At the Gates of Darkness

• CHAPTER THREE • Sergeant-Adamant

CREEGAN GESTURED WITH HIS HAND.

Sandreena entered his quarters still covered in dust from the road and feeling hunger pangs. Once she had given care of her horse over to the stable boy, she had paused only long enough to drink deeply from the well behind the temple, but she hadn’t eaten anything but a handful of dried fruit and some nuts since leaving Land’s End. Her order was mendicant and there was no dedicated shrine or temple in Land’s End, so she had survived on what she had purchased in Durbin with the last of her coin.

The moment she handed her documents to the Father-Bishop she knew something was wrong, something that had nothing to do with the message she had delivered to him. He waved her to sit in a chair opposite his desk and said, ‘The Grand Master has passed.’

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and made a short prayer to the Goddess to care for the old man on his way to Lims-Kragma’s domain. He had been a good man, almost saintly, and Sandreena had no doubt that he would be rewarded with a higher place on the Wheel of Life.

The Father-Bishop remained silent while she prayed; when she opened her eyes, she discovered him staring intently at her. ‘Father-Bishop?’

Creegan smiled; it was not a friendly or warm expression, but rather the smile of a man finding humour in a very dark place. ‘The end of life is not necessarily a cause for sorrow, daughter,’ he said using the address usually reserved for minor members of the order, clearly communicating the difference in their ranks. She was uncertain why he felt the need to emphasise it, but knew he did nothing without a reason. ‘The Grand Master served the Goddess well, for many years and has earned his final rest.

‘But the timing is…inconvenient.’ He stood and said, ‘I must leave at once for Rillanon, for the convocation is to be held only a week after the funeral, and the selection of the new High Priest is more critical than is usual.’

She knew he was referring to the matter of the demon host: the ‘Legion’ as it was called, was out there somewhere, threatening to bring its ravages upon this world. Few people within the temple, and even fewer outside, knew that the threat existed. Sandreena was aware of it only because of the confidence in which Father-Bishop Creegan held her. And fewer still knew of the relationship between the Father-Bishop and the Conclave of Shadows led by the magician Pug.

She merely nodded her head and said, ‘I understand.’

‘I know you do, Sandreena.’ He rose from the desk, and sat on the corner, looking down at her. ‘I have never told you, but there is a beauty to you that few notice.’

She was a little startled by the statement. There had always been an underlying tension between them, she found him a very attractive and powerful man, but his reputation as something of a womanizer, and their respective ranks, had always kept any inappropriate behaviour in check.

He held up his hand before she could speak. ‘I don’t mean your physical beauty—as impressive as it is when you choose to let others glimpse it—but rather a beauty of strength and purpose, what you’ve overcome and managed to achieve despite a desperately difficult beginning. It is most admirable.’ He stood up and moved to the window. Looking out, he said, ‘We may get more rain.’ The rain along the coast had made her trip even more difficult, so she hoped he was wrong.

‘I am leaving you in charge of the Order while I’m away.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Me?’

‘I’ll send Father-Bishop Bellamy back, to assume my duties, but in the interim, you will take my place here.’

‘Take your place?’

Creegan shrugged as if it were of no importance, but said, ‘I will be the new Grand Master.’ The way he said it, she realized it was a fait accompli. He glanced over and smiled. ‘It was decided long ago. So, I will dispatch Bellamy as soon as the convocation is over, and you will then return to your duties, to do whatever he asks, for he will be speaking for me. Until then, you must take charge here.’

‘Why me?’ she asked softly.

‘You are the only one I trust, Sandreena.’ He came back and sat behind the desk. ‘Only a few know of what is really goingon out there. I’ll leave you a list of names; do not trust anyone who is not on it. You’ve also earned the honour. Almost getting yourself killed isn’t ideal, but you kept your wits about you when you realized the enormity of the political reality that has swept you up without warning.

‘Few members of the Order would have coped so well with demons and secret alliances.’

‘The High Priestess?’ she asked.

