At the Gates of Darkness

by Raymond E. Feist

  She merely nodded her head and said, “I understand.”

  “I know you do, Sandreena.” He rose from the desk, came and sat on the corner before her, looking down at her. “I have never told you, but there is a beauty to you that few notice.”

  She was a little startled by the statement. There had always been an underlying tension between them, as she found him a very attractive and powerful man, but his reputation as something of a womanizer and their respective ranks had always kept any inappropriate behavior in check.

  He held up his hand before she could speak. “I don’t mean your physical beauty—as impressive as that is when you choose to let others glimpse it—but rather a beauty of strength and purpose, what you’ve overcome and managed to achieve despite a desperately difficult beginning. It is…admirable.” He stood up and moved to the window and looked out, saying, “We may get more rain.”

  The rain along the coast had made her trip even more difficult, so she hoped he was wrong.

  “I am leaving you in charge of the Order while I’m away.”

  Her eyes widened. “Me?”

  “I’ll send back Father-Bishop Bellamy, to assume my duties, but in the interim, you will take my place here.”

  “Take your place?”

  Creegan shrugged as if it were of no importance, but said, “I will be the new Grand Master.” The way he said it, she realized it was a fait accompli. He glanced over and smiled. “This was decided long ago. So, I will dispatch Bellamy as soon as the convocation is over, and you will then return to your duties, to do whatever he asks, for he will be speaking for me. Until then, you must take charge here.”

  “Why me?” she asked softly.

  “You are the only one I trust, Sandreena.” He came back and sat behind the desk. “Only a few know of what is really going on out there—I’ll leave you a list and you will not trust anyone not on it—and you’ve also earned it. Your almost getting yourself killed isn’t what I’m talking about, but rather you keeping your wits about you and your keen understanding of the political reality you found yourself in without warning.

  “Few members of the Order would have coped so well with demons and secret alliances.”

  “The Mother-Superior?” she asked.

  Creegan smiled. “She’ll object, of course, but as she has no standing within the Order, I’ll smile, nod, and suggest she get packed if she’s to leave with me on the ride to Salador.”

  Sandreena nodded. The Mother-Superior had ambitions of her own and would be actively seeking her own allies in her bid to attain the office of High Priestess of the Grand Temple once the convocation began. The current High Priestess was older than the Grand Master so Sandreena judged there would be another convocation in Rillanon in the next few years.

  Creegan said, “I suspect she’ll dismiss your promotion quickly and start the endless flattery I will be subjected to along the way.”

  Sandreena couldn’t help but smile. The High Priestess might be pleased to see Creegan leaving Krondor—their relationship had always had a contentious element in it, but with his rising to the highest calling in the Order, that suddenly made him an even more important voice in the temple, and he would have a great deal to say about the succession when the current High Priestess stepped down.

  “You’ll only need make one quick courtesy call—which I suggest you do now, before I let her know of your promotion.”

  “Promotion?”

  “Of course. I can’t leave a Knight-Adamant in charge of the Order in the Western Realm. Effective immediately, you are now a Sergeant-Adamant of the Order, but will bear the office rank of adiuvare. It’s an old title we rarely use, but it’s still recognized. So your official title will be Adiuvare-Sergeant-Adamant. Once Bellamy comes here, you will become just another Sergeant.”

  She tried not to smile. “Just another Sergeant,” he said. As a rule, Knight-Adamants had to serve for twenty years to obtain the rank of Sergeant and few lived long enough. She was certain she not only was the youngest Sergeant in the Order, but perhaps in the history of the Order.

  “I will do my best not to disappoint you, Father-Bishop.”

  “If I thought there was even a remote possibility of that, I would have given someone else the job,” said Creegan. “Now, go make your call on the High Priestess, get something to eat, and rest. I think you’ll discover this post is nothing close to as easy as you think.” He motioned with his hands at the pile of papers and said, “More men have been defeated by reports than all the steel of all the swords in history.” Then with his right hand he made a dismissive gesture and she rose, bowed slightly, and left his quarters.

  Under any normal circumstance, she would have been elated at the promotion, for it would have been a signal that the Goddess had found her service noteworthy. This circumstance felt like it was not a gift, or reward, but a heavier burden. Still, she chided herself, if the Goddess wished to place an even bigger burden on her, it would only mean greater service, and that the Goddess deemed her able to meet the demands of office.

  Still, she thought as her stomach growled, she wished she could get something to eat before calling on the High Priestess.

  Sandreena made her call on the High Priestess, who was as Creegan predicted: distracted by the need to leave the next day for the arduous ride to the port of Salador, where she and Creegan would take ship to Rillanon for the convocation to elect the new Grand Master of the Order of the Shield of the Weak. The High Priestess had no official duties regarding the Order, but as every prelate of rank would be in attendance while the Order conducted their ceremonies and went through the motions of putting Creegan in charge, everyone else would be playing temple politics. Sandreena was glad that she remained behind, even if she had responsibility for the Order in Krondor, which meant supervising the Order in the entire Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles.

