Catching him up, Quarath looked toward the Tower.
The olive trees stood unscathed, whispering in the breeze.
“Curse them,” Beldinas declared. “May Paladine burn them all to ashes.”
Quarath kept silent as he strode through the Temple’s entry hall, past statues and frescoes, crystal fountains and goldberry trees. He barely noticed any of these. His eyes were focused on the Lightbringer. He knew how to comport himself in awkward times, having risen to his position during Kurnos’s brief reign. The Usurper had had a temper like a dry forest, capable of flaring into a blaze at the smallest spark. Beldinas was different, though. He seldom grew angry, and when he did he was more likely to simmer. When he grew quiet and still, as he was now, the Emissary knew it was better to stay silent as well.
First Son Levic, however, did not know better. Newly arrived from the grand cathedral of Odacera, where he had been high priest, he was still unaccustomed to the workings of the court. Now, as the hierarchs followed their sovereign through the towering, platinum doors to the Hall of Audience, he coughed softly and spoke.
“There must be a way, Holiness,” he said.
“Must there?” Beldinas repeated, glancing over his shoulder. His voice made the crystal dome above him ring.
“They’re just trees. How can they stand, before the god’s glory?”
The Kingpriest had just stepped onto the blue mosaic that rippled before his golden throne. Now he stopped, turning to level a burning glance at the First Son. Quarath fell back another step, not wanting those eyes to flick toward him. The Lightbringer’s aura flashed like a thundercloud.
“They are not just trees,” Beldinas said. “The enchantment upon them is old, and it has the power of the moons behind it. You did not feel it pushing back against you. It would be easier, it seems, to flatten the whole city than to break that one spell.”
“But, Holiness-” Levic began.
“Enough!”
Quarath started. It had been years since Beldinas last raised his voice. Levic shrank back, and the other hierarchs all found somewhere else to look. The Kingpriest stood perfectly still, trembling a little, then shook his head, one hand going to his brow. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and weary.
“Leave,” he said. “I must meditate more. This court will resume tomorrow.”
The hierarchs departed, most of them gladly. Quarath turned toward an antechamber laden with food and wine. He longed for a cup of watered claret.
Halfway there, however, the Kingpriest called to him. “Not you, Emissary. I want you to stay with me.”
Quarath silently exulted that the Lightbringer had chosen him, of all his counselors, to remain. A few other courtiers shot him envious looks, which only pleased him more. He started back toward the dais.
He got there just in time. No sooner had the rest of the hierarchs left the Hall than Beldinas began to sway on his feet. Quarath reached out, catching him as his knees gave way, and lowered him down to sit upon the dais’s lowest step.
“Majesty,” Quarath said, crouching beside the Kingpriest, “are you all right?”
Beldinas managed a nod, his breath coming hard. “That effort at the Tower weakened me more than I expected. That’s all.”
The elf nodded, understanding. He could see the shadows of fatigue beneath the Lightbringer’s eyes. The god’s power had blazed strong in him today, and when it faded, it always seemed to leave behind an invisible wound. Beldinas bowed his head, resting his brow against his knuckles.
“Is this the right thing I’m doing, Quarath?” he asked.
The elf regarded him silently, then reached out and rested a hand on the Kingpriest’s arm. “They defy you, Holiness,” he said. “They tried to kill you, just as Kurnos did. They did kill many others.”
“But is more killing the answer?” Beldinas looked up, his eyes dark.
“If they oppose you,” Quarath replied, “they oppose the god-and what is more evil than working against the will of Paladine? If you wish to make light everlasting a reality, you must finally break free of these sorcerers.”
Beldinas met his gaze. Slowly, he nodded. “Very well, Emissary. I thank you for your wisdom. Now,” he went on, pushing himself to his feet, “I would like to rest in comfort. Let us retire to the manse, where we can be at peace.”
Smiling in satisfaction, Quarath followed the Kingpriest out of the hall, the crystal dome echoing his footsteps.
Gears rattling, the clockwork falcons looked up as Beldinas and Quarath emerged onto the balcony that had become their roost. There were three of them lined up on the balustrade, all brass and copper glinting in the sun. When the time came to order the assault upon the Towers, the birds would fly forth, two to the west and one to the south.
They would bear the Kingpriest’s orders to Yarns, Serl, and Cathan. For now, however, they waited, as did everyone else in the Lordcity.
The Lightbringer crossed to one of them, holding out his hand. It regarded him with the expressionless jewels of its eyes, then hopped onto his wrist. It was heavy, but he managed a smile as he held it up, turning toward Quarath.
“I wish I could be this patient,” he said, chuckling. “These birds would wait a hundred years, if that was what it took. So could you, I think, Eminence.”
The elf inclined his head. “An easy feat, for one whose people live for centuries. Harder, I think, for your kind.”
“In a hundred years,” Beldinas agreed, “I will be gone, turned to dust-in half a hundred, most likely. I have much to do before then, if I am to drive darkness from Krynn.”
“You have also accomplished much already,” Quarath noted.
The Kingpriest shrugged. “It amounts to nothing, if I cannot solve the problem of the sorcerers. The groves-”
The falcon stirred, cutting Beldinas off in midsentence as it leaped from his arm. The clockwork bird startled them both with a shriek like steam venting from a kettle, then dropped something from its open mouth.
It was a little bag made of purple velvet and tied with a golden cord. The two men stared at it, lying on the ground, as if a scorpion might be hidden within. Beldinas reached toward it, but Quarath was quicker. The elf scooped it up, holding it in the palm of his hand. The knot was arcane, but one pull unraveled it. The mouth of the pouch went slack and opened.
He exchanged glances with the Kingpriest. Swallowing, Quarath upended the pouch into his open palm. Five small objects fell out. One was a strip of fine parchment, inscribed in elegantly flowing letters. It was the other four, though, that made Quarath’s eyebrows rise.
“Palado Calib,” breathed the Lightbringer as he set eyes upon them. “Are those what I think they are?”
Quarath nodded, too stunned to speak. They were seeds, each a different kind. An olive stone. An acorn. A pine nut. A cypress cone.
Beldinas reached out, plucking the parchment from Quarath’s hand. He glanced it over, then hesitated and read it again, his eyes flaring wide.
“What?” Quarath asked.
Wordlessly, Beldinas held out the parchment. Still cupping the seeds in his hand, Quarath took it from him.
Your Most Holy Majesty, it read.
Each of these seeds comes from one of the first trees to grow in the groves that now surround the Towers. They are old, and they are powerful. Plant them, and they will clear the path to victory.
Quarath frowned, turning the parchment over in his hand. It bore no signature, no seal, no sigil. His brow furrowed with suspicion. And yet-
And yet, he could feel the seeds’ power. It was the same feeling he’d had earlier, near the grove….
“Emissary. Look at me.”
Starting, Quarath glanced up from the missive. The Kingpriest’s eyes met his gaze, caught and held it. If anything, the fear in his face had grown. Quarath felt his insides clench with dread.