The Reaver Road

by Dave Duncan

  Belhjes curled her lip in a snarl. She had the distrustful, petulant manner of those who have acquired authority and yet lack the natural grace to use it properly. Good deputies are often poor principals. As a leader she would vacillate between flabby acquiescence and shrill tyranny.

  Still Nagiak insisted. "Well, Mother? The fate of Zanadon awaits your decision."

  With an obvious effort she said, "Tomorrow, then. Begin tomorrow."

  The high priest had won what he wanted. He smiled greasily. "The right decision, I am sure. But what ails you, Holiness? Are you troubled by doubts?"

  "Of course not!"

  She was certainly troubled by something, I decided, but then I would sooner copulate with a swampful of crocodiles than collaborate on anything at all with that priest in his bulging crimson cloak. He reminded me of the juggler in Pav Im'pha's troop, who could juggle six small hatchets and pick the onlookers' pockets at the same time.

  And Nagiak might be the lesser of her worries. Until then I had never given thought to the ritual, but obviously Zanadon in peril must summon its protector somehow, and now the ceremony had been outlined for me: The high priestess would offer her body to tempt the god. A virgin of Belhjes's age could hardly find that a comforting prospect.

  Now she tried to assert herself, and a tremor in her voice ruined the attempt before it was properly started. "While the Holy M-Mother is indisposed, then I act as high priestess."

  "Indeed that is so," Nagiak replied with an oily smile. "We all appreciate the great burden you bear."

  "Then deliver me some explanations, High Priest. To bring laymen into the temple is forbidden!"

  "There are certain exceptions."

  "Yes, there are exceptions. Very few. I understand why War Lord Arksis is here. He must report to the Holy Mother when danger threatens the city, and you did right to bring him. It has been done before."

  "Oh, I am so glad that you admit that it has been done before."

  Belhjes shot him a glare of distilled hatred. "But why did you drag that one along?" She leveled an accusing finger at young Fotius.

  Why indeed?

  Thorian's heavy hand came to rest on my shoulder. He moved his lips to my ear.

  "I told you," he breathed. "I warned you. Gods do not walk the world in these humble days. You came here to Zanadon to see a god, and you will witness nothing more than priestly intrigue."

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  12: The Plot Thins

  I did not believe him.

  Had she overheard his remark, the purple-cloaked priestess would not have believed him, either. I was not sure what the men were thinking, but I could tell that Deputy High Priestess Belhjes expected the god to come to the aid of the city, in person.

  However, while she might be acting head of the temple in theory, she was out of her depth in dealing with the devious high priest. This meeting seemed to be going much as he had planned.

  Gods are normally served only by men, but many goddesses have both male and female votaries. In those temples the priesthood and priestesshood are rarely on terms of trust and endearment. Thorian had a good point—I sensed intrigues within intrigues—but the failings of mortals were irrelevant, and Balor would not be swayed by Nagiak.

  "Rise, War Lord," he said, smirking. "Let us talk with your grandson."

  Arksis rose stiffly and moved away from his young companion. Fotius stayed where he was, on his knees, holding his hat in his great hands and systematically crushing it to pulp. His lush hair and beard and his bare torso seemed strangely out of keeping in this company. He was a wild boar in a pigpen.

  Nagiak smiled blandly. "Corporal, er. . ?"

  "Gramian Fotius," War Lord Arksis said.

  "A likely lad, a fine example of the young manhood of Zanadon." The high priest stepped forward, beaming at the giant—his piggy eyes were not much higher than the corporal's. "Unspoiled, innocent." He sighed. "Virile. How old are you, my son?"

  The big man thought for a moment and then said, "Twenty-three."

  "Did you ever kill a man?"

  Fotius hesitated, glanced uneasily at his grandfather, and then rumbled, "Yes, sir."

  "'Holiness!'" Nagiak said.

  "Huh?"

  "You address me as 'Holiness.'"

  "Yes, sir."

  Nagiak licked his fat lips. "Tell me about the man you killed."

  "Three men, Holiness, sir."

