The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [128]
Deeming it best not to inquire, Durge sat with the others, although he chose a seat nearer the alcove’s door than the balcony overlooking the Etherion. Should anyone enter, Durge did not wish to be caught unawares.
After a few moments, someone did enter: a servant bearing a pitcher of wine and five cups. Another servant brought a bowl of some pale green fruit Durge did not recognize.
“Melia,” Aryn said, “are you going to address the Etherion?”
“I don’t think so, dear. At least not today.” She handed the young baroness a cup of wine. “I’m afraid I’m something of an outsider these days. It’s my intention simply to listen and find out what the various temples believe. And who knows? Perhaps those who plotted against Ondo and Geb will stumble in their speaking and reveal themselves, as the guilty so often do.”
Durge considered that a slim chance, although he did not say so. One who slew gods could not be an amateur.
Only about half of the Etherion’s alcoves were filled; the others were empty. No doubt many priests feared to leave their temples with the murderer still at large in the city. After all, it was not only gods that had been slain.
“It looks as if the discourse is about to begin,” Melia said. “Let’s listen.”
She moved to a gilded horn, shaped like a kind of trumpet, that protruded from the wall, and removed a cover that capped its mouth.
From his position near the door, Durge craned his neck so he could see over the balustrade. The white floor of the Etherion, far below, was empty save for a dais of creamy stone, triangular in shape. Three figures stood upon the dais, as did a pedestal topped by a gold orb. In addition, a trio of gold horns—similar to the one on the wall of Melia’s alcove—protruded from the pedestal. Again Durge wondered what they could be for. If they were trumpets, then they were facing the wrong way, for their larger ends faced outward.
“Who are those people?” Aryn whispered to Melia.
“They are the three Voices of the Etherion,” Melia said quietly. “They are selected anew each year to lead the discourse. One is selected by the temples of the two lowest tiers, one by the two highest tiers, and the other by those in the middle. Thus are all the temples represented.”
Aryn opened her mouth to ask more, but at that moment one of the three on the dais raised a hand and spoke. He was a tall priest, with shaggy black hair and, even from a distance, black eyes that glinted fiercely.
“I said the Etherion will come to order!”
Durge would have thought the man’s voice would be lost in the vastness beneath the dome, but somehow it seemed to come booming into the alcove. Despite the force with which his words were spoken, priests and priestesses continued to speak with one another and to move between the various alcoves and tiers, holding spontaneous meetings.
Falken let out a snort. “I’m not sure coming to order is something the Etherion knows how to do.”
Melia’s expression was pained, but she did not argue.
Durge watched the proceedings with a mixture of interest and disdain. It was clear the bard was correct; this was no orderly moot, but more a great, chaotic melee in which words were the weapons of choice.
The tall, shaggy-haired priest on the dais, Durge soon learned, was named Medris, and he represented the temple of Zeth, who was clearly one of the most powerful and important gods of Tarras, for the emperor followed his mysteries.
The woman who stood on the dais was Vanhera. She was nearly as tall and proud as Medris, but she was cool silver to his hot iron. As he listened, Durge learned that she was the high priestess of the temple of Yrsaia the Huntress, a fact which made Aryn gasp when it was revealed. Durge knew Yrsaia was one of the more important goddesses in the Dominions, but here Vanhera represented only