by C. J. Archer
Dane and Erik both drew their swords. "Let the man go on his way peacefully," Dane said.
The constables eyed them up and down, while Quentin quickly tucked the money from the bowl into the beggar's clothes, as well as the coins Dane handed him. One of the constables moved his horse forward to follow the beggar as he hurried off, but Erik maneuvered his horse to block the way.
"Now you go," Erik said. "That way." He pointed his sword in the opposite direction to where the beggar had gone.
The constables gave him a fierce look but must have decided not to test the big Marginer. They steered their horses away. We waited until they were out of sight and continued on, warier than ever.
The walls of the grand residences gave way to the municipal buildings situated around a vast paved square. Made of dark stone with turreted roofs, they were as solid, imposing and grim as the castle. The heavy presence of constables at the front of the grandest structure identified it as the council building.
We headed towards the temple of Merdu's Guards, occupying the entire north side of the square. Instead of stopping out the front, we passed it, turned a corner and stopped at a second entrance. Two arched doors positioned between white columns could be opened to allow carriages through. On the stone lintel the words For The Glory Of Merdu were carved between two long horizontal swords. According to Rhys's directions, this must be the garrison where the warrior priests lived and trained.
Dane opened the carriage door and assisted Balthazar down the step. "Stay hidden," he said to Kitty. "The priests know you, and I'm not yet ready to inform them of our duplicity."
I got out to stretch my legs, and I nodded at the priest who'd opened the door to receive us. He smiled back and invited Balthazar inside.
Balthazar hesitated.
"I've got your pack," Quentin told him. "Go on in, Bal. This is your home."
Balthazar looked to me. "Are you coming, Josie?"
"I can't," I said. "Women aren't allowed."
"I forgot." He rubbed his forehead. "My memory isn't what it used to be." He smiled, and I laughed.
I hugged him and received a brisk pat on the back in response. "Goodbye," I said. "And take care."
"This isn't goodbye." He flapped his hand at me. "Stop making a fuss. I'll see you tomorrow."
He walked off, his walking stick tapping on the cobblestones. Quentin followed with Balthazar's belongings, and Dane went inside too. The priest shut the door.
Some moments later, a piercing whistle sounded and both the doors opened. A rider approached and rode straight through without stopping. The doors were shut behind him.
"Wasn't that Rhys?" Meg asked.
"Aye," Max said. "He's in a hurry."
When Dane and Quentin returned, we set off again. Kitty peeked through the curtain and pointed out the best goldsmith shop, and the finest cloth and wine merchants. I was hardly listening. I couldn't help thinking how strange it must be for Balthazar, being in a place that was his home yet unfamiliar, with people who were his friends yet he didn't know them. Hopefully something in the temple or garrison would jog his memory.
Dane, Theodore, Max, Quentin and Erik left the inn early the following morning. They planned to show their faces and ask questions about missing people at the river docks. Tonight, they'd frequent the inns and taverns in the area. If they had no luck, they'd try the markets tomorrow, and then move outward from there. The city was so large that it would take weeks to cover every street. Hopefully someone would recognize them soon.
Kitty had the opposite problem. She didn't want to be recognized and had to remain indoors. Meg and I kept her company, but I was regretting my decision by midday. I itched to explore the city and help the men. Kitty and Meg seemed just as bored. Our idle chatter grew stale, and there were only so many card games we could play.
"I don't know how the noblewomen can play so many rounds," I said, throwing down my hand after losing to Kitty yet again.
"Wine helps," Kitty said, gathering the cards. "Lots of it. And gossip. Do either of you know any gossip?"
"Not about people you know," Meg said.
"Tell me something scandalous. I don't care who it's about. The ruder the better."
Meg and I exchanged a glance. "We could tell her about Teddy having an affair with another man's wife. Oh, I know! Olleander's baby."
"What about Olleander's baby?" Kitty asked.
"He had Zemayan coloring."
