GARETH STOPPED TO glance back, bemused at the strange sight. Once more harnessed like a horse, Doom pulled the upside down dragon skull while Tiwaz and Tracker pushed from behind. He shook his head and walked back to the lagging trio. “Are you three all right?”

“I’m fine. Just a little winded,” Doom answered. He lowered his hood to look at the snow-covered road ahead. “I wish we’d known the road was mostly uphill. Wasn’t this bad getting back to Bralden with the skull, a colossal stag, and the man-bear.”

“We did have to stop partway,” Tiwaz pointed out, a surly edge to her voice. She looked away as all three males looked at her. She sighed. “I just want to get this done and get home before sunset. I do not like temples. I don’t trust them. I don’t even want to be here.” She calmed, leaning against Tracker as he put his arm around her and Doom patted her hand.

“It isn’t much farther,” Gareth promised. He looked forward. “I admit, I have never been to this particular temple. I am curious to see the state of this one. Most are rather…destitute.”

Tracker bared his teeth briefly. “Some wolflen choose leaving tribe and go there. First time Tracker going see.”

“More should come see,” a growling voice stated from behind a snow-laden bush. A slender wolflen female with the purest white fur and clear blue eyes straightened from behind a thick bush, holding up her hands when all four drew weapons. The males relaxed first, but Tiwaz remained positioned between Doom and the unknown female, her expression foreboding.

“Ti, relax,” Doom soothed, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. “She wears a medallion like Gareth. She’s from the temple we’re going to.”

“I don’t care if she is one of their gods!” She shook off the gromek’s hand, eyes never leaving the white wolflen. “What sort of temple prepares ambushes?”

“One that has been attacked by outsiders before,” the female wolflen replied in accented but proper common tongue, her posture calm and confident, eyes never leaving Tiwaz. “I am Nama, First Priestess of Sulnar the Emerald-Eyed. She sent me a dream that I should guard the path. I have done so faithfully for seven days.” She looked at the skull, lowering her eyes and touching her brow with one hand in a gesture of respect. “I am humbly honored that she sent me.”

Tracker’s ears flattened back, his yellow eyes narrowing. “Huntress use tribal name, not pack name?”

She turned her attention to the other wolflen, her demeanor remaining unruffled. “The temple is my tribe. All who come without the intent to do harm are part of the temple’s tribe, so we use our...” She tilted her head, clasping the medallion bearing an emerald-eyed dragon, studying Tiwaz’s dark expression. “But if it pleases you more, my pack name is Aurora.”

She waited, watching the gladiator. “You need not protect your pack so fiercely, Warrior. If we sought to bring harm to you, we would have already.” She looked upwards, barking sharply. Several figures emerged from concealment in the higher branches, people of many races, all bearing crossbows. “Please, follow me. Father Bura’an will be most pleased to meet you.”

“Tiwaz, come on,” Doom soothed. “I need your help moving this thing. I do have limits to my endurance.” After several moments, Tiwaz relented and put her sword away. Gareth moved to her other side to lend his assistance now that Aurora was there to guide Doom. Neither he nor Tracker spoke to the sullen woman.

Grey, stone walls reached for the sky as they crested the hill and a horn sounded. The great double doors swung open majestically before the small group. Aurora stopped at the threshold, holding a hand up to stop them. As several men and women dressed in elegant robes approached, Tiwaz, Tracker and Gareth joined Doom. Tracker growled when Aurora offered a submissive gesture of respect to the older, most ornately garbed human male.

With a lofty demeanor, the man opened his mouth to speak when Tiwaz announced, “You’re the drunk.” The blunt statement caused a stir among the temple folk, ranging from shock to indignation to sheepish embarrassment.

Doom coughed into his hand in a failed attempt not to laugh openly. Tracker’s body language belied his amusement. Gareth could only slap his forehead in an exasperated facepalm. For her part, Tiwaz crossed her arms, defiance in every aspect of her demeanor.

A young woman stepped forward, frowning. “How dare you speak to High Priest Bura’an with such disrespect and insolence? You should be—!”

“Silence, Lora. They are guests.” The man colored a little, clearing his throat as he gave Tiwaz his attention. “I beg your pardon? What do you mean—?”

“It was when Kerk took me to the Wolf’s Den while Doom was out hunting before I went to the wolflen to learn hunting from them. You were snoring at one of the tables. Kerk and the innkeeper were talking about you.” She spoke without reservation, ignoring the deepening color of the man’s face and the fidgeting of the temple folk. “He said you were usually well into your cups by highsun.” She looked at the pale disk of the sun through the overcast sky. “I guess it is good we got here early.”

