The cataclysm t2-2

by Margaret Weis

  Michael sighed, kept silent.

  No one else in the crowd saw them. All eyes were on the speaker.

  "Lord Palanthas sides with us," the man cried. "He would agree to pass our laws, for he knows they are right and just, but he is prevented from doing so by that old man in there!" Again he pointed at the columned building behind him.

  "Then we'll pass the laws and enforce them ourselves!" shouted a voice from the crowd, who, by the quickness of his response, obviously had been waiting for a cue. "Read us your laws, Revered Son. Let us hear them."

  "Yes, read us the laws!" The crowd picked up the shout, turned it into a chant.

  "I will, good citizens," said the squint-eyed speaker. He drew forth a scroll from the bosom of robes that were rich and snowy white — a marked contrast to the worn and shabby clothing of those who hung upon his every word.

  "First: no elf, dwarf, kender, gnome, or anyone with so much as a drop of blood of any of these races is to be allowed in the city. Any now residing here will be expelled. Any caught here in the future will be put to death."

  The people looked at each other, muttered their approval.

  "Second: any wizard or wizardess, witch or warlock, apprentice mage, sorcerer or sorceress" — the man ran out of breath, paused to catch it — "caught within these city walls will be put to death."

  This met with nods and shrugs and even some incredulous laughter, as though such an occurrence was almost beyond the realm of possibility. Palanthas had divested itself of such evil long ago, though at a heavy cost.

  "Third" all Knights of Solamnia — "

  Boos and hisses and angry shouts interrupted the speaker. He smiled in satisfaction and raised his voice to be heard above the uproar.

  "All Knights of Solamnia or any member of a knight's family found henceforth within the city limits shall be expelled!"

  A loud cheer.

  "All lands and goods and properties of said Knights of Solamnia shall be confiscated and turned over to the people!"

  An even louder cheer.

  Now it was Nikol who flushed in anger and seemed about to speak.

  "Are you mad?" Michael whispered, wrapping her cloak more closely about the telltale breastplate, twitching the folds over the sword in its antique silver sheath, decorated with kingfisher and crown.

  The two drew back to stand in the shadows of a large, spreading oak.

  "Fourth: the library will be razed to the ground! All the books and scrolls and the lies that they contain will be burned!"

  The speaker snapped his own scroll shut. Leaning toward the crowd, he made a sweeping gesture with his arm, as if he would scoop them up and send them in a surging tide toward destruction. The mob shouted its agreement and made a tentative movement toward the steps of the ancient library.

  No one came out from the library. No defender appeared in the doorway. The building itself, the weight of years, its age and veneration and dignity, spoke a silent, eloquent defense and daunted the crowd.

  Those in the front ranks seemed unwilling to proceed, fell back to let those behind come forth if they wanted. Those behind, finding themselves about to become those in front, had second thoughts, with the result that the mob began to mill about aimlessly at the foot of the library stairs. Some shouted threats; others threw rotten eggs and vegetables at the venerable structure. No one wanted to go any nearer.

  The speaker gazed at them with a grim face, realized that the time was not propitious. He stepped down from his platform and was immediately surrounded by people, who cried out for his blessing or reached out to touch him reverently or held up their children for him to kiss.

  "In the name of the Kingpriest," he said humbly, moving from one to another. "In the name of the Kingpriest."

  "What is this mockery?" Michael gasped, appalled, no longer able to keep quiet. "I can't believe this! Haven't they learned? This is worse, far worse — "

  "Hush!" Nikol hissed and dragged him even farther back into the shadows.

  The speaker moved through the crowd, handling the people skillfully, giving them what they wanted, yet subtly ridding himself of them. A small retinue, led by the man who had asked the speaker to read the laws, formed a circle around the Revered Son and managed to extricate him from the press. He and his henchmen emerged near where Michael and Nikol stood, hidden by the trees.

  Some of the mob continued to surge sluggishly about the library steps, but most grew bored and wandered off to the taverns or whatever other amusements could cheer their dreary existence.

  "You had them eating out of your hand, Revered Son. Why didn't you urge them on?"

