Guardians of Evil by C R Daems

Author:C R Daems [Daems, C R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
Published: 2014-09-01T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Sporish: Breeze Point

The Gorlack’s clothes weren’t too different from Sporish, but they wore them a little differently. They tended to wear clothes that showed off their tatts. They were proud of them even if most of the Sporish people couldn’t decipher them.

Most of their shirts were sleeveless or had short sleeves and many had low backs or fronts to show off the markings. Some of the pants and skirts only came to the knee to show the leg markings as well.

In spite of her confident talk with Zeph that morning, Liada was sweating from nerves as she strolled toward the markets. The horror of yesterday kept flashing through her mind. Not knowing if Tali was alive and being part of the killing of the priest and the Quag made her feel sick to her stomach.

By the time, she reached the first stall at the market she had a pounding headache. She wanted to reach up and touch Aliy but knew she shouldn’t. As if Aliy read her mind, she felt the thin feathers of its wings and tail brush her neck and shoulder. Aliy’s presence both comforted and terrified her. What if another Senior Priest came to the market? Only knowing that Sechael didn’t want priests at the market today kept her from turning and running back to the Inn. She had to wonder what kind of man could give orders to the priests as Sechael had?

Only a few people were wandering from stall to stall. No wonder after yesterday’s disaster. Those shoppers were constantly looking around. They probably wouldn’t be here if they didn’t need to be. Shaking her head, she tried to focus on the task of finding the acolytes. How many had been sent and what did they looked like, she wondered—her age, older, younger or more likely a small mixed group, so as not to be conspicuous.

Liada wandered around, stopping at stalls, picking up clothes to look at, and chatting with vendors. She bought a meat pie and munched it as she browsed.

“That was terrible yesterday,” she said to the pie vendor.

“I wouldn’t be here today if I didn’t need the money to support my starving wife and children,” he said. “Of course, if the priests kill me, then they starve anyway.” He gave a fatalistic shrug.

That was about what most of the vendors said when she talked to them.

A good bargaining story, Liada mused. As she looked through a stack of shirts, she asked the merchant if he thought it was safe in the market.

“The priests had better stay in their temple. People are tired of being pushed around,” the woman said, putting her hands on her hips and scowling.

“We need to run the priests out of town,” a man standing nearby responded.

Many of the booths and stalls were still closed as the owners repaired or rebuilt them, and the market still stank of smoke. The sound of saws and hammering rose over the subdued chatter of the shoppers. Around noon, she thought she

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