The Shining City of Amaranth was the gleaming core of the Hierocracy, the center of its commerce and the beating heart of its Authority. Within walls that had never once been breached were hundreds of thousands of people, all of them living and dying within sight of the alabaster towers of the Hierei—those that sat upon the Conclave, that bore a portion of its Seat and Seal in order to govern the vast breadth of the nation. The largest portion of that Authority, however, sat upon the shoulders of a single individual.

 

The Hierophant.

 

Built as a mountain of stainless white stone, the Hierophant's Shining Palace dominated Amaranth. Its soaring arches and impossibly thin towers were filigree upon the stout, brutal construction of ten thousand chambers, and the sweeping grounds housed a veritable army of Priests, Paladins, Inquisitors, and all those that served the vaunted Three Orders. The Hierei were housed within the twelve towers that ran the circumference of the Palace, each connected to the others by a series of vaulted arches that were both incredibly delicate and improbably strong...and all of which lead to the grandest and tallest tower at the apex of the Palace, which was surmounted by the grandest of all statues, and Altar to the Light. The Tower of True Faith, it was called by some, though Kellis knew it by a different, older name.

 

En'Cridhe. The Star of Heaven. Kellis Faer, Hierei of Calumb, Pax'Vrell, and Sao'thun found himself enraptured by its majesty with every approach. Even now, as he rushed across the whisper-thin stonework from his own tower he could not help but appreciate the masterwork statues of Humans, their perfectly designed bodies lifting the exposed stairwell that spiraled around the Tower's circumference. Yet if one looked close enough, they would notice that not all of the statues were Human—a number of the huge statues were defaced, officially during a conflict in the Hierocracy's founding, but Kellis knew the damage was intentional. Faces and limbs were cracked and missing, but he had read the records and knew the secret histories the Priests kept.

 

A bell tolled, deep and loud enough to shake his Tempered organs. Kellis sped up, pressing his old bones as fast as he could to cross the distance above the Shining Palace, before ducking into the shadowed doorway at its end. Mana crystals dotted the walls, shaped into exquisite facsimiles of flame, each one blooming with a brilliant golden, magical light. Such light was said to expose the lies of the wicked or untrue before they could be granted an audience with the Conclave but that, at least, was only superstition.

 

Not that we disabuse anyone of that notion, the Hierei thought with an inward smile. He took several surreptitious gulps of air in an attempt to calm his thudding heart. Far easier to deal with supplicants when they are too afraid to lie properly.

 

Down a winding corridor, built of a gorgeous mix of white marble and golden filigree, was a large door guarded by two men in milky-white armor and an eclectic array of vicious weaponry. The door was covered in ornate details, things Kellis no longer noticed, but which were suitably impressive to the masses: the Shining City and, above it, a figure of indeterminate features, radiating light like the sun itself.

 

The guards' eyes met Kellis' own, and a shiver of fear chased itself down his back. He refused to let it show. The High Guard only respected warriors, and while the Hierei was not of that number, he found that cowering did little to endear them to him. Still, he gave a tiny inclination of his head—the smallest recognition of their station—and was responded to in kind.

 

The door was ajar, and Kellis slipped through, feeling the eyes of the High Guard following him.

 

Within was an antechamber that the Hierei walked quickly across, and he soon entered the wide, domed expanse of the Conclave. Within was more of the same: highly polished white marble, golden decoration, and dark, masterwork tables and chairs. Atop a raised dais, a throne of ivory, white jade, and deep, gleaming lengths of golden crystal sat empty, yet exuding an irrefutable sense of majesty. The room, normally filled with the Hierei, was empty save for three others.

 

"You are late, Faer," Hierei Mivun chastised in his deep voice. "Seventh glass sharp was the designation."

 

"My deepest regrets, Brother Mivun."

 

"The bells rang not a few heartbeats ago, Mivun," said the whip-thin Hierei Quist, her face drawn into a dismissive moue. "Leave off and let us begin."