Sacred Fire

archway on its south side, hidden from view by magic. The Kingpriests and their advisors used this way only rarely, and then only in times of trouble. Fortunately, though wizards were long gone from Istar, the enchantment remained.

He found himself in a small meditation room, dark but for one candle burning before an icon of the platinum dragon. Ruddy light spilled from beneath a door. Swallowing, he moved to the door and cracked it open, just an inch.

There were stairs on the other side, and nothing-no one-else. They led up into the Kingpriest’s private chambers. Blue carpet cushioned each step. Cathan climbed them quickly, as silent as dust falling, and stopped when he reached the doors at the top. They were gilded, marked with the imperial sigil. He held the cudgel ready, praying that he would not have to use it, and bent to listen.

No sound came from within: no voices, no prayers, not even the bustling of servants. Cathan’s breath came quick and sharp. He didn’t know how he knew the Peripas would be in here, in the Kingpriest’s own chambers, but even so he had never been so certain of anything in his life. Holding his breath, he pushed on the doors. They opened without a sound.

The chamber was dark, completely still. And now there was a slight sound. It came from the bed, set in its midst. The Lightbringer was snoring softly.

Cathan almost smiled as he crossed the chamber, club in hand. He stopped when he drew near, however, sucking in a startled breath. The Kingpriest lay curled up like a child, wrapped so tight in his satin blankets that they might have been funeral windings. His face was pinched with fear, twitching with every breath he drew. Cathan barely recognized him at all now-he seemed to have aged twenty years in the past six months. A film of sweat glistened on his face.

Cathan raised the cudgel. He didn’t even realize what he was doing until it was poised above the bed like a headsman’s sword. His face turned grim: it would be a mercy of sorts, putting an end to Beldinas’s fear-his ill-fated life.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make his hand move, couldn’t kill this old man who had been his friend. He stood there for more than a minute, club held high. In the end he gave up, bowing his head as his arm lowered to his side again. The Kingpriest went on sleeping, unaware.

Cathan spied the Disks then, lying on the floor. He blinked for a moment, stunned that they should be in plain view like that. Then he swooped down and picked them up. They jingled as he did so, but the figure in the bed did not stir. Clutching them to his chest, Cathan turned and looked at the Kingpriest one last time. He knew he would never see Beldinas again-not in this life, anyway.

“Oporum, Pilofiro,” he murmured.

Farewell, Lightbringer.

Then he was gone, back the way he’d come. The golden doors shut noiselessly, the stairs flew by in a blur, the meditation room was still dim and empty. He paused there, long enough to regard the Peripas in the candlelight. They glimmered like silver water. He steeled himself, tucked them into his robe, then walked straight into the room’s south wall…

… back out into the cool of the garden again…

… and stopped, staring at the golden monkey lying dead on the ground, its fur rimed with ice.

“Well done, Twice-Born,” said Fistandantilus from the bower’s far side.

Chapter 24

“Go away, damn you,” Cathan said. “You said you were finished with me.”

The grove was dying even as he spoke, the silvernut trees dropping brown leaves in showers, their white fruit turning black and shriveled. Ice grew on the surface of the reflecting pool. Cathan’s breath fogged in the air as the cloaked figure stood watching him.

“No one has damned me in hundreds of years,” the archmage said. “I’m not certain whether that’s bravery or foolishness. But think twice before you do it again, MarSevrin-I could call the guards, and I wouldn’t even have to shout.”

“You could,” Cathan said. “But you won’t, because you brought me here. You wanted me to turn against Beldinas, and you nudged me every step of the way. You have foreseen the burning hammer. Isn’t that right?”

The wizard’s shoulders rose and fell.

“You speak with me only because I’m useful to you,” Cathan went on. “You still have use of me. That’s why you won’t call the guards.”

A dry chuckle escaped from the hooded figure. “Very good. But in this case, I am useful to you as well. Without me, your little adventure here is doomed to fail. It is almost dawn-the guards will check your cell soon, and see that you are gone. They will raise the alarm, and every Araifo in Istar will turn his mind to you. You will not escape, Twice-Born-and they will not take you prisoner again. You’ll die, and the Peripas will perish with the Kingpriest and his empire.”

“And you?” Cathan asked.

The archmage only laughed. For a moment, something tugged at Cathan’s memory that he couldn’t quite recall. Then it went away. He shook his head.

“What do you want, Dark One?”

Fistandantilus spread his hands. “Do you know where you are taking the Disks? Did Lady Ilista tell you where to go with them?”

Cathan shook his head. All he knew was that he had to get them out of the empire, and that he had intended to take them in the direction of the kingdoms in the west. Not to Solamnia-that realm was too friendly to Istar. No… a place like Kharolis in the south was where he must go; there the Disks would he safe. One of the great cities there, Tarsis or Xak Tsaroth, would provide a sanctuary.

“Good enough,” said the archmage, reading his mind. “That will do. I know some magic that will help you flee this city, and I can throw up a protection spell to baffle His Holiness’s thought-readers.”

“If help you.”

“If you help me.”

Cathan shut his eyes. He knew that once he was found missing from the dungeon, the Hammer would seal the Lordcity’s gates, chain off the harbor, and begin to scour the city in search of him. There was no one left in Istar who was friend to him, nowhere he could find succor. Without the wizard’s aid, indeed he was doomed. But hadn’t Ilista thought of that? Wouldn’t she provide a way out?”

“Perhaps I come from her,” said the Dark One. “It is a sign of how desperate things have grown that Paladine and I work toward the same ends-to preserve evil in Krynn. Polas ongud bonas ongud borgant, as the proverb goes.”

Strange times make strange friends. Cathan turned the thought over in his mind. Fistandantilus liked to speak in riddles-but could he be telling the truth? Is it possible that Ilista and the Dark One were working in such dose concert?

“I ask you again: What do you want?” he murmured.

The Dark One’s beard twitched. “Only one simple thing.”

He held out a hand. A book appeared out of nowhere, bound in night-blue leather, with runes of silver decorating its spine. The writing was slippery and spidery, and it made Cathan’s head hurt even to look at it.

“It is a tome of spells,” Fistandantilus explained. “It will not harm you, so long as you do not try to read it.”

Cathan stared at the book as though it might poison him. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“Only take it with you. I want it out of Istar, and I need to know it is safe. Believe it or not, I trust you to do that for me, in return for your own safety.”

“I’m flattered,” Cathan said. He stared at the book, wondering what dark secrets it must contain. With his powers, the wizard could hide the book away easily enough. There must be some reason why he wanted Cathan to carry it with him-and then, all of a sudden, he knew. “You want this book to accompany the