Bemused, Saleria thanked her, tucked her pack under the nightstand table, and took herself out into the maze of corridors. She got lost twice, the second time thanks to muddled directions from one of the servants, but eventually found her way back to the familiar territory near the amphitheater. One of the chambers had been set aside as a great banqueting hall, with tables and benches for dining, and more tables without benches laden with different kinds of food. Some of it hot, some of it cold, some of it fresh, some of it preserved . . . most of it was familiar, though there were a few unfamiliar items. One in particular, a strange dish filled with pale strips of some sort of boiled flour-paste and slathered in a creamy cheese sauce dotted with shrimp, proved quite tasty.
No sooner had she settled at one of the dining tables than a familiar black-robed figure stopped next to her, turned, and sat with her back to the table. “Good morning, Keeper of the Grove,” Witch Orana said, smiling at Saleria over her shoulder. “And how are you faring on this second day of the Convocation?”
“Oh, fine, thank you. Ah . . . are you really over two hundred years old?” Saleria asked, saying the first thing that flew into her head.
Ora nodded. “When you’re cursed—under false accusations—by the mages of Fortuna, it takes the will of the Gods to overturn it . . . but for reasons known only unto Them, They have chosen to keep my Guide and me alive for the full thousand years of our so-called punishment. I did manage to barter a lack of aging out of them, but it’s a very long story. How about your story? How is the Grove doing?”
“I left Aradin and . . . I left Aradin Teral in charge of it, and I have confidence they’ll keep it well,” Saleria told the Witch, correcting herself. “Part of me wants to go home and tell my people all I have seen, and said, and received in reply. But a larger part of me knows my duty is to stay here and continue to witness the Convocation. If anyone were to have a concern regarding Katan, or its citizens, or even our Gods, then it is my duty to remain on hand.”
“Well, if you have any messages for him, Niel and I now have the time to deliver them. Or if you need something from home,” Orana said helpfully. “The laundry services are working now, though I’m told they’re still gathering enough baskets for collecting it. I suspect in three days this place will be ruthlessly organized. I quite approve of how well everything is pulling together, despite its suddenness.”
“Yes, I’m rather impressed by the changes between yesterday and today,” Saleria admitted. “I look forward to seeing what will be here by the end of our stay.”
“I think I should go have a word with His Holiness of the Moonlands,” Orana murmured. “It would be an appropriate act of kindness for his nation to lend the ingredients for enough Ultra Tongue for each nation’s representative to have a drink. Don’t you think?”
Ultra Tongue . . . Ultra . . . oh, the translation potion! Saleria nodded. “That would be wonderful. Someone spoke to me this morning, a woman in bright red and orange robes, but I couldn’t understand a word of it other than her tone, and I’m sure she felt the same about the greeting I gave her.”
“I’ll see to it, then. Oh, Guardian Dominor wanted to let you know that the Fountainways are blocked by the Gateway of Heaven. He’s tried everything he could think of to connect with the others, but all he gets is interference from the sheer energy involved,” Orana told her.
“Well, that makes the kind offers to transport goods and messages from you and your fellow Witches all the more important, doesn’t it?” Saleria pointed out.
“True,” Ora chuckled. “Have a good breakfast. I’m actually off to bed, myself. I’ve been up all night listening to the ongoing petitions. Even at roughly an hour to the priest, it’s still going to take a bit of time to get through all of them. Dominor told me you were going to be recording all of it in scrying crystals. Niel and I look forward to seeing it all . . . but for now, we are very tired.”
“Sleep well—Dark Ana watch over you,” Saleria added. From the smile the other priestess gave her, it seemed to be the right thing to say. One of these days, she thought, watching the black-robed, blonde-braided woman move off, I will learn the full of her story. But for now, if I don’t eat, my food will grow cold. It may be freely given by these Nightfallers, but it shouldn’t be wasted.
Folding her hands together, Saleria gathered her thoughts and her energies, and carefully reworded her normal breakfast prayer. Gods of all nations, please share the blessing of this food with not only myself, but with the bounteous lands that produced it, the skillful hands that plucked and prepared it, and may the energy it gives me as I eat it this morning in turn permit me to give my energies back to the world at large today . . .