by David Weber
Yet as she drew closer still, the imagined image of towers, burning with cool, radiant light against the star strewn heavens faded, and an icy chill touched her heart. No silver Lady's Light clung to those towers or those walls under the warm sunlight of early afternoon, but Kaeritha's eyes weren't like those of other mortals. They Saw what others didn't, and her mouth tightened as an ominous, poison-green light flickered at the corner of her vision.
She knew that stomach-churning green. She'd Seen it before, and her mind went back to a rainy day in Baron Tellian's library when she'd told him how unhappily familiar with the presence of the Dark champions of Tomanâk were.
She inhaled deeply and gazed up at the temple, trying to isolate those elusive flickers of green. She couldn't, and her jaw clenched as she failed. Each of Tomanâk's champions perceived evil and the handiwork of the Dark Gods in his or her own, unique fashion. Bahzell received his "feelings"—an impression of things not yet fully perceived, yet somehow known. Another champion she'd known heard music which guided him. But Kaeritha, like some magi to whom she'd spoken, Saw. For her, it was the interplay of light and shadow—or of Light and Dark. That inner perception had never failed or deceived her, and yet today, the meaning of what she Saw was . . . unclear. She couldn't pin it down, couldn't even be positive that the green light-devils dancing at the edges of her vision were coming from the temple, and not the town clustered below it.
That shouldn't have happened. Especially not when she'd come already primed by her suspicions and earlier investigations. The revealing glare of evil should have been obvious to her . . . unless someone—or something—with enormous power was deliberately concealing it.
She made herself exhale and shook her head like a horse bothered by a fly. The concealment wasn't necessarily directed specifically against her, she told herself. Whatever was happening in Quaysar was clearly part of a years-long effort, and the very thing which would make Quaysar such a prize in the eyes of the Dark was its importance to Lillinara and, specifically, to the Sothōii war maids. But that also meant Quaysar was more prominent, and more likely to draw pilgrims and visitors, than most other temples of its relatively modest size. And with pilgrims came those besides Kaeritha whose eyes might See what the Dark preferred to keep hidden.
Yet logical as that conclusion was, the fact remained that it required tremendous power to so thoroughly obscure the inner sight of a champion of Tomanâk. Indeed, such power must have completely blinded the perceptions—whether of sight, or hearing, or sensing—of anyone less intimately bound to the service of her god.
Which meant that somewhere atop that timeworn tooth of granite waited a servant of the Greater Dark.
Yes, she told herself grimly. And it's probably the 'Voice' herself. In fact, it would almost have to be. There's no way anything this Dark and powerful could hide itself from an uncorrupted Voice. But whatever it is, it doesn't have complete control. Not even a Dark God himself could keep me from Seeing if that were the case. Great! She snorted in harsh mental laughter. It's not everyone in Quaysar. Marvelous. All I have to do is assume that anyone I meet serves the Dark until she proves differently!
She closed her eyes and drew another deep breath.
All right, Tomanâk, she thought. You never promised it would be easy. And I suppose I'd be riding off in search of reinforcements instead of riding in all by my fool self, if my skull wasn't just as thick as Bahzell's. But it is. So, if You don't have anything else to do this afternoon, why don't You and I go call on the Voice?
* * *
"Well, she's almost here, Paratha."
Varnaythus stood on the town wall of Quasar and watched the single rider approaching the town.
"Fine," the tall woman standing beside him said almost indifferently. She sounded so blasé about it that Varnaythus turned his head to glare at her.
"I know Dahlaha is . . . confident, let us say, Paratha. But I'd hoped it was at least remotely possible that your confidence might not be quite as, ah, exuberant as hers. This is a champion of Tomanâk, you know."
"So she is," the tall woman agreed. She turned away from the wall and leaned her back against it while she looked at Varnaythus with an expression which mingled confidence, contempt, and something else. Hunger, Varnaythus decided. Or perhaps not hunger—perhaps eagerness.
"You do remember that you weren't supposed to be seeing any champions—and especially not any champions of Tomanâk—here at Quaysar, don't you?" he asked in a tone of the withering irony.
