“We have to tell the knights,” she said breathlessly. “Don’t you see? Serl attacked the Tower in Daltigoth, but he didn’t know the danger. Whoever leads the knights here doesn’t know either. But if we tell them … we show them … ”
Khadar sighed. “It makes no difference. The zealots will only hate us worse when they learn it was magic that killed so many in Daltigoth. But”-he held up a finger, silencing the protest that leaped to her lips-“on the blade’s other edge, if we play this right, they might not.”
He looked at her oddly, brow furrowed and eyes narrow. She blinked, annoyed.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she demanded.
“Come,” he replied, beckoning her near. “Something I want you to see.”
He drew her closer to the geode. She set the wands on a sideboard, then bent down beside Khadar, feeling his gaze on her as she peered into the giant stone’s depths.
It took a moment for her to make anything out. The crystals within the geode distorted the scrying images. Finally she saw knights, scores of them, drilling at arms and drinking wine in the palm-fringed courtyards of Losarcum’s palace.
“Yes, the Divine Hammer,” she said, frowning.
Khadar nodded, gesturing. “Look closer.”
She saw Sir Marto, boasting and drinking and looming among the rest. The giant knight from Falthana, with his forked beard; the one who had murdered Vincil. Leciane gasped, her dusky skin turning pale. She had never wanted revenge as badly as she wanted this Marto dead, but …
Frowning, she looked past Marto, scanning the other knights, already knowing why Khadar wanted her to look, whom she would see…. There he was, trading blows with practice blades against the youth who once had been his squire.
She stared at the sweating face of Cathan MarSevrin.
What are you doing here? she asked him silently, watching as he disarmed Sir Tithian, then sent him sprawling in the dust. He was Grand Marshal, for the love of Lunitari-by all rights he should be in the Lordcity with the Kingpriest, confronting the Tower there. She’d never imagined he would come to Losarcum-but there he was, lecturing the younger man on the finer points of swordplay.
“He is the one you know, then,” said Khadar. “Good. I wasn’t sure-they all look alike to me.”
“What?” She blinked, peering at the Master.
Khadar spread his hands. “You’re right, Leciane. We do need to warn the knights-or, rather, you do. Go to this man tonight. It may well be the only hope we have left to save the Tower … and ourselves.”
CHAPTER 29
There it was again: the burning hammer, a fast-moving star in the sky. Cathan watched it come, floating among the three moons. Krynn stretched out beneath him, the anvil awaiting the blow.
Before, the dream had been almost a torment, but now, tonight, it came as a relief. He hadn’t had it in weeks-not since Beldinas named him Grand Marshal. He’d wondered, each morning when he woke, whether it meant he’d fallen out of favor with the god as well as the Kingpriest. He wouldn’t blame Paladine. He’d opened himself to the moon-gods’ touch-
… the same, it felt the same …
Leciane also came to him in his dreams sometimes-other dreams, more sinful. He wanted to hate her. Church doctrine told him he should hate her. She might not follow darkness herself, but she worked with those who did, abetted them in their misdeeds. One cannot lie in filth and come away clean, the proverb said.
The hammer. It was larger now, limned with holy fire. It came so close to hitting him, streaking so near that its heat washed over him. With a roar like a hundred thousand forge-fires, it fell … down, down, toward the sapphire world.
It fell upon the Lordcity. He frowned, thinking there was something wrong with that … why did the god’s wrath always strike the church’s heart? Losarcum should be the focus of his dreaming, today of all days!
The hammer struck, amidst noise and light and heat.
*****
He woke in his chamber within Losarcum’s palace, the desert wind blowing cool through the open window. Silken curtains billowed. Beyond them the night sky, satin-black and covered with a million stars. He had never seen so many stars.
There was something that troubled him. Something about the dream he’d just had, the vision he’d been having for half his life. Something wasn’t right-what? The harder he tried to think about it, the farther it slipped away.
Grunting, he rolled off the mound of cushions the desert folk used for beds and walked naked across the darkened room to pour himself a bowl of wine. He stood at the window, gazing out at the slumbering catacomb city, and the black, cypress-ringed spire beyond, nearly invisible against the night sky. Though he tried not to, he couldn’t help shivering.
“Today.”
He spoke aloud, to make it more real. It was Spring Dawning. Losarcum’s streets hung with garlands of flowers to mark the end of the fallow season. Later, folk would wend their way through the winding streets, singing Paladine’s praise and burning offerings of last year’s grain at the crossroad shrines. For the knights, however, the day had a different importance. They would attack the Tower at dawn-still more than an hour away, by Solinari’s place in the sky. Perhaps after, those who still lived would join in the common folk’s celebration.
“Hello, Cathan.”
He started, the wine bowl falling from his hands, and whirled toward the familiar voice.
She stood by his bed, her red robes looking black in the shadows. She had her hood pulled back to reveal her face. She didn’t smile, which convinced him he wasn’t simply imagining her. Instead, her eyes had a haunted look.
I am skyclad, he thought suddenly. He could feel his face redden as he covered himself.
“Leciane!” he exclaimed. “How long-”
“Long enough,” she replied with a sly look. “I’ve seen all there is to see.”
He went to where he had hung his tabard. Hurriedly he shrugged it on.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his lip curling. “Shouldn’t you be with your brothers and sisters?”
Leciane heard the disdain in his voice but let it go. “My brothers and sisters are the ones who sent me, Lord Cathan. I come with a warning.”
“I won’t abide your threats,” Cathan snapped. “You are the ones who should be afraid. Your kind are in hiding, pariahs in every human land. The power of magic weakens. I know. I can feel it wane.”
He expected an outburst, denial, vituperation. Instead she surprised him, merely nodding. “I know,” she said, her eyes glistening. “Lunitari love me, I know.”
That surprised him-so much so that he took a step toward her before he realized what he was doing. “What is it?” he asked. “Tell me, Leciane.”
“No,” she said. “It is better that I show you. You would not believe it otherwise.”
She was going to cast a spell. Here. The frown that spread across his face must have been easy to read, because her eyes flashed impatiently.
“If I wanted to harm you, I wouldn’t have waited,” she said.
That made sense, but it did little to ease his nerves. He met her eyes, saw the anxiousness in them. “All right.” He inclined his head. “But if you’re trying to trick me, I warn you that my men can be here at a shout.”
“Now you’re threatening me,” she replied with a smile. Rolling up her sleeves, she raised her hands and began to cast. “Arvayas gro weshann, culpit to-sati harbandith … ”
The red moon’s power swelled as she spoke, as intoxicating as any wine. Cathan tried to focus on his training, on his mission here, on Paladine’s grace.
Something appeared, glimmering in the darkness: a ruddy mist, rising from the floor. It crept and crawled, coalescing, slowly resolving into the blurred image of a city. Cathan squinted, but the spell was not yet done. Leciane continued to sculpt a street, a mansion, a sprawling marketplace … and, there, looming above the rest, a square red tower, ringed with trees.