Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [13]
“Oh, my lady, has the worst come upon your clan?”
“It has. Will you shelter us?”
“Gladly, but I don’t know what to do about this lad with you.”
“It’s only Gwen in her brother’s clothes,” Gweniver broke in. “I thought we’d best pretend to have a man with us.”
“Well and good, then. Now ride in quickly, all of you.”
Dark and shadowed in the moonlight, the vast temple compound was crowded with buildings, some of stone, others hastily thrown together out of wood. Priestesses with cloaks over their nightdresses clustered round the refugees. Some took the horses to the stables; others led Gweniver and her party to the long wood guest house. Once an elegant place for visiting noblewomen, it spread out crowded with cots and chests, and women of all ranks sheltered there. The blood feud that had just reduced the Wolf clan to three women was only a single thread in a hideous tapestry of civil war.
By the light of a candle lantern the priestesses found the newest arrivals empty cots in a corner. In the midst of the whispers and confusion, Gweniver lay down on the nearest one and fell asleep, boots, sword belt, and all.
She woke to find a silent, empty dormitory flooded with light from the narrow windows near the roof. She’d come to this temple so often that for a moment she was confused: was she here to pray about her vocation or to represent her clan at the harvest rite? Then the memory came back, sharp as a sword thrust.
“Avoic,” she whispered. “Oh, Avoic!”
Yet no tears came, and she realized that she was hungry. Sore and stretching, she got up and wandered through a doorway at the end of the dormitory into the refectory, a narrow room crammed with tables for desperate guests. A neophyte in a white dress kirtled with green screamed aloud, then laughed.
“My apologies, Gwen. I thought you were a lad for a moment. Sit down and I’ll fetch you porridge.”
Gweniver unbuckled the sword belt and slung it on the table. She ran one finger down Avoic’s second-best scabbard, chaped in tarnished silver and inlaid with spirals and interlaced wolves. By all rights under the law, she was the head of the Wolf clan now, but she doubted if she could ever claim her position. To inherit in the female line, she would need to overcome more obstacles than Tieryn Burcan of the Boar.
In a few minutes Ardda, high priestess of the temple, came to sit beside her. Although she grew old, with her hair turning gray and lines webbing her eyes, Ardda’s step and carriage were as lithe as a young lass’s.
“Well, Gwen. You’ve been telling me for years that you want to be a priestess. Has the time come upon you now or not?”
“I don’t know, my lady. You know that I’ve always had doubts about my calling, but do I have any choice in the matter now?”
“Don’t forget that you’ve got the Wolf lands for a dowry. When the news spreads, I’ll wager that many a man among your father’s allies will want to come fetch you out.”
“But oh, ye gods, I’ve never wanted to marry!”
With a little sigh Ardda unconsciously reached up and touched her right cheek, covered with the blue tattoo of the crescent moon. Any man who touched in lust a woman with that mark would die. Not merely noble lords but any freeborn man would have slain the defiler; everyone knew that the Goddess’s wrath meant the crops would fail and no man ever sire a son again.
“Knowing you, you want to keep the Wolf’s lands,” Ardda said. “That means marrying.”
“It’s not only the land. I want to keep my clan alive. May the Goddess blast me if I let the stinking Boars win!”
“I wish you wouldn’t curse in the temple.”
“I’m not cursing. I mean it. But there’s my sister. If I swore to the Goddess, then the right of inheritance would