3
THE ANCIENT STUDY where Sheantris had spent countless hours throughout her years overseeing the temple was drafty at this time of year, but she sat, seemingly untouched by the cold, in a high-backed chair of deep green velvet. She glanced at the stack of papers waiting for her on the thick oaken writing desk and promptly dismissed them. Requests for appointments and Goddess knows what else awaited her, but she found herself in an especially sour mood and decided to have the entire stack sent to one of the lower priests for handling. For now, she had company to deal with.
In truth, her outward reaction to the weather did not echo how she felt within. The bones in both her hands ached with the change of seasons; the priestess had never truly enjoyed the cold. She understood that all seasons were a gift from Valathinea, though no one had ever mentioned throughout the ages any decrees that one must appreciate every gift. She tried not to direct her attention towards the stack of papers once more, crossing her arms.
“Is there a reason you have barged into my temple uninvited? You may have a grip on a few choice fools in Forrenwake, but you do still do not have authority over the great churches of the Goddess.”
The man sitting before her was dressed in dark red armor; his helmet bore markings that she could not decipher. His sword had been left in the anteroom at the request of Sheantris. It had similar etchings. His face was neither youthful nor haggard. Thick, black mustaches adorned his face; a leather cord kept a generous length of dark hair tied back and out of his eyes. He was an intimidating figure, standing taller than most, but sitting face-to-face in the priestess’s study, Sheantris regarded him in the same way she would any other visitor. To her, he was only a minor threat. His master, on the other hand, was someone worth considering.
“That will change soon enough,” Rahbin said. “Darsheel shall see to it when he arrives.”
Sheantris nodded, fighting back a scowl. “You make constant mention of Darsheel, though he never shows himself. I am beginning to doubt he exists.”
“I see.” Rahbin stroked one of his long mustaches. “And why would that be? I am not proof enough of his existence?”
Sheantris made a wide sweeping gesture. “A wise man once told me that those who bark the loudest make the greatest fools. You and your men came to an otherwise peaceful land and disrupted the natural order. You promise the people of this town a sort of protection they have not required in centuries. With the same breath, you condemn those who wish to offer a message free of violence.”
“You have failed to answer my question,” Rahbin said.
“I have done no such thing. My answer is simple. I have received news from watchful eyes in the North and South. There have been reports of shifts in leadership, yet no one speaks of the great armies mentioned by you and your men. I will admit that the name Darsheel has been mentioned in passing outside of Forrenwake, and this does trouble me.”
“We can sit and bicker about many things on this most unpleasant of mornings,” Rahbin said. “But I must admit that my time is short. I have much to do, and I am sure you share that sentiment. Just know that the people of this town welcomed us with open arms. They wish for our protection. Since arriving, crime has been reduced by a rather wide margin. Lord Darsheel does not wish to oppress anyone. His mission is to unite all the lands of Enichar under a single banner. Is that such a detestable thing?”
Sheantris snorted derisively. “Your vision of equality is not one that I wish to share. Eventually the people will listen to reason once again and banish your men from this place! With Valathinea as my witness, I shall ensure that—”
“You shall ensure nothing!” Rahbin slammed his fist against the surface of the oaken table, scattering a number of papers. “You are foolish to fight! This temple exists because the people of this town still find it comforting. You are allowed to teach the ways of your deity because I will it! If you continue to test my resolve, I will be the one making assurances about who leaves and who stays!”
Sheantris stood, pointing towards the door. “I want you out of my sight! Do not presume to come into a holy place and toss around threats without a care! The only reason you sit in this holy building is because of the seal I have placed upon you. Without it, you would not step within a hundred paces without consequence. You claim that you and your men own us; I claim many devoted still among my ranks, and I will not be treated with such a blatant lack of respect! Now go! You would not enjoy it if I removed the seal of my goddess before you made it outside.”
Rahbin took his time standing; he made sure that every last piece of his armor was straight and shining. After many moments grooming, he peered into the eyes of the priestess. A dark smile formed on his lips; she could feel his immense hatred for the church and all that was contained within.
“I am sure it would be quite painful, though I have been told the blessing of your goddess weakens, even as we sit here today. I shall leave, but I must admit, I am disappointed that we never discussed the true reason for my presence.”
“And what is that?” Sheantris asked.
“Your underling caused quite a stir recently. He publicly rebelled against one of my men. This is an action that must be dealt with.”
“It was I who challenged your man,” she replied. “Ondicar only wished to mediate the argument and nothing more.”
“It matters not,” Rahbin said. “He failed to keep the peace. Your student stepped into an argument, and that means he is now a part of the problem. You, I can do little with—for the time being, at least. Do not force me to begin carrying out punishments on those who may not deserve them, simply on account of your inability to hold your tongue. I would hate to resort to such a thing.”
Sheantris opened her mouth to speak, but Rahbin held up his hand and turned, making his way to the door. She silently chided herself for stooping to his level. It was becoming exceedingly difficult to hold her tongue as his threats grew in intensity. Had he really meant what he said about harming Ondicar? Surely, he would not attempt such a thing. To cause bodily harm to one of the newly risen priests would almost certainly usher in the end of his rule. Such a terrible thing would never go unnoticed.
Still, she did not want to take chances. There would be need to summon the young man at regular intervals to check on him. She would need to keep him under her watchful eye for the time being.
* * *
Rahbin sheathed his sword and left the temple as quickly as his feet would carry him. Wheels had already been set into motion and there was much to discuss with his men. The young priest—Ondicar was his name—who had defended his master had not caused any additional trouble; he found the elderly woman the boy called master deplorable. The woman simply would not entertain any notion that disagreed with her position. At first, he thought he could use the priestess and her people to his advantage. Now he saw that she was much smarter than he ever anticipated. Sheantris of Mirea would prove to be a formidable foe if she was not taken care of sooner than later. Rahbin would have been satisfied to see her stabbed in the belly by some unknown thief wandering in the night, but suspicions of foul play would begin to spread among the people of Forrenwake and that would not serve his master’s purpose at all. Perhaps it would be possible to placate her until his master’s plans were realized. The time of Darsheel’s arrival was drawing near. The signs abounded. Villages across the land were already beginning to pledge allegiance. The priestess’s supposed eyes and ears were perhaps not as reliable as she believed.
Rahbin smiled warmly as he walked, nodding his head in greeting to the occasional passerby. He walked alone; the need for armed escorts was nothing more than a sign of weakness.
Besides, he had the people’s trust. That was all he needed.
