by Ben Hale
The path was crowded with other travelers and the ascent to the city took time. An hour after entering she reached the end of the tunnel, and Azertorn came into view. She’d visited the elven capitol on numerous occasions, but it still elicited a sense of wonder.
Built into the massive cliff, Azertorn lay nestled between two towering waterfalls. The bowl-shaped city contained several tiers, each with homes, shops, taverns, and inns. The ruling houses and the queen’s palace dominated the expansive upper levels.
Gurgling brooks trickled their way down the tiered city, flowing through gardens and under arched bridges. Small waterfalls cascaded between homes and shops, adding cool moisture to the city, a refreshing addition in the summer heat. The cadence of the streams created a subtle music that permeated the streets.
Great oaks and small fruit trees mingled with cedar and pine, lending scent and shade to the elven capitol. Vegetables lined flawless gardens, while brush and flowers were on constant display, clinging to stone walls and obscuring the sand-colored rock.
At the base of the city, Le Runtáriel grew at the center of the city gardens. At five hundred feet tall, the great tree’s canopy shaded much of the city at noonday. Its massive branches provided pathways between the upper levels of the city, while smaller branches formed overlooks, spiral staircases, and graceful paths through the canopy. She was also sentient, and the elves revered her as the queen of forests.
Beauty used one of her personas to bypass the city guards and then ascended to an upper level of the city, turning toward the Temple of Light. All the temples of Ero resembled a dome-shaped star, and the one in Azertorn was visible from miles away.
The afternoon light reflected off the gold on the structure’s roof. The damage from Ero’s grand entrance had been repaired, with even more gold added. Beauty wrinkled her nose at the opulence and worked her way through the crowd. The closer she got to the temple, the more people packed the streets, and she had to cast a minor strength spell to push her way through.
The people had come from every corner of Lumineia, with elves, humans, dwarves, amazons, barbarians, and even a group of gnomes filling the street outside the temple. Although many were eager, their faces lined with hope and reverence, others were skeptics. Marked by their disdain or anger, they stood rigid and muttered to their companions. They cast Beauty sullen looks when she strode to the head of the line.
“I’m here to see Ero,” she said.
Flanked by a pair of guards, the abbot leered at her, his gaze sliding down her body. She endured the inspection, resisting the urge to draw a knife and teach him the right way to look at a woman.
“We are all here to see him,” the man at the head of the line said, jutting his chin out.
Beauty cast him a scathing look and he flinched, instinctively withdrawing a step. Beauty would have enjoyed doing the same to the abbot, but decided to use a smile rather than a sword. The crowd rumbled its discontent as she was allowed through, but the abbot only had eyes for her. Once they were around the corner he reached out to touch her rump—and found a knife at his throat.
“I know your pig brain will have difficulty with my words,” she said, “but I do not exist for your pleasure, nor does any other woman. You touch me, you lose a hand.”
The man swallowed, his throat bobbing up and down as sweat beaded his forehead. She’d kept her tone calm but one of the guards poked his head into view. He scowled and approached but the abbot jerked his head.
“All is well,” he said.
Beauty smiled and withdrew her knife, and the abbot recovered quickly. The rage in his eyes caused her to step to his side and gesture the way down the hall.
“Lead the way, acolyte,” she said.
She was taller than him, and her looming presence caused him to hastily obey. He kept his hands conspicuously to himself as he guided her through the temple. Beauty had been there before and ignored the fine Amazonian wood and dwarven cut granite of the walls. Her boots clicked across the marble floor of the great hall, and they passed through the congregation kneeling at the location of Ero’s arrival. More guards lined the hall, but they parted for the abbot, who guided her through the doors and up the stairs. Passing through the outer rings, they came to the white and gold circle of the high abbot, to the high abbot’s personal receiving room. She stepped inside to find Ero with a young woman and a maimed child.
He glanced at Beauty as she entered. Arresting in its intensity, his gaze seemed to bore into her soul. The startlingly clear blue eyes were framed in an ancient face. Snow white hair wafted over his head like wisps of clouds. Then he smiled, and the woman he was speaking to wilted.
