Omalthea. The Motherlord, the unbending one who could not, according to lore, be placated by anything less than a soul. He'd forgotten her!
In Hederick's darkest terrors, he'd imagined that the creatures who'd tracked him through numberless night shy;mares bore, not Ancilla's likeness, but the visage of Omalthea. '
"Your servant has transgressed deeply and humbly begs your patience." Sweat poured down Hederick's face. The heat in the room seemed to triple with the rising sun.
His robe stuck to him like mucilage. His fingers clenched the incense stick. Hederick closed his eyes tightly and inhaled a whiff of lily of the valley. In his agitation, the words of the prayer ran into each other. "Omalthea Supreme Motherlord of the Pantheons praise be always to you and know that I your abject servant will always hold you in the highest reverence joyfully offering even my pitiful life and paltry position in the afterlife to you if they please you."
He waited. Would she strike him dead? His thoughts fluttered like the wings of a moth, darted to his beloved Erolydon. He'd designed every engraved stone, every val-lenwood-paneled hall, every drainage canal and secret passageway.
Hederick bowed his head lower until his forehead touched the blue cloth on the prayer table. "Omalthea's will be done," he whispered. "I am hers to destroy."
Hederick's muscles twitched with tension. Eventually he lifted his head from the velvet and the cool stone. He still lived. The ceiling was intact. No claws had torn into his flesh.
He opened his eyes. Several novitiates began a Seeker hymn as they worked on the lawn outside his quarters. The sun was barely visible.
"We greet the day
In praise of the New Gods.
We labor in their honor.
We praise the new day.
All praise, all praise
The glory of the New Gods."
Ancilla had sung a version of that tune as she cleared the dishes from the table in the morning, back in Garlund. How old had he been-barely two? Hederick closed his eyes. The past, like always, threatened to sweep over him like a wave washing him out to sea.
Then, with an oath, he started. The past was behind him.
Dawn services, he thought. Discipline.
Dahos would be lost without him.
Hederick hurried from the chamber.
Chapter 14
The sound of the rock scraping back from the entrance started Tarscenian into wakefulness. He was alert and standing by the time the half-elf Gaveley entered the den. Mynx sat at the table, her expression unreadable.
Gaveley was dressed in the fashion of a pampered noble-snowy white silk shirt, tight green leather leg shy;gings, and fawn-colored kidskin boots. He stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Tarscenian. His almond-shaped, hazel eyes flicked to Mynx, then back to the tall traveler.
Two humans, both men, stood behind Gaveley. Their manner and guise contrasted sharply with that of the more elegantly attired half-elf. One man was nearly as tall as Tarscenian, but far huskier; he had the crushed ear and flattened nose of someone who was no stranger to tavern brawls. The other man was small and slight and so ordinary-looking as to be overlooked in almost any crowd-which was probably to his advantage, Tarscen shy;ian thought.
"What is this?" Gaveley said in a hostile voice, almost a hoarse whisper. "What is a stranger doing here? Mynx …" His hand went to the ornate sword at his waist.
Mynx stood to introduce Tarscenian. She sketched in the events of the afternoon and evening. "He wishes to join us. To my mind, he has some promise. He fooled the high priest and the temple guards handily in the refugees' quarter, Gaveley. You should have been there. Look."
She dug Dahos's ring out of a pocket and handed it to Gaveley, who accepted it with a half-smile.
"Still," he rasped, "you overstepped yourself in bring shy;ing him here of your own volition."
Mynx muttered an apology, but Gaveley was already circling Tarscenian. The older man turned with him, hand on the hilt of his sword, warily noting the position of the other thieves.
Suddenly, Gaveley's sword was out and poised at Tarscenian's throat. "You're rather old to take up our company, stranger," Gaveley whispered. "Are you cer shy;tain you're not a spy for the High Theocrat? He'd love to get his pudgy hands in our coffers, I'll warrant." He nod shy;ded toward the two men. "Xam, Snoop-check the area for Hederick's henchmen."
The two left without remark. The hulk of a man, Xam, cut through the den and disappeared through a back portal. Snoop wheeled and vanished back in the direc shy;tion from which he had come.
"You understand that I cannot be too careful, old man," Gaveley whispered.
"Tarscenian."
There was the sound of the rock again. In that instant, Gaveley's concentration wavered, and Tarscenian acted. His sword, held in a firm grip, swept up and clanged against Gaveley's. An instant later, Gaveley's weapon lay discarded on the floor, and it was the half-elf who was staring down a blade.
Tarscenian's voice was edged with anger. "I may be old, Gaveley, but I have learned much in my time."
Xam and Snoop, entering, froze. Gaveley, held at the point of Tarscenian's sword, flicked his gaze toward the smaller man. Snoop said simply, "All clear." Xam nod shy;ded as well. At that, Gaveley released a breath, stepped back from the swordpoint, and casually retrieved and sheathed his own weapon. In the light of the lantern that illuminated the hideout, he regarded Tarscenian with a cold half-smile.
Gaveley's more relaxed attitude signaled something to Xam, Snoop, and Mynx. All three helped themselves to the carafe of wine and took up comfortable positions around the room, waiting for what would happen next.
"We will see, Tarscenian," was all Gaveley said to the older man.
Mynx brought Gaveley a goblet of wine and poured another for Tarscenian. The older man refused with a shake of the head. Unlike the human thieves, who gulped the wine as though it were water, Gaveley sipped his drink elegantly. He leaned against a stool, glaring down at Xam and Snoop. "Report, you two," he rasped.
"I know where to find Von Falden," Xam said. "I expect to bring him in tomorrow."
This meant something to Gaveley, for he gave a satis shy;fied nod. "Splendid. Pantrev upped the bounty to two hundred steel yesterday," he said in his hoarse voice. "That was a tough assignment. Good work, Xam."
The bounty hunter grunted. "Years o' practice," he said and proceeded to down the rest of his wine.
Gaveley turned to the small, nondescript man. "Snoop?"
The spy shrugged. "Still looking. I know there's some shy;thing up between the young lady in question and the head of the weavers' guild, but proving it …" He shrugged again.
"Keep at it," Gaveley said. "It could mean hundreds of steel in blackmail-from each of them. If you can't come up with something solid, we can always bluff our way along, but blackmail always has more teeth when you can offer a bit of irrefutable evidence."
Gaveley's gaze fell on Mynx. "And you?"
She smiled lazily at him. There was a casualness between the two that suggested to Tarscenian that they'd once been much more than colleagues.
"I fulfilled my assignment, Gav," she said archly, "as you well know. And …" She unfastened a pouch from her waistband and spilled its contents onto the shelf. "And I have two purses, a copper bracelet decorated with what seem to be amethysts, three rings-including the high priest's, but I suppose I really can't take credit for that-and a hair clasp made of polished steel. Very pretty." She fondled the last-named item. "Can I keep it, Gav?"