Tigana by Guy Kay (novel24 txt) 📕

‘Then I have proved her right. How gratifying,’ said Alessan in an odd voice.

Devin felt suddenly cold. Off to their left, in the games field, Savandi’s boys were laughing again, lithe shapes clad in blue, running after a white ball. From within the dome he could hear, faintly, the sound of chanting. The end of the afternoon invocations. Two priests in formal white came along the path from the opposite direction, arm in arm, disputing animatedly.

‘This is the kitchen, and this the bakehouse,’ Torre said clearly, pointing as he spoke. ‘Over there is the brewhouse. You will have heard of the ale we make here, I have no doubt.’

‘Of course we have,’ murmured Erlein politely, as Alessan said nothing.

The two priests slowed, registered the presence of the strangers and their musical instruments, and went on. ‘Just over there is the High Priest’s house,’ Torre continued, ‘beyond the kitchen and the outer school.’

The other two priests, resuming their argument, swept briskly around the curve of the path that led to the front of the temple.

Torre fell silent. Then, very softly, he said: ‘Eanna be praised for her most gracious love. May all tongues give her praise. Welcome home, my Prince. Oh, in the name of love, be welcome home at last.’

Devin swallowed awkwardly, looking from Torre to Alessan. An uncontrollable shiver ran along his spine: there were tears, bright-sparkling in the brilliant sunlight, in the porter’s eyes.

Alessan made no reply. He lowered his head, and Devin could not see his eyes. They heard children’s laughter, the final notes of a sung prayer.

‘She is still alive then?’ Alessan asked, looking up at last.

‘She is,’ said Torre emotionally. ‘She is still alive. She is very—’ He could not finish the sentence.

‘There is no point in the three of us being careful if you are going to spill tears like a child,’ Alessan said sharply. ‘Enough of that, unless you want me dead.’

Torre gulped. ‘Forgive me,’ he whispered. ‘Forgive me, my lord.’

‘No! Not “my lord”. Not even when we are alone. I am Adreano d’Astibar, musician.’ Alessan’s voice was hard. ‘Now take me to Danoleon.’

The porter wiped quickly at his eyes. He straightened his shoulders. ‘Where do you think we are going?’ he snapped, almost managing his earlier tone again. He spun on his heel and strode up the path.

‘Good,’ Alessan murmured to the priest, from behind. ‘Very good, my friend.’ Trailing them both, Devin saw Torre’s head lift at the words. He glanced at Erlein but this time the wizard, his expression thoughtful, did not return the look.

They passed the kitchens and then the outer school where Savandi’s charges—children of noblemen or wealthy merchants, sent here to be educated—would study and sleep. All across the Palm such teaching was a part of the role of the clergy, and a source of a goodly portion of their wealth. The Sanctuaries vied with each other to draw student boarders—and their fathers’ money.

It was silent within the large building now. If the dozen or so boys on the games-field with Savandi were all the students in the complex, then Eanna’s Sanctuary in Lower Corte was not doing very well.

On the other hand, Devin thought, who of those left in Lower Corte could afford Sanctuary schooling for their children now? And what shrewd businessman from Corte or Chiara, having bought up cheap land here in the south, would not send his son home to be educated? Lower Corte was a place where a clever man from elsewhere could make money out of the ruin of the inhabitants, but it was not a place to put down roots. Who wanted to be rooted in the soil of Brandin’s hate?

Torre led them up the steps of a covered portico and then through the open doorway of the High Priest’s house. All doors seemed to be open to the spring sunshine, after the shuttered holiness of the Ember Days just past.

They stood in a large, handsome, high-ceilinged sitting-room. A huge fireplace dominated the southwestern end and a number of comfortable chairs and small tables were arranged on a deep-piled carpet. Crystal decanters on a sideboard held a variety of wines. Devin saw two bookcases on the southern wall but no books. The cases had been left to stand, disconcertingly empty. The books of Tigana had been burned. He had been told about that.

Arched doorways in both the eastern and western walls led out to porches where the sunlight could be caught in the morning and at eve. On the far side of the room there was a closed door, almost certainly leading to the bedchamber. There were four cleverly designed, square recesses in the walls and another smaller one above the fire where statues would once have stood. These too were gone. Only the ubiquitous silver stars of Eanna served for painted decoration on the walls.

The door to the bedroom opened and two priests came out.

They seemed surprised, but not unduly so, to see the porter waiting with three visitors. One man was of medium height and middle years, with a sharp face and close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. He carried a physician’s tray of herbs and powders in front of him, supported on a thong about his neck.

It was at the other man that Devin stared, though. It was the other man who carried the High Priest’s staff of office. He would have commanded attention even without it, Devin thought, gazing at the figure of what had to be Danoleon.

The High Priest was an enormous man, broad-shouldered with a chest like a barrel, straight-backed despite his years. His long hair and the beard that covered half his chest were both white as new snow, even against the whiteness of his robe. Thick straight eyebrows met in the middle of a serene brow and above eyes as clear and blue as a child’s. The hand he wrapped about the massive staff of office held it as if it were no more