Son of Truth (Follower of the Word)

by Morgan L. Busse

  Rowen’s anger evaporated. “How?” She lifted her hands in a defeated manner. “How can my ability stop these beings? I don’t blast shadows or throw balls of fire. I only show the darkness inside people. I touch them, and they see what they truly are.”

  Prince Evander winced at her words.

  Lord Tancred sat up. “A Truthsayer?” he said in a gruff voice. “Are you saying you are a Truthsayer?”

  Rowen slowly nodded.

  “By the Word,” he said quietly. “Of course you are. There must always be a Truthsayer.”

  Rowen frowned. There must always be a Truthsayer? She shook her head and looked back at Nierne. “I don’t know how that ability is going to help you.”

  Nierne’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t either. I thought…” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Well, what I do know is that we need you to at least try.”

  But I don’t want to go.

  The words came from somewhere deep inside her. Rowen stopped, shocked by the thought. She realized they were true: She didn’t want to go.

  She understood then that a part of her had hoped everything would work out. That eventually the people of the White City would accept her, and she would finally have the life she had always wanted. A simple life, the kind of life everyone else had. A normal life.

  Instead, she was a marked woman. Literally. And that mark would follow her the rest of her life. Rowen blinked back tears. She watched her hopes crumble and burn up like dry leaves in the fire.

  Then she felt something else. The power inside her stirred. It moved, expanding past her. She could feel…Nierne? Rowen looked at her from the corner of her eye. Yes, she could feel the woman’s fear…her losses…her desperation. Rowen closed her eyes, and her power withdrew back inside. This was the second time her power had flared and moved beyond her since the night she had used her truthsaying on that Temanin. Why here? Why now? Was it the Word?

  Rowen shook her head and let out her breath. Whatever the reason, it did help her frame the question differently: How could she deny these people when it was perhaps in her power to help them?

  Go with her, whispered a voice inside her head.

  This was her path. This was the dark road in her visions, the one that led toward light.

  Rowen opened her eyes. The room came back into focus. She looked at Nierne and took a deep breath. “I will go with you.” Her words were met with silence. She shoved down her unease and turned to Lady Astrea. “Milady, I have no choice. If there is a way, if it is possible—”

  “I understand, Rowen,” Lady Astrea said softly. “I knew you would not be with me forever. But I am sorry for what you must face.”

  Rowen tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace, so she nodded instead.

  Lord Tancred stood, his impressive size filling the room. “She will not go alone.” He looked at Rowen. “I wish to send two of my men to accompany you. My people know only too well the power of the Shadonae. If it had not been for another Eldaran, the Nordic Wars would have wiped out our entire civilization.” He looked over at Nierne. “I would send an army if it would help Thyra. But it won’t, as you well know. So may the Word be with you, Nierne of the Monastery. And Word willing, the Shadonae will be stopped.”

  Nierne bowed. “Thank you, Lord Tancred.”

  “I will also send someone with you.” Lady Astrea turned toward Nierne, but her gaze was on Rowen. “My varor Aren.”

  Aren would be coming. Rowen felt a spike of disappointment. Confused by the emotion, she barely heard Prince Evander volunteer two men of his own. Nierne thanked the three leaders. Then talk of supplies and preparation commenced between those present. Rowen stood quietly to the side, still reeling from the rapid change of events.

  She would be leaving—in two days, she overheard. They would take a ship scheduled to leave the Avonai port and sail around the southern tip of Temanin, then back up north toward the western coast. It would be a couple of months before they reached Thyra. Then once there… Rowen looked out the nearest window. She had no idea.

  Two days. Barely enough time to gather what clothing and gear she needed. Barely time to get used to the idea of leaving.

  And no time to say goodbye to Lore.

  Her throat tightened. She watched dark clouds roll across the sky outside, blotting out the sun. Lore would not arrive in Avonai until the end of the week. And by then, she would be gone.

  Something broke inside of her at the thought. She wished she could see him one more time, before she left. She wanted to hear his voice again, hear his assurance that the Word was in control, see his face and memorize every trace of it. Because where she was going, there was no guarantee she would be coming back.

