Sacred Fire

having to stoop his head. It stood on a dais of black marble, shimmering with light. Around it twisted a framework of gold, formed into the shape of five leering dragon heads. They were the faces of the Enemy, Takhisis, the Queen of Darkness. Cathan averted his eyes, signing the triangle.

Fistandantilus chuckled. “Your god will not protect you here, Twice-Born. Only the powers of darkness hold sway in this place now. Look upon the Portal.”

Cathan didn’t want to look, but his gaze rose anyway. The dragons’ eyes were glowing, each a different color, the five hues of evil wyrms that had once darkened Krynn’s skies: white and black, red and blue, venomous green. They seemed to be staring at him, each as malevolent as the Dark One himself.

“The Orders of High Sorcery built this Portal, long ago,” Fistandantilus said. They had hoped to forge a way to commune with one another-a permanent gateway through which they could speak and travel. They failed, and instead the result was a door leading to the Abyss.

“Many great wizards died before they were able to shut it again. Try as they might, however, they could not destroy it as they hoped, so they laid a geas on it instead, hoping it would make the Portal impossible to open. Only the blackest wizard could work its magic, they declared… but even then, he would need help-a cleric of true goodness. Such an alliance, they believed, would never happen.

“Many years ago, I decided to test that belief. Since that day, I have dedicated my life to this goal. First, I corrupted Kurnos to usurp the throne and give himself over to darkness, paving the way for Beldinas’s rise. Then I tricked the church into going to war with the Orders of High Sorcery, so my brethren would be forced into hiding-and leave this place, the Tower of Palanthas, free for my experimentation …for years I have had the freedom to come and go in the Temple, as part of the court.

“Now the time has come to enter the Abyss, and Beldinas Lightbringer will be at my side. Together… together, we will face Takhisis herself, and I will lay her low and take her place!”

Cathan stared at the dark-robed, hooded sorcerer. “And you expect me to help you in this? I’m not Kurnos, Dark One-I’m no puppet to prance for your pleasure.”

The black-robed shoulders shook. “I know, Twice-Born. You are god-touched, and your own man. But I don’t have to compel you, Cathan MarSevrin. You will fail, in the end.”

… and suddenly the Portal was gone, and the vast chamber with it Cathan found himself back in the manor, huddled and shuddering against the table. The Dark One still stood beside him, croaking with laughter.

“Very good, my brave friend,” rasped the wizard. “Now we are done, you and I. Farewell… and forget.”

A wave of darkness crashed down on Cathan, smothering him. When it lifted, Fistandantilus was gone. Cathan reached for the memory of what he’d just seen, what the wizard had told him, and felt it slipping away, like a dream upon waking. The harder he tried to hold on, the faster it receded, vanishing until it was gone from his mind. All he could recall was the wizard telling him not to go through with his plans. Why? Not knowing only strengthened his resolve.

Nodding to himself, Cathan walked away, into the manor and his waiting bed, where he dreamt of the burning hammer.

The Kingpriest’s entourage gathered at the western edge of the city the next morning, cloaked in rain and mist. The city’s gates, topped with statues of lapis and sard and chalcedony-each an image of the Lightbringer, replacing the heroes and clerics who had stood there before-towered over them. The crowds had gathered early, chanting Pilofiro and swaying on their knees. As Revando had promised, the Kingpriest’s armed escort numbered twenty: eight knights and a dozen Scatas, each armed with crossbow, spear, and sword. There was not a horse among them: this was a sacred pilgrimage, and they would make the journey on foot. Looking the party over, Cathan thought of his nephews, already well on their way, and prayed to Paladine for their safety.

Wentha was missing. If they failed, she would be in danger too. And that, more than anything, bolstered Cathan’s determination to go through with it and succeed.

To his surprise, Tithian wasn’t there. He’d hoped his old squire would see him off, but instead he sent a proxy, a lieutenant whose name Cathan heard and immediately forgot. The Grand Marshal had pressing business to see to, the lieutenant explained; Tithian sent his apologies. Cathan wondered what could be more pressing than this occasion but he had led the knighthood himself, and knew there were endless crises and tasks.

The Kingpriest’s inner circle were at the gates as well: Lady Elsa, whom Cathan did not know; Quarath, who watched with aloof eyes, clearly happy to be left running the empire in the Kingpriest’s absence. And Revando … Cathan tried not to stare at the First Son, but their eyes did meet briefly, and the urgency in the high priest’s gaze drove through him like an arrow. The man’s life had been leading up to this moment. Cathan winced and glanced away as if stung.

“My friend,” said Beldinas, noticing his odd reaction, “are you all right?”

Cathan felt his cheeks color. “I’m fine,” he lied, “it’s just strange, riding out again with you, after all this time.”

For the last time.

The Kingpriest smiled. It showed through his aura, and the beauty of it made Cathan want to weep. After today, one way or another, he knew he would never know that smile again. Reaching out, Beldinas laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re with me, Cathan,” he said.

Tears started in Cathan’s eyes. Angrily, he blinked them away. “Thank you, Beldyn,” he murmured.

Beldinas chuckled to hear his old name, the one he’d worn before he donned the Miceram. Only the oldest of his friends even knew it, and few spoke it ever. He beckoned toward the gates. “Shall we go?”

Cathan nodded. Together, friends of old, they turned and strode out of Istar the Beautiful.

Chapter 19

It was a three-day journey from Istar to the Vaults, and it rained the whole way. The knights and Scatas rode silently, or chanted hymns muted by the drumming of the rain on their armor. Their cloaks and the plumes of their helms drooped and darkened. The sky hung heavy; everything seemed the color of lead. Every slow mile they walked, Cathan gave thanks to whatever long-dead Kingpriest had commanded the paving of Istar’s roads: growing up in the borderlands, he’d seen trails washed out or turned to sucking mires by this sort of weather. It would have been the Abyss to make the journey on such roads.

Beldinas was as hard to read as ever. He hardly spoke, only stared ahead, as if he could see past the distance and the gloom to where the Disks lay waiting for him. The rain didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. As he dripped and shivered, Cathan wondered if the weather penetrated the Kingpriest’s aura at all. He imagined he could see drops turning to vapor as they struck him, little wisps of steam that vanished in an instant.

The land rose, changing from rolling hills to time-worn downs fringed with olive trees. To the south, Cathan caught glimpses of the gray sheet of Lake Istar, and once, as evening fell, he thought he could spot the lights of Calah, the island-city where Idar’s ruffians waited in their tunnels. Then they went deeper still into the hills, and the pall swallowed the city, lights and all.

After dark, they stopped for shelter-at a monastery of Paladine the first night, a lord’s cliff-top villa the second. It was impossible to say whether the abbot or nobleman fawned more over the Lightbringer. At dawn, they started again. The olives gave way to spruce, then oak and pine. Rainwater poured in runnels down the slopes.

As the third day was growing dark, Beldinas raised his hand.

“Halt,” he said, his voice so soft Cathan could barely make it out above the rain.

The knights heard him, though, and the Scatas too. As one they stopped, looking to the Lightbringer for orders. Cathan glanced around. There was no sign of anything different about this place … just trees and thick undergrowth on either side, climbing uphill and down. In the distance rose the faint humps of still more crags. He laid a hand on Ebonbane, glancing at the Kingpriest.