Chosen of the Gods

he would find eternal rest. Now, with Fistandantilus’s laughter echoing in his mind, he wondered if that time might come sooner than he hoped.

When he held court the next morning, Kurnos found everything, everyone, in the Hall of Audience looked different from the top of the dais-smaller, somehow, like Symeon’s enchanted khas pieces. The pieces were his now, though, as was the manse… the Temple… the empire. He was Kingpriest, and when the courtiers spoke to him, there was true reverence in their voices and in their eyes.

His first act was to get rid of part of his court. Power bases always shifted after a new Kingpriest’s coronation, and this would be no exception. There were certain hierarchs Kurnos favored more than the ones who had served Symeon-priests more inclined to support him-and so he dismissed Avram of Branchala and Thendeles of Majere, sending them back to their home temples elsewhere in the city. That done, he also named a new First Son: a young, raven-haired cleric named Strinam, who had vowed to support Kurnos at court, no matter what. Balthera he kept around for now. She was malleable and not the true First Daughter anyway. He had his plans for Ilista.

Finally, after Kurnos finished arranging his human khas pieces to his liking, he smiled. Shifting on his throne-it wasn’t as comfortable as it looked, and the armrests were too high for his liking-he raised a bejeweled hand for silence and made his first move.

“On my first day as Kingpriest,” he began, the dome ringing with his voice. “I make this declaration. I am not Symeon. I will not sit idly while my empire frays.”

The courtiers glanced at one another, murmuring. A few, like Lord Holger, nodded approvingly. Others frowned. He paused, noting the dissenters. They would soon follow Avram and Thendeles. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and went on.

“I speak, of course, of the traitors in Taol,” Kurnos continued. “Had we acted early, we could have hunted down these brigands easily. We didn’t, though, and now they hold Govinna and the patriarch, and matters are worsening.

“This shall no longer stand. I will not brook rebellion in my lands. Thus, I call upon Lord Holger to ride forth to Ismin. There he will meet up with the second and fourth Dromas and march to the borderlands at once.”

An explosion of voices erupted, jangling the crystal dome. A Droma was one of the largest divisions in the imperial army- some ten thousand men strong. Cities had fallen to a force that size, and now Kurnos was ordering two into the field. Not once in his reign had Symeon taken such bold action against his own people, and the courtiers quickly began to exclaim and argue with one another, everyone talking at once.

“Rubudo!” Kurnos bellowed, surging to his feet. Silence!

The noise stopped at once, all eyes turning to the dais. Symeon had never risen from his throne, either.

“I will have order in this court!” Kurnos barked. His face was florid, his nostrils flaring. To his left, he saw Loralon step forward, bowing, but he gestured sharply to stay him. “The time for conciliating with our enemies is done. I command the empire’s armies now, and I mean to use them. By Year- Turning, every Taoli who has taken up arms against this throne shall swing from a gibbet. Is that understood?”

Loralon blinked, then bowed his head and stepped back, a frown creasing his ageless face. Kurnos glared at him, then turned back to Lord Holger to give further orders. Even as he spoke to the Knight, however, he felt the ancient elf s eyes on him.

He allowed himself a wolfish smile. There would be resistance from Loralon, he knew. He was planning on it.

The smile returned an hour later, when a soft knock sounded on the door of his private dining chamber. Kurnos ignored it, lingering over his midday meal-cockatrice stuffed with figs and a salad of Falthanan greens-until the knock sounded again. Sipping watered claret, he looked up at last.

“Enter, Emissary.”

Loralon stepped in, signing the triangle. His slippers whispered across the Tarsian carpets. Kurnos drank from his crystal goblet, watching him approach.

“Holiness,” the elf said, “I must ask you to reconsider-”

Kurnos slammed the goblet down on the tabletop with a noise that would have made most men jump. Loralon only blinked, but he did fall silent.

“I am Kingpriest now,” Kurnos growled. “I have made my decision. I will not always heed your counsel, as Symeon did.”

Loralon hesitated then clasped bis hands before he went on. “I understand that, but there is something else you must know. Lady Ilista is in Taol, in the army’s path.”

“I am aware of that, Emissary,” Kurnos said, sipping his wine. “I am also aware-as you are-of why she’s there.”

“Sire?” The elf’s eyebrows rose.

With a sweep of his arm, Kurnos knocked his goblet across the room. It smashed against the wall, making a crimson stain on the white marble. “Don’t play the fool with me, Emissary,” he snapped. “I know she and that monk of hers are consorting with the bandits even now! For that duplicity, Ilista is no longer a friend to crown or church.”

Loralon might have argued, but instead he sighed, looking at the floor. “And the monk?”

“I will cast him out as well. You are to have no further contact with either of them. If I learn you have disobeyed me in this, I will send you back to King Lorac.”

Loralon withdrew shortly after, his face drawn with worry. Seething, Kurnos turned back to his meal-and stopped, his eyes falling on the emerald ring.

It shimmered on his finger, reflecting the light that streamed in through the room’s high windows. Within the light, the shadows wavered seductively. He grimaced, feeling its band tingle against his skin, and tried to look away. To his horror, he found he couldn’t. The gem and the dark shape within caught his gaze and held it.

Use me, said a voice in his head. It wasn’t Fistandantilus this time but Sathira’s harsh hiss. Two green pinpricks flared within the stone, watching him.

What harm will a second murder do, when you’ve already had me kill once?

She was right, he knew. Sathira had slain Symeon-not right away, perhaps, but killed him slowly just the same. She would do the same to anyone he named. All he had to do was speak her name and bring her to life. If he used the demon for the good of the realm, as he had the first time, would it be truly evil? He opened his mouth to speak, and the presence in the gem crouched, poised to surge out in a gout of shadow and hate.

Suddenly, he stopped. He was Kingpriest now, for Paladine’s sake. He had the clergy, the Knighthood, and the imperial army at his call. What were Ilista and Beldyn beside that, even if every bandit’s sword in Taol backed them? How much could the demon do that Holger and his Scatas could not?

“No,” he hissed. “I don’t need you.”

The glinting eyes within the gem narrowed to slits, and he felt a stab of fear. Then, however, the sound of soft, mocking laughter filled his mind, and his fright changed to gnawing dread.

Ah, Holiness, the demon said. You will. You will.

Chapter Fifteen

Cathan drew his hood down, trying not to shiver in the autumn wind as he twisted his sling in his hand. Deep in the highlands south of Luciel, he crouched on a ridge thick with mountain ashes, their branches heavy with scarlet berries. Below, the imperial highroad snaked through the craggy hills. From his vantage, he could see two leagues of the broad, stone-paved path, all of it empty. In the two days he’d been perched on this outcrop he’d seem no other living being. He was alone in this place, save for his horse-tethered downhill and contentedly cropping at patches of tough grass-and a lone hawk that circled hungrily beneath the pall of gray clouds.

He hadn’t wanted to go on watch duty and resisted at first, telling Lord Tavarrc he wanted to stay near