by Dave Dickie
WORLD GATE
A Kethem Novel
By Dave Dickie
This book is dedicated to Alison and Jim, who contributed to the book in ways direct and indirect, and to Eric and Shawn, who both saw fit to perform the thankless job of editing the manuscript
Chapter One
The man smiled as the visitor approached the desk. He had copper tinged hair, short, but done in a style that made the visitor think of waves crashing on the beach, wild and random and beautiful. The hair was offset by hazel eyes and something that wasn’t quite long or thick enough to be a beard, but groomed in the same fashion as his hair, carefully and artfully trimmed to look casual and ruggedly handsome. Wide shoulders were emphasized by a well cut jacket with a shirt open at the collar. The jacket had a simple pattern in gold thread worked into it. Next to him was a woman in a blue silk dress, cut low across her breasts and designed to emphasis her figure, with long dark hair, green eyes, and a narrow face set off by high cheekbones. She had the clean, natural look of someone who knew how to use expensive makeup effectively, and she had a smile just as welcoming as the man’s.
The visitor sniffed as she reached the desk, not a sniff of disdain, but of a bloodhound trying to catch the scent of something elusive, and then approached the man. He gave her a short, polite nod. “Citizen, my name is Janson, and it is my pleasure to welcome you to the temple of Sambhal. If there is anything I can do to be of service, you need but ask, and I will do everything in my power to make it happen.”
The visitor wordlessly handed him her invitation, a four inch by six inch square of expensive looking paper with the mark of Sambhal on it. He touched it, frowned, glanced at her left index finger, which was bare of any jewelry, and finally looked up with a confused expression on his face. “My lady,” Janson said, then stopped, at a loss for words.
The visitor frowned in turn. “Please, citizen will do. My invitation is in order?”
Janson looked again at the paper. “I… I have never seen this before. I see that it is for you, and the basic information is correct, but your name...” He looked back at the visitor, dressed in a casual but expensive dress, comfortable and fashionable but not flashy. Her shoes were the same, half-boots with low heels, leather that was fine but devoid of any embellishments. She had a staff with a crystal at the end.
The visitor was still frowning. She said, “It is from Chikal Ouyscra, the head of your order in Bythe. Is it not sufficient?” she asked.
Janson glanced at the woman next to him, looked at the invitation, looked back at the visitor. “It is, my la… citizen. My apologies. I ask only for clarification. This is a meeting invitation for Aster Peleran. You just want to speak with him? Nothing else?”
The visitor nodded. “Is that so unusual?” Then she colored slightly, apparently remembering the array of services the temple offered.
Janson understood her reaction. “Yes, my… yes, citizen, but not because he provides,” and he hesitated, glancing at the invitation again, “services of a romantic nature. He is our cuisinier.” He saw her confusion. “He matches people’s tastes with food and drink, uses an aspect of Sambhal to divine what will be most suitable for their meal, bring them the most pleasure.”
The visitor’s eyes widened a bit. “I see. That makes sense.” She stopped for a moment, an expression of disappointment showing on her face. “This is an aspect of Sambhal, the demon-god?”
Janson winced slightly. “Just god, citizen. Sambhal’s origin was indeed an accidental summoning during the worst throes of the old empire’s civil war, but he transcended that state to become the god we worship today. And, yes, that is one aspect of Sambhal. He is the god of pleasure, pleasure of all five senses. Taste is one of them. And beyond that, for more abstract things that bring pleasure, be they intellectual, artistic, or more,” and he shrugged, “carnal, let us say.”
The visitor nodded, still looking disappointed. “Yes, I understand. I have been here before for music, for food, for conversation.”
Janson touched the invitation again. “As a guest of Gur Driktend, I understand. To visit the Chikal. It is an honor not lightly bestowed.”
“It is an honor I do not take lightly,” the visitor replied. “The Chikal was kind enough to extend this invitation to me, to meet privately with Aster. I require no more than conversation. It may be short. I understand I must leave this here,” she said, indicating her staff.
Janson shook his head. “No, citizen. The staff is not a magical artifact in and of itself, just your focal point?” The visitor nodded. “Then it is not prohibited. Your ability to cast will be suppressed while you are inside the temple, and so it will not be of use to you. You may leave it with us if you desire, or you may keep it with you. Alternately, I can have Aster come to you. We have sitting rooms just inside, if that would suite you.”
The visitor looked around. “This entrance is different than the couple’s entrance,” she said. Janson nodded. The temple, like all Sambhal temples, had three entrances, one for men, one for women, and one for couples. The visitor looked at the woman behind the counter next to Janson, and her nostrils flared again. “You find me… attractive?” the visitor said, sounding uncertain.
Janson and the woman next to him exchanged glances. He touched the invitation again and shook his head slightly at the unspoken question in the woman’s glance. The woman turned to the visitor and said, “My name is Peloria, and I welcome you to the temple, and would be pleased to offer any service I can perform that would make you feel at home. I think you are exceedingly beautiful, citizen.”
The visitor nodded. “You do find me attractive.” She stopped and shook her head. “I am sorry, I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
Peloria gave her a warm smile. “If you mean discussing my preference for women, it does not bother me. But if I may say so, you do not appear to be like minded.”
