The Grove(125)
Lanneraun lifted his age-thinned brows, their color long since turned white above his brown eyes. “Manners, Deacon Shanno. Witch-priest Aradin has been assigned here by the Gods Themselves as an assistant to Keeper Saleria. Even if he weren’t assigned to Groveham, he should still have your respect as a holy guest.”
Shanno compressed his lips into a thin line. He gave Aradin only the slightest tip of his head . . . then narrowed his blue eyes. “Wait . . . as an assistant to Keeper Saleria? On whose authority?”
“On the authority of the Gods,” Aradin said, glancing at the younger man from under his lashes. It was clear from the faint sneer on the deacon’s lips that he didn’t quite believe the Witch. “Both my own God and Goddess, Darkhan and Dark Ana, and your God and Goddess, Jinga and Kata, approved of my assignment to assist Keeper Saleria in the management and reclamation of the Sacred Grove.”
“You?” Shanno asked, flipping a hand at Aradin. “A foreigner?”
“Yes. Me. A foreigner.” Aradin wasn’t surprised by his disbelief, or his disdain. The younger man had struck him as a bit arrogant.
“Actually, Aradin Teral here is a highly trained Hortimancer,” Lanneraun stated, supporting Aradin. “He certainly knows his herbology—at the very least his Aian teas. He was able to discern purely by taste the region where the brew I served him was grown, and the spices I like to add.”
Shanno narrowed his blue eyes. “I’ll bet he is. Well. Gods bless you, foreigner. If you’ll excuse me, I must tend to my duties.”
(Oh, for the ability to skulk off in a different body,) Teral sighed in the back of Aradin’s mind. (I don’t quite trust that youth where we are concerned.)
(I don’t think he can really do all that much to us,) Aradin dismissed. (We have the blessing of the Katani Gods, after all.)
“Deacon Shanno is young. A bit arrogant, but hopefully some sense will be knocked into him,” the prelate dismissed.
(Isn’t saying that tugging on the shirt-tail of our divine neighbor, Fate?) Teral asked Aradin.
(Fine. If it happens, I’ll try to be ready for whatever “it” is,) he sighed.
“Now, where were we?” Lanneraun asked rhetorically. “Ah, yes, the huntsman’s wedding . . .”
Aradin quickly held up one hand, the other going to his still-sore stomach muscles. He chuckled lightly, but even that much was motivation to quit. “Please, have mercy, Brother Prelate; I don’t think my stomach can take much more mirth. That, and it’s past midafternoon. I’ll need to hurry to make my pre-dusk rounds. With Her Holiness at the Convocation, maintaining the safety of the Grove is up to me in her absence.”
“Ah, well . . . it’s so nice to have an appreciative audience who hasn’t heard my tales before. But I do understand the call of one’s duty. May Kata and Jinga bless you in your tending of the Grove, Brother Aradin,” Lanneraun stated, rising to his feet with a little effort; but only a little.
Rising as well, Aradin clasped hands with him. “I do look forward to hearing the rest of your tales another day. Gods bless you, too. I’ll go let myself out.”
Nodding, Lanneraun waved him off, moving from his visiting chairs to the seat behind his desk. Aradin turned left as he exited the room. There was a side door he could use that would avoid the main sanctuary, one that would get him closer to the Keeper’s home by a full city block. As he passed the next door, he could hear Deacon Shanno speaking.
“What do you mean, she’s busy? I need to speak to Lady Apista immediately!” the deacon asserted.
An unfamiliar voice spoke in an apologetic tone, but by that point Aradin was well past the doorway and couldn’t hear the exact words. Mindful of the passing time, he hurried out the side door. Between Aradin and Teral, the two of them could control and use up the flow of two thirds of the Grove’s rift-energies without having to visit each locus tree. But with Saleria absent, her rift’s magic would have to be gathered and used up the old-fashioned way, which meant walking the outer wall to empower its wards.
THIRTEEN
Her quarters for the Convocation were sparse, little more than a stone platform and a pallet for the bed, two blankets, a heating rune, a modest table for a nightstand, and a shorter version that could serve as a stool. It didn’t even have a door, just a curtain made out of a tapestry with some hastily stitched runes along the edge for privacy. The sunset-liveried servant who brought her to the chamber apologized profusely for the lack of amenities, showed her how to operate the crystalline strips of the ceiling for lighting and the metal rune set into one of the walls for heating, and promised everything would be vastly superior at the next Convocation.