Divine Hammer

standing guilty before them, you must pay for your sins. Let the flames burn the darkness from your soul as the flesh from your bones.”

Raising his hands, he signed the sacred triangle. “Fe Paladas cado, bid Istaras apalo. Sifat.”

In Paladine’s name, with Istar’s might. So be it.

It was the signal the knights had been waiting for. Turning, they stepped toward the stake, torches held high. The crowd held its breath. Even Andras was silent, collapsing as his senses finally failed him. The torches lowered …

“Vincil,” Leciane murmured.

Cathan was among the first to feel the magic, surging through the air like a gathering storm. Eyes wide, he turned to face the sorceress. She clenched something in her fist, on a broken chain-an amulet. Sorcery seethed about it, sparkling with orange light. With a gasp, he reached for her.

Too late. The spell had begun.

A great gout of smoke erupted around the stake, purple and sparking, rumbling with thunder as miniature lightning bolts played within. It spread quickly, pushing the knights back, smothering the flames where the torches had already touched. Andras vanished from sight, the vapors instantaneously devouring him. Cathan knew at once the sorcerer was gone.

He turned back toward Leciane, his eyes wide. She didn’t see him. Her eyes were trained on the sands below.

Before he could make another move, the magic burst free, streaking upward from the smoke-shrouded stake in a great fierce torrent. Up and up it poured, violet and scarlet and sapphire blue. It curved as it rose, like the plume of a geyser on a windy day-but the wind wasn’t what propelled it. It arched through the air, over the harbor, and straight into the Udenso.

The sky above Lattakay seemed to shudder as sorcery poured into the great, glass icon.

It went on for a long time, the magic coruscating as it flowed through the panes. A loud chiming filled the air, the groan of bronze beneath it. Down on the sand, the smoke cleared.

Sure enough, Andras had vanished, and the stake with him, but hardly anyone noticed.

They were all looking up.

The statue had opened its eyes.

That’s not possible, Cathan thought.

With a horrible, ear-splitting creak, the Udenso moved, swiveling its head to look down upon the arena. Its body twisted, panes of glass shattering as its joints bent. Glittering fragments fell away from it. Screams rang out from the crowds as its eyes-living eyes, as blue and strange as Beldinas’s-fixed upon the man who bore its likeness.

“The Black Robe is ours,” said its high and ringing voice. “We will show him justice, not you. The Order of High Sorcery bows to no man, not even the Lightbringer.”

All across the gallery-all across the Bilstibo-people scattered, screaming. Others stood still, staring with shocked eyes at the statue that had come to life.

Beldinas showed surprisingly little emotion. The Kingpriest looked back at his image, hands folded before him. He shut his eyes. The holy light around him swelled.

“Pridud,” he spoke.

Break.

The statue stopped. For a moment, Cathan could have sworn he saw its brow furrow.

Then a blast of energy erupted from the Kingpriest, slamming into the great, glass face.

With a noise like the end of the world, the statue exploded.

Shards of glass flew in every direction, sparkling in the sunlight as they scattered into the harbor. The Udenso shattered into dust, filling the air with glinting motes. The latticework that had framed the glass remained, standing up briefly like some strange skeleton. Then, with the shriek of collapsing metal, it toppled backward, into the sea.

CHAPTER 18

Looking out over the harbor from the temple’s highest balcony, Beldinas shook his head.

The ruins of the Udenso lay half-hidden beneath the water, the few shards of glass that still clung to it flashing in the afternoon sun. The ruins choked the channel, blocking the port so no ships could enter or leave. Lattakay’s merchant-barons were livid, knowing their business would slip away. The rest of the city shifted between rage and terror over what had happened at the execution. The Divine Hammer and the town guard had worked hard to keep the riots from happening. Now folk had calmed, and they lined the city’s stone wharf, staring through misty eyes at what had become of the their idol of the Lightbringer.

“This will not stand,” the Kingpriest declared, waving his hand toward the mass of tangled metal. “It must not stand.”

“Yes, Holiness,” said Quarath, hovering at his side. He glared at Leciane, who stood nearby. “The High Sorcerers must pay for this. I have drawn up the edict to declare all wizards Foripon. It awaits only your seal.”

Leciane sucked in a sharp breath. Her dusky face turned darker still. “That would be a mistake,” she said. “I am unhappy with how my order has handled things, but naming us enemies of the Church will do nothing to improve matters.”

“What would you suggest, then?” Quarath shot back. “That we take no reprisal?”

“Better that than stir up the masses against sorcerers,” Leciane replied.

Quarath snorted.

“Be still, Emissary.” Beldinas’s musical voice was calm, steady. “I know your mind on this. I will sign the edict if I must, but first I will hear everyone out.”

Glowering at the elf, Leciane spoke to the Kingpriest. “We should try to settle this,” she said, “without bloodshed or decrees. I propose a moot to make peace.”

Beldinas held up a hand as Quarath drew himself erect. Revered Son Suvin was scowling, too, as were most of the priests on the balcony.

“I am not against peace,” Beldinas said, stroking his chin. “But tell me again, why did they steal Andras from us?”

“The Conclave wishes no harm upon the Church, Holiness,” she said. “The highmage is a reasonable man, you will find. As I have said, he wants Andras punished for his crimes just as badly as you did.”

“Bah!” Unable to contain himself, Quarath stabbed a finger toward the remains of the Udenso. “Would you treat with one who did that, Holiness?”

“It was not the mages who brought the statue down,” Beldinas countered. “It fell at my command.”

“Perhaps,” Quarath insisted, “but-”

“Enough!” Beldinas said, cutting him off. “Neither of you will convince me. I will meditate on this, milady. It may be that matters have gone too far to solve with words. I will make my decision in the morning.”

With that, he turned away from his advisors, striding forward to the balustrade and standing there, staring out at the statue’s twisted remains. Knowing she had been dismissed, Leciane turned to go. The sorceress felt Quarath’s angry eyes on her back as she left the balcony.

If anything, the highmage seemed even less willing to compromise than the clergy.

“A moot?” Vincil echoed from within her mirror. For a moment he looked as if he might laugh, but then his smile collapsed into a look of incredulity. “You’re serious, aren’t you? The Lightbringer wants to meet with us.”

“He does, if you do,” Leciane dissembled. “Vincil, you must. If you’d seen the people, you would understand. They want blood, and if you don’t offer something for the peace, he’ll give it to them. It would only take a nudge to turn this whole empire against all the Robes. Do you want that?”