“Ah. Yes. Well.” Clearing his throat again, he looked behind them. “You three are the mixed hunter pack from the Bralden tribe’s winter games. Tales of you had reached us, but not of this.” He looked to the skull with a covetous expression. “You did not kill the dragon to get this skull, did you?”

Doom put a hand on Tiwaz’s shoulder before she opened her mouth to respond to the perceived insult. She humphed and crossed her arms, letting him answer. “We did not kill it, no. We found the skull just like this.” He looked to Tracker and Gareth, both nodding to Doom’s silent question. Tiwaz glowered sullenly. “We brought it in hopes you would be able to…take care of it.”

“I have seen enough desecration of the dead,” Tiwaz stated in sharp tones. “You better not dishonor the soul of this dragon.”

“Lora!” Bura’an stated sharply before the woman took umbrage at Tiwaz’s insinuations. “We should show gratitude they seek to save this dragon’s soul from desecration.” The woman glared at the gladiator, but obediently remained silent. The high priest snapped his fingers.

Six men and women in matching robes and carrying long, ornate staves walked over to the skull. Once Doom’s harness was removed, they held their staves over it. Very slowly, the skull began floating and moved with the six as they walked through the gate into the courtyard swept of snow.

“Honor us by witnessing what you have brought to our temple,” Bura’an invited.

Tiwaz’s frown deepened as she took a step back instead of forward. Doom put his arm around her. “Please. We can make sure they do not dishonor the dragon’s soul if we are present.” She muttered something uncharitable under her breath, giving in to Doom’s request.

Bura’an waited until they reached him before walking with the visitors, leading them to the massive central building that dominated the complex. “I will admit. You are correct, young warrior. I often find myself at the tavern in Bralden, trying and failing to mute the pain in my heart with alcohol.”

“What pain, Father?” Gareth asked gently.

The old man smiled sadly. “The pain shared by all who take the mantle of high priest of a Dragonway temple. Once, our faith was the greatest of all that existed. No one was excluded because of their race or gender or vocation. All were welcomed beneath the protective wings of the great ones. Even the followers or leaders of other faiths were welcomed within the hallowed halls of our temples. They were places where warring factions could meet in peace, where scholars could come to share knowledge, where warriors could come to train with the best warriors in the lands and artisans could hone their crafts. But then something terrible happened.”

Doom looked at the elegant archway emblazoned with stylized dragons reminiscent of the trio they had met at Dragons Gate. “What happened?”

Bura’an’s expression turned miserable. “I do not know. The high priest of each temple had all been tied to the high priest of all temples. Each temple’s high priest holds the memories of the priests before him or her.” He shook his head, taking a deep breath. “I only know that something broke. And I…we lost the heart of the temple, and contact with the other temples. It was all my predecessors could do to hold this temple together during the war with the high elves and the chaos of the aftermath.” He exhaled deeply. “The pain is unbearable, as if—”

“A hole had been ripped in your soul,” Tiwaz said in a low voice, eyes fixed on a point on the ground. Ignoring the others’ eyes suddenly resting on her, she met the startled high priest’s eyes. “I understand pain like that.”

His expression turned sympathetic but he did not speak on it. The group entered the massive chamber of the main building, the room large enough to admit a full-grown dragon. Towards the front, a massive mirror covered the wall, a semi-circular ramp encircling three altars behind empty odd formations surrounding a pool so deep the water was black. The six moving the skull were settling it into place onto the odd structure in front of the center altar.

Tracker frowned, looking at the white wolflen female beside him. “Worship skulls?”

Aurora shook her head. “The skull is considered a means to focus our prayers to the gods, and for the gods to reach us easier. They serve as a bridge between our world and theirs. If the dragon had been slain with malice, it would have been tainted with darkness. Bringing it with the intent to honor its spirit purified its death by washing away any malice on its soul.”

Doom glanced at Tiwaz as she crossed her arms, smiling at the color in her cheeks at the oblique praise for her desire not to desecrate the dead. He looked back when Bura’an spoke, pointing. “Watch, the Eyes of Keth are being put in place.” He pointed to two pairs of burly men bringing two large chests to the newly installed skull. Giant blue diamonds easily the size of a child’s torso rested in the chests. The men reverently, carefully set them into the skull’s eye cavities. Barely visible, like the flickering of a candle, they began to glow softly. Cheers echoed through the chamber, people hugging one another in joy when the task was completed.

