Verdin caught a glimpse of a towering, white-capped swell only a moment before it smashed into Valkyrie's port quarter. Shudders reverberated through the hull. The vibrations traveled up the mate's arms and legs as he held onto the shrouds, ducking to avoid the lashing spray. A sudden crack like lightning dropped him to his knees.
The last wave had been too much for one of the port-side jib sheets: the line had snapped and the luffing sail had been torn in half by the wind. The captain roared commands and sailors scrambled to secure the torn canvas.
"Captain! We must shorten sail!" the mate yelled as he grabbed the wheel to help the helmsman keep the rudder straight. "If we part a shroud, the mainmast could give way!"
Captain Brigden Der Ooden gripped the sterncastle rail, his knuckles white as he surveyed the damage. Twenty-five years of experience told him that his first mate was right. If they did not shorten sail soon, the entire ship would be in peril.
"Aye, Verdin. It's time. Strike the tops'ls and the jib, and take a reef in the main. Replace that torn forstays'l." Der Ooden started down the steps to the deck and called back over his shoulder, "I'll be below, dealin' with our passengers."
"Aye, sir." The first mate smiled with relief and shouted the orders to the boatswain. For perhaps the first time in his career, Verdin had no desire to be the captain. He had a bad feeling about these passengers, but they had paid in advance, and in gold.
But what good is money, Verdin considered as he ducked another spray of seawater, if you're not alive to spend it?
Below decks, Captain Der Ooden knocked firmly on the door to the ship's best cabin. Scuffling sounds from within piqued his curiosity. As he leaned closer, the scuffling suddenly stopped. He put his ear to the door, and nearly fell into the room as one of the passengers jerked it open.
"What is it?" the shrouded figure asked, his tone sharp.
"We have shortened sail," he said, biting back his sharp retort. The eyes beneath the hood of the man's cloak gave him chills. "The wind and seas have increased, but we should still make Fengotherond by midnight."
"Haste is critical to us, Captain." A bulging pouch slipped from beneath the dark cloak. "If you require more money..."
Der Ooden licked his lips at the sight of the purse. The gold was enticing, but what good would it do if the Valkyrie was dismasted? He glanced into the cabin, only to have the man’s dark cloak block his view. The captain's anger flared anew.
"Keep your money," he snapped. "I've the safety of my ship and crew to think of. We'll continue on at our best speed, but I'll take no more risks, no matter the reward."
"Very well, Captain." The pouch vanished. The venom behind the acquiescence made Der Ooden's palm itch for a belaying pin. "Your best effort is all that we may ask."
The door closed and the captain breathed a sigh of relief. To hell with the money; he would be glad to see these odd passengers off his ship. He turned back to the deck, scratching the prickly hairs that rose on the back of his neck.
A haze of resurgent memories accompanied Shay through the corridors of the temple. By the time he reached the research library, the memories had overwhelmed him, and his paranoia at the front gate seemed senseless. As he pushed open the door, the dry scent of ancient parchment and leather brought a smile to his lips; he had spent many happy hours here.
Priests sat hunched over thick tomes and yellowing scrolls, copying and translating the accumulated knowledge of the Northern Realms. Initiates scurried about in traditional suede slippers, their footsteps soft whispers on the smooth stone. Shay waited, knowing better than to interrupt the diligent researchers.
A middle-aged man wearing the crimson robes of a supervisor stepped forward. Reading Shay's hand signals, the man bowed and motioned for him to follow. Only when he had closed the door of the small antechamber did he speak.
"Do you have an appointment to see the high priest?"
Shay sensed the same dubious attitude he had felt when he first confronted the acolytes. He knew that his worn attire was the reason, but it rankled just the same.
"No," he admitted, "but I know he will see me. It has been many years since I last visited, and we were very close."
"Name?" The man waited, stylus poised over a wax tablet.
"Szcze-kon."
The man's mask of business-like efficiency dropped, as did the stylus that slipped from his suddenly clumsy fingers. He stooped to pick up the instrument, taking a half-step backward.
