Heir of Hope (Follower of the Word Book 3)

by Morgan L. Busse

  “I agree.” His brow wrinkled. “There are hundreds at least.” The twisted soldiers were a blur of yellow amongst the less colorful men Cargan had brought.

  His mind raced for a new plan. If Cargan’s men were captured, then only Regessus and he—and possibly Caleb’s group—were left.

  Regessus pointed down the street. “It looks like Cargan and his men are pushing toward the tower.”

  Lore turned back and studied the battle. Regessus was right. However, a twisted army stood between Cargan and his men and the tower. And men were falling every minute. The twisted soldiers had no prerogative to keep their opponents alive.

  Could Cargan actually get past all those soldiers and reach the Shadonae? And what about the shadows? Had Caleb banished them or would they show up?

  And if Cargan actually reached the Shadonae, who would deliver the killing blow?

  Each thought piled up in his mind until Lore sank down on one knee, his heart a chunk of lead inside his chest. He placed his sword in front of him, tip down, and leaned in, resting his forehead against the hilt. He had been in situations like this before. Impossible situations. Where failure was a certainty.

  But this one . . .

  A void opened up inside him, consuming what little hope he had left.

  I’m so tired of fighting. So tired of searching.

  He never came expecting to help Thyra. He didn’t come to save a people. He only came to find Rowen.

  Word, help me. I only want one thing. But I cannot leave these people, not like this. He closed his eyes, the cold metal of the hilt pressing into his skin. No more words came. So tired.

  A hand came to rest on his shoulder.

  Lore didn’t respond. He just knelt there, reaching from the depths of his soul toward the Word. Save us, Word, save all of us.

  The sky rumbled above, but he remained on his knees, the rain falling on him. He brought his other hand up and grasped the hilt with both hands. Slowly, with each breath, his strength trickled back. I have to go on. I will go on.

  “We need to help Cargan.”

  At Regessus’s quiet words, Lore nodded and rose to his feet. “We can’t kill those soldiers.”

  “I know. I was once one of them. If there is any chance of saving them, we must.”

  He lifted his sword. “Rowen can free them.”

  “Yes. Our hope rests in her.”

  “No, our hope rests in the Word.”

  Regessus bowed his head in acknowledgement. “But many times He uses his servants. If we can just find her . . .”

  “We go to the tower. I have a feeling Rowen is there.”

  “I agree.” Regessus pushed his lips into a grim line. “But I don’t want to think about what Valin’s plans are for her.”

  Lore gripped his sword and his blood pounded through his veins. An image of Rowen falling from his arms, leaving a bloody trail along his tunic filled his mind. They took her hand, what else would they take from her? “I don’t either.”

  “I know a back way to the tower. Follow me.” Regessus started down the side street they were on. After passing three back doors, they came to another side street, so narrow that Lore could spread his arms out and touch both sides if he wanted to.

  Ahead stood the tower, but a wall about the height of a man blocked off the bottom part from his view.

  Regessus pointed at the wall. “We should be able to get a look at the situation from that wall, without being seen ourselves.”

  The sounds of the battle echoed along the narrow alley. Overhead, the clouds grew darker, even though it was mid afternoon. Lore rubbed his chest, his fingers tingling again from his seablood.

  A minute later, they reached the wall, just a couple inches taller than both of them. Leaves and bits of broken glass lay against the base of it. A tree grew on the other side, its branches hanging a couple feet above the top of the wall.

  Lore sheathed his sword. He stepped around the glass and reached for the ledge. With a jump, he pulled himself up onto the wall. The stone scraped his hands and left a small abrasion on his left finger. Without pausing, he scrambled across the top of the wall, which was only six inches wide, to where it butted up against the building and sat back, his knees up against his chest.

  While the branches from the nearby tree would not hide them from anyone looking their direction, it did provide cover and allowed them to see the tower.

  Hundreds of men filled the streets surrounding the tower, most wearing a yellow tabard. A large group of non-yellow soldiers were to his left, and in the middle of that group he caught sight of Cargan’s orange hair. Cargan and his men were pushing their way toward the tower.

  Lore took in the bigger area. It looked like the main streets of Thyra converged here, at the senate tower. Around the tower was one wide circular street, connecting the streets like a hub, now filled with fighting. So many men that he couldn’t even see the cobblestone.

  Past the round street were twenty-foot columns, forming a semi-circle at the base of the tower. Between the columns were more soldiers, all dressed in drab yellow tabards and chainmail. They, however, were not engaged in the fighting. It seemed more like they were guarding something.

  Regessus joined him on the wall.

  Lore pointed at the columns and the soldiers lined between. “What do you think they are doing?”

  “I don’t kno—hold on.” Regessus craned his neck. “There is an arena there, which the columns surround. It is a gathering place for Thyra when the senate needs to address the people. I can see the senate doors, past the stage. And . . .”

  His face tightened and Lore watched him swallow, the lump visible. “It can’t be . . .”

  Lore looked back at the columns and braced against the wall behind him. He brought his legs beneath him and drew up away from the wall until he could see above the soldiers around the arena.

