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priest.
    When she had gained second rank, Quili had been enrolled in the priestess’ choir. One day soon afterward, following a service in which she had taken part, she had been led by her mentor to a meeting with some highrank temple officials. Swordsman Kandoru had been present, and Lady Thondi also.
    Swordsman Kandoru had said merely, “Yes, that one.”
    Thondi, or her son, had recently hired the retired free sword as estate guard. They had supplied a cottage—and now a wife. The owners wanted a swordsman; the workers and slaves would be happier with a priestess in residence; providing one cottage was better economics than providing two. It had been a very convenient arrangement for everyone . . . except Apprentice Quili. By nightfall her oaths had been transferred to a mentor in Pol and she had been legally installed in a stranger’s bed.
    Wallie wondered what Honakura would think of the tale. It revealed a very sleazy picture of the priesthood. Like swordsmen, priests were corruptible . . . and perhaps even the temple itself had benefited from Thondi’s generosity. He wondered briefly if his mission was to clean up a venal local clergy, but that task seemed much too trivial to justify so many miracles. The Goddess had held the Chioxin sword for seven hundred years—surely She would not have returned it to the mortal World for any cause so petty.
    “What did your mentor think of this?” he demanded.
    Quili sniffed. “I think she disapproved . . . but she didn’t say.”
    “And your present mentor?”
    For the first time there was fire. “He is a senile old drunk! He should be replaced.”
    “Why didn’t they put a slavestripe on you?”
    “My lord!”
    “They bought and sold you, Quili.”
    She hesitated and then quietly said, “Yes, my lord.”
    At least he now had her talking.
    “All right,” he said. “Tell me the rest—who killed Kandoru?”
     
    Wallie’s approach had been noted, and the cottage door swung open as he arrived. He stepped inside and wiped the rain from his eyes. Nnanji was on his feet, his face aflame with fury. Nona had been forgotten and only two of the locals remained—the two oldest women, both looking terrified. Cowie was dozing in a corner, Jja and Katanji were being quiet and still and apprehensive, crouched on stools. The room seemed larger and much brighter than it had earlier.
    Nnanji exploded into speech. “Lord Shonsu: I, Nnanji—”
    “Shut up!”
    “But there has been an assassination. And a concealment!”
    “I know! But you can’t make a denunciation to me, Nnanji. We’re oath brothers. I’m not impartial—how could I find against you?”
    Nnanji growled angrily. His lips moved as he worked out the complications; then he did not dispute the point. But a priest could act as judge, also. He swung around to Honakura and met a toothless smirk below a black headband—there was no priest present. Had the old man somehow foreseen this? Was that why he was remaining incognito? No, that was ridiculous . . . but very convenient at the moment.
    “How did you find out?” Wallie demanded.
    It was Honakura who answered. “I could see that there was something wrong, my lord. I asked Adept Nnanji to tell me the exact words that had passed between him and Apprentice Quili when they met.”
    That would have been no problem for Nnanji. Even Quili had been able to recount enough of it.
    Wallie snarled. “He was joking, and she was being too literal.”
    Nnanji had failed abysmally in his first assignment as a Fourth. Had he questioned Quili properly, then the ferry boat would still be tied to the jetty. He knew that. He came rigidly to attention. “My lord brother—”
    “Never mind!” Wallie said. “Do better next time. Meanwhile we have a small problem. Lady Thondi was undoubtedly an accessory to the murder. She is in league with the sorcerers. She has had plenty of time to send word to Ov. Quili knows of no other way out of here than the Ov