  After she had finally eaten, Sandreena had returned to the common barracks of the Order and had given her dirty tabard and clothing to a servant to be cleaned. She preferred to care for her own arms and armor. She went to the communal bath, enjoying the fact of it being empty, and gave herself over to a completely thorough cleaning.

  While she scrubbed her filthy hair, she considered her feelings about Creegan’s departure; it was as good as ordained since she had first met him, yet there was always this feeling…She sighed.

  Encountering Amirantha months before, after that nearly fatal attack on Sorcerer’s Isle, had caused her to revisit feelings she would rather ignore. Creegan also had that effect on her. With Amirantha it was something she wished she had never done, but with Creegan she began to suspect it was going to be something she regretted not doing.

  Her order was not celibate, though like most people given over to a calling, personal issues were always of lesser importance. Still, as a woman in her prime, she was feeling certain needs asserting themselves.

  She had never considered family a blessing, given how she grew up, yet now she wondered about being a mother. She knew nothing about raising a child, because no one had raised her. Her mother was early on lost to drugs, drink, and men, and no father had been at hand. Being ill-used by men since she had begun to blossom had given her a very unforgiving perspective on them.

  There were two she had come to care for: Brother Mathias, who had rescued her from her Keshian slave master; and Father-Bishop Creegan, who had been her mentor, though she was beginning to think he was more important to her than that.

  There were two men she wished dead. A blackheart who was called Jimmyhand by some, Quick Jim by others, who had controlled the brothel where she had served as a high-priced whore when she was little more than a girl. He had been the one to sell her to the Keshian. And Amirantha. He had charmed her, lied to her, and used her, and had lived down to her general judgment on the worth of men.

  A tiny pang told her she didn’t truly wish Amirantha dead, but rather she wished he had been telling her the truth; even when she saw him last, her sud
den lashing out and knocking him to the floor had been followed instantly by regret. She wished somehow she could tell him that he had hurt her, but that would make her look weak.

  Picking up a bucket she poured water over herself, cleaning away the dirt and soap. She bent over at the waist and ran a comb though her hair, squeezing water from it. The water was hot, but the air was cold after the passing storms and she felt gooseflesh on her skin.

  She decided to forgo the meditative steam and retired to the barracks. She donned a simple white shift and turned in early. She was a sound sleeper and should others of her order enter, she was sure they would not wake her. All she wanted for this night was a sound sleep with no dreams.

  Morning brought the departure of the group traveling to Salador, led by the High Priestess and the Father-Bishop. As Creegan had predicted, the High Priestess was as deferential and warm—to the point of cloying—as it was possible to be to the soon-to-be-named Grand Master of the Order of the Shield of the Weak.

  When she had awakened, Sandreena had discovered a new uniform had been laid out for her across the footlocker at the foot of her bed, and atop it sat a new tabard, this one emblazoned with a chevron and crown above her heart, signifying her new rank of Sergeant. She couldn’t resist smiling as she beheld it. She was not a prideful woman by nature, but she did like how seeing this badge of honor made her feel.

  She had dressed and postponed a morning meal to be in the marshaling yard when the Father-Bishop and the others left.

  Father-Bishop Creegan smiled when he saw her approach and put his hand on her shoulder. “The fate of the Order in the west is in your hands now, Sandreena.” He leaned in so no one else could overhear his words and he said, “There’s something on my desk you need to read; it’s the report you brought to me. Act on it at once. I don’t know exactly what you need to do, but I’m sure it will be the correct choice. I’m not telling you what I would do; this must be your decision.”

  Almost impulsively, he kissed her good-bye, but rather than a mere touching of the lips, he lingered a scant instant longer, and just before it became something both of them needed to worry about, he pulled back. “May the Goddess go with you,” he whispered.

  She could only nod, words failing her. As he mounted his horse, she managed to return the benediction. “May the Goddess go with you, Father-Bishop.”

  The High Priestess was fussing about her mount, a mild palfrey but still spirited enough to make the older woman show concern as she sat uncomfortably on the small horse. It was obvious the High Priestess would have preferred a litter, but the need to be in Rillanon by the date of the convocation prevented that more sedate mode of transport. She would be very sore and unhappy by the time they reached Salador.

  The party moved out and as soon as they cleared the gate, Sandreena hurried to Creegan’s office. Atop his desk lay two pieces of paper and the bundle she had carried from Durban.

  She looked at the first, which had her name on it. She opened it and read: “Sandreena, if the Goddess wills it, we will meet again. Know the Order’s trust rests with you and I have faith you will discharge the duties I’ve given you as well as if I undertook them myself. I’ve left you a list of those whom you may rely upon”—she knew he meant those who would be trusted in dealing with the Conclave and the matter of the demons—“and a report you must attend to at once. May the Goddess go with you.” It was signed only “Creegan.”

  She looked at the list and found it had only five names on it. Four were priests and one was the orderly assigned to this office, the only member of the Order of the Shield who apparently knew about the Conclave of Shadows.

  She looked up to see the man named on the list, a Prior of the Order, Brother Willoby. He was a round-faced, stocky man with a constantly worried expression. He said, “Sister? May I be of service?”

  She sat down in Creegan’s chair and said, “I will let you know, brother.”

