The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [112]
“I did no such!” Tears welled in her eyes. “Evan, please, never ever think that!”
“I don’t know what to think!” Salamander tipped his head back and raised both hands to the sky. “Alshandra, Alshandra, I swear it on your sacred name! Never did I mean offense to you and yours! Strike me down if I lie!”
Salamander heard a gasp from the surrounding priestesses and the rustle of clothing as they moved away from him, getting out of range in case Alshandra took him at his word. For a long moment he kept his gaze fixed on the sky, then slowly looked at Lakanza. The high priestess had clasped her hands together and raised them to her lips, but she regarded him steadily.
“I’ll say more,” Salamander continued. “If I am in truth Vandar’s spawn, then I’d be better off dead than running any risk of somehow wounding you and yours and giving offense to her. Give the order, Your Holiness, and I’ll—I’ll—” He looked wildly around, then gestured at the watchtower. “I’ll climb to the top of that tower and throw myself down naked upon the stones at its foot. I’ll be a willing witness to her faith.”
“Now here, be not so quick with your words,” Lakanza said. “These be grave things you do say, just as the matter itself be most grave. I’ll not be rushing you to your death, Evan. Mayhap there be a way to save you from it yet.”
Salamander looked at Sidro, who glared narrow-eyed and furious in return.
“Your Holiness,” Sidro hissed. “The knife—”
“I do ken it well,” Lakanza interrupted. “The wyvern knife does never lie, and so, Evan, there must have been a lie on your mother’s lips. No doubt she felt great shame for her intemperate act, and that very shame does clear her of such nasty charges as whore. Young lasses oft fall prey to handsome men, and they say that the Spawn have handsome faces to hide the foul souls within. As for your wyrd, there be a need on me to convene the council. A purification, perhaps, or some penance, a quest, a deprivation—some such thing to redeem your soul. I ken not her will. I shall call the council straightway. The leaders in this world, our razkanir—there be a need on me to consult with them as well as with my sisters in the faith.”
“May I ask how long it’ll be,” Salamander said, “before I know my fate?”
“I have no wish to let you writhe in fear, but I ken not how long the council will argue the matter, though half the night be likely. If our law states and her will agrees that you must throw yourself down, you’ll not die before sunset tomorrow. That be all that I can promise.”
“And in the meantime, Your Holiness?” Sidro broke. “Is it that we leave this creature loose, roaming around our sacred home?”
“Call him not a creature!” Rocca said. “You be the beast here, Sidro the Sow, with your judgments so ready and sharp.”
“Enough squabbling!” Lakanza raised both hands, then brought them sharply down. “Evan, since you did swear as to the manner of your death, should you face it, yondro tower room shall be your prison. There be a need on you to tarry there till the council does hand down its ruling. My heart aches for you, but in my soul I do believe that should you dash yourself upon the stones, she will stand ready to catch you on the other side of death.”
Salamander bowed his head. “That’s all I’d ever ask, Your Holiness. So be it, if the council wills.”
“In the meantime, you shall have food and drink.” Lakanza clapped her hands three times, and two armed Horsekin stepped forward from the crowd. “Do take him there and have things done as I have said.”
The two guards grabbed Salamander’s arms and twisted them behind him. He allowed himself one grunt of pain.
“Nah!” Lakanza snapped, then spoke quickly in the Horsekin tongue.
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