Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1)

by Morgan L. Busse

  Like the store itself, this building was plain and simple. To her right was the fireplace. An old clock sat on the mantle. Logs were neatly stacked in the corner. A braided rug covered the dirt floor. Two wooden chairs sat a couple of feet away from fireplace. Faded yellow curtains framed the window across from her. In the far left corner was a narrow door. The room smelled like smoke and dirty laundry.

  “Tell me everything,” Ben said, settling down in one of the chairs.

  Taking a seat in the other, Father Reth began. Nierne went to stand next to the fireplace. She watched the red coals burning inside. As Father Reth spoke of the Shadonae, the room seemed to go cold. His story was similar to hers: He had been helping others escape when he was caught himself and taken to the fortress. Apparently too old to be of use, the Shadonae had kept him locked up, until a couple of nights ago, when he had escaped, the same night Nierne had.

  “So what are your plans now?” Ben sat forward, his elbows propped up on his knees. “I’d offer you a place here, but I’m thinking of leaving myself.”

  “No, that’s all right,” Father Reth said with a wave of his hands. “We’re traveling to the White City.”

  “The White City?” Ben sat back. “You’re going to try and cross the Ari Mountains? Why?”

  “We are searching for the Eldarans.”

  Ben rose from his chair with a faraway look on his face. He walked toward the fireplace and placed a hand on the mantle. “Eldarans, huh?”

  Nierne watched the older man, wondering what he was thinking. At last, Ben turned back around. “Many years ago, an Eldaran stopped in this village, carrying a small baby. She stayed only a night, then left. I have no idea where to. But one thing was for sure—she was scared of something. She was always looking over her shoulder.”

  Father Reth stood. “You met an Eldaran?” Excitement shone in his eyes. “How do you know she was an Eldaran?”

  “Her hand,” Ben replied, still looking as if he was gazing into the past. “The mark of the Word was on her hand.”

  “I knew it!” Father Reth said. “I knew the Word would not leave us without help.”

  Ben’s eyes came back into focus. “You don’t know if she’s still alive, Reth. And if she is, where she would be now.”

  “No,” Father Reth said. “But it is enough to know that they still exist. Or at least that they did some years ago—within our lifetimes.”

  The room grew quiet. Nierne turned and looked at the window. Outside, the sun had set, leaving the room dark except for the flickering orange light from the coals.

  “I have a map that should help you get over the Ari Mountains,” Ben said. “You’ll also need supplies.” He launched into a list of the provisions they would need to reach the White City.

  After a half hour, Ben glanced at the clock on the mantle. “It’s getting late, and you’ll want a good start in the morning. I have an extra room for you, Nierne,” he said. He walked over to the narrow door in the corner and opened it. Inside were stairs. “Just up the stairs.” Ben looked both of the travelers over. “And you’ll need something more substantial than your monastery robes for traveling. I’ve got a couple shirts and pants in the store you can try on. Nothing fancy, mind you, but they’ll keep you warm and dry.”

  “We’d be grateful for anything you can give us,” Father Reth said.

  Ben looked over at him. “Anything for a friend. Just make sure you come back with a good story to tell me when this is all over,” he said and winked.

  11

  Like wildfire, the news of Hershaw Pass and the fall of Hadrast Fortress swept across the north, leaving a smoke of fear in its wake. Captain Lore could feel the tension even inside the castle. Ever since the day the courier had arrived, panic had rippled through the White City.

  Aiden, Lord Gaynor’s head messenger, stood in the middle of the meeting room. Lord Gaynor paced back and forth, running his fingers over the backs of the chairs that circled the long dark table at the end of the room. A silver tray with a crystal decanter filled with wine and a goblet sat on the table, untouched. Dark clouds filled the narrow windows that lined the outside wall. Lore stood by the windows and watched Lord Gaynor.

  “Send word to all the villages to seek refuge in Mostyn, Garined, and other strongholds,” Lord Gaynor said. “And if they can reach Nordica, all the better. Lord Tancred has offered protection to any Rylander who chooses to sojourn to his country.” He stood for a moment, his hand resting on the back of one of the chairs.

