Abruptly Ankaras’s hand fumbled slightly, jarring one of the bowls at the corner of the altar. Unseen, a small splash of liquid spilled out, dripping from the corner of the altar onto the edge of the powder design on the floor and breaking the smooth curve of the circle.
A rather greasy gray smoke began to flow from the brazier toward the statue of Baaros behind the altar. As the cloud of smoke grew in size, it seemed to flow over the statue as if exploring its contours. The smoke gathered again at the base of the statue, and a murmur of amazement went through the watchers as an image began to form. Ankaras, his hands shaking slightly, continued the chant and the ritual passes, and the image slowly solidified. For one brief instant, Jael thought the image blurred and shifted slightly, then settled into Baaros’s placid features, although its eyes glittered with sharp intelligence.
Ankaras and his lesser priests and acolytes dropped to their knees, and the worshippers fell silent. Then Ankaras rose stiffly and turned to face the congregation.
“Lord Baaros speaks to me as he will at the Grand Summoning speak to you all,” Ankaras boomed, his voice deeper and harsher than it had been before. “Three are the pillars of His temple, three are His priests, and three are the signs of His omnipotence He sends to warn the unbelievers.”
Jael stifled a chuckle in her hiding place. It was a well-known fact that the reason that the Temple of Baaros had only three priests was the same reason that it now occupied only half of an aged building and that the fourth pillar on the ornate front had fallen away and never been replaced—that the Temple of Baaros was still too small and new a sect, despite its growing numbers, to afford more. Many of the worshippers were of the poorer classes and could tithe little to the temple; the rest, Jael imagined, were dissatisfied merchants who begrudged the elven competition and felt little enough inclined to donate much of their profits.
Jael turned her attention back to the ritual, realizing she had missed a good part of what Ankaras—Baaros?—had been saying.
“—water will burn, and earth shall fall from the sky. Finally stone will open its mouth and drink back its gifts. By these signs, and by the richness of the harvest, will all know the power of Baaros in preparation for the day He once again stands among you. Until the Grand Summoning, my children, farewell.”
Slowly the image faded. For a moment longer the temple was silent. Then a murmur began somewhere in the crowd of worshippers, and grew, and grew until the temple was alive with astonished conversation. Against the strong protests of Ankaras and the other priests, worshippers flowed in a wave up to the altar, to the statue, scattering the carefully arranged bowls and treading the powder designs into a shapeless smudge on the stone floor.
Secure in her hiding place, Jael smiled to herself. If she hadn’t had her look around the altar before the ceremony, she might have suspected some simple trick herself. “Until the Grand Summoning, my children” indeed! Obviously Ankaras had gotten his pompous nature from studying the records of his deity.
Because of the fuss, it was some time before the temple cleared out; Jael noticed, to her amusement, that by the time the worshippers had left the altar area, several of the golden bowls and implements were missing. Ankaras and his priest stayed a little longer, excitedly discussing the summoning; at last they retired, leaving the acolytes to tidy up the mess. When they finally finished and left, however, Tanis remained, striding directly to Jael’s hiding place.
“Come out,” he said. “I know you’re hiding in there again.”
Jael abashedly opened the door.
“How did you know I was here?”
“I knew you couldn’t miss the summoning,” Tanis said patiently. “I’m just glad you stayed in here instead of trying to disguise yourself as a worshipper. All the acolytes were stationed at the doors to look for any elves trying to sneak in. I was looking for you under every cowl.”
“I’m too short to sit in the back,” Jael laughed.
“Well, you had a good view, then,” Tanis said good-naturedly. “But you’d best leave before one of the priests takes it in mind to come back. Come, sneak back out the way you came in and I’ll meet you outside. We’ll go to the market and I’ll treat for pies and ale.”
This maneuver proved to be more difficult than it sounded. Creeping back out of the temple posed Jael no problem, but Tanis could not be seen with her lest someone tell Ankaras. After a furtive meeting behind the temple, Tanis decided to stop at the inn where he and the other acolytes boarded and exchange his acolyte’s robes for street clothing, then meet her just south of the Temple District, where they took their usual precautions—a scarf over Jael’s hair and ears, a cap on Tanis’s head, and plenty of smudged dirt on both faces. Then they had to take an alley to the market to avoid the worshippers leaving the district.
