Dagger's Edge (Shadow series)

by Logston, Anne

  The next day Jael used her new entrance to creep into the Temple of Baaros before the morning service. She’d hidden behind a large urn in the main temple, and after watching the service, couldn’t understand what all the excitement was about. It was just another wrinkly priest intoning nonsense and putting his followers to sleep—and Jael with them. She was discovered afterward by Tanis, Ankaras’s fair-haired, wiry young acolyte. To the utter amazement of both of them, they became fast friends almost without reservation—almost, because both of them knew, although neither would admit, that they stood on opposite sides of something important to both of them.

  Jael had met Tanis surreptitiously several times in the market, and the next time she returned to the Temple of Baaros, it was with his help. Tanis showed Jael a special hiding place, a secret passage that had once run from the wall behind the altar to the cellars but which had fallen in years before. There was still room enough, however, for Jael to settle herself comfortably inside for a perfect view of the proceedings.

  This second service had been more interesting. Ankaras had gone on for quite a time on the dangers of sharing the city with elves. Those trading for elven goods were risking contamination. Those who lay with elves were committing bestiality or worse. This had interested Jael very much; she’d never heard anyone in the city utter such thinly veiled treason.

  Jael had heard, too, about the Lesser Summoning to take place soon. Ankaras had encourage his followers to bring friends, relatives, neighbors—all of human blood, of course —to hear the message from Baaros’s own lips. Jael had reported the whole thing to her mother, not telling Donya that she had been there herself, of course; Donya believed that Jael had a friend among the worshippers, which was true, in a sense. To Jael’s disappointment, however, Donya and Argent had taken no action, only cautioning Jael that it might be best to avoid the worshippers of Baaros until more was known about the temple’s aims.

  ****

  “So I haven’t gone back since then,” Jael shrugged. “I thought Mother and Father didn’t think it was very important, or they would have done something.”

  “Time was, your mother would have been in there with sword a-swinging,” Shadow chuckled. “I guess she’s picked up caution and diplomacy from your father. She surely didn’t learn it from me. So are you planning on seeing this Lesser Summoning?”

  “Uh-huh.” Jael grinned. “I’ve never seen a god before. Want to sneak in with me?”

  “Sunrise day after tomorrow? I’m afraid not,” Shadow said regretfully. “I promised Doe I’d go through the Gate and bring Celene back with me, and I’ve got to stop and at least visit Mist while I’m there. I don’t see how I could make it back in time. Besides, your mother’s sure to have sent a few people in to watch.”

  Jael was silent for a moment, watching the storm.

  “Aunt Shadow,” she said at last, “there’s something wrong with me, isn’t there? Really wrong, I mean, besides my nose running all the time and getting sick when it’s wet out.”

  “Well, nothing that’s going to send you back to the Mother Forest before your time,” Shadow laughed. “Not unless the temple collapses on you, which wouldn’t surprise me too much. Don’t fret, sapling. You worry almost as much as your mother. Want to skip the temple and come to the Heartwood with me instead?”

  The thought was tempting, but Jael shook her head. Indeed, her parents would undoubtedly have people at the summoning, but Jael doubted she’d get to hear whatever they reported, and Mother and Father certainly wouldn’t talk to them in their bedroom where Jael could conveniently eavesdrop.

  “All right. Well, if you don’t need to talk about anything else right now, your parents do,” Shadow said, giving Jael a quick hug. “Get some sleep. I’ll be leaving in the morning, but I’ll be back in a couple of days with Celene.”

  “All right,” Jael sighed. “Thanks for listening.”

  Shadow raised the flagon and waved it as she walked toward the door.

  “For wine this good,” she grinned, “I can listen a long time.” She hesitated at the door. “And by the way, remember next time not to trust the Fortune-be-damned ivy. I taught you better than that.”

  Jael had to laugh.

  “Yes, Aunt Shadow,” she said. “You surely did.”

