The Eighth Power: Book II: The Book of the Earth

by Paul Lytle

  “Only three – the three Priests of my own Temple.”

  Chapter 23

  “Ah, young Master Ayrim, come in.”

  Father Reman Nigh sat at his desk, The Book of the Sea sitting open before him, with other books of commentary and such surrounding him – on bookshelves, the desk, and the floor. There was no other decoration in his office other than a chair for visitors and the copious tomes that littered every free inch of the tiny room. Many belonged to the Priest himself, but most had come from the library, taken out maybe years before to help research and never taken back. Priests were notorious for not returning borrowed books, and Nigh was no exception.

  “Thank you, Father,” Ayrim said, though he did not sit down. He stepped gingerly about the books, ending up on the opposite side of the second floor room, just shy of the window. “I was hoping to speak to you on a matter.”

  “Of, course, my son,” Reman said, folding his hands and leaning back. “What is it?”

  “I have been considering entering the Priesthood.” It wasn’t really a lie, but it felt like one. He really did consider the possibility, but that was not why he had come. He needed an excuse to get inside the room. Something that Father Nigh had once said to him was suddenly bothering him. The young man looked out of the window at the lake, seemingly in thought. This part of the Temple was outside the wall, of course, and so the window was cut very thin so that no invaders could hope to squeeze through. The southern wall of the temple, in turn, was made exceptionally thick, and at least a foot of wood stood between Ayrim and outside, so only positioning himself directly in front of the portal revealed any of the lake at all, and then very little of it. In the narrow slit he saw the misty water, and a few boats of fishermen and traders, but he was too far west to see the pier.

  “It pleases me that you are considering it, Ayrim,” said the Priest. “Flarow must be very pleased as well, for you have a quick mind, and a great faith.”

  “Thank you,” Ayrim replied, the words like bile in his mouth. He wanted to leave as soon as possible, but he had to stay for a little while. He couldn’t reveal how much he knew. Not knowing the rest of it.

  “I would happily recommend you to the Academy, Ayrim. I know that the others here would as well.”

  “Yes, but the Academy is not really necessary, is it, Father?”

  Nigh grinned darkly, or so Ayrim thought of his grin, now that he knew the truth. “No, when you are eighteen we could recommend you to study in a Temple directly, to learn as you work, but very few of those who do not attend the Academy ever become a Bishop or greater level, levels I believe you could reach. Six years is not a great amount of time, Ayrim, after which you will be stationed at a Temple as large as this one or larger. There is an Academy at Aeresan, if you wished to be near enough to Master Hyte to visit at times. I, of course, attended the one in Asylin, and even got to visit the Tower once.”

  Ayrim nodded, but he had not been listening. His head was spinning, simply being in the same room as this Priest.

  Reman Nigh said, “Have you decided for certain on this path, my son?”

  “Almost,” Iylin replied. “I am growing closer, Father. It will be soon.”

  “Come by again when you decide, and I will make the recommendation.”

  Ayrim muttered his thanks and withdrew. With a heavy heart did he close the Priest’s door, and Dariel appeared from the shadows of the hallway.

  “Well?” the archer asked.

  “It is him.”

  “Are you sure? How do you know?”

  Ayrim walked down the stairs and out the front door before he spoke. They were coming out of the courtyard, flanked by stone images of Flarow. Even the sight of her was making Ayrim ill then. The taint of Remen Nigh had touched her, for he was a speaker for the goddess. Finally the swordsman said, “Father Nigh came to speak with me outside the port entrance once. He told me that he often saw my practices on the pier from his office. I have been in the room, but I never looked through the window before, and yet it occurred to me that his window does not really look over the docks, but leaned more to the west. I was right.”

  “Perhaps he saw you from somewhere else and made a mistake.”

  “He said he saw my morning practices, when he should be in his office. I don’t expect a Priest to be in his office every moment of his assigned time, but he said he saw me ‘often.’ But it is likely true that he saw me elsewhere and made a mistake. I believe that he saw me from somewhere very much nearer. I do not believe that he was on the pier to speak to me, but for another purpose, and forsook that action when he saw that I was present. To cover that purpose, he pretended to have sought me there.”

