It is most curious, Zia mused, that Zidrist of all people was the one to suggest we attend a service at the local… She cast about for a suitably dismissive word for the small, unimpressive, un-Izkarzon building they were in, eventually settling on chapel. You would think that she, as a deacon of the Church of Izkarzon, would want to preserve us against corrupting influences. Especially seeing as our exposure to the outside world is already corrupting us, despite her presence. I mean, our conversation last night was downright heretical. Wasn’t it? I guess it wasn’t, seeing as she hasn’t excommunicated herself. Wasn’t there a saint who did that? As I recall, he accused himself of heretical thought, denounced himself before Izkarzon, and demanded to be fed to his Lord on the spot. And now he’s a saint. Saint… Akan? But she told us to come to this service so I suppose I should pay attention.

  At the head of the small chapel was a brown-skinned woman in a black robe with white trim, along with a cowl and gloves. Zia had failed to pay attention from the start, lost in her own thoughts, and so came into attention with no idea what she was talking about.

  “The Savior came and freed us from the old laws. He was the fulfillment of the old laws. But he specifically and explicitly, in visions and appearances, told the apostles which of the old laws we did not have to follow. So we eat the flesh of pigs, and we eat the flesh of abominations which grow larger and more readily than pigs, but we watch the words of our hearts because it is the words of our hearts which defile us, not the flesh of pigs.” What is she on about? We eat what we kill. Izkarzon eats—ate, I suppose—even humans! “But he did not give us freedom to ignore all the old laws! Particularly those which were moral imperatives! Did He not tell the Amonite teachers of the law that they must treat others as they would be treated and that this was the whole of the Teachings? For that reason in particular, we must continue to view the Scripture which came to us through the prophets and the wise kings and so on as, as I said, moral imperatives! It is not Godly that we no longer cancel debts every eight years, the holy number of years, simply because we are free to commit the act, and it is an act, of not canceling those debts! Tell me, my brothers and sisters, would you want to borrow from a friend, knowing they would hold it over you for all the rest of your days despite whatever vagaries of circumstance enabled you to pay or not pay? The Savior pronounced that every letter of the Law was to be followed, that He did not abolish it!” Is that right? I don’t know enough about Scripture to dispute it. Most of what we learned about Scripture was the tale of Gotorjod, the dragon who saved humanity from the One God’s wrath at the cost of her wings, and then the sins and the Icosal Imperatives of Izkarzon. “The Black Queen, One God praise her soul, was not the issuer of the Edict of the Reclining Eight, it was the White Queen! A temporal authority! She decreed both that debts would no longer go into remission and that usury was, on certain terms, perfectly acceptable by the secular government. The Black Queen has not seen fit to contradict her, but it is entirely within her power to do so! For do not forget! Though force of arms is in the White Queen’s hands, the force of the One God’s right hand lies with the Black Queen, and nobles of this land are not the ultimate sovereign over their estates, but mere renters of land in the holding of the One God and His First Bishop, the Black Queen!” I am completely lost. Zidrist appears to agree though. Or at least find it interesting. Zia continued to try and pay attention, especially when the priestess said something that made the audience gasp, but largely she was unsuccessful.

  After the service, Zia prepared to file out of the chapel after the priestess, but as she stood in the courtyard she realized she had lost both Darka and Zidrist. Looking around, she eventually spied the deacon standing in line—to talk to the priestess? The lady seemed like she’d made a pretty self-contained point. Zia sidled up to the head of the line and stood to one side, curious as to what would make a deacon of Izkarzon want to talk to a priestess of the false faith.

  “I was wondering, Priestess Malt, what you had to say to the pronouncement that with the death of the Savior, we were not free to sin, of course, but that it would not have been a perfect sin offering if we were still subject to the old Law?” Wait, is she challenging the priestess? On her own territory? Zia marshaled her will to summon flame and looked around anxiously, trying to spot the enforcers or other Eye equivalents which must be present in the crowd. Her failure only made her more anxious, for they must be very skilled indeed to hide so effectively. She returned her attention to Priestess Malt, and waited for the word that would bring about their demise.

  Malt smiled at Zidrist. “You’re a Dragoldian, aren’t you? Your accent gives you away. I hope I do not give offense, but I am more used to confusion than theological curiosity from people out of your land.” I mean, I was confused. But which word was the death sentence? Was it “Dragoldian?” Zia scanned the crowd again but still saw no likely executioners.

  “I am a deacon of the Church of Izkarzon. We are on a quest to find the heir of our Lord, for He was murdered by the Dragonslayer of the Sevens.” Several people’s heads turned at this, which Zia noticed curiously only after she saw that their hands remained slack at their sides, bearing neither weapon nor element.

