mind did not know what longings had drawn the swirling entity from its esoteric
plane. Nor did he have any idea how to dispel or appease it if, indeed, either
could be accomplished.
“I am troubled, 0 Stormbringer. I seek guidance to restore Vashanka’s power to
its proper place.”
“VASHANKA WAS, IS, AND WILL BE NO MORE. HE DOES NOT TROUBLE YOU. YOUR TROUBLES
ARE BOTH GREATER AND LESSER.”
“I have but one need, 0 Stormbringer: to serve Vashanka’s avatars.”
“USE STEALTH, PRIEST, TO SERVE YOUR AVATARS. THAT IS YOUR LESSER TROUBLE. I WILL
NOT HELP YOU WITH THE GREATER.” The seething cloud that called itself
Stormbringer, the ultimate Storm God, inhaled itself. “THAT THORN AND ITS BALM
LIE WITHIN YOUR PAST,” it whispered as it blended into the first red streamers
of dawn light.
Molin remained on his knees thinking he was surely doomed. He had not begun to
recover from Ischade’s suggestions and insinuations, and now the gods were
speaking in riddles: Use stealth; lesser troubles and greater troubles; thorns
and balms. He was still on his knees when Walegrin clapped him on the shoulder.
“I had not thought to find you praying here.” The soldier flinched when Molin
turned. “Have I changed so much in one night?” the priest asked.
“Have you been here all night? The sea air is dangerous for those not born to
it.”
“And lying is dangerous for those not born to it.” He took Walegrin’s arm and
rose to his feet. “No, I went first to the house of Ischade, by the White Foal.
She told me that our wayward mage, Randal, has been caught in the Nisi witch