“Have it removed and given to those to whom it belongs. They must inter it properly lest Kiriah is offended.”
“It shall be as you demand, my lord.”
Deo’s lip curled at the toadying steward. Never would the day dawn when he allowed himself to lick his father’s boots as the others did.
“Now, where were we? Ah yes, a discussion of your behavior at the Temple of Kiriah Sunbringer. The head priestess, Lady Sandorillan, is an old friend of mine, Deo, and I would have you remember your manners around her.”
He ignored his father to continue fulminating over the unfairness of his life. He had seen fourteen summers! Others his age were already out fighting with his father’s army, but not him. Resentment simmered hotly, causing his fingers to tighten on the reins.
“I’ve allowed you to come with me on this visit because I think it’s time that you see the true plight of those who we serve.” Lord Israel halted his horse as two of his men moved toward the body lying in the road. “I expect you to remember just who you are, and what you owe to me while you are in the presence of Lady Sandor.”
“What do I owe to you?” Deo asked, all but snapping off the words. “You treat me like I’m a child, gullible and unlearned and ignorant, but your own sergeant-at-arms says I am the best of all the fighters.”
“You get that from your mother, no doubt,” Lord Israel said dryly.
“Then why can’t I visit her? She must surely have much more to teach me than I can learn in Abet, and I—”
“It is out of the question,” his father interrupted, the words spoken with a sense of finality that further enraged Deo.
“But why? You always say that, but you never tell me why! You never let me do anything! I am my mother’s son just as much as I am yours; I should be able to visit her if I want!”
“It’s out of the question,” repeated Lord Israel. “It’s not safe for you on Genora. That is why your mother sent you to live with me when you were naught but a babe, and that is why you will remain here.”
Deo thought darkly upon his father’s words. He’d always been told that his mother had sent him from his homeland, but why would so brave a warrior as she do that? It had to be a tale his father concocted to keep him from her. Everyone knew his father hated the Starborn. He had no doubt that the queen would have come to claim him long ago but for the invaders that blighted Genora.
“But I am not a babe now,” Deo growled. “I am a man, and I want to learn—”
“Then you will learn here,” Lord Israel said firmly. “The invaders who came at your birth are more powerful than you can imagine, and your mother and I agreed that it was best for you to remain with me, where you will learn the ways of the magisters.”
He was surprised at that, and for a moment, hurt flashed through him at the thought that his mother might really have been complicit in his removal from the land of his birth, but suspicion of his father’s motives immediately flooded back. Israel Langton was born of a long line of magisters, and wanted his only child to follow that tradition.
“Bah,” Deo snorted, disgust all but dripping off the word. “The magisters are weaklings. Their earth magic heals, but it does not blast a foe into the lap of Kiriah Sunbringer. It is nothing compared to a good sword.”
“There is more to magisters than just healing, which you would know if you took the time to attend your lessons. No, do not continue to argue, as I see by your sulky expression you wish to. If you want to convince me that you are an adult, and not an emotional boy railing against authority, then you must prove it with your actions.”
Deo was about to answer with a surly word or two, but just then the body in the road sat up. The two flunkies who were about to carry him off the road recoiled, and shrieked in surprise. A tall, gaunt boy with a shock of silver-blond hair got awkwardly to his feet and faced them, dirt smudging every available surface. It was almost impossible to tell how old he was, given his appearance, his ragged and torn clothing, and the wary, hunted look about his eyes.
“By Kiriah’s breath!” the boy gasped, rubbing his face, and managing to smear even more dirt on an already filthy visage. “You almost ran me down!”
“We thought you were dead,” Lord Israel said smoothly, eyeing the boy with mild interest. “Who are you?”
“Hallow.” The boy scratched first his head, then his arse, before making a jerky bow. “My name is Hallow.”
“Well, Hallow, you might reconsider your choice of sleeping venues in the future. Does your family reside around here?”
“No, they are dead.” The boy peered out from under a clump of hair, his eyes watchful.
