The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “You’re a right piece of shog, you know that?” Whitney said. “I still can’t move my arm.”

  “Can’t make time jump forward.”

  Whitney exhaled through his teeth, and after letting the pain settle, said, “So where’s Sora now?” He knew, but he hoped against hope he was wrong, that maybe Lucindur’s magic wasn’t all it was cracked out to be, and Sora was still here, in Yaolin, waiting for him like he’d once hoped.

  “Even if ye could ask Iam, I doubt he’d know,” Tum Tum said.

  Whitney swore, then looked at Gentry who was obviously becoming used to Whitney’s poor language choices. The kid didn’t even look up from where his finger traced a line of wood grain on the lacquered countertop. He seemed disturbed by the whole scene and thankful not to watch.

  “Be right back to patch ye up.” Tum Tum disappeared behind the bar to rummage through his disorganized belongings.

  “And a drink!” Whitney called to him. Shouting made his head feel light. He leaned into his palm, then tilted to face Gentry, who still avoided eye contact. “I’m sorry for getting you wrapped up in all this.”

  “Why?” he asked. “This is the most fun I have ever had in my life.”

  “There’s nothing fun about almost dying, do you hear me?” Whitney slammed his hand on the table. Right after it was done, he knew who he’d sounded like. Next, he’d tell Gentry that it was safe on a farm and that there was no need to adventure through forests with knife-ears.

  Gentry shrunk back. “Okay, okay! I just…”

  Whitney wished he could take it back. “I’m just supposed to keep you safe,” he said. “What happened tonight was the furthest thing from that. Look at me, I can’t move my yigging arm.”

  He let out a mirthless laugh.

  Gentry smiled along, but it was just for show. “I have always been under Modera and Fadra’s boots. It is nice to be… free.”

  Whitney wasn’t sure if it was the toxin flooding his thoughts with negativity, but he couldn’t help but feel Gentry was becoming too much like Young Whitney for his own good. How many times had Whitney said those words while traveling Pantego, thieving?—or ‘scoundreling’ as Sora had so eloquently put it. He stared down at an empty mug. It was a fine reflection of that life. Empty. Leaving you disillusioned just long enough for reality to hit once again.

  “Yeah, I get it,” Whitney admitted. “Probably better than anybody. But I’ve been lucky so far. We both got lucky tonight. I don’t know if you’ve thought of this, but what would’ve happened had we’d made it to that tunnel?”

  Gentry just blinked.

  “You remember how difficult it was to get there the first time?” he said. “Do you think those grimaurs would’ve had that much trouble?”

  “I suppose not,” Gentry admitted. “Gods, we almost died.”

  Whitney mimed hammering, clicked his tongue, then said, “Nail on the head.”

  A few long seconds passed in silence. Then, Gentry looked up. “Mr. Whitney, I… uh… I have to show you something.”

  Before Whitney could respond, Tum Tum burst back in, lugging what looked like a fisherman’s tackle-box. It landed with a clatter and a thunk on the table.

  “Alright, ye dolt,” he said. “Lost me chance to sew that ear back on, won’t be losin another chance to stick ye with a needle.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Whitney said, eyeing the contents of his box.

  “Don’t ye be a girl.” Tum Tum patted the bar top. “Ye owe me for breakin that bow. Gold Grin said it belonged to some huntress in Crowfall. Beautiful like ye wouldn’t believe—his words, not mine.”

  “Gold Grin says a lot of things.”

  “Yer one to talk. Now, lie down, and have some whiskey.” He placed down a full bottle. The stuff looked too pricey for Tum Tum’s usual stock. “It’ll be over before ye know it.

  “Go on, Mr. Fierstown,” Gentry said, lowering back down. “It does seem really bad.”

  “You better know what you’re doing,” Whitney conceded, laying his torso across the table. The dwarf grunted and wasted no time. He was just about to stick the needle in when Whitney protested. “Hey, hey! Whiskey first, you villain.”

  Tum Tum laughed and slid Whitney the bottle. It went down like fire but soon after, the room was spinning even more. Whitney didn’t even care that a sharp piece of metal was piercing his flesh over and over again. Before he knew it, Tum Tum said, “Done,” and helped Whitney to sit up. “How’s that?”

