“I may be a Vicoute by birth,” Arlen den’Selthir spoke, his blue eyes scathing. “But to the Kingsmen, I am the best weapon we have now.”
CHAPTER 30 – TEMLIN
The lad hadn’t come. All night they’d waited in the Rare Tomes Room, until they’d lost track of the hour in the underground catacomb and walked out, bleary to another ferocious sunny day. Abbess Lenuria had locked the doors with a curt dismissal and a fierce eyeball of reprimand for Temlin. And now it was well past midafternoon, and Temlin was writhing in the muggy heat, still feeling both the vast displeasure of his Abbott and Abbess, that he had let such an important personage get away from the Shemout’s grip.
Blinking back fatigue over the tome he was reading, sweat slid down his neck. His reading-chamber was stifling despite the thickness of the stone. Dust motes tracked lazily through a shaft of pearled-glass light, weaving between blue, to yellow to green. Temlin stared at them, realized he had been lost for minutes, then sighed and leaned back in his wooden chair. Putting his bare feet up on the desk, he gazed at the tome peevishly through his spectacles.
He would’ve given his right testicle for a beer right now. But after last night’s events, he needed to earn his Abbott and Abbess’ trust back. Shemout or not, Jenner or not, he’d made a vast mistake letting that lad go, without even getting his name or the location of his lodgings. Temlin’s gaze settled upon the tome, feeling that old twist of responsibility. Once, he’d been a kings’ son and brother to the heir. Once, he’d led armies on the battlefield. Now he was an old spy, rotting away in this abbey and expected to be both celibate and sober as per his station, not to mention obedient.
Temlin rubbed the bridge of his nose beneath his half-spectacles, very suddenly needing a drink with a roaring fervor. He put his spectacles up on his grey-riven red hair and massaged his tired eyes with his palms. Lowering his spectacles, he peered once more at Mollia’s journal, wishing for the hundredth time that he could make sense of it.
Of her gift with the Alranstones, of her madness.
Unintelligible scrawls covered the page of this, her final volume before she had blocked up the Abbeystone two years ago after Uhlas’ death and had never been seen again. Complicated sigils dominated entire areas, and then were squeezed in, in a tiny hand, next to certain words or letters. Words wound themselves in and through certain sigils, and all of it was mush. Some words were High Alrakhan, some were Lhemvian, some had been identified as Muirrean, a country with a collection of maritime isles far out over the Thentos Gulf. Many were Menderian, but with strange spellings and diacritical marks Temlin had never seen. And there were still languages and sigils no one had been able to identify. Temlin growled in frustration, his eye falling upon a word in High Alrakhan that summed up his mood nicely.
Blutengen. Blood's teeth.
That was what he got for trying to decipher a mad blind woman’s journal. And just as he thought of her, his wretched heart twisted again, still loving her after all these years. They had been just children when both he and Uhlas had fallen for her. And she had been beautiful and whole, unspoiled and without her madness, still with beautiful cobalt eyes he could drown in. And yet, Temlin had been cursed, always in the shadow of his brother. Uhlas had won Molli. Won her hand, won her bed, won her completely. And then had to hide her in the Abbey as she grew more and more insane, raving with her madness though she was only sixteen at the time. He couldn’t have married her.
But he kept her, all these years.
It had been King’s business. Temlin had been disowned from the line of succession by then, chucked in here to rot also, mad in another way, with drink and raging. But Mollia den'Lhorissian had been mad before Uhlas became besotted with her when they all had been young, mad with something that an abstinence from drink couldn’t cure. She had been mad when she broke his heart with that madness and he locked her up at the First Abbey and then wedded Sorilea den’Ihlent, second-daughter of the King of Praough. Mollia had been mad when Sorilea died in childbirth bearing Elyasin, and the King had grieved himself right back into her arms.
And she had been mad, as far as everyone knew, ever since.
Unless she’s dead.
Temlin’s heart gave another vicious twist. He was about to stand and shuffle himself off to the brewery, damn the hour and his promise to himself, when a tow-headed Brother popped his head around the door.
“Brother Temlin?” He hurried breathlessly.
“I’m busy! You are not a beer!” Temlin snarled rashly.
The lad blinked in surprise. “Sorry, brother, but there’s a woman to see you!”