  Inside the arena stood hundreds of people, perhaps more than a thousand. There were more than just men. There were women, too.

  “Where did they come from?”

  Regessus shook his head, his face pale.

  Lore scanned the crowd again. Cargan’s group drew near the columns. Did Cargan know there were hostages?

  “The only thing—” Regessus took a shaky breath. “The only thing I can think of is that they are people from some of the outlying villages, pockets of people who have been hiding from the Shadonae across Kerre.”

  “But how did the Shadonae find them after all this time?”

  “I don’t know. Valin said not everyone who served him was twisted.”

  Lore glanced back at Regessus. “Are you saying someone betrayed us?”

  Regessus didn’t answer.

  “We can’t stay here.” Lore readied himself to jump. There was a clear path now on the right side of the columns as the twisted soldiers converged on Cargan’s group to the left. But they would need to move fast. “There is an opening on the right. We’ll follow the buildings and approach the columns from there, near the tower. But we need to do it now while the soldiers are distracted with Cargan’s men. Then we go for the tower.”

  “And what do we do about the soldiers near the pillars?”

  “There are only a couple. I can take care of them.”

  “And then . . .”

  Lore stared at the tower. He’d killed before, to save his lord and his people. He would do it again, if it would save these people now. He would do it to save Rowen. “And then we go for the Shadonae.”

  The rain started to fall again.

  Chapter

  46

  “I never told you what happened to your mother.”

  Rowen refused to look at Valin. She stared at the wall ahead. A torch burned in the bracket next to a door, a red-orange flame against the darkness. They were in the senate tower at the bottom of the staircase.


  His breath was hot against her cheek. “Or your father. They were neither honorable nor heroic. None of the Eldarans were.”

  The stone was cold against her backside.

  “But first, let me tell you what happened to the Eldaran race. For hundreds of years, the Eldarans hid, not out of fear, but out of arrogance. After the Nordic wars, they were tired of serving mankind. So they traveled across the Lands and over the ground bridge to the Lands beyond, to make a place just for themselves.

  “Over the years, they grew complacent, content to live away from mankind in their own little valley. Soon mankind believed the Eldarans had disappeared altogether.”

  Rowen snapped around. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

  “Because”–Valin drew his head back, his eyes moving back and forth–“I was one of them.”

  A ringing started in her ears. She stared at Valin, her whole body paralyzed. She tried to move her mouth, but her lips would not budge. “You?”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “Yes, Rowen. I, too, was an Eldaran once. I grew up in that valley far away, alongside Mercia and Anwar. So did Malchus.”

  She swallowed and her body trembled. It couldn’t be true. Valin was lying.

  “No.” He slowly drew back. “You are a Truthsayer. Look into my eyes and see if I am lying.”

  The icy blue was gone, only an inky blackness remained in his gaze. But there was no deceit. Valin was telling the truth.

  “I wanted more than what that valley could offer. So I left. I traveled the Lands for years, learning about mankind, searching out knowledge denied to me by my own people. It was in a city across the sea where I was discovered for what I was, not a human, but an Eldaran. But instead of the honor and respect due my heritage, I was labeled a witch and stabbed. When that didn’t kill me, they bound me to the stake. That is when I discovered my true power.”

  Rowen shrank back. The darkness inside the room felt like it was consuming her, and the torchlight was a fire from the darkest pit. “Why are you telling me this? Why now?”

  “As a fellow Truthsayer, I thought you would want the truth before you die.”

  Fellow Truthsayer? The room spun around. Rowen gripped the wall behind her. It was true, all true. She could see it in his eyes.

  “I killed those villagers. One stabbed me, but I healed from it, using his own life force.”

  She looked away, swallowing the bile inside her throat.

  “I realized then that I could control my power, use it the way I wanted. No more revealing truth, no more healing people. The Eldarans never used their power anyway, so why not use it for myself? However, when I returned to the valley, the elders thought otherwise and banished me.”

  She twisted back and glared at Valin. “Good for them.”

  “No, not good for them. By then I had already persuaded Malchus to join me. We fought back.” A smile crept across his face. “And we won. Even Anwar could not stop us after his transformation into the new Truthsayer. One by one, we stripped each Eldaran of their power. And then we killed them. All except Mercia.”

  Rowen slid down the wall. She wanted to curl into a ball and cry. Instead, she hid her face in her left hand, all too aware of her missing right hand. He had stripped her of her power as well. And now he was going to kill her.

  Valin crouched down. “I gave Mercia one last chance to join us. She refused, like you. In a moment of pity, I let her go. Malchus realized what I had done and sent shadow wolves after her. We thought that was the end of the Eldaran race. Never did I guess what Mercia carried with her, what she eventually brought into the Lands . . .”

  She was going to retch. But there was nothing left inside her.

  “I always wondered why Anwar could not stop us.” Valin tapped his chin. “He should have been able to. But his power was weak. Now I know. It was because of you. You were the result of a people who had turned their back on the Word. And so the Word left them.”