Bura’an turned to the small group, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “You have brought healing to our temple. We are forever in your debt, young ones.” He looked to the front. “You have helped to restore a piece of the glory we once knew, renewed our bonds to our gods. Nama,” he said to Aurora. The white wolflen bowed and left the chamber briefly, returning with a box with ornate carvings.

The man lifted the lid and took out a pendant on a long chain, turning to Doom first. “Please, accept these symbols of our most noble gods as thanks.” Indulging the man, the gromek lowered himself to allow the pendant to be draped around his neck. “You are always welcome as children of the Dragonway.”

Doom looked at the pendant as Bura’an put another around Tracker’s neck. “It looks like those coins I have,” he noted to Tiwaz.

When the high priest came to Tiwaz, the woman swatted the pendant out of his hand, sending it skittering across the stone. The ringing sound brought utter silence in the temple, broken by the sound of weapons rising suddenly. She glared at the high priest who raised his hand. The sound of weapons lowering echoed in a soft rush of sound. “I did not come here to join any temple,” she snapped. “Keep your ‘reward’ and your gods. I do not need either of them.”

“Ti,” Doom started to say, his expression creased with worry.

Lora stepped up, trembling with indignation. “How dare you turn your back on those who have given us so much?” She dared get in Tiwaz’s face. “What right do you think you have to disrespect them here in their house?!”

Tiwaz’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her voice cold and fists clenched. “What right do I have?” she whispered, her voice growing louder. “What right do I have?” Lora skittered back when the gladiator ripped the thongs that secured her wrist bracer, brandishing her horribly scarred wrist. Even Bura’an recoiled in horrified shock at the sight. “This gives me the right! For years, I prayed to the gods. All of them. I prayed for them to save Doom from our master. This was all I got in return.”

She spat on the ground near the fallen medallion. “No god got me out of slavery. My friend did. Because he wanted to. They wanted him to abandon me. He asked for nothing from me in return but what I have always given him.” She looked at the exposed wrist. “Gods believe they own mortals. I belong to me. Not them!”

The high priest watched her with sad, watery blue eyes. He lowered himself to pick up the medallion. Putting his hand over his heart, he said, “Forgive me for not properly introducing myself. I am named Bura’an, high priest of this temple. Many are pleased to call me Father.” Looking away from Tiwaz, he asked Tracker, “How are you known to your tribe?”

“Tribe name belongs to tribe,” he stated. “Tracker is pack name.”

“Ah, you follow the path of a long and proud wolflen tradition,” Bura’an observed. He turned to Gareth. “Well met, Bard Tavarius. Many colorful stories have preceded you.” Gareth colored. The corners of the priest’s eyes crinkled at his light coughing. “We are honored that you grace our humble home at long last.”

“The honor is mine, Father,” Gareth replied. He watched him, seeing the priest’s intentions. He clasped his pendant and glanced at the upper levels where the crossbowmen watched. He prayed silently Tiwaz didn’t raise a hand to the man again.

Doom glanced at Tiwaz as Bura’an posed the question of names to him, unsure how to answer and aware the man touched on probably the most sensitive topic to the former gladiator. “My name is Thrahx Vaug. But I prefer to be called Doom.”

“Both are noble names, though I will always consider you the Temple Son.” Turning to Tiwaz, Bura’an caught her hand. He turned it palm up to place the medallion in it, closing her fingers over it. “And even if you never come to us again, we will consider you the Temple Daughter.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You do not ask for my name?”

“I do not have to,” he replied gently. “I can see in your eyes, you have not found it yet.” She jerked her hand away from him, backing away a step. Looking at the altar, she scowled when the eyes seemed to pulse softly, as though they blinked. She spun on her heel and stalked out without a word, throwing the medallion aside. Looking at Aurora briefly, Tracker turned to catch up to his pack-sister.

Gareth sighed, closing his eyes. “Sorry, Father. She is a bit temperamental.”

Doom picked the abandoned medallion up, looking to Bura’an apologetically. The man held up a hand, silencing him before he could speak. “No. Do not apologize for her or yourself. We will not offer forgiveness because there is nothing to forgive,” he told the gromek. “Our doors are always open to you, Thrahx Vaug. But for now, go. Your friend needs you.”