Hal by most, and had showed both maturity and decisiveness when acting as interlocutor between his father’s surrogate and the itinerant Knight-Adamant of the Temple of Dala. The outlying villages often seemed more a burden than a benefit to the local nobles, producing little in the way of income from the land, but requiring a disproportionate amount of protection from marauding renegades, raiding goblins, dark elves, or whatever other menace inhabited the region.
Sandreena had spent the better part of the past year in Crydee, and had only left when she had seen the village back on a firm footing. On the way back to Krondor she had intervened in half a dozen minor conflicts, always taking the side of the outnumbered, besieged, or beleaguered as her calling dictated, attempting to restore balance and work out a peaceful solution, always mediating where she could. She was often struck by the irony of how violence was usually needed in order to prevent a more violent outcome.
‘What are your orders, Father-Bishop?’
His brow furrowed slightly. ‘No time for pleasantries? Very well then, to your task. What do you know about the Peaks of the Quor?’
Sandreena paused for a moment before answering. The Father-Bishop had little time and less patience for overblown attempts to impress him, so she finally said, ‘Little that is germane to what you’re about to tell me, I suspect.’
He smiled. ‘What do you know?’
‘It’s a region of Kesh, south of Roldem, isolated and sparsely populated. Rumour suggests that smugglers put in there from time to time, seeking to circumvent Roldem and Kesh’s revenue ships, but more than that I do not know.’
‘A race of beings live there, called the Quor. Hence the region’s name. They are in turn protected, if that is indeed the correct term, by a band of elves.’ Sandreena raised an eyebrow in surprise. To the best of her knowledge, elves only resided in the lands north of Crydee.
‘We have a little information beyond that, but not much. This is why I have decided to send someone down there.’
‘Me, Father-Bishop?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘There is a village on the eastern side of the peninsula, named Akrakon, the inhabitants are descendants of one of the more annoying tribes of the region, but were long ago subjugated by Kesh. They mind their manners, more or less, but lately they’ve been troubled by marauding pirates.’ The Father-Bishop’s tone changed. ‘We’ve had sporadic word of these pirates for over ten years. We have no idea who they are or why they bother to trouble the coastal villages…’ He shrugged. ‘All we know is that they seem to have a liking for black headgear, hats, scarves, and the like. Where they come from, what they want, who they serve …?’ Again he shrugged. ‘Be cautious, Sandreena; occasionally they number a magic user or two in their crew. Our first report involved a demon, as well.’
She nodded. Now she understood why she had been chosen. She had faced down more than one demon in her short tenure with the Order.
‘As Kesh’s Imperial Court is occupied by far weightier concerns, it has fallen to us to investigate this injustice.’
‘And if I should also happen to discover more about these people in the mountains, the Quor, all the better.’
‘All the better,’ he agreed. ‘But be careful, for there is another complication.’
Dryly, she said, ‘There always is.’
‘Very powerful people are also interested in the Quor and the elves who serve or protect them; people who have influence and reach, even into very high office.’ He sat back and said, ‘The Magicians.’
She didn’t need to ask whom he meant. The Magicians of Stardock were looked upon with deep suspicion by the Temples of the Kingdom and Kesh. Magic was the province of the gods, granted only to their faithful servants to do the work the gods intended. Magicians were seen as expropriators of power intended for only a chosen few, and as such were considered suspect at best, untrustworthy at worst. Many magic users became seduced by the darker arts, several having been marked for death by the Temple’s leaders due to past wrongs.
Sandreena had encountered several magic users over the years, most with unhappy outcomes, and those that weren’t had still been difficult. It was a sad truth that even the most depraved had believed they had some justification for their behaviour. She recalled one particularly ugly incident with a group of necromancers, a trio of maniacs who had been so overcome by madness that the holy knight had no alternative but to see them dead. She still carried a puckered scar on her left thigh as a reminder that some people were incapable of reason. One of the magicians had thrown a dark magic bolt at her before he died, and while the initial injury had been minor, the wound would not close, festering and growing more putrid by the day. It had taken a prodigious amount of work by the Temple healers to keep Sandreena from losing her leg, or worse, and she had been confined to her bed for nearly a month because of it.
‘I’ll be alert to any sign that the Magicians have a hand in this, Father-Bishop.’
‘Before you go, have you paid a courtesy visit to the High Priestess yet?’
Sandreena smiled. No matter how devout the members of the Order might be, there was always politics. ‘Had you not summoned me from my meditation and cleansing, I would have made that call first, Father-Bishop.’
Creegan smiled ruefully. ‘Ah, just when things are going smoothly, I cause a fuss.’
‘That fuss was caused long before today, Father-Bishop.’
He shrugged slightly. ‘The High Priestess is … steadfast in her devotion, and not well pleased that one of their brightest students choose the Adamant Way. We both agree that you would have risen high in the Order as a priestess, but, it is not for us to question the path upon which the Goddess has placed you.’
Sandreena’s smile broadened. ‘Not to question it, perhaps, but apparently it still permits some to demand a degree of clarification.’
Father-Bishop Creegan laughed, which he rarely did. ‘I miss your wit, girl.’
She resisted the urge to reflexively sigh at the word. He only called her girl during their private conversations, and it reminded her of a time when their mentor and protégé roles had come very close to becoming something far more personal. The Orders of Dala were not celibate; although the demands of the calling made marriage and family a rare occurrence, liaisons did occasionally take place. However, for a man of the Father-Bishop’s rank and stature to become intimate with an acolyte, or even a Squire-Adamant, would have been inappropriate, and Sandreena’s natural aversion towards men had made it difficult for her to trust his more personal interest in her. So they had never managed to confront the tension between them. Still, both were painfully aware of the attraction. Forcing down disturbing feelings, Sandreena said, ‘If there’s nothing else, Father-Bishop?’
‘No, daughter,’ he said formally, apparently recognizing his previous choice of words. ‘May the Goddess look over you and guide you.’
‘May she guide you as well, Father-Bishop,’ said Sandreena. She quickly departed and made her way down the long corridor that dominated the south side of the huge Temple. Directly to the north lay the huge central Temple yard, holding the worshippers’ court and several shrines around its edge. Unlike other faiths, there were few occasions for the public worship of Dala, but there were many times when suppliants came to offer votive prayers and thanks for the Goddess’s intercession. There was a constant coming and going through the main gates of the Temple,
