Dalemar shook his head, a crazy grin on his face. “Not from Pellar, it’s been right under our noses the whole time! The original slayer, all slayers for that matter, came from Myris Dar.”
Torrin’s skin prickled along his neck and down his arms. Something shifted perfectly into place within him and the truth of what Dalemar said resonated like a bell. “The slayer was Myrian?”
Dalemar nodded excitedly. “I stumbled across a list of sorts, detailing the history of the slayers or keepers rather. It seems there was a grammatical error at some point. The text spoke of three slayers, all of them Myrian: two men and a woman. And Torrin, it was there!”
“What was?”
“The design that covers Rowan’s armour and her sword, the one that looks like a leaf with a dot in the center and lines spanning outward?” Dalemar held up a scrap of parchment and on it was a small drawing of the recurring symbol from Rowan’s armour. That same image was also inscribed into the small green stone she wore around her neck. “I found it within the text, drawn in the margin. Torrin, it has been her all along. Everything makes sense now… Miroth, the Mor A’Taith, the Raken trying to take her alive.”
“Rowan –”
“ – is the slayer,” Dalemar finished happily for him.
Torrin frowned and shook his head. Dalemar was just now noticing the activity in the entry hall. He glanced quickly back at Torrin. His excitement replaced with worry as he noted Torrin’s dark expression, the sweat still drying on his shirt under the leather of his breastplate. “What has happened? Why was Arynilas looking for me?”
“Miroth has taken Rowan with the help of the Priesthood of Erys and Tihir N’Avarin. They have smuggled her out of the city, we think through the Temple of Erys. We are on our way there to find N’Avarin and, if I’m lucky, take the bastard’s head.”
Dalemar’s eyebrows rose and horror crossed his face. “I will come with you.”
Torrin shook his head. “No, Dalemar. You are needed here. Nathel, Borlin and Hathunor were all injured in the attack. I do not know if Nathel will make it without your skills.”
“Where are they?”
“The keep’s infirmary.”
Dalemar nodded and began to head for the wide stairs. But he turned back. “Miroth wants her alive, Torrin. She will not be harmed until they get her to Lok Myrr. There is still time for us to catch them.” Then he was gone, dashing up the stairs two at a time, long green coat twisting behind.
Torrin watched him go. Yes, he would hunt them – into the very heart of Lok Myrr if need be.
Revenge or Justice
Although the bodies of the false guards were gone, the blood that stained the cobbles in front of the central fountain had not been washed away. Torrin clenched his teeth and balled his fists. Was Rowan’s blood there as well? There was far more than could have come from his friends, so they had put up a good fight.
The vast interior of the Temple of Erys was cool and dark after the bright square. As Cerebus’s guards fanned out quickly to secure the exits, Torrin scanned the various robed figures and worshippers. The one face he sought was absent
A plump older man in black robes hurried towards them, his gold medallion of Erys swinging wildly back and forth, in an attempt to head them off. “What is the meaning of this? You are in the house of Erys. Show respect!” The priest was puffing, his face flushed red in anger. “Why are all these armed men here?”
“Where is Tihir N’Avarin?” Cerebus asked.
The furious priest turned to the king, his eyes widening. He adjusted his tone. “Your Majesty, forgive me. Patriarch N’Avarin is in his study but he does not wish to be disturbed.” The priest trotted along beside them, his arms held wide, vainly trying to contain the column of guards interrupting the afternoon service.
Torrin clamped a hand down on the priest’s plump shoulder. “I don’t care if he is taking his bath, you will see us to him now.” The priest flinched and squeaked as Torrin squeezed.
Darting a glance at the king and his guards, the priest nodded. Torrin kept a firm grip on him as the man led them to a side door beyond which was a set of spiral stairs. Guards started forward to take the lead but Torrin halted them. “We do not want to alert him.”
Cerebus nodded curtly and he and Torrin proceeded first up the stairs, their footsteps and the puffing breath of the priest echoing in the space. Torrin frowned down at the sweating man stumbling up the stairs beside him. Rationing hadn’t tightened his belt. How many of Erys’s senior priests hadn’t bothered to sacrifice for the good of Pellaris? Apparently they didn’t find it necessary to share with their junior priests, either; young Thaius and most of the novices were gaunt.
