Townspeople crept back onto the road and surveyed the damage. Before long, a crowd of chattering people had gathered. Alderman Yaric appeared and started barking orders, calling for the bodies to be moved out of the street. D’Jenn ignored the townspeople, and they gave him a wide berth in return. None of them would come close to Raven’s body, and they avoided locking gazes with D’Jenn.
Just before D’Jenn was going to rise and go in search of Kira, she came down the street on the arm of the widow Jeravin. The townspeople parted before them, shooting distrustful glances at their backs. No one was accosted, but D’Jenn wondered if his presence was the only thing keeping the people from violence.
Kira walked to the spot where Aram had been lying before Raven’s magic destroyed his body. She looked at the spot for a long time, sobbing as she hugged Jeravin close. After a while, she approached Raven’s limp form, giving D’Jenn a wan smile. D’Jenn tried to return it, but he’d never been good at such things.
Kira sighed and fell to her knees, giving Raven a long, tearful look. She shook her head and made to speak, but the words caught in her throat. She reached out and closed Raven’s eyes, hiding the vulgar bend of his gaze. With her shoulders slumped, her hands hiding her face, Kira sat and cried over Raven’s body.
The townspeople turned to their tasks and left Kira to her grief.
***
D’Jenn watched as a plume of dark smoke trailed into the sky. The day was as bright and hot as any in Shundovia, with the sun blazing and warm winds blowing from the south. Birds sang in the woods around Aram’s cottage, and the smell of tree sap was strong in the air.
A pair of pyres burned in the center of Aram’s backyard. One held the body of Chaplain Horis, the hungry flames crackling as they sent his soul to the Void. The second pyre contained a smaller body—Raven.
“I never thought any of this could happen here, to us.” Kira sighed and stared at the pyres. “It’s the kind of thing that happens to other people. Never here.”
D’Jenn sighed and shared a look with Jeravin, who stood on Kira’s opposite side. “This kind of thing happens everywhere. I wish it could have been different.”
“Me, too.” Hellyanne came forward and smiled at Kira. “I know I should be angry, but—”
“You’re not,” Kira finished, returning Hellyanne’s smile. “Just sad, right?”
Hellyanne nodded. “Just sad.”
“It’s an injustice, alright.” Jeravin sighed and patted Kira on the arm. “We’ll survive this, though. Things will get better, and we will survive.”
“Do you think?” Kira looked at her.
Jeravin smiled and gathered both younger women into a hug. “Aye, we’ll survive. Girls like us always do, no matter what the gods throw at us. It’s the boys that get to die early and leave us all the trouble.”
D’Jenn shook his head, a smile tickling the corners of his mouth. “What will you all do?”
Hellyanne shared a glance with Kira. “Well, I still have my family’s business to attend. The Alderman had our wagons gathered, so—”
“We’re going to start droving,” Kira said, turning a nervous smile to D’Jenn. “I can’t stay in this town, not anymore. Hellyanne is all alone, and well…”
“I could use new friends.” Hellyanne smiled and clasped hands with Kira. “My father had contacts in Shundov, and in Fal-Nelek, too. He was talking about the Galanian Empire before…before he died. Maybe we’ll go there. He said the Empire is brimming with gold.”
D’Jenn nodded and looked to Jeravin. “What about you, Lady Jeravin?”
“Well, I’m not going to stay here and wait for the next Sheriff to carry out my death sentence, that’s for sure.” Jeravin sighed and shook her head. “I’ve lived here all my life. Maybe it’s time to get out and see the world before my body dries up. I think I’ll head to Lesmira and see my grandson.”
“What about you?” Hellyanne raised her eyebrows at D’Jenn. “I know you’re…well—”
“A wizard?” D’Jenn met her eyes. “A sorcerer?”
Hellyanne blushed as she nodded. “I don’t mean anything by it, but we’re going to be alone on the road. We could use someone around with your…abilities.”
D’Jenn sighed and tried to give the two younger ladies a smile. “I appreciate the offer, and I’m sure you’d be wonderful company, but I can’t.”
Jeravin nodded. “Are you headed to Lesmira?”
