The Alabaster Staff (25 page)

Being double-crossed in a treasonous meeting with the Furifaxians—that would explain why her followers had withheld all mention of the incident. But for a chance observation by her dragonet familiar, Tiglath herself might not know of it at all.

Yet even that theory had several problems. It assumed the Tiamatans were ready to plot an overthrow, and it did not explain why Furifax’s people were slaughtered utterly.

No, it was clear that the little thief was right. Her story had the unwelcome ring of truth. Certainly Kehrsyn’s narration of events did not paint herself in a good light. She admitted that she had hidden in fear and thus escaped all notice.

Tiglath frowned. So her people had attacked their allies—her allies, truth be told, for the others looked upon them merely as convenient tools—without her knowledge, let alone consent. They did so to seize an item that had just been stolen. Therefore they knew beforehand that the item existed, they knew the item had been stolen, and they knew who had stolen it. Therefore her congregation had already had plans that centered on that item. Plans about which she, the high priestess, knew nothing.

She had to find out, so she would find out straightaway. She would take a roll call, see who was missing, and see who covered for their absence. Once they’d exposed themselves, she would find out what they had intended to take and how they’d known it had been stolen.

She arose and left her study, descending into the main area of the temple. Her followers—no, she corrected herself, Tiamat’s worshipers, and there was a difference—rose to their feet as she entered. She noticed that two of them tried to conceal pain and stiffness as they got up. Those two had obviously suffered injuries during the fight. Tiamat only rarely granted her pious servants the ability to
heal. In her cruel eyes the strong could bear pain and injury while the weak deserved no mercy. Indeed, Tiamat was far more concerned with her people furthering her goals than with shepherding her flock.

Tiglath paused in inner surprise. The Dragon Queen was much akin to Gilgeam in that manner, using followers like tools. Why had it taken her so long to realize how very alike the two deities were? She was a priestess, privy to every secret! Why had she always persisted in believing that there was a difference between Gilgeam’s abuse of power and Tiamat’s lust for power?

It all came to Tiglath in that moment, as she looked at the veiled hostility with which some of her people stared back at her. Her need for justice—no, to be honest: revenge—had blinded her to the deal she’d made. Tiamat demanded power. The Dragon Queen wished not only to slay the gods—a goal that had fit nicely with Tiglath’s own dreams of retribution upon Gilgeam—but also to rule. And indeed, Tiglath first broke with her goddess years before, when she refused to seize control of Unther. Her dreams of a council-led meritocracy would not satiate the Dragon Queen, and all those there knew it. She had declined the reins of control in Unther, and Tiamat’s followers were moving to take those reins themselves.

She looked around the room again, measuring the determination on the faces of those present. She saw arrogance, cockiness, sullen anger, scorn, deference … but no loyalty and no defeat. She thought that strange. They had suffered a defeat, launched a raid and seen the item they sought broken before their very eyes. Comrades had fallen. Yet they were not chastised in the least. If she were to push them at once with a personal inquisition, she would force their hand early, and they would rise up against her.

It was not the time.

Instead, she had to decide what to do: uncover the conspiracy and eliminate its leaders, or step in front of the new
action and pretend she had been leading in that direction all along?

She had to think. She nodded to her people, if indeed she could still call them her people, and stepped to the cloakroom to grab her cloak. It was raining, but that made it easier to take a long walk by herself and pray to Tiamat for guidance … if she dared.

She stepped outside and was adjusting her rain cloak when someone, walking fast yet blinded by a hood pulled too low, stumbled into her, dousing her under one of the miniature waterfalls that streamed from the gargoyles on the building’s roof.

It was an inauspicious start to an inauspicious walk, she thought, as she set out, chilled without and within.

What luck, thought Kehrsyn, fingering the keys in her hand. She’d seen the priestess leave her room and hoped it would mean she’d leave the building. Just as she started wondering if Tiglath would make an appearance on the street, the priestess stepped outside and stood on the stoop, her arms raised as she pulled her heavy cloak over her rather large body. One brisk move, one mock stumble over the stone steps, and one mumbled apology later, Kehrsyn had the priestess’s keys.

And, since she had the keys, she could discover whether or not Tiglath was truly innocent of the theft of the staff.

As Kehrsyn had suspected, the priestess lodged at a corner of the top floor along the main thoroughfare, where she had a view of something other than the choked alleys that bordered the other three sides of the building. Kehrsyn had watched the priestess staring out the window of her room for a time. She was seated, Kehrsyn assumed, at a desk by the window.

That solved the problem of locating Tiglath’s room. The
only problem left was getting in. Climbing into an upper room in the rain posed difficulties in terms of traction, but it did mean there would be fewer people on the streets, and those who were around were unlikely to look up. Otherwise she’d never even make such a daring attempt.

Well, Kehrsyn thought as she glanced around the largely empty street, no time like the present.

She retied her rapier to hang over one shoulder, then gathered the hem of her cloak, wadding the lower half into a sort of thick rope. That she tied around her waist so the cloak wouldn’t hang from her shoulders or snag on anything as she climbed. She scaled the building’s face on the alley side of the corner, which was concealed from most points on the main street.

Her climb was annoying by any measure. The hood of her cloak blocked her view up, yet if she pulled the hood back, the rain in her eyes had the same effect and cold water dripped down her neck, too. The tied-off cloak was a heavy belt around her middle and hampered her ability to lift her thighs. Halfway up, she realized that her grip through her thin gloves was not adequate in the rain, and she had to pull them off with her teeth, one finger at a time, while hanging. The wet leather tried its best to adhere to her chilled skin, and the procedure took longer than she’d hoped. She ended up holding the gloves in her teeth for the rest of the climb, and the taste of worn leather in her mouth did nothing to improve her mood. With her mouth all but closed, she was forced to breathe through her nose, which started running in the cold air.