Temlin slung his feet off the desk with a growl. But he found himself curious by the lad’s flighty eagerness. There had been a time when Molli had stirred lust in Temlin’s own loins and a beast in his heart, beating his temper to a fury. But as he saw the lovely creature with the honey-blonde braid trip amusingly over her own feet around his doorframe, Temlin suddenly broke into a broad smile, his worries vanished. This woman was welcome, indeed. And not just because she was lovely. Because she was the companion of the Goldenmarked Kingsman who had slipped away yesterday and not returned.
“Away with you lad, and quit gawking at her pretty breasts!” Temlin snapped at the brother lingering in the doorway. “Fetch a mug for our guest, and some bread. Fuck it all, it’s hot! Fetch two mugs!”
The young brother flushed to the roots of his hair. He stammered something unintelligible, gazed at the young woman’s tits and then tried to stop gazing, couldn’t, tripped himself around the doorframe, nearly fell on his ass, and rushed away.
Temlin burst into laughter as the young woman sat upon his couch. “Ah! Child! He’ll be pulling himself into his ale for weeks by the sight of you, I’ll give you that!”
She flushed brightly, winsome and appreciative that someone had noticed her beauty. But her sincerity that followed was unexpected. “Brother Temlin, I was wondering if you could assist me.”
“Anything a Brother of the Way can do, he will do. And how is your handsome friend? I rather expected him to be back visiting us by now…”
Her smile was unsure. “Elohl has… business… in the city.”
“Ah.” Temlin gazed at the young woman over his spectacles. She was going to play a coy game with him today. That was fine. He’d still get the information he needed out of her. He’d already gotten a first name. “And how may I help you, young lady? And what is your name?”
“Eleshen den’Fhenrir.”
“Den’Fhenrir? Interesting name. It means wolf’s child in High Alrakhan. What is it I may do for you?”
“I’m seeking a physician.”
“Oh?” Temlin blinked at her. “There are any number of physicians in the city. Are you staying at an inn, girl? You could have asked the innkeeper.”
She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. I need a rather special kind of physician, and I really don’t know where to look. You were the first person that came to mind. I need a physician to help a friend with severe headaches and seizures. She a … dreamer.”
“Dreamer? Is your friend having bad dreams? Does she smoke too much fennewith?”
The girl, Eleshen, shook her head. “No… she has visions.”
“Ah!” Temlin peered at her over the rim of his spectacles, astounded by this information, unable to keep his astonishment from leeching all over his face. The girl traveled with notable and interestingly gifted companions. Companions he needed more information about, especially if one had true visions, a supreme rarity, and the other was Goldenmarked. Temlin laced his bony old fingers and leaned forward with his elbows on the desk. “Not a dreamer, then, but in the language of the north, a Dremor, or a True Seer. And why do you think I can help such a person?”
“Because…” Eleshen chewed her lip a moment, then beckoned to the sheaf of loose papers on the side of Temlin’s desk. He fetched one, and a nib of charcoal, then passed them over. She wrote briefly, then passed it back.
Because you’re a Kingsman.
Temlin’s grey-streaked brows shot to the ceiling. He took his spectacles off, giving her a hard look. He didn’t really need them to see her, and he knew that his glower was still formidable, as formidable as Uhlas his brother, along with his temper. She fidgeted nervously, rubbing her fingers across the nap of the fabric of the couch.
“And what makes you think this?”
She shrugged. “You have a … way about you. I could be wrong, but I bet a mug of ale I’m not.”
Brother Temlin felt a slow smile spread over his face. It had been a long time since he had met a girl with such wit. And such instincts. No matter that she couldn't keep her feet underneath her legs. Not everyone was born for war.
“Walk with me girl. Let’s stop by the brewery on our way to the duck ponds.”
Temlin rose, beckoning out the door, ignoring the stiffness and popping in his old joints. She smiled, rose from the couch and stepped to his side, and together they walked out from the Annex of the First Dwelling into the sweltering sunshine. Temlin engaged her in petty conversation, he didn’t really know what he was saying. Pithy information about herbs for headaches or some such. They walked to the taproom and secured a pair of ales, though stern Brother Sebasos gave Temlin the eyeball for it beneath his commanding black brows, his blacksmith’s square jaw set with disapproval. Temlin gave Sebasos a little salute with his mug, then drank right in front of him, knowing Sebasos would probably report it back to Lenuria. He didn’t give two shits. Ale was already furthering his conversation with the young woman Eleshen, as they meandered with their mugs down the long graveled path that led to Temlin’s favorite bench.
