"What are you getting at?"

"Maybe nothing," Gerard said, upending his hand and letting the flecks of hay float back to the ground. "Or maybe… the sheriff was killed somewhere else… then the body was brought here after the murder. Just maybe… someone moved him to avoid suspicion falling on them."

"Hmm," Vercleese said, still watching Gerard closely. "Maybe."

"Are there many farms nearby?" Gerard asked, turning to plod back through the mud toward the road and their waiting horses. At each step, the sodden ground sucked at his boots.

Vercleese fell into step alongside Gerard, shaking his head. "Not since the war, anyway. There's mostly elves and Samuval's men in this area these days, lying as it does between their respective bases of operation. It's a troubled area, what with the skirmishes between Samuval's and Bitterleaf's patrols. Too far from town.

Most farmers steer clear."

"Might one side or the other, the elves or Samuval, have killed Sheriff Joyner?"

"Not likely, not just for snooping around, if that's even what he was doing. Their quarrel is usually with each other, not the people of Solace. The sheriff was liked even by them, mostly. Heck, he even played a game of Regal now and then with Samuval himself. Used to go over to Samuval's fortress to do it. That was his way of keeping the channels of communication open."

"And the elves didn't find that as being a little too friendly with their sworn enemy?"

"Naw. The sheriff used to go up into the mountains once in a while to talk to Kirrit Bitterleaf, too. Not to play Regal, of course; I doubt that haughty elf even knows there is such a game, let alone plays it with any skill. But Sheriff Joyner took a real accepting view of all the peoples of Krynn, as long as they obeyed the law while they were in Solace."

"But we're pretty far from Solace out here," Gerard said softly.

"True enough." Vercleese turned without another word and continued toward the road.

"I suppose I should have a talk with these Ostermans," Gerard said, falling into step beside his deputy. "Where would I find them?"

"Oh, I doubt you'll learn anything new from them."

Vercleese said amiably. "But you can try. You'll find them most mornings at the market." They made the return trek to town in thoughtful silence.

CHAPTER 6

Gerard and Vercleese stood outside the entryway to the new Temple of Mishakal, where construction had grown feverish. Stonemasons and carpenters seemed to be competing over which group could raise the greatest clamor. The taste of stone dust vied with the smell of wood shavings in the air. On the ground, blocks of marble were dressed with hammer and chisel before being raised with block and tackle to the upper reaches of the structure, where they were incorporated into the massive walls, with mortar hoisted from below. Timber was hewn into appropriate lengths with axe and adz, split into rough planks with wedges and hammers, then planed smooth for use in the interior. Overhead, tiles were being laid in neat rows along the roof, a relatively noiseless occupation except for the occasional tile that slid free of a workman's hands and flew in a long, graceful arc to shatter on the ground.

Gerard, safely out of range, shook his head at the frenzied activity. It was a wonder no one on the site had been killed, he thought. "Mayor Palin told me you might find an old friend here," Vercleese said, peering about the grounds. "Lady!" he shouted to the hooded figure of a cleric some distance away. "Oh, Lady! Over this way!"

The cleric, who had been consulting with a man who bore the air of one in charge, looked up at Vercleese's cry and threw back the hood that had obscured her features. To Gerard's astonishment, the individual thus revealed was Lady Odila Windlass. He turned to say something to Vercleese, who grinned back at him as he headed toward Odila. Gerard hurried to catch up.

Just then, the man with Odila blew a piercing whistle, and all noise at the site blessedly stopped for lunch. The man strode away with the plans he and Odila had been discussing.

When Gerard reached the female cleric, he suddenly felt awkward, uncertain whether to embrace her as an old comrade from their days in the knighthood together or to kiss her hand in the more formal greeting that befitted her station nowadays as a titled lady. Evidently, Odila shared his discomfort. Her hand rose partway then hesitated before dropping again to her side. She blushed, her freckles almost disappearing in the rising color of her cheeks.

"Oh, go on, you two," Vercleese boomed, giving Gerard a none-too-gentle shove.

Gerard closed the gap and enfolded her in his arms, pounding her affectionately on the back.

"Hey, Cornbread," Odila cried, "leave one or two ribs intact, will you?" But she sounded as happy to see him as he was overjoyed to be reunited with her.

Gerard held Odila at arm's length and studied her more closely. She had let her hair grow out from the short, martial cut she had worn during the war. Now it coiled in a pair of braids pinned atop her head. She smiled at him, yet her deep, brown eyes remained sad, and permanent frown lines tugged the corners of her mouth. Furrows etched her brow. She still wore the look of world-weariness she had acquired during the war, when Takhisis impelled her to confront whatever fears and longings inhabited the dark reaches of her heart. That experience had resulted, ultimately, in Odila leaving the Knights of Solamnia and becoming a cleric of Mishakal.

Evidently, Odila still bore the scars from her encounter with the dark goddess.

"How have you been?" Gerard asked. "What have you been doing for the past year?"

Again she smiled the weary smile that was her trademark. "I have spent much of the year studying in Palanthas, becoming proficient in the teachings and rites of Mishakal." She hesitated before continuing. "And healing a little from the effects of the war." She brightened. "But what about you, Gerard? I… I have heard that you left the knighthood as well."

"I didn't realize that news spread so fast," he said in a subdued tone.

"Palin told me. He also told me about the situation with your father. I'm sorry, Gerard."

Gerard's mouth tightened. "Yes, well, such a parting was bound to happen eventually, I suppose. If we hadn't quarreled over my leaving the knighthood, we would have disagreed about something else. My father and I just don't see eye to eye."

"Fathers and sons seldom do," she said softly. Then she laughed, for the first time sounding genuinely amused. "Or so I've heard, anyway."

"So what are you doing here?" Gerard asked, anxious to shift the subject.

"Overseeing the completion of the temple and preparing for the dedication ceremony. Come; let me show you what we're accomplishing here." She pulled his arm, leading him up the six stone steps to the portico and in through the huge double doors, which were propped open for easy access by the workmen. Vercleese followed, but at a discreet distance.

Inside the entrance hall, all was cool and dark. The air bore the sharp tang of newly hewn stone and freshly cut timber. Two worship rooms flanked the hall, one on each side. Ahead stood a second set of double doors, also thrown wide. Odila led Gerard through these doors, their footsteps sounding sharp on the marble floor and echoing in the dim recesses of the building.

Once through the second set of doors, Gerard found himself in the central Chamber of Mishakal. A statue of the goddess dominated the chamber. The benevolence that radiated from the statue's face transcended the mere marble of a sculptor's art, and Gerard caught his breath. If he had been wearing a hat, he would have instantly removed it out of reverence.

The room featured no other ornament, only the clean, graceful lines of the circular chamber. Nothing was allowed to interfere with the effect of encountering the goddess's effigy in the center.