  "Because now is not the time," the Revered Son answered complacently. "Let them go to their friends and neighbors and tell what they have heard this day. We'll have a hundred times more people than this at our next rally and a hundred times a hundred more after that. In the meantime, we'll whip up their fear and their hatred.

  "Remember that half-elf baker we talked to yesterday, the stubborn one, who refused to leave the city? See to it that his loaves make a few people sick. Use this." The Revered Son handed over a small glass vial. "Let me know who's taken ill. I'll be around to 'heal' them."

  One of the henchmen, taking the vial, looked at it dubiously. The Revered Son regarded him with some impatience. "The effects wear off naturally after a while, but these ignorant peasants don't know that. They'll think I've performed a miracle."

  The man pocketed the vial. "What about the library?"

  "We'll hold another rally in front of it day after tomorrow, after we've had time to stir up trouble. If you could get me one of those books, the one with the lies about the Kingpriest — "

  The man nodded, shrugged. "Nothing to it. That fool old man, Astinus, lets anyone read 'em."

  "Excellent. I'll read it aloud to the crowd. That should seal the library's fate and the old man's. He's been the main one opposing my takeover of the city's government. Once he's out of the way, I'll have no trouble with that nambypamby Lord Palanthas.

  "Now, tonight," continued the Revered Son, "I want you and the others in the taverns, spreading stories about that knight, the one that was god-cursed — "

  "Soth."

  "Yes, Lord Soth."

  Nikol sucked in her breath softly. Michael caught hold of her hand, squeezed it, counseling silence.

  "I'm not certain we should rely on that story to drive the mob to attack the knights, Revered Son. There's more than one tale about him going around."

  "What's the other?" the speaker asked sharply.

  "That he was forewarned about the Cataclysm. He was riding to Istar, planning to try to STOP the Kingpriest — "

  "Nonsense!" The Revered Son snorted. "Here's the story you tell them. Soth was furious because the Kingpriest was about to make public the knight's dalliances with that elven trollop of his. Make that clear. Oh, and throw in that bit about him murdering his first wife. That always goes over — "

  "Shush, someone's wanting a blessing."

  A young woman, carrying a baby, was hovering timidly on the outskirts of the group. The Revered Son glanced about, saw the woman, and smiled at her benignly.

  "Come closer. What may I do for you, Daughter?"

  "Pardon me for disturbing you, Revered Son," the woman said, with a blush, "but I heard you speak at the temple yesterday, and I'm confused."

  "I'll do my best to help you understand, Daughter," said the Revered Son humbly. "What do you find confusing?"

  "I have always prayed to Paladine, but you say we're not to pray to him or any of the other gods. We're to pray to the Kingpriest?"

  "Yes, Daughter. When the wicked Queen of Evil attacked the world, the other gods fled in terror. The Kingpriest alone had the courage to stand and fight her, just as did Huma, long ago. The Kingpriest fights her today, on the heavenly plane. He needs your prayers, Daughter, to aid him in his struggles."

  "And that's why we must drive out the kender and the elves — "

  "And all thos
e whose disbelief come to the aid of the Powers bf Darkness."

  "I understand now. Thank you, Revered Son." The young woman curtseyed.

  The Revered Son laid his hand upon her head, and upon her child's. "In the name of the Kingpriest," he said solemnly.

  The young woman left. The Revered Son watched after her, a pleased smile upon his lips. He cast a glance at his cohorts, who grinned and nodded. Their heads bent together in continued plotting, the Revered Son and his minions walked off in the opposite direction.

  Neither Nikol nor Michael could speak for long moments. The shock of what they'd heard and seen took their breath, made them dizzy and sick, as if they'd been physically assaulted.

  "Oh, Michael," murmured Nikol, "this can't be happening! I don't believe it. Lord Soth was so valiant, so brave. No knight would do such terrible things — "

  "Lies!" said Michael. His face was pale. He literally shook with anger and outrage. "That false cleric has twisted the truth — "

  "But what is the truth, Michael?" Nikol cried. "We don't know!"