  Sterwet shook his head. “You haven’t seen enough to make such conclusions.”

  “No, I am not completely certain of his guilt yet. But it occurred to me that in the Battle of the Osilar Young, what I have read of it, no ern came from inside the city. If our traitor was around then, surely he would have brought some of the invaders within the wars before the battle started, as he is doing now, at least if he had been turned to their dark schemes by that time. But I don’t think he was here then. I think it has been more recent. Of the three Priests, only Nigh was not in Saparen sixteen years ago. He has been here only four years, long enough to find a way to smuggle ern into the town.”

  “Not proof enough, but you may be right. Where are we going?”

  “The pier.”

  Truly, Ayrim was leading his friend out of the lake gate of the town, where again the image of Flarow haunted him, and toward the water beneath the wooden dock. Once there, ignoring Dariel’s further questions, he stripped down to his tunic, breeches, and sword, and leapt into the water.

  “Oh, gods,” cursed Sterwet, wondering if his friend had gone mad. It wasn’t the first time he had thought such. After all, he had accompanied Ayrim on more than one occasion as he spent all day traveling between libraries to look up some minor point of theology or history.

  Twice did Ayrim need to return to the surface for air, but he would not answer any questions yet, even as some of the guards from atop the wall began pointing and laughing. But on his third trip beneath the water, groping at the steep bank that had been created decades ago to allow heavier ships to sail nearer to the city, Ayrim found what he was seeking. It was an underwater tunnel, likely made from the Absence, that went inland beneath the Temple of Flarow.

  Chapter 24

  “Come on,” Ayrim said to Dariel. “There’s a tunnel. That’s how the ern are getting inside the town.”

  “We should get your father,” Sterwet said as he was pulling off his boots. “We cannot go alone.”

  “It leads into my own Temple,” growled Ayrim. He would not turn back now. He feared that his public divings had warned Nigh, and that any delay would allow him and his ern to escape. That could not happen. He needed to secure the secret entrance, and he could only do that from inside the Temple, since the other side of the tunnel was under water and therefore harder to control. The swordsman said, “Call the guards to follow, but I’m going now.”

  “My bow will be worthless after swimming through that tunnel with it.”

  “It’ll work well enough. Besides, we’re only going to see where it leads. We’ll wait for the Thanes to go deeper into the Temple. They won’t be right inside. They’ll have another place to hide that’s not so obvious.” It seemed reasonable enough, and he only hoped it was true.

  “Fine,” Dariel said, and he scurried across the pier to some of the guards. They were at the gate, and though they wore nothing that identified their division, Ayrim knew they were part of the First Rank. The way they stood told the truth well enough. The First Rank stood just a little straighter than the others. Sterwet told them, “Call the Thanes and the spearmen. Tell Gerill Hyte that Ayrim says to guard the entrance of Flarow’s Temple and then follow us down. There’s a passage under the water.”

/>   Some of the soldiers thought it a joke, and they laughed harder, but others believed him, and set off on their new mission. Gerill would believe. If Ayrim had gone to the trouble to send spearmen, Hyte would believe. The guards would too when the tunnel was discovered by others. Within an hour the Temple would be surrounded, and they would uncover whatever truth awaited them. Part of Ayrim still hoped that it wasn’t Reman Nigh, but he knew that it was. The clergyman had pretended to be a spiritual advisor for Ayrim, all the while looking for opportunities to have him killed. Was that why he wanted Ayrim to go to the Academy? The journey to Aeresan Castle would take weeks – plenty of time for an ern attack. Of course, he wouldn’t do it himself. He would know that Ayrim would almost certainly win that confrontation, even if surprised. He could just provide the circumstances where it might be done. Wading in the water, Iylin almost wept. As hardened as he sought to be, as stoic as the First Rank or better, there was something welling in him, and he wasn’t sure whether it was fear, despair, or vengeance.

