Weaponforger (Guardian's Prophecy Book 3)

by D A Godwin

  “Why, indeed? Amalthee has always sought to share knowledge, not hoard it, and so their desire to deny us the Book remains a mystery.”

  “Are there any magicians who are not members of the Conclave?” Enna asked. She actually knew very little about magic in the human kingdoms.

  Honarch leaned forward. “Very few in this part of the world. They are the strongest guild in both Actondel and Ceringion, and there is little magic that escapes their notice.”

  “We have wizards in Ildalarial,” Enna pointed out. “They do not belong to such a group.”

  “They focus on different disciplines,” Honarch said. “It wasn’t my field of study, so I remain ignorant of what interactions take place. For us, magic is not common outside of the larger cities.”

  Treven nodded. “Our dialog with Ildalarial has also been more limited than perhaps they should be, though for entirely different reasons. As for the Imaretii: members of the Conclave often studied in our libraries, and priests of our order would, at time, visit theirs. Of late, however, that exchange has become more one-sided.”

  “A curious set of circumstances,” Shalindra observed.

  “Yes,” Treven agreed. “Members of the Conclave tried to keep us from reading the Book of Amalthee, and wizards of that same group later employed demons in a way that effectively prevented your weapon’s return to the elves. Curious, indeed.”

  Edward shook his head. He had resisted the idea that Shalindra was specifically targeted by the creatures for as long as Enna had known him, and the years without further problems had reinforced that position. “What of the demons that attacked cities where we were not?”

  “I have followed reports of other sightings to their logical conclusions, but they proved to be only rumors.”

  Shalindra glanced at Edward. “We suspected as much, though we were told otherwise.”

  Though Shalindra no longer debated the point with her cousin, Enna held no reservations about the demons’ intent. “That they followed us everywhere is not in dispute. But we never discovered how, or for what ultimate purpose.”

  “I, too, was interested in their pattern of movement,” Treven said. “On those points, Amalthee remains vague. I believe that She has tried to tell me, but not in ways that I understand. In either case, it is likely to be a truth that we were never meant to discover.”

  Enna could not contain her curiosity. The implication that he had a more direct method of communication with his goddess could provide insights into their own desire to speak with Elurithlia. “Why wouldn’t She just tell you outright?”

  Treven smiled with the calm assurance of a man who had already pondered such questions. “I have often asked myself that same thing, and I will answer you with a query of my own: if you were asked a question for which you knew the answer, why would you choose not to respond?”

  “Because I did not trust the person asking it,” Enna answered.

  “Possible, though I will assume, for my own sake, that is not the case here.”

  The discussion was interrupted as Rolf stepped into the room. The farmer hurried to Shalindra and whispered frantically in her ear. Enna suppressed a smile, wondering which part of the sky was about to fall upon them this time.

  Shalindra discreetly rolled her eyes at Enna as she stood. The rest of the group rose with her. “I apologize, but there are some matters that I must attend to.”

  “The hour grows late,” Treven said, “and we should likewise retire, though I have enjoyed our conversation immensely. Do not delay on my account. I fear I move more slowly now and will enjoy the walk to our lodgings at a more leisurely pace.”

  “Thank you again,” Shalindra said with a bow. “And if there is anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable, please let me know.”

  Tormjere did not move as Edward and Birion followed her from the room with polite partings. Enna hung back as well, hoping to ask the blind priest another question about his method of communion with Amalthee. She was surprised when Father Ignatius closed the door, leaving only the four of them still in the room.

  Treven rose and walked closer to Tormjere, his fingers tracing their way along the edge of the table. Enna suddenly felt as if she were intruding on a private matter, but Father Ignatius was aware of her continued presence and to excuse herself would have risked an awkward interruption.

  “You were quiet,” Treven said.

  Tormjere shrugged. “They were asking you enough already.”

  “‘A wise man knows when to talk and when it is best to listen.’ But you know of an answer to the question they only hinted at, don’t you?”