  Whitney stuttered through a response, but he couldn’t string the words together. Grimaur toxin and expensive whiskey weren’t the finest combination for remaining cognizant.

  With a laugh, Tum Tum said, “Gentry, let’s get this drunkard upstairs. Let him get some sleep. Guest rooms ain’t done bein furnished yet, but the first room has a bed. Then, ye come back down and have a bite. Gotta test the stew on someone.”

  Morning came too quickly, and it wasn’t even the sunlight pouring in through the room’s small, circular window that woke Whitney. Downstairs, he heard voices. Familiar voices. Voices that made no sense being downstairs.

  He cast the blankets off and stumbled out of the room and down the stairs. His head throbbed, and his legs barely worked. Each step sounded like thunder to his sensitive ears, and the whole gathering below stood, silently waiting, until he made it to the main level.

  “Ye look like a giant ate yer lunch,” Tum Tum said.

  “Then I look like I feel,” Whitney said with a smirk. He took in the room, and as he’d thought, Lucindur, Talwyn, and Tum Tum all stood in the middle of the ship-like pub, chatting away like it was nothing more than a day at the park.

  “How…” Whitney said.

  “Gentry retrieved us early this morning,” Lucindur explained. “And it’s a good thing too. We were worried.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Whitney said, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. The ache was incredible enough to almost make him miss being numb. “We’re here. Got what we came for.”

  “Whitney, I know you’re in a hurry to find this Kazimir fellow,” Lucindur said, “but you’re in no shape to be traipsing around Pantego, or even Yaolin City for that matter. Look at you. Besides, Tum Tum was just telling us a bit about the last time he saw you with Kazimir, isn’t that right, Tum Tum?”

  “Aye, and now yer what—best friends with the bloodsucker?” Tum Tum questioned.

  “It’s not like that. We were… imprisoned together,” Whitney said.

  “That what ye call six years in Elsewhere?”

  Whitney shot Lucindur a poison-laced glare. “Anything you didn’t tell the dwarf?”

  “He’s your friend, isn’t he?” Lucindur asked.

  “Of course, he is. But you didn’t know that. Not with sincerity. I could have been acting—I do that too, you know.”

  Whitney finished crossing the room. It was slow, but he finally sat on one of the cushioned chairs, grimacing as he grabbed his shoulder.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” Talwyn said, rising from her seat and throwing herself on his lap. Whitney groaned, but she didn’t care. She placed her hand near his shoulder wound. Then, she touched his earlobe—or the place where his earlobe had once been. “Tum Tum told us how you lost this, too. And you… telling us you slipped up while shaving.”

  “I—” Whitney said before Lucindur loomed over them.

  “Tal,” Lucindur said, “you’re probably hurting him. Get up.”

  Talwyn huffed but listened. When her back was turned, Whitney mouthed the words “Thank you.” Lucindur offered a smile.

  “What were you thinking?” Lucindur asked. “Grimaurs, with Gentry? How is this any way to honor Modera’s final request?”

  “Whoa, wait a minute. You think I knew there would be yigging grimaurs in Panping?” he said. “When’s the last time you saw them farther south than Glinthaven?”

  “The nobleman’s got a point,” Tum Tum said. “Heard whispers of goblins raidin the priests’ storehouse in Hornshe
im, too, and Buried Goddess cultists caught sacrificing some girl at The Innbetween just west of here. Strange happenins ever since Redstar died. Only a matter of time before the trees start turning against us, too.”

  “That’s not even funny,” Whitney said.

  “Did ye really talk to her like the musician says?” Tum Tum asked.

  “Who?”

  “Her.”

  “Nesilia?”

  “Didn’t know ye were on first name terms, but yeah, she be the one I meant.”

  “I don’t know. It was Sora. It was Nesilia. Something bad is happening, and I don’t know what to do except find Kazimir.”

  “Ye think ye can trust a damned upyr?”

  “This one?” Whitney asked. “Unfortunately, with my life.”

  Tum Tum scoffed and moved back around the bar. He offered Whitney a cup of tea and some sort of doughy and sticky pastry. Whitney took them both, then asked, “Where’s Gentry?”

  As if the question had summoned him, he stepped through the doorway with Aquira perched on his shoulder.

  “Aquira!” Whitney shouted. “There’s my girl.” The wyvern lifted her head a bit to look at him but didn’t soar over to greet him like she would have before the Drav Cra hurt her. Her head sank back down.

