uniform had been laid out for her across the footlocker at the foot of her bed, and atop it sat a new tabard, this one emblazoned with a chevron and crown above her heart, signifying her new rank of Sergeant. She couldn’t resist smiling as she beheld it. She was not a prideful woman bynature, but she did like how seeing this badge of honor made her feel.
She had dressed and postponed a morning meal to be in the marshaling yard when the Father-Bishop and the others left.
Father-Bishop Creegan smiled when he saw her approach and put his hand on her shoulder. “The fate of the Order in the west is in your hands now, Sandreena.” He leaned in so no one else could overhear his words and he said, “There’s something on my desk you need to read; it’s the report you brought to me. Act on it at once. I don’t know exactly what you need to do, but I’m sure it will be the correct choice. I’m not telling you what I would do; this must be your decision.”
Almost impulsively, he kissed her good-bye, but rather than a mere touching of the lips, he lingered a scant instant longer, and just before it became something both of them needed to worry about, he pulled back. “May the Goddess go with you,” he whispered.
She could only nod, words failing her. As he mounted his horse, she managed to return the benediction. “May the Goddess go with you, Father-Bishop.”
The High Priestess was fussing about her mount, a mild palfrey but still spirited enough to make the older woman show concern as she sat uncomfortably on the small horse. It was obvious the High Priestess would have preferred a litter, but the need to be in Rillanon by the date of the convocation prevented that more sedate mode of transport. She would be very sore and unhappy by the time they reached Salador.
The party moved out and as soon as they cleared the gate, Sandreena hurried to Creegan’s office. Atop his desk lay two pieces of paper and the bundle she had carried from Durban.
She looked at the first, which had her name on it. She opened it and read: “Sandreena, if the Goddess wills it, wewill meet again. Know the Order’s trust rests with you and I have faith you will discharge the duties I’ve given you as well as if I undertook them myself. I’ve left you a list of those whom you may rely upon”—she knew he meant those who would be trusted in dealing with the Conclave and the matter of the demons—“and a report you must attend to at once. May the Goddess go with you.” It was signed only “Creegan.”
She looked at the list and found it had only five names on it. Four were priests and one was the orderly assigned to this office, the only member of the Order of the Shield who apparently knew about the Conclave of Shadows.
She looked up to see the man named on the list, a Prior of the Order, Brother Willoby. He was a round-faced, stocky man with a constantly worried expression. He said, “Sister? May I be of service?”
She sat down in Creegan’s chair and said, “I will let you know, brother.”
“I will be outside if you need me,” he answered. The clerical branch of the Order were administrators. Unlike the Knights, they worked within the temples, as lay priests, but they were not properly of the clerical calling. These were men and women who had the calling, but not the strength of arm to serve in the field. Like most of the Knights, Sandreena hardly gave the priors a moment’s thought, but she suspected she might come to appreciate them when she looked at the rest of the documents beside the desk that would require her attention.
She took the list of names and folded it up. She would burn it later. She already had memorized the names.
Then she opened the report given her by the nameless Kingdom noble and read it. She put it down, picked it up, and read it a second time.
Standing up, she shouted, “Willoby!”
Within a moment, the cleric appeared, asking, “Yes, sister?”
“Three things. First, do I have a