Still the group kept to the center of the street, walking straight away from the guards' dragnet. While Kehrsyn tried to figure out from which church the people hailed, she remained alert for the sound of approaching footsteps, guards come to question the priestess about her new follower.
None came.
Just as Kehrsyn was thinking she would soon be far enough away to escape the guards' notice, the group turned to the right.
Kehrsyn was caught by surprise, and her foot slid on the cobbles as she tried to turn, to stay with the others. Thankfully, she was to the left and rear of the group, else her stumble might have attracted the attention of one of the other members. She glanced up at the front of the building the group was heading toward.
It was a solid stone building, fronting the street. Two broad stone steps led up to a large, wooden door. It had no alcove, gave no cover to someone trying to evade the notice of the guards. Atop the doorway, she saw the sign of the five-headed dragon.
Kehrsyn's heart stopped in her chest, clutching her breath and refusing to let it leave.
The Five-Headed Dragon. Tiamat. The Chromatic Goddess. The Queen of the Dragons (or "Queen of the Evil Dragons" when her worshipers were not around).
But, above all, the Slayer of Gilgeam.
Tiamat's followers were reputed to be among the most ruthless people in Faerun. They sought to emulate dragonkind, and compensated for their lack of draconic anatomy with an excess of viciousness.
Kehrsyn glanced back to the guards as casually as possible and saw that one of them was indeed still watching the group like an owl as they entered the front door of their small temple. Nothing for it, then. She had to enter; otherwise, the guards would be onto her. It was worth the risk. All she had to do was hide inside just long enough that the guards wouldn't be looking when she left the temple. Or maybe she could slide away undetected and leave by a side route.
She took a deep breath and stepped in just behind the rearmost of the believers, finding herself in a narthex that opened into a large common room. The others pulled off their winter cloaks and hung them on ornate wooden pegs carved in the shape of dragons' heads. Kehrsyn tried to slow down to give the others plenty of time to leave her unattended, but one of the other worshipers, muttering curses against the bitter cold, ushered her in so he could close the door behind her.
Of course, she couldn't resist, lest her reticence draw attention, so she found herself thrust in the midst of the group, all happily divesting themselves of their garb and heading into the next room for the roaring fire that burned in a fire pit surrounded by gigantic dragons' fangs.
"Sheesh," said the man behind her, "you need a new cloak. Here, lemme get that."
Kehrsyn felt his hands starting to pull her cloak off, pulling away the veil of her anonymity. Powerless, Kehrsyn tried to steel herself. Much as she didn't want to be ejected from the walls of Messemprar again, she readied herself to lunge out the front door. It was closed by a modern lever. She could flip the latch and hit the door at full speed.
The concealing darkness of her cloak pulled away from her head and shoulders, spilling light over her dank hair and hesitant eyes. The man stepped past her with her cloak and hung it on a peg, wiping the condensation from his beard with his hand.
Near the fire, one of the other worshipers, who was just sitting down, shot back to his feet, pointing aggressively at Kehrsyn.
"Who are you?" he bellowed.
"Look out!"
"She's got a sword!"
"Horat, watch it!"
The pace of events was far too quick for a scared, tired, wounded, hungry, cold young woman, and within a few heartbeats Kehrsyn found herself with her back to the door, one hand on the latch, surrounded by several fierce-looking men and women. Someone had a strong grip on her collar. Another had a long dagger held up menacingly. Harsh words washed over her like a wave.
"What are you doing here?"
"Just kill her!"
"Who are you? Speak!"
"Who sent you?"
"Shut up!"
"Search her!"
The press of bodies caused her left triceps to flare in pain as it was pressed between her body and the door.
Behind her back, Kehrsyn's left hand tightened on the latch, ready to shove it down and spill into the street. She prayed for a distraction, just one instant, and she'd make a break for it. The moment came, rather quickly.
"Quiet!" a woman's imperious voice rang in the building like a bell. It was a voice that was used to authority and a throat that was used to being loud.
The argument immediately ceased, and the people parted for the priestess to approach. It was the break Kehrsyn had been hoping for, but something in the priestess's voice impelled Kehrsyn to be still as well.
The woman was tall, with a broad build that spoke of physical strength and a jowly neck that spoke of rich foods. She wore a lush, blood-red robe embroidered in emerald, sapphire, sable, and ermine. The robe hid all but the more massive features of her body. In a few years, Kehrsyn surmised, it might hide nothing at all.
The matronly woman moved in, standing very close. Her face bore a nasty, puckered scar, shaped like a five-pointed star. It reached from chin to forehead and almost ear to ear. Her looming shadow seemed to cover Kehrsyn like the scar covered her face, and she glared down with rich blue eyes that, though fierce at the moment, seemed fundamentally warm, not cold.
"What are you doing here?" she asked. Her tone left no room for any other option than a direct answer.
"I was curious about joining your church," said Kehrsyn.
The woman leaned closer. Either that, or she grew by another two inches.
"Are you lying to me?" she demanded.
Kehrsyn considered her options, not moving save only to blink. "Yes," she said.
The woman leaned back, regarding Kehrsyn anew, and said, "I'm glad to see that you've stopped."
Kehrsyn, not knowing what else to do, waited.
"Why are you afraid of us?" the woman asked.
"What do you mean?" asked Kehrsyn, who was certain she didn't want to try another brave lie.
"I can see it in your eyes. You fear us. Yet Tiamat slew Gilgeam."
"And Gilgeam's death brought on this war. So because of Tiamat, we're all crowded in here hoping not to be overrun before we starve to death."
"An unfortunate and unforeseen consequence," said the priestess. "Tiamat was the only deity who cared for Unther. She ended this land's oppression."
"Unther did fine under Gilgeam for thousands of years. Oppression hardens us. A weaker people would buckle under the strains we rejoice in."
"You learned that from your mother, or your priest," observed the matron.
"Kind of both," Kehrsyn answered.
The priestess thought more, and said, in a very professorial tone, "If Unther thrives under oppression, then you should not fear power. Why, then, do you fear us?"
"Gilgeam protected us," said Kehrsyn, "and we gladly bore his yoke. Your religion worships the Queen of Dragons. You hold dragons in awe. You want to be just like them, and yet dragons protect nothing but their own hoard, killing anything that's a threat. So of course I fear you. Why wouldn't I, when your people greet me with blades?"