Temple of the Traveler: Book 01 - Doors to Eternity (19 page)

After their meal and a fond goodbye, the other two Sons walked inland toward the next village, glowing with the fire of revelation.

It was nearly nightfall as Jotham and his young apprentice came within sight of Cardinado’s city gates. With the sun already over the horizon, the residual, red light wouldn’t last long. Reflexively, the tall man slid the patch into place over his brown eye. The city defenses weren’t much: a chest-high wall made of cubit-thick field stone. No doubt the wall had been constructed more to keep cattle in than to keep human invaders out. The Temple of Semenos was the biggest building on the square in the center of the town. By the light of the Compass Star, Jotham could pick out a large mosaic in the shape of a stylized tree just beneath the peak of the roof. He pointed out the building’s outline to the boy.

“We drop the ox there and then move on toward the north.”

“Why are all the people waiting in lines outside the gate?” asked the boy, concerned with more immediate issues. Jotham squinted and saw guards questioning and searching each person wishing to enter. Suddenhe closed his eyes and looked like he was meditating or smelling the air.

“They’re all around us. If we try to turn around now, they’ll have us for sure.” Using the ox as cover, Jotham dug two small parcels out of his pack. The first had an assortment of low-value, southern coins and a few herbs recognizable as poisonous in the wrong dosage. The second was a small, leather folder laced shut. Inside were two useful documents. The first give him the rank of Captain in the army of Bablios and the second instructed officials to answer any questions he asked. These had once been his tools in gaining cooperation from the citizenry with his investigations. They could also be employed in a pinch to gain free passage anywhere in the southern kingdoms. He no longer worked for the Prefect, but no one had ever asked for the letters back. In this situation, however, possessing them could be fatal. Jotham discretely tucked the bundle behind a rock they passed, pretending to check the animal’s hooves.

“What…?” the boy began.

“Hush. Forget you ever saw that.” They moved toward the rear of the line as if nothing unusual had happened. When Jotham made out the form of the accountant among the guards, his heart beat faster. Calmly, he removed the holy symbol from around his neck and dropped it around the boy’s, hiding both symbols under Brent’s baggy, homespun jerkin. He whispered to the boy, “The flare is now yours. In exchange for this payment, I would ask a favor from you.”

The accountant had just spotted the ruddy, broken-horned ox and was gesturing wildly for the city guards. “Anything,” said Brent.

“You’re now my personal, legal counselor,” Jotham said.

Watchers began pulling in from the edges, closing the trap. It would be dark in a matter of seconds. The priest could feel time slow as every detail spoke to him. The boy looked puzzled. “But I don’t know anything about the law,” he protested.

The large Imperial put an arm on the child’s left shoulder. “I know enough for us both. You need only agree that the price is fair for the service and clasp my shoulder for the relationship to be official.”

“Grab him!” ordered the deep-voiced man with a sword. The watch commander had a large, metal breastplate embossed with the shape of a tree. His dark-red hair and beard gave him a fiery appearance, and his bear-like physique gave him an air of authority. Even the man’s arms sprouted thick hair.

Jotham raised his hands in surrender, releasing his own staff. “Am I being charged with a crime?” he asked as they herded him away from the crowd.

“I believe the only requirement stated in the royal compact is that he be born in and currently dwelling in the kingdom. No age, height, or weight requirement was ever stipulated,” Jotham interjected. The commander moved his head back to the other contestant in the match to see if the latest volley would be countered.

“This is ridiculous. Follow your orders to the letter or face the consequences,” threatened the accountant.

The man’s shrill voice made the watch commander wince. As they bound Jotham’s arms behind him, the priest said, “If you arrested a man’s lawyer for consorting with criminals, people could never get a fair trial. No one would want to defend even the innocent.”

Several people in the crowd muttered agreement. A number of frontier mayors from the turbulent years had lost their titles over miscarried justice. The new emperor had even been known in one extreme case to force an unfair mayor to assume the punishments of his victims. The watch commander looked from the boy to the accountant and back again. He sheathed his sword in exasperation. “The warrant said nothing about him. If you demand that I obey the letter of the writ, the boy must go free. But the charges explicitly state that the ox is stolen. Confiscate the beast and the pack that it is carrying.”

“But my food’s in there,” the young lawyer protested.

“Anything touching the ox belongs to the church as well,” insisted the accountant.

“You can sleep in my office, young sir. We’ll provide breakfast for you there. We don’t want to be accused of leaving the man’s lawyer too weak to defend him.”

Brent looked at the Imperial for approval. Jotham said, “I’m always willing to assist in the search for Truth.”

“He accepts,” the boy interpreted.

The watch commander laughed and tousled the Brent’s hair. “If only the church were so easy to work with.” The Sons of Semenos, triumphant, struggled to drag the ox to the church pens on the town square. The rest of the armed procession led the docile priest to a root cellar, where they barred him inside and posted a guard.

The commander’s quarters were warm and dry, and several thick blankets were brought into his office to convert it into temporary living quarters. Something else at the gates demanded his immediate attention, so the hairy commander left Brent alone. The worried boy stared at the ceiling for two hours before falling asleep.

At dawn, a supply sergeant woke the boy, poking his head into the room from outside. “Uh, the Lord Mayor wants to know if it’s okay to delay your client’s hearing until after lunch. Something important came up last night.”

ht="00" width="29">“Sure,” Brent mumbled. Noticing how full his bladder was, he asked for directions to the privy.