He gestured for the young woman to sit, before doing so himself. Temlin broke into the topic of interest at last. “So you knew I was Alrashemni.” She nodded, sipped her beer. “How? And don’t give me that way about you horseshit.”
Eleshen lifted an eyebrow, but she smiled at his frankness. “You wear your robe laced all the way to your neck, though you wear the cowl down. Other Brothers have it the other way around. Most will unlace the collar in this heat but keep their head modestly covered. You’re sweating. Clearly you could do with a little more breeze, but you won’t unlace it. You’re hiding Inkings, just like Elohl. Like the man in the palace. And the silversmith. And you walk like you’ve trained with weapons. And though you’re rheumatic, you pace when you step, on the balls of your feet like a cat. Just like Elohl.”
She was impressively shrewd. Temlin liked it, but he needed to dig for just how shrewd. He lifted an eyebrow, took a draught. “And if I took you ‘round the Brothers, could you identify any more who are Kingsmen?”
“Possibly.”
“And these men you've met in the city, they are Kingsmen also?”
“I’m not here to talk about them.” The girl suddenly stonewalled him, crossing her arms, eyeing him, cagey and stubborn. “I’m here to discuss my friend, to see if you can help her.”
Temlin’s mouth quirked. “You’re careful, aren’t you?”
“My friends are in danger,” she shot back, “and I don’t know for certain that I can trust you.”
“But you came because you think I can help. And you trust Kingsmen,” Temlin countered.
She paused, lips open as if she would speak, then sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know whom to trust. But you seem decent enough.”
Temlin barked a laugh. She gave him a very stern eyeball. Still chuckling, he took a swig of his ale. “Tell me about your friend. Why do you think she has True Seeing? Does your friend vomit in the morning or after eating?”
Eleshen blinked. “How did you know?”
“I’ve known a True Seer. It was very bad, until she learned how to master the pain. Has your friend started bleeding or bruising yet?”
The girl went very pale. “She had a bad nosebleed just this morning.”
“And her visions?” Temlin prodded.
“She says she… experiences them.” Eleshen continued. “She’s inside the bodies of the people she sees, she feels their pain, as well as being outside the vision, watching it.”
Temlin sobered quickly. The girl’s description was exactly like Molli’s visions. He sat up straight, narrowing his eyes. “Your friend. She’s in a dire way right now. Very ill.”
Eleshen paled, and Temlin saw fear slide through her eyes. “She seems… worse than fevered. She’s very weak, having horrible seizures. And headaches. Even though this last vision she saw was indistinct, it was terrible. A woman in some kind of state affair in a packed hall, signing documents. Dressed regally in cobalt and sky-blue silk, with sun-gold hair. Getting gutted by a sword from an unknown man near her during the ceremony. And then she saw a petite woman with all-white eyes beckoning to her from an Alranstone with a half-lidded, blood red eye…”
“She saw Molli.” Temlin’s blood had run cold. His gaze snapped to the girl, ferociousness rising in his old body, with a horrible fear. “She saw Molli here at the Abbeystone, and she saw Elyasin getting assassinated at her Writ Signings!” Temlin launched to his feet, as a long stream of cursing exited his mouth. “I need to tell Lhem! I need to get word through to Guard-Captain Olea! Dammit, dammit, dammit!!”
“Olea?” The girl twitched, pale. “What? But a Guardsman brought news to Elohl just this morning that Olea’s been imprisoned!”
Temlin had been swigging off the last of his ale to ready himself to run to Lhem with this dire news, and he coughed mid-sip. The world suddenly dropped out from underneath him. He set his beer quickly to the side upon the bench. “Imprisoned?! By whom?! Where?!”
Eleshen startled at his reaction, her eyes wide and honest. “By the Dhenra. She's in the Roushenn cells, apparently. They had an argument. But she’s not come to any harm—”
“Come girl! You’re in it, now.” Temlin snarled, seizing her by the arm and hauling her up from the bench. “Up, up! Bring your beer and walk fast.”
