing either. Galdar heard the tales of the destruction of the totem, of the appearance of a silver dragon who had attacked the totem and who had, in turn, been attacked and blinded by Mina’s valiant troops. He heard of the perfidy and treachery of the Solamnic priestess who had joined forces with the silver dragon and how they had flown off together.
Lying on his cot, nursing his injuries, Galdar recalled the first time he’d seen the lame beggar, who had turned out to be a blue dragon. He had been in company with a blind man with silver hair. Galdar pondered this and wondered.
He went to view the wreckage. The pile of ash that had been the skulls of hundreds of dragons remained untouched, undisturbed. Mina would not go near it. She did not return to the altar room. She did not return to her room in the temple, but moved her things to some unknown location.
In the altar room, the candles had all melted into a large pool of wax colored dirty gray by the swirling ashes. Benches were overturned, some blackened from the fire. The odor of smoke and magic was all pervasive. The floor was covered with shards of amber, sharp enough to puncture the sole of a boot. No one dared enter the temple, which was said to be imbued with the spirit of the woman whose body had been imprisoned in the amber sarcophagus and was now a pile of ashes.
“At least one of us managed to escape,” Galdar told the ashes, and he gave a soldier’s salute. The body of one of the wizards was gone, as well. No one could tell Galdar what had happened to Palin Majere. Some claimed to have seen a figure cloaked all in black carry it off, while others swore that they had seen the wizard Dalamar tear it apart with his bare hands. At Mina’s command, a search was made for Palin, but the body could not be found, and finally Mina ordered the search ended.
The body of the wizard Dalamar remained in the abandoned temple, staring into the darkness, apparently forgotten, his hands stained with blood.
There was one other piece of news. The jailer was forced to admit that during the confusion of Malys’s attack, the elf lord Silvanoshei had escaped his prison cell and had not been recaptured. The elf was thought to be still in the city, for they had posted look-outs for him at the exits, and no one had seen him.
“He is in Sanction,” Mina said. “Of that you may be certain.”
“I will find him,” said the jailer with an oath. “And when I do, I will bring him straight to you, Mina.”
“I am too busy to deal with him,” said Mina sharply. “If you find him, kill him. He has served his purpose.”
Days passed. Order was restored. The elf was not found, nor did anyone really bother to look for him. Rumors were now whispered that Mina was having the ancient Temple of Duerghast, that had long been left to lie in ruins, reconstructed and refurbished. In a month’s time, she would be holding a grand ceremony in the temple, the nature of which was secret. It would be the greatest moment in the history of Krynn, one that would be long celebrated and remembered. Soon, everyone in Sanction was saying that Mina was going to be rewarded with godhood. The day Galdar first heard this, he sighed deeply. On that day, Mina came to see him.
“Galdar,” she called outside his tent post. “May I come in?” He gave a growl of acquiescence, and she entered.
Mina had lost weight—with Galdar not around, no one was there to persuade her to eat. Nor was anyone urging her to sleep, apparently, for she looked worn, exhausted. Her eyes blinked too often, her fingers plucked aimlessly at the buckles of her leather armor. Her skin was pale, except for a hectic, fevered stain on her cheeks. Her red hair was longer than he had ever known her to wear it, curled fretfully about her ears and straggled down her forehead. He did not rise to greet her, but remained sitting on his bed.
“They say you keep to your quarters because you are unwell,” Mina said, regarding him intently.
“I am doing better,” he said, refusing to meet her amber eyes.
“Are you able to return to your duties?”
“If you want me.” He laid emphasis on the word.
“I do.” Mina began to pace the tent, and he was startled to see her nervous, uneasy. “You’ve heard the talk that is going around. About my becoming a god.”
“I’ve heard it. Let me guess, Her Dark Majesty isn’t pleased.”
“When she enters the world in triumph, Galdar, then there will be no question of whom the people will worship. It’s just that . . .” Mina paused, helpless to explain, or perhaps loath to admit to the explanation.
“You are not to blame, Mina,” said Galdar, relenting and taking pity on her. “You are here in the world. You are something the people can see and hear and touch. You perform the miracles.”
“Always in her name,” Mina insisted.
“Yet you never stopped them from calling out your name,” Galdar observed. “You never told them to shout for the One God. It is always ‘Mina, Mina.’ ”
She was silent a moment, then said quietly, “I do not stop it because I enjoy it, Galdar. I cannot help it. I hear the love in their voices. I see the love in their eyes. Their love makes me feel that I can accomplish anything, that I can work miracles . . .”
Her voice died away. She seemed to suddenly realize what she had said.
That I can work miracles.
“I understand,” Mina said softly. “I see now why I was punished. I am amazed the One God forgave me. Yet, I will make it up to her.”
She abandoned you, Mina! Galdar wanted to shout at her. If you had died, she would have found someone else to do her bidding. But you didn’t die, and so she came running back with her lying tale of “testing” and “punishing.”
The words burned on his tongue, but he kept his mouth shut on them, for if he spoke them, Mina would be furious. She would turn from him, perhaps forever, and he was the only friend she had now, the only one who could see clearly the path that lay ahead of her. He swallowed the words, though they came nigh to choking him.
“What is this I hear of you restoring the old Temple of Duerghast?” Galdar asked, changing the subject.