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Then he stepped through the door, and gasped with shock.

“Well, good,” said Idar. “I’m glad you hadn’t guessed.”

He sat at a long table in the room’s midst, a wine-cup in his hand. Wentha was there, too, and Tancred and Rath, their masks laid on the table before them. Another man was there, too: a man in white robes fringed with scarlet. He had a high brow and thinning, dark hair. His graying beard was braided, with beads of amber threaded through it. Jewels sparkled on his fingers, and a silver circlet, studded with sunstones, rested on his head.

“Sweet Paladine,” Cathan breathed.

Rath and Tancred both grinned, and Idar laughed aloud. Even Wentha’s eyes sparkled. “Not quite,” she said. “Brother, meet the leader of our movement.”

The bearded man rose, his vestments whispering about him. “Well met, Twice-Born,” said Lord Revando, First Son of the holy church.

Chapter 17

I should be kneeling, Cathan thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to do what was expected. The First Son said nothing, staring at him with one eyebrow raised. Wentha came forward and touched his arm. “Cathan…”

“You didn’t tell me about this,” he said. “Gods, how is it possible?”

“Through careful planning,” Revando replied. “It took a lot of work to insinuate myself into His Holiness’s court. A lot of work, and a lot of patience. I had to keep myself hidden-from him, from the elf, from the Araifas. No one in the church knows.”

Cathan stared at the high priest, noting the calm expression on his face. Nobody in the empire, save Quarath, had greater claim on the Kingpriest than this man. “Who-who are you?” he asked.

“Why, the head of the Revered Sons of Paladine,” said the First Son with a smile that would ruddy beatific in other circumstances. Here, in the hard orange lamp-light, it clung to his lips, sinister. “Or, do you mean before? I was head of a small church in southern Ismin, in a town called Pedrun. It was a little village, so small we had only two temples… one to Paladine, and one to Gilean of the Book. This was years ago, not long after the war with the wizards.

“The Lord Ascetic, a man named Lethar, had been a friend of mine since we were children. We shared knowledge, we drank wine together, we were welcome in each other’s churches. He was wise, and he cared for the people of our village. He may have worshipped a gray god, but he was a good man.”

Cathan bowed his head. “I’ve heard this story,” he murmured. “Or others like it. Did they burn Lethar’s temple?”

“Not just that,” Revando replied. “They burned Lethar, too-no, not they. We did it, the men of the Divine Hammer and of the holy church. We burned him, along with his books … all because he followed the wrong god. It didn’t matter that he gave food to the hungry, or shelter to those in need. Someone spread lies about him, and the knights and priests descended on him like jackals, leaving nothing but ashes! And I stood and watched, and did nothing while my dearest friend died at the hands of my brethren!

“Before long, I learned this was happening all over the empire … that the faith I’d always believed in was responsible for murders like Lethar’s in every corner of Istar. And not just the gray gods’ followers, either.”

“He has seen it, Your Grace,” Wentha interjected. “He has seen Fan-ka-tso.”

Tears shone in the First Son’s eyes. “It was all I could do to sing the Lightbringer’s praises, the day they dragged that prize through the city gates.” He shook his head ruefully. “Once I’d heard enough tales, I decided to do something. I would avenge my friend, and all those like him. But I had to be patient, and careful. I did all I could to make a name for myself in the church, rose through the ranks. I curried favor with those who would give it, bribed those who wouldn’t, and built a reputation as a good Revered Son … until just last year, when I came to Istar to sit next to the Kingpriest. And all the while, I’ve organized these tunnel-rats, made a proper force of them with help from Idar and others.”

“All of it to bring down Beldinas,” Cathan breathed.

Revando nodded. “And now, thanks to what you have told us, we must risk acting now. He didn’t even tell me his plans for the Peripas. I fear what will happen if he succeeds. Lady Wentha has told me of your dreams, of the burning hammer. But with your help, we can stop this foolish war on evil, and bring back the doctrine of Balance before it’s too late. We can end the nightmares.”

“And put you on the throne,” Cathan said.

There was a stirring behind him, a growl of resentment. He thought it might be Idar, but, turning, to his surprise, he saw it was Rath, whose eyes had narrowed and mouth had turned lipless. Tancred shook his head at his brother, bent to whisper in his ear. Rath drew away, still glowering.

Revando raised a beringed hand. “Be still, young man,” he cautioned. “It was a proper question. Yes, Twice-Born, the Lightbringer’s fall would put me on the throne. But you helped overthrow Kurnos and put Beldinas in his place … this is old business for you. And I would abdicate if the Miceram were to pass to me. I have no desire to rule.”

It was true. Cathan could see it in the First Son’s weary face, hear it in his voice. All he wanted was peace for his old friend, lost to the stake and torch. Revando would sit the throne only long enough to choose an heir, no longer.

Cathan pressed his fingers to his lips, and stayed like that for a minute, then another.

“Cathan?” Wentha asked.

“What would you do with him?” he asked slowly. “Beldyn was my friend, once. I won’t lead him to his death.”

“He deserves no more,” Rath muttered. Tancred shushed him again.

The bits of amber in Revando’s beard clacked together as he shook his head. “I am no murderer, Twice-Born,” he said. “I do not mean to kill His Holiness-only to strip him of the Miceram, and with it his vested power. There are many places he can be taken after that, through the tunnels. He can live out the rest of his life in exile, in a place where he can do no more harm.”

Cathan met his eyes, his gaze hard. “Do you swear to that?”

“Why do you think I have waited this long?” the First Son replied, calmly. “I’ve had a thousand chances to put a knife in his ribs, or poison in his cup. No … I will not be like him. I will not call for the death of those who don’t believe as I do.”

“And your men?”

“Ask us yourself, Twice-Born,” Idar replied. “We’ll do what we’re told… as long as things go smooth. But if we lose this chance, things might change.”

“We need you, Cathan,” Wentha put in. “Beldinas needs you. We won’t get another chance to do this without bloodshed.”

He turned, staring at her in shock.

“Yes,” she replied. “I’ll back an assassination, if it comes to that. One way or another, the Kingpriest must come off the throne.”

Assassination. His sister speaking of such a deed. Cathan felt the room sway around him. It must have shown, for Revando reached out to steady him, but he recovered his balance before the First Son could intervene. Cathan swallowed.

“What must I do?” he asked.

The eighteenth bout was just beginning when Cathan returned to the Arena. Rath and Tancred were already in the imperial box; Wentha would arrive shortly. Tithian gave him a look at he sat down on the bench he’d left almost an hour ago.

Down below, the Red Minotaur twisted his meaty paws around the haft of his trident, hoofs stamping the ground as he and the Barbarian circled each other. The Minotaur was good-Cathan could tell from the leer on his bestial face that the creature fought for the sheer pleasure of it-but the Barbarian had improved as well. To the delight of the crowds, he made two quick feints, then struck a grazing blow to the Minotaur’s shoulder. Blood flowed-just a shallow cut, but enough to anger the creature. It snarled, horns gleaming in the sunlight.