Dragonlance Kingpriest 01 Chosen of the Gods # Chris Pier

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.“Go,” he said, waving the boy away.The acolyte retreated into the cloister as he set forth across the garden, past the graven monuments.The moonlight followed him over ornamental bridges and up marble steps, past almond and lemon trees, where nightingales sang.He turned aside from the basilica, making instead for the imperial manse.A pair of Solamnic Knights stood guard outside, clad in polished, antique armor; they dipped their halberds as he approached and stepped aside without a word.The manse’s doors were huge, made of beaten platinum.They swung open silently as he approached and stepped through into the vestibule.The entry hall, like everything in the King-priest’s private residence, was richly appointed, with the finest furnishings from the empire’s many provinces: mahogany panels from the jungles of Falthana on the walls; gold-threaded arrases from sun-drenched Gather; carpets woven by the desert-dwelling folk of Dravinaar.Columns, crowned with rose-petal capitals, ran down its length, and in its midst stood seven onyx pedestals, bearing alabaster statues of the gods of light.Paladine, the supreme god of Good, loomed above the others, a long-bearded warrior in armor shaped like dragon-scales.Kurnos genuflected to the idol, kissing the platinum medallion that hung at his throat then pressing it to the god’s glistening feet.A door opened as he knelt there, and an old, bald cleric in a white cassock emerged.Kurnos recognized the man: Brother Purvis, the Kingpriest’s chamberlain.His eyes were bleary as he bowed to the First Son.“Your Grace,” he said.“You are expected.”Kurnos rose without reply and handed the old man his fur-lined cloak.Together they walked down a broad, marble hall and up a stairway to a door of polished silver.It opened at Purvis’s touch, and the chamberlain stepped aside to reveal a well-appointed waiting room.“Revered Son,” said a gentle voice.Loralon, Emissary for the elves of Silvanesti, rose from a cushioned seat on the room’s far side.As he did, he signed the sacred triangle-one palm atop the other, thumbs extended to a point beneath-that was the holy sign of Kurnos’s order.It was a courtesy, for the Silvanesti took the pine tree, not the triangle, as their gesture of blessing.Kurnos nodded in reply, stepping forward as Purvis shut the door behind him.The elf gestured toward another chair, and Kurnos sat, regarding him carefully.Loralon was as always: calm, reserved, eyes sparkling in the glow of the lamps that lit the room.He was old, even for his long-lived people, having seen more than five hundred years.Though his face remained unlined by age, his hair had turned silver, and a snowy beard-rare among the elves, found only among the most ancient-trailed down his chest He was clad in full raiment, from the golden circlet on his head to the jeweled slippers upon his feet.He looked neither tired nor annoyed, and Kurnos wondered, not for the first time, if the elf ever slept.They exchanged pleasantries, then sat in silence for a while, sipping from jeweled goblets of watered claret, mixed with spices from Karthay.In time Purvis returned, leading a tall woman, whose long, raven-black hair was pulled back into a severe bun that made her look older than her forty years.She wore robes of pearly satin trimmed with lavender and silver jewelry at her ears, wrists, and throat.Her dark eyes swept the room.“It seems,” she declared, signing the triangle as Loralon and Kurnos rose, “that I’m the last to arrive.”“First Daughter,” the elf said, smiling kindly.“You were always the deep sleeper.”Ilista, leader of the Revered Daughters of Paladine- companion order to Kurnos’s own^folded her arms.“What is this about?” she asked.“Is something wrong?”Kurnos and Loralon exchanged tight-lipped glances.“I think it likely,” the elf replied, “but as to why His Holiness has called us here at this hour, milady, I fear neither of us know any better than you.”Purvis stood aside while the Kingpriest’s advisers greeted one another.Now he stepped forward, making his way to a pair of gold-chased doors at the room’s far end.Engraved upon them was the imperial falcon and triangle-the one, symbol for the empire, the other for the god.The doors opened at his touch, letting white, crystalline light spill through; then he turned to face the three clerics, bowing low.“His Holiness bids you welcome,” the chamberlain intoned.“Gomudo, laudo, e lupudo.”Enter, behold, and adore.The audience chamber was smaller than the great throne room that occupied most of the basilica, but it was still far more opulent than those of other sovereigns.It brought gasps from those beholding it for the first time, but to Kurnos it was a familiar place.He scarcely noticed the mosaic of interwoven dragon wings that covered the floor, the strands of glowing diamonds that hung from the ceiling, the platinum triangles and lapis falcons that adorned its walls.Instead, his gaze went directly to the marble dais at the far end, beneath a violet rose window.Atop the platform stood a golden throne, wreathed with white roses and flanked by censers of electrum that gave off tendrils of pale smoke.His eyes slid past these, focusing at last on the man on the satin-cushioned seat.Symeon IV, Kingpriest of Istar, Paladine’s Voice on Rrynn, was not a physically imposing man.Nearly sixty years old, he was small and plump, pink-cheeked and beardless.At first glance, he looked almost like a child, though there was sharpness in his black eyes that left no doubt he was the most powerful man in all Ansalon.Many men, expecting him to behave in the manner of a eunuch, had quailed and broken before that unrelenting gaze.His golden, jeweled breastplate and the sapphire-studded tiara on his brow gleamed in the white light.He raised a hand that sparkled with precious stones.“Apofudo, usas farnas” he said, beckoning.Come forward, children of the god.Obediently, Kurnos moved to the dais with the others and mounted the first step [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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