“Aye. I’ve got to inform the Mage Tower of Merrick’s death.”
“Make sure you speak well of him.” Jeravin let out a deep sigh and turned back to the pyres. “He was a good man with a good heart. There are so few of them these days.”
“I’ll do that, Lady Jeravin.”
“Too many funeral pyres this season.” Jeravin shook her head. “Too much death.”
“Agreed.” D’Jenn’s eyes went to the bodies in the flames. “It’s always too much.”
D’Jenn made his goodbyes to the three women as dusk painted shadows over the ground. He tied Merrick’s horse to his saddle and set off down the trail leading from Aram’s cottage—now Kira’s cottage—to the main road. The woods were silent, save for the constant chattering of insects.
He came back to the main road and paused at the intersection. To the south lay Rockman’s Ford, where the townspeople would likely be gathered to commiserate over the events of the previous days. Tendrils of smoke reached for the sky from the direction of town, reminding D’Jenn of the smoke coming from the pyres in Kira’s back yard. After a moment spent staring at the sky, D’Jenn clucked to his horse and turned north.
He glanced to Merrick’s empty saddle and found himself missing the man’s bright conversation. Thoughts of Merrick brought Raven to mind, and the fight in the middle of the street. D’Jenn tried to picture Raven with his hands outstretched, dark magic gathered at his fists. The vision that came to mind, though, was just a scared boy with nowhere to run and no one to help him. D’Jenn felt a moment’s guilt for having to kill Raven, but he pushed it down.
Maybe Merrick had a bigger effect on me than I realized.
With a deep, cleansing breath, D’Jenn banished his dark mood. In his line of work, there was always more danger on the horizon, always one more thing to keep him awake at night. Raven hadn’t been the first dangerous thing, and he wouldn’t be the last. The life of a Warlock was little more than discipline and peril.
His eyes turned to the darkening horizon, D’Jenn left Rockman’s Ford behind.
About the Author
D.W. Hawkins is the author of The Seven Signs and The Ballad of the Outrider.
For more from D.W. Hawkins, Join the Conclave, his official mailing list.
You can find out more about him here: www.dwhawkins.com
THE RENEGADE
APPRENTICE
A Hero of Darkness Novella
By
ANDY PELOQUIN
Chapter One
“The two of you ought to be ashamed.” Lectern Tinis’ pudgy lips pursed in disapproval as his mud-colored eyes darted between the boys before him. “Your service to the Master is one of learning. You will one day be scholars, men of learning and refinement. Not the brutes and thugs I see before me.”
Evren wiped the trickle of blood from his mouth. His knuckles ached, but Verald’s jaw would ache far worse for far longer. That alone was worth a busted lip and a black eye.
“As Lecterns-in-training, you are to use words to settle your disputes, never your fists.” Lectern Tinis folded his hands over his heavy gut and reclined in the over-stuffed armchair behind his ornate desk. “Those pendants you wear mark you as servants to the Master. Do I need to remind either of you what the words inscribed thereupon say?”
Evren resisted the urge to touch the platinum crescent moon that hung around his neck. He’d thumbed it so many times the words “Servitude, Humility, Concord” had faded.
The Lectern leaned forward, and the table creaked beneath his weight. “Have either of
you ought to say for yourselves?”
Evren shot a glance at Verald, who sat stiffly in the hard-backed wooden chair beside him. Neither of the two young men spoke—Lectern Tinis’ punishment would only worsen if they offered excuse or justification.
“So be it.” Lectern Tinis gave a dramatic sigh and waved a fat hand toward the door. “To your cells, the both of you. Remain there until Lectern Uman comes for you.”
Evren clenched his fists, but he couldn’t stop the shudder from running down his spine. There was no worse punishment than this.
“I warn you,” the Lectern said, leaning forward in his chair, “resist the urge to pursue whatever grievance exists between you. Our service to the Master consists not only of seeking his holy wisdom but aspiring to follow the example of virtue and nobility he has set for us. A day of abstinence from food and water should suffice to remind you of your duties to our god.”
“Yes, Lectern Tinis,” Evren and Verald intoned in unison. Together, they bowed to the Lectern then turned to leave.