"No, we weren't," she agreed. "On the other hand, it's not something I haven't made preparations for. The Spider knew what She was doing when She recruited me, Varnaythus. With all due modesty, I'm the best there is. I'll take care of your little champion for you."
Varnaythus stared at her in disbelief.
"Are you insane?" he asked flatly, and anger flickered in her eyes. Her hand twitched near the hilt of her sword, and her upper lip curled back from her teeth. She opened her mouth to speak, but the index finger jabbed in her face stopped her.
"Don't you say a word," he hissed in a voice like silk sliding on a dagger's blade. "Not one word."
She closed her mouth again, with an almost audible click, and the wizard-priest drew a deep, deep breath and forced his anger back under control.
"Now you will listen to me," he told her, each word chopped off like a separate chip of ice. "Cassan's plan to weaken Tellian is busy ending in what looks like unmitigated disaster. Jerghar and every one of his fellow Servants have been destroyed. And Tellian, Bahzell, and Brandark are all still alive. The entire plan, with the exception of this one, single aspect, has already failed. If your overconfidence causes this part of it to miscarry as the other parts already have, you had better pray that you die here in Quaysar. Because if you don't, They will make you wish you had for the rest of eternity."
A shadow of fear crossed the tall woman's face, but there was as much resentment as fear in her expression, and her nostrils flared.
"I won't fail," she said flatly. "No, we weren't supposed to see a champion of Tomanâk here. I'll grant that. But Her plans always provided for the possibility that we might lose our foothold here in Quaysar. Indeed, they depended on our losing it at a time and in the fashion of our own choosing." She shrugged. "Perhaps that time is here, and perhaps it isn't. We'll soon see. But I tell you this, Varnaythus, you and Jerghar and your precious Baron Cassan may have failed, but we won't. And even if every other aspect of the plan's failed—for now, at least—this is the most important one, and you know it. You and Dahlaha told me at the outset that you wanted the Troubles back. Well, you'll have them, damn you! We'll take this terrifying little champion of yours, and the Spider will suck the life and soul out of her and make her serve our ends."
"Our record of successes against champions of Tomanâk doesn't exactly inspire me with unbounded faith in your confidence, Paratha," Varnaythus said coldly. "And you might want to consider this, too. A year ago, there were seventeen champions of Tomanâk in all of Norfressa. Now there are twenty, and four of them—four, Paratha; twenty percent of the total—are here on the Wind Plain or in Hurgrum. Do you think that's just some sort of minor coincidence? Or do you think there might just be a reason? Because I don't think it's an accident, and I do think there's a reason our track record against them has been an unmitigated disaster."
"Oh, no, Varnaythus—not our record, but yours. And, in fairness to Jerghar, he had to deal with the Bloody Hand. And, or so the Spider tells us, with a second champion. A courser champion, no less." She shook her head. "Against someone as powerful as the Bloody Hand, anything might be possible. And if Jerghar had no reason to expect that he faced not one, but two champions, then small wonder he lost. But we face only one, and the weakest of the three." She snorted and spat contemptuously over the wall. "This one is a lawyer at heart, Varnaythus. She craves to serve Justice, to look after the 'little people.' If it were the Bloody Hand, then I might worry, for he, at least, is a foe to respect. Bu
t this one—this Kaeritha—!" She barked a harsh laugh of scorn. "This one we'll eat, and use the leftover meat to feed the very flames we set out to ignite."
Varnaythus looked at her for several long, silent seconds, then shrugged.
"Very well. I hope you're right. But whether you are or not, the responsibility is yours, Paratha—yours and Dahlaha's. I've warned you, as I warned her. I hope your preparations are adequate."
"They are," she said with flat assurance.
"I'm delighted to hear it," he said. "But in the meantime, I've done everything I can. From here on, you're on your own. If your confidence is justified, I'll see you again in a few days."
Paratha opened her mouth again, but before she could speak, he was gone. She stood on the battlements, glaring at the empty flagstones on which he'd stood, then growled a curse under her breath and turned to look back out at the road from Kalatha once more.
