At length they came to a less crowded, cleaner section of the city, where they boarded their oeikani in a stable. They continued down a street lined with great edifices of marble and granite. Toren heard chants filter out of one temple, and through the portal of another saw men kneel and touch their foreheads to the tiles while a eunuch beat on a large brass gong.
"A god for every persuasion," Geim said dryly. "They have one thing in common. They all require plentiful offerings to appease them."
"Even Struth?"
"Especially Struth."
Even as he spoke, Geim indicated the stone wall they were approaching. It towered twenty feet high, surrounding grounds more extensive than any they had seen thus far. Brawny sentries patrolled the top, and more stood in the archway beside a set of imposing doors, looking fierce but otherwise ignoring everyone. The doors hung wide open, and through the gap, in and out, flowed a small but constant stream of supplicants. Geim, Deena, and Toren filtered inside.
They passed through a foyer and came to a spacious amphitheater. Several dozen people, perhaps a hundred, were queued at the far side, in front of a gigantic statue of a frog. The chiselled image rose so tall that the crest of its head was even with the top of the walls, framed by the open sky above.
"The Oracle of Struth, the frog god," Deena whispered to Toren.
Immediately in front of the statue, separating it from the throng, was a broad, rectangular pool. One by one, worshippers approached a tiny dais and cast coins into the water. As they did so, the supplicants asked questions, some of which Deena translated for Toren. A farmer asked if the danger of frost had ended. A merchant wanted to know if the price of iron would drop soon. A middle-aged matron asked what her new son-in-law should do to prosper in his trade. None were answered. But when a small boy demanded, rather insistently, to know if he would travel to faraway places when he was older, a reply came.
"Yes."
The deep voice made Toren jump. The meaning penetrated far more directly than any common sound could. It seemed to come from the head of the stone frog, yet at the same time, it came from all directions. There was no need for translation. A murmur ran through the crowd, and the boy, grinning with self-importance, stepped down from the dais and headed for the exit.
The supplicants came from all walks of life, from nobles in embroidered finery to beggars in rags. Toren and his companions did not join the line; they waited near the entrance, observing for the better part of an hour. Toren grew restless, but Geim told him to pay attention, to try to see a pattern to the oracle's actions.
At first, it seemed that there was none. About one in five petitioners was answered, some at length, more often with a simple yes or no, with no direct relationship between the amount of money thrown, or the sophistication of the question, and receipt of an answer. But over time, Toren saw that larger offerings did increase one's chances. And once, something unusual happened.
A man in the livery of a Calinin high family came forward, dropped several gold pieces, and said, "Who is my lord's hidden enemy?"
"He who sleeps with your lord," the oracle replied.
The man blanched, then nodded knowingly. Then, as he stepped off the dais, the frog god spoke again.
"Bide with me for a time."
The man jumped, then both he and the rest of the crowd turned toward a curtained alcove behind the statue. The cloth parted, held by a stunningly beautiful woman. She beckoned the petitioner, who burst into a smile and walked quickly into the passageway. Men left behind licked their lips and watched with envious glances.
"I don't understand," Toren said.
"That man has just been favored with the hospitality of Struth," Geim said. "I'll explain later. It's time we went inside. We'll use a less public route."
They left the way they had come. They continued along the wall and around a corner into an untrafficked alley. Geim stepped up to a small door and rapped four times.
The peephole opened, then the door. A drelb stood there. He greeted Geim and Deena by name, spoke a few words, and made way for them.
"He says I'm to go to the high priestess," Deena told Toren. "You and Geim are to wait in the Wine Room." They continued on. The dwarf remained by the door.
They passed through a small anteroom into a garden of lush trees, vines, and fronds. Deena vanished down one path, while Geim led Toren down another between a series of pools-deep rock grottoes stocked with exotic fish, and shallow ponds spotted with lilies and water grass. Frogs croaked. The garden ended in one large, clear pool of flat tile, in which four women waded, each as lovely as the one in the oracle's hall. They smiled and waved at Geim, who waved back.
The temple itself ascended in many tiers, artfully accented with balconies, stairways, columns, hallways, and patios, trellises of flowering vines, and stained glass windows. It did not fit with the houses of religion elsewhere along the street.
As they walked down a well-lit hallway panelled in wood and decorated with framed paintings, an elderly woman servant handed Geim a key. She continued on without a word, towels in her hand, heading for the pool as if drying the bathing women had been her sole duty.
Geim unlocked a door near the end of the corridor. They stepped into a small room. The scent of incense and wine greeted them. Fine tapestries lined the walls. Along the side opposite the door sat a row of wine barrels, with a smaller cask on a stand in front. Cushioned divans abutted the two side walls, stacked with abundant plush pillows. In the center of the room stood a glass table whorled into an intricate statue of an octopus, its outstretched tentacles providing occasional flat spots on which empty goblets were cradled.
"This is one of the reception rooms," Geim said. "One of the places the lucky supplicant to the oracle might be entertained. Each one has its own decor." He picked up a pair of goblets, went to the small cask, and filled them with an amber wine. A rich, fruity bouquet kissed the air. "I have a very fond memory of this room," he added, turning off the spigot. His eyes sparkled. "The hospitality of the priestesses of Struth is legendary, and they deserve their fame."
"They're prostitutes?"
Geim rolled a tiny mouthful of wine across his tongue. Toren did likewise, and realized for the first time that winemaking was a type of art, and that he was sampling the work of an adept.
"You might call them that. The priestesses provide incentive for certain people to visit the oracle. Struth is a gatherer of information. The more influential the supplicant-the closer to positions of power-the more likely he is to be invited within the walls. There he enjoys the attentions of a priestess, and she, in turn, encourages him to unburden his heart, tell her his inner worries. It's more than sex. The priestesses are sorceresses. By the time a man has been with one for a few hours, her particular kind of magic makes it difficult for him not to reveal his entire life story. Struth knows more about the inner workings of the empire than any living creature. The crown prince of Serthe himself is a frequent visitor. But even if providing sex to strangers is part of their calling, it would be wrong to dismiss them as mere whores. They are proud of what they do. They do it for the frog god-the goddess, as they call her."
Toren massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to absorb all the information. "You were a supplicant once?"
"In a way. I was fortunate enough to have been in Headwater five years ago when Struth decided to learn more about the Vanihr. A man came to me in a tavern and hinted that, should I care to show my brown face and yellow hair in front of the oracle, it might be worth my while. I was certain he was playing a game with me, but after he left, curiosity got the best of me. I came to the temple and found, much to my delight, that the invitation was genuine."