Deo stiffened when the boy’s gray eyes flickered over to him. He knew that to this wild, unkempt boy, he must appear exactly what he was—the pampered child of a powerful leader, and that made him feel intolerably uncomfortable.
“And I wasn’t sleeping,” Hallow finished, shoving his hair out of his eyes. “I ... I haven’t eaten in a while, and I fell insensible for a bit.”
There was something in the boy’s voice, a defiant note that Deo understood well.
“You must have someone to whom you belong,” Lord Israel said in what Deo thought of as his (irritating) patient voice. “Tell me where your people are, and I will see to it that you are returned to them.”
“They’re all dead,” Hallow said with a shrug of one of his thin shoulders. “They were killed by the Harborym.”
“You’ve seen them?” Deo asked before he realized he was speaking. “What do they look like? Did you kill them? It is said they have a powerful magic unlike anything known—did you see this magic?”
“Deo!” Lord Israel said sharply at the same time Hallow answered, “I was very young. I don’t remember them at all.”
“A life on the road alone is not one for a lad as young as you,” Lord Israel told Hallow, giving Deo a side-look that warned of a lecture in the very near future.
“I am fifteen summers,” the boy argued.
“Are you? You look much younger. Well, regardless, we shall have to find someone with whom you can live.”
“My lord,” Marston murmured, standing at the side of Lord Israel’s horse. “If I might suggest, the tavern keeper in the town we just left mentioned there was a traveling arcanist from Genora who sought an apprentice, but no one in the town would allow their sons to be given over to such an ill-favored occupation. The boy would be fed and trained with him.”
“An arcanist,” Lord Israel said dismissively at first, then, eyeing the boy, said slowly, “It is indeed an unsavory magic, but all things have their purpose, or so Kiriah teaches us.”
“I would like to learn from the arcanist!” Deo blurted out. “It is the magic of my mother’s people. I should know of it just as I know of the earth magic of the magisters.”
Lord Israel said nothing of the outburst, nodding down at the man at his side. “Fetch some bread and apples for the lad, and have one of the men take him back to Deacon’s Cross to deliver him to the arcanist. Better he should learn of arcana than be found dead of starvation on the road.”
“But—I don’t want to go to Deacon’s Cross,” the boy protested when one of the soldiers grabbed him by the back of his tattered tunic, although his eyes had lit at the mention of food. “I just came from there. I was driven out of the town for stealing cheese, as a matter of fact, so I really don’t think they will want to see me again—”
Hallow’s squawks died off as he was hustled in the direction from which the company had just come. Deo felt a pang of mingled envy and regret. For half a second, he wished he could switch places with the boy. What would it be like to go where he wished, and do what he wanted? Instead, he was coddled and treated like he was made of eggshells. The only reason his father had allowed him to train with the soldiers was that Deo had made it clear time and time again that no amount of beatings (intended to keep his feet in the schoolroom and out of the training yard) would stop him from learning the ways of an armsman.
>
In both his build and his temperament, he favored his mother, and he would not let anything stand in the way of learning how to be as great a swordsman as she was reputed to be.
“There is something I must discuss before we arrive at the temple.”
Deo slid his father a look. It wasn’t like him to speak with such an obvious hint of hesitancy in his voice.
Lord Israel stared straight ahead. “You know that I go to consult with Lady Sandor about the invaders who are at present inhabiting Genora.”
“I know that you have done nothing to rescue my mother or her people,” Deo said, and for a moment thought he might have gone too far.
But rather than his father reprimanding him for such outspoken words, his lips curled into a brief smile. “I hope I live so long as to see the day when your mother needs rescuing by anyone. And when the day comes that you see her again, I advise you to keep such an opinion to yourself. But that is not why I speak now to you—Lady Sandor is wise, naturally, else she would not be Kiriah Sunbringer’s handmaiden. But she is also suspicious of those of us beyond the temple walls, and she might wish to know if you are in agreement with me regarding certain ... elements ... concerning the invaders.”
