Heir of Hope (Follower of the Word Book 3)

by Morgan L. Busse

  Cargan glowered at something Regessus said and shook his head. His hair looked even wilder today, a shade of orange, but nothing like Nierne’s brilliant red. It spiked around his head, like he had been raking his hair all night until it stood on end.

  Regessus held his hands out in a calming manner and the two men began to talk again.

  At the other end of the table sat Simon.

  His gaze lingered on Simon. He was the scribe Nierne had been so excited to see. The man had since trimmed his wild beard down to a small patch across his face. His robes looked like they had been mended, but his body was still thin from his time spent locked up in Thyra. He sat on the other side of the table, his gaze distant. Caleb didn’t see anything exciting about the man. Most likely Simon had been invited to this meeting because of his new position as the head of the Monastery.

  The room hummed with low voices as the men talked to one another. Caleb looked away and reached for the wooden cup that sat before him on the table. How they had gotten a table down here he had no idea. The table filled up most of the cavern, making the room feel cramped. Added to that was the low lighting from the few candles that sat along the top of the table and the heat from all the bodies crammed inside.

  Fortunately, he sat by the doorway and the cooler air in the tunnel drifted in and blew across his skin. He took a drink from the cup. Tepid water with a trace of dirt. At least it wet his tongue.

  Cargan turned away from Senator Regessus and cleared his throat. The hum died down. “Men, we are here to talk about Thyra.”

  A few heads bobbed in agreement. Caleb placed the cup on the table, sat back, and crossed his arms. At least Nierne didn’t have to be here. Apparently Cargan believed she had already served her purpose by finding the Eldarans. On the other hand, he was required to attend because he was an Eldaran.

  Cargan pressed his finger against the table. “We are running out of time. As you know, the shadows are spreading across Kerre. They have already found another one of our hideouts. It won’t be long before they find all of us. If we hope to survive, we need to fight. Now. And this time I believe we have a chance.”

  Juris cleared his throat. “And exactly how are we going to fight?”

  Cargan looked around the table. “That is why we are here. To figure that out. All we need to do is take out two men”—he held up two fingers—“two men, and Thyra will be free. But we haven’t been able to so far because the shadows surround them.”

  “And because they aren’t really men,” Endre said. “Let’s not forget that. And they also have a twisted army under their control.”

  Cargan nodded. “Yes, that too.”

  “Wait.” Lore held his hand up. “What army? I thought Thyra was empty except for the shadows and the few prisoners who have now escaped.”

  “Many of our soldiers were twisted before the siege,” Regessus said softly. “And those who were captured were twisted during the weeks afterward. Most of our military is under the control of the Shadonae.”

  Lore frowned. “How? And where do they keep all these soldiers?”

  “Valin, one of the Shadonae, is able to twist the human mind and make a person believe a different reality than what is true.”

  “So what you’re telling me is these soldiers believe they are protecting Thyra when in actuality, they are serving the Shadonae.”

  “Yes.”

  His nostrils flared and he shook his head. “Go on.”

  Regessus sat back. “Rory, one of the soldiers Rowen freed, believes the others are being kept in the barracks north of the city. And there are other people too, people who were twisted and tasked to do menial work around Thyra, such as cooking or serving, like myself.” There was a bitter tone in his voice.

  Lore tapped the table “How many soldiers are we talking about?”

  “A small contingent. Thyra never needed a large military. Between the Ari Mountains, the Great Desert, and the sea, we were well protected. Or so we thought.”

  Cargan crossed his arms. “So we have beings with powers beyond our own, shadow-wraiths who protect them, an army of twisted soldiers—”

  “Soldiers we don’t necessarily want to kill,” Regessus pointed out. “They are our countrymen—fathers, husbands, brothers.”

  “Yes, yes—”

  Simon spoke up. “And a walled city that we would need to get into, undetected.”

  Cargan brought his hand down on the table with a loud slap. “Yes, we know the odds. So let’s pick this apart and figure out how to get past each one, starting with the Mordra.” His gaze settled on Caleb.

  Caleb ran a finger along the hilt of his dagger. The other three had been returned a couple days ago and were now stowed away in their sheaths. “How many shadows are we talking about?”

  Cargan looked around at the other men. “We aren’t quite sure. It’s hard to count shadow-wraiths without dying. But we know there are still some in Thyra.”

  “How?”

  “We’ve seen them from a distance. But with the shadows spreading across Kerre, we hope that means there are fewer in the city.”

  His finger stopped. “I don’t know the extent of my power, or how many I can banish.”

  “Well, it’s more than we’ve had in the past. If we can get past the shadows, we are that much closer to killing the Shadonae.”

  Lore spoke up. “Do you know if they can even be killed?”

  Cargan shook his head. “No. We hardly know anything about them. Other than that their power seems to be similar to your own.” He looked at Caleb as he said this.

  “If there is a similarity, and they possess the same abilities as an Eldaran, they may prove difficult to kill.” Lore leaned forward. “Is that your ultimate plan? To kill the Shadonae?”