“My dear woman,” he said. “I cannot remove his ailment without removing the blessing that comes with it. However, I can give you what you need to bring your own aid.”
He lifted the lid on a chest sitting on the table and retrieved a pouch. It clinked as he passed it to her, indicating it carried coin. He placed a hand on the boy’s head.
“Go to the Sheleiam,” he said, “the southern guild of healers. This will cover the cost of his healing.”
“How can we show our gratitude?” the woman said, falling to her knees.
He caught her hand and helped her up. “By reserving your coin for your family. There is no need for you to donate to the church again.”
She burst into tears and helped her son from the room. The moment she left, Alidon entered dressed in gold robes and spoke in a pained whisper. Curious, Beauty enhanced her hearing.
“You are giving gold to every patron that walks through the door,” the high abbot said.
“The offerings were made to beseech healing,” Ero said calmly. “Now the gold pays for it.”
The high abbot forced a smile and tried another tactic. Beauty managed to keep the smile from her face as she watched the high abbot struggle. The man had no idea who Ero really was. Tall and straight-backed, Ero really did look like a god, especially dressed in the flowing white robe with shining yellow trim. Expensive trimmings were noticeably absent from his garb, contrasting sharply with the high abbot’s own robe.
“As you will,” the high abbot said, bowing before departing.
The moment he turned away there was a scowl on his face. He forced it from his features before Beauty got a good look. When the door shut Ero smiled at Beauty.
“He does not care for my generosity to the church’s patrons.”
“He’s been taking gold from the people for ages,” Beauty said. “He may become suspicious of your real identity.”
“I suspect he will strike at me soon,” Ero said with a nod, “and attempt to prove I am not a god.”
“What will you do?”
Ero smiled. “Isn’t that why you’re here? To replace the other thief guards your guildmaster has set around me?”
“I’m here because Jack feels I betrayed him,” Beauty said sourly, wondering why she was revealing the truth.
“Did you?”
“Perhaps,” she admitted. “But I did it to protect him.”
“Lying rarely protects another,” Ero said. “But then again, I’m lying right now.”
She laughed in chagrin. “I don’t know why I’m telling you so much. I’m usually quite guarded.”
“I have that affect on mankind,” Ero said in amusement. “But it’s obvious what you feel for Jack.”
She looked away. “I’m here to stop Skorn,” she said. “And once he’s dead I’m leaving the guild.”
“What if Jack loves you?” Ero asked.
She met his gaze. “I don’t know if he’s capable of loving a single woman.”
“Do you love him?” Ero pressed.
Shaking her head, she changed the subject. “Jack has been strangely reserved about his plan. Care to elaborate on where we go from here?”
“Many of the people still believe me an imposter,” Ero said. “And Skorn won’t come into the open for one.”
“You want more people to believe in yo
u?” she asked. “The street is already packed.”
He smiled, his eyes twinkling with sudden mischief. “We both know this church is a sham. In the end I will be proven false, and the entire church will crumble.”
“Which is why you are emptying the coffers,” she said.
“I’ll be giving the remainder to Jack before Skorn appears,” Ero said. “It will look like a legendary thief impersonated a god and plundered the church’s vaults.”
The idea had merit. If Skorn killed or kidnapped Ero, the truth would come to light. The church would blame the Thieves Guild but be bankrupt and disgraced. It would wilt like a flower tossed to the flames.
“I always thought Jack’s talents were inciting anger and stealing,” she mused, “but I’ve come to realize his strength lies in his cunning.”
“There is no defense for a crafty mind,” Ero said with a nod.
“So how do you plan on garnering more attention?”
“I convince a single soul of my identity,” Ero said. “And many will follow.”
“The queen?” Beauty asked. “I doubt even you can convince her.”
Ero shook his head. “I was thinking of one with greater reach than the elven monarch.”
Beauty shook her head. “Who has more reach than a queen?”
