Paladin of Souls Read Free Page A

now, rolled their eyes variously as she talked on, and on. An exception was an obese young man in the white garb, grimed from the road, of a divine of the Bastard. He rode along quietly with a book open atop the curve of his belly, his muddy white mule's reins slack, and glanced up only when he came to turn a page, blinking nearsightedly and smiling muzzily.
    The Widow Caria peered at the sun, which had topped the sky. "I can hardly wait to get to Valenda. There is a famous inn where we are to eat that specializes in the most delicious roast suckling pigs." She smacked her lips in anticipation.
    "There is such an inn in Valenda, yes," said Ista. She had never eaten there, she realized, not in all her years of residence.
    The Mother's comptroller, who had been one of the widow's more pained involuntary listeners, pursed her mouth in disapproval. "I shall take no meat," she announced. "I made a vow that no gross flesh would cross my lips upon this journey."
    Caria leaned over and muttered to Ista, "If she'd made a vow to swallow her pride, instead of her salads, it would have been more to the point for a pilgrimage, I'm thinking." She sat up again, grinning; the Mother's comptroller sniffed and pretended not to have heard.
    The merchant with the Father's gray-and-black ribbons on his sleeve remarked as if to the air, "I'm sure the gods have no use for pointless chatter. We should be using our time better—discussing high
-
minded things to prepare our minds for prayer, not our bellies for dinner."
    Caria leered at him, "Aye, or lower parts for better things still? And you ride with the Father's favor on your sleeve, too! For shame."
    The merchant stiffened. "That is
not
the aspect of the god to which I intend—or need—to pray, I assure you, madam!"
    The divine of the Bastard glanced up from his book and murmured peaceably, "The gods rule all parts of us, from top to toe. There is a god for everyone, and every part."
    "Your
god has notably low tastes," observed the merchant, still stung.
    "None who open their hearts to any one of the Holy Family shall be excluded. Not even the priggish." The divine bowed over his belly at the merchant.
    Caria gave a cheerful crack of laughter; the merchant snorted indignation, but desisted. The divine returned to his book.
    Caria whispered to Ista, "I like that fat fellow, I do. Doesn't say much, but when he speaks, it's to the point. Bookish men usually have no patience with me, and I surely don't understand
them.
But that one does have lovely manners. Though I do think a man should get him a wife, and children, and do the work that pays for them, and not go haring off after the gods. Now, I have to admit, my dear second husband didn't—work, that is—but then, he drank. Drank himself to death eventually, to the relief of all who knew him, five gods rest his spirit." She signed herself, touching forehead, lip, navel, groin, and heart, spreading her hand wide over her plump breast. She pursed her lips, raised her chin and her voice, and called curiously, "But now I think on it, you've never told us what you go to pray for, Learned."
    The divine placed his finger on his page and glanced up. "No, I don't think I have," he said vaguely.
    The merchant said, "All you called folk pray to meet your god, don't you?"
    "I have often prayed for the goddess to touch
my
heart," said the Mother's comptroller. "It is my highest spiritual goal to see Her face-to-face. Indeed, I often think I have felt Her, from time to time."
    Anyone who desires to see the gods face-to-face is a great fool,
thought Ista. Although that was not an impediment, in her experience.
    "You don't have to pray to do that," said the divine. "You just have to die. It's not hard." He rubbed his second chin. "In fact, it's unavoidable."
    "To be god-touched in
life,"
corrected the comptroller coolly.
"That
is the great blessing we all long for."
    No,
it's not. If you saw the Mother's face right now, woman, you would drop weeping in the