It should have been beautiful, with the soft hiss of the fountain, the dancing firelight, the columns and arcades. It wasn't. There was something dim and menacing about it, and its proportions seemed somehow wrong, as if the architect had calculated the perfect dimensions and then maliciously distorted them.
Garth stepped past the gates and noticed for the first time that there were curious faint brown stains on the silvery metal. He had no time to study them, however, for as soon as he was clear the gates swung shut behind him, as mysteriously as they had opened.
He was debating whether to try and reopen them or simply to proceed, when a long, lingering scream sounded from somewhere inside the temple; Garth tensed, his hand on his sword hilt. The scream cut off abruptly, to be replaced by soft, mocking laughter that echoed eerily along the colonnades.
His curiosity was piqued, and the matter of the self-closing gates was forgotten. He started forward.
"Greetings, overman." The voice was deep and somber. It came from somewhere behind him, he thought; he whirled, sword drawn, but saw nothing except the closed gates. He noticed that they were now barred. He had not heard the bar falling in place; he reprimanded himself for not being sufficiently alert. "Welcome to the temple of Aghad." The voice now sounded somewhere to his right; he turned more slowly, wishing that these Dыsarrans weren't all so fond of trickery. He still saw no one.
"We do not receive many visitors here." Again, the voice had shifted; he decided to ignore its movements, since they were obviously some sort of trick. "Aghad is not a popular god, I fear. The masses prefer harmless, impotent little Tema." The voice laughed, softly.
Garth announced petulantly; "I don't like speaking to someone I cannot see."
"It is not intended that you should like it."
"Why not?"
"Dear infant, you are ignorant, aren't you?"
"In some areas, yes. Religion and its mystical trappings are not popular in my homeland."
"Oh, dear, not popular! Aghad is not popular anywhere, fool. Aghad is fear, hatred, loathing, all the things men-and though you will not accept it, overmen-feel for the unknown, for the different, for what they cannot understand."
"I can understand why such a deity holds little appeal."
"Oh, yes, I'm sure! Why have you come here, then?"
"I wish to visit all the seven temples."
"You lie with half-truths."
"What would you have me say, then?"
"You come to steal, scum. The altar-stones of Tema and Regvos are hidden at your warbeast's feet, at the Inn of the Seven Stars."
Garth did not answer, but merely tightened his grip on his sword.
The voice laughed again.
"Oh, witling, put down your silly knife. We serve Aghad here, and Aghad alone, not Tema nor Regvos, nor Sai, P'hul, or Bheleu. Aghad is hate, thief, hate, envy, and every emotion that turns fellow against fellow. We who serve Aghad have no reason to aid or sympathize with our brother priests of the other temples. Sack all Dыsarra if you will, burn the city to the ground! We will not stop you."
"Do you not care for your own temple? You have said I came here to steal."
"Idiot, self-hatred is most basic of all; if one does not hate himself, how is he to despise others so like him? You may take what lies on our altar, for it is no unique thing, but a common substance, replaced at each ceremony. We do, however, demand payment."
Garth did not lower his blade. "What payment?"
"You must make a proper sacrifice to Aghad."
"What sort of sacrifice?"
"Ordinarily a supplicant must betray a friend, deceive a lover, or in some other way spread dissent; but in view of your foreign origin, filth, something else is in order. A service to our god: Slay us six priests or more, one from each of the other temples. You slew the one at the door of Tema's temple, and a priest and priestess both of Regvos, though a third you let live. You have made a good beginning. Now, you must slay four more, from each of the four remaining temples, or the devotees of Aghad will make certain you do not leave the city alive."
Garth made no attempt to conceal his astonishment "Are you serious?"
"We are."
"Why?"
"Because our agents in each cult will blame your actions upon another, and discord will spread. You have already begun our task for us, you know."
The reference to his conversation with the swordsman in the stableyard did not escape his notice. It was obvious that the cult of Aghad had some truly superb means of gathering information, whether it was by magical methods or merely an efficient system of spies and informers. He still found it almost incredible that these people wanted him to kill their countrymen.
"You serve a strange master, priests of Aghad."
"No stranger than yours, Garth of Ordunin, late of Skelleth."
Garth hid his surprise; after all, whatever their methods, there was no reason to believe they were limited to this one city. The cult of Aghad could easily extend throughout all the human kingdoms, for all Garth knew.
"What if I decline to pay your price?"
"You are free to do as you please, dolt; we merely present you with the following options, for you to choose from as you will. You may take what you find upon our altar, and fulfill our demand, and go in peace. You may take what you find upon our altar, refuse to do as we ask, and die before you leave Dыsarra. Or, lastly, you may decline our offer entirely and live, but with the knowledge that your cowardice has offended our god and our cult."
"None of these options is particularly appealing."
"That does not concern us. Now, if you would see our altar, slave, pass the fountain, and before you will be the door to the sanctuary."
Garth considered for a moment. He had no wish to kill anyone; however, it might prove necessary, as it had in the first two temples, in which case he might as well take whatever there was here. He had no intention of wantonly slaying priests just to please these abominable Aghadites, though. If it did not become necessary to dispose of the required four priests, he would simply rely on his own strength and wit to elude the Aghadites and escape the city.
He moved cautiously past the fountain toward the temple itself, only to halt abruptly. Lying on the gravel behind the fountain was a human corpse, face down, an empty tin cup near its hand.
"What is this?"
"Note the odor of the fountain, wizard-spawn."
He was beginning to resent the constant supply of insults the hidden priest provided. He obeyed, though, and sniffed the crystal-clear spray. The scent of bitter almonds stung his nostrils; had he had a nose, he would have wrinkled it in disgust.
"Very pretty."
"The poor fool came seeking a cool drink; we could not refuse so simple a request, could we?" The priest burst out laughing, a roaring laughter tinged with hysteria. Garth began to suspect the man was mad. It would seem reasonable; would a sane man serve such a god? Unsettled, he walked on, keeping his sword ready in his hand.
The colonnade was perhaps ten feet across, a distance sufficient to put the wall of the temple in darkness; the columns which held the torches blocked out the light, since the flames were all on the courtyard side. Garth hesitated to step into that shadow, particularly since he could not see the door the priest had said was there. Then part of the shadow opened inward, and light the color of blood poured out.
Garth stepped forward through the double doors into a room hung with tapestries and lit by flames behind sheets of dark red glass set in the walls between the hangings. The room was not overlarge, and Garth wondered if it were, in fact, the sanctuary, or merely an antechamber; it was scarcely twenty feet square. He saw no altar, but there were no doors other than that by which he had entered, either.
He moved to the center of the chamber, and the doors promptly closed behind him. He was getting used to this sort of thing.