Weaponforger (Guardian's Prophecy Book 3)

by D A Godwin

An equally serious-looking commander of the blue-tabarded soldiers called the visiting procession to a halt, and the priests, most of whom were sitting atop mules, began to dismount and assemble by rank. Mixed in among the weary movements of grey-haired elders and eager acolytes was a sandy haired young man in simple brown robes.

  He was the one you rescued? He looks so young.

  There was truth to that. Age had yet to lay its fingers on the Legitarso of Amalthee, and Treven’s ever-youthful features and open countenance belied both his years and the power he now commanded.

  “You were right,” Honarch whispered beside him. “But I can’t believe he’s actually here. The route from Kirchmont is no more safe than the last time we walked it.”

  Tormjere kept his thoughts to himself. He had no ready answer for why they had come here—a fact he had considered pointing out to Enna—but he could not shake a nagging feeling that the timing of this visit was less coincidental than it might appear.

  An acolyte hurried to help Treven from his mule, then offered his arm and lead him forward. Each priest bowed respectfully as he passed, save an older priest who fell into step in front of him.

  Treven’s robes were the same brown they had always been but were of a finer cut and material than before, and a small, gold symbol of Amalthee’s open Book hung from a matching chain around his neck, as it did on the other priests. But it was the battered haversack slung across a shoulder that drew Tormjere’s attention. Standing in stark contrast to the other finery, it radiated a familiar warmth that Tormjere could feel like the sun on a cool day.

  The crowd edged closer to the priests as everyone tried to get a good look. Treven’s cheerful expression lent him an air of approachability, like a good friend come to visit, and his eyes were… cloudy. Not quite the milky white that Father Gelid’s had been, but their once youthful sparkle was now misted and grey.

  The three came to a stop before the waiting dignitaries, with the acolyte whispering a description of the scene in Treven’s ear.

  “Welcome to Newlmir,” Shalindra said with a polite bow. “I am Shalindra, Sister of Eluria and head of our council. On behalf of all who reside here, it is my pleasure to receive such distinguished visitors.”

  The priest in front of Treven returned the bow. “It is in the name of Amalthee that we thank you. Father Treven, Legitarso of Amalthee and Reader of Her Word, is pleased to receive your greeting.”

  The corner of Treven’s mouth turned up in amusement. “And he is also pleased to speak for himself, when protocol and Father Ignatius allow it.”

  The senior priest cast his eyes heavenward at the interruption but stepped to the side as Treven was guided closer to Shalindra.

  “I pray that our presence will cause no disruption to your efforts to sow your fields,” Treven said. “We have come so that I may fulfil a vow I made years ago, that others of my order could see this place firsthand and understand what was sacrificed to bring Her Book home.”

  “Visitors are never a disruption,” Shalindra replied. “Anything that we may do to make your stay more comfortable, we shall. I am afraid that our inn is incapable of providing for your entire number, but Sister Marie is pleased to offer accommodations at Eluria’s temple as best she is able.”

  Treven turned his head towards where Tormjere and Honarch stood at the back of the crowd. “Friends should never stand on formality.”

  “We tend towards the informal here,” she said, “but if I may present my fellow councilors?”

  Introductions of each group’s worthies were made by Shalindra and Father Ignatius, and with that the formalities were concluded. Edward took charge of finding places around the village for the teamsters and hired swords, and the gathering began to slowly disperse.

  Honarch nudged Tormjere, and the two of them drifted closer as the councilors and priests mingled, though the guards saw to it that everyone kept a respectable distance from Treven and Shalindra as they conversed.

  “We are weary from our journey,” Treven said to her, “but if you would allow me a moment with some old acquaintances?”

  He looked towards Tormjere and Honarch and waved them forward. The pair made their way through the crowd, both well aware of the guards’ eyes upon them.

  Honarch bowed. “It is good to see you again. I hope your journey here was less eventful than our last.”

  “It had its own share of challenges,” Treven said with a grin. “But some things remained the same. No matter how hard I tried, I still managed to place my bedroll atop every root in the forest. It was most uncomfortable.”

  Honarch chuckled. “I’m sorry I did not return sooner. We’ll have to continue our conversation once you are settled.”

  “Indeed we will. There is much to catch up on.” Treven turned to Tormjere, though his eyes remained unfocused. “Still so quiet at formal gatherings?”

  “I didn’t have anything to add,” Tormjere replied.

  “I somehow doubt that, but we will see. How have you been?”

  The question was delivered with casual innocence, but it felt like Treven’s cloudy eyes were looking right through him. Tormjere found himself wanting to give a straightforward answer, but this was neither the time nor place.

  “Busy.”

  “As are many who spend their time helping others these days, often to their own detriment. But, as everyone now seems to be waiting on me, let us proceed to this beautiful island. I fear I must impose upon your guidance, however.” He placed a hand on Tormjere’s arm.

  It was difficult to tell who was more surprised: Treven’s acolyte, his fellow priests, or the villagers that still clustered around them. Tormjere ignored their shocked expressions and led Treven towards the bridge. So caught off guard were the others that they almost had to scramble as they fell into line behind the pair.

