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.”
“Then why not give it to Patachi Maerler?” Gerrold asked. “If Patachi Steiner is so power hungry?”
“What, and let the holy warriors rush to Maerler's side instead?” Alaine said. “Don't be fooled just because your beloved Rhillian has befriended him, Gerrold-he'll be every bit as bad as Patachi Steiner, given the chance. Perhaps worse.”
“I agree,” said Kessligh. Alaine gave him a look that was part surprise, part wariness. Gerrold looked down, his lips pursed. Kessligh took his seat and gestured for Alaine to do the same. There was an eerie silence in the little room, as though a great weight made even the air feel heavy. “We will keep it. The archbishop may not even know where it went.”
“Try keeping that a secret around here,” said Bret.
“Word will spread soon enough,” Kessligh agreed. “We will let the archbishop and Patachi Steiner decide their next move. There may be a falling out. We shall see.”
“Wait, wait,” said Alaine with an intense smile, leaning forward in his chair. “Hold on just a moment. You're not giving the orders here. Just because your girl got lucky enough to sneak away with this doesn't suddenly make you the ruler of the Nasi-Keth.”
“I didn't sneak,” Sasha snapped. “I swam. Father Terano gave it to me, and told me to give it to Kessligh. He said specifically that the archbishop feared Kessligh. He did not say that the archbishop feared Alaine Endaran.”
“Yes, well Father Terano is not Nasi-Keth,” Alaine retorted, “and as far as I know, he doesn't get a say! Besides, for all we know, you've lied about it anyway-how you got it, what Father Terano said, if anything, all of it. Maybe you were in league with Maerler and his priest all along!”
“Maybe if you were a slightly bigger fucking fool, we could put a cap on your head and watch you dance for entertainment.”
Alaine came out of his seat at that, his eyes wide and angry.
Sasha remained seated, glaring, knowing that he'd never get past Kessligh anyhow.
“You watch your tongue!” Alaine blazed at her.
“Anytime, anywhere,” Sasha said darkly. She let the implication hang. They would not let her fight Liam. Now, surely they would not let her fight Alaine. She thought them cowards, and they knew it. She was not above using it to advantage.
“Alaine, sit,” said Gerrold, his eyes shut as if suffering a headache. “She has a coarse tongue, but you did accuse her unfairly. How you could expect anything else in reply is beyond me.”
Alaine sat, reluctantly mollified. Gerrold's views did not find universal appeal within the Nasi-Keth, but his age and manner made him a figure of respect nonetheless. If only, Sasha thought tiredly, he had a few more interesting ideas than just following Saalshen's lead in everything. The man loved the serrin to excess.
“The star will stay here for now,” Kessligh said calmly.
“Why here?” Alaine retorted.
“Because moving it elsewhere will cause disagreement. I submit that we all agree not to move it anywhere. This stretch of dock is one of the most defensible, and the neighbours are all devout Verenthanes and loyal friends to the Nasi-Keth. If it pleases everyone, and should the moment arrive when word has spread, we can call a priest. Father Berin is a good man, and sympathetic to our cause. We could consult with him about the keeping of the star. He is neutral in our disagreements and will not play favourites.”
Gerrold nodded slowly. “Father Berin is a good man. Though I submit we should call on him immediately. He will not betray us-he is the last one to call down any trouble on our heads, he loves his flock too dearly.”
Sasha left the men to their debate and climbed the rickety staircase in the hall. Before the nearest door, she paused. Raised her fist to knock on the door, and paused again, her heart beginning a hard, unpleasant thumping. She had slept little last night and her head remained filled with Alaine's irritations. Perhaps this was not the best time.
But then, some things simply could not be put off. She knocked. When there was no reply, she turned the latch. No sooner had the door creaked open a handsbreadth, there sounded a vicious, snarling growl from within the room. “Tashyna!” came the irritated reply. “Tashyna, no.”
There were footsteps and the door pulled open a little…and there, sullen-eyed and swollen-faced, was her sister Alythia. Sasha stared. This was not the Alythia she knew. There was no life in her eyes, no confidence, no sparkling flash of self-importance. The left side of her face was swollen and she had a cut on the right side of her mouth, perhaps a knuckle long. Her hair fell in tangles and she looked out at her long-lost little sister with only the barest hint of recognition.
“What do you want?” she asked, sullenly.
Sasha nearly lost her temper immediately. She'd been planning to make an effort, to be nice, to try consolation, and now Alythia gave her this. She swallowed it with difficulty. Alythia had always had that knack. “To come in would be nice,” Sasha suggested.
“So you can laugh at my misfortune?” Alythia muttered. “Go away.”
“Laugh? For the spirits’ sakes, Lyth, who around here's been doing any laughing lately?”
Alythia looked uncomfortable. She looked at the floorboards for a moment. Then, “Wait a moment, I'll get the wolf.” And she disappeared. Sasha blinked at the empty space, trying to put that last phrase into some kind of logical context. It didn't work. The universe, she concluded, was taking a turn for the absurd.
Sasha waited, then pushed open the door.
Alythia's room was much like all the others in Mari Velo's house-brick walls, two small windows overlooking the docks from the third floor, and creaking floorboards. There was a simple bed, upon which Alythia now sat, her legs folded to one side. She wore a plain dress, such as Dockside women wore, with no adornment whatsoever. Beneath her right arm, grey-brown fur bristling, was a Lenay timberwolf.
Sasha moved very slowly to the room's one chair and sat. Kessligh had told her about this, too. Kessligh hadn't found it any easier to conceive than she did. The wolf watched her, ears flat, front lip edging back in the beginnings of a snarl. Snarling at her, while protective of Alythia. If she'd ever imagined this scene in her youth, she'd have surely imagined it around the other way. Obviously this wolf was very confused.
“She's very pretty,” Sasha observed. “She's about…oh, five months old? Maybe six?”
“I think.” Alythia tightened her arm about the wolf, protective and comforting. The wolf relaxed a little, more comfortable now that Sasha was sitting.
“Her name's Tashyna?” Alythia nodded and gave her a surreptitious look. Sasha smiled, with genuine humour. “I remember. Master Islyll. He never liked me.”