Forging Divinity

by Rowe, Andrew

  “I meant you, actually.”

  “I’m a Paladin of Sytira,” Lydia said, shaking her head as she opened the door to leave the bedchamber.

  Jonan turned to follow her with his gaze, quirking a brow. “Does that mean you have to be celibate or pure or something?”

  “No,” she replied with a wry grin, “It means I have refined tastes.”

  “I’m plenty refined,” Jonan insisted. “Like aged coffee.”

  Lydia narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure you’re supposed to age coffee.”

  “Oh,” Jonan said, giving a dejected look downward, toward his bedsheets. “My whole life has been a lie.”

  Lydia’s laugh was beautiful, like a...hummingbird making a beautiful sound. Jonan never was very good with analogies.

  “Good night, Jonan,” Lydia offered, a flash of humor still present in her voice. She closed the door behind her.

  “Good night, Lydia,” he replied.

  It really is cold in these sheets by myself.

  Jonan shivered.

  Chapter VII – Inefficient Investments of Effort

  Focus.

  Taelien pressed two fingers of his left hand against the third runestone from the top of his unsheathed sword. The four runes beneath it glowed brightly with azure light, but the rune he touched – along with the two above it – remained unlit.

  His right hand gripped tightly around the hilt, holding the sword secure and ensuring the shimmering waves of colorless force that extended a hand’s breadth outward from the blade did not come into contact with anything else. He knew from experience what the consequences would be if that devastating aura met any form of solid material.

  It’s been two years. I should be able to do this.

  As he concentrated, Taelien felt the sword’s inexorable pull against his strength. Beads of sweat coalesced on his forehead, the hilt seemingly growing heavier with each passing moment.

  Sae’kes, heed my call. Use my strength to focus your own. Let your outer edge meet with the blade within.

  For just an instant, he thought he saw a hint of light flicker within the gray of the unlit rune of Eratar – just as Lydia swung open the door to the room, shattering his concentration.

  The fourth lit rune – signifying Koranir – flickered and died, followed by the rune of Xerasilis after it. The rippling waves of force around the blade began to spread, and Taelien snatched up his scabbard from his left side, quickly – and carefully – jamming the blade within.

  Lydia stared at him blankly for a moment, something unfamiliar in her expression. Awe, perhaps?

  “Is that...you can actually draw the blade?” Lydia’s eyes focused on the now-filled scabbard, her tone of voice matching her expression.

  Taelien nodded. “Of course. I thought I had made that clear before. That’s hardly the difficult part.” He tried not to let his bitterness sink into his words, but it was a paltry effort at bet.

  “Gods, Taelien... I knew there was a chance, but it’s different to actually see it. That’s the Sae’kes, the real thing. And you can use it.” Lydia took a step forward, tilting her head down, as if it could give her a better look at the sword within the scabbard.

  “Not exactly.” He ran his fingers along the metal rim of the scabbard. “Taking it out of the sheath is one thing. There’s nothing special about that – I just use metal sorcery to seal the metal part of the scabbard against the blade when I’m not using it. When I want to draw the sword, I reverse the process.”

  He tapped his fingers against the cross guard, grimacing. “Being able to wield in battle it is another problem entirely. It’s been twelve years since my parents let me pick up the sword for the first time. I still can’t ignite more than four of the runes.”

  Lydia snagged a chair from near the door – the same one she had used when she had guarded it earlier – and sat down. “Why does that matter? What does igniting those runes do?”

  Taelien shrugged his shoulders. “You saw the aura around the blade, I assume?”

  Lydia nodded.

  “So far as I can tell, the runestones on the blade exist to condense that aura. The more of them are lit, the more the aura tightens around the blade. Presumably, with all of the runes lit, the aura would be flush against the blade itself. The problem is that the stones appear to require an external source of essence to operate. That means I need to feed my strength into the weapon to make them work.”

