With a final bitter glance at Wrynric, Lucien turned his attention to Kara. “Deep Cave is not the only place those creatures have been sighted.” He uncrumpled the letter. “The rest of this missive speaks of a group of metal beasts being sighted near Ebon Shelf. The creatures did not approach the settlements there, but watched them from beyond the glow of the sacred lights and retreated into the darkness when anyone approached.”
He unceremoniously shoved the letter at the acolyte next to him. “The soldiers at Deep Cave could do nothing to stop the destruction of the city. Their weapons were mere pebbles against the armor of the enemy. Had the creatures attacked the settlements...”
Kara had witnessed what the enemy was capable of with her own eyes. Like Aemon had said, their technology far surpassed that of Stelemia. How could they be defeated?
Lucien kissed the cog, then gently lowered it. “Voyna Sveta i Teni.”
“The War of Light and Darkness,” Wrynric said. “Also known as Voyna na Nebesakh, which in Stelemian means the War in Heaven.”
The patriarch raised his eyebrows. “You know the old language of Ibilirith?”
Wrynric shrugged. “There were many old languages, most forgotten. I know bits and pieces of some, mostly picked up from my late friends at the repository in Sunholm.” He got a faraway look again. “Would that the Repository had survived, for it contained much knowledge preserved from the old world.”
His eyes refocused. “As to the enemies at Deep Cave. Not only do I think they’re the ones mentioned in your scriptures as having been fought during the War in Heaven, I also believe they’re the enemy from Arden’s visiondream. He told me the half-blood would lead a great host against them in the Final Battle to end our exile here in Stelemia.”
Kara pushed herself up. “Why me, though? I’m a courtesan—not a warrior or military commander.”
Minard’s mouth dropped open and Lucien uttered a prayer, his acolytes so shocked they didn’t record her words. The two monks guarding Lucien glanced at one another, one gulping loudly.
Kara let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes, this harbinger of doom sold her body for men’s pleasure. Think of me however you will, but I make no apology for what I did to put food in my belly and have a roof over my head.”
Wrynric awkwardly cleared his throat. “You’re still a scion, Kara, even if only half-blooded. One of the reasons the Covenant of the Lost Sun was founded was to preserve the lineage of the scions. The first verse of our ancient, sacred oath goes: We who are chosen to carry the lineage of the scions through the ages of the future untold must keep the bloodline pure, protect those who are of the blood and preserve the knowledge handed down to us from our ancestors.”
“For what purpose?” Lucien asked. “The last thing Stelemia needs is for a clan of scions to destroy it.”
“The second verse of our oath tells us why. It goes: For one day, all three will be needed for the time of darkness, when the Final Battle to end humanity’s exile will be fought. When humankind is victorious, we will emerge from the darkness and into the blessed light of the Lost Sun.”
A flicker of pain crossed his face. “Sadly, some of us failed to uphold parts of our vows.”
What had he meant by that? Was he talking about himself? Or about Arden fathering Kara on a woman who was not his wife? Or had he been speaking of someone else entirely?
“We were wrong in our belief there’d be only one scion, which could mean we are wrong in other beliefs too,” Minard said, staring at Lucien who returned the monk’s stare with a deep frown. Kara could pick up much tension between the two men.
But what was it about?
“To the darkness with you Reformers, and with the loathsome scions you seek to protect,” Lucien snarled, the sacred light over his head almost blinding.
Minard covered his eyes against the glare. “If he were present, Inquisitor Mariot would say we should learn more of what we face before we decide to act.”
“Then spit on him, and spit on this scion.” Lucien’s light flailed about as he sat forward and stabbed a finger at Minard. “A true leader acts with courage, conviction and assuredness. Ibilirith chose me to lead her people, not Mariot.” He lowered his arm. “It will be I that decides her fate, and the fate of the rest of these scions.”
“You Stelemians should be thankful for all the scions have done for you,” Wrynric said, deep lines forming on his weathered face.
“Did for us?” Lucien chuckled acidly, his gaze switching from Minard to the old man.
