"I know… but is he or Master Jason about?"

She shook her head. "They've both gone to temple. The masons are coming to redo stonework on the west side."

Rodian sighed quietly. The last place he wanted to have this conversation was in the temple, but he couldn't put it off.

"Snowbird is out front, and we've had a busy morning. Could you have one of the stable hands find her a stall and bring her some oats and water? I'll walk from here."

"Of course," Biddy answered. "I'll take her myself."

Rodian was well-known at this house—as was Snowbird. He turned and whistled, and the white mare trotted over, empty stirrups bouncing at her sides.

"Go with her," he said, nodding toward Biddy.

Snowbird tossed her head once and blew warm air into his hand as the maid reached for her bridle. Girl and horse disappeared around the mansion's north side.

Rodian crossed the courtyard, out the tall iron gates, and headed up the street. He barely noticed the surroundings filled with fine townhouses and other mansions, and looked aside only once as he passed an eatery called the Sea Bounty. A bit pricey for a captain's stipend, but occasionally he'd succumbed to the establishment's fine cuisine.

Not much farther on he slowed before a large construction built from hexagonal and triangular granite blocks laced with faint blue flecks. Again, a trio of columns graced both sides of the landing before the large front doors.

Commissioned dwarven masons had built the temple generations past. Each one of its large wall stones fit so well that not a bit of mortar had been used to set them. Climbing roses had been carefully nurtured to twine about the triple columns' bases and ran in trellis hedges along both sides of the path from the street to the entrance. No sign identified this sanctuary, only those trios of columns—a simpler designation of the sacred teachings of this place.

Rodian climbed the three front steps of the temple for the Blessed Trinity of Sentience. Before he took hold of either door latch, voices rose from somewhere around the building's left side. Rounding the corner, he spotted a burly dwarf hefting a granite hexagon for inspection. Baron Âdweard Twynam and his son, Jason, leaned closer.

"Looks fine," the baron said. "I hope these new ones hold up better."

The dwarf huffed disdainfully. "Wind and water always get the best of stone… after many years."

As Rodian approached, the mason set down the stone with a thud that shuddered through the ground.

"Siweard," said the baron with a smile. "Good to see you."

Baron Âdweard Twynam wa onard Twys tall and thinned by age, with hair and beard neatly trimmed—both gone steel gray. His polished boots, blue tunic, and lamb's-wool cloak fit him perfectly, and his smile reached all the way to his eyes. His son stood in stark contrast.

Jason was barely a head taller than the dwarven mason, though solid for his size. His thick, dark hair curled to his shoulders, and his skin was dusky like his mother's. He rarely smiled, unless he found himself at an advantage of some kind. His near-black eyes shifted constantly, as if seeking any opportunity to take offense or make a challenge.

Rodian found Âdweard studying him with a serious face.

"What's wrong, my friend?"

"Is anyone else inside?" Rodian asked.

"No… except Minister Taultian and his two acolytes. We've no meetings or gatherings today. Jason and I just wanted to check on the work."

"Can we speak inside? Something unfortunate has happened."

"Of course." And the baron nodded at the mason. "You have things well in hand, Master Brim-Wright. Send the final bill to the sanctuary, and I'll make certain it's settled directly."

The dwarf nodded curtly and began to direct two men working with him.

The temple's backside faced toward the sea, and though set within the city's wealthy district, storms and salt-laden winds had eroded it as much as any other building. It had been a long while since repairs were needed, and Rodian couldn't spot any place in the wall that showed flaws. But better to replace stones before weathering turned to some more troubling imperfection.

Âdweard gestured to Jason and placed a hand on Rodian's shoulder. "Come. We'll go make tea. My old bones could do with a little extra heat."

The three rounded to the temple's front, passing between the paired triple columns and through the wide double doors. They stepped directly into the main sanctuary room.

Hardwood floors were polished weekly, as were the long tables stretching up both sides of the main chamber to the stagelike altar. But Rodian saw no sign of Minister Taultian or his acolytes. At the room's far end, upon the raised platform's central dais, stood three life-size figures carved from white marble.

A man wearing the clothes of a common laborer stood behind a woman with a book in her arms. Before the pair was a child with long hair, too young to ascertain its gender.

The Toiler, the Maker, and the Dreamer.

Swenen the Father—the Toiler—gathered what had passed and supplied the Mother's needs. Wyrthana the Mother—the Maker—tended and prepared for what was needed at present. Méatenge the Child—the Dreamer—imagined future days and what might be.

This trinity maintained past, present, and future for all sentient beings, and always would. The sages in their scholarly fervor read too much into what they uncovered. Their eager speculations led them astray. Life, as well as sentienrinll as sce, had always been—would always be—ever-growing and continuous from the first spark of sentience itself. There had been no "great war" that covered the world.

Such extreme interpretation of uncovered relics only created fear and interfered with the natural order. The very idea was offensive, as Toiler, Maker, and Dreamer would've never allowed anything so horrible to occur.

Before stepping fully into the sanctuary, all three men paused to whisper in unity.

"By the Toiler…" And they raised one hand, fingers up with palm turned sideways.

"By the Maker…" And they each closed that hand gently, as if grasping something from the empty air.

"And by the Dreamer…" And they pulled their closed hands, thumb side inward, to their foreheads.

"Bless all who turn this way with heart, mind, and eyes open."

Rodian led the way through the sanctuary. They passed around the dais and through a rear door into the minister's office with a small hearth.

It always remained open and accessible to the entire congregation. Furnished with simple chairs with somber-colored cushions, the room also contained a wide ash-wood desk and two smaller matching writing tables. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with carefully maintained volumes. They held the overview of knowledge and culture of the world, as well as the teachings of the faith.

Knowledge was sacred, and some of these texts contained records of the world's true history, and the manner in which awareness came into being.

Rodian realized he was growing hungry and thirsty. He set a half-full teakettle on a hook over the fire. No one had spoken since their prayer upon entry, and Jason folded his arms. Âdweard cocked his head, studying Rodian with concern.

"I've not seen you this troubled in a long while," he said. "And you missed the last service… as well as the social the night before."

Rodian breathed in twice, uncertain where to begin. This would be far different from questioning citizens at large. These two were more than friends—they were brethren. They shared his beliefs that higher thought and its moral processes were the prime virtue that raised humanity to its cultivated state. And knowledge belonged to those who possessed true ability and clarity to use it.

Other members of the order included nobles, politicians, men and women of the legal fields, and even a few prosperous merchants. New members had to be sponsored for a period of two years. Âdweard had sponsored Rodian, with the added advantage of becoming closely connected to elements of the city's elite.