"Is something the matter?" Shay asked, knowing full well the root of the supervisor's discomfort.
"Oh no, nothing at all." The supervisor fumbled the tablet and stylus into a pocket. "I must verify High Priest Ken-Dolan's appointments. Please make yourself comfortable." He turned and disappeared through another door.
Options flashed through Shay's mind: should he wait, leave and avoid the pending confrontation, or... Shay acted on impulse and dashed after the red-robed supervisor. The man was down the hall, knocking on a familiar door.
"I thought we could save some time if I came along!" he said at the supervisor's shoulder, flashing his best smile.
The man jumped as if a mouse had scampered up his robes. "I told you to wait!" he hissed, trying to push Shay back toward the anteroom as the door flew open and an elderly man burst out.
"How many times must I tell you—" The old man looked around for the interloper and saw Shay. "By The Balancer! Shay!"
The half-elf wrenched himself free of the supervisor's clinging hands, turned to face his former mentor, and nearly cried at the surprised pleasure in the old man's sparkling gaze. It was as if he had come home. Ken-Dolan's warm embrace told Shay that, no matter what, he would always be welcome here.
"Come in, lad, come in!" the elder insisted as he ushered Shay into his study. Books and scrolls of all sizes and shapes were stacked on shelves and desks and chairs and even the floor, just they had always been in the past.
Shay smiled, thinking, Some things never change.
"By the right of all that's holy, I didn't think it could be true!" The high priest thrust Shay to arm's length and scrutinized him from head to toe with penetrating blue eyes. "What in the names of all the gods brings you back? And how are your parents? Your mother is still beautiful as ever, I'll wager! And your father, the old coot? Is he still doing well? Here, sit, sit! You must tell me everything that's transpired since last we met."
A discrete noise at the door distracted them; the supervisor, whose face now matched his robes, stood waiting.
"Eh? Oh, sorry, Gershan." Ken-Dolan dismissed the expectant underling with a shooing motion. "You may go now. Oh, but send one of the pages with some tea, will you?"
The supervisor straightened and opened his mouth to speak, but had to jump back to avoid the slamming door.
By his third cup of tea, Shay felt truly at home. He and Ken-Dolan sat on opposite sides of the tea service. They were on the floor, of course; every other horizontal surface in the room was covered with the research material to which Ken-Dolan had devoted his life. They talked of friends and family and all the meaningless trivia that only becomes important at times like these. They sipped tea and laughed, and dug things up from each other's memories, then laughed some more.
Yes, Shay thought happily, in a world so chaotic, it is nice to find an occasional constant.
"So tell me, what really brings you here, Shay." The old priest stared into the half-elf's soul with his sparkling eyes. "You didn't travel all this way just to tell me the latest gossip."
"Actually," Shay began, his throat once again tight, "I came to ask if I might be allowed to study here... with you, that is."
"Why, that would be wonderful, my boy!" The elder priest slapped Shay on the shoulder. "We'll have some chambers cleaned for you by nightfall! This will show those roustabouts a thing or two; them and their 'New Historical Perspective'. We'll dig up facts that even the Gods have forgotten!"
Shay could scarcely believe it! After all his searching, all the reject
ions from other temples... this. He should have known; things were so much more open-minded here. Besides, he had always known that Ken-Dolan would never turn him away.
"I cannot start immediately," he explained. "I have a commitment of utmost importance that must be dealt with first. In fact, I would like to discuss it with you. I know you will find it fascinating, and perhaps you could offer some―"
A rap at the door interrupted Shay. Ken-Dolan turned a sour look toward the portal, as if considering not answering.
"Probably just some clerical problem," the elder said, chuckling at the ancient pun and heaving himself to his feet. "I'll be just a moment."
Shay nodded and rose as well.
"What is it now?" Ken-Dolan jerked the door open, but was brought up short by the stern group standing outside. In front stood Lord High Priest Berryl, the chief administrator of the temple, arms crossed defiantly, brows knitted in disapproval. He was flanked by Gershan on one side, and several equally stern priests and acolytes on the other. Shay's heart sank.
