Sacred Fire

Tithian turned back toward the throne. “Sire?” he asked. “What more do you wish of me?”

“I think you know,” Beldinas answered, steepling his fingers.

Tithian’s eyes widened. “You want me to pursue him?”

The Kingpriest nodded. “No man I trust knows him better than you, Grand Marshal. Who else would I send on this hunt?”

“But, Holiness,” Tithian reasoned, spreading his hands, “we don’t know where he’s going, and there won’t even be a clear trail to follow.”

“He is heading west,” Beldinas said. “This I know. I know Cathan, Grand Marshal… he will not go back into the south, and there is nothing to the north and east. Take a party of knights with you, travel light and fast. If you move quickly enough, you will catch him, even with whatever sorcerous aid he has.”

“Why is it so important?” Tithian ventured. He didn’t want this duty; his place was here, in Istar, at the Lightbringer’s side. “If you think he’s going somewhere else… he might just be hiding out again. Why bother to hunt him?”

“Because,” Beldinas said, “he has the Peripas.”

Tithian started. “What?”

“He came here, before the dawn,” the Kingpriest replied sadly. “I thought it was a dream, but it wasn’t. And the Disks were missing when I awoke.”

Tithian stared, aghast.

“You will not speak of this to anyone,” Beldinas declared. “Not even Quarath. No one must know the Peripas are missing. It is a catastrophe.”

“Of-of course, sire,” Tithian mumbled, numb with shock. Cathan had stolen the gods’ word. What had happened to his old master, his old friend, to commit such an impiety?

“Darkness guides the Twice-Born now,” Beldinas said ruefully. “You must bring him back … alive, if possible.”

“And if it isn’t possible, sire?”

The Kingpriest sighed, bowed his head, and gave no answer.

Chapter 25

ELEVENTHMONTH, 962 I.A.

Curiously, Beldinas showed a dramatic improvement after the Twice-Born’s disappearance. It was a gradual process, but day by day he recovered from the madness that had gripped him while he pored over the Peripas. He emerged from the manse for the first time in months, often walking in the gardens, lost in thought. He returned to the basilica, to lead the prayers and hold short audiences. Soon he was appearing on the steps of the Temple once more, to receive the adulation of the masses. They cheered for him as he stood upon the steps, and he pronounced blessings upon them and all who followed his light.

Three weeks after his first public appearance, he invited his court-save for Lord Tithian, who had departed the city-to a grand feast. It was the day before the month-long preparations for Yule were due to start. There were fried goose livers, and greenfish crusted with salt, and sweets made from the honey of the Temple’s rare, ruby-hued bees. There was claret, and moragnac brandy. A shaven-headed boy from West Dravinaar sang and played a plucked dulcimer called the cimbello.

The hierarchs didn’t come for food, drink, or song, however-even if they did savor such pleasures. They came with questions, many to do with the day-long closing of the city’s gates a month ago, and the increase in the Scatas and knights who walked its streets. Beseechinging eyes watched the flowing figure at the head of the table.

Quarath watched the Kingpriest too, wondering what His Holiness was up to. Beldinas had to answer the many questions, but didn’t dare tell the truth. It was a delicate matter, one Quarath would have preferred to handle himself-no chance of that, now. He sipped his wine, watching everyone until finally the soft scrape of a chair against the floor brought conversation, dining, and music to a halt.

The Lightbringer had risen.

He stood there for three full minutes, saying nothing. The dining hall seemed to roar with silence; the courtiers froze where they sat, afraid to make the slightest noise. Quarath watched with admiration as the hierarchs waited and waited, respectfully. The presence of the man was awe-inspiring. Staring intently down the table, radiating benevolence, he exuded power. Even the elf felt it. This was the chosen of the gods; who could doubt it?

“The time,” said the Kingpriest, “has come.”

The words hung there until, directed by some imperceptible signal, the hierarchs leaned forward, their faces intent. Beldinas continued.

“The forces of darkness have struck at me this year. They came not cloaked in hatred and fear, but in a guise far more disturbing and terrible. They came as friends to the empire. They seeped into the hearts of those we once loved. I speak, of course, of First Son Revando, and the MarSevrin family, and the many others who plotted and schemed to steal my Crown, and undo all the good work this church, and this empire, have done.”

A murmur of disapproval echoed around the table. What had nearly happened at the Forino was well-known by now. In the wine-shops and marketplaces, men spat whenever Revando’s name was mentioned. This was, however, the first time Beldinas had spoken openly of the plot, outside his inner circle.

“This is the guise evil takes,” the Kingpriest went on. “As the shadows dim, it finds new places to dwell-even within the light. We could fight it for a thousand years, until not a single goblin or wizard remains on the face of Krynn, and still it would find places to hide, and thrive. It is cunning, insidious.

“I will not have it so. Yule is coming, and it will be a merry season regardless, and all must know this: it will be the last while evil survives in Istar. For on the last day of this year, I shall go into seclusion, and gather my strength. For three days I shall remain so, cleansing my spirit. And then on the third day of the new year, when the sun is at its acme in the sky, I shall call upon the gods themselves, and thus banish the darkness from the world forever!”

The dining hall might have been a tomb, for all the noise the hierarchs made now. Tears streaked their faces, and their lips parted in silent rapture. Only Quarath breached a slight smile.

The feast ended soon after, the courtiers’ many questions not only unasked but forgotten. The guests left with amazed faces, speaking little. Quarath studied each as they left, looking for signs of doubt, or fear. He saw nothing of the sort.

Only when they were alone, looking out from the balcony of the Kingpriest’s parlor over the dusklit city, did Quarath himself ask a question.

“You found the answer you sought?”

Beldinas remained silent. Moths fluttered about his light.

“Holiness?” Quarath urged. The secret… was it in the Peripas?”

“The Peripas do not matter.” Beldinas replied blandly. They never did. I understand now-I was guided to them, but not to learn the secrets of the gods. No… it was to uncover the traitors, to lure them into the open. The Disks were only a means. They were not an end.”

Quarath blinked, startled. “Then…?”

“Here,” the Kingpriest said, laying a hand over his heart “The answer is here, and it has been all along. I was too blind to see it… but now, it has come to me. I will call the god’s name, and he will answer. I will command him, and he will obey. The power is here.”

He thumped his chest again, and his radiance flared, forcing Quarath to blink, then look away with pained eyes. The Kingpriest briefly shone like a star … and Quarath wondered. Neither man spoke again, for quite some time.

It was almost midnight when the elf finally left the manse, and Beldinas retired to his bedchamber. With a