Zia had been too enchanted with the idea of a warm meal and a bed which, if not soft, was at least dry, to consider the gate before them. “It stinks of a trap, but I don’t see a smart way around it,” Drexl said. The gate was constructed of black stone, seemingly in one piece, and was easily large enough to admit the gates of Izkarzon’s castle should they get a mind to up and visit Fief. I am tired, if I’m contemplating ambulatory castle gates.

  “I don’t see a way around it,” Zidrist replied, “short of chancing the fire.” The flame in question resembled the fire a foot or two above a fireplace; it was not a constant wall of flame, but an intermittent, almost gasping flame which flickered in and out of being all along the body of the wall. “I don’t much like the idea of that, unless one of you has earth sorcery you haven’t told us about.” Drexl scoffed at that. As though someone would teach sorcery to bread. They cause enough trouble without magic.

  “It’s so big,” Darka said, marveling at the gate. “I wonder how they made it. Can it be pure earth sorcery? You’d need an entire team of sorcerers to move so much stone.”

  “Dragons.” Zidrist did not elaborate, until she noted the curious glances of all three—four. The rag doll. Because a party of four would be unlucky. But I don’t think the rag doll is giving her a curious glance—of her compatriots. “Dragons have power over their sphere. One goodly aged earth dragon could probably form an arch like this. Izkarzon could drain entire swamps to make room for farms or land. What’s curious to me is that it makes a hole in the fire wall.”

  “Off we go, then,” Zia said. “Unless you’ve changed your mind on me burning down the inn before we leave.” May as well defer to Zidrist on this, she has the spiritual authority I lack and squabbling over every little point only undermines my own authority.

  “They’re heretics, but they were lied to. The priestesses of Fief preach a faith of the One God which does not call for draconic intercession, but the intercession of Virtues, Powers, and Saints. That does not merit them a death, fiery or otherwise.”

  “But aren’t crusades just the killing or conversion of unbelievers?”

  “They are. And any student of history will note that in the recorded past Izkarzon never led a crusade into Fief.” Was that a barb? Oh, whatever, she’s already leading the discussion. I may as well learn from her. “He defends his borders jealously, as with the skull totems, but he’s never gone further than sending missionaries to Fief and the Sevens.”

  “Not to the Belt and Buckle?” Zia asked curiously.

  “It would be a bit strange to try and convert the largely draconic inhabitants of those islands, don’t you think?”

  “Oh. Yes.” She has all the answers. But she can’t get us a room at an inn. Neither can I for that matter. What are we doing here? Am I any better off than if I’d just—no! This is a holy mission, it is important! And it’s my best bet of reclaiming my lost status. “I apologize, Deacon Zidrist. I had uncharitable thoughts regarding our mission. If you have parchment, I will make a Confession of Guilt.”

  Zidrist waved a dismissive hand. “I think we’ve all had those thoughts.” What? Heresy from a deacon?! “This has not been the smooth, two-day trip that it was pitched as.” That’s hardly fair. I thought it would be, and you could have called for us to turn around at any point and we would have had no alternative but to obey. “Oh, calm down Zia. You look like you swallowed a frog. I’m not calling you out, I’m just commenting on the strain. First thoughts are not what condemn a woman or a man, but second thoughts. And your second thought was to offer to sign a Confession of Guilt for doubting the necessity of this mission.”

  “You are kinder than the priestess might have been, Deacon. Thank you.”

  “Is that not why you chose me? I was a more approachable member of the Church of Izkarzon?” Zia mumbled something and shook her head. “No? Do tell. What led to you selecting a deacon over a priestess?”

  “I wanted… I wanted the credit. For finding the heir. If the priestess had gotten involved I might not even have gotten to go along.”

  As they talked, they had slowly approached the black stone gate, and walked through its length. A platoon could easily march abreast down this thing. There was no fire within, but a cold wind blew out from the far end. When they made their way inside, they found a curious landscape of stone and large lichens, mottling the surface of nearly every rock formation. It was cold, was Zia’s first note. You’d think somewhere ringed by fire would be hot. I’m not used to this, Dragold is nice and warm even when your clothes get wet. Though a fire isn’t much amiss when wet. How are we going to start a fire without wood? I don’t see trees anywhere.

  “You wanted credit for this adventure?” Zidrist raised an imperious eyebrow. “Are you undertaking this holy mission purely for the rewards?”

  “As though that surprises you. You know me from my attendance, my confessions.”

  “Zidrist, darling, hubris is a sin, as is disingenuity. You said Zia’s motives were suspect from the beginning, but that you thought it was worth the risk for the greater good of the nation.”

  “Thank you, Darka, I was… not going to admit that.”

