interest.
'That steel I hear?' The man took a step nearer Nikol. Reaching out a filthy hand, he caught hold of her by the chin, wrenched her face to the light. 'You look as if you've noble blood in you, boy. Don't he, fellas? Not some noble's son, by any chance? With a fat purse?'
'Let go of me,' said Nikol through clenched teeth. 'Or you're a dead man.'
'Please,' said Michael, trying to come between them, 'we don't want any trouble — '
But he only made matters worse. His staff caught on Nikol's cloak, dragged the fabric aside. The shining breastplate she wore glittered in the sun.
'A knight hisself!' The man howled in glee. 'Look, fellas. Look what I've caught! I'm gonna have a little fun.' ' He drew a long dagger from his belt. 'Let's see if your blood does run yellow — '
Nikol thrust her sword into the man, yanked it out before he or his drunken companions knew what had happened. The man stared at her in blank astonishment, then groaned and toppled to the ground. A pool of blood spread beneath him. The sight sobered up his friends, who growled in anger. Some drew knives; one wielded a blackthorn cudgel. Michael whirled his staff. Nikol set her back to his, her sword, red with blood, swinging in a slow arc.
The men made a half-hearted show of attacking. Michael's staff lashed out, caught one on the side of one man's head, sent him into the dust. Nikol gave another a slash on his cheek that he would carry to his grave. The men, eyeing the knight and the cleric, decided they'd had enough. They broke and ran.
'Cowards!' jeered Nikol, cleaning her sword with the tail of the dead man's shirt. ''Thieves and knaves.'
'Yes, but they'll be back,' said Michael grimly. 'And they'll bring help. We can't stay in the city. We'll have to leave.' He cast a longing, disappointed glance at the great library.
'We'll return,' said Nikol confidently. 'I have an idea. Hurry up. One of those thugs is talking to that so-called Revered Son.'
Sure enough, the Revered Son was turning, staring hard in their direction. The man was pointing at them excitedly.
The two ran, blended in with the rest of the flotsam and dregs of humanity that had washed ashore in Palanthas. Reaching the gates, they were walking out just as one of the Revered Son's henchmen came pounding up, breathless, to deliver a message to the guard.
Michael and Nikol ducked behind a wagon that had become mired in the crowd.
'Knight of Solamnia!' the man shouted. 'A huge fellow with a sword six feet long! He's got a friend, some fellow wearing the blue robes of the false goddess.'
'Yeah, sure, we'll watch for them,' said the guard, and the henchman dashed off, to spread the alarm at other gates. 'Get that wagon moving! What's the matter with you?'
Nikol drew her cloak close around her, pressed her sword against her thigh. Michael made certain his holy medallion was well hidden. The guard didn't even bother to spare them a glance. Once outside the gate, they fended off the beggars, traveled some distance up the road, finally stopping in a grove of stunted trees.
'What's your plan?' Michael asked.
'We'll travel to the High Clerist's Tower,' Nikol replied. 'The knights must be told about what is going on in Palanthas, how this false cleric is plotting to take control. They'll soon put a stop to it, then we can go into the library and find the Disks of Mishakal. We'll use them to prove to people that this Revered Son is a crook and a charlatan.'
Michael looked doubtful. 'But surely the knights must know — '
'No, they don't. They can't or they would have stopped him before now,' Nikol argued. Serene, confident, she looked up into the mountains that loomed over Palanthas, to the road that led to the knights' stronghold. 'And we'll find out the truth about Lord Soth, too,' she added softly, her cheeks flushing. 'I don't believe what they said, not a word of it. I want to know the truth.'
Michael sighed, shook his head.
'What?' Nikol demanded sharply. 'What's the matter?'
'I was thinking that perhaps there are some truths we are better off not knowing,' he replied.
Part V
A chill wind, which blew from the plane of dark and evil magic, tore aside the cloak of the knight who stood upon that plane, allowed the icy blast to penetrate to the center of his empty being. He drew the cloak closer around him — a human gesture made from force of habit, for this ephemeral fabric, spun of memory, would never be sufficient to protect him from death's eternal cold. The knight had not been dead long. and he clung to the small and comforting habits of blessed life — once taken for granted, now, with their loss, bitterly regretted.
Other than drawing his cloak closer around the body that no longer was there, he did not move. He had urgent business. He was spying on the city of Palanthas. And though he was quite near it, none of the living saw him or were aware of his presence. The shadows of his dark magic shrouded him, hid him from view. The sight of him would have terrorized these weak vessels of warm flesh, rendered them useless to him. He needed the living, needed them alive, and, knowing his own cursed power, he wasn't certain how to approach them.
He watched them, hated them, envied them.
Palanthas. Once he'd owned that city. Once he'd been a power there. He could be a power still, a power for death and destruction. But that wasn't what he wanted, not now, not yet. A city saved from the terror of the Cataclysm. There had to be a reason, something blessed within it, something he could use.
The Revered Son? The knight had assumed so, at first. A dark joy had filled what once had been his heart when he'd heard that a Revered Son had arrived from the east, claiming to be a survivor of shattered Istar, come to take over the spiritual well-being of the populace. Was it possible? Had he discovered a true cleric left in the land? But, after long days and longer nights (for what was time to him?) spent listening to the Revered Son, the knight came to the conclusion he'd been deceived.
In life, he'd known men and women like this charlatan, made use of them for his own ends. He recognized the man's tricks and deceits. He toyed with the idea of destroying this Revered Son, found it amusing, for the knight hated the living with a hatred born of jealousy. And he would be doing these fool Palanthians a favor, ridding them of one who would end up tyrant, despot.
But what would he gain out of it, except the fleeting pleasure of watching warm flesh grow as cold as his own?
'Nothing,' he said to himself. 'If they are stupid enough to fall for that man's lies, let them. It serves them right.'
Yet something within Palanthas called to him, and so he stayed, watching, waiting with the patience of one who has eternity, the impatience of one who longs for rest.
He was there, invisible to living eyes, when two people — a beardless youth armed with a sword, and a man in shabby blue robes — emerged from the city gates with haste enough to draw the knight's attention, piqued his interest by taking themselves away from the sight of the guards.
The knight gazed at the man in blue with interest that increased when he saw, with the clear sight of those who walk another plane of existence, the symbol of Mishakal hidden beneath the man's robes. And the beardless youth; there seemed something familiar about him. The dark knight drew closer.
'We'll travel to the High Clerist's Tower,' the youth was saying to his friend. 'The knights must be told about what is going on in Palanthas, how this false cleric is plotting to take control. They'll soon put a stop to it, then we can go into the library and find the Disks of Mishakal. We'll use them to prove to people that this Revered Son is a crook and a charlatan.'
High Clerist's Tower!ow The knight gave a bitter, silent laugh.
The youth's friend appeared to share the listener's doubts. 'But surely the knights must know — '
'No, they don't,' the youth returned. 'They can't or they would have stopped him before now. And we'll find out the truth about Lord Soth, too. I don't believe what they said, not a word of it. I want to know the truth.'
The knight heard his name, heard it spoken in admiration. A thrill passed through him, a thrill that was