  “I was unaware that your Lord had died. My condolences.”

  Zidrist shrugged off one shoulder. “It has been a trying time. Civil unrest. Thus our quest. My question, however, has nothing to do with it. I was simply… curious.”

  Malt nodded. “Of course. As to your question, even if we are not bound by the Law, it is no different than the commandments. Nobody would dispute that, with the sacrifice of the Saviors, the Orth Savior in particular I suppose—” Wait what? There was one Savior. That’s the whole—Zidrist is ahead of me.

  “Orth Savior?” Zidrist asked.

  Malt laughed, not unkindly. “See, that’s more what I’m used to hearing from Dragoldians. Prophets came to Fief during the Age of Loss and told us that the Savior came eight times, once for each inhabited planet of the universe. He died for the sins of each people, executed in the most shameful manner of each planet, that they might hear His message of salvation.” But He only had to die the once! He was the perfect sacrifice! Even I know that!

  “Ah. I see. It wasn’t about the atonement for sins, then. It was about letting every people know that the One God was ready to throw His arms open and welcome His children back into His arms once and for always, if only they repent. But you were saying, a parallel between the Law and the commandments?”

  “Of course. Nobody would opine that, even with the death of the Savior, we are free to kill one another. Yet they quibble and dispute the things which enable the making of money. Usurious loans and keeping their fellows in debt until the umpteenth generation, as though they were the One God and the debtor an impenitent sinner.”

  “But you said, in your sermon, that the Savior decreed we were free from the Law with regards to, for example, what animals to eat.” Why do you keep contradicting her? You’re going to get us killed!

  “That was not ‘for example,’ that was ‘the example.’ The Savior made only a few specific declarations as to the death of the old Law, and those examples were in accordance with the Two Commandments, as He taught them, or specific and exact revelations to His apostles.”

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  “You have given me much to consider, Priestess Malt. Thank you.” Both Zidrist and Darka bowed and moved on, closing with Zia. “You look like you ate a porcupine, Zia, what’s up?”

  “You questioned a priestess! She outranks you! You can’t even claim to be equals like the old guy at the last chapel! They’re going to come for us and we’re—”

  Darka put a hand on Zia’s shoulder. “Calm down, Zia. We’re not in Dragold anymore. Whatever the flaws of these peoples’ faith, they are not as, ahem, draconian as the Church of Izkarzon. Now then, I believe Drexl will be returning from her errand soon.”

  “And here I figured she just didn’t have enough respect for the Church this far from our homeland to let you compel her attendance.”

  Zidrist shook her head. “No, I wanted you to attend. Drexl is already very relaxed about the Church. You, rather clearly shown just now, are not.” Now what the sarx is the point of being relaxed about the Church?

  Drexl sauntered up. “Got them narrowed down, boss. Er, deacon. You’re the boss, Zia. I’m just used to taking orders from whoever’s on top at the moment.”

  Zidrist smiled. “Excellent.”

  “Where are we going?” Zia asked.

  “To take our letter of introduction to its intended recipient,” Zidrist replied. “Drexl was kind enough to find the local Thieves’ Guild, which is the best jumping-off point for us to find a member of the Royal Society.” And you kept me out of the loop why? I’m the leader, Lord damn it! “Oh, calm down, Zia. You’re turning beet red. I wanted to make sure your attention was on the sermon, which may have been a lost cause, but I was only giving the orders that you would have given yourself had you not been pondering why we were attending a Wholist service. I am, after all, under your leadership, is it not my place to anticipate your orders before you give them?”

  Zia preened at the stroking of her ego, at having even a hunger deacon deferring to her, her displeasure quite forgotten. “It was the next step. Thank you for your assistance, Zidrist.”

  “It is my pleasure to enable your ends, Zia.” Zia entirely missed any irony in Zidrist’s tone.

  Drexl led them to an adobe building much like any other, although the door was set in from the wall a bit such that one could hide from the winds. Inside the city walls they were diminished, but not entirely absent. She knocked on the door, and a slot opened at eye level. Two eyes stared out appraisingly, and without a word closed the slot and opened the door. The person at the door is obviously some kind of muscle, to repulse guard intrusions or unworthies. Drexl must have established our credentials al—ulp. As soon as the door closed behind them, they found themselves at knifepoint. Behind them, the bouncer held an axe, and several of the leather armored individuals had risen quickly from dimly-lit tables to menace them. Zia cleared her throat, and in her most dulcet tones said over her shoulder, “There’s no need for that. We’re here friendly-like. Don’t you want to make friends with us, big gal? I can be quite friendly.”