The sergeant politely pointed the way, and then said, “The commander wanted me to get you something at the inn across the street, but we’re pretty short-handed at this garrison.” He tossed the boy a rectangle of white stone about the dimensions of two thumbs joined in prayer. The light stone was etched with the ideogram for food and two numbers.

“That’s a meal ticket,” he explained to Brent. “Take that to any inn that has our tree on the sign, ask for anything you need, and we’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you. This is too kind,” said Brent, gratefully.

The guard waved the thought away. “We have extra since we’re not at full strength right now. Normally, we don’t give those out to civilians, but seeing as you won’t eat much and you’re irritating the high and mighty clergy, the boss won’t mind.”

The boy felt he had to know one more thing before he let the helpful man go. “Why doesn’t the commander like the Sons of Semenos?”

The sergeant stepped inside and pulled the door shut. “Boy, never say that to anyone. Everyone likes the Sons, get it?” Only after Brent nodded did the man continue in low tones. “I’ll admit that they can be a real pain in the commander’s a… behind when he’s trying to do his job. They don’t understand military priorities or even common sense most times. But the number one reason the boss gives others the benefit of the doubt is his red hair. Neither his father nor mother had red hair, so the church purity board decided that he was the child of some unholy coupling. His mother was in jail for a week until her red-headed brother showed up to defend her. I’m telling you this in the strictest confidence, you understand?”

Brent nodded and thanked him again before the sergeant disappeared into his daily duties. When the boy came out of the latrine, he noticed a flurry of activity in the town square. There was an awful lot of hammering for this early in the morning. Locating the nearby inn’s kitchen, he showed the white stone and filled his pockets with as many apples as they would hold while the cook poured him some fresh milk. After he wiped his mouth with an enthusiasm that made her smile, Brent asked, “What are they building out there?”

The cook, a clean, plump woman with rosy cheeks, leaned close and confided, “They’ve caught one of those southern spies again. He claims he found the evidence in the middle of the road, but his feeble lies won’t save him. We have rules around here about spies. He’ll be on that scaffold by midday. Short as you are, you’d better find a spot now if you want to see. This’ll be wonderful for business. I’ve already got my people making extra meat pies and bringing up more ale. People always get hungry and thirsty waiting for an execution.”

Brent raced to the root cellar as quickly as possible to give Jotham some apples and tell him the news. “The fool must have stolen my gear almost as soon as I put it down. Either he spent the money to bribe a guard to get in the gate sooner, or some of the patrols must’ve been searching even after they brought us in.”

Jotham leaned close to the bars on the door and whispered, “I know. Even you could get me absolved of that. But I found out from the guard that as soon as I am released, the church will seize me for heresy. This is where it gets a little tricky. I’m accused of claiming to speak for the gods, which is blasphemy, because only the Traveler and his high priests could do that. They won’t let me speak in open court with a charge like that. If I’m found guilty, they’ll pull my body apart with a team of oxen.”

“But you
are
a high priest,” complained the boy.

Jotham raised his trademark finger. “Ahh. This too is illegal. If I admit it, they could burn me at the stake.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” said Brent. “So what do we do?”

“We say nothing on any of the charges and demand a change of venue due to the severity of the penalty, and the lack of qualified, local theologians. The mayor will be reluctant to take this case because the people and the church will be pressuring him from both sides. Before the mayor opens the theft issue, demand they hear our case before the high court in Semenea. It has the authority to hear both cases, and I hope we can trust them to make at least a token effort at following the proper procedures for a capital crime.”

“Then what?” Brent stammered.

Jotham reached through the bars to clasp the side of his face. “Don’t be afraid, Brent. I’ve walked away from worse than this. In fact, if I wanted to leave right now, this lock wouldn’t stop me. But I want to go quickly, and fugitives have to spend too much effort hiding. If they want to volunteer to transport us, then we should let them. For the heresy charge to stick, they need two witnesses, and they won’t be able to find another. When they can’t, they’ll be forced to release us, and we’ll be that much closer to our destination. Trust me.”

****

Within a day of the execution, the Prefect at the Great Library received word by carrier-bird that one of his captains had been publicly hung in the sea-side town of Cardinado. The Prefect dispatched a team of experts to investigate the incident and take appropriate actions. Apart from the insult, the Perfect had an intuition that the annual fair, together with plagues and other internal strife, had weakened the shore-side defenses of Semenos. He issued orders to discretely mass as many troops as possible on the border.

An old sorcerer in Humi’s birth city sold charms to those building new homes. He and his kind claimed that one of his talismans buried within your walls would keep evil spirits at bay and prevent catastrophe from crossing your threshold. While she wept, Humi attempted to gather an array of such totems around herself and her child. Her pearl necklace, a gift from the high wizard, was chief among these. Made from Emperor’s Sand placed in Inner Sea oysters, the pearls had a natural resistance to the profusion of magic in their environment. Ash from the central island eruptions was scattered about the floor of her private sitting room in the tower. This was the place she would always sit when awaiting her lord. When mixed with tears, the ashes made a potent ink that she used to draw the symbols of warding knew well from her years on the project. Around her right arm, she tied a folded copy of the codicil of Kragen, her symbol of authority and strength. Over her head, she wore the master’s spare hood. His favorite, she had buried with him. This sorry second was merely a reminder to the masses of his aspect, and to her of his smell. The hood also helped blot out the glare of the second sun which, since his death, she’d been unable to tolerate. The sept had even provided her with the lord’s staff, whose great, crystal head scattered protective rainbows about the wielder. But the staff lay at her feet, covered, for she was in no mood for bright colors.