The Gates of Arstelem (Classic)

Chapter 14

Haniel, Berrand, and Adezek arrived at Wesfor as the sun began to fall behind the trees. A cold wind blew from the north-east, and they were glad to get into the still air behind the city's towering walls.

They had waited an hour for the ferry to arrive, and the passage had been laboriously slow. The wind had been unfavorable, and the water choppy. They had disembarked on the bank of the river, as the captain had been unable to reach the dock without rowing.

Adezek swore that something had been watching them the whole time, though Berrand denied it. Haniel, still feeling the concern she had felt, had remained silent. Should she warn the others, admit her complicity? Complain so vaguely that the source of her worry would be unclear?

The worry began to fade as they reached the city. The Levånites were unrivaled in their devotion: the priestly caste of Yevet, they were guaranteed to assist in the quest. Of course, not all were orthodox. Now Haniel thought of the challenge of meeting with Adenån, of what she would say. Gorreth had been vague on the matter.

She was reminded of her heritage. The Vekunites here had survived in greater number, as they had across the Levånites' holdings. The priests were slow to surrender their servants to the king's sword. That also meant that they were, like the Ethallites, used to seeing right past a Vekunite. She hoped the seal would open up Adenån, earn enough of his trust that she would not need to use her words.

She could not trust Berrand. He had been raised by a follower of Yevet, it was true, but she doubted that he choose the god of his mentor over the god of scales. Even if Berrand were to do the talking, Berrand's courtly verbiage belied a lack of tact and callow naivete. He could offend Adenån and ruin the whole meeting.

Adezek interrupted her thoughts. "Now that we are here, what are we going to do?"

Berrand replied first, "We're looking for Adenån, so we will go to the temple, obviously. However, the priests of Yevet will rarely receive a visitor so late on the eve of the holy day. We shall wait until morning."

Haniel thought she saw something moving in the shadows. Not one of the weary tradesmen heading home for the evening. A man wearing black. Her ears picked up the faintest whisper, something indistinct. It was as if the world were out of tune, and her ears alone could hear. She paused, looking toward the shadows, but now there was no motion. Only the whisper.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

The whisper subsided, and Haniel shrugged and frowned. "My ears playing tricks on me."

Yet she was not convinced. She knew that some sorcery was at work. She had fought alongside the shamans of the älgar in the south, had heard their songs. She had never heard a whisper like that, but she could recognize the hymns of the Primordials when she heard them.

What good would it do to worry everyone else?