He pulled one of the wooden swords from the rack and spun it around a few times. More and more students were making their way to the Proving Grounds. He stopped a small group and asked what he needed to do to join, pretending he was new and looking to improve his skills. The two boys and one girl were eager to impart what information they had. He asked the taller young man if he would mind sparring with him for a few rounds in return for a few coins. The boy was hesitant at first, but Devyn insisted that he would not hurt him. The young man, still new to the world of judging his opponent, let the challenge of words decide for him.
The two circled each other. Devyn could read the determination in the young man’s eyes. He extended his wooden sword, and the boy hit it. The blow was an easy one, a test; he thrust his sword against the boy’s and waited for the next blow. Devyn was careful not to press the attack; he blocked each swing and moved back a step, waiting for the boy’s next attack. They parried for a few minutes, the boy pressing on and Devyn defending.
When Devyn found the right time, he let the young man to swing at empty air as he wielded his sword in a circle and hit the young man squarely on the shoulder. The young man’s eyes opened wide with surprise.
Devyn almost laughed at the anger that now took charge of what the boy would do next; he stepped forward and swung down hard, an easy blow for Devyn to escape, yet he allowed his sword hand to take the blow, the wooden sword falling to the ground. He went to one knee, his hands up.
The boy was clearly startled; his victory would be a story to brag about. “Oh, my. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard. You’re bleeding.”
“I’ll be fine. You’re a fine swordsman.”
“I’ll take you to the center. I’m so sorry.”
“The center?”
The young man pointed to the hospice center. “Yes, they’ll attend to your wound. Come.”
Devyn dug a few more coins out of his pocket. “I’ll go myself. Sorry I broke up your day a little. Here, a reward for teaching me a lesson.”
They stood watching as he made his way to the hospice center. He entered and looked around, and glanced back out the door. They turned away and moved across the field.
A young girl approached him. “May I help you?”
“It seems I was at the receiving end of a minor battle.” He showed her his hand.
She smiled and took hold of his fingers. “I think you’ll live. If you would take a seat over there, I’ll get to you shortly. You won’t pass out from the blood, will you?”
It was his turn to smile. “I promise not to look at it.”
He took a seat where he had a full view of the facility. No old-man cleric. He was tempted to take any cleric at all, but he knew he would get one chance at this, if any chance at all. Should he pick some cleric who had little or no information, his effort would have been for nothing.
The healer made her way to him. “I see you have not passed out. That’s a good sign.” She stepped back and looked at him more seriously. “You look like you have taken more than a blow to one of your hands. What happened?”
“Oh, a bad riding accident, days ago. I’ll be fine. Just the hand.”
“Are you from here?” she asked.
“No, I was thinking of bettering my skills with the sword at the military college; perhaps I should reconsider.”
“Oh, I think we can patch you up. But if it happens too many times in a row, the universe might be telling you something.”
“I’ll remember your good advice… Tell, me, are those men and women in the bright robes clerics?”
She washed the blood from his hand and dried it off with a piece of linen. “I think you can get by without having to sew the wound. And yes, the clerics are staying with us awhile; most of them are in our dining room at the moment.”
“Speaking of dining, I forgot about breakfast this morning, as I was excited to visit the college—”
“Well then, when I’m finished with you here, I’m sure our cooks will be delighted to have one more student to feed.” She rubbed some healing ointment on his hand and wrapped it snugly. “There, I think you’ll live.”
Devyn went to take coin from his pocket.
“Are you a student?”
“Soon to be, I hope.”
“Well, let this one be on us, as students are not charged for our services. Now, off you go to the dining hall. It’s through that door.” She pointed to her left.
Devyn bowed. “Even though your services were exemplary, I hope not to see you again soon. I would rather exalt your services by never needing them; may you have few patients.” He winked.
She smiled and went on to her next patient.
He entered the dining hall, and there to one side was the man he was after. Devyn took a seat, removed the bandage from his hand, and stuffed it into a flowerpot. No need to have the healer drawn into any trouble he might cause. He helped himself to a steaming cup of coffee from the center serving table and scanned the area for where best to make his move. Lots of people about; he needed the old cleric to move outside.
He was halfway through his cup when the old cleric got up.
Simon headed down a hallway and down a stairwell. Devyn followed, looking back up as he reached bottom to ensure no one else followed. The old man was now along the corridor and positioned to enter one of the many rooms that dotted the hallway. Devyn waited for him to go inside and close the door. He walked down the hallway, gave a look around, opened the door, and entered.
Simon turned to face him. “What are you doing in my room?”