  “Amalthee doesn’t know.”

  Treven grinned. “Or She knows, and does not think me ready for such knowledge. Indulging our every curiosity is not why our gods exist.”

  “So why do they exist?”

  “One of the great theological questions that has been debated since we first discovered that gods share our world. Even the origins of those we are aware of remains shrouded in mystery. There are some, however, whose genesis was recorded.” Treven’s sightless eyes turned to look directly at where Enna stood.

  Enna stiffened in surprise, certain that she had been forgotten and unnerved at the ease with which he knew where she was.

  “But there are others,” Treven continued, “who can tell that story far better than I, and with more accuracy.”

  “It’s not in Her Book?” Tormjere asked.

  “Not that I have yet seen. You are welcome to look for yourself.”

  Tormjere’s eyes returned to the table where Treven had been sitting, as if he were debating the wisdom of Treven’s offer. Enna could see nothing, but there was a reluctance to Tormjere’s movements as he walked towards it.

  Father Ignatius opened his mouth to protest but fell silent at Treven’s raised hand.

  Tormjere’s arm swept across the empty air above the table, as if he were opening a book and turning the pages. Father Ignatius’ face had turned a splotchy red, and he looked ready to throw himself bodily at Tormjere for what he must surely have regarded as a violation of Amalthee’s most holy relic.

  Treven’s soft voice was filled with curiosity. “What do you see, when you look at Her?”

  Tormjere did not lift his eyes, and there was an uncharacteristic note of resignation in his voice. “The outline is edged in gold, and shimmers like sunlight on water. The pages are invisible and more smooth than any paper I’ve ever touched.”

  “What did you see,” Treven said, his voice calm even as it took on a surprising intensity, “when She spoke to you?”

  Tormjere closed the invisible Book. “She gave me a name—a full year before I would need it.”

  Treven seemed unfazed by his answer, but Enna could scarcely believe what she was hearing. He was capable of reading from a holy relic which no one else could even see, and he could wield Shining Moon?

  Father Ignatius appeared as dumbstruck as she no doubt did, which was the only thing that kept her from believing that she had misunderstood some part of the conversation.

  Treven’s words were as carefully considered as ever. “I find that remarkable, on multiple levels. Through Her words, I have learned lore long forgotten, witnessed places which no longer exist, been shown the past and even the almost present. But She has never favored me with a glimpse of the future, and I know of no occasion in our history when anyone other than the Legitarso has been able read from Her Book.”

  “The why is obvious,” Tormjere said. “Clearly, She wanted me to defeat the demon, and thus for Shalindra to escape.”

  “That explanation would fit, but there could be many other reasons of equal or greater validity. Perhaps you were intended to convey the name to someone else or employ it in a different manner, or perhaps it was simply a reward for your considerable efforts on my behalf.”

  “Regardless of what was intended, was it required to make our escape? Could it have been accomplished in a better way?”

  Tre
ven chuckled. “Still you dwell overlong on things that cannot be changed.”

  “The past is a book that has already been written,” Tormjere finished for him with a sigh.

  Treven returned the invisible tome to its place in his ever-present haversack. “It is probable that our understanding of these circumstances remains less than it should be. You have given me much to consider, but I believe it a good time to retire while Father Ignatius can still restrain himself. Do not fear the choices you made. If She chose to bestow this gift on you, it can only be because you were worthy. We will speak more.”

  Father Ignatius offered his arm, and the priests made their way out of the room. Tormjere stood in thought for a moment, then followed them without looking at Enna.

  She should have said something to him. Far from resolving his inner conflicts, the conversation seemed to have only deepened his pain. She hurried to catch up to him.

  “I believe I owe you an apology,” she said.

  Tormjere came to a stop and raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted one from me.”

  “I do, but it does not absolve me of responsibility for my own behavior, and I fear I may have been hasty in my judgement. I offered to listen when you needed it, but I cannot expect you to trust me to do that if I hold you under an unjust obligation.”

