David Drake - Godess of the Ice Realm

She looked at Garric with a desperate expression. "It was evil," she said. "She was evil, Garric. Not just death. I didn't tell you about it because…"

Liane brightened, suddenly the educated, sophisticated noblewoman again. She grinned at all of them. "Because I was afraid," she said, enunciating carefully, "that saying it would make it come true. I haven't felt that way since I was three years old."

Cashel chewed his bread as he listened to the others. He didn't understand why Liane and Garric and Sharina-who still occasionally trembled-were upset. There were lots of things Cashel didn't understand; that was all right. Eventually there'd be something for him to do, either that somebody else told him about or what he figured out for himself.

Until then he'd wait, and watch, and listen. Life in general was a lot like herding sheep.

Garric continued to hold Liane's hand. "I had a dream too," Garric said, "though it wasn't a bad one."

In a businesslike tone he added, "Tenoctris, what doyou think about holding the coronation in a temple of the Sister?"

He'd stopped being worried and angry; Cashel was glad of that. Garric was back to being the man Cashel had grown up with, the fellow who figured he could do most jobs and willing to give even the impossible ones a good try.

"Like Ilna…," Tenoctris said carefully. She held her left hand palm in front of her and touched it with her right index finger as if she was counting. "I don't believe in the Great Gods."

She smiled at the company. She seemed decades younger when she smiled, and she smiled often.

"I've never seen Gods, you see, so as a matter of faith I believe that other people haven't seen them either." She cleared her throat and went on, "But I do believe that places of worship can be repositories of power. And-"

Tenoctris smiled again. This time her expression held a touch of the cynicism Cashel had heard when the wizard talked about what a long life had taught her about people.

"-some of those who've worshipped the Sister over the years may not have thought of Her merely as the symbol of life's natural end. Whether or not Liane's dream was prophetic or connected in any way with the Sister-"

She nodded toward Liane; Liane nodded back.

"-I believe therecould be danger."

No one spoke for a moment. Cashel found the squabbling of finches in the cedar tree behind him familiar and soothing; it helped him think. It was funny to be up on the roof of a building and have full-sized trees growing out of planters beside you, though.

"There's danger in everything," Garric said mildly. He wasn't angry and defensive any more, just saying what they all knew already. "We can't make our plans based on what's safest, Tenoctris."

He grinned. "That's not safe. Not with what's loose in the world now."

"Tenoctris?" Cashel said as his thought finally formed itself into the right words. "Could you tell about the temple, the Shrine of the Sister, if you were there? Tell whether it was, you know, a bad place to be?"

Tenoctris frowned thoughtfully. "I could tell… many things," she said. "I could determine what powers are focused on it, and Ithink I'd be able to tell what uses they'd been put to in the past. Cashel, would you like to escort me to the Shrine of the Prophesying Sister in the morning?"

"Sure," said Cashel. "Or right now, if you like."

"I think I'll be more useful after a night's sleep," the old woman said with a wry smile. "I'm not at my most comfortable on shipboard, and I haven't wholly recovered yet."

"All right," said Garric, nodding three times for emphasis. "Cashel and Tenoctris will view the shrine tomorrow. Does anyone else want to join them? Sharina?"

Sharina shook her head without speaking. Her right arm was around Cashel's waist; she squeezed harder.

"Liane?" Garric went on. "I could go myself if-"

"No!" Liane said. "Garric, please don't go. Humor me in this!"

"Very good," said Garric, his voice calm. "Tenoctris, I'll await your report before making any decisions on the matter. And now-"

Chalcus came sauntering back from the serving table with a pitcher in either hand. He'd been standing there to remove himself from the discussion without making a fuss about it. Cashel smiled. The same as I did by filling my mouth with bread, he thought.

"And now, my friends," Chalcus said, lifting the pitchers to call attention to them. "I think a toast to the Isles is called for, if folk will let me fill their glasses."

Cashel joined in the laughter-but Sharina didn't. She and Liane stared at each other across the table with identical worried expressions.

Ilna set her cup back at the corner of her empty platter, precisely where it had been before she raised it to drink the toast. "To the Isles!" were fine-sounding words, no doubt, but what did 'the Isles' mean? Not a string of islands, surely; and not the people on those islands either, with their own wishes and plans and anger. People weren't a thing or even a thousand things: they were every one of them as different as the spools of yarn from which Ilna wove her fabrics.

She smiled coldly. Most people thought wool was all the same except for the color it might have been dyed. They were wrong. And maybe Ilna os-Kenset was wrong in not seeing the great fabric of the Isles that someone, perhaps Garric and the rest of them here at this table, were weaving out of individual people.

It wasn't dark yet, but servants were bringing out lanterns to hang from hooked poles. Chalcus would probably suggest they hire a chair to take them to the house they were renting… and Ilna would probably agree, because she disliked the feel of cobblestones underfoot and in the dark of unfamiliar streets she might well slip in filth and turn an ankle.

Across the table Cashel, Sharina, and Tenoctris-with Cashel's help-were rising. Ilna rose also, but as Chalcus stood he touched a hand to her elbow for attention and said, "Prince Garric, might I have a talk of a private nature with you and Mistress Ilna before we're off about our business for the evening?"

"Yes, of course," said Garric, his tone friendly but guarded. He didn't have any idea what Chalcus wanted to discuss, but he knew it wasn't a slight thing if the sailor requested privacy.

Ilna didn't have any idea either. What shedid know was that surprises were usually unpleasant.

"Though you won't mind," Garric continued, making a statement rather than asking a question, "if Lady Liane stays with us to take notes."

Garric seemed much older than he'd been when he and Ilna both left Barca's Hamlet. He'd been a happy boy and a friendly youth; now-he was often happy and usually friendly, but he was beyond question a man.

Ilna smiled, though the expression didn't reach her lips. She didn't think she'd ever been young herself, but she regretted her old friend Garric's loss of childish playfulness. No doubt 'the Isles', whatever they were, were better for the change.

"I have work to do with the reports, your highness," Liane said calmly. Her eyes met Ilna's and she made a respectful half-curtsey of acknowledgement. "Good evening, Mistress Ilna, Master Chalcus."

She slipped into the line of guards before Garric could protest, if he'd intended to. Chalcus didn't want her present-he would've worded his request another way if he had-and Liane didn't choose to be where she was an embarrassment. Ilna could have liked the girl if circumstances had been different. Maybe she liked her anyway.

Chalcus watched Liane go with a speculative grin, then returned his attention to Garric. "So, your highness," he said. "There's trouble in the Strait, monsters from the air preying on shipping. Lascarg's Commander of the Strait, who is now your Commander of the Strait, one Lusius, does nothing but count the bribe money he squeezes from the shippers. Is this old news to you?"