"Lord Berryl. Why this is a surprise! Please come in!" Ken-Dolan stepped aside and swept his arm wide in welcome. "I believe you know my former student, Szcze-kon."
High Priest Berryl stood his ground as if his feet were welded to the stone. He raised one eyebrow at the sound of Shay's name, but otherwise ignored the greeting.
"Indeed, yes, I have met Szcze-kon." Berryl's tone was slow and deliberate. Without turning, he spoke to his escorts. "You have done your duty, Gershan. You are dismissed."
"But... this man..." the supervisor sputtered.
"This man is my responsibility! You are dismissed, Gershan. Now." The supervisor bowed and slunk away. "You acolytes may leave also; this is no concern of yours." As the low-ranking priests dispersed, High Priest Berryl finally turned back to the room, only to find Ken-Dolan mimicking his stance, looking as unmovable as a centuries-old oak.
"What is the meaning of all this?" Ken-Dolan barked into the lord high priest's face. "And what do you mean 'this man'?"
"It would seem, Ken-Dolan, that you have been caught in the midst of a deception," the lord priest said. "Or, at least, have been denied the benefit of all the facts."
"Well, then, by all means enlighten me!" Ken-Dolan waved the four remaining priests into his chamber and slammed the door. "And please, confine your accusations to facts."
"Such was my only intent," the lord high priest replied, looking around for someplace to sit. After a moment he resigned himself to standing. Shay stood alone, outside the circle of priests, a half step behind his friend, eyes cast downward.
"From all accounts, gleaned both by word of mouth and direct communications with Szcze-kon's former high priest, this man has brought a great shame to the church."
"Shame?" Shay gasped, wide eyed at the pronouncement.
"Nonsense!" Ken-Dolan spat. "Shay was a model student!"
"At one time, perhaps," the lord high priest continued, "but he has strayed from the path of purity, Ken-Dolan. He was found practicing sorcery in a temple of Tem. And, furthermore, when told to repent and discard his paganistic books, he refused. Even against the requests of his own father, he chose to continue his heretical studies. Subsequently, he was expelled from the temple at Kosseldur. Since then, he has been refused by virtually every temple of Tem in the entire eastern continent."
"Impossible!" Ken-Dolan looked to Shay, but the half-elf could not meet his gaze. "Shay... Why didn't you tell me?"
"Honestly, I thought you knew; it seemed everyone else did. I thought it did not matter to you." Shay risked a glance at his former mentor, expecting the same ridicule he had seen everywhere else, but he saw something different. Understanding perhaps? Maybe even pride?
"I never intended to bring shame to anyone," he said, his voice stronger, “least of all to the church."
"Regardless of your intent, the fact remains that you were cast out. Therefore, I have no choice but to ask you to relinquish your holy symbol and leave these premises."
Shay's jaw dropped. His breath left him as if he had been kicked in the chest.
"What?" Ken-Dolan's jaw dropped. "You mean to excommunicate him? You can't be serious!"
"I can, and I am, Ken-Dolan!" Berryl said, piercing the elderly researcher with a venomous glare. "He will, of course, be given a small stipend to keep him from digressing further from the path of purity."
The well of grief that had been growing in the center of Shay's soul suddenly burst into a fiery pit of rage. His jaw clenched as his right hand strayed to the haft of the massive war hammer at his belt. The runes upon the weapon flashed crimson, casting a flame of magic onto the half-elf's livid eyes.
"The LAST thing I need from you is pity!" The circle of priests shrank back before Shay's anger.
"I came here seeking a place where I might be allowed to study and worship in my own way. Here, in the center of culture for the entire Northern Realms, I thought people might be slightly more open-minded. I see now that I was mistaken."
He turned to grasp Ken-Dolan by the shoulder. "So long, my friend. I have commitments and friends who need me. It was good to see you again." Ken-Dolan's smile was everything Shay could have asked for. He turned and strode toward the door.
"HALT, Szcze-kon!"
