Chapter 13 Part 8 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1
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Atop its steep, oak-covered hill, Pagg's Temple flew the flags of the King, dark red with three triangles in gold; in the shade of the trees surrounding the sanctuary, the bearers who'd carried the nobility up the long climb rested beside silken and gilt litters. At the entrance to the Temple, hidden in shadow, Hildin, Gian and the Little Father watched the mass of people already climbing the long, sharp switchbacks. "Is it him?" said Gian.
"I'd wager it is," answered his master.
"Him who?" said the elderly Little Father, looking from one to the other.
"How many do you think will side with him?" said Gian.
"Not enough. I have purchased the Brothers over years with donations to Farr's Temple--the Guards, too, and the Fathers. He won't find much support after all this time."
"Who are we talking about!" said the old high priest, peevishness wrinkling his face further.
"A man pretending to be my brother, Little Father. He says he is Warin, but Warin is dead."
"A pity he besmirches your dear brother's name, Your Majesty," said the Little Father, his head shaking more than usual. "But you have your father's power now. Surely there will be little difficulty? What is that bright flashing I see down below?"
It was the sun glinting off polished steel, the kind that made up the Brothers' armor. Hildin said, "Little Father, go. Make your preparations. We shall start the ceremony momentarily. I wish to take a moment here and watch this pretender." Once they were alone, Hildin hissed, "Pagg damn him, he has Brothers! They're standing in front of him! I see Teacher, too. How did that old bastard get out of the library?"
Gian considered for a moment, then answered carefully. "You are no longer Regent, sire, and not yet the oldest brother, despite what we say. He obeys Warin because he must."
"You're challenging me, Gian. Don't," said Hildin, not bothering to give his cousin a glance. Gian dropped to one knee, and kissed the deep red brocade of his master's tunic.
Hildin ignored him, scanning the crowd far below. At the head of the rabble, Teacher stood beside Warin, who looked more like a Traveler than a prince; that could hardly endear him to the people, but then how had he gathered such a crowd? Peasants with sticks, but so many of them--at least a thousand, maybe twice that. Directly behind Warin and Teacher were about twenty Brothers; more were joining the back of the crowd. Troubling.
Hildin waited until both Teacher and Warin turned to speak with a Brother. He took a deep lungful of air, let it out between his hands, and threw it before him.
A fierce wind rushed down from the Temple toward Warin and his men. At the sound, Teacher and Warin turned and threw up their hands just in time; the wave of air broke around their magical shield, but still sent the several dozen Brothers leading the pack crashing into those behind them in an avalanche of men and armor; one, bowling sideways, knocked Warin off his feet.
An appreciative mutter broke out among the Guards looking down from the Temple. "That's for traitors," said one to his neighbor. "Though the Black Man is with them," he added, troubled.
"Knowing Warin, he'll stop to care for his wounded," puffed Hildin, his hands on his knees. "Then he'll come charging up the hill straight into the teeth of the Guards. They'll mistake any magic of his for Teacher's. Bar the door behind us--I've already warded it with most of my power, but that blow took the last of my strength for a while. By the time Warin breaks through the Guards, the ward on the door, and the bars, it won't matter. I'll be crowned, and everyone across the City will see the smoke from Pagg's altar and know that it is so. Let him watch Fredrik and Emmae die, and then I'll be recovered enough to kill him. Help me inside, I'm tired now." With a final order to his Guards to defend the Temple to the man, Hildin leaned on his cousin and entered the Temple.
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