Once in the market, Jael settled herself comfortably in a small alley plaza while Tanis took too long to buy the pies and ale. Aunt Shadow would have simply stolen them. Jael had tried once, but the hot pie had burned her hands and she’d yelped and gotten caught, and her mother had been absolutely furious. Fortunately Aunt Shadow had been out of town at the time, or Jael didn’t doubt the elf would have gotten a lecture even worse than Jael’s.
Tanis appeared with the pies and ale and squatted down beside Jael in the alley.
“You’re going to have to stop hiding in the temple,” Tanis chided gently. “What if High Priest Ankaras had found you? Besides, pardon my saying it, but with all the things that seem to go wrong around you, I think I would have been more comfortable myself if you hadn’t been up there during the summoning.”
“But it worked,” Jael protested, wiping gravy off her chin with the back of her hand. “Baaros appeared.”
“That’s true,” Tanis admitted. “This time you seemed to bring good luck instead of bad. We only have a summoning every seven years, you know, so I’ve only seen one other—to remember, that is—but from what I recall and from what Ankaras said after the ritual, Baaros never appeared that clearly before. The one time I saw Him, He was just kind of a smoke shape at the back. Ankaras said it’s a good sign that He appeared so clearly, means that He will have an important message for us at the Grand Summoning.”
“But all these signs,” Jael said curiously, “burning water, falling earth, stone opening up. Aren’t those kind of nasty things to inflict on worshippers? Not to mention the rest of the city.”
“Baaros doesn’t cause natural disasters to occur,” Tanis said patiently. “He’s a mercantile god. He was only showing us His infinite knowledge in predicting the signs that would occur between now and the Grand Summoning.”
“That’s not what Ankaras said during the summoning,” Jael argued. “Or Baaros, or whoever it was. He said Baaros would send the signs to warn the unbelievers.”
“Well, Ankaras may have been speaking metaphorically,” Tanis said tolerantly. “He comes from an old, traditional branch of the temple. More modern priests teach that the signs are predicted, not caused, to instill trust, rather than fear, in both Baaros’s followers and unbelievers. Unfortunately my father bound me to the temple back in Loroval just before Kiernan the Wise appointed Ankaras to start up the sect in Allanmere, and Ankaras chose me as his senior acolyte. So I ended up with the traditional branch instead of the progressives.”
“Did you always want to be a priest?” Jael asked him.
“No, but my father was a worshipper and a major tea and spice merchant,” Tanis said, shrugging. “He almost had to offer one of his children to the sect, and I had no head for figures. It’s not so bad, though. Respectable, anyway, and fairly secure once a temple is established.”
“Sounds like me,” Jael said sourly. “I won’t have much of a choice, either. At least you enjoy what you’re doing with your life.”
Tanis grunted sympathetically, but chewed on his pie and said nothing. There was nothing to say.
“Anyway, now I’ve seen a real god,” Jael said at last, to break the thoughtful silence.
“You’ve never seen your own god?” Tanis asked surprised-ly. “Which one is your god, anyway?”
“Oh, the House used to have a family god once,” Jael said carelessly. “But we don’t worship at any temple. That would be showing favoritism and giving that temple a political lever. Father makes a trip once or twice a year to the Forest Altars. Mother always says you can count on a sword, not a god.”
Tanis glanced at her reproachfully but said nothing, blowing on his second pie to cool it.
“There’s an illusion-master doing tricks at the center of the market,” Tanis suggested when they had licked the last gravy from their fingers. “Want to go watch?”
Jael glanced up at the sun. She had the new lessons with Rabin to start, but there was still an hour or two. She skipped enough meals that no one would really miss her at breakfast.