  She might never see Lore again.

  5

  The wind hit Lore like a slap across his body. He bent into it, one hand tightly gripping his cloak and the other on the reins of his horse. Rain pelted down from the dark clouds above, driving away almost every bit of light left in the day. Ahead, in the dim grey, he could see the gates of Avonai.

  Just a little bit farther, he told himself. Another blast of wind came up from the Illyr Sea. He closed his eyes against the rush of rain and held his breath. The wind passed. Gasping in air, Lore wiped his face and looked ahead again. The gates stood open. Thank you, Word.

  He urged his horse into a run. Another gust of wind buffeted him. Lore held on and raced toward the gates. Twenty meters…ten meters… Finally, the horse’s hooves clattered onto the cobblestone street.

  Lore let out a sigh of relief. He had made it. Readjusting his hold on the reins, he led his horse along the street. The rain continued to pour down. Inside, he could feel the ocean stirring in his blood.

  He passed through the second gates and moved toward the castle ahead. Torches flickered from their brackets on either side of the castle doors.

  A guard rushed out from the gatehouse, holding the hood of his cloak with one hand to keep it from flying back. “State your busi— Captain Lore Palancar?” The guard wiped the water from his face.

  “Yes,” Lore shouted back over the storm.

  The guard dropped his hand and motioned toward the castle. “Go ahead, sir.”

  Lore urged his horse toward the stables. He grabbed his pack and made sure his horse was taken care of, then hurried toward the castle.

  He entered the castle’s back kitchens and a rush of warm air hit his face. He shut the door behind him, put down his pack, and took off his cloak.

  A fire roared in a nearby stone fireplace. Pots and pans made of copper, bundles of herbs, and a smoked ham hung over a large wooden table in the center of the room. The aroma of yeast and flour mingled in the warm air.

  A heavyset woman with a white apron across her front stood at the table working a lump of dark dough. She looked up and wiped her hands on her apron. “Can I help you?”

  Lore hung his cloak over his arm. “No, but thank you, Martha.”

  Martha gave a small gasp. “Captain Lore!” she said and bustled toward him. “I did not recognize you.”

  Lore laughed and ran a hand through his hair. Water splattered everywhere. “Not surprising. That storm could take a man’s face off.”

  “I know. Most of the time I can ignore them, but this storm…” She rubbed her chest. Lore knew what she meant—he could feel his own seablood moving too.

  Martha turned and headed toward the fireplace. “Can I get you something hot to drink? I just put a kettle on.”

  “No, but thank you, Martha.”

  “Here are the roots.” There was a gasp and a clattering sound. Lore looked over and found one of the young kitchen maids standing in the doorway and looking at him. She bent down and began to pick up the rolling onions and other roots.

  Martha turned away from the fire. “Eireen, what are you doing?” She hurried toward the kitchen maid.

  Lore took this as his cue to leave. He heaved up his pack and headed out the side door.

  Upstairs, he walk
ed along the castle hall, his boots clapping on the polished marble. Long tapered candles twinkled in golden sconces. He found a servant on the second floor and inquired after Lady Astrea.

  “She is in the council room,” the servant said. “I will take you there.”

  Lore held up his pack. “First, would you show me to my room?”

  The servant took him to a guest room, where Lore left his pack and cloak, then Lore followed the young man along the hall. The servant stopped before a double set of doors. Lore waited as the servant went inside.

  A moment later, the servant emerged. “She will see you in a moment. You may go in and wait.”

  Lore nodded and walked inside. Lady Astrea sat at a long dark wooden table. Prince Evander sat across from her. Neither looked up as he entered. Their heads were bent toward one another in deep conversation. A chandelier hung above the table, lighting the middle of the room but leaving the perimeter dark. The windows on the far side of the room were a dark blue grey, the line between sky and sea now blurred as night fell.