Creegan smiled. ‘She’ll object, of course, but as she has no standing within the Order, I’ll smile, nod, and suggest that she should pack if she’s to leave with me on the ride to Salador.’

Sandreena nodded. The High Priestess Seldon had ambitions of her own and would be actively seeking a nomination to the office of High Priestess of the Grand Temple once the convocation began.

Creegan said, ‘I suspect she’ll dismiss you quickly and begin the endless flattery I will be subjected to on the journey.’

Sandreena couldn’t help but smile. The High Priestess might be pleased to see Creegan leaving Krondor—their relationship had always held a contentious element—but his elevation to the highest calling in the Order, would make him an even more important voice in the temple, and he would have a great deal of influence over the succession when the current High Priestess stepped down.

‘You’ll only need to make one quick courtesy call, which I suggest you do now, before I let her know of your promotion.’

‘Promotion?’

‘Of course. I can’t leave a Knight-Adamant in charge of the Order in the Western Realm. Effective immediately, you are now a Sergeant-Adamant of the Order, but will bear the office rank of Adiuvare. It’s an old title we rarely use, but it’s still recognized. So your official title will be Adiuvare-Sergeant-Adamant. Once Bellamy arrives, you will become just another Sergeant.’

She tried not to smile. ‘Just another Sergeant,’ he said. As a rule, Knight-Adamants had to serve for twenty years to obtain the rank of Sergeant and few lived long enough. She was certain she not only was the youngest Sergeant in the Order, but perhaps in the history of the Order.

‘I will do my best not to disappoint you, Father-Bishop.’

‘If I thought there was even a remote possibility of that, I would have given the job to someone else,’ said Creegan. ‘Now, go make your call on the High Priestess, get something to eat, and rest. I think you’ll discover the post is not as easy as you think.’ He motioned to the pile of papers and said, ‘More men have been defeated by reports than all the steel throughout history.’ Then he made a dismissive gesture and she rose, bowed slightly, and left his quarters.

Under normal circumstances, she would have been elated by the promotion, for it would have been a signal that the Goddess had found her service worthy. In this particular circumstance it felt not like a gift, or reward, but a heavy burden. Then she chided herself: if an even bigger burden had been placed on her, it simply meant that the Goddess deemed her able to meet the demands of office.

Still, she thought as her stomach growled, she wished she could get something to eat before visiting the High Priestess.

Sandreena made her call on the High Priestess, who was, as Creegan predicted, distracted by her preparations to leave the next day for the arduous ride to the port of Salador where she and Creegan would take ship to Rillanon to attend the convocation to elect the new Grand Master of the Order of the Shield of the Weak. The High Priestess had no official duties regarding the Order, but as every prelate of rank would be in attendance while they conducted their ceremonies and elected Creegan, everyone else would be playing temple politics. Sandreena was glad that she was to remain behind, even if she had been handed responsibility for the Order in Krondor, which involved supervising the Order in the entire Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles.

After she had finally eaten, Sandreena returned to the common barracks of the order and gave her dirty tabard and clothing to a servant to be cleaned. She preferred to care for her own arms and armour. She went to the communal baths and, pleased to find it empty, gave herself over to a completely thorough cleaning.

While she scrubbed her filthy hair, she considered her feelings about Creegan’s departure; his promotion was as good as ordained since she had first met him, yet there was always this feeling. She sighed.

Encountering Amirantha after that near fatal attack on Sorcerer’s Isle, had reignited feelings she would rather ignore. Creegan had the same effect on her. But, although her intimacy with Amirantha was something she wished had never happened, she suspected it was something she would regret with Creegan.

Her order was not celibate, though like most people given over to an important calling, personal issues were always of lesser importance; but, as a woman in her prime, she felt certain needs assert themselves from time to time.

She had never considered family a blessing, given how she grew up, yet now she often wondered about being a mother. She knew nothing about raising a child; her mother had been lost to drugs, drink and men, and no permanent father had been at hand. Being ill-used by men since she had begun to blossom had given her a very unforgiving perspective on them.

