Alessia would not let them leave until dusk, saying that while Dart had the skills and knowledge to leave unseen, they did not. Raomar didn’t argue with her. He was too weak to hide their exit…and he had injuries to tend.

  By nightfall, he’d called Enshul to tend Brianda’s wound some more…and seen the results of Grunwol’s encounter with the garitzik.

  “You made a pact with them?” he asked in disbelief. “With a gargoyle?”

  “It was the only way,” Grunwol insisted. “If I hadn’t, I’d have been dead, and you’d have been meeting the king’s undead in person.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Raomar argued. “Alessia would still have come for Brianda and I’d have still been rescued. Besides, Dart followed me…and would have seen me out.”

  “And how did she get past the garitzik and the shadow fey?” Grunwol demanded. “They patrol those tunnels as if they were their own. When Dart said a turf war would be long and bloody, she should have said your victory wasn’t guaranteed.”

  Raomar gave the Northman a sour look.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but you know Dart… Friends in unlikely places.”

  He laid his hands over the wound and called on Enshul once more. The goddess answered, but her frustration was as great as his own when he lifted his hands and the wound remained red, angry, and tender.

  “Is that the best you can do?” Grunwol asked in disbelief.

  “It’s all I can do,” Raomar confirmed, studying the injury. “Pact marks are very resistant to healing.”

  “Even for the gods?” Grunwol asked.

  “Even them,” Raomar told him.

  “But, they’re gods!” the Northman protested.

  Raomar sighed. “There are some things that are older than even the gods,” he explained. “Some things even they must accept—and you’d do well to remember it.”

  Grunwol fell silent, then glanced at Alessia. “We can go?” he asked, and the wizardess opened the door.

  Before he could step into the corridor, Ghost slipped past him, turning to bar his way.

  “I lead,” she told him. “You do not know the way.”

  Grunwol gave Raomar a startled look, and the kevarag shrugged.

  “She leads,” he confirmed, “and she does not need a lesson in manners from you.”

  “Not yet,” the big man grumbled, forcing Brianda to stifle a laugh.

  It still leaked out and he glared at her.

  “Not one word,” he instructed, and Brianda covered her mouth with her hand in a signal she’d be silent.

  “Come!” Ghost ordered. “And be silent!”

  Even Raomar arched his eyebrows at that, but he signaled the girl to lead, and followed her into the dark, Grunwol protecting his back, and Brianda, Mika and Aral taking up the rear.

  * * *

  “See the healer,” Raomar ordered Brianda, Mika, Aral and Grunwol on their return.

  He looked at Ghost.

  “And you, come with me. I’ll have Agar assign you quarters.”

  Ghost followed, her eyes alight with curiosity and banked excitement. Raomar suppressed a smile at the quiet joy she exuded at having found a place in the world…in his world. He wondered if she’d have been happier with Dart, but only for a moment.

  The shadow thief wouldn’t have let her go if she’d have thought the child wouldn’t have thrived. It made him wonder why the woman didn’t have children of her own…and that wasn’t ground he was willing to tread.

  Placing her in his steward’s care, he left. His people might be able to rest, but he still had duties to attend. Moving through the lamp-lit shadows curtaining the guild’s halls he headed for the temple.

  Leaving the guild’s residential halls behind him, Raomar turned a corner, and stopped at a small fountain set in an alcove. Flanked by two waist-high pedestals topped by gargoyles, the fountain’s grotto was green-lit by crystals.

  Dipping his fingers into the fountain, Raomar turned and set his fingertips against the opposite wall. The illusion covering the walls melted aside and the double doors beneath it opened at his touch. Very few of his people passed through them.

  Those without permission burnt if they tried…and only those with permission knew the doors existed.

  They opened into a small bare foyer on the other side of which was another set of doors mirroring the entrance—a double lock against the curious. They, too, opened at Raomar’s touch.

  This time he uttered a single word, waiting for the first set of doors to close behind him, before he touched the second. They, too, swung open before him, revealing a slightly larger room.

  On one side hung three robes of black velvet, streaked by swirls of midnight blue. Three chests rested beneath them and a simple archway led into a room dominated by the large, wooden tub in its center.

  Steam rose from it in a scented cloud, and Raomar paused to inhale.

  Home, he thought, removing his weapons and cloak and dropping them onto a bench that ran the length of one wall. His silk shirt followed and he took a seat to remove his boots before adding his trousers to the pile.

  With a sigh, he crossed the bare stone floor, and lowered himself into the tub, leaning back against its edge as he closed his eyes. The water’s warmth permeated his aching muscles, relaxing them after the abuse they’d suffered under the duke’s hospitality.

  He heard the faintest whisper of sound, and then a familiar voice spoke.

  “I’m glad everything is to your satisfaction, high priest.”

  Raomar tilted his head and lazily lifted an eyelid so he could see the speaker.

  “Misrandar,” he murmured by way of greeting.

  “High Priest,” the priest replied, inclining his head in greeting. “It is good to see you return in safety.”

  “The goddess walked with me,” Raomar told him. “Is everything in order?”