  Gentry cradled something in his hands and wore the saddest look Whitney thought possible.

  “What is it?” Whitney asked him.

  “The… It’s just that… Well, the—”

  “For the sake of all the gods in Panping, spit it out.”

  “The robe got destroyed while we were running from the grimaurs. I could not tell you earlier. I tried, but then you were getting stitched up, and then you were drunk and asleep, and Tum Tum was feeding me stew, and I was so tired. This morning, I tried to take it to a tailor, but as soon as I showed her, she shooed me and told me never to come back.” He said it so fast it forced him to take a deep breath when he’d finished. He held up the robe and displayed it. A handful of slashes adorned its once opulent fabric—one pulled straight down the front, neck to ankles. If that wasn’t enough, the yellow mantle was now red with blood.

  “Oh, shog…”

  “I am not sure it is going to be worth nearly what you thought it would be. I am sorry, terribly sorry.” Tears welled in the poor kid’s eyes.

  “Yigging Exile,” Whitney swore again.

  “I am so sorry,” Gentry muttered again and again.

  “Sorry? What are you sorry for?”

  “I should have kept it safer.”

  “Oh, right,” Whitney said. “You should’ve risked life and limb during a grimaur battle to keep safe a yigging robe.” That brought a smile to Gentry’s face. “I’d say you did just fine by staying alive.” He nodded toward his own shoulder. “Did better than me, anyway.”

  Lucindur stood and hugged the boy. Aquira perked up again, but only momentarily before dropping back into her listless state.

  “But what are we going to do?” Gentry asked. “How will we buy Lucindur’s strings?”

  Whitney eyed Lucindur for a moment. Her look was one part commiserative; two parts Yes-Whitney-what-are-you-going-to-do? She didn’t have to say it out loud.

  “That robe’s not the only thing I’ve stolen over the years worth enough to cover the cost and more,” he said. “I’ll travel just northeast, there’s a ring buried beneath a tree—”

  “That what this is about?” Tum Tum broke in. “Ye trespassed on me property over that stolen rag? Aye, how much ye be needin?”

  “No, that’s quite all right,” Whitney said, while at the same time, Lucindur told him the number.

  Tum Tum whistled. “And that be for strings for the instrument ye told me about. The one that can help young Sora?”

  “The very same,” Lucindur said. “And enough to help our troupe get back on its feet.”

  Tum Tum scratched his wiry black beard, then snapped his fingers. “Be back in a jiff.”

  “Tum Tum, wait,” Whitney said, but the door behind the bar was already swinging shut. He turned to Lucindur. “How could you do that? You barely know him? I’m not borrowing money from a friend!”

  “Whitney, look at this place.” She gestured around. “It’s clear he has enough to lend. Perhaps even give.”

  There wasn’t one bit of untruth in her words. His eyes were drawn immediately to the large golden mermaid statue once again. But still, it felt wrong.

  “This isn’t Glinthaven,” Whitney said. “Everything has a cost.”

  Tum Tum returned and tossed a bag of coins over the bar to Whitney, so he had no choice but to catch it. “Probably can’t help yer troupe, me lady, but that be enough for the strings.”

  “Tum Tum…” Whitney said, words trailing off.

  “Don’t ye start with me. I’d be dead wasn’t for ye and Sora. Ain’t got many friends in this world, and ye be one of the last who ain’t a pirate. Take it. Find the upyr or whatever you think ye need to do. Just save Sora. She’s a good lass. The only ye’ve ever loved, I think.”

  Whitney heard a soft gasp upon hearing the word ‘love.’ He glanced back and saw Talwyn with her hand over her mouth. Lucindur tried to whisper something to her, but she brushed by and rushed upstairs.

  Whitney knew there wasn’t much to be said. Dwarves were stubborn as mules. And even more so, they loved their gold. Hoarding it, trading it, showing it off. When one willingly decided to give gold away, that it was a gesture not to be taken lightly.

  Instead of wounding his friend’s pride, Whitney settled on, “Thank you.”

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. Tum Tum!” Gentry exclaimed. His whole expression went bright. Whitney had never seen him so excitable.

  “I’ll pay you back, Tum Tum,” Whitney said. “I promise.”

