Sacred Fire

need your help. Where is Cathan?”

Brow furrowing, Tithian glanced around. There was no sign of the Twice-Born anywhere. It had been at least an hour since he’d last seen Cathan. And the other MarSevrins were gone, too.

“I don’t-I don’t know, Holiness,” he said, taken aback.

“Do not be ashamed, Tithian,” Beldinas declared. “I did not notice until just now, either.”

“Perhaps he retired.”

The Kingpriest shook his head. “He is not in his chambers. Neither are Lady Wentha, or young Rath and Tancred.”

“I will find him,” Tithian said, feeling a rush of dread he couldn’t explain. Surely no ill had befallen them …?

He scanned the room, looking for those of his men who might still be clear-headed. There weren’t many-just a couple Seldjukis who didn’t drink because of oaths to their branch of the church, and an old knight called Xenos who had sworn off wine for his health. Well, he thought, they’ll have to do.

“We’ll find him, sire,” Tithian declared. “He probably hasn’t gone far.”

“Thank you, Grand Marshal,” Beldinas said, “but I can find him well enough. I only ask your protection.”

You? Tithian nearly asked, but stifled the word-though he was betrayed by the confused expression on his face. He felt the Kingpriest’s eyes bore into him.

“I told you,” said Beldinas, “I do more than just heal disease.”

The Lightbringer performed the ritual in a small room deep within the ziggurat, away from the feast-hall. There were two candles on silver sticks, and frescoes on the walls: battling dragons of blue and gold, painted in a romantic style popular three centuries before. The floor was red tile, arranged in spirals. Beldinas stood in the middle of the room, head bowed, while Tithian’s four sober knights-by the gods, he would have some harsh words for his men tomorrow-lurked at the chamber’s edges.

“Palso fit mideis,” he prayed, spreading his hands before him. “Lonfam ansinfud si lasdam sporium.”

The lost shall be found. Send me a servant to follow its trail.

The power flared around him, sun-bright. Tithian caught a ruby flash from the Crown, then had to turn away, as twin stabbing pains found their way deep into his skull. Furiously, he wiped tears from his cheeks, then made himself look again.

Beldinas’s aura was coursing around him, running down his arms and pouring from his hands. It spilled out of his body, becoming liquid as it fell … thick water that collected in globules like quicksilver. Moonlight flashed within it as it ran together, forming a shape: long, sleek, four-legged. It was a hunting dog, its skin made of rippling platinum, its eyes empty and white.

Like Cathan’s, Tithian thought with a shudder.

The beast of silvery light stood alert, poised for its master’s command. The Kingpriest stepped back, his shoulders bowing. Tithian started toward him, but Beldinas waved him off.

“I will recover,” he said. “This is a yethu-a hound of the gods, smarter and finer than any bred on earth. It can track a hawk on the wing, but it will not remain in this world long. Move quickly, Grand Marshal, and find Cathan before ill befalls him.”

The dog, the yethu, looked at Tithian. Its tail wagged happily, throwing off sparkling droplets. Tithian stared back, but felt his eyes shift away. The white eyes frightened him. He turned instead toward Beldinas.

“Go,” said the Lightbringer.

Sighing, Tithian nodded to the hound. With a happy bark-a gonglike ringing-it turned and bounded out of the room. Tithian followed, his men close behind.

Chapter 9

The tunnels went everywhere in Chidell, it seemed; Idar and his followers had been busy indeed. “Helps to have dwarven knowhow,” Gabbro noted, nodding down a narrow passage where several other little, bearded figures were patiently toiling at the rocky earth. Working with them, to Cathan’s shock, were a handful of squat, evil- browed creatures with eyes that flashed in the gloom.

“Goblins?” he asked.

“Aye,” said the dwarf. “Shows how desperate things have got, I suppose, that we’d work beside the slime. But khudro khadrak ba-thandai, as Thane Derkin once said. My foe’s foe is my friend.” Gabbro chuckled. “Besides, they’re good diggers, as long as you keep an eye on ‘em.”

On they went, the way twisting a serpent’s path beneath the city. Here and there, they passed more ladders leading up to the surface. Idar led them on, pausing only to exchange words with a few other men they met along the way. The outcasts eyed Cathan as he passed, whispering to one another. He could feel their eyes on him after he’d gone by.

“They recognize me,” he murmured to Wentha.

She nodded. “Of course.”

“They know I was in the Hammer,” he went on. “For all I know, I drove some of them down here myself.” And they could kill me easily, he added silently, wishing again that he had brought Ebonbane.

“They also know you quit the Hammer, and why,” said Tancred, behind them. “Many of them admire you for it.”

“And all of them respect you, whether they like you or not,” added Rath.

“Be still,” Idar hissed, glancing back at them. “We’re here.” They stopped at the foot of a ladder, no different from any of the others they had passed. Above, the shaft ascended into darkness. They were hundreds of feet down, far beneath the sewers and tombs that made up the undercity. The faintest of breezes drifted down to them, making the lamps’ flames dance.

Gabbro headed up the ladder, his stumpy legs moving with surprising agility. He needed no light: most dwarves, Cathan recalled from the lore he’d studied, could see perfectly well in their caves without it. Idar watched as the dwarf clambered out of sight. Up above, Gabbro’s boots ticked against solid stone, then for a moment there was nothing.

“He has a wealth of tesserae up there with him,” said Idar. “From old mosaics the church tore down for being idolatrous. Mosaics of Zivilyn, and Shinare, and the other gray gods. If he drops a black tile down here, it means there’s trouble and we shouldn’t come up. White, and it’s all clear.”

Cathan nodded, following. “What does a colored one mean?”

“Then he took the wrong bloody tiles,” Rath replied, and Tancred snorted with laughter. Idar was fighting back a grin when something fell down the shaft, spinning and glinting as it came down. Everyone stepped back, letting it clink onto the floor among them. It cracked in half, and Idar bent down to examine the pieces.

“White,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He led the way, Cathan and Wentha behind him. One of his men brought up the rear, leaving the rest below with Tancred and Rath. The climb seemed to go on forever, and Cathan was at once humbled by how much it made his arms and legs burn, and amazed at how easily his sister managed. By the time they reached the top, where a short passage led to a wall where tiny cracks of light defined the shape of a door, he had to bend down, hands-on- knees, and wheeze for breath.

“Where are we?” He whispered, thoroughly disoriented. His voice sounded horribly loud in the stillness, however, and Idar whipped a blazing look at him.

Wentha put a finger to his lips and leaned in close. “You’ll see,” she breathed, and pushed him forward.

They were all watching him as he stepped toward the door, where Gabbro waited. The dwarf stepped aside, and touched his arm when he reached out to find the portal’s handle. Cathan stiffened at the touch-he’d been brought up on stories of evil, bearded men who crept out of caves and stole babies from their cradles. Gabbro reached up and slid back a panel hidden in the stone. Two small holes appeared, at eye level. Twin shafts of silver-