The visitor replied, “I am not. I merely find it interesting. Gur told me about the men’s entrance, and there were only women there. The couple’s entrance has men and women, but they seemed uninterested in my gender. Yet here… I just like to understand how things work. Sometimes my questions can be undiplomatic. I hope I have not been too forward.”
Peloria smile widened. “You have caused no offense.”
Janson cleared his throat. “But, citizen, to return to your reason for being here, would you like Aster summoned to meet you?” The visitor nodded. “Then Peloria will escort you to a sitting room. Aster will join you in short order.” He handed the invitation back to the visitor. “Please keep this with you at all times while you are in the temple. It is required.”
The visitor thanked him and followed Peloria. The couple’s entrance the visitor had used on earlier visits had been a large room, done in white and silver. It had a grand staircase at the end and desks along the side, behind which the Sambhal priests and priestesses who welcomed visitors waited to be of service. This entrance was a smaller room, with the desk in front and two draped entrances behind it. The desk was dark wood, the drapes were heavy red velvet, the floor in a rose colored tile, the walls in tasteful pastels. Peloria led the visitor through one of the entryways and down a hallway along which were regular spaced doors. She opened the third one they reached. Inside where large, comfortable chairs with low tables beside them. Peloria waved to one and indicated the visitor should sit, which she did. “Are you comfortable?” Peloria asked. “Can I bring you anything?”
The visitor shook her head and replied, “No, but thank you.” The visitor looked around. “This is different from the couple’s entrance as well.”
Peloria hesitated, then said, “The entrances are designed based on the needs of the clients, and what
is typical for men, women and couples varies widely. These rooms are for conversation, but the hallway leads into the temple proper, where there are rooms for activities that require more than comfortable chairs.”
The visitor nodded. “Like the music rooms.”
Peloria smiled. “Yes, among other things. But, since you are only interested in conversation, this seems sufficient.” There was a knock at the door. Peloria opened it, ushered in a man, and turned back to the visitor. “This is Aster.” The man was tall, as handsome as Janson but more sophisticated than rugged. He wore more practical dark cotton slacks, a white shirt and a black leather vest with gold thread weaved through it in intricate patterns.
Aster bowed and said “Citizen, it is my pleasure to serve you.” He looked a little hesitant and said, “I understand you want to discuss something?” Peloria excused herself and Aster sat in a chair facing the visitor, looking attentive. “You know that discussing anything having to do with the clientele is prohibited by our god?”
The visitor nodded. “Yes. I know about the geas. I am not here to ask about a client. I have spent a great deal of time in Bythe tracking down a rumor, and that rumor lead me to you. I would like to discuss abilities I have heard you possess. Unusual abilities.”
Aster frowned. “I am not sure I understand, citizen, but if you ask, the Chikal has made it clear I should answer what questions I can.”
“About a year ago, there was a Hold consortium working on a major military contract for the Bythe docks. The details are unimportant. Many of the individuals became sick during the negotiations. There was some concern that it was foul play. A contract was signed with the Sambal temple for special services to be rendered, services to determine if the illness was the result of something other than natural causes.”
Aster looked uncomfortable. “I cannot discuss this with you, my lady. Services from the temple are topics we are forbidden to reveal in any way.”
The visitor shook her head. “I am not asking you too. Let me finish. Part of this arrangement was an agreement not to disclose the details on this service. But rumors spread that someone from the Sambhal temple circled among the negotiators in the dark, and by sense of smell, identified three who were later found to have poisoned the food.”
Aster shook his head. “I cannot confirm or deny that, my lady.”
The visitor walked over and held out her invitation. “Touch it.”
Aster said, “There is no need. I can read it without touching it. Any Sambhal priest or priestess beyond the level of acolytes can.”
“Then you know I am a Holder. A Silver Ring.”
“I do, my lady. A noble in one of the landowning houses that own Kethem. I understood you,” and he waved at the hand that should have been wearing a ring with the glyph of the visitor’s hold, “you did not want this advertised.”
The visitor shrugged. “It is not important. What am thinking? What am I feeling?”
Aster looked at her in confusion. “The invitations do not work that way. They give basic information on the person they are intended for, more or less public information. They reveal a certain amount about desires and preferences. They tell us if the individual has something that is forbidden in the temple, magic, weapons, drugs. That is all.”
The visitor held out her hand. “Kiss it.”
Aster hesitated a moment, then kissed the back of her hand. He looked up, uncertain what she wanted.
“And you can tell nothing from that?”
Light dawned in Aster’s eyes. “You wish to know how these three individuals were picked out as the poisoners. You think it has something to do with my senses rather than Sambhal’s aspect for reading people, the way the invitations are magicked up.” The visitor nodded. Aster thought for a moment. “The Chikal’s invitation is unusually broad in what I may say to you. Normally, we do not speak of Sambhal’s aspects outside of the clergy. But I will explain some of them. In no way should you interpret this as confirmation that the temple was involved in this incident you were speaking of.” The visitor nodded again. “I would have to summon the aspect of Sambhal that deals with taste and smell to read you, and that reading would be mostly around what food or drink would be most suited to you today. Smell is sufficient, but direct contact is more effective in doing this reading. This capability would, perhaps, allow me to identify that someone had taken an antidote to a mild poison prior to a communal meal at a hosted event. You know there are ways to circumvent truthsayers, but if someone had done such a thing in the situation you describe, it would be as good as admitting guilt.”
