Prologue: The Day Heaven Trembled

The temple gates had been closed for less than an hour when people began begging to be let in.

There had been three false alarms that morning. Every time, the city guard had investigated reports of an approaching army and returned with the same answer. Nothing was coming.

Now there were hundreds of people outside, and the guards who should have been keeping order were among them.

"They're climbing the steps," said the young attendant beside him. "We should open the gates."

"The soldiers will deal with it."

"Those are the soldiers."

Through the narrow opening between the doors, the priest saw a soldier helping an injured woman up the steps. The crowd filled the square as far as the fountain. An overturned cart lay abandoned among the people.

"Find the captain," the priest said.

"I already tried. He's not at his post."

That was harder to dismiss.

The priest sent the attendant for water and headed toward the gatehouse. In twenty-seven years of service, he had seen riots, famines, and border wars. Usually, a firm voice and a few armed guards were enough to restore order.

A soldier stumbled through the gatehouse door before he reached it.

Blood ran down the soldier's sleeve, and he held one arm tight against his ribs. Two guards followed, looking nearly as frightened as he did.

"What happened?" the priest asked.

The soldier leaned against the wall. "You need to get everyone out. The southern road is still open."

"Out? The temple is the safest place in the city."

"It won't be when they get here."

"Who?"

"The army from the north."

The guards avoided his eyes.

"Our forces were sent to stop them three days ago," he said. "The Godbound himself was leading them."

"I know. I was there."

"Then where is he?"

The soldier rubbed a bloody hand over his face. "I don't know. Last I saw, he was ordering us back across the bridge. We lost the crossing before noon."

"And the rest of the army?"

"Some made it out."

The priest touched the sun-shaped pendant beneath his collar.

"Which god has attacked us?" he asked. "Has another patron sent his forces against us?"

"It wasn't a god."

"Then another Godbound."

"No."

"You expect me to believe ordinary soldiers defeated an army under divine protection?"

The man looked at him, exhausted. "I don't care what you believe. I'm telling you what happened."

From outside came a heavy pounding on the gates. The crowd was shouting for someone to open them.

The priest lowered his voice. "Who commands this army?"

"A man."

"A man with whose blessing?"

"I didn't see any blessing." The soldier swallowed, wincing as he shifted his injured arm. "He walked among the wounded after the fighting stopped. Ours and theirs. Told his people to give us water."

The priest frowned. "And you spoke to him?"

"He spoke to me. Asked where I was from. When I told him, he said I should go home before anyone else died trying to defend the temples."

"What does he want?"

"He wants the gods to answer for what they've done."

The priest stared. He knew of wars fought over land, taxes, and divine favor. But no one declared war on the gods themselves.

The young attendant returned carrying a bucket of water. He set it beside the wounded soldier, then glanced toward the doors as another cry rose from the square.

"Please," he said to the priest. "There are children out there."

The priest watched the wounded soldier drink from his cupped hand. The guards waited for his instructions.

"Open the gates," he said. "Give them water, then direct them to the southern road. We can't keep them here."

The attendant hurried to obey. As the great doors swung inward, people began pouring into the courtyard, some weeping, others simply too tired to speak. The priest stepped aside to make room for them.

Beyond the rooftops, the first enemy standards appeared on the northern road.

He searched them for the emblem of a god.

There wasn't one.