  “I will be outside if you need me,” he answered. The clerical branch of the Order were administrators. Unlike the Knights, they worked within the temples, as lay priests, but they were not properly of the clerical calling. These were men and women who had the calling, but not the strength of arm to serve in the field. Like most of the Knights, Sandreena hardly gave the priors a moment’s thought, but she suspected she might come to appreciate them when she looked at the rest of the documents beside the desk that would require her attention.

  She took the list of names and folded it up. She would burn it later. She already had memorized the names.

  Then she opened the report given her by the nameless Kingdom noble and read it. She put it down, picked it up, and read it a second time.

  Standing up, she shouted, “Willoby!”

  Within a moment, the cleric appeared, asking, “Yes, sister?”

  “Three things. First, do I have a second-in-command?”

  The question seemed to startle him for a moment, as she was the Father-Bishop’s adiuvare. “Why, no,” he said, “I mean, you are the second-in-command, but with the Father-Bishop gone, you are…I mean, no, there’s no one designated as such.”

  “Very well,” she replied. “You are my adiuvare, as of now.”

  He blinked, then said, “I guess that’s all right.”

  “As I am currently the highest-ranking member of the order west of Malac’s Cross, of course it’s all right.”

  He seemed to take this in stride as she stood up and put the report under her tunic. “Next, have my horse made ready with a week’s provisions.”

  “Your horse?” asked the clerk.

  “Yes,” said Sandreena. “I need to depart on a mission today.”

  “But who…?” he began, then saw her looking at him. “Me?”

  “You’re in charge until I get back,” she said.

  He was almost speechless, but nodded and said, “I’ll have your horse made ready, sister.”

  She waited until he was gone then indulged herself in a low growl of frustration. “You bastard,” she said softly with Creegan in mind. “That kiss…” If she had mistaken it for some sort of signal of passion withheld over the years, reading the report and thinking of what Creegan had said rid her of that notion. It was a kiss of apology. Yes, she thought, he wouldn’t tell me what he would do if he was staying, because she was now doing exactly what he would do, which was send her out on a mission that would most likely get her killed.

  Swearing at the curse in her life that was men, she moved out of his office and headed to the armory to see if her newfound rank would get her better armor and weapons.

  CHAPTER 4

  DEATH MAGIC

  Pug held up his hand.

  The two black-armored guardsmen at the door to the ancient temple were startled to see the three men appear apparently out of a grey void that had not been there moments before. Pug said, “We’re here to see the High Priest.”

  Amirantha looked up at the sky and saw a dark, starry night, clear and dry. “We’re somewhere to the east, aren’t we?”

  Jim said, “Rillanon. This is the temple of Lims-Kragma.”

  Amirantha said, “That makes sense.”

  No one on the world of Midkemia would have more knowledge of all aspects of death than the High Priest of the Goddess of Death. The two guards still appeared unsettled by the sudden arrival, but their duty was to defend the portal only if obvious attack was under way—most of the time they were merely there to see that those coming to offer prayers for the departed remained orderly. One finally indicated with a wave of his hand that they were free to enter.

  They passed through a large antechamber, replete with frescoes of the Death Goddess showing her as a warm, welcoming figure who was the eventual judge of every mortal being. That led them into the vast hall that was the main cathedral of the Goddess. Along both side walls, tiered benches were erected for contemplation and prayer by the faithful, while along the back wall two rows of shelves held hundreds of votive candles, most of which were alight. A burn
ing flame to light the way of a loved one into Lims-Kragma’s halls.

  Pug took a moment to regard the heroic statue, some twelve feet high, of the Goddess, holding out one hand in a welcoming gesture, and in the other holding a silver net. The implication was obvious: no one escaped the drawer of nets, but she welcomed all equally. Pug found the image somewhat ironic, as he had been very adept at avoiding her welcome in the past, though the bargain he made with her was taking its toll on his mind and heart.

  Three priests were praying before the statue, while off to one side several petitioners to the Goddess’s mercy for a recently departed loved one lit candles and offered prayers. One of the priests saw the three men approaching with purpose and rose to greet them.

  “Pug,” he said in a neutral tone, inclining his head in a less than warm welcome. “What brings you here?”

  “I need to speak with High Priest Marluke,” said Pug. “The matter is most urgent.”

  “It always is, isn’t it?” said the priest dryly. “Yet I am certain the Holy Father will consider it urgent, as well. Please, follow me.”

  He led them past the statue, to a small door between the base of the edifice and the first row of burning candles and opened it. He motioned for them to go through, then followed, closing the door behind.

  Down a long hall he led them, into a large room without decoration. The only items in the room were four chairs and a simple wooden table. “I’ll inform the High Priest you are here,” he said.

  At that moment, a door opposite the one through which they entered opened, and an elderly man in a simple black robe, different only from Pug’s in that it had a cowl thrown back, entered the room. “He already knows,” he said. “You may leave us,” he instructed the priest. He was tall, though starting to stoop a little with age, slender to the point of gauntness, and his hair was light grey bordering on white. But his dark eyes were alert and keen and his smile engaging.