Temple of the Traveler: Book 01 - Doors to Eternity

by Scott Rhine

  The smith had a lead on one of the bar’s regulars when he returned home one night. As he walked up his street, a twenty-year-old, Imperial, astronomy student from a few doors down motioned him toward the alley. The smith didn’t suspect robbery because the kid had the clean conscience and shaving habits of someone half his age. He expected the young man to ask him to straighten another needle. Instead, the tall student passed him a poster.

  “Reward for information leading to the capture of executioners,” the smith read.

  “Your landlord figured he could get the bounty and rent your room out twice for the same month,” whispered the student.

  Alerted, the smith could see changes in the street scene, thugs who were out of place in the university setting. Inching around the corner, he glimpsed his landlord on a patio at a nearby tavern, waiting to point the finger that would identify him. The smith growled as he crumpled the poster. Fortunately, he carried the shards with him at all times. But his hammer, travel gear, and uniform were trapped in the room. The smith searched his memory as he retraced his steps back to where his rescuer hid. “You’re called Little Pine?” he whispered.

  “Close. Pinetto,” replied the astronomer. “It wasn’t long ago that they were hunting down Imperials and folks helped us. I’m just repaying the favor.”

  He blushed in shame that he’d been unable to recall the name of the man who’d saved him. “This isn’t about our parents. I owe you a life and I remember my debts,” the smith said, clasping the astronomer firmly on both shoulders before vanishing into the dark maze of and archways.

  ****

  That night, Lord Strellikan, the superintendent of the Royal Mint of Zanzibos, received a rude awakening. The dogs guarding his property were barking again. He was just about to shout a reprimand when he noticed the grime-streaked figure lurking in his window. The ancient superintendent was of the true blood, and could see everything in the room clearly. Nothing had been taken. All of his wigs were still lined up in perfect order and dust-free. The superintendent no longer had hair of his own, but he had a distinguished hairpiece for every conceivable occasion. Each wig had taken months to make and cost more than six gold coins. Gems could be replaced, but his lordship wouldn’t leave the house without his hair. The intruder held up his hands and placed a finger to his lips.

  “Who are you?” demanded the head metallurgist of the kingdom.

  “A fellow shaper and loyalist,” the smith said cryptically. “I bring you a challenge that may help rebuild that which has been sundered.” A rustle of cloth followed and the shards of Miracle sparkled by the light of the Compass Star. Strellikan gasped. In seconds, he was out of bed, examining the treasure in nothing but his night shirt.

  “As the bearer, I seek your aid, in the name of the office you held before the Scattering,” the smith asked formally.

  The older man’s eyes flashed in annoyance at the distraction. Then he considered the weight of the request. If successful, this piece would be the achievement of his career. It put the creation of jewelry and coins for vain nobles to shame. Men would judge his work for centuries to come, using it as comparison. Looking at the fragments, he nodded. “It’ll be possible to make it whole again. I’ll need the right forge. The shape may be different because some of the pieces may not fit the same way again.”

  The bearer smiled. He knew that he had chosen the right craftsman. “One condition: you can’t tell anyone about it until we’re finished.”

  Strellikan was already four steps down this road. “Don’t teach your grandfather to suck eggs, boy. I take a vacation to go to the desert mineral springs once a year. No one will raise an eyebrow if I leave early because of the feud. But I’ll need to bring an assistant.”

  The former executioner held up his hand. “You’ll have me.”

  The Imperial considered this condition for all of ten heartbeats before saying, “What shall I call you, sir?”

  It had been a long time since anyone had referred to the smith by something other than a nickname or job description. None of the old titles seemed to fit. Because of the blood feud, he couldn’t risk his real name either. Brotherhood names stood out from the common ethnic and cultural choices in this region. He prided himself on the ability to blend to local speech patterns when on an assignment, and hiding his accent. Too many of the executioners spoke in a guild patois designed to segregate them from the masses.

  “My apologies, milord. For now, I must remain anonymous.”

  No stranger to court intrigue, the bald lord took the second condition in stride. “Very well, Sir Anonymous. We’ll leave in the morning.” Strellikan put in an eye lens and began to analyze the metal, muttering notes to himself.

  The bearer looked relieved. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare place to sleep wuld you?” Being accustomed to the road for so long, he meant the stables, but the casual reply surprised him.

  “About thirty-seven, actually. But I don’t want to wake the staff. Take my bed. It’s still warm and I won’t be using it tonight; there’s too much to plan.” The Imperial looked two decades younger as he pondered the possibilities.

  ****

  Morlan arrived back at the Temple of the Unseen very early in the morning, rowing the repaired, spell-protected craft. Under cover of night, he and three other loyal, Kragen retainers hauled the crated bell into the master’s tower. Then he delivered several messages from the battlefront before writing up a detailed report about his experiences and what needed to be done next in the campaign. Finally, he sent his gear and uniform out for a proper cleaning. He wore only his ceremonial kalura and breeches. As he retired to his room, he was intercepted by the steward. “Sir, I realize that it’s almost dawn and you still haven’t rested from your journey, but our lady wishes to see you.”