Wrynric held his head high, squinting against Lucien’s light. “The scions of the covenant have done nothing but protect the Stelemian people from the creatures out there in the Nether born of old-world genetics. Without the scions, Stelemia’s boundaries would’ve been forever ravaged by these monsters.”
The old man glanced at each of the brethren of Ibilirith in turn. “Now that my people have been slaughtered, who will stop these ancient terrors from preying on the people you send down the Path of Exile or from attacking your settlements near the entrances to the Nether?”
“Only heretics are forced down the Path of Exile.” Lucien’s lip curled. “Their lives mean nothing.”
“What of the innocents who live in the outlying settlements that will now become plagued by these monsters?” Wrynric narrowed his eyes. “Surely, their lives matter.”
Lucien crossed his arms and said nothing.
Minard drummed his fingers on his staff. “Seems like we’ve more than just scions to worry about then, eh?”
Finally, someone in the Order is getting it, Kara thought. I’m not the great threat the patriarch thinks I am. There are more important things to be worrying about than little old me.
“Genetics,” Lucien intoned. “Our records on the Sacred Computer say our ancestors held great power rivaling that of the One God who ruled before the divines. In their arrogance, our ancestors tried to shape their world in their own image.”
Wrynric scoffed, “Their image must have been horrid, for these are twisted, nightmarish beasts.”
“I read a book claiming every living thing in the caverns was altered by genetics,” Aemon said.
Lucien nodded sagely. “Everything from the humble mushroom to the oxen hauling our wagons to the fruits growing in the Priest King’s gardens was genetically altered by our ancestors.” He fiddled with the cog hanging from his neck. “Our records also say humans were altered. Like their world, the ancients wanted to shape us until we reached heights of perfection even the One God could not achieve.”
“So, they were crazy like some of you Stelemians,” Wrynric said. “Not only are humans far from perfect, but because of the hubris of our ancestors, the One God exiled us from the light of the Lost Sun and then left us to languish long years in the dark.”
Kara grimaced. Does Wrynric want to get out of here alive? If he does, he needs to learn to shut his mouth before it gets us both purged!
“Mind your tongue, Old Man.” Minard flexed his considerable arm muscles. “You’re in the presence of the esteemed patriarch, second only to the Priest King, under the sacred lights of Ibilirith.”
Kara’s whole body ached and she felt more tired than ever before. Why do I have to lay here and listen to a bunch of stupid men bicker at one another about some nonsense a drunk probably made up a thousand years ago?
She swore under her breath. Men.
The only thing that mattered to her was getting out of the temple alive so she could go in search of Annbar. Assuming the patriarch would let her leave, of course. Normally, she respected people of faith, but Lucien... made her courtesan sense tingle. There was something off about him.
Maybe it was the power he held over her or maybe it was something more. The way he squeezed the cog, the way he sounded so vicious when he spoke, the way he held himself so rigidly, making it seem like he was poised to leap up from his seat and attack someone—it all suggested deep-seated anger simmering away inside him. She’d wager it wasn’t fres
h anger either, but one that had been building over time and had reached near breaking point.
This was the sort of man she’d avoided at the tavern, the sort of man Mensig, the doorman, would’ve tossed back out onto the street.
Kara threw one of her pillows across the room. “Stop bickering a moment and listen! The ghost woman in my dream told me of an ancient city named Annbar and of a great library within it that contains much of the knowledge of the old world. I must find it and learn what I can of the passkey.”
Holding herself up on her elbow, she reached for Wrynric. “You must take me to the Dead City where you found the passkey. I believe it to be Annbar.”
A startled hush fell over the room.
Lucien’s gaze made Kara shudder inside. He ran the tip of his tongue over his thin lips, then said, “You will not leave this temple. You are our guest here until Inquisitor General Malaris arrives. Once the road is clear of the blockade, I will send a messenger to General Malaris to make haste to the temple.”
Kara’s guts twisted into knots as she recalled the cold visage of the Inquisitor General. Aemon held his breath while Wrynric inched closer to Kara. Minard and one of the monks guarding Lucien shared a look. Something in it suggested they were not happy with what the patriarch had just said.