  “Yes, milord. Will that be all?”

  “Yes, Aiden. You are dismissed.”

  Aiden bowed and left the room.

  Lore noted the haggard appearance on Lord Gaynor’s face. This new development was taking its toll on the high lord. He looked years older than he had a week ago, and it had been only a matter of days since the news had arrived.

  “I must send word to Avonai to move up the time of our council,” Lord Gaynor said more softly. “The time for waiting is over. Avonai needs to choose if it will ally with us.” He turned toward Lore. “Lore, I need you to—”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Yes?” Lord Gaynor called out.

  A guard appeared in the doorway.

  “Sir, Prince Evander of Avonai is here to see you.”

  “Prince Evander?” A look of surprise flashed across Lord Gaynor’s face.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Show him in at once.”

  The guard nodded and left.

  “Well, this is unexpected.” Lord Gaynor turned toward Lore. “Hopefully this means that Avonai is ready to form an alliance.” The two men waited the arrival of Avonai’s sovereign.

  Prince Evander arrived moments later with his varor close behind. “Lord Gaynor,” Prince Evander said upon entering the room.

  A guard shut the door quietly behind him.

  “Prince Evander. Please, take a seat.”

  Lore watched Prince Evander cross the room. The young man was short and slim. His face was clean-shaven and had a boyish look. He had the same light brown hair that Lore’s mother had possessed. And the sea eyes of the coastal people. His cloak was wet, making it seem to be a deeper shade of grey than it probably was. Apparently Prince Evander had come straight here from outside.

  His varor followed, a solid looking Avonain. He had the same color of hair and sea eyes as Prince Evander. A scar ran lengthwise over the bridge of his nose and across both cheeks. He gave Lore a slight nod and took his place behind Prince Evander.

  The prince took a seat opposite of Lord Gaynor and began without preamble. “I am here about the alliance.”

  Lord Gaynor gave the prince a small nod. “Please continue.”

  “I am sure by now that you have received reports concerning my father.” Prince Evander paused and glanced at Lord Gaynor.

  Lord Gaynor nodded solemnly.

  “His mind is…unwell,” Prince Evander said tactfully. “The council and I have done everything we can to keep the knowledge of his madness from the people for the sake of stability. Unfortunately there have been times my father has passed decrees without our knowledge, making them law. Five days ago, he passed such a decree, one that had to do with the potential alliance between our countries.”

  Prince Evander stopped. A great weight seemed to sit on his shoulders. Lord Gaynor sat patiently, letting the young man before him take his time.

  “My father met with the grand assembly right after Temanin took control of Hadrast Fortress,” Prince Evander said. “I happened to be away, meeting with the military commanders down in Roneguard. The rest of the council was never informed of the grand assembly until the moment the assembly began. It was there that my father cited his stipulations for Avonai and the coastal people to join the alliance and the war.” A creased formed along the prince’s brow. “Lord Gaynor, he will not ally with you unless you enter into a blood alliance between Avonai and the White City—between our house and yours.”

  Lore felt shoc
ked at this news, but made no move on the outside. Lord Gaynor made no movement either. He merely leaned back, his face unreadable. Prince Evander waited for the high lord’s response.

  “I’m not surprised,” Lord Gaynor finally answered.

  Prince Evander looked at Lord Gaynor with a puzzled expression. “Then you are a wiser man than I, Lord Gaynor, for I was completely ambushed by this move.”

  Lord Gaynor smiled sadly. “For a long time now King Alaric has desired such an alliance between our two peoples. But he also knew that I would never consent to an arranged bonding. I told him that years ago.” Lord Gaynor’s gaze drifted toward the window in thought.

  Prince Evander shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Then what answer should I take back to Avonai?”

  Lord Gaynor looked at the prince. “My statement still stands. I will not bond my daughter to another without her consent. I believe you to be an honorable man, your highness, and potentially a fine match for my daughter. But I will not arrange her bonding.”