  I see that he enjoys causing a stir.

  Only when there’s a reason to.

  Tormjere described the castle and island for him as they walked, much as Treven had himself done for Father Gelid years before. It was difficult to tell if Treven was completely or partially blind, but the level of detail he provided must have been correct as Treven offered no objection.

  “I remember how beautiful this valley looked, and I am relieved that it is being put to a more peaceful use now,” Treven said as they set foot on the island and turned towards the temple. “There is a degree of overlap in the teachings of Eluria and Amalthee when it comes to the restorative arts, and though our approaches differ in the execution, the relationship of the two faiths has always been cordial.”

  “How is life as an oracle?” Tormjere asked now that they had less of an audience.

  “People who come seeking fortunes and foretellings rarely receive the answer they wish for, and often they leave more unhappy than if they had never asked.” Treven’s voice turned so serious that he almost sounded like a different person. “Answering questions about the weather or personal fortunes is not why Amalthee allows me to read Her Book. I conduct my own studies, and through Her wisdom I have discovered knowledge once thought lost. She has shown me wonderous things that can be achieved through effort and application by the correct craftsmen, concepts and ideals that might revolutionize our world and shake empires. And, most importantly,…” Treven gave a sideways glance over his shoulder at Father Ignatius, then leaned close and whispered conspiratorially to Tormjere. “…I know everything about bears now.”

  For a moment, his face held its familiar look of wonder. Treven’s grin was infectious, and Tormjere felt as if a pressure had been released from around him and he could breathe again. A lump formed in his throat, and he found himself chuckling, then laughing. Without any regard for formality he wrapped Treven in a hug.

  “Thank you,” was all he could say.

  Though Father Ignatius looked askance at this complete breach of protocol, Treven hugged him back. “You are welcome, my friend.”

  What is so amusing about bears?

  * * *


  It took the remainder of the day for the visitors to settle in. In some ways, it was a blessing that the elvish pilgrims had not appeared this year, as the space they would normally have occupied could be completely given over to the priests. Their guards had been packed into the soldiers’ barracks until it overflowed, and a few of them still ended up in tents outside.

  Many of the priests retired to their rooms almost immediately, but Treven was eager to ‘see’ more of the island and resumed walking with Tormjere after only the briefest respite. Treven’s acolyte, a youth named Talley, was given the time to rest, but Father Ignatius saw to it that no matter who he was with a pair of guards followed a discrete distance behind.

  It was not long before their conversation turned to Tormjere’s past, and he filled Treven in on what had happened since they had last met, including his forced visit to the demon realm.

  “I cannot put into words how terrified I am that you endured such hardships,” Treven said when he was finished, “but I know what you are capable of when the rest of us need saving. You have questioned this decision, haven’t you?”

  “A little. Should I have simply let the demon go, or tried harder to stay with them, rather than consigning myself to his service?”

  “Whether by accident or design, you have always made the right decisions, even when they were not in your own best interest. Your actions served to keep those around you safe, and still you dwell on things that cannot be changed.”

  Treven reached into the haversack at his side, and when his hand reappeared it held a sheathed dagger. The leather was scuffed and slightly oversized for the blade it contained, and the handle scratched and worn. “I used this to save Father Gelid’s life, even though it had very nearly ended your own.”

  “It’s funny how weapons work,” Tormjere observed.

  “Indeed. Whenever I am frustrated by some problem or at my inability to understand Amalthee’s words, I use this dagger to remind myself of what can be accomplished when we try. Yet, in spite of how we grow, in some ways we never change.”

  “Some changes are more apparent than others,” Tormjere said.

  “A delightfully oblique reference to my eyesight, though you seem far less surprised than I might have expected.”

  “The cause isn’t difficult to determine, and it doesn’t affect who you are.”

  Treven smiled. The same calm, assured smile that Gelid always had. “Amalthee’s Book does not require the blind to read it, but our eyes are ill suited to comprehending Her holy script, and so, over time, they will be altered. The more accustomed to Her words our eyes become, the less suited to our own vision.”

  “It certainly explains the requirement to already be blind.”

  “Amalthee is a compassionate goddess. Sight is our primary sense, and She would never ask Her followers to sacrifice something so essential.”

  “Except you.”

  “True, but it is a small price to pay. I know so much more than I ever could have hoped to learn. Such knowledge is not given lightly, and so I must assume that it will be worth the sacrifice.”

  “It seems a steep price.”

  “Is it? How much would you give for what you cherish? How much have you given already?”

  Tormjere avoided that answer, but another thought struck him. “So She did choose Gelid.”

  “I believe so. Though I was with him when he was tested, I have little doubt that he was the one evaluated favorably. Yet when we finally reached the Book, his health, as you know, was failing.”

  “And there was no one else there but you.”

  “There is always someone else, no matter how special we are in our own minds.”

  There was certainly truth to that, though Tormjere could have pointed out that ‘someone else’ was often not around when they were needed. Nevertheless, it was good to talk to him again, though he doubted that Treven had come all this way just to make him feel better.

  “When are you going to see Gelid?”