There were only two men she had come to care for, Brother Mathias who had rescued her from her Keshian slave master, and Father-Bishop Creegan, who had been her mentor, but now she was beginning to think he was more important to her than that.

There were two men she wished dead: A black hearted rogue called Jimmy Hand by some, Quick Jim by others, who had controlled the brothel where she had served as a high priced whore when she was little more than a girl, and who had sold her to the Keshian; And Amirantha. He had charmed her, lied to her, and used her, and had lived up to her general judgment on the worth of men.

A tiny pang told her she didn’t truly wish Amirantha dead, but rather she wished that he had told her the truth. Even when she had lashed out and knocked him to the floor she had felt instant regret. She wished she could have told him that he had hurt her, but that would make her look weak.

Picking up a bucket she poured water over herself, cleaning away the dirt and soap, then bent over and ran a comb through her hair. The water was hot, but the air was cold after the passing storms and she felt gooseflesh on her skin.

She decided to forego the meditative steam room and retired to the barracks. She donned a simple white shift and turned in early. She was a sound sleeper and should others of her order enter, she was sure they would not wake her. All she wanted for this night was a sound sleep with no dreams.

Morning brought the departure of the group travelling to Salador, led by the High Priestess and the Father-Bishop. As Creegan had predicted, Seldon was being as deferential as humanly possible to the prospective Grand Master of the Order of the Shield of the Weak, to the point of being cloying.

When she had awakened, Sandreena had discovered a new uniform laid out for her across the chest at the foot of her bed, and on top of it a new tabard, this one emblazoned with a chevron and crown above her heart, signifying her new rank of sergeant. She couldn’t resist smiling as she beheld it. She was not a prideful woman by nature, but she did like how this badge of honour made her feel.

She had dressed and postponed a morning meal to be in the marshalling yard for the Father-Bishop’s departure.

Creegan smiled when he saw her, and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘The fate of the Order in the west is in your hands now, Sandreena.’ He leaned in so no one else could over hear his words and he said, ‘There’s something on my desk that you need to read; it’s the report you brought to me. Act on it at once. I’m not telling you what I would do; this must be your decision.’

Impulsively, he kissed her goodbye; but rather than a mere brush of lips, he lingered slightly, pulling back just before it became something both of them needed to worry about. ‘May the Goddess go with you,’ he whispered.

Words failed her, she could only nod in response. As he mounted his horse, she only just managed to return the benediction. ‘May the Goddess go with you, Father-Bishop.’

The High Priestess was fussing over her mount, a mild palfrey but still spirited enough to make the older woman show concern as she sat uncomfortably on the small horse. It was obvious that Seldon would have preferred a litter, but the need to be in Rillanon by the date of the convocation prevented the more sedate mode of transport. She would be very sore and unhappy by the time they reached Salador.

The party moved out and as soon as they cleared the gate, Sandreena hurried to Creegan’s office. On top of his desk lay two letters and the bundle she had carried from Durbin.

She looked at the first paper, which had her name on it. She opened it and read:Sandreena, if the Goddess wills it, we will meet again. Know the trusts rests with you and I have faith you will discharge the duties I’ve given you as well as if I understood them myself. I’ve left you a list of those who you may rely upon—she knew he meant those who could be trusted in dealing with the Conclave—and a report you must attend to at once. May the Goddess go with you. It was signed onlyCreegan.

She examined the list and saw only five names on it. Four were priests and one was the orderly assigned to this office, the only members of the Order of the Shield who apparently knew about the Conclave of Shadows.

She looked up to see the man named on the list, a Pryor of the Order, Brother Willoby. He was a round-faced, stocky man with a constantly worried expression. He said, ‘Sister? May I be of service?’

She sat down in Creegan’s chair and said, ‘I will let you know, brother.’

