"Perhaps, Master Warden, we should investigate the matter further before retaliating." Gareth Carr rests his knuckles on the table, looking concerned. "Take some time to recover from the attack and look into the lad's claims."
Thorne shakes his head. "My decision is final, Gareth. The Nightingales must pay for what they have done. The best time for a counter-attack is when your enemy least expects it, and right now, the rebels are not expecting us to have recovered so quickly."
My stomach drops at the Master Warden's words, and for a moment, he leans forward and it feels like he is speaking directly to me.
"The rangers are going to war."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Zara
I sprint down a dark corridor, my talisman clutched in-hand and the sound of my beating heart like thunder in my ears.
Behind me, knives wait in the darkness like jagged teeth, prepared to end my life if I falter, while the hooded cowls of assassins watch for even the slightest mistake. Somehow, I know that I am dreaming. The light at the end of the tunnel is too bright, the darkness around me too suffocating to be reality.
And yet, my terror is undoubtedly real.
No matter how fast I run, I cannot reach the light ahead, and I can hear the cackling laughter of the assassins behind me. The exhaustion I feel is oppressive, so heavy that I cannot hope to channel, leaving me with only one option: to continue running.
With every fiber of my being I press on, pushing down my fear and attempting to ignore my fatigue as I race toward my destination.
There has to be a way out, I think frantically. This cannot be how it ends.
I reach out my hand, grasping desperately for the light ahead of me, when a massive figure steps out of the shadows in front of me and blocks my path.
Skidding to a halt, I look up at the figure, who stands like a dark silhouette against the light. The man, if it is a man, is tall with broad shoulders, and wears a billowing cloak of the deepest black. Instead of a face there is only a mask, wood painted tan and carved to resemble a smiling man with green eyes.
My breath catches in my throat as a gloved hand reaches up and removes the mask, pulling it off and dropping it to the ground. Leering at me from beneath the hood is not the visage of a man, but of something much worse. Glowing red eyes regard me with hunger, and a wide mouth full of razor-sharp teeth opens in some twisted version of a smile.
The gorgon pulls out a large black sword from the folds of its cloak and drives it into my heart, ripping through my mage cloak and spilling warm blood down the front of me.
The last thing I remember is screaming in pain...
GASPING FOR BREATH, I shoot up in bed, casting my eyes about my dark room and searching for demons and assassins hiding in the shadows. The curtains over my bedroom window shroud the room in darkness, but after a few intense moments I realize that I am alone.
It had been nothing but a nightmare.
In the dream I understood that it was not real, that those horrible thoughts had been nothing but my own imagination, but for some reason it still filled me with a profound sense of dread.
Taking a few deep breaths to calm my beating heart, I brush the messy strands of hair out of my face and untangle myself from the sheets, placing my bare feet on the cold stone floor. The coldness of the stone sends a shock up my legs, bringing me back to lucidity as well as a splash of water on the face, and already I can feel the memory of the dream start to fade.
If only reality were as easy to forget as nightmares.
I let out a yawn as I approach the window, pulling back the curtains and revealing the rising sun on the other side. Instantly my room brightens, banishing the sinister apparitions and revealing the chamber for what it really is: a comfortable dwelling filled with furniture and personal items.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I cannot help but smile at my own foolishness.
You're like a little girl, Zara, I think to myself wryly. Jumping at shadows in the night? You'd think you are still an initiate at the Academy.
My smile fades, however, when my eyes spot the silvery dagger resting on my nightstand, bringing me back to my current situation and the things that I know I must do.
Turning to my nightstand, I begin to get ready, brushing the knots out of my hair and washing my face with a damp cloth. The assassin had said that tonight the Harbingers would be meeting. If I am going to intervene, I am going to have to prepare myself to ensure that I don't get myself killed.
As if in a daze I go through the motions of getting ready. I clean my teeth, pick out an outfit to wear and get dressed, pulling on my mage robe and tying it shut with a sash of deep sapphire. Since becoming a full mage, applying makeup has become a part of my regular routine. It makes me feel more beautiful and confident, attributes important to a young mage still trying to prove herself. Using my styluses and powders, I cover up the blemishes on my face and apply eyeliner to my eyes.
When I am finished I make my way to the main room of my apartments, where I find a servant girl fixing me breakfast.
"Good morning, Magus," she says sweetly, pouring some milk into a bowl of oats and giving me a polite smile. "Please ring the bell if you require anything from us." She nods toward a pull string on the far wall, which I know leads to a bell in the service quarters.
I nod my head and thank her for her trouble, then sit down at the table and begin to eat.
My mind knows that the food is good, but I eat mechanically, my mind focused on the task at hand and paying little attention to the taste.
I'll need to brush up on my spells, I think as I chew. Practice using them in case it comes down to a fight. Radiant shields may not be enough to protect me if I find myself surrounded by more enemies.
I take a drink of fruit juice to wash down my oats and milk. I'll need to scout out the location of the meeting during the daytime and figure out a way to get in. And I should probably also check in with Richard in the library to see if he was able to find out anything useful about the Harbingers.