  "Gracious! Did you slay them with your sword, or how?"

  "With a club, sir Holiness. Was catching slaves and hit them too hard."

  "Dear me!" The priest sighed again. "Such accidents are regrettable, but they incur no guilt. And how long since you returned from … where was it?"

  "Fogspith, Holiness."

  "How long since you returned from Fogspith?"

  Fotius stared uneasily at his grandfather and moved his lips while he pondered. "Two weeks, sir. Just about."

  "Two weeks!" Nagiak said, as if that was a remarkable revelation. He looked at Belhjes and spread his fat hands. "Armor bearer? When the god comes, he will require attendants. We thought an armor bearer would be a likely start. And the boy is an inspiring figure, is he not?" He smirked, trustworthy as a rabid snake.

  "Armor bearer?" The priestess snorted in peasant fashion. I thought she was about to spit. "You can generally think up more credible fables than that, Holy Father."

  Nagiak shrugged, as if he did not much care whether or not she believed him. "We can't offer the god dirty armor. There's a good day's work needed, and my lads lack the necessary experience. Rise, my son."

  Fotius scrambled to his feet, and he towered over everyone else present. Thorian neither spoke nor moved at my side, yet I sensed a wave of hatred flow from him like heat from a stove.

  "You know," Nagiak said thoughtfully. "He is almost as large as Balor, I do believe. This Balor, I mean." He turned and considered the statue beside the altar.

  For the first time I noticed that these images of the god and goddess were not duplicates of the great figures that dominate the temple and the gates. They were carved of the same red-brown stone, but unadorned by either jewels or gold—plain, shiny granite. The Maiana was clothed in a cloak and headdress. She wore no horns. Her crescent symbol was represented by a pectoral matching the one hung on the sleeping Squicalm. This was the goddess as her own high priestess.

  On the other side of the altar, the Balor figure was nude, exaggeratedly muscled and male—the god as a human bull.

  Nagiak sniggered and waved his soft jeweled hand. "Stand beside Balor, my son, and let us see."

  Fotius shambled over and positioned himself as directed. He was very nearly the same height and build, and close to the same color. Suddenly the statue seemed less improbable.

  "Is that not remarkable, Holiness?" The high priest laughed shrilly and clapped his hands. "Should we remove his swath, do you think, for a complete comparison?''

  Belhjes flushed furiously. "That is an obscene suggestion!''

  "No. It will be interesting!"

  "Sacrilege!"

  "Oh, if you think so," Nagiak agreed reluctantly. He was openly playing with her. "A fine figure of a man, though, don't you agree?"

  "This is blasphemy!" She did not know how to parry his baiting, or else she scorned the obvious slur.

  The high priest leered. "Not at all. Tradition has always maintained that these very figures in the chapel of the high priestess were carved from life when Omia was Maiana … the third coming of Balor, when he smote the Waregs. You do not expect any less now, surely? Corporal, go and stand by the reverend lady so that we may see what a fine couple you will … she will … would … make with Balor."

  Fotius shrugged and trudged over toward the priestess. She backed away. He followed, obeying orders, and would doubtless have continued to do so had she fled from the temple and down the Great Way and out of the city. But she stopped and let the hairy giant come close to her. Tall though she was, her headdress barely reached his sho
ulder.

  "Nearer!" Nagiak said.

  Fotius edged closer to Belhjes. She was trying not to look at him, but a sickly pallor had replaced her blushes. Even from the roof, I could see that she was trembling. Oh yes, Belhjes believed that the god would come in the flesh.

  "Well?" she demanded shrilly. "Are you satisfied?"

  "Me?" Nagiak said. "Oh, I am easily satisfied. What does it take to satisfy Balor, do you suppose?"

  Fotius had caught up with the drift of the conversation—he leered. The priestess stalked away from him and took refuge behind old Squicalm's chair.

  "I do not believe this fable of Balor's armor bearer! Invent a better tale, Holiness."

  Nagiak smiled catlike and turned to his companion priest. "Most Reverend Thaliak, the honored war lord has performed his duty here. He must have others waiting, though, as he readies the army for the coming of the god. See him to the gate, will you, and send him on his way with fitting blessings?"

