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e what he is thinking： he doesn't care what you do here。 If he takes Arbonne quickly enough…and it will probably be wide open to him now in winter； however many men he loses to the mountains…he can e home with an army in triumph from the sack of that land and deal with us in spring； wherever Blaise is。〃
〃That isn't Ademar thinking； you do realize；〃 said Blaise finally。 You could hear the bitterness。 〃This is my father's cunning； and his dream。 He has always wanted Arbonne destroyed。 Always。 He told me stories as a boy of how the temples of Rian had to be brought down to save the whole world from their corruption。 And he knows me。 He knew I would not bring an army here； that Ademar would be safe to leave Gorhaut almost undefended； and then e back； as Fulk says； to deal with whatever happens while he's gone。〃 He turned to Bertran。 〃You know what he's going to do； don't you？〃
The other man's expression was bleak as the winter night。 Slowly he nodded his head。 〃He won't bother with the castles or the cities。 He won't try sieges in winter。 He's going to force our corans out by making war on the villages and the temples。 As he did at Aubry。〃
〃As he did at Aubry；〃 echoed Blaise。
〃Shall we ride； then？〃 asked Fulk de Savaric。 〃You wanted one battle； Blaise。 It looks as if you might get it； but it will be in Arbonne。〃
〃Of course it will；〃 said the duke of Talair with savage irony。 〃It is warmer there； isn't it？ The sun shines； even in winter。 If you go far enough south there's no snow at all。 You can even catch the scent of the sea。〃
〃Through the smoke；〃 said Blaise shortly。 〃Let's go。〃
They left two hundred of Fulk's men to hold Garsenc Castle and to spread word as best they could that they were there。 The rest of their pany set out that same night in the fog and the cold on the long road back to the mountains。 At one point during the night the mist finally began to lift and they caught a glimpse through tattered windblown clouds of white Vidonne low in the west before morning came。
CHAPTER 16
Roche the priest was in disgrace on Rian's Island in the sea。 Someone foraging for winter firewood had smelled burning by a cove on the southern shoreline and had gone to investigate； the risk of the forests burning； though rather less in winter； was always real。 A small fire…pit had been found； dug in the cold sand； covered with a flat slab of stone。 Lifting the stone with a long branch revealed half a dozen lampfish grilling underneath。
Roche would have even tried to deny being the culprit； had he not been discovered moments later by the same interfering woodsman in a small shelter not far away； dozing in happy anticipation with a fishing line beside him and the smell of fish on his hands。
Awakened by an insolent prod of the woodsman's branch； he had stammered an offer to share his morning's secret catch under the mild winter sun while they looked out from the beach at the gentle swells of the sea。 The woodsman was not moved； either by the idyllic setting nor even the succulent promise of lampfish。 He was one of those depressingly pious fellows who left their homes after some night vision or other to e and serve the goddess on her island； labouring for the priests and priestesses； often being more sturdily attached to the doctrines and codes of conduct than the clergy were themselves。
It was fixed law； the woodsman pronounced with obdurate； finger…wagging satisfaction； that all fish and fowl around the shores of the island were interdicted to mortal men and women； sacred； he intoned virtuously； to holy Rian in her incarnation as protectress of the beasts。
Roche tried； without real hope； to explain that this applied only to fishermen or hunters from the mainland。 As he'd expected； the woodsman knew better than that。 Such an impiety； the man declared self…righteously； would have to be taken directly to the High Priestess herself。 He shouldered his bundle of wood； took the reins of his equally burdened donkey and started briskly back north towards the temple pound。 They always wanted to go straight to the High Priestess； Roche thought miserably； watching him go。 As if she had nothing better to do than listen to reports of minor transgressions by her priests and priestesses。
This was； however； his third such minor transgression…for the same offence…in a year。 Despairingly； he wondered if he would be sent away； demoted to service in some temple in the grainlands or the mountains。 He didn't want to leave Rian's Island。 He didn't want to leave the sea。 He'd grown up by the ocean； it was what he knew and loved…as he loved the gracious harvests Rian in her generosity allowed them from the waves。 Especially lampfish； most especially lampfish。
Morosely depressed； cursing his own weakness and the fact that he'd been stupid enough to fall asleep so near the fire…pit； he considered catching up to the woodsman； trying to forestall him； or concocting some tale that would serve his cause before they both got back to the pound。 There was； he decided glumly； no point。 Roche felt so miserable he almost lost his appetite。
The fish were ready； he could tell from the wafting aroma。 With a heavy sigh； Roche went back to the fire…pit and looked sadly down on his six treasures sizzling invitingly beneath their carefully assembled and sprinkled herbs。 As he did so he was somewhat surprised； given the extreme gravity of his plight； to discover that his hunger seemed to be returning after all。
He wandered back to the pound somewhat later； though in plenty of time for his tour of duty in the temple。 He was a good priest； Roche told himself； he just liked fish。
As he'd anticipated； he was ordered to attend upon the High Priestess forthwith。 He saw the woodsman with his donkey by the bakehouse door。 The man looked smugly virtuous as Roche walked past。 Wiping his mouth and rubbing at the stains on his robe； Roche ignored him as best he could。