As always, Evren was struck by the richness of the Lectern’s rooms. Tapestries worked with gold and silver thread hung from the white marble walls, and the suite adjoining the priest’s office held a massive four-poster canopied bed, a plush divan, and a shelf laden with rare volumes—no doubt “borrowed” from the Vault of Stars.
The halls outside Lectern Tinis’ rooms were equally adorned with valuables: bronze vases, prized Fehlan ice candles sitting in brass candlesticks, teak furniture, and gold and silver statuettes worth a fortune. No outsiders ever visited this section of the temple, so none but the Lecterns knew the full extent of the wealth housed in the Master’s Temple.
That wasn’t the only truth known exclusively to the Lecterns. These halls concealed more dark, twisted secrets than the rest of Vothmot would ever know.
He and Verald walked through the lamp-lit corridors toward the staircase that descended five floors to ground level. The two apprentice Lecterns remained silent until they left the ornately decorated High Lectern’s floor behind.
“You bastard!” Verald growled in a low whisper.
“Coward,” Evren retorted without looking at the apprentice. “Picking on those weaker than you.”
“You watch your back, fifth-year.” Verald’s voice was quiet but thick with menace. “The temple’s got too many shadows. Never know what’ll jump out at you when your back’s turned.”
Evren’s fists balled, but before he could whirl on the boy, a pair of green-and-silver-robed Lecterns appeared in the stairway below them. The two apprentices bowed as they made way for the priests to pass, but the Lecterns paid them no heed. The youths were beneath their notice until they were accepted as full-fledged priests in service to Kiro, the Master. Only the handful of Lecterns—including Tinis and Uman—tasked with training the apprentices even spoke to them. Conversation had no place in a life spent in meditation, silent study, and chores.
“You know where to find me,” Evren snarled when the Lecterns had disappeared around the bend in the staircase. “Don’t think just because you’re a sixth-year that won’t stop me from giving you another beating.”
Evren stepped close and stared into Verald’s eyes. At thirteen, Verald was a year older than him and nearly a hand taller, but his rail-thin arms couldn’t drive a punch with enough force to slow Evren down. He’d taken far worse knocks from the eighth-year apprentices.
“Verald!” A hard, angry voice echoed through the stairway.
Verald blanched and turned toward the speaker. “Dracat, I—"
“Shut up!” Dracat, a dark-haired ninth-year and captain of Grey Tower’s fighters, stalked up the stairs toward them. “I hear you two got caught fighting?”
“I-It was nothing, Dracat,” Verald stammered.
“Nothing?” Dracat loomed over Verald, his face a mask of rage. “Tinis is giving you the hunger treatment, right? Locked in your room for a day?”
“Yes, but—"
Dracat slapped him, hard, and the crack echoed off the dark stone walls of the hall. “No buts, Verald. I don’t give a rat’s arse if you’re kept out of the matches, but I had four imperials riding on Evren here getting laid out cold in the third round.” The older boy’s eyes went to Evren. “All of Grey Tower’s been looking forward to watching Engerack beat the snot out of you. Too many of us lost on your bout with Warner to let that go by unpunished.”
Evren gritted his teeth. Engerack was a seventh-year that weighed nearly as much as Lectern Tinis, but years spent mucking the stables had turned his body to hard muscle. He doubted he could have done more than stunned the larger seventh-year, and he’d resigned himself to a few weeks of painful recovery. Lectern Tinis’ punishment almost came as a reprieve—until he remembered Lectern Uman would be paying him a visit. He’d take a year of Dracat’s bare-knuckled fights any day.
“Don’t think this gets you out of it,” Dracat snapped, his teeth bared in a snarl. He bent low and whispered into Evren’s ear. “I might just have to put you against Oldsek for this.”
Evren’s gut clenched. Even Engerack feared Oldsek—the wiry eighth-year hadn’t lost a match since he bit Vorth’s nose off.
“Let’s go, Verald.” Dracat seized the fifth-year by the collar and dragged him down the stairs, then shoved him down a side hallway that led to Grey Tower, one of the four minarets rising from the Master’s Temple. “We’ll be waiting for you,” he called over his shoulder. “I just hope starvation and thirst doesn’t weaken you too much.”