Did they have a different opinion?
“But I’ve done nothing wrong,” Kara sobbed. “I’m not a harbinger of doom. I’m a simple courtesan thrown into something I know nothing about.”
“I care not what you think you are, Scion.” Lucien dismissed her with a wave. “I will send for Inquisitor General Mal—”
“No,” Wrynric growled. “You will not hand her over to that white-cloaked fanatic. The warnings of the half-blood and the visions of her father must not be ignored. These metal beasts that destroyed Deep Cave won’t stop until we’re all dead.” He pointed at Kara. “She is important. Arden saw that she must go to the Dead City and speak to the voice we heard there so she can bring back an army to fight the enemy.”
“Voice?” Aemon asked, but was ignored.
“Utter madness,” Lucien spat. “You deserve to be thrown down the Well of Remorse with the other crazed heathens.”
Minard spoke to Wrynric in a voice filled with disbelief. “What do you mean this scion is important? She’s no fighter. How do you expect her to lead an army? If hardened commanders and thick walls like those at Deep Cave could not stand against the enemy, what chance has she?”
Wrynric scowled at the monk. “Arden’s visions always come to pass. This must happen, for it’s the only way to end our exile and return us to the Lost Sun.”
Lucien slammed his fist down on the leg of the acolyte sitting next to him. The acolyte’s quill and parchments spilled to the floor as he cried out in pain. “Your Lost Sun is a heretical fantasy,” Lucien raged. “When Inquisitor General Malaris arrives, both you and the Scion will be put to the question. For the good of us all.”
For the good of us all. Spoken just like Kahan.
“The Lost Sun is real,” Wrynric insisted, shielding his eyes from the light over the patriarch’s head. “The half-blood has seen it.”
As Lucien rose from his chair, he pointed an accusing finger at the old man. “You speak to me as if you are my equal, when you are but dirt beneath my heel. You come from the vile darkness beyond the sacred lights. For that sin alone—you should be drowned in the icy waters of Crystal Lake by the righteous hands of an Inquisitor.”
His accusing finger went to Kara. “You and this wretched Scion will be handed over and questioned, and then, Ibilirith willing, you will both be purged.”
Aemon, all but forgotten, slammed his open hand onto the bed. “No. I will not let you give her to the Inquisitors.”
His teeth were bared as he glared at Lucien and Minard. A long and perilous silence descended over the room. Kara held her breath. Her life was on the line and she was too weak to run or fight.
A deep ache formed in her throat. The thought of losing Aemon like she had lost so many others wasn’t something she could allow. She touched his arm, but he pulled away and would not look at her. “Please, Aemon. Don’t throw your life away for me. I couldn’t bear it.”
Wrynric tried to move next to her but Minard held him back with his staff. The two other monks rushed forward to flank the old warrior. Wrynric looked formidable in his chain armor but without his sword he’d stand little chance against three armed opponents.
“You’re making a big mistake, holy man,” Wrynric said. “Your prophecy is wrong or you are misreading it. The half-blood will save us.”
Kara glanced at Minard to see his reaction. Was there something in the tension between him and the patriarch? He hadn’t been happy when Lucien said he would hand Kara to the Inquisitor General.
The monk gripped his staff and watched Wrynric with an eager grin. Her heart sank. He was waiting to be given the order to attack.
He wanted to fight, not help her.
Kara climbed to her feet and steadied herself by holding the side of the bed. “Stand down, all of you.”
They turned expectantly toward her. Her guts continued to feel like they were twisting into knots. Now she had to find a way to convince Lucien to let her go. “I’m not a threat to anyone right now. I’m weak and tired and want nothing more than to go back to sleep.” She swayed slightly as her legs weakened. “When I’m up to it, let me go with Wrynric into the Great Dark to find the Dead City and search it for the library.”
She inclined her head toward Minard. “Send the monk with us, so he can kill me if I turn into the threat spoken of in your prophecy. After all, he’s a strong warrior, while I’m a sick and feeble woman.”
