The Temple of S̆ams̆a_The Tears of Kas̆dael

A grave look stole over the captain’s face as Ardîl finished speaking. “Duluhhû? Surely you don’t think Lord Sarganīl has been compromised. Yet…” Her frown deepened. “It could explain some of his recent behavior.”

“You’re familiar with this group,” Ihra questioned the priest.

“‘Familiar’ is too strong a word,” the old man sighed, “but I have heard of them, though it's been nearly two centuries. I was still a fresh-faced initiate at the temple then, with not so much as even a hair on my chest, so I wasn’t involved in the many meetings that went on behind closed doors - but I remember the chaos they caused.”

“To walk the halls with your brethren, unsure if one may have been given the order to steal from the temple, to open the gates to an invader, to slip a knife between your ribs when you least expect it. Unsure if perhaps you had been given the same order.” He stroked his beard absently as he spoke, his eyes glossy with painful memories from the past. “It was a terrible time in Birnah, and yet those of us at the temple had it far better than the rest of the city.”

“Did the gods protect you?” Ihra guessed.

“In a way," Ardîl agreed. "Most priests of the Celestial Warrior will receive a great boon from Lord S̆ams̆a when they reach level 100, a blessing of protection that guards against many types of harm, including mental attacks. Thanks to this boon, our leadership played an important role in rooting Duluhhû’s infection out of the city, along with the aid of a few nobles whose treasuries contained protective amulets they’d looted from the Fey during the third war.”

“But if the nobles had these charms, surely Sarganīl, lord of the city, would have had access to them too,” Ihra pointed out.

“Perhaps the amulets failed,” Ardîl began, but Captain Maras̆s̆amas̆ shook her head in disagreement.

“It’s more likely a mage simply took him unaware. Mind magic has been all but exterminated in the Empire and even nobles do not make a habit of wearing relics unnecessarily, lest they break them. The charms likely sit in his treasury untouched.”

“And do you truly think Sarganīl has been bespelled?” Ihra questioned.

“It would explain much. I never much liked the man, but Lord Sarganīl was never a coward before, nor was he one to imprison others without at least some justification. I’d rationalized before that he’d moved against the temple out of bruised pride after your leaders allowed the durgū to poach one of your healers, but if your priests are truly able to resist mind magic, it seems plausible that Duluhhû’s servant used it as an excuse to remove them from the equation,” the captain mused.

“Have you seen a strange mage recently? He may have been dressed in a brown tunic with a hood?”

“No,” the captain chuffed, “or perhaps I did, and the memory was removed. Unlike Ardîl, I have no skill that guards against such foul tricks.”

“I have something that protects me,” Ihra admitted, “but the others don’t.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Erin muttered, and Ihra frowned as she glanced over at them. “I don’t want you to ‘manage.’ Since my runes should protect me, I suppose we’ll be relatively safe as long as you never leave my side, but that will make it hard to be stealthy. You don’t happen to have any of those charms, do you?” She added, turning to the captain with hopeful eyes.

“Hardly,” Maras̆s̆amas̆ scoffed. “I’m sure Lord Sarganīl has a few hidden away in his keep, but you would need an army or two to crack that. I can smuggle you out of the castle and let you take a look around the city, but that’s all the help I can offer for now.”

“Actually,” Ardîl cleared his throat noisily, garnering their attention. “I believe I can help. In the aftermath of the final Fey war, I believe the temple also received a few of these charms as part of our share of the spoils. The temple's only a few blocks from Dūr-Sulmu, so the trip there should be safe enough as long as you stick together.”

“But what if the mage is lying in wait for us?” Asâta objected.

“If Duluḫḫû's servant already knows of your entrance into the city through a hidden tunnel the commander of this keep wasn't even aware of, then either one of us is compromised or he is virtually omniscient. I think you’ll be fine,” the priest replied with a smile.

The captain made good on her word, and an hour later found them wandering the streets of Birnah. The city felt almost off-putting to Ihra. The sun-drenched lands and villages around the fortress were warm and inviting, with their homes built of dried wood and thick adobe that kept the heat at bay. By contrast, the city of Birnah felt like a city transplanted from the cold north. Its iron-coated outer walls radiated uncomfortable levels of heat into the city itself, while most of the buildings were built of solid, gray rock. That was not to say the city was entirely bereft of beauty, but its austere aesthetic was unappealing to her.

They reached the temple without issue, but it did little to change Ihra’s opinion of Birnah. Raised on a podium reached by a single flight of stairs, the temple of S̆ams̆a, despite its three towering floors, managed to look almost squat due to its sheer width. The complex resembled a fort more than the temples she was used to, and the soldiers guarding its steps, dressed in the colors of Sarganīl, did little to discourage that impression.

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“Does your temple normally have such cheery hospitality,” she asked the healer in low tones as they approached the waiting guards.

“Master Babbānu would have a fit if he could see this,” she muttered, barely restraining her gasp of outrage as the guards demanded a ‘toll’ from the citizens waiting in front of them. "No one should be turned away-"

“Shush!” Ihra hissed, as they reached the front of the line.

“A silver a piece,” the man drawled, not really looking at her, and Ihra breathed in sharply. A silver?! It was highway robbery, but she dared not complain, and grumpily withdrew three coins from her purse and dropped them into the man’s outstretched hand.

The guard glanced down at his palm and raised a brow. “That’s two,” he lied brazenly.

Stiffly, she pulled out a fourth and handed it to him. His hand snapped shut and he stepped aside, with a smug smile. “The city thanks you for your contribution.”