  II

  The next morning Jael grimly began preparations. To the amazement of Rabin, her weapons master, Jael presented herself promptly for her lesson. Instead of practicing, however, she engaged him in a practical discussion of her physical limitations and advantages and the types of armed and unarmed combat to best accommodate both. Jael was too small for regular human-style swordfighting and too clumsy for the elven style. Very well; Rabin would commission a much lighter sword, and they would find a style she could use. Meanwhile she’d train with daggers. Rabin knew of a woman from the west, a member of the Thieves’ Guild, who was teaching elves a new style of unarmed combat based on leverage, highly advantageous when used against a larger opponent. Rabin would contact this woman and agree on a fee for lessons. Jael would continue to practice archery and dagger throwing, where her keen sight would serve her best.

  Jael agreed, then utterly astonished Rabin by suggesting that, with her parents’ permission, she would come for practice twice a day, morning and afternoon, instead of once. Donya and Argent were no less surprised than Rabin, but Jael pointed out, logically enough, that given the attitude toward elves in general and Jael in specific in some parts of the city, it was more important than ever that Jael learn to defend herself. Donya agreed readily, Argent a little more reluctantly, that Jael’s other studies could be postponed for a few weeks while she concentrated on her physical training.

  In preparation for the Lesser Summoning at the Temple of Baaros, Jael made a small pack with some food, a skin of water, a lantern, and a blanket. As an afterthought, she tucked in a small clay pot with a tight lid that she could use as a chamber pot. It would be a good many hours to dawn.

  Jael ate supper in her room, pleading a headache. She planned to make an early escape after supper, but she hadn’t counted on her parents’ fretting over her request for additional combat lessons; Argent arrived with her supper and a potion for her headache.

  “You shouldn’t have drunk the wine last night,” he chided gently, nodding sternly at Jael to eat. “It always makes you sick.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Jael mumbled. “I just wanted to give the rest of you a peaceful meal after last night.”

  “What happened to the light globes was unfortunate,” Argent said, wrapping arm comfortingly around her shoulders, “but it was hardly your fault, and we’d always rather have you join us for supper. You keep so much to yourself that we hardly see you.”

  “Well, that should be convenient,” Jael muttered.

  “How can you say that?” Argent chided.

  “Almost every time I walk into the room, you and Mother stop talking,” Jael said bitterly. “You think I don’t know you’re talking about me? Why can’t you talk to me instead? I’m not a child. I know what they’re saying about me in the city. What are you and Mother going to do with me? Declare me Heir or send me away? I’m too old to foster, so I guess you’d have to marry me off to some lordling somewhere for alliance’s sake. Is that what you’ve been planning?”

  She regretted the words as soon as she’d said them. As far as she had read in the history of Allanmere, the ruling family had rarely arranged marriages for any issue but the Heir, and then only if the Heir was unable to find a suitable mate.

  Argent sighed wearily and rubbed his hand over his eyes.

  His hands were long and slender, unlike Donya’s strong, sword-callused ones.

  “Jaellyn, we’ve been receiving betrothal offers and refusing them since you were born,” he said gently. “You know that. But in some ways you are still a child.”

  “I’m twenty years old!” Jael protested hotly. “Mother was only two years older when she inherited the throne of Allanmere.”


  “And many of Allanmere’s rulers have been younger,” Argent agreed. “Jaellyn, have you ever lain with a man? Or a woman, for that matter?”

  Jael flushed bright red.

  “I thought not.” Argent stroked the tumbled curls away from his daughter’s face. “Have you ever felt the desire to do so? Has your body yet burned for another’s touch?”

  “Father!” Jael protested, blushing even more fiercely.

  “You see?” Argent touched her red cheek gently. “Your breasts haven’t grown much, either. In some ways you’re a child yet. Heir or not, you will not be married until you have reached your womanhood, and as you’ve said, you’re too old to be sent to foster. I’m hurt that you’d think your mother and I would make such plans without even discussing it with you. So your question is answered, isn’t it? Now eat your supper.”