  Morlan nodded and went up the stairs without hesitation. Lady Humi greeted him in her sitting room, dressed only in a robe. The maid and steward were sent back to bed, leaving the two of them alone.

  He handed her the writ of execution that they’d taken off the dead slaver. She noted Tashi’s name, Dhagmurna’s signature, and a date before the death of Kragen. “Interesting. The Brotherhood leadership wanted this villain dead as well. I wonder why?”

  Transferring her gaze to the bodyguard, she softened. “It’s good to have you back here, Morlan. You know I can’t trust any of these vultures. But you’re different.” She gave the compliment a moment to sink in. “I wanted you by my side before we launched the warship.”

  Her guard stiffened at the news, but held his composure. Even if he could have spoken, he would not have contradicted the Lady. But no one could be sure that the repairs to the mighty vessel would hold. Many of the skills needed to build and employ such a ship had been forever lost in the Scattering. Even worse, the Inner Sea still boiled in places, blanketed by an impassable, sulfuric haze. Because of the random destruction by earthquakes and creation by lava flows, few of the nautical charts from the old times were usable any more.

  However, none of these obstacles were new. Kragen had assembled the wizards with these challenges in mind. If any group alive could do this, the sept could—but only if they remained united. More than anything else, the sudden increase in the scope of the conflict worried Morlan. What was the new objective? He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

  She continued, walking around him as he stood at attention, focusing every sense on the Lady. “Our lord’s ultimate goal was the reunification of the empire under his dynasty. Although his dream may not have been achieved in the way he anticipated, we are moving to make it a reality in this generation.” As she passed by, her favorite scent trailed behind in the air. The effect was distracting for Morlan.

  “You’ve also made victory attainable with the funds you have brought back. Their worth was considerable, as was your risk. I want you to know my gratitude,” she whispered. As she walked, the robe parted slightly, revealing a V of flesh that extended down to her waist.

  The bodyguard trembled. M
orlan was a full decade older than the Lady, but his body was responding to this woman like an adolescent. Humi looked uat him with adoring eyes, her face radiant, her young body still firm and undistorted by the pregnancy. She was so close that he could feel her warmth. Rather than risk a breach of propriety, Morlan gestured to the bedroom window seat. There were cushions on each wall so that the Lady’s back would not have to touch cold stone as she gazed out over the Inner Sea.

  “I’m sorry,” she said effusively. “You must be exhausted.” Humi sat on her cushion and commanded, “Come, sit beside me.”

  There was a long silence as her bodyguard reluctantly obeyed. Morlan avoided her flawless face and stared at his own lap. His hands wrung at the House symbol embroidered on the hem of his kalura. Her eyes watched Morlan’s motions for a while, trying to read his thoughts and feelings. “He’s gone,” she said, echoing his grief.

  Humi rested her head on his shoulder and clung to the large man. “Kragen was my life as well,” she said into his chest. “We can’t bring him back, but we can bring his vision to life. We can make him proud of us.” Her voice sounded like a small girl’s as it broke with emotion. Gradually and quietly, so as not to disturb her, Morlan began to weep as well. His desires passed from lust and loyalty to something deeper. From that moment, it was an understatement to say that Morlan would have done anything for her.

  The Lady fell asleep in his arms, at peace for the first time in a week.

  ****

  Dhagmurna knew when the hawk returned without the slaver that there would be trouble, but he never imagined the magnitude. He couldn’t sleep from reading all the casualty reports and contract cancellations. The guildmaster sat, staring out at the watch fire in the courtyard below. The feud had him dumbfounded.

  Dhagmurna was never the best swordsman in the guild, nor the tallest, nor the handsomest, but he had enough of all three that he made a natural leader among the Brotherhood of Executioners. His darker-than-normal skin set him apart from the crowd. His deep, booming voice, audible above even the most intense fray, made him famous. He had a knack for delegating chores to others and having the performer feel indebted to him in exchange. He rose to the top by becoming everyone’s friend. Through years of constant effort, he knew all the right people and where all the bodies were buried. But despite his facility with the men, he lacked the financial and political backing for a more permanent position as the head of the guild. Every seven years, the elders met to elect a new master. Not noble by blood, Dhagmurna was still awed by the guildmaster’s official mansion. Once ensconced, he determined to do anything to stay there.

  His wife stirred in the darkness behind him. Had it been anyone else, he would have drawn a weapon. She was the sole person who could creep up on him or speak her mind without fear of repercussion. The latter she did often, but only in private. She was a consummate businesswoman; with her aid, both his fortunes and the Brotherhood had flourished. Named for a rare flower found in the high crags of the Tamarind, Nerissa provided everything he had been lacking: money, legitimacy, and the support of the old guard. She even helped write his speeches. Tall for a woman, she had long, intricately-woven, raven hair, and a regal air. Having been raised in these halls, she knew every twist in the mansion, and each person who’d ever passed through them.

  Nerissa held back from the light, wearing a veil of shadows. Her sleep had been troubled as well. “Our tragedy is no doubt punishment for trying to kill him.”

  Dhagmurna winced. She was going to nag him about this failure again. Softly, and with great control, his deep voice rumbled, “Our spies and the last report from the band we sent after him say he is finally dead.”