  Rowen looked at Valin from between her fingers. “What makes you so different?”

  “I’ve never claimed to follow the Word. I was never a hypocrite, like them. I have always been faithful to myself.”

  “Have you no fear?”

  Valin laughed. “No, for I will never die. My power sustains me. What need do I have to fear the Word? What will He do to me? For years I have taken, and the Word has done nothing about it. Now—” He stood. “Like I said, we have an audience. My soldiers should have the people assembled by now.”

  “Who?”

  “I have found and gathered almost every person in the land of Kerre.”

  “Why?”

  “To wipe them out. I annihilated one civilization, and now I’m about to annihilate another. And that, Rowen, is power.”

  Annihilate? He meant the Eldarans. And now the people of Kerre. “Slaughtering people is power?”

  “Yes. I hold life and death in my hands. Just like the Word. Now, I don’t want to ruin the surprise, so you’ll have to wear this for now—”

  Valin pulled something over her head and grabbed her by the shoulder. She couldn’t see and the material barely left room for her to breath.

  He pulled her up. “But before I kill the last of the people of Thyra—” His voice came through muffled. “I want to destroy their last hope, the one who had the power to stop me, but didn’t.” He dragged her across the floor. “You. And when you are dead, I will become a fire, an inferno, and I will burn across the Lands until every human lies dead at my feet. Then I will be satisfied.”

  Chapter

  47

  Another man fell beside Caleb. He didn’t have time to stop. He made his way through the soldiers, his daggers an extension of his being. He did not think, he simply moved, bringing one man down after another, hopefully without killing them. Cargan came behind him, picking off any others.

  But there were only a few of them left, and so many twisted soldiers, especially near the columns, which were ten feet away.

  Slash. Block. Parry. Kick.

  Five feet away.

  Cargan groaned behind him.

  Caleb paused long enough to let Cargan catch up.

  A long cut bled beneath Cargan’s right eye and blood covered his front. He huffed. “Almost . . . there.”

  Caleb took a moment to rest. Sweat mingled with the blood on his face and the rain falling above. His arms shook, his fingers permanently curled around his daggers.

  Cargan took in a deep breath, then raised his sword and yelled, charging for the pillars.

  Caleb moved beside him, swerving, dodging, and kicking out.

  A minute later they reached the columns.

  Cargan took down the two men between the pillars, then stopped short.

  Caleb kicked out, catching his foe midsection. The man fell back and lay gasping on the ground. He panted and looked up.

  His whole body froze.

  At first he didn’t register the sound, the high-pitched eerie wail. All he could do was stare past the pillars.

  The bottom of the arena was filled with people. A sea of people, hundreds of them: Men, women, even some children, though there were few. Many sported bruises or cuts across their faces, torn clothes, and dark circles under their eyes.

  The sound echoed again across the arena and up through the street. Weeping. First soft, then rising. One woman cried out and lifted her hands, which were bound at the wrists.

  Cargan dropped his sword to his side.

  A couple other men came to stand beside them, gaping at the scene below.

  “Who are they?” From the corner of his eye, Caleb spotted more twisted soldiers coming in their direction.

  Cargan jerked his head as if coming awake, his eyes wide. “They’re Thyrians.”

  His gaze darted across the crowd. “Wait, these aren’t the people we left behind,
are they?”

  “No, other pockets of refugees scattered across Kerre. But if the Shadonae found them, then . . .”

  “The Shadonae probably know about the mines as well.” Simon came up alongside Caleb. “And they knew we were coming.” His robes were soaked and torn along the bottom. He looked over the crowd, his face tight.

  Thyrian solders stood around the arena and between the pillars, with their swords drawn. More were amongst the crowd, their yellow tabards setting them apart. One approached the wailing woman and hit her on the back of the head with his pommel. She fell, disappearing among the sea of people.

  The weeping dimmed, but its undertones echoed across the arena, like the death criers in Temanin who mourned at the pyres. Only more eerie, more haunting.

  Cargan licked his lips. “This explains everything: how we were ambushed, why there were so few soldiers in the barracks. We were set up. But by who?”

  “More soldiers coming.” Caleb lifted his daggers. His arms shook. “Do we still fight?”

  Only a handful of them remained.

  Cargan lifted his sword, “I will never give up.” He pushed his shoulders back, his face set. “I would rather die than let the Shadonae take me!” He gave a loud roar and rushed left toward the oncoming soldiers.

  Two other men followed Cargan.

  It was madness to keep fighting. But he was a Guardian. And if there was any chance he could do something to save these people . . .

  Word, help me.

  Caleb gripped his daggers and dashed into the fray.

  Everything around him blurred except what was right in front of him.

  Grunts and yells filled the air.

  Simon fell to his right.

  Cargan shouted and fell beneath a mass of yellow.

  Sweat stung Caleb’s eyes.

  His daggers slipped between his sweaty fingers.

  His lungs burned.

  I can’t . . . keep . . . going.

  A blade caught him between the shoulder blades.