“You’re ruined us,” Rath gasped. His eyes were red, his mouth an anguished gash. “You ruined your family … all of us… for what? A better station in life? Do you think the Kingpriest will name you First Son for this?”
Tancred was shaking now, his hands covering his face. Everyone was staring at him. Cathan looked up at Tithian, saw the scorn on his former squire’s face. As happy as he was for the chance to block this coup, the Grand Marshal too loathed Tancred for this treachery. But as his attention was distracted, Rath’s face turned from misery to diamond-hard rage. His eyes became flat things, like shards of glass. He glanced down at the dagger he was still holding in his hand.
Cathan reached out, too late to stop him. “No, Rath, don’t-”
With a cry, Rath leapt at his brother. Tancred turned, started to raise his own knife-then suddenly he was fallings Rath’s blade buried to the hilt in his side, under his left arm. Blood poured from the wound onto the ground.
“Brother,” Tancred said, bubbles frothing on his lips-then he died.
His own dagger had landed but a grazing blow to his brother’s leg. Rath pressed a hand to the wound, then seized the hilt of his knife and pulled it free of his brother’s body. He stood still, staring at the streaks of red on the blade.
“Oh, gods,” he wept.
The knights nervously held their fire.
“That was just,” Tithian declared. “Now-”
Screaming, Rath raised his dagger again and dashed toward the Grand Marshal. A dozen bolts whirred through the air. Again Cathan was too late, and Rath lay sprawled on the ground. He hadn’t made it three steps. The knights who had fired worked their crossbows, cranking back the strings to reload.
Cathan stared hopelessly at his nephews, lifeless things among the pine needles. How would he ever face Wentha again? Would he ever see his sister again, anyway? He fell to his knees, Ebonbane dropping from his hand.
“Good,” Tithian said. “Now, the rest of you follow Cathan’s lead, and there will be no more bloodshed today.”
Idar’s men glanced around. An invisible signal passed among them, a grim look the knights didn’t miss. They shifted nervously. Cathan sighed, part of him wishing he could pick up his sword and join them in their fight, but Tancred’s and Rath’s deaths had robbed him of willpower. He could only sit, his arms limp at his sides, and watch as the rebels charged the Hammer, weapons held high.
Of the band of thirty, twenty died in the first few heartbeats, cut down beneath a hail of crossbow bolts. The rest fell in sword fighting, one by one, until their bodies lay scattered before the Forino like a child’s playthings. Lord Tithian, standing back from the close fighting, never even had to draw his blade.
Cathan bowed his head. He felt dead inside.
“Damned fools,” Tithian said. “Throwing their lives away. There was no glory in that.”
Beldinas writhed with a groan. The bloodblossom was wearing off. Tithian knelt beside him for a moment, then signaled to his lieutenant. “Bron, get him out of here. The Miceram as well … and these.” He picked up the Disks, handed them to the young, horse-faced knight. “Get them away from this… scene.”
Murmuring assent, Sir Bron did as he was told. Half a dozen knights descended into the gully and picked up the Kingpriest and carried him and his relics away. Tithian lifted up Ebonbane, and knelt down beside Cathan. He rested a hand on his former master’s shoulder “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Are you?” Cathan asked, looking up. “Do you really regret this slaughter, Tithian?”
“The need for it,” Tithian said. “Yes.”
“Then promise me, before you take me away. Promise you’ll do two things for me, for the friendship we once shared.”
The Grand Marshal flinched, but nodded. “If it is in my power. What do you want of me?”
“Wentha.” Cathan caught hold of Tithian’s arm “She must never know about Tancred. Never.”
“You didn’t need to ask that. She will not know that pain, I swear it”
“Thank you,” Cathan said, tears forming in his eyes.
“And the other thing?”
Cathan drew a long, shuddering breath. “What will happen to my sister?”
“She’ll be sold into slavery,” Tithian replied evenly. “Nothing menial. There are many families who would buy her for a house-servant. I’m sorry, Cathan, she has betrayed the Kingpriest-I can’t change our laws.
“She mustn’t stay here,” Cathan pleaded. “Not in the Lordcity, not in the heartland. See to it, Tithian-make sure that when she’s sold, she’s sent far away.”
Tithian frowned. “Why?”
But Cathan didn’t reply. He only leaned back, lay one over his burning eves, and let sorrow and sleep wash over him.
Chapter 21
Gabbro tightened his grip on the haft of his axe, squinting in the darkness. He was chewing khog, a dried fungus from faraway Thorbardin, and when he spat it made a black stain on the floor tit the tunnel. He stared through the peephole of the secret door, which led out of the catacombs through a buttress at the base of one of Calah’s many bridges. It was night out, and the canals that ran through the island-city gleamed like ribbons of silver in Solinari’s light. The sounds of drunken singing from the waterfront taverns echoed across the canel.
Idar was late. That worried the dwarf. He’d followed the man for nearly ten years now, moving back and forth between Chidell and the Lordcity and all the cities of Istar’s heartland, and in all that time Idar had never been more than an hour behind schedule. Once, when they’d raided the slave pens at Kautilya’s bronze foundries, and Idar had taken an arrow in his side, he’d still made it back to the tunnels on time. But now, by Gabbro’s best guess, it was over two hours since he and the rest were due to show up with the Kingpriest in tow-and still not a sign. They should now be making their approach by boat, moving stealthily into Calah and up to the bridge. But there was nothing… no boats, no sign of anything.
Gabbro spat again, darkening the floor even worse. Behind him, he heard the faint murmur of voices, then the flapping of goblin feet. He fought back a ripple of disgust at the stink of the hunched, snaggle-toothed creature that lurched up next to him.
“You should be at your post, Akku,” he growled. “I told you I’d shout if I saw anything.”
The goblin’s beetle-brow lowered. The creature glared at him with murderous yellow eyes. Akku hated Gabbro; only their common enemy kept them from going for each other’s throats. Gabbro already had plans for killing the creature once Beldinas was kidnapped and safely put away, and Lord Revando on the throne. He suspected Akku planned the same for him.
“Man no coming,” grunted the monster. “We wait long. Tired.” He yawned, baring a mouth full of brown-crusted fangs.
Gabbro rolled his eyes. “I don’t give a kender’s damn if you’re tired,” he shot back. “You get back to where you belong now, or I swear-”
He stopped. He heard something-a soft thump, as of a boat pulling up to the bridge’s base. He lost interest in Akku immediately, turning back to the secret door. There they were: two rowboats, each loaded with cloaked men, without any lanterns. A third drifted up behind. Gabbro frowned; there were supposed to be four boats. Had Idar met up with trouble, lost that many of his men? He lowered his axe, his bearded face splitting into a grin. Whatever … the loss would be worth it, to uncrown the Lightbringer, at last.
“Come on,” he muttered, watching the figures get off the boats. They were certainly taking their time. “Hurry it up, before someone sees you.”
Then Lunitari slid out from behind a drifting cloud, and his smile vanished. Its red light hit the cloaked men sidelong, revealing not the drab greens and browns of Idar’s force, but surcoats of white, over glinting chain mail. He glimpsed the burning sigil on their breasts, and all at once felt as he had the time he’d fallen into a frozen lake as a child. “Hammer!” he bellowed, whirling so fast he almost cut Akku in half with his axe. “It’s the Reorx-be — damned Divine Hammer!”