"Eleven Hells," somebody mutters, and I turn to realize that the eyes of everybody in the inn are upon me and Tamara.
Suddenly self-conscious, I bend down to wipe my hatchet off on the dead thug's pants. I realize that I must look absolutely barbaric, standing over a corpse with another man's blood staining my lips.
Tamara turns away from the corpses, appearing completely unnerved by the fight.
"What in the name of the Light were you thinking?" The stout innkeeper stomps out from behind the crowd, his face bright red with rage. "You could have gotten us all killed!"
"We are rangers," Tamara says dryly, producing a white cloth from within her cloak. She begins casually cleaning the blood off her sword. "We do not negotiate with outlaws."
"We are not fighting folk!" The innkeeper presses, gesturing angrily to the broken furniture and the bodies littering his floor. "Just look at this mess! This wasn't the first time that bandits have accosted us, and it surely won't be the last. They'll be back, you know, and when they return, they're not going to be as friendly!"
Several of the patrons around him grumble their approval.
"You should learn to fight back," I reply indignantly, sliding my hatchet back into my belt loop. "Then maybe they will stop coming to rob you."
Tamara shoots me and icy glance, and I fall silent, swallowing my other words.
"I'm sorry about the damages," Tamara says at length, pulling out a small bag of coins and tossing it to the innkeeper. "This should more than cover it."
The portly man catches the bag, but he doesn't look placated. "Get out," he growls, making a shooing motion with his hands. "We need to clean up and notify poor Jerral's family. Now, leave us be."
Tamara slams her sword back into its sheath but nods grimly, turning on her heel to leave the inn. Feeling more than a little awkward standing with everyone staring at me, I move to follow her, stepping out into the cool night air and shaking my head at the absurdity of the whole situation.
"There's not another inn around for miles," she says stoically, masking her way to the stables where are horses are tied up. "We'll find a spot outside of town and set up camp."
I nod, though I know she probably can't see me in the dark.
We bridle our horses and before long we are riding out of the village, traveling down the dirt road by the light of the stars. When we have gone about half a mile, Tamara veers off into a field and leads us to a small stand of trees.
Inside the grove she dismounts and ties off her reins on a tree branch, moving with the efficiency of one who has done this a thousand times.
I follow her lead, tying off my horse and unloading my supplies in the small clearing.
As I unroll my bed roll and prepare my things, Tamara clears a spot in the center of camp and sets up some sticks and kindling. Sparks fly as she strikes a flint with some steel, and soon, a small blaze is burning in her makeshift fire pit.
We both pull up some logs and sit for a time, staring into the flames. The night air is chill, hinting at the coming autumn and winter, and I find myself pulling my cloak tighter around me.
Abruptly, Tamara speaks up, breaking the silence. "You fought well tonight," she says quietly, her eyes still focused on the fire. "It is obvious that Elias has trained you well."
I feel my chest swell with pride at her words, but I simply reply, "Thank you."
She looks up at me, her eyes studying me curiously. "This was not the first time you've killed a man, is it?"
I shake my head. "No, it wasn't."
She continues to study me for a moment before continuing. "You've no doubt traveled strange roads, Owyn Lund. I'll be interested to hear your story when we arrive at the Grand Lodge."
Despite her being a ranger, I find that I do not yet trust her. "Tamara Leigh was a captain in the Legion of Light," I say, anxious to change the subject. "Legend says she was the best archer who ever lived. Is there a connection between you two?"
Tamara considers my words before responding. "My namesake," she replies, her tone more than a little begrudging. "My father wanted a son, and chose to give me the name of a hero so that I would live up to it."
"And so you became a ranger," I say, nodding slowly. "And rose to the rank of First Warden. Your father must be proud."
A silence settles between us, and for a moment I fear that I may have said something that offended her. When she does respond, her voice is flat and emotionless. "We should get to bed. We have a long road ahead of us, and I plan on leaving here at first light."
She pushes herself up to her feet and places a hand on the hilt of her sword. "I'll take first watch. If those bandits have friends, I don't want to risk them coming here to find us. Go, and get some rest."
I nod, though inside I feel a little strange. I'm not sure what to make of this woman, I think as I make my way to my bedroll. She's a fellow ranger, but she makes me feel uneasy. She fights and kills with the same coldness that Elias does, and I cannot quite put a finger on her motives.
I don't know if I should trust her or be scared of her... though, I suppose if she wanted me dead, she would have killed me already.
Wearily, I crawl under the blanket and attempt to get comfortable. Before long sleep overtakes me, bringing with it dreams of dark things.
Chapter Fourteen
Zara
A shiver runs down my spine.
“A murder?” I ask, raising my voice slightly to be heard over the steady humming of the Heart of Light.
The High Magus nods her head gravely. “I’m afraid so. This is where I must leave you. Perhaps we can continue our conversation at another time.”
She turns to go, leaving me in the cavernous chamber atop the Pillar of Radiance, but at the last minute I call out to her, stopping her in her tracks. “High Magus!” I say, a little louder than I intended. The other mages in the room look up at me, surprised at the outburst.