It is going to be an extremely busy day.
Having finished my meal, I get up from my seat and leave my rooms, closing the door behind me and heading down the lifts to the main plaza of the Conclave. The library would have to be my first stop, both because of its proximity and because of the information the young steward-in-training was going to provide me with.
I need to know everything I can in preparation for tonight.
As always, the Conclave is bustling with activity, even at this early hour of the morning and the early-autumn chill in the air. Grateful for the warmth of my mage cloak, I weave my way through the crowd on my way to the Pillar of Radiance, trying to plan my day as I go.
Once inside the great antechamber, I take the stairs down, descending into the library and approaching a steward sitting at the front desk.
The man has heavy, drooping eyelids that make him appear like he is about to fall asleep, and his jowls quiver as he looks up at me, reminding me of a bulldog that is well into its years.
"Yes?" The steward asks in a rumbling voice. "How may I assist you, Magus?"
"I need help looking for someone," I reply breathlessly. I didn't realize until now how hurried my pace had been coming over here. "Is Richard Dawson here today? He is a steward-in-training."
The steward blinks at me before dryly responding, "I know young Richard well. He should be in the epic poetry section sorting scrolls."
"Excellent," I reply with a smile. He is here today, then. A good omen... let's hope the rest of my day goes this smoothly.
I turn to go, but the steward stops me by clearing his throat. "Please, try not to distract him, Magus. I don't mean to be presumptuous – but the boy does have a habit of being easily distracted. Right now, his training as a steward should take precedence over everything, social life included."
I give the steward a withering look, but give him a terse nod in reply. "I will try not to overburden the boy with too much conversation." My voice i
s dripping with sarcasm, but it seems to placate the man, so I turn my back and leave him at his desk.
The library is still a maze to me, and it takes some time for me to navigate the tall shelves of books to find the area listed as Epic Poetry. When I finally arrive, I find Richard standing in front of a low shelf, eyeing stacks of scrolls with an appraising eye.
He looks up at me as I approach and smiles awkwardly.
"Good morning, Magus," he says with a bow. "It's nice to see you again."
I wave my hand as if to ward away the too-formal greeting. "None of that," I reply. "We've been over this – just call me Zara."
"As you wish," he replies levelly, turning back to regard his scrolls. "What can I do for you, Zara?"
"I need you to tell me everything you were able to learn about the Harbingers." He stiffens at my words, clearly uncomfortable with the subject, but I continue anyway, voice lowered. "I know that I haven't given you a lot of time to look into the subject, but I need to know more about what I'm getting into. Please tell me you have something."
He glances over his shoulder and regards me for a moment, then sighs. "Yes, I was able to discover some things," he admits begrudgingly.
A feeling of relief washes over me. "That's good."
"And here I thought we were going to have a pleasant conversation about books."
"I'm sorry," I reply, feeling a little guilty. "But time is of the essence, Richard. And I really do appreciate your help on this."
He looks around to make sure that we are alone before taking a step closer to me, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Frankly, I don't like any of this, Zara. The more I learn about these people, the more convinced I become that these aren't the sorts of folk you want to become mixed up with."
"I know what you mean," I whisper back, thinking back to my encounter with the assassins yesterday. "Unfortunately, there's nothing that can be done. I have reason to believe that the Harbingers have infiltrated the highest offices in the kingdom, both within and without the Conclave, and the more information I have about them, the better."
"That's encouraging," he replies sardonically.
"Now out with it," I press, ignoring his grim attempt at humor. "What have you learned?"
Again, he looks around before opening up. "That this organization is not a new one. They've been around for hundreds of years, their power waning and waxing at varying intervals. They seem to view the R'Laar in a different light than anyone else – almost with a deific reverence. It's really quite disconcerting. They view the Arc of Radiance as a barrier that stands between mankind and judgment by the Light, and seek to hasten the end times by bringing its destruction."
Interesting, I muse, but not new information. "What else?"
He grimaces. "They are a cult, one that is not above committing murder and blackmail to achieve their goals. There's something else, too. Every time the Harbingers resurface, they are led by somebody called the 'prophet'. He isn't a real prophet, like the ones that belong to the Radiant Church. They claim that he is able to communicate with demons outside the Arc, and can collaborate with them to affect change inside Tarsynium." He shivers visibly.
"The prophet," I repeat quietly to myself. "That certainly sounds ominous."
He nods. "Listen, Zara, I don't know what you've gotten yourself into, but I would advise you to get as far away from these people as possible. They're dangerous. I would hate to see anything bad happen to you because you got involved with crazy religious zealots."
I reach up and put a hand on his arm. "Thank you, Richard. For your concern and for the information. But this is something that I have to do on behalf of the Conclave. If these Harbingers are as dangerous as you say they are, then I have to everything I can to stop them."
He seems uncomfortable with me touching him, but still he smiles. "Anything I can do to help, I will, Zara."
