He gestured for her to speak with his tankard before taking a long drink.
“You were a scholar in Aeldamarc.” Or so she thought. The memory was dim and old. It had not been important information when he had told her.
“Yes.” He narrowed his eyes. “My studies on old lore is why I am a scout. Caution, Maryx. Our people have forgotten some things for a reason.”
“‘You may have forgotten something, elf, but that does not mean it has forgotten you.’”
Ryl chuckled darkly. “That proverb was my defense at my trial.” His face grew very serious. “What has decided to remember you?”
Maryx weighed her words. She’d rather not be assumed to have lost her mind. “Wings and eyes and fire.”
His hands dropped from his tankard. It took him a moment to speak. “There are things outside our world. Our world...it makes sense to us. The things in it, the laws of it, even the gods, even demons, they match what we understand. We comprehend them. But there are also things outside our world, and they do not make sense to us.”
“That being was one of them?”
“I am...fairly certain of it. Wings and eyes and fire...there are images on old—“
“Scrolls. My grandfather had some of them rotting away. That’s why I thought you might know more.”
“Now you know all I know. How did you see it?”
She sighed. “I had cause to touch a heartstone.”
Ryl was as marble pale as Maryx, but he blanched to a corpse-like pallor at that. “Maryx,” he hissed and grabbed her arm with bruising strength.
“It was an accident,” she informed him between clenched teeth. He let go. “It was not hostile. It was giving a warning I think.” Damn, that was an awful bruise. At least it was her uninjured side.
“Heartstones are gates to our world, you know that, and that means demons.” Did it ever.
“As we discussed.”
“No. Not just that. The entities that fathered demons. Darkness. Hatred beyond comprehension. Cruelty that cannot be measured. That is why I say some things are best forgotten.”
“It wasn’t a choice, Ryl.”
He retreated to his tankard. “You telling me was.”
“Forget if you want, but you know how it goes.” Maryx gnawed on her bread, thinking but arriving at no conclusions. “If war comes here, I think the world will make very little sense to us all on its own.”
Ryl drained his ale. “Unfortunately likely.”
“Are you going to ride for Mulvane soon?”
Another tankard thunked down to the table. He took it up. “Soon.”
“Ah.”
Ryl looked at her over his drink. Maryx sipped her wine nonchalantly. She wasn’t about to judge him for not riding hard for Mulvane.
Whatever the world was coming to, this wasn’t going to get any easier.
7
Valen knew the shock he caused as he strode in the shrine of Lyrica dirty, unshaven, and disheveled, but he didn’t care.
He had a message from the goddess. Decorum wasn’t relevant.
He halted on the floor before the dim shrine’s brightly lit high dais, forcing himself to remain still as the priestesses finished their morning offerings. High Priestess Sola saw him and briefly paused, then picked up the pace, moving swiftly through the haunting pleading hymns to Lyrica. The hurried pace caused some worried looks on the faces of the younger priestesses, but they continued serenely, moving through their elaborate patterns with precision.
The priestesses descended the dais in a stately line, headed away to other duties. The High Priestess sent her two handmaidens off with a word and moved to him. She was a formidable woman, though age was beginning to ravage her body. Her diaphanous cloth-of-gold gown could not hide the way her body was wasting away.
“Paladin Valen,” she said, smiling. Her eyes and hair where the same shade of gray. “I know that look. Your Herald has a message for us all.”
He bowed his head deeply. “High Priestess,” he said, “Yes. I do.” He glanced at the worshippers and clerics in the shrine. “It’s best discussed in private.”
The smile faded. “Of course. Please, help me to my sitting room.” She snatched his arm before he could even offer it, and leaned her weight heavily on him. She was far weaker than she had been last time he’d seen her six months before.
She patted his arm gently. “You smell terrible, Paladin.”
“I came as soon as I reached the city. It’s…”
“Yes. Ensure you clean up after we speak. Crownshold needs the image of Lyrica’s Paladins these days.” She gave him a sideways look that reminded him of stories about a very wild young Initiate Sola. “And you exemplify that image the most, if I say so myself.”
