Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

As they walked down a well-lit hallway panelled in wood and decorated with framed paintings, an elderly woman servant handed Geim a key. She continued on without a word, towels in her hand, heading for the pool as if drying the bathing women had been her sole duty.

Geim unlocked a door near the end of the corridor. They stepped into a small room. The scent of incense and wine greeted them. Fine tapestries lined the walls. Along the side opposite the door sat a row of wine barrels, with a smaller cask on a stand in front. Cushioned divans abutted the two side walls, stacked with abundant plush pillows. In the center of the room stood a glass table whorled into an intricate statue of an octopus, its outstretched tentacles providing occasional flat spots on which empty goblets were cradled.

"This is one of the reception rooms," Geim said. "One of the places the lucky supplicant to the oracle might be entertained. Each one has its own decor." He picked up a pair of goblets, went to the small cask, and filled them with an amber wine. A rich, fruity bouquet kissed the air. "I have a very fond memory of this room," he added, turning off the spigot. His eyes sparkled. "The hospitality of the priestesses of Struth is legendary, and they deserve their fame."

"They're prostitutes?"

Geim rolled a tiny mouthful of wine across his tongue. Toren did likewise, and realized for the first time that winemaking was a type of art, and that he was sampling the work of an adept.

"You might call them that. The priestesses provide incentive for certain people to visit the oracle. Struth is a gatherer of information. The more influential the supplicant-the closer to positions of power-the more likely he is to be invited within the walls. There he enjoys the attentions of a priestess, and she, in turn, encourages him to unburden his heart, tell her his inner worries. It's more than sex. The priestesses are sorceresses. By the time a man has been with one for a few hours, her particular kind of magic makes it difficult for him not to reveal his entire life story. Struth knows more about the inner workings of the empire than any living creature. The crown prince of Serthe himself is a frequent visitor. But even if providing sex to strangers is part of their calling, it would be wrong to dismiss them as mere whores. They are proud of what they do. They do it for the frog god-the goddess, as they call her."

Toren massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to absorb all the information. "You were a supplicant once?"

"In a way. I was fortunate enough to have been in Headwater five years ago when Struth decided to learn more about the Vanihr. A man came to me in a tavern and hinted that, should I care to show my brown face and yellow hair in front of the oracle, it might be worth my while. I was certain he was playing a game with me, but after he left, curiosity got the best of me. I came to the temple and found, much to my delight, that the invitation was genuine."

Geim swirled the wine in his goblet. "I have never determined just how Struth knows which petitioners have useful information, and which do not. There is a great deal about her I don't know. She is subtle. Most people in this city have no idea how she selects her guests. They offer her money, and think it is her whim when she ignores them. A few who know the way of it have enjoyed these rooms more than once for the offering of a single copper erron."

"And you?"

"Struth saw that I was a resourceful person, and enlisted me. I have served her in various capacities ever since. When the time came to fetch you, it was obvious that sending a Vanihr would be helpful. I was the logical candidate." He sipped deeply. "I have, in fact, visited some of these rooms in the past few years, but only because a particular priestess took a liking to me. Whenever I have useful information, I render it freely, in consideration of the food, the shelter, the purpose Struth has given me."

"And does that purpose fulfill you?" Toren asked. As he spoke it startled him to realize how much he needed the answer.

Geim scratched his head, drank the last of his wine, and refilled the goblet. "As I said on the mountain, it is better than wandering. Struth plays the game of life at a level most beings are unaware of. To be part of it is always… interesting."

"Do you trust her?"

He frowned. "She protects her own, and she keeps her word. I know she will give you back your totem, as promised."

"When?"

"Probably today. She will probably summon you as soon as Deena finishes her report, and I give mine. No doubt she will return it to you then."

Toren was on his third goblet when they heard a light, tentative knock on the door. Geim gave permission to enter. It was Deena.

She said something to him. He nodded. "My turn," he said to Toren, and left. Deena stayed.

Toren gestured at the cask, and lifted his goblet, but she declined the offer. She stared at the tiles.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"The high priestess can be… intimidating." She smoothed out the cuffs of her riding breeches. She refused to meet Toren's eyes. "She sees things whether you want them seen or not."

"You were talking about me?"

"Of course. That was the point. She wanted to know a few details of the journey… and she wanted to know what I thought about you."

"What did you tell her?"

"The truth. As I said, she has a way of dragging it out."

"Apparently so do the other priestesses." Toren realized she was embarrassed, so he offered the chance to divert the topic.

"Did Geim tell you about them?"

"Yes."

"High Priestess Janna's methods are not so visceral," she said.

Toren raised his brows. "I didn't mean to imply that they were."

"You didn't. I just wanted to be clear." She raised one delicate eyebrow. "Do you have whores in the Far South?" Disdain tinged her voice when she uttered the term.

"They're rare, but the occupation exists. Geim told me something of your practices as we rode through the mountains. Our customs are more strict, because of our totems."

"How so?"

Toren gladly accepted the opportunity to compare cultures. It reminded him of their evenings of talk on the way through the Wood. "A boy must always know who his father is, in order to know which totem to receive. Married couples do not stray. Those who are not married have more choice, but a woman is not permitted to have more than one partner per month, so that if she conceives, she will know the sire. A woman must be infertile to be a prostitute; if a fertile woman is caught selling her body, she is sterilized."

Deena's eyes widened. "How?"

"I'm told it's not pleasant. Sometimes it is fatal."

She shuddered, poured herself some wine after all, and gulped it.

"I'm sorry," Toren said.

"It's not your fault. I asked you to tell me." She coughed. "What happens to an orphan? Who will pass on the totem?"

"Preferably a grandparent, so that the totem would be almost the same. If I do not return before my son comes of age, that's what will happen. Or if my father is dead by then, one of my brothers will take my place."

"What about the boy's mother?"

"Mothers give totems to daughters, fathers to sons. If a boy has no living male relative, he goes outside the family for adoption. It is better to receive any totem than none. Likewise, it is a great tragedy if a man never passes his on. His life experiences are lost. A man who has only daughters will pay very dearly to adopt a son of a man who has many boys. Fortunate is the man with many sons; not only can he pass on his totem many times, but he can make great bargains. My own father was a lucky one. I am his fourth son. I might have easily been given the totem of my father's friend, for whom I am named, but that Toren finally had a son shortly before I came of age."