'And seven remained.'
Gian frowned. She had heard this story only once, years before, but it sounded strange to her ears. 'That's not how it happened,' she muttered. 'The Gods suggested the race themselves, I'm sure of it, and Kebren did not fly into a rage.'
In the hushed room her voice carried and a number of people turned to glare at her. Gian almost gasped at the furious faces turned in her direction.
'What do you know, were you there?' growled one.
'I've heard this story before,' Gian whispered.
'You think your memory better than a Harlequin's?' hissed Peira, her favourite aunt. The old woman's face was contorted with spite. 'Everyone knows what the Gods are like; of course they were angry.'
'But I'm sure-'
'Shut up,' said burly Vorren, her cousin, as his fat fingers flexed and closed tight into a threatening fist. 'Stop defending them.'
Gian raised her hands, trying to placate him, but Vorren immediately bristled at the gesture. She lowered them hurriedly and looked down, feeling the anger in the room like a fire blazing. She bunched her sleeves in her fists, trying to stop her hands shaking as they all stared at her. The moment lingered, her fear deepened -and then the Harlequin spoke again, resuming the story and defusing the suddenly choking atmosphere.
'Seven, the remaining Gods numbered, and seven sought to turn events to their advantage. As they reached the first temple, that of Kebren, the Queen of the Gods realised her feeble priests would not last much longer, so old and infirm were they. She adopted the form of her chosen creature, the phoenix, intent on carrying both litter and priests in her claws, only to have the conflagration of her outstretched wings burn the priests to cinders.
'Seeing this attempt at treachery, Vellern gave his bearers wings of red and blue plumage, but without hands to carry the litter they left their God behind. Both Triena and Etesia stopped by the wayside to charm a watching company of knights and have them carry both priestesses and litter, but the soldiers started to fight amongst themselves for the honour and blocked the street.
'Veren, Lord of the Beasts, imitated his brother Vellern and changed the legs of his priests to those of powerful stags. They raced ahead of the others and had the next temple in sight when they became trapped in a drain gutter, quite unable to move. Tsatach bestowed upon his priests the strength of the Chetse heroes that were first among his followers, but so sure were they of their superior strength that once they had outdistanced the rest they
stopped to drink at a tavern. There, as the Chetse, Tsatach's chosen people, are wont to do, the priests quickly started trying to impress their lord with feats of drinking – but of course the God outdid them all, leaving them drunk on the ground.
'The last of the Gods in the race, Larat, stopped his priests as soon as he saw the others begin to fail. Realising that pride would be their undoing, he did nothing to his priests and instead turned the litter into a chariot. A golden whip appeared in his hand and the traces ensnared his priests like striking snakes. With a crack of the whip he set off again, laughing as hard as the crowd lining the street while his priests yelped and howled.'
The Harlequin's voiced dropped until it was low and mournful. 'And so it was Larat who won the race, Lord of Cruelty and Manipulation, and the last sight of Jerrath afforded to her father was the sight of her trailing after Larat, the golden whip caught around her neck, as he dragged her away for fifty years of service.'
That's not right, Gian thought, biting her lip hard enough to make it bleed so she would not speak the words aloud again. That is not the tale I heard.
She looked around the room and saw tight faces and angry expressions, but more than a few of her guests were nodding at the Harlequin's words, as though recognising a great truth. Careful not to draw attention to herself Gian slipped the bronze charm to Kitar hanging around her neck inside her dress, away from the eyes of her guests.
'Merciful Gods, what has happened to them all?' she whispered.
CHAPTER 22
Doranei leaned forward, his eyes on Legana. The woman gave no sign of noticing him; she was looking around the room like a blind woman, instinctively turning at each small sound. At her side was the priest, Antil, fussing over her like a lover.
The thought stopped Doranei in his tracks. A bitter bubble of laughter welled up in his throat and he had to cover it with a cough.
Oh you poor bastard if you've fallen for her, he thought. Martyrs to our own hearts, we are.
The room was lit only by a single candle, at the priest's urging. Doranei had to strain his eyes to see what Legana had written on the slate.
– Where am I?
'Somewhere safe,' Sebe replied from the doorway, 'we ain't taking you to your wine merchant tonight.'
They were in a private room over the safest-looking tavern he'd been able to find. There were three sets of bunks fixed to the wall, four stools and a table too light to barricade the door with. The landlord had taken one look at the four of them and doubled his standard rate. It was money they could ill-afford to spend, but Doranei knew they had to get off the street as quickly as possible. If worst came to worse, he could always steal more. A childhood among criminals had many benefits.
'Tell us what happened,' Doranei interjected. 'What's that on your throat?'
Legana made no response other than to turn to the priest. Antil wilted under the combined glare of the three killers. Like most priests of Shotir, Doranei noticed, the man had worry-lines on his luce and more fat than muscle under his robe – and right now he found himself in a different Land to the one he normally inhabited.
Most likely he was ready to collapse in nervous exhaustion.
'I found her in my bedchamber,' Antil began, colouring at the sound Sebe made from his position at the door. They'd rigged a tripwire as the bottom to catch anyone charging in, but Sebe was standing guard all the same.
'She had been thrown through the window when the Temple of Alterr exploded.'
Doranei blinked 'It did what now?'
'You haven't heard about that?'
'Not that it had bloody exploded!' Doranei said with a disbelieving laugh. 'We've only been here a couple of days, just enough to hear about the Clerics' Rebellion and general chaos. Someone mentioned a damaged temple, but nothing as drastic as that.' He looked at Sebe, who nodded his agreement.
'I don't really know much more, other than whatever Legana met in there was powerful enough to kill a Goddess – and to break half the bones in Legana's body as an afterthought.'
'Goddess? Which one?'
'The Lady,' he said sadly.
Both men gasped in shock. Nothing had prepared them for that. Doranei assumed the rumours meant a minor Aspect – but the Lady was almost within the Upper Circle!
'So Legana lived while a major Goddess died?' He didn't bother to hide his scepticism; something about this didn't make sense.
The pale-skinned woman nodded.
'But how? I've seen you fight – and you're damn good – but when a Goddess dies nothing mortal gets out of the room alive. Come to think of it, if you broke so many bones, how are you walking around?'
'Ah,' Antil piped up, 'I helped there a little – but she was touched by the Lady, and a residue of that power remains.'
'But she's just a devotee!'
'Oh.' The priest shut his mouth with a snap and looked down.
'What?' Doranei demanded irritably.
Legana gave him a predatory smile. Her sight was still vague and unfocused, but she was following the sound of his voice well enough. For the first time since they'd bumped into her she looked like the woman he'd known in
