Forging the Darksword by Margaret Weis

the tip of a spire was the only light. But it faded almost immediately when the rest of the city burst into a blaze of flame and color. Only the Cathedral remained serenely dark; and, oddly enough, thought Saryon, staring up through the transparent crystal ceiling to where the castle floated in the sky above, there were no lights in the Royal Palace either.
    But perhaps it was not so odd that the castle was dark. Saryon recalled hearing his mother mention that the Empress was expected to have a difficult time with this birth, her health being delicate and fragile at the best of times. Undoubtedlythe normal routine of gay, glittering palace life had been curtailed.
    Saryon’s gaze returned to the city that was more beautiful than anything he had ever imagined, and he was momentarily sorry he hadn’t gone out with Dulchase and the others to see the sights. On reflection, however, he felt content to stay where he was, surrounded by a comfortable darkness, listening to the sweet music of the novitiates practicing a celebratory
Te Deum.
He would go out tomorrow night, he decided, as he made his way to the guest quarters in the Abbey.
    Neither Saryon nor any of the others in the Cathedral went out the next night, however. They had just finished the evening meal when Bishop Vanya received an urgent summons to the Palace, along with several of the
Sharak-Li
, the catalysts who work with the Healers. The Bishop left immediately, his round face stern and cold.
    No one in the Cathedral slept that night. Everyone from the youngest novitiate to the Cardinal of the Realm remained awake to offer their prayers to the Almin. Above them, the Royal Palace was now ablaze with lights, their warmth a striking contrast to the cold stars. By dawn, no word had been received. As the starlight faded, dwindling with the rising of the sun, the catalysts were allowed to leave their prayers to attend to their duties, though the Cardinal exhorted them to be constantly praying to the Almin in their hearts.
    Saryon, who had no duties to perform since he was a visitor, spent most of his time wandering the great halls of the Cathedral, looking through the crystal walls with untiring curiosity at the wonders of the city around him. He watched the people float past, their thin robes rippling around their bodies as they went about their daily business. He watched the carriages and their wondrous steeds; he even smiled at the antics of the University students who, knowing a holiday was imminent, were in high spirits.
    Could I live here? he asked himself. Could I leave my quiet, studious life and enter into this world of splendor and gaiety? A month ago, I would have said no. I was content. But not now. I could never go into the Inner Library again, not without seeing that sealed chamber with the runes abovethe door. No, this is much better, he decided. The Bishop was right. I have let myself get too involved with my studies. I have forgotten the world. Now I must be a part of it again and let it be a part of me. I will attend the parties. I will put myself forward. I will do my best to be invited into one of the noble houses.
    Pleased with his change of circumstance, Saryon’s only misgivings came from being totally unaware of the duties of a House Catalyst in Merilon, and he resolved to discuss this with Deacon Dulchase at his earliest opportunity.
    The opportunity did not come soon, however. During the Highhour, ooth Cardinals were summoned to the Palace and left, looking grave. The rest of the catalysts were called once again to prayer. By now, rumors had reached the street, and soon everyone in Merilon knew that the Empress was in labor and having a difficult time of it. The sounds of music ceased. The atmosphere of merriment was smothered in gloom. People gathered together upon the glittering spans of silver or gold, talking in hushed voices and looking up at the Palace with serious faces. Even the Silken Dragon did not flaunt his colors that day but lurked