“Whoever wears the crown, rules,” Beldyn whispered. His eyes glistened in his own light. “I am to be Kingpriest, then.”
Dista jerked as if stung, the color draining from her face. She looked away. “I didn’t say that.”
“You’ve been thinking it,” he replied, his hand grasping hers. “You saw me wearing the Miceram, up there in the tower, didn’t you?”
She shook her head, pulling away from his grasp. “It can’t be. Darkness doesn’t rule the land. Kurnos is no friend of mine, but he is not evil.”
“Isn’t he?” Beldyn pressed. “He sent the army here to slaughter innocent women and men, burn their villages. When we helped them instead, he cast us both out of the church. Don’t you think it’s convenient the old Kingpriest died when he did? Efisa, Paladine only knows what dark pacts Kurnos has made-”
“No!” she snapped, rising from the bench. “I know Kurnos. He is hard man, but he serves the gods.”
“Tell that to Gareth,” Beldyn said, standing and gesturing out the window. “Tell that to the others who died needlessly in these hills. I will stop him, Efisa. You saw what happened out there today, in the streets. The people will follow me. I will be Kingpriest!”
Ihsta threw up her hands. “The Crown is lost! How can it help you if no one knows where it is?”
He looked at her, then, and she shivered at the fervor on his face. His devoutness had always unsettled her a little, but there was something more awful about his certainty. “Someone knows, Efisa, and I think I know who.”
She shook her head, trembling. “Who?”
He smiled, his eyes glowing with zeal. “The Little Emperor.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The crowd that had greeted the refugees the day before had been large, hundreds strong. It was nothing, though, compared with the throng that gathered outside the Pantheon the following morning. As word of the Lightbringer’s arrival spread throughout Govinna, more and more people poured into the plaza before the church, the hundreds becoming thousands, some bearing torches and lamps to warm themselves in the dawn’s chill. As the numbers swelled, the noise they made grew as well, first a low murmur, then a buzz of muttering mixed with the occasional pious voice raised to sing a hymn. Finally, while rosy strands of the coming day reached out across the turquoise sky, the crowd picked up into a chant, low and steady, like drums beating an army’s marching cadence in the church tongue:
“Beldinas Cilenfo! Beldinas Nirinfo! Beldinas Pilofiro!”
Beldyn the Healer! Beldyn the Savior! Beldyn the Lightbringer!
So it went as the sliver-thin silver moon rose above the hills, just ahead of the sun. Ossirian’s men, standing guard outside the Pantheon, eyed the mob warily, hands twisting about their spearshafts. As with any place in Istar, the gathered masses were a fickle and dangerous thing. If their mood soured and they chose to move on the temple, even a full phalanx of warriors wouldn’t be able to hold them back.
Suddenly, the tone of their murmuring did change. It wasn’t anger that tinged their voices, however, but joy. Some waved their arms in the air, others fell to their knees, weeping, but most jabbed their fingers up toward the Pantheon’s tallest tower. There, high above, several figures had appeared on a balcony. Though high above the crowd, there was no mistaking who they were. The hulking form of Lord Ossirian, the tall, austere shape of Lady Ilista, and standing between them, clad in robes the color of polished ivory and shadowed by the young bandit who accompanied him always now, was the one who drew the fiercest cheers. The Lightbringer had appeared.
Beldyn behaved as though he were Kingpriest already, thought Ilista, smiling and waving to the crowd, accepting their adulation as his due. Looking at him, then down at the shouting masses below, she wondered if he even needed the Crown.
Ossirian seemed to share that thought, for there was a glint of envy in his eye as he leaned over to speak to Beldyn. “They were never mine,” he said. “Not truly. I held the city, but I didn’t rule. They’re yours now, lad-say the word, and they’ll follow you to the Abyss.”
Beldyn shook his head, still smiling. “It isn’t the Abyss where I mean to lead them.”
He stepped forward, raising his hands, and at once a hush fell over the crowd. Awestruck eyes stared up at him, from the courtyard and the terraces and rooftops around it. In the east, the clouds glowed golden as the young monk swept the crowd with his strange, glittering gaze. Ilista realized she could hear her own blood pounding, fast as a yearling foal’s. She gripped the copper balustrade, her knuckles whitening as Beldyn drew a deep breath, let it out, and began to speak.
“You have suffered, my children,” he proclaimed, his musical voice carrying out across the plaza. “Plague has come to you, and your church and empire do nothing to help. In the Lordcity they sup on honeyed milk, while you make do with scraps. The man who sits upon the throne, who should be aiding you, instead seeks to crush you by force. Even now, his Scatas advance upon this city, having burned their way across the southlands.
“War is coming, and the battle to be fought here will be a terrible one-not just because the enemy is vast, but because of who the enemy are. It is not the spawn of darkness who march toward the walls, not goblins or ogres, or those who follow the gods of evil. No, my children, those who come are our brothers, men like you, ordered into unjust battle by a King-priest corrupted.”
A gasp ran through the mob at this, and on the balcony Cathan and Ossirian both looked sharply at Beldyn. Ilista’s mouth dropped open as well. It was one thing to speak ill of Kurnos privately. Doing so in front of the better part of an entire city, even one stirred by rebellion, was something else. It was unwise. Before she could do more than frown, however, Beldyn went on.
“Yes, corrupted!” he bellowed. “How else to describe a man who sends soldiers to subjugate his own people, rather than bread to feed them? Istar is a holy place, the mightiest Krynn has ever known, and Lord Kurnos is a tyrant, unfit to rule. The god’s voice, he calls himself. Pah! A lie, unless the god is the Queen of Darkness herself, working to rot the empire from within! Will you allow this to happen?”
The people of Govinna roared in reply, thousands of voices becoming one great, thunderous roar. “No!” they cried.
“Will you surrender to the troops he has sent to quell you? Will you kneel before a ruler who does not merit his crown?”
“No!”
“Then follow me!” Beldyn shouted, stretching out his arms. “I am the Lightbringer, foretold by ancient prophecy! Follow me, and help rid Istar of evil once and for all! Follow me, for I am the chosen of the gods, and with Paladine on our side, we must prevail!”
The sun broke over the horizon, spilling dawn’s light across the city. It painted Govinna’s walls and kissed the bridges that linked its two halves together, setting its high rooftops ablaze with coppery fire. It fell across the courtyard, making long shadows of the buildings to the east. When it fell upon the balcony and on Beldyn himself, the air about him came alive, sparkling in the golden morning, falling in shimmering waves from his body, in a cascade that poured down from the tower’s heights.
The throngs remained silent a heartbeat longer, staring in awe, then bellowed in reply, louder than any dragon’s cry, clapping hands and stamping the ground as the chant took over again. “Beldinas! Beldinas! Beldinas!”
Beldyn stood amid it all, bathed in the newborn sun-glow, smiling.