Garth was pleased to see that the man was accepting his decoy so readily. 'After all,' he said, 'what cause could a stranger have to commit such a sacrilege? I am in Dыsarra to obtain some goods for my employer; what have I to do with temples, or with murders?'
'Nothing, I am sure.' The man smiled. 'My apologies for detaining you.' He stepped aside, making room for Garth to pass.
One of the boys demanded belligerently, 'What have you got that sword for, if you're a trader?'
'What?' Garth looked at his waist in feigned surprise. 'Oh. Just habit, I assure you; an adventurer such as myself is accustomed to travelling armed.'
The man swatted the boy on the shoulder and said, 'Come now, there's no law against wearing a sword, else I'd be a criminal myself. From what I hear, travelling the Yprian Coast without a good blade is akin to suicide.' He smiled at Garth again.
Garth smiled back, unenthusiastically, and moved on past the foursome. He turned into the adjacent tavern and found himself an unoccupied table. The swordsman's final comment was bothering him. Why should the fellow assume that Garth had come by way of the Yprian Coast? Why was no one particularly surprised at the presence of an overman in Dыsarra?
Could it be that other overmen came to this city? Could there be an established trade route through the Yprian Coast?
A middle-aged man took his order for a meal and a drink.
If any overmen had come here from the Northern Waste, he should have heard of it; he was, after all, high in the councils at Ordunin, to which all his people swore allegiance. Perhaps there were renegades, along the western shores of the Waste?
His ale arrived, and the innkeeper assured him that his food would soon follow.
Another possibility finally struck him; could there be overmen living outside the Waste? On the Yprian Coast itself, perhaps? That explanation worked quite well; should such overmen exist, Dыsarra would be a natural place for them to trade with Nekutta and the other southern lands. The map showed the coastal plain lying just the other side of this volcanic mountain range; although the road across the mountains would most likely be rougher travelling than the routes east into Eramma, the Yprians, if they existed, would probably not dare to venture into Eramma. The overmen of the Northern Waste had not dared to do so for three centuries; the bitter memories of the Racial Wars had kept them out as effectively as any physical barrier.
Likewise, the northerners had never ventured to the west, across the Gulf of Ypri; their histories taught that the western lands were empty and desolate. Undoubtedly, the Yprians were taught that the Northern Waste was an uninhabited wasteland, as it actually had been until three hundred and fifty years ago.
This was a matter that would bear investigation when he returned home; he considered abandoning his quest and leaving Dыsarra immediately. He could drop off his one piece of booty with the Forgotten King in Skelleth on the way...
No, he couldn't. He could not return to Ordunin yet; he was still bound by his oath. Nor could he reenter Skelleth without first going to Ordunin; the Baron would not tolerate that. He could perhaps sneak into the village, but to skulk about thus, and to bring only one of the items he had been sent for...
No, his pride would not allow that. He would complete his task here in Dыsarra first.
The innkeeper was at his elbow, setting a plate heaped with steaming mutton and those vegetables- potatoes?-before him. He pulled a gold coin from the pouch on his belt and said, 'Is there a room available?'
'Oh, yes; my lord. I'll fetch the key.' He took the proffered coin and vanished again.
There were six temples remaining; if he recalled the girl's words correctly, one of them was as nocturnal as Tema's, and inasmuch as it would be dark by the time he finished his meal, that would be his next target. The worshippers of darkness, of course; the god with two names. Andhur something. That was the one.
Time enough to find it later; he turned his attention to the food. The mutton was excellent.
CHAPTER TEN
The temple of darkness was a huge black pyramid, topped by a small dome that replaced the apex, and surrounded by a wide, empty plaza paved with basalt. Upon receiving directions from a passing Dыsarran, he had had no trouble at all in finding it; it stood near the center of the city, and several broad streets ended at the stone plaza.
Unlike the temple of Tema, this structure had no imposing tower, no vast open doorway; it was stark and simple, completely unornamented, and the only entry Garth could see was a single small door in the center of one side of the broad base. There were no steps; it opened directly onto the plaza.
The whole area seemed deserted; only a very few pedestrians made their way around the perimeter of the pavement, moving from one street to the next. None approached the temple. Perhaps, Garth thought, it was because the twilight still lingered; the western sky was still rosy, though overhead the sky was dark indigo, and in the east it was almost black and sprinkled with stars.
He still couldn't recall the god's second name; he had merely inquired after the temple of darkness, which had been sufficient.
Even if the god's devotees thought it too early, Garth was impatient; he crossed to the door, and found it open. Inside he could see nothing but darkness; that was to be expected. Cautiously, he stepped inside.
He was in a small antechamber, scarcely ten feet across; enough light trickled in from the door behind him to show him that. Another door was in the center of the opposite wall; there was no other opening in the bare stone. With a shrug, he crossed the room and tried the inner door.
It was unlocked, but held with a simple latch; he pressed the latch button, but before he could pull on the handle a sound behind him startled him into releasing it.
The door to the outside had slammed shut when he squeezed the latch, which perhaps wasn't as simple as he had thought; apparently there were mechanisms to make sure no light was permitted beyond this chamber. He was now surrounded by total blackness, a darkness so complete that his eyes could not adjust no matter how long he waited. He could not see his hand in front of his face, he discovered. By feel, he found the handle of the inner door once more, and swung the portal open.
The darkness beyond was just as total; cautiously, he stepped through.
With arms outstretched before him, he took a second step; his fingers struck stone. He turned right; another step, and again he hit stone. Turning full about, he tried the one remaining direction, and again encountered a wall.
He stopped. Had he walked into a closet?
There was a rustle of garments; he could not identify the exact direction from which the sound came. He listened more closely, and made out the faint sound of breathing. Someone was in this tiny room with him.
'Is someone there?' he asked.
'Who are you?' The voice was soft and hissing.
'I am but a curious stranger. What is this place?'
'This is the central shrine of Andhur Regvos, Lord of Darkness and Master of the Blind. Why have you come here?'
'I was curious, good sir.'
'Is it the custom in your land to enter holy places unhidden?'
'I was unaware of your temple's nature; I meant no harm.'
'Very well; then you may depart in peace.'
'Sir, are you a priest of this temple?'
'I am.'
'Could you, perhaps, permit me to stay? I am as yet uncommitted to the worship of any god, and I would learn more of your cult, for I may want to pursue your creed.'
The priest said nothing for a long moment, and Garth wished he could see the man's face. Finally, the priest replied, 'I know no reason this should not be; though I doubt very much if you will choose to follow the path of Regvos, I have no desire to turn away a seeker of truth, even one as casual as yourself. Give me your hand.'