  Belhjes's hard, square face seemed to swell with outrage. "Just him? You are serious about keeping that young ogre here, within the temple? This is sacrilege!"

  Fotius was sending pleading looks toward his grandfather, but obviously he had been informed of the arrangement beforehand, and it was not going to be changed now.

  Nagiak rubbed his hands in delight. "Monster? No, this is a young man, Holiness. One in the natural condition, you know. Unimproved. And Corporal, er, Fotius, is honorable and completely trustworthy. I have his grandsire's word on that—don't I, War Lord? Or is his the virtue you believe endangered? Can you not control your charges if they discover him, Holy Lady?"

  Belhjes spluttered with fury, and at last used the obvious weapon. "What does a eunuch know of such things?"

  Nagiak's lardy face seemed to close up like a fat flower at sunset. "As much as you, I'm sure. The man remains! I had thought the explanation would be obvious. Wait here, though, and I will spell it out for you." With a final sneer, he ushered the others toward the door.

  Thorian vanished from my side in his usual speedy silence, and I supposed that he was intent on trailing Fotius. I stayed where I was, watching Priestess Belhjes. I could never like or admire such a woman, but I felt sorry for her. She had probably been a very effective adjutant for the aging high priestess. Now she was on her own, making the decisions, trying to deal with both the insidious Nagiak and an impending god, and probably aware that she was inadequate to handle either.

  She watched in silence as the men departed, then bent to speak to old Squicalm and shake her gently. The only result was that the crone's elaborate headdress slipped further askew. There was to be no help from the high priestess.

  With a quick glance at the door, Belhjes headed over to the altar. I assumed she was about to pray to Maiana, but she went to Balor instead. For a moment she stared at its shiny chest, then she bowed her head and sank to the ground to kiss the granite toes.

  She rose up on her knees, raising her hands as if to speak an appeal, but the move left her looking right at the figure's exaggerated manhood. She recoiled with a shudder and went scrambling over to prostrate herself before Maiana instead.

  I saw her shoulders shake.

  The reverend lady believed, but she would be much happier were her faith a little stronger.

  Thorian glided back, the meatiest ghost I had ever met. His eyes glinted in the starlight, but he did not speak.

  In the chapel below us, Nagiak came waddling back, also, yawning and stretching his crimson arms. "These all-night vigils are very hard on us at our age, aren't they? They may get harder, you agree? For some of us?" He chuckled, with a wobble of his soft jowls.

  Belhjes was on her feet again, glaring at him with pink-rimmed eyes.

  He saw that his humor was not appreciated. "Oh, listen to me!" he said nastily. "Since you don't seem to have the wit to work things out on your own. Can't you see that the young lout is here as a hostage?"

  She started, as if distrusting her ears. "Hostage?"

  "Hostage. The Vorkans are at the gate, the city is beset. We must have faith in the gods, certainly, but that doesn't mean we can let ourselves be careless or foolhardy. The corporal remains in the temple as surety for his grandfather's good behavior—Arksis controls the military clans. The mercantile families are not so easily led, but Bedian Tharpit is their spokesman, in as much as they have one. I have his daughter here, also, and for the same reason."

  The priestess studied him with a distrust I found commendable. "You fear treason?"

  "Not as such. Nobody would be silly enough to open the gates to those horrid Vorkans. But we have a huge army of refugees without the walls and a restless mob within them. Dangerous times require firm rule." He simpered happily. "Fear of the gods seldom fails, but those two can aid us, if anyone can, and no one can oppose us without their help. The Tharpit girl is to become a priestess; that was agreed." He giggled. "No such solution is possible for the boy, because I had to promise he would not be altered in any way. It would be an improvement in his case, but I did promise. We'll keep him locked up, though!"

  She nodded reluctantly. "I wish you had found a more appealing guest. That one frightens me."

  "He should." Nagiak shook his round head sadly. For once he looked and sounded sincere. "Apparently he was all right until he was about thirteen. Then he molested a younger girl. It was frightfully gruesome. Do you want to hear the details?"

