by Hilari Bell
“How many people live here?”
“Currently there are four hundred and eighty”—he eyed Jeriah consideringly—“seven. Half-hour prayer services are held at dawn and sunset; everyone in the palace is required to attend. Tomorrow, after Dawn Prayer, you’ll report to me to begin your duties. I trust you’ll find time to bathe and change your clothing before dinner. As I told you, the Sunset Prayer follows immediately.”
He smiled firmly and left. Jeriah stared after him, unseeing. Everyone is required to attend. Master Lazur would be out of his quarters for over half an hour, and in a crowd of nearly five hundred, who could tell if Jeriah was present or not? It would be a perfect time to search Master Lazur’s rooms.
Jeriah took Master Goserian’s not-so-gentle hint and next went to the bathing room, an echoing chamber that held more steam than the laundry. Buckets of warm water were available to remove the dirt, and a deep soaking pool, but Jeriah had no time to try it out. The warning chime for dinner rang as he was rinsing off the soap.
He toweled dry, dressed, and reached the dining hall not long after dinner began, though his hair was still wet. The selection was good for this time of year—each table held four different roasts, bread, and several dishes of late-lasting vegetables and fruits. Jeriah noticed a bowl of early greens on the table reserved for the high-ranking lords and priests.
He looked around for an empty place and a familiar face caught his eye—a squire he’d met last winter, when he and Tobin were fighting on the southern border. Soon he was seated at a table full of young men, several already known to him.
They talked about the barbarians, the surprise attack that had taken most of the Southlands, and the plans to hold the border while the Realm relocated. Only a few months ago it would have fascinated Jeriah, but now his thoughts were focused on Master Lazur’s rooms.
What if the priest suspected his intention and was waiting for him? What if he locked the door? With so many assistants coming and going, and palace security so good, most of the offices weren’t locked during the day. But Master Lazur might do it. Or worse, what if he decided to destroy the notes—a sure way to keep them from Jeriah!
But he had to try—Tobin’s life was at stake.
When the sun gong rang, his plate was still half full, his appetite gone.
Jeriah’s room was on the opposite side of the terrace from Master Lazur’s, but it was the safest place for him to hide as the rest of the palace streamed up the central stairs to the temple at the top.
When no one had passed for several minutes, Jeriah hurried around the terrace, keeping close to the wall so he couldn’t be seen from above.
Eight, seven, six, five. He hesitated at the entrance to Master Lazur’s rooms. What if the priest was still inside? Should he knock? What if—
“He’s gone.”
Jeriah jumped and spun toward the familiar voice.
“What are you doing here?” He barely managed to keep his voice to a whisper. “I told you to go home!”
“Aye, and I still don’t understand why you thought I’d do it. Since you’re not my fa or anything.” Daroo crouched among the flowers that rimmed the terrace, his face painted gold by the dying light, his eyes glinting with defiance and…laughter?
“I told you, I don’t want an ally who can’t obey orders.”
And even less, an ally who was still keeping secrets from him.
“Allies don’t have to take orders. And Mistress Makenna is the only one who commands us goblins.” Curse the little demon, he was laughing. “That priest left about five minutes ago. I heard someone say this sunset thing only lasts half an hour, so you should hurry.”
The goblin had been helpful on the journey—but could Jeriah trust him now?
“I’m surprised you’re not in there already,” said Jeriah, stalling for time to think.
“I tried it.” Daroo grimaced. “He’s got charmed iron across the door and the windowsill.”
“I thought iron was your gift.”
“It’s not the iron, it’s the charm. It’s bespelled so goblins can’t get near it. Not even Fa could. So you’d best get in there.”
“I don’t need your advice.” Jeriah kept his voice low. Not only had Daroo disobeyed him, but the goblin had secrets. He didn’t dare trust him. Not when it mattered so much. “I don’t want your help. I’ll deal with you later, but for now get out of here before you get caught!”
“You’re the one who’ll be caught if you wait much longer. I’d stand watch for a button.”