‘I will be outside if you need me,’ he answered. Unlike the Knights, the clerical branch of the Order worked within the temples, as lay priests, but they were not administrators by choice. They were men and women who had wished to serve the Goddess, but found they lacked the strength of arm to serve in the field. Like most of the Knights, Sandreena hardly gave the pryors a moment’s thought, but she suspected that she would come to appreciate them much more as she looked at the rest of the documents beside the desk that required her attention.

She took the list of names and folded it up. She had already memorized the names and would burn it later.

Then she opened the report given her by the nameless Kingdom noble and read it. She put it down, picked it up again and read it for a second time.

Standing up she shouted, ‘Willoby!’

Within a moment, the cleric appeared, ‘Yes, sister?’

‘Three things: First, do I have a second-in-command?’

The question seemed to startle him for a moment, as she was known to be the Father-Bishop’s second. ‘Why, no,’ he said, ‘I mean, you are the second-in-command, but with the Father-Bishop gone…I mean, no, there’s no designated person now.’

‘Very well,’ she replied. ‘You are my second, as of now.’

He blinked, then said, ‘I suppose that’s all right.’

‘Well, since I am currently the highest ranking member of the Order west of Malac’s Cross, you can be sure it’s all right.’

He seemed to take her forcefulness in stride as she stood up and put the report under her tunic. ‘Next, have my horse made ready with a week’s provisions.’

‘Your horse?’ asked the clerk.

‘Yes,’ said Sandreena. ‘I need to depart on a mission today.’

‘But who…?’ he began, then saw her looking at him.

‘You’re in charge until I get back,’ she said.

‘Me?’ He was almost speechless, but nodded and said, ‘I’ll have your horse made ready, Sister.’

She waited until he was gone then allowed herself a low growl of frustration. ‘You bastard,’ she said softly with Creegan in mind. She had mistaken his kiss as a signal of the passion they had withheld over the years, but reading the report had rid her of that notion. It was merely a kiss of apology.Of course he wouldn’t tell me what he would do about this, she thought. Sandreena had no choice other than to do exactly what he would have done anyway: send herself on a mission that would most likely get her killed.

Swearing at the curse men had proved to be in her life, she moved out of his office and headed to the armoury to see if her newfound rank would provide her with better armour and weapons.

• CHAPTER FOUR • Death Magic

PUG HELD UP HIS HAND.

The two black armoured guardsmen at the door to the ancient temple were startled to see the three men appear out of a grey void that had not been there moments before.

Pug said, ‘We’re here to see the High Priest.’

Amirantha looked up at the sky and saw a clear, starry night. ‘We’re somewhere in the east, aren’t we?’

Jim said, ‘Rillanon. This is the temple of Lims-Kragma.’

Amirantha said, ‘That makes sense.’

On the world of Midkemia, no one had more knowledge of dying and the dead than the High Priest of the Goddess of Death. The two guards still looked unsettled by the sudden arrival of the three men, but their duty was to defend the portal only when there was an obvious attack underway. Their time was usually spent making sure that those arriving to offer prayers for their dearly departed remained orderly. Finally, one of them indicated that Pug and his companions were free to enter with a wave of his hand.

They passed through a large antechamber, replete with frescos of the Death Goddess. The exquisite brush strokes portrayed the final judge of every mortal being as a warm, benevolent figure, welcoming them into the vast hall of the main cathedral. Benches for contemplation and prayer by the faithful had been erected along both sides, while against the back wall two large shelves held hundreds of votive candles, most of which were alight; each flame had been placed to light the way of a loved one into Lims-Kragma’s halls.

Pug took a moment to regard the heroic statue, some twelve feet tall, of the goddess, that dominated the cathedral. She held out one hand in a welcoming gesture, and in the other held a silver net. The symbolism was obvious: no one escaped the drawer of nets, but she welcomed all equally. Personally, Pug found the sentiment slightly ironic, since he had proved very adept at avoiding her embrace so far, although his bargain with the goddess was taking its toll on his mind and heart.