by Hilari Bell
Snatching them up, he ran back to the chorus storeroom and began fitting keys into the lock. The prayer was almost two thirds done now. Come on, one of you, fit!
Key after key—he was halfway through the ring when he heard the sweet click.
The locked compartment was a narrow wedge, the ceiling too low for anyone to stand inside. It was full of chests, crates, boxes. Jeriah tore them open, desperately balancing silence against speed. At least each needed just a glance to tell him it held only prayer books, crockery, pennants—an infinite number of things he didn’t care about. This was taking too long! Chests of medallions, copper medallions. Jeriah grabbed the next chest and shook it. No sound. The next chest thudded dully. Jeriah kicked a crate but nothing jangled. No sound. No sound. Wood on wood, like a child’s blocks. No sound. The next chest was only medium sized, but so heavy Jeriah could barely shift it. Metal, lots of small pieces of metal, jangled within. Please, please, please.
It was locked.
“Dung!” He slammed his fists on the lid. There were several small keys on Master Zachiros’ ring, but the prayer was almost over. He was so close! Try!
Jeriah snatched the key ring back out of his pocket. His fingers shook as he searched the smaller keys.
“Praise the Bright Gods.”
It was ending. Next key.
“Praise them.”
“Praise their rule, whose justice gives order to our land.”
“Praise their rule.”
“Praise their sun, whose light gives life to our land.”
Key, key, key. They clattered in his trembling hands.
“Praise their sun.”
Come on, you demons, one of you fit!
“Praise their love, which lights our souls.”
“Praise their love.”
One more try.
“Praise and farewell.”
Just one more try!
“Praise and farewell.”
The lock clicked open.
Footsteps rang on the steps above him as the chorus began to descend, but Jeriah couldn’t quit now. Most people spent a few moments chatting after the ceremony. He flung open the lid, sobbing with relief at the dull green and brown of tarnished copper. He yanked open the sack at his belt and thrust in handfuls of amulets, as fast as he could, careless of the noise. No less than fifty, curse them. His sack was full. Slam down the lid, snap the lock shut. Jeriah grabbed the keys and scuttled to the low door—no one there! He shot into the storeroom, the sack dragging at his belt. It took several precious seconds to relock the door. If he could make it to the Hierarch’s rooms, he could hide the sack of amulets, pretend he’d just arrived…
Jeriah dashed across the storeroom and opened the hatch in the floor, but just as he started down the ladder, three priests came down the east stairs, talking easily among themselves. Jeriah had no excuse to be seen coming out of this room! He closed the hatch and gazed around frantically—the chorus would come through the main door in seconds, the only other door besides the hatch led to the locked storage area, and there was no time to reopen it. As the door from the temple swung open, Jeriah rushed to Chardane’s robe cabinet, crammed himself in, and pulled the door shut—it closed on the hem of his tunic. He could hear people coming into the storeroom, talking, banging cabinet doors. He didn’t dare to free his tunic—someone might notice the movement.
Would the grandmotherly herb mistress, who’d been so sensible about the Hierarch’s tea, turn him in? Why wouldn’t she? If she was anything like Jeriah’s grandmother, she’d thoroughly enjoy the drama of his exposure. How could he have been so stupid? He might have made some excuse for being in the storeroom, but there was no possible excuse for hiding in a cabinet! He had panicked. Maybe Chardane was ill today. Maybe she’d be delayed outside until the others left. And maybe Master Lazur would personally present Jeriah with the spell notes, and offer to create the gate himself! He was still panicking and it wouldn’t help. Calm, calm. What could he say when the door opened? Jeriah’s heart pounded. He was breathing in gasps. Calmness was a joke. What could he—
The door opened.
Herb Mistress Chardane gazed at him for a moment, draped her robe neatly over his head, tucked his tunic into the cabinet, and closed the door. Jeriah heard the latch click shut.
Why hadn’t she exposed him? Why hadn’t she screamed, pointed, cried out? And why in the Dark One’s name had she locked him in?
