Silent Hall (19 page)

“Is this supposed to make sense?” Narky asked.

“Shush, you,” Phaedra scolded. “All of Elkinar's sages are weighing in on the same sentence! So much wisdom gathered in one place!”

“What original scroll are they all commenting on?” Criton wondered aloud. “Does it mention God Most High, do you think?”

Phaedra shook her head. “No, I don't think so. It's a scroll called ‘The Second Cycle.' I imagine it goes on to talk mostly about Elkinar.” She flipped forward a few pages. “Yes, it gets to Him almost immediately.”

Narky snorted. “It doesn't sound like it does anything immediately. Can't they just let the original speak for itself?”

Hunter gave him a look. “You want an annotated scroll without any annotations?”

“I'd prefer a few pictures,” Narky said, “but that would be a good start.”

“You're stepping awfully close to blasphemy again,” Phaedra warned him.

“I'm not mocking Elkinar!” Narky protested. “It's these sages who are wasting everybody's time.”

“I'm sure there's a plain copy of ‘The Second Cycle' around here somewhere,” Phaedra told him. “It must be a very central work, if there's so much commentary on it. Go find it and stop interrupting me.”

“And how am I supposed to find it?” he asked. “By smell?”

“Look!” said Bandu triumphantly. She had made a fairly convincing boat out of plastered rags. “It's the water leaf,” she announced with pride.

When Mother Dinendra returned, she replaced the books on the shelves and gave Bandu's sculpture a bemused look. Criton had been taking up scroll after scroll and book after book, looking for anything that might mention God Most High. Hunter noticed that Dinendra placed these back on the shelves in entirely new places, without so much as glancing at their contents.

“Go and rest now,” the priestess said. “You can always come back if you want to read more.”

They left the temple and crossed over to the inn that the priestess had mentioned. The proprietor clearly did not want them there, but when Phaedra said that Mother Dinendra had asked them to stay, he begrudgingly let them a pair of rooms at a somewhat inflated price. They stayed a few weeks, while Phaedra's ankle healed again and the weather grew wetter and colder. The inn was neither as elegant nor as comfortable as the one in Atuna, for the pilgrims that flocked to Elkinar's temple on holy days were not as wealthy as Atuna's financiers. Still, Hunter took the opportunity of being in a city to sell the last of his gemstones to a proper jeweler, and despite the innkeeper's prices, his purse was soon heavy with gold once more.

Going to the market was an unpleasant experience, though. Rumors about the islanders had spread about the city, and Hunter received dangerous looks from merchants and customers alike. He suspected that without the Elkinaran priests' implicit protection there would have been trouble.

He bought a razor and shaved his head again. The dead clansmen would be mourned by their loved ones, but they deserved his respect too. It would be inexcusable, he felt, to mourn those he had lost unexpectedly, but treat the men he had slain himself as if their deaths meant nothing to him. On Tarphae, mourners shaved their heads and waited a year before they were permitted to alter their hair's appearance again, whether by trimming it, teasing it up, or braiding it as Phaedra had once done. But with the killing of men, Hunter felt that his period of mourning ought to begin anew.

For it wasn't only those two men who had died that day: Hunter had also lost his sense of who he was. “Hunter” had lived for combat and for glory, but it turned out that the real Hunter didn't. So what
did
he live for? He wished he knew.

Over the next few days, Hunter and Narky often accompanied Phaedra to Elkinar's temple, if only to give Bandu and Criton some privacy. While Phaedra read in the library or discussed religious philosophy with the pear-shaped Father Sephas, Mother Dinendra encouraged the boys to help the younger priests tend to the rooftop terrace. They were glad to do so. Everyone but the priests seemed to believe that the islanders would bring doom and bad luck to Anardis. The temple was a welcoming enclave in a hostile city.

As the walls came nearer to completion, the tension in the city rose. While Phaedra was perusing the library one afternoon, and the others had already retired to the inn, Hunter asked Mother Dinendra about the wall.

