Voice of the Gods

two, but his face was prematurely marked with lines that suggested he spent a lot of time in thought - or worrying.

The fourth candidate was a woman in her thirties. She stood with a straight back and her expression was all suppressed defiance. The last was a man Mirar judged to be in his fifties, with a wiry body and a kind face. His clothing was as bright as the others’ but at close inspection was clearly of low-quality cloth.

At a word from Genza, the five contestants turned to face the crowd. She stepped past them, into the rain. A quiet slowly fell over the city.

“Today each of these men and women will undergo physical and magical ordeals,” she said, her voice unnaturally loud. “Their knowledge, intelligence and morality will be questioned, then their reputation examined and their popularity weighed. They must pass all these Trials, but only the one with the highest score shall win. Wish them luck!”

A cheer rose from the crowd. Genza lifted her arms and they quietened again.

“The first Trial is that of physical strength, stamina and agility. A path has been set out that they must follow.” She paused. “Do not interfere with the candidates’ progress,” she warned. “Cheating or sabotage will be punished by death.”

She dropped her arms and turned to face the candidates.

“Are you ready?”

The five nodded.

A spark of light appeared above Genza’s head.

The spark flared.

“The Chieftain Trials begin now!” she shouted.

The city erupted in cheering as the contestants hurried away, descending the pyramid. Genza returned to her seat. A moment later Mirar glimpsed a contestant running under the houses. He noticed colored poles rammed into the ground, ribbons strung between them, and black-clad Servants standing beside them.

Genza turned to regard Mirar again. “So, Mirar of the Dreamweavers, how long have you been in Dekkar?”

“A few months.”

“You didn’t make your presence known for some time, then?”

“I was unsure if I would be safe here.” He paused, then raised an eyebrow at the woman. “Am I?”

She smiled. “That depends on your plans. If you decided to rule Dekkar for yourself we would ensure it was the shortest reign of a Chieftain in history. And there have been some very short ones.”

“I have no ambition to rule any country. That is a task better suited to people such as yourself.”

“And what am I?”

He looked at her, surprised by the question. “Favored by the gods. Smart. Beautiful. People like leaders with those qualities.”

Leaning back, she regarded him through half-closed eyes.

“You are charming - and not so bad-looking yourself. I must admit, I was expecting an old man.”

He smiled. “I am an old man.”

She laughed. Then she leaned forward and touched his knee lightly. “I’ll tell you a secret. I am not as young as I look either.”

Again he felt surprise. Genza’s gaze was dark and her smile was mischievous.

I’d think she was flirting with me, if she wasn’t a...

A Voice? He’d heard nothing to suggest the Voices were celibate. He knew their Servants weren’t, though he’d always suspected the rumors of ritual orgies were exaggerations.

Was she merely being friendly or was she offering him something more? If she did proposition him, what would he do? She was attractive, and something told him she was very experienced... but something else made him hesitate.

Maybe it was natural caution. He couldn’t know what consequences might come out of bedding a woman in such a position of power. Then he remembered that Pentadrians in Jarime had arranged for Dreamweavers to be murdered a few months before. Genza may have had something to do with that, and the thought was more than enough to extinguish his interest.

She appeared to sense it and leaned back in her seat again.

“So what are your plans for the future, Dreamweaver Mirar?” she asked.

He shrugged. “My people are everywhere in Southern Ithania. I would like to travel around the continent, learning about the languages and ways of the people, and teaching healing skills as I did in the past.”

She nodded. “Then you must come to Glymma. Come to the Sanctuary and introduce yourself to my fellow Voices.” Her smile broadened and she lowered her chin and looked at him from under her brows. “Even if they do not make a fuss of you, I will. I see the potential for a profitable alliance between us.”

He chuckled and regarded her thoughtfully. “Ah, your gods choose well. Why am I unsure if you’re trying to seduce me politically or physically?”

Her eyes sparkled and she grinned widely. “Success is reaching a position where one’s talents are best utilized.”

He nodded. “That is true. I’m afraid I have proven to be a bad example for Dreamweavers at times. I try to avoid what I don’t have a talent for. My talents are those of a healer, teacher and guide, so I can only speak for Dreamweavers in a very limited way.”

“Yet as a teacher and guide, your actions could still affect the future of the Dreamweavers. You could still guide the Dreamweavers, say, away from a continuing friendship between Dreamweavers and Pentadrians.”

“I could, but I would not, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And I might seek a reassurance on their behalf that Pentadrians do not intend us any further harm.”

Her eyes narrowed, suggesting she had caught his reference to the Dreamweaver murders in Jarime.

“Be assured, then, that we do not regard Dreamweavers with any animosity,” she told him.

No animosity, he mused. But you won’t think twice about using individuals to further your own ends again.

“What do you know of the candidates?” she asked him, changing the subject.

He shrugged. “Very little. Only the gossip I’ve overheard from other Dreamweavers. I don’t completely understand what the Trials are for. Why this physical test? Is it necessary? A ruler can be fit yet not fit to rule.”

Genza’s shoulders lifted. “It is a tradition. It increases the chances that a ruler will last a while. The physical trial isn’t overly demanding, but it removes the weak and those inclined to laziness and excess.”

“They might put aside laziness and excess only for as long as it takes to win.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “And there is always the chance that a candidate’s youth will allow them to perform well now, only to be ruined by excess later. Ah, speaking of excess...”

Servants were entering the pavilion carrying platters of food and large pitchers. For the next hour or so Genza encouraged all her companions to eat and drink. From their constant thanks Mirar guessed she had paid for the feast.

From time to time a candidate would be seen and pointed out, and the conversation would turn to speculation and wagers increased. The two young men were the first to return to the pavilion, where they were set to the task of picking up heavy stone balls of increasing sizes. The woman arrived next, but struggled with the lifting task. The sharp-eyed man followed soon after and managed well, while the older man came last but surprised all with his strength.

Now a large frame of wood the size of a room was wheeled to the pavilion by several muscular men. It was covered in a fine netting. A simple but beautiful timing device of glass tubes was set in front of Genza. Mirar heard a low whine over the chatter around him. It grew louder as five large baskets were carried to the frame and set on the ground.

The city was buzzing with voices and Mirar sensed their rising excitement and curiosity. From the candidates he detected anxiety and a little dread. The muscular young man appeared to be the most frightened.

Genza inspected the frame, walking around it slowly. When she had circled it, she turned to the