"If it pleases my lord to accompany me … ?" the young priestess said humbly, gesturing to the far side of the large hall.
The girl led him through an open doorway, and he fol shy;lowed her down a long, marble-walled hall. He watched her walk, noting in particular the way her tiny feet glided across the floor-as if she didn't so much walk as skate. Soon she reached an open doorway, from which bright lamplight spilled. She bowed again, then grace shy;fully retreated, gesturing for him to enter.
Ariakas stepped to the doorway and peered within, not at all certain what to expect. He found the fact that this girl had known his name profoundly unsettling. Now, apparently, she knew right where to take him, and that made him wonder if he were walking into some kind of trap. Instead, he saw a welcoming smile on the face of an elder priest seated beyond a great marble slab of a desk. The fellow rose and came toward Ariakas, bowing politely-but without the obeisance shown by the girl.
The priest regarded the warrior with intense, search shy;ing eyes of dark brown. Long and full brown hair grayed at his temples and swept back from his face. He had a swelling belly and a careworn face, creased not so much by age as by maturity. In his hand he carried a short wooden object, more decorative than a club-perhaps a scepter, thought Ariakas. At the tip of the shaft was a metal star with five points-one tine in each of the five colors he'd observed in the temple. A striped silken mantle framed the priesf s robe of shimmering black. He, too, wore a collar around his neck, though the band was crimson in color.
"My Lord Ariakas, welcome! Welcome to our temple! We have long been expecting you, but now that you are here the occasion transcends mere words! I trust your journey to Sanction was, er, without major mishap? One could can hardly expect to call it 'pleasant,' I suppose."
The bombardment of words took the warrior by sur shy;prise, but he saw nothing beyond honest welcome in the man's round, guileless face.
"Forgive me," the fellow continued. "I am Wryllish Parkane, High Priest of the temple. I will personally see to the majority of your studies … though of course you will have the freedom of all the specialists, as need arises. We have a personal chamber ready for you, beyond the audience hall, where you entered. Perhaps you would like to freshen up a bit before I give you a tour of the temple?"
Stubbornly Ariakas shook his head, stunned by the extent of the priesf s knowledge, and his plans. He felt a sudden reluctance to immerse himself in his new role, though he knew it was too late to change his mind. "That won't be necessary," declared Ariakas, determined to retrieve some momentum. "I have quarters in the city where I will live, and I came here from there. As to the tour, however, I'm ready for that as soon as we can begin."
"Of course-of course!" If the high priest were dis shy;tressed by Ariakas's news, he gave no indication. Instead, he hurried around the huge desk and placed a firm hand on the warrior's arm.
Ariakas's sense of reluctance gave way to a certain sat shy;isfaction. Obviously, he was not to be treated as some kind of apprentice or lackey. They had expected him- and Takhisis herself had told him that he would sit at her right! Smiling tightly, the warrior allowed the priest to escort him from the room.
In the hallway the young priestess awaited further commands, her posture rigid, her eyes still downcast. "That will be all, Heraleel," commanded the high priest. "You may await me in my chambers."
"Yes, Lord Patriarch," replied the girl before gliding silently away.
Wryllish noticed the warrior's gaze, and chortled softly. "We have numerous young apprentices," he said. "I will be certain to have one appointed to you-imme shy;diately."
Hashes of memory came to Ariakas of the warmth he had shared with the lady in the tower. The memories vanished, replaced by a yearning ache that brought real temptation. Then he recalled the Dark Queen's words and her warning-any such liaison would cost the young woman her life within the year. "Not at the pre shy;sent," he said quietly.
"Now, these are the chambers of our novices," explained Wryllish Parkane, leading Ariakas past a long row of open, well-lighted chambers. In the first they saw a number of young men learning the art of swordplay and parry from a grizzled veteran. Several pairs of youths banged away at each other with mock savagery while a group of students formed a circle around the thunder-voiced teacher.
"They show skill," Ariakas admitted, watching the subtle use of feint and misdirection.
"Ours is a faith that does not disdain the use of force wielded righteously," Wryllish explained. "Some faiths of the ancient gods disdain bloodletting weapons. . . . Our mistress takes a more practical approach."
"I respect practicality," Ariakas remarked.
The patriarch nodded. "Indeed, before the crowning of our queen it will be necessary for a great host to take up arms in her name." Here the priest looked at Ariakas shrewdly, as if measuring his worth for a role in that master scheme. The warrior, in turn, recalled the masses of leaderless men in Sanction-could they be marshaled to the Dark Queen's banner?
"This is our unarmed combat training," Wryllish Par-kane next declared. They had come to an arenalike chamber where a slender woman spoke sternly to sev shy;eral younger students. Barefoot, she wore a blue collar and a silken blouse and trousers. The gauzy material outlined her supple, muscular body.
Abruptly she swung her foot upward, lashing at one student's face before lunging forward to seize another by the crotch and neck. With a quick flip, she threw the struggling young man across the platform.
"Very impressive," Ariakas observed.
"Lyrelee is one of the best instructors we have. The temple is fortunate she chose to become a priestess."
They moved through many long corridors, past other rooms, some light, some dark. Ariakas heard sounds of intense, sometimes confrontational, conversation. Some noises were unintelligible, while others-groans and cries-suggested activities causing either pain or ecstasy.
Eventually Parkane led Ariakas to a high arch. A pair of green-collared men-at-arms, each dressed in red livery and carrying swords and shields of immaculate steel, flanked the opening. Just beyond, a wide stone stairway descended into the depths below the temple. The two guards snapped their weapons to attention and stepped back as the priest and warrior approached.
"But here, milord-here is where you see the true glory of our mistress's plan!" whispered Wryllish, his voice cracking with excitement. "These are the Sanctified Cata shy;combs. Only the most trusted of her servants are allowed here-those of the blue or red collars. Of course, some shy;times we have brought prisoners here as well, but they haven't emerged."
"Why me, then? I wear no collar," the warrior pointed out as they passed the sentries and started down the stairs.
"Why, my lord," the priest said, surprised. "Of course you are the natural exception to this rule.
Ariakas nodded, as if the response were expected. His stony features in fact masked fierce elation that he would have the freedom of the entire temple. He felt tingling anticipation as they descended toward the catacombs. The two guards were the only watchmen he'd seen, and given the deserted appearance of the dark stairway, he decided that these passages must be a well-kept secret to the outside world.