She inhaled deeply and gazed up at the temple, trying to isolate those elusive flickers of green. She couldn't, and her jaw clenched as she failed. Each of Tomanâk's champions perceived evil and the handiwork of the Dark Gods in his or her own, unique fashion. Bahzell received his "feelings"-an impression of things not yet fully perceived, yet somehow known. Another champion she'd known heard music which guided him. But Kaeritha, like some magi to whom she'd spoken, Saw. For her, it was the interplay of light and shadow-or of Light and Dark. That inner perception had never failed or deceived her, and yet today, the meaning of what she Saw was . . . unclear. She couldn't pin it down, couldn't even be positive that the green light-devils dancing at the edges of her vision were coming from the temple, and not the town clustered below it.
That shouldn't have happened. Especially not when she'd come already primed by her suspicions and earlier investigations. The revealing glare of evil should have been obvious to her . . . unless someone-or something-with enormous power was deliberately concealing it.
She made herself exhale and shook her head like a horse bothered by a fly. The concealment wasn't necessarily directed specifically against her, she told herself. Whatever was happening in Quaysar was clearly part of a years-long effort, and the very thing which would make Quaysar such a prize in the eyes of the Dark was its importance to Lillinara and, specifically, to the Sothōii war maids. But that also meant Quaysar was more prominent, and more likely to draw pilgrims and visitors, than most other temples of its relatively modest size. And with pilgrims came those besides Kaeritha whose eyes might See what the Dark preferred to keep hidden.
Yet logical as that conclusion was, the fact remained that it required tremendous power to so thoroughly obscure the inner sight of a champion of Tomanâk. Indeed, such power must have completely blinded the perceptions-whether of sight, or hearing, or sensing-of anyone less intimately bound to the service of her god.
Which meant that somewhere atop that timeworn tooth of granite waited a servant of the Greater Dark.
Yes, she told herself grimly. And it's probably the 'Voice' herself. In fact, it would almost have to be. There's no way anything this Dark and powerful could hide itself from an uncorrupted Voice. But whatever it is, it doesn't have complete control. Not even a Dark God himself could keep me from Seeing if that were the case. Great! She snorted in harsh mental laughter. It's not everyone in Quaysar. Marvelous. All I have to do is assume that anyone I meet serves the Dark until she proves differently!
She closed her eyes and drew another deep breath.
All right, Tomanâk, she thought. You never promised it would be easy. And I suppose I'd be riding off in search of reinforcements instead of riding in all by my fool self, if my skull wasn't just as thick as Bahzell's. But it is. So, if You don't have anything else to do this afternoon, why don't You and I go call on the Voice?
"Well, she's almost here, Paratha."
Varnaythus stood on the town wall of Quasar and watched the single rider approaching the town.
"Fine," the tall woman standing beside him said almost indifferently. She sounded so blasé about it that Varnaythus turned his head to glare at her.
"I know Dahlaha is . . . confident, let us say, Paratha. But I'd hoped it was at least remotely possible that your confidence might not be quite as, ah, exuberant as hers. This is a champion of Tomanâk, you know."
"So she is," the tall woman agreed. She turned away from the wall and leaned her back against it while she looked at Varnaythus with an expression which mingled confidence, contempt, and something else. Hunger, Varnaythus decided. Or perhaps not hunger-perhaps eagerness.
"You do remember that you weren't supposed to be seeing any champions-and especially not any champions of Tomanâk-here at Quaysar, don't you?" he asked in a tone of the withering irony.
"No, we weren't," she agreed. "On the other hand, it's not something I haven't made preparations for. The Spider knew what She was doing when She recruited me, Varnaythus. With all due modesty, I'm the best there is. I'll take care of your little champion for you."
Varnaythus stared at her in disbelief.
"Are you insane?" he asked flatly, and anger flickered in her eyes. Her hand twitched near the hilt of her sword, and her upper lip curled back from her teeth. She opened her mouth to speak, but the index finger jabbed in her face stopped her.
"Don't you say a word," he hissed in a voice like silk sliding on a dagger's blade. "Not one word."
She closed her mouth again, with an almost audible click, and the wizard-priest drew a deep, deep breath and forced his anger back under control.
"Now you will listen to me," he told her, each word chopped off like a separate chip of ice. "Cassan's plan to weaken Tellian is busy ending in what looks like unmitigated disaster. Jerghar and every one of his fellow Servants have been destroyed. And Tellian, Bahzell, and Brandark are all still alive. The entire plan, with the exception of this one, single aspect, has already failed. If your overconfidence causes this part of it to miscarry as the other parts already have, you had better pray that you die here in Quaysar. Because if you don't, They will make you wish you had for the rest of eternity."
A shadow of fear crossed the tall woman's face, but there was as much resentment as fear in her expression, and her nostrils flared.
"I won't fail," she said flatly. "No, we weren't supposed to see a champion of Tomanâk here. I'll grant that. But Her plans always provided for the possibility that we might lose our foothold here in Quaysar. Indeed, they depended on our losing it at a time and in the fashion of our own choosing." She shrugged. "Perhaps that time is here, and perhaps it isn't. We'll soon see. But I tell you this, Varnaythus, you and Jerghar and your precious Baron Cassan may have failed, but we won't. And even if every other aspect of the plan's failed-for now, at least-this is the most important one, and you know it. You and Dahlaha told me at the outset that you wanted the Troubles back. Well, you'll have them, damn you! We'll take this terrifying little champion of yours, and the Spider will suck the life and soul out of her and make her serve our ends."
"Our record of successes against champions of Tomanâk doesn't exactly inspire me with unbounded faith in your confidence, Paratha," Varnaythus said coldly. "And you might want to consider this, too. A year ago, there were seventeen champions of Tomanâk in all of Norfressa. Now there are twenty, and four of them-four, Paratha; twenty percent of the total-are here on the Wind Plain or in Hurgrum. Do you think that's just some sort of minor coincidence? Or do you think there might just be a reason? Because I don't think it's an accident, and I do think there's a reason our track record against them has been an unmitigated disaster."
"Oh, no, Varnaythus-not our record, but yours. And, in fairness to Jerghar, he had to deal with the Bloody Hand. And, or so the Spider tells us, with a second champion. A courser champion, no less." She shook her head. "Against someone as powerful as the Bloody Hand, anything might be possible. And if Jerghar had no reason to expect that he faced not one, but two champions, then small wonder he lost. But we face only one, and the weakest of the three." She snorted and spat contemptuously over the wall. "This one is a lawyer at heart, Varnaythus. She craves to serve Justice, to look after the 'little people.' If it were the Bloody Hand, then I might worry, for he, at least, is a foe to respect. But this one-this Kaeritha-!" She barked a harsh laugh of scorn. "This one we'll eat, and use the leftover meat to feed the very flames we set out to ignite."