The farmer nodded. “That’s a relief.”
Asharian burst out laughing and the others followed suit. The image of a volcano promising to be agreeable was ludicrous, but they had all seen enough of Lord Bight’s power to know anything was possible when he put his mind to it, and that thought was reassuring.
Lord Bight sat down in his chair, poured some wine, and lifted his goblet in a silent toast to the farmer. Chan Dar’s lips lifted in a slight smile and he returned the gesture.
The tension broken, the council immersed itself in the business of helping its city. It took several hours of discussion, of poring over lists and examining different ideas, but by late afternoon, the governor was satisfied that his council was prepared to handle the crisis. The most difficult part, they all knew, would be convincing the people that some of these emergency plans had to be enforced for their own good. Supplies had to be hoarded, water had to be stored and rationed. The work on the aqueducts would have to be pushed ahead, at the expense of other projects. The sick needed care, and the dead had to be cremated as soon as possible. Normal commerce would continue as long as the health of the city allowed.
However, for the sake of incoming vessels with cargo to unload, the new harbormaster suggested isolating the end of the long southern pier. Ships could moor there, unload their cargoes, and leave without endangering their crews. It would slow work considerably, but he reasoned, it would reassure ships’ captains and help prevent the spread of this strange malady outside Sanction.
Priestess Asharia straightened up at that. “How do we know the disease hasn’t struck somewhere else? Where did the crew of the galley pick it up?”
“I’ve read the ship’s log,” Mica said, sounding irritated. “There is no indication of what happened. Everything was normal up to four days before they reached Sanction. After that, the log is blank. Listen.” He yanked a leather-bound logbook out of his pile and opened to a page marked with a scrap of fabric. “ ‘Fourth day of Fierswelt’—that’s twelve days ago,” he added with a slightly patronizing tilt of his nose. “ ‘Two days out of Haligoth. Brisk winds. Clear skies. Logged twenty miles by midwatch. Lookout reported seeing a blue dragon, but no one else confirmed.’ ” He laid the book down. “That is the last entry.”
The harbormaster waved a hand toward the harbor. “But where were they?”
“Somewhere in the Newsea,” the dwarf said.
“That’s helpful. The Newsea is rather large,” Lutran grumbled.
The priestess laid a firm hand on Mica’s arm before the dwarf said something rude. “That still doesn’t answer my question,” she pressed. “Has the disease struck somewhere else? Perhaps someone has found a cure for this.”
Vanduran rubbed his hand down his gray beard. “Our merchants haven’t heard of a plague anywhere else this summer. And with their nose for profits, they would be some of the first to know.”
Linsha listened thoughtfully and pondered how much of this tangled mystery was truth and how much was evasion. Any of these people could be misleading the council for reasons of his own and using the citizens of Sanction as pawns in a deadly game of power. Even the Clandestine Circle told her they knew nothing about the plague, but she knew all too well they didn’t disclose information when it suited their purposes. Perhaps they were aware of other outbreaks and concealed it from her.
“Check with your contacts again, Guildman Vanduran,” Lord Bight suggested. “We must examine all possibilities, no matter how vague.”
“There is another contingency we should discuss before we end the meeting.” Commander Durne leaned forward in his chair, his features set in a grim expression. “What if the plague spreads out of control in the outer city? Do we bar the gates to protect the inner city?”
“No,” said Vanduran forcefully.
“Yes,” said Lutran and the treasurer together.
The others looked at their nails or at the tapestries on the walls.
Lord Bight tapped his fingers on the table. “That is an option we will discuss later. Such an act could overly alarm the population and cause more harm than good. The city should not be divided. It needs to work as a whole to halt this plague now, before it spreads out of our control.”
One after another, the council members nodded and made their assurances, and the meeting came to an end. Armed with plans and the support of the other advisers, they bade farewell to the governor and went out the door talking among themselves. At last only Lord Bight, Commander Durne, and the silent guards were left in the large hall. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the tall windows and splashed on the sea-green floor. A breeze, strong from the west and the open waters of the Newsea, blew through the open windows and made the tapestries ripple like living ribbons of color.
