The High Priest and the Idol

by Jane Fletcher

“Right. Well, if you’d ever hit yourself on the wrist with a bowstring, you wouldn’t have asked that question.”

  Jemeryl raised her arm as if holding an imaginary bow. Her frown grew. “Can you really hit yourself with the string?”

  “Oh yes.” Tevi grinned in amusement. “Although if you held your arm like that, the bracer would be no use.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the string would hit your elbow first.”

  Jemeryl looked downcast. “I’m not very good at the part, am I?”

  “Just keep the bow unstrung and you’ll be fine.”

  Tevi picked up a helmet and placed it on Jemeryl’s head. The cheek flaps hid her face, and the nose guard further distorted her appearance. The chances of them being recognised were comfortably slim.

  In the end, acquiring the uniforms had proved even easier than Tevi anticipated. Not one of the sentinels sleeping by the bathing pool had stirred as she helped herself to the cloaks, helmets, and tunics. Admittedly, the sloppy soldiers had made a better effort to secure their swords, but since these were not standard issue, Tevi had been able to buy substitutes in the market, along with the bracer, bow, and quiver.

  Tevi completed her own disguise, slipping the helmet on her head. “Ready to go?”

  Jemeryl merely nodded in reply.

  They were using a room in the infirmary to change clothes. With the return of magic at stake, Zorathe had willingly offered whatever assistance she could, including Esley’s services in stealing the uniforms, although Tevi was pleased she had not needed him. Her conscience would not let her place more risk on the healer than she could help—not after the capture of the previous volunteers.

  On the short march to the barracks Tevi was aware that she and Jemeryl were out of step, but given the training standards of the sentinels, it ought only to improve their masquerade. Certainly the sentries on duty showed not the faintest reaction as they entered.

  Immediately inside the door was a large chamber spanning the width of the building. Stairs at the rear went up and down, and corridors led off on either side. Tevi suspected that originally the space had been a formal entrance foyer, but now it was more like a dosshouse, with straw-filled pallets covering most of the floor. Several clusters of off-duty sentinels were lounging around.

  Tevi knew that to avoid a challenge, the main thing was never to look confused or uncertain, but this did not mean they had to keep moving. She dawdled to a stop and half faced Jemeryl. “I know it was the Coven who sent them.”

  “Nah. It was those Nolians.”

  “How could Nolians hurt our idol? I tell you, the Coven’s behind it. It was magic.”

  “The Nolians can do magic.”

  “In their dreams.”

  Their voices were pitched just loud enough to be overheard, but not so strident as to make it obvious this was their intention. As Tevi had expected, the few heads that had turned on their arrival went back to how they were before.

  While keeping up the mock argument, Tevi studied the surroundings. She did not need long to decide that nothing in the foyer might be concealing the emanator. Jemeryl must have reached the same conclusion. With a nod of her head, she wandered towards a corridor, still debating the relative iniquities of the Coven and the Nolians.

  Away from the entrance hall, the changes that had taken place were even more apparent. Judging by the marks on the ceiling, interior walls had been ripped out to make space for the expanding army. Every square inch was being utilised. If the emanator had ever been here, it would have been turfed out during the course of the restructuring.

  The off-duty sentinels divided into two distinct groups. The devout believers were reading or knelt in prayer. The others were gossiping or playing dice. Tevi recognised the mark of opportunists who had signed on hoping for another town to pillage. No one from either group showed any interest in Tevi and Jemeryl until they had nearly completed their circuit of the ground floor.

  A solidly built woman blocked the passage. “You looking for someone?”

  The above-average amount of gold braid indicated an officer. Tevi snapped a salute. “Yes ma’am. We have a message for Captain Lydian from his mother.”

  “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “He transferred in from the Villenes reserves five days ago.”

  “I didn’t know we had any.” The woman shrugged. “Must be in Eagle patrol.”

  “Have they moved?”

