attend tonight. It's not one of the High Holy Days, you see, and ... well.. ."
"Vengeance is not honored as he was in earlier times, is he, Blesser?" Marrika's voice was cool, and her dark gaze pierced him. He stared back, like a rabbit caught by a snake.
"No, lady. Sadly, he is not."
"That is a loss to Braedon, not to Vengeance."
The little priest flushed with pleasure, his eyes glowing. "You understand," he breathed. "Have you come to be taught, my dear?" The thought made him breathe harder, and he clutched the folds of his simple black robe so tightly that his knuckles whitened.
Marrika was on her guard at once, although she still felt in control of the game. Should this little man, in the grip of either religious or physical fervor, try to overwhelm her, he would not enjoy the welcome he received.
"Regretfully, no, Blesser," she said softly. "But I am looking forward to the ritual."
"Then by all means, let us proceed!" He turned and went back to the still open door, peering first right, then left. Grunting with the effort, he pulled the door to. "It would seem that you are the only one attending the service tonight, lady. I will be able to grant you my full attention." The words were calm, assured, but the quiver in the man's voice and his rapid breathing betrayed him. He stepped closer, his hands nervously playing with the tassels on his belt.
He indicated the circle. "If you would enter, we may begin." The ritual words seemed to calm him, and some of his high-strung mannerisms began to abate. He stood straighter, though he was still not as tall as his lone parishioner.
Nodding, Marrika stepped into the center of the circle. She could go through the motions well enough, and feigning devotion to a god was more to her liking than soiling sheets with Freylis. She sat down cross-legged on the hard-packed earth and gazed up at the Blesser, waiting.
He followed, moving with surety now. From a pouch that hung at his waist he withdrew a handful of white powder. Muttering words that Marrika could barely hear and could certainly not understand, he sprinkled the ground bone on the earth, closing the circle.
The temperature within the sacred ring plummeted. Marrika inhaled softly, startled. It was like stepping from summer into winter. Fear began to seep through her, ever so subtly. She hadn't bargained on this priest having true power.
For a brief, wild instant, she wondered at the wisdom of the course she had impulsively decided to pursue. Vengeance, like the beautiful Lady Death, was not a deity to be trifled with. But I'm not trifling, she thought, grinding her teeth in an effort to control the trembling engendered by mixed fear and cold. My desire is true — and so is my offering!
And what is that, lady?
Now Marrika did gasp aloud, her gaze flying from the floor to meet that of the Blesser. He was sitting across from her with a slight smile on his unattractive face. The bastard had mind magic! Hard on the heels of her startlement was the realization that the priest's talent didn't run very deep, or else he would have known her true thoughts.
Her eyes searched his face, and she relaxed. He enjoyed catching her off-guard, but he'd exhausted his bag of tricks. Marrika, though, was just beginning.
"Tell me what you want."
He spoke the words aloud. It was a lovely phrase to Marrika, and one she had heard often. Utterly cool, Marrika leaned forward. She emphasized her cleavage as she brought her face close to his.
"I want justice. Vengeance's justice."
"What is the offense?"
"Betrayal of my affections. And the usurping of power by one who does not deserve it."
The Blesser clucked his tongue sympathetically. Marrika could actually see sweat on his pale brow. She dared not let her contempt show. For all his training, all his magic, she still had the upper hand. If she played this right, success would be hers.
"Those are grave offenses indeed. How do you wish them to be punished?"
"Death," answered Marrika
"Vengeance is not honored as he was in earlier times, is he, Blesser?" Marrika's voice was cool, and her dark gaze pierced him. He stared back, like a rabbit caught by a snake.
"No, lady. Sadly, he is not."
"That is a loss to Braedon, not to Vengeance."
The little priest flushed with pleasure, his eyes glowing. "You understand," he breathed. "Have you come to be taught, my dear?" The thought made him breathe harder, and he clutched the folds of his simple black robe so tightly that his knuckles whitened.
Marrika was on her guard at once, although she still felt in control of the game. Should this little man, in the grip of either religious or physical fervor, try to overwhelm her, he would not enjoy the welcome he received.
"Regretfully, no, Blesser," she said softly. "But I am looking forward to the ritual."
"Then by all means, let us proceed!" He turned and went back to the still open door, peering first right, then left. Grunting with the effort, he pulled the door to. "It would seem that you are the only one attending the service tonight, lady. I will be able to grant you my full attention." The words were calm, assured, but the quiver in the man's voice and his rapid breathing betrayed him. He stepped closer, his hands nervously playing with the tassels on his belt.
He indicated the circle. "If you would enter, we may begin." The ritual words seemed to calm him, and some of his high-strung mannerisms began to abate. He stood straighter, though he was still not as tall as his lone parishioner.
Nodding, Marrika stepped into the center of the circle. She could go through the motions well enough, and feigning devotion to a god was more to her liking than soiling sheets with Freylis. She sat down cross-legged on the hard-packed earth and gazed up at the Blesser, waiting.
He followed, moving with surety now. From a pouch that hung at his waist he withdrew a handful of white powder. Muttering words that Marrika could barely hear and could certainly not understand, he sprinkled the ground bone on the earth, closing the circle.
The temperature within the sacred ring plummeted. Marrika inhaled softly, startled. It was like stepping from summer into winter. Fear began to seep through her, ever so subtly. She hadn't bargained on this priest having true power.
For a brief, wild instant, she wondered at the wisdom of the course she had impulsively decided to pursue. Vengeance, like the beautiful Lady Death, was not a deity to be trifled with. But I'm not trifling, she thought, grinding her teeth in an effort to control the trembling engendered by mixed fear and cold. My desire is true — and so is my offering!
And what is that, lady?
Now Marrika did gasp aloud, her gaze flying from the floor to meet that of the Blesser. He was sitting across from her with a slight smile on his unattractive face. The bastard had mind magic! Hard on the heels of her startlement was the realization that the priest's talent didn't run very deep, or else he would have known her true thoughts.
Her eyes searched his face, and she relaxed. He enjoyed catching her off-guard, but he'd exhausted his bag of tricks. Marrika, though, was just beginning.
"Tell me what you want."
He spoke the words aloud. It was a lovely phrase to Marrika, and one she had heard often. Utterly cool, Marrika leaned forward. She emphasized her cleavage as she brought her face close to his.
"I want justice. Vengeance's justice."
"What is the offense?"
"Betrayal of my affections. And the usurping of power by one who does not deserve it."
The Blesser clucked his tongue sympathetically. Marrika could actually see sweat on his pale brow. She dared not let her contempt show. For all his training, all his magic, she still had the upper hand. If she played this right, success would be hers.
"Those are grave offenses indeed. How do you wish them to be punished?"
"Death," answered Marrika
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