Lord Bight rose slowly to his feet, his gaze lost in some inner contemplation. “I will be gone for two days, Commander. Do not alert anyone. I leave you in charge.”
Concealing his surprise, Commander Durne stood, too. “May I ask where you are going? I will arrange a unit of guards to go with you.”
“You may ask,” Lord Bight responded lightly. His eyes snapped back to the present. He picked up his goblet, drained the last of the wine, and waved to his servants to approach and clear off the table. When he was ready he said, “I am going to contact one of my sources. I will not need guards.”
“Your Excellency,” Durne said, looking alarmed, “you shouldn’t be gone at a time like this without some protection.”
Bight shrugged. “Fine. I’ll take her.” And he pointed to Linsha. He turned his back on the room and strode out, effectively cutting off any argument.
Linsha’s jaw dropped.
The guard beside her shifted on his feet but said nothing.
Beside the table, Commander Durne made a few choice comments under his breath. To Linsha, he seemed more annoyed than worried. “Squire!” he snapped. “Be ready to attend Lord Bight at his convenience. You are dismissed.”
Linsha made a salute to Durne’s stiff back and hurried out of the audience hall as quickly as she dared. Outside in the hall, she paused in the corridor while her speculations ran in a dozen different directions. It was known that Lord Bight occasionally took brief mysterious trips, sometimes alone and sometimes with a chosen guard. So far the Clandestine Circle hadn’t been able to discover where or why. Now she had an opportunity to find out, and yet she couldn’t help but wonder why he would take her. Was his choice meant to be an insult or a supreme compliment? And why would he go at this time? It was little surprise the commander was so angry. Perhaps she should flee before Lord Bight trapped her in an undesirable situation. No, that wouldn’t do. She had to go with him. It was the opportunity of her career in Sanction!
She pressed her palms against her temples. The heat and the tension had given her a terrific headache. Her head felt as tight as the ropes on a wine press. Lost in her thoughts, she began to walk down the corridor.
When in doubt and confusion, Linsha usually sought solitude and quiet to think things through. That afternoon was no different. She found herself outside in the courtyard, heading for her cubicle on the top floor of the barracks.
The room was stuffy and hot, for her window faced away from the breeze, but she pulled the heavy door hanging close behind her and removed the outer surcoat of her uniform. She rummaged in her bag until she found her three leather juggling balls. She had to juggle to allow her mind to settle down from its wild pacing and to put aside her frustrations.
One after another, she set the balls in motion, up and down, back and forth, in a steady beat as rhythmic as her heart. Keeping her eyes on the balls, she turned her mental focus inward to the beat of her heart. Just as Goldmoon had taught her, she concentrated on the power within her spirit and drew it out slowly, delicately, as warm as sunlight on glass, and she set it flowing through her body to calm her mind and ease her pain while she tossed and caught, tossed and caught the small leather balls.
Eventually the pain in he
r head disappeared and tranquility replaced the frantic whirl of her thoughts, and she gratefully put away the balls. Lulled by the heat and the release of tension, Linsha lay down on her bed—for just a minute. She still had plenty of time.
Footsteps pounded in the hall outside and startled Linsha awake from a sleep she never meant to take. She reared up, her heart pounding, and stared around at her darkened room just as Shanron stuck her head past the curtain.
“There you are! I’ve looked everywhere else. Come on. Lord Bight is waiting for you!”
Linsha jumped to her feet and rubbed her eyes. She was still groggy and furious that she had been caught so unprepared. It was already night. She hadn’t eaten, or warned Varia, or changed her damp shirt. She didn’t know if she should have packed supplies or saddled her horse.
She raked her fingers through her mussed hair, strapped on her sword and daggers, and snatched her uniform tunic off the bed. Then she ran downstairs behind Shanron.
The lord governor and Commander Durne waited for her in the courtyard next to the barracks entrance. Linsha forced back a groan at the sight of displeasure on Durne’s face. She didn’t want to face him any more that day, or for several years to come.
He glowered at her, taking in her disheveled appearance and harried expression.