Sylvania turns, one eyebrow raised as she regards me curiously. “Yes?”
I can feel the eyes of everyone on me, and I try to keep the color from flushing my cheeks. Taking a step toward her, I lower my voice so as to not be overheard. “I... I think that you should take me with you. I may be able to help.”
Her eyebrow seems to arch even higher, but she does not respond. I can tell that her patience with me is starting to wear thin.
“Do you remember our report from the other night?” I ask, doing my best to remain calm under that gaze. "About how our group was attacked by assassins on the road from Forest Hill?"
“I remember,” she replies, voice terse.
“The assassin who tried to kill me came into my tent when I was alone," I continue, thinking back to that night. "With help, I was able to prevent him from harming me, but he said some... strange things before he died.”
She eyes me for a moment, then says, "Elaborate."
"He called me by name, and said something about the 'Chosen'. I'm not sure what he meant, but he was definitely there to kill me specifically, and possibly other mages." I hesitate for a few seconds before finishing my thought. "I think that these attacks are related."
Sylvania stares at me for a moment, her expression unreadable, before replying. “You didn’t think to bring this to my attention until now?”
Abashed, I lower my gaze. “No, High Magus. I was so caught up in the demon attack and my raising that it must have slipped my mind.”
She seems to consider my words before finally nodding. “Yes,” she says quietly. “I think that it would be best if you did accompany me. Your insight could prove invaluable. But be warned, I don’t know what we will find down there. It is unorthodox to take one so young to such a crime scene, and I don’t want you fainting at what we may find.”
I nod my head. “Understood.”
Together, we make our way to the lift and begin making our way down into the tower.
In truth, I am not very worried about fainting. If Sylvania knew about what I had seen in the Emberwood, she would not
be worried either. Once you have seen the horrors of battle, a simple crime scene does not seem very daunting.
Once we reach the floor of her office, we begin making our way through a series of hallways, eventually arriving at the Hall of Magisters. This is where the Circle has most of their offices, and it was in this very place that I met with Arch-Magister Elva Tyrande.
Even thought it was only a few weeks prior, it feels like a lifetime has passed.
I lose myself in thought as we walk in silence, our feet padding softly on the polished, marble floor. However, it isn’t long before I am shaken from my thoughts by a commotion coming from one of the offices ahead.
A handful of people, all of them mages and stewards, are gathered on the outside of the room, their heads together and talking quietly with one another. I recognize Elwyn Mathis standing among them. He glances over at me and gives me a strange look. The door to the office is thrown open, light from the window spilling out into the hall, and everyone looks up as we approach. Everyone bows in deference to the High Magus, but more than a few surprised and even angry glares are leveled in my direction.
Apparently, they are not happy that I am with the leader of the Conclave.
Sylvania gestures hastily for the magisters to stop bowing. “None of that. Now, what is the situation?”
Elwyn steps apart from the group and gives her a furtive look. “It’s Magister Halle, High Magus,” he replies, casting his eyes to the floor. “He is dead.”
“Show me,” Sylvania responds, completely unfazed.
Some of the mages glance at each other before stepping aside, making way for us to get inside of the office. Sylvania strides inside with me close behind, but both of us stop short almost as soon as we enter, the scene inside like something out of a nightmare.
Sitting behind his desk, a pale-faced Magister Halle leans back in his chair with his head thrown back, revealing a gaping wound across his neck. I recognize him from the night we arrived in Tarsys, which only makes the situation all the more grisly. His throat has been sliced open from ear to ear, leaving a wide, red slit that has spilled gore all down the front of him and all over the desk. A silver dagger has been planted in his chest to the hilt, and his eyes are wide open in shock, staring up at the ceiling with the filmy glaze of death.
“Light almighty,” I hear Sylvania mutter under her breath.
Light almighty, indeed.
Whoever had done this had smeared a message in blood on the floor of his office. It looks sticky and dry, which seems to indicate that it had been done several hours ago. In garish, scrawling letters, a single word reads: Heretic.
“What could this mean?” The High Magus muses aloud. Though her voice remains measured, it is clear that she is shaken by the sight. She turns to me, her eyes tearing me away from the terrible sight. “Do you have any ideas?”
I shake my head. The assassin in my tent no doubt wanted to do the same to me, but the Light managed to prevent that from happening. For now, I have no idea what this particular murder indicates, or what motive these assassins possess. "It seems that whoever is behind this, they want to damage the Conclave in some way."
"So it would seem," she utters quietly.
We stand there for a few heartbeats longer, taking in the horrible scene with an air of disbelief. I never knew Magister Halle, but nobody deserves to die like this. And the bloody word scrawled on the floor... what purpose did that serve?
Shaking her head sadly, Sylvania steps out of the office and I move to follow her.
Outside, the mages and stewards gather in a semi-circle around us, every one of their faces troubled. They look to the High Magus for guidance, no one saying a single word.
Finally, Sylvania breaks the silence. "It is a terrible thing we have all seen," she begins, her tone heavy with grief. "Tym Halle was a friend and a colleague to us all, a brilliant mage and a defender of the Light. He will be greatly missed."