Shay felt the power of the Berryl's command, knowing the directive was a holy compulsion. Amazingly, however, his stride merely faltered instead of stopping, and he shook off the remaining effects like clinging cobwebs. Clenching the haft of his hammer, the furious half-elf turned to confront his superior. Berryl stood encircled by his small force of priests, all of them clutching their holy icons. Only Ken-Dolan stood apart.
"When I asked for your medallion, it was not a request." The lord high priest stepped forward.
"HOLD, Priest."
Lord High Priest Berryl froze, not from the effects of any spell, but from what he saw before him. Shay stood poised. In one hand he held the great dwarven war hammer, its runes radiating crimson fire. Upon his chest, the holy symbol of Tem the Balancer shone with the purest of white light. In his other hand, crackling blue lightning twisted and writhed, crawling from fingertip to fingertip as if of its own volition. Not least disturbing, the half-elf's voice had shifted from its usual lilt to a booming basso profundo.
"Before ye start somethin' ye canna finish, know this," Shay said, his voice gradually returning to normal. "The only way you will take this medallion from me is to pry it from my lifeless fingers. And although you might have the power to do just that, if you try, you may just find this temple coming down around your ears! If my powers are to be taken from me, let almighty Tem do it, not the likes of you!"
Everyone stood utterly still for a span of several breaths, the lord high priest obviously reluctant to accept the challenge Shay had cast before him. As the moment of confrontation passed, the half-elf's features eased from barely bridled rage to a mien of contempt.
"Justice be yours, Lord High Priest Berryl." Szcze-kon turned from the priests and smashed the door open, not bothering to work the latch. As he stalked down the short hall, his temper flared again.
How dare they threaten to excommunicate me!
He splintered his way through two more doors and strode across the library floor, oblivious to the disruption caused by his still-glowing weapon and medallion, and the sparks of his aborted spell trailing from his clenched fist. Shay took the time to yank open the next portal and slam it shut behind before descending the steps to the courtyard. Acolytes and supervisors alike melted from his path like butter before the hot knife of his anger.
CHAPTER 4
Shay did not bother with a carriage for the trip back to the inn. His venting rage would have had him bouncing off the walls in such a confined space. Slowly, his rage subsiding with the physical exertion, he composed himself.
I cannot believe I behaved so! he thought, shaking his head. This encounter had weighed heavily on his mind for so long. Now it was over, for good or ill.
S
hay glanced back at the temple spires stretching toward the dome overhead and considered the lost prospect of a lifetime spent within those walls. He staggered to a stop as he realized that he felt no remorse for being denied that.
With the busy morning crowds bustling around him, the oblivious priest stood and stared at the spires. As his slim fingers brushed the cool silver icon at his breast—the Balance of Tem, the center of his faith—revelation struck: his allegiance was to holy Tem, not to the rigid framework of the church. He knew his faith was not compromised by his interest in magic, and he prayed that his deity concurred. Should he be wrong, one day his prayers might go unanswered. Until that day, he would continue on his chosen path.
Smiling with resolve, he turned from the spires without a second glance. His stride bounced with energy as he considered his new-found freedom.
Shay breezed into the Kindly Ki-rin, past the main room and up the stairs two at a time. At the door to their suite he paused, hand on the latch, considering his plans. The door opened under his hand, jerking him headlong through the portal into the ample bosom of a middle-aged servant woman. The buckets of warm soapy water she carried sloshed all over him.
"Oh! Excuse me, sir!" the maid apologized. With a twist of her impressive torso she bounced him upright then stepped back. "Here, I soiled yer clothes! Let me have 'em cleaned for ya." Setting aside her buckets, she brushed at the mess.
"No, no. It's quite all right," he lied, brushing more at her hands than his wet clothes. "It is just water. No harm done."
"Oh, but a fine gentleman such as yerself can't be walkin' about in soiled clothes!" She effortlessly picked up her two five-gallon buckets. "I'll have my daughter, Cantie, come up and collect them straight away!" The pretty girl waiting behind her mother smiled and curtsied.
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