He blinked. “Thank you, High Priestess.”
She patted his arm again and directed them towards the back of the shrine, across the elaborate mosaic sunburst sigil that dominated the floor, right to the foot of the vast golden statue of Lyrica. Valen kept his eyes on it as they passed. Cleverly placed candles made her shine. She was dressed much as the High Priestess was, but there was no frailty in her impassive golden face. Her hair was swept up into an elaborate helm, one hand resting upon an immense round shield with her sigil shining mirror bright upon it, the other hand ready upon the long straight sword sheathed at her side.
Lyrica, Defender of Mankind. He was reminded that the glory and strength of the Herald was only a pale echo of hers. There was hope yet.
The High Priestess pushed aside a drapery in a shadowed corner. Beyond, a Paladin stood guard before a simple door. He grinned goofily at Valen, green eyes merry in his dark face.
“It’s good to see you back at the Temple, Longshanks,” the Paladin said, laughing, “Even if you do look like something a cat threw up.”
Valen suppressed a laugh. He hardly saw Galian anymore except over the occasional meal at the Temple. “Only because of a hard ride. You don’t even have that excuse.”
Galian pointlessly resettled his pristine blue cloak. “Nonsense. I have been told often that I look the part of one of the High Priestess’ guard.” He bowed to the High Priestess, who gave him an indulgent smile.
“If you gentlemen could postpone your training yard banter for little old me,” she said, iron behind her gentle voice, “I must speak in private with Paladin Valen. Maintain your vigil.” She released Valen’s arm and moved slowly to pull the door open. Galian scurried to get it for her. “And no eavesdropping.”
Galian bowed his head in the same manner Valen had earlier. “Yes, High Priestess.”
She shook her head and then waved for Valen to come in. He did and found himself in a room made bright from a high skylight. The room and its furnishings were overwhelmingly royal blue. It seemed to glow in the sunshine. It was a shock after the dim shrine.
The High Priestess chuckled drily. She’d snatched up a carved wooden cane after the door had shut and now made her way to an overstuffed royal blue chair. “I demanded a skylight be put in two years ago. There was shock and uproar, because doesn’t Lyrica’s Servant generate her own light?” She gestured to another, much smaller chair, covered in blue velvet. “Please sit, Paladin. It strains my neck to look at you if you remain standing.”
He obeyed, aware that he was likely ruining the velvet. All humor had drained from the High Priestess’ face. “What is it the goddess wishes us to know?”
“The Temple must leave the city.”
“The war?”
He hesitated, trying to sort through the wealth of information the Herald had imparted. “Yes.”
The High Priestess leaned forward. “When does it come here?” she demanded.
Valen shook his head. “That she did not say.”
She sat back and slumped. “Of course, and you were not given the ability to speak to her.” She slammed her cane against the carpeted floor. “Alas, most blessed Paladin, the Herald has told you nothing I do not know, then.”
“She told me wher
e you need to go and what you’ll need there.”
She gestured for him to explain and he recounted word for word what the Herald had told him. He almost felt like she stood at his shoulder, her warm smile shining down on him.
The High Priestess nodded. “I will have you give this to a scribe, shortly. The mute boy, I think.” She held his eyes and he saw none of her body’s weakness reflected there. “Understand this and understand it well. None of this must pass beyond this room. War has been coming for some time.” She sighed and shifted in her chair. “There have been skirmishes among the lordly holdings for ages and deadly intrigue since before that, even. Holdings have been absorbed by others time and time again, while others have fragmented. The Lords’ Council had thirty-five seats when I was an Initiate; now there are twenty-one. But the shift to grander violence came suddenly…what I expected, what did anyone expect, from a group of men with absolute power over their lands for generations?”
Valen had no answer. He did what Lyrican Paladins did, cleansed corruption and spread the light of Lyrica. The motions of great men had nothing to do with him.
