the soreness from your muscles.” Then she winked. “And in four days you and I
are going to a party.”
“Where?” Daphne asked suspiciously.
“The Governor’s Palace,” she answered lightly. “Where else in this city?” She
left Daphne then, chose a manica, a buckler, and a sword from the weapon stores
and went to engage both Gestas and Dismas at once.
She had changed to leathers again to move through the afternoon streets. One
sword hung from her weapon belt, and two daggers were thrust through straps on
her thighs. She wore a heavy, hooded cloak to conceal her face and to keep out
the chilly cold that seemed to bite right through to her bones.
In daylight, more people braved the streets. Apparently, the different factions
that tried to carve up the city restricted their activities to nighttime. That
suited her. She had plenty to attend to without the minor distractions of wild
eyed fanatics.
The doors to the Temple of the Rankan Gods stood open. She mounted the marble
steps one at a time and went inside. At the entrance she paused, pushed back her
hood, gazed around. The structure was magnificent, yet it had an odd, unfinished
feel to it. The interior was lit by hundreds of lamps and braziers and by a huge
skylight that illumined the prime altar with Savankala’s own glory. Above the
altar an immense sunburst of polished gold burned and shimmered and cast
reflections around the huge chamber.
On either side of Savankala’s altar were smaller altars to Sabellia and
Vashanka. They were of equal beauty and craftsmanship, but they were illumined