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Solamnic dubbings didn’t often draw crowds. They were usually private ceremonies, held in the Kingfisher Keep and attended only by the Knights themselves. On this cool winter’s day, however, matters were different. After all, not every Knight had returned from the dead.
The tale of Cathan’s resurrection had spread far. Throughout the Lordcity and in the empire beyond, folk spoke in hushed tones of the Lightbringer’s greatest miracle. It rapidly eclipsed all the other stories of Beldinas’s ascension, overshadowing, even, the mysterious news of the death of Kurnos the Deceiver. So when the time came, thousands of Istarans turned out in the Barigon, to watch Cathan’s knighting.
The Knights arrived in a mass early that morning. They followed Lord Holger into the square, their armor shining in dawn’s light, and the burgeoning crowds parted as they strode across the plaza and up the stairs to the church’s looming portico.
Soon after the hierarchs emerged from the Temple, bejew-eled and kohl-eyed, wearing their grandest robes. Most were the familiar faces that had greeted the Lightbringer by the western gate two weeks before, but not all. A new First Son stood in place of Strinam, who had been Kurnos’s favorite, and the high priests of Habbakuk and Majere were new as well. Such was always the way when a new Kingpriest claimed the throne.
Quarath stood among the high priests, his thin lips curled into a polite smile. He had sent a griffin-riding messenger to Silvanesti, bearing word of the Lightbringer’s triumph to Loralon and inviting his former shalafi to return and take his place again in the imperial court. Yesterday the reply had come. The old elf had chosen to stay in his wooded homeland, but had sent his blessing to Beldinas.
Watch this new Kingpriest, Loralon’s message had bidden. Help him rule.
Quarath’s smile widened. He would do just that.
Finally, as the sun hung crimson above the Lordcity’s eastern wall, a row of trumpeters, standing on a balcony overlooking the Barigon, raised platinum horns to their lips and blew a thunderous fanfare. An excited murmur rippled through the crowd, quickly building into cheers. Holger and his senior Knights scowled. The dubbing ritual was supposed to be a solemn occasion, not a jubilant one. There was no containing the crowd’s elation, however, as the Great Temple’s doors opened and the Knight Aspirant emerged.
Cathan hesitated, flushing when he saw the clamoring throngs, and for a moment he looked as if he might turn and flee back inside. In the end, though, he swallowed and strode forward. Clad in shining plate and long, white tabard, he walked to the front of the gathering atop the stairs, then lowered himself to one knee. Behind him, following the ritual, came his Guard of Honor. These elicited more murmurs from the crowd. While most such escorts consisted of three elder Knights, Cathan’s were more unusual.
The first was Tavarre of Luciel, the scarred bandit lord wearing a red, fur-lined cloak over a chain hauberk washed with gold. In his hands he carried a gleaming shield, one of the three gifts every aspirant received for his dubbing. Behind Tavarre, bearing the second gift-a pair of silver spurs on a blue satin pillow-came a honey-haired girl, at thirteen summers just on the edge of marrying age. Suitors had already begun to line up for Wentha MarSevrin’s hand. She blushed at the sight of the shouting mob then took her place behind her brother.
It was the third member of the honor guard, however, who drew the most gasps. The crowd turned wild as he emerged, breaking into a frenzy of shouting and song, and this time the Knights didn’t object. It was, after all, the first time a reigning Kingpriest had ever carried an aspirant’s sword.
Beldinas Lightbringer smiled as he strode out of the Temple, wreathed in holy light. In place of the white robes he had worn when he entered the city, his vestments were the crimson of dawn, a symbol of his new order. In his hands, point upward, he carried Cathan’s blade-not the battered Scata’s weapon he had worn for much of the past year, but a fine, newly forged weapon, long of blade and keen of edge. Set into its golden hilt were several chunks of what appeared to be white stone-they appeared jade, perhaps, or onyx-but which were actually ceramic, pieces of the holy symbol that had helped defeat the shadow demon atop the Pantheon.
The crowd fell silent as the Kingpriest came forward. He looked out upon them, the Miceram flashing on his brow, then gazed down at Cathan. His eyes shone like sunlight on water as he opened his mouth.
“Cathan MarSevrin,” he intoned. “The imperial court and the Knights’ Council have heard of your deeds of bravery, courage, and sacrifice.” He paused, his face turning grave as the last word echoed across the plaza. “In recognition, we intended to declare you a Knight of Solamnia. However, we have chosen not to do so.”
A chorus of shock erupted from the crowd. Atop the steps, the confusion was no less. Everyone glanced around in confusion. Only Beldinas and Cathan showed no surprise.
The Lightbringer raised his hands for silence. The crowd obeyed, but there were frowns of perplexity among the onlookers now.
“I understand your disappointment,” he told them. “You came here to see a dubbing. You shall have it, but not the kind you expected.
“Just now, as I was preparing for this ritual, young Cathan came to me and told me of a vision he had, while he kept his vigil. In it, Paladine spoke to him, in the same guise he took when he sent Lady Ilista on her quest to find me. The god showed him a burning hammer falling upon the empire.”
At this, the onlookers muttered, signing the triangle and touching their foreheads to ward off evil. Even some of this hierarchs shifted, their eyes flicking skyward, as if the hammer might be poised over their heads even now.
Beldinas only smiled. “Lisso, usasfarnas,” he declared.
Peace, children of the god.
“These are glad tidings, not an omen of disaster! Paladine sent this vision to show that we are right in rejecting the Balance that has corrupted this empire for so long. We are that burning hammer-all of us-and it is our god-granted duty to strike wherever we can and purge the evil that remains among us.
“There shall, then, be a new Knighthood,” he concluded, the crown blazing, “an Istaran Knighthood, that shall be the vanguard in this holy war. It shall be open to all who would see the end of wickedness, and Cathan MarSevrin shall be the first of its number.”
As citizen, Knight, and cleric alike looked on in amazement, Beldinas raised the sword high, lowering it to touch Cathan’s shoulders with the flat of the blade-left, then right, then left again.
“Fe Paladas cado, bid Istaras apalo, tarn Gidam codo,” he declared.
In Paladine’s name, with Istar’s might, I dub thee Knight.
“Rise, Sir Cathan, of the Order of the Divine Hammer.”
Cathan got to his feet, his eyes brimming with tears. The Kingpriest handed him his sword and the people of Istar cheered anew, their shouts rising into the brightening sky.