On the far side of the temple dome； where the High Priestess and the Inner Circle had their chambers and meeting rooms； Roche was admitted by a stone…faced woman from Cauvas。 He had never liked people from Cauvas…or anywhere inland； he suddenly thought。 It took folk raised by the sea to understand the rhythms of life on the water。 He wondered if he could say that to the High Priestess。 She was from Barbentain； though； he didn't think it would be a prudent notion to present her with this particular proposition。
He waited in gloomy silence； alone in the antechamber； dabbing futilely at intervals at the tell…tale streaks on his robe。 He sniffed his hands suddenly and grimaced。 He ought to have had a wash； he realized。 He was carrying the evidence of his sin right into Rian's temple。 And this was the third time in a year。 He was going to be sent north； Roche decided with real despair。 He deserved to be sent to the mountains； far from his beloved ocean waters and their seductive bounty。 He had no self…control at all； he reproached himself； no proper respect for the traditions of holy Rian which he had vowed to uphold for life； no true sense of his own solemn responsibility to set an example for…
The door opened。 Another grim…faced servant nodded coldly to him。 The lay…folk always loved it when a priest or priestess was in trouble。 Roche wiped his hands on his robe one last time and walked in； with what dignity he could mand while smelling of lampfish and charcoal； to be told his fate by the High Priestess of Rian in Arbonne。
He came out of the room shortly afterwards seriously unsettled。 The High Priestess had barely even bothered to take note of his transgression。 She had reprimanded him briefly； never even turning to him or taking her blind gaze from the fire on the hearth。 She had pardoned him almost absently； with a ritually phrased injunction to pray in the temple for the strength to resist his weaknesses。 That had been all。 For the third offense in a year。 He'd been dismissed。 Not even her white owl had seemed to care enough to look over at him。
Roche couldn't understand it。 His had been a fairly serious malfeasance； a terrible example for the lay workers。 How could the High Priestess take an indifferent view of such a thing； he wondered？ How could the customs of the goddess be properly preserved if the great ones of the temple paid so little attention to them？ He felt almost indignant at his casual reprieve。 Why； he deserved a temporary exile at the very least！ Though he would have felt miserable at such a punishment； he had certainly deserved it。 But what was this…an absent…minded lecture and a quick dismissal？
Something； Roche decided； was seriously wrong。 He was only a lowly priest； but he couldn't help wondering if the upper hierarchies of Rian's clergy were serving her properly these days。 He shook his head。 What was the world ing to？
On the way out； though； he couldn't forebear grinning broadly at the dour…faced woman at the door； and as he walked back past the bakehouse through the crisp afternoon sunshine he offered the woodsman a positively cheerful wave。 Not； perhaps； the most judicious thing to do； but some temptations； Roche had learned； he was ill…equipped to resist。
When he finished his tour of duty in the sanctuary that evening； he washed himself carefully； hands and face and body； in the growing chill of evening after the sun had gone down； and he donned clean raiment before going back to pray in the temple for two full watches of the evening。 As he had been admonished to do； Roche humbly asked the goddess to vouchsafe him the strength to resist his inappropriate desires； and then； as an afterthought； he prayed for Rian to lend her holy wisdom and eternal presence to the High Priestess； who seemed troubled of late by burdens beyond his own poor understanding。
He felt better when he finally rose； though his knees and back creaked stiffly in the cold。 He left the temple to return to the dormitory and his bed under the winter stars and both moons。
On the way out from the dome he saw a cluster of his fellow priests and priestesses standing together in the atrium around the one small fire there。 It was very late； this was unusual。 He went over to join them； and as they made room for him in their midst it was Maritte； very near now to delivering the child he and she had conceived last spring； who told Roche that word had just arrived that the army of Gorhaut had been seen two days ago in the High Road Pass through the mountains ing south into Arbonne with the engines of war。
It had always been likely； more than that； even。
From the moment the Treaty of Iersen Bridge had been signed； Beatritz had been certain Gorhaut would be ing to them。 Until the sun falls and the moons die； Gorhaut and Arbonne shall not lie easily beside each other。 That was the ancient saying…in both countries。 The sun had not fallen and both moons were in the winter sky tonight she knew； aware of them as presences though she could not see their light。
Deep in her cushioned chair she was also aware of the fire on the hearth； as a warmth certainly； and a wele one； but also as something else； not sound or heat； certainly not light…a source of danger and knowledge； both。 It was such a plex world she had walked into on the night she had given up her eyes for this other sight of Rian。 She saw so differently now； better in the darkness； best on the island； not at all without Brissel on her shoulder。 She reached up and stroked the owl； she could feel his disquiet； or rather； she could feel him reacting to her own。 She tried to send calming thoughts； to go with the gentling hand； but it was hard。 It was hard tonight。
Aubry had been a blow to her heart； heavy as a descending hammer； and it had only been an opening move； no more than a small number of Gorhaut corans writing a first message in fire last autumn。 There was an army now； and it seemed Galbert de Garsenc's long dream of burnings in Arbonne was about to be fulfilled。
And there was next to nothing she could do about it。 She had already done what she could； keeping her lines of knowledge flung far； leaving the island more than she ought to have done； neglecting the localized but vital needs of her priests and priestesses to meet with her mother and Roba