The ceiling wasn’t the most remarkable thing about the room, though. That honor belonged to the pedestal of white marble in its midst, and what rested upon it.
The Peripas Mishakas were larger than Cathan had expected. Each platinum disk was the size of a small plate, and there were thousands upon thousands of them, each stamped with tiny cuneiform letters. The golden ring that held them all gleamed brilliantly, untouched by time. He suddenly had no doubt the Disks were the writings of the gods, in their own hands, with no prophet to interpret them. He imagined Mishakal’s hand, etching each letter into the platinum with painstaking care, and Majere’s… and Jolith’s and Branchala’s, Solinari’s, and Habbakuk’s … above all, Paladine’s. Paladine’s band was vital, for the Disks were said to be his scales, prized from the platinum dragon’s hide to bear his commandments to the mortals who worshipped him.
Wordlessly, Cathan knelt and laid Ebonbane on the floor. This was the holiest relic in the world: greater than the Miceram, greater even than the dragonlances Huma Dragonbane used to defeat the Queen of Darkness. A feeling of deep unworthiness came over him: He did not feel and fit to look upon the flesh and word of the god, so he averted his god-touched eyes.
At first, all was silent. Then he heard a strange sound, from beside him. It was something he’d never heard before, and it took him a moment to understand what the noise was. Beldinas Lightbringer, Kingpriest of Istar, was weeping.
He turned to stare. “Holiness?”
The glowing figure stood, head bowed, shoulders hunched. He trembled with every shaking breath. “Oh, Cathan,” he murmured. “I’m so afraid. I’ve spent my whole life bringing light to this world, and every day, I see a new darkness, waiting for the chance to undo all that I’ve fought for.
“I’ve dreamed of this day for so long, the day the gods would show their trust in me at last, and let me guide the world beyond the night. They call me Lightbringer, but I have not fulfilled that promise. I have not used the fullness of my own power.
“I have been afraid for so long, but the time for that is over. With the Disks in my hand, my friend, and with you at my side, there shall be no more fear, ever again.”
Cathan felt his heartbreak. “Beldyn…”
The Kingpriest strode to the pedestal and gazed upon the Peripas. The platinum caught his light, flaring ferociously. With a sigh, he reached down, seized the golden ring, and took them up.
Still kneeling at the room’s entrance, Cathan found himself weeping too. What he saw before him was beautifuclass="underline" the figure of light, the man he had loved more than anyone-more than his own kin-holding the gods’ words, inscribed on Paladine’s own scales. It hurt to look upon it
Then he shut his eyes, seeing other things. Slave markets. Thought-readers. Broken idols. Men murdered for sport. And hanging over it all, the omen of the burning hammer.
He understood, then, without doubt, what lay ahead. The gods would never let Beldinas do what he meant to do. The hammer would fall upon the Lightbringer. It would smash the Temple, shatter the Lordcity, bring Istar and all its glory to ruin. The Balance would not be denied-not even by Paladine’s chosen one.
He reached to his belt, found what he sought. The Serpent’s Tooth fit into his hand easily, the needle protruding between his index and middle fingers, the bladder in his palm. A bead of bloodblossom oil appeared at its tip, then fell to the floor. He stared at his hand, then looked at the Lightbringer, and rose to his feet. He had to act now, while his will was strong. If he waited until the appointed time, he knew his courage would fail him. Fistandantilus had warned him.
“No more fear!” Beldinas rejoiced, raising the Peripas high. “No more darkness!”
Cathan hit the Kingpriest as he was turning around. Beldinas jerked away, hissing between his teeth, and dropped the Disks. He stared at his shoulder, where the Lonfas Dudo was still lodged. The bladder drooped, deflated. With a snarl, Beldinas swatted the thing to the floor, leaving the tiniest wound-only a pinprick of blood.
But it was enough: the drug was in him, and already beginning to work instantaneously. He sagged where he stood, his knees buckling. Cathan grabbed him as he fell. Beldinas groaned muzzily. The Miceram clanged to the floor. His holy aura flickered and dimmed, at last revealing the face beneath.
Cathan caught his breath when he saw his old friend clearly, for the first time in almost twenty years. The beautiful youth he’d known was gone, the long, the once-thick locks now ran gray and thin above a high hairline. Deep lines etched Beldinas’s brow, and also the corners of his mouth. His beautiful skin was ashen, beaded with sweat. But it was the Kingpriest’s eyes, the blue eyes that had always been filled with such terrible certainty, that chilled Cathan the most. They were the eyes of a haunted man now, eyes full of fear, the pupils dilating wildly as the drug took him. They met Cathan’s own, not understanding.
“I’m sorry, Holiness,” Cathan said. “Forgive me.”
Beldinas stared at him for three long heartbeats, the shock in his gaze shaking Cathan to the core. Then, with a despairing moan, Beldinas let his eyelids flutter closed. The Kingpriest’s holy light went out.
Chapter 20
It was dark in the Forino. Cathan found a torch still in its sconce, and with some effort got it lit. In the fire glow he turned to stare at Beldinas’s senseless form. How had the clear-eyed, purposeful youth he’d met, all those years ago at Luciel, become this wretched, terrified old man? What had changed him?
Power, he thought. Fear. Too many enemies, too few friends. People only loved the Lightbringer because of what he could do for them. They revered him in the god’s stead. And this reverence for power was what had transformed him.
His eyes blurred with tears, and he had to steady himself against the plinth. “At least this way you’ll live, my friend,” he murmured. “They might have done worse, in the end, if I hadn’t helped them.”
Beldinas groaned, his face contorting. The bloodblossom was coursing through him; it was a small dose, though, and would wear off before long. Cathan had to get the Kingpriest out of this place, had to give him over to Idar and Rath and Tancred and the others. They would bind him, gag him, maybe drug him again-but none would dare harm him. They would answer to Ebonbane if they tried.
“Come on,” he said. “We’re going.”
Beldinas’s body was light; the Lightbringer was frail and gaunt. His bones slid beneath his skin, and Cathan hoisted him easily onto one shoulder, then took up the Miceram and held it in his hands. Site ceram biriat, abat, the old proverb went-whoever wears the Crown, rules. It had tempted him before, and did so again, its rubies glittering in the fire-light. With its power, even he could be emperor of all Istar. He could change everything, end slavery, put a stop to the Games, lift the bans and interdicts. All he had to do was set the Miceram on his brow.
But the temptation quickly faded. He would hold on to the Crown, to make sure Idar or someone else didn’t decide to wear it, but he didn’t want to rule. Revando could have the Miceram. All Cathan wanted was to go some place quiet, and live in peace. He turned to go.
Then he stopped, catching a glimpse of another glimmering, and his heart leapt The Peripas!
The Disks lay on the floor, where Beldinas had dropped them. Cathan realized he had no idea what to do with them. Should he leave them here? Bring them out to the rebels? They held the secrets that would let Beldinas bring down the gods’ wrath… he stood rooted, torn.