In all, by the time she’d reached the top floor and worked open the window to the priestess’s room, she was certain that Tiglath was the blackguard behind all her troubles. She no longer felt like she was betraying an acquaintance with the intrusion. She felt she was digging up the evil truth behind a villain. Kehrsyn dropped onto the luxurious rug spread by the window. She glared from
beneath a sodden brow bedecked with strands of hair.

Kehrsyn scanned the room. It was a simple affair, almost ascetic in style, yet lavish in appointments. There was a bed, a desk, a chair, a wardrobe, and a small brazier. Each was small and cut with simple lines, but well polished and inlaid with delicate patterns of contrasting woods and metals. The bed looked barely large enough to contain one of Tiglath’s girth, and it had no headboard or footboard, but the thick mattress was a far cry from the bags of compressed cotton that Kehrsyn had occasionally used when times had been better, and the sheets looked to be of very fine fabric. There was no pillow.

There was a small rug by the window and a large one beneath the bed. Each was only one solid color—one red and the other black—but plush. There was no art on the walls, and the desk had a single quill of red held in a gold inkwell. In short, it seemed that the priestess allowed herself few amenities, but with those few she indulged herself to the hilt. Somehow the mixture of ascetic and feminine gave Kehrsyn a privileged view into Tiglath’s personal life and quenched the displaced anger that she had built up.

Kehrsyn took off her rapier, undid her cloak, and placed them on the chair. The added weight made the chair creak.

The bed rustled, and Kehrsyn froze in place. The cover on the mattress shifted, then the dragonet’s head popped out and stared at Kehrsyn. She saw nictitating membranes glide over the emerald eyes, then retract again. Kehrsyn held one hand out defensively.

“I have sufferance,” she said to the tiny beast. “Tiglath said so. Don’t forget that.”

The dragonet growled and emerged fully from beneath the covers. Its whiplike tail lashed back and forth.

Fearing she might have to flee, Kehrsyn held up both hands, showing them to be empty.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, “but I’m not here to steal. I’m here … well, I guess I’m here because I hope
I’m wrong. But I have to know. You can watch if you want, to make sure I leave everything where I found it, but I’m not going to harm Tiglath, so you’d better not harm me.”

The dragonet growled again, then lay down at the edge of the bed, resting its head on its forepaws. Its tail still lashed, but it made no further move to interfere.

Kehrsyn checked the wardrobe first, her soft steps all but noiseless on the wooden floor. Using the keys she’d picked from Tiglath’s pocket, she opened the wardrobe with no problem. It held only a few robes, each of identical cut, and one nightgown, which, in Kehrsyn’s opinion, was mercifully modest. She sounded the wardrobe for false panels and found one in the base, though the compartment contained only a diary, which Kehrsyn declined to open. After all, she was investigating; she wasn’t there to pry. If she found nothing else, she could look it over later.

She replaced everything exactly as she had found it—an old habit from her thieving days, and one that had always served her well—and turned to the bed.

Her search of the bed turned up nothing. The desk, like the wardrobe, contained a few items—a strongbox with some coins and gems, a collection of what appeared to be personal memorabilia—but nothing resembling a long wand of white bone. She skimmed the papers on top of the desk, since they were clearly new. Kehrsyn was not well lettered, and it was difficult to read the priestess’s crabbed handwriting, but the bold titles were unmistakable. One, labeled “Temple,” looked to have a roster written on it, with question marks, Ys, or Ns next to each name. Another sheet was labeled “Furifax,” and yet others had names that Kehrsyn did not recognize. The sheet that earned the most attention was one labeled “Kairsin.” She half-smiled at the misspelling, and she glanced over the unfamiliar writing, but her eyes kept returning to the single word circled at the bottom of the page: “TRUTH.”

Satisfied, she then sounded the walls of the room
carefully, tapping only with the pads of her fingertips to avoid attracting any outside attention. She repeated the same process across the floorboards, moving back and forth until her wrists, knees, and ankles ached. The entire time, the dragonet stared at her with its unblinking reptilian eyes, rotating its slender, sinewy neck to stare straight at its young guest wherever she searched.

With a sigh that was half exhaustion, half relief, Kehrsyn abandoned the search.

“There, you see?” she said to the dragonet. “I’m done. And not a thing out of place.”

She dragged herself up into the chair, her joints protesting the sudden change. She stretched her arms up over her head and leaned back, popping her spine to loosen it up. Just as she folded her hands into her lap again, someone knocked at the door.

Kehrsyn froze. Her eyes darted over to the dragonet, who still stared at her, unconcerned.

“Kehrsyn?” Tiglath’s unmistakable voice sounded muffled through the door. “Open up.”

Bewildered, Kehrsyn moved to the door, and, planting one foot firmly to prevent the door from opening too far, unlocked the deadbolt and cracked it open. She peered through the gap and saw the high priestess looming in the hallway.

“Ordinarily, one does not have to request admission to one’s own room,” observed Tiglath.

Kehrsyn backed away from the door, letting it swing open as she retired to a spot near the window.

“I had rather expected you’d be more, you know, surprised to see me here,” Kehrsyn said.

“I was,” said Tiglath. “I got over it.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kehrsyn, confused.

Tiglath held out her arm, and the dragonet leaped from the bed, buzzing its wings, and alighted nimbly.

Tiglath kissed its muzzle and stroked its scaly little
body, then, as an aside while she petted her creature, said, “Tremor’s eyes are my eyes. I see whatever he sees. So while I was surprised to see you enter, I got over it while watching you. Why did you feel compelled to search my room?”

“I had to make sure you weren’t behind the attack and the staff and all,” said Kehrsyn.