Joel Shepherd - Haven

“I don't think that that's true,” said Jeddie.

“Sasha said the Tracato Nasi-Keth tortured and tried to kill her. In Petrodor half the Nasi-Keth ended up on the wrong side. In the Bacosh much of the education is handled by priests, who peddle the most evil thoughts of all. Give me a farmer's common sense and a woodsman's nose for horseshit any day. Most of the wisest people I know I've met after my so-called downfall, not before.”

Jeddie's frown had given way to a look of intense curiosity. “So tell me, if you think the princess such a fool, why do you follow her here?”

“Well, I was ordered to.”

“Lenay warriors are difficult to order if they feel their honour imperilled,” said Jeddie. “Commanding a Lenay warrior away from the war is no small thing, surely?”

Jaryd shifted uncomfortably. “She needs protection.”

“From whom? What could pose her so great a threat?”

“Herself,” said Jaryd.

Andreyis walked beside the prisoner train, as had become his practice in the last days. His feet blistered, but that was preferable to the wagon's jolting of bare boards. The road now descended into a shallow valley, within which nestled the largest town Andreyis had yet seen in Enora. A river wound through the valley, and from this shallow height he could see several bridges, and a pair of very tall temple spires. The ground here was wet, and a cold wind blew from the north, bringing rain and low, gusting cloud.

There was little traffic on the road. At one farmhouse, Andreyis saw a family piling belongings onto several wagons, and lashing them down. Other farmhouses looked deserted. Ahead, Andreyis saw a village courtyard, and some locals gathered to throw rotten food and rocks at the prisoners. Andreyis knew he should probably climb back into the wagon-walking here alongside he might just be beaten to death. Yet he kept walking, boots splashing in the rivulets of water that ran down the paved slope.

The locals saw him, and aimed their throws. Another was hefting a heavy spade. Suddenly a rider was bearing down on them, and they scattered. From the safety of doorways, they yelled at the rider. The rider, Yshel, just scowled at them.

Out of the village, she rode on the grass verge beside him. “Best that you get back in the wagon,” she said. “There will be many more like them in town.”

“I heal faster walking,” Andreyis said stubbornly. “What is this town?”

“It is Shemorane,” she said. The name was familiar. Andreyis frowned, trying to recall. “The High Temple is here,” said Yshel, seeing his puzzlement.

“Ah,” said Andreyis. That was in central Enora, he recalled. They'd come that far from the border. Now they were squarely in the middle not only of Enora, but of the Saalshen Bacosh. “I'd thought the temple was atop Mount Tristen?”

“Mount Tristen is there,” said Yshel, pointing. Across the valley, a lone peak loomed, its upper slopes disappearing into low cloud. “Saint Tristen came down the mountain and showed his followers what the gods had told him, here, by the riverside. That is where the High Temple is built.”

Those were the twin spires in the town, Andreyis realised. He was in holy lands. Though not Verenthane himself, it raised a chill on the back of his neck.

“The Army of Larosa will be coming through this way, then,” he suggested.

“And everyone is leaving,” Yshel confirmed. “Now get back in the wagon, before I have one of the Enoran men come and put you there.”

Andreyis did as she said.

“Doin' well what your girlfriend says, then?” suggested Hydez. Of the six Lenays in the wagon he was worst hurt, since Ulemys had died two days earlier.

“This is Shemorane,” Andreyis told him. Hydez blinked at him. “Where the High Temple is.”

“You're joking,” Hydez said with suspicion. Hydez had fought with Hadryn forces during the Northern Rebellion. Andreyis thought it quite likely they had passed within armspans of each other during various battles, on opposite sides.

“No joke. My girlfriend told me.”

Hydez struggled to sit more upright, wincing at the pain. “The High Temple is here? Can you see it?”

“I caught a glimpse, just then,” Andreyis told him. “I imagine this road leads right past it, you'll get a good look.”

Hydez waved Sayden aside from the opposite bench and heaved himself across with a gasp of agony. He then leaned out the side of the shuddering wagon, and stared downslope, hoping for a sight of the Verenthanes' holiest temple.

“Regent Arrosh will be leading his priests to put the Shereldin Star back in there,” Sayden suggested. Sayden had long hair and thin tattoos upon one side of his face. He did not seem too excited by the prospect.

“This was always their main target,” Andreyis agreed. “It doesn't look very defensible, though.”

The wagon passed some villagers on the road, walking with several mules in a train, each with belongings lashed to their backs. Andreyis saw that Yshel had pulled off the road to talk to them. From the movement of hands, he guessed she was asking them where they were headed, and where the latest news put the various armies. Then she followed, red hair wet in the rain, her pale face worried.

Rounding a corner, the wagon train came into a courtyard and there before them towered the High Temple itself. Hydez levered himself as upright as he could manage on the rattling wagon, and gazed in awe as rain fell onto his face. It was no bigger than Saint Ambellion in Baen-Tar, Andreyis thought. Huge, certainly, but it was not the size that impressed. The High Temple was old…Saint Ambellion, like most Verenthane temples in Lenayin, dated less than two hundred years. The High Temple was so much older than that.

This is where it comes from, Andreyis realised as he looked at it. The great faith that had united the warring factions of Lenayin, even as it failed to convert much of the rural population. It was such a monumental part of the history of Lenayin, and a fact of Andreyis's life as immovable as the mountains…and it had all started here. Suddenly, he thought he could understand the look on Hydez's face. Not the joy, but the awe.

“The old builders built well,” Sayden observed, looking up at the twin spires. The wagons clattered across the courtyard. A bridge spanned the river to the courtyard's side, and the valley's far slope rose beyond. There was traffic across the courtyard, a steady stream of wagons stacked with belongings. The prisoner train slipped through a gap, and continued to an archway beside the High Temple.

Within, the wagons stopped in a secluded square. Guards leaped from the rear and front wagons, and ordered the prisoners out. Andreyis climbed out willingly and assisted those who needed it to follow. Hydez never ceased to stare up at the High Temple.

“We're stopping here?” he asked. As though amazed that his awful captive fate had led him to this blessed location.

Andreyis saw priests emerging from the nondescript stone building facing the temple. “A monastery,” he observed.

The priests, bald in black robes, talked to the guards, then gestured for the prisoners to follow. Andreyis walked supporting Sayden, as the priests hauled open large doors to reveal stables within. Andreyis smelled horses, and hay. He nearly smiled.

The prisoners sat or lay on the stable floor, which was dirt and straw with no pavings, while the priests brought food and water. Andreyis took bread and an apple and strolled, gazing over the stable doors at the horses. One stuck a long nose over the door and sniffed at his apple. Andreyis let her bite off that side, keeping the other half for himself.

“You're going to eat that?” Yshel asked behind him. Andreyis glanced back in surprise. She was following him, her bow unstrung, sword sheathed at her back. Keeping an eye on the wandering prisoner…but where would he escape to?