another, until the job is finished. He doesn’t leave things undone. Delysia needs to get out, as fast and secretly as possible.”
“I think he’s right, Gran,” said Delysia.
“Of course you do,” Gran said dismissively. “You’re a young girl ready to believe any story a boy tells you. How do we know Thren had anything to do with your father’s death?”
“You know damn well the Spider Guild is responsible,” Haern said.
“You watch your tongue with me, boy, or I’ll wash it out with lye!” snapped Gran.
To both their surprise, Haern shifted from foot to foot and lowered his head.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Well, at least you have some manners,” said Gran. “Though I’m worried that you’re right. That horrible murder in the street was bad enough; having a thief break in is just as bad. I may be old, but I’ve kept enough wits to know that wasn’t a coincidence.”
“Where can we go?” asked Delysia. She looked close to tears. Given how horrible her day had been, Gran couldn’t blame her.
“There’s no we in this, child,” the old woman said. “As much as it pains me to say it, we have to put you where not even the sneakiest of thieves can get you. Your father was well respected by the priests of Ashhur. I’m sure if I asked, they would accept you into their care. Once inside their white walls, you’ll be dead to the world for as long as you’re there.”
Delysia sniffed.
“But what about Tarlak? Will I ever see him again?”
Gran pulled her close and kissed her cheek. “I’m sure you will. He’s off safe with that wizard teacher of his. Now we need to make sure you stay safe, otherwise he might find me and turn me into a mudskipper for letting something happen to his dear little sister.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” she said. Gran gently shook her head.
“I don’t want to leave you either, but I’ve already lost my son. I couldn’t bear to see Dezrel lose you as well. I’m old, and you’ve got no mother to watch after you. The priests and priestesses will give you a good home. I promise.”
Delysia returned the kiss, then turned. There was no one there, just a half-closed pantry door. Haern was gone.
“An odd boy,” Gran said. “I hope he keeps his mouth shut about where you’re going.”
“I trust him,” Delysia insisted.
“Trust him? Hah.” Gran laughed until she coughed. “You probably love him, too. Dashing, mysterious boy in a mask. Every damsel wants one of them to come sneaking in through their bedchamber window.”
Delysia bunched her face and poked her Gran in the side. When Gran poked back, they both broke into laughs.
“It’s good to see you smile,” Gran said. “I’ll have that one last laugh to keep with me for the end of my days. Now go pack up your things. Not much, now, just what you can carry. I dare not wait a minute longer before bringing you to the temple.”
Gran watched her hurry back into their bedroom. Gran’s face became a sorrowful mask, her lip quivering and her eyes wet. When Delysia returned, her arms full of dresses, Gran smiled away her tears, hid them with a laugh, and then led her granddaughter out the door and away.
B y the next afternoon, by orders of the king’s advisor, Neldaren soldiers had ransacked half the merchants in the city and carried over a hundred back to overcrowded prison cells. Some had other family members or well-paid guards to protect their merchandise; most didn’t. By the time the first major wave of mercenaries arrived the day after, foodstuffs were already dangerously low. The merchants that did pay their way out of prison doubled and tripled the costs of their goods.
Mercenaries expecting easy pay found themselves turned away. Some traveled back toward Ker and Omn, but many took to thievery and murder, preferring that to starvation. The thief guilds absorbed the willing into their organizations. Those that resisted, died.
By that night, the poor western district of Veldaren was primed for a riot.
It was three days until the Kensgold.
P elarak was furious. For two days, he had waited for Eliora and her faceless to return with Alyssa, and for two days, he had not heard a word. He hurried through his morning sermon. He never lost his place or misquoted a scripture, but his mind was elsewhere and his faithful knew it. Anger crept into his words, and his call for penance and destruction of chaos was particularly moving. Afterward he knelt before the great statue of Karak, letting the purple light bathe over him.
“Something troubles you,” said a man as he joined him on his knees.
“The world is a troublesome place,” said Pelarak. He opened his eyes, and then smiled when he realized who was with him.
“Ethric, so good to see you!” Pelarak stood and hugged the man. “I am so glad you came so quickly from the Stronghold!”
Ethric smiled. He was a tall man, and the only reason Pelarak could throw his arms around him was because Ethric had remained on his knees. He still wore his dark black platemail, having arrived so recently he had no time to remove his armor. A two-handed blade hung from a sheath on his back. He was completely shaven. Across his bald head were a myriad of tattoos dyed in a dark purple ink. They looped and curled in an ill pattern.
“Your priests make their way to Omn less and less,” said Ethric. His voice was rich and pleasant to the ear. “Carden hurried me off to see how things were going. The troubles between the Trifect and the guilds have lasted so long we’ve heard of it all the way across the rivers.”
“Come,” Pelarak said. “Are you hungry? Join me in a meal.”
Deep in the recesses of the temple was a rectangular room bare of decorations. A long table stretched along the center with wooden stools for seats. A mere look from Pelarak sent the staff running, comprised of young priests still in training in their devotion to Karak.
“It is hard remembering you were such as these boys,” Pelarak said. “I’ve seen so many grow up and take their armor or their robes. Many aspire to greatness, but so few reach it.”
“I wonder which I will be,” said Ethric as he sat opposite him at the table.
“A dark paladin every pup of Ashhur learns to fear, if Karak is kind,” Pelarak said.
Children surrounded them, carrying bowls, spoons, and a large pot of soup. Once they were served, both bowed their heads and prayed silently for near a minute. Ethric dug in afterward with a healthy appetite, while Pelarak only sipped at it occasionally.
“I must confess, I come here with ulterior motives than just your warm words and food,” Ethric said when his bowl was half finished. “Though Karak knows I needed both. Haven’t had a solid meal since the Stronghold, and that feels like a thousand miles away after so many months of travel.”
“Did you encounter any trouble on the road?”
“A foolish pup thought he could slay me to earn admittance to the Citadel.” Ethric chuckled. “I’d hardly call that trouble, though. More of a nuisance. I was almost to Kinamn, where the pathway winds through all those rocky hills. Imbecile was hiding among the rocks shooting arrows whenever he thought I wasn’t looking. I’m sure he planned a more heroic tale when he brought my head to the Citadel doors.”
“At least he had more fight in him than Ashhur’s paladins have as of late,” Pelarak said, dropping his spoon. “Though I fear we have too much of that fight in our own ranks here in Veldaren.”
“Which is why I am here,” insisted Ethric. “You told Carden you were troubled. Tell me what it is so I may scorch it with fire and cut it with blade.”
“Do you know of the faceless?” asked Pelarak.
Ethric furrowed his brow as he thought.
“No,” he said. “I’ve not heard of them.”
“Come,” Pelarak said as he stood. “Let me show you.”
He led him into the deep recesses of the temple, down a flight of stairs, and into a large but cramped storage. Crates piled this way and that, huddled against the walls or the many pillars that supported the ceiling. Pelarak lifted his hand. Purple fire surrounded his fingers, giving them light.
“About two hundred years ago, the priests of Ashhur succeeded in a massive conversion of our brethren. It
