The Lost Sun Series Box Set 1: Books 1 and 2 (Lost Sun Box Set)

by Riley Morrison

  “What’s your name?” the woman asked. “Will you protect me if the bad men come to take me?”

  The warrior’s eyes filled with lust. “My name’s Veladan, and you betcha. If these bad men show their faces, send them my way and I’ll make short work of em.”

  She brushed Veladan’s cheek with the back of her hand and he hurried back to the cart with a hungry grin on his face. The woman sat down and stared at the floor of the wagon. As they passed under a sacred light, Aemon was surprised to see tears running down her cheeks. She must have sensed his eyes on her, because she looked up at him.

  Her tears shone in the streetlights, making his heart ache for her. “Are you alright? What is your name?”

  The woman’s left hand touched something hanging around her neck. “My name is Kara and I’m in danger.”

  Chapter 3

  KARA

  The young man fell over himself to help her, just as Kara had expected he would. “You are in danger? Tell us what is wrong and we can try to help you.”

  Both men hunched forward, waiting eagerly for her to say something. She could tell they’d already fallen for her.

  Their fawning aside, they could still pose a threat. They mightn’t have had anything to do with what had happened at the tavern—but that didn’t mean they could be trusted.

  She came up with a story but kept it vague, to dissuade them from asking too many questions. “A rich merchant wanted me as his mistress. He sent thugs to abduct me, so I fled.”

  The balding man slid next to her. “My name is Morgon.” He nodded toward the man who’d asked her name. “And he is Aemon.”

  Aemon gave her a shy smile. “Nice to meet you.”

  Kara studied them. Both were dressed in fine brown woolen clothing and their boots looked like they’d been polished recently. Morgon’s dwindling head of hair showed signs of gray, though he looked no older than Kara. Aemon, with a handsome, clean-shaven face and short brown hair, also looked around twenty, though he was near a head shorter than her and smaller of frame. His blue eyes shone with intelligence and compassion.

  As different as the two men looked, they shared one thing in common—they were naive and probably had little experience with women. It would be easy to manipulate them with a smile here and a gentle touch there.

  Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.

  “I can tell by the way you speak, you’re both nobles.”

  They glanced at one another. “Is it that obvious?” Morgon asked.

  Kara chuckled, then said, “I’ve known a noble or two in my life. You all speak so... formally.”

  Aemon smiled back. “Yes, we are nobles, but we are both fourth-born sons, which makes us of little use to our families. We can still help you, though. Tell us what you need.”

  “I want to keep a low profile. If anyone asks who I am, tell them I’m with you.”

  “Veladan said he would protect you,” Morgon reminded her. “He and his two companions look like they could take on anything.”

  Kara watched the three armed men walking alongside the cart in front of them. They did look formidable, and maybe she could use her courtesan wiles to try to get them to help her. But after what had happened a few nights ago, the world seemed far more dangerous. Seeing the people she’d grown up with murdered... she wasn’t sure if she could trust anyone anymore—even men besotted by her.

  Unlike the two naive nobles, Veladan was a shrewd one and recruiting him would be dangerous. He would want more than flowery words and playful touches in exchange for his protection and she no longer had someone like Mensig—the doorman at the tavern—to hold the warrior back if he got carried away. Furthermore, nothing would stop him from taking what he wanted and ditching her at the first sign of trouble.

  Then there was the artifact. It would be impossible to stop Veladan from seeing it and asking questions she couldn’t answer. And if he thought the artifact was valuable, he might take it from her—which could kill her, judging by what had happened when she tried to remove it. After she had fled the Golden Key, she again tried to remove the item, but quickly felt sick and came close to passing out.

  Only putting it back around her neck stopped the nausea.

  With luck, the black-clad man and his companions would be looking for her back in the city and would never think to look among the trade caravans. If that were the case, she wouldn’t need Veladan’s help anyway.