However, Lord Bight didn’t seem displeased. He had changed his robes for a pair of smooth, leg-hugging pants, supple climbing boots, a long-sleeved tunic in his preferred color of gold, and a leather vest. He bore no weapons save a long dagger at his belt, and all he carried was a plain wooden box the size of a jewelry chest.
“Lord Governor, I really must protest—” Linsha heard Durne start to say as she approached.
“My friend, you have been protesting all evening,” Lord Bight returned with a laugh. You know I would not go if I did not feel this was important. Sanction will be safe in your hands.”
Durne didn’t respond. He gestured toward Linsha with a stiff hand. “But why take only one guard? And why this one? She hasn’t even taken the oath of loyalty. Take Shanron. Or Morgan. Or myself!”
“I need you here. As for the woman, she interests me. I might have a use for her, and this journey will give me a chance to learn her true mettle.” He calmly accepted Linsha’s salute and said to her, “Go to the kitchen. The cook has prepared a pack and some water bags for us. That is all we’ll need.”
Linsha hurried to obey, wondering just what he meant by “I might have a use for her.” Shanron went with her and helped her collect the pack of supplies and the water bags from the cook. The guard didn’t seem at all surprised that Lord Bight had chosen Linsha to go. She thumped the new recruit on the back and wished her a safe journey back. Shanron even promised to take fish scraps to the cat in the stable and to exercise Windcatcher. Linsha thanked her warmly before they returned to Lord Bight. It would be easy, she thought, to make a friend of this southern woman. Even if it proved they did share an interest in Ian Durne.
Shanron gave her a quick farewell and disappeared into the barracks to enjoy the rest of her off-duty time. Linsha tucked her surcoat through one of the straps, hoisted the pack to her back, and hurried to catch up with the governor, who was already walking toward the open gate. She could only hope Varia was watching from the stable and would understand her absence.
“Keep a close eye on the council,” Lord Bight advised Durne. “Don’t let them weasel out of their responsibilities. Especially Vanduran. He tends to put his guild ahead of the city. The merchants must adhere to the new work schedules and stay off the southern pier. Make sure the new crews are added to the aqueduct site. We must get that finished as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Durne said reluctantly. He regarded Linsha for a moment, made as if to speak, then changed his mind. At the gate, he bowed to Lord Bight and stepped back while they passed through.
Linsha cast one glance back to see him standing alone in a pool of torchlight, the wavering light glinting on his dark hair and casting his face in shadow. She almost lifted her hand to wave good-bye, then caught herself before she did something so foolish. He wouldn’t care. He disapproved of her.
She bent her shoulders to the pack and walked briskly after Lord Bight. The night was full about them, heavy with heat and moisture. A veil of clouds hid the stars and obscured the single pale moon. The wind of the afternoon had blown itself out, and now the darkness crouched down, breathless and still. Below them, the lights of the city glittered through a thin pall of smoke and dust.
Abruptly the lord governor veered off the main road and took a footpath that plunged down the hill into the trees.
“Where are we going, Excellency?” Linsha panted as she pushed to keep up with him. As dark as the path was, he followed it as swiftly as a hound on the blood scent.
“Patience, my young squire,” he replied softly. “With patience all will be revealed.”
The footpath could hardly be seen in the dense shadows under the trees, yet Linsha realized it wasn’t that difficult to follow. It ran straight as an arrow’s flight between the trees down the hill, across a narrow vale, and up another hill. She soon guessed where the path led. The only thing in this direction that deserved a path such as this was the Temple of the Heart on the neighboring hill.
They broke through the trees onto a broad, grassy lawn, and Linsha saw that her assumption was right. The temple lay before them on the brow of the hill, its white stone shape a ghostly gleam against the black bulk of Mount Grishnor towering behind it. Torches burned on sconces at the front entrance, but Lord Bight avoided the lighted door and, hugging the shadows, made his way around to the rear, where the dormitories and outbuildings clustered under a grove of tall pines. Curious, Linsha followed. The night was still early enough for people to be busy, and many lights burned in the windows of the dormitories or passed among the trees as students, mystics, and servants went about their evening tasks.
