Sacred Fire

“There is nothing to be afraid of, Holiness,” the elf declared, gesturing around him. “It is you and me only. No one else is here.”

Beldinas shuddered, radiating mistrust, and didn’t answer, though he slowly sat up. It was all Quarath could do not to gnash his teeth. It had been like this every morning, since the Kingpriest’s return from the Forino.

He suffered night terrors-and often day terrors too, if truth be told.

“Sire?” Quarath pleaded. “Will you not come here?”

Hesitantly, the Kingpriest nodded, then rose from the bed.

“He’s close, isn’t he?”

“I’m sorry, Holiness?”

“Lord Cathan,” Beldinas declared. His voice caught, with something between relief and disappointment. “Has he not come?”

This again, Quarath thought, biting his lip to keep from speaking aloud. Quarath had been sure the episodes of terror would pass, but if anything they were getting worse. This was the third time this week he had come here, while the sky still held no promise of dawn, to soothe Beldinas’s mind.

“What did you see in your dreams this time, Holiness?” he asked. “Tell me.”

Beldinas’s band rose to his mouth, stayed there a moment, then fell. “Trees,” he said. “Trees… with daggers. I tried to run, but my legs would not move….” He bowed his head, gasping.

Quarath reached out, penetrating the holy aura, to rest a hand on the Kingpriest’s arm. He’d heard Lord Tithian’s report, of the charms the traitors had used to make themselves seem as trees, so they could hide in wait for him. The bloodblossom oil the Twice-Born had given him had burned this image into Beldinas’s mind. No doubt that explained his ravings about Lord Cathan, as well-ridiculous, when the man was locked away for good, in a place from which there was no escape.

“It is all right, sire,” the elf said soothingly. “There are no trees here, and no daggers either. There is only you and me, don’t you see?”

Beldinas shifted, pulling away from Quarath’s touch, but just then something flashed on the floor beside his bed, a metallic gleam catching his glow. The elf frowned, then leaned in to peer closer. His breath caught when he saw rune-stamped platinum: the Peripas! The gods’ true words, the manifestation of their very will, and here the Disks lay in a heap, as if the Kingpriest had simply cast them aside. A rush of indignance flooded Quarath, its vehemence surprising even him.

“I can’t find it,” Beldinas muttered, following his gaze. “I can’t find the answer.”

“You’ve been looking for only six months,” Quarath responded mildly, as though to a child, while stooping to lift the Disks from the floor. “Scholars could pore over these for half a lifetime, and still not read them all.” He set them gently on the foot of the bed. They made delicate music as they left his grasp.

The Kingpriest stared at the Peripas. “It didn’t take Huma Dragonbane this long to find the gods’ power. He had their help, and I do not.” He rapped his knuckles twice against his temples, hard, then crept over pillow and blanket to kneel before the Disks. “Why do they hide their grace from me? They must reveal to me their insights and power! They must-I am their chosen!”

“Certainly, Holiness,” Quarath replied, shrugging inwardly. He had heard this speech before; his irritation matched the Lightbringer’s frustration. The Disks required patience-anyone could see that. “Will you not be leaving the manse today, to see to affairs at court?”

“Court?” the Kingpriest shot back. He grabbed up the Peripas, which clanked and clattered unpleasantly as he raised them. “When I still haven’t found what I need from these? No, Emissary-of course I won’t be leaving the manse today. I have too much reading to do.”

“I understand, sire.”

Beldinas half-rose, turning away. “Good. Now go, and do not interrupt me again!”

Part of Quarath rankled at being dismissed so abruptly, but it was something of a relief as well. In truth, he told himself as he walked back to the door, he preferred days when the Kingpriest stayed in his room, when he could govern the empire without distraction. There would be no court today; he would spend the day in his own study, reading reports from across Istar, issuing decrees and writs and proclamations in the Kingpriest’s name. He had spent many years waiting patiently for the chance to rule, and he relished every opportunity.

Quarath eyed Beldinas from the doorway, his brow faintly furrowed. He’d seen one Kingpriest go mad, when Lord Kurnos’s allies had abandoned him and embraced the Lightbringer. Now, regarding the frenzied way Beldinas was leafing through the Disks, he knew it was happening again.

“I will return after evening prayers,” he declared solemnly. “Please eat something before then, Holiness.”

Beldinas ignored him, his attention fast upon the Peripas. He muttered to himself as he read, searching for the secrets. One eyebrow raised, the elf withdrew, easing the door shut behind him. The bolt quickly shot home behind him.

Quarath glanced back, then shook his head and looked down. He ignored the young acolyte’s questioning look as he passed him, his mind already on the day ahead. The Lightbringer was meditating, he would tell the courtiers. Perhaps he would attend to them tomorrow. They would be disappointed, but he didn’t particularly care. Istar could go on perfectly well without the Kingpriest, with him in charge.

Out the front doors of the manse, and down the garden path in the predawn darkness, his mind traveled ahead of him. His thoughts were so intent, he never saw the shadow watching him from the shelter of the Garden of Martyrs.

Cathan crouched low in the Garden of Martyrs, watching Quarath. He’d found sandals and a clerical habit in a wardrobe near where Lady Ilista had left him. With the hood drawn low to hide his eyes, and his scabby hands hidden in huge sleeves, he looked no different from the other priests in Istar-and there were hundreds of priests. He could move about the Temple with freedom-until the guards in the dungeon noticed he was missing, and raised the alarm. With luck, it would be hours before that happened.

When he’d seen the Emissary emerge from Beldinas’s manse, however, he’d scrambled for cover. Quarath’s senses might pick up on something the human clerics missed. Cathan knew that if the elf got a good look at him, his disguise might not matter. So he hunkered down, losing himself in the shadows, keeping quiet. Finally, when Quarath disappeared into the basilica, he let himself breathe again.

He also relaxed his grip on the wooden cudgel he’d managed to procure from a storeroom. He would have preferred a sword, but he felt lucky enough to find any weapon. He would have used the club on Quarath if it came to that. The thought sickened him, but he recognized that the elf would be dead soon anyway, with or without his help. So would everyone else in the Lordcity. He glanced at the sky, feeling the hammer hanging above him, and shivered.

The manse was guarded as always: two knights, armed with halberds, stood watch, and more than a dozen others would materialize at its front gates in a heartbeat, if the call went out. Fortunately, there were other ways in, besides the gates. There was a servants’ entrance that the acolytes used, but it too had guards. The upper levels had many windows and balconies, but he would be spotted if he tried to climb in from below. There was even a covered walkway that ran directly to the basilica, but there was no way he could reach it from the ground.

Still, there was one way known only to the Kingpriest’s innermost circle. He walked gently on the crushed- crystal paths, around to a quiet bower in the southernmost part of the grounds. Silvernut trees grew there, their drooping branches heavy with their long, white fruit, and a reflecting pool ringed with benches stood in its midst. The place was deserted, though one small, gold-furred monkey that was perched on the back of a bench watched him with curiosity.

He prayed to Paladine for luck.

Clenching his teeth, he edged forward. The monkey watching him suddenly shrieked; there was a shudder all around him, and the monkey’s cry was cut off. He felt for a moment as if he were pushing through warm liquid, then the air around him changed, from cool and breezy to warm and stifling. The scent of silverfruit changed to faint incense. He opened his eyes, and saw he was inside.

Symeon, the first Kingpriest, had ordered this entrance put here when the Temple was built. In those days, the Orders of High Sorcery had still been friends to the church, and so the imperial manse was built with an open