[Amanaduial the archer]

Wearing a light veil over her head against the heat of the sun, Zamara walked slowly through the city, almost alone in the streets: the workers had hurried home, or to shelter's at their workplaces, to rest for the hour around midday when it was too hot to work. As the High Priestess made her way through the streets, she noted that although empty, they did not seem deserted. After all, children did not heed the fiesta at midday - another adult rule to be disregarded, a chance to be free to do what they would while their parents and tutors were otherwise occupied. The children of the nobles, of course, remained inside, stifled by the heat and their studies; but outside, for a while, the urchins ruled.

Zamara paused in the shade of a house, watching a group of three small children as they played out some complex game. One child, a scruffy, sharp eyed girl of about nine, dropped two dice into a circle drawn in the dirt, and, along with the two other girls she was playing with, she watched eagerly for the result. Apparently it was a good result for the first girl, for she gave a whoop and clapped her hands together, grinning, as the other two turned to face each other, their hands on their knees. They whispered a few words, their high voices rising in volume until they ended with a shriek, threw up their hands, and pelted away in opposite directions, away from the circle. The girl who had dropped the dice, still seated, covered her eyes, and began to count loudly.

Zamara, unnoticed and unheeded, smiled to herself. How much simpler the world would be if run by children. A city of innocents. But even here, she noted, there were politics: between the girl's fingers, the High Priestess noted a slither of white as the girl turned her head. She was peeking. Zamara raised her eyebrows and couldn't help her smile turning to a grin, her white teeth peeking out themselves from her dark lips. The seeker, apparently noting that she was being watched, that she had been caught cheating, whirled around quickly, her hands coming off her eyes, and her eyes settled suspiciously on Zamara. The High Priestess held them impassively, then nodded solemnly to the girl. With surprising solemnity herself, the latter replied in turn, then, without a second glance at Zamara, she covered her eyes again and resumed counting. Then, with a sudden triumphant yell and without further ado, she sprang to her feet and ran away, calling out after her companions, seeking them, her bare feet slapping against the dusty cobbles. Yes, Zamara thought to herself, looking after her young friend under the veil. I could deal with a city of children.

The street lay empty now, and Zamara moved on, the clicking of the metal at the base of her staff the only sound, the sudden darts of light through her medallion as it swung on her chest the only sudden movements. As Zamara walked, she thought to herself. She had much to talk to the Queen about, and she had been frankly relieved when Tarkan had declined the offer of joining them to discuss the furnishings for the Temple: it would be easier to talk with the Queen alone. Not that Zamara wished Tarkan ill, far from it - but she was not sure Tarkan would say the same. The way he had acted last night had showed that, the way he had assumed the title of 'High Priest' rather than denying.

Zamara childed herself inwardly, pausing as the street widened into a large, cobbled courtyard, centred by a fountain whose water fell gently, idly, onto itself and around itself, it's playful sounds at odds to the serious thoughts of it's observer. Petty things, petty things...such things were not meant to be the essence of worshipping the gods, they were not meant to get in the way. But... the young woman's brow creased slightly and the lines deeped around her mouth as she watched the fountain fiercely. But they do get in the way.

She sighed, loosening her suddenly tight grip on the staff and moving on. Plans for the Temple to Rae troubled her: she knew not what this new building would hold in store for her. Whether, in fact, it would hold anything in store for her. How many times the power balance between the deities of Pashtia had changed she knew not, but Rhais had been 'superior' for many years - what would happen when that changed? Ritual, tradition, worship - were they to change also? Zamara worried.

And, of course, the Emissary. The young woman smiled ruefully to herself. Of course. One could not forget him when talking to Bekah - not even if she tried. What were his preferences in all of this? It was hard to say...who were the gods of the West? Zamar felt suddenly hopelessly ignorant - she had absolutely no idea. Did they even have gods? Surely every sentient being felt the need to pay heed to something that had created them, that sustained them, that laid them eventually to rest - surely even these blue eyed, pale haired men from those war-torn lands would feel the prescence of Rae and Rhais in some way?Zamara's eyes narrowed subconciously. She was still not sure she fully trusted this Emissary. The more she knew, the better.

And Siamak. He, also, makes a rather intriguing topic of conversatin.

Zamara smiled to herself thoughtfully. Yes, indeed; the young prince was a very intriguing topic...

Having arrived at the palace, Zamara climbed the steps smoothly, lowering her veil to be like a veil across her arms. She knocked on the door with the tip of her staff three times and waited for a few seconds - an unusual wait in a palace full of attendants. Eventually a flustered young man wrenched open the door, his eyes widening as he noted Zamara, her medallion and her robes in quick succession. He bowed briefly, and showed her in. "I come to see Her Majesty the Queen," Zamara requested. The man opened his mouth as if to say something else, then bit his lip and nodded stiffly

"As you say, High Priestess," he murmured respectfully. "I shall notify the Queen of your arrival." Nodding yet again, the young man excused himself (rather hastily, Zamara thought, puzzledly), leaving Zamara alone in an antechamber to wait.