Looking upon Istar for the first time, Cathan felt a rush of tears. He thought back to the springtime, and the man he had been: a godless outlaw squatting in a ditch, waiting for a priest to rob. What would he have said then if someone had told him that he would one day follow a savior to the empire’s heart? He shook his head. Paladine’s games were strange indeed.
“It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”
He recognized the musical voice at once and lowered his eyes as Beldyn came up alongside him. The Lightbringer had descended from his chariot and stood on foot now, his strange eyes fixed on the sprawling city. His was a conqueror’s face, hungry and fierce, eclipsed by the Miceram’s light.
“Lady Ilista would have been proud to see you here today, sire,” Cathan said softly.
Beldyn nodded, then glanced up at the brightening sky. “I know. She is.”
A shout rose from the lookouts. At once, everyone was on their feet, muttering and staring about. Tavarre had sent a handful of outriders ahead to the city to make sure the road was clear. There was no sign of any more Scatas or other threats, but both the baron and Lord Holger wanted to be sure before they approached the Lordcity. Thinking the scouts had spotted the riders, Cathan stared down the High Road toward Istar’s gilded gates.
“What is it?” he wondered. “I don’t see anything.”
Wentha sighed, as if he were a simpleton. “Not there. In the sky!”
Cathan blinked, confused-then he saw something too. There, silhouetted against the cloudrack, was a large, dark shape, part eagle, part lion. There had been wild griffins in Taol once, and the borderfolk still told tales of them, but Cathan had never seen one before. Now his mouth opened as he watched it glide toward them, riding the high winds above the cliffs. As it drew nearer, he saw the creature wasn’t alone: a rider sat upon its back, white-robed, a long shock of golden hair trailing behind.
His horse whinnied, shying as it scented the flying beast. Cathan patted its neck to soothe it, but the animal remained skittish, as did the other soldiers’ mounts. Horses were griffins’ natural prey, which was why the Highlanders had hunted them out, long ago. The beast’s rider knew this too, it seemed, for he didn’t try to land near the army. Instead, the griffin lit upon a neighboring hillock, and its rider climbed down. Cathan watched the tall figure speak in his mount’s ear, then turn and head toward them, across the stony ground.
“An envoy,” Beldyn said, nodding toward the rider. “I must parley with him.”
“Not without me, you’re not,” Cathan muttered, swinging down from his horse.
Leaving Wentha in his saddle, he went after Beldyn, his hand on his sword. Several others-Tavarre and Holger, as well as other Knights and bandits-hurried to join them. The white-robed figure raised a delicate hand, and Cathan felt a fresh pang of wonder. He had never seen an elf before either.
“Sa, Pilofiro,” the elf said, his face cool and haughty as he signed the triangle. Hail, Lightbringer.
“I am Quarath, Emissary of Silvanesti. I speak on the church’s behalf.”
Beldyn nodded, interlacing his fingers in the elven holy sign. “Sa, Quarath. I have come to enter your city. May I?”
The elf nodded, then frowned, glancing up toward the mass of the army. “You may, but they must remain outside the gates.”
“What?” Tavarre barked, his scarred face darkening. “Leave them here?”
Quarath glanced at him, lips pursed. “It is custom. No force so large has marched into Istar since the Three Thrones’ War. However,” he went on, raising a finger to forestall Tavarre’s and Holder’s objections, “you may bring a smaller detachment-say, a hundred men. In return, we shall yield a hundred priests as hostages, including the First Son and First Daughter of Paladine.” He raised an eyebrow. “Does this suit you?”
Tavarre’s furrowed brow said it didn’t, and Holger looked displeased as well, but Beldyn inclined his head, smiling. “Very well. Continue, Emissary.”
“The hierarchs will meet you at the gates,” Quarath went on. “From there, we shall lead you to the Great Temple. Lord Kurnos”-his upper lip curled as he spoke the Kingpriest’s name-”has quit his manse and awaits you in the basilica. He has offered to surrender the throne-but only to the Lightbringer himself.”
Cathan joined Holger and Tavarre in surprise at this, followed by suspicious scowls. Beldyn’s eyes narrowed-but only for a moment. “If that is how the Usurper chooses,” he said. “Return to the city, Emissary, and tell them I come.”
Bowing, the elf turned and strode back toward his waiting griffin.
“Sire,” Holger murmured as they walked back toward the army. Behind them, the griffin vaulted into the air, carrying Quarath back to Istar. “I must object.”
Beldyn smiled. “I know. The man has tried twice to kill me, but his demon is no more, and Kurnos stands alone. And,” he added, glancing at Cathan, “I will be protected. I would see the Usurper’s face as I dethrone him. Will any of you challenge that?”
If he hoped anyone would defy him, they disappointed him. Even Tavarre shook his head, looking at his feet.
“Good,” Beldyn declared. “Bring my chariot, and choose your men. We march to the Lordcity at midday.”
Cathan’s throat tightened as the city gates drew near. The huge, gold-chased doors stood shut, and scores of archers looked down from above, arrows notched on their bows. Swallowing, he touched his battered sword and watched the bowmen, waiting for them to make a move.
Thus far, the hierarchs had proven true to Quarath’s word. The hostages had already come out of the city and waited with the Lightbringer’s army-along with Wentha, who stayed behind at Cathan’s insistence. That did little to assuage Cathan’s fears, however. Beldyn had spoken often, during the long march, of Kurnos’s evil and treachery. What, to a man like that, were the lives of a hundred of his own clergy? The hierarchs didn’t need to be complicit. Like with Pradian, all it would take was one archer, one well-aimed arrow…
No one fired. Instead, the gates shuddered and rumbled open, their great falcon and triangle crest splitting to reveal the city beyond. As they did, a great din rose from within, thousands of voices rising in joyous shouting and song.
Looking upon the folk of the Lordcity, Cathan thought back to the day Beldyn had first come to Govinna. That was nothing beside this. It seemed everyone in Istar had turned out to welcome the Lightbringer. There were more of them than Cathan, living his life in a highland village, had ever thought to see in one place. They packed the streets, crowded on rooftops, leaned over balconies-even perched in the trees. They raised their arms and cheered, throwing white rose-petals in the street, so many the cobblestones looked mantled in snow. Hands lifted children high, and drums and shawms and chimes made a racket even louder than the mob’s roar. Merchants and scholars, nobles and commoners, priests of every god of good- all had come, hoping to glimpse the Lightbringer and the Crown of Power. All chanted the same two words over and over: “Babo Sod! Babo Sod!”
The True Kingpriest!
Smiling, Beldyn raised his hands in greeting, and his chariot rumbled forward. His escort went with him, Cathan riding beside, watching the crowd with gritted teeth. Kurnos didn’t need a crack archer to do his work. One person hidden amidst the adoring throngs would do the trick. Any one of them might be carrying a crossbow beneath his cloak or a dagger up his sleeve. Any one of them might be waiting for the chance to strike. Cathan’s stomach clenched at the thought.