by C. Greenwood
It was crushing to remember the unquestioning faith she had placed in the oracle. She had risked not only her own life but those of Orrick and Geveral to follow the oracle’s whims. All because she had believed the great oracle of the grove to be selflessly following the will of the Mother. Now, as she stepped into the cool shallows, she questioned what had driven the oracle to manipulate her. And not only her but an entire temple of followers.
Cutting sharper still was the thought of all Eydis’s years spent at the Shroudstone seclusionary, studying to become an adherent. So many seclusionaries and isolatioms across Lythnia housed men and women who truly believed they were serving the First Couple. Certain that Head Hearers like Hearer Justina would not participate in such a conspiracy, Eydis could only believe there were persons of higher rank, perhaps even heads of Lythnian government, behind the lies.
The water lapped around Eydis’s waist now as she moved deeper into the pool. She was too absorbed in her troubled reflections to mind the chill of the water or to look for the guardians she knew must be silently watching her.
In the end, perhaps it was unimportant who had perpetuated the legend of the First Couple and what petty aims drove its continuation. What mattered was that Eydis had been awakened, both to the painful truth and an understanding of a new power. That of the eternals who sometimes guarded and other times interfered with the affairs of men.
With such unpredictable allies, Eydis couldn’t afford to place too much trust in anyone now. If Rathnakar was to be defeated and Earth Realm spared a reign of chaos, it seemed mortals would have to rely on themselves alone for survival. It was both a comforting and a terrifying thought.
Resolve growing within her, Eydis took a deep breath and plunged beneath the water’s surface.
* * *
Eydis felt refreshed as she followed the pebbled walk back toward the temple. Her hair was still damp from her visit to the sacred pool, her mind still focused on the recent revelations. But the waters had given her peace again, had extended a glimmer of hope that she grasped with both hands. It wasn’t much, but she would take any possibility of an outcome that didn’t end in destruction.
The effects of the viper’s venom had fully worn off by the time she entered the shade of the gold-blossomed trees lining her way. She spotted Geveral leaning against the trunk of one tree. She had been aware of him watching her from a distance ever since she had left the temple. But he hadn’t disturbed her privacy, giving her time alone to think through all she had newly learned.
“Thank you,” she said when the path brought her to him. “I needed a chance to order my thoughts.”
“Are you feeling better now?” he asked, joining her as she ambled up the walk.
“Much,” she answered truthfully, although she suspected he was referring more to her physical recovery than her earlier emotional turmoil. “I have been shown the path I must follow next. The way ahead has become clear to me, although it remains to be seen whether I will travel it with or without the oracle.”
Geveral seemed to understand instinctively that she wasn’t ready to elaborate on the shocking declaration she had made back in the oracle’s chamber. He didn’t even ask whether anything more had been revealed to her while she was in the sacred pool.
For a moment, she viewed his silence as tact. Then she wondered if it might be something else instead.
“You’re in pain,” she realized, observing the way he continued to limp on his right leg. “You’ve been suffering for a long time now, and I’ve been too preoccupied to notice.”
“We’ve both had a few distractions,” he said lightly. “What with being taken prisoner by living corpses, fighting our way free, and escaping on the back of a dragon, a few bumps and bruises have been easy to overlook.”
“You should be seen by a healer,” Eydis decided. “And we must get you a new walking stick. You’ve been forced to walk too much on that bad leg, and it’s set back your recovery.”
Before he could respond, a sudden clanging noise interrupted their conversation. It was the loud pealing of a bell. The frantic sound came from the temple and rang out over the grounds, transforming the peaceful scene into one of commotion. Attendants who had been walking or meditating in the tranquil gardens dropped their activities and converged on the temple. Eydis was reminded of a lot of bees swarming in to defend their nest.
“What’s happening? Do you think we’re under attack?” Geveral asked. “Or maybe something’s happened to the oracle?”
Eydis had no answers. They both quickened their steps and hurried up the stairs to the temple porch. They had to push through a number of attendants blocking their way.
Inside, the temple was abuzz with confusion. Everyone was hurrying in one direction or another, but no one seemed to know what was going on.
Eydis caught the arm of a passing attendant. “What’s wrong? Why is everyone in a panic?”
“The alarm has been sounded, but nobody knows why,” came the nervous response. “The last time that bell was rung a wildfire threatened the grove. If the wind hadn’t turned, we would have lost all the sacred trees that day.”
Unfortunate though that would have been, it wasn’t ancient trees Eydis was worried about. She obtained hurried directions to the room the oracle had been moved to and rushed that way.
She found the oracle sleeping quietly in a dimly lit private room not far from the common sleeping quarters shared by attendants. The oracle looked as weak and wasted as ever but appeared to be in no immediate danger.
Noting with approval that Geveral had again taken up the sword he had set aside earlier, Eydis left him to guard the sleeping oracle while she rushed away.
The bell stopped its clanging as she ran down the empty corridor toward the great chamber the oracle used to occupy. Somehow the abrupt silence seemed even more ominous than the noise. Eydis met no one in the short hall. Most of the attendants appeared to have headed off for the sacred grove now, doubtless afraid the ancient trees were at risk again.