The stairs opened onto a wide corridor that curved in a circle around the main space of the temple. Even through his simmering anger, Torrin noticed the smoothly interlocked stonework and the perfect curve of the wall. And what of the probable tunnel lying below the Temple? An image of Rowan being dragged through narrow darkness rose in his mind and he gripped the pommel of his sword.
The plump priest stopped before a large polished wooden door with hinges and latch made of shining bronze. Torrin thrust the man aside into one of the guards and grasped the handle. The door swung silently inward and he stepped into the room beyond.
He stood for a moment, looking for the occupant amongst the opulent furniture and luxury that crowded the room. Seated behind enormous desk, half-hidden behind ornate lanterns and small carved wooden chests was the man he had come for.
Tihir N’Avarin looked up with annoyance at the intrusion, then rose and walked around the desk. His dark eyes flashed over Torrin, taking in the guards in the hallway beyond.
“My King, what brings you to the Temple?” N’Avarin asked smoothly.
Cerebus frowned. “The Lady Rowan was abducted this afternoon. Witnesses place you there.”
N’Avarin spread his hands. “Then they are mistaken, Sire. I have not left the temple for the last two days.” He lifted his chin and stared haughtily at them. “There is quite a lot to be done as you know and the Priesthood has been trying to relieve some of the pressure on the city.”
Torrin stepped forward. “Someone I trust explicitly saw you leaving the company of men who captured Rowan of Myris Dar this afternoon.”
N’Avarin barked a derisive laugh. “I don’t know what you are talking about. I’ve been here the entire day. Any of the temple priests can vouch for this.”
Torrin balled his fists and felt the blood pumping through his veins. He dropped his voice. “They survived, you know, Rowan’s companions. They did not die as you expected. The odds were in your favour, weren’t they? How could four take on – what was it – twenty, twenty-five?” As Torrin spoke he moved towards N’Avarin, whose eyes darted past him to Cerebus and the guards. Torrin smiled with satisfaction as the arrogance was slowly replaced by uncertainty and fear. “They wore stolen uniforms which were taken from the barracks. Smart really – it allowed them to get close enough to attack the messenger. And then there is the matter of a certain key. Was it you who gave the two men the bailey key? Was it you who tied the rope from Rowan’s balcony so they could surprise her after nightfall?” Torrin drew his sword. The metallic ring of the blade sliding from the scabbard reverberated in the quiet room.
The priest bristled. “How dare you accuse me of such things. I am the new Patriarch of the Priesthood, sanctified last night by Her holy commission. I would not consort with lowly criminals and bring ill repute on the name of the Priesthood.” He frowned over at Cerebus. “The Priesthood will hold you accountable for the actions of this man. You must not defile the Temple of Erys!”
“Where did they take her?” Torrin leveled his sword at the priest, barely containing his rage. “How did they get her out of the city?”
N’Avarin shrank back against the desk.
“Torrin!” Cerebus’s voice cracked like a whip.
“He is guilty!” Torrin didn’t lower his sword.
&nbs
p; “I know he is. And he will be dealt with in accordance with Pellarian law. Evidence will be brought against him and he will have his chance to defend himself. For now, it should suffice that he was arrested for treason against the king and Pellar.”
N’Avarin sat up and looked at Cerebus in disbelief. “You wouldn’t dare,” he spat.
Cerebus smiled thinly at him. “There is also the matter of the chancellor’s treason. Tell me about Galen, N’Avarin. Did he give you the duplicate key to the bailey or did he give it to the two men who breached our walls himself? How long have the two of you been plotting against me?”
N’Avarin’s face blanched, but he recovered his composure quickly. It was enough conformation for Torrin though.
“My lord,” N’Avarin said with feigned puzzlement. “I only see Chancellor Galen in the keep and in your council chambers. I have no idea what you are speaking about.”
