It was a good evening, he decided, draining his goblet, then holding it up for a servant to refill. He’d slept poorly in Losarcum. The place held too many bad memories, and he woke several times each night with thoughts of fire and melting stone and dying screams roiling in his mind. But coming to Chidell had improved his mood. He was back in civilization again, back in lands where water was not scarce, and the sun and wind weren’t hateful things. The Kingpriest also seemed in a good mood-Tithian glanced at Beldinas, who sat across the room, glowing.
His cup was full again, and he drank deeply, watching the tanned, lean, beautiful women leap and roll and twist. More bees joined the swarm, bringing with them thoughts of slender legs, wrapped around his waist. The air smelled of orange blossoms and myrrh.
He had only one regret, and that was Cathan’s reaction tonight. Not that it had come as a complete surprise-Cathan had been through with the knighthood the moment they left Losarcum the first time, so long ago. But he’d hoped, in his heart, that things might have changed. His old master was a different man now, grimmer, sadder than he remembered. It was like the time Tithian had returned to the small town in Gather where he’d been born, and saw the church where the priests had raised him with other orphans. In his memory, it had been a grand, majestic place, rivaling anything short of the Great Temple. When he went back fifteen years later, though, it had seemed tiny and plain, a shadow of what he’d expected.
Tithian found the bottom of his cup again, and raised it once more. The servant that came to him, however, was not a cupbearer. She was a messenger girl, tall and slender, maybe twenty, with buttery skin and red lips he couldn’t take his eyes from … he shook his head, suddenly wishing the damned bees would stop buzzing and let him think.
“His Holiness bids you attend him,” she said, looking at him doubtfully. “If you will come with me.” Tithian looked toward the Lightbringer. The serene, glowing face nodded at him, the Miceram winking on his brow. With some difficulty Tithian got his feet under him and made them take him across the room, in as straight a line as possible. He dodged the floor a couple times when it tried to rise up and strike him.
“You are drunk, Grand Marshal,” said Beldinas, as he drew near. There was no reproof in his voice-but no amusement, either.
Tithian drew himself up straight, feeling the stares of Dejal and the others surrounding the Kingpriest. “I apologize, sire,” he said sincerely. “The vintage here is stronger than I expected.”
“I need you sober,” said the Kingpriest. A glowing hand reached out and touched his cheek.
The bees went away. Just like that-no surge of light, no holy power flowing through the air, no invisible chimes and roses. One moment, the room was wobbling about him, and then everything grew sharper. He blinked, amazed. “Holiness …”
“Did you think I could only heal disease?” Now there was a trace of amusement in the Lightbringer’s voice. “I need your help. Where is Cathan?”
Brow furrowing, Tithian glanced around. There was no sign of the Twice-Born anywhere. It had been at least an hour since he’d last seen Cathan. And the other MarSevrins were gone, too.
“I don’t-I don’t know, Holiness,” he said, taken aback.
“Do not be ashamed, Tithian,” Beldinas declared. “I did not notice until just now, either.”
“Perhaps he retired.”
The Kingpriest shook his head. “He is not in his chambers. Neither are Lady Wentha, or young Rath and Tancred.”
“I will find him,” Tithian said, feeling a rush of dread he couldn’t explain. Surely no ill had befallen them …?
He scanned the room, looking for those of his men who might still be clear-headed. There weren’t many-just a couple Seldjukis who didn’t drink because of oaths to their branch of the church, and an old knight called Xenos who had sworn off wine for his health. Well, he thought, they’ll have to do.
“We’ll find him, sire,” Tithian declared. “He probably hasn’t gone far.”
“Thank you, Grand Marshal,” Beldinas said, “but I can find him well enough. I only ask your protection.”
You? Tithian nearly asked, but stifled the word-though he was betrayed by the confused expression on his face. He felt the Kingpriest’s eyes bore into him.
“I told you,” said Beldinas, “I do more than just heal disease.”
The Lightbringer performed the ritual in a small room deep within the ziggurat, away from the feast-hall. There were two candles on silver sticks, and frescoes on the walls: battling dragons of blue and gold, painted in a romantic style popular three centuries before. The floor was red tile, arranged in spirals. Beldinas stood in the middle of the room, head bowed, while Tithian’s four sober knights-by the gods, he would have some harsh words for his men tomorrow-lurked at the chamber’s edges.
“Palso fit mideis,” he prayed, spreading his hands before him. “Lonfam ansinfud si lasdam sporium.”
The lost shall be found. Send me a servant to follow its trail.
The power flared around him, sun-bright. Tithian caught a ruby flash from the Crown, then had to turn away, as twin stabbing pains found their way deep into his skull. Furiously, he wiped tears from his cheeks, then made himself look again.
Beldinas’s aura was coursing around him, running down his arms and pouring from his hands. It spilled out of his body, becoming liquid as it fell … thick water that collected in globules like quicksilver. Moonlight flashed within it as it ran together, forming a shape: long, sleek, four-legged. It was a hunting dog, its skin made of rippling platinum, its eyes empty and white.
Like Cathan’s, Tithian thought with a shudder.
The beast of silvery light stood alert, poised for its master’s command. The Kingpriest stepped back, his shoulders bowing. Tithian started toward him, but Beldinas waved him off.
“I will recover,” he said. “This is a yethu-a hound of the gods, smarter and finer than any bred on earth. It can track a hawk on the wing, but it will not remain in this world long. Move quickly, Grand Marshal, and find Cathan before ill befalls him.”
The dog, the yethu, looked at Tithian. Its tail wagged happily, throwing off sparkling droplets. Tithian stared back, but felt his eyes shift away. The white eyes frightened him. He turned instead toward Beldinas.
“Go,” said the Lightbringer.
Sighing, Tithian nodded to the hound. With a happy bark-a gonglike ringing-it turned and bounded out of the room. Tithian followed, his men close behind.
Chapter 9
The tunnels went everywhere in Chidell, it seemed; Idar and his followers had been busy indeed. “Helps to have dwarven knowhow,” Gabbro noted, nodding down a narrow passage where several other little, bearded figures were patiently toiling at the rocky earth. Working with them, to Cathan’s shock, were a handful of squat, evil-browed creatures with eyes that flashed in the gloom.
“Goblins?” he asked.
“Aye,” said the dwarf. “Shows how desperate things have got, I suppose, that we’d work beside the slime. But khudro khadrak ba-thandai, as Thane Derkin once said. My foe’s foe is my friend.” Gabbro chuckled. “Besides, they’re good diggers, as long as you keep an eye on ‘em.”
On they went, the way twisting a serpent’s path beneath the city. Here and there, they passed more ladders leading up to the surface. Idar led them on, pausing only to exchange words with a few other men they met along the way. The outcasts eyed Cathan as he passed, whispering to one another. He could feel their eyes on him after he’d gone by.