  Lore looked around the room searching for Lady Astrea’s varor. He found Geoffrey standing in the corner. He stifled his disappointment and walked noiselessly toward Geoffrey. He had hoped it would be Rowen on duty tonight.

  “Captain,” Geoffrey said quietly in greeting.

  “Geoffrey,” Lore replied.

  “You’re early. We were not expecting you for a couple more days.”

  “I finished my work earlier than I expected. And I was able to trade horses twice on the way here.”

  Geoffrey nodded and looked back toward the table. Lady Astrea and Prince Evander talked in hushed tones. Lore wanted to ask Geoffrey how the time had gone. More importantly, he wanted to know how Rowen was. But Geoffrey was not the man to ask. So Lore waited.

  After a couple more minutes, Prince Evander and Lady Astrea stood up. Lady Astrea looked over at Geoffrey. Her eyes widened when she noticed Lore.

  “May I escort you to your room?” Prince Evander asked.

  Lady Astrea turned back and shook her head. “That is kind of you to ask, but I see that my captain has arrived, and I want a word with him first.”

  “As you wish. Goodnight, milady.” Prince Evander gently grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. Then he and his varor left the room.

  Lady Astrea turned toward Lore. “Captain Lore, I was not expecting you until the end of the week.”

  Lore took a step forward and bowed. “I made good time, milady.”

  “Good. Come walk with me and tell me how your trip was.”

  Lady Astrea and Lore left the room with Geoffrey following.

  “So everything went well?” Lady Astrea walked alongside Lore down the hall. “The refugees found places to live?”

  “Yes,” Lore said. “Some chose to stay in the White City. The rest are now making the journey to Nordica. Commander Eirick said the homes he found for them are small, but at least it will give many of the families a place to live until the White City can be rebuilt.”

  “Good.” Lady Astrea sighed heavily. “Now we just need to start rebuilding.” They turned a corner. “Captain Lore,” she said more quietly, “I don’t know what I would have done these last few weeks without you.” She glanced over at him. “I know my father put a lot of faith in you, and now I see why.”

  He gave her a tight smile. “Milady, it is my duty and desire to serve your family.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” They turned down another hall. “One more thing before you head to your room.”

  “Yes, milady?”

  “We received distressing news a couple of days ago. News that affects Rowen.”

  A cold, hard knot filled his middle. “Rowen?”

  “Yes.” Lady Astrea lowered her voice. “A young woman showed up a couple days ago with a letter from Balint. In that letter, Balint said the young woman was from Thyra.”

  “Thyra? You mean Thyra the capital of Kerre?” Lore frowned. “We haven’t heard from them in years.”

  “I know. And the news she brought…” Lady Astrea stopped. “I still hardly believe it myself.” She took a breath as if bracing herself. Lore stopped and looked over at her, a chill spreading across his body. “Thyra,” she said, “has been taken over. Burnt and destroyed.”

  Lore stared at her. “That can’t be. Thyra has no enemies. And the Temanin Empire has been fighting over here. I highly doubt they have the resources to fight on two fronts, not to mention the difficulty in crossing the Great Desert. And Myst Veil is too far away to bring a large army.”

  “I know. It wasn’t a natural attack. They are back.” Her gaze wavered. “The Shadonae.”

  Lore stopped breathing. He felt as though he had walked into a wall. He stared at Lady Astrea’s face. Everything inside him wanted to deny what she had said. But he could see the conviction in her eyes. “Shadonae?” he finally said, the words forcing their way out. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Balint believes her, and I questioned the young woman myself. What she described, what she saw, it rings with truth.”

  Lore turned toward the wall and stared at the flame above the melting candle. “How? How can the Shadonae be back? They’re gone, extinct…” He raked a hand through his hair. “They can’t be back.”

  “But they are.”

  Nothing had been heard of the Shadonae since the end of the Nordic wars. Four hundred silent years. To now come out of hiding and attack Thyra… Where had they come from?

  And what if the Shadonae crossed the mountains? The White City would be right in their path. They couldn’t sustain another normal attack right now, much less one by a supernatural army. Hadn’t they been through enough?