“One all the peoples of Lumineia respect,” he said, his eyes twinkling again. “Le Runtáriel.”
Chapter 12: Ero’s Gambit
“That’s not wise,” Beauty said. “The great tree is as intelligent as you or I. Thousands attempt to speak with her and are left wanting.”
“She is known to speak to the queen,” Ero said, “and the oracle.”
“Only rarely,” Beauty said. “You want her to respond to you—and provide a show of support?” She jerked her head. “She’s as likely to ignore you as punish you for your impudence.”
“I’m confident she will speak to me,” Ero said, stepping to the door and ringing the bell on the wall.
“You’ve already claimed you will,” she accused.
“It was Jack’s idea,” Ero said. “I thought you’d like it.”
“You don’t have Jack’s audacity,” she said. “This is a fool’s plan.”
His gaze settled upon her. “Do you trust your guildmaster?”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but the words caught in her throat. “I can’t deny he has a way of coming out on top—but that talent doesn’t extend to you.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Ero said with a smile. “But I have my own tricks.”
Beauty released an explosive breath. Ero was an ancient being that had lived for over forty thousand years, but could he convince a tree known for its integrity to support a lie? She reached out and caught Ero’s arm, forcing him to look at her.
“End this plan,” she said, lowering her voice as the door swung open. “Before it ends you.”
“Have faith in Jack’s plan,” Ero said.
Beauty clenched her teeth but fell into step beside him. A pair of guards and another abbot led them into the bowels of the temple, passing the great hall that dominated its center. Since Ero’s auspicious arrival the remains of the statue had been removed, leaving an empty column of light to bathe the stage at the center of the hall.
Several times guards raised their hands to Ero and he smiled at each before passing them by. The reverence in their eyes sent a knot into Beauty’s gut. If the tree ignored him it would be bad enough, but she might decide to punish Ero. If it caused Ero to bleed, the people would know he was a false god. Then Skorn wouldn’t need to kill Ero. The people would tear him to pieces.
They exited the base of the temple and entered the labyrinth of tunnels secreted beneath the city. Stark and empty, the stone corridors stretched away with ensconced doors and side tunnels. Plain light orbs lit the hall at regular intervals, brightening as their charms noticed movement.
Although many of the tunnels were open to the people, most of the elves within them were soldiers, and many of the rooms were guarded. The wealthier families owned rooms in the tunnels and used them to hide their more nefarious dealings.
Beauty cast a charm to enhance her hearing and listened for threats, but kept most of her attention on the route. She took her time memorizing turns in case she needed to use them to escape later.
She smiled wryly as she realized how much she now thought like a thief. Jack had taken to the guild with ease and relished the craft, but it had been much more difficult for her. To her, the assignments seemed empty, with most benefactors just wealthy nobles squabbling over coin.
She thought of her homeland and her heart twinged with regret. She yearned to rejoin her brother and her people—especially with what Golic was doing—but when she’d fled her homeland, it had been a betrayal. Her father had given a blood oath to kill her, and as chieftain of their tribe, Oragon always upheld tradition.
She hadn’t seen Golic in months and missed her brother. She fleetingly wondered if Jack missed anything, or was it the thrill of stealing that was his home? She pondered her feelings for Jack as they descended to the base of the city and the Céius Gardens. Then the abbot turned down a side path that brought them to a strongdoor with light streaming under the lip.
Out of habit she mentally listed her inventory of weapons and gear, preparing in case they had to flee. It was too light out to use her shadowhook, leaving her with just her magic and weapons. She’d taken to carrying a collapsible sword along with her dagger and knives, as well as her thief crossbow and other guild equipment.
In addition to her gear she had her magic. Like most barbarians, she could manipulate any aspect of her physical form, temporarily enhancing speed, strength, hearing, or other attributes. She’d trained extensively as a youth and knew the limits of her power. Then they stepped into the open and she realized one thing.
It was not enough.