There was quite a crowd at the fountain where the mage was performing, but Jael and Tanis were able to acquire an unobstructed view from the rooftop of a neighboring building. The illusion-master, an elderly woman, laughed as merrily as her audience as she conjured tiny, jewel-sparkling fairies to swoop over the rapt watchers, complete even to the brush of filmy wings against a cheek, the weight of a tiny body on an outstretched hand. Jael was impressed with the detail of the illusion, but she’d seen better among the forest elves, especially the Hidden Folk, and she’d been hoping for something more grandiose. She sighed and leaned forward, wishing the woman could manage something a little, well, bigger.
The woman waved her hands and the tiny fairies dived in formation, tumbling lithely through the air to melt into a single form. The mage waved her hands again, this time more frantically, an expression of concern on her elderly face, but despite her best efforts another form was taking shape from the vortex of swirling, sparkling energy.
Abruptly the energy exploded outward, a roaring dragon’s head emerging from the sparkling cloud, and the crowd surged backward. A few screamed, even knowing that what they saw was illusion. A lamp merchant peddling his goods on the other side of the fountain started violently, knocking a bowl of burning oil into the fountain. Abruptly the fountain spewed flaming water, splattering blistering rain on those below.
“The sign!” someone cried. “The first sign!”
Jael leaned forward, fascinated, and Tanis snatched at the edge of her tunic to keep her from tumbling off the roof. The illusionary dragon spouted a jet of illusionary flame, then vanished; the elderly illusion-master sighed with relief. Jael sighed, too, but with disappointment—the show had just become interesting. Reluctantly she followed Tanis down from their perch, Tanis giving the bemused mage a few coppers as they passed. The old lady murmured her thanks rather distractedly, leafing through her grimoire with a puzzled expression on her aged face.
“Well, it was a good show,” Jael admitted, chuckling. “But I wish she’d have finished the dragon.”
“She didn’t mean to do a dragon, Jaellyn, and you know it,” Tanis said reprovingly. “And it isn’t very nice to laugh at an old lady whose spell went wrong, either, especially when people got hurt.”
“I wasn’t laughing at her,” Jael protested, but she realized that Tanis didn’t understand. She was laughing at the people who were afraid of an illusion, laughing at herself because even a simple illusion went wrong when she was there, laughing because she would rather laugh than cry.
“Did you hear what that man said?” Tanis asked after a moment’s thought. “He was one of our temple’s worshippers. Burning water—the first sign Baaros spoke of.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Jael admitted. “Do you think Baaros made that lamp merchant’s oil spill to make the water burn?”
“Certainly not,” Tanis said adamantly. “That water burned some of the people. Baaros wouldn’t do anything so cruel. That could be the sign, though I wouldn’t have thought it would be so soon.” He fell silent.
They took alleys back to the castle. Tanis still seemed annoyed with Jael when he left, so she figured she would give him a couple of days to calm down. Anyway, she had no time to worry about it; as fast as she hurried, Rabin was always waiting for her on the practice floor. Of course, her new sword was not yet ready, but Rabin had cut down a wooden practice sword until it was light enough for her. Larissa, the woman Rabin had spoken of from the Thieves’ Guild, was with him; apparently her discussions and demonstrations with Rabin had been so satisfactory that Rabin decided that he and Larissa could handle Jael’s training without an additional elven master to work with Jael in sword and dagger training.
Larissa was something of an oddity herself—she was, so far as Jael could see, entirely human, but hardly taller than Jael herself, and no heavier. Her dusty blond hair was short and curly, and while her features were just too strong and angular to be called pretty, her blue eyes twinkled merrily.
“Little minnows like us have to learn to use our size to advantage,” Larissa said, chuckling as she gestured at the hulking form of Rabin. “Remember, a tiny snake can fell the largest horse.”
“You’re going to teach me to use poison?” Jael asked excitedly. This could certainly be interesting.
“Ho, ho!” Larissa winked at Rabin. “I don’t think your parents would much care for that, little heirling. No, I’ll teach you to be poison—quick and silent and deadly as the snake’s bite. You can do that with the right sword, with daggers, or with nothing but your hands and feet.”
Larissa nodded to Rabin to pick up a practice sword, and she took two wooden daggers.