  “Yes.” Cargan looked around the room. “There will be no trial, no banishment. We will not let these monsters take over another city and enslave another people. We will execute the Shadonae.”

  “And how will you do that?” Lore said.

  “That is what we are here to discuss.”

  “If they can heal themselves, then it will need to be a death blow. A strike in the right spot. Which will be difficult without stealth.”

  Caleb clenched his teeth and glanced at Lore from the corner of his eye. Was Lore planning on volunteering him for an assassination mission?

  “True. But we need to get to them first.” Cargan looked at Caleb. “So would you be willing to do that? To take out the shadows and pave a way to the Shadonae?”

  Caleb didn’t answer. He could do that, and was willing to do that. But he also knew how to kill a man in seconds, an ability they might need to slay these Shadonae. He looked down at his hands. He remembered them, covered in blood, blood from all the lives he had taken. Could he really assassinate again, if they asked him? Even to save these people? He didn’t know, and didn’t want to make that choice now.

  He looked up. “Like I said, I don’t know the full extent of my power, and I don’t know how many shadows I can banish. But I am a Guardian, and as such, I offer you Veritas.”

  Cargan nodded. “Good. So we have the Mordra taken care of. Now we need to figure out how to get into the city. The gates, along with the other, lesser known doors, are patrolled by twisted soldiers.”

  Simon spoke up. “We could enter the city through the catacombs. However, they are now guarded by the shadows.” He glanced at Caleb. “I have the keys to the doors. Perhaps you should go with me.”

  Caleb pressed his lips together. He did not want to go on a mission with Simon.

  “Wouldn’t we all go together?” Endre said.

  Lore shook his head. “No. We don’t want to put all our men in one spot, especially not where they could all be wiped out if there are a lot of shadows.”

  Cargan nodded. “I agree. Is there another door any of you know about?”<
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  “There’s the shipping office down on the piers,” Endre said.

  “We checked that one out a couple months ago. The Shadonae know about it and are guarding it.”

  “What about the northern gate?”

  Cargan shook his head at Regessus. “Already checked. That one is guarded now as well.”

  “Did we ever decide how we are going to kill the Shadonae once we get to them?” Regessus said.

  More voices broke out. Caleb slumped down in his chair. This was why he had chosen not to be on the Temanin council, even though at the time he had the name and land to do so. He hated discussions like this. They took forever and rarely resolved anything.

  He knew what he was going to do. That part had been decided. And he knew what he wasn’t going to do, unless assassinating was his only choice. Besides—he sat up at the thought—was there a possibility he could sense the Shadonae? And could they sense him? Like the connection he and Rowen had during the siege on the White City?

  If so, then he definitely was not the assassin for the job, not if they could sense him a mile away.

  He slouched back down and watched the men debate through lidded eyes. Let them figure out how to get into the city. He didn’t know Thyra enough to help anyway.

  Chapter

  35

  “I’m sorry to hear about Father Reth.” Simon stared down at the wooden bowl he held between his hands. “Did he—did he suffer?”

  Nierne hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m not sure if he stayed alive long enough to feel anything.”

  Simon let out a long sigh. “I will miss him. He was like a real father, not just a monastery father, to me.”

  Nierne stared into her own bowl filled with autumn tubers and venison. “Yes. He was like a father to me, too.”

  The small room they were in became silent. Outside the doorway a group of people talked, gathered near the bonfire inside the common room, as she now called the large cavern.

  Simon picked up his spoon and took a bite. “How long did it take you to get to the White City?”

  She poked at the stew with her own spoon. “Weeks.”

  Simon asked a couple more questions. She didn’t feel like talking or eating, but did both because Simon looked lonely and she needed to eat something.

  “Tell me more about the man you traveled with.”

  “Huh?” Nierne looked up from her bowl, which was now half empty. “Which one?”

  “The darker one. The Temanin.” There was a hostile undertone in his voice.

  Nierne jabbed at a chunk of meat. “His name is Caleb. Caleb Tala.”

  “Tala? Isn’t that the name of the ruling family of Temanin? Is he related to Lord Corin Tala?”

  She held her spoon up. “Yes. They are cousins.” She popped the spoon into her mouth before Simon asked another question. The meat was chewy and strong tasting. She grimaced and swallowed.

  “How did you meet him?”

  “That is a long story.” Why was Simon so interested in Caleb?

  When he remained silent, she sighed and went on. “When I reached the White City, it was at war with the Temanin Empire. I was caught by a Temanin scout and brought into their camp. Caleb was their interrogator.”

  His knuckles tightened around his spoon. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No. He actually kept me safe.” Every time she’d met Caleb, he had kept her safe, from the beginning.

  “Hmmm.” Simon glanced at the doorway through narrowed eyes. “He doesn’t strike me as a compassionate kind of man.”

  Nierne pushed the bits of tuber and meat around her bowl. “No, he certainly isn’t known for his compassion.” Quite the opposite. Even now, as a Follower, Caleb seemed to either run hot or cold toward people. But his desire to serve the Word usually pushed him past his own indifference toward humanity.

  “Then why did he help you?”

  Nierne shrugged, fishing out a tuber this time.

