Alta

“That magic!” shouted the Magus, and he sounded nearly beside himself with rage. “That filthy, foreign magic! Your quarters are riddled with it! How dare you practice magic here? Get out here and explain yourself, this instant!”

“Why must I come out there?” Heklatis wondered softly. “I would have expected someone like him to simply barge in here.”

“I don’t think he can come in,” whispered Kiron, with ill-concealed glee. “I don’t think he can get past your wards!”

“Really now? Hmm.” Heklatis’ eyes danced with malicious merriment. “What an unexpectedly pleasant side effect! Well, I suppose we had better come out. Wait a moment, though.” He took the time to tie the wet poultice he had prepared over the bruise on Kiron’s arm. “All right, now we go.”

Kiron came out first, followed by the Healer. The Magus glared at him and then in the same instant, dismissed him as unimportant, and transferred the glare to the Healer. “Answer me, rot you! How dare you practice magic here?”

Heklatis’ brow wrinkled, and he spread his hands wide. “Forgive me, my Lord, but are you referring to the young dragon rider’s poultice? I assure you, there is no magic there. Merely wormwood in vinegar and other herbs.”

“No, I am not referring to the god-rotted poultice!” the Magus snarled. “I am referring to magic. Your room there reeks of it! I cannot even pass the door to inspect!”

“Magic, my Lord?” Heklatis repeated ingenuously. “But my Lord, I am a simple Akkadian Healer. Where would I have learned magic?” He widened his eyes and looked as innocent as a child.

“How should I know where you learned it?” countered the Magus. “That—”

“Ah, wait, my Lord,” Heklatis interrupted him, with a wild wave of both hands. “Perhaps I know what is the cause of your misapprehension—”

He—well, the only word was minced—back into the workroom. Kiron knew, of course, that Heklatis was one of those who preferred his own sex to that of women, but he had never, ever, seen Heklatis behave in a feminine manner before, much less in such an exaggerated fashion. And when he saw the look of disdain mixed with extreme discomfort on the Magus’ face, he knew why Heklatis was acting so out of character.

A moment later he—now the word was definitely flounced—back out, with one of the statues of his gods in his hands. Specifically chosen to make the Magus as uncomfortable as possible, it was the king of the Akkadian gods, stark nude, accompanied by a slender young man serving as his cup-bearer, and the two of them were in a pose that suggested that it shortly wasn’t going to be the cup that the young man was bearing. Akkadian art was quite realistic. The Magus actually broke into a sweat.

Though judging from his words, it might not have been the subject of the statue—or at least, not only the subject—that was making him sweat. “Yesss,” he hissed, pointing a finger at the statue. “That’s one source—that—”

Heklatis regarded it fondly. “Well, then, there is your explanation, my lord. It is not magic that you sense, but the blessing of my gods! I took all my household images to the appropriate temples to have them blessed before I left to journey here. And I took the precaution of acquiring a large store of specially blessed amulets at the same time. I supposed that some of my patients might seek the blessing of a god when they came to me to be healed, and I was right.”

“Heresy!” said the Magus in a strangled voice. Somehow he didn’t sound sincere. Not surprising, considering that what the Magi were doing, in raiding the Temple of the Twins for the Winged Ones in order to work their magic, might well actually be heresy.

“I beg your pardon?” Heklatis frowned. “There is no law in Alta barring the worship of other gods than those you Altans worship. The contrary, in fact. And I make offerings at both sets of altars, yours and mine, anyway. So where is the heresy in that?”

“It is—” but the Magus could get no further; he simply spluttered and shuffled his feet in impotent rage.

“Are you suggesting that the Great Ones are planning on barring the worship of one’s own gods in one’s own household?” Heklatis continued, eyes glittering dangerously. “I certainly hope that is not the case. I would not remain in this city for a single moment, if I thought that was true—and neither would any other Akkadian, and of course, I would have to tell my compatriots of the change in the law as soon as I could.” He held out his free hand and studied his fingernails carefully. “I think the Great Ones would soon come to regret that before too long. Given the kinds of positions that Akkadians fill all over this city. . . .”