Chosen of the Gods

That done, she turned to the window, whose silken curtains fluttered in the breeze. The scent of jasmine blew in from the gardens. The breeze was chilly, though, so she pulled the window shut, then went over to her bed to climb up onto it. Kissing her medallion again, she doused the taper and laid her head down on satin pillows.

Sleep didn’t come right away; that was not her way. It had always been Ilista’s nature to dwell on matters while she lay abed. Tonight, her musings drifted to the First Son.

She had long ago accepted that she and Kurnos would seldom agree. He was obviously a capable cleric-one didn’t rise so high in the church without priestly gifts-but he was also a hot-blooded man, quick to act and slow to forget a slight. They had argued often enough in the past, but she’d never seen him as outraged as he’d been today. What was it, she wondered? Had the attack on Revered Son Blavian truly affected him so terribly? He had spoken in the past of the need to put down the bandits in Taol, but today was different. Sweet Paladine, he had been ready to send in the Scatas! If he had been on the throne today, she was sure Lord Holger and his troops would have ridden out tomorrow morning, with orders to fight. She and Loralon could manage Symeon’s ill humors. What would Kurnos do, though, if she opposed him once he wore the sapphire crown?

Her mind drifted to the man who still sat the throne. It had been more than a season since that strange, snowy night when Symeon foretold his own death, and still he was healthy. Stefara of Mishakal examined him every Godsday, looking for signs of illness, but he hadn’t even had so much as a cold all winter long. Morbidly, and not for the first time, she wondered how the god would take him. Accident? Assassination? She signed the triangle at the thought, whispering a prayer to forgive her dark thoughts.

The Kingpriest had, in the end, elected to follow her and Loralon’s advice-Lord Holger would alert the army but give no orders to march. One day soon, however, Kurnos would reign, and war might be swift. Ilista wished- again, not for the first time-that His Holiness had chosen one more temperate to succeed him. She thought of Loralon, whose wisdom ran deeper than any she knew. What a Kingpriest he would make!

Then she chuckled, her eyes fluttering drowsily shut. An elf on the golden throne! Istar would sink beneath the sea before such a thing happened. No, the decision was made- when the time came, Kurnos would rule, and she would serve him. There was no other choice.

Cold wind caressed Ilista’s cheek, rousing her from slumber. She brushed at her face, annoyed. She’d told herself to close the window. Throwing off her blankets, she got up and glanced across the room. Sure enough, the curtains were wafting in the breeze, aglow with Solinari’s shimmering light.

Suddenly she stiffened, a deeper chill grasping her. Solinari? The silver moon had been just a fingernail crescent and setting when she went to bed. Now it hung fat and orange over the Lordcity’s rooftops. She had closed the window- now that she reflected, she was sure of it. Touching her medallion, she reached out for the night table, and the taper she’d left there. Her fingers found nothing, however. The candle was gone.

Her heart beat wildly as she looked about. Perhaps she’d knocked it off the table in her sleep-but no, it wasn’t on the floor either. Which meant either she’d gotten up and didn’t remember, or-

Or someone else had been in the room.

Palado, me scelfud on ludrasfe catmas, she prayed silently as she rose from her bed, the marble floor cold against her bare feet Paladine, deliver me from lurkers in the dark.

“H-hello?” she stammered, glancing about the shadow-cloaked room. “Is anyone there?”

She could call for help. A guard might hear her-or might not She needed to do something besides stand and shiver. Quietly, she crept to the window and glanced out but saw nothing strange-except the moon, shining full where it had no right to be. Her whole body tense, she pulled the casement shut, then latched it carefully. Maybe I didn’t do that before, she thought Maybe I forgot, and the window blew open while-

“Hello yourself.”

She whirled, crying out. The monk sitting on the corner of her bed jumped up, letting out a yelp of his own.

Dista shrank back, goggling at him. He was short, barely taller than a dwarf, and spectacularly huge-three hundred pounds, at least, his white habit spread like a tent on his massive frame. What hair there was on his tonsured head was silver. His eyes were small and brown in his pink, jowly face. He looked as incapable of stealth as a man could be-yet where had he come from?

“Huma’s hammer!” he exclaimed, putting a sausage-fingered hand to his brow. “You scared the Abyss out of me. You’re lucky I didn’t keel over from fright, Efisa-you’d need at least ten strong men to carry me out of here.” He chortled, slapping his belly.

The First Daughter stared, confused. “Who are you?”

“Oh, no one important,” he answered, still smiling. “Just a messenger. Call me Brother Jendle-it’s as good a name as any.”

She could only stand there, blinking at him. He seemed no threat-how could he, when the effort of merely standing seemed enough to bead his face with sweat? — but still…

“You are the First Daughter of Paladine, aren’t you?” the fat monk asked, squinting at her. “Or did I get the wrong room?”

“I-no, you didn’t-” Ilista said, then stopped. “What?”

“Oh, dear.” Jendle clucked his tongue, waddling over to pat her hand. “Mind’s addled, is it? Poor lass. Well, I’ll give you the message anyway. Have to, you see. Hold still.”

Ilista tried to draw back, but she reacted slowly, and he was adder-quick, his hand darting forward to clasp her wrist like a manacle. She drew a sharp breath, and suddenly the room unraveled around her. Everything-the bed, the open window, even Brother Jendle-frayed and swirled, then vanished, becoming another place.

She stood on a clifftop among the hills, a cold wind gusting in her face. She heard the song of bluefinches, smelled the scent of fresh rain. In the distance loomed the walls of a city, all but lost in a pall of fog. Beyond its walls, many miles off, towering mountains limned the horizon. Grass grew in tufts from the hill’s rocky soil, and plane trees towered above. In the far distance stood a cottage-a herdsman’s or charcoal burner’s, probably, its chimney smoking. The clifftop was a peaceful place, a spot where one might lie in the summertime, guessing the shapes of scudding clouds.

All at once, the peace shattered. The birdsong ceased, and a distant rumbling rose from down in the valley. She looked, following the noise, and caught her breath. Dust rose among the hills, a great brown cloud that smudged the sky. It grew as she watched, and soon there were thousands of soldiers marching in unison, armor and weapons flashing in the sun. They moved swiftly toward her, devouring the ground with long, relentless strides. She peered at the army, wondering whose it was, yet already knowing in a way, long before she saw the blue cloaks, the bronze helmets, the falcon-and-triangle banners fluttering over the soldiers’ heads. It was the imperial army, marching at last, at the behest of Kurnos.

Kingpriest Kurnos.

“Stop!” she cried, rushing to the cliffs edge.

The slope was too sheer, though, the gravel that covered it too loose to descend. She could only watch as the army came on, inexorably, coming closer… filling the valley…

Something happened, then, in the corner of her eye. She couldn’t see what it was at first, but when she looked harder, there was something coming out of the west, where the misty city stood. Craning to see, she fought to see what it was… then, all at once, she saw a figure of shining light, like silver in full sunshine. She could not make out anything of the man at the glow’s heart, for every time she tried to look through the shining glare, it stung her eyes and she had to turn away. The sight was beautiful and terrible, and she began to weep without knowing why.

The soldiers in the valley saw the shining figure too. They slowed at its approach… stopped… then broke and ran, casting swords and banners aside. In what seemed only a few moments, they had fled the valley altogether, until only the figure remained, gleaming brighter than the sun.

After the army was gone the shining figure seemed to nod to itself for a moment, glanced around as if searching for something, then turned toward the clifftop where Ilista stood and looked directly at her. She caught her breath, staring back as it raised its lambent hands toward her.

“Efisa,” it spoke, and the world vanished in a burst of blinding white.