with a belly on him that spoke of familiarity with wine casks. His red and yellow robes hung loosely about him, stopping just short of the smooth stone floor.
Jherek stepped into the foyer and felt some of the chill hanging over the city drain away from him. He hadn't taken the time to change his drenched clothing, and it clung to his body with the touch of ice and rough salt.
While the temple back in Athkatla had been modest, this place spoke of opulence. The decor was ornate, steeped in inlaid gold and silver, constructed of polished and burnished woods carefully fitted together. Beyond the foyer, rows of long benches filled the space, all turned toward the dais where a huge rose quartz disk almost ten feet tall occupied the back wall. Rendered hi the glowing pink stone were rose-colored swirls centered around a pair of golden eyes.
Jherek flushed with embarrassment to think that the temple would need any or even all of the coins he'd been paid for the caravan work. Quietly, he followed the priest down the aisle.
Several people in agitated states sat in the benches. Many of them prayed out loud while others cried and wailed for lost loved ones. Other priests moved within the groups, offering solace or a healer's touch. As Jherek passed by one bench, he saw a young priest not much older than him on his knees reaching up to close the eyes of a Flaming Fist mercenary who'd stilled in death. Beside him, the dead man's wife and children clung to his legs and cried.
The young sailor quickly averted his gaze, not wanting to intrude on their grief. He knew none of the people, but he knew the anger and frustration and fear that filled them. In his life, he'd known little else until he'd escaped his father and reached Velen.
The priest led him to a back room where foodstuffs and other stores were kept. The room was large and generous, filled with well-stocked shelves and lit by candelabras. Priests worked with parishioners, sorting through the boxes and baskets of supplies that were being unloaded from a cart at the back door.
The priest called one of the acolytes and asked him to search for the things Jherek needed. In quick order, the young priest rounded up the necessary materials.
Jherek offered his coin purse. 'Take what you feel is just.'
The priest regarded him with renewed interest. 'Pardon me for saying so, boy, but you look as though that pouch contains the last coins you have.'
Jherek felt another sharp pang of embarrassment. The pouch in his hand looked pitifully slim, and he'd been so proud of it that afternoon when the caravan had arrived in Baldur's Gate. 'If it's not enough, I'll bring more at another time if you'll trust me for it.'
The priest shook his head, reaching out and curling the pouch back in the young sailor's hand. 'You misunderstand me, boy. Lathander doesn't just take from a community; he gives back. Else how can he work the miracles with the new beginnings he speaks of?'
Still, Jherek felt bad. The priests at Ilmater's shrine hadn't dissuaded him of making a donation there, and he'd gotten nothing from them except apologies.
'Just remember Lathander, boy,' the priest said. 'The Morninglord knows the wheel turns. We all give and get alternately, each as to their needs. Every day is a beginning of some kind for everyone.'
Jherek nodded.
'Stings your pride, doesn't it, lad?' an old man's voice croaked behind Jherek. 'Taking things offered you is hard.'
When he turned and saw the old man who'd addressed him, Jherek swallowed an angry retort. The young sailor couldn't guess how old the man was. Time had marched scores of hard years over him. The man's face sagged with thick wrinkles, and his fevered blue eyes peered up from gristled pits. A fringe of gray hair gnarled around his head. He wore deep scarlet robes that marked him as a priest. Both hands shook, whether from age or illness Jherek couldn't say, and provided him a precarious balance.
'Do you have something to say, lad?' the old man asked, his face stern in spite of the loose flesh on his face.
'Brother Cadiual,' the first priest said, 'what are you doing out of bed?' He sounded very concerned and walked over quickly to the old man's side. 'I gave strict orders that you were not to be disturbed.'
Jherek smelled the illness on the old man and breathed shallowly through his mouth to avoid it.
'I'm here doing Lathander's work,' Cadiual snapped. 'As I have ever done during my life.'
'But you're not well.'
'Ghauryn,' the old man said in a hoarse whisper that stopped the other priest's objections immediately, 'I was running this temple long before you ever suckled at your mother's breast. Ill not suffer your insubordination now.'
The other priest nodded, taking a half-step back. 'As you command and Lathander wills.'
Cadiual eyed Jherek. 'Who are you, boy?'
'I'm called Malorrie, a sailor from Velen.'
The rheumy old eyes searched Jherek's face. 'What brought you here?'
Jherek showed him the bandages and balms Ghauryn had given him. 'I've got a wounded friend.'
Cadiual waved the answer away in irritation. 'No. Before that. What brought you to Baldur's Gate?'
'I came with a caravan from Athkatla.'
'Yet you're not from Amn, and by your own professed statement, you're a sailor. What were you doing with a caravan?'
Jherek felt very uncomfortable, suddenly realizing he had the attention of many of the priests in the back room. 'It was the only way I could get here.'
'Again,' the old man said in his cracking, hoarse voice. 'Why did you choose to come here, at this time when the sea itself rises up against us?'
'I came because I wanted to learn more about myself.'
'See,' Ghauryn interrupted, 'you've been under the influence of that fever again, Cadiual. He's given you your answer.' He reached for the old man's shoulder.
Angrily, Cadiual swept his cane toward the other priest, making him step back again. He returned his attention to Jherek. 'You came because you wanted to learn what about yourself?'
Jherek silently wished he'd never stepped foot into the temple of Lathander. He wished he could muster the ill manners it would take to simply walk away from the old man and his piercing gaze. 'Where I should go from here.'
'You were sent here, weren't you? By a divination that you couldn't possibly comprehend.'
Jherek didn't reply, feeling that he was being the butt of some bit of humor he didn't understand. He tried to take a step and leave.
'You think I'm some foolish old man, don't you?' Cadiual said.
'No,' Jherek answered politely. 'I think perhaps you've got me confused with someone else.'
'Nay. I was told long before you were born that you would one day find your way here. A sailor, I was told, shorn from the sea and bereft of home, a man hardly more than a boy who runs from the bloody shadow of his father. A boy seeking his future to outrun his past, who was needy, yet hated to take on any help from others. To accomplish his task, there was much help he'd have to take along the way. Learning to accept that would be only one of his lessons.' He paused. 'Though we think we live our lives alone, there is no one of us completely alone, boy. The gods overlook us all.'
Astonishment froze Jherek in place. There was no way the priest could know all that, unless he truly was mad and his powers of divination were confused by his insanity.
'Still, there is one way to be certain.' Cadiual reached inside his robe and took out a soft leather bag that showed decades of wear. He opened it and poured yellowed ivory bone splinters into his hand. 'These are dragon bones. Lathander himself saw to it I was given these while still yet a child. They've guided me for years. Let me have your hand.'
Reluctantly, Jherek stuck his hand out. When the priest's hand wrapped around his, he felt the shakes the old man was experiencing, and the thin finger bones as sticklike as the dragon bones the priest poured into his hand.
Cadiual gripped Jherek's hand in both his shaking ones, then closed his eyes and began praying to Lathander. The heat that suddenly flamed through his flesh surprised the young sailor. He tried to pull away, but the old priest gripped him more surely than he'd thought.