Evren’s heart hammered a panicked beat in his chest as he hurried down a hallway in the opposite direction. The distance to White Tower might have been a few hundred steps, but dread made it feel like a hundred leagues. Dracat could out-cruel anyone in White Tower. Evren’s next fight, whenever it happened, would be heavily weighted against him. The best he could hope for was a beating without any broken bones.
The main area of the Master’s Temple reeked of grandeur, with high-vaulted ceilings, plush Al Hani rugs, and more ornate woven tapestries of every conceivable hue. People came from all around Einan to see the Grand Chapel’s breathtaking stained glass window, or to bask in the sunlight that streamed through the enormous glass dome in the central nave—the light of the Master’s wisdom, some said, able to turn even a fool wise.
But there were many sections that the people of Vothmot never saw: the Grand Lectern’s rooftop suite, the luxurious rooms of the High Lecterns, and the vast knowledge stored deep underground in the Vault of Stars. And the dingy, freezing cells where the apprentice Lecterns spent their ten years of training to become priests in service to Kiro, the Master, father of the gods.
The main temple building served as home to the Lecterns, and the apprentices’ cells filled the lowest levels of the temple’s four minarets. Close to a hundred boys between the ages of eight and seventeen lived in Black, White, Grey, and Crystal Towers.
The corridors that led into White Tower were simple, all bare stone walls and floors, lacking the elegance of the main temple. He dreaded running into any of the other White Tower apprentices—Rhyris, the ninth-year who served as captain of White Tower’s fighters, would lay into him for his scuffle with Verald. No doubt he had a lot of money riding on Evren’s fight with Engerack—which side had he bet on?
Down one floor he went, then he turned into the stark hallway that led to the apprentices cells. He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the plain wooden door to his cell. He’d made it without trouble.
The cell doors bore deadbolts and padlocks, but the Lecterns rarely used them. They had apprentices to keep even the most stubborn and problematic—those like Evren—in line.
The interior of his cell was dark, with no windows, candles, or lanterns to provide illumination. The thin strip of lamplight leaking through the barred slot on the cell’s door was wasted on the featureless stone walls, floor, and ceiling of the cramped chamber. Four steps wide and five steps long; he’d paced it a thousand times during the many days h
e’d spent locked away as punishment for some misdeed.
The Lecterns believed apprentices needed nothing more than bare stone cells—nothing to distract them from their devotion to the Master. Only once they were accepted into the temple’s service did they receive a proper room, and never any as nice as Lectern Tinis’ luxurious chamber. By all appearances, his duties as caretaker for the apprentices in the Master’s Temple afforded him more luxuries than the other Lecterns. Either that, or Lancred was right and Tinis was dipping into the temple’s coffers to line his pockets.
“Evren?”
The quiet voice came from the pile of straw heaped against the room’s eastern wall, the only thing resembling furniture in the bare chamber.
“It’s me, Daver.” Evren knelt beside the bed. “How’s the head?”
“Better, I think.” The mattress rustled as Daver tried to sit up.
Evren studied Daver’s forehead in the dim lamplight. The blood leaking from the gash above his right eyebrow had begun to crust. Verald couldn’t hit hard enough to give even a smaller, weaker fifth-year like Daver a concussion.
“Stay down, Daver.” Evren pushed the boy’s shoulders back down to the sparse bed. “You remember what happened that time I took a head hit against Lancred?”
Daver gave a little laugh. “You emptied your guts on Rhyris’ new sandals.”
“The dizziness’ll pass with a bit of rest,” Evren said, and he couldn’t help smiling at the memory. Rhyris had beaten him soundly, but the leather sandals the ninth-year had been so proud of had never been seen again. Here in the Master’s Temple, that was as close to happiness as it got.
“You shouldn’t have intervened, Evren,” Daver said in a quiet voice. “Verald’s going to find a way to get even with you, and Dracat and Rhyris are going to be pissed that you missed your fight.”
“I’m not worried about them. I’m just worried about you, Daver.” Evren sat on the floor beside the head of the bed he and the smaller boy shared. “I told you I’d watch out for you, and so I will.”
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