The Gold Falcon (35 page)

At the gate Horsekin guards, typical soldiers of their kind, armed with long spears as well as swords, stepped forward and blocked the view inside. They stood over six feet tall, and their huge manes of hair, braided here and there and decorated with little charms and talismans, emphasized their height. Their faces, bare arms, and hands sported solid masses of tattoos covering all but a few traces of their milk-white skin. Salamander noticed that some of the tattoos displayed their goddess’ bow and arrow, along with stylized flames that might also have been a holy symbol. When they recognized Rocca, they greeted her in their language, and she answered in the same, gesturing toward Salamander as if telling them who he was.

The guards ushered them both inside. One turned and called out in a booming voice. At this signal others came running—Horsekin and human men dressed in the same brown leather clothes as the guards, a handful of human women wearing tattered tunics and the iron band around one ankle that marked them as slaves. Mostly, however, Salamander saw Horsekin warriors, standing in little groups by what seemed to be a covered well, walking back and forth on the walls, sitting on the steps of a long wooden barracks.
There must be hundreds of them here already,
he thought.

A group of Horsekin and human women walked slowly and with great dignity to join Rocca and Salamander. The two humans and the pair of Horsekin all wore long doeskin dresses, heavily painted with symbols and abstract designs, that fell to their ankles but left their tattooed arms bare. While the Horsekin women had shaved their heads and wore little leather caps, the humans had kept their hair long.

“See you the elderly woman there?” Rocca pointed at a women with gray hair piled up high on top of her head. “That be Lakanza, the high priestess. Behind her come some of my sisters in the faith.”

“I thought they must be holy women,” Salamander said. “They walk with such gravity.”

“They all be worthy of the faith. Well.” Rocca’s voice turned sour. “Except for one. But this be no time for that. Look you just beyond the shrine itself. See there that circle marked out with stones?”

“I do,” Salamander said. “That flat boulder in the middle? Is that an altar?”

“It be the neophytes’ holy altar indeed, and that be where we welcome those new to the faith. We do call it the Outer Shrine. Once they’ve dedicated themselves, then may they enter the Inner Shrine.”

When the women joined them, Salamander noticed that the high priestess and the two Horsekin women greeted Rocca warmly, but the other human forced out a smile that was barely civil. Rocca in turn ignored her and spoke to the others in the Horsekin tongue. All of the women studied him as she spoke.

“Come now,” Lakanza said at last. “There be a need on us to speak in language that our guest can understand.” She glanced at one of the Horsekin women. “Dorag, take those horses to the grooms, then rejoin us among the holy stones. The rest of you, arrange yourself for prayer. It behooves us to bring out the relics of Raena the Holy Witness, she who were the first to give up her life as testimony to Alshandra’s power over death.”

Since Salamander had heard tales of Raena from Dallandra, he wasn’t surprised to find her memory venerated among the Horsekin, though they doubtless would have been horrified to learn that she’d been a shape-changer. Lakanza hurried into the Inner Shrine, while in the Outer the others all knelt in front the massive gray boulder, chiseled and chipped flat. Carved in the center were the goddess’ bow and arrow. Rocca gestured for him to kneel at the head of the crowd, and she knelt beside him. Fortunately for Salamander’s knees, inside the circle grew thick, soft grass. He somehow just knew that a good long session of prayers lay ahead of him.

Lakanza returned, carrying a burnished copper tray. Placed as he was, Salamander had a good view of the altar. He studied the relics as the high priestess laid her tray and its burdens down: a miniature bow and arrow made of gold and copper, a wooden box with a lid inlaid with gold spirals, and a strange bone flute or whistle. It seemed to be made of two fingerbones glued together, but he could see that each bone was far too long to have belonged to either a human being or one of the Westfolk. Strangest of all, though, was the last relic, a black crystal in the shape of a truncated pyramid. Salamander knew immediately that he’d seen it before, but he couldn’t remember where.