He didn’t dare to move—not that he could have moved far. The robe cabinets’ latches were simple, but they were on the outside of the doors.
Jeriah waited until the last voices had faded away before he stirred. Crushing the robe into a corner, he wiggled around till he could run the tip of his dagger up the door seam—it didn’t penetrate far enough to reach the catch. He tried until his muscles began to cramp before he resigned himself. St. Cerwyn was not going to help him this time.
Until she came back and released him, Jeriah was stuck here. Pray gods she’d be back before the Hierarch’s servants missed him in the morning!
The knights of legend never got stuck in closets. But those knights were more competent than Jeriah—as his father would attest!
Jeriah stretched as much as he could and tried to sit down. The cabinet was too narrow. He tried to stand, but even with his head bent the cabinet was too short. He ended with his knees braced against one wall and his back against the other. If Chardane took too long to return, he was going to pay for his sins.
Why had she trapped him here, instead of raising the alarm?
Jeriah had plenty of time to think about it as the hours passed. There was a grilled vent at the top of the door, so breathing was no problem, but even though he shifted position as much as he could, his muscles spasmed and ached. He tried carving away the door beside the latch, but the wood was too hard—Dawn Prayer would arrive before he succeeded. Jeriah tried to distract himself by speculating about the woman’s motives, but his guesses led nowhere and the pain was beginning to disrupt his concentration. He’d have tried to break the door, but the guards who stood night watch outside the Hierarch’s rooms would investigate the noise. As more time passed, Jeriah began to think that his screams would draw them just as surely. He had to get out of here! His back muscles burned; his thighs cramped and shook.
He heard a door open, and light steps crossed the floor—if this wasn’t the herb mistress, he would pound on the door, demand release, think up some excuse.
The door opened. Jeriah burst out and would have fallen if Chardane’s plump hands hadn’t caught him. She was awfully strong for a grandmother.
“Sorry it took so long,” she said softly. “Some of Zachiros’ clerks were working late. Try to walk a bit.”
She didn’t look sorry, demons take her; she looked amused, and a bit rueful. But she supported Jeriah as he staggered back and forth until his trembling legs would support him and he could straighten his neck. If she noticed the clinking sack at his belt, she didn’t mention it.
As the pain eased, Jeriah’s curiosity returned. “Why didn’t you expose me? Why trap me there?”
“In a minute,” she said. “Can you walk without falling?”
“I think so.”
She opened the main door and peered out before leading Jeriah out to the temple. Moonlight coated the flagstones, and the fresh night air felt wonderful after the cramped cupboard. Chardane took him down the west stairs, where the Hierarch’s guards wouldn’t see them, then entered the third level and crept down several servants’ stairs to a room Jeriah thought was somewhere behind the kitchen. The herb mistress opened the door confidently and whisked him in.
The scent struck Jeriah first, green and spicy. The darkness rustled in the draft from the door. Chardane lit the lamp without fumbling—she knew the room well. The flaring light winked on rows of jars, sitting on the shelves that lined every wall with small sacks nestled between them. The ceiling, hung with bunches of drying herbs, resembled an upside-down meadow. A worn worktable
with a pump and a sink at one end completed the small herbery.
“I thought priests worked magic to cure themselves,” said Jeriah softly.
“It’s easier to drink a tea than cast a spell,” the woman replied. “At least for small things. And sometimes herbs work better. The priests come here with their stomachaches, just like the other palace folk.” Her voice sounded loud in the stillness. “No need to be quiet now. If anyone comes by, we can say you came for a headache tea. And speaking of tea…” She gestured him to one of the stools by the table, filled a kettle, and lit the fire pot beneath it. Jeriah wondered what the tea would have in it and resolved to watch her closely when she chose the herbs.
“You’re an unusual sort of priest,” he began cautiously.