  “I will make one final check, High Priest, but it was ready when I came to greet you.”

  “Thank you,” Raomar answered, straightening to scrub himself clean, as he undertook the ritual bathing required of all those who entered the temple.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  When he was done, he stood and rubbed himself dry with one of the towels, Misrandar had set to one side of the tub, then made his way barefooted to the robes. Sliding one over his head, he straightened it around his body, then took the boots from the chest beneath it.

  Soft-soled, they muffled his steps as he made his way into the temple proper.

  Misrandar was waiting.

  “The inner chamber is ready, High Priest,” he said, turning to lead the way to it.

  He moved silently, letting Raomar gather his thoughts for the meeting ahead. As the senior priest in residence, Misrandar oversaw the day-to-day running of the temple, and the majority of its care and maintenance. The acolytes were his responsibility, too.

  He made it his business to know his high priest’s needs before Raomar could voice them, making it easier for the kevarag priest to move between his responsibilities as guildmaster and high priest.

  He slowed as they approached the inner chamber, standing aside so Raomar could enter ahead of him. Bowing, he said, “My lord, I will watch for you here.”

  “Thank you, Misrandar.” Raomar returned the man’s bow and pushed open the iron-bound, black-wood door.

  The door swung easily beneath his touch, even though he knew others would have had to use all their strength. The enchantments bound to its wood and iron, made it almost weightless to Enshul’s faithful…and ten times its true weight for everyone else.

  It was a simple security mechanism, but he still breathed a sigh of relief to see Misrandar settle against the wall opposite to keep watch.

  Raomar let go of the portal, letting it swing silently shut behind him. Taking a deep breath, he crossed the empty floor to the altar that stood in the room’s center.

  Comprised of a single, blue-laced night stone, it was as full of shadow and shifting depths as the being that bestowed Raomar’s power. It had been a prize taken at the end of a long journey…and it had cost him dearly.

  Now, as he stared into it, Raomar took a moment to remember those who’d fallen on the journey to win it. Friends and fallen comrades, all. With another long breath, he set the memories aside and focused on the task before him.

  Silver inlays glittered like reflected moonlight as Raomar lifted his hands to waist height, commanding light to spring from the lifeless candles ensconced in the chamber’s walls. Blue flame answered, confirmation he stood in Enshul’s favor.

  Relief rippled through him, for while he hadn’t thought he’d displeased her, it wasn’t always guaranteed.

  Kneeling before the altar, he raised his hands.

  “Lady of Night, our Lady Enshul,” he began, “Mistress of Deception, Weaver of the Tapestry of Intrigue, and Diviner of all the happens in shadow and the darkness of the night, hear me. I bring you news, and seek your instruction and advice.”

  The goddess’s reply came almost immediately, ringing softly through his skull. “I wait.”

  Raomar’s heart raced in response. The goddess was not usually so quick to reply. Indeed, some days she did not reply at all.

  “L…Lady of the Shifting Shadows, I begin…” he told her.

  This time her reply was immediate…and edged with impatience.

  “I wait.”

  The words thrummed outward from his soul, echoing through his bones. His breath shook from the power of her presence…and his spirit rose in answer.

  “Mistress, this is what I have discovered…” he began, and detailed what he’d learned from Alessia.

  He spoke of the unknown deity worshipped by the king, placing the slip of paper containing its name on the altar.

  Blue flame leapt, engulfing ink and parchment in a flash of light and heat.

  “I do not know this name,” she informed him, and Raomar heard concern and curiosity threading her tones.

  She was silent as he finished his report.

  Raomar lowered his arms, setting his hands on his thighs and bowing his head as he waited.

  The darkness thickened around him and he fought the urge to raise his head. A current of air brushed the back of his neck and ruffled his hair, and he sensed the goddess pacing the floor at his back.

  Raomar held his breath, and the movement continued, the goddess pacing the room. The sensation became less like a breeze and more like air shifting as a person made the air eddy and swirl in currents around him.

  The goddess’s presence was so strong, Raomar got the feeling that, if he turned, he’d see her…pacing.

  The urge to look became almost unbearable, but he forced himself to stay still, and wait. The longer he knelt there, the more he was sure the goddess paced behind him, moving around the room.

  After what seemed like an eternity, she moved around him, and came to a halt before him.

  “It is nothing,” she decided, her words reverberating inside his head.

  Raomar pressed his lips together, stifling the urge to disagree.

  Enshul saw it anyway.

  “The powers of good will see to it, as they always have. They will not abide another evil rising within their domain.”

  To Raomar it sounded as though she was trying to reassure him.

  “Mistress,” he began, continuing in shaky tones when she didn’t rebuke him. “What… What if they don’t know he’s here?”

  Enshul’s scorn washed over him in a wave of needling pain…a minor punishment for his presumption in arguing, disapproval that he’d dared to disagree.

  Raomar bowed his head and stifled a groan, but he didn’t protest. For his audacity, it was no more than he deserved.

  “Watch for me,” she ordered as the pain subsided, and he felt fingertips brush his hair, saw the light grow from behind closed eyes.

