“Months,” said Nightshade grumpily. “Months and months.”

Mina stared at him, dismayed, then she laughed. “Don’t be silly!” she said, adding impatiently, “You both are too slow. I’m going on ahead.”

“Mina, wait! The Beloved-” Rhys cried and made a grab for her, but she wriggled out of his grasp and dashed up the stairs.

“I’ll wait for you at the top!” she promised.

“Atta, go with her!” Rhys ordered and, as the dog ran off, he turned back to assist Nightshade, who was groaning with every step and rubbing his aching thighs.

“Assuming we get past the Beloved alive-which is an awfully big assume-where do we go now?” the kender asked.

“We have to find Godshome,” Rhys replied.

Nightshade scrunched up his face and eyed Rhys intently. “You were having a long conversation with Majere back there in the Solo Flabbiness. Didn’t he tell you where to find Godshome?”

Rhys shook his head and cast a worried glance up the stairs.

“Majere should have given you a map. Or pointed out landmarks,” Nightshade persisted. “You know: ‘Take the left fork at the crossroads and walk twenty paces and turn right at the lightning-struck tree.’ That sort of thing.”

“He didn’t,” said Rhys. “Godshome is not a place one can find on a map.”

“Oh, I get it,” Nightshade said gloomily. “This is one of those whatchamacallit journeys. You know-the kind that’s supposed to teach you something.”

“Spiritual journey,” said Rhys.

“Right. Gods are very big on spiritual journeys. Yet another reason I became a mystic. When I go on a journey, I like it to have a beginning, a middle, and an end. And I like for there to be an inn at the end and something good to eat. Spiritual journeys are noted for their lack of good things to eat.”

Rhys gripped his friend’s arm and hoisted him up another stair. “You are wise, as always, Nightshade. And you are right. The journey is going to be long and it could be dangerous. You and I have had this talk before, but now you understand how dangerous it can be. If you want to take your road and leave us to take ours, I will understand.”

“I would leave in a heartbeat,” stated Nightshade, “except for the free food.”

Rhys sighed. “Nightshade-”

“Rhys, Mina can magic up meat pies! Just like that!” The kender snapped his fingers. “I’d be crazy to walk away from a person who can do that, even if she is a god and nutty as a fruitcake. Speaking of cake reminds me, it must be way past dinnertime.”

They rounded a curve in the staircase and saw the landing, but no sign of Mina or the dog. Rhys halted, hushed Nightshade when he would have spoken. They both listened.

“The Beloved,” said Nightshade.

“I’m afraid so.” Rhys grabbed the kender and hustled him along.

“Maybe Majere will help us escape them.”

“I’m not sure he can,” Rhys replied.

“What about Zeboim? I’d even be glad to see her right now and I never thought I’d say that!” Nightshade said, gasping for breath.

“I do not believe any of the gods can help us. We witnessed their failure in Solace. Remember? Kiri-Jolith’s paladin could not kill the Beloved, nor could the magic of Mistress Jenna. The Beloved are bound to Mina.”

“But she doesn’t remember them!” Nightshade waved his arms wildly and almost took a tumble down the stairs. “She’s terrified of them!”

“Yes,” Rhys agreed, steadying him. “She is.”

Nightshade glared at him.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” said Rhys helplessly. “I don’t know what to tell you. Except that we must have faith-”

“In what?” Nightshade demanded. “Mina?”

Rhys patted the kender’s shoulder. “In each other.”

“‘Don’t borrow trouble’, my father used to say,” Nightshade muttered, “though dear old Dad borrowed everything else that wasn’t nailed down-”

They were interrupted by a shrill scream and the sound of pleading voices.

Mina came tumbling back down the stairs. “Mister Monk! Those horrible dead people are up there! Someone opened the door-”

“Someone?” Nightshade growled.

“I guess I may have opened it,” Mina admitted. Her face was pale, her amber eyes wide. She looked plaintively at Rhys. “I know you told me to stay with you. I’m sorry I didn’t.” She took hold of his hand, clasping it firmly. “I’ll stay with you now. I promise. But I don’t think the dead people are going to let us out,” she added with a quiver in her voice. “I think they want to hurt me.”

“You should have thought of that before you made them dead!” Nightshade shouted.

Mina stared at him in bewilderment. “Why are you yelling at me? I don’t know anything about them. I hate them!” She burst into tears and, flinging her arms around Rhys, she buried her head against his stomach.

“Mina, Mina…” the Beloved called.

They were gathering on the landing, massing beneath the arched entry way. Rhys could not count their numbers. None of them were looking at him. None looked at Nightshade or Atta. The Beloved’s dead eyes were fixed on Mina. The dead mouths formed her name.

Mina peeked out from the folds of Rhys’ robes and, seeing the Beloved staring at her, she cringed and whimpered. “Don’t let them take me!”

“I won’t. Don’t be afraid. We have to keep moving,” Rhys said, trying to speak calmly.

“No, I won’t!” Mina clung to Rhys, dragging him back. “Don’t make me go up there!”

“Nightshade, take my staff,” said Rhys. He reached down and picked up the girl. “Keep tight hold.”

Mina flung her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist and hid her face against his shoulder. “I’m not going to look!”

“I wish I didn’t have to look,” Nightshade muttered. “You wouldn’t want to carry me, too, would you?”

“Keep walking,” Rhys said.

They climbed the stairs, moving slowly, but steadily. One of the Beloved took a step toward them. Nightshade froze, sheltering behind Rhys. Atta barked and lunged, jaws wide, teeth flaring. Mina screamed and hung onto Rhys so tightly she nearly choked him.

“Atta! Leave it!” Rhys commanded sharply, and the dog fell back. Atta padded along at his side, growling a warning, her lip curled back to show her fangs.

“Keep moving,” Rhys said to the kender.

Nightshade kept moving, crowding close behind Rhys. The Beloved paid no attention to monk, kender or dog.

“Mina!” cried the Beloved, reaching out to her. “Mina.”

She shook her head and kept her face hidden. Rhys placed his foot on the last stair. He raised himself slowly. Ascending the last stair, he stood on the landing beneath the archway.

The Beloved blocked his way.

Nightshade closed his eyes and hung onto Rhys’ robes with one hand and the emmide with the other.

“We’re dead,” said Nightshade. “I can’t look. We’re dead. I can’t look.”

Rhys, holding Mina in his arms, took a step forward into the throng of Beloved.

The Beloved hesitated, then, their eyes fixed on Mina, they fell back to let him pass. Rhys heard them move in behind him. He continued to walk at a slow and even pace, and they passed beneath the archway and into the main hall. He halted, overwhelmed with dismay. Nightshade made a choking sound.

The Beloved had invaded the tower. The spiral staircase continued upward to the very top of the tower and the Beloved stood on every stair. The Beloved massed in the hallway, their bodies pressed against each other, jostling and shoving, as each tried to glimpse Mina. And more Beloved were pushing their way through the entrance, shoving their way inside.

“There are thousands!” Nightshade gulped. “Every Beloved in Ansalon must be here.”

Rhys had no idea what to do. The Beloved could kill them even without meaning to. If they surged forward to seize Mina, the press of bodies would crush them.

“Mina,” said Rhys, “I have to set you down.”

“No!” she whimpered, clinging to him.

“I have to,” he repeated firmly and he lowered her to the floor.