He nods knowingly. “I completely understand. Mages work on sensitive issues. But maybe I can still point you in the right direction.”
Again, I hesitate. He seems like a nice person, and this is a time sensitive matter. Without his help, how long will I languish here, unable to find a definite answer? “It has to do with secret societies,” I reply slowly, trying carefully to choose the right words. “And maybe even religion. I’m doing a project for students at the Academy, but I don’t really know where to begin.”
“Hmmm,” he says, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
It takes a moment, but it looks light a light brightens up Richard’s face. “I think I have just the thing. Follow me.”
We make our way through the twisting labyrinth of bookshelves, passing studying mages and reading nooks as we go. He moves like he was born in this library, apparently knowing exactly where he is going.
“How long have you worked here?” I ask, genuinely curious about his familiarity with this place.
“Just under two years,” he replies without looking back at me.
I start. “Two years? That’s an eternity to spend in one place! How long is training for a steward typically?”
He glances at me with the corner of his eye. “Ten years,” he says seriously, leading us down yet another corridor of books. “A lot goes into keeping the Conclave fully functioning.”
Light, I think to myself in amazement. And I thought my time in the Academy was long.
“Here we are,” Richard declares, stopping in front of a long row of books and scrolls arranged in some order that transcends my understanding. “Religious texts,” he mutters under his breath. “There should be something here that can...”
He pulls out a leather-bound book and blows dust off the cover, waving away the particles in the air before handing it to me. “I read about this one in the archives just the other day. It’s what came to mind when you told me about your research.”
Taking the tome, I read the title stamped into the cover.
Heretics of the Light.
The name immediately jumps out at me, and I waste no time in tucking it under my arm. “Thank you, Richard Dawson,” I say, reaching out and touching his arm.
He stiffens at my touch, but replies with a smile, “You're welcome. Now, I need to get back to the head librarian or he’ll give me paper mite duty. Those things bite.”
I wave goodbye, then turn to search for the nearest reading nook.
Sitting down on a small, leather sofa, I open the book on my lap. The spine creaks as I open it, the pages badly yellowed and the ink faded. A musty smell of dry rot and old paper wafts up to greet my nostrils, threatening to make me sneeze all over the old tome.
Careful not to tear the delicate pages, I begin to flip through Heretics of the Light, scanning the archaic text for anything that might prove useful.
Judging by the condition of the cover and the paper, I would say that this volume is over two hundred years old, the writing in a hand that I can barely decipher. Most of it chronicles the various apostates from the Radiant Church over the centuries, detailing their sins and the punishments enacted by the priests. Some of it is rather grisly, but ultimately does not bring me any closer to finding an answer.
Then, just as I am about to give up hope and snap the book shut, I see something that chills me to the very core.
Scribbled on the page in faded black and red ink is the symbol that I saw etched into the assassin’s blade; a four-pointed star in a circle of twisting lines. Below it is the phrase “Emblem of the Chosen” scrawled in a shaky hand.
My heart begins to beat faster as I read on, devouring the words on the page like a mad, starving woman at a feast.
“The Emblem of the Chosen is the symbol belonging to adherents to various apostate groups in the kingdom. Most notably, it has been adopted by the Harbingers, fanatics obsessed with ushering in the ‘end times’ as a way of bringing salvation to the human race.”
My mouth goes dry as I go back and read the words again.
“The Harbingers,” I read aloud, my voice barely above a whisper.
It seems that, at long last, we finally have a name we can put to our enemies. A name... and a possible motive.
A shiver runs down my spine as I keep reading, trying to glean everything I can about these apostates from the book. To me, time ceases to exist, and I quickly turn another page, scanning the text for any other clues that can help me solve the mysteries of the recent murders.
Or, at the very least, where I can go to find more.
Chapter Seventeen
Owyn
My palms are slick with sweat as we approach the Grand Lodge, leading our horses by their reins behind us.
The Lodge is a militaristic compound hidden in a vale of rocks and trees deep within the Ashwood. It consists of a large training ground, archery lanes for target practice, stone fortifications and log buildings, built low so as to be hidden beneath the cover of the surrounding trees.
As Tamara and I enter the compound, I see that dozens of men and women in mottled, grey-green cloaks are out and about, performing chores and training with a wide variety of weapons. Each and every one of them looks up and regards us curiously as we make our way to the main building in the very center of the vale, their faces hard like flint. Several of them salute Tamara as we pass, but otherwise it is like we are walking through a garden of human-like statues.
“The Master Warden will no doubt want to speak with you at once,” Tamara informs me with a low voice. “You’ll want to be completely truthful with him. He is the highest authority in our order and will hold you to your oath, so don’t hold anything back.”
I take a deep breath and nod my head, words failing me as we step up to the large, wooden hall.
It is a plain building, despite its size relative to the other buildings, and carries no obvious sigil or banner signaling that it is the headquarters of the rangers.
We quickly tie off the reins of our mounts on a hitching post in front before heading up the steps. Two guards stand stoically outside the double doors, spears held firmly in their hands, but as soon as they see Tamara they stand down, saluting her by crossing their spears across their chest.
They let us pass without a single word.
