Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

The voice was as he remembered it . . . cool, deep and utterly confident. Pytor bowed slightly as Chardan dismounted in front of the Temple. Not much else had changed about his childhood friend either. Unless one noticed the even finer cut to his black robes, the glint of more gold than was seemly for a priest to wear, and the subtle hint that the food in Sunhame was tempting beyond belief.

Pytor took Chardan’s hand in greeting. “I’m sorry to be so ill prepared. You came earlier than expected.”

Chardan waved a dismissive hand. “All the more time to talk to you, old friend.” He glanced around, his eyes cataloging the cottages that stood around the Temple. “Besides, I’m not used to all this riding about. Simply put, I want to get this over and return to Sunhame. You really should change your mind and join us there. Nothing can be accomplished here in this backwater. You’re made for better things that this.”

Pytor said nothing.

“So,” Chardan said, again taking a slow look at the village. “Everyone’s out in the fields, I take it?”

“They are,” Pytor replied. “We have no inn here, as you well know. I’m not sure where—”

“I’m sure your villagers can make room for my three companions. As for me, I can suffer a night in your bed, old friend. Durban said you always took to the barn when he was here. Sorry to put you at such inconvenience, but I’ll be gone by tomorrow afternoon.”

Pytor smiled what he hoped was his most disarming smile. Tomorrow. Oh, by the mercy of Vkandis, let me be strong until tomorrow night.

The noontide sun beat down like a burning hammer. That alone could account for Pytor being slightly lightheaded, but what he faced now was enough to cause cold sweat to gather on his brow. He hoped Chardan would mistake it for honest sweat produced by the heat, and not an indication of guilt.

Pytor had managed to make it though yesterday afternoon with no sign of his growing unease. Chardan had presided over the evening service, the villagers reacting to the senior Black-robe’s presence with suitable awe. But the night Pytor had spent in the barn had been one of the most unnerving in his life. He had spent most of the night in prayer and rose fuzzy-headed before dawn to participate in the morning service. Now, standing before the Temple in the blazing noon sun, he prayed again for the strength he felt he sorely lacked.

“Where are the rest of the children?” Chardan asked in a deceptively quiet voice.

The children who had remained, who had never given any evidence of talents or powers, shifted slightly. Their parents, who had grouped themselves on the other side of the Temple’s doorway, kept their expressions as neutral as they were able.

Pytor drew a deep breath, forced himself to meet Chardan’s eyes, all too aware the three junior Black-robes were watching him carefully.

“According to my records, old friend, there should be six more children living in this village.”

“There are,” Pytor said, struggling to keep his voice as devoid of emotion as Chardan’s. “They’re all cousins. Unfortunately, their grandmother is dying, and they left with their parents to be with her before Vkandis calls her home.”

There. He had done it. Lied. Actually lied to someone he had pledged faith to.

“Hmmm.” Chardan glanced down at the list he held in his hands, a list Pytor suspected contained the names of everyone who lived in Two Trees, their ages and their sex. “Interesting. And your sister, Pytor? I missed her company last night. Where is she?”

This line of questioning caused Pytor’s heat to jump in his chest. “Visiting our cousin Najan,” he replied, his mouth gone dry.

“The itinerant trader? And why would she go visit him now?”

Pytor shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows what goes on in a woman’s head?” It was a safe response for a man to give, though Selenna would have excoriated him had she heard.

“Hmmm.”

Pytor held his face to an expression of polite attention, certain Chardan watched his every move from the corners of his eyes.

“Well,” Chardan said at last. “Since impending death of a family member grants adults and their children exemption from the Feast of the Children, I suppose we’re done here. Once again, old friend, I congratulate you on the condition of your village and the souls you minister to. We could have been treated no better in the larger towns we sometimes visit.” He folded the paper he held and lifted his right hand in blessing. “Go with the love of the God who watches over all,” he said, his voice deepening into stentorian depths. “Turn to his Light and away from all things dark, and flee in peril of your very souls from anything that verges on the edge of witchery! May the blessings of Vkandis Sunlord be upon you all!”

The villagers and their children responded, as was custom and ritual, “May it be so.”

For a moment, Pytor’s knees threatened to give out. Relief flooded his heart. Could it be over? Could he have actually—