  “We’re ready,” said Dariel as he returned, and with him came two spearmen from the wall. “I thought we might need them.”

  Ayrim nodded in consent. He wanted to pretend that they wouldn’t need the guards, that they would only secure the tunnel and wait for the Thanes, but he worried that Nigh was already planning a defense. Maybe he was already gone. Maybe. They couldn’t wait any longer.

  The soldiers stripped off their leather uniforms and jumped into the water with only white shirts and breeches, but spears wielded. Iylin was glad he had his sheath, so he wouldn’t need to hold his weapon as he swam like the others. Sterwet had to tie his quiver closed so that his arrows wouldn’t drift off, and he carried his unstrung bow. Soon the four men were in the water, and they joined hands, for seeing was difficult in the murky and dark lake. At last, Ayrim dived down, and the other three men were with him.

  Down they went only a couple of yards before they turned toward the bank. Ayrim needed a moment to find the tunnel again, but he did, and they set off, under the Temple of Flarow. It was only then that Iylin worried about the length of the underwater tunnel. He had no idea how long ern could hold their breath, and so the passage into the city might very well require a ten minute swim. And yet, after only a minute did a faint glow appear above them – a light source from above the water, though Ayrim could not yet tell if it be sun or lamp.

  The swordsman ascended, and none too soon, for his lungs were beginning to burn for air. He would have made it much sooner had he not needed to drag three men behind him, but they had made it just the same, and so Ayrim rose, and his head peaked from the water, and air flowed into his lungs.

  He did not recognize the room, but the design of the stone floor was consistent with the rest of the Temple of Flarow, and so he assumed he was inside that very building. He emerged from a hole carved of the ground, square, but large enough that all four soldiers could come up together. They were in a storage room, filled with boxes and barrels, piles of them stored randomly within the room. The Flaran Priests were famous for their mead and ale, and Ayrim saw several barrels of various drinks on the far end of the room, set against the wall. There was only once exit, straight ahead, and a single lamp set atop one of the boxes illuminated the room.

  “We were expected,” Ayrim said, drawing his dripping sword. “The lamp is lit.”

  “Should we retreat?” asked a spearman.

  “No time. They would attack us while we’re trying to swim away. We must stand on equal ground.”

  And so the swordsman climbed from the watery hole, his sword clanking against the stone floor. It would be a slippery battlefield, especially without his boots, but it would have to do. Their enemies would not simply allow them to leave, and if the swordsman attempted an escape through the water, a few well-placed arrows would dispatch the entire group in moments. There would be no retreat.

  The attack was not long in coming, and as soon as Ayrim was upright was the ern upon him, appearing from between some of the crates with an axe in its hand. Iylin swung around to meet the beast, and the clang that came at the meeting of their weapons bounced off the wooden walls a few times before it died. If the ern, in that moment, face to face with Ayrim Iylin, had been intelligent enough to read his enemy’s face, he would have seen not fear or nervousness in the human. In the unwavering eyes of Ayrim, he would have seen no weakness at all, but focused rage, a Holy rage, and no small part of the spirit of Cynus Branford.

  With much of Branford’s third Exercise and a touch of his eighty-fifth, Ayrim pushed the axe away, drew the ern’s attention left with the tip of his blade, just long enough for the thing to move its axe out of position, then drove in the opposite direction. Before the ern could bring his weapon back, both its throat and belly had been split open, and the corpse fell into the water. Dariel and one of the spearmen still remained in that hole, but they were quick in leaving when the ern fell in with them. The water grew misty with pale blood.

  “Down!” called one of the spearmen, the first one from the water, and Ayrim dove to the ground as he heard the snap of a bowstring. The arrow missed him by inches, but far enough, and Iylin slid upon the slippery ground until he was behind one of the barrels. The arrows followed him, and two thunked into the barrier, spilling mead onto the ground. Out came the other two men, and the four spread out over the room, defending their half from the ern on the other side. At least five there were, one with a bow, but they hid as well as the men did.

