Chosen of the Gods

Avram of Branchala in green, and Nubrinda of Habbakuk in purple, and with them, the high clergy of Paladine- Kurnos, Loralon, and other human and elven priests, all in shimmering white.

Ilista looked past them all to the far side of the room, where a blue mosaic swept across the floor to surround a pure white dais and a golden, rose-wreathed throne, twin to the one in the imperial manse. The Kingpriest sat upon the throne, all in silvery robes, gem-encrusted breastplate, and sapphire-studded tiara. His cherubic face burned red as he glared at an aging Knight who stood before the throne. Ilista recognized Holger Windsound, Lord Martial of the Knights in Istar. Holger was a proud man and not easily cowed, but he bowed his snowy head beneath Symeon’s wrath.

A bell chimed in the galleries above the hall, heralding Ilista’s arrival. She gritted her teeth as a hundred heads turned to look at her-including the Kingpriest’s. His black eyes glittered in the light of the crystal dome.

“Efisa,” Symeon declared. “We are pleased you have chosen to join us.”

Ilista had a good excuse for her lateness. One of her priestesses had come to her that morning, claiming she was losing her faith. The girl’s mother had died suddenly the night before, and she had demanded to know how the god could let such a thing happen. Ilista had stayed with her, drying her tears and telling her Paladine was wise and good, and everyone had a time when the god called her to his side. Eventually, the girl had agreed to meditate on the god’s grace; she might yet leave the order or she might not. It was the best Ilista could hope for-there was no point in forcing people to believe.

She said nothing of this to the Kingpriest, however. Instead, she bent her knee to him, signing the triangle.

“Holiness,” she said softly. “I apologize for failing thee.”

Symeon glowered at her a moment, then waved her forward. “Come, then. Join your peers.”

Everyone watched as Ilista strode across the chamber to stand alongside Loralon and Kurnos. They nodded to her as Symeon turned back to the aging Knight.

“Lord Holger was just telling us of an… incident that has happened in the highlands,” the Kingpriest stated irritably. “Tell Her Grace what has happened, man.”

Holger bowed, turning to face her. His face was like steel and showed none of the weariness of age. His hoary moustache drooped over a mouth that had never, in the two years Ilista had served as First Daughter, broken a smile.

“Banditry, milady,” he said, all but spitting the word. “An ambuscade aimed at imperial funds bound for Govinna.”

An outraged murmur ran through the assembly, even though Holger was repeating his news purely for her benefit. The others fell silent, however, at a gesture from the Kingpriest, and all eyes returned to the First Daughter.

“Palado Calib,” Ilista murmured. Blessed Paladine. “What happened? Did the robbers succeed?”

The aging Knight nodded. “They took the soldiers by surprise, and forced them to surrender the gold, Efisa. After, the bandits turned them loose without horse or sword, and disappeared into the hills.”

Kurnos stirred beside Ilista, his brows knitting. “What of Blavian? The Revered Son traveling with them?”

“He fared less well, Your Grace. The bandits beat him badly, and his injuries were grievous. He lives still,” the Knight added as the court stirred. Kurnos’s face had turned nearly as livid as Symeon’s. “He is resting at a Mishakite hospice and will recover, though it will take time.”

“And the funds?” Symeon asked.

“Gone, sire. I know not where.”

The Kingpriest’s rosebud lips whitened, as did his knuckles as he gripped the arms of the throne. The courtiers looked at one another uneasily. Ilista watched Symeon carefully, looking for signs. His fury could be terrifying, but she had learned it was usually short-lived and could be tempered by reason. That was her job and the other advisers’. Today would be difficult, however, for Kurnos was every bit as upset as the Kingpriest. She exchanged glances with Loralon, who nodded. The next few moments would be crucial.

Kurnos stepped forward before either of them could speak. “Majesty, if I might offer counsel?”

Symeon nodded. “Of course, Aulforo. We value your wisdom, as always.”

The First Son wasn’t looking very wise. His hands trembled, and his face had tightened into a fearsome scowl. When he spoke, his voice was like a drawn bowstring.

“These bandits have gone too far,” said Kurnos. “Tax collectors are one thing, but to attack a member of the clergy…” He trailed off, shaking his head, then took a deep breath. “Sire, I believe we should strike back, with force.”

Gasps rang out across the audience hall, followed by hushed whispers. Ilista stepped forward, her mouth opening, but Symeon stopped her with a look and turned back to Kurnos.

“Go on.”

“It would only take a part of the imperial army,” the First Son explained. “Perhaps a legion or two. They would make short work of these brigands.”

Ilista could contain herself no longer. “These brigands are the folk of Taol,” she interjected. “You recommend a military attack on our own people?”

Around the court, folk nodded in agreement or shook their heads dismissively. Ilista paid no mind to them, however. Her gaze was on the Kingpriest. He stared back at her, his black eyes glinting.

“You don’t agree these villains must be punished, then?” Symeon asked.

“No, not in this fashion, sire,” she replied. “You are right when you say this cannot stand, but to send in the army… if we do, we risk inciting open revolt. None of us want another Trosedil.”

A flicker of anger crossed Symeon’s face, and for a moment Ilista feared she had gone too far by invoking the Three Thrones’ War. After a moment, though, he turned to Loralon. “And you, Emissary? What is your mind?”

Loralon raised his eyebrows. “Majesty, it is not my place to put my hand on the empire’s tiller… but if you would hear me, I agree with Lady Ilista. Sending forth the army is a drastic choice and could make matters worse. I suggest we negotiate instead.”

“Negotiate?” Kurnos snapped. “These are robbers, not diplomats!”

“Your counsel is known already, First Son,” Symeon said curtly, and Ilista relaxed a little. He would come around. The Kingpriest sat in silence for a time, his fingers steepled in thought, then nodded. “You are right, Loralon-and you as well, Ilista. This is no time to be rash. I shall weigh what I have heard, and render judgment after midday prayer. This court is adjourned until then.” He rose from his seat, signing the triangle. “Fe Paladas cado, bid Istaras apalo.”

In Paladine’s name, with Istar’s might.

The audience hall quickly dissolved into excited noise as the courtiers fell to arguing with one another. Some withdrew to anterooms, where food and watered wine awaited. Others hurried toward the dais, seeking to offer their own advice. Symeon waved them off and strode toward the door to his private sanctum. An acolyte hurried ahead to hold open the door.

Ilista watched the Kingpriest leave then started toward Kurnos, who gone over to Lord Holger. The two were speaking together in hushed tones, along with several other hierarchs. As she approached, the First Son looked up, his gaze meeting hers. His blue eyes smoldered with anger: she and Loralon had quelled Symeon’s fire, but not his. She faltered, flushing beneath his baleful glare, then turned and hurried out of the room.

Ilista’s private chambers were dim and silent as she finished her evening prayer. Wetting her fingers, she pinched out the violet candles that flickered on the golden shrine, then kissed her medallion and pushed herself up from the padded kneeling-bench.

The room was richly done, as befit one of her station- not as fine as the Kingpriest’s golden halls and certainly much less vast, but there was nothing meager about the great, sprawling bed draped in shimmering samite or the walls of teak inlaid with lavender jade. A tall, silver harp stood in the corner. She didn’t play but Farenne, one of her attendants, did, and often came to soothe Ilista into sleep with sweet strings. Tonight, though, Ilista had dismissed Farenne early, preferring to be alone. Now she moved about the chamber, dousing the lamps that glowed softly here and there, until only a single taper remained by her bedside.