  The woman pointed, still arrogant but no longer combative. “Nope. Still along there.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Their return to the entrance hall attracted even less notice than before. The emanator was definitely nowhere on the ground floor and Tevi suspected little would be achieved by continuing the search, but giving up was certain failure. She strolled to the rear of the room. The way up was blocked by a small group of officers, talking. Without missing a step, Tevi headed downstairs.

  The low-roofed cellar was damp and dark, but the light was sufficient to see that it was piled with mounds of junk. Tevi assumed most of the original furniture and fittings of the barracks would have been thrown out or sold. The cellar must be the dumping spot for items that someone thought might still have a function. Would anyone have wanted to hang on to the emanator? If so, surely it would be here.

  At her side, Jemeryl sighed loudly. “You know, it was really careless of Captain Lydian to lose his dagger.”

  Tevi grinned. “I don’t rate our chances of finding it in all this.”

  “We’re going to have to search, though.”

  As it turned out, the story of the lost dagger was not needed. Despite Tevi and Jemeryl spending over an hour rummaging through the entire cellar, nobody came to investigate what they were up to.

  The last item of any interest was an iron-bound chest. Jemeryl knelt to examine the lock. “I don’t supposed you’d know how to pick this.”

  “Nope.”

  “The emanator might be in it.”

  Tevi slid her fingers under the bottom of the chest and shook up and down. Something was rattling around inside. “That might be it.”

  Jemeryl broke out laughing. “No.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because if you bounced it around like that, you’d have knocked the transient vertices out of alignment.”

  “That would stop it working?”

  “Yes. Definitely.”

  “I’ll remember that.” Tevi lowered the chest back to the ground.

  Jemeryl plonked herself on the lid and sighed. “So, it’s not here.”

  Tevi took a seat beside her. “It’s still progress. Elimination will get us there in the end.”

  “Do we try eliminating the upper floor?”

  “Why not?”

  The top floor of the barracks was clearly the officers’ quarters, noticeably different in atmosphere to the one below. The internal walls were still in place and no pallets or off-duty sentinels were in sight. A single corridor with numerous doors led left and right.

  Hesitation was the thing to avoid. Tevi set off to the right, testing the doors as she went. A little to her surprise, they were all unlocked. Was it due to overconfidence that no thief would dare enter? Whatever the reason, the first four doors Tevi opened gave access to simple bedrooms. Even if Ciamon had thought it safe to place the emanator in living quarters, the austere furnishing offered little in the way of storage space. Each room was checked and dismissed in seconds. Unfortunately, the fourth room they tried was occupied.

  The officer looked up from his desk. “What do you want?”

  “Sorry sir, I thought this was Captain Lydian’s room.”

  “Who?”

  “Captain Lydian. He’s just transferred in from the Villenes reserves.”

  The officer scowled. “Never heard of him. Try the other end.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Tevi backed out and closed the door.

  Was it worth pushing their luck further? However, Jemeryl had already s
et off to the other end of the corridor. She was the one who tried the door furthest from the stairs and then glanced over her shoulder.

  “Locked.” Jemeryl whispered the word.

  The only locked room in the building. Was it significant? Tevi pressed her hands against the door. The dry desert air had sucked the life from the wood. The frame was old and warped, crumbling into powder when she rubbed. Tevi knew that she could force the door, but was it worth the risk? Then the memory of Darjain’s gentle smile drifted through her head, followed by the image of him hanging from a gallows. Tevi grasped the handle and pressed hard.

  The wood splintered with a sound like hot fat spitting. Tevi paused for a moment, but no sound came from within the room and no heads appeared along the corridor. She pushed the door open and stepped into yet another bedroom, although appreciably grander than the others. They had found the commander’s quarters, larger and more luxurious than anyone else’s, but still with a total absence of arcane magical devices.

  Tevi sighed and looked at Jemeryl. “I don’t think it’s here.”

  “No.”

  “Shall we go?”

  “Might as well.” But rather than leave, Jemeryl crossed the room to a small table and picked up a small pouch lying on it. Coins jangled when she shook it. “If we give an obvious reason for the break-in, it might stop them looking for the not so obvious.”