“When you can use two daggers at once,” Larissa said, taking a ready stance, “you can divide your opponent’s attention.” Nodding to Rabin, they executed a blindingly fast maneuver; in the time it took Jael to blink, Rabin was on the ground, Larissa’s wooden dagger at his throat.
“Now, let’s do that slower so Jael can see,” Larissa told Rabin, and this time Jael was able to see how Larissa had feinted with one dagger while dropping the other, seized Rabin’s wrist as he extended, let the man’s own weight carry him over Larissa’s carefully placed foot to overbalance and fall, and follow up with the dagger to Rabin’s throat.
“The move I just showed you didn’t take any special grace or skill,” Larissa said, “just good balance and speed. That’s what I’m going to start working on with you this morning.”
To Rabin’s and Jael’s surprise, good balance came naturally to Jael. Larissa was gratified to learn that Mist and Shadow had already given Jael a fair grounding in how to control a fall—the numerous accidents that seemed to befall her had made this an early necessity—and Shadow had taught Jael a few nasty back-alley moves as well.
“Those moves can be countered, though, by anybody with training in dirty fighting,” Larissa warned. “You can’t always count on surprising your opponent with unfamiliar moves. There’s no substitute for skill and real experience. In the meantime, though, a few nasty tricks might save your life, or at least buy you a few extra moments.”
By noon Jael was starting to regret committing to the extra lessons. Rabin tended to take pity on Jael’s small size and less burly limbs, but Larissa showed no such scruples. By the time Larissa allowed Jael to stop for dinner, Jael was bruised, sore, grimed, and sweaty, and thoroughly exhausted.
“That was a good workout,” Larissa admitted. Jael was gratified to see that the woman was panting and sweaty herself. “Tomorrow morning we’ll try it again.”
“Tomorrow morning?” Jael repeated, relieved. Apparently she was reprieved for the afternoon.
“Larissa will only be here in the mornings,” Rabin said. “In the afternoons I’ll work with you on your swordplay, and see if you can’t learn to throw those daggers—”
“Oh.” Jael sighed miserably.
“—but not today,” Rabin finished, grinning at her. “You’re out of practice. Do some exercises to loosen your muscles this afternoon, and take a hot bath, and we’ll see what you can do tomorrow.”
Jael was too sore to do anything
but take Rabin’s advice. She soaked in one of the castle baths for almost an hour. She had started to doze off in the hot water when her mother entered, dressed in the ordinary tunic and trousers she favored. Father was handling the official business today, then.
“People have drowned, falling asleep in the bath,” Donya said mildly, sitting down cross-legged at the edge of the bathing pool. She handed Jael a goblet.
“Thank you.” The cellar-cold fruit juice felt wonderful
flowing down Jael’s throat.
“I was watching you out the window,” Donya said. “You were working hard. You did well, too, for your first lesson in a new style under a new master. Mistress.”
Jael looked up surprisedly. Her mother’s praise came seldom and hard, especially in combat training.
Donya reached over and pulled one of the fur rugs to the edge of the bathing pool.
“Come on out,” she said. “I’ll rub your back.”
Jael stretched out on the fur and tried not to wince as Donya’s steel-hard fingers dug into her aching muscles.
“So why this sudden interest in combat training?” Donya asked. “Extra lessons, new techniques, and I’ve never seen you work so hard at it before.”
“I never managed to do anything right before,” Jael said wryly. “This, at least, I think I can learn. I hope.”
“Mmm.” Donya scooped some pungent-smelling ointment out of a clay pot and rubbed it into the skin of Jael’s sore arms and shoulders. “You know, Shady’s a lot better at this than I am. After a battle she used to mix up the most horrible-smelling goops to smear on me, but she could all but rub the bruises away. In the mornings it seemed like I was the only warrior who didn’t wake up groaning and creaking in the joints.”
“How could you have enjoyed that?” Jael asked curiously. “Risking your life, I mean, and getting all hacked up.” She thought to herself that just one morning of practice fighting with wooden blades was quite damaging enough.
Dagger's Edge (Shadow series) Page 5