A Morning Well-Spent

"I heard that the Council had hired some Geohound to protect her," an old man said. "Fat lot of good that did."

"They should have hired a mage instead," his drinking companion said. "Stands to reason that a magical attack was the most likely one."

"My son Harry works as a cleaner at the Temple. He reckons that there are some on the Council who don't want Priestess Tarsa to carry out the rite to stop Valmar."

Fred didn't put much store by that. It sounded like one of the wild rumours that were always circulating in bars. Though he had thought that he had been an unlikely choice to protect Tarsa.

After a couple of hours, he walked back to the Temple, remarkably still ninety per cent sober. The Ceremony of Purification to restore Tarsa's voice should be over by now, and he wanted to discuss with her what measures should be taken to prevent a repetition of what had happened last night. One thing in particlar was niggling him. Whoever had caused Tarsa to lose her voice must surely have known that it could be restored comparatively easily, so why had they bothered? Why hadn't they attempted to kidnap or even kill her?

When he got back to the Temple:

1. Tarsa's voice had been restored.
2. The spell had proved more resistant than expected, and Tarsa was still speechless.
3. Another, well-hidden, spell had evidently been placed on Tarsa, designed to be triggered by the Ceremony of Purification.
4. Fred was told that, in view of what happened last night, he had been sacked.

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