Pushing open the doors, the First Warden leads me inside, and for a moment my eyes need to adjust to the sudden dimness within. The Grand Lodge is a wooden hall, long and wide with narrow slits cut into the vaulted ceiling above us. Large iron braziers smolder intermittently throughout the room, creating a flickering light source that does little to cast away the gloom.
The doors close behind us, leaving Tamara and I alone in the warm, stuffy hall.
After several heartbeats someone shuffles forward from the back of the room. It is another ranger, this one much scrawnier than any other ranger I have ever seen. He has hawkish features, with a curved, beak of a nose on his face and thin, grey hair pulled back into a ponytail.
“First Warden Moyle,” he utters nasally, breaking the silence and flourishing a deep bow. “Welcome home.”
“Advisor Creed,” Tamara says flatly, turning to the side and gesturing at me. “This is Owyn Lund, apprentice to ranger Elias Keen. He has vital information that has been shared with Conclave that he will now divulge to us. Please notify Master Warden Thorne.”
“At once, First Warden,” he replies, bowing his head again and backing away. He then disappears into the shadows behind the braziers.
I shift uncomfortably in place, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. I had left my bow and quiver with my horse, not that it would do me any good here. Why are you so nervous? I ask myself silently. This is the head of your brotherhood. You should be honored to finally meet him!
Memories of the mage interrogation I had undergone in Forest Hill come rushing to the surface. Will I be treated the same way the mages had treated me?
Only time will tell.
Eventually, I detect some mo
vement at the back of the hall, and I look up to see three figures emerging from the gloom. One of them is the same sniveling man I had seen before, Advisor Creed. The other two are men I do not recognize.
The larger of the two is leading the other by the arm, walking slowly and deliberately to our position near the front. He is tall and proud-looking, with a square jaw and short hair that is more grey than black. A claymore sword is strapped in a scabbard on his back, and he wears glinting scale armor beneath his ranger cloak, not the traditional leather.
The shorter, older man holding his arm moves with a shuffling gait, his cloak draping a frame that is less robust than his counterpart. His hair is all silver and hangs to his shoulder, held in place by a leather band across his forehead. Most notable of all, though, is the strip of black cloth covering his eyes.
The Master Warden is blind.
“Owyn Lund,” Tamara intones formally, gesturing to the old man. “This is Thomwell Thorne, Master Warden of the rangers. With him is Warden Gareth Carr, the Watcher of the South.” Then, quietly, she turns to me and hisses, "Kneel!"
I immediately fall down to one knee and bow my head in respect. “It is an honor, Master Warden.”
“Owyn Lund,” Thorne repeats to himself contemplatively, bringing a gnarled hand up to rub his chin. “That would make you Elias’ apprentice, yes?”
“Yes, sir,” I reply stiffly.
“Interesting,” he says, thoughtful.
Tamara nudges me with her boot, indicating that I should get up.
“And where is Elias?” Carr asks, his voice as deep and powerful as his appearance. “Shouldn't he be here, introducing his apprentice?”
“Elias has chosen to go off on a secret mission of his own choosing,” Tamara responds derisively. “He separated himself from his apprentice and sent him to the capital city to report to the Circle of Magisters. That is where our paths crossed.”
I can hear Advisor Creed suck in a hissing breath.
“Report what?” Carr asks, his expression hardening even more.
The Master Warden holds up a hand, and immediately everyone goes silent. “Warden Carr, I believe that is why the First Warden brought the lad here.” There is no malice in Thorne’s voice, only the concern of an old man. “Step forward, Owyn, and tell us the story of why Tamara has brought you to us.”
Taking in a deep breath, I step forward and address the three men standing before me directly.
“It’s a bit of a long story,” I begin, wincing at how weak and uncertain my voice sounds. “So, I’ll start at the very beginning. Elias and I were stationed in the Emberwood over a month ago, carrying out our duties as rangers. It was then that we discovered that an entire village called Haven had been destroyed, its inhabitants slaughtered.”
It feels as though I am speaking in a dream, and my voice carries little emotion as I relate the story. “Upon further investigation, we discovered that it was not Nightingales or bandits behind the attack, but demons.”
Instantly, everyone in the room is looking at me like I am crazy; except the Master Warden, of course.
“Demons?” Gareth Carr asks incredulously. “Inside the Arc?”
“Tell the truth, boy,” Tamara growls, grabbing my arm and squeezing hard.
Thorne raises a hand. “Let the apprentice speak.”
Tamara releases her grip on my arm, but continues to glare at me as if I am blatantly telling lies.
“It’s the truth,” I reply simply with a shrug. “I know that it sounds mad, but if I hadn’t seen the things I have, I might not believe it myself.”
I dive into the tale of what happened at Forest Hill, sparing them no details. I talk about the coming of the mages, my meeting and subsequent friendship with Zara, us getting captured by the Nightingales and the ambush at the Heart of the Forest. All four of them listen with various levels of belief and interest. The Master Warden’s expression reveals nothing at all. They are silent right up until the point where I finish telling them about how we traveled to Tarsys to bring word to the Conclave.
After that, I fall silent, waiting for one of them to respond.
