by Rowe, Andrew
A second, more thorough glance around the room took in more details. Only some of the runes on the door were familiar, but at a second glance, he noted a matching symbol on each side that resembled a spear. That’s not a sorcerous rune, he realized, but a pictograph representing the Heartlance.
Looking back at the bookcase, he recognized the markings on the spines of several books he had seen before. A book on the planes by Erik Tarren, a book on the Dominion of Protection by Edrick Theas, even a book on dominion bonds by Blake Hartigan. The first and last were both rare and expensive – the other owner he was aware of was one of the wealthiest people in Selyr.
This is probably Edon’s library. And that door on the other side leads to something even more dangerous – maybe his personal bedchamber, or wherever he’s holding more of the Rethri. Oh, resh. I should have expected this.
Vorain was heading over to the desk and bookshelf. Jonan followed nervously, glancing back toward the woman in the bed.
Who, he considered, would be sleeping in Edon’s library?
While her body was mostly covered by blankets, he noted her exceptionally dark hair, which was a stark contrast to her pale skin. Likely from near Liadra, he realized. He filed that away for later and moved over to Vorain, who was searching quickly removing and scanning through books on the bookshelf.
Vorain leaned close to him as he approached, whispering in his ear, “Find his research notes.”
Oh, sure, that’s specific. Jonan was beginning to doubt Vorain’s planning ability, and his own wisdom in following along... But Vorain clearly knew something – or, more accurately, many things – that he didn’t.
He went to the desk first, finding a stack of papers with a quill and inkwell next to them. Glancing at the top paper, it looked like it was some kind of financial report.
From the Talior and Castle Depository, he realized as he glanced further down the document. Nothing particularly suspicious about that, but it does confirm his connection with the bank, at least.
He quickly parsed through the next several papers in the stack before shaking his head and setting them back the way they were. Nothing looked like ‘research notes’ within that stack, so he moved on to a stack of books that sat next to it.
There were four books in the pile, and a look at the cover of each told him that the first two were histories and the third was one of Erik Tarren’s books on dominion sorcery theory. Could be interesting, but not relevant, Jonan considered. He paged through them to confirm if the covers hid a different interior, but they all appeared to be what they claimed to be.
The fourth book’s cover was blank, and the text inside was gibberish.
Hello, Jonan considered, grinning to himself.
Tesh molain sol ko Eru ravel lares taris, the first line read. A line pointed from the word “Eru” into a nearby margin, with the text “len kor vesu et taris” written aside it.
Not sure if research notes, but interesting, Jonan considered. It’s not in any language I recognize, but it’s still using Velthryn letters. Some sort of constructed language or code, then? Interesting. This could be important.
He poked Vorain in the arm, and she spun around. He gestured down to the open book, and she leaned down, glancing over the page. Her eyes narrowed.
“That might be something. We’ll take it, but keep looking,” Vorain said.
Jonan shuffled some of the vials out of his left pouch and moved them to the right, slipping them in between the coils of rope, and slipped the mysterious book into the left pouch. It didn’t fit properly, and the top stuck out several inches, but it didn’t feel like it was going to fall out immediately.
Vorain set down another book on the table and slipped another off the shelf, opening it. “Here,” she said quietly, glancing at the top page and then beginning to flip through the pages one at a time.
Jonan nervously glanced backward toward the bed. The girl within had rolled over to her left, and Jonan couldn’t see if her eyes were open or closed, but she didn’t seem to moving.
Minutes passed as Vorain read. After the first minute or so, Jonan went to the shelf to grab another book, but Vorain waved a hand for him to stop. She had apparently found what they were looking for.
“Resh,” she said out loud. “It’s true.”
She shoved the book, open to about the mid-point, into Jonan’s hands. He glanced at the page.
With their bonds exhausted, the current set of sources are no longer useful. The last batch provided useful output for more than eight years, proving that the second test stage’s methods are significantly more efficient. Given the amount of suspicion I generated when gathering the last batch, I will need to revise my acquisition procedures. Raymond’s apprentice wants me to look after her brother. That could lead to opportunities to restock, or even expand.