  "Hush, we're attracting attention," he cautioned, noting that several men were casting suspicious glances in their direction. "The truth about that friend of ours," Michael continued loudly. "We'll find out, I'm certain, now that we're here in this fair city. A city obviously blessed."

  Several men, burly and unwashed and smelling strongly of dwarf spirits, lurched over to stare at them.

  "Strangers, are you?" one said, scowling.

  "From Whitsund, Sire," said Michael, bowing.

  "At least you're human. Refugees? Thinkin' of movin' in?" He glowered at them. " 'Cause if you are, you got another think comin'. We got beggars enough as it is." Those with him muttered their assent. "Why don't you two just head on back to wherever it is you came from?"

  Nikol shifted restlessly; her armor jingled, her sword clanked. The man turned, looked at her with drunken interest.

  "That steel I hear?" The man took a step nearer Nikol. Reaching out a filthy hand, he caught hold of her by the chin, wrenched her face to the light. "You look as if you've noble blood in you, boy. Don't he, fellas? Not some noble's son, by any chance? With a fat purse?"

  "Let go of me," said Nikol through clenched teeth. "Or you're a dead man."

  "Please," said Michael, trying to come between them, "we don't want any trouble — "

  But he only made matters worse. His staff caught on Nikol's cloak, dragged the fabric aside. The shining breastplate she wore glittered in the sun.

  "A knight hisself!" The man howled in glee. "Look, fellas. Look what I've caught! I'm gonna have a little fun.' " He drew a long dagger from his belt. "Let's see if your blood does run yellow — "

  Nikol thrust her sword into the man, yanked it out before he or his drunken companions knew what had happened. The man stared at her in blank astonishment, then groaned and toppled to the ground. A pool of blood spread beneath him. The sight sobered up his friends, who growled in anger. Some drew knives; one wielded a blackthorn cudgel. Michael whirled his staff. Nikol set her back to his, her sword, red with blood, swinging in a slow arc.

  The men made a half-hearted show of attacking. Michael's staff lashed out, caught one on the side of one man's head, sent him into the dust. Nikol gave another a slash on his cheek that he would carry to his grave. The men, eyeing the knight and the cleric, decided they'd had enough. They broke and ran.

  "Cowards!" jeered Nikol, cleaning her sword with the tail of the dead man's shirt. "'Thieves and knaves."

  "Yes, but they'll be back," said Michael grimly. "And they'll bring help. We can't stay in the city. We'll have to leave." He cast a longing, disappointed glance at the great library.

  "We'll return," said Nikol confidently. "I have an idea. Hurry up. One of those thugs is talking to that so-called Revered Son."

  Sure enough, the Revered Son was turning, staring hard in their direction. The man was pointing at them excitedly.

  The two ran, blended in with the rest of the flotsam and dregs of humanity that had washed ashore in Palanthas. Reaching the gates, they were walking out just as one of the Revered Son's henchmen came pounding up, breathless, to deliver a message to the guard.

  Michael and Nikol ducked behind a wagon that had become mired in the crowd.

  "Knight of Solamnia!" the man shouted. "A huge fellow with a sword six feet long! He's got a friend, some fellow wearing the blue robes of the false goddess."

  "Yeah, sure, we'll watch for them," said the guard, and the henchman dashed off, to spread the alarm at other gates. "Get that wagon moving! What's the matter with you?"

  Nikol drew her cloak close around her, pressed her sword against her thigh. Michael made certain his holy medallion was well hidden. The guard didn't even bother to spare them a glance. Once outside the gate, they fended off the beggars, traveled some distance up the road, finally stopping in a grove of stunted trees.

  "What's your plan?" Michael asked.

  "We'll travel to the High Clerist's Tower," Nikol replied. "The knights must be told about what is going on in Palanthas, how this false cleric is plotting to take control. They'll soon put a stop to it, then we can go into the library and find the Disks of Mishakal. We'll use them to prove to people that this Revered Son is a crook and a charlatan."