  Taelien ran his fingers across the leather of the scabbard. “So far as I can tell, this scabbard is the only thing that can resist being cut by that aura around the sword. It seems to have been designed to contain the weapon. Anything else – stone, metal, flesh – that touches the aura is torn apart.”

  “You seemed to have some of the runes under control when I walked in,” Lydia said, gesturing at the weapon.

  “Some,” he said sadly, “Is insufficient. When I swing the sword with any of the runes unlit, the aura around it whips forward, separating from the sword. The more runes I’ve managed to ignite, the closer the aura stays to the blade – but even with four runes lit, the most I’ve been able to manage, the force can extend out more than half the length and width of the blade itself. That’s too large to control effectively, especially if I have any allies on the field.”

  Lydia pursed her lips. “It sounds like you’ve had bad experiences with it before.”

  Taelien shook his head. “Only a few object damaged so far, fortunately. Erik Tarren gave my parents clear instructions that I was never to use it until I could control all seven runes. As a result, my parents didn’t even let me draw it until I was eight, and even then, they barely let me move it. As a child, this was awfully disappointing, but as I’ve grown older I’ve seen the wisdom in restraint. The sword is worthless until I can control it. And at this rate, that might be another ten years. Assuming I am still making any progress at all.”

  Lydia sat up, her expression contemplative. “Sounds like a worthwhile investment to me.”

  Taelien sighed. “Sure, if I want to be able to murder people with relentless efficiency in the future, I see it as a great investment.”

  “That sword isn’t about murdering people, Taelien,” she chastised him. “It’s a symbol of the Tae’os Pantheon, and their protection of the mortal races. It’s a sword for shielding others against monsters.”

  “Then why,” Taelien asked, “Does it have no apparent function other than cutting things apart?”

  Lydia folded her arms across her chest, glowering slightly. “It’s very likely that you simply do not know how to use it properly yet. Perhaps other powers will manifest when you are able to ignite the seventh rune. Perhaps it is a test to see if the wielder has sufficient force of will to keep the weapon’s destructive powers at bay. Anyone who simply uses the sword to kill would be unworthy of its other abilities.”

  “That sounds like a nice story, but it is only speculation. It seems much more plausible that the sword simply wasn’t made for me – or any mortal – to use. If igniting the runes requires essence, it might be that whoever it was built for – the god of swords, if your stories are true – had so much more essence than I do that using it properly was trivial for him,” Taelien offered.

  “Perhaps, but your explanation is not mutually exclusive with mine. And there are other possibilities as well. Have you found any way to determine what the composition of that aura is?”

  Taelien shook his head. “No. My mother was proficient at knowledge sorcery, but any spell she used on the sword appeared to be blocked. She said the aura looks like motion sorcery, but it’s persistent, which motion sorcery is not. She was able to identify the scabbard, however – that’s just utilizing powerful protection sorcery. She had never seen protection sorcery on the same scale before, but that’s all it is.”

  “Interesting,” Lydia replied, raising a hand to adjust her glasses. “Very interesting.”

  What’s so interesting about that? It’s just protection sorcery...why would
that...

  “Ah, are you a protection sorcerer yourself?” Taelien guessed. That would explain how she survived that spell Istavan cast at me earlier, he realized.

  Lydia nodded absently. “Yes. I was wondering if I could use that to help you – maybe find a way to contain the aura even when it isn’t sheathed.”

  Taelien felt a sudden surge of hope. “Really? I wouldn’t have expected you to be willing to help, if you think it is some sort of divine test.”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “That was just one possibility. And even if it is a test, I’m a Sytiran. We solve tests through ingenuity.”

  “How’d you get involved with the Paladins of Tae’os, anyway?”

  Lydia took a breath. “One night when I was young, I woke to the smell of burning wood. I rushed to my youngest brother’s room – Dyson was just a baby at the time. By the time I found him, the whole house was in flames. I didn’t know any protection sorcery back then. I panicked and screamed. My parents didn’t come for me – a stranger did. I remember hearing him shouting something – a prayer to Xerasilis, I realized later - and bursting into the room, choking and scorched. He carried us both out of the house.”