“The Harborym,” Deo said, rolling the word around on his tongue. He’d heard only whispers of the word before this trip, and knew his father had kept all talk of the invaders from his ears. And to think the boy Hallow had actually witnessed them in action. True, it was in the act of slaughtering his family, but Deo would have given much to see them in person.
“Yes.” Lord Israel looked stiffly uncomfortable as they rode along the dirt road to the temple. “Your mother entrusted into Lady Sandor’s care something valuable, a boon of sorts, to be kept until ... well, that is neither here nor there. It is a birthright your mother intended for you, and Lady Sandor may ask if you wish it to be used. Naturally, you will assure her that you do wish this.”
Deo stared at Lord Israel in blatant surprise. What was this? A birthright that no one had told him about? And why was his father looking so uncomfortable about it now? “What birthright?”
“It is a boon, as I said.” His father waved away the question. “What matters is that should Lady Sandor ask you, you must say that you agree to its use now.”
“How can I agree if I don’t know what it is?” Deo asked, quite reasonably, he thought.
His father evidently felt otherwise. “It is of no matter.”
“I think it is if it is mine to use.”
Lord Israel’s lips thinned. “Deo, understand me—we must present a united front to Lady Sandor. If she suspects that we are at odds with respect to the plan concerning the invaders, she will withhold all but the most minimal support. Now is an important time. Your mother and I are in agreement that we must act before it is too late, and I will not have you put that in jeopardy because of imagined slights and abuses.”
“You have spoken to my mother?” Deo was prepared to be outraged at his father keeping him from the woman who must so desperately want him by her side.
“I correspond with all the leaders of the Four Armies, as you well know, including the Starborn.”
Deo pushed down the sting that came with the knowledge that his mother was in communication with his father, but not him. No doubt Lord Israel kept from him any letters his mother had sent him.
“I would have your word on this, Deo. I do not know that Lady Sandor will wish to consult you, but if she does, you must be ready to reassure her.”
Deo squared his shoulders, frustration making him want to lash out. “You expect me to show compliance, but you won’t tell me what is behind that order? What plan do you and my mother have? Why won’t you tell me anything?”
“It is a complicated situation,” Lord Israel said through gritted teeth. “One that you are not yet equipped to fully understand. You must trust that I am doing the right thing—ah, we arrive.”
The horses halted at the tall stone and wood gates, through which two women and a man were emerging with laden pack mules. A woman in the blue robe of a priestess of Kiriah manned the door, and lifted an eyebrow when Marston hurried forward to announce Lord Israel’s august presence. For a moment, Deo hoped she would refuse his father entrance, but she gave a sharp nod when Marston gestured toward the company of twenty men.
“Lady Sandor is expecting your arrival. The men-at-arms may go to the stable, where they will be brought refreshment. If Lord Israel will accompany me, I will alert Lady Sandor.”
“Do not forget what I have said,” Lord Israel murmured as they rode through the gates. “This is of more importance than you can understand.”
They rode past large fields of wheat, golden under the blessing of Kiriah, and smaller fields with green growing things, the smell of sun-warmed dirt filling the air. Everywhere there were women in the blue tunics and robes tending the crops, carrying baskets of goods, or gliding smoothly along well-worn paths with heads bowed and hands folded in front of them.
It all looked like a tedious, boring life, and for once, Deo was grateful that his father, while a believer in the power of Kiriah Sunbringer, was a traditionalist, and did not expect his son to learn the ways of the goddess.
They stopped before the entrance to the temple and dismounted, two men taking their horses to the stable yard. Deo stood awkwardly behind his father, uncomfortable in his chain mail with the sun beating down upon him, but he knew a true soldier was always ready, always prepared, and if that meant donning the approximately twenty pounds of arming tunic and leggings, along with the mail armor itself, then so be it. He would suffer in silence. Noble silence, he corrected himself, and lifted his chin.
