The sheriff took one look at the palanquin and the females who bore it and scratched his chin, clearly at a loss.
“My lord sheriff,” Lleu said quietly, “if I could be of help—”
“Brother Lleu, I’m glad you’re back!” exclaimed the sheriff, relieved. He leaned down from the saddle for a quick conference. “Do you think this is a priest of Chemosh?”
“That is my guess, sir,” said Lleu. “Priest or priestess.” He eyed the palanquin. “The golden skulls are undoubtedly those of Chemosh.”
“What do I do?” The sheriff was a big, stalwart man accustomed to handling tavern brawls and highwaymen, not six-foot-tall females, whose eyes didn’t move, hauling a palanquin containing a mysterious traveler. “Do I send them packing?”
Lleu was tempted to say yes. The arrival of Chemosh boded well for no one, of that he was convinced. The sheriff had the power to deny entrance to anyone for any reason.
“Chemosh is a god of evil. I think you would be well within your province to—”
,`—to do what?” called out a woman, her voice quivering with indignation “Forbid the priest of Chemosh from entering our city? I suppose this means you will be burning my shrine and turning me out next!”
Lleu sighed deeply. The woman wore the green and blue robes of a priestess of Zeboim. The city of Staughton was built on the banks of a river. Zeboim was one of the city’s more popular goddesses, especially during the rainy season. If the sheriff denied access to a representative of one of the gods of darkness, rumors would fly about that Zeboim would be the next to go.
“Permit them to enter,” Lleu said, adding loudly for the crowd to hear, “The gods of light promote free will. We do not tell people what they can and cannot believe.”
“Are you sure?” asked the sheriff, frowning. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“That is my advice, sir,” said Lleu. “The final decision is, of course, up to you.”
The sheriff looked from Lleu to the priestess of Zeboim to the palanquin. None of them gave him much help. Zeboim’s priestess watched with narrowed eyes. Lleu had said all he had to say. The palanquin stood at the gate, the bearers patiently waiting.
The sheriff stepped forward to address the unseen occupant.
“State your name and the nature of your business in our fair city,” he said briskly.
The crowd held its collective breath.
For a moment, there was no response. Then a hand—a female hand—put aside the curtains. The hand was shapely. Jewels, red as blood, flashed on slender fingers. Lleu caught a glimpse of the woman inside the black palanquin. His mouth gaped, and his eyes widened.
He had never before seen such a woman. She was young, not yet twenty. Her hair was auburn, the color of leaves in the autumn, and it was elaborately arranged beneath a black and golden headdress. Her eyes were amber, luminous, radiant, warm, as if all the world was cold and her eyes the only warmth left to a man. She wore a black dress of some sheer fabric that hinted at everything beneath it and gave away nothing. She moved with studied grace and there was a look of knowing in those eyes, a knowledge of secrets no other mortal possessed.
She was disturbing. Dangerous. Lleu wanted to turn on his heel and walk disdainfully away, yet he stared, entranced, unable to move.
“My name is Mina,” she said. “I have come to your city for the same purpose as have all these good people.” She gestured, to indicate the crowd. “To share in the celebration of springtime.”
“Mina!” Lleu gasped. “I know that name.”
Kiri-Jolith is a militant god, a god of honor and war, patron god of the Knights of Solamnia. Lieu was not a knight, nor was he a Solamnic, but he had traveled to Solamnia to study with the knights when he had decided to dedicate himself to Kiri-Jolith. He had heard from them the stories of the War of Souls, heard their tales of a young woman named Mina, who had led her armies of darkness to one amazing victory after another, including the destruction of the great Dragon Overlord, Malys.
“I have heard of you. You are a follower of Takhisis,” Lleu said harshly.
“The goddess who saved the world from the terror of the Dragon Overlords. The goddess who was most foully betrayed and destroyed,” Mina said. A shadow darkened the amber eyes. “I honor her memory, but I now follow a different god.”
“Chemosh,” said Lleu in accusing tones.
“Chemosh,” said Mina, and she lowered her eyes in reverence. “Lord of Death!” Lleu added, challenging.
“Lord of Endless Life,” Mina returned.
“So that is what he is calling himself these days,” Lleu said scornfully.
“Come visit me to find out,” Mina offered.
Her voice was warm as her eyes, and Lieu was suddenly conscious of the crowd gathered around him, their ears stretched to hear every word. They all looked at him now, wondering if he would accept her invitation and he realized, to his chagrin, that he’d been led into a trap. If he refused, they would think he was afraid to take on Chemosh and they would immediately jump to the conclusion that this must be a powerful god, yet Lieu did not want to talk to this woman. He did not want to be in her presence.
“I have only just returned from a long absence,” Lleu said, temporizing. “I have much work to do. If I can find the time, perhaps I will stop by for a theological discussion with you. I think it would be quite interesting.”
“So do I,” said Mina softly, and he had the feeling she wasn’t talking about theology.
Lleu could think of nothing to say in answer. He inclined his head politely and pushed his way through the crowd, pretending not to hear the snickers and gibes. He hoped fervently that the sheriff would refuse to admit the woman. Going straight to his temple, he stood before the statue of Kiri-Jolith and found solace and comfort in the stern, implacable face of the warrior-god. He grew calm, and after giving thanks to the god, he was able to go ahead with the work that had piled up during his absence.
The sheriff, lost in amber eyes, gave Mina admittance to the city, along with the name of the finest inn.
“I thank you, sir,” she said. “Would you have any objection if I spoke to the people? I won’t cause you any trouble. I promise that.”
The sheriff found himself curious as to what she had to say. “Make it brief,” he told her.
She thanked him and then asked her bearers to lower the palanquin to the ground.
The bearers did so. Mina parted the curtains and stepped out.
The crowd, most of whom had not been able to see her prior to this, marveled aloud at the sight. She stood before them in her cobweb thin black dress, her perfume drifting on a light spring breeze. She raised her hands for silence.
“I am Mina, High Priestess of Chemosh,” she called out in ringing tones, the same that had once echoed across the battlefield. “He comes to the world with a new message, a message of endless life. I look forward to sharing his message with all of you while I am visiting in your fair city.”
Mina returned to her palanquin. She paid the sheriff the tax required of all vehicles for admittance into the city and closed the curtain. The bearers lifted up the palanquin and carried her through the gates. The crowd watched in awed silence until the black palanquin was lost to sight. Then tongues began to wag.
All could agree on one thing—this promised to be a most interesting Spring Dawning.
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