  “True.” Tevi smiled. “The drinks tonight are on you.”

  “Actually, I think they’re on the commander.”

  Chapter Thirteen—The Journeyman Blacksmith

  Ciamon had turned away from the idol and gone to the window. Jemeryl clawed at the memory, trying to picture the exact expression on his face, his tone of voice, where his eyes had gone, but by now she had run through the scene so many times she knew she was in danger of rewriting it in her head.

  “We can’t be sure he was looking at where he’d put the emanator.” Jemeryl voiced her doubts.

  “True, but it’s all we’ve got to work with. We need to rule out every building.”

  “Or get a better lead.”

  “That would be nice.”

  Dusk was approaching as they made their way back to the Calequiral mansion. Traders were closing their shops and workers were returning home, but there was no feeling of everyday routine to the town. Everyone was on edge, except for the manic preachers screeching their sermons at street corners. Their calls for mortal blood and divine vengeance made Jemeryl wince. The only good thing was that the general fear and suspicion made it unremarkable for her and Tevi to be walking along, heads together, whispering like conspirators.

  At the infirmary, they had changed back into their scruffy pilgrim clothes and left, not wasting a second. Before long, someone would discover the broken door to the commander’s quarters, if it had not happened already. They wanted to be well away before any trouble started, not least because they were both anxious to avoid endangering the healer. Nothing to link them to the infirmary had been left behind. The stolen uniforms were in a bag over Tevi’s shoulder, although they had not yet made up their minds whether it was worth the risk of hanging on to the clothes in case they were needed again, or if they should ditch them under a pile of rubbish.

  Jemeryl turned her thoughts back to their problem. “Which building do you want to concentrate on next?”

  “It’s your turn to pick, since I was wrong about the barracks.”

  “I don’t think I’ve got any better ideas. The barracks was the best hope. Ci would have wanted the emanator in a secure place.”

  “Certainly if it’s as fragile as you say.”

  “I wouldn’t go as far as fragile, but it couldn’t take the thumping you were giving whatever was in the chest.”

  “Anyway. It has to rule out the stables. It’s not the place to store anything you don’t want kicked around by horses.”

  Jemeryl mentally ran through the list of buildings. “How about the basilica? It’s no longer being used for the convocation. Why don’t we ask Zorathe if she knows what’s happening there now?”

  “I’m guessing it’s being used by the sentinels for something. They’re short of space and I can’t see them letting a building stand empty. If Ciamon had left the emanator in there, it would have been carted out ages ago.”

  “It’ll do no harm to ask her.”

  “True. While we’re at it, we could try searching the infirmary. Ciamon might have snuck something in without Zorathe knowing.”

  “I’m sure not. He hadn’t even known there was an infirmary here, until I pushed him into asking Sefriall.” Jemeryl winced, reminded again of what her questions had led to.

  “He’d have known there was a kitchen.”

  “He’d also have known it wouldn’t be a good spot to store something he didn’t want disturbed. The refectory wouldn’t be much better.”

  “Unless he disguised it as a lion’s head and hung it on the wall.” Tevi’s tone made it clear she was not being totally serious.

  “A more likely bet would be a quiet wine cellar.”

  “Or a locked storeroom.” Tevi sighed. “I’d really thought we were onto something when we found the locked door in the barracks. Ciamon could have put the emanator in a room and then sealed it by magic. That would have been safe.”

  Jemeryl stopped dead in her tracks as Tevi’s words sparked off a new memory.

  Tevi looked at her. “What is it?”

  “Something Larric said. He’d been talking to a blacksmith.” Jemeryl frowned and carried on walking as she tried to recall Larric’s exact words. “No. It was the blacksmith’s apprentice.”

  “I don’t remember him mentioning one.”

  “It was the day we all separated to hunt leads. He told us the story, but it might have been before you arrived back at the Four Winds.”

  “What did he say?”

