“I’m sorry I teased you,” she said remorsefully.

Atta responded with a swipe of her tongue, to show that all was forgiven, then lay with her head on her paws to watch the crane and perhaps think wistfully of how much fun it would be to rush at the long-legged bird, barking madly.

Rhys found a peaceful scene when he entered the loggia: Nightshade asleep; Atta lying on the floor, blinking drowsily; Mina seated quietly on the bench.

Rhys placed his emmide alongside the bench and sat down beside Mina. She did not look at him, but watched the sunlight glistening on the water.

“Did your Abbot tell you how to find Godshome?” she asked.

“He did not know,” said Rhys, “but he knew of one who might.”

He thought she would ask the name of the person, and he was of two minds whether he should tell her or not. She did not ask him, however, and for that he was grateful, for he had not yet decided to seek out the Walking God.

Mina continued to sit quietly. Nightshade sighed in his sleep and flung his arm over his head and nearly rolled off his bench. Rhys carefully repositioned him. Atta stretched out on her side and closed her eyes.

Rhys allowed the soothing quiet to seep into his soul. He gave his burdens, his cares, his worries and his fears to the god. He was with Majere, seeking to attain the unattainable-the god’s perfection-when a scream shattered the peacefulness of the morning. Atta leapt to her feet with a bark. Nightshade rolled over and tumbled off the bench.

The scream was followed by shouts, all coming from Temple Row. Voices cried out in anger or fear or astonishment. Rhys heard someone yell, “Fire!” and he smelled smoke. Then came the sound of many voices chanting-a cold and unearthly sound-and more screams and wails of fear and dread, clashing steel, and the angry bellowings of minotaurs calling upon Sargonnas, and human voices shouting battle cries to Kiri-Jolith.

The smell of smoke grew stronger, and now he could see ugly black billows rolling through the temple gardens in the back, starting to drift between the columns. Atta sniffed the air and sneezed. Shouts of alarm were growing louder, coming closer.

The priests of Majere, roused from their meditations, came from various parts of the temple or the gardens where they had been working. Even in this emergency, the priests maintained their calm demeanor, moving at a walk with no sense of haste or panic. Several smiled and nodded to Rhys, and their calm was reassuring. The priests gathered around the Abbot, who had emerged from his office. He sent two out to see what was going on, kept the rest with him.

Whatever was happening in the street outside the temple, the safest place to be was in Majere’s hands.

Rhys could hear more screams now and a deep voice overriding them, shouting commands.

“That’s Gerard,” said Nightshade. Rubbing his elbow, he peered out between the columns. “Can you see? What’s going on?”

A line of trees and a tall hedgerow growing in front of the temple blocked Rhys’ view of the street, but he could see bright orange flames through the screen of leaves. Nightshade climbed on his bench.

“A building’s on fire,” he reported. “I can’t tell which one. I hope it’s not the Inn,” he added worriedly. “It’s chicken and biscuit night.”

“The fire is too close to be the Inn,” said Rhys. “It must be one of the temples.”

Mina crowded close to Rhys, keeping hold of his hand. The sound of raised voices and clashing steel was growing louder. The smoke was thicker and caught at the throat. The two priests returned to make their report. Their expressions were grave, and they spoke rapidly. The Abbot listened for a moment, then issued orders. The priests dispersed to their cells. When they returned, they carried staves and chanted prayers to Majere. Moving together, they walked at a slow and measured pace out of the temple, heading toward what now sounded like a pitched battle taking place in the street.

The Abbot came to speak to Rhys. “You and your friends should remain here within our walls, Brother. As I am sure you can hear, there is trouble in Temple Row. It is not safe to venture out.”

An unusually loud cry caused Mina to flinch. Her face went pale, and she gave a little whimper. The Abbot looked at her and his grave expression deepened.

“What’s happening, Your Monkship, sir?” Nightshade asked. “Are we at war? The Inn’s not on fire, is it? It’s chicken and biscuit night.”

“The Temple of Sargonnas is burning,” replied the Abbot. “The priests of Chemosh set it ablaze and now they are attacking the temples of Mishakal and Kiri-Jolith. Rumors have it that the priests have summoned fiends from the grave to fight for them.”

“Fiends from the grave!” Nightshade repeated excitedly. He jumped down from the bench. “You’ll have to excuse me. I almost never get the chance to talk to fiends from the grave. You have no idea how interesting they can be.”

“Nightshade, no-” Rhys began.

“I won’t be gone long. I just want to have a quick word with these fiends. You never know, I might be able to talk them into redemption. I’ll be right back, I promise-”

“Atta! Guard!” Rhys ordered, and pointed at the kender.

The dog took a stance in front of Nightshade and fixed him with her intense stare. When he moved, she moved. She never took her eyes from him.

“Rhys! It’s fiends!” Nightshade wailed. “Fiends from the grave! You wouldn’t want me to miss that, would you?”

The smoke was thicker and they could hear the crackle of flames. Mina began to cough.

“I think perhaps you should take your charges to my chambers, Brother,” said the Abbot. “The air is clearer there.”

A priest came up to the Abbot and spoke to him in urgent tones. The Abbot gave Rhys a reassuring smile, then left with the priest. Mina continued to cough. Rhys’ eyes were beginning to sting. Cinders and ash and soot rained down onto the garden outside the loggia, touching off small grass fires.

Rhys picked up his emmide. “Come with me, both of you-”

“Rhys, I honestly think I could help against the fiends,” Nightshade argued. “Depending on what sort of fiend it is, of course. There’s your Abyssal fiend and your-”

“Mina!” called a harsh voice.

She turned toward the sound of her name to see a fearsome figure clad in bone armor emerge from the coils of smoke.

“I’ve come for you,” Krell intoned. “Chemosh sent me.”

Rhys understood immediately what was going on. The battle in the street, the fire started by priests of Chemosh-all a diversion. Mina was the prize. Rhys lifted his emmide and placed himself between Krell and Mina.

“Nightshade, take Mina and run!”

The kender leaped off the bench and grabbed hold of Mina’s hand. The shouts and screams, the smoke and the fire confused and frightened her. She clung to Rhys.

Clinging to his robes, she shouted at Krell, “I won’t go!”

“Mina, we have to run,” Nightshade urged, trying to pry her loose.

She shook her head and only held more tightly to Rhys.

Krell displayed an iron ball decorated with golden bands.

“See this, Mina? This little toy is magic. When the ball strikes you, the magic will bind you tight. You won’t be able to move, and you’ll have to come with me. I’ll show you how it works. Watch this.”

Krell flung the iron ball. Nightshade made a desperate attempt to deflect it by jumping in front of Mina. The sphere had not been aimed at Mina, however.

The ball struck Rhys on the chest.

“Bind!” Krell shouted.

Golden bands uncoiled, springing out from the sphere, and encircling Rhys, clamping over his arms and legs. He struggled against the binding bands, trying to free himself, but the more he struggled, the tighter the bands clamped down on him.

Krell, smirking beneath his skull-face helm, strode toward Mina. Atta barked at him savagely and made a lunge for him. Krell grabbed hold of one of the sharp bony protuberances from his shoulder, broke it off, and made a swipe at the dog with the sharp bone. Nightshade grabbed hold of her by the scruff of her neck and dragged the snarling dog underneath a bench.