The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [41]
“They are a dull race, Vedoc. Their philosophy of logic leaves no room for the vices that make life worthwhile.” It was time to test the waters; with a deep sigh, Lorris added, “Yet the only vice I have carried into my old age is curiosity … and I am curious to learn how T’Sara died and what has come of her research into our legends. The answers I seek may do nothing more than satisfy my meddlesome nature, but then again … well, t hey may do far more.”
Vedoc’s eyebrows angled upward; this turn in the discussion had definitely piqued his interest.
“I have the ear of the Praetor,” continued the first prefect, “and in payment for some long-standing debts born of my attention to his private affairs, he has agreed to send a warbird beyond the Neutral Zone to investigate the matter.”
His nephew’s interest heightened into alarm.
Eyes wide with disbelief, he said, “He would violate the Neutral Zone treaty for this venture?”
“For a chance to possess the Ko N’ya, the Praetor would do anything.” Lorris chortled softly. “Or at least, order someone else to do anything.”
“The Ko N’ya,” whispered the young man. The library was warm, yet he shivered as if a cold draft had chilled his bones. “A myth risen from the Vaults of the Dead.”
“You have a vivid imagination, Vedoc, but then so did I at your age. Military service will teach you how to channel that faculty into more sensible pursuits.”
His nephew stiffened to attention, a tactful response that did not commit him to agreement.
Enough dallying, thought the prefect. There was not much time to implement this revision to his plans. “It would please me to have these proceedings supervised by someone who is personally concerned with our family interests.”
Vedoc caught his meaning without difficulty.
“Can you arrange for my transfer to the warbird?”
“Oh, yes,” said Lorris with a wry smile.
“I have nearly as many favors to call in as I have books on these shelves.”
“Then I am yours to command, Uncle.”
“Excellent. Prepare to leave this house within the hour.” Lorris was impressed by the young soldier’s courage. His sister’s son would make a fine prefect some day and bring new honors to the family name.
If he survived this mission, of course.
Those called to the Gathering began to assemble when the first moon of DiWahn started its climb up through the twilight sky. Out of houses and inns, through darkening streets, the robed figures streamed toward the Gateway Temple. Heavy cowls hid the faces of those who called themselves the unDiWahn. Some walked singly, others in pairs or small groups, but by the time they reached the tiled plaza surrounding the high tower, their swelling numbers had merged into one mass of the Faithful.
Townspeople not sworn to the Faith cowered in their homes, for within memory there had never been a Gathering as large as this one. Every Guardian on the face of the planet must have journeyed to the walled city of Iconiad@an, but no one outside the order had envisioned there were so many to answer the call; the sound of their swishing robes seeped like flood waters through barred doors and shuttered windows.
Those men and women who had settled into a complacent acceptance of their adopted world were reminded once again of half-forgotten legends of ancient Iconia and its lost grandeur. In fearful whispers, they wondered what cabalistic cataclysm had roused the Guardians. The Faithful kept alive the memories of their race before the Passage through the Gate, and they possessed knowledge beyond the understanding of farmers and merchants; therefore, whatever alarmed the Guardians might well terrify a commoner.
When the moon reached its zenith, tolling bells chased a few stragglers through the massive archways at the base of the tower, and thick doors hewn from the strongest wood swung back into place to seal all entrances against any uninitiated intruders.
Body pressed tightly against body inside the domed chamber that barely contained the assembly; but in the very center of the densely packed crowd