Even the customary pair of attendants were not at their posts on either side of the granite door. Now the oracle had been moved, there was no need for them. Eydis had to put her shoulder to the stone and push hard to budge the heavy door that usually required the efforts of two to open.
Beyond it, she found the darkened interior as she had left it, only still more shadowed than before. Some of the torches along the walls had burned out and gone unattended, probably because there was no reason for anyone to be in the chamber anymore. Yet a spark of intuition told Eydis she wouldn’t find the room empty.
She was right. Advancing down the center of the chamber, between the rows of cold caldrons, she stumbled across a shiny substance on the floor, a wetness that reflected the flickering light of the nearest remaining torch. Nearby was another small pool in the shape of a smudged footprint. Eydis knelt to touch the sticky liquid, and her fingers came away crimson.
Instantly, she reached for her knife, only to discover herself unarmed. She had forgotten her undead captors had recently robbed her of the weapon. Even as an icy chill rippled down her spine, she refused to turn and flee the room. She had to know.
Her eye lit on a pale bit of fabric, a strip of flimsy cloth with a flowered pattern, trailing across the floor. The rest of it was hidden behind the nearby dais. Eydis rushed around the dais to find a prone figure lying on the floor stones. She needed only to see the waist-length silver braid and loose flowered wrap to identify the still form.
She turned the body over. The pale face of Server Parthenia looked up at her, the eyes glazed and lifeless, the thin lips drained of color. Even in death, the server’s face was strangely devoid of fear or any other expression. Her end must have been swift. There was a dagger protruding from her heart and smears in the surrounding pool of blood, as though someone had stepped in the liquid and tracked it across the floor.
Even amid her shock at the grisly discovery, Eydis noticed there was something familiar about the bone-h
andled dagger that had been thrust through the dead woman’s chest. She had seen that dagger before, in the hand of the assassin in Hedgecote.
She whirled around, scanning the surrounding shadows for signs of him. But to her relief, she was alone. The enemy had gone, leaving behind nothing but the hideous proof of his work.
Eydis abandoned Parthenia’s corpse and left the room, mind racing to figure out where the killer could have gone and how he had followed her this far in the first place. Although she had flown partway to Silverwood swiftly on the back of a dragon, he hadn’t been delayed as she had by wandering lost in the wetland swamp and being captured by Varian Nakul. Even so, someone must have informed him of her ultimate destination. The interfering wizard of the tower, who had employed him in the past?
Eydis peered cautiously into every doorway she passed but caught no sight of the assassin. Encountering a small group of attendants who hadn’t rushed to the grove with the others, she hastily broke the news of Server Parthenia’s terrible murder and told them the temple would have to be searched from top to bottom for the killer.
Even as the frightened attendants scattered to spread the word, Eydis knew it was unlikely the assassin would linger to be captured. Or even if he did, that he could be overpowered by unarmed attendants. Clearly, it would be best if the search was conducted by her and Geveral.
She hurried to the chamber where the oracle rested to inform Geveral of what had happened. On hearing of Server Parthenia’s death, the dryad paled. That was surprising, since Eydis hadn’t thought him well enough acquainted with the server to be so touched by her death. They had only just met. Even Eydis, though she regretted the death, couldn’t claim to have been fond of the frosty-mannered woman.
“The real question,” she told Geveral, “is why she was killed at all. It’s me the assassin has been hunting all this time. Perhaps Parthenia accidentally stumbled upon him and he had no choice but to silence her.”
Geveral looked more disturbed than ever. “What if your death was never the assassin’s purpose? Maybe what he was most concerned with was obtaining what he believed you carried.”
“I have thought of this,” Eydis admitted. “It’s possible his ultimate goal has been to gain the scepter. I didn’t have it in my possession back in Hedgecote. It was in your keeping then. But our assassin failed to uncover that crucial detail.”
She sighed. “At least we can thank the Mother the scepter is safe with you.”
Geveral continued to look uncomfortable. In fact, his forehead was damp with perspiration, though the room wasn’t warm.
An alarming suspicion stirred within Eydis. “Geveral, the scepter is still in your care, isn’t it?”
“I left it in the oracle’s chamber,” he burst out miserably. “While you were unconscious from the viper’s venom, I found a moment to stow it in the shadows beneath one of the caldrons. Parthenia must have found it after we left the room and paid the price for her discovery.”
There was no time to stand dismayed. They fetched an attendant to sit with the sleeping oracle and rushed off, returning to the gruesome scene of Parthenia’s death. Eydis had little hope that the scepter had gone miraculously undetected by the enemy. A quick search of its hiding place confirmed her fears. The magical scepter, together with the powers that made so many desire it, was gone.
Eydis’s heart was heavy as she and Geveral separated to continue the planned search of the temple and its grounds. The scepter and the assassin who possessed it were likely already out of reach. Server Parthenia was dead and the oracle unfit to provide any help, even if Eydis could find it in her to trust that person again. Even the First Mother could no longer be looked to as a source of inspiration, now the truth of her existence was known.
The only glimmer of hope remaining in the whole situation was the vision Eydis had experienced in the pool an hour ago. She had yet to share that with anyone.