“You’ll certainly have time to figure it out while sitting in the keep’s dungeon,” said Cerebus. “Your downfall, N’Avarin, is your arrogance. The Priesthood of Erys is not above the king’s justice. If you act openly against me, then you will face the consequences. In your ambition, you failed to keep that in mind.” The king flicked his hand and the guards moved past him to arrest the priest. When Cerebus spoke again his voice was low. “And if I find out you were involved in attacking the queen, I’ll take your head myself.”
Tihir N’Avarin clamped his mouth shut and rolled his wide eyes between Torrin and the king as the guards bundled him unceremoniously from the room.
Torrin ground his sword tip into the plush carpets. He leaned on the hilt, nursing his unfulfilled fury and stared across room at Cerebus.
“You cannot have your revenge, Torrin. Not here, not now.”
“You know he will probably get away with it. Politics will get in the way of justice, as it usually does.” Torrin hefted his sword and slammed it back into the scabbard.
“I did not create the laws so that you or I could stand above them. You of all people should know that. I would be no better than the tyrants you’ve been fighting in Ren if I allowed him to be killed now without due process. Revenge is not the same thing as justice.”
Torrin scowled. He had little patience for Pellaris’s politics. His concern was Rowan. He took a last look around the repulsively extravagant room. “Your hands may be tied, but mine are not. I am going after Rowan. I will free her or die trying. She is the slayer, and if the Myrian Seers are right, she is our only hope.”
Cerebus stood stunned, his dark-circled eyes widening. “Lady Rowan is the slayer?” He shook his head in wonder. “Truly?”
“Truly. Dalemar discovered it this morning in your library. I suppose we’ve all been blinded by our own expectations, but when Dalemar told me, it was as though I’d always known. He discovered that all the slayers, also known as keepers, were Myrian.”
Cerebus nodded slowly, a faraway look in his eyes. Then he refocused on Torrin. “But your companions, your brother. Will you will leave without them?”
Torrin shook his head. “With Dalemar’s help and a bit of luck, they will be ready to travel by now.”
Cerebus’s face had altered and Torrin studied him. The king still looked tired but there was something else – a look in his eyes. What was it?
“Take whatever you need, Torrin – men, food, horses. The hopes of Pellar go with you.”
That was it, thought Torrin.
Hope.
*
Torrin stepped through the postern door into the keep’s bailey with Cerebus and the guards. He exhaled, relieved to find his brother healthy and waiting with the others. Their horses were ready with bulging saddlebags strapped on. Rowan’s big grey stallion stood patiently while Borlin worked on his tack. Torrin stopped to stroke Roanus’s dappled neck and the big horse whickered softly in response. He twitched his ears and pitched his head as though eager to be off after his mistress.
Torrin clasped forearms with his brother. “Are you fit to travel?”
Nathel looked tired but he smirked. “Thanks to Dalemar and Hathunor, I’m as right as rain. Dalemar healed him first and then together they turned their skills on me.”
“Wee bit o’winoth root, Nathel me lad, and don’t ye forget,” said Borlin lightly.
Nathel closed his eyes and swallowed. “You’d better watch Borlin. He suffered a blow to the head and may have lost his mind.” His brother’s words were light but he was very weak – it had been a close thing.
Arynilas waited close to Dalemar, who stood by his horse, looking worse than his patients. Hathunor loomed behind them.
Torrin strode to the Rith. “Thank you, my friend. I hope you are recovered well enough for the long ride ahead.”
Dalemar nodded. “We will ride through the night and beyond, Torrin.”
“Find Rowan now,” Hathunor rumbled.
Torrin’s chest ached at the simple emphatic statement. He sighed gratefully – none his friends had suggested they wait for morning to go after Rowan. The trail would grow no colder.
Torrin tightened the cinch of his saddle and looked up at the walls. The light was almost gone now and the clouds were lit orange with the last rays of the sun. The courtyard was cast in dim shadow as they made their final preparations. Rowan – the slayer. He shook his head. It didn’t matter, she was who she was and he was going to find her. Torrin closed his eyes. Sweet Erys, please keep her safe.
