by Tanya Huff
Silently thanking whatever gods she hadn't pissed off, Terizan wiped sweaty palms on her thighs, vaulted the table, and jerked to a stop in front of the shelves of scrolls. There were a lot more than she'd noticed from the other side of the room.
Think, Terizan, think. They have to have a system or they'd never find anything themselves. There appeared to be three sections. One for each Tribune? She moved to left. Tribune One had given her the job. Okay. This happened yesterday, it's got to be right on top.
It wasn't.
Terizan couldn't read, but she figured she'd recognize the hieroglyph for the Eye. Nothing looked familiar on any of the scrolls she opened.
I don't believe this...
"...eats anything. It's no wonder he's made himself sick." Tribune One's unsympathetic observation drifted down the stairs.
If the Tribunes caught her in the Sanctum, they wouldn't just throw her out of the guild, they'd throw her out in little bleeding pieces.
Heart pounding Terizan leapt up onto the table and jumped for the hook that supported the near end of the net. Something moved under her foot and she almost didn't make it. Glancing back, she saw she'd crushed the middle of a scroll as big around as her fist.
Bugger, bugger, bugger...
Blood roaring in her ears, she dropped back onto the table, scooped up the scroll, stuffed it down one trouser leg, and jumped again.
"Look at that," One muttered. "He's left the door open."
Her fingers closed around the end of the rope she'd left hanging and, knees tucked up against her chest to avoid the net, Terizan transferred her weight. Her swing forward reopened the trap door. She scrambled into the ceiling, braced herself against the sides of the chute and flicked the rope up out of the way so the springs could close the door again.
"What was that?"
One snorted. "Probably rats."
"Four legged or two?"
High overhead, pulling herself out into the corridor, Terizan missed the answer.
***
She couldn't take the scroll back to her room – if the information it contained was important enough the Tribunal would hire a wizard to search for it – so she took it to the only safe place she could think of.
Although there were three lamps lit, the temple of Keydi-azda was deserted – no petitioners, no priest. A linen cloth hung over the empty socket that should have held the Eye. Fully intending to leave the scroll on one of the shelves, Terizan leaned against the wall under a lamp and unrolled it. If it came to a confrontation with the Tribunal, any information she could glean might help to keep her head on her shoulders.
Within the outer sheathing, a number of parchment pages were attached to the upper handle. Nothing on the first page looked familiar.
"I've got to learn to read," she muttered. Centred in the top of the next page, the Eye of Keydi-azda stared out at her. "I'll be fried..." Remembering the near fall that had ensured she pick up this particular scroll, she glanced toward the altar and added a quiet, "Bless Keydi-azda." Just in case. She couldn't make out who'd paid for the job so she turned another page.
"The Staff of Hamtazia?"
And another page.
"Amalza's Stone?"
Altogether, since the last dark of the moon, seven icons had been stolen, all from small gods. Two days ago, Terizan wouldn't have much cared, but she was beginning to realize it was the small things that made life worth living.
The hieroglyph on the bottom of the last page had to represent the people who'd hired the guild for all seven thefts. Unfortunately, it was an incomprehensible squiggle as far as Terizan was concerned.
"May I help you, child?"
She hadn't heard the priest approach. His quiet question provoked a startled gasp and a few moments of coughing and choking on her own spit. When she finally got her breath back, she wiped streaming eyes with the palm of one hand and glared at him.
"Oh my, that didn't look to be very comfortable at all," he murmured sympathetically.
All things considered, Terizan bit off a rude reply and shoved the scroll under his nose. "Do you recognize this?"
"Oh yes. It was made by one of the priests of Cot'Dazur. See the three points and the dots below..."
"Who?"
The priest sighed and folded his hands over a comfortable curve of belly. "One of the new gods. There's a huge temple in the new town, all painted plaster and lattice work. Very stylish, but not much substance I'm afraid."
