Far-Seer Read Online Free Page B

around him, smell their skin, hear the clicks of their claws on the paving stones. There across the courtyard, young Henress, smaller even than this Afsan, the problem child from Carno. And, there, flopped on her belly under a flowering tree, old Bal-Hapurd, torpid after a meal. Normally Yenalb would take the shortest path Saleed’s office, since all but the Empress would move out of his way, conceding territory to the priest. But dealing with Saleed required planning. Yenalb took a circuitous route, avoiding everyone. He could not afford to have his concentration disturbed by his own reflex responses to others in his path.
    At last he entered the palace offices, went down the spiral marble staircase, passed the Tapestries of the Prophet — pausing to bow territorial concession to the likeness of Larsk and to shield his eyes from the lying demons that formed a ring around the tapestry — and finally stopped at the golden keetaja -wood door to Saleed’s office. Yenalb took a moment to admire the astrologer’s cartouche. The symbols were much the same as in Yenalb’s own. That was proper, for was not the study of the stars, planets, and moons akin to the study of God. But there was something about the layout of Saleed’s that Yenalb found appealing.
    Yenalb’s claws drummed against the small strip of metal at edge of the door. The clicking they made against the copper was quiet enough not to be threatening, but distinctive enough that anyone on the other side would realize that someone wanted to come in. Saleed made a questioning bark, Yenalb identified himself, and permission to enter was granted. The priest pressed on the fluted brass bar that opened the door.
    Saleed, taller by a handspan than Yenalb — the result of the twenty kilodays difference in their ages — was lying on his dayslab, his belly pressed against the wooden boards. The slab was at an angle halfway between horizontal and vertical, taking Saleed’s weight off his legs and tail. Supported by a stone pedestal, the slab came up to Saleed’s shoulders, letting his head look comfortably down onto his desk, and his spotted arms dangle down onto the desktop, angled to be parallel to dayslab.
    Saleed had twin pots built into his desk, one for ink, the other for solvent. He was finishing a glyph at the end of one line on a sheet of writing leather, the ink-dipped claw of his longest left finger steady and firm as it delineated the intricacies of a scientific symbol Yenalb did not recognize. Yenalb bowed territorial concession to the astrologer; Saleed replied by lifting his hands to show that, except for the one he was using for writing, his claws were sheathed.
    “I cast a shadow in your presence, honorable astrologer,” said Yenalb.
    “And I in yours,” replied Saleed without warmth.
    There was silence between them for a moment. At last, impatience honing his words, Saleed spoke again. “And what business do you have with me?”
    “Your latest young apprentice — Afsan, is it? He came by the temple this morning.”
    Saleed let out his breath noisily. “I sent him there. He had blasphemed.”
    “Well, he can’t be that bad,” said Yenalb lightly. “You’re not tossing him out on his tail like your last five.”
    “My last six,” said Saleed.
    “In any event, Afsan marched the River. He is cleansed.”
    Saleed nodded and turned his head to look at Yenalb. “Good.”
    “But he has not yet taken the pilgrimage.”
    “That’s right.”
    “He’s nearly up to my shoulder. A boy that size is old enough for the journey.”
    “There is more to maturity than height, Yenalb. You know that.”
    “Granted. But what better way for him to mature than to take the voyage? Your old creche-mate Var-Keenir is in town, did you know that?”
    “Yes. Keenir and I spoke this morning.”
    “The Dasheter sails in a dekaday on a pilgrimage tour.”
    “I see.” Saleed pushed up into a standing posture, letting his weight fall onto his tail. The wood