Children of Fire by Drew Karpyshyn Page A

belief in Ezra’s cause was strong and pure, but no amount of faith could withstand the tortures of the Inquisitors for more than a few days. Which was why she—like all of Ezra’s followers save a precious few—knew only his name and no other. She could point the finger at him, not at any other of her fellow conspirators.
    He pitied her: After her confession she would be burned alive at the stake. Nazir was not known for mercy or forgiveness. But there was nothing the venerable monk could do to help her now; she was beyond his reach. The movement she served, however, must continue. The cause of Ezra and his followers was of far greater import than any one life.
    And so the old monk pressed ever onward, leaving the Monastery and the Order farther and farther behind.
    Nazir moved quickly down the narrow staircase at the back of the Great Library. The folds of his loose-fitting robe swished softly as his bare feet pattered down the steps, descending into the deepest bowels of the Monastery. The Pontiff moved with a haste brought about not by desperation, but rather by surety of purpose, pausing only when he reached the heavy iron door at the bottom of the stairs.
    There was great risk in what he was about to do, but Ezra’s flight left him little recourse. For the crime of heresy the old monk’s life was forfeit, along with the lives of all those who followed him in his blasphemy. And there was only one way the Pontiff could discover who else was working with him.
    The archway of the door at the bottom of the stairs was etched with runes of warding, the door itself inscribed with powerful symbols barring entrance. Nazir barely noticed the magical safeguards. The glyphs were meant to keep others out; their magic was not meant to be unleashed against him. From within his robes he pulled out a large iron key, then used it to turn the lock.
    The portal opened slowly, its hinges groaning beneath the ponderous weight. The small room beyond was shrouded in total darkness, though the lack of light mattered little to his blind but all-seeing eyes. The chamber was bare except for a small pedestal set against the far wall, atop which sat a simple iron crown. A thick layer of dust covered the floor; none but the Pontiff was permitted access to this sealed chamber, and Nazir hadn’t been here for many years. Not since the days of the Purge.
    But a time of crisis was upon them. For the past month the Oracles here in the isolation of the Monastery—separated from their brethren stationed in the Southland courts by fifty leagues of harsh, unforgiving desert—had shared a terrifying vision. A dark and dangerous power had been unleashed upon the mortal world: a child born under the Blood Moon; a child spawned in the fires of Chaos, its identity shrouded by smoke and flame. Some saw the child as male, others female. Some claimed it bore the features and complexion of an Islander; some claimed it was the spawn of the Danaan in the North Forest; others said the child was descended from Southland stock.
    Such uncertainty was to be expected. The visions of the Oracles were themselves manifestations of Chaos; the details were meant to breed confusion among the faithful. But the true meaning of the augury was undeniable. It foretold the weakening of the Legacy; a warning that the Destroyer was about to return to the mortal world, reborn in human form. A prophecy confirmed by the manifestation of the Blood Moon earlier this month.
    Nazir had summoned his wisest and most trusted advisers to discuss the visions, and decide on a course of action. They had debated what must be done long into the night, how they could find and stop this child, how best they could preserve and protect the Legacy. And throughout their debates, the Pontiff never suspected a traitor sat at his right hand.
    The Purge had not completely snuffed out the Heresy of the Burning Savior. The Pontiff was well aware that some among the Order,