  Michael looked doubtful. "But surely the knights must know — "

  "No, they don't. They can't or they would have stopped him before now," Nikol argued. Serene, confident, she looked up into the mountains that loomed over Palanthas, to the road that led to the knights' stronghold. "And we'll find out the truth about Lord Soth, too," she added softly, her cheeks flushing. "I don't believe what they said, not a word of it. I want to know the truth."

  Michael sighed, shook his head.

  "What?" Nikol demanded sharply. "What's the matter?"

  "I was thinking that perhaps there are some truths we are better off not knowing," he replied.

  Part V

  A chill wind, which blew from the plane of dark and evil magic, tore aside the cloak of the knight who stood upon that plane, allowed the icy blast to penetrate to the center of his empty being. He drew the cloak closer around him — a human gesture made from force of habit, for this ephemeral fabric, spun of memory, would never be sufficient to protect him from death's eternal cold. The knight had not been dead long. and he clung to the small and comforting habits of blessed life — once taken for granted, now, with their loss, bitterly regretted.

  Other than drawing his cloak closer around the body that no longer was there, he did not move. He had urgent business. He was spying on the city of Palanthas. And though he was quite near it, none of the living saw him or were aware of his presence. The shadows of his dark magic shrouded him, hid him from view. The sight of him would have terrorized these weak vessels of warm flesh, rendered them useless to him. He needed the living, needed them alive, and, knowing his own cursed power, he wasn't certain how to approach them.

  He watched them, hated them, envied them.

  Palanthas. Once he'd owned that city. Once he'd been a power there. He could be a power still, a power for death and destruction. But that wasn't what he wanted, not now, not yet. A city saved from the terror of the Cataclysm. There had to be a reason, something blessed within it, something he could use.

  The Revered Son? The knight had assumed so, at first. A dark joy had filled what once had been his heart when he'd heard that a Revered Son had arrived from the east, claiming to be a survivor of shattered Istar, come to take over the spiritual well-being of the populace. Was it possible? Had he discovered a true cleric left in the land? But, after long days and longer nights (for what was time to him?) spent listening to the Revered Son, the knight came to the conclusion he'd been deceived.

  In life, he'd known men and women like this charlatan, made use of them for his own ends. He recognized the man's tricks and deceits. He toyed with the idea of destroying this Revered Son, found it amusing, for the knight hated the living with a hatred born of
jealousy. And he would be doing these fool Palanthians a favor, ridding them of one who would end up tyrant, despot.

  But what would he gain out of it, except the fleeting pleasure of watching warm flesh grow as cold as his own?

  "Nothing," he said to himself. "If they are stupid enough to fall for that man's lies, let them. It serves them right."

  Yet something within Palanthas called to him, and so he stayed, watching, waiting with the patience of one who has eternity, the impatience of one who longs for rest.

  He was there, invisible to living eyes, when two people — a beardless youth armed with a sword, and a man in shabby blue robes — emerged from the city gates with haste enough to draw the knight's attention, piqued his interest by taking themselves away from the sight of the guards.

  The knight gazed at the man in blue with interest that increased when he saw, with the clear sight of those who walk another plane of existence, the symbol of Mishakal hidden beneath the man's robes. And the beardless youth; there seemed something familiar about him. The dark knight drew closer.

  "We'll travel to the High Clerist's Tower," the youth was saying to his friend. "The knights must be told about what is going on in Palanthas, how this false cleric is plotting to take control. They'll soon put a stop to it, then we can go into the library and find the Disks of Mishakal. We'll use them to prove to people that this Revered Son is a crook and a charlatan."

  High Clerist's Tower!ow The knight gave a bitter, silent laugh.

  The youth's friend appeared to share the listener's doubts. "But surely the knights must know — "

  "No, they don't," the youth returned. "They can't or they would have stopped him before now. And we'll find out the truth about Lord Soth, too. I don't believe what they said, not a word of it. I want to know the truth."

  The knight heard his name, heard it spoken in admiration. A thrill passed through him, a thrill that was achingly human and alive. Soth was so astounded, so lost in wonder and puzzlement, trying to think of where he'd known this young man, that he didn't hear whatever reply the friend made in response.