The trotting rider was much closer now, and Paratha gazed at her for two long minutes with a dark, hungry smile. Then she laughed once, a sound like a frozen branch shattering under the weight of winter ice, and turned away.
* * *
"Of course, Dame Kaeritha! Come in, come in! We've been expecting you."
The officer in command of the temple's largely ceremonial gate guard bowed deeply and swept his arm at the open gate in a welcoming gesture. He straightened to find Kaeritha gazing down at him from Cloudy's saddle with a quizzical expression and frowned ever so slightly, as if surprised she hadn't ridden straight past at his invitation.
"Expecting me?" she said, and he cleared his throat.
"Uh, yes, Milady." He shook himself. "The Voice warned us several days ago that you would be coming to visit us," he said in a less flustered tone.
"I see." Kaeritha filed that information away along with the officer's strong Sothōii accent and the warmth which had infused his own voice as he mentioned the Voice. It was uncommon for a temple of Lillinara in the Empire of the Axe to have its gate guard commanded by a man. It wasn't precisely unheard of, even there, however, given the small percentage of Axewomen who followed the profession of arms, and she supposed it made even more sense here in the Kingdom of the Sothōii, where even fewer women were warriors. Yet she also saw two war maids in chari and yathu standing behind him, with swords at their hips, crossed bandoliers of throwing stars, and the traditional war maid garrottes wound around their heads like leather headbands. Given the special significance Quaysar held for all war maids, she found it . . . interesting that the temple's entire guard force didn't consist solely of them.
The way the guard commander had spoken of the Voice was almost equally interesting, especially from a native Sothōii. He seemed completely comfortable in the service of a temple not simply dedicated to the goddess of women but intimately associated with the creation of all those "unnatural" war maids. Granted, anyone who would have accepted the position in the first place must be more enlightened than most of his fellow Sothōii males, but there was more than simple acceptance or even approval in his tone. It came far closer to something which might almost have been called . . . obeisance. For that matter, Kaeritha didn't much care for the look in his eyes, although she would have been hard put to pin down what it was about it that bothered her.
"Yes, Milady," the officer continued. "She knew you'd visited Kalatha and Lord Trisu, and she told us almost a week ago that you would be visiting us, as well." He smiled. "And, of course, she made it abundantly clear that we were to greet you with all of the courtesy due to a champion of the War God."
Kaeritha glanced at the rest of his guard force: the two war maids she'd already noticed and three more men in the traditional Sothōii cuirass and leather. They were too well trained to abandon their stance of professional watchfulness, but their body language and expressions matched the warmth in their commander's voice.
"That was very considerate of the Voice," she said after a moment. "I appreciate it. And she was quite correct; I have come to Quaysar to meet with her. Since she was courteous enough to warn you I was coming, did she also indicate whether or not she would be able to grant me an audience?"
"My instructions were to pass you straight in, and I believe you'll find Major Kharlan, the commander of the Voice's personal guards, waiting to escort you directly to her."
"I see the Voice is as foresightful as she is courteous," Kaeritha said with a smile. "As are those who serve her and the Goddess here in Quaysar."
"Thank you for those kind words, Milady." The officer bowed again, less deeply, and waved at the open gateway once more. "But we all know only serious matters could have brought you this far from the Empire, and the Voice is eager for Major Kharlan to escort you to her."
"Of course," Kaeritha agreed, inclining her head in a small, answering bow. "I hope we meet again before I leave Quaysar," she added, and touched Cloudy gently with her heel.
The mare trotted through the open gate. The tunnel beyond it was longer than Kaeritha had expected. The temple's defensive wall was clearly thicker than it had appeared from a distance, and the disk of sunlight waiting to welcome her at its farther end seemed tiny and far away. Her shoulders were tight, tension sang in her belly, and she was acutely conscious of the silent menace of the murder holes in the tunnel ceiling as she passed under them. This wasn't the first time she'd ridden knowingly into what she suspected was an ambush, and she knew she appeared outwardly calm and unconcerned. It just didn't feel that way from her side.