"And neither she nor her husband are Zemayan?" Kitty clapped her hands. "This is excellent gossip. How did her husband react?"
We were saved from giving her the details by Erik's return.
"The others are still at the river," he said, removing his sword belt. "It is a very large dock, with many people."
"Any luck yet?" Meg asked.
He shook his head. "No one knows us, and no one is missing."
"Why did you come back?" I asked.
He indicated his forehead tattoos. "The people stare at me. Some spit."
"That's awful," Meg said. "I thought Tilting was a diverse city."
"It is," Kitty said. "But I have never seen a Marginer here. Freedlanders, Dreens and Vytillians abound, and there are a handful of Zemayans, but not a single Marginer. I thought they might be found at the docks. I am sorry for the behavior of my fellow countrymen, Erik."
"Do not apologize. I like it better in here with the ladies. So what are we doing?" He rubbed his hands together. "Cards? I like cards. I win many times."
"You won't today," Kitty said. "I'm very good."
"A challenge! I accept. Josie, deal."
We played a few rounds before another arrival put an end to card games.
"Balthazar!" I embraced him before he'd even stepped through the doorway. "It's so good to see you."
His thick brows drew together. "You must be bored." He pointed his walking stick at Erik. "Shouldn't you be out searching for your identity?"
"I do not like Tilting," Erik said. "The people are not nice. Not like Mull."
"It is certainly a different place," Balthazar muttered. "It took an age for the carriage to get here through the traffic. I would have been quicker on foot."
"The priests gave you a carriage?" I asked. "That's generous."
"They have several carriages, and I have my pick of them. The position of archivist is a senior one, and the use of vehicles is one of the privileges. A larger room to myself is another, although it's very bare."
Erik nodded sagely. "You are old, it is true."
"Is it the same room as the one you occupied before you left?" I asked.
Balthazar nodded. "The new archivist, Elliot—my assistant back then—insisted on vacating it. He thought staying in my old room might help my memory loss."
"And did it?"
"Not a bit." He sighed as he eased himself onto a chair.
"Any clues in the room as to why you left all those months ago?" I asked.
"No. Nothing in my office either. Brother Elliot showed me the text he believes I was reading at the time. It might be a clue but I don't know what answer it points to. I don't even know the question."
"What was it about?"
"It was a collection of accounts about the Freedlandian civil war of forty years ago. They were all written by various priests, including the Master of Merdu's Guards at the time. The warrior priests fought there."
"On whose side?"
"The royalists."
"So they failed," Meg said.
"One of the few times throughout their history, according to Elliot. He says the order doesn't like to talk about it, which is a shame. The lack of discussion means the younger generation knows very little about the order's involvement in Freedland's civil war."
"You'll have to seek out the older generation," I said. "There must be people your age who remember it."
"Warriors don't have long lives. Even the retired priests who still live on the premises weren't in the order forty years ago. That's why I'm going to visit another pr
iest now. Apparently he's as ancient as me." He smiled. "We were good friends, so the brothers tell me. Very good friends. There was a letter from him waiting for me at the garrison, urging me to visit him at my earliest convenience."
"Then what are you waiting for?" I said. "Go and see him."
He folded both hands over the head of his walking stick. "I hoped to find Theodore here, but you'll have to do, Josie."
"For what?"
He cleared his throat. "To accompany me."
I tried very hard not to smile. "I'll be happy to."
Balthazar's very good friend turned out to be none other than the high priest himself. The most senior priest in all of Glancia oversaw every order in the kingdom and answered only to the Supreme Holiness in the city of Fahl, located in Vytill. He lived in the temple I'd seen on our way into Tilting with the enormous bell tower looking down on the streets below. Positioned next to the old king's castle at the heart of the city, it would be where the monarch worshipped. The temple of Merdu's Guards, while impressive in both size and location, was for the private use of the warrior priests. It wasn't as daunting as the high temple.
