A Dance of Cloaks - By Dalglish, David Page 0,34

been a most impressive structure cut from black-marble and lined with pillars. A roaring lion skull would have hung above the doorway. It had no priests, but if it did, they would have been quiet, subdued men wearing black robes and long hair pulled tight behind their heads. They would have wielded powerful cleric magic, and done all in their power to further the cause of their dark god of Order. They played no part in policy of the king, but if they did, the priests would have informed the royal crown of the dangers involved in exposing their presence to the city. If war was ever waged between the priests of Ashhur and Karak, assuming the priests of Karak somehow existed, then the streets would soon be cluttered with the dead.

Maynard Gemcroft, in disguise and escorted by two of his most trusted guards, arrived at the building that did not exist. The gate opened, and inside they went.

“Pelarak will see you shortly, Gemcroft,” one of the younger priests said to them as he opened the double-doors leading into the temple. Maynard did not respond. A bit of annoyance at not being called a Lord in such a formal setting rumbled in his chest, but Pelarak had explained long ago that the priests would refer to no man as Lord other than Karak.

The hour was late, but inside the temple, routines went on as if it were midday. Younger men, boys really, traveled from corner to corner, lighting candles with thin, long punks. Purple curtains draped across hidden windows. Following their guide, they stepped into the great congregation room. Maynard had never considered himself a religious man, but the statue of Karak always made a deeply buried part of his mind wonder if he were in error.

Chiseled in ancient stone, the statue towered over those bowed before it. Its image was of a beautiful man with long hair, battle-scarred armor, and blood-soaked greaves. The idol held a serrated sword in one hand, the other clenched into a fist that shook toward the heavens. Twin altars churned violet flame at his feet, yet they produced no smoke.

Many men knelt at the foot of the purple flames, crying out heartfelt prayers for forgiveness and atonement. Any other time, Maynard would have felt the noise annoying and somewhat embarrassing to the wailer, but before that statue, it seemed perfectly natural. In awe as he was, he was glad when Pelarak approached from the middle aisle and shook his hand. With his attention diverted, the statue seemed to lose a bit of its power.

“Welcome, friend,” Pelarak said. He swung open the doors.

“After last night, it is good to hear you call me friend,” Maynard said. He didn’t know what to make of Pelarak’s puzzled expression. If the high priest was truly in the dark to the faceless women’s actions, then their talks that night would be of an unrehearsed sort. Surprise is on my side, Maynard thought. I best use it wisely.

“I’m not sure what else you would be,” Pelarak said as he led them off to the side, where his own private room was attached. “Our friendship is offered nightly, though I think it is we that should worry for you. A man’s heart and his gold sleep in the same bed, and the Gemcroft estate has been very…heartless in recent years.”

The rebuke stung, but Maynard kept his tongue in check. Let Pelarak think he was in control. When the truth of his minions came to light, those stings would be forgotten.

“Times are harsh,” he said. “Trust me, when the rogues are defeated, your coffers will fill with the gold no longer needed to fill the pockets of mercenaries and sellswords.”

Pelarak shut the door. Maynard’s two guards remained outside. The room was small and sparsely furnished. Maynard sat in a small, unpadded chair while Pelarak crossed his arms and stood beside his bed.

“You speak truth, Maynard, but you did not come here wearing that amusing wig and beard to talk to me about tithes. What is the matter, and why do you worry about Karak’s friendship?”

That was it, no dancing around the matter. No stalling left, Maynard let the truth be told while he carefully watched the high priest’s reaction.

“Last night, three of your faceless women assaulted my mansion and kidnapped my daughter.”

Maynard was in no way prepared for the cold anger that flooded Pelarak’s eyes.

“I would ask if you were certain, but of course you are,” the priest said. “You would not