The Jewel of Turmish - Mel Odom [57]
Over the sound of the rain and the cart Effrim said, "Maybe it would be better if we alerted the city guard."
"No," Brother Tohl responded, already drenched even though he wore his best traveling leathers.
"We are only six priests," Effrim said.
"I pray to Eldath that we are enough," Tohl said through chattering teeth.
The horses' iron-shod hooves struck fire from the ill-fitted paving stones. Rarely more than a few people were out on the streets so late at night, and the storm had driven most of them indoors. Only a few sailors just now come up from the docks braved the fierce rain. None of them gave more than a moment's notice to the racing wagon.
In the back of the wagon, the other priests prayed in low voices that scarcely rose above the clattering horses' hooves. All of them were old, in their last years of service to Eldath. Sadly, Tohl knew the Quiet One's influence had ebbed. Few on dry land were drawn to Eldath, though worship of the goddess flourished among the sea elves and others deep within the Sea of Fallen Stars. After the dream, though, and the revelations it had brought, Tohl knew Eldath had not abandoned them. He blinked water from his eyes and squinted through the rain.
"There," he said, spotting the entrance to the graveyard where Borran Kiosk had been entombed all those years ago.
He pulled his traveling leathers tighter around him as he saw the gloom and bleakness that clung to the place.
Effrim pulled on the reins, guiding the horses toward the path overgrown with weeds and brush. The horses stumbled at the graveyard's entrance. Effrim laid the lash across their backs and talked to them. Showing flat-eared reluctance and snorting in fury, the horses paused a moment more at the entrance then raced forward again as if dashing into a clearing.
The wagon jumped and bucked as it careened across the broken ground. Many of the graves had sunken over the long years, creating coffin-sized pits that held water inches deep. Effrim was hard pressed to keep the horses under control.
Lightning stabbed down from the sky and touched a grave ornament ahead of them. The iron rod shaped like a budding flower encircled by a sunburst symbolized Chauntea, the Great Mother. The lightning shone white-hot for a moment then faded away, leaving the superheated metal glowing cherry red and smoking in the rain.
"That was close," Effrim said.
The glowing metal dimmed a little as they passed. Effrim brought the wagon to a halt in front of the tomb. The horses stamped and surged against the traces.
Tohl hoped it was the cold and rain that made the horses restless, but as he gazed up at the tomb, he knew it was likely something else that scared them. Steeling himself, the old priest stepped over the wagon's side and dropped to the muddy ground.
"Brother Tohl," Brother Micahan whispered as he joined Tohl. "There is the possibility that if Borran Kiosk did rise from his coffin, he might already be gone."
Tohl studied Micahan's cowled visage. Micahan was old and thin from lean years and hard work. His hands had started shaking these past few years and grew worse with each passing season.
"If Borran Kiosk is gone," Micahan continued as rainwater dripped from his hooked nose, "what will we do then?"
"We will try to follow his trail, Brother Micahan, to the best of our abilities." Tohl replied, whispering as well, not wanting his voice to carry too far into the tomb. It was a childish fear, he knew, but it was also one he couldn't escape.
Micahan nodded and whispered, "As Eldath wills in her wise generosity."
"Praise be those days that I can continue to give to those less fortunate," Tohl quoted.
He turned from the elder priest and hefted the mace he'd brought from the temple. It had been years since he'd taken up a weapon. The weapon felt clumsy and crude in his hands.
Effrim handled his own warhammer with certain skill. He practiced most mornings, but even he, the youngest and most physically able among them, didn't display too