changed her calling from that of a novitiate in the priesthood to a Squire-Adamant of the Order of the Shield of the Weak. Mathias had stepped in to take her as his squire when the debate between the High Priestess Seldon and Father-Bishop Creegan had grown contentious. Sandreena now knew that she was a useful tool for Creegan and whatever personal affection or desire he might possess for her, was easily put aside. Seldon saw her as a stolen possession, another setback in her endless struggle with the Order and those associated with it, especially the Father-Bishop. It was rare for anyone to rise from the martial orders to a position of authority within the Temple proper, but Creegan was a rare man.
‘He is … content,’ said Sandreena slowly. ‘The illness that takes his memory has not lessened his pleasures in most things. He’s content to fish when allowed, or to walk in the gardens. He sometimes remembers me, sometimes not.’
‘He is well otherwise, then?’ asked High Priestess Seldon and for a brief moment, Sandreena saw a hint of genuine concern and affection. Brother Mathias had refused rank and position over the years, but had gained great respect in the Temple.
‘The healers at the retreat say he is healthy and will abide for years. It’s just difficult … to not be remembered by him.’
‘He was like a father to you,’ said the High Priestess in a flat, almost dismissive tone, and whatever spark of humanity Sandreena had glimpsed was gone. Sandreena was Creegan’s creature, and the High Priestess would never forget that, or forgive her betrayal. Sandreena knew that much of the friction between the High Priestess and the Father-Bishop was because Seldon believed Creegan had usurped too much authority in Krondor, rather than being caused by losing a talented novitiate to the Order. It was rumoured that the High Priestess saw herself as a viable candidate for the most holy office in the Temple when the current Grand Master’s health failed. And if that were true, Creegan would be her biggest barrier to the office of Grand Mistress.
Sandreena resisted the temptation to remind the High Priestess that she had no idea what a father was like, given that her mother had no idea who her father had been; and that from what she had seen of other fathers while growing up, they were generally poor at best, and drunk, abusive, womanizing, brutal monsters at worse. No, Brother Mathias had been closer to a saint than a father. He had become, and remained to this day, the only man she trusted without reservation. Even Father-Bishop Creegan was viewed with some reservation, because his needs always trumped hers or indeed anyone else’s.
She simply nodded and made non-committal noises.
‘So, what is next for you, my child?’
Sandreena knew it was best not to equivocate. The High Priestess would have sources in the Temple. Yet, she didn’t have to tell the complete truth. ‘Word has reached the Order that pirates are troubling a village along the Keshian coast. It seems that the imperial court is too busy to be bothered with the problem, so as I am the closest Knight-Adamant to the village, I’m to go.’ Using her title reminded the High Priestess that despite her rank and former position of authority Sandreena visited her only as a courtesy, nothing more. Draining her cup, she rose and said, ‘I should be on my way, High Priestess. Thank you for taking time from your very busy day to seem me.’
She stood waiting for a formal acknowledgement, as was her right, and after an awkward moment, the older woman eventually inclined her head in consent. She could expect any priestess or novice to remain until dismissed, but not a knight of the Order. As Sandreena reached the door, the High Priestess said, ‘It is a shame, really.’
Sandreena hesitated, then turned and said, ‘What is a shame, High Priestess?’
‘I can’t help but feel that despite the work you do for the Goddess, you’ve somehow been turned from the proper path.’
Sandreena instantly thought of a dozen possible replies, all of them unkind and scathing, but her training with Brother Mathias made her pause before speaking. Calmly she replied, ‘I always seek the path intended for me, High Priestess, and pray daily to the Goddess that she keeps my feet upon it.’
Without another word, she turned and left. As she strode furiously down the long hall she longed for something to hit, a brigand or goblin would do nicely. Lacking one, she decided it was time to go to the training yard and take her mace to a pell and see how fast she could reduce the thick wooden post to splinters.
Sandreena stood panting, having taken out her bad temper on a pell for nearly an hour. Her right arm ached from the repeated bashing she had given the stationary wooden target. Like all members of her Order, she carried a mace. The tradition of not using edged weapons was lost in time, but believed to be part of her Order’s doctrine to strive for balance. Those she fought were given every opportunity to yield, even to the point of death. Edged weapons spilled blood that could not be given back. She had wondered on more than one occasion whether the original proponent of the tradition knew how much damage could be done to a body with a well-handled mace. A broken skull was as fatal as bleeding.
A girl wearing the garb of the Order, someone’s squire, or a page, approached her. She was very pretty, and for a moment Sandreena dryly considered that she was probably on the Father-Bishop’s personal staff. Sandreena nodded a greeting. ‘Sister.’
The young acolyte held out a small, black wooden box. ‘The Father-Bishop asked me to give this to you. He said you would understand.’
Sandreena laughed. She was on his staff.
The girl looked slightly confused and Sandreena said, ‘Sorry, just an idle thought after a long practice. Are you training for the Order Adamant?’
She shook her head. ‘I am a scribe and cleric,’ she answered. ‘I serve in the Temple library.’
‘Ah,’ said Sandreena. The Father-Bishop had one of his little spies where she could monitor all comings and goings; as well as being the repository for all the Order’s valuable volumes, librams, tomes, and scrolls, the library was where all of the scribes did their superior’s bidding. She took the box. ‘Thank you.’
She watched the slender girl walk purposefully away and for a fleeting moment wondered what her life story had been before coming here; did she have a loving father and a mother who wished for grandchildren? Was she a fugitive from a harsh and uncaring world? Putting aside such pointless thoughts, she opened the box.
She understood immediately what the contents of the box heralded. Within lay a dull, pearl-white stone set within a simple metal clasp and hung from a plain leather thong. She lifted it out with a resigned sigh. It was a soul gateway. Before she departed on her assignment, Sandreena would now have to endure a very long and difficult session with one of the more powerful Brothers of the Order, preparing her stone, so that in the event of her death, her spirit could be recalled to the Temple, and questioned by those who could speak to the departed. If the magic used were strong enough, she could even be resurrected in the Temple. This act was the most powerful magic available to the Temple, rare in the extreme and most difficult to execute. She wondered if her scars would reappear in the event of her resurrection; the scar on her thigh had a habit of itching at the most inconvenient times. Then she considered the stone.
Its presentation meant that whatever she was being sent to discover was important. So important that even if she didn’t survive, the discovery must still be reported to the Temple, even if that report came from her ghost, kept from Lims-Kragma’s Hall for a few additional hours. Or, should the need be great, and if Lims-Kragma were willing, she might escape death entirely.
Despite the heat of the day and her exertion, she felt a chill and a need to cleanse herself.
From a window high above the