Ihra kept the outrage off her face until she was well past him and did not stop until, after ascending the flight of stairs, she entered the temple's foyer. While the outer facade of the temple may have looked like a fortress, the inside was adorned more traditionally. A large, rectangular hall with fine marble floors and spiraled pillars that supported a lofty, vaulted roof ended in a massive statue of Lord S̆ams̆a. A reflection of the city’s martial heritage, S̆ams̆a stood with a sword raised above his head, while his foot trampled on the neck of a defeated enemy, though Ihra couldn’t tell from afar which of the dark gods he was fighting. And though S̆ams̆a was the primary focus of the temple, as always, a smaller chapel was consecrated for his consort, the lady Selene, and on each side of the hall miniature shrines were dedicated to those gods not fortunate enough to have a temple of their own in the city.

On a whim, Ihra paused at the shrine dedicated to Kas̆dael. While offerings, votives, and worshippers surrounded the other shrines, Kas̆dael’s was almost abandoned. Three lonely candles flickered before the basalt statue of the goddess, which in continuation with the temple’s martial theme, featured her tearing apart a foe with her bare hands.

The offerings were equally sparse - a sheath of nearly withered flowers, a basket of rotting fruit, and a wooden doll. The amateur craftsmanship of the doll was obvious, with a face that lacked the fine features of Kas̆dael’s statue and limbs that were oddly proportioned, but so too was the devotion with which it had been made. The doll wore a tiny scarlet tunic, embroidered with finely stitched flowers in sharp contrast to the crudity of the carving, and a folded letter was clasped tight in its hands. A prayer for fertility, Ihra suspected.

She stepped carefully around the doll, and bowed before the goddess, murmuring a brief prayer for the success of their mission. As usual, she heard no response, but she felt a lightness in her chest when she arose that hadn’t been there before. A smile lit her face as she turned to face the healer. “All right, Asâta. Where is this priest Ardil wanted us to talk to?”

“Acolyte,” the healer corrected her. “And I’m not sure where Iltiāb is.” A petite woman, the priestess stood on her tiptoes to see above the crowd and settled back down a moment later with a shake of her head. “I don’t see him here.”

Ihra’s face tightened with concern. “We need those charms. Any idea where he might be?”

“Asâta?” A burly man pushed past the crowd of worshippers gathered around Tsiāhu’s shrine and swept the healer into a hug. “Are you back already from your mission?”

“Hush!” She squealed as she wriggled in his arms. “I’m not supposed to be back yet, S̆ams̆āb.”

The man let her drop to the floor and grief flooded his face. “You aren't here because of what happened to the priests, are you? You can't blame yourself, Asâta - no one could have guessed Lord Sarganīl would have reacted thus."

“Maybe not, but I heard what happened,” she whispered, “and I’m here to help them. Do you know where Iltiāb is? Ardîl gave me a message for him.”

S̆ams̆āb scratched his head. “Iltiāb? I guess Ardîl wouldn’t know, but after they were carried off, Iltiāb was pressed into his lordship’s personal service. He hasn't been allowed back to the temple since. Perhaps I can help you with whatever Ardîl wanted?”

A word of warning sprang to Ihra’s tongue - the man seemed friendly enough, but with a mind mage on the loose, anyone could be compromised - but Asâta didn’t notice her frantic shake of the head. “Ardîl wanted him to let us into the lower floors. There’s something in the archives he wanted us to bring him,” the healer explained, handing the letter to the other acolyte.

He scanned it perfunctorily and tucked it into his shirt, before pulling a ring of keys out of his pocket. “Then it seems I’m the guy you need,” he said with a broad smile.

As S̆ams̆āb led them out of the great hall and into the private chambers of the temple slipped Aphora’s misericorde out of her bag, and slid it up her sleeve, keeping an eagle eye on their guide, while Asâta and him chatted away blithely. Erin was more observant and noticed her unease.

“You think he’s one of them?” he whispered.

“I don’t know. It’s impossible to know,” she muttered back. “But even though he’s Asâta’s friend, his mind could have been tampered with, unless she's got some magical friendship powers I'm unaware of.” The scout snorted, but from the twitching in his fingers, Ihra guessed he prepared a spell.

But the acolyte made no move against them as they passed through the private chambers, and he led them down a narrow flight of stairs into the lower floors. “The archive should be just ahead, but I expect old Emūq will want to know what you’re doing down here.”

“They didn’t take him with the rest?” Asâta’s step hesitated.

“Said something about him not being a priest, I don’t know,” the man shrugged. He stepped close to the door and after a few failed keys, found the correct one. A whine filled the hall as the old hinges protested against their use, and the three followed him in. As he’d predicted, an old man already sat at one of the tables, and his head snapped as he approached.

“S̆ams̆āb? Is that you? Who gave you the right to let others into the archives? You may hold the keys-” He started to yell, but S̆ams̆āb plucked the letter out of his pocket.

“Ardîl authorized it.”

Ihra saw the change in the man’s eyes as the name Ardîl was spoken and stepped forward. The misericorde whistled through the air as the old man surged to his feet, his eyes milky and his face flushed, and drew his sword. The weapon was barely out of the scabbard before it clattered to the floor useless as the man collapsed in his chair, clutching at a dagger in his throat.

“Selene’s grace - what have you done?” S̆ams̆āb crumpled to the floor as Ihra struck him from behind, knocking him out cold. “Sorry,” she flashed Asâta an apologetic smile, “but we don’t have time to stick around for explanations. Now where are these amulets?”

The Temple of S̆ams̆a

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