  Prince Evander nodded and stood. “Then I will not take up more of your time.” He turned to leave.

  “Prince Evander,” Lord Gaynor said, “you still do not have an answer to take back to Avonai. This alliance is badly needed if we are to drive Temanin back south.”

  Prince Evander turned around, a puzzled look on his face. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. You just said—”

  “That I would not bond my daughter to another without her consent,” Lord Gaynor finished. “But we do not know if she will consent or not. So I invite you and your varor to stay as guests here in the White City. And during your stay, I shall let my daughter know of Avonai’s request. In a few days, she will give you an answer to take back.”

  Prince Evander stood unmoving. Slowly he nodded. “I accept your offer of hospitality.”

  Lord Gaynor rose from his seat. “Good. I will hold a dinner tonight so that you may meet my daughter.”

  “I would be honored.” Prince Evander bowed before Lord Gaynor.

  • • •

  Rowen hurried toward the Guards Quarter, her shift finally done for the day. All day she had followed Lady Astrea around: to her studies, to an afternoon tea, and then time in the library. Not that she was complaining. At least she was able to move around as she followed Lady Astrea—unlike many of the other guards who were stationed around the castle and city. They had to stay rooted in one place until their shift ended.

  Rowen pulled open the door and sighed. No other guards were in the common room. She had it all to herself. A fire roared in the fireplace nearby. Even with spring on its way, winter still held a tight grip on the mountain city. She went directly to the fire and sat down in one of the chairs.

  She closed her eyes and let the heat from the fire soak through her body. This was much better than going back to her room. She had no fireplace there.

  Rowen cracked her eyes open. She had a thought. She looked one more time around the common room. Still empty. Relieved, she began to pull at the tips of her sword glove. Over the months she had grown accustomed to the feel of its leather against her skin, but there was nothing like having her hand free.

  She pulled the glove off and dropped it in her lap. The air felt cool and raw to her skin. Rowen flexed her fingers, then on impulse turned her hand over. It had been weeks since she had last studied her palm. Living here in the castle, with her glove to cover her secret, there were moments she even forgot about the mark.

  The white skin shone with a soft light, barely visible even in the darkening room. Rowen stared at it, wondering what it was or what caused it to glow. Twice she had almost found the courage to ask Balint, the old healer, about her mark. Lore had said that Balint was part Eldaran. But then, remembering the fear her mark had caused the people in her village, that courage had died away. Besides, Lore said there were no more Eldarans.

  Rowen shifted in the chair and placed her hand down on the padded side. Perhaps Cleon was right: Perhaps she was a witch. And if that were true, then it was better for whatever this was to stay hidden.

  Suddenly her stomach growled, jolting her from her thoughts. Time to get something—

  “Rowen?”

  Rowen turned swiftly in the chair. Lore stood behind her.

  When did he come in? she thought frantically, keeping her face toward him. Blindly she reached for her glove.

  Lore began to walk toward her. “I hoped I’d find you here.”

  The glove fumbled in her hand.

  “I’m afraid something’s come up, and I’ll need you to escort Lady Astrea tonight.” Lore frowned. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Rowen tugged the glove back on, hoping against hope that Lore had not seen the mark. How could she have been so foolish to take her glove off here?

  He looked unconvinced. “Are you sure? You seem…nervous.”

  “What does Lady Astrea need me for?” The glove was almost on. She just needed one more moment.

  Lore looked her over one more time before answering. “We have guests from Avonai here this evening, so there is a special dinner planned tonight. You will need to accompany Lady Astrea.”

  Suddenly Rowen noticed that Lore was dressed differently. Instead of his usual white shirt and leather jerkin, he was wearing what looked like his formal uniform. Her heart gave a weird tinge and a strange sensation filled her middle. The dark blue of his tabard brought out the blue in his eyes.

  Blue? Rowen frowned. Wait, weren’t his eyes green?

  “I’m sorry about this,” Lore said. “If I could have someone else cover for you tonight, I would.” He looked at her closely. “You look tired.”

