Page 80 of Swordheart
Sarkis started to say something, then frowned. “There are places I have been,” he admitted grudgingly, “where one’s ancestors are worshipped. One of my men came from such a place, and she swore by her grandfather’s shade.”
“There you have it.” Zale waved their hand. “We know that the Rat exists. We know He is kindly inclined toward humankind. If we forget His name, He will creep back into the walls of the world, but He will not cease to exist. A day will come when humans remember His name again. So it is, and so it has been, and so it will be.”
Halla bowed her head as if receiving a benediction.
“Decadent southern gods,” muttered Sarkis, and Zale laughed aloud.
They were barely an hour out of the city gates when they passed a tiny, nameless town on the ox-road and saw where a burning had taken place.
Zale’s thin lips curled back when they saw the smoke rising from the square. The pyre was ringed by men in indigo cloaks. The fire was out now.
“Motherhood,” the priest muttered. “The gods be merciful.”
“All the gods?” asked Sarkis. “Not just the Rat?”
“The Rat’s mercy is a given. It’s the other gods we need to worry about.” They craned their neck. “Ah. Possessions only. Books. Not a person, thank the Rat.”
“They burn books, too?” asked Sarkis.
“Oh yes. Herbals, bestiaries… sometimes merely books in foreign tongues. In case they might be spellbooks.” They shook their head, looking pained. “The loss of knowledge alone… Those people are a menace.”
“And here comes one now,” said Halla. She wondered if she’d be able to put them off with a saga of cauliflower a second time.
An indigo-cloaked man approached them on horseback. He had a crossbow slung over his back and a sword at his side.
“I can take him,” said Sarkis softly, “but the others will be on us right away.”
Brindle gave him a look. “You think an ox can outrun horses, sword-man?”
“I’m not sure this ox could outrun adeadhorse.”
“Don’t insult an ox. An ox is good at what an ox does. Like to seeyoupull a wagon any better.”
“Stand down,” said Zale, watching the horseman approach. “I’ll handle it.”
The Motherhood warrior halted alongside the wagon, eyes flicking over the paint job. “A Rat priest, eh?”
Zale inclined their head.
“Where are you traveling?”
“On the Rat’s business,” said Zale. Their voice was pleasant enough, but there was a hard note under it.
“And where does the Rat’s business take you?”
“Wherever the Rat sees the need,” said Zale. Halla rather admired the priest’s flat refusal to answer the question. She’d be burying the man in information, herself, with every relative she had in every town along the way, including some made up on the spot. Still, Zale had a certain authority and could get away with defiance.
The warrior’s eyes narrowed. He looked over the wagon and passengers again, gaze lingering on Sarkis.
“It might be wise to inform someone where you are going,” said the warrior. “In case of accidents.”
Well, that wasn’t even subtle.
“I assure you, the Temple of the Rat is aware of both our whereabouts and when we are expected to return.”
“The Motherhood would appreciate being extended the same courtesy.”
“I’m sure they would.”