The aged priestess shook her head sadly. “When I was a girl,” she said, “Anardis was legendary for its impregnable walls. Then my father the king went to war with Ardis. He died in battle, slain by the king of Ardis' Dragon Touched general. My brother only learned that he was our new king from the Ardismen, after their army had surrounded our walls. He surrendered. He had to. The men of Ardis came in and tore our walls down stone by stone.”

They climbed the stairs to the rooftop terrace, where Mother Dinendra picked up a watering can.

“Mind you,” she said, “this was all before my nephew was born. By the time our current king was a boy, we'd been paying tribute to Ardis for years. But still he dreamed of meeting that Dragon Touched general in battle, and avenging his grandfather. Even when Ardis rose up against their king and slew all the Dragon Touched, it did not calm him. When he could no longer restore our city's greatness by killing, he decided to restore it by rebuilding the wall. I thought of warning him against it, but I don't think he would have listened.”

“You think that building a wall will reignite the war with Ardis?” asked Hunter.

The old priestess smiled wryly, and plucked a weed. “How could it fail to? A city with a wall is a city that plans to be attacked. Once the wall is completed, the king will likely refuse to pay our yearly tribute. Then it will be war again. If my nephew had been alive for the last war, he would not so readily start a new one.”

Hunter nodded. A few short months ago, he would not have understood. Now he did.

Phaedra's voice called out to them from the stairwell. Mother Dinendra left off her watering and went to see what the matter was.

“Do you mind if I borrow this for a few days?” Phaedra asked her, raising a scroll.

“Developments in Magical Surgery?” the priestess asked incredulously. “Take it. It's yours. Nobody uses those techniques anymore. I don't know why we still have that.”

She turned back to Hunter. “It's funny how hatred can live on after its object is long dead,” she said. “I think much of our city's hostility against you islanders comes from the rumor that one of you is Dragon Touched.”

Hunter said nothing. A part of him wished the Boar of Hagardis had killed
all
the Gallant Ones.

“Although,” the priestess went on, “many of our citizens worship Magor, just as the men of Ardis do. If it's true about your slaying Magor's sacred boar, then
their
anger at least can be justified.”

“The boar died at our hands,” Hunter admitted.

“Good riddance,” said Mother Dinendra. “That beast was murderous and indiscriminate. It killed worshippers of Magor just as readily as it did anyone else.”

She sighed. “Magor is a harsh and terrible God. His followers are always dancing on the line between aggression and cowardice. The ones in our city, who watch you and your friends with smoldering eyes, today they are cowards. Tomorrow they may turn aggressive. Once Phaedra is able to travel, I would encourage you to leave our city and head south or east. Get as far away from Ardis and the Magor worshippers as possible.”

“I'll tell the others,” Hunter said.

When they were back at the inn, Hunter told them all that Mother Dinendra had said.

Narky seemed relieved, if anything. “She's right,” he said. “We should go as soon as we can.”

“Too bad!” said Phaedra, disappointed. “I'd have liked to spend a few more weeks here, just talking with Father Sephas. Mother Dinendra is very nice, but she's just a woman who tried to avoid politics by putting on a priestess' robe.”

“Maybe,” said Hunter, “but her political instincts are good. She's been listening to the rumors at the same time as she was protecting us from them. We're lucky she's Elkinar's High Priestess.”

“Oh, I completely agree,” Phaedra said. “It's just that I don't know if Elkinar's so lucky for it. Mother Dinendra isn't much of a leader or a theologian. Father Sephas is the one who's really running the temple. I think when seniority passes to him, the church of Elkinar will become much more than it is now.”

“Dinendra
is
leader,” Bandu corrected her. “Inn man only lets us stay when we say Mother Dinendra wants us to stay. You don't like her because she not read.”

“I do like her!” Phaedra protested. “I was just – well, it's not important.”

“It doesn't matter if you like her,” said Narky. “She's right. We should get out of Anardis. The people here think we're bringing them bad luck, and they've heard that Criton is Dragon Touched. What more do you want?”

“Shh!” Criton looked terrified. “What if the innkeeper had heard you just now? We'd have a mob outside, screaming for my blood. Magor's worshippers are the ones who killed my people, remember? Phaedra, can you walk on that ankle yet?”