  Opening them, he raised his head.

  The altar before him was glowing, the blue-veined nightstone pulsing with an internal light, its silver inlay shining like liquid fire. As he watched, the altar’s light faded, and the night-stone once more became a molten morass of blue and black shadow, while the only fire in the inlay was that reflected from the blue-flamed candles around the chamber’s walls.

  Slowly, Raomar got to his feet, his muscles trembling with fatigue.

  The goddess was gone. She had come and spoken with him, touched her fingers to his head and left.

  Raomar felt drained. His legs shook beneath him as he turned and reached for the bronze handle on the door. His fingers fumbled over its cold surface, as he pushed it down. This time, the door swung reluctantly outward to reveal Misrandar.

  The man’s face lit with delight as he saw Raomar emerge.

  “She came!” he exclaimed, reaching a wondering hand toward Raomar’s hair. “She was with you!”

  “She was,” Raomar confirmed, and could not keep the weariness from his voice.

  Misrandar didn’t seem to notice. “High Priest, what did she say?”

  Raomar didn’t reply. Instead, he moved fully into the hall, letting the door swing closed behind him then, without saying a word, he began to make his slow way back to the outer chambers. The hurried pad of soft, leather soles sounded on the stone floor behind him as Misrandar hurried to catch up. His name a near-to-breathless croak as the priest called after him.

  “High Priest?”

  Misrandar’s voice brought Raomar to a weary halt and he laid a hand on the wall, supporting himself as he half-turned to watch the younger man catch up.

  “High Priest?” Misrandar might be short of breath, but passion for the goddess shone in his eyes, and Raomar could not deny him the answer.

  “She said to watch,” Raomar told him.

  “Watch?”

  “Yes.” Raomar pushed off the wall to continue his journey down the hall. “We are to watch and wait for her return.”

  “But…what are the signs we should look for? How will we know?”

  The man’s pace quickened, his voice growing stronger as his breath caught up.

  “Misrandar,” Raomar began, stifling his impatience. “The meeting has tired me, and I need to rest. Let me wash and eat, and then I will sit with you and tell you every detail I can recall.”

  The man blinked, then to his credit, he took another look at his high priest. This time, he saw through the lingering glamor left by the goddess’s visit.

  “High Priest…” He sighed, and wound his arm through Raomar’s, lending his support. “You are tired.”

  Raomar resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and bit down on the sarcastic reply that rose to his tongue. Keeping a firm grip on his temper, he sighed.

  “Yes, Misrandar, I am.”

  To his surprise, the man shifted his grip, lifting Raomar’s arm and settling it over his shoulder as he wound an arm around his waist.

  “Lean on me,” he instructed. “I’ll call one of the acolytes and have them go ahead.”

  Before Raomar could tell him, not to, the man had pursed his lips in a sharp whistle that bounced down the corridor before them. It was answered seconds later by the soft rush of slippered feet and Misrandar’s three priestly apprentices raced around a corner ahead of them.

  They came to a skidding halt, striving for unaccustomed dignity when they saw who Misrandar was accompanying.

  “You called, Master?” the tallest of the three asked.

  The trio stopped before Raomar and Misrandar, but their gaze was fixed on the high priest.

  Misrandar cleared his throat, as though trying to remind them of the protocols, and the oldest of them stiffened, turning to give Raomar his full attention.

  “High Priest,” he acknowledged, bowing slightly.

  The two younger acolytes were quick to follow his example, although their eyes remained wide with wary fascination.

  Having made his greeting, the oldest acolyte turned to Misrandar. “You called, Master?”

  “The high priest is weary from his meeting with the goddess. Fill the tub with hot water and see his clothes are ready…and tell the cook to prepare supper. We’ll dine together, tonight.”

  That last was news to Raomar, but the sudden excitement that lit the boys’ faces was all he needed to know what he needed to do. The surge of questions that followed only proved it.

  “Will you tell us more about the goddess?” one of the younger ones asked.

  “What does she look like?”

  “Did she put that lock of blue in your hair?”

  “What do you have to do for her to get that?”

  Misrandar quieted them. “Now, boys. I’m sure the high priest will answer some of your questions when he’s had time to recover.”

  “Will he—” the middle boy began, only to have Misrandar shoo him away.

  “Go, now,” he instructed, “or there’ll be no supper and you’ll be scrubbing the corridor by yourself in the morning.”

  Raomar stifled a smile as the boy closed his mouth with an almost audible snap, and he didn’t miss the hasty glance cast in his direction. Misrandar didn’t speak until they’d turned the corner to the temple baths, and the corridor was quiet, again.

  “My apologies, High Priest, but they so rarely get the opportunity.”

  Raomar waved the apology aside.

  “They have much to learn of the goddess, and I’ve been away on her business.” He managed a tired smile. “It will be a pleasure to speak with them on Enshul’s behalf.”

  His words brought a small spark of anticipation within, and he felt the goddess’s attention. It was both a relief and a worry to know she would be in attendance as he shared what he knew of her with her youngest servants.