  “The day after tomorrow, I think. Our weeks on the trail proved taxing for some of my older companions, and I wish them to be well enough for the experience.”

  Tormjere had been reluctant to visit the eastern ridge, but if he had to return to the site where Gelid was buried, at least it would be with friends who could understand.

  * * *

  Enna could scarcely believe it, but they had somehow managed to cram four tables into the main hall, three of which had been hastily constructed just the day before. Calling the eating arrangements ‘cramped’ would have been like referring to the Three Sisters as ‘tall hills.’ It was undoubtedly below the standards that the visiting priests of Amalthee were accustomed to, but the Legitarso, who insisted on being called Treven, was gracious with his comments and humble with his requests.

  Shalindra and Tormjere sat with Treven and Father Ignatius, and the remainder of Newlmir’s councilors and a few senior priests had squeezed into the table. Though she could have demanded a place at the same table, Enna had given up her seat so Honarch could be with them as well. It had seemed the best way to stem the arguments and maneuverings of who sat where, and the wizard deserved to be there as much as anyone.

  Tormjere had brought his sword and knife to the table as always, a fact that caused the guards no small amount of consternation. It was an unnecessary concern, as he would likely be quicker to Treven’s defense than they could ever hope to be. No matter what was being said or how much he laughed—which was a relief to see—his eyes darted about like a hawk’s. The only other time he behaved like that was when he was with Shalindra. It left her curious as to what had transpired between him and the Legitarso to forge an equally tight bond.

  The Legitarso, whom she had learned was the only one who could read Amalthee’s sacred book, was indeed an interesting person. He looked less a man and more a boy, but there were lines on his face that did not belong on one so young, and his calm observations rivalled the profoundness of the most learned of sages. The battered haversack he carried was so out of place that she could only assume it possessed some sentimental value.

  In truth, she could only guess at the reasons. Amalthee was a minor but respected goddess among the elves, and, as with their elvish counterparts, Enna found most of these priests polite if a bit stuffy. The priest sitting across from her, one Father Tonnoli, was a middle-aged man with thinning hair and an interest in breads that bordered on obsession. By the time plates had been set before them, she was already wondering why Elurithlia had supplied him as a dinner companion. Maria was at the other end of her table, currently instructing a pair of raptly attentive acolytes on the far more interesting subject of restoration. Enna repressed a sigh as Tonnoli slathered a piece of bread with butter and launched into a dissertation on the merits of the leavening process. Though it was improper, she hoped that Honarch appreciated this sacrifice she was making.

  After dinner, the extra tables were cleared and stacked to the side, and the remaining table moved close to the fire. Perhaps responding to some request Enna was unaware of, Shalindra politely shooed away most of the councilors by assigning them to important sounding work.

  Father Tonnoli took his leave of Enna as well, but not before promising to complete his dissertation at a later date.

  Soon the room had emptied, leaving only Birion, Edward, Honarch, Treven and Father Ignatius chatting around the table with her and Shalindra. Even the acolyte who normally guided the blind priest around had been dismissed.

  Tormjere leaned against a nearby wall, making clear his desire to not participate.

  It was Treven who brought an end to the small talk. “I would like to thank you all for your hospitality, and for an excellent meal.”

  “As we thank you for your visit,” Shalindra replied. “We have seen fewer than our usual number of pilgrims this year, and we always enjoy any contact with the larger world.”

  Father Ignatius looked intrigued. “Could the weather be a factor? Every cloud in the sky seemed determi
ned to rain upon us these past weeks, and the entire Kingdom has seen little of the sun since last fall.”

  Shalindra looked to Enna, as she did whenever the subject turned to the elves. “It is possible, but, like you, my people are willing to endure much for their faith.”

  “All who visit this valley seem destined to endure something,” Treven observed.

  “You have been here before, then?” Birion asked. She considered than he should have already known the answer, but then he had never paid much attention to Honarch and might not have believed him anyway.

  “Indeed. A wizard stole the Book of Amalthee, our most precious artifact, and it ended up here. I shall not bore you with the details, save to say that the only three members who survived the expedition to retrieve it are now in this room. At the time, it seemed a simple theft of questionable motive, but events since then have cast that evaluation into doubt.”

  Enna looked at Tormjere, but his face was typically impassive. Honarch had never spoken of what happened here either, other than in the most general terms. Whatever had transpired, it had left a mark on all three men.

  “Wizards always meddle where they aren’t welcome,” Edward agreed, then nodded apologetically to Honarch. “Present company excluded, of course.”

  Honarch indicated that he took no offense. “It is an open secret that my former mentors exerted tremendous influence, even when they chose not to reveal their involvement.”

  “Who is involved,” Treven said, “is often more important than the actual event. We learned later that the Conclave of Imaretii was likely instrumental in the decision to steal the Book, though proof of that involvement has been elusive enough that there was little action we could take.”

  “The culprits left no trace?”

  “The signs are always there. We simply need to listen to them and act accordingly.”

  It could have been Enna’s imagination, but his words seemed to carry a larger meaning, and she saw Shalindra shift in her chair.

  “But why?” Edward asked. “Their involvement with the Ceringions was easy enough to understand.”