Jonan turned at the sound of shuffling blankets. By the time he had spun around, the young woman was a blur, moving too quickly for his eyes to process. She reappeared in the corner of the room furthest from them, holding the Heartlance in a defensive stance. Wearing only a white nightgown, her body’s shape was obvious. She had a soldier’s build and a soldier’s scars.
And, as he watched, her blue eyes flashed with light and changed to gold. The white around her iris remained – her eyes were human, not Rethri.
What?
Two metal objects flashed past Jonan, but the gold-eyed woman deflected them effortlessly, sending the projectiles to crash into the stone walls.
Vorain shoved the book in Jonan’s hands closed, catching his eyes as he glanced toward her. “Run. Take the book and run.”
A blade of ice appeared in Vorain’s hands and she charged, lashing out at the woman with the Heartlance. The golden eyed warrior parried each strike, breaking pieces of ice off of the weapon, and swept the shaft of the spear into Vorain’s ribs. The single strike carried Vorain off her feet, throwing her into the wall hard enough to make an audible crunch.
Vorain crashed to the floor, rolling to avoid a strike from the Heartlance that pierced into the stone wall near where she had knelt a moment before.
Jonan turned and ran, still holding the book. He swept the door open, braving one more glance toward Vorain as he exited the room. Her skin had turned inky black, blending with the dark, but the warrior that faced her stared at her with an unconcerned expression, readying the spear to strike again.
He wasn’t quite sure why he cared so much, but he really hoped that Vorain – no, Rialla Dianis – made it out of that room alive. That thought didn’t slow his steps, however, as he rushed aimlessly down the hall.
I don’t know the layout here at all, he realized. I’m lost, and also, I’m pretty sure Vorain just used thought sorcery on me again, and she’s probably going to die, and resh it all.
He rounded a corner and nearly slammed directly into a door that was much larger than the others. The wood was framed with gold, and a symbol of a harp was inscribed on a metal plate in the front of the door.
The queen’s room, Jonan realized. She’d better have a window.
He tried the knob, finding it locked, and grimaced. Of course it’s locked. It’s the reshing queen’s room.
This is a bad idea, he told himself, raising his right hand to the lock. Down the hall, he thought he could still hear the sounds of metal striking against something else – possibly Vorain’s odd icy weapon.
He called flame, blasting a hole twice the size of his fist in the door, right over the lock. With that obstacle removed, he kicked hard, smashing the door open.
Without pausing a moment, he reached into his pouch and withdrew the rope, accidentally knocking a vial on the floor as he did. It didn’t shatter, so he ignored the vial and stepped inside.
The room was grand, opulent, with a titanic bed that dwarfed even the one in Edon’s room. An actual harp sat beside it, but neither the bed nor the harp had any user present.
A second glance as Jonan stepped inside told him that the room was – thankfully – currently
unoccupied, but he did find one other thing of note. On the opposite end of the room there was a writing desk with neatly folded papers.
Against the wall above the desk was a gold-framed mirror, the metal surrounding it shaped into elegant vines. A familiar mirror, as Jonan had prepared it before he had left Selyr, giving it to his superiors to provide it to his contact.
A piece of parchment was pressed against the mirror, and Jonan approached quickly and snatched it, turning the paper to face him. Have not received report in days. Need status update. Prisoner walks the Paths of Ascension tomorrow. Need to strike now.
Oh, resh. My contact is the gods-cursed queen regent of Orlyn.
A loud crash sounded in the hall near the door, and Jonan dropped the paper instantly. There was, fortunately, a window – and a large one. He shoved the window’s locking mechanism out of place and flung the shutters wide, and then rushed to attach his rope to the metal frame of the nearby bed.
I really, really hate this part of the job, Jonan considered, tossing the remainder of the rope down the side of the building. After a moment of testing to make sure the rope was secure, he wrapped a length around his waist, tied it securely, and began the climb to dubious freedom.
