Time of the Twins

Quarath smiled a delicate smile. His thin elven face with its finely sculpted features seemed to be made of fragile porcelain, and he always smiled carefully, as if fearing his face would break.

“Very well, if the desserts do not tempt you?”

“N-no, not in the slightest. Sweets... bad for th-the digestion th-this late—”

“Then, come with me, Revered Son. It has been a long time since we talked.” Quarath took Denubis’s arm with casual familiarity—though it had been months since the cleric had last seen his superior.

First the Kingpriest, now Quarath. Denubis felt a cold lump in the pit of his stomach. As Quarath was leading him out of the Audience Hall, the Kingpriest’s musical voice rose. Denubis glanced backward, basking for one more moment in that wondrous light. Then, as he looked away with a sigh, his gaze came to rest upon the black-robed mage. Fistandantilus smiled and nodded. Shuddering, Denubis hurriedly accompanied Quarath out the door.

The two clerics walked through sumptuously decorated corridors until they came to a small chamber, Quarath’s own. It, too, was splendidly decorated inside, but Denubis was too nervous to notice any detail.

“Please, sit down, Denubis. I may call you that, since we are comfortably alone.”

Denubis didn’t know about the comfortably, but they were certainly alone. He sat on the edge of the seat Quarath offered him, accepted a small glass of cordial which he didn’t drink, and waited. Quarath talked of inconsequential nothings for a few moments, asking after Denubis’s work—he translated passages of the Disks of Mishakal into his native language, Solamnic—and other items in which he obviously wasn’t the least bit interested.

Then, after a pause, Quarath said casually, “I couldn’t help but hear you questioning the Kingpriest.”

Denubis set his cordial down on a table, his hand shaking so he barely avoided spilling it. “I... I was... simply concerned... about—about the young man... they arrested erroneously,” he stammered faintly.

Quarath nodded gravely. “Very right, too. Very proper. It is written that we should be concerned about our fellows in this world. It becomes you, Denubis, and I shall certainly note that in my yearly report.”

“Thank you, Revered Son,” Denubis murmured, not certain what else to say.

Quarath said nothing more but sat regarding the cleric opposite with his slanted, elven eyes.

Denubis mopped his face with the sleeve of his robe. It was unbelievably hot in this room. Elves had such thin blood.

“Was there something else?” Quarath asked mildly.

Denubis drew a deep breath. “My lord,” he said earnestly, “about that young man. Will he be released? And the kender?” He was suddenly inspired. “I thought perhaps I could be of some help, guide them back to the paths of good. Since the young man is innocent—”

“Who of us is truly innocent?” Quarath questioned, looking at the ceiling as if the gods themselves might write the answer there for him.

“I’m certain that is a very good question,” Denubis said meekly, “and one no doubt worthy of study and discussion, but this young man is, apparently innocent—at least as innocent as he’s likely to be of anything—” Denubis stopped, slightly confused.

Quarath smiled sadly. “Ah, there, you see?” he said, spreading his hands and turning his gaze upon the cleric. “The fur of the rabbit covers the tooth of the wolf, as the saying goes.”

Leaning back in his chair, Quarath once again regarded the ceiling. “The two are being sold in the slave markets tomorrow.”

Denubis half rose from his chair. “What? My lord—”

Quarath’s gaze instantly fixed itself upon the cleric, freezing the man where he stood.

“Questioning? Again?”

“But... he’s innocent!” was all Denubis could think of to say.

Quarath smiled again, this time wearily, indulgently.

“You are a good man, Denubis. A good man, a good cleric. A simple man, perhaps, but a good one. This was not a decision we made lightly. We questioned the man. His accounts of where he came from and what he was doing in Istar are confused, to say the least. If he was innocent of the girl’s injuries, he undoubtedly has other crimes that are tearing at his soul. That much is visible upon his face. He has no means of support, there was no money on him. He is a vagrant and likely to turn to thievery if left on his own. We are doing him a favor by providing him with a master who will care for him. In time, he can earn his freedom and, hopefully, his soul will have been cleansed of its burden of guilt. As for the kender—” Quarath waved a negligent hand.

“Does the Kingpriest know?” Denubis summoned up courage to ask.

Quarath sighed, and this time the cleric saw a faint wrinkle of irritation appear on the elf’s smooth brow. “The Kingpriest has many more pressing issues on his mind, Revered Son Denubis,” he said coldly. “He is so good that the pain of this one man’s suffering would upset him for days. He did not specifically say the man was to be freed, so we simply removed the burden of this decision from his thoughts.”