Return his smile and take a step back, letting my hand fall to my side. "I wish I could stay and chat longer, but I have to go take care of some things. I'll probably come see you again in a couple of days."
We say our goodbyes and then I depart, making my way back through the bookshelf hallways to the exit with my jaw set in determination. A thousand questions still swirled around in my head, but at least now I know a little bit more about what I am dealing with.
Now I know who my true enemy is... and he calls himself the prophet.
The most important thing I can do now is prepare myself to meet him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Owyn
“This is madness,” I say to Talon as we stand in front of our barrack, watching the Grand Lodge prepare itself for battle. “They refuse to listen to reason.”
Talon scoffs. “Is it reasonable to ask them to believe that this is secretly some demon plot to undermine the rangers? You sound like a bloody loon, mate.”
He brings up a good point.
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” I insist, brushing off his snide remark. “They’re jumping into this too quickly, retaliating without conducting a proper investigation first. For all they know, they could be attacking the wrong people!”
He shrugs, sniffing through his broken nose and spitting into the dirt. “Nightingales attacked us, Owyn. Whether they were ‘mindflayed’ or not isn't important. What matters now is doing what they least expect, which in this case is a counter-attack.”
“It wasn’t the Nightingales,” I reply stubbornly, placing a hand unconsciously on my wounded side.
After leaving the meeting with the Wardens, I had taken time to properly clean my wound and bind it with bandages, replacing my stained clothes with new ones and washing my hands and face. It was necessary work, and it kept my hands busy while I thought about what I should do next. There clearly was a demon about, pulling the strings, but how can I convince my fellow rangers when they are so bent on revenge?
Talon had finally gotten around to cleaning the dried blood from his face, and now looked refreshed despite the dark bruises beneath both his eyes.
“We need to let the Wardens sort all of this out,” he remarks off-handedly, watching as another young man saddles a horse for his master. “We’re just apprentices. Our job is to observe, learn and follow orders. Nothing more.”
“I’d be inclined to agree with you,” I mutter grimly, “if I hadn’t of seen the things I’ve seen.”
With that, I turn and enter the barrack, walking up to my cot where my possessions are stored and slinging my bow and my quiver of arrows around my shoulder.
“What in the Eleven Hells do you think you are doing?” Talon asks from behind me, his voice incredulous.
“I’m going with them,” I state matter-of-factly, grabbing my pouch of medicinal herbs and lacing it to my belt.
“Maybe you weren’t paying attention back there, but those rangers are going to war.” His voice has a biting tone to it, his incredulity clearly giving way to annoyance and perhaps even anger. “You’re exhausted, wounded and emotionally invested. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“It’s possible,” I reply evenly, striding past him and stepping outside.
As I make my way to the stable, I can hear Talon calling out to me from the doorway of the barrack. “You’re on your own, Owyn. I’m not getting myself killed for this mad quest of yours.”
I pay him little heed.
Saddling my horse proves to be a chore, and I have to move carefully to avoid tearing my stitches open. The wound throbs terribly, and I can tell that riding with it is going to be a miserable experience. And yet my conscience, and more importantly the oath, keeps me focused on the task at hand. I made a vow to protect the realms of men, and I’ll do it – with or without the help of my fellow rangers.
By the time I mount my gelding and pull out into the main courtyard, most of the rangers have already begun to file out into the forest, forming a long column of horsemen who are armed to the teeth, their grey-green cloaks worn proudly.
Leading them, o
ddly enough, is Advisor Creed, the weasel of a man who is constantly whispering into the Master Warden’s ear. He has a longbow and quiver slung upon his back, and he has his nose turned up, a perpetual look of disdain upon his face. A couple of higher-ranking rangers ride with him, their faces as stoic as ever.
I am about to ride over and join them when the sight of First Warden Tamara catches my eye. She is standing in front of the main hall, watching the column depart with an unreadable expression.
Against my better judgment, I turn my horse toward her and trot over to her position.
“So, you’re going with them?” She asks, her eyes flicking up at me and then back out at the column of rangers.
I nod my head. “Somebody needs to go and convince them to stop.”
She snorts derisively, though I think I see a small glimmer of approval in her eyes. “You’d have an easier time shooting the sun with your bow. Many of them lost friends in the attack, not to mention the Master Warden’s direct order to move forward with retaliating.”
“Then why are you not going with them?”
“Warden Carr and I are charged with the defense of the Lodge,” she replies coolly, resting her hand on the hilt of her sword and leaning back against the wooden wall of the building. “Not all of the rangers are leaving.”
“But you still don’t agree with the decision,” I say, probably more confidently than I should. “I can tell. You don’t think that this is the right move, either.”
Instead of a reprimand, Tamara lets out a sigh. She looks tired, more tired than even I feel, and I realize that this is the first time I have ever seen the woman express any sort of emotion whatsoever. She seems vulnerable. “Sometimes, you and your commanding officer disagree on what should be done. It’s human nature to disagree. The mark of a true soldier is willingness to follow orders even when you don’t want to.”
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