Chapter XIII – Paths of Ascension
Taelien woke to the faint sound of knocking at the heavy door to his guest bedroom. He grabbed the Sae’kes from within his sheets, sat up, and walked half-unclad to open the door.
A young man in servant’s garb stood on the other side. “Um, good day, sir. I am here to bring you to Edon, long may he watch over us, who stands at the Paths of Ascension.”
“Sure,” Taelien replied, resting the sword at his side. “Give me a few minutes to dress myself.”
The servant nodded vehemently, and Taelien closed the door. He didn’t understand why the locals seemed to make such a big deal about garb, but he found their embarrassment amusing.
Taelien had spent the last three days recovering, practicing swordplay with Landen, and enjoying the hospitality of the palace. His leg wound from the Esharen was in substantially better shape, but his cauterized burn still ached madly, especially just after he awakened. He rubbed at the flesh around it, but that only made the aching worse.
I probably should be waiting longer before taking such an important test, but if Edon is going to give me the chance today, I can’t pass it up. There’s no telling when he’ll change his mind – or how many new injuries I’ll accumulate from any additional surprises in store here.
A few minutes later, Taelien emerged from the room wearing the borrowed clothes that Edon had instructed him to wear on this day. He had a long black tunic trimmed with silver, plain black breaches, and black leather boots with a silver pattern painted on their surface. Presumably a reference to Aendaryn, the god of swords, since those are his colors. Even here, people associate me with him. I can never seem to escape his shadow.
Still, he couldn’t complain too much. The boots fit surprisingly well, given that the cobbler had only taken his measurements the previous day. I wonder if these painted symbols are purely decorative, or if I’m walking around wearing some kind of latent sorcerous trap. I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.
Taelien belted on the Sae’kes, spent a few moments adjusting the position of the scabbard, and then another handful of moments debating if he was missing anything. A secondary weapon would probably be wise. There were no other weapons he was aware of in his chamber, so he went out to meet with the servant. He’d have to look for a secondary weapon later.
The servant led Taelien down three flights of stairs – which was interesting, given that he was pretty sure he had started out on the third floor – and to a gold-etched wooden door.
“This is the entrance to the Paths of Ascension?” Taelien asked.
“The entrance itself is inside this room, m’lord. I am not permitted to go inside, but Edon should be awaiting you. May the gods watch over you, m’lord.” The servant said, bowing deeply. He sounded like he actually meant it.
“Thank you,” Taelien said, suppressing a frown. I hope they’re not watching too carefully. If they are, their inaction would disgust me.
Taelien put a hand on the door handle as the servant scurried away. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the doors open.
The chamber beyond looked to be too large to be inside the palace. It was nearly as long as the arena had been, and that was a grand enough area to seat thousands. The floor was gray stone, with a single broad purple carpet leading straight across the room from where he was standing. Along the carpeted path were titanic marble pillars, reaching skyward toward the ceiling of the keep itself.
That explains the size to some extent, Taelien considered. This room must occupy space on every level of the keep. He glanced around to see if there were any entrances along the walls higher up in the room, but he could not find any. He did, however, find Edon.
The so-called god stood at the very end of the path, on the right side of the carpet. He was wearing similar robes to the ones Taelien had seen before, although these were blue trimmed with silver. He wasn’t sure if that had any significance – those were Sytira’s colors, but it seemed odd for Edon to be wearing them. He was also still wearing the same ring he had been at dinner, and Taelien thought he saw a flicker of some kind of blue light inside it.
Some sort of dominion bonded item, Taelien quickly concluded. Interesting.
Across from Edon was Myros – or someone dressed as Myros, at least. The figure was in full armor, including a helmet, and standing on the left side of the path with the Heartlance in hand. A long sword sat on their hip – a new addition. Interesting. Two weapons indicates a level of preparation for a fight. Are they going to make me fight Myros again? Is that what this is about?
A grin crossed his face at the thought.
