Sacred Fire

thoughts stay hidden.”

“So he created the Araifas, the Thought-Readers,” finished Wentha. “They are Majereans, skilled at reading the thoughts of others. They move in secret, among clergy and laity alike. No one knows their real identities.”

“And when they catch you harboring thoughts against the church …” Tancred’s voice trailed off.

Cathan swayed a moment, then sat down as a wave of dizziness overtook him. He looked up at the others. “You’re lying,” he said, without conviction. “You must be lying. This has to be a trick, a mistake.”

“No,” said Idar. “It isn’t. If you’d ever felt the Araifas rooting through your mind, you’d believe what your sister tells you. That’s why we stay here, Twice-Born. That’s why your kin help us … because the only thing that frightens us more than what the Kingpriest has already done is what he might do yet.”

He stopped, his eyes flicking toward Wentha and her sons. In the corner of his vision, Cathan saw his sister’s head dip once. Idar leaned closer, his face as grave death. Cathan knew at once what the man would say, but held his breath anyway, not wanting to believe it.

“And that,” said Idar, in a voice barely more than a breath, “is why we must bring him down.”

Chapter 10

I should never have come back, Cathan thought. I should never have left the cave.

It had been safe there. His life had been quiet and free of confusion. Now everything he thought he knew was wrong. If only the damned scholar hadn’t come … if only he hadn’t listened to Fistandantilus … if only he’d insisted on remaining behind. If only he’d been content, long ago, to follow the Kingpriest’s orders and never question him, like most of the empire did.

But he had listened, he had left, he had questioned, and it had led him here, to this dark, close tunnel far beneath a place where men bought and sold other men, and did so in the name of the gods. Here, to where the sister he’d always adored was plotting against the man who once had been his best friend, his lord in body and spirit. Here, to where nothing made any sense any more.

Wentha’s brow was furrowed, her eyes intense. Tancred and Rath looked at the floor, but she met Cathan’s gaze easily, a hint of challenge there. Idar and Gabbro and the other rebels barely existed for him.

Cathan-” she began, but he cut her off.

“When were you planning to tell me about this?”

There was more anger in his voice than he’d expected, a lash he didn’t know was there. She flinched beneath his words, and Rath looked up, wary and protective. Tancred looked like he would have been happiest if the floor split open and swallowed him.

“When we got to the Lordcity,” Wentha replied. She reached out to touch his arm, stopped when he pulled back. “We only came out here to meet with Idar, for a few moments. We would have been back in the palace now, if you hadn’t followed us.”

“I’m taking an awful risk here, Twice-Born,” said Idar. “I’m trusting you not to tell His Holiness about us, about this place, because your sister insists you’re a good man.”

“You’re also hoping I’ll help you,” Cathan snarled.

The ruffian nodded. “Yes.”

“We mean to abduct him,” said Wentha. “To show him the pain he’s caused, without his sycophants and advisors there to pour poison in his ear and call it honey. We want to make him reconsider and repent, not to harm him.”

Cathan glanced at the others, saw the way they looked at one another, and knew they didn’t all share that sentiment. Many of Idar’s men would be more than happy to see Beldinas dead-on their own swords, if possible. Gabbro’s eyes burned at the prospect.

“And if he doesn’t repent?” he asked. “What then?”

Wentha shook her head. “We’ll… we’ll deal with that if it happens.”

“This is a war, Twice-Born,” Idar cut in. “There might not be any armies on the field, but that doesn’t change things. The Lightbringer is the enemy.”

Cathan shook his head stubbornly. “None of you will ever get close enough to take him,” he said. “He won’t get close enough to any of you, to-oh, Palado Calib.” He stopped, staring at them, understanding dawning in his mind.

“No,” said Idar, a wicked smile curling his lips. “We won’t.”

Wentha turned away, the pain on his face too much for her to bear. He wanted to grab her and shake her, to shove her aside and leave them all behind and go somewhere far away. But he knew Idar’s men wouldn’t let him. He’d get three paces, and they’d riddle him with crossbow bolts. They might do it anyway, if he showed reluctance to go along with their plans.

Cathan couldn’t remember feeling so weary. He’d spent half his life trying to stop fanatical men like this. “I won’t answer you now,” he said. “I need time.” The ruffians grumbled, looking at one another.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Idar said. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword, resting there easily. “I can’t let you go back to the Lightbringer if there’s a chance you won’t help us.”

Cathan shrugged. “There is a chance I won’t help you. Would you rather I lied and told you otherwise?”

Gabbro growled, his ugly face twisting. Idar rested his free hand on the dwarfs shoulder, a grin curling his lips, “Well put, Twice-Born,” he said. “Right, then… you’ll have your time to think it over. But know this-if you give us away, and the Hammer comes after us, they’ll take some of us alive, for questioning. And they’ll find out about your beloved Blossom, here. She’ll go down with the rest of us, and get sold in a market like the one up there.”

Rath’s face darkened, and he growled low, his saber sliding two inches out of its sheath before Tancred caught his arm, shaking his head. He shoved back, and the two brothers struggled with each other until Wentha glared at them.

“Stop it, both of you.” She looked back at Cathan, then at Idar. “You needn’t make threats like that. I knew the danger when I first started working with your fellows in Lattakay. I tell you, my brother won’t betray you.”

“He must do better than that,” Gabbro grumbled. “If he doesn’t help us-”

The sound of running feet cut him off. The ruffians turned toward the source of the noise, echoing down the hall. Crossbows came up, blades came out. Idar drew his own sword and waited; so did Rath. Cathan grabbed his sister and pushed her behind him, jerking his head to tell Tancred to follow her.

The footsteps grew steadily louder, making a frantic cadence, now joined by the sound of labored breathing. All at once a young lad-he couldn’t have been more than thirteen summers old, and pale enough that he mightn’t have seen the sun in all that time-came pelting around the corner, then slid to a stop with a cry at the sight of so much steel pointed at him. He made a strangled noise.

“Branchala’s balls, Larl!” Idar swore. “You just about got about a half-dozen new holes in you!”

The boy, Larl, was panting hard, and couldn’t answer at first. He stared at Cathan, the familiar look of shock and recognition on his face. The boy had grown up on tales of the Twice-Born, a figure who had vanished from the world well before he was born. When Cathan turned his unmistakable eyes on him, though, he was forced to quickly look away.

“What is it, damn you?” Idar insisted.

Larl shrank back. “It’s them,” he said. “The Hammer. They’re out in the streets, looking… and they got something with ‘em.”

Idar’s mouth became a tense line. “What kind of something?”

“Hound of some sort,” said the boy, who had to be a lookout. “But no kind of dog I ever seen before. It’s big and silver, and looks like someone made it out of… water, or something.” Idar let out a scoffing laugh. “Let them use as many dogs as they want,” he said. “We’re safe down here. The Hammer haven’t found these holes yet, and they’re not going to now.”

“Don’t be so sure,” said Tancred. His face was white.