by Glenda Larke
“My waterpriests saw you talking to Ravard during the battle. Talking! When you should have been killing him. Maybe Lord Kaneth is hand in hand with you on this too—didn’t he let the defeated Reduners ride by the walls of this very city without molesting them? And we know why, don’t we? Because Lord Ryka persuaded him! She was sharing your brother’s bed, after all, or so the enslaved Scarpermen tell me.”
The thought was so outrageous, Jasper rejected it outright.
“That’s enough!” It was Iani who intervened. “Are you shriveled, Basalt? If it hadn’t been for Jasper, there wouldn’t have been a victory. If it hadn’t been for Kaneth, Qanatend would still be in Dune Watergatherer’s clutches. Anyway, it was Vara Redmane who forbade the attack on the defeated dunesmen, not Kaneth.”
“What makes you say that? You weren’t even here!” There was nothing conciliatory in Basalt’s tone. “Being a bringer of storms doesn’t mean Jasper has the maturity to rule. Now turn that storm around, Jasper, and put the rain in the Qanatend catchment area.”
In answer, Jasper started the cloud moving again—toward the north. He wasn’t sure how many of them had the skills to feel its movement, but both Basalt and Ouina immediately glanced to the window, outrage on their faces.
“You—you—Gibber upstart! How dare you defy a Sunpriest of the one true faith?” Basalt asked. “You should be on your knees before your maker begging the Watergiver to intercede on your behalf.”
Jasper hoped the look he gave the Sunpriest was calm and steady, because it certainly wasn’t how he felt. He wanted to slam his fist into the bastard’s stomach. He wanted to tear off his priestly robes and tell him he wasn’t fit to wear them. And most of all, he wanted to ram the words about Mica and Ryka down his throat until he choked on them.
I will never back down on this. Never. And I’ll see you in a waterless hell first.
“The storm goes north,” he said as pleasantly as he could. “Now, if you don’t mind—” He gestured toward the door.
Iani took the hint and began to usher the waterpriests out. Basalt and Ouina both stood their ground. Iani hesitated, then shrugged, saying as he left, “I hope we don’t all live to regret your decision, Jasper, the way we lived to regret Cloudmaster Granthon’s.”
The words were not so much accusatory as said with genuine sorrow. Which, Jasper thought, hurts worse than anything Basalt has to say. “So do I, Iani.” He looked back at Basalt and Ouina once the others had gone. “And I think we’ve said everything there is to be said, my lords.”
“Well, I haven’t,” Ouina said. “You’re witless, Jasper. You will do well to look hard at your friends. Kaneth and Ryka have thrown their lot in with the Reduners. She always was a lover of all that was red. Sleeping in your brother’s tent has tipped her over the edge. Worse, Kaneth has a head injury and thinks he’s some sort of mythical Reduner hero. And your friendship with a snuggery girl of dubious origins is not helping you see things from a proper perspective. If ever you don’t send my city sufficient water, watch out!” With that, she stalked from the room, her back rigid with indignation.
Jasper stared after her, trying to process all she had said. Ryka and Mica? What was all that about? And Kaneth, crazy? He wasn’t crazy; far from it. They’d spoken at length, several times, since the Scarpen forces and their allies had descended from the Qanatend mother cistern and found Kaneth and Vara already in possession of the city.
Basalt stared at him through narrowed eyes. His hand clutched at the heavy gold sunburst hanging around his neck, symbol of the Quartern Sunpriest. He held it away from him as if it was emanating rays of holiness from its metallic heart toward Jasper. “A warning, Bloodstone. I believe you’ve been influenced by evil ideas from the east, and I will battle to wrest you away from wrongdoing. And I shall win because the Sunlord aids the righteous. Your duty is to men and women of the one true faith, not to the heathens beyond the borders of the Scarpen.” Those words said, he kissed the sunburst and marched from the room, his embroidered robes sweeping the flagstones behind him.