That he had any role to play in the fate of the world was beyond belief. Here in the shrine of Lyrica, in the warmth and familiarity of the Temple, it was even harder to believe. The vague idea of Immor faded away in the sunlight.
“Let your friend Paladin Galian know to send that mute scribe boy,” the High Priestess said, gesturing to the door.
Valen stood delivered her order to Galian, who thought nothing of it. Galian got through life by not analyzing anything. As they’d grown older, Valen had realized that the trait was its own blessing from the goddess.
When he turned back, the High Priestess was eying him judgmentally. “I take it you have seen the motions of war firsthand.” He nodded. “Since I find you an intelligent and handsome young man, I will inform you of developments. It might be useful in the future.”
“Whatever you require of me, High Priestess.”
She gave him a calculating look and he was reminded of why he never lingered at the Temple. “No lords sit in the councilhouse. They all left after the last meeting. I gather there was an argument, but since they sent all staff and guards away before the meeting, I don’t know what they argued over. Then a few days later a pigeon came saying that Lord Beriskar’s eldest son was killed in a town along the Road and evidence points to Lord Mulvane, an easy scapegoat, since his madness has grown obnoxiously pervasive.”
The door opened and a skinny teenage boy with large pale eyes entered. He wore the gray robes of the Temple staff, which were too long for him, and held a small leather pouch. He bowed to them, then moved to one of the decorative tables and began setting out ink and paper.
The High Priestess held out a hand as he prepared to write. “Please wait, Neophyte Owl. Paladin, as I was saying, that’s when reports of armies on the march began. Though not fast enough to be where they were reported as being, however...You have something to say, from your face.”
“I was passing through the village where Beriskar’s heir was killed. It was burned that night by Beriskar’s men.”
She lifted a thin gray eyebrow. “That is news to me. May their souls know the Tribunal’s approval Beyond.” She stood with effort, leaning as heavily on her cane as she had on Valen. “I must speak to the Crownsguard Commander. Recount the Herald’s guidance to Neophyte Owl here. He cannot speak.” The boy nodded emphatically. “Then clean yourself up. Report to me in the morning.” Valen and the scribe bowed as she left through another door.
Valen felt, suddenly, as if his ever-serene Herald was frowning at him.
✽✽✽
“Look who’s not covered in dirt!”
Valen shook his head and clipped his broach through his new blue cloak, proper attire for a Paladin of Lyrica. He turned to see Galian grinning at him. “Are you actually off duty or are you cutting out early?”
The other man clapped him on the shoulder. “As straight laced as a noble lady’s corset.” He stepped back and eyed him critically. Valen ignored him and started across the Lyrican Academy’s courtyard. Galian matched his stride. “In road kit, again, too.”
Valen looked down at his tunic. It was a quieter blue than Galian’s. “Guess it is. Are you cutting out early?”
“I haven’t done that since I passed the tests.”
“Nice to see you still don’t answer that question outright.”
“No, I’m not cutting out early. Are you going to be in long enough this time to go to the Sunshield?”
It took Valen a minute to remember what the Sunshield was—the tavern Lyrican Paladins went to, just outside the Temple. “Maybe.” Probably, but he was not telling that to Galian. “Not tonight.” He had to catch up to Maryx, if for no other reason than to tie up loose ends. She had ridden here with him, faced off with a demon, and helped with the strange couriers, who might have overwhelmed him if he’d been on his own. He should help her out in turn if he could.
Galian jogged a few steps as Valen began walking faster. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”
Valen reached the Temple wall and laid a hand on it. “I have heartstones for the Reliquary.”
The other Paladin chuckled fondly. “Paladin Valen, always bringing home his quarry…wait, heartstones? More than one?”
Valen rolled his eyes and searched the wall for the mark. “It’s not the first time.”
There it was. He touched a small, deeply sunk etching of a star in the wall’s decoration. He heard something click and hoped he wouldn’t have to wait long.
