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Dinivan's hand rose defensively to grasp the chain that lay beneath his cassock； feeling for the hidden scroll； Pryrates' grin widened in almost childish glee。 Dinivan found his usual optimism melting before the red priest's unmistakable confidence。 He suddenly realized what a thin and breakable reed his own life actually was。
〃。。。They are not； I suppose； truly dangerous；〃 Velligis was blathering； 〃but it is a dreadful blow to the dignity of Mother Church； these barbarians settling themselves afire in public squares； a dreadful blow…as much as daring the church to stop them！ It is a kind of contagious madness； I am told； carried by bad airs。 I no longer go out without a kerchief to wear over my nose and mouth 。。。〃
〃But perhaps the Fire Dancers are not mad；〃 Pryrates said lightly。 〃Perhaps their dreams are more。。。 real。。。 than you would like to believe。〃
〃That is 。。。 that is。。。〃 Velligis spluttered； but Pryrates ignored him； his obscenely empty eyes still fixed on Dinivan。
He fears no excess now； Dinivan thought。 The realization seemed an unbearable burden。 Nothing binds him any longer。 His terrible curiosity has bee a heedless and insatiable hunger。
Had that been when the world had begun to go wrong？ When Dinivan and his fellow Scrollbearers had brought Pryrates into their secret councils？ They had opened their hearts and treasured archives to the young priest； respecting the honed sharpness of Pryrates' mind for a long time before the rot at the center of him could no longer be mistaken。 They had driven him from their midst； then…but too late； it seemed。 Far； far too late。 Like Dinivan； the priest sat at the tables of the mighty； but Pryrates' red star was now ascending； while Dinivan's track seemed murky and obscured。
Was there anything more he could do？ He had sent messages to the two Scrollbearers still living； Jarnauga and Ookequk's apprentice； though he had heard from neither in some time。 He had also sent suggestions or instructions to others of good faith； like the forest…woman Geloe and little Tiamak in the marshy Wran。 He had brought Princess Miriamele safely to the Sancellan Aedonitis and made her tell her story to the lector。 He had tended all the trees as Morgenes would have wished： all he could do now was wait and see what fruit might e。。。
Slipping Pryrates' troubling gaze； Dinivan looked around the lector's dining hall； crying to take note of details。 If this was to be a momentous night； for good or ill； he might as well try to remember all he could。 Perhaps in some future…a brighter one than he could now envision…he would be an old man standing at the shoulder of some young artisan； offering corrections： 〃No； it wasn't like that at all！ I was there。。。〃 He smiled； forgetting his worries for a moment。 What a happy thought…to survive the cares of these dark days； to live with no greater responsibility than being an annoyance to some poor artist laboring to plete a mission！
His moment of reverie ended abruptly； arrested by the sight of a familiar face in the arched doorway that led to the kitchens。 What was Cadrach doing here？ He had been in the Sancellan Aedonitis scarcely a week and would have no business that could bring him near the lector's private quarters； so he could only be spying on the lector's supper guests。 Was it only curiosity； or was Cadrach。。。 Padreic。。。 feeling the tug of old loyalties？ Of conflicting loyalties？
Even as these thoughts flashed through Dinivan's head； the monk's face fell back into the shadows of the door and was gone from sight。 A moment later a server marched through with a wide salver； making it obvious that Cadrach had vanished from the archway entirely。
Now； as if in counterpoint to Dinivan's confusion； the lector rose suddenly from his tall chair at the head of the table。 Ranessin's kind face was somber； the shadows thrown by the bright candlelight made him seem ancient and bowed with troubles。
He silenced prattling Velligis with a single wave of his hand。 〃We have thought；〃 the lector said slowly。 His white…haired head seemed remote as a snow…capped mountain。 〃The world as you speak of it； Pryrates； makes a certain kind of sense。 There is weight to its logic。 We have heard similar things from Duke Benigaris and his frequent envoy； Count Aspitis 〃
〃Earl Aspitis；〃 Benigaris said abruptly； his heavy face flushed。 He had drunk a great deal of the lector's wine。 〃Earl；〃 he continued heedlessly。 〃King Elias made him an earl at my request。 As a gesture of his friendship to Nabban。〃
Ranessin's slender features curled in a poorly…concealed look of disgust。 〃We know you and the High King are close； Benigaris。 And we know that you yourself rule Nabban。 But you are at our table now； in God's house…my table…and we bid you to remain silent until Mother Church's highest priest finishes speaking。〃
Dinivan was shocked by the lector's angry tone…Ranessin was ordinarily the mildest of men…but found himself heartened by such unexpected strength。 Benigaris' mustache quivered angrily； but he reached for his wine…cup with the clumsiness of an embarrassed child。
Ranessin's blue eyes were now fixed on Pryrates。 He continued in the stately manner he so seldom used； but which seemed so natural when he did。 〃As we said； the world which you and Elias and Benigaris preach makes a certain kind of sense。 It is a world where alchemists and monarchs decide the fate not only of men's corporeal forms； but of their souls as well； and where the king's minions encourage deluded souls to burn themselves for the glory of false idols if it suits their purposes。 A world where the uncertainty of an invisible God is replaced by the certainty of a black； burning spirit who dwells on this earth； in the heart of a mountain of ice。〃
Pryrates' hairless brows shot up at this； Dinivan felt a moment of cold joy。 Good。 So the creature could still be surprised
〃Hear me！〃 Ranessin's voice gained force； so that for a moment it seemed that not only the room had fallen silent； but the whole world with it； as though in that instant the candlelit table rode the very cusp of Creation。 〃This world…your world； the world you preach to us with your sly words…is not the world of Mother Church。 We have long known of a dark angel who strides the earth； whose bleak hand reaches out to trouble all the hearts of Osten Ard…but our scourge is the Arch…fiend himself； the implacable foe of God's light。 Whether your ally is truly our Enemy of countless millennia or just another vicious minion of darkness； Mother Church has always stood against his like。。。 and always shall。〃
Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath for an endless moment。
〃You do not know what you say； old man。〃 Pryrates' voice was a sulfurous hiss。 〃You grow feeble and your mind wanders。。。〃
Shockingly； not one of the escritors raised their voices in protest or dissent。 They stared； wide…eyed； as Ranessin leaned across the table and calmly engaged the priest's angry stare。 Light seemed to quail and almost die throughout the banquet hall； leaving only the two illuminated； one scarlet； one white； their shadows stretching； stretching。。。
〃Lies； hatred； and greed；〃 the lector said