Over the years, Lord Cathan MarSevrin had become a figure of myth, a legend like Huma Dragonbane. Once, he had been Beldinas’s right-hand compatriot, having sworn himself to be the Lightbringer’s protector after Wentha’s miraculous healing. He’d been at the Kingpriest’s side when he made his triumphant entry into the Lordcity, and had saved his life in this very Hall when Kurnos the Deceiver tried to kill him with a magic-poisoned dagger. Instead, Cathan had taken the blade himself, and it had killed him.
But though Cathan had indeed died, right on the blue mosaic before the throne, Beldinas had still saved him. Crying out to the gods-not just entreating them, but commanding-he had worked a wonder that had never happened before, or since. Armed with righteous fury born of grief, the Lightbringer had poured all his power into Cathan and restored his life, making him the Twice-Born.
After his resurrection, Cathan became the greatest hero of the empire. He was the first knight of the Divine Hammer, dubbed by the Kingpriest himself, and helped lead Beldinas’s war against evil. Countless monsters, dark cultists, and black-robed wizards had fallen to him and the sacred order, and in time he became Grand Master of the Hammer. But then something had gone wrong.
It happened during the war against sorcery. At the dawn of that crusade, a surprise attack by demons summoned by a vengeful wizard had led to the slaughter of many knights-and a later assault upon the Kingpriest himself caused many more deaths. In the end, the Twice-Born had led a small army to Losarcum, to assail the Tower of High Sorcery there. But the wizards had had the final say, destroying both the Tower and the city around it to keep its secrets out of the church’s hands. Cathan’s entire force had perished in that final stroke-all save Cathan himself, and Tithian, once his squire. Together they had returned to Istar, and Cathan-ashamed and angry at what had happened to his soldiers-had torn off his Grand Marshal’s tabard, walked out of the Temple, and disappeared.
Until now.
Tithian moved quickly, getting himself between Lady Wentha and the gabbling masses of courtiers. Everyone wanted to know more-where was this cave of people trapped in glass? Why was the Twice-Born there? Why had he stayed out of sight for so long? Tithian gestured to Rath and Tancred, who helped him form a protective ring around their mother and Varen, and together, they made their way away from the chaos of the Hall of Audience.
Ordinarily, a large part of the court attended the evening banquets in the imperial manse’s great dining halclass="underline" the hierarchs of the great churches of light, dignitaries from the realms of Solamnia and Kharolis, who followed the Istaran faith, the few nobles who were fortunate enough to have earned a place, and a regular contingent of high-ranking knights. On this day, however, as the sun gilded the city’s rooftops, the company was only seven: Beldinas, Quarath, Lady Wentha and her sons, Tithian, and-sitting in the chair of honor at the Kingpriest’s right hand and looking like he would rather be at the bottom of the Courrain Ocean-the scholar Varen. The scholar ate sparingly, his face coloring every time the Lightbringer glanced his way. His silence drew little note, however; the court followed the Taoli tradition that it was ill-mannered to speak of grave matters during a meal. Course after course was brought of fine, rich fare: fresh shellfish spa drenched in butter and the juices of Maeloon blood-limes; black-veined cheese dusted with ground vallenwood nuts; small pastries called Arathi from Midrath, crammed with minced pheasant and forty different spices.
Finally, as the servants were clearing away the main dish-a roasted haunch of gorgon, infused with black pepper and mead-Varen spoke up.
“There really is little more to tell, Aulforo,” he ventured, bobbing his head toward Beldinas. “I fled the Tears at all speed. Thank Paladine the Dravinishmen were still close, or I would not have survived. As it was, by the time I reached Attrika I was half-dead of heat poisoning. I had to rest for a month in a Mishakite hospice before I could travel again”
“And yet you did not come here,” Quarath noted tersely. “I should think that, bearing such tidings, the Temple would be the first place you stopped.” The scholar looked down, biting his lip as the servants poured moragnac brandy around the table. He downed his drink in a swallow, then shook his head. “I went to Lattakay first. It was closer, and I had little gold for passage, without my fortune. And … I had heard Lord Cathan had kin there.”
He glanced at Wentha, who smiled sadly. Beside her, Tancred and Rath exchanged grim glances.
“And you are sure?” Beldinas asked. “You can vouch it was him?”
“Only the Twice-Born has those eyes, Holiness.”
Sitting across from Varen, Tithian nodded agreement. The act of resurrection had left Cathan that way, as a mark of providence. His eyes were pupil-less and white-like a blind man’s, though Cathan could see. Few could meet his eerie gaze without having to turn away. Tithian himself hadn’t been able to do it. If the man seen by the scholar had those eyes…
Quarath scowled, and Wentha noticed it. “I know your suspicions, Emissary,” she said mildly. “I felt them as well. There have been enough stories of my brother, from every part of the empire and beyond-all of them false. I even sent scouts to the Tears myself once, but to no good. I gave up on finding him years ago. I was sure he had to be dead.”
“So were we,” the Kingpriest agreed, his voice turning sorrowful. “But if this is true ….”
“It is,” said Rath.
“Show him,” Tancred told Varen.
All around the table, eyebrows rose. The acolytes were serving stone bowls of fruited ice with sprigs of kender-mint, but no one paid the dessert any mind. They watched the scholar, who reached into a pouch and brought out a small, oblong box made of grayleaf wood. He started to push it toward the Kingpriest, but Tithian stopped him with a firm hand.
“Open it yourself,” the knight said.
Flushing, Varen pulled back the box, released a catch, and slid back the lid. From inside, he pulled out a small, dark shard of glass. Gripping it between two fingers, he held it up to the light. Tawny rose fire blazed within. Despite years of courtly etiquette, Lord Tithian gave a low whistle as Varen set the fragment on the table.
“Losarcine amber,” the scholar said. “I took it, if you’ll recall, just before I fled. I was half a mile from the cave before I even realized I had it.”
Everyone stared at the shard, glittering in the dying daylight lancing through the manse’s windows. Quarath sipped his moragnac, watching with an inscrutable expression. Wentha and her sons seemed to silently defy anyone to doubt the truth of Varen’s tale. Varen now stared at his hands in his lap. Tithian, meanwhile, bent forward to pick up the glass shard. He turned it in his grasp, watching the honeyed light play within. He’d been at Losarcum, seen vast palaces melted into stuff like this when the Tower erupted. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of people trapped in it.
And Cathan was there, too.
“Let me see it,” said Beldinas.
Nodding, Tithian passed the shard down the table-to Tancred, then Quarath, and finally to the Kingpriest. The glass shone like a golden star as Beldinas’s light poured into it. He gazed into its depths, his thoughts unreadable. Everyone else watched him, trying to read them anyway. Finally he clenched his fist around the shard and turned back to Varen.
“This cave,” he said. “Can you find it again?”