Devyn pulled his dagger. “I’m pleased you should ask.”
The old cleric moved to get by.
Devyn pushed him back onto the bed. “There are a couple of ways this can go, old-timer. One is we talk a lot, and I convince you that the best thing for you is to tell me everything I want to know. The second way, ’cause I don’t have much time, is…” Devyn sliced the side of the cleric’s face, just a scratch, enough to draw blood.
The cleric’s hand went to his face. “What the blessed shade—?”
“Oh, and don’t scream. One cleric is as good as another to me, so I don’t mind having to go through a few before I get what I want.”
“Hey, I know you! You’re the—”
“Let’s have me ask the questions first, and then you provide the answers. Okay? You’re Simon.”
The cleric sat on the bed. “Simon, yes, I’m Simon. I was… am a friend to your wife.”
“She could use better friends, it would seem. All right then, Simon, I know as well as you do, something’s very wrong with what’s happening with the prophecies.”
“What do you mean?”
Devyn reached out and scratched another mark on the side of the cleric’s face. “You don’t want to test my patience. I’m aware you intended to have my wife killed, like all the others before her—”
“No, no, they are… they might be alive. But they didn’t deliver any prophecies, other than the first one.”
“Might be is all you’ve got?”
“The one who received the last prophecy before the chalice disappear—”
Devyn pushed the blade against Simon’s face. “What do you mean disappeared? I stole the cup when I freed Brenna.”
“You stole a replica that Lord Wallace put in place until he could figure out what had happened.”
“So you’re telling me there’ve been no prophecies for the last three solstices of sunglow?” Devyn stepped back. Simon was breathing heavily and holding his chest. Devyn did not want his best chance at information to blink out before he got the answers he needed.
“No, there was a prophecy at the solstice of sunglow, three turns of the sun ago. There were three of us there; the chalice just vanished. Lord Wallace vigorously questioned all of us, even the caretaker, thinking we were somehow duplicitous in its disappearance. I’m the only one who survived, and that is only because he still thinks there might be more to know. He can’t
figure out the last prophecy, so he hangs onto me thinking I’ll remember something.”
“What do the clerics do when the prophecy is being given to the caretaker?”
“We do nothing other than transcribe what the caretaker says while in the trance.”
“You drug the caretakers?”
“No, nothing of the kind. They prepare for some time in meditation, they hold the chalice on the very moment this part of Kielara is most inclined toward our sun. It is then that the caretaker commences talking. We merely write down what they say and then compare afterward, so we know that what is being said we have transcribed correctly.”
“Where are the other two caretakers, the ones who never received a prophecy?”
“I don’t know. Since that last prophecy, he waits until the appointed day and then has them taken away when no prophecy is recorded.”
“You mean killed?”
“No… I don’t know.” Simon hung his head. “Kill me. I’m as guilty as he is.”
“And you might be, but I won’t be your executioner. You can do me one more service. What was the last prophecy about?”
Simon got up from the bed. “You will not be able to figure it out. Lord Wallace has had the greatest minds examine the words, yet none have solved the riddle, if there is even one to solve.” He reached for a cord that hung around his neck and pulled out a small cylinder. “Here. Brenna was my friend. I’m so sorry. And no, none of us understand its intended message, if there is one.”
Devyn took the small scroll and opened it. He took a few moments to read. “Is this everything?”
“Yes, and as I said, it means nothing to us, other than being a dire warning of some sort… And just so you know, I’m greatly relieved that Brenna is safe. I must tell you of what happened after your escape.”
He proceeded to inform Devyn of Wallace’s reaction to the invasion on the temple.
Devyn could only listen. No words would give any substance to what he was hearing. He was thankful when Simon ended the details of the tragic occurrences.
Simon paused before he spoke again. “I’m glad you took the chalice; the deceit was devouring me. Perhaps now he’ll leave me alone… and let me die.”
“Look, Simon, my intent was to tie you up if you survived my questions. If I do that now, you will have much explaining to do; much more so than justifying those two scrapes on your face. If I leave you sitting here, will you leave me to make my exit?”
“You have nothing to fear from me; less so should your visit never be made known.”
Devyn considered the situation. “There’s wisdom in your thinking.”
“Not enough to have spared me the shame I carry.”
Devyn nodded. “I’ll tell Brenna what you did.”
Simon lay down on the bed.
Devyn made his exit.
Chapter 10
A Price to Pay
Getting out of the city proved far easier than getting in. The soldiers and guards had already scoured the city looking for any vestige of those who had attacked the temple. They would now focus on protecting the entryways.