  “That’s why you love me! I remember you told me, ‘Darka, I am a deacon, a clerical member of Izkarzon’s Church. This does not make me greater in Izkarzon’s eyes, but I run the very real risk it will make me greater in my own. Please, throughout our marriage, keep my feet on the Orth and my head unswollen.’ It was the sweetest declaration of trust I’d ever heard, or have heard in the twenty-odd years since.” They’ve been married twenty years? Lucky. To have your person, to know who they are and… I keep thinking this. It’s resentful, I shouldn’t envy the things other people have. It’s neither healthy nor moral. I didn’t know Darka was so old though, she’s aged well. I would have guessed with Zidrist though, with the gray in her hair.

  Zidrist kissed Darka on the cheek. “You’re absolutely right, darling. Thank you.” Zia made calf’s eyes at Drexl, but she was blandly surveying the landscape around them as though the conversation wasn’t happening.

  After a while longer, she pointed at a speck on the horizon. “Our best bet at a building. Maybe a fire. Shall I jog ahead again? I don’t think we need to worry about bandits unless they have horses, there isn’t enough brush or much of anything else to hide behind. Besides, this is the main approach from Dragold into Fief.”

  Zidrist looked blandly at Zia and rolled her hand to indicate that it was her place to say. See? Not arguing over every little thing has its benefits. She’s willing to concede a minor decision because I yielded to her expertise on moral issues of heretics and blasphemers. Whatever the difference is. Zia shook her head. “As you said, there could be bandits on horses. Do horses eat lichen?” Zia looked around at heads shaking in lack of knowledge or shrugged shoulders. In a swampy land like Dragold horses were not commonplace. “We’ll fare better as a group, and Zidrist—” Zia took a deep breath. “—Zidrist and Darka have the social skills. I’m mostly good at being the life of the party or circulating in rarified society.”

  Drexl imitated Zidrist’s imperiously raised eyebrow, though her face scrunched up funny when she tried to raise just the one, and said, “Bit of a backhanded compliment. We aren’t accustomed to ‘circulating in rarified society,’ so we’re not good at hanging with nabobs.” I didn’t mean it like that, sarx it! Don’t know what I should expect from bread. I guess I forgot she was bread and focused more on the fact she’s my friend. And as my friend, she’s been really slow to take things personally. I’ve seen her wince once or… well, more times than that, when I’ve spoken in mixed groups.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “I’m flattered to be the social skills of the group,” Darka said. “It’s no easy task, organizing a couple-dozen Dragold scions into a coherent chorus. Everyone wants to be the soloist. Let me tell you, getting them to stop doing vibrato on every note—” Darka laughed gaily. I suppose she does everything gayly, she’s married to Zidrist. Conversation continued in more benign veins until, an hour or so later, they approached the speck Drexl had spied in the distance. It was a Church—church—building, and they put their heads together on how to approach it.

  “Do churches offer hospitality in Fief?” Zia asked Zidrist.

  “To pilgrims, I think, yes.”

  “Are we pilgrims?”

  Drexl adopted a lopsided grin. “Decidedly not. But the real question is, can Zidrist fake being a pilgrim long enough to get us a hot meal and some beds?”

  Zidrist adjusted her travel garb, fortunately different from the formal robes of an Izkarzon deacon. “I think I can. One God, Black Queen, pray to Virtues and Thrones and Powers… wait, no… sar—drat, I think I have those out of order.” Did I just almost hear a deacon of the Church of Izkarzon swear? But doesn’t Scripture warn us against… I shouldn’t think of it too much. Questioning the sanctity of clerical members without being one is more than my life is worth.

  “Well, give it your best, ey?” Drexl asked, slapping Zidrist on the back; she looked shocked for a moment, then rolled her eyes and slapped Drexl on the back in turn with an agreeing head nod. Zia strode up to the door of the main church building and knocked. And then knocked more loudly, a little while later. The second time, an older man with pale skin and numerous liver spots answered the door. Zia stepped back and indicated Zidrist.

  “Greetings, Father. We are pilgrims, hailing from—”

  “Ah, I know where you’re hailing from! Your accent gives it away! Don’t worry, ever since that heretical God-King died we’ve had your lot trickling in twos and threes and one time tens into Fief, looking for Answers.” He wheeled on them, grinning. “Let me tell you, in Fief we have answers. Our tradition goes back at least as far as that blasphemous old lizard and it’s all about. The. One. God.” He cackled. “You didn’t think an old man like me kept up this chapel in the lichen fields by himself, did you? We’ll get the pews in the chapel waxed and then get you some soup and bread.”