  Dariel’s bow was strung in a couple of moments, but his arrows were wet, and the first shot went well wide of the ern archer. Three more he let fly, keeping the enemy down long enough for Ayrim to move forward a few steps. He crouched below a large crate and wiped the water from his eyes.

  Up came the ern archer, his arrow trained on Iylin, but so too did Sterwet rise, and the ern only got one more chance. The opportunity was squandered as his missile embedded itself into a box near Ayrim, and the ern fell with an arrow in its skull. Forward did the men come, no longer held by the ranged attack. At last the ern came from their places of hiding, and they numbered ten.

  The spears of the castle guards were longer than the axes and swords of the ern, and they struck first, each driving his weapon into an enemy, but the other monsters were upon them then. They seemed to come from the walls themselves, converging upon the two men. Dariel fired as quickly as possible, but his damp arrows allowed him only to slay one more. The first spearman twirled his weapon around, sweeping up ern in its path, but it only gave them time, for not an enemy did he slay in that manner.

  But Ayrim was soon in the fray, and his blade swept into the nearest ern. It fell without a sound, and Iylin was already passed, his sword flashing in the dim light of a single lamp. An ern armed with a blade turned to the human, but only managed to block twice before Ayrim’s quick sword found its way into the ern’s shoulder. In that blow was the abomination disarmed, but Iylin struck once more, thrusting the blade through the pale chest of the ern.

  “Kill them!” came a call, and Ayrim recognized the voice.

  None had noticed before, but Reman Nigh was there, standing behind a stack of crates, a sword wavering in his hand. His eyes were wide with what was happening, but he did not flee. He was confident in his ern, even though more than half had already fallen.

  Yet the battle was not yet over, and the two spearmen, as near as Ayrim had come, were holding back the mass of the ern alone. A wide swipe by one had given them a second to group together, but no longer, and the ern had come back, weapons gleaming. In the shadows did one man lose sight of the enemy, and his spear was turned aside. With a swipe of an axe was red blood spilled. The other spearman tried to intercept the blow, but his foot slipped too much, and his spear missed. Again he turned, and this time impaling the attacking ern, but he was too late, and his side lost one man.

  The ern thought to come upon the breach in the lines, but Ayrim fill
ed in quickly, leaping off the top of the one of the boxes and into the melee. His quick blade struck once before he reached the ground, and the remaining ern stepped back in surprise as another of their allies fell. When his feet touched the ground, Iylin did not pause, even as his feet began to slide, but he spun completely around, his sword lost to the ern in the blur of the fighting human, at least until it appeared, as though by Magic, through the heart of one of the ern. It was only then that he came to a stop, not once falling too much to lose control. That had been Exercise one hundred – the most advanced of them all. Ayrim fluidly drew out his blade and struck once more, this time decapitating a horrified beast. The last two seemed incapable of even movement, and they watched their companions fall, seemingly without effort. The first of the pair was cut down by an arrow, and the last by a spear.

  Finally did Father Reman Nigh come, his own sword high above his head. He yelled as he brought it down, but the untrained clergyman had no chance against Ayrim. The blow was turned aside, and caused such a ringing in Nigh’s blade that he recoiled. With a swipe Iylin knocked the weapon from his hand, and another motion brought the tip of the blade against the Priest’s neck.

  Reman fell back unceremoniously upon the floor, and Ayrim was not a second behind. Again was the sword against Nigh’s neck, and Ayrim stared down coldly.

  “Why?” was all he asked.

  The Father wasn’t breathing. He was transfixed by the sword. So Iylin asked again, saying, “Why did you forsake Flarow for the Absence?”

  And Nigh laughed. “Forsake Flarow? Forsake Flarow? You fool boy. It was Flarow who ordered your death. Flarow and Vid have joined forces. I’ve forsaken no one.”

  Ayrim Iylin was the one to recoil then, and the clergyman leaned back, holding aloft a hand and muttering something. The swordsman stepped forward then, reaching out to his Priest, but liquid was spilling from Reman’s mouth. At first it seemed like blood, but the stuff was too clear and thin. It was water.