“How far?”
“Less than a mile.”
“Who’s the statue?”
“Vitina. Goddess of knowledge and wisdom.”
Vitina. Her entire cult was disparaged and deprecated by the True Church before I was born. I think she might once have been worshipped in Turai, but if she was, her statues and temples have long been removed, or taken over by the church. Nothing remains of her there, apart from some references in a few old books and scrolls in the Imperial library.
“Was the path always this overgrown?”
“No,” says Lisutaris. “It used to be clearer. These days the priestesses don’t mind if the way is difficult.”
“Why not?”
“They don’t want to be bothered by hostile religious fanatics. In Nioj, Vitina’s temple was burned to the ground.”
Heartened by the knowledge that we’re almost there, I pick up the pace. I’m keen to get out of this undergrowth. I wonder how long Lisutaris, Coranius and Ibella will need to spend at the Oracle. I suppose there will be some sort of ceremony to go through before they consult the High Priestess, or whoever it is they’re meant to consult. I’ll be pleased when it’s all over and we’re safely back at camp.
We pass several more statues. Some resemble the figure of the Goddess Vitina we passed earlier, some are of different female figures. Ancient stone, well carved, though now showing signs of erosion from age and weather. When we suddenly emerge from the narrow path into a clearing I breath a sigh of relief. I wouldn’t say we were safe but at least we can’t be taken by surprise. Ahead of us is a temple, larger than I was expecting, made of white marble. It’s a fine construction, with six large pillars in front of the portico. The marble is clean, undamaged, and well-preserved. Unlike the statues we passed, it shows no sign of age. Someone has obviously been maintaining it through the years. As we approach, a solitary figure walks towards us, a young woman in an ornate blue robe. Her head is uncovered and her dark hair is unusually long, longer even than Makri’s. I bring our column to a halt.
The young woman glances at me for only a second or two, without displaying any great interest. She looks past me towards Lisutaris. Though the sorcerer’s features are still covered, she recognises her.
“Welcome, Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. The High Priestess of Vitina is expecting you.”
Lisutaris slips smoothly from her mount. I’ve noticed she’s an excellent horsewoman. She probably grew up surrounded by horses, and learned to ride as part of her education. Coranius follows her. He’s a pale man, with sandy hair, neither tall nor imposing in stature. There’s little about his looks to suggest the great power he wields. Like Lisutaris, he comes from the upper classes of Turanian society. Though unlike her, not from the very highest ranks. The cream of our aristocracy rather frowns on their sons and daughters engaging in the profession of sorcery. Lisutaris is something of an exception in that regard, coming, as she does, from an extremely aristocratic background.
Ibella dismounts next, less elegantly. I don’t know where she stands in the social classes of Abelasi. Probably, like Coranius, from a comfortable and respectable background, somewhere below the highest ranks. Personally, I’m firmly rooted in the lower classes. Even my name is lower class. Only gentlemen of rank have ius at the end of their name. A name ending in ax or ox marks you from birth as one of the common herd. These distinctions were very important in Turai. Even now that the city has fallen, they’re still important. Sons of the aristocracy get all the best positions: there will be very few officers in the Turanian regiments who are not well-born.
I’m expecting to wait outside the temple but Lisutaris motions for me to follow.
“I’d rather stay here and keep watch.”
“Everyone in the visiting party enters the temple,” says Lisutaris.
“We should leave someone on guard.”
“There’s no need,” says the long-haired young woman in the fancy robe. “The Goddess Vitina protects this area.”
“What’s she like against heavily-armed Orcs?”
“The Goddess Vitina protects this area,” she repeats.
Lisutaris motions to me again. I shrug, and follow her inside. Everyone lowers their hoods as we enter, as a mark of respect. I follow along, but I’m not pleased at this development. We should have left someone outside, on guard.
“I don’t like this,” I whisper to Makri.
“Neither do I,” she whispers back, but whether that’s because she fears an ambush, or because she’s never that comfortable inside religious buildings, I’m not sure. Makri is a heathen when it comes right down to it, with no respect for our Gods, or any Gods. She’ll probably get it in the neck from some divinity some day.
We find ourselves in a high, vaulted chamber. For a temple in the middle of nowhere, it’s an impressive piece of architecture. Everything is made of white marble. Good quality material, I’d say, probably as good as the stone that was used for the King’s imperial palace in Turai, and he spent a lot on that. There are several marble statues, a few made of bronze, and, beneath a huge shrine at the back of the room, a life-size gold representation of the Goddess Vitina. Arrayed around the walls are bronze shields, silver plates, gold drinking cups and plenty of other expensive items. I’m not certain what they represent. Offerings from past visitors, perhaps? It’s an impressive sight. This is obviously not one of those religions that doesn’t like to display its wealth. I wonder who keeps them safe these days? So much precious metal must be an attractive target for bandits, out here in this isolated area. Maybe the Goddess Vitina really does protect the place. Or perhaps the Sorcerers Guild offers them some discreet assistance.
I study the statue. The Goddess Vitina is portrayed with a peaceful face, and very long hair, like the woman who greeted us, and the two others who stand waiting. One of them, an elderly, grey-haired woman, is wearing possibly the fanciest cloak I’ve ever seen. It’s purple and red, elaborately embroidered, and edged with gold. A cloak like that would cost a fortune, but the price would be insignificant compared to the cost of her necklace, which is made up of several thick gold chains, each decorated by rows of diamonds and queenstone. I’m rather startled by the sight. It’s such a heavy-looking item I’m surprised she can walk.
Not only can the High Priestess walk, for an elderly woman she’s very upright. She waits in silence as Lisutaris and Ibella approach. Both sorcerers bow to her. I’m surprised by the apparent reverence with which Lisutaris does this. I’ve never seen Lisutaris actually be reverent to anyone before.
“It is good of you to visit,” says the High Priestess. She has a clear, strong voice.
“I would not pass up the opportunity, High Priestess.”
“I appreciate it’s difficult for you these days.”
Lisutaris produces something from inside her cloak. Her purse, which, I recall, contains a magic pocket.
“I’ve brought you an offering from the Guild.”
“There was no need.”
“We feel the need, High Priestess.”
If I was surprised at the proceedings so far, it’s nothing to what I feel when Lisutaris starts emptying gold out of her purse. The magic pocket inside her purse is effectively limitless in volume. You can fit anything in there, and it takes up no space and weighs nothing till you bring it out again. Lisutaris starts hauling out thousand-guran gold bars, laying them at the High Priestess’s feet. The Priestess watches this quite calmly, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. As the pile mounts, my amazement grows. Just how much money does the Sorcerers Guild give to this place? Apart from the thousand-guran bars, there’s a large bundle of gold coins, a good-sized pile of assorted jewels, a ceremonial tripod made of gold, several silver tiaras, a few gold crowns and even a small gold statue.