  “That’s what they said last time,” she accused. “I’ll believe it when I see the cold body. I warned you it wouldn’t be easy.”

  He closed his eyes. The murder contract had been her dowry. To his shame, in his heat and in his haste, he had agreed. Now, having enjoyed her many virtues, he was honor-bound to complete this heinous crime—if for no other reason than he could no longer function as guildmaster without her. “But he’s your brother.”

  Nerissa snarled, “Adopted.”

  The mighty leader of the Executioners’ Guild avoided this discussion like the plague. “How do we end this senseless feud?”

  A pragmatist, Nerissa suggested, “Can we reach the surviving enemies with a second team? I hear the first one took out three or four wizards, half the sept.”

  Dhagmurna shook his head. “I still don’t know why they did it. But the first team only succeeded because no one believed anyone would be that stupid. I can’t even get the location of their leaders. We’re fighting on a strictly defensive level now. No one will aid us. No one wants to hire us. Their organization has more arms than a squid. That Kragen had his finger in every rotten pie around. Our best option is to weather the siege in our stronghold.”

  Nerissa shook her head. “We’re already too weakened. The longer our men stay in one place, the more likely they are to go native. More importantly, we’re losing face. If we run away with our tail between our legs, our reputation as the best fighters in the world will be destroyed. Our future will be set on the downward path into impotence and extinction.”

  In frustration, he growled “Don’t you think I know that?!”

  She soothed him by kneading his tight shoulders. “What does King Zandar say about this affront? An assault on you erodes his power base.”

  Dhagmurna looked haunted. He hadn’t shared this burden with another living being until now. “His highness refuses to meddle in ‘local disputes between families’. It might be misconstrued as favoritism.”

  Nerissa was not fooled by the moral wording. “What’s the slime’s real reason?”

  The guildmaster sighed. “It’s a valid one. He’s loaned a large part of his army to the Prefect of Bablios to guard the road to their capital. The Prefect of the Vineyards has repositioned their armies further north and east.”

  His wife was more astute in such matters than most of his lieutenants. “He’s hanging us out to dry.” After a brief pause, Nerissa asked, “So what does the sept want?”

  A shadow from the darkest corner of the room detached itself, musing on the new data it had gleaned. “It’s one woman, really. The lord’s concubine,” Tumberlin rasped, barely above a whisper. Adrenaline shot through both man and wife. The actions of seconds could mean the difference between death and life.

  “To arms! Defend your leader!” bellowed Dhagmurna.

  His mate removed a long, pointed, metal hair ornament from her dressing table and hurled it dagger-style at the intrud. It would be her task to open the door for the others while Dhagmurna drew his sword from the sheath that hung from the bedpost. Impossibly, the ornament passed harmlessly through the apparition. The aristocratic flower startled Tumberlin with her muttered insults toward the new Lady Kragen, ending with “gutter-slut.”

  The fallen apprentice laughed for the first time in a month. Nerissa froze in terror at the chilling sound. The half-naked guildmaster held a useless, steel blade between them. “Originally, she just wanted to destroy you all. Now she sends me with a gracious offer, good for tonight only. If you refuse, all food shipments to your fortress will be halted, and the wizards will start sending in spirits.”

  “Whatever it is, we have no choice,” the guildmaster said loudly to distract the creature from his wife, whose hand was slowly creeping toward her jewelry box. Her broach with the lavender stone and sesterina trim might be usable as a weapon.

  The apprentice was not fooled. He could see perfectly by the Compass Star. “I’ll suck your pretty face to a dry husk and be gone before anyone can arrive to stop me. Are you going to listen?” he hissed. In truth, the effort of such a long-distance projection had drained him too much to fight. Nevertheless, the bluff worked.

  “The gutter-slut wants you to transfer your fealty from the King of Zanzibos to the Kragen heir.” The word ‘treason’ hung in the air unspoken.


  Nerissa was not offended at all by the demand. Indeed, the low tone of the request made her opponent seem more substantial and manageable. “Sounds fair.”

  “But our honor,” Dhagmurna protested.

  “Is less important than our lives. How do you think this law-abiding monarch got our order’s loyalty to begin with? The kings of Zanzibos and Bablios snuck in with the help of a traitor and forced it out of us at the point of a sword. Then they took half of our swords and divided them as spoils between their troops. I think it only proper that we return the favor,” she reasoned.

  “People will die,” Dhagmurna said feebly, trying not to seem hen-pecked in front of his visitor.

  Tumberlin liked this woman more with every word. To her husband, he said, “People will die either way. The only question remaining is: will the dead be ours or theirs?”

  The guildmaster felt the weight of the world fall on his shoulders.

  Chapter 28 – Prisons

  The ride to the capital city of Semenea was a pleasant

  one for Jotham and the boy. In spite of the chains and the ban on his speaking to the guards, they found the landscape lush and colorful, and the food plentiful. “It always tastes better when someone else does the cooking,” remarked Brent one breezy afternoon. They rode in a sealed wagon normally used to transport gold or weapons. The city gate lay ahead and the coming trial loomed large in both their minds.

  “And does the dishes,” added Jotham, earning a giggle from the boy.