several days.
She hesitated just long enough to retrieve her leather-covered grappling hook, and stepped boldly onto the window sill. She sat, swung her lithe torso around, and began to ease herself down. Freylis lived in the small room above a candle maker's shop. It wasn't too far off the ground, only a single story, and Marrika had no trouble negotiating toeholds until she could drop safely, silently, to the ground. When her solitary walk was completed, she would return the way she had come with the help of her grappling hook. Such entrances and exits were familiar to Marrika, whose specialty was climbing into the rooms of unsuspecting second-story residents.
Her feet landed with a soft crunch on the gravelly stone. Once down, she crouched, tense, her back flat on the wall until she was confident she had not been observed. She dropped the hook into the sack she had made for it and tied it securely to her belt. Then, tossing her mane of curly black hair out of her eyes, she strolled into the darkness.
Marrika never had a destination on these late-night treks. Her only desire was to steal a few hours to herself, a few precious moments when she wasn't "Freylis's woman." Tonight Marrika's aimless wandering brought her to the center of the sleeping town. The temples were closed and dark at this hour, save for the ever-present illumination that spilled from Light's temple and the two lamps that flanked the Godstower.
A movement in the darkness caught her eye, and she tensed, hand on her dagger. But the shape scurrying across the cobblestones, the lantern it carried bobbing as it went, showed no interest in Marrika. It scuttled to the Godstower and was swallowed by shadow. A moment later, the deep, resonant tolling of the bell echoed through the square.
It took Marrika a moment to recall whose time of day it was. Her eyes widened as she remembered, and a slow smile spread across her lips. She sheathed her knife and walked, hips swaying deliberately, over to the Godstower.
When the man emerged, she stepped out of the shadows. "Greetings, Blesser of Vengeance." The little man gasped aloud. Then, his voice trembling, he replied, "And unto you, my good lady. Are you coming to the service, then?"
"Indeed I am, Blesser." She kept her voice soft, pleasantly modulated, as she sized up the Blesser of one of humankind's most feared gods. He wore the robes of his brotherhood, black cloth that almost enveloped him. The moon shining down on his face gave her a good view of his countenance. He was small and slight, a young man to have such sunken, angular features. She couldn't see his eyes clearly, but knew they darted about because the moonlight glittered as they moved.
He's nervous, she thought. Good.
Marrika followed him silently as he hastened back to the shelter of his god's temple. It was a moderate-sized, low stone building, void of the ornate decorations that often adorned other holy houses. Within, the Holy House was dark, and as the Blesser pulled open the massive door, the blackness seemed almost palpable. But Marrika was not afraid. Unlike most of the citizenry of Braedon, she regarded the cloak of darkness as her favorite garment.
The Blesser entered, fussing about as he lit the few torches that provided illumination. The flickering lights seemed to actively struggle with the shadows, which retreated but did not flee. The floor was hard-packed earth. A circle was drawn in the center, made, if Marrika remembered correctly, from the ground bones of Vengeance's animal sacrifices. It was not a complete enclosure, however. The circle would be sealed later, as part of the ceremony. Inside the sacred ring was Vengeance's altar. Marrika couldn't quite identify the items on the altar this far away from them, but could make a good guess as to what they might be.
There were no windows at all.
The Blesser followed her gaze to the altar and started abruptly.
"My apologies," he said, "but I... I truthfully wasn't expecting anyone to
She hesitated just long enough to retrieve her leather-covered grappling hook, and stepped boldly onto the window sill. She sat, swung her lithe torso around, and began to ease herself down. Freylis lived in the small room above a candle maker's shop. It wasn't too far off the ground, only a single story, and Marrika had no trouble negotiating toeholds until she could drop safely, silently, to the ground. When her solitary walk was completed, she would return the way she had come with the help of her grappling hook. Such entrances and exits were familiar to Marrika, whose specialty was climbing into the rooms of unsuspecting second-story residents.
Her feet landed with a soft crunch on the gravelly stone. Once down, she crouched, tense, her back flat on the wall until she was confident she had not been observed. She dropped the hook into the sack she had made for it and tied it securely to her belt. Then, tossing her mane of curly black hair out of her eyes, she strolled into the darkness.
Marrika never had a destination on these late-night treks. Her only desire was to steal a few hours to herself, a few precious moments when she wasn't "Freylis's woman." Tonight Marrika's aimless wandering brought her to the center of the sleeping town. The temples were closed and dark at this hour, save for the ever-present illumination that spilled from Light's temple and the two lamps that flanked the Godstower.
A movement in the darkness caught her eye, and she tensed, hand on her dagger. But the shape scurrying across the cobblestones, the lantern it carried bobbing as it went, showed no interest in Marrika. It scuttled to the Godstower and was swallowed by shadow. A moment later, the deep, resonant tolling of the bell echoed through the square.
It took Marrika a moment to recall whose time of day it was. Her eyes widened as she remembered, and a slow smile spread across her lips. She sheathed her knife and walked, hips swaying deliberately, over to the Godstower.
When the man emerged, she stepped out of the shadows. "Greetings, Blesser of Vengeance." The little man gasped aloud. Then, his voice trembling, he replied, "And unto you, my good lady. Are you coming to the service, then?"
"Indeed I am, Blesser." She kept her voice soft, pleasantly modulated, as she sized up the Blesser of one of humankind's most feared gods. He wore the robes of his brotherhood, black cloth that almost enveloped him. The moon shining down on his face gave her a good view of his countenance. He was small and slight, a young man to have such sunken, angular features. She couldn't see his eyes clearly, but knew they darted about because the moonlight glittered as they moved.
He's nervous, she thought. Good.
Marrika followed him silently as he hastened back to the shelter of his god's temple. It was a moderate-sized, low stone building, void of the ornate decorations that often adorned other holy houses. Within, the Holy House was dark, and as the Blesser pulled open the massive door, the blackness seemed almost palpable. But Marrika was not afraid. Unlike most of the citizenry of Braedon, she regarded the cloak of darkness as her favorite garment.
The Blesser entered, fussing about as he lit the few torches that provided illumination. The flickering lights seemed to actively struggle with the shadows, which retreated but did not flee. The floor was hard-packed earth. A circle was drawn in the center, made, if Marrika remembered correctly, from the ground bones of Vengeance's animal sacrifices. It was not a complete enclosure, however. The circle would be sealed later, as part of the ceremony. Inside the sacred ring was Vengeance's altar. Marrika couldn't quite identify the items on the altar this far away from them, but could make a good guess as to what they might be.
There were no windows at all.
The Blesser followed her gaze to the altar and started abruptly.
"My apologies," he said, "but I... I truthfully wasn't expecting anyone to
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