  “He was already badly burned when we emerged. He could barely stand, but the first thing he did was ask if anyone else was still inside. I saw my parents outside, but not my other brother or my sister. I told him I thought there were still two other children within. Even as the flames burned hotter, he went back inside, chanting to the god of flames to stand aside.”

  Lydia looked down, shaking her head. “I had been wrong about Edwin – he was already outside. After the stranger rescued my sister, he stayed inside to try to find Edwin...”

  “Did he survive?” Taelien asked.

  “Only just. His partner arrived in time to drag him out of the wreckage and get him to a hospital. He was comatose for months, and a beam had crushed his leg. He’ll never fight again. He will be lucky if he can ever walk.” Lydia tightened her jaw. “And it was my fault.”

  “He was a Paladin of Xerasilis, then?”

  “Lysandri, actually. Paladins of Tae’os pray to all seven of our gods when the situation is appropriate. He was still comatose when I learned who he was. Calor was a complete stranger, and he had risked his life to save us, while my parents had stood aside in fear. He was my hero. He is still my hero. I will never be worth what he did for me.”

  “When Istavan was attacking me, you stepped right in front of his spell without any hesitation,” Taelien pointed out. “You defended a complete stranger.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not the same. The risk was minimal – I knew protection sorcery to keep me safe. And you might have been a stranger, but I suspected you were related to one of my gods.”

  “You can justify it all you want, but it was heroic from my standpoint. Thank you,” he said. “I can see why you joined the paladins, then. Why’d you chose Sytira?”

  Lydia tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

  The swordsman shrugged at her. “I’ve never understood why people pick one god or another to worship. Especially you Tae’os followers – if you worship seven gods, how do you pick one to focus on? I would have expected you to pick Lysandri if that’s who your rescuer worshipped.”

  Lydia steepled her fingers, laying her hands in her lap. “Well, for one thing, my compatibility tests indicated that the best fit for me would be with Eratar or Sytira.”

  Taelien quirked a brow dubiously. “Compatibility tests?”

  “They’re much like the sorcery aptitude tests you took as a child, I assume. We don’t just take anyone who wants to pick up a sword. Applicants are tested to see if they qualify, and if they pass, the tests indicate where they would be the most appropriate...but I have a feeling you were looking for a more emotional answer,” she noted, apparently examining his expression.

  Taelien cracked his knuckles. “I was expecting one, at least. Do you really worship someone just because your superiors told you to?”

  Lydia shook her head. “No, I suppose not. I suspected I would choose Sytira long before I took the tests. She’s the patron of scholars, and I’ve had my nose in a book since I started to recognize letters. All the Tae’os gods have their value, but Sytira gives us knowledge. To me, that’s the greatest gift anyone – divine or otherwise – can offer.”

  That does seem to suit you.

  Taelien stood and knelt in front of Lydia, putting a hand on her knee. “Well, knowledge about this sword would be a great gift indeed. I’ve had this supposed inheritance – this burden – for as long as I can remember. I’d be very grateful for anything you could do to help me use it.”

  Lydia sat up a little straighter in her chair, but she didn’t flinch away from him. “Let’s not get too carried away. I’ll try to think of something, but it’s going to require research. And I’m going to have to bombard you with a lot of questions.”

  Taelien nodded vehemently. “Yes, I am fine with that. Thank you.”

  She nodded, patting his hand. “Not a problem. In the meantime, I have another question for you.”

  “Oh? Ask away, then.”

  “You mentioned coming to the city to meet Erik Tarren. I was very skeptical about that at first, but having seen that you can actually draw the weapon, I’m beginning to wonder if exploring that angle may have some merit. Did your parents tell you why Erik Tarren left you with them?”

  “He was in danger, and my parents got the impression that my birth parents had also been in danger,” he said, standing up. “They had been friends of Erik years before, and apparently Erik didn’t think his enemies would be able to find me with them. He didn’t tell them who my real parents were.”