This is the shorter Myros, he noted after a moment. The one I fought in the arena. I might have an actual fight on my hands.
Taelien shut the door behind him, taking a casual stride as he walked toward the pair of “gods” waiting for him at the end of the carpet. They could both attack me at once. That might be a problem. Edon can dispel sorcery, which removes one of my primary advantages. And Myros is both faster and stronger than I am, at least in short bursts. If that’s a result of motion sorcery, though, Edon’s spell to remove sorcery might counter Myros’ physical advantage as well.
He arrived at the end of the carpet, the pair hushing a conversation as he approached. “So, I’m here. What is this all about?”
“A broad question,” Edon said with a fatherly smile. “But I assume you are asking about the tests you’ll need to take.”
Edon gestured to a series of steps beyond the end of the carpet, which led downward toward another large door. It was massive, at least twenty feet tall, and made of solid metal. Some kind of writing was etched on the surface, but Taelien couldn’t recognize it at a distance.
The area in front of the door itself was a circular platform of white marble, a dozen feet below the rest of the room. Six poles carrying lit lanterns were distributed around the ring, illuminating a series of intricate glyphs carved into the floor. Oh, mysterious runic markings. Those are always fun.
“That is the entrance to the Paths of Ascension. It is the place where each of us goes to be judged worthy for godhood. Myros, Tylan, Vorain, and I have all walked it, and each of us retrieved something from within. That will be your task.”
“I take it I couldn’t just cut a piece of rock out of the wall and say I ‘retrieved something’?” Taelien smirked at the thought, but it seemed a valid question. There was no reason to strain himself against untold terrors if his instructions were that vague.
Edon shook his head. “No, but a clever thought. I will tell you in honesty that this will be no simple task, and it will not be without danger. The Paths of Ascension proved challenging to each of us, and I trust that you will be no exception. Once inside, you must retrieve an ancient artifact – and it will s
erve as the source of your power as a newborn god.”
Taelien raised an eyebrow. An artifact? What did that have to do with divinity? Isn’t an artifact just another term for a powerful dominion bonded object?
He stepped forward, getting a closer look at the doors, and finally recognizing the inscriptions. They weren’t the strange runes he had found around the Esharen – they were much more familiar. “Xixian,” Taelien muttered. “The doors say something about ‘until our master returns’. This is a vault, a Xixian vault.”
Myros seemed to stiffen at that statement, but Edon just waved a hand dismissively. “You’re right, of course. The Paths of Ascension are just a name people of this city gave it after we took it over. The artifacts were wrought with old sorcery, the type that predated human understanding – at least until recently.”
“You’ve figured out what makes them work,” Taelien concluded. It made a certain level of sense. “But the people of Xixis took precautions, and their artifacts are well protected.”
Edon nodded. “That’s the light of it, yes. Even with our extensive study of the first artifacts we found, we’ve barely brushed the surface of what these objects might be capable of. Myros and I have both made multiple incursions into that place, but each journey carries a real chance of death, even for us. It was designed to ward off anyone other than Vyrek Sul, the Emperor of Xixis, who is supposed to reclaim the treasures inside when he returns. The deeper you go, the greater the treasures within – and the more deadly the traps. Some of the traps even seem to change.”
He’s essentially admitting that he’s not a god. That’s...odd. From what I had heard about him, I had expected pulling that truth out of him to be much more of a struggle.
“So, what you’re really offering me is a title – that you’ll claim I’m a god like you ‘are’, if I bring you an artifact,” Taelien said, narrowing his eyes.
Edon shook his head. “You misunderstand. My offer was earnest – these artifacts have vast power, capabilities that no other living beings today can emulate. Myros and I are gods, Taelien, in every meaningful way. We watch over our citizens, we protect them, and we even give a chosen few our gifts – just as the other ‘gods’ claim to. I can offer the people of Orlyn anything the older gods can, and I give it freely, without asking for anything in return. Not even worship. I have no priests, no paladins to protect me.”