I tilted my head back to take in the view of the bell tower. The spire seemed to pierce the scudding clouds and the bell itself seemed small, yet I'd heard it ringing for morning prayers from our inn, some distance away.
"I wish you'd told me your friend was the high priest," I said.
"Would it have made a difference?" Balthazar asked.
"I might have worn a nicer dress."
"He's a priest. He doesn't have worldly possessions. He won't care if you're wearing a potato sack."
Balthazar had sent the high priest a message to say he was on his way, so we were expected and shown immediately to his office. The temple reminded me of the palace with rooms dedicated to both public and private use. Like the palace, ceilings were high and rooms could be vast. But the similarity ended there. While we didn't enter the room where the public worshipped, the audience chamber and other rooms were simply furnished. There was no gold or silver, no glass in the windows, no plaster on the walls. The temple's stonework was left exposed, covered in places with enormous tapestries. Even in these early autumnal days the rooms were chilly. They must be freezing in winter.
The sound of our footsteps on the flagstone floor announced our progress before the priest escorting us opened the final door to the high priest's office. It must be used as a meeting place, because it was very similar to the main audience chamber, only smaller. In the center of the floor was the same mosaic tiled image of the bright yellow sun, each ray touching a different scene. In one, Merdu was shown creating the world by throwing thunder bolts down from his perch on a cloud. In another scene, the god raised a sword above the head of a cowering Zemayan, and in a third scene, he watched over a field of wheat. Hailia was depicted in only two scenes, one with a baby in her arms and, in the other, she healed a sick man with a hand to his heart.
The mosaic was clearly meant to be the room's best feature. All chairs had been pushed to the edges except for the one behind the large desk on which a man with white hair and neat white beard sat.
"Bal!" He rushed out from behind the desk, arms extended, a warm smile on his face. "How I've missed you, friend." He embraced Balthazar, only to quickly pull away, his smile turning awkward. Balthazar hadn't returned the embrace. "Come in, sit. Tell me about your adventures at the palace." He signaled for the priest to leave, then his gaze fell on me.
"This is Miss Joselyn Cully," Balthazar said. "A friend from Mull."
I curtsied and said, "Your Eminence." The title was correct, but I wasn't sure about the curtsy.
The high priest smiled. "Welcome, Miss Cully. Any friend of Bal's is a friend of mine."
He walked back to the desk at a steadier pace compared to Balthazar. He wore a black robe, not brown like the regular priests and priestesses, his belt clasped with a gold buckle in the shape of the sun; an ordinary priest's belt was made of rope and was simply tied in a knot without a clasp. Balthazar's belt hung loosely from his thin frame, but the high priest's was tight over a portly belly.
The buckle was the only adornment on the high priest's person. Indeed, it was the only piece of gold in the room. It would seem the abandonment of worldly goods extended to the second highest office in The Fist's priesthood.
The high priest offered us wine, served in plain wooden cups, and pushed a bowl of nuts toward Balthazar. "You look as though you haven't eaten properly since leaving here. Didn't they feed you at the palace?"
"I wasn't this thin the last time you saw me?" Balthazar asked.
The high priest shook his head sadly. "The food at the guards' temple is awful. I've tried it myself." He pulled a face. "But you were never like this. You seem…older."
"I am older, by a year, apparently."
The high priest's wrinkled features settled into grim lines. "Master Rhys's letter told me you'd lost your memory. He says that's why you never wrote to inform us of your whereabouts. It seems so remarkable, so fantastical."
"Yet it's true."
The high priest smiled. "Thank the goddess for your safe return. She watched over you. Although she has not fed you sufficiently." He nudged the bowl of nuts closer to Balthazar. "Eat, eat."
Balthazar took a nut and nibbled. He didn't look comfortable sitting across from the high priest, and that worried me. In the palace, he'd been authoritative, even toward the king. Leon had looked up to Balthazar when I first met them. Leon might have been the ruler of all Glancia, but Balthazar had been the ruler of the palace.
