trail would be scurrying all over the city looking for him. But he'd be hiding in plain sight in a place they'd never think to lookthe Grand Temple of Walaria.
It was an ugly edificea series of massive buildings and onion-domed towers enclosed by high, fortress-like walls. The temple had begun as a simple stone structure. It had been built centuries before by the first high priest in the days when Walariawhich meant the place of the waterswas little more than a few ramshackle buildings encircled by immense corrals to hold the great cattle herds that enriched the original settlers. Legend had it Walaria was founded by a wandering wizard. It had been nothing more than a dry thorny plain then. According to the myth, the wizard had thrust his staff into the ground. The staff instantly grew into a tall tree and a spring had burst out from under its roots. Over time a great market city had been born from that spring, with a king to rule it and a high priest to build and tend that first temple.
Afterwards each high priest constructed another holy structuremore to glorify his name then those of the gods. Temples were hurled up willy nilly, with each high priest competing with the bad taste of the man he'd replaced. Most of the buildings were dedicated to the many gods worshipped by the people of Esmir. It was Walaria's boast there were idols to as many gods as there were stars in the heavens.
Safar went through the main gate, passing by scores of shops and stalls catering to the business of worship. There was incense of every variety and price, holy oils, special candles and thousands upon thousands of idols of the different godslarge ones for the household altar, small ones to make talismans to hang from a chain. On both sides of the thoroughfare were hutches and small corrals containing animals and birds that could be purchased for sacrifice. Blessings and magical potions were also on sale and if you were a pilgrim with foreign coin, or letters of credit, there were half-a-dozen money changers eager to service you from first prayer to last.
A crowd was already gathering when Safar arrived and he had to elbow his way through the throngs. He turned right when he reached the end of the main boulevard and here the street was empty except for a few students like himself hurrying to the universitya low-slung building two stories high and three deep.
The top level was where Umurhan and the other priests livedalthough Umurhan's quarters took up almost half that space. The ground level was for offices and classroomsand the great meeting hall where they all gathered for special ceremonies and announcements. Two of the below-ground levels were given over to dormitories for students too poor to come up with the price of a private hovel or garret such as Safar's.
Leering gargoyles decorated the portals leading into the university. Safar shivered as he passed under them.
'There's no danger, Gundara said from his shoulder. It's only stone.'
Safar didn't need the reassurance. He knew quite well the gargoyles were nothing more than lifeless symbols to ward off evil spirits. Still, even after being confronted with those leering stone faces every day for nearly two years, he couldn't help the reaction.
Just beyond the portal was a large courtyard with stone steps leading to an altar. It was here the students practiced making blood sacrifices to the gods. An animal would be driven out from barred cages to the left of the altar. The animals were always drugged so they rarely gave any trouble. A priest would direct a youth in the grisly task of slicing the creature's throat. Others would dash in to catch the flowing blood before the animal fell. Then prayers would be said as the animal was butchered out and the meat and blood burned in sacrificial urns to glorify the gods. Safar had always been uneasy about blood sacrifices and the more he learned the less he thought they were necessary. He'd also noticed that the best cuts of meat were set aside for Umurhan and his priestshardly an act that would please a deity.
As he went by the altar he saw five acolytes cleaning up after a recent sacrifice. Their shabby robes were hiked up and they were on their hands and knees scrubbing the steps and platform with worn brushes.
Safar remembered a time when that grisly task was his sole and constant duty.
As he passed by the laboring youths he recalled the moment when he'd first met Umurhan.
It was a dreary winter day and the skies were as ashen as the altar stone. Safar had lost count of the weeks he'd spent on scabby knees washing the steps and platform. It was so cold that every time he plunged his brush into the scrub bucket a film of ice formed moments after he withdrew it.
He'd reported to the repetitious priest each morning, asking when he'd be allowed to attend classes. The answer had always been the same'You came late in the year. Late in year. Keep working. Working. Soon as there's an opening… an opening… I'll let you know. Let you know.'
And Safar would say, Yes, Holy One, as contritely as he couldjust as Gubadan had instructed him before he'd left Kyrania. As each day blended into miserable day he became more impatient. He'd come Walaria to learn, not to scrub floors. Moreover, Coralean was paying a high price to fund his studies. Safar was supposed to be a student, not a slave.
On that particular day he'd reached the sheerest edge of his patience and was thinking mightily of packing his kit and setting off for homeand to the Hells with Walaria. He was actually in the act of rising from his knees when there came a sudden hubbub of activity.
The repetitious priest rushed into the courtyard, surrounded by other priests and a great crowd of acolytes from the Walaria school of wizardry. It was an elite group of less than a hundred. These were the students deemed to have talent enough for intense instruction in the magical arts. Safar's own sights were not raised that high. At that time all he wanted was a chance to join the main student body and get a thorough grounding in general knowledge. But when he studied the group, saw their look of immense superiority, noted the weak buzz of their magic, he experienced a momentary flash of jealousy. He brushed it aside and as the excited group crowded into the courtyard he grabbed up his bucket and moved to a far corner where he could watch without being noticed.
From the murmuring of the acolytes he gathered that an important man had approached Umurhan for a great favor. It seemed the man had committed some wrong the group was evenly divided between betrayal of a relative, and the murder of a slave and wanted to make sacrifice to the gods beseeching their forgiveness. But he wanted to do it as privately as possible, so he'd made a large donation to the temple to pay for a non-public ceremony. After the cleansing, Safar heard the acolytes say, rich gifts would be passed out among the students to buy their silence.
When he heard this he made himself even less obtrusive, ducking behind a column overgrown with thick vines.
A moment later cymbals crashed and two men strode into the courtyard, boys scampering before them tossing petals onto the path and waving smoking incense pots to sweeten the air they breathed. There was no mistaking that one of the men dressed in the flowing robes of a master wizard, was Umurhan. Even if he were blind, Safar would have sensed the man's presence, for the air was suddenly heavy with the stink of sorcery. Then Safar was rocked by another surprise. For the richly dressed, heavily bejeweled man striding beside Umurhan was none other than Lord Muzine. Although he'd never been personally introduced to Muzine, the merchant prince had been pointed out to him one day when he passed in his luxurious carriage, drawn by four perfectly matched black horses. Muzine had a face like a double-headed hammer turned handle up. It was long and narrow until it reached the chin which bulged out on both sides.
The courtyard was hushed as the two men mounted the platform and approached the altar of Rybian, the king of the gods and the deity who created all living things from holy clay. Umurhan and two brawny lads in robes of pristine white solicitously helped Muzine kneel before the stone idol of that kindly visaged god.
Umurhan turned to face the acolytes, his eyes fierce under his bat-winged brows.
'Brothers, he said, we are here today to assist a good man, a kindly man, who by unfortunate circumstance has stumbled off the path of purity he has tenaciously traveled his whole life. We are not here to judge him, for who among us could judge a man known far and wide for his sweet disposition and generous charity? This man has come to me, his heart bared, his soul in torment. He has sinned, but who among us has not? So we will not judge him. Instead we will beseech the great and merciful Rybian, father of us all, to take pity on this poor mortal and forgive him for any transgressions the Fates forced him to commit.
'And so I ask you today, my brothers of the spirit, to join me willingly and wholeheartedly in this mission of mercy. The man you see humbled before you is one who deserves no less and it is an honor for our university and temple to help him in this most delicate of matters.'
While Umurhan spoke the lads in white gently removed Muzine's tunic, leaving him bare to the waist, the soft