  “But he told them the city he was planning to go to? Seems like a poor idea, if he was fleeing from some sort of danger.” The sorceress ran a hand across her hair, narrowing her eyes.

  “I suppose he didn’t think anyone would try to go after my parents for information about him. He hadn’t seen them for years when he showed up with me. Anyway, I suppose it’s possible Erik Tarren was alive twenty years ago, but is not today. He certainly could have moved to a different city by now. But it is the best information I have.”

  “I suppose if anyone would know about a wielder of the Sae’kes, it would be Erik Tarren,” Lydia mused.

  Taelien began to pace around the room, but glanced back toward Lydia. “Do you know something about him? I mean, you and Jonan both knew his reputation as a scholar, but something more specific?”

  Lydia nodded. “Specifically, he’s well known for writing treatises on sorcerous theory. He’s one of the foremost authorities on broad-scale sorcery, especially the applications of sorcery in warfare. He personally engineered the spell that resulted in the fall of Xixis.”

  “That’s very impressive.”

  “It is, but I’m sure it did make him a host of enemies. And his political views were never very popular in Velthryn.” She paused, a half-frown crossing her face. “I have a bit of a personal interest in him as well. I never knew my real father. He left few things of value behind when he left my mother – myself in her belly being one of them, a book by Erik Tarren being another.”

  Taelien paused in his step, turning to face Lydia completely. A somber expression fell across his face. “I’m sorry. I know what it’s like growing up without knowing your real father.”

  Lydia nodded, and then shook her head, as if to dismiss the thought. A smile replaced her half-frown. “It’s all right. My mother married another man when I was only three. So, I had a father figure for most of my childhood. The book has always left me with a hint of curiosity, however. Why’d he leave that book, in specific? It was an obscure one, too – ‘The Nature of Worlds’.”

  The sorceress gave a soft smile. “My mother couldn’t read, and my father must have known that – did he leave it for me, knowing that my mother was pregnant? I don’t know if the author of the book would have any idea about my fat
her’s motives, but he’s the only hint I have. My mother never told me my real father’s name, or even a description.”

  “I sympathize,” Taelien offered. “Maybe we’re related.”

  Lydia gave scoffing laugh at that, pointing at his head. “Given our hair colors, I’d somewhat doubt it.”

  “Agreed. I’m sure there are many children with stories similar to our own. Still, it’s nice to have some common ground.”

  Lydia nodded in reply. “I feel the same. So, your parents – did they tell you anything about how to find Erik Tarren, aside from the city?”

  “Oh, of course. They gave me an address,” Taelien explained, rubbing at his still-sweaty forehead with his off hand. “I probably should have mentioned that earlier.”

  “We haven’t exactly had time to hunt him down until now, anyway. Jonan and I have had plenty to do, and you seem to have been getting yourself into enough trouble to keep busy, too.” She gestured at his leg. “How’s that feeling, anyway?”

  “Only the most minor of agony now, thank you. I’ve been using the sacred sword of your religion as a cane,” he said with a wink.

  Lydia rolled her eyes. “Just never tell any priests that you did that. They tend to be a little more fervent about the treatment of holy artifacts. Do you need me to redo your stitches?”

  He shook his head. “No, Jonan took care of it in the morning. I should be fine.”

  “Are you sure? Last time he took care of your stitches, they didn’t last the night,” Lydia pointed out.

  “You’re over protective. Comes with the sorcery, I assume.” He smiled. “I’ll be fine. I have my sacred sword cane to take care of me,” he said, tapping the sheath at his side.

  “I thought you were just teasing about that.”

  “Not at all,” he replied, smiling. “Want to come with me to look for Erik Tarren?”

  Lydia pursed her lips. “Yes, but I really shouldn’t be seen with you. It’s a fairly significant risk.”

  He shrugged in response. “I can wear a disguise. Jonan already gave me a cover identity, and I have a tail coat that he rented. I could go buy a hat and some other accoutrements, if you’d feel more comfortable that way.”