Getting a ride out was also an easy task; since everyone leaving would go out the same road, there was no need to inquire where one was going. Devyn paid a farmer a few coin for the ride and took a seat in the back of the wagon, lying back against the supplies the farmer had bartered for in the city center. The three guards at the gate were looking outside and were deep in conversation. Devyn doubted they even noticed the wagon. The two guards on the exit side of the bridge scarcely gave the farmer a look as one of them waved him on his way, while Devyn pretended to rest in blissful unconcern with what was happening as the wagon moved out across the bridge.
A short ways outside the city, Devyn recovered the dagger he had hidden in the hay, jumped from the wagon, and offered up his thank-you and goodbye; the farmer gave a wave and continued on his way.
Devyn ambled along the road until the wagon was out of sight and then left the road and headed toward the Homer farm. Along the way, he recovered his sword and a few other pieces of his belongings he had stashed there. His hope inside the garrison had been to find out about the other prophecies, then link up with his wife and learn of the new prophecy to come, when solstice arrived. All that was no longer possible. Brenna was free; that freedom was all he could hope for. Going back had not solved anything.
Yes, it told him there was no chalice, there were no new prophecies, and the last one, which had not been told to the people, was something that would need a great deal of contemplation, and if he understood a word it was not something that gave promise to his world.
Damn the gods, they’d given him enough to not hang himself but not enough to find any hope for the future.
A little before midday, he reached the farm. Nobody in sight; perhaps Solick was in the barn again, watching as he arrived, and the rest of the family was back bartering farm products in the city market.
Looking around, he registered an oddity; none of the barn animals were outside, and the cows were still in their nighttime enclosure. He drew his sword and moved to inspect the barn; the doors were barred, another oddity for midday on a farm. He called to his friend, the only answer the neighing and movements of horses in their stalls—Fury among them, he hoped.
He opened the door and stepped back; four guards stood, swords ready.
“Drop that sword or die!” one of the guards shouted.
Devyn held his ground. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We haven’t even been introduced yet.”
A blade came sweeping down on his; Devyn’s sword hissed with its magic as it blocked the blow.
A second guard moved to attack his side, while the other two raced around to his back. One of them was none other than the one who had taken Brenna and called him a cow-milker.
“I know you.” Devyn pointed his sword his way. “I’ll leave you ’til last.”
Then Devyn did the unexpected. He went in under the sword of the guard to his right and body slammed him to the ground, turning as he did, his blade stabbing deep into one of the two men who had tried to get behind him.
The blue light raced down his blade; the man shook as he died. Devyn pulled his sword back, and the guard fell to the ground.
The guard he had body slammed recovered if a tad unsteady. The guard’s next decision was not a prudent one; he charged Devyn.
It reminded Devyn of the young student who had bruised his hand. Perhaps this one could use a few lessons at the military school. Devyn pretended to give all his attention to the charging guard. He stepped aside at exactly the same time as the captain let go his dagger from behind Devyn. It caught the charging guard in the chest.
That guard’s eyes opened wide. Devyn could not tell if it was the inevitability of his death or the realization of who had killed him.
“Well, well; it’s now you and me.” Devyn returned his sword to his scabbard. “I’ve not had a chance to come visit you since the night you took my wife; perhaps this will make up for it.”
The guard circled to his right, two hands on his sword. “You’re pretty handy for a cow-milker. But I’m the captain of the guard; you’ll find me a little more able to take your head off.”
“Are my friends alive?”
The captain swung his sword. “You won’t live to find out, but the daughter told us you would be coming. In hopes of saving her mother.”
Devyn easily ducked the swing, still no weapon in his hand. “You believe my death to be imminent, and perhaps so; then again…” This guard was not as inept as his companions. He would have to be careful. Killing him would be easy, but playing with him could go badly. It was a game he had to play, for he believed this man had killed what he should not have. As a result, he wanted more than the captain’s death. “Tell me, did my friend get to fight? If so, he would have killed you all.”
“We took his wife and daughter first, so he dropped his pitchfork. Then we made him watch as we had our way with his wif
e and daughter.”
That made Devyn shiver with rage. He pushed the emotion away. He blinked not an eye, his muscles at the ready. Let the captain dig his own grave. “My friend could have killed you all with that pitchfork. You’re a true follower of Wallace. Do you stroke his brow while he falls asleep?”
The captain charged, his scream penetrating the air as he did. Devyn stepped to one side, sticking out his right foot; the captain hit the ground hard but with surprising agility was back on his feet in moments.
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