King Cerebus and Queen Elana came down the steps. Torrin stepped around his horse to meet them. Elana held out a long, cloth-wrapped bundle for him. A faint humming came from it. He reached out and drew back the fabric to reveal the hilt of Mor Ranith – Rowan’s spell sword.
“It has been like this ever since it was brought back to the keep. The guards were afraid of it.” Elana smiled up at him but her eyes held a pleading hope. “You must return it to her. She will need it if she is to defeat Miroth and the Wyoraith.”
Torrin grasped the hilt and slid the sword carefully from the cloth. He hefted the light blade and felt its exquisite balance, then whispered the words Rowan had taught him in the marshes. “Dyrn Mithian Irnis Mor Ranith.” The sword ceased its humming and he reverently re-wrapped it and secured it to the front of his saddle, looping a strap tightly around the guard. Cerebus stepped forward and handed him Rowan’s dagger next, which he slid behind his belt.
“Are you certain you will not need more men with you?” asked the king.
Torrin shook his head. “Thank you, Sire, but we need to move fast, and a small party will be more difficult to detect then a large one. The provisions are welcome though.”
Cerebus reached out and clasped Torrin’s shoulder. “You will find her, Torrin. She will not be lost to you, my friend.” Pulling Torrin forward into an embrace, he repeated with quiet conviction, “She will not be lost to you.” The terrible burden Torrin had carried for so long eased in that moment and strength flowed through his limbs, settling into his chest. Nodding, he returned Cerebus’s embrace.
A soldier came pelting down the steps. “We have found the tunnel, Sire,” he said, puffing. “It was well hidden but large enough to accommodate horses.”
Torrin’s pulse quickened – finally. He swung into the saddle and turned Black, his friends falling in behind him as he exited the bailey. But when Torrin passed through the gate, he halted his horse, pulling in a sudden breath.
The entire castle guard and many of the Pellarian infantry and officers stood arrayed across the square in front of the keep – a forest of pikes, glinting in the last sun. As one they lifted the pikes and hammered them into the flagstones with a resounding crack. A horn sounded and a multitude of deep voices rang forth in salute to the lost warrior.
As they rode past, Torrin noticed a group of soldiers, smaller and slighter than the rest.
A swell of pride filled him.
They were women.
The Chase Begun
Torrin ignored the scandal they caused as they clattere
d through the vast Temple of Erys – shod hooves ringing on the polished marble floor. Priests flapped around them, a flock of angry birds but the guards Cerebus had sent to search for the tunnel waved them on toward the door to the catacombs.
Dismounting, Torrin led Black through the door. The stallion balked only a little before plunging down the steep stairs. The horses slid and clattered down in a chaotic scramble until the bottom opened to a dark corridor with storeroom doors and small cells, presumably for the priest initiates. Torrin walked toward the end where a guard was stationed next to the entrance of a large cold-storage cellar. Torrin nodded to the guard as he led his horse through into the cellar. Barrels and kegs stood stacked and rolled to the side to reveal the tunnel entrance. Its metal door stood open to the yawning darkness beyond. Torrin frowned as he scanned the room. The priests had been keeping much of their hoarded food here. As Dalemar led his horse in, Torrin called to the guard. The man squeezed in past the horses. “Yes Sir?”
“Find Priest Thaius,” said Torrin. “And put him in charge of arranging for the redistribution of this food to the soldiers on the wall and the remaining people of Pellaris. Tell him it is for his Restoration.”
The soldier grinned. “As good as done, sir.”
Torrin turned to his friends. “Ready?”
“Aye, Torrin,” said Borlin with his lanterns already lit. The others nodded and Hathunor stooped down to enter the dark passage. Torrin took one of the lanterns from Borlin and followed the Saa Raken.
Like the tunnel through which they had entered the city, it was just large enough for a horse to be led through single file. Torrin steeled himself against the slow pace but as each footstep carried them deeper into the darkness, his frustration increased. The black, twisting way seemed to go on and on with no sign of an end. Finally, Torrin halted and called back to Arynilas. “Can you sense if we are past the city yet?”
Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1) Page 43