  “The master blacksmith had been called to the temple by Sefriall to open a locked door, but couldn’t. Which would make sense if Ci had used magic on it. The apprentice told Larric how Sefriall had been getting angry and threatening to have them hanged.”

  “But it’s not as if Sefriall knows what the emanator is, so she won’t be trying to find it and wouldn’t be able to do anything with it if she did.”

  “If she knows there’s a room that was important to Ci, and now she can’t get into it, you can bet that’ll get her curiosity going.”

  “Maybe,” Tevi conceded. “Do you remember any other details?”

  “I don’t think there were any. It wasn’t the main point of the story, just the explanation of why the blacksmith and apprentice had come to be in the temple. The only reason Larric mentioned it was because they’d overheard a report given to Sefriall about the nomads.”

  “How about the apprentice? Did Larric give a name or a description?”

  “I think it was a woman, but that’s it.” Jemeryl was angry with herself. “I should have paid more attention.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Sefriall had a problem with a locked door, somewhere in the temple, and employed a blacksmith to fix it. It’s hardly the sort of thing to jump out as vitally significant. It still might be nothing more than a lost key.”

  “A master blacksmith ought to be able to deal with a normal lock.” Jemeryl looked at Tevi. “You said a better lead would be nice. I think this is it.”

  Tevi grimaced. “In that case, can I take back the word nice? Breaking into a magically locked room in the middle of the temple isn’t going to be easy.”

  “That’s our second problem. First, we need to track down the blacksmith. How many of them do you think there are in Kradja?”

  “A town this size? Less than a dozen, I’d have thought.”

  “That’s not too bad. But…” Jemeryl’s mind was leaping forward.

  “What?”

  “Sefriall’s running the town. She can pick whoever she wants. Cost won’t be an issue.”

  Tevi nodded. “Especially since she wouldn’t nee
d to pay. I’m sure her sentinels could persuade any blacksmith to piously volunteer their services free of charge.”

  “She wouldn’t have called on anyone but the best. We just need to find out who has the best reputation. And the easy way to do that is to ask.” Jemeryl smiled and glanced over her shoulder. They had just passed a street porter trundling his empty handcart back to wherever empty carts go at the end of the working day. Jemeryl slowed her pace until he again drew level. “Excuse me.”

  “What?”

  “I’m new in town and need some advice. The lock on my master’s strongbox has jammed. It’s been in his family for generations and he doesn’t want it damaged by a ham-fisted blacksmith. He wants the best. Who’d you recommend? Price is no issue.”

  “Keliah.”

  “Where do I find Keliah’s forge?”

  “Third to last on the southern approach road to the market.”

  “Thank you.”

  The porter trundled away.

  Jemeryl grinned at Tevi. “There you go, Keliah on the southern approach.”

  “As long as the porter isn’t a friend of Keliah, or his brother.”

  “How about we separate, both ask ten people, and meet up at the mansion to compare notes?”

  “Done.”

  *

  “I’ll see you by that wall.”

  “Right. Good luck.”

  “You too.” Tevi patted Jemeryl’s shoulder and then watched her stroll away. Once she was lost from sight amid the traffic, Tevi turned towards her own goal.

  The façade of Keliah’s forge was double the size of any other shop on the street and well maintained. Smoke trailed away from an impressive set of chimneys. The wooden anvil hanging above the door had a fresh coat of paint on it and only the highest-quality goods were on display. Business was clearly going well for Keliah.

  Of the twenty votes they had picked up the night before, nine had named Keliah as the best blacksmith in Kradja, while another seven had gone to a rival called Orasies. Two had claimed that Lysjani was every bit as good but only half the price of the others. However, in Tevi’s experience, cheapest was seldom the best, and she was sure Sefriall would be every bit as sceptical as herself. One respondent had come straight out and recommended his sister’s best friend. The final person had obviously suffered some bad experiences and had sworn there was not a single blacksmith in Kradja who could tell copper from cheese. Tevi had sympathised, even though the reply had not been very helpful.