Sacred Fire

It came back when he awoke, but as a dull ache that flared as he pushed himself up on his elbows. There was a great deal of blood-his blood-on the balcony, and looking around at it made him feel weak and nearly pass out again.

A glowing hand pressed a cup to his lips. “Drink.”

It was watered wine, and his strength returned as he sipped it. His ribs still hurt, there were livid claw-marks showing through the rips in his robes. “You didn’t heal me completely,” he said.

“You would have slept too long,” Beldinas replied. “We must enter the Forino, or the Guardian will awaken again. Can you stand?”

Cathan got to his feet, waving off the Kingpriest’s help. As he did, he felt the malachite amulet slide against his skin, and swallowed at the thought of how close Beldinas had come to touching it when he healed him. When he was upright again, he cast an eye at the Iudulas. They were lifeless, unmoving.

“Come,” Beldinas said, and they stepped past the lionesses, to the gold-scaled doors. The doors parted at a touch, and the Lightbringer and the Twice-Born entered Symeon’s Vault.

It was dark within, but the Kingpriest’s light filled the air around them, driving the shadows back. The walls were covered with mosaics rendered in a crude style that artists had abandoned years ago, showing images of gods and priests alike. The plaster had crumbled in places where vegetation invaded the Forino. Now and then, a faint, glassy plink broke the stillness as another tile stirred loose and fell to the floor. What remained on the walls glimmered with a hundred colors as it caught Beldinas’s glow: red and green, blue and violet, gold and flame, all coming together to make a coruscating white.

Beldinas wasted no time, moving down the wide entry hall to an archway on the far side. There were similar arches to the left and right, but he knew where he was going, and moved as if pulled by forces beyond his control. Cathan had seen him like this before, in the lowest catacombs beneath the Pantheon of Govinna, where the two of them had discovered the Miceram. Drawing his sword, watching the shadows between the winking tiles, Cathan followed just behind Beldinas without a word.

Through the arch was a passage, also covered with glittering tiles. It angled downward, and the air grew noticeably cooler as they descended into the rock of the cliff. Silver light seemed to glimmer farther on, luring them toward shallow stairs, then steeper ones. Soon they were climbing more than walking, past dusty side passages where rats chattered and many-legged things scuttled to hide out of sight. Down, down…

Their descent halted, and Cathan caught his breath, staring. The stairs gave way to a broad, tall chamber, its jeweled walls ablaze, its ceiling decorated with a chipped, faded fresco of Paladine. It was an older rendition of the god, black-bearded and battle-fierce, rather than the gentle old man the imperial church currently espoused: a harder deity for harder times, Cathan thought. A helm crowned with gold shone upon his head. The same god had looked down on them in the Govinnese catacombs, such a long time ago. This was the god of the burning hammer, the one whose wrath Cathan felt every time he tried to sleep.

The ceiling wasn’t the most remarkable thing about the room, though. That honor belonged to the pedestal of white marble in its midst, and what rested upon it.

The Peripas Mishakas were larger than Cathan had expected. Each platinum disk was the size of a small plate, and there were thousands upon thousands of them, each stamped with tiny cuneiform letters. The golden ring that held them all gleamed brilliantly, untouched by time. He suddenly had no doubt the Disks were the writings of the gods, in their own hands, with no prophet to interpret them. He imagined Mishakal’s hand, etching each letter into the platinum with painstaking care, and Majere’s… and Jolith’s and Branchala’s, Solinari’s, and Habbakuk’s … above all, Paladine’s. Paladine’s band was vital, for the Disks were said to be his scales, prized from the platinum dragon’s hide to bear his commandments to the mortals who worshipped him.

Wordlessly, Cathan knelt and laid Ebonbane on the floor. This was the holiest relic in the world: greater than the Miceram, greater even than the dragonlances Huma Dragonbane used to defeat the Queen of Darkness. A feeling of deep unworthiness came over him: He did not feel and fit to look upon the flesh and word of the god, so he averted his god-touched eyes.

At first, all was silent. Then he heard a strange sound, from beside him. It was something he’d never heard before, and it took him a moment to understand what the noise was. Beldinas Lightbringer, Kingpriest of Istar, was weeping.

He turned to stare. “Holiness?”

The glowing figure stood, head bowed, shoulders hunched. He trembled with every shaking breath. “Oh, Cathan,” he murmured. “I’m so afraid. I’ve spent my whole life bringing light to this world, and every day, I see a new darkness, waiting for the chance to undo all that I’ve fought for.

“I’ve dreamed of this day for so long, the day the gods would show their trust in me at last, and let me guide the world beyond the night. They call me Lightbringer, but I have not fulfilled that promise. I have not used the fullness of my own power.

“I have been afraid for so long, but the time for that is over. With the Disks in my hand, my friend, and with you at my side, there shall be no more fear, ever again.”

Cathan felt his heartbreak. “Beldyn…”

The Kingpriest strode to the pedestal and gazed upon the Peripas. The platinum caught his light, flaring ferociously. With a sigh, he reached down, seized the golden ring, and took them up.

Still kneeling at the room’s entrance, Cathan found himself weeping too. What he saw before him was beautiful: the figure of light, the man he had loved more than anyone-more than his own kin-holding the gods’ words, inscribed on Paladine’s own scales. It hurt to look upon it

Then he shut his eyes, seeing other things. Slave markets. Thought-readers. Broken idols. Men murdered for sport. And hanging over it all, the omen of the burning hammer.

He understood, then, without doubt, what lay ahead. The gods would never let Beldinas do what he meant to do. The hammer would fall upon the Lightbringer. It would smash the Temple, shatter the Lordcity, bring Istar and all its glory to ruin. The Balance would not be denied-not even by Paladine’s chosen one.

He reached to his belt, found what he sought. The Serpent’s Tooth fit into his hand easily, the needle protruding between his index and middle fingers, the bladder in his palm. A bead of bloodblossom oil appeared at its tip, then fell to the floor. He stared at his hand, then looked at the Lightbringer, and rose to his feet. He had to act now, while his will was strong. If he waited until the appointed time, he knew his courage would fail him. Fistandantilus had warned him.

“No more fear!” Beldinas rejoiced, raising the Peripas high. “No more darkness!”

Cathan hit the Kingpriest as he was turning around. Beldinas jerked away, hissing between his teeth, and dropped the Disks. He stared at his shoulder, where the Lonfas Dudo was still lodged. The bladder drooped, deflated. With a snarl, Beldinas swatted the thing to the floor, leaving the tiniest wound-only a pinprick of blood.

But it was enough: the drug was in him, and already beginning to work instantaneously. He sagged where he stood, his knees buckling. Cathan grabbed him as he fell. Beldinas groaned muzzily. The Miceram clanged to the floor. His holy aura flickered and dimmed, at last revealing the face beneath.

Cathan caught his breath when he saw his old friend clearly, for the first time in almost twenty years. The beautiful youth he’d known was gone, the long, the once-thick locks now ran gray and thin above a high hairline. Deep lines etched Beldinas’s brow, and also the corners of his mouth. His beautiful skin was ashen, beaded with sweat. But it was the Kingpriest’s eyes, the blue eyes that had always been filled with such terrible certainty, that chilled Cathan the most. They were the eyes of a haunted man now, eyes full of fear, the pupils dilating wildly as the drug took him. They met Cathan’s own, not understanding.

“I’m sorry, Holiness,” Cathan said. “Forgive me.”

Beldinas stared at him for three long heartbeats, the shock in his gaze shaking Cathan to the core. Then, with a despairing moan, Beldinas let his eyelids flutter closed. The Kingpriest’s holy light went out.

Chapter 20