The Tyrant's Law (Dagger and the Coin)

no larger than Geder’s thumbnail, the heads of the people as small as ants. It had taken him the better part of an hour just to walk up to the hall, and his thighs ached a little from the effort.
    The dozen initiates knelt in two rows of six, their heads bowed. Their robes were simple ceremonial white. For once, Basrahip was the center of attention with Geder sitting at the side. The huge priest stood at the dais with the open sky behind him. A smaller banner with the eightfold sigil hung behind him, and the light coming through the cloth made it seem bright.
    “The life you once knew is over,” Basrahip intoned. “The veil of deceit will soon fall from you. In this time, you will be lost and vulnerable, but we, your brothers, will stand at your side. You will hear the truth in our voices, and we will lead you to see the world as it truly is.”
    “We accept this gift,” the twelve initiates said as one. They bowed their heads to the floor.
    Basrahip lifted his hands and began to chant ancient syllables. Geder felt the terrible urge to cough and swallowed hard to try to keep the sound from interrupting. As he wasn’t an initiate, he wasn’t strictly speaking supposed to be there, but Basrahip had given permission for him to be present for the welcoming. After that, things became private and mysterious, but from what Geder had read that was true of any cult. He didn’t take the exclusion personally, though he did wish Basrahip had been a bit more forthcoming about the details of what the men would be going through. It was only curiosity, though.
    Geder’s interest in the theology and practice of the priesthood was real, but it had its limits. The history of the world as the spider goddess knew it was endlessly fascinating, but when he came to asking more practical questions—who would be the best candidate to become a priest, what were the trials the initiates would go through, how long did the process require—it became more like another ceremony in a life that had become thick with them. When he’d asked Basrahip why women didn’t serve as priests of the goddess and the answer had hinted broadly at something to do with menstruation, Geder stopped pursuing the questions.
    When the chanting was ended, four of the minor priests came forward with a ceramic cup, offered a drink from it to the first of the initiates, then led him away into the depths of the temple. This they repeated eleven more times, and by the time the last young priest had been taken back to discover whatever secrets there were to discover, Geder was secretly getting bored. When Basrahip came to him to say that the welcoming was done, Geder was happy to hear it.
    “My thanks again, Prince Geder. As her power spreads through the land, so will your glory.”
    “Good,” Geder said as they walked back toward the stairways that led down into the more commonly used levels of the Kingspire. “Because as far as I can tell, my glory is stuck fast in the north of Elassae.”
    “The stronghold of the enemy,” Basrahip said, frowning. It was rare to see him look so disturbed. It occured to Geder, not for the first time, that the rise of the spider goddess had, in a sense, come at the worst possible time. True, without the plot against Aster and King Simeon, he wouldn’t have had reason to spend a summer tracking rumors of the Righteous Servant back to the hidden temple, but it seemed that since then, Antea had been drawn into one battle after another. Basrahip would say that it was the lies of the world pained by the arrival of truth, but Geder could still wish that it had happened at a gentler moment in history.
    “I’m sure we’ll take it before long,” Geder said, starting down the stairs. His personal guard waited at the foot, not being quite so deeply in the good graces of the goddess as Geder was.
    Basrahip shook his massive head. Somewhere far in the distance above them, someone started screaming, but Basrahip took no notice of it. Geder put it down as being part of the ceremony.
    “The battle against the lies of the world must be fought. Long or brief, costly or quick, it does not matter. She will prevail, and we with her.”
    “It’s just that they won’t come to parley,” Geder said. “Ternigan says he’s tried calling it eight times now, and they won’t come down. And the walls at Kiaria are too high for speaking trumpets to reach the men at the top.”
    Basrahip paused, and Geder went down a couple more steps before