“And that is it? That is all a Sambhal priest can tell from such a reading?”
Aster shook his head. “It depends on the priest or priestess. There are others that can use this aspect to tell other things. Conversational preferences, sexual preferences, moods. Some of the higher dans, the top of the Sambhal temple hierarchy, might be able to do what you suggest.”
“But they are all aspects of Sambhal, not an inherent capability.” There was disappointment and bitterness in the visitor’s voice.
Aster nodded.
“Then I have wasted your time, and mine. Thank you for speaking with me, but I think we are done.”
Aster said tentatively, “My lady, I can tell there is something you are looking for. There are many things the temple can offer to help you. Your invitation is rather open ended. Is there nothing else I can provide for you? You may find just talking about your issue helps, and anything said in the temple will remain here. You can say anything, reveal anything, and have no fear that there will be reprisal or judgement.”
The visitor laughed, but it was a bitter laugh. “No. I do not think talking about my… issues will help. I need information, and have spent two years looking and found nothing. I do not know where to look next. Perhaps outside of Kethem. Perhaps it is time to ask the gods of the dice and see if they favor me.”
Aster cocked his head, then said, “as you wish. I would do more if I knew how to help.”
The visitor nodded and said, “I believe you.”
Aster said, “If there is nothing else, I will take you to the entrance.” The visitor did not respond, and Aster stood and signaled for the visitor to follow him. They returned to the front desk. Janson and Peloria were still there.
Janson nodded politely to the visitor and said, “Citizen, if you would be so kind, the invitation was single use. I must reclaim it.” The visitor handed it to him without speaking. He looked down at it, then back up at her. “It is the strangest thing. The invitation does not specify your name. It should, even if wasn’t explicitly addressed.”
The visitor smiled. “If you wish to know my name, you need but ask. Daesal. I am Daesal.” Then she turned and left the temple.
Chapter Two
Stegar clawed his way to consciousness. It was a painful place. There was the taste of bile in his mouth, dryness in his throat, a stabbing pain in his head that would fade to a dull throb but would be with him for the rest of the day. What had he been drinking last night? Where had he been drinking last night? The answer eluded him.
He opened his eyes. He was on a cot in a room full of cots. Benzal’s. One of the stayhouses on the waterfront, one of the cheap ones. A place to sleep, mostly for sailors that were either in port for a short time or recovering from spending their wages in the many bars just outside the docks of Bythe. There was no reason that he needed to wake in this disheveled state. In his days as head warden of Borgia Hold he had expected much from his troops, and his camp had been a well-oiled machine. He had been a different man then. That part of his life was behind him now, and every day he worked to bury it a little bit deeper. These days, he made sure that anyone who hired him knew they could expect him to do his job and not much else.
He slowly sat up. He was rewarded for such foolishness with a jab so sharp and deep he felt sick to his stomach. He blinked a few times. His hand went rooting round in the hopes of finding a bottle, something to take the edge
off the hangover. He found nothing. Benzal didn’t allow liquor in the place. All things considered, it was a better establishment than most that provided such limited accommodations. With a sigh, he checked the small pouch in an inner pocket. There were three small lumps there, three copper. Not enough for another night. Not enough for the cheapest swill you could find on the waterfront.
Stegar stood, swaying. Then he methodically counted the cots in the room. It helped him focus a bit. The swaying stopped. He moved to the room’s entrance. Pain lanced through his head in time with each step. Outside the room, Benzal stood looking at him sympathetically. “Rough night, Stegar?” Benzal was a mountain of a man, six and a half feet tall, three hundred pounds, with a bushy, unkempt beard and a balding head. He looked soft. Stegar had seen him pick a man up off the floor and throw him out into the street more than once.
Stegar nodded, then winced, the pain from nodding worse than the pain from walking. “My sword? My armor?”
Benzal nodded toward another door. “In lockup. You need?”
Stegar thought for a moment. “Just the sword. Need to make a few rimii.”
Benzal raised an eyebrow. “Rangors? You sure you’re in shape for that?”
Stegar nodded. “Yes.”
Benzal opened the other door with a large, gold key that hung around his neck. “Stay,” said Benzal, and disappeared inside. After a few minutes, he returned with a large broadsword in a sheath. He handed it wordlessly to Stegar. Benzal sniffed and his nose wrinkled. “You want to shower first?”
Stegar thought about the three copper. He could pay for a shower, or he could get a bite to eat with that. He shook his head. “No. After Rangor’s.”
Benzal nodded. “Good ‘nuff.” There was a table nearby. Benzal reached under it, held up a bottle of water, and handed it to Stegar. Stegar reached for his purse, but Benzal shook his head. “No need. On the house.” Stegar nodded his thanks. The bottle was magicked up. Touching the sealed top made it unfold like a flower. Stegar drank in long gulps until all the water was gone.