“I won’t pay…” Daroo vanished into the flowers before Jeriah could finish. Even knowing he was there, Jeriah couldn’t see him, and further argument would endanger both of them. Curse the stubborn brat. Gritting his teeth, Jeriah eased the office door open.
Not locked. Because Master Lazur knew that clerks and assistants might need access? Or because the notes weren’t there? There was only one way to find out.
During his interview Jeriah had barely noticed the furnishings. The desk was plain, made of a beautiful fine-grained wood. Bookshelves lined most of the walls, but against one wall stood a row of cabinets made of the same wood as the desk. In the wall opposite the window, a door giving access to the priest’s bedchamber had been cut. Master Lazur must virtually own these rooms if they were willing to cut doors for him. He’d left the connecting door open, with a lamp lit in the room beyond. Much easier than fumbling in the dark when he returned from the evening prayers. The light that spilled through the door was almost lost in the coppery glow from the window. When the lamplight grew stronger than the sunlight, it would be time to leave—better start now.
First the desk. The drawers were locked, but that didn’t mean the notes would be there—it might just be documents Master Lazur didn’t want disturbed. On the other hand…Why hadn’t he learned to pick locks? The demon brat’s gift was iron, but even if Daroo could open them, Jeriah couldn’t bring him past the charm.
Maybe he’d find the keys elsewhere and could come back to the desk.
The bookshelves held a set of spell books, just like the ones the sorceress had stolen. The gate spell would be there, but Jeriah already knew that the spells that might keep his brother alive in the Otherworld weren’t. Would any of those neatly bound volumes hold experimental notes? Probably not. Probably not where the keys were kept, either.
Jeriah stepped softly across to one of the tall cabinets and opened the door, and a moan of dismay escaped him. It was filled with papers; single sheets and sheets stitched together, ragged-looking scrolls and irregular scraps. A glint of copper caught Jeriah’s eye, and he fished out one of the blood amulets they found on the barbarians’ dead bodies. What a strange faith that must be, that the people required shamans to protect them from their own gods. Master Lazur had told Jeriah that if the church’s spies wore these amulets, the barbarians wouldn’t harm them, even if they’d been captured. Though if the spy took it off…No spy who’d taken off an amulet had ever returned to report, but the rumors in the army were gruesome. Because they were made with human sacrifice, the Hierarch had declared these amulets unholy and forbidden their possession. That Jeriah found it here revealed the strength of Master Lazur’s obsession with the barbarians.
Jeriah replaced the amulet. The top paper on the stack beside it was a technical report on clearing timberlands. The top paper on the stack below that was a Southland ballad. Jeriah glanced down the row of cabinets; there were seven of them.
Well, as his father said, staring at it wouldn’t make it smaller. He lifted down the papers on the highest shelf. An astronomical table. He sighed.
“I’ll spare you the trouble,” said a cool voice behind him. “It isn’t there.”
Jeriah spun, his dagger half drawn before he thought. A young man leaned against the bedroom door, lamplight glinting on straw-straight hair.
“Who are you?”
“I could ask you the same question. And what you’re doing here.” The stranger strolled forward, stre
tched out one finger, and pushed Jeriah’s dagger back into its sheath. “But I don’t have to ask. I’m Sir Nevin Brallor of Brallorscourt, Timeon Lazur’s new assistant. And you’re Jeriah Rovan of Rovanscourt, brother to the traitor.”
He was enjoying this, curse him.
“Most people consider my brother a hero. His…transgressions have been forgiven.”
“By most people. But we know better, don’t we?” Sir Nevin—how had he gotten knighted? He was no older than Jeriah—cocked his head curiously. “I must admit, I didn’t believe Master Lazur when he told me you’d come. Wouldn’t you rather have a dead hero for a brother than a live traitor?”
“No,” said Jeriah. “Master Lazur told you I’d be here?”
“Evidently”—Nevin perched on the edge of the desk—“you aren’t that hard to anticipate. He asked me to deliver a message for him.”
“I thought everyone was supposed to attend the Sunset Prayer.”
“You are supposed to be at prayer. I was excused to run an urgent errand for Master Lazur. Aren’t you curious about the message?”
