She'd barely begun stroking again when she heard a splash nearby. She looked about and saw with shock the bow of a boat coming straight at her. It pulled alongside and a man in a hood shipped his oar and leaned over to offer her a hand. Sasha grabbed it, hauled, and embarrassed herself by barely managing to get her arms over the edge. The man grabbed her about the waist and pulled her over, and she fell gracelessly onto hard wood and bench seats. And lay there, gasping. Whoever that little priest had been, she owed him in a big way. And she hoped that his gods would save him from an ill fate.
“I…I didn't see you,” she gasped, heaving for air. “I thought I'd have…to swim back.” The boat was moving now, steady strokes of the oars. She propped up her head to look, and found that the wet robe had ridden up as she'd come overboard, exposing her from the waist down. Thankfully, the two oarsmen now had their backs turned as they rowed, and in turn blocked the view of the man at the tiller. She'd hurt her hip coming into the boat, and she rubbed at it, pulling the robe into some kind of modesty. One more bruise to her collection.
She struggled up, and took a seat at the bow, pulling off the dangling sword and putting it aside. She remembered suddenly to feel at her throat and found the leather pouch still in place. They were headed into deeper water now, but roughly back toward Petrodor. Behind, Porsada Temple loomed, white and shimmering in torchlight. Strange how the whiteness of the exterior made no impression inside. Strange to think that she'd been there at all.
The oarsmen stroked on as the boat rose up on the heaving swell. Sasha blinked her eyes clear of sea water and gazed back at the men in the boat. All hoods and cloaks. She clambered back a bench, to look between the oarsmen at the tillerman.
“Thank you,” she told him. “Are you priests too?” There was no reply. Nor, she observed, the prospect of receiving one about anything. “Sure, I understand. No questions. Fine with me. Thank you anyway.”
They were good oarsmen though, she reckoned, having seen enough of small-boat seamanship to be a judge of that. She doubted they were priests. Possibly they were simply men for hire. In which case, she should sit still and shut up, before they realised she might be worth more money to someone else than whatever the little priest in the cave had paid them. Possibly they didn't even know who she was.
She passed the time examining her sword for damage and watching the passing ships at anchor. The sword looked fine, though she would need to polish it soon-serrin steel rarely rusted but salt water wasn't good for anything. And she'd need to rewrap the handle binding.
Eventually the boat brought her alongside a pier at Dockside, and Sasha jumped off onto a tied-up fishing boat. The men rowed off immediately, leaving her to climb across two more boats and then up a ladder to the pier. The pier was mostly empty, as was the dockfront. That was unusual. The air seemed tense with danger, even here in Nasi-Keth heartland. She crouched where she was, knowing that it would be near impossible to see her amidst the rigging of tied boats against the black background of the harbour. She searched the docks with her eyes. She'd been away two days, she had no idea what had happened, nor how far the Halmady trouble had spread downslope.
Seeing nothing, she unfastened the strap about her neck and poured water from the leather pouch. Then, figuring that it would be best to be prepared, before bringing Kessligh anything of value, she undid the pouch. It took a while, as the fastener string was tied with tight knots. Once opened, there was another bag made of silk. She undid it and pulled out a hard, round metal disk. Even this far from the dockside houselights, the glint of gold was sharp.
Expensive, then. It didn't excite her particularly-if she'd wished nothing but wealth in her life, she'd have remained in Baen-Tar and been a proper Princess of Lenayin. It was a Verenthane star, she realised. A star had guided Saint Tristen to Mount Tristen, and in the blazing light of that star, the word of the gods had been proclaimed to him. Stars marked the holy path, and such stars had eight points, for justice, truth, love, brotherhood, and…and…damn, she forgot. All archbishops had a new star forged upon appointment, and each star became a unique signature of that man's life and order. The stars of the saints were legend, and said to be imbued with powers granted to those saints by the gods themselves.
This star…she peered at it closely, trying to discern its features in the dim light. This star had eight shallow points, the spaces in between encrusted with precious jewels. It was smaller than some, fitting within the hollow of her palm. It had a slim, gold chain, to be worn about the neck. And it had writing on the back in a circle about a central gemstone-a ruby. The writing looked to be in some Bacosh language, most likely old Enoran. She knew a little, as much of the Torovan tongue borrowed from Bacosh religious terms, and thought she could make out a couple of words…
And her heart nearly stopped. No. No, surely not. Surely the priest had not given her that one? Had that little, smiling, bearded man gone completely and utterly mad?
“Dear Lords, it is.” Alaine leaned over the table, staring at the golden object on its surface. His narrow face was pale beneath falling curls of dark hair and he made the holy sign to his forehead repeatedly. Gerrold had not left his chair, his eyes were troubled, but not reverent. “It is the Shereldin Star. The holiest of the holy. The gods favour us beyond measure.”
“They unleash upon us a calamity,” Gerrold said sombrely. “This will cause upheaval through all Petrodor. Through all Torovan, in fact. We must give this back.”
“Give it back?” Alaine rounded on his elder companion. “Good gods man, can you not see what a gift this is? This is the first and oldest of the Verenthane holy stars, forged upon the founding of the Enoran High Temple in the presence of the first saints! The single most sacred object of the faith! With this, we can rally the faithful to our cause! We can instruct the priesthood to leave off their foul war. We can be certain that the will of the gods is with us, and we shall surely be victorious!”
The meeting was held on the second floor of the Velo Family household, Alaine and Gerrold had each brought two supporters. Sasha sat on a bench behind Kessligh, with Bret. She wore a change of clothes from her room, and a borrowed pair of boots. Only the nine people in this room knew of the treasure that had fallen into their laps. Or ten, if one counted Mari. Kessligh had told him, for courtesy, and invited him to be present at the meeting, as head of the household. Mari had declined, and looked ill and gone to his room to pray.
“The archbishop will say this was stolen,” Gerrold replied. “He will call us thieves. He will mount a holy war on Dockside to retrieve it. He will unite all Verenthanes against us.”
“No,” said Kessligh. Of all three leaders, his expression was the most unreadable. “Father Terano told Sasha that the archbishop plots with Patachi Steiner.” Those who knew the priesthood well had recognised the small, bearded priest from Sasha's description. Father Terano Maerler. Patachi Maerler's brother, no less. Sasha now doubted if he would be killed for his actions. To kill the holy relatives of lower families was one thing, but Father Terano Maerler's death could turn the dukes to Maerler's side in the Maerler-Steiner conflict.
“It is unclear whether Father Terano acts from divine outrage,” Kessligh continued, “or if he is merely a partisan, furthering his brother's interests. Either way, it seems clear that all power was accumulating to Patachi Steiner's hands. The archbishop was with him, the obstacles within the priesthood were being removed. The archbishop has declared that he shall not rest until the Shereldin Star has been returned to its rightful place in the Enoran High Temple, following the liberation of Enora and all the Saalshen Bacosh from the serrin. It is the symbol of this crusade, the rallying cry of the holy army. If Steiner becomes the leader of this crusade, with an army of Torovan at his disposal, he shall become a ruler of Petrodor unlike Petrodor has ever seen, answerable only to the archbishop, and possibly not even to him. Father Terano gives us the star to remove Patachi Steiner's authority to raise that army. There is no way that Patachi Maerler will help Patachi Steiner regain it. I think he'd rather we keep it. Better it lie in neutral hands than opposing ones.”