They soon came to a rare stand of hoary oaks flanking the stream at the base of a steep cliff face. As they entered the shaded grove, they could smell fragrant smoke. At the far side of the grove lay the entrance to the oracle’s cave.

Although the oracle’s chamber was a natural cave, the area before it was paved with smooth stone and a façade had been carved into the rock face around a low doorway at its center. Two armed guards stood on duty here, and bowed to them as they approached.

A simple stone altar stood before the doorway under a silver-and-blue canopy. Piles of stone lay around the edge of the clearing, together with several large wooden wheelbarrows and a number of pickaxes, pry bars, and spades stacked neatly against a tree.

“As you can see, this site is still being reclaimed,” Zella said, gesturing at the disarray. “We’d only just found the inner chamber when Toneus died. Since then all work has stopped.”

“That’s understandable,” said Klia.

They dismounted and gathered around the altar. Two basins were carved into the top of it. One held clear water; in the other a charcoal fire burned brightly. Behind this, graceful columns topped with Illior’s crescent moon flanked a low doorway, and the wall behind them was decorated with a huge bas-relief showing processions of people in ancient dress, some carrying baskets of fruit and garlands of flowers, others with censers on chains, or with owls perched on their outstretched arms. A light breeze stirred the bright new leaves of the oaks, casting moving shadows across the figures.

“How lovely!” Klia exclaimed.

“You should have seen it a few months ago,” said Zella, looking around with satisfaction. “It was completely overgrown with brambles and vines, and there was significant damage to the stonework. The altar is new. The original had been smashed to bits, but there were enough large pieces to approximate what it had looked like. As you might imagine, the Plenimarans had little respect for the Lightbearer.”

“Toneus did a marvelous job here and in the city. We are certainly in his debt.”

“I’d like to make an offering, but didn’t think to bring anything,” said Thero.

“I took the liberty, my lord.” Zella opened her saddlebag and brought out pouches of incense and owl feathers. “The honor is yours, Highness.”

“We are all followers of Illior,” Klia replied. “Everyone, take some.”

Together they threw their offerings into the flames. A column of fragrant white smoke underscored with the acrid smell of burnt feathers rose under the branches.