“I can guess most of it.”
“I doubt that. I’m supposed to tell you that he regrets the necessity for your brother’s death. Though I don’t know why, as your brother sounds pretty unreliable to me.” He regarded Jeriah with malicious brightness.
He’s only trying to provoke me. He was succeeding, too. Jeriah folded his arms and waited.
“He doesn’t mind you trying to get the spell notes, but he can’t permit you to succeed. Now that he knows you haven’t given up, you’ll be watched. And you’ll never know who’s assigned to watch you, so you can’t trust anyone, now can you? It was stupid to try for them so soon—you should have lulled us for a while!”
Jeriah tried to keep his face blank, but his tormentor’s grin told him he hadn’t succeeded.
“But that’s not part of the message, so…The notes you want have been hidden where you can’t reach them, so you might as well resign yourself and concentrate on your new duties. He’s got a point. Your brother made his own decision—and even if he made it for the wrong reasons, it was a gallant one. I don’t think it’s any of your business to meddle.”
“You know nothing about it.” Jeriah’s voice shook with rage. “Do you really expect me to take your word, or his, that the notes aren’t here?”
“It doesn’t matter whether you believe us.” Nevin rose and went to the door. “You can search these papers till you’ve memorized them, as long as you put them back in the same place. The notes you want are hidden where you’ll never find them. And even if you did, you couldn’t…Never mind.”
Nevin knew where they were! Could he be tricked into revealing the location? Not likely, curse it. Why couldn’t he have been stupid, as well as arrogant and malicious?
“It doesn’t matter. You won’t find them.” Nevin held the door open; the sunlight was almost gone. Jeriah heard the distant murmur of the worshipers’ “Praise and farewell.”
“Unless you want to do penance for missing the service, you’d better go,” Nevin told him. “Eventually we’ll meet for the first time and pretend this conversation never took place. I won’t even mention it if you don’t.”
“How magnanimous.” Jeriah stalked past him, searching desperately for some cutting last word that would wipe the smug grin from Nevin’s face.
“You’re welcome.” Nevin shut the door before he could respond.
Jeriah swore, and hurried off in the dusk.
INTERLUDE
Tobin
“HE’S ASLEEP.” THE GOBLIN GIRL’S whisper was so loud that if Tobin had been asleep, it might have wakened him. “You shouldn’t bother him with stupid stuff.”
“I’m just resting.” Tobin opened his eyes and smiled at Onny. As usual, Regg accompanied her. If anything, they’d grown even closer in Daroo’s absence, but Tobin thought the small band was…unbalanced without the boy. “I didn’t sleep very well last night,” he added. “Is there a problem?”
There was always a problem, these days.
“No,” said Onny. “Root’s just imagining things, and he’s got Regg doing it too. We shouldn’t even be bothering you, much less the mistress.”
Tobin looked more closely and saw a pair of stubby legs lurking behind Regg. Root was Regg’s youngest brother…and Regg usually ignored him.
“What’s the problem?” Tobin spoke to Regg, but to his surprise the boy pulled his little brother forward.
The child eyed Tobin thoughtfully, then stuck his thumb into his mouth.
Regg sighed. “Tell him about your friend, Root.”
The boy nodded so firmly, his hair flopped on his forehead, but he didn’t remove the thumb. Regg grabbed his brother’s wrist and tugged, and the thumb came free with a small popping sound.
“Talk,” Regg demanded. “You don’t get it back till you do.”
Root screwed up his small face and sighed. “I got a new friend.”
“A new friend?” Root had known most of the goblins in their camp for the whole of his short life. How could he have a new—
“A rock friend.” Root nodded. “He plays with me.”
Tobin frowned. “You made friends with one of the Stoners?”
“It’s stupider than that,” said Onny. “He’s made friends with a rock.”
“Well, my sister Senna once got very attached to a tree. She was about your age, Onny, and she’d climb up into a fork and read for—”
“He plays with me,” Root said calmly. “I like him.”
Even at her worst, Senna hadn’t given her tree friend a gender.