She pauses for a brief instant before continuing. "Whoever did this will answer to the fullest extent of the law. I mean to launch a full-scale investigation into this horrific murder and find the ones responsible. Until then, I need to swear everyone here to complete and absolute silence. We cannot risk word of this getting out into the Conclave. Right now, it is more important than ever that we appear strong, and we cannot risk a panic tearing apart what we have built. Do each and every one of you swear to tell no one of this?"
She looks each individual in the eye, including myself, until she has received confirmation from everyone.
"Good," she says with a curt not. "Now, we need to get this cleaned up. Tym's body needs to be prepared for burial, and we cannot risk anyone else finding out about this. For now, we will say it was an accident. I will confer with the Circle to see which steps need to be taken next."
Gesturing for the stewards to get started she departs, signaling for the rest of the mages to disperse as well.
I linger for a moment, staring into the office as the steward begin cleaning things up. Something about the word on the floor nags at me. Somehow, everything that has happened to me lately feels like it is connected.
"Heretic," I repeat under my breath, forcing myself to look away as I begin heading back to my rooms. Whoever did this wrote it for a reason... and I'd wager it has something to do with religion.
As I take a lift down to the main level, my mind turns over the events of the last few days again and again. My thoughts go back to that night on the road, and the evil man who had sought to end my life. Who had paid him to come after me? What are the motives behind these murders?
These are strange times, indeed.
Whatever is going on, it is big. The demons, the assassins, the cryptic messages... they are all related. And for some reason, I find myself in the middle of it all.
Steeling myself, I decide to research more to find out who it is behind these attacks. As far as I can tell, mages are given the freedom to research whatever they want within the Conclave, and this puzzle is simply too intriguing to pass up.
Plus, I think to myself, pushing open the door to my room and picking up the assassin's dagger resting on my nightstand, the longer these people remain in the dark, the more people will die.
I'll do whatever is necessary to uncover the truth.
Chapter Fifteen
Owyn
I run my thumb along the edge of my father's hatchet as I watch the sun peek over the eastern horizon.
Dawn brings with it a warm, orange glow that casts away the shadows of night, bathing the world in a brilliance that grows brighter and brighter as the minutes go by. It is still too early for any warmth to be felt from that light, but I know that it will be coming shortly. That’s how mornings are in early autumn, chill in the early hours and then insufferably warm as the day wears on.
Giving the hatchet one final spin in my hands, I slide it back into my belt loop and stand up on the rocky perch jutting out from the edge of our makeshift camp. The coals on the fire are still warm, smoldering beneath a bed of grey ash, and a thin layer of dew covers everything in the small stand of trees.
I squat down beside the fire and stoke it back to life, turning the coals and placing a handful of kindling on top. It is not long until a small blaze is warming my icy fingertips.
Tamara stirs behind me, but I am not sure if she was awoken by the smell of the smoke or the growing light of dawn.
"Anything to report?" She asks as she gets out of her bed roll and joins me by the fire. For having just woken up she appears perfectly awake, her voice as clear and strong as ever.
I shake my head. "No cutthroats came to exact their revenge," I reply, placing another stick on the small fire. "It was a quiet night."
She grunts her acknowledgement before turning around and rummaging through her pack.
I had been given second watch, though I might as well have stayed up for the first half of the night. It had been a restless sleep, full of shadows and unremembered nightmares... it's almost as if
I didn't sleep at all.
Why have I been having so many nightmares recently? I think to myself, suppressing a shiver. I feel like I haven't had a full night's sleep in weeks.
Tamara returns to the fire with a bag of food, which she shares with me. We eat in silence, a hapless meal of cured venison and dried fruit that I wash down with a cold drink from my water skin.
Before long we are breaking down camp and saddling our horses, preparing for another long day out on the road.
As I pour water on the coals to put out the fire, I glance over at the ranger woman.
Tamara is similar to Elias in many ways, but there are some distinct differences that seem to stand out the longer I am with her. For instance, where Elias always sought out opportunities to teach me life lessons or valuable skills, Tamara gave me the impression that I was a burden to her, nothing more than an annoyance. She had shown appreciation for my fighting abilities last night after the inn, but otherwise acts as if I am nothing more than a child.
She is not your master, I remind myself as we lead our horses out of the trees and back out onto the road. To her you are a mission to be completed, nothing more. Her duty is to get you to the Ashwood to report to the Master Warden, not to train you how to be a better ranger.
The thought brings the familiar loneliness back, threatening to bury me beneath its crushing weight.
We are back on the road south before the sun fully rises above the horizon. Our mounts settle into an easy pace as we ride, their clopping hooves accompanying the sounds of chirping birds and the world itself arising from its slumber.
The hours pass slowly as we travel, Tamara and I speaking very little as time goes on. I find my thoughts begin to wander, going over everything from my childhood, to my time training with Elias, to Zara and the past several weeks that have seemed to turn my world upside down. I think about how beautiful she looked during the raising ceremony yesterday, the way her chestnut hair seemed to cascade down her shoulders, and the soft curves of her body...
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