Scratching thoughtfully, Terizan frowned and wrestled these new pieces into place. "How does a god get substance?"
"Time." He smiled a little sadly. "Those who believe build it up, over time."
"Suppose you didn't want to wait?"
"You wouldn't have a choice, child. It isn't something you can suddenly acquire." Over their heads, the lamp sputtered and went out. "Oh my, I'd best get more oil." He patted her arm with one soft hand and waddled off toward the altar.
Uncertain of how to address him, Terizan took a step forward and called, "Your worship?"
"Yes, child?"
"I've heard that the Eye of Keydi-azda is missing."
Together they glanced over at the linen drapery.
"Yes, I'm afraid it is."
"You don't seem very upset."
"I have been assured it will be returned."
"Assured? By who?"
"Why by Keydi-azda, of course."
Terizan sighed. "Of course," she repeated, laid the scroll on one of the shelves beside a small clay cup, left the temple, and ran into half a dozen of the Fermentation Brotherhood just leaving a meeting. As they attempted to stagger out of her way, one of them puked on her foot.
***
Cot'Dazur turned out to be the god of nothing in particular although there seemed to be a divine finger stuck in a great many pies.
"Is your business not what it could be? Are you suffering from a broken heart? Do you want to impress an employer? A certain someone?" Coloured flames from half a dozen flickering torches throwing bands of green and blue and gold across her face, the priest leaned forward and pointed an emphatic finger at a plump young man. "Would you like to have an application considered by the governing council?" She leaned back and spread her arms, her voice rising, her volume impressive. "Why run about to a half a dozen different temples when your problems can be dealt with under one roof." As music started up inside the building, she stepped aside and gestured through the open door. "Come. Petition Cot'Dazur."
It was a catchy tune and Terizan, hidden in the crowd pouring up the steps, found herself moving in time to the beat – until she stubbed her toe and the pain distracted her.
Inside, lamps burning scented oil fought futilely against the smell of fresh paint mixed with half a hundred unwashed bodies. Had the ceiling not arched better than two full stories high with a row of open windows running below both sides of the peak, the combination would have quickly overpowered even the most ardent supplicant.
Painted into the plaster over the door was a representation of Cot'Dazur with features so bland they seemed designed to appeal to just about everyone. From where Terizan stood, the paint looked wet. When the priest of Keydi-azda said this was a new god, he wasn't kidding.
Pushed up against a stucco wall, she scowled and brushed fresh plaster off her shoulder. A good thief avoided stucco – it not only crumbled easily, it also marked those who came in contact with it. Tonight, it looked like she wasn't going to have a choice.
Most of the crowd had broken into smaller groups, each clustered around a red robed priest. Somehow, even though the music continued in the background, the noise never quite rose to unbearable levels.
"Would you like some sweet-dough?"
Terizan eyed the tray of deep fried dough and her lip curled. "No, thanks." Grease and stucco combined would be just what she needed.
"A cinnamon tea?"
"No. I'm, uh, fasting."
The acolyte smiled down at her. "This is your first time, isn't it?"
Since he didn't seem to expect an answer, Terizan didn't bother giving him one. Something about him set her teeth on edge. It wasn't his height, most people were taller than she was. It wasn't the blinding glory of his smile, or the cleft in his square jaw, or the breadth of his shoulders under his robe. It wasn't any single feature – it was the way they combined that she disliked. While she might've responded better to a woman, she doubted it. Glancing around the temple, she saw that all the acolytes, men and women, shared a similar bland prettiness – they were young and cheerful and completely interchangeable. The priests, who had to be at least a little older, seemed much the same. In fact, they all looked rather remarkably like the painting of their god.
"How much does all this cost?" she asked as a trio of dancers began preforming on a small raised dais.
"Nothing at all to you," the acolyte assured her. "But donations are gratefully accepted."
Which explained the empty copper pot in the middle of the tray of sweet-dough. And the rosewood boxes carved with the hieroglyph of Cot'Dazur scattered strategically about.
