There was a blur of movement. In the faint reach of his lantern, Klamath saw Pillion flailing his arms as if the snowflakes were attacking him; as if he wanted to ward them off or punch his way through them.

“Father Skurn tried to seduce me. That is the theurgy he serves. He looked into me, and filled me with his hopes for me, and used them as lures. He wanted me to believe that I would become a mighty Magister—that I would be the mightiest of my kind—if I gave myself to his”—Pillion snarled the words—“Great God. And I would lose nothing.

“Nothing,” he panted, “except my wife and children. My friendship with Elgart. My loyalty to King Bifalt and Belleger. They would all be chaff to a servant of the Great God Rile.”

While Klamath listened, staring at his companion, Magister Pillion said, “General, the sorcery of the Church is persuasion. But it can be more, much more. It can also be coercion.”

That assertion fit with other things the General had heard, mostly from King Bifalt, who had heard them indirectly himself. Yet even Magister Facile had never ventured such a positive claim against the priests.

Thinking hard, Klamath probed Pillion for more. “I understand your dismay, Magister. But it does not tell me why you have come. I assume you intend to see Father Skurn again. What do you hope to gain?”

The small man had his answer ready.

“If he still has no sorcery—if he is truly as lost as the other priests appear to be—” Pillion shook himself. “Well. I will have nothing to say.” Then he delivered his threat. “But if he can still draw upon his source of theurgy, he is too dangerous to live. In any battle, his power could be ruinous. I will urge you to kill him while you can.”

The General blinked at his companion. “You braved this harsh ride simply so that you can look at Father Skurn? You mean to judge him?”

According to the people Klamath had consulted, Pillion preferred a quiet life in his home, surrounded by his children, cared for by his wife. King Bifalt had never asked the unassuming little man for anything else. The King would not ask anything, until war came to the Open Hand.

“For Elgart,” replied Magister Pillion. “It is the least I can do to repay his friendship.”

Klamath considered Pillion’s revelation. The whole notion of a theurgy that persuaded—that could coerce—was foreign to him, as strange as the seventh Decimate itself, which could banish and reawaken other forms of sorcery. Had the priest exerted a power that could be called upon from some distant source and used to bend minds? That was a terrifying prospect. It had terrifying implications.