  Tormjere seemed to accept that, but rather than reciprocate he directed her attention to the Three Sisters, barely visible against the backdrop of stars in the sky. “Tell me how Eluria was born.”

  Before tonight, such a request would have resulted in an abbreviated answer, but Treven had called out her knowledge of the event specifically and must have done so for some purpose.

  “Elurithlia was born in the heavens as a small, dim child fixed into the night sky. Yet people rejoiced in Her appearance and She grew rapidly as the ranks of Her faithful swelled. Most welcomed this new beacon of hope, but there were others among the gods who were jealous of Her rapid rise to prominence. Zarua, god of the night, was angered by the light She brought to his domain, and He cast Her from the heavens. Elurithlia’s mother, Iniach, the Earth, caught Her as She fell, and in Her rage at what had been done flung mountains of rock and fire into the sky.

  “Though Her subjects cried out for the return of Her brilliance, no one dared to risk Iniach’s wrath by seeking Elurithlia where She had fallen. None, that is, save for a trio of sisters recently driven from their village for witchcraft. Desperate for food, they followed Her light, hoping to find a means with which to sustain themselves. Though they discovered no bounty in the wasteland that enveloped Her, they were drawn ever deeper, and there they found Elurithlia, beautiful and pure amidst the destruction.

  “She calmed their fears and provided them succor, and spoke to them of Her need to return to the realm of Her birth. Thus it was that three sisters—Kyliria, Draylia, and Hylalia—agreed to aid Elurithlia so that She might fulfil Her purpose and resume Her nightly vigil.

  “This task they considered for days, gathering all the strength possible so that they might be worthy of the attempt. On the first day, Kyliria, the oldest, wrought a staircase of gems that stretched to the heavens, but it collapsed beneath Elurithlia’s weight as She attempted to mount them. On the second, Draylia bent all her powers to the task, creating a rope of unimaginable length which she attached to the sky, but still it was not long enough to ensure Elurithlia’s return. And on the third, Hylalia called into being a mystic horse with wings to carry Elurithlia aloft. It soared far beyond the clouds, but it, too, was bound to this mortal world, and ultimately failed to lift Her high enough.

  “Upon the fourth day the sisters realized that, though each was powerful in their arts, individually they could not hope to succeed, and so they combined their talents. With the eldest standing atop her sisters’ shoulders, and with the blessings of Iniach, they raised the earth itself until it touched the sky. Elurithlia ascended to the top of the highest peak and stepped into the heavens once more.

  “The sisters remain standing to this day, honoring their vow to keep our Mistress raised to the heavens for all time. It is in their honor that we name ourselves Sisters and strive to uphold their ideals and devotions.”

  “Horses don’t have wings,” Tormjere pointed out.

  “And yet there they stand,” Enna said, pointing at the mountains. “Different from the rest, sharp and pointed and tall where those around them are worn and low.”

  “But how was She actually created?”

  “I do not know, nor do I wish to. That would be… rude. I haven’t asked you where you came from.”

  “I’ll assume it’s the same way everyone is born, but I’m not sure that—”

  Enna stamped her foot. “Ask Her yourself then! Perhaps She will smite some sense into you when She answers.”

  Tormjere suppressed a grin as she stormed off.

  You have a singular ability to infuriate her.

  I suppose I do.

  She was trying to help.

  She did.

  Gelid’s Rest

  The deep tones of Amalthee’s chants emerged from the morning mists, blending with Eluria’s uplifted voices to produce a soothing melody as clerics of both faiths performed their morning devotions.

  Tormjere waited outside Eluria’s temple, watching as Father Ignatius lead his service from the gardens while Treven observed the equivalent ceremony taking place inside the temple. The priest’s words invoked the history and majesty of his faith, reminding those who listened of what had been sacrificed to gift Amalthee’s wisdom to the people of the world.