Lakanza raised her arms, said a few words in the Horsekin tongue, then began praying in Deverrian. Salamander risked a few glances around and noticed the other human priestess watching him. Her ancestors, immediate or otherwise, must have come from Eldidd, he realized. Though her eyes were an ordinary cornflower blue, they were strangely round, making him think of a bird’s eyes, under arched brows. She wore her hair, shiny blue-black like a raven’s wing, bound back with a twist of thin rope. Her painted leather dress hung straight to feet that were, like Rocca’s, a mass of scar tissue and swellings.

When the prayers were over, and everyone had risen to their feet, this priestess went up to the altar, curtsied in front of it, and picked up the narrow wooden box. She stepped forward, bobbed her head to the high priestess, then turned to Rocca.

“This fellow,” she said. “And for how long have you known him, Rocca, that you bring him here so boldly?”

“Long enough,” Rocca snapped. “I do feel the sincerity of his heart.”

“There be a need on me for a bit more evidence than that. I like not his pretty face, and I think me it did sway your judgment.”

“Oh, hold your tongue, Sidro!” Rocca set her hands on her hips. “We all know you do try to humiliate me at every turn, and I say your words now be just one more case of it.”

“There be reason to listen to my words.” Sidro hefted the box. “This man stinks of danger.”

“Hah! You do see mating everywhere, that be your trouble. It be no wonder that your lover did cast you off.”

Sidro’s face drained white, then turned red in rage. Lakanza raised both hands and stepped between them.

“Hush!” the priestess said. “Such nastiness among ourselves ill reflects upon our goddess!”

“You be right, Your Holiness,” Rocca said. “Sidro, my sister in Alshandra, I did speak wrongly. I apologize.”

Sidro said nothing until Lakanza tapped her on the shoulder. “I do accept your apology. But I do wonder if this convert would pass the test of the holy dagger. There be somewhat about him that speaks of Vandar’s spawn to me.”

“That be a foul thing for even you to say,” Rocca said.

“Oh, does it be so?” Sidro gave her a smug smile. “If his heart be so pure, surely you’d not object to the ritual, would you? Since you do already think him fit for the worship, what harm could befall him?”

Caught, Rocca stared back and forth between Sidro and the high priestess. The two Horsekin priestesses stepped forward and began talking to Lakanza in their own language. Salamander could tell nothing of their feelings from their heavily tattooed faces, but apparently they were urging caution. Eventually Lakanza nodded her agreement and spoke in Deverrian.

“Very well,” Lakanza said. “Bring the sacred dagger forward.”

With a little smile Sidro opened the box. Salamander felt his heart freeze in his chest as Rocca’s rival took out a silver dagger. He knew now what this test would entail, and his mind went racing down long chains of lies and ruses. Holding the dagger, Sidro returned the box to the altar. For a moment she paused, looking him over with a small smile that held no good humor, while she ran one finger down the flat of the silver blade. Finally she took it by the point, then stepped forward and thrust the hilt at Salamander.

“Take it,” she growled. “Hold it if you dare. We’ll see if the sacred wyvern bites you or not.”

“Of course I dare.” Salamander grinned at her. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about it. Is it hot or suchlike?”

“Just take it.”

With a little shrug Salamander did just that. As soon as his fingers touched the dagger, blue flames exploded from the blade and leaped into the air. Salamander did his best to look dumbstruck—he yelped, flung the dagger down, and jumped back as Sidro howled in triumph. Rocca shrieked, then clasped both hands over her mouth.

“Vandar’s spawn!” Sidro said. “I knew it.”

“What?” Salamander stammered out the words. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“You lie!” Sidro said. “You may look like an ordinary man, but in your veins does run the blood of Vandar’s spawn. I call and demand that he be executed as our laws require.”

“Wait!” Rocca shoved herself in between them. “I’ve traveled with this man. There be no evil in him. I understand this not at all. Did you play some trick, Sidro? I’d not put it past you.”

“You frothing bitch!” Sidro raised one hand.

“Stop it!” Lakanza moved in and took control. “Sidro, pick up the wyvern knife, and put it properly away. There be a need on us to purify it. Rocca, please, do now hold your tongue so that I may sort this out.” She turned to Salamander. “By the testimony of this knife, either your father or your mother did come from the spawn. Be it that you dispute it?”

