“What is this place?” Sadira asked, awestruck.
“It’s the Crimson Shrine,” Ktandeo wheezed, slowly climbing the stairs. “A temple of the ancients.”
Sadira and Agis froze, for such places were rumored to be the homes of wraiths and ghosts.
“Beneath Tyr?” Agis asked.
“Before Tyr was a swamp, it was a sacred wood,” Ktandeo replied, not bothering to turn as he spoke. “That was two thousand years ago. The city was built around this temple.”
On the far side of the courtyard, the templar commander barked, “Don’t waste time gaping! If they get inside, I’ll send you in after them!”
Sadira and Agis started after the old man. “How do you know all this?” Agis asked.
“I’ve spoken with those who inhabit the temple,” the old man answered, reaching the top of the stairs.
As Sadira stepped to Ktandeo’s side, the purple light of his cane illuminated the wall high above them. Four pairs of tall, dagger-shaped windows flanked a statue depicting the eagle-headed figure in flight. In the windows the figure was shown in flight, too, and from a bucket carried beneath its arm, it was sprinkling rain over a green forest.
As she studied the wall, Sadira glimpsed a black, man-shaped shadow passing behind one of the dagger-shaped windows. It peered down at Sadira and her companions, setting the slave girl’s heart to pounding with fear.
“You aren’t thinking of taking us in there?” she asked.
“The pure of heart have nothing to fear in the Crimson Shrine,” Ktandeo said.
Agis followed the sorcerer toward the door, but Sadira did not move. “What do you mean by ‘pure of heart’?”
Ktandeo pointed his cane at the square below. “You can face the crimson knights or Kalak’s mindbenders. Only you know which choice to make.”
Seeing that a dozen of the king’s bureaucrats had already moved halfway across the courtyard, Sadira said, “I’ll try the knights.”
Ktandeo motioned for Agis to open the doors of the temple. The noble obeyed, then stepped backward in alarm. “By Ral!”
In the doorway stood a wraith dressed head to foot in steel armor. Its visor was open, revealing two red eyes that looked out from a mass of churning darkness. Over its breastplate hung a pearly tabard decorated with the eagle-headed figure so prominently depicted in the temple’s facade, and from the crown of its helm rose a fantastic red plume. The wraith held a tall halberd, and its burning eyes were fixed on Agis.
Beyond the guard lay a cavernous room lit by a thousand candles flickering with a brilliant red flame. It seemed that every inch of the church had been carved with bas reliefs of fantastic creatures.
“It’s amazing!” Agis gasped. “What keeps all those candles lit, magic?”
“There is no magic in this temple,” Ktandeo said. “Faith keeps the candles burning.”
Sadira cast an anxious eye behind them. The twelve templars had reached the bottom of the stairs. On the far side of the square, the templar commander was shouting orders to the rest of his men, sending them along the edge of the embankment to encircle the area.
“If we’re going inside, let’s do it,” she said.
Ktandeo slipped past the wraith and entered the temple, the violet glow of his cane dying as he crossed the threshold. The area outside the door grew dim but did not fall entirely dark. The light of the shrine’s candles illuminated the entire stairway.
Agis motioned for Sadira to enter next, but she shook her head. “You first,” she said.
The noble stepped toward the door with his customary confidence and poise. As his foot crossed the threshold, the wraith struck him across the brow with the butt of its halberd.
“No!” Its deep voice echoed far into the pylon forest. Agis let out a surprised cry, then stumbled backward holding his bleeding brow.
“Cursed nobles!” Ktandeo growled, half-stepping out of the door.
“Why won’t it let him in?” Sadira demanded, addressing her question half to her master and half to the ghostly guard.
“Because he owns slaves, perhaps, or for some other vice,” the old sorcerer said, raising his cane and pointing the tip toward the twelve templars on the stairs. “Get down, both of you.”
As Sadira and Agis obeyed, Ktandeo uttered, “Nok! Quietstorm!”
Sadira felt her stomach tense, then a beam of white light silently shot from the cane’s tip. It illuminated the face of the closest templar. The man’s torch went out, and he quietly crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap. A second bolt of light shot from the cane, and Sadira felt more energy being drained from her body. Another templar fell dead. A third flash followed, and then a fourth and a fifth. Each time, another torch went out, another templar died, and Sadira felt a little weaker.
By the time the cane flared the twelfth time, Sadira lay on the stones gasping for breath and fighting to keep from retching. When she could finally lift her head again, she saw that Ktandeo still stood bathed in light from the interior of temple. He was hunched over and struggling to support himself by hanging onto the door. Agis lay to her right, holding his bleeding head and drawing slow, even breaths.
“You chided me for killing a little ceiling moss?” she gasped.
Ktandeo looked up, seeming immeasurably old and feeble. His whole body heaved with the simple effort of breathing.
“I have taken nothing that cannot be replenished,” the sorcerer wheezed. “What you did destroyed-” He broke into a fit of coughing. When he finished, he said, “You know the difference. Now come. If we close the door, perhaps Agis can sneak away in the darkness.”
Agis nodded. “Go on,” he said. “My strength is coming back. I’ll be fine. Even if they capture me, I doubt Tithian will let them do me any harm.”
“I’m not taking that chance,” Sadira insisted, her strength also returning. “We have to change the guard’s mind and get Agis inside.”
“The guard has no mind to change,” Ktandeo answered weakly. “All it has is faith in its god’s teachings, and those teachings prohibit Agis from entering this temple.”
On the far side of the courtyard, another half-dozen templars started down the steep bank. Agis rose and started to leave, but Sadira caught his arm.
“The god can’t still be alive! Kalak would never stand for that beneath his own city,” Sadira objected. “The guard has nothing to lose by making an exception.”
“You don’t understand,” Ktandeo said, pulling himself completely upright. “The gods of the ancients aren’t sorcerer-kings. They were much more powerful, and those who worshiped them did so with all their hearts-not the way the templars worship Kalak.”
“What happened to these ancient gods?” Agis asked.
Ktandeo shook his head. “Like all glories of the past, they faded away. No one knows why.”
Sadira pulled Agis toward the doorway. “I don’t care about the decree of some dead god or a wraith’s blind faith in it.”
Ktandeo blocked her way. “To let Agis in, the guard must break its faith,” the old man said, his voice growing stronger. He pointed toward the interior of the shrine. “Every time a crimson knight breaks its faith, a candle goes out. Does it look like many lights have died in the last two-thousand years?”
Sadira did not have time to study the room, but at first glance she did not see any unlit candles.
“If you must stay with Agis, then stay with him,” Ktandeo said, pulling the door closed until only a silver of red light escaped the temple. “Leave me here and go. I’ll be safe until my strength returns, and you two will stand a better chance of escaping without me.”
“Where will I find you again?” Sadira asked.
“I’ll find you,” Ktandeo answered, motioning them away. He kept the door cracked open so he could watch them leave.