Priestess of the White

lips twitched upward. “Then we had best return below before the wafercakes cool.”

Danjin chuckled. Turning from the railing, he followed Leiard below deck.

As the boat neared the cliffs, Auraya wondered how they could possibly land safely. Waves crashed against the black vertical rock face, filling the air with salty spray. It was clear any craft attempting to moor here would be battered to pieces. The rowers heaved and hauled against the oars, propelling the boat around a bluff. A narrow beach of dark sand appeared, riddled with black rocks. Auraya breathed a sigh of relief as the crew headed for it.

Looking up, she made out a zigzagging line of stairs carved into the cliff face, leading to the top. The boat scraped against sand. The men pulled in their oars, jumped over the sides and, as a wave pushed the craft forward, hauled it up the beach.

Auraya rose and stepped out. As her sandals sank into the sand, water welled up and chilled her feet. She thanked the rowers, then left them dragging the boat back into the water as she started toward the base of the stairs.

The stairs were steep, narrow and worn to a dip in the center of each tread. She started climbing and was soon breathing deeply. The higher she climbed, the more disconcerting the drop to the shore became. Wind buffeted her, and she wondered uneasily what would happen to her if she fell. Dyara hadn’t taught her how to survive a fall. Would a defensive shield like the one used to protect her from a magical attack also save her from the impact of landing on the sand or rocks far below?

Perhaps it would be better not to think about it. Auraya resolutely turned her mind from the subject and continued her climb. Her thoughts soon returned to the task Juran had set her. The Pentadrian had been seen lurking about in drinking houses, perhaps hoping to overhear something of interest to his people. His description did not match the powerful sorcerer Rian had fought; he was older and dark-haired. Yet she could not help but feel a little apprehensive.

There can’t be two sorcerers of such strength, Juran had assured her. We might encounter one once a century. This man has been staying in poor accommodations. I doubt his Gifts are as strong as those of a high priest or priestess.

When, at last, she reached the top of the cliff she was surprised to find a small crowd waiting for her. A village surrounded one side of the blackstone building atop the cliff edge.

A priest stepped forward. “Welcome to Caram, Auraya of the White. I am Priest Valem.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Priest Valem.”

He gestured to a well-dressed man with pale eyes and gray in his hair. “This is Borean Stonecutter, our village head.”

She inclined her head to the man, who made the formal two-handed sign of the circle. Others in the small gathering followed suit. She noted that they were plainly dressed. One still wore the scorched apron of a metalworker. Most avoided her eyes, while a few gazed at her in awe. She smiled warmly at them.

“I am also the owner of the watch-house,” Borean said, gesturing to the building on the edge of the cliff. “Priest Valem has arranged for you to stay there.”

“I would be honored to visit your home,” Auraya replied. “I hope I have not caused you inconvenience.”

“It is no trouble,” he replied. He beckoned politely and they began walking toward the house. The priest fell into step on her other side. “I let rooms to travellers from time to time, so I am not completely unprepared for visitors,” Borean assured her. “I cannot promise the comforts of Jarime, however.”

“Neither I, nor my fellow White, lead an extravagant life. Is the house very old?”

She did not have to feign interest as he told her of the long history of the building. It had been built by one of his ancestors many hundreds of years before, as both home and watchtower to warn of a sea invasion.

When they reached the door she paused to thank the villagers for meeting her. Once inside she encouraged Borean to take her through the house, the priest following silently. The interior was rich in artifacts, but not overly luxurious. They finished in one of the squat towers, where he presented a suite of rooms for her.

“I have arranged for local women to serve—”

A crash downstairs interrupted him, then a woman’s scream. The sound of running footsteps followed. Borean and Priest Valem exchanged puzzled glances, then the village head excused himself and moved to the entrance of the suite. As he reached it a man in a brown travelling tawl stepped into the doorway, blocking his exit. His eyes slid over the village head and the priest, and met Auraya’s.

Her skin prickled as he stared at her. There was something strange about him. His skin was pale but his eyes were so black she could not make out his pupils. That was not the source of the strangeness, however. She looked closer and her stomach sank as she realized what it was.

She could not read his mind.

“Who are—?” Borean began.

The man glanced at the village head. Borean tumbled backward. He landed heavily and clutched at his stomach, gasping for breath. Drawing magic, Auraya hastily created a protective barrier across the room between Borean and the sorcerer. The village head scrambled away from the door, still struggling to breathe. She stepped forward to take his arm and help him to his feet, not taking her eyes from the man in the doorway.

“Are you hurt?” she murmured to Borean.

“Just... win - ded,” he said hoarsely.

“Is there another way out of these rooms?”

He nodded.

“Good. Take the priest and go.”

:Juran, she called as the two men left via a side door.

:Yes?

:The Pentadrian spy is here.

:Already?

:Yes. She made the link stronger and let him see the sorcerer through her eyes.

:What can you glean from his mind?

:Nothing. I can’t read his mind. Is this a common Pentadrian skill?

:I don’t know. We have to consider the possibility. I will contact Dyara.

:He sought me out. There is no other reason for him to come into the house. Are you sure he’s a spy? That’s not spy-like behavior.

:He must think you are a priestess of some importance and he intends to force information out of you. I doubt he knows who you are.

“You must be Auraya of the White,” the Pentadrian said.

She stared at him in surprise.

:So much for that theory, she thought at Juran. Where is Dyara?

:An hour’s ride away, Dyara answered. Keep him talking, Auraya, and inside the house. I will be there soon.

“I am Auraya,” she said. “Who are you?”

“I am Kuar, First Voice of the Gods,” he replied.

:Great Chaia! The leader of the Pentadrians? Juran said incredulously. Why would the leader of a cult venture into the north alone? He must be lying.

The Pentadrian started moving toward her, one slow step at a time.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I came to see you,” the sorcerer replied.

“Me? Why?”

“To learn...” He reached her barrier. As he spread his hands out before it his tawl parted to reveal black clothing and a silver star pendant. She frowned. A spy wouldn’t travel in a strange land with only a tawl to hide the dress of his people.

“What do you wish to learn?” she asked.

A blast of power battered her shield, sending whips of lightning-like magic across its surface. She gasped at