Those priestesses in their light tunics or robes knew nothing of the hardships soldiers embraced. They would snap like twigs under such demands. With other such smug thoughts, he prepared to follow his father into the temple.
“I’m sorry, but Lady Sandor said only that your lordship was to be allowed into her chamber,” the woman from the gate said, holding up a hand to stop Deo.
Relief flickered across his father’s face, but he quickly schooled it back to his normal stoic expression. “We will naturally respect Lady Sandor’s request. Deo, you may go to the stable with the others if you like, or perhaps stroll around and study how well Lady Sandor runs the temple.”
Deo considered feeling insulted that he wasn’t welcome in Lady Sandor’s presence, but honesty made him admit he really didn’t want to have to sit and be polite. He’d much rather see what armaments the temple had, and if they had soldiers to guard the demesne lands. He stood with his back to the temple doors, scanning the grounds. There were numerous small outbuildings in addition to the large stable, but there didn’t seem to be any soldiers other than that of his father’s company. He was considering his options when he caught sight of a slight figure pressed against the wall of a building half-hidden behind the stables.
It wasn’t so much the figure—a girl dressed in the same blue as the other priestesses—but more her body language that intrigued him. He crept up behind her, as silent as an owl’s wings gliding through the night air, wondering if she intended ill to the members of the temple. Or perhaps she was a spy. Or worse, a thief.
Righteousness rose within him, strengthening his resolve to know the girl’s business. Never would it be said that he would allow a possible thief to operate right under his nose!
CHAPTER TWO
“Lala, you may recite. Start with the forming of Alba.”
I was on my way past the temple with a brace of freshly caught rabbits in one hand when familiar words drifted through an arched window. I paused at the sound of the words that followed, spoken in a child’s high, clear voice.
“First there was the void, where darkness and evil reigned supreme. Then the twin goddesses Kiriah and Bellias decided to bring sunlight and starlight to the void, and so the sun and stars were created.”
“The sun, the stars, and the moon,” an older voice correcte
d. That had to be Peebles. No one else had the patience to work with the younger children.
“But there are only two goddesses. Shouldn’t there be one for the stars, and one for the moon?” the child answered, causing me to smile to myself. Truth be told, I had nothing but sympathy for Lala, since being tested on catechism on the priesthood of Kiriah was responsible for many a nightmare. Not only had I never seemed to retain the pertinent facts; I was full of questions concerning the contradictions in the lore presented as fact.
“Bellias is both the moon and the stars,” Peebles corrected. “Proceed.”
“Kiriah created the race of the Fireborn, and they were blessed with the grace of Alba, while Bellias formed the Starborn, and they were not graced with anything, and no one likes them.”
“Lala!”
I covered my mouth to keep from laughing out loud at the scornful note in the child’s voice. I had a vague memory of Lala, since my path did not often cross those of the younger initiates, but I liked her spirit. Idly, I summoned up a small rabbit made of light of the blessed goddess Kiriah. It hopped along my outstretched arm while I leaned against the wall and listened.
“We do not denigrate anyone, no matter if they were Starborn or not. Continue.”
“But no one does like them,” Lala argued. “They are responsible for the Harborym coming to Alba, and blighting the Starborn because they were evil and deserved it.”
“Now, where did you hear anything so outrageous?” the priestess asked.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Lala asked, and I remembered asking similar outrageous questions when I was her age. I frowned at the rabbit and it dissolved into little wisps of sunlight, the memory of the day my parents had left me at the temple bringing back intense feelings of abandonment and confusion.
“The Starborn, seeing the grace of Alba given to the Fireborn, were sorely jealous, and complained to Bellias, who demanded that her people, too, receive the powers that were rightfully given to the Fireborn. But Kiriah was a just goddess, and she would not take the grace from us, and Bellias smote the Fireborn with arcane power, leaving only three survivors. And because Kiriah loved us, she turned the power of the sun onto Alba and punished the Starborn until the very streams and oceans screamed for mercy.”
Fireborn Page 2
