Curling her fingers to form the circle of the silver moon, the highmage held out her hand.
She wore no rings, no bracelets, no magical charms to pose a threat.
“Lisso,” she said in the Church tongue. Peace.
Beldinas hesitated, as if afraid to touch her. Maybe he was. After a moment, however, he signed the triangle, then clasped her hand in his, a smile brightening his worn, troubled face.
“Lisso.”
Later, Beldinas and Quarath stood together within the Heartchamber of the Tower, staring at the model of the Lordcity with the bloody hand looming in its midst.
The magic here must have been strong indeed, if it was powerful enough to wreak the destruction of Daltigoth and Losarcum. It was gone now, though, along with every other charm and cantrip. Only the grove’s enchantment remained. The rest of the Tower of Istar was an empty shell, most of the rooms stripped bare, and what artifacts remained-like the miniature map before them-drained of their power. It was a dead place, and would remain so.
They didn’t know what to do with the abandoned Tower. Every hierarch in the Church had a different notion, from tearing it down to consecrating it in Paladine’s name and turning it into a hall of worship. Beldinas had listened to all of these but had made no decision yet. Quarath didn’t much care what the Kingpriest chose to do, so long as it didn’t involve moving the elven embassy here.
“I wonder how it must have felt to wield such power,” Beldinas mused, staring at the model. “Knowing it would cause the deaths of so many.”
“You should know, Holiness.”
At the sound of the frigid voice, both Beldinas and Quarath looked up in astonishment.
The room seemed to darken, and the air grew cold. Plumes of frost billowed from their mouths as they stared into the shadows at a Black Robe.
He stood there, a darker shade than the gloom around him. His arms were folded across his chest, his head angled to one side. All they could see of his face was the tip of his gray beard; the shadows of his hood hid the rest. Yet both could feel the man’s evil, and both feared his power.
Beldinas drew himself up imperiously. “Who are you? The agreement was that everyone would leave. You are forbidden here.”
“I am forbidden nowhere,” said the archmage. “I am Fistandantilus.”
Quarath’s eyes widened. He knew the tales of the Dark One. Feeling the terrible, chilling intensity that emanated from him, he stepped back.
Beldinas held his ground, signing the triangle. The aura around him flared as he called upon the god’s protection, but Fistandantilus only chuckled.
“Do not fear, Holiness,” the wizard said. “Although I am not party to any agreement, I mean you no harm.”
“No?” the Kingpriest replied. “Then why are you here?”
“To see you, obviously,” the Dark One answered. “I wish to ask a favor, after the one I did for you.”
“Favor? What favor?” Beldinas glared at the Dark One.
Quarath caught his breath as Fistandantilus reached into his sleeve and plucked something out. The archmage clenched it in his fist a moment, then tossed it into the air. It rose, then stopped, hanging aloft. Rotating slowly, it glided across the Heartchamber. The Kingpriest’s mouth opened when he saw what it was. Quarath recognized the olive stone, like the one still held by Lord Olin, mate to the other seeds that had arrived mysteriously that night scant weeks ago.
“Do you see now?” Fistandantilus asked. “I am the one who helped you thwart the groves. Now I ask for your help in return.”
Quarath shook his head, amazed. The Dark One, asking the Lightbringer for aid?
Beldinas seemed in shock.
“It was scarcely a favor, giving me those seeds,” he said bitterly, regarding the mage.
“Two cities have fallen because of them.”
“No, Holiness.” The hooded head shook back and forth. The blood of those who died is on your hands, Beldinas Pilofiro-particularly the people of Losarcum. You could have stopped that from happening, if you’d wanted to. That is something you can hide from your subjects, but not from me.”
Quarath exploded. “You dare insult the Kingpr-”
He never finished. Without glancing at him, the Dark One gestured and spoke a word, and Quarath’s voice died in mid-sentence. Paralysis overtook his body, freezing every muscle until he stood as still as a statue.
“Oh yes,” Fistandantilus said mildly. “I dare.”
Quarath watched, helpless, as Beldinas glared at the Dark One.
“What do you want from me, then?” the Kingpriest asked.
The archmage’s beard twitched. Inside his hood, he was smiling. “Nothing terrible, Holiness, I assure you. I only seek a place at the imperial court.”
The Kingpriest shook his head, disbelieving. “My court?” he asked. “Why?”
“I have my reasons,” the Dark One answered. “Do not fear … I don’t mean to interfere with your reign. In fact, I might even be able to help you now and then. Who better to give counsel in your war against evil, after all, than one who is truly evil himself?”
Beldinas’s lips tightened. “And if I refuse?”
“Right now I am your friend. I could be your enemy,” said Fistandantilus. “I think you know I could be a worse foe than the Usurper or the order ever were.”
Beldinas raised his chin, defiant. Quarath, who couldn’t move or speak, admired the Lighbringer in that moment, more than ever.
“You already are my enemy, Dark One. The robes you wear make it so.”
“Perhaps,” the archmage allowed, amusement tempering the coldness in his voice. “But what sort of enemy would you have me be-one who is far away and can do you great harm, or close at hand where you can watch me?”
The Kingpriest stood silent, regarding the Black Robe.
“It will be hard to explain to my subjects,” he finally murmured.
Quarath would have gasped if he could. The words were those of surrender, something he had never thought he would hear from the Lightbringer.
“Not as hard as to explain why you allowed Losarcum to be destroyed, knowing what had happened at Daltigoth-or that the seeds came from me in the first place.”
Beldinas shook his head at the threat. “You are not my friend. Yet you are the enemy of my enemies.”
The Dark One nodded.
“Let it be so, then,” said the Lighbringer finally, “You must abide by certain rules. You will not give counsel unless I ask it of you. You will dwell within the grounds of the Temple, where you can be watched. You will never use magic in my presence.”
Fistandantilus was silent a moment. His shoulders rose and fell, just slightly. “Fair conditions, all. Very well-I accept. Now, Holiness … do you?”
In the years he had known the Kingpriest, Quarath had never seen the man’s face so conflicted. The Miceram’ s glow seemed to dim as he nodded.
“Very well.”
The archmage’s beard twitched-another smile. “I thank you, Holiness. You have chosen well. I shall come to the Temple in a week’s time, when my affairs elsewhere are concluded. Sifat.”
He was gone, vanishing in a wink, the cold receding in his absence. A fierce prickling, as of a foot gone to sleep, suffused Quarath’s body as the paralyzing spell lifted from him. He slumped where he stood, but righted himself quickly, his eyes on Beldinas. The Kingpriest pointedly returned his gaze. Neither man said anything of what had just happened. After a while, they left the Heartchamber, climbing the winding stair down the Tower’s core.
“Holiness!” called a voice when they reached the bottom. A man in courier’s garb tried to push through the knights who stood guard near the entry hall. “Holiness, I have a message for you!”
The man had a frantic look to him, face livid and eyes pleading. Extending a many-ringed hand, the Kingpriest motioned for the guards to stand aside.