Finally, Thorne speaks up, his voice sounding troubled. “That’s... quite a tale, lad. Quite a tale indeed.”
“Quite a tale?” Advisor Creed sneers, regarding me with almost angry eyes. “It sounds bloody insane!”
“What happened after the battle?” Carr asks, sounding more somber than angry.
I take another breath. “After spending a few weeks rooting the remaining demons out of the Emberwood, Elias decided it was important the Conclave be notified. That was before he left...” My voice trails off, and for an instant my throat is choked with a sudden surge of emotion.
Thorne grunts and begins rubbing his chin again. “What think you, First Warden?”
Tamara, oddly more subdued than she had been minutes before furrows her brow. “I don’t know what to believe. The boy seems sincere, and the world is a strange enough place, but the Nightingales are the threat I can actually see. I’m not sure that we should divert resources away from our fight with them.”
“I find myself in agreement with Tamara,” Carr says at length. “I think that we should investigate the matter more closely, but continue our efforts with the rebels as planned.”
Still glaring at me, Advisor Creed leans over to Thorne and whispers something in his ear. The old man nods at whatever it is he is saying. After their silent exchange is over, the Master Warden nods.
“Your story is compelling, apprentice,” he says, his voice a mixture of sternness and compassion. “But for the time being the rangers cannot get involved with whatever it is you experienced in the Emberwood. If Ranger Elias were here, perhaps he could shed a little more light on the matter. However, his absence is extremely irregular, and my rangers in the south and in the Ironback Mountains are constantly engaged with Nightingale freedom fighters. We will look into finding out more about these supposed demons, and convene with the rest of the Wardens at a later date.”
My heart sinks. I shouldn’t have expected anything more. The mages were skeptical as well... if we hadn’t presented evidence, they might not have believed me at all.
Saluting the Master Warden, I take a step back to stand beside Tamara.
“What should we do with him until then?” She asks, her tone even and cool.
“For the time being, he will range with Rickard Shaw and his apprentice. Even though Elias is missing, the lad still needs training. The Ashwood should be a decent substitute for the Emberwood.”
“Of course, Master Warden,” Tamara replies with a salute.
I salute as well and we depart, exiting a dim hall and stepping out into the fresh air of the outdoor Lodge.
As we make our way down the steps Tamara says nothing, her expression revealing nothing but her eyes plainly troubled. She guides me to a low, wooden building on the other side of the compound.
"This is the mess hall," she says at length, gesturing with a jab of her thumb. "Go get yourself a hot meal while you wait for Rickard and his apprentice to arrive. They will be notified at once that you will be accompanying them."
I nod and look from the mess hall back to Tamara. "Thank you, First Warden. I appreciate you getting me out of Tarsys. This is where I belong."
She regards me for a moment before responding. "Of course," she replies stiffly, before extending a hand for me to shake. "Keep your arrows sharp, apprentice."
We shake hands and then she leaves, making her way back to the lodge in the middle of the compound.
Taking a deep breath, I turn and enter the mess hall.
The prospect of a hot meal is too tempting to pass up.
I eat a bowl of rice and a type of orange curry alone at one of the long tables, feeling more comfortable here at the Grand Lodge than I ever did back at the capital city. The food is good, but my thoughts are on what the Master Warden had said to me.
The rangers cannot get involved with whatever you experienced
in the Emberwood.
Those were the last words I wanted to hear my commanding officer say.
Having the mages on board in the fight against the demons was important, but they don't understand the wilderness the way the rangers do. If the R'Laar return to Tarsynium, the rangers will be needed to root them out of their hiding places in the wilds. Without them...
Things will be bad, I conclude as I shovel a spoonful of the food into my mouth.
Before long my bowl is empty, and I turn to see that two newcomers have just entered the mess hall. I recognize them from the road as the ranger Rickard Shaw and his apprentice, Talon.
They see me from across the room and make straight for me, their boots thudding loudly on the wooden floorboards.
"Owyn Lund," Shaw rumbles as he approaches, his deep voice low and gravelly. "Good to see you again. Are you ready to begin your training anew?"
Chapter Eighteen
Zara
The Harbingers.
I turn the name over and over in my head, trying to commit it to memory as I shove the tome into my side bag. Looking the direction Richard had gone, I begin making my way through the narrow corridor of bookshelves, my mind racing as I consider my next steps.
The demons... the assassins... the Harbingers... these groups must be related somehow. But the question is, in which ways are they connected?
I picture myself briefly as an insect, trapped in a web so vast and tangled that there is little hope of escape. I can imagine a massive, eight-legged spider crawling its way toward me, its mandibles snapping open as it comes to devour me.
“No,” I whisper to myself forcefully. “You are a mage now. Do not let yourself give into fear.”
This conspiracy affects everyone in Tarsynium, not just you.
The book, Heretics of the Light, condemns the Harbingers as cultists and religious zealots, who seek to tear down the Conclave and the government to usher in an apocalyptic age dominated by the R’Laar, whom they regard as gods. It states that they have been stamped out by inquisitions throughout history, only to have them come back, more numerous and ingrained in society than ever before.
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