  Tum Tum waved in dismissal. “A promise from you ain’t worth enough.”

  “That might be the truth. But, truly, you have my word.” Whitney tossed the bag in the air and caught it again.

  “Whitney, just do what ye need to. Gold Grin’s got so much stashed away and nothin to use it on, he won’t know the difference. Vanished anyway, the bastard. We set all this up, gettin along great, then he and his crew sail off one night and haven’t sent word since.”

  “He’s probably chasing some woman across the map again,” Whitney remarked.

  “Consider this his punishment,” Tum Tum joked.

  Lucindur moved in front of Tum Tum and curtsied with the grace of a seasoned performer. “Thank you, my new friend.”

  Tum Tum took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Happy to help, me lady. Keep anything extra, and for yer troupe, there be a whole mess of dead grimaur downstairs. Their talons and feathers especially get a small fortune at a shop east side of the city. I’ll tell you where.”

  “Your kindness knows no bounds, master dwarf,” she said, pulling her hand away.

  “Happy to do more if I can.” He shot a familiar look over at Whitney. It was the same way he’d looked at plenty of women over the years. Whitney shook his head.

  “Tum Tum, after all these years, you’re still out of your yigging mind,” he said.

  VI

  The Knight

  The familiar, musty smell of the Yarrington Cathedral was a welcomed aroma. Torsten sat on the front pew, flanked on both sides by the whole of the Royal Council. Directly beside him, King Pi picked at a hangnail. The room was dead silent as anyone bearing significant names or titles sat behind them, watching as Father Dellbar Morningweg stared up at the prismatic light filtering through the ceiling above the altar while sisters of Iam doused him in luminescent paint.

  “Can I be honest with you, Sir Unger?” Pi leaned over and asked.

  As soon as word spread of how his blessed blindfold gave Torsten the sight to uncover Valin Tehr’s treachery, the choice for Father Morningweg to be named High Priest was abundantly clear. God’s Mirror, located in Hornsheim’s Abbey, reflected a beam of light, visible in the night sky all the way from Yarrington, signaling to
the world that a unanimous decision had been made. Every priest sanctified by Iam cast their ballots to anoint the former Father of Fessix to be Dellbar the Holy, High Priest of all Pantego.

  “You can always be honest with me, Your Grace,” Torsten replied.

  “I was beginning to question if Iam was still with us.”

  “With everything that’s happened to you,” Torsten said, “to this kingdom of late, I understand.”

  “I was considering removing the High Priest from my Royal Council and renouncing the Church of Iam as an extension of the Crown. All it seems to cause is trouble.”

  Torsten swallowed back his suddenly dry throat. “We cannot let the actions of a few taint our minds. Your father—”

  “Was a great man, Sir Unger. I know. I’ve never felt what he claimed to have though. We all hear stories of being touched by Iam. Feeling his presence. Knowing he’s there. Not me. Maybe it’s Redstar’s fault, but even before… Wren’s sermons have always been a chore. I’d rather have been studying.”

  “And judging by your skills with our language and knowledge of our history, you’ve accomplished plenty of that.” Torsten chuckled. “Your Grace, I have been to every corner of this world. Fought and converted heretics. Seen miracles. I’ve spoken the very words you’ve just quoted… I’ve found, there isn’t a person in Pantego not seeking faith in something, looking in all the wrong or right places. It’s what we do while we’re here on this plane. But sometimes, if we’re patient, the light presents itself when we least expect it.”

  “And it has,” Pi said. He laid his small hand upon Torsten’s. “In you. I allowed Valin to deceive me, just like Redstar and the Buried Goddess.”

  “That wasn’t your fault, Your Grace. It was mine.”

  “No, Sir Unger. You stopped him. I’ve been told many Council members thought you went mad from blindness when you killed my uncle, but I didn’t. I could hear my mother telling me to trust you. Iam returned your sight, so you could save me yet again.”

  Torsten’s eyes couldn’t tear, but he tried not to let the stone in his throat show. He knew the risks he’d taken that night, killing a member of the Royal Council at the foot of the Glass Throne. A part of him never expected to walk out alive and truly, he was lucky an arrow didn’t bury itself within him at that very moment. Even if it had, Torsten would have been proud if separating Valin Tehr’s head from his body was his final service to the last of Liam’s line.