Роберт Асприн - Forever After

The priest nodded.

“Yes, it was exposed on the Temple’s main spire for a month, after which it was flensed of all flesh and other softnesses in a boiling vat of appropriate herbs. Our greatest artisan then installed the two small figures— Demon and Messenger of Light — within it. It is kept in a jeweled casket in a secret place in the Temple, and I am its custodian. I check it every day to see whether the bright spirit has emerged from the right eye socket or the dark one from the left.”

Rango nodded.

“And what has the result been?” he asked.

“The light figure has been prominent ever since the artifact was created…”

“That is good.”

“… until this morning. When I checked today, I saw that the dark one had emerged.”

“This is not good. If I understood you, this is to be interpreted as an ill omen, an indication of pending evil?”

“The skull was enchanted as such a warning system, yes.”

“What have the Elders to say about this change, at this time?”

“Nothing. I haven’t told them yet.”

“Ah! I see….”

“Yes. While it might be interpreted as indicating that the departure of the amulet and the scroll from the Temple would be a bad thing, it might also simply mean that the odd nightly phenomena in the area have finally reached the point of representing a danger — what with giant lizards stalking through town and all. With this interpretation, it would be a good thing to take your experts’ advice and get rid of the instruments. Which interpretation do you think more likely?“

Rango rubbed his neck slowly. Politics!

“You are the interpreter as well as the custodian?”

“Yes, though a sufficiently high church official might take issue with my reading.”

“Yes?…”

“… and the phenomenon might be delayed in the reporting till the day after the Bearers depart — and then the latter interpretation would be more likely, in that it would be too late to do much about the former. You do have a preference?”

“Yes, I do. Have you a favorite charity?”

“Such things tend to begin at home, do they not?”

“This has always been my observation,” said Rango, glancing at a pair of crossed swords which hung upon the wall to his right.

“… and if anything were to happen to me,” Lemml went on, “my successor would note the prognosticatory state of affairs tomorrow, probably read it incorrectly, and certainly report it immediately.”

Rango took a large swallow of his wine, as did the priest.

“It is good that you came to me,” Rango said. “Your visit is a thing both educational and patriotic. Yes, I’ve a mind to make a contribution. I assume you have the details with you?”

“Of course.”

From beyond the balcony, through the opened window, they heard the frantic drumbeat commence, followed moments later by the shouted words none could understand. Shortly thereafter, the great thudding footfalls began. Then came a mournful saurian bellow which rattled their goblets on the tray.

Gar Quithnick fought the boredom of the ceremony by calculating the number of ways he could kill the Chief Priest of the Temple without using more than two major muscle groups. His count ended at two hundred fifty-three, which struck him as remarkable because the hand position of that number in hingu —Butterfly with Twin Fangs and Tail Spike — would have proved a challenge to employ. Piercing the gold-and-malachite pectoral the Chief Priest wore would be difficult and, worse yet, the ornament would interfere with the transference of enough lethal energy so that the blow would merely bruise the man’s liver instead of rupturing it.

Before he could repeat his survey, expanding the parameters to include three muscle groups and immediately available blunt weapons of nonferrous metal, the Chief Priest turned from the tabernacle at the base of the solar deity’s statue and held the amulet Anachron aloft. “Behold Anachron, the timeless amulet from far Gelfait. It has resided for a time in the sanctuary at the feet of Valnartha, He who watched over it while it remained in the Wastes of Rahoban. It is now again ready to journey. Bid the hingist approach.”

Gar would have grimaced at the use of such a derogatory term to describe him, but it was the most polite term employed by his allies since their victory over Kalaran. Long and lean, he moved forward whisper-quiet and managed to leave the thick threads of incense smoke untouched by his passing. With Kalaran dead and his old master, Udan Kann, among the vanished, he knew he faced no serious threat in the Temple, yet caution born during years of training kept his gaze darting about. Gods, goddesses, and godlets all stared down at him from the Temple’s sanctuary with their impassive stone faces.

Looking to his right, past Prince Rango and Princess Rissa, he saw Domino Blaid. He had hoped she would be looking at him, finally understanding the bond they shared. He knew they were meant for each other, as tightly linked as blood and life or death and pain o’r taxes and agonies, yet she refused to acknowledge how she must nave felt about him. Jord Inder, the poet and linguist standing beside her, had stolen her heart.

Were he a thief, Gar could have stolen it back. Being an assassin without equal in Faltane, the tools at his disposal would have been effective for eliminating the competition, but killing Jord would not have transferred Domino’s love to Gar. For the first time in his existence he had wanted something and it eluded him. He resigned himself to never being able to win her, and vowed to channel his unrequited love into his art.

The Chief Priest, an old man whose white hair and yellowed beard stank of old incense and young wine, bowed his head to the assassin. “Unto you we entrust this amulet for its safe return to Gelfait.”

Gar brought his right hand up quickly and the Chief Priest leaped back a foot. “I will not accept the amulet from you.” He looked over to the right again, but this time focused on the handsome Prince Rango. “My liege, Anachron passed to me from the leader of the Gelfaiti horde, and from me it passed to you. On your breast it saved us all from the frightful power of Kalaran’s magick. It was taken from you by the Temple. As I will return it to Gelfait, I wish it to pass from your hands to mine, so the circuit may again be complete.”

His request appeared to take Rango by surprise, but the Prince had always reacted well when faced with the unexpected. “I understand, hingu-Grashanshao , and I am pleased to make things right.”

Gar allowed the hint of a smile on his lips as the Prince respectfully pronounced the title which Quithnick had inherited when Udan Kann fled from Kalaran’s side. He let the smile linger as Rango calmed Rissa with a quick squeeze of her hand, then closed to within striking distance. The Chief Priest appeared annoyed at being upstaged, but he transferred the amulet to the Prince’s hands without hesitation, and Rango settled the chain around Gar’s neck.

The assassin marveled at how little the amulet and chain actually weighed. Sandcast in gold, with a starburst of diamonds at the heart of an ancient sunburst design, its weight should have been enough to discomfit him. Instead it seemed barely more noticeable than a lover’s caress, or the force used in the Velvet Palm Strike when it spalled splinters from the insides of the ribs and impaled the heart.

The Chief Priest frowned mightily, as if he could read Gar’s mind, and again raised his hands. “May the Way be Clear, the Heart be Pure and the Mind filled with Loving Thoughts.”