“I came to it late.” She moved easily in the cluttered room, gathering cups and a wicker tea sieve. “The chooser missed me when I was first tested—said my ‘holiness’ was insufficient. When I grew up, I became an herb-healer—a good one. So good that the village priest began to wonder. He had them out to test me again and behold! My holiness turned out to be sufficient after all, and they whisked me into the priesthood. By that time I was over thirty and set in my ways. They were a bit miffed that when I got my robe, I just set up as an herb-healer again. But they’ve found me useful over the years. No one likes going to kill-or-cure Kerratis.”
The jar she took the leaves from was labeled “ambermint,” and the familiar scent spread through the room as she poured boiling water over the sieve. Jeriah began to relax.
“Why didn’t you raise the alarm when you found me in your cabinet?”
“Oh, I knew you were there. I’d noticed you weren’t at the prayer and wondered a bit. When I saw your tunic sticking out of the door, I decided it was time we had a talk.”
She handed him the steaming tea. This woman had noticed his absence at prayer and been alert enough to spot his hiding place. She’d taken some trouble to save him…and she wouldn’t tell him why.
Jeriah set the tea down, untasted.
There was a moment of silence while she studied him; then she sighed. “All right. Todder Yon asked me to look after you. And give you a hearing, if I would. This seemed a good chance.”
“Todder Yon?” Astonishment rang through Jeriah’s body. “Then you’re…You can’t be one of the Lesser Ones! You’re a priest!”
“I was an herb-healer before I became a priest. Old loyalties don’t vanish just because you gain new ones. The Decree of Bright Magic only came about seven years ago.”
“But…” Lesser One. Right in the heart of the palace for seven years. As a priest her magic would be legal. She didn’t have to help the Lesser Ones. And if the priests caught her, she’d be tried as a traitor.
“If you’ve talked to Todder Yon…Did he tell you what I need?”
“Aye. We’re old friends, Todder and I. He tells me most things. But I’ll not be able to help you.”
Jeriah’s heart plummeted. “Why not? Makenna was only a hedgewitch, and she cast a gate. If I got the spell for you…”
She was shaking her head. “Lad, in order to create that gate, Makenna drained a power sink that held the magic of more than a hundred priests. Casting even a small gate would take several powerful priests—who knew what they were doing! Using lesser wielders it’d take a dozen or more. We’d be bound to get caught gathering that many, and Master Lazur’s always watching for some clue as to who we are.”
“Master Lazur doesn’t really care about the Lesser Ones. As long as you don’t challenge…” Jeriah’s breath caught. He stared at the plump graying woman with the soft peasant accent. Everybody’s grandmother.
“You were one of the conspirators,” he whispered. “They didn’t catch them all.”
“No.” Her voice was lower too, and held grief as well as caution. “They didn’t catch all of us.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jeriah demanded. “If you’d come to me when I first arrived—”
“When you first came to this palace, you’d been working as Timeon Lazur’s assistant,” said Chardane. “All of the conspirators they caught were hanged…except you, Jeriah Rovan.”
“Only because Tobin took my place. And the only reason he didn’t hang was because Father paid off the tribunal.”
“Others tried to bribe the tribunal,” Chardane told him. “They failed. What made your family so special?”
Jeriah frowned. “Nothing. I wasn’t in very deep, and the others confirmed that. And Tobin was my father’s heir…”
Other landholders’ heirs had been executed. He stared at Chardane in baffled silence.
She shrugged. “Todder Yon gave his word for you, and he’s a fair judge of men. I’ve been watching you myself these last weeks, close enough to know you’re not working for Master Lazur anymore, so I decided to take a chance. I only hope I’ve not made a mistake that’ll get me hanged!”
“You haven’t,” Jeriah assured her. “I’m sorry the conspiracy failed, and I still believe reforms are needed. But Master Lazur’s right when he says we have to complete the relocation before we reform the laws.”
Chardane snorted. “He’s likely right about the relocation—I believe he’s wrong about the laws. But there’s no use arguing about it. There’s not enough of our folk left to do anything but hide for our lives, and hope to try again someday. So I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“But Tobin has to get out of the Otherworld! He could be getting sick right now—in a few weeks he’ll die! Surely you could gather enough people to cast the gate spell?”