  “So that is why Rowen is leaving.”

  Lore spun around. “What? Why?”

  “To help stop the Shadonae. I have released her to go with Nierne, the scribe from Thyra.”

  His nostrils flared. “What could Rowen possibly do against the Shadonae?”

  Lady Astrea shook her head. “I do not know.”

  Lore clenched his hands. Then why are you sending her! But he didn’t voice his accusation. Years of decorum and obedience kept his lips shut. Besides, he knew Lady Astrea would not let Rowen go without good reason.

  “I do not know how Rowen’s power works. But Captain Lore—” Lady Astrea looked at him— “you know what will happen if the Shadonae are not stopped.”

  Lore loosened his hands. “Annihilation. Like the Nordic Wars.”

  Lady Astrea nodded. “If there were any other way, I would pursue that path. But there is nothing else I can think to try. Nothing else we can do. But maybe Rowen can. I need to give her that chance.”

  Lore opened his mouth then closed it. He knew Lady Astrea spoke the truth. But why Rowen? Why couldn’t someone else go and save the Lands?

  Lore saw Rowen in his mind, right after she had healed Nora: blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, her eyes unfocused, her legs… He swallowed. He knew Rowen would go to Thyra if she could save those people.

  “Captain.” Lady Astrea placed a hand on his arm. “Do not worry. I am sending Aren with Rowen, to protect her. And Lord Tancred is sending two men. Even Prince Evander is sending two, though he would prefer not to.” Lore looked up sharply. The way she said Prince Evander’s name sounded almost guarded. “You know Aren will take care of her.” She looked at him. “There is nothing more I can do.”

  Lore let none of the emotions raging inside him show on his face. “I know.” Maybe Lady Astrea couldn’t do any more, but what about him?

  Lady Astrea dropped her hand and turned. She headed down the hall. Lore walked alongside Geoffrey, his body rigid. At the end of the corridor, Lady Astrea stopped before a set of double doors.

  “When do they leave?” Lore said. “Rowen and the others?”

  Lady Astrea turned back. “They leave tomorrow. A ship volunteered to take them to Thyra.”

  Tomorrow. Lady Astrea bid him good night. Lore said something in return a
nd opened the door for her. Geoffrey followed Lady Astrea and started inspecting the room. Lore took a step back. Tomorrow. Rowen would be leaving tomorrow.

  His gaze roamed down the hall. Rowen’s room was next door. For one heartbeat Lore thought about knocking. He even turned that direction. But then he stopped. Rowen was probably asleep by now. He pictured her, eyes shut, pale hair spread across a white linen pillow. He would see her off in the morning.

  “Lady Astrea’s rooms are clear, Captain.”

  Lore turned back. “Thank you, Geoffrey. I will… I will see you tomorrow.”

  Geoffrey nodded and took his place beside the door. Distracted, Lore turned and left.

  He walked until he reached the end of the hall and the door to his own room. He shut the door behind him and removed his sword and placed it near the bed. He stripped off his shirt and laid it across a nearby chair to dry. A single window overlooked the Illyr Sea. Lore walked over and looked out. He could see nothing in the darkness. But inside he could feel the waves as they churned beneath the midnight sky. The storm was already ebbing away and would probably be gone by morning. Good for sailing.

  “Dear Word,” Lore whispered, his own heart churning inside him. A hope had taken root on his journey here from the White City. Hope, courage, and determination. A way to stand beside Rowen—closer than her captain, closer than a friend. That is, if she would have him. But now…

  Lore ran a hand across his face and turned away from the windows. He moved to the bed and pulled back the covers. He took off his boots and pants and slipped beneath the cool sheets.

  Sleep eluded him. Instead he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. He could almost hear the war going on between his head and heart. Go…or stay.

  He wanted to go along with Rowen to Thyra. Every beat pulsed with that desire. And if he were an ordinary man, free of duty, he would do that. He would follow the urgings of his heart. After all, wasn’t that what every man did in every story he knew? Follow the one they loved?