  He’s right, Rowen thought. She had been looking forward to a quick dinner, then bed. Instead, she stood. “It is not a problem, Captain.”

  “Good, I’ll see you there. The dinner starts in a half hour.”

  • • •

  Rowen hurried down the hall toward her own quarters. She splashed water across her face and re-braided her hair. She checked her uniform one more time and headed through the adjoining archway into Lady Astrea’s room.

  Lady Astrea was already dressed in a simple yet elegant white gown. Her hair was pulled up in a dark twist with her silver circlet placed on top. Jaida, her servant girl, was quietly putting her old gown away.

  Lady Astrea looked over at Rowen. “Rowen, it is good to see you again.” She tried to smile, but her lips quivered instead. “I’m sorry that you will not have the night off. We both must attend a dinner this evening.”

  Rowen gave her a polite bow. “Milady, I am here to serve you.”

  Lady Astrea took a deep breath. “Then let us go.”

  Rowen followed Lady Astrea from the room. Something was going on. But what?

  The two walked down the corridor and stairs toward the main dining hall. The double doors were open leading into the room. A guard stood on either side of the doors. Both men bowed to Lady Astrea.

  Inside the hall, noblemen and women were seating themselves around a long wooden table, the length of which reached both sides of the room. A white linen runner lay lengthwise across the dark wood. Several silver candelabras were placed strategically along its surface to create an intimate atmosphere of soft lighting. Polished silver and white porcelain plates had been placed in front of each chair.

  Lady Astrea turned right and headed toward the end where her father sat. Lord Gaynor stood and pulled out her chair. He whispered quietly after she sat. She nodded mutely. He sat down again, and Rowen took up her position behind Lady Astrea.

  Rowen could see new lines creasing Lord Gaynor’s face and a slight sag to his usual rigid stature. Aren stood behind Lord Gaynor, his long blond hair pulled back for the evening while his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Rowen glanced his direction. Aren saw and grinned back.

  More people entered the room. Two men walked past her. The shorter one took a seat beside Lord Gaynor. He was of slight built with light brown hair and a pleasing complexion. Mu
st be the guest from Avonai, Rowen thought, someone important, if he was allowed to sit at Lord Gaynor’s right hand. The taller man stood behind him, his face high enough out of the candlelight that she could not make it out.

  “Good evening.”

  Rowen’s hand flew to her sword. “Captain!” She hoped Lore hadn’t seen her reach for her sword. Slowly she moved her hand back to her side.

  The candlelight softened his face. “Thank you for coming, Rowen. I know it’s been a long day.”

  “It has,” she said truthfully.

  “I do not expect it to be a long night.”

  I hope not, she thought.

  Lore passed her and walked around Lord Gaynor. He stopped and spoke with Aren, then moved to the empty seat beside the young man from Avonai.

  The shuffle of chairs ceased, and the low hum of conversation began. Servants entered the room, bearing silver trays covered with various foods. One servant passed her carrying a basket loaded with warm breads. Hunks of cooked venison and whole cooked game birds on platters were placed between the plates. Wisps of steam floated up from tureens filled with soup. Wine was poured into crystal goblets.

  Every smell assailed Rowen, reminding her that she had not eaten since breakfast. Her stomach rumbled quietly in protest. She placed a hand across her middle and hoped no one heard.

  Soon the faint tinkle of silverware on porcelain replaced much of the conversation. Rowen subtly shifted her weight from one leg to the other. These were the most trying times of being a varor—standing guard.

  To take her mind off of her empty stomach, Rowen began to study the dinner guests around the table. She glanced at Lord Gaynor. He was talking quietly with Lady Astrea. Rowen moved her gaze on to the young man who sat beside him. Who was this special guest? He wore no jewelry except for a single large sapphire ring on his right middle finger. The stone matched his blue silk vest. Was he a nobleman? Or part of Avonai’s royal family? She couldn’t tell by his looks. He must be someone important, though, to travel with a varor.