At the Gates of Darkness. Raymond E. Feist
empty, gave herself over to a completely thorough cleaning.
While she scrubbed her filthy hair, she considered her feelings about Creegan’s departure; his promotion was as good as ordained since she had first met him, yet there was always this feeling. She sighed.
Encountering Amirantha after that near fatal attack on Sorcerer’s Isle, had reignited feelings she would rather ignore. Creegan had the same effect on her. But, although her intimacy with Amirantha was something she wished had never happened, she suspected it was something she would regret with Creegan.
Her order was not celibate, though like most people given over to an important calling, personal issues were always of lesser importance; but, as a woman in her prime, she felt certain needs assert themselves from time to time.
She had never considered family a blessing, given how she grew up, yet now she often wondered about being a mother. She knew nothing about raising a child; her mother had been lost to drugs, drink and men, and no permanent father had been at hand. Being ill-used by men since she had begun to blossom had given her a very unforgiving perspective on them.
There were only two men she had come to care for, Brother Mathias who had rescued her from her Keshian slave master, and Father-Bishop Creegan, who had been her mentor, but now she was beginning to think he was more important to her than that.
There were two men she wished dead: A black hearted rogue called Jimmy Hand by some, Quick Jim by others, who had controlled the brothel where she had served as a high priced whore when she was little more than a girl, and who had sold her to the Keshian; And Amirantha. He had charmed her, lied to her, and used her, and had lived up to her general judgment on the worth of men.
A tiny pang told her she didn’t truly wish Amirantha dead, but rather she wished that he had told her the truth. Even when she had lashed out and knocked him to the floor she had felt instant regret. She wished she could have told him that he had hurt her, but that would make her look weak.
Picking up a bucket she poured water over herself, cleaning away the dirt and soap, then bent over and ran a comb through her hair. The water was hot, but the air was cold after the passing storms and she felt gooseflesh on her skin.
She decided to forego the meditative steam room and retired to the barracks. She donned a simple white shift and turned in early. She was a sound sleeper and should others of her order enter, she was sure they would not wake her. All she wanted for this night was a sound sleep with no dreams.
Morning brought the departure of the group travelling to Salador, led by the High Priestess and the Father-Bishop. As Creegan had predicted, Seldon was being as deferential as humanly possible to the prospective Grand Master of the Order of the Shield of the Weak, to the point of being cloying.
When she had awakened, Sandreena had discovered a new uniform laid out for her across the chest at the foot of her bed, and on top of it a new tabard, this one emblazoned with a chevron and crown above her heart, signifying her new rank of sergeant. She couldn’t resist smiling as she beheld it. She was not a prideful woman by nature, but she did like how this badge of honour made her feel.
She had dressed and postponed a morning meal to be in the marshalling yard for the Father-Bishop’s departure.
Creegan smiled when he saw her, and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘The fate of the Order in the west is in your hands now, Sandreena.’ He leaned in so no one else could over hear his words and he said, ‘There’s something on my desk that you need to read; it’s the report you brought to me. Act on it at once. I’m not telling you what I would do; this must be your decision.’
Impulsively, he kissed her goodbye; but rather than a mere brush of lips, he lingered slightly, pulling back just before it became something both of them needed to worry about. ‘May the Goddess go with you,’ he whispered.
Words failed her, she could only nod in response. As he mounted his horse, she only just managed to return the benediction. ‘May the Goddess go with you, Father-Bishop.’
The High Priestess was fussing over her mount, a mild palfrey but still spirited enough to make the older woman show concern as she sat uncomfortably on the small horse. It was obvious that Seldon would have preferred a litter, but the need to be in Rillanon by the date of the convocation prevented the more sedate mode of transport. She would be very sore and unhappy by the time they reached Salador.
The party moved out and as soon as they cleared the gate, Sandreena hurried to Creegan’s office. On top of his desk lay two letters and the bundle she had carried from Durbin.
She looked at the first paper, which had her name on it. She opened it and read:Sandreena, if the Goddess wills it, we will meet again. Know the trusts rests with you and I have faith you will discharge the duties I’ve given you as well as if I understood them myself. I’ve left you a list of those who you may rely upon—she knew he meant those who could be trusted in dealing with the Conclave—and a report you must attend to at once. May the Goddess go with you. It was signed onlyCreegan.
She examined the list and saw only five names on it. Four were priests and one was the orderly assigned to this office, the only members of the Order of the Shield who apparently knew about the Conclave of Shadows.
She looked up to see the man named on the list, a Pryor of the Order, Brother Willoby. He was a round-faced, stocky man with a constantly worried expression. He said, ‘Sister? May I be of service?’
She sat down in Creegan’s chair and said, ‘I will let you know, brother.’
‘I will be outside if you need me,’ he answered. Unlike the Knights, the clerical branch of the Order worked within the temples, as lay priests, but they were not administrators by choice. They were men and women who had wished to serve the Goddess, but found they lacked the strength of arm to serve in the field. Like most of the Knights, Sandreena hardly gave the pryors a moment’s thought, but she suspected that she would come to appreciate them much more as she looked at the rest of the documents beside the desk that required her attention.
She took the list of names and folded it up. She had already memorized the names and would burn it later.
Then she opened the report given her by the nameless Kingdom noble and read it. She put it down, picked it up again and read it for a second time.
Standing up she shouted, ‘Willoby!’
Within a moment, the cleric appeared, ‘Yes, sister?’
‘Three things: First, do I have a second-in-command?’
The question seemed to startle him for a moment, as she was known to be the Father-Bishop’s second. ‘Why, no,’ he said, ‘I mean, you are the second-in-command, but with the Father-Bishop gone…I mean, no, there’s no designated person now.’
‘Very well,’ she replied. ‘You are my second, as of now.’
He blinked, then said, ‘I suppose that’s all right.’
‘Well, since I am currently the highest ranking member of the Order west of Malac’s Cross, you can be sure it’s all right.’
He seemed to take her forcefulness in stride as she stood up and put the report under her tunic. ‘Next, have my horse made ready with a week’s provisions.’
‘Your horse?’ asked the clerk.
‘Yes,’ said Sandreena. ‘I need to depart on a mission today.’
‘But who…?’ he began, then saw her looking at him.
‘You’re in charge until I get back,’ she said.
‘Me?’ He was almost speechless, but nodded and said, ‘I’ll have your horse made ready, Sister.’
She waited until he was gone then allowed herself a low growl of frustration. ‘You bastard,’ she said softly with Creegan in mind. She had mistaken his kiss as a signal of the passion they had withheld over the years, but reading the report had rid her of that notion. It was merely a kiss of apology.Of course