"Gee, too bad I haven't got a monkey on me." She almost admired the way his smile never wavered as he disengaged and moved on. When his attention seemed fully occupied by a petitioner with a little more coin, she worked her way toward the front of the temple.
Compared to the quiet, contemplative temple of Keydi-azda, all the rah, rah Cot'Dazur set her teeth on edge – although she had to admit as she paused a moment to listen to an impassioned prayer for the speedy recovery of a sick camel that involved some very realistic spitting, it was the more entertaining way to spend an evening.
The Guild of Thespians could take lessons from these guys...
There was the expected small door beside the altar. Terizan waited until a particularly athletic solicitation drew most eyes then slipped through it.
The sudden quiet made her ears ring.
It took time for a god to gain substance and first impressions suggested this lot wouldn't care to wait. If they planned to use the stolen icons as a shortcut to achieving divine power then all seven would have to be grouped together at a focal point somewhere in the temple. Inside the altar was the most obvious spot, but not even the best thief in Oreen could get to them until after the crowd ate its fill of sweet-dough and went home.
A short flight of dark stairs lead to narrow room lit by a single lamp. Street clothes hung neatly on hooks over polished wooden benches and a large wicker basket probably waited for dirty robes. Terizan squirmed into the darkness below a bench and settled down to wait.
Laughing voices woke her.
Feet flickered past her hiding place, shadowed shapes against the shadows by the floor. Most of the conversation seemed to centre on how full the collection boxes had been and on how much sweet-dough had been eaten. Since Terizan had always believed that priests were people just like any other people, she couldn't understand why it bothered her so much to be right. The smell of fresh varnish made her want to sneeze but that, at least, was a discomfort she was used to.
When the laughing voices left, she thought she could hear two, maybe three people moving quietly about the room.
"How much longer?"
"Patience, Habazan, patience."
Terizan recognized the voice of the priest who had drawn the crowd into the temple. She had an unmistakable way of pronouncing every word as if it came straight from her god.
"But we have the icons."
"Granted, but even small gods will be able to hold their power for a while."
"I thought if we took the symbol of their power we took their power."
"We did. The small gods and their icons have become one and the same in most people's minds. With the icon gone, the people assume that the god is gone and will stop believing. When enough of them stop, the gods will end, and their power – through the icons – will be ours."
"Will be Cot'Dazur's."
"Of course. That's what I meant."
"But how much longer?"
"Not very."
Not very, Terizan repeated to herself as the priest and her companion took the lamp and left the robing room. Not very long before the small gods end. She lay where she was and scratched at the rash on her stomach. She didn't have to do this, didn't have to risk anything to return the Eye of Keydi-azda. If the priest of Cot'Dazur was right, in not very much longer Keydi-azda would be unable to affect her life. All she had to do was endure a few discomforts and soon it would end.
Keydi-azda would end.
Terizan sighed and slid out from under the bench. Any other thief would let it go. Wouldn't risk it. But, as she'd told Poli, she wasn't any other thief. I've never killed anyone and I'm not about to start now.
Slipping on one of the dirty robes, she started down the stairs and cracked her forehead on the edge of a metal lamp bracket.
...which doesn't mean I'm not tempted.
The altar had been carved from a solid piece of the local sandstone. It might have been hollow underneath but Terizan's instincts said otherwise. There was always the possibility that the priests had hired a wizard to sink the icons into the stone, but from what Terizan had overheard, she didn't think that had happened.
So they had to be hidden somewhere else.
Somewhere in the temple.
Somewhere that could be used to focus the power from the seven gods onto Cot'Dazur.
Hugging the shadows at the base of the walls, Terizan made her way toward the doors. In the combination of moon and starlight that spilled through the open windows, she could just barely make out the painting of the god.
Wet paint.
Cot'Dazur couldn't possibly be that new.