“I don't know,” she answered. “The plaster bindings hold it in place so I can get to the temple and back without much pain, but they wanted me to wait another week at least before they tried taking the binding off.”

They all sat in grim silence for a moment, considering this. They were glad they did. Now that nobody was talking, they could hear the shouting from outside. Bandu jumped up and opened the window's shutters.

“The Ardismen are here!” somebody outside was yelling. “The doom is upon us!”

T
hey ran to the temple
, practically carrying Phaedra in their hurry. Father Sephas let them in and barred the door behind them. Even in the short time it had taken them to cross the square, people had already begun pointing and shouting.

“There they go!” some had yelled. “The black cursebringers!”

“Don't worry,” Father Sephas said. “There will be no mob. They'll have to run to defend the walls first.”

He was trying to reassure them, but he had also barred the door.

“Have you heard?” Mother Dinendra asked, joining them from the stairwell. “Bestillos leads them.”

Even in the orange light of the devotional lamps, Father Sephas went white.

“The wall is finished, isn't it?” Hunter asked. “Do you think it can withstand the Ardismen?”

Priest and priestess shook their heads. Mother Dinendra spoke first. “The Dragon Touched general who killed my father died at the hands of High Priest Bestillos. You have to understand: I am only High Priestess of Elkinar through seniority, but Bestillos is Magor's chosen. It has been prophesied that he shall never know defeat in battle, and he has proven the truth of that prophecy time and again.”

Father Sephas' voice came out a whisper. “Wizardbane, they call him.”

“The fear of him will tear down our defenses faster than any siege weapon ever could,” Dinendra said grimly. “The king is a fool. He should have expected that Ardis would hear of his wall-building, and that they would not take the news lightly. Now Bestillos is here, and no man will stand against him.”

“I'm glad I brought my spear,” Narky said. “Is there a way out of here besides this door?”

Mother Dinendra shook her head. “We'll have to wait and see. I will go up to the garden. You should stay out of sight. When the city falls, its people will point their blame in two directions: at the king, and at you. Sephas, make sure that nobody is let in. Where are Taemon and Phadros?”

“Father Taemon was out visiting the sick this morning,” he said. “Father Phadros is still with Terassa. Her labor began last night.”

“They will have to stay where they are, then. It will be safer for them anyway.”

With that, Mother Dinendra returned to the stairs and began to climb them, leaving the door in between open. The islanders went to sit in the library, but even Phaedra did not bother trying to read.

“If the city surrenders quickly and peacefully,” said Hunter, “the Ardismen may execute the king and then take their tribute and go.”

“In which case,” said Narky, “the people of Anardis will blame us, and they'll surround this temple and scream for our blood.”

“Dinendra does not listen to them,” said Bandu.

“We'll all need to eat and drink eventually,” Narky insisted. “She can't protect us here forever. Either she'll let the mob have us, or we'll all starve to death.”

“But if the cityfolk resist…” Phaedra began.

“Then we'll be killed even sooner,” Narky said.

“You're not helping,” Phaedra snapped. “You sound like you think we should just give up and die. If you have any ideas for how we can get out of this, I'd love to hear them. If you don't, shut up.”

Criton expected Narky to say something sarcastic. He expected Narky to mutter something angry, and spend the next few minutes sulking. Narky did neither. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “You're right.”

“If we had horses,” Hunter said, “we'd have some chance of outrunning both the cityfolk and the Ardismen. Ardis is not known for horsemanship.”

“Neither are we,” Criton pointed out.

“I know horse,” said Bandu. “You ride with me.”

“Then Narky can go with me,” Hunter said. “We'd only need three horses.”

Phaedra sighed. “But how will we get the horses if we can't leave the temple? You couldn't fight your way to the inn, could you, Hunter?”

Hunter shook his head. “Not if there's a big crowd out there. Besides, if I did, it would be obvious what we were doing. We couldn't all mount horses in the middle of a mob. Even if there isn't one out there yet, I'd never make it to the inn and back without drawing an angry crowd.”

