back of my head, right where you-what did you do to me?'
'I'll explain in a moment. What happened then?'
'Everything returned to normal. It-the quori closed my eyes, the ones you opened somehow. And suddenly I knew… I felt that I had to find you, I had to join you and take up arms against the darkness, to make sure that the new age was one of light. I… I can't really explain it.'
'I can,' Havrakhad said. 'The quori is using you to get to me.'
'What?'
'It planted a seed of its own mind in yours, so it could see through your eyes. It filled your mind with thoughts that would encourage you to seek me out.'
'But…' Cart leaned forward, toward Havrakhad's voice. 'But I felt those things. I believed them. I still do-I think I do. I want to fight against evil.'
'War and slaughter can't bring the Light into the world,' Havrakhad said. 'The quori's interests are served by encouraging evil means toward apparently good ends.'
Cart sat back on the couch. He had felt so ardent, on fire with passion to set the world right, to atone for his past actions-and inaction. Havrakhad had doused that fire.
'What about my eyes?' he said.
He heard Havrakhad rise and move around the room. Ashara gave his arm a gentle squeeze, but he barely felt it. He felt like an inanimate hunk of stone and wood. Havrakhad rustled to his left, then behind him.
'Well,' the kalashtar said, 'let me show you how the darkness can be overcome.'
Cart felt Havrakhad's fingers on his head, and his vision erupted in golden light.
CHAPTER 23
Aunn sat on a bench in Chalice Center and stared numbly at the cloud-filled night sky, lit from below with the pale red light of street lanterns. He watched as the sun set the last remnants of the night's storm on fire and slowly brightened the sky. The last nighttime revelers staggered their way back to homes and hostels. The first merchants and travelers of the daylight hours appeared in the plaza, unlocking doors, driving wagons, hauling luggage to the lightning rail station or the airship mooring tower.
As the morning light fell on his gray skin and blank white eyes, Aunn began attracting attention. He was sure he looked like the worst dregs of the drunks and gamblers who stayed out all night on the streets, but even the most destitute changelings usually had the good sense to appear as downtrodden humans or half-elves, rather than compound the hatred and prejudice they faced. He questioned his decision a dozen times in the first half-hour of dawn light, but he kept repeating to himself, 'This is who I am.'
At last the merchant he'd been waiting for came downstairs to his shop and unlocked the door, and Aunn rose stiffly from the bench, shaking the night's chill from his limbs. Spending Kelas's money sparingly, he bought a new suit of leather armor, perfectly fitted to the natural form of his body, and a pair of boots. With that, he discarded the last of Kelas's clothes, then went next door to a weaponsmith and bought a new mace, which was a welcome change from Kelas's light sword. The mace had a heft that made it feel like a real weapon, but demanded little in the way of expertise or finesse. By the time he was fighting for his life, Aunn had always figured, the time for finesse was long past.
His last stop was a clothier at the edge of Chalice Center, which catered as much to the wealthy residents of the neighboring Alderwood district as to travelers. He picked out a warm traveling cloak, which cost more than he really wanted to spend but helped to dispel the last remnants of the cold night, and tried it on in front of a full- length glass mirror. The mirror was the reason that Jazen was his favorite clothier in Fairhaven, though the portly human wouldn't recognize him. Aunn frequently visited Jazen's to put the finishing touches on a new disguise, carefully examining every detail of his face and body in the mirror as he pretended to fuss over choosing a new cloak.
His first impression, looking in the mirror, was that the black cloak he'd chosen wouldn't do. He needed color-something bright and vibrant, to make up for the pale gray of his skin, the white hair and colorless eyes, the blank face that seemed to be waiting for features and color and life.
Who are you? he thought, searching the eyes of his reflection for some answer.
'I am Aunn,' he murmured. Behind him, Jazen glanced up from where he was busying himself with the hem of the cloak, then quickly looked away.
He let Jazen continue straightening and brushing the cloak so he could look at himself more closely. It was like seeing a stranger-a face he didn't recognize as his own. At first he thought of it as expressionless, blank, but then he noticed a crinkle of distaste at his brow, which quickly melted into a smile. The sight of his smile made him laugh out loud, which made his blank white eyes come alive.
'The cloak pleases you?' Jazen asked, looking up at the laughter. Even his perpetual scowl softened a little when he saw Aunn's smile.
'It's a fine cloak, but the color is wrong. I need something more vibrant.' He watched his face as he spoke, the way his lipless mouth formed sounds. It was growing on him.
'Absolutely, I agree.' Jazen stood and reached around Aunn's shoulders to unfasten the clasp. Aunn tensed- he always did. Then the cloak was off his shoulders, and Aunn felt suddenly cold. 'What color did you have in mind?'
'What would you recommend?'
He watched as Jazen brought a selection of colors and draped them over his shoulder, noticed how his own complexion changed ever so slightly without any conscious effort, laughed at the horrible effect of a daffodil yellow, and finally settled on a purple that was far too expensive.
As he counted out the coins for Jazen, the clothier looked at him thoughtfully.
'I beg your pardon,' Jazen said, 'but have you been in my shop before?'
No more lies, Aunn thought. 'I have. Several times.'
'I thought as much.' Jazen put the coins away in a pouch at his belt. 'Well, you are always welcome.'
'Thank you.' Aunn knew he would not always be welcomed elsewhere, wearing his true face for all to see. But his visit to Jazen's was an auspicious start to his new life.
Aunn stood on the street and stared up at the abandoned cathedral like a dumbfounded tourist from the farmland. He had probably walked past the cathedral hundreds or thousands of times before, but it didn't seem to matter-he felt as though he were seeing it for the first time.
'Keep moving,' Kelas barked.
Laurann quickened her steps to keep up with him, while trying to steal glances at the magnificent building. Questions churned in her mind, but she knew better than to ask Kelas.
'Come along,' Kelas said again. This time, though, he looked at her, and noticed her wide eyes staring at the building. He stopped.
'You like that?' he said. 'Then you like failure. That's the greatest monument to delusion and weakness in all of Aundair. That's why no one goes there any more-Aundair has outgrown its time of weakness.'
But to Laurann's eyes, nothing about the place spoke of weakness.
And to Aunn's new eyes, it seemed the opposite-a testimony to the highest ideals anyone could aspire to, a monument to the sacrifice of Dania ir'Vran, Vor Helden, Farren Dorashka, and the noble warriors of Maruk Dar. And it was a monument that still stood proudly in a city that had turned its back on it eighty-five years ago, driving the priests and worshipers of the Silver Flame out of the city or into more secretive places of worship.
Even from the street, the building itself lifted his spirit. Though its stained-glass windows were shattered and its mosaics defaced, its buttresses carried the eye upward, to the silver dome it wore as a shining crown. Its pillars carved in the likeness of the saints of the faith moved him with the serenity of their faces, the quiet confidence of their faith-and their eyes, too, drew his eyes upward. The dome itself was engraved with a ring of dancing flames, gleaming in the morning sun.
Kalok Shash burns brighter.
The main entrance to the cathedral was boarded over and bound with chains. From the look of it, Aunn