  Kara tried not to stiffen as Morgon put a hand on her arm. “When we get to Deep Cave we will find you somewhere safe to hide,” he said. “Aemon and I work for the Royal Bank of Stelemia and come from wealthy families. We can give you coin and the protection of our family names.”

  He looked so eager to help, she had to smile. “You’re too kind, my lord.”

  The balding banker sat up straight. “I like hearing you call me that. Say it again.”

  “Leave her be,” Aemon said. “She has been through enough already.”

  Sighing, Morgon let go and moved away. Kara stared out at the Field of Spikes. She’d never seen so many stalagmites before. They looked like thousands of little spear points poking up from the ground, waiting to impale anyone who dared walk among them. Only the road was clear of them.

  The spikes were lit by the faint glow of the bacterial colonies on the cavern roof and stretched for miles on the right side of the highway until they faded into darkness. To her left, the gentle ripples of Crystal Lake lapped against its ancient stone shore.

  Every half mile, they passed a metal watchtower lit by three-foot-long mushroom-stem torches and a single sacred light, attached to a cable running through a narrow channel carved into the rock beside the road. The channel led all the way back to the capital and connected with the power hub near the center of the city.

  Soldiers armed with an assortment of weapons were stationed in the towers. They protected the road from thieves and the occasional monster that found its way into the cavern from the Great Dark.

  One of the watchmen stopped the lead wagon to converse with the driver. Morgon stood up and watched the two men. “I wonder what they stopped us for.”

  Kara tried to keep her head down and her face hidden under her hood. What if the guard was saying something about her? What if—She caught herself before she let fear override common sense. The man was part of the army, not one of the black-garbed killers.

  The wagons set off again, and a message was passed from one man to the next. One of the caravan’s guards came to walk beside Kara’s wagon and said something to the driver. The driver’s face paled. When the guard moved away, the driver spoke over his shoulder to Kara and the two bankers. “I’ve just been told there are Inquisitors in the village up ahead. Seems they caught wind of a heretic around here and have come to investigate.”

  Inquisitors! Could they be looking for me?

  Kara clasped the artifact through her cloak and tried to keep her breathing under control. The Inquisitors spent their lives searching for anyone who posed a threat to the divines, the Priest King or those who served them.

  What if carrying the artifact somehow made her an enemy of the divines? Maybe Wrynric had stolen it from the Order. It looked like something of theirs. Her chest tightened. Even having spoken to Wrynric, a man who claimed he came from beyond the sacred lights, could land her in trouble.

  What am I going to do?

  Morgon was looking her way. She didn’t need anyone seeing her overreact to the news. That might lead them to ask questions—which could end with her being handed over to the Inquisitors. She stared into the Field of Spikes so no one would see her face and tried to get a hold of the anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” the driver said, his voice heavy with dread. “Another caravan went missing in the Limestone Caves.”

  The driver focused on the road again and the two bankers whispered frantically to one another. Why did they sound so afraid? Was it because of the missing caravan or the Inquisitors? If the latte
r, then they had little to fear—if what she’d heard at the tavern was true.

  Inquisitors rarely purged nobles. It was commoners like her who feared them. There were few common folk who didn’t know someone who’d lost friends or family to Inquisitorial torture, execution or exile over a silly comment overheard by the wrong ears.

  Kara glanced down at herself. She was dressed like a commoner and was the only woman in the caravan. That alone singled her out for notice. Had she made the wrong decision in going to Deep Cave? She bit her lip so hard it drew blood. Stop it, she told herself. There is no point second guessing my decision.

  She was almost out of coin, had no food or water, and only had a knife and her charms to defend herself with. Wrynric had told her to head to Deep Cave, and he was the only one who knew she had the artifact—other than the black-garbed man trying to kill her.

  What other option did she have?

  Easing up on her lip, Kara fought the urge to burst into tears. She’d cried enough already. Now, she had to be strong.

  “What do you think, Kara?” Aemon suddenly asked her.