  “I’m sorry, Father.” Jael sighed. “I just seem to be the only one in this family who doesn’t fit in anywhere.”

  “You,” Argent said firmly, “are a fortunate young woman. Remember Ria, the first High Lady of Allanmere. She was raised for decades among humans, the wild blood burning in her veins with no one to understand her. You have a loving family and friends of both races who want to help you. You spend too much time feeling sorry for yourself. Now promise to eat your supper, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  “I promise,” Jael said honestly. When Argent was gone, Jael wrapped up the roast fowl, bread and cheese, and baked tubers, and ate the rest of her supper. As soon as she was done, she locked her door and slipped out the secret passage, and from there out to the city.

  Allanmere was a city that lived a double life. During the day, farmers and travelers and tradesmen and merchants flocked to the market, to the shops, to the temples and taverns and brothels. At night, after the merchants had closed their stalls and the farmers had returned to their land, a different crowd inhabited the city: bored young nobles looking for excitement, thieves who preyed on the nobles, and others with a shadier sort of business to transact.

  Except for a few sects that held rituals at night, under the full moon or some such, the Temple District was largely empty of its normal population. In the nighttime it was filled with beggars looking for an empty doorway to sleep in, patrolling City Guards, and other characters of less definable interest, such as Jael herself.

  Jael paused outside the Temple of Ebraris, scowling at the erotic statues as she remembered her father’s words. Still a child, indeed! In an instant Jael had charged up the steps; then she stopped. The Temple of Ebraris made just about anyone welcome—very welcome indeed, from what Jael had heard— but Jael didn’t have so much as a copper in her pocket for an offering, and without an offering she wouldn’t be admitted. This realization caused a rush of emotion that Jael finally decided bordered between annoyance and relief. She sighed disgustedly at herself and stomped back down the steps.

  Jael approached the abandoned Temple of Learon the Twisted with a little more care. Most of the beggars who made their home in the temple were harmless, but there were a few who were desperate enough to jump even the High Lord and Lady’s daughter, maybe just for a rough tumble, maybe to sell to one of the child brothels or pain houses that seemed to spring up no matter how the City Guard tried to keep them out. Always best to avoid trouble.

  Fortunately it was early enough that most of the temple’s residents were still out wringing a few last coins from pitying passersby. The temple was dark and filthy, cluttered with trash, but Jael’s elven night sight was, it seemed, the one blessing her elven blood had given her, and the little moonlight coming in through cracks was enough to see by. Jael picked her way quietly to the cellar, and from there to the opening she had made.

  The cellar of the Temple of Baaros was dark and silent, and Jael slipped through like a wraith. Unlike the abandoned temple, this cellar was kept in good repair, and there were no cracks to let in a little moonlight. Quietly Jael lit her lantern and glanced around curiously, able for the first time to get a good look. There was little of interest to see, however—boxes and barrels, some apparently quite old, judging by the dust; wooden doors that likely led to old storage areas; and an iron-ringed trapdoor in the floor that probably led to one of the city’s many subcellars. The thick dust was making Jael’s nose run and her eyes water, and she hurried to the stairs.

  In the upper temple there was light enough to see by, and Jael quickly covered her lantern. Obviously the priests had been preparing for the summoning; the temple was festooned with flowers, and the old, moth-eaten tapestries and golden statues depicting the various legends of Baaros had been aired and rehung. The statue of Baaros, a rather placid-looking, middle-aged man with a long beard, with gold spilling out of his hands, had been dusted and freshly painted. The summoning runes had been sprinkled in various colored patterns around the altar and the ceremonial candles and bowls placed in readiness. Jael grinned at the light globes, now dark, which had been placed around the altar, making a mental note to stay well away from the magical lights. Seeing the gold and other valuables decorating the temple, Jael chuckled quietly to herself: Aunt Shadow would doubtless find other ways of passing the time in the temple than sitting in an alcove with a meal and a blanket. But then, Aunt Shadow would have doubtless found a way to sneak in past the priests in the morning, rather than having to spend an uncomfortable night sleeping in the temple.