"Master Rhys said you have no recollection of how you ended up at the palace or why you were employed there." The high priest separated his clasped hands and drew them together again, resting them on his stomach. "Didn't you ask?"
Rhys had agreed not to tell anyone about the rest of the servants' memory loss, but he'd said it was necessary to inform the high priest of Balthazar's, since he'd immediately know something was amiss upon seeing him again. He'd also agreed not to mention magic in his letter, leaving the decision up to Balthazar. In the carriage, Balthazar told me he hadn't yet decided whether he would say anything about the sorcerer and Leon's use of magic to gain the throne. From his guarded look now, I couldn't determine whether he'd come to a decision or not.
"The king employed me," Balthazar said. "Only he knew his reason for employing me and it's not something you simply ask a king."
"And of course he's dead now." The high priest rubbed his forehead. "Messy business."
I wasn't sure if he was referring to the death, its aftermath, or Balthazar's employment.
"You're back where you belong now," he went on. "Have you settled in to your old room?"
"Yes, Your Eminence."
The high priest smiled wistfully. "You used to refuse to call me that for a long time after I gained the office. You said it was too formal for old friends. I insisted just to annoy you. It worked, eventually, but there was always an edge of sarcasm to your tone. Is he still sarcastic, Miss Cully?"
Surprised at being directly addressed, I stumbled my way through an answer. "Er, y—yes, Your Eminence."
"I'm glad to hear it. You might look older, Bal, but it would be grave indeed if that sharp tongue had been blunted. Tell me about life in the palace. What was King Leon like?"
"Childish, impetuous, selfish," Balthazar said. "He looked up to me at first, and listened to my advice, but later…he changed."
"I suppose that led to his downfall. Was the guard who assassinated him ever caught?"
"No."
"Any suspicions about who paid him?"
"Several. The Vytill representative—"
"Lord Barborough? Possible, I suppose, considering King Phillip is the next in line, theoretically. Glancians won't accept him, though, and I'm quite sure he knows that." The high priest clasped his hands over his stomach again. "Who else?"
"Both of the dukes."
The high priest sat forward. "You've
spent some time with them in the palace. Do you believe they would assassinate the king in order to take his place? After all, it means plunging the kingdom into war, first. It's a drastic measure with an unpredictable outcome."
Balthazar agreed. "The Duke of Buxton is a reasonable man. Gladstow is the ambitious one. It's possible Buxton is only considering vying for the crown because he thinks Gladstow would make a poor king."
"That's a good observation. I see your mind hasn't dulled. We used to enjoy our political discussions, right here in this room. We had them regularly."
"Did we agree?"
The high priest chuckled. "Sometimes."
Balthazar grunted, but it was one of his friendly grunts. Talk of the dukes and king had relaxed him, and he seemed more like his usual confident self again. The high priest clearly respected his friend's opinion, and Balthazar was in his element.
The high priest's smile faded. "Terrible business about the Duchess of Gladstow. It must have been awful, Miss Cully."
"It was," I said, trying to sound saddened. "She was kind to me and those around her. She'll be missed."
"Not by her husband, I hear."
"What have you heard specifically?" Balthazar asked.
"That Gladstow will choose another wife as soon as a suitable period of mourning has passed."
"And what is a suitable period of mourning?"
"For Gladstow, as short as possible, I expect. Do you know whom he favors for his new bride?"
"Lady Violette Morgrave," Balthazar said.
"Merdu," the high priest muttered. "That's not good news. I hate to think of Gladstow's power coupled with the Deerhorns' ambition."
"And their ruthlessness." Balthazar told him about the village riots, the political situation in Mull both before the fire and after, and my brushes with the Deerhorn family.
The high priest knew about most of it from Rhys, but the specifics shocked him. "No wonder you left the village to come here," he said to me. "Although I'm not sure how safe it is for you in Tilting. The Deerhorns are here. You must be very careful."
"It's a big city, and we're unlikely to come across one another," I reassured him.