  Zia mouthed to Zidrist, “manual labor?!” Zidrist rolled her eyes and indicated her graying hair, to which Zia had no retort. Zia had completed just three pews by the time the rest of the group met her in their rounds, and her body ached from the unaccustomed labor. The Daring Kaliskast never had to wax benches in a church for his meals. The meal, as well, was very bland, slightly bitter and sour. Zidrist seemed to view it philosophically, Darka kept up a running commentary on the food which seemed to delight the old priest to no end, and Drexl… well, Drexl was bread, she’d eat mud if it had nutritional value. Practically had, rooting about for tubers.

  “I was wondering, Father, if you might have any sheet music in Loon?” Darka was asking.

  “Eh? Sheet music? Like for a choir? Oh, probably, back in the library. I’ll show you after dinner.”

  “If it’s in my register, I might like to buy some? We have silver.” What’s this we business?! Don’t go volunteering my limited funds to get you your pet interest satisfied! …except that’s why I’m here. Sigh.

  The Father waved his hands dismissively. “I’m too old to sing like I used to, though I can hum with the best of them, and you’re the first person to ask. Makes me wonder if the rest coming through just wanted a free meal and a cot.” Zia swallowed her mouthful convulsively and choked, but the Father seemed not to notice. I should probably try to remember his name. “Just take a few. Not the whole folio, or whoever succeeds me will wonder, but certainly a dozen songs or so.”

  Darka smiled warmly and took another spoonful of soup before replying, “Thank you, Father.”

  “Call me Ignite. Hearing ‘Father’ too many times makes me feel old. And I’ve got enough age as it is!” He laughed again. “Tomorrow morning is service, so you won’t have to wait too long to hear a sermon and get some Answers.” We have to sit through an atheist sermon?! This adventure definitely isn’t like the Daring Kaliskast! Well, he did have to attend that one cult ceremony, but he killed everyone before it was over and rescued the beautiful sacrificial victim. “You can meet the congregation, such as it is. You’ll get along, a lot of them wear leathers and weapons. We don’t know where the bandits come from, but come they do. Largely lichen farmers, shepherds, simple and decent folk. But I’ll put a little zing in my sermon, just for you.” I wonder what that’s going to mean. A little extra zing. Perhaps a good story about Hell. Surely the atheists of Fief believe in Hell. That’s where you go when you don’t properly worship the One God, even we agree on that much I’m sure. Not that I will worry about Hell. I’m ouroboros and I’m risking my life to stabilize the home of the One True Church of Izkarzon. It’ll be pleasant to hear what I’m avoiding, that others walk so blandly towards. Or even chase. Like those moon-worshippers back in Dragold. I mean, they did give us directions, and I guess they’re not more heretical than the people of Fief. But sarx it, I’m a woman and… sigh. Whatever. I’m tired.

  Darka continued making small talk with Father—with Ignite, one of those curious Loon names, for the rest of the meal, and then he showed them to the small dormitory. Zia idly wondered what he’d done with the ten that had come through, when he only had four cots. I suppose we were contemplating sleeping on the floor at the inn, we could have done the same here. Darka followed Ignite to the library, and as Zia collapsed in exhaustion on her bunk, she heard Darka going through vocal warm-ups and the beginning of something about a god named Deus. Can’t they even call the One God the proper thing? I mean, there’s Lord and Father Supreme and so on but Deus? What does that even mean? It’s not Draconic. Zia drifted off to sleep mildly offended and wondered why Zidrist wasn’t exercising her clerical prerogative of censure.

  He’s a Good God

  The name is Deus

  Do not mistake for Ze-us

  Don’t attempt to play-us

  We’ll put your neck in a-noose

  One God’s the highest

  The rest are all liars

  I talk to my deity

  Even though I’m just laity.

  He’s been Deified

  Reverized

  Sacredly iconified

  He’s a real good God

  Spoils the child spares the rod.

  Yeah wholly He’s holy

  He’s Deus.

  Your irreverence has no effect atheist

  Get me another one, get me another idol!

  We worship the Savior

  With style He’ll save your

  Soul and your spirit

  Afterlife don’t fear it

  Hell I won’t go near it

  I’ll go join the One God

  Although it may sound odd

  After I am under the sod.

  Pray to Him!

  Pray to Him!

  Pray to the Spirit!

  You see, the afterlife doesn’t have real pain

  Just the fear of it!

  Songs to the Lord, they slap

  Disbelief is a trap

  Sin severs you from God

  Yes I worship the Lawd!

  He’s a great deity that I need to serve

  I don’t wanna stop

  Pray to him! Pray to him!

  We worship our God and He’s not Ze-us

  He’s One God!

  He’s One God!

  Belief is nice

  We pray for everlasting life!

  One God gives waters of life

  Die of old age or by a knife.

  Our Deus

  He’s a good God.