  Kara jumped. She’d been so absorbed in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed the two bankers looking at her. She cleared her throat, letting go of the artifact. “About what?”

  Morgon ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “The Inquisitors, of course.”

  “Oh... I don’t know... Why do you think they’re here?” She hoped their answer would help calm her fears and get their attention away from her.

  “Who knows?” Morgon replied, his voice jittery. “When I was younger, I saw them drown a man in the lake for deliberately breaking a sacred light. They were chanting in ecstasy as they did it.” He shrugged. “Still, drowning is better than being exiled into the Great Dark or thrown alive into the furnace of the Halls of the Priest King.”

  “That is not all they do,” Aemon said. “They also throw people into a bottomless pit called the Well of Remorse in the Bastian of Purity. And Lydan help you if you bring harm upon an Inquisitor, a member of a holy order or one of the Priest Kings soldiers...”

  Morgon glanced up the road, as if he expected an Inquisitor to leap on him at any moment. “We have nothing to fear, though. None of us has ever traveled beyond the sacred lights nor said ill of a Divine.”

  He sounded like he was saying that more to calm his own fears than that he truly believed it. His eyes were on the cart Veladan guarded. What was on it that made him so nervous?

  Aemon opened a canvas sack. “I am going to eat something to distract myself. Kara, do you want some food?”

  Her mouth watered. “Yes, please. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

  He handed her a loaf of mushroom bread and a wineskin filled with water. She thanked him, then scarfed down the bread and drank half the water. When she lowered the wineskin from her lips, she found both men laughing. “What?”

  “I have never seen someone eat so fast,” Aemon said.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I told you I was hungry.”

  Further down the road, an old shepherd waved at the caravan from among the spikes as the wagons rolled by. Behind him, hundreds of sheep and swine munched on food scraps from feed troughs chiseled into the cavern floor.

  Morgon wrinkled his nose. “Those animals stink. How can he stand being around them?”

  “You get used to bad smells,” Kara replied.

  “Expect the stench to grow worse,” Aemon said. “There is a village called Klardna up ahead, where half the meat and wool sold in the markets in the capital are sourced from.”

  “How do you know that?” Kara asked.

  Aemon mumbled something under his breath. Morgon patted him on the back and laughed. “It is like everything he knows—he read it in some stuffy book or banking report. Ask him any question and he will bore you to pebbles with inane facts and figures he once read somewhere.”

  The banker was not wrong about the smell becoming worse. By the time they arrived at the edge of Klardna, all three had covered their noses. Sheep, swine, chickens and rats darted about the wagons as they drove along the main thoroughfare. A group of children tried to climb onto one of the wagons but the driver scolded them and they scurried away. The adults in the town spoke in hushed voices, many looking down the street toward the center of town.

  The direction the trade caravan was heading.

  Were the townsfolk afraid of something? Was it the Inquisitors, or had the people trying to kill her gotten to Klardna first? For a brief moment, Kara considered jumping off the wagon and running away but decided it would draw suspicion.

  When they neared the center of the village, Morgon inclined his head toward a group of people garbed in white who were surrounded by a dozen armed men. “There, look. Inquisitors.”

  The Inquisitors stood on a dock beside the road, waiting for their brethren to come ashore from a ship. The sails of the vessel bore the Inquisitors’ golden lightbulb resting atop a bed of healing herbs imposed over a silver shield. The symbol represented all the divines, except Dwaycar the Betrayer.

  Three of the figures were male, but a fourth—with a circuit of golden embroidery woven around a pointed hat—was a woman. She was tall and proud, with a face as cold as the waters lapping the stone shore of the lake.

  Aemon gasped. “That is Inquisitor General Malaris. She is the Priest King’s left hand and Prime Servant of the Four Divines. It is said she can identify a heretic just by looking at one.”

  “Stay quiet,” Morgon whispered as the group of white-clad figures turned to watch the wagons pass by.