Then there was one other comforting thought. Orrick. It pleased her to know the barbarian was still out there somewhere, probably in the process of clearing his name. He, at least, was free from danger.
EPILOGUE
SOMEWHERE IN THE RANGELANDS
Orrick didn’t remember the name of this strange town. He thought it was Towbridge or possibly Tugbridge. Since parting ways with the redhead and the dryad, he had lost track of all the towns and little villages he had passed. Most of them he had avoided, mindful of the price on his head and the danger of being recognized. But when the meager supplies Geveral had given him were gone, he finally had to stop at this riverside town of shabby little mud hovels and half-timbered, slate-roofed shops.
He had come after sundown and kept to backstreets, where he was least likely to be noticed. It was difficult to find a trader open for business at this late hour. When he finally searched one out, the shifty-eyed man had refused to trade for anything but his armor and helm. Not that Orrick had much else to offer, apart from his sword, and he certainly would never part with that.
And so here he was now, scurrying like a sneak thief down the dark alleys leading out of town, wearing no disguise but a heavy cloak with the hood pulled low over his head. For a moment, he almost wished for Eydis’s magical ability to mask features. The last thing he needed was to fall into the hands of the Lythnian authorities. Especially now that he finally knew where to find Arik the One-Eyed and only needed to cross the kingdom and its borders to reach him.
The scent of old fish wafted to his nostrils on the evening breeze. The riverside docks were only a few streets over, and their stench could be smelled from a mile away. Orrick could live with any other sort of filth, but he had hated the stench of rotting fish ever since the days of his imprisonment in the Morta den ’Cairn. So if he had possessed any thoughts of putting up at a local inn for the night, the reek of the town would have put an end to the idea.
No, with his traveler’s pack now bulging with supplies for his journey to the Lostlands, all he wanted from this nameless little town was to put it behind him. Once he was safely out on the roads, he would find a good hedge to sleep under.
His busy thoughts were interrupted when he spied movement up ahead near the mouth of the alley. An indistinct figure separated itself from the shadows of the wall and stepped out into the moonlight. Orrick couldn’t make out many details of the stranger. His back was to a distant streetlamp. Only his edges were outlined by its weak glow. He wore a short cloak that only came down to his knees and a strange three-cornered hat tilted at a crooked angle.
If the combination of unusual costume and unremarkable height and build were not enough to identify the stranger, Orrick would have known him still by the laziness of his stance. He slouched casually, neither hand reaching for the sword clearly visible at his hip or for one of the many knives likely concealed elsewhere. He looked as if he saw no reason to fear this particular barbarian approaching him in a dark backstreet.
The thieftaker’s voice broke the stillness. “So, I find you at last. The infamous traitor of Endguard.”
Orrick slowed his steps.
Although they kept themselves out of sight, he knew the man’s hirelings couldn’t be far away. The thieftaker wouldn’t give off such a stink of confidence if he had no hired muscle nearby to back him up.
“Aren’t you going to ask who told me I would find you here?” taunted the thieftaker. “Surely you’re a little curious?”
Orrick drew his sword from its scabbard, letting the threatening ring of steel do the answering for him. There was no need to wonder how the bounty tracker had found him. With the tracing mark still throbbing away uncomfortably inside his skull, it didn’t take much wits to figure out the oracle had grown impatient with his failure to bring her the scepter and had betrayed him to his enemies.
The thieftaker appeared unconcerned, perfectly comfortable with blocking the escape route of a wanted man who had a ready sword in his hand.
That was when Orrick heard it. The soft sounds of someone creeping up on him from behin
d. He whirled to confront two armed shadowy attackers. The thieftaker’s companions had arrived.
Orrick met the oncoming assault of the first man head-on, deflecting the fellow’s blade and following up with an attack of his own that forced his opponent back.
But the second man joined the first, and Orrick found himself with an enemy on either side. Neither of his enemies was Orrick’s match with a blade, but they worked in practiced unison to block his thrusts.
Orrick had no time for a drawn-out fight. He was keenly aware that his freedom and very life depended on quickly and quietly cutting these men down and fleeing town before an alarm could be raised. But before he could break past their joint defense to inflect a scratch on either swordsman, there came a whisper of movement from over his shoulder.
He had had no choice but to turn his back on the thieftaker, relying on the probable cowardice of a man who let his companions do the dangerous work for him. He realized now that had been a mistake.
He half turned but had time to do no more than catch a glimpse of the thieftaker’s victorious grin before something heavy came down hard on the back of Orrick’s head. There was an explosion of pain, and the already shadowy world around him became cloaked in utter darkness. He struggled to remain on his feet, but dizziness assailed him. Dimly, he felt his sword slipping from his numb fingers. It clattered loudly to the paving stones.
Orrick followed it, hitting the ground with a force that knocked out of him whatever strength he had been holding onto. Consciousness was slipping away.
Vaguely, as if across a great distance, he heard the thieftaker’s smug words drifting down to him.
“Don’t you go and die on us, betrayer. You’re worth more alive right now than as a stinking corpse. But you’ll be one of those soon enough.”
ATOP THE TEMPLE OF SILVERWOOD GROVE