Thousands of people had gathered in the gardens and surrounded the tree, all talking in hushed tones. The winding paths of the garden were packed with various races. Streams gurgled their way under bridges and between trails until they merged into a pond. The water extended from the great tree all the way to the edge of the city, where the forest stretched to the southern horizon.
When Ero stepped out of the tunnel those nearest reached out to him, their voices joining in cries of worship. They parted, making a path for Ero to reach Le Runtáriel. Then some dropped to their knees and others followed suit, the entire crowd sinking in a wave of movement. Many remained standing, and one began to shout.
“False prophet!” the man shrieked. “You are not the god of light!”
Others joined his cries, and the anger quickly escalated. Acolytes of Ero rose in defense while the antagonists continued to scream obscenities. Beauty tensed and put a hand on the hilt of her dagger, tightening her grip until the blade squeaked in protest.
The crowd turned violent, with screams and shouts spilling into blows. Evidently prepared for a conflict, soldiers in the city guard shoved their way to the disputes. It was like tossing a handful of water on a forest fire. Keiko Ker’Isse, captain of the Home Guard, appeared at Ero’s side.
“You should return to the temple before this turns into a riot.”
“I appreciate your efforts to protect me, Captain,” Ero said, “but that will not be necessary.”
As Ero neared the tree the spectators began to quiet, with even the most ardent dissenters craning to get a look. The tension spiked in the silence as the gathering pressed closer, eager to see Ero’s divinity proven—or proven false.
Ero kept his focus on the tree as he approached, but Beauty kept her attention on the crowd. Some betrayed a murderous intent with every motion, edging their way toward the tree as if seeking an opportunity to strike. She spotted two in the crowd that looked familiar, and recalled seeing them in Skorn’s ranks. On the balcony of a higher level she spotted the queen herself stepping into view. Then Ero reached the tree and all fell silent.
Despite her co
ncerns, Beauty held her breath as Ero reached out to touch the trunk. Ero placed a hand on the rough bark and lifted his gaze to the canopy, closing his eyes as he sought to communicate with the tree.
The seconds stretched into a minute, and still Ero stood rigid. The more impatient began to fidget and whisper, sending a current of doubt among spectators and soldiers alike. Still Ero grasped the tree, as immovable as the being he sought to speak to.
Beauty swallowed and cast about for threats, mentally cursing Ero as she sought an escape route. She could snatch him and go for the lake, but elven arrows would kill them before they could swim to the cliff. Attempting to escape through the crowd would earn a swift death at the hands of enraged acolytes.
The whispers grew, swelling around her, seeping with doubt. Someone shouted in triumph, but a Talinorian acolyte stepped in and smashed a meaty fist into the man, knocking him from view. But others continued to murmur.
One of the Skorn cult members suddenly stood and leveled a crossbow at Ero. The elven guards raised their bows and released in unison, but the man had already fired. Beauty cast a speed spell and the world seemed to slow. Darting forward, she reached out, straining her fingers to reach the bolt as it streaked by. Then her fingers closed around the wood and she yanked it from the air, spinning from the momentum of the bolt.
She caught herself as the man fell, his features twisted in dismay at his failure. Then the crowd surged up, the man’s strike bringing acolytes and dissenters to their feet. Shouts rang out and steel was drawn. Soldiers bellowed for order, their cries falling on deaf ears, the crowd dissolving into a mob. As Beauty retreated to Ero’s side, another sound touched her ears.
The rustle of branches.
She looked to the enormous canopy of Le Runtáriel, shocked to see the branches twisting and bending. The sound sent a renewed hush among the crowd and the whole congregation lifted their eyes to the great tree. Shock and disbelief spread among them, turning to alarm when one of the great branches shifted.
At thirty feet thick, the enormous limb could have crushed a house, and it curved down to Ero. Beauty sucked in her breath and flipped her sword into her hand, knowing the effort would be futile. The limb reached down and enveloped Ero, bending into what was unmistakably an embrace. Then it lifted Ero out of the gardens and held him aloft.
