by C. Greenwood
The rooftop of the temple was the only place left Geveral could think to look for the assassin. He had checked every room and questioned every attendant he encountered, but there was no sign of Server Parthenia’s killer. At last, he had climbed the open stairways winding around the outside of the building leading up to the highest level.
Up here in the warm sunlight there was no place to hide. The roof was flat, except for the upswept corners, and sheltered only by a low wall around the sides. Geveral went to the edge, thinking his quarry could be kneeling out of sight on the other side of that wall. But he found nothing there but a view of the long drop down to the garden below.
He could see Eydis down there now on her way toward the sacred grove, where she doubtless intended to broaden her search. There were other moving dots hurrying around the grounds, their white robes marking them as temple attendants. It looked like they had decided to endanger themselves by joining in pursuit of the killer, even though they possessed no weapons and would be entirely helpless if they were unlucky enough to stumble across the man they sought.
Geveral looked at the weapon in his own hand, the sword he had been carrying all morning since learning of Parthenia’s murder. Golden sunlight glinted off the steel.
He had hoped upon reaching Silverwood Grove never to take up this particular tool again. Stolen from the enemy in a moment of desperation, the sword had been a necessary evil. He had needed it to defend Eydis and Kalandhia from the undead soldiers. But now here it was, necessary once again.
The morning suddenly seemed a little less warm as the sun ducked behind thick clouds rolling in from nowhere. The gentle breeze sweeping over the rooftop turned into a chill wind.
Ever since leaving Treeveil and venturing into the greater world, Geveral had been pulled farther and farther from his dryad roots. He had accepted many things that went against the customs of his people because of the importance of supporting Eydis in her quest. And yes, maybe because his involvement in such a heroic adventure helped him to forget the family tragedies he had left behind. But laying no hand to weapons of steel was a tradition so old few dryad elders could even remember where it had come from. Which caused the violation of this ancient law to disturb him in a way no other infraction had.
The blade felt heavier in his hand with each passing minute as Geveral felt himself separated more and more from the past and the person he had once been.
When a shadow fell over the roof, he looked up to find heavy clouds centered over the temple. The wind grew stronger and more stinging. Little flakes drifted down to light on his skin. Geveral could only watch, startled, as a flurry of summer snowflakes swirled around him.
WITHIN THE TEMPLE
The oracle stirred, tormented by dreams more vivid than any she had experienced in years. Despite the pain, she clung to the visions, exalting at the return of a power she had feared lost to her. It reaffirmed her purpose. It meant the pool guardians could no longer deny her. Server Parthenia could no longer look on her with a cool expression of knowing. She would not be reduced again to the state of her childhood, a freakish and helpless object of pity and contempt.
When the last misty remnants of her dreams dispersed, the oracle opened her eyes. She lay upon a soft surface in a dimly lit room she recognized as a private chamber. Through a tall slit-like window above, she felt a cold draft and thought she saw snowflakes swirling past. But this time of year that must be her imagination.
Nearby sat a solitary figure, keeping watch in the corner. Seeing the oracle stir, the white-robed attendant flew into exclamations of joy and made as if to dash off and alert the whole temple to the good news.
But the oracle instead mutely signaled the girl to bring her water.
The attendant poured a crystal stream from a pitcher on a nearby table and knelt to lift the oracle’s head and help her drink. Weakened from her long sleep, the oracle was unable to perform even so simple a task unaided. But at least her throat was no longer parched from disuse. The cool water flowed through her, restoring her.
Attempting to speak, she found her voice low and rusty, after so long a silence.
“What is it?” asked the eager attendant. “What is Your Wisdom trying to say?”
“The mistress of masks has found truth, the betrayer purpose, and the summoner power,” the oracle rasped. “It is time.”
Continue the adventure in Book 4, Clash of Catalysts
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA TODAY bestselling author C. Greenwood started writing stories shortly after learning her ABCs and hasn't put down her pen since. After falling in love with the fantasy genre more than a decade ago, she began writing sword and sorcery novels. The result was the birth of her best known works, the Legends of Dimmingwood series. In addition to her writing, Ms. Greenwood is a wife, mom and graphic designer.
Want to learn more about C. Greenwood or her books? Check out her website or “like” her on Facebook.
Legends of Dimmingwood Series
Magic of Thieves ~ Book I
Betrayal of Thieves ~ Book II
Circle of Thieves ~ Book III
Redemption of Thieves ~ Book IV
Journey of Thieves ~ Book V
Rule of Thieves ~ Book VI
Catalysts of Chaos Series
Mistress of Masks ~ Book I
Betrayer of Blood ~ Book II
Summoner of Storms ~ Book III
Clash of Catalysts ~ Book IV