  The bouncer grunted and shook her head. “My type is the type with coin and a letter of introduction, not pockets to let interlopers.” The bouncer knows the word “interloper?”

  Darka spoke up. “We have a letter of introduction! Zia! Get it out of—”

  “Nobody’s getting anything out of anywhere. Shiv, search them for weapons. And coin.”

  One of the guildsmen got up and began patting them down, pocketing Zia’s silver in the process. Darka cleared her throat, and after her turn being searched began to sing. Shiv gave her a curious look, and the bouncer sneered, “Strange choice for your last words,” but nobody seemed to see any harm in a bit of music.

  At the end of Darka’s performance, there were actual tears in the bouncer’s eyes. And she was evidently not a mere bouncer, for she snapped off orders. “You’re a talented singer. We might keep you.”

  “You’ll keep my wife and my companions, then,” Darka replied.

  “You really want those to be your last words?”

  “Kill us then, and lose face in the Royal Society.” All the heads in the room snapped around at the mention of that infamous organization. “We have a letter of introduction from Dear Born of Dragold. It’s on Zia’s person, though Shiv likely took no notice of mere paper.”

  At the bouncer’s nod, Zia rifled through her bag to get out the letter of introduction. She’s definitely not a mere bouncer. Must be one of those types who likes to handle all her business personally. Or wants an excuse to hurt people when they don’t belong. Unfortunately, that may well include us.

  Marrow unfolded the letter and read it quickly. “You’ve got the wrong thief lord, Heirrors. I could kill you and not lose a thing.”

  Drexl spoke up this time. “Ah, but we’ve been vouched for by another thief lord, and we’re ‘interlopers,’ wouldn’t we be more useful handling a bit of dirty work for you that’s needed doing?”

  “And you’d want what for that?”

  “Nothing much. Our lives. Our silver. And directions to the right thief lord.”

  “What makes you think we have dirty work that needs doing?”

  “There’s always dirty work that needs doing. It’s just a question of whether it’s worth the trouble.”

  “Trouble is exactly what you’d bring down on us, if you came back here after causing a problem. But if we give you the directions first, you’ll just skip town.”

  “Let them meet the boss, Marrow!” One of the women at the tables shouted. “Let her sort them out!”

  Marrow, as was evidently her name, tilted her head thoughtfully before lowering her axe. The knives that had menaced them vanished into the folds of fabric from which they had been drawn, and the Heirrors were abruptly standing alone aside from the bouncer. Not a bouncer. Don’t underestimate people. Sarx I wish people here were civilized enough to use caste markings! I could have told right off that Marrow was a decision maker! “Come with me, then. We’ll take you to the boss and let her decide whether to help you out.”

  “What about my silver?!” Zia protested. “Shiv took it, and I want it back! As a down payment!” Drexl looked at her like she’d lost her mind, but Zia was not going to give up one of the only tools she had left at her disposal for controlling the group. The busking that Darka might do was already endangering that, and without silver they might just leave her in Fief to find her own way home.

  Marrow sneered again and put out a hand. With a scowl, Shiv rose from his seat and deposited the belt of coins in her outstretched hand, and she in turn gave it over to Zia. “Come then, Heirrors. Let’s see what trouble Gatekeeper can get you into.”

  Oh Lord

  One God, Oh Lord, One God, Oh Lord!

  I’m sorry Lord, I’ve gone and sinned again.

  One God, Oh Lord, One God, Oh Lord!

  Please forgive me, as only You can.

  Your voice it sounds like trumpeting

  Your breath is like the air of spring

  Your sight is humbling to me, oh Lord.

  I’ve done it once, I’ve done again

  A sin before, a time or ten

  Please forgive of me my sin oh Lord.

  I did a thing I knew was wrong

  Now please forgive me with this song

  I’m sorry for the things I did, oh Lord

  I know I still possess Your love

  You’ll grant me Grace from up above

  Your mercy knows no bounds, oh Lord.

  One God, Oh Lord, One God, Oh Lord!

  I’m sorry Lord, I’ve gone and sinned again.

  One God, Oh Lord, One God, Oh Lord!

  Please forgive me, as only You can.

  I feel the tears run down my face

  You’ve forgiven all the human race

  For each and all iniquity, One God.

  Thank You for Your boundless Grace

  I know by your side’s my rightful place

  I live to honor you, One God.

  One God, Oh Lord, One God, Oh Lord!

  I’m sorry Lord, I’ve gone and sinned again.

  One God, Oh Lord, One God, Oh Lord!

  Please forgive me, as only You can.

  One God, oh Lord!