Criton had to admit that Hunter was right. There was no way they could leave the temple without drawing tremendous attention to themselves. He wondered briefly whether Mother Dinendra or Father Sephas would be willing to try getting the horses instead, but he had to dismiss that idea. It was extremely kind of the Elkinaran priests to offer the islanders sanctuary, but they could not be asked to risk their lives for the sake of the foreigners.

Suddenly, Narky lifted his head. “Criton can do it,” he said.

“What?” Criton asked, horrified. “No, I can't.”

The others were staring at Narky too. “He can,” Narky insisted. He lowered his voice. “You can look like someone else. You hide your claws and your scales all the time, and make your eyes change color – why not change your skin too? If you thought about it, I bet you could make yourself look exactly like one of the priests. Then you could slip out of the temple without raising any suspicions. You could walk around a little, and when no one was looking, you could change again and look like the inn's groom, or even like an Ardisian soldier. If the Ardismen have taken the city by then, they'll be busy burning buildings and looting, and you can fit right in. They won't attack the temple, I don't think, because they're not really at war with Elkinar. You can lead a few horses over near the temple, and then in the middle of all the looting and confusion, we can jump out and ride away before anyone realizes what's going on.”

The others' expressions had turned from shock to wonder, and they were all looking at Criton now. He wanted to protest, to say that it was impossible, but Narky was right. If there was sufficient confusion when the Ardismen breached the walls, this plan had a real chance of working. But it was only a chance, and what's more, it all rested on him. It was frightening to think that if Criton failed, it would doom them all.

“That could actually work,” Phaedra said, sounding extremely impressed. “Gods above, Narky, that's ingenious!”

Narky smiled a rare smile, dipped his head in thanks, and looked a little too proud of himself.

“And you're right,” Phaedra added. “They won't attack the temple. The same way that many people here worship Magor, most of the city of Ardis worships Elkinar as a secondary God.”

“I'll do it,” Criton said, though his stomach churned. “If it's the only way, I'll do it.”

“You'll have to get the timing right,” said Hunter. “Wait until the Ardismen have breached the walls, and no one in Anardis will be watching the temple. If you look continental, you'll be able to walk right over to the inn and get the horses. That should be the easy part. The hard part will be for us all to get out of the city once we've
got
the horses.”

Criton nodded. Something told him this was much easier said than done. “What if Anardis lets them in without a fight?”

“Then the Ardismen will march right into the square,” Phaedra said. “Someone will probably tell them about us, but they'll be more concerned with the king at first. They'll probably drag him out of the palace and execute him. Magor is no God of mercy, and His prophet is leading the Ardisian army.”

“That should still give some time for you to slip out and bring us the horses,” said Narky. “Especially if you look like an Ardisman.”

“I've changed my appearance before,” Criton said, shaking his head, “but I don't know if I can make it look like I'm wearing armor or anything like that. I'm not Psander.”

“Of course not,” Phaedra said reassuringly. “We understand that. If the Ardismen are let in peacefully, you shouldn't have to fake any armor.”

“We'd better know what's going on outside, then,” said Narky. “I'll go up to the terrace and ask Mother Dinendra. I think if I stay low, nobody will be able to see me from the ground.” He left the room.

“You know,” Phaedra said, once he had left, “Narky's a lot smarter than I gave him credit for.”

Criton nodded, and began working on his appearance. Once he had set his mind to the task, it did not take long before his skin was appropriately pale and the others were looking at him in admiration.

“You're a brave man,” Hunter said.

Narky returned a very short time later, slightly out of breath. “They're already in the city!” he said. “Peacefully, Ravennis be thanked. You'd better get out there while everyone's distracted.”

Criton nodded. There was a knot in his stomach. Feeling slow and heavy, he re-entered the dark pillared chamber and made his way toward the entryway. Bandu followed him and Narky made to follow as well, but Phaedra held him back. Criton heard her begin to explain, as the door shut behind Bandu, that the two of them wanted a moment alone.