He turned to Galian to find the shorter man stare at him. “You really are that good, aren’t you?”
“Yes. And yes, I am visited by a Herald. Very, very often.” Very often.
That got the old grin back. “Yeah, yeah. I can still spar you into the ground, don’t worry.”
“I’ll take that bet.”
“Sparring’s at dawn.”
Valen nodded, then turned as one of the courtyard’s paving stones lifted up. A gray-cowled head peeked out, looking around before he saw Valen. “Paladin Valen,” he growled, “Again.”
“I have two for your keeping.”
“It’s been more than a year since you brought back two.” The Reliquary Keeper nodded at Galian. “Is your brother Paladin coming?”
Valen looked at Galian, who shrugged after a moment. “I haven’t been down in a while. Might as well remember what a Paladin is supposed to do.”
The Keeper grunted and headed back into the hole. The Paladins followed. The heartstones felt heavy at Valen’s side. The Keeper waited until they were both below ground before reaching up to drag the paving stone back into place. He was a very large, powerful man, robed in gray like the mute scribe had been, though his robes certainly fit.
“Keep your hands to yourself, unpracticed Paladin,” the Keeper said. He snatched up a lantern and led them through the tunnel.
They walked for a short ways. Valen knew they had crossed the Temple’s boundary wall when he saw the first glowing blue cylinder embedded in the wall. The Keeper paused at it, extending hand but not quite touching it. Every few paces there was another cylinder and the Keeper would pause at each.
Galian watched curiously. Valen merely felt impatient. He knew the Keepers had to make sure the heartstones were kept in stasis, but the demon that had coalesced around one of those he carried haunted him.
“The wards hold,” The Keeper announced after a good half hour’s walking. There were fewer cylinders in this part of the Reliquary; it was a newer section. “Please place one of the heartstones here, Paladin.” He indicated a darkened cylinder in the wall.
Valen untied the pouch and pulled one of the heartstones out with far more care than he’d ever used before. He placed it inside a hollow in the cylinder.
The cylinder began to glow, a low level hum starting. The heartstone within was dull and lifeless. The Keeper held his hand out to it and nodded. He led them to another cylin
der and Valen sealed the other away.
“Good,” the Keeper said, “More corruption kept from the world.” He turned to lead them out, pausing yet again at every single cylinder.
“They’re the hearts of the elven gods, aren’t they?” Galian asked quietly.
“You cut that class, too?” Valen answered. Galian rolled his eyes. “Fragments of them.”
“That is the legend,” the Keeper told them, a chiding tone to his voice, “But no Keeper alive has ever seen proof.”
“I cut them out of godshards often enough.”
The Keeper shrugged. “You know more of powers face-to-face than I do, Paladin. I only know that heartstones are connections to the spiritual realm.”
Valen frowned as the Keeper led them back through the tunnels. He eyed the cylinders as they passed. He could catch sight of the occasional glowing sigil of one of the Tribunal gods floating in the blue ether around the lifeless heartstones. "They're dead but not gone," he murmured, "Not til we cut the heartstones out. I wonder if they are just dying piece by piece."
"Sympathy for godshards? From you?" the Keeper asked, amused.
"He's been on the road too long," Galian said with a smirk.
"They speak sometimes." The other two men gave him disbelieving looks. "Sometimes they can even be reasoned..." He paused, realizing keenly what he had known but never felt. "Out of existence."
"Good riddance," the Keeper said.
"The elves worshipped their gods the way we worshipped ours." He thought of Maryx's description of her oaths and her people. "I think they needed them."
The Keeper's lip curled. "Sympathy for elves?"
Galian was looking at him oddly. “Elves don’t have hearts, they have heartstones,” he said. The one wasn’t from any class Valen remembered. “Just another power coalescing around a heartstone. Don't waste your sympathy. They'd rather eat you than hear it.
“Have you ever even seen an elf?"
"I don't want to."
Valen shook his head. "I’ve seen a lot of powers with heartstones, and none look anything like elves."
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