Page 79 of Swordheart
Zale tilted their head modestly. “Five years as a clerk before I was called to the Rat’s service. Since then, I have frequently assisted in legal cases on behalf of the Temple. My rank is that of advocate divine. I will not lie, inheritance is not my particular field of study, but I have as much knowledge as anyone serving at this Temple and more than many.” They paused, then added, almost apologetically, “And—forgive me—while every case is important to those involved, I fear the most skilled of my contemporaries, the solicitors sacrosanct, are reserved for cases with far higher stakes.”
“That’s fine,” said Halla. “I’d much rathernotbe high stakes.”
Zale nodded. “The Temple has provided me a wagon. It will be a slower return to Rutger’s Howe, but a more comfortable one. You will have ample time to acquaint me with the details of your claim along the way.”
The wagon in question was a tall, narrow affair, on oversized wheels, drawn by a single laconic ox. It was brightly painted with an image of the Rat, haloed by the sun, holding up His paw in benediction.
Sarkis grunted when he saw it. “Subtle.”
“The Temple prefers that anyone we encounter know exactly who we are. Priests are often granted passage where clerks and warriors are not.”
He grunted again.Decadent southern gods…but in this case, practical.Even in the Weeping Lands, one did not trouble priests.
One of the striped creatures he had seen earlier sat on the wagon seat. Zale nodded to the gnole. “This is Brindle. He will handle the ox and care for it, since I fear I have little skill with such.”
Brindle nodded back to them. He had badger-like stripes running down his face, but the dark fur between the stripes was mottled with brown.Hence the name,Sarkis assumed.
“Hello, Brindle,” said Halla. She introduced herself and Sarkis. “Do you work for the Rat?”
Brindle shook his head. “Priests work for gods. A gnole works for priests.”
Zale smiled. “Gnole theology is admirably straightforward. They have one god. They do not seem interested in adding more.”
“This strikes me as enormously sensible,” said Sarkis. He bowed to Brindle. Brindle nodded back.
They climbed onto the wagon. Brindle took up a long ox goad, tapped the beast’s flank, and clucked his tongue. The ox began ambling down the street, so slowly that Sarkis groaned.
I could walk to Rutger’s Howe and back in the time this beast will take…
Well, it’s not as if I have any pressing engagements anywhere. My only job is to act as a bodyguard to a woman and now to this priest of a…
“Why a rat?” asked Sarkis.
“Hmm?” said Zale. Their braid pulled the top layer of hair back away from their face, and the long, dark gray strands looked pewter-colored in the sunlight.
“Your god. Why a rat?”
Zale shrugged. “Why not a rat? Rats are smart and they travel with humans, but they are neither our servants nor our prey. They eat the food that we eat, they live within our homes. Who better to understand us?”
Sarkis raised an eyebrow at that.
Zale chuckled. “That is a priest’s answer, at any rate. Would you like a scholar’s answer as well?”
“I would!” said Halla, to the surprise of no one.
Zale nodded. “So far as we can tell, the Temple of the Rat originated some eight hundred years ago, in the west. A plague was decimating the cities of the old empire there. They knew that rats carried the plague, and a cult sprang up, attempting to appease the rat spirit. From there, the faith evolved and reformed.” They grinned slyly. “Of course, our understanding of treatment for the plague certainly did not hurt.”
“A moment,” said Sarkis. “Youknowthe origin of your faith? You can point to it like this? And yet still you worship this rat as your god?”
The priest laughed. “Why does knowing the origin of a thing make it less holy? Do you know your grandparents?”
Sarkis gave them a narrow-eyed look. “I did, yes.”
“And did you love your parents less for knowing where they came from?”
“I did not worship my parents.”
“Some parents practically expect that, though,” muttered Halla.