Lord Bight ignored them all. With the wooden box still tucked under his arm, he crouched in a concealing clump of shrubbery and concentrated on the back of the temple.
The ancient temple, Linsha knew, was shaped by three rectangular blocks forming a U around a central, square-shaped room whose roof line soared high into the trees. Centuries ago, before the First Cataclysm, the central room had been used as an altar room for the worship of the gods of Good. It had been left empty during Queen Takhisis’s rule, abandoned to neglect and decay and shrouded with tales of vengeful spirits. Now the temple was totally repaired and refurbished to serve the mystic missionaries from the Citadel of Light. If there were any angry spirits left, they did not seem to mind the intrusion.
Linsha waited with the lord governor without asking questions for what seemed a long time, until at last he tapped her on the arm and hurried out of his hiding place. She moved after him as silently as possible, since secrecy seemed to be what he wanted. Although why he should be sneaking around a temple where he was favored was beyond her ken.
The grounds were empty at the moment; there was no one in sight on the paths or near the temple. The lord governor dashed across the open space to a door in the back of the temple and froze in the shadow of the building. A detached kitchen stood nearby, its lights still glowing in the windows for the cooks who worked late cleaning the pans and pots from the day’s meals. The smell of wood fires, roast fowl, and cooked vegetables still lingered in the stagnant air.
Linsha kept a wary eye on the kitchen while she ran after Lord Bight across the grass and gravel paths to the door. Briefly she wondered if it was locked, but it slid open easily under his hand, and the two eased into the darkened room beyond. She saw it was a dining room, set with trestle tables and cupboards stacked with dishes.
Lord Bight bypassed the tables, went to the front of the long room, and ducked into an alcove, where another door stood in black shadow. The governor, Linsha mused, seemed to know this temple as well as his own palace. This door, too, gave way to gentle pressure and opened to reveal
a stairway leading down.
Closing the door behind her, Linsha walked blindly down behind the lord governor and hoped fervently that her faith in him was not misplaced.
A small white light flared in front of her, and she saw Lord Bight standing at the foot of the stairs, holding a small hand lamp.
“There are torches farther on,” he said in a whisper, “but this will do for now.” He suddenly grinned at her, his handsome face illuminated with pale light. “This is where it gets interesting. Are you still curious? Afraid? Do you think this is a trap?”
Linsha felt a jolt of alarm. Gods, this man was too intuitive for her liking, but she couldn’t back out now. A flood of excitement washed through her, and the blood of the Majeres sang in her veins. “I’m with you, Lord Governor.”
“Good.” With the lamp in one hand and his box under his arm, Lord Bight led her into the basement of the temple. This lower level seemed to be little used for anything but storage, for all it contained were rooms full of crates, old furniture, piles of moldering rags and rotting fabric, all coated in a thick layer of dust and mildew. The lord governor made his way through the clutter and mess to a room on the southern end of the building that Linsha estimated was directly below the old altar room.
Without pause, Lord Bight moved an old worm-eaten table aside, inserted his fingers into a narrow crack in the wall, and pulled hard. The crack widened and lengthened until it reached the ceiling and the floor, then suddenly an entire section of the wall swung back and a black opening gaped before them.
Linsha took note of the fact that there was little dust on this strange door or on the doorframe around it. The door had been used before, and fairly recently.
“Be careful. The steps are steep,” he warned her, ducking through the opening.
He wasn’t kidding. Linsha stepped through the opening after him, expecting the top of a stairway, and nearly slipped off into the bottomless dark. This doorway opened into the middle of a stone stair so steep that it was almost like a ladder, and so narrow that she bumped her head on the opposite wall. Fighting to regain her balance, she planted both hands on the walls beside her and carefully pushed herself back upright. She drew a deep breath and let it out in a rush of relief. Above her, the black stairway continued up to what was probably a hidden door in the altar room above. Far below her now, the little light in Lord Bight’s hand lured her downward on a steeply curving spiral stair, down to what she could only guess.
The Clandestine Circle Page 12