  Kara lowered her hood and gripped the artifact as Malaris’s eyes fell on her. She tried to look away, but the Inquisitor’s gaze pinned her in place. The Inquisitor General said something to one of her underlings and he studied Kara too. Malaris pointed at the wagons and several of her guards raced over to stop the caravan.

  They know about the artifact. They know!

  The Inquisitor General strode over to Kara’s wagon. Morgon and Aemon backed away, almost falling over the side. But Malaris wasn’t interested in them.

  Her eyes were on Kara.

  Kara didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. Everything but Malaris was forgotten.

  The Inquisitor stopped in front of Kara and motioned for her to pull back her hood. Kara slowly reached up and removed it.

  Her bangs fell into her eyes, so she brushed them back and stared at the Inquisitor General’s embroidered shoes. “Look at me, peasant girl,” a cold voice said.

  Kara sniffed, then lifted her face so the other woman could study it. Malaris pulled something from her robes and glanced at it, then back at Kara. The item beeped like the computer at the temple near the Golden Keg. “What is your name, girl?” Malaris asked.

  “My name... Kara. My name is Kara.”

  Malaris nodded once, then showed Kara what was on the screen of the device in her hand—the image of a woman with red hair and blue eyes. “This woman shares many facial characteristics with you. Do you know her?”

  Kara worked saliva into her dry mouth as she peered at the screen. The woman wore black armor, like the man who had attacked the Golden Keg, and in her hand was what might have been a mask. But her most striking features were the scars running down her face. Kara wasn’t a healer, but they looked like they had been made no more than a month or two ago. “I have never seen her before, my lady. Who is she?”

  “She is a heretic and criminal from beyond the sacred lights. One who has turned her back on the holy technologies of Ibilirith. She was seen a few days ago with two of her brethren by the resident Inquisitor, who took this picture.” Malaris studied Kara closely.

  Kara tried her best not to look guilty or to move her hands anywhere near her hidden knife or the artifact.

  Then the Inquisitor General seemed to relax. “It must be coincidence that you look similar to this woman. My computer has scanned you, and it tells me you have never ventured out of the pure radiance of the sacr
ed lights.”

  “No, my lady. I honor Lady Ibilirith.”

  Malaris pursed her pale lips. “I do have one question, though. Why is a young peasant woman like you traveling alone on such a dangerous trade route?” She sounded like she was scolding a child. “Have you not heard of the missing caravans?”

  Kara didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t come up with an answer. The Inquisitors are going to take me away!

  A voice spoke from behind her. “She is with me.”

  Malaris’s eyes switched to the speaker. “And who are you?”

  After a brief pause, he said, “I am Aemon, of House Pulmard. I am going to Deep Cave on family business and this woman is my servant.”

  The Inquisitor General nodded indifferently. “Then go about your business, noble lord. I will keep you no longer.”

  Kara let out her breath. Thank the divines the banker had spoken up or her silence might’ve condemned her.

  “May the sacred lights shine over us all,” Aemon intoned.

  Malaris and her companions moved away, and the guards blocking the caravan from moving onward motioned the wagons along. Kara was too afraid to take her eyes off the Inquisitor General—who still watched Kara, as the wagons continued their journey.

  When the caravan had traveled some distance, Morgon let out a nervous laugh. “That was creepy. I thought we were doomed, for sure.”

  Kara was finally able to look away and found Aemon wiping sweat from his forehead. He forced a smile. “Did you see Malaris’s eyes? I have never seen anything more terrifying.”

  What Aemon said was true. Few things frightened Kara more than the way that woman had looked at her.

  “Thank you, Aemon, for telling Malaris I was with you. I didn’t know what to tell her when she asked me what I was doing.”

  His cheeks reddened, and Morgon spoke up for him. “He gets like that sometimes. He will stand up and say something when others are afraid to.”

  “Brave,” she said as she watched the town recede into the distance.

  It occurred to Kara that Malaris might have been able to help her. The Inquisitor General might have known what the artifact was and how to get rid of it. But the risk...