Chris Pierson - Sacred Fire

“But I thought no one had ever escaped from the imperial dungeons,” said Elsa.

“No one ever has,” Tithian agreed. “The doors are triple-locked, and the walls are solid stone. There are warding glyphs to paralyze anyone who tries to get out. And a dozen men stand watch over the only exit.”

“Then how-?”

He shook his head, cutting off the First Daughter’s question. “I don’t know, Your Grace. My men are investigating, and the Araifas are questioning everyone who works in the dungeon, in case one of them aided him.”

“I can’t believe no one saw anything,” Quarath said. The corners of his mouth were pinched. “Perhaps the Hammer are not the ones we should trust with this task.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Quarath answered with a half-smile, “that the Twice-Born was once one of your order. Despite his treachery, it is not unlikely that there are some who still honor him, and would aid him in his flight.”

Tithian bridled. He favored the elf with a cold look. “Are you accusing me ?”

“You?” Quarath blinked, as though surprised. “Who said anything about you, Grand Marshal? You may have been his squire once, but I would never cast doubts upon your loyalty to the crown.”

“Wait,” Elsa tried to cut in. “Don’t-”

“I don’t have to take such an insult from you, elf,” Tithian shot back.

“Let go your sword, knight ,” Quarath snapped. “Unless you truly intend to use it, that is.”

Tithian started. His hand had indeed drifted to the hilt at his hip. He felt the elf’s sly smile before he looked up.

“That’s his blade, isn’t it?” Quarath asked. “What was its name…?”

“Ebonbane,” Tithian said, releasing the hilt

“Enough.”

The word, though softly spoken, rang out across the chamber. All three of the Kingpriest’s advisors started, turning to look at him. He had been so silent that Tithian had forgotten he was there. Now he felt Beldinas’s gaze bore into him. It hurt, like staring into the sun.

“This bickering does no good,” Beldinas said calmly. “Cathan is gone. We should be seeking him, not someone to blame.”

“We’re searching for him, Holiness,” Tithian said. “Quietly, so as not to cause a panic. I’ve doubled the guard on the Temple, and trebled it here at the manse. There’s nowhere for him to go.”

“There was no way out of the dungeons, either,” Quarath muttered.

The Lightbringer raised a hand. “I said be still, Emissary. Grand Marshal, I doubt he is still within Istar’s walls. It seems clear he had sorcerous help in his escape.”

Tithian looked down at his feet, nodding. He’d considered that very possibility. “But who, sire?” he asked.

“I do not know,” Beldinas answered. “Though he and the other traitors had sorcerous help when… when they tried to abduct me. Perhaps there is still a wizard among us.”

“Another wizard, you mean,” Quarath noted. “Besides the Dark One, Holiness.”

The Kingpriest nodded, regarding the elf. “Yes. Have Fistandantilus sent for at once, Emissary. I would speak with him about this matter. This meeting is ended. There is nothing more to say now. You may go.”

Quarath hesitated, his brow creasing, then bowed. “As you wish, Pilofiro ,” he murmured, then left the chamber. Lady Elsa curtseyed and followed after him. Tithian bowed and started to leave as well.

“Not you, Grand Marshal” the Kingpriest said. “Stay a while.”

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.

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?