“Kara, no,” Aemon cried.
“I will not let you come to harm,” Wrynric said.
She motioned for them to be silent and stared at Minard. “What say you, monk? Will you stand with me until the day I prove myself a threat and you need to kill me?”
Minard’s eyes flicked from Lucien, then back to Kara. “Scion, do you mean what you say? You would have me go with you even though I may need to take your life?”
“I mean it. The temple cannot help me and the Inquisitors will not help either.” She held up the passkey so they could all see its red glow. “Perhaps I’ll discover a way to free myself of this curse and learn of something we can use to fight the enemy.”
Not that she could read, but if Lucien knew that, he’d never let her leave.
“The Scion is right, Holy One,” Minard said. “You should let her go in search of this city. If she isn’t the threat many in our order think she is, she might be innocent or be our only hope. Besides, we could learn from this library too.”
Kara’s heart lurched. That had been unexpected.
Lucien’s eyes blazed. “You only say that because of Inquisitor Mariot’s ridiculous, heretical notion that our belief in the old ways is wrong. All he does is sit around in our holy obelisk and make mockery of Holy Ibilirith’s words.” The patriarch moaned, “Even her prophecy does not escape his scorn.”
Minard’s reply came in a carefully measured tone. “Your holiness, I have no desire to argue semantics with you. Indeed, I am naught but a humble servant of Ibilirith, while you are held by her in high esteem. I only ask that you think this through.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “If the Scion ends up being a threat to us, I will kill her without a moment’s hesitation. But if she ends up being our savior, I will—”
“To the Immortal Fire with you and the rest of you disgusting Reformers! Inquisitor Mariot is wrong. The Scion will kill us all.”
“You don’t—” Minard stopped and took in a deep breath. “We don’t know that for sure. Inquisitor Mariot isn’t here to make his case, but I can.” Minard took a step toward Lucien. “The Scion and the ancient enemy are linked in the prophecy, but that is not the only file the Scion is mentioned in, and some of the references to her might suggest she is nothing more than a harbinger
of change, neither good nor bad.”
“Only a fool like Mariot would believe that,” Lucien spat. “I, too, have read those files. They are more broken and indecipherable than the prophecy.”
“Perhaps the passkey will unseal the wards—whatever they are—and give us a weapon to fight the enemy,” Minard said. “From what the missive said, ours are of little use against them.”
“But what if she unleashes something worse?” Lucien wailed. Minard’s words were clearly wearing him down. “A plague, these harvesters the prophecy mentions or something more destructive.” Lucien shook his head. “The risk is too great.”
“The risk of purging her is great too. What if we kill the only weapon we have against them? What if one of the other scions appears and they find out we killed their kin? Who knows what they might do. Indeed, what if this woman is not the Scion of the Prophecy—and one of them is?”
That made Wrynric move a hand to his empty scabbard only to move it away again, as if having been reminded he carried no weapon.
Lucien screamed at the top of his lungs, “I should have cast the lot of you into the fire when I had the chance. You Reformers are insidious, the way you undermine the holy words of Ibilirith and ingratiate yourselves in the ranks of her order.” He took in ragged breaths. “I bet Hammer Targis was the one who posted you to guard the Scion just so you could—”
Minard bowed. “Your Eminence, I apologize for interrupting you, but I wish to make a compromise.”
The patriarch’s words caught in his throat. “Com—compromise?”
“As a loyal servant of Lady Ibilirith, I most humbly accept the Scion’s offer of journeying with her into the Great Dark to ensure she remains on the right path. If she diverges from it...” He straightened. “I will purge her myself.” He stood. “Then I will return to help you mend the festering rift in our order.”
“How?” Lucien seemed suddenly interested.
“I will convince Inquisitor Mariot that only by following the old ways can we overcome the slow decline of our order.” Minard gave the patriarch a lopsided grin. “Besides, if he is proven wrong on both the Scion and the prophecy—he’ll be left with little credibility while you will have been proven right. The Order will quickly unite behind you once more.”
Heir to a Lost Sun: A Caverns of Stelemia Novel Page 21