The collection boxes were lighter than she expected. She only hoped they'd hold her weight. When she had them stacked as high as her head, she made a bag out of the robe, tucked her sandals under her sash and climbed carefully to the top of the pile. From there, she stepped onto the lintel of the door.
The plaster was still wet enough to cut with her longest lockpick. She sliced out a careful square, slipped it into the bag, and reached into the hole. Her fingers brushed the familiar cold curve of the Eye of Keydi-azda. Some of the other pieces were a little harder to find and by the time she'd finished, she'd destroyed most of the painting.
She was just about to step back onto the boxes, bag tied to her back, the Staff of Hamtazia shoved awkwardly through the knots, when she heard voices approaching from outside.
"I'm sure I left it up in the robing room. I'll only be a minute."
Oh crap. When they opened the door, the boxes would go flying. Balanced on the lintel, Terizan measured the distance to the closest window and realized she had no choice but to attempt it. If she couldn't go down...
Stretching her left arm out and up as far as she could, she drove her longest pick into the wall, swung out on it, kicked holes in the plaster, changed hands and did it again with her second longest pick. The Dagger of Sharidan, Guardian of the Fifth Gate, would have worked better but she couldn't take the time to dig it out. As she crab-climbed up and over toward the window, the returning acolytes pushed open the door.
The sound of collection boxes crashing to the floor, some of them bouncing, some of them smashing against the tile, covered her involuntary curse as the second longest pick proved too short and began to pull out of the wall. Desperately scrabbling for a toe hold, she ignored the shouting from below as the astonished acolytes stumbled over bits of broken wood demanding someone undefined bring them a lamp.
Her fingertips caught the bottom edge of the window.
A new voice shouted from deep inside the temple.
Shit! I should've known there was caretaker! She'd been incredibly lucky so far, but unless she got out the window before the caretaker came with a light that wouldn't mean much. Under better circumstances, she'd have used her grip on the window as an anchor and moved carefully around the corner onto the side wall. Under these particular circumstances, she jumped.
/> Her right hand gripped the ledge safely, but lost its grip on the pick. As the steel spike began to fall, Terizan jerked her head forward and caught it in her mouth, somehow managing to hang on in spite of a split lip. Anything left behind could lead a wizard right to her.
Muscles straining, she got the upper half of her body over the window sill, wrestled the Staff of Hamtazia out the opening, and lowered herself onto the steeply angled roof. If I can make it to the ground before they figure out which way I went, she reasoned as she began to slide, they'll never catch me. Most roofs in Oreen were flat or domed – it wasn't until she noticed how fast the edge was approaching that she realized her danger.
That's a story and a half drop! Flipping over onto her stomach she dug in fingers and toes but the clay tiles overlapped so smoothly she had nothing to grab. Then her legs were in the air. Her body began to tip while she fought to grab a handful of roof.
Her hip hit a protrusion of some kind. Then the knotted robe slammed up under her chin and her left arm pit and she found herself hanging between a two of the decorative wooden things that stuck out from under the edge of the roof, dangling half throttled from the jammed Staff of Hamtazia.
It's about time something went my way...
Since her hands were free, she quickly returned both picks to the seams of her trousers, pulled herself up enough to free the Staff, then dropped. By the time the hue and cry began, she'd lost herself in the shadows.
***
In the temple of Keydi-azda, the same three lamps burned unattended. Although Terizan half expected something to go wrong, the Eye fit back into the stone socket as easily as it had come out. The other six stolen icons, she set carefully onto the shelves where they'd be found by those who needed them. Then she knelt, folded back the robe, and pulled out the last item it held. The first square of damp plaster she'd cut out of the wall – the face of Cot'Dazur, miraculously in one piece in spite of everything.
"I'm a thief," she told the watching Eye of Keydi-azda. "I'm not a judge, and I'm not an executioner. I've never killed anyone and I'm not about to start. If the priests of Cot'Dazur need their icon back, they can find it here with the rest."