Father Sephas had recovered from his initial shock, and had extinguished most of the lamps in the chamber of pillars. If anyone were to break in through the door, they would have to stand there in the doorway for quite some time to let their eyes adjust, or else blunder recklessly forward into pillar after stone pillar. The priest was now standing at one of the two remaining lamps, holding a pen and a prayer slip. When he was finished writing his prayer, Criton knew, he would burn it so that its smoke could reach the heavens.

They reached the door to the outside world, and Bandu touched his shoulder. “If we live,” she said, “you marry me later?”

The knot in Criton's stomach tightened. Really? They were going to have this conversation now? This was the last thing he needed.

“Bandu,” he said. “I love you. I love you so much, I – I don't want anything to change. I never want us to change.”

He hoped she understood. He gave her a quick kiss, and unbarred the door. “What are you doing?” Father Sephas cried out, but by then it was too late. Criton slipped outside, and the door shut quietly behind him.

It was terribly bright outside, but Criton did not give his eyes time to adjust. He had to get away from the temple door before anyone noticed him there. He backed along the temple's wall away from the square, reaching out his arm to steady himself. When he could see a little better, he was relieved to find that nobody was looking. He stepped a few paces to the left and then strode back toward the square, trying to look natural.

When the pounding in his ears subsided a little, he finally heard the great commotion that was all around him. People were yelling, crying, cheering and laughing, and a few steps later, Criton could see why. The army of Ardis had just reached the city center, and their front rows were congregating around the palace gate, banging their spears against their shields and cheering. The anguished cries were coming from the citizenry, and as Criton neared the inn, the reason became clear. The palace gate had been torn down. Soon their king would be dragged out and punished, bringing shame on the entire city.

The Ardisian soldiers hollered and whooped, shaking the whole world with their commotion. A number of them were holding back the horrified crowd, which surged against them in a combination of anger and despair. For the time being, Criton went unnoticed.

He reached the inn, and found no one guarding the stable. There were some six horses there, including the packhorse. As quickly as he could, Criton went about the business of putting saddles on three of the riding horses. He transferred the islanders' saddlebags to one of these, leaving the packhorse to chew its oats contentedly. If they were to make a getaway, they would need horses bred for speed.

Nobody had given him any trouble yet, thank the Gods – no! No. If God Most High still lived in the heavens, then He was the one Criton wanted to thank. The men who had killed Ma's family were just outside the door, cheering on the humiliation of their neighboring city. Criton wanted to make fools of them all, and when he did, it would be as a worshipper of God Most High.

As casually as he could, Criton led the three horses out of the stable. The crowd had quieted, to his dismay. Everyone was standing still, watching the two men who stood at the palace gate. The one in king's garments was kneeling, a circlet of gold gleaming from his bowed head. Then there was the other one, the one whose robes were red as blood, whose spear was barbed and whose voice rose above the silence of the crowd to assert the king's guilt. Bestillos, High Priest of Magor.

“Behold your king!” this man cried. His gray hair blew in the light breeze, and his eyes pierced his audience. “Behold the man whose arrogance has brought your city to its knees. Until today, we demanded only a small tribute from Anardis. It was not so much to ask. But this foolish man bade you rise up against us, to build a wall, as if any wall could hinder the power of the great city of Ardis. This man led, and you followed. You, who are so weak that your gates could not withstand a single man's voice. Kneel, all of you, as your king must kneel.”

To Criton's horror, the crowd began to follow the priest's orders. If everyone knelt, how would he ever reach the temple without being noticed? Criton was still far enough from the door that he could never get there in time if he made a break for it. To blend into the crowd, he too would have to kneel.

With the reins still in one hand, Criton sank to his knees. The king was shaking, he noticed. The king was weeping.

The red priest continued his speech. “The king bears the guilt of a city,” he said. “Let the guilt of Anardis be purged!”

With that, High Priest Bestillos lifted his barbed spear above his head and plunged its point down into the king's back. The king screamed in agony and the crowd gasped, some women and children covering their ears. The king's screams seemed to go on and on, and they only got worse when the priest wrenched his spear back. But even when the king's cries had died out, Bestillos did not stop there.