The Last Stormlord

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Scarpen Quarter Breccia City Level 3 and Level 2 Lord Basalt, High Waterpriest of Breccia and second in the hierarchy of the Quartern's one true faith, stood on the suntower that rose above the Sun Temple and watched as Jasper, on his way home after his religion lesson, threaded his way through the crowd on the streets of Level Three. Several guards, dressed as ordinary citizens, unobtrusively followed.

I hate him, Basalt thought, surprising himself by the degree of venom he felt. I hate the Quartern's next stormlord. He's a dirty Gibber sand louse with the soul of an unbelieving lowleveller. In front of me he pretends to worship the Sunlord, but I can see through him, even if Lord Gold does not.

In Basalt's opinion, the Quartern Sunpriest-who, following a long tradition, had taken on the name of Lord Gold for the colour of the sun-was far too gullible and forgiving, and too old for the job, as well. He was wizened, and shrivelled more with each passing day. Already his vigils under the Sunlord's face were weakening him.

Basalt allowed himself to daydream a little, visualising the Sunpriest's body laid out in the House of the Dead so that the rainlords could transfer his water to the libations cistern. Basalt would take pleasure in sprinkling that water on the ground when he was the new Lord Gold.

An unbecoming thought, he acknowledged. He pulled himself back to the present.

He could still see Jasper below, lingering at the edge of a crowd gathered around some street performers when he should have been on his way uplevel to Breccia Hall. Basalt could have sworn the Gibber youth was taller, more muscular and less wiry than when he had come for his first lesson barely one hundred days earlier. He would never have the height that Kaneth or Nealrith commanded, but he was already taller than most Gibbermen. When he walked the streets now, the girls turned their heads to look. Doubtless he revelled in their attention, blast him.

I know a lying hypocrite when I see one, he thought. And Jasper Bloodstone will be the greatest enemy the faith has, unless we curb him now. But how to convince Lord Gold of that?

Lord Basalt's hands clenched the balustrade. One day, he would prove to everyone that Jasper was as unworthy of the position he sought as he was of that pretentious name, Bloodstone. The bastard was no stormlord. He wasn't even a rainlord.

"Your feelings do you no credit, Basalt," a calm voice remarked.

Basalt jumped, startled. He'd been so intent on the desert-grubber that the Sunpriest had come to stand beside him, without his even being aware of the man's water.

"Ah. Lord Gold."

"I have found that if one wishes to impress the young with the righteousness of our beliefs, it is best to treat them with respect. It is our duty to guide them, not look down on them. Our vocation is to set an example of compassion, not condemnation. Even mild antipathy has no place in the heart of a priest."

He calmed the pounding of his heart with a few deep breaths. "Yet a priest should hate sin, Lord Gold."

"Sin? That young man has not a spare moment in his day to commit a sin!"

"His sins are not of the body. They reside in his heart and mind. He denigrates the Sunlord with his lack of belief."

"He has not expressed any such heresy, has he? Perhaps he doubts, but is that not a simple human failing? Have you never doubted, Basalt?"

He was shocked. "Never!"

"Then you are luckier than most. When I questioned Rainlord Jasper, at your suggestion, his comments were all that is proper."

"He lied."

"You cannot know that."

"He is not even a proper stormlord."

"Yet he is shifting clouds, and has been for the past thirty days or so."

His shock deepened. "You did not tell me!"

"It was not something you needed to know, and the Cloudmaster wishes us to keep gossip about your pupil to a minimum, as you know. You may not trust the young man, but he is our next stormlord, possibly the future ruler of the Quartern. You owe him your respect."

"But you told me he cannot extract fresh water from the sea!"

"Not yet, no. The Cloudmaster is still doing that. But it is young Jasper who brings the clouds to be broken. Ah, the sun sets. Would you commence the evening prayers, my lord?"

Obediently, Basalt lifted his hands, but just as he opened his mouth to begin, Lord Gold leaned forward to look down at the street below. "Wait. Some kind of commotion down there," he remarked. "Can you hear what they are shouting?"

Basalt bent over the balustrade. "It's a pede. I think that's Rainlord Iani on its back. He's in a tearing hurry, asking for people to clear the way." He frowned. "Wasn't he back in Qanatend?"

"As far as I know, yes."

"His pede is missing a feeler. And some legs, too, by the gait."

They stared at each other.

"Pray this doesn't involve that godless heathen of a sandmaster. The one they call Davim," Basalt growled.

"We'll know soon enough," Gold murmured. "No point in speculating." But as he spoke, he took his water skin from inside his robe and sacrificed the rest of his day's water allowance on the sun symbol recessed in the hard mud-bricks beneath his feet. Staring into the heart of the setting sun, he prayed for the Sunlord's intercession on behalf of Qanatend.

Jasper returned to Breccia Hall through the main gate, deep in thought. No matter how much he tried, he could not like the High Waterpriest. Basalt was so sure of his own righteousness that he had no understanding of another's failings. Worse, his was a religion of punishment for transgressions, and the more Jasper learned, the less he liked it. If he had not had several conversations with the older, milder Lord Gold, if he had not observed the gentle, unwavering faith of Highlord Nealrith, he would have despised the one true faith. As it was, he was learning to fear Basalt. The man's dislike was so strong that Jasper felt threatened.

Watergiver save me, Jasper thought with deliberate irreverence. He's as unreasonable as Galen in a drunken temper. But it wasn't drink that drove Basalt; it was religious fervour.

As he crossed the forecourt to the main door of the hall, sudden shouts behind him made him stop and look back.

"Make way! Make way!"

A single rider on a myriapede, moving in fast mode, entered the court. Jasper leaped to the side. The tips of the tens of feet clattered like water running down a slot as the beast shot past. To his astonishment, it didn't slow, but flowed up the front steps to the main entrance. For a moment, Jasper thought the rider was going to urge the beast inside, but one of the guards grabbed the reins, and the man leaped off. He almost fell, and the guard moved quickly to steady him.

"What is it, m'lord?" the guard asked.

"Reduners have attacked Qanatend," the man said. He gathered himself together and half-ran, half-limped the rest of the way inside.

"Who was that?" Jasper said when he reached the top of the steps.

"Rainlord Iani Potch, Reeve Jasper," the guard replied. Like most people, he was unaware that Jasper had any talents beyond those of a reeve.

Lord Iani the sandcrazy. His wife, Moiqa, was the Highlord of Qanatend.

As Jasper strode on, he pictured in his mind one of the maps he had been studying with Nealrith to learn where clouds were to be broken. Qanatend was the only Scarpen city on the far side of the Warthago Range, which meant it was the closest city to the Red Quarter. And now it was under attack.

Davim. It had to be Davim. He'd tired of waiting for Taquar to produce Shale Flint, the stormlord.

Jasper felt sick. Everything would change now.

And he had to tell Iani about the bracelet. He wasn't looking forward to that, either.