Sacred Fire

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 Peripas. You need them to be together.”

“You continue to impress.”

“Why?”

“My reasons are my own,” Fistandantilus declared. “I need not tell you everything. Now decide, Twice-Born-will you do me this service, or shall I leave you here for the Lightbringer’s men to find? Your time grows short.”

Glancing east, Cathan saw the sky was bright pink now; in moments, the sun would appear over the horizon. The bells in the Temple’s central spire would sound the call to Udenso, the morning prayer. He stared at the wizard, and then in his mind heard the voice again-the voice that had told him to bring the Peripas out of the Vault.

Take the book.

Doubt lifted away like the mist that rose from the gardens in the day’s gathering warmth. Cathan reached out, took the book from the age-gnarled hand. It felt like a block of ice, stung his fingers. He tucked it away quickly.

“Good,” the wizard murmured. “Now, do as you have agreed, or I will not be pleased.”

Cathan’s mouth went dry. “I’ll hold to my end of the bargain. Now you hold to yours.”

“Of course.”

The wizard reached into a pouch at his belt. From it, be produced something small, green, and very familiar to Cathan. It was the malachite medallion, the same one Tancred had given him as they sailed into Istar. He took the medallion from the archmage without a word, slipping it over his head.

“I don’t suppose you have Ebonbane in there, as well,” he said.

Another laugh from Fistandantilus, who seemed full of mirth this morning. “I fear not, Twice-Born. Your sword belongs to another now.”

Cathan nodded. He tucked the amulet beneath his habit as the first rays of sunlight kissed the Temple, turning its golden spires to flame red. The bells began to chime.

“You will never see this place again,” the Dark One said, almost sympathetically. “Good-bye, Twice-Born. Palado tas drifas bisat.”

Paladine guide thy steps.

“E tas,” Cathan replied, out of reflex.

And thine.

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” the archmage said.

He spread his hands and began the spell, wearing ancient fingers in complex gestures. His cold voice recited words that crawled in Cathan’s mind, drawing down the power of the black moon. Cathan felt magic streaming through the dead grove, coiling around the leafless trees. A cloud of silvery motes sprang up around him, rotating slowly, then gathering speed as they grew brighter and brighter. Soon they were whirling, each speck becoming a streak of pure white light. The gardens, the Temple, the shape of the Dark One all became sun-bright blurs that swam before his eyes. There was a sound like shattering crystal.

He drew a breath, scented with the flowers of Istar…

… and let it out again in a place that smelled of pine and rain. The Lordcity was gone. Glancing around, Cathan saw he now stood on a wooded hillside-from the looks of the trees and the rocks, in the highlands north and west of Istar, not far from the Forino. Dawn light streaked between the trees.

The Dark Ones spell tingled in him for a moment, then faded away. He was alone. He looked at the trees and saw a vision of them burning, the hills crumbling, and tears flooded his eyes. Why did it have to come to this? he wondered.

Sighing, he pulled down his hood and started walking west. He had a long way yet to go, and still much to do.

“Escaped?” Quarath echoed, his eyebrows arching. “You cannot be serious.”

Tithian shifted uncomfortably. The Lightbringer’s inner circle had gathered to hear his tidings. He would have preferred to tell Beldinas alone, but His Holiness had insisted that Quarath and Lady Elsa be present. Now the three clerics regarded him with disdain, disgust, confusion, and shock. Though the Kingpriest radiated his usual serenity from within his glow, Tithian was sure he could feel fear there, too. That troubled him almost as much as Cathan’s disappearance.

“I have never been more serious, Eminence,” he replied. “The guards found his cell empty when they went to check this morning.”

“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.