  "Certainly not!"

  "Oh. Well, her brothers beat him. He has not been quite right in the head since."

  "But he was all right before, you think?"

  "Just precocious. The whole family has a nasty tendency to violence. They were keeping him hidden on some backwoods estate until the Vorkan scum appeared. Arksis assures me he will cause no trouble as long as we restrict his intake of red meat and keep him well supplied with women."

  Belhjes had started to relax at the more reasonable tone. Now she uttered a cry that was almost a shriek. "You cannot be serious! In the holy temple itself? What women?"

  Nagiak's cloak shook like a bag of melons. "You will not call for volunteers?"

  As she shrieked again, I felt Thorian's eyes upon me.

  "Did you think a few welts on my back would so aggrieve me?" he said softly. "I have seen that brute satisfy his urges."

  I shuddered.

  Down in the chapel, Nagiak was soothing the outraged priestess. "… not worry … all arranged. Each day some relative will come to visit him and bring servants. But it will not be for long. When Balor comes, then the danger will be past, and we shall evict the lad promptly. He is merely a necessary precaution, Reverend Lady."

  And a very obvious one. I sat down to rest my legs, leaning my back against the cold, smooth wall and letting myself sink into my exhaustion as if it were a steaming tub.

  I found Nagiak odious because he was a type I detest more than almost any other—a manipulator, one who enjoys maneuvering people to his own objectives. Now I understood his scheming. It disgusted me, but I was even more disgusted to realize that suck intrigue was justifiable in the circumstances. Zanadon was under siege, or would be within a day or two. That oily politician was seeking to knot together the priesthood, the military, and the wealthy, and that was a reasonable precaution, as he had just said. Nauseating, but necessary.

  I wanted to sleep. My eyelids drooped. Not only was I physically exhausted but sleep might bring me dreams of reassurance or instruction. Balor would not appear for at least another day, perhaps two. I could forget about Fotius and the Shalial girl. They were hostages for their families' good behavior, nothing more.

  It was all very simple.

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  13: Moonshine

  "She will be here any minute!" Nagiak said.

  Belhjes's protests seeped up to us less distinctly—something was unthinkable. I was not really listening. Indeed, I had almost drifted off to sleep. Thorian knelt beside me.

  "We must go, Omar. The moon is rising." />
  I peered blearily southeastward and saw wisps of light above the hills, gold smeared to orange by the smoke. The fires had dwindled to disconnected specks. The air was cooler now. Dawn was only an hour or two away.

  Yes, we must go, or we should be trapped within the temple.

  Go where, though?

  I forced my sleepy mind back to sifting the conversation in the chapel. Nagiak was adamant that Shalial Tharpit must be inducted into the full priesthood at once. Belhjes was insisting that rules were rules and she must first become a postulant.

  "But honestly, I promised that her hair would not be cut off," the priest protested.

  The argument snarled on like mating snakes.

  "What did they do with Fotius?" I asked quietly. "Lock him up?"

  "No," Thorian rumbled. "They sent the war lord away, but they put the turd behind the doors to watch."

  I tried to make sense of that, and failed. "What doors?"

  "The doors on the far side of the stair. He is to watch for the Tharpit girl when she goes by."

  I have a foolish prejudice that says large men tend to be stupid. I know it is not true, but I can't help thinking it. Thorian was as large as any man I have ever met, but he was far from stupid. Indeed, he was probably much smarter than I was, and evidently he had seen something I had missed, for his eyes burned angry bright in the darkness.

  What?

  Below us, the argument was growing hotter.

  "She is a sweet child!" Nagiak shouted. "And ever so devout. She knows her texts—we have checked ever so carefully. And, yes, she is a virgin. We have checked that, also."

  I turned my mind away with distaste and looked up at Thorian again. His teeth shone in a grimace. He was waiting for me to work it out by myself. Why should the Fotius hostage be shown the Tharpit hostage? Why not show the Tharpit hostage the Fotius hostage likewise?