Temlin whisked up his own beer and marched, all trace of rheumatism suppressed. His joints still hurt like any old fart’s, but urgency leant him speed and fluidity he hadn’t felt since his mid-fifties. Her information spiraled in his mind, churning up ancient fears. Fears that had swamped Temlin when he found out about his nephew Alden’s death, and then his brother Uhlas. Fears that ate him at night and pushed him to drink. Too much tragedy around the throne. Too many secrets in Roushenn. Temlin had seen it all happen over the years, and news like this had a pattern to it. His insides twisted, burning, knowing too much.
Knowing that True Seers were never wrong.
And knowing what Olea’s imprisonment would lead to.
Temlin’s niece had made a terrible mistake with that temper of hers. A mistake that was about to be capitalized upon by the Khehemni, and get her killed. And the Shemout Alrashemni, her protection, had moved too slow. Slow like old, old men. It was time to see Lhem. Time to push him to act. Temlin had spiraled so viciously down into his determination that he didn’t realize he had already led them inside and up the spiral staircase, straight to the Abbott’s apartments on the third floor. Temlin didn’t just knock upon the ironbound cendarie door, he pounded with all his might, muscles of a swordsman still present in his frame even after so many years.
His blood boiled. His rage seethed. His vision went red around the edges like it had done all those years ago.
“Enter!” Abbott Lhem’s bark was the bark of an old veteran. Temlin pressed the iron latch and hauled on the massive ironbound door, whisking inside and practically pulling Eleshen along. But the Abbott was not alone in his suite, two younger scribes attending to him as they bent over documents upon the massive desk. All looked up, startled by Temlin's sudden entrance. The young men blushed to see a woman in tow. But Temlin had no time for such things. He growled impatiently as he entered and slammed the heavy ironbound door behind Eleshen, thinking of a ruse that would get the youngsters out, and communicate everything Lhem needed to know, fast.
“Brother
Temlin!” Lhem was blinking at him. “What's this?”
“Abbot. I must formally request a hearing to atone for my sins. I have slept with this married woman. Please, hear my confession regarding the Foundations of the Abbey, and hers.”
Abbott Lhem rose to his feet, his plethoric face a thundercloud of incredulity, but it was all a sham. He’d understood Temlin’s meaning, that Temlin wanted a private meeting at the Abbeystone with the girl present. The document dropped from his hands as if he was vastly displeased. “Such a rash deed, Brother Temlin! I must hear your confession. Brothers, you are dismissed. We will address the final lists of beer for the Dhenra's coronation later this evening.”
Like frightened hares, the two younger men bowed their way out the door. Once it was securely shut and locked, Lhem motioned to one side of his ample quarters, pressing a catch beneath his desk. A section of wall groaned briefly, and then stones slid back, a façade of stones, really, controlled by intricate mechanisms on a track. Abbott Lhem strode to the ingress of his quarters, and threw a massive bolt.
Lhem beckoned, striding into the darkness beyond. “Confession of intimate relations!” He chortled. “Good one, Temlin!”
“Thank you.” Brother Temlin moved after Lhem, letting the Abbott set the pace with his brisk bulk. Eleshen seemed startled, gaping from one man to the other, but Temlin shooed her on. The short, dark passage took a few turns, running through the walls of the Annex, and then sloped downwards in a steep set of spiral stairs, to a sub-basement far lower even than the Rare Tomes Room. Temlin had picked up an oil-lamp from Lhem’s quarters, but neither he nor Lhem needed it. They both knew the way by heart.
At last, the tunnel opened into an ample space of byrunstone bedrock, a natural cavern beneath the Abbey grounds, the center of which was dominated by a single edifice. The Abbeystone. A secret known only to those of the highest echelon at the Abbey, and to the Shemout Alrashemni members, the towering Stone dwarfed the roughly circular chamber, ascending high into the darkness. Seven eyes it possessed, all closed but the lowest. And that one was half-lidded, the red iris of garnet barely visible but throwing a hushed bloody light around half the cavern. The stone didn’t work. Temlin had tried traveling by it, and so had Lhem and Abbess Lenuria, but it would let none of them through. It used to work, before Uhlas’ last visit to Mollia, but now it seemed stuck, frozen, and not even the half-lidded eye ever changed. Molli had done something to it when Uhlas had died two years ago, disabled it somehow, so that no one could contact her in her isolated valley beyond the Stone.
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