“Of course I do.” Salamander glanced around as if deeply bewildered. “My mother was a farmwife down near Aberwyn. We lived with my grandfather. She told me that my father was a rider in a lord’s warband. He was killed, and so we went back to her father’s farm, and—”

“Stop!” Lakanza held up one tattooed hand. “Did you ever know this man, your father?”

“Not that I remember. He was killed when I was still in swaddling bands, or so my mother told me.”

“Or so his mother did tell him.” Rocca said. “Your Holiness, I do think that she did lie.”

“It be possible. Vandar’s spawn do seduce human women now and then, winning them over with sweet words and flattery.”

“But—” Sidro was busying herself with putting the dagger away, perhaps to gain a little time. “He still be one of them.”

“I care not!” Rocca turned on her. “How can you even think of slaughtering someone who means us no harm?”

“How can you be so sure that he does tell you the truth?” Sidro drew her thin lips into a greasy smile. “Evil be his birthright, evil does lie in his heart, no matter what sweet words he may say.”

“It does not!” Salamander summoned all the righteous indignation he could. “What is this? I come here hoping and praying to learn more about our goddess. I leave behind my kin and clan, drawn by love of
her.
And now you call my mother a lying whore and tell me I belong to some evil race.” He flung an accusing point Rocca’s way. “What kind of trap is this? Did you have my death in mind all along? Sacrifices for
her
altar must be hard to come by if you have to lure unsuspecting victims.”

“I did no such!” Tears welled in her eyes. “Evan, please, never ever think that!”

“I don’t know what to think!” Salamander tipped his head back and raised both hands to the sky. “Alshandra, Alshandra, I swear it on your sacred name! Never did I mean offense to you and yours! Strike me down if I lie!”

Salamander heard a gasp from the surrounding priestesses and the rustle of clothing as they moved away from him, getting out of range in case Alshandra took him at his word. For a long moment he kept his gaze fixed on the sky, then slowly looked at Lakanza. The high priestess had clasped her hands together and raised them to her lips, but she regarded him steadily.

“I’ll say more,” Salamander continued. “If I am in truth Vandar’s spawn, then I’d be better off dead than running any risk of somehow wounding you and yours and giving offense to
her
. Give the order, Your Holiness, and I’ll—I’ll—” He looked wildly around, then gestured at the watchtower. “I’ll climb to the top of that tower and throw myself down naked upon the stones at its foot. I’ll be a willing witness to
her
faith.”

“Now here, be not so quick with your words,” Lakanza said. “These be grave things you do say, just as the matter itself be most grave. I’ll not be rushing you to your death, Evan. Mayhap there be a way to save you from it yet.”

Salamander looked at Sidro, who glared narrow-eyed and furious in return.

“Your Holiness,” Sidro hissed. “The knife—”

“I do ken it well,” Lakanza interrupted. “The wyvern knife does never lie, and so, Evan, there must have been a lie on your mother’s lips. No doubt she felt great shame for her intemperate act, and that very shame does clear her of such nasty charges as whore. Young lasses oft fall prey to handsome men, and they say that the Spawn have handsome faces to hide the foul souls within. As for your wyrd, there be a need on me to convene the council. A purification, perhaps, or some penance, a quest, a deprivation—some such thing to redeem your soul. I ken not
her
will. I shall call the council straightway. The leaders in this world, our razkanir—there be a need on me to consult with them as well as with my sisters in the faith.”

“May I ask how long it’ll be,” Salamander said, “before I know my fate?”

“I have no wish to let you writhe in fear, but I ken not how long the council will argue the matter, though half the night be likely. If our law states and
her
will agrees that you must throw yourself down, you’ll not die before sunset tomorrow. That be all that I can promise.”

“And in the meantime, Your Holiness?” Sidro broke. “Is it that we leave this creature loose, roaming around our sacred home?”

“Call him not a creature!” Rocca said. “You be the beast here, Sidro the Sow, with your judgments so ready and sharp.”

“Enough squabbling!” Lakanza raised both hands, then brought them sharply down. “Evan, since you did swear as to the manner of your death, should you face it, yondro tower room shall be your prison. There be a need on you to tarry there till the council does hand down its ruling. My heart aches for you, but in my soul I do believe that should you dash yourself upon the stones,
she
will stand ready to catch you on the other side of death.”