  It was a stirring oration, but Tormjere remembered only too well what sacrifices had been made for Her Book, and he was more interested in whether the ever-present clouds rolling above their heads would continue to withhold their precipitation for the entire day.

  “I see they’ve picked up a few converts,” Honarch observed as the service came to a close and the priests began to shuffle towards them.

  Tormjere nodded silently in agreement, using his response as an excuse to turn his head and evaluate the forty-odd men who would escort them. Half wore the blue sash of Treven’s personal guard while the rest were composed of Birion’s most experienced. Horses had been offered but were politely declined. The priests intended to walk their pilgrimage as Treven had done before, and so their protectors would as well. Only a handful of mules would be used for those priests who could not manage the hike.

  Tormjere chuckled to himself at that. The three of them had been exhausted and beaten, moments away from being killed by goblins, and would have gladly accepted a mule or horse or any other method of transportation that would have sped their flight to Kirchmont. Father Ignatius’ version of their escape sounded much better.

  He returned his attention to the temple as Treven emerged, his hand resting on Shalindra’s arm as they chatted pleasantly. It was somehow appropriate to see the two people who carried the most powerful artifacts of their respective goddesses standing together. Shalindra caught his eye and smiled.

  Treven cares for you greatly.

  Talking about me, were you?

  Only in passing. He is the wisest man I have ever met.

  Treven’s acolyte took over and escorted him to his mule, which he mounted without assistance. Tormjere and Honarch joined him. Shalindra allowed the friends their space, falling back to speak with Father Ignatius as the column began to move.

  The mood was cheerful and expectant, in spite of the gloomy weather. They followed the road from the village as it wound generally eastward. Honarch spoke with Treven as they walked. Their conversation, as always, encompassed any number of interesting topics from the nature of magic to the hibernation patterns of bears. Tormjere said little, instead keeping his attention focused on the woods around them. If not for the number of people with them, they could well have been on their way back to Evermen’s Forge after retrieving the Book.

  They passed up and out of the valley via a series of switchbacks before descending
down the other side. Upon reaching the base of the mountain they stopped at a rocky clearing. It was just as empty now as the night when he had come struggling into it with Father Gelid on his back, hoping to find their supplies and additional guards waiting. The only difference now was a seldom used but definitely man-made path leading up towards the rocky outcropping.

  An expectant hush fell over the priests as they crowded close to the trail, and the mood turned suddenly somber.

  Treven dismounted and adjusted his haversack. “Tormjere, if I could impose upon you once more?”

  The barest of tremors ran through Treven’s hand as he rested it on Tormjere’s arm, and the priest’s whispered words carried to his ears alone. “Do not allow me to falter.”

  Tormjere indicated that Honarch should lead, and the trio started up the path. There was a general shuffling as the group began to move behind them, but Father Ignatius laid a gentle hand on Talley’s shoulder to keep him from following. At that signal, the other priests came to a halt as well, leaving the three men to walk alone into the trees.

  The trail was narrow and hard, climbing sharply upwards. After only a short distance, they reached the tiny alcove where they had huddled to escape the bitter wind on the night of their escape. Treven said nothing as they passed, but his grip on Tormjere’s arm tightened as if he was somehow aware of it.

  They had gone but a few steps further when the ground began to shift beneath their feet. A jumble of stones rose unexpectedly from the beside the trail, like a small avalanche travelling the wrong direction, assembling themselves into a bulky, oversized humanoid shape with a stout chest and over-long arms, head and shoulders taller than the three men.

  “Rockhurlers?” Treven asked.

  “Yes,” Tormjere answered. The creature’s manner was unthreatening, but he kept a watchful eye on it all the same.

  “That’s Grokka,” Honarch said. “I think. It’s hard to tell them apart, and he doesn’t usually leave the valley. Let me see what he wants.” He began to mouth the incantation that would allow him to speak in the grating language they used, but was interrupted when another of the creatures rose on the opposite side of the trail.