Sacred Fire

“Mother, we’ve been over this before,” said Tancred. “Even Idar’s best men aren’t completely trustworthy. Gods, Idar himself might put a dagger in the Kingpriest, first chance he gets. Rath and I need to be with them, if for no other reason than to keep them in line.”

Wentha bowed her head, sighing. “I understand that, Tancred. But I still don’t like the risk.”

Tancred shook his head, looking to Cathan, who leaned close. “She’s sending her sons and her brother off into danger,” Cathan whispered. “She’s allowed to worry.”

There was another silence, none of them wanting to speak, nor wishing to leave the table. Finally, Rath drained his goblet and set it down with a loud clack.

“We should go over the plan again,” he said. “Just to make sure.”

They’d done nothing but discuss the plan, it seemed to Cathan, in the day and a half since the Games. They knew what had to happen and when. There was precious little reason to discuss it again. But Rath was earnest, and Tancred willing, so Cathan let it go and finished his own wine with one long swallow.

“Beldinas and I are traveling to the Vaults, with an armed escort,” he said tonelessly. “Twenty Scatas and knights, according to Revando. Only he and I will enter the Vaults, and then we will do whatever we must to get the Peripas. Once we have the Disks, we’ll come out again, and you’ll be waiting ”

“We’ll already be there when the entourage arrives,” Tancred continued. “Idar and forty of his best men, as well as Rath and me. The land around the Vault is heavily wooded, and well also have these to help us stay out of sight.”

He held up his hand, displaying a silver ring set with a piece of petrified wood in place of a gemstone. At the same time Rath fingered a similar earring, dangling from his left ear. Revando had provided such magical items for everyone in Idar’s party, claiming they had the power to make men appear as trees.

Cathan reached to the malachite at his throat. “How is it you have so much magic at your disposal?” he’d asked the First Son, down in the tunnels.

“Ah,” Revando had replied, smiling. “Do you truly think the wizards simply went to hide in Wayreth, after the war? The Orders of High Sorcery have been very useful allies … they want the Lightbringer off the throne as much as we do.”

Rath spoke up, bringing Cathan back to the present. “When you and His Holiness go down into the Vault, well take care of the Scatas and such. Outnumbered, with surprise on our side, we shouldn’t have much trouble.”

Cathan bit his lip, knowing that Rath understated the risks. The regular soldiers might be easy targets, but the Divine Hammer was another matter. Even if standards in the knighthood had slipped, they would still put up a devilish fight. He offered a silent prayer for forgiveness for the good men who might die. But the burning hammer was still bright in his dreams, a warning that he had to act.

“We’ll hide any bodies,” Rath went on. “And be waiting disguised as trees when you come out. And that’s when you should make your move.”

Cathan said nothing. Tancred and Rath glanced at each other. Wentha leaned forward.

“Brother?” she asked.

This was the hardest part. “Beldinas will suspect something’s amiss-he has an instinct for danger,” Cathan said. “But he’ll be confused. He’ll turn to me. And I’ll hit him with this.”

From his belt, he produced a tiny needlelike object with a bladder of rubber on one end. It was a device used by Seldjuki assassins of old, called Lonfas Dudo, the Serpent’s Tooth. The bladder could hold a liquid, such as poison. One good jab, a squeeze, and the needle would inject the liquid into a victim. “It will be filled with bloodblossom oil,” Cathan said. “The Lightbringer’ll be out cold in a few seconds.” And he’ll know who betrayed him. The rest of his life, he’ll know it was me. That knowledge twisted in his gut like a spear.

“We’ll be waiting to help, in case something goes wrong,” Rath continued, meaning in case you can’t do your job. “Once he’s drugged, we grab him, hide him in a nearby cart, and make for the closest tunnels at Calah. Once we have him in a safe place, the danger will be over.”

“If no one knows about the tunnels,” Cathan noted.

Tancred and Rath laughed. “Uncle,” Tancred said, “stop fretting, will you?”

Cathan nodded. Still, a voice kept whispering to him. It’s too easy. You’re missing something. He stroked his beard, thinking back over the plan.

Across the city, the bells of the Great Temple chimed the Midwatch toll. They looked at one another in surprise. “That late already?” Wentha wondered aloud.

Rath rose, consulting a water clock in the corner of the courtyard. “So it seems. We’ve tarried here long enough. It’s time Tancred and I were going-Idar will be waiting.”

They all got to their feet. Tears shone in Wentha’s eyes as her sons-clad in plain Istaran garb-each clasped hands with Cathan.

“Soido ti, Aumo,” the brothers told him. Luck to you. Uncle.

Their farewells with their mother were wordless. As each embraced Wentha in turn, their faces betrayed their fears. There was a chance one-or both of them-would not return. Wentha kissed her sons on the brow, then turned her back, waiting until they were gone before slumping against the table and start to cry.

Cathan caught his sister and held her as she sobbed into his arms. “It’ll be all right, Blossom,” he reassured her, smoothing her silver hair as he’d done when they were children. “You’ll see. We’ve made it through this much.”

She nodded, but when she looked up, her eyes red and swollen, he saw that she didn’t expect to see him again either. It made him tremble, suddenly.

They held each other for a while, then she raised her head and kissed him on the lips. “I must go to bed,” she said. “Farewell, Cathan. I won’t see you off.”

That hurt him, but his emotions were now in check. “Farewell, Blossom,” he said, touching her cheek.

Then she was gone, a billow of gray slipping into the shadows of her manor. Cathan poured himself another cup of wine-and drank it down unwatered.

“That was a touching scene.”

He nearly laughed at the sound of the voice, so frigid a voice cutting through the warm spring air. He felt the chill, heard the water dock make a tormented sound as its contents turned abruptly to ice. Turning, he watched as several of Wentha’s prize flowers withered and died. A shape stirred in the shadows.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Cathan said. “You must be very pleased with all this.”

Fistandantilus didn’t budge. “Not at all,” he stated. “In fact, I’ve come to ask you not to go through with it.”

“What?” Cathan stared at the wizard. “But we’re trying to stop Beldinas from destroying evil….”

“And no one lives who is more evil than I,” the Dark One replied, proudly. “But still, the fact remains, the Kingpriest must remain on the throne.”’

Cathan frowned, puzzled. Then understanding dawned. “It’s because he made you part of his court, isn’t it? And Revando won’t keep you around.”

“No, no, Revando will take no action against me. What choice does he have? I’m too powerful to banish. But I need the Kingpriest around, just a little while longer.”

“Why?”

Fistandantilus paused, considering, then stepped forward. “Very well-I will show you.”

He moved too quickly for a man so old and withered. He moved too quickly for any kind of man. Swift as a scorpion’s tail, his hand lashed out, touched Cathan’s forehead. He spoke a spidery word. The world flashed away.

They were elsewhere now, a place Cathan thought oddly familiar, though he knew he had never been there before. It was a massive chamber, vast and dark, appointed with all sorts of magical accouterments. Beakers of viscous fluids smoldered on workbenches. Crystals and skulls lay scattered on stone tables. Shelves upon shelves of night-blue spellbooks lined the walls, their magic strong enough to make the air around them writhe and throb like a living thing. Cathan’s eyes slid past all of it, however, the moment he saw what stood at the room’s far end.

It was a door made of steel, large enough that an ogre could have walked through without