  “He seems attracted to you.”

  The tuber fell back into her bowl. “What makes you say that?”

  “The way he looks at you. Like one of those sea eagles around Duniz Bay.”

  She had never seen a sea eagle, but she had read about them. Violent, overly protective, and they mated for life.

  “He is dangerous, Nierne.”

  Her head shot up. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he is a Temanin. And because of how he acts around you.”

  She dropped her spoon into her bowl and glared at Simon. “His lineage does not make him evil, Simon. Not all Temanins are bad.” Images of Balthazar, Thamina, and the others from the Great Desert flitted across her mind.

  “But he is still dangerous because of his attachment to you. Don’t forget your vows, Nierne.”

  “I haven’t.” She placed her bowl down, no longer able to eat another bite. “But I haven’t taken my vows yet, either.”

  Simon stiffened. “Wait. Are you considering a civilian life?”

  “I don’t know. My journey has given me time to think. Father Reth said I could serve the Word in many ways, not just as a scribe.”

  “But what about the Monastery? So many have died. I don’t know if there is anyone left besides you and me.”

  “And Father Karl.”

  A pained look flashed across his face. “I will take care of Father Karl. But his mind . . .” He ran a hand through his hair. “He’s not the same.”

  “I know.” She picked up her bowl and stood. “And I’m not saying I won’t take my vows. What I’m saying is that I have not made my choice yet. And I won’t make one. After all, there may not be a choice to make if the Monastery no longer stands.”

  Simon stood as well, his bowl in hand. “It will still be there, Nierne. And if not, I will rebuild it.” He gave her a long look. “But I hope I won’t have to do it alone.”

  She shook her head and made her way toward the main room. “I won’t answer you, Simon. Not yet. Right now we need to focus on Thyra.”

  “And afterward?”

  Nierne sighed. “I will think about it then.”

  Nierne stared at the tunnel that led out of the mines. After days down in the darkness and dust, she wanted out. To feel the sun again, to hear the wind. But surface time was carefully monitored and only a few were allowed above ground.

  She sighed and went back to rolling linen bandages near the main fire. Caleb and Lore spent most of their time with the other men, discussing their knowledge of the Shadonae and plans for taking back Thyra. Small scouting groups came and went from all parts of Kerre. With each new arrival, more refugees flooded the caverns until it looked like a small city down here in the mines.

  One more reason she wanted to go outside. It was getting crowded down here.

  Other women sat around the fire, so close to each other that their elbows jabbed one another. Some of the women were rolling bandages along with Nierne. Others were mending clothes or repairing shoes. She scooted to the edge of the stone slab, giving herself a little more room.

  She rolled for a minute, then stopped and stared at the long piece of linen in her hand. It trailed across her fingers and pooled in her lap. It was all she could do to help. She did not possess any medical knowledge or even know how to cook. She could read and write and recite the ancient sonnet of The Battle over the Waters, but those skills were not needed here.

  She began to roll the bandage again. She felt worthless. Maybe Simon was right, maybe she should consider taking her vows when everything was over. It was the one thing she was really good at. Of course, that was assuming they would live to see the Shadonae and Mordra destroyed and Thyra retaken.

  The sound of men’s voices echoed across the common room. Moments later a group of men emerged from the tunnel to the right. She spotted Lore and Caleb among them. One of the battle groups.

/>   She shrank down and hoped they wouldn’t see her, sitting here, just rolling bandages. She concentrated on the linen as if she were copying an ancient Temanin scroll for Father Cris. Precision, each roll even on both sides. No wrinkles in the fabric.

  Caleb sat down next to her.

  Crackers.

  He watched her, his scent filling her nostrils: a mixture of man and exotic spice.

  “You have nimble fingers.”

  “What?” She paused and glanced at him.

  “Your movement is exact.” He studied her hands. “Such precision is probably needed for script writing. Am I correct?”

  She looked down at her small, thin fingers. “Yes, I suppose.”

  She began to roll the linen again, conscious of his eyes on her fingers. “What did you discuss today in your little meeting?” Bleh, she sounded like she was whining.

  Caleb didn’t seem to notice. “Different ways into the city.”

  “You mean how to get into Thyra? Like the main gate?”

  “Yes. But for obvious reasons we don’t want to use the main gate.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.” Ugh, a wrinkle. She unrolled the linen and started over. “There is the entrance in the catacombs that leads into Thyra.”

  “Yes, Simon told us about that one. He has a key.”

  “He does?”

  “Yes. Father Kur or something gave it to him.”

  “Father Karl.” Of course Father Karl did. All the fathers carried a key to the catacombs beneath the Monastery. Father Cris had given her his key the night he helped her escape Cragsmoor. Then she had given Father Cris’s key to Father Reth. It was probably buried with him in the Ari Mountains.

  She went back to rolling the bandage.

  “The scouts think the catacombs are where the shadows dwell. If so, I will lead the party through there.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, since I can fight them.”

  “I’ve been in the catacombs.” She spoke in a hushed voice. “They are a labyrinth of tunnels, some stretching the entire length of Thyra. How will find your way through them?”