  The concealed nook was exactly as it had been the last time Jael had been in the temple. Jael scooted some of the debris aside to make a reasonably flat space for herself and spread her blanket down, then dragged one of the larger chunks of rubble closer to the peephole to serve as a seat. Jael settled herself on her blanket as comfortably as she could. There was still almost eight hours to wait, and probably no better way to spend it than sleep.

  The floor was hard and lumpy, however, and Jael found sleep elusive. Now she found herself almost wishing she had gone into the Temple of Ebraris. It seemed vaguely disgraceful to be twenty years old and a virgin, like a member of one of the celibate sects. Even if she felt no real desire for a man, if he was a skilled enough lover, did it matter?

  Jael shook her head disgustedly. Was she really talking about tumbling some man she didn’t even know, just to spite her father or out of embarrassment? She didn’t need Aunt Shadow to tell her how idiotic that notion was. But, Jael admitted to herself, that wasn’t the only reason—Jael wanted something for herself, something that didn’t come from being elf or human or the High Lord and Lady’s daughter. Why else was she here, after all?

  Jael pulled the rag stuffing from the peephole and peered out into the silent, moonlit temple. She opened the door and stepped quietly out, walking slowly around the altar and examining the summoning runes again. She knew nothing about priestly magic, but it certainly looked complicated. At last her eye fell on something small enough: a tiny gold incense cup on one of the window ledges. Jael touched the cup hesitantly, then firmed her lips and picked it up, slipping it into her pocket. Somehow reassured, Jael returned to her hiding place, extinguished her lantern, and curled up to sleep the hours away.

  Voices awakened her. For a moment Jael was disoriented, but the darkness of her hiding place and the hard floor under her cold, stiff body reminded her quickly where she was. As quietly as she could, Jael eased herself slowly to her feet, then crept over to her makeshift seat to peep out the crack.

  It was still dark outside, but the temple was now brightly lit by the light globes and the ceremonial candles. Ordinarily, from her vantage point just behind and to one side of the altar, Jael would have had a perfectly unobstructed view; however, at the moment her field of vision was occluded by the broad backside of Ankaras, High Priest of the Temple of Baaros. Under his direction, the two lesser priests, Tanis, and four other acolytes were making final preparations, lighting the ceremonial candles and the light globes, placing herbs and fresh flowers carefully on the altar, and laying the ingredients for the summoning spell handy in small crystal bowls and flasks
. Tanis, who was senior among the acolytes, was pouring scented oil—pungently aromatic to Jael’s sensitive nose— with exaggerated care into small gold bowls painstakingly set at particular locations on the sprinkled designs. Ankaras looked on, mumbling under his breath—or perhaps chanting, Jael couldn’t be sure, since she couldn’t see his face.

  One of the acolytes apparently did something not to the High Priest’s satisfaction, for Ankaras shook the frightened lad fiercely, berating him for some time on the necessity of doing everything just right in a summoning. Tanis went quietly about correcting whatever the young acolyte had done wrong while Ankaras continued his lecture, but the High Priest was interrupted anyway by the arrival of the first worshippers.

  The temple filled quickly, for dawn was rapidly approaching. Tanis and the other acolytes made sure that all the worshippers were seated, while Ankaras puttered with things out of Jael’s view.

  At last Ankaras seemed satisfied with the preparations, and he gestured the acolytes to their places. As the first dim rays of dawn began to show through the windows, Ankaras began the chant, the acolytes taking it up. The worshippers were silent, rapt, as the rite continued.

  Jael shook her head, wincing. The ritual caused a tickling ache somewhere inside her, the irritating sensation growing as the chant grew in power. Ankaras was using the carefully positioned ingredients now, making ritual passes with his rod, tracing complex designs in the air, and throwing pinches of this and that into the brazier. Jael could feel power gathering around the altar, huge power, and the irritating sensation within her became almost unbearable. If only he’d hurry up and finish what he was doing!