Major Kharlan was waiting for her, and Kaeritha raised a mental eyebrow as she realized the major was accompanied only by a groom who was obviously there to take care of Cloudy for her. Apparently, whatever the Voice had in mind included nothing so crude as swords in the temple courtyard.
"Milady Champion," the major murmured, bending her head in greeting. "My name is Kharlan, Paratha Kharlan. Quaysar is honored by your visit."
The major had a pronounced Sothōii accent, and stood an inch or so taller than Kaeritha herself, but she wore a cuirass over a chain hauberk much like Kaeritha's own and carried a cavalry saber. If she was a war maid, she was obviously one of the minority who'd trained with more "standard" weapons.
That much was apparent the instant Kaeritha glanced at her, just as it would have been to anyone else. But that was all "anyone else" might have seen. The additional armor Kharlan wore was visible only to Kaeritha, and she tensed inside like a cat suddenly faced by a cobra as she Saw the corona of sickly, yellow-green light which outlined the major's body. The sensation of "wrongness" radiating from her was like a punch in the belly to Kaeritha, a taste so vile she almost gagged physically and wondered for a moment how anyone could possibly fail to perceive it as clearly as she did.
"The Voice has instructed me to bid you welcome and to escort you to her at your earliest convenience," the tall woman continued, smiling, her voice so bizarrely normal sounding after what Kaeritha had Seen that it required all of Kaeritha's hard-trained self-control not to stare at her in disbelief.
"I appreciate your gracious welcome, Major," she replied pleasantly, instead, after she'd dismounted, and smiled as if she'd noticed nothing at all.
"How else ought we to welcome a champion of Lillinara's own brother?" Paratha responded. "Our Voice has bidden me welcome you in her name and in the name of her Lady, and to assure you that she and the entire temple stand ready to assist you in any way we may."
"Her graciousness and generosity are no less than I would expect from a Voice of the Mother," Kaeritha said. "And they are most welcome."
"Welcome, perhaps," Paratha said, "yet they're also the very least we can offer a servant of Tomanâk who rides in search of justice. And since you come to us upon that errand, may I guide you directly to the Voice? Or would you prefer to wash and refresh yourself after your ride, first?"
"As you say, Major, I come in search of justice. If the Voice is prepared to see me so quickly, I would prefer to go directly to her."
"Of course, Milady," Paratha said,
with another pleasant smile. "If you'll follow me."
Chapter Forty-Four
Well, Kaeritha thought as she followed Paratha into the temple complex, at least I can be sure where to find one of my enemies.
It took a physical act of will to keep her hands away from the hilts of her weapons while she trailed along behind the major. Paratha seemed to glow in the temple's hushed, reverent dimness, and tendrils of the sickly radiance which clung to her reached out to embrace others as they passed. There was something nauseating about the slow, lascivious way those dully glowing light serpents caressed and stroked those they touched. Most of them gave no indication that they realized anything had touched them, but as Kaeritha walked past them behind Paratha, she Saw tiny, ugly spots, like a leprosy of evil, upon them. They were so small, those spots—hardly visible, only a tiny bit more intense than any normal, fallible mortal might be expected to bear. Yet there were scores of them on most of the acolytes and handmaidens she and Paratha passed, and they blazed briefly stronger and uglier as the major's corona reached out to them. Then they faded, sinking inward, until not even Kaeritha could See them.
That was bad enough, but those who did feel something when Paratha's vile web brushed over them were worse. However hard they tried to conceal it, they felt the caress of the Darkness draped about Paratha, and a flicker of pleasure—almost a twisted ecstasy—danced ever so briefly across their faces.
Kaeritha's pulse thudded harder and faster as they moved deeper and deeper into the temple. They'd entered through the Chapel of the Crone, which was not the avenue of approach Kaeritha would have chosen in Major Kharlan's place. Whatever crawling evil had infested Quaysar, this was still a temple of Lillinara. To defile its buildings and, even more, its inhabitants and servitors might be an enormous triumph for the Dark, but the stones themselves must remember in whose honor and reverence they'd been raised. However great the triumph, it could not pass undetected forever, and of all Lillinara' aspects, it was the Crone, the Avenger, whose fury Kaeritha would least have liked to face.