“He was about a mile from camp when we found him,” Regg told Tobin. “He doesn’t stray that far on his own. And when we first came in sight of him, I thought…It must have been a trick of the shadows.”
“You thought…?”
Regg shrugged, a flush creeping into his brown cheeks.
“He thinks the rock Root was sitting on moved,” said Onny. “So it’s got to be nonsense, doesn’t it?”
Her voice was as firm as ever, but Tobin saw a shadow of worry in her eyes.
Keeping things like this from troubling Makenna was one of the reasons he’d come to this world. Tobin rose to his feet and boosted Root up onto his shoulder. “Show me this rock of yours.”
Tobin thought they were more than a mile from the camp when they went down into a shallow dip and came in sight of a small pile of reddish rock. Root began to squirm, and he set the boy down.
“He shouldn’t be wandering this far off. We haven’t seen any dangerous predators…” They hadn’t seen any predators at all, which still struck Tobin as odd. “…but a child can die just from getting lost.”
Or drown. Or fall off a cliff and break his thin bones.
“I know that,” said Regg. “And he knows better than to go off alone. Our mam will have a fit when we tell her.”
“And probably blame us,” Onny added gloomily.
Thumb firmly in place, Root squatted in front of the rock pile and patted it, as if he were trying to wake it.
Tobin frowned and knelt to inspect the rocks. The surfaces were a bit more weathered than some of the stone around them, but no different otherwise. He laid a hand on the rock and found it rough, cold, and solid. A fanciful child might have seen something like a face on the craggy surface, but there was nothing extraordinary about it.
The thumb popped out, and Root poked at one of the places Tobin had seen as a crooked eye. “He’s asleep.”
The gesture made the hair on the back of Tobin’s neck lift, but the rock didn’t budge.
“It was just a trick of the shadows,” said Regg. “Couldn’t be anything else.”
It couldn’t. Still…
“I want you two to keep a close watch on Root,” Tobin said. “On all the little ones. I don’t want any of them wandering out of camp again.”
CHAPTER 7
Jeriah
BUT EVEN IF JERIAH FOUND them
he couldn’t…what? Couldn’t get someone to open a gate? Couldn’t read it? Couldn’t…The arrogant toad might have meant anything!
The question had kept Jeriah awake, and it started bothering him the moment the page’s tap on his door roused him next morning. Jeriah hauled his last clean tunic over his head—better get some laundry done—and searched sleepily for his boots. He’d always hated rising before dawn, dressing by lamplight—it had taken him five minutes’ fumbling to light the cursed thing. He’d already lost too much time lying in bed as he tried to drag his eyes open, listening to the page working his way down the corridor and trying to figure out what the priest had meant.
Jeriah pulled on his boots and opened the door. By the time he emerged onto the terrace, the sky was bright with the approach of dawn—the stones, the flowers, even the cold air that crept beneath his tunic seemed to be coming alive. If he was supposed to arrive for prayers by sunrise he was going to be late.
Jeriah hurried around the empty terrace—everyone else must already be at the temple—but when he reached the central stairs, a slight, elderly priest in floppy slippers was hobbling up the steps.
“I’m late again! No need to tell me; I already know.” He smiled at Jeriah and pushed up the spectacles that had slipped down his nose. “I believe I know you. You’re Master Goserian’s new assistant, ah…No, don’t tell me, I’ll remember in a moment. I’m sure I’ve heard your name.”
“Jeriah Rovan,” Jeriah supplied.
“Yes, of course! I’ve seen you somewhere. I don’t at once remember where, but it’ll come to me. Oh dear! We’re both going to be late!”
As the stranger continued up the steps, Jeriah slowed his own pace. If he was going to walk in late, he’d rather have company. “Forgive me, master—you seem to remember me but I’m afraid I don’t know you at all.”
“We didn’t meet. You were pointed out to me at some court function…or was it at…well, it was almost a year ago. I’m Master Zachiros, the Hierarch’s secretary. The formal title is Pen and Memory, Scribe of the Chosen of the Bright Gods, but secretary is the truth.”
