infrequently, but he believed that they might have great value in the days to come.
Suddenly he wondered about his niece. “Shai, where’s Morganna?” he asked, looking around. She tilted her head toward a corner of the room, and then he saw the cot set up there, and Morganna lying asleep, the covers tucked up around her chin. The usually energetic three-year-old looked the picture of peace and contentment.
Just then Shawna quit her incessant sweeping and waddled over to the table, fists on her hips. Knowing full well what was coming, Tristan rolled his eyes at Shailiha.
“So, Your Highness, ” Shawna began, “it seems that tonight’s dinner didn’t suit you, either, eh? I’ll have you know that my rack of lamb is the best in the kingdom! If you don’t believe me you can ask the First Wizard-he’ll set you straight! He didn’t have to be coaxed into eating three helpings of it!”
She gave a little snort of disapproval as she watched Tristan take another bite of his sandwich. Soon one of her wizened index fingers was waggling before his face.
“I’ll have you all know that’s not a proper meal you’re eating,” she added, “even though I laid it out myself!”
Tristan knew that the best way to deal with Shawna was to give back as good as she dished out. Like most gnomes, she didn’t respect anyone whom she could intimidate. Before answering, he gave her a knowing look.
What Shawna lacked in stature she more than made up for in tough-minded spirit. Her iron-gray hair was knotted in a severe bun at the back of her head. A stark white apron was tied around her middle over her plain gingham dress. The laces of her no-nonsense shoes were, as always, double-knotted, so that she would never have to stop working for such a silly reason as retying her footwear. Her calloused hands were gnarled but strong. Everything about her bespoke the virtues of hard work and common sense. As her sharp blue eyes met Tristan’s, he suspected that she wanted to smile back, but he also knew that she wouldn’t allow herself the luxury.
“I just don’t like lamb, that’s all,” he said, deliberately chiding her. “But my sandwich is good.” He gave her a quick wink. “I made it myself.”
Before Shawna could retort, the kitchen doors blew open and Shannon the Short, Shawna’s husband, came charging into the room. His face was almost as red as his beard, and he was out of breath.
As usual, Shannon was wearing a pair of worn blue overalls and a red work shirt, the sleeves rolled up over his beefy forearms. A black watch cap sat at a jaunty angle on his head. One hand held an ale jug, and the other grasped a corncob pipe.
As the pungent smoke curled its way up and out of the pipe and into Shawna’s spotless kitchen, Tristan watched her well-known ire rise even farther. She was always upset whenever Shannon came near Morganna with his jug and pipe, however harmless he might be. But this time something in the look on the little man’s face told Tristan that trouble was afoot.
“What is it?” the prince demanded.
“It’s Master Faegan!” Shannon said, trying to catch his breath. “He told me to fetch you three straightaway! He needs you in the Archives of the Redoubt! All the other Conclave members are already there, saving Tyranny, Traax, and Sister Adrian, who are still in Parthalon!”
Standing, Tristan hurriedly arranged his weapons over his right shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Shailiha demanded, also rising.
“I doubt that even Master Faegan could describe it!” Shannon replied. “He wants everyone to see it with their own eyes! You must come now!”
“For the Afterlife’s sake, tell us what’s going on!” Tristan shouted as he and the two women hurried for the door. But Shannon had already entered the hallway and was waddling away as fast as he could.
Shailiha was the last one to leave the room. As she reached the doorway, she abruptly stopped to look first at Morganna and then at Shawna.
Shawna smiled back reassuringly. “You know that I will,” she said gently. With a quick nod of thanks, the princess hurried after the others.
Running down hallway after hallway, they made their way through the secret passageways leading down into the Redoubt, the labyrinth of hallways and rooms that served as the Conclave’s area of craft instruction and research. Even at this late hour the Redoubt was a mass of confusion, with busy consuls and acolytes running this way and that on various arcane errands. Tristan considered stopping one of them to demand what was going on, but then decided not to use up valuable time. Several minutes and a few properly negotiated hallways later, he and the others found themselves standing before the majestic Archive doors.
A crowd of bewildered consuls and acolytes stood before the entryway, obstructing the view. Tristan shouted to everyone to step aside, and they parted to make way for theirJin’Sai.
The Archive doors were wide open. No sound came from the room, but a nearly blinding azure glow was pouring through the doors and flooding the hallway. With a worried look, Tristan drew his dreggan and charged in.
CHAPTER III
“O BLESSED FLAME, WE PRAY THAT YOU WILL REMAIN constant in your strength. Fear not that we of the Priory will let your light fail, for as long as our virtue remains unblemished and we are pledged to your everlasting light, your spirit will endure. For wherever your flame lives, so too does the immense power of the Vagaries. In your name and toward that end I deliver this spell of strength.”
Her prayer finished, the Femiculi of the Priory of Virtue remained on her knees with bowed head and closed eyes. Now she would perform the second and final part of the all-important ritual. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked up.
As it had done for aeons, a great flame burned in an enormous marble bowl in the Rotunda of the Priory. Like the woman who knelt before it, the flame was pure, serene, and powerful. It burned without heat, smoke, or sound-just a flame so high that it reached halfway to the occulum, the circular hole in the apex of the chamber’s domed ceiling.
As the firelight burst through the occulum into the dark night, it reassured Ellistiumites moving about the city that their precious flame still lived. Viewing the heavens above the rotunda each evening was the only way for the citizens to be sure, for admittance to the dome was strictly limited to the emperor, the empress, thePon Q’tar, and the twenty Priory virgins.
The magnificent Priory Rotunda sat atop one of seven hills that surrounded Ellistium. A host of krithian centurions, their weapons always at the ready, continuously prowled the Rotunda’s beautifully landscaped grounds.
The Rotunda served three purposes. It housed the eternal flame, provided sanctuary for the women who had dedicated their lives and their chastity to ensure that the flame never died, and housed the ritual known as the auguries. It was believed that the sacred flame empowered the Vagaries. If the flame died, so would the side of the craft worshipped by all Rustannicans. Should the Vagaries die, so too would the nation, for the barbaric Shashidans would surely succeed in crossing the Borderlands and wiping out all that the Rustannicans held dear. ThePon Q’tar had commissioned the construction of the Rotunda long ago, soon after Rustannica had seceded from Shashida. Legend had it that another perpetual flame burning in Shashida empowered the Vigors.
It was also said that during the first tenuous days of the empire, thePon Q’tar clerics stole the Vagaries flame just before announcing Rustannica’s independence. Those brave clerics had also tried to extinguish the Vigors flame at the same moment, but failed, and thus the civil war began. With the coming of Vespasian and his supremely endowed blood, everyone believed that final victory would soon be within their reach.
Before starting the needed spell, the Femiculi took a moment to look around the Rotunda. She had been a member of the Priory since she was twenty years old. That had been twelve years ago, and even now she remained awed by the structure that was her home.
The massive dome was fifty meters wide at its base and more than thirty meters high. The occulum in the dome’s center was ten meters across, and its circumference was ringed with gold. When the flame was at its lowest ebb, stars could be seen sparkling through the occulum. The interior of the dome was made of pure ivory blocks. As the firelight struck the blocks it created shimmering shadows of red, silver, and white.
