“More so, I think,” Tithian replied. “He isn’t playing both sides of the game, for one thing.”
The cloaked figure stayed very still for a long moment, then held out a scroll case made of carved ivory. “At the Vaults,” he said.
Tithian took the scroll, waving the man away. With a creak of leather, the gray figure climbed back onto his horse, wheeled it about, and left again, out through the gates. As he did, Tithian opened the case and slid out the scroll within-vellum, sealed with the crimson wax of the First Son. He bowed his head.
The man had first come to him in Chidell, the morning after Cathan’s strange disappearance. He’d told him everything: about the secret roads beneath Istar’s cities, the insurgents hidden away, Lord Revando’s involvement, and Lady Wentha’s surprising participation. The conspirators had been planning to depose Beldinas for weeks now, but Tithian had been slow to discover all he needed to know. He read the scroll, noting all the names, the vast network of support. His mind started to turn, planning out how he must counter this treachery.
Cathan, he thought, you of all people.
When he finished reading, he crumpled the message, walked to the nearest torch, and set it ablaze. As he watched it burn, he sensed Bron coming up on him. He glanced toward the younger knight.
“My lord,” Bron said. “What was that about?”
Cathan let go of the burning parchment. The last of it turned black, falling to the ground like a dead bird. He stared at it, then pivoted on one heel and started toward the knights’ barracks.
“You’ll see, Bron,” he said more harshly than he intended. “Soon enough, you’ll see.”
Chapter 18
The MarSevrins supped together in the courtyard of Wentha’s manor, the night before the Kingpriest was due to leave for the Vaults. The food was sumptuous-shrimp and squid and rice spiced with saffron in the Pesaran style-but they ate little and barely tasted what they did. The servants smiled when they cleared away the leavings, for the leftovers were more than enough to make a good evening meal for themselves. Wentha dismissed them after they brought wine and water. The four conspirators sat quietly, staring into their goblets.
“You know,” said Rath, “this could well be the last time we ever sit together, all of us.”
“Rath!” Wentha exclaimed reprovingly.
“You shouldn’t speak that way,” Tancred insisted. “We’ve planned this out well. Idar’s sent his best men to help us. Nothing will go wrong.”
Cathan chuckled, grimly. “Those are cursed words. Men have spoken them all through history, and history is filled with failure.” He sighed. “Something always goes wrong, Tancred. We must hope it’s nothing big.”
Tancred looked about to argue, but instead glanced up at the stars shining down on the Lordcity. Cathan followed his gaze, picking out Ariddo the Valiant Warrior, Fino the Great Book, Croino the Vulture, Carno the Horned One… constellations patterned after the gods’ signs.
“I do wish you weren’t all going,” Wentha said. “I know Cathan has to, but-”
“Mother, we’ve been over this before,” said Tancred. “Even Idar’s best men aren’t completely trustworthy. Gods, Idar himself might put a dagger in the Kingpriest, first chance he gets. Rath and I need to be with them, if for no other reason than to keep them in line.”
Wentha bowed her head, sighing. “I understand that, Tancred. But I still don’t like the risk.”
Tancred shook his head, looking to Cathan, who leaned close. “She’s sending her sons and her brother off into danger,” Cathan whispered. “She’s allowed to worry.”
There was another silence, none of them wanting to speak, nor wishing to leave the table. Finally, Rath drained his goblet and set it down with a loud clack.
“We should go over the plan again,” he said. “Just to make sure.”
They’d done nothing but discuss the plan, it seemed to Cathan, in the day and a half since the Games. They knew what had to happen and when. There was precious little reason to discuss it again. But Rath was earnest, and Tancred willing, so Cathan let it go and finished his own wine with one long swallow.
“Beldinas and I are traveling to the Vaults, with an armed escort,” he said tonelessly. “Twenty Scatas and knights, according to Revando. Only he and I will enter the Vaults, and then we will do whatever we must to get the Peripas. Once we have the Disks, we’ll come out again, and you’ll be waiting ”
“We’ll already be there when the entourage arrives,” Tancred continued. “Idar and forty of his best men, as well as Rath and me. The land around the Vault is heavily wooded, and well also have these to help us stay out of sight.”
He held up his hand, displaying a silver ring set with a piece of petrified wood in place of a gemstone. At the same time Rath fingered a similar earring, dangling from his left ear. Revando had provided such magical items for everyone in Idar’s party, claiming they had the power to make men appear as trees.
Cathan reached to the malachite at his throat. “How is it you have so much magic at your disposal?” he’d asked the First Son, down in the tunnels.
“Ah,” Revando had replied, smiling. “Do you truly think the wizards simply went to hide in Wayreth, after the war? The Orders of High Sorcery have been very useful allies … they want the Lightbringer off the throne as much as we do.”
Rath spoke up, bringing Cathan back to the present. “When you and His Holiness go down into the Vault, well take care of the Scatas and such. Outnumbered, with surprise on our side, we shouldn’t have much trouble.”
Cathan bit his lip, knowing that Rath understated the risks. The regular soldiers might be easy targets, but the Divine Hammer was another matter. Even if standards in the knighthood had slipped, they would still put up a devilish fight. He offered a silent prayer for forgiveness for the good men who might die. But the burning hammer was still bright in his dreams, a warning that he had to act.
“We’ll hide any bodies,” Rath went on. “And be waiting disguised as trees when you come out. And that’s when you should make your move.”
Cathan said nothing. Tancred and Rath glanced at each other. Wentha leaned forward.
“Brother?” she asked.
This was the hardest part. “Beldinas will suspect something’s amiss-he has an instinct for danger,” Cathan said. “But he’ll be confused. He’ll turn to me. And I’ll hit him with this.”
From his belt, he produced a tiny needlelike object with a bladder of rubber on one end. It was a device used by Seldjuki assassins of old, called Lonfas Dudo, the Serpent’s Tooth. The bladder could hold a liquid, such as poison. One good jab, a squeeze, and the needle would inject the liquid into a victim. “It will be filled with bloodblossom oil,” Cathan said. “The Lightbringer’ll be out cold in a few seconds.” And he’ll know who betrayed him. The rest of his life, he’ll know it was me. That knowledge twisted in his gut like a spear.
“We’ll be waiting to help, in case something goes wrong,” Rath continued, meaning in case you can’t do your job. “Once he’s drugged, we grab him, hide him in a nearby cart, and make for the closest tunnels at Calah. Once we have him in a safe place, the danger will be over.”
“If no one knows about the tunnels,” Cathan noted.
Tancred and Rath laughed. “Uncle,” Tancred said, “stop fretting, will you?”
Cathan nodded. Still, a voice kept whispering to him. It’s too easy. You’re missing something. He stroked his beard, thinking back over the plan.
Across the city, the bells of the Great Temple chimed the Midwatch toll. They looked at one another in surprise. “That late already?” Wentha wondered aloud.
Rath rose, consulting a water clock in the corner of the courtyard. “So it seems. We’ve tarried here long enough. It’s time Tancred and I were going-Idar will be waiting.”