does exist . . . surely one man
can’t stop him.”
“Can I or the Brotherhood help?”
He stared toward the shore, to the
fire that burned atop the House of Light. “If indeed light or flame can hurt
the Worm, there it is,” he said. “Light itself.”
“The Jewel of the Sun . . .”
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest. I do
know that the ancient Tiat-sumatians built their religion around it, and all
the sects of the Light that have come since at one point used its existence as
a cornerstone of their belief. We of Behara call it the Eye of the Sky and
believe it is our touchstone to Behara Himself, proof of his continued presence
in our world. The Asqrites believe it’s Asqrit in the flesh as it were, the
very egg of the Phoenix.”
“Well, whatever it is, I must have
it. The problem is that Father Elimhas refused to even let me look on it last
time I was there. He said the Jewel was useless against the Worm. That his
order had lost certain knowledge that could make it a weapon.”
She looked thoughtful. “According
to what I’ve been taught, the Jewel originally belonged, if that is the word—perhaps
better to say in the custody of—the Church
of Tiat-sumat. The
Asqrites, when their numbers began to swell, stole the Jewel from the Tiat-sumatians to increase their power.
When they did that, they also took certain holy books in which were written the
rites necessary to maintain the Jewel’s hold on this world, possibly even to
magnify its power. I don’t know if the Tiat-sumatians wrote those books or found
them when they found the Jewel—or were given the Jewel, according to some, by an ancient, pre-human race. Anyway, some of
those rites were written in a primeval tongue, one my own order doesn’t know,
and it’s possible the Asqrites don’t know it either.”
“But the Tiat-sumatians did?”
“They must have.”
“You think they still do?”
“I don’t know.”
“And those rites could turn the
Jewel into a weapon?”
She shook her head. “I really don’t
know, Davril. Perhaps.”
“Then I must go to the House of
Light for answers.”
“I will go with you.”
Chaos consumed the city with riots, looting, and desperate
religious ceremonies. The members of the thousand cults were at their devotions,
and each temple stirred with singing or shouting. Rapine, suicide and general
anarchy ruled the day. Davril, the Lady, and one of her priests made their way
through it carefully, slowing when they reached the ill-named Boulevard of
Summer. In the shadow of the wall that surrounded the Avestine Quarter, it was
located in a maze of narrow, winding streets, right in the heart of the ghettos
of Sedremere. Catching glimpses of the wall that encircled the Avestine Quarter
as he went, Davril felt uneasy. Evidently the Lady noticed.
“The Avestines won’t recognize
you,” she said.
“They’d better not,” he said.
The Avestines hated the Husans, whom
they considered to be their oppressors for untold generations. Still, was he so
far removed from his old self that they wouldn’t even know him if he rode right
past them? He sat straighter in the camel’s saddle.
“I suppose they’ll be leaving their
quarter soon,” the Lady was saying. “Now that order is breaking down in the
City, there won’t be soldiers enough to man the gates.”
“They don’t need gates,” Davril
said. The Lady looked at him quizzically, but he didn’t expand. Only a few in
the highest levels of government knew about the miles of tunnels the Avestines
had carved under their quarter—and some said beyond—during the hundreds of
years of their confinement.
Davril fingered the dagger stuck
through the back of his waistband. The Lady had retrieved it for him, and he
was grateful. It was his only link to his father, to his past. And, according
to the dead emperor, it might prove a help against the Worm.
They passed a harem mansion where
mounted soldiers were trying to
can’t stop him.”
“Can I or the Brotherhood help?”
He stared toward the shore, to the
fire that burned atop the House of Light. “If indeed light or flame can hurt
the Worm, there it is,” he said. “Light itself.”
“The Jewel of the Sun . . .”
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest. I do
know that the ancient Tiat-sumatians built their religion around it, and all
the sects of the Light that have come since at one point used its existence as
a cornerstone of their belief. We of Behara call it the Eye of the Sky and
believe it is our touchstone to Behara Himself, proof of his continued presence
in our world. The Asqrites believe it’s Asqrit in the flesh as it were, the
very egg of the Phoenix.”
“Well, whatever it is, I must have
it. The problem is that Father Elimhas refused to even let me look on it last
time I was there. He said the Jewel was useless against the Worm. That his
order had lost certain knowledge that could make it a weapon.”
She looked thoughtful. “According
to what I’ve been taught, the Jewel originally belonged, if that is the word—perhaps
better to say in the custody of—the Church
of Tiat-sumat. The
Asqrites, when their numbers began to swell, stole the Jewel from the Tiat-sumatians to increase their power.
When they did that, they also took certain holy books in which were written the
rites necessary to maintain the Jewel’s hold on this world, possibly even to
magnify its power. I don’t know if the Tiat-sumatians wrote those books or found
them when they found the Jewel—or were given the Jewel, according to some, by an ancient, pre-human race. Anyway, some of
those rites were written in a primeval tongue, one my own order doesn’t know,
and it’s possible the Asqrites don’t know it either.”
“But the Tiat-sumatians did?”
“They must have.”
“You think they still do?”
“I don’t know.”
“And those rites could turn the
Jewel into a weapon?”
She shook her head. “I really don’t
know, Davril. Perhaps.”
“Then I must go to the House of
Light for answers.”
“I will go with you.”
Chaos consumed the city with riots, looting, and desperate
religious ceremonies. The members of the thousand cults were at their devotions,
and each temple stirred with singing or shouting. Rapine, suicide and general
anarchy ruled the day. Davril, the Lady, and one of her priests made their way
through it carefully, slowing when they reached the ill-named Boulevard of
Summer. In the shadow of the wall that surrounded the Avestine Quarter, it was
located in a maze of narrow, winding streets, right in the heart of the ghettos
of Sedremere. Catching glimpses of the wall that encircled the Avestine Quarter
as he went, Davril felt uneasy. Evidently the Lady noticed.
“The Avestines won’t recognize
you,” she said.
“They’d better not,” he said.
The Avestines hated the Husans, whom
they considered to be their oppressors for untold generations. Still, was he so
far removed from his old self that they wouldn’t even know him if he rode right
past them? He sat straighter in the camel’s saddle.
“I suppose they’ll be leaving their
quarter soon,” the Lady was saying. “Now that order is breaking down in the
City, there won’t be soldiers enough to man the gates.”
“They don’t need gates,” Davril
said. The Lady looked at him quizzically, but he didn’t expand. Only a few in
the highest levels of government knew about the miles of tunnels the Avestines
had carved under their quarter—and some said beyond—during the hundreds of
years of their confinement.
Davril fingered the dagger stuck
through the back of his waistband. The Lady had retrieved it for him, and he
was grateful. It was his only link to his father, to his past. And, according
to the dead emperor, it might prove a help against the Worm.
They passed a harem mansion where
mounted soldiers were trying to
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