Sands of the Soul by Voronica Whitney-Robinson Page B

Selgaunt, people were buying and selling every kind of merchandise possible, but what puzzled her was that several different priests were hawking their gods as though the deities were simply wares as well. In front of the lighthouse, proselytes of Selune, dressed in their white and blue finery, were preaching to a group of slaves. Tazi suspected Jhe slaves were listening merely to give themselves a break for a few moments, but then two other acolytes descended on the small congregation. One wore the black and purple robes of Shar and the other a pair of white bound hands, showing she was a follower of Ilmater. It only took a short time before the sermons turned to shouts between the three. Tazi had never seen any temple in Selgaunt tolerate that type of behavior.
    “What’s going on?” she asked Fannah.
    Fannah turned slightly. “What do you mean?”
    “Those proselytes over there are about to start fighting,” she exclaimed.
    “Oh, that,” Fannah chuckled. “It’s a well-known saying
     
    around here that ‘Hook Ward has a holy war at least twice a day’!”
    “I can’t believe it’s fitting for them to behave like that,” Steorf added, breaking his silence. “Doesn’t it shame their gods?”
    “Steorf, you misunderstand,” Fannah explained gently. “I think nearly every deity of Faerun is represented here in Calimport. Many of the clerics have to compete for followers or their temples will suffer. It is their duty. In fact,” she added, “it is perfectly acceptable for clerics to hold secular positions in the city, with their salaries going back to their respective temples.”
    <”I guess I just don’t understand,” Steorf replied, shaking his head.
    He glanced around uncomfortably, and Fannah smiled indulgently.
    “It is a little hard for foreigners,” she said. “Come along. Selamek’s Warehouse is not too far away. We’ll be able to pick up a few things there.”
    Traveling in a southeasterly direction, the three continued to push their way through the crowds. Tazi looked back over her shoulder one last time at the sermon to see if the priests had come to blows, but the crowd swallowed up the view.
    Fannah expertly led the two through the mazelike streets and Tazi found herself shoved right up against her, the crowd was so thick at times. The Calishite woman didn’t even appear to notice the close quarters, but as Tazi glanced over Fannah’s shoulder, she could see that Steorf looked distressed as well.
    Though Selgaunt was a busy merchant city in its own right, Tazi found she was almost suffocated by Calimport. The streets, such as they were, were very narrow, with mud brick walls dividing and subdividing every possible space. Though the streets opened to the sky, across many of the walls that separated the drudachs merchants had laid poles. From these poles, the ingenious peddlers managed to string
     
    up even more goods. Tapestries and rugs hung from some, while jewel-hued, freshly dyed yarns hung from others like cheerful spiderwebs. Hardly a breeze stirred the hot air. Tazi felt trapped and claustrophobic.
    “Fannah,” she whispered in her friend’s ear, not wanting Steorf to know she was uncomfortable. She felt that, for the sake of the group, and since she saw his reticence with the dog, she couldn’t afford to show fear or allow failure.
    “Wouldn’t it be easier if we went along the walls above instead of fighting our way against the tide down here?”
    Tazi had been noticing how much room there was on the higher walkways, and how much airier they looked, too.
    “If we did that,” Fannah explained, “we would draw much more attention to ourselves. The upper walkways are for more ‘noble’ people. There is anonymity and safety for us down here.
    “Don’t worry,” she added, “I can tell from the smell that we’re nearly there.”
    Soon enough, Tazi understood what she meant. A sour odor filled the unmoving air, and Tazi found herself gagging. Without saying a word,