“Not without getting caught. Timeon Lazur has spies from one end of the Realm to the other; that’s the source of most of his power. I’m sorry, for you and for your brother, but the answer is no.”
“Isn’t there some way I can change that?” Jeriah asked desperately. “There has to be something.”
“You could overthrow Timeon Lazur’s cadre, so we wouldn’t be at risk anymore.”
“But that’s impossible.”
“I know. That cadre’s power goes so deep, it’d take a team of horses to uproot it. That’s why the answer’s no.”
“Wait—is Master Zachiros part of the conspiracy?”
“There is no conspiracy anymore. But no. Zachiros serves the Sunlord and the Realm, and he doesn’t get involved in who controls the council. Which is likely why he’s lasted so long.”
“But…”
“Give it up, lad. The council’s under Lazur’s thumb now—his enemies daren’t stir. Even if I was willing to risk my own life, others would be endangered if they got their hands on me. I know too many names.”
She rose abruptly, went to her shelves, and began shaking herbs into a folded paper.
There had to be a way to make her help him. Jeriah was certain she could find the people he needed to cast the gate. But what she’d said about getting caught was true. Tobin would be appalled if saving him cost dozens—hundreds?—of conspirators’ and hedgewitches’ lives.
He remembered his conversation with Koryn. “Is there any chance that you, the Lesser Ones, could find some way to help defeat the barbarians’ magic? If we could somehow make the relocation unnecessary, then maybe we could convince Master Lazur…”
Chardane was already shaking her head. “Lad, letting that girl convince you of anything is the biggest mistake you could make. If she suspects you’re working against the relocation in any way, she’ll have your hide for belt and boots! She’s obsessed, and she’s no fool—and that’s a dangerous combination.”
“How come you know her so well?” Jeriah asked. “I didn’t think she had any friends, except maybe Master Lazur.”
“I helped treat her when she first got here,” Chardane said. “They’d already set her leg, but I brewed something for the pain and a mild soother for when she had nightmares. She stopped taking both of them before I thought she should, but she’s a strong girl. She’d be dead if she wasn’t.”
“Will she always be lame?
” Jeriah asked. “Or will her leg eventually heal?”
He knew she’d always have nightmares.
“I don’t know,” Chardane told him. “Her bones are as straight as healing magic can make them, but soft tissue can go on mending for a long time after an injury that severe. She’ll always limp, but the pain may lessen. Most pain lessens. Eventually. But the reason she’s attached herself to Master Lazur is because she believes the relocation is the best way to prevent what happened to her family from happening to the whole Realm. I don’t think there’s anything she wouldn’t do to help the relocation along. Or anything she wouldn’t do to prevent someone she thought was trying to stop it. So you stay away from Mistress Koryn. Right?”
“I will,” Jeriah promised. No matter how much he admired what she’d done, Koryn was his enemy.
“Here’s a packet of headache tea.” Chardane handed him the folded paper. “It’s a good excuse for being about so late, if anyone stops you on the way to your room.”
“What time is it?”
“About an hour before midnight.”
Jeriah could smuggle the keys back to Master Zachiros’ desk, but it was too late to give the Hierarch his medicine—going there now, so long after the palace gates had closed, would surely make the guards suspicious. If the shutters hadn’t been latched, there was a tree outside the Hierarch’s bedroom window Jeriah could have climbed—probably the same tree from which Daroo had observed “that poor old man.” But the nights were still too cool for open windows, and there was no other way into the Hierarch’s room that wouldn’t take him past the guards. Skipping a dose hadn’t seemed to hurt the Hierarch last time.
“Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?”
“I’m sorry, but no. If there was some way to help that wouldn’t put me in danger, I might try. But Timeon Lazur’s too sharp. I don’t dare make a move as long as he has power.”
She hustled Jeriah gently out of the herbery and closed the door.
INTERLUDE
Makenna
“SHOULDN’T WE START BUILDING AGAIN?” Miggy fretted. “We’ve been here four days.”
