Pug took a moment to regard the heroic statue, some twelve feet high, of the Goddess, holding out one hand in a welcoming gesture, and in the other holding a silver net. The implication was obvious: no one escaped the drawer of nets, but she welcomed all equally. Pug found the image somewhat ironic, as he had been very adept at avoiding her welcome in the past, though the bargain he made with her was taking its toll on his mind and heart.

Three priests were praying before the statue, while off to one side several petitioners to the Goddess’s mercy for a recently departed loved one lit candles and offered prayers. One of the priests saw the three men approaching with purpose and rose to greet them.

“Pug,” he said in a neutral tone, inclining his head in a less than warm welcome. “What brings you here?”

“I need to speak with High Priest Marluke,” said Pug. “The matter is most urgent.”

“It always is, isn’t it?” said the priest dryly. “Yet I am certain the Holy Father will consider it urgent, as well. Please, follow me.”

He led them past the statue, to a small door between the base of the edifice and the first row of burning candles and opened it. He motioned for them to go through, then followed, closing the door behind.

Down a long hall he led them, into a large room without decoration. The only items in the room were four chairs and a simple wooden table. “I’ll inform the High Priest you are here,” he said.

At that moment, a door opposite the one through which they entered opened, and an elderly man in a simple black robe, different only from Pug’s in that it had a cowl thrown back, entered the room. “He already knows,” he said. “You may leave us,” he instructed the priest. He was tall, though starting to stoop a little with age, slender to the point of gauntness, and his hair was light grey bordering on white. But his dark eyes were alert and keen and his smile engaging.

As the younger man departed, the old prelate held out his hand to Pug and they shook. “As if you could pop into my temple without me knowing it,” he said dryly. Then he said, “Ah, Jim Dasher, or is it Baron James Dasher Jamison today?”

Jim shook his hand as well and said, “Today it’s Jim.”

“And who is this?” asked the old man, waving the three of them to sit.

“Amirantha, Warlock of the Satumbria,” said Pug.

The High Priest’s eyebrows rose. “A Warlock!” He sat as soon as the others had taken seats. “I’ve sent for wine and food, if you’re hungry.”

Jim nodded approval.

Looking at Amirantha, the High Priest said, “Leave off the serious discussion until my servant has come and left. Until then…I thought the Satumbria obliterated.”