Heir to a Lost Sun: A Caverns of Stelemia Novel

by Riley Morrison

  Someone started yelling outside the room. Lucien turned his glare on Minard. “Go see what is happening out there, Divergent.”

  Minard shook his head slightly, then started toward the door. Suddenly, he stopped and raised his staff. A moment later, the door burst in, and everyone but Minard startled in fright.

  A gray-bearded man dressed in chain armor stormed in, his hard eyes quickly scanning the room. After Aemon moved to protect Kara, he studied the man. The old man wore a leather doublet with a yellow circle insignia Aemon could not place. What noble house did he belong to? Why was he here?

  “What is the meaning of this?” Lucien screamed at the two monks who followed the man through the broken door. “I explicitly gave orders that this man was to be kept under guard in the guest wing.” The monks sank to their knees and lowered their heads in shame. “Why are you here?” Lucien demanded of the newcomer.

  The armored man pointed at Kara. “I already told you. I’m here for her.”

  Chapter 13

  KARA

  Kara caught her breath. It was Wrynric. He’d survived the attack on the tavern.

  When he saw her, he stopped and bowed his head. Kara threw her blankets aside and stood on unsteady legs. She held up the artifact and bathed him in its red glow. “Why did you give me this? You must have known what would happen.”

  “You have every right to be angry at me, half-blood, but I didn’t know things would go the way they did. I should’ve known the Dark Brother would never stop pursuing me and that he’d go after you when I gave you the artifact, but I had no choice other than to force it upon you.”

  Kara’s head spun. So he’d known Kahan would never give up chasing her and he’d still forced the passkey upon her with no warning. The room swirled and she teetered forward. Aemon caught her before she fell and gently laid her back on the bed. He remained protectively by her side and watched everyone through narrowed eyes.

  Lucien ordered the two monks kneeling at the door to seize Wrynric and take him away. The monks moved to grab the old warrior.

  Now that Kara was back in bed, the room stopped spinning. Was it her wound or the artifact causing her to feel so ill? Something felt different since she’d woken. Something more than the pain and weakness. Something deep inside.

  Holding a hand to her forehead, Kara said, “Let him stay. He got me into this and owes me answers.”

  The monks hesitated and looked at the patriarch. Lucien studied Wrynric and a chill descended over the room that the stifling heat rising from below the temple couldn’t warm. “Are you the one who gave Kara the Mark of the Scion?”

  Wrynric’s hand went to his empty scabbard and closed into a fist. Minard saw the move and stepped toward him. “Answer, fool.”

  Lucien bared his teeth, his fingers curling into claws. “The Inquisitors will be most interested in learning why you would do such a thing. They have the most painful ways of drawing information from heretics like you.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Wrynric muttered under his breath, and moved his hand away from his empty scabbard.

  Kara’s eyes went from Lucien to Wrynric, then back again. Why were they doing this? She wanted answers, not to listen to them bicker. “Before you drag him away, I demand he tells me why he got me into this.”

  Beads of sweat ran down the patriarch’s face and his hands shook with barely contained rage. With what appeared to be immense effort, he calmed his anger and motioned for the monks to back down. When they’d lowered their weapons, he and his two acolytes promptly sat on the stone bench along the wall and the two warrior monks positioned themselves between him and Wrynric.

  Lucien made a backhanded motion with his hand. “Speak what you may, heathen. I shall be most interested in hearing your tale.”

  “Then ask away,” Wrynric said.

  Kara got in a question before anyone else could speak. This is it, I’ll finally get answers. “Last I saw you, Kahan—the man you call Dark Brother—was close to killing you. Yet here you stand, having miraculously escaped. How do I know you weren’t working together and didn’t plan the attack on the tavern all along?”

  The old man’s face hardened. “Your father meant everything to me and part of him lives on in you. I’d never betray you, nor would I work with those who murdered him.”

  “How’d you survive the attack, then?”

  “The town watch saved my life. They stormed the tavern and the Dark Brother Kahan fled. Had they not come when they did, I’d not be standing here now.”

  “And how did you know I was here?”

  “Yes,” Lucien hissed. “Tell us of your business with the Scion. For not only did you nearly cause the death of more of my monks at the bridge, but you have been here for a week and have refused to answer my questions.” He gripped the cog at his neck so hard his hand drained of color.

  “I’ll start at the beginning,” Wrynric replied. “I met the half-blood in the capital nearly two weeks ago. It was there I gave her the artifact. Then we were attacked and I told her to flee to Deep Cave.”

  “Deep Cave is gone,” Aemon said.

  Wrynric nodded grimly. “I know, I saw. Everyone was fleeing through Radashan Crevice, so that’s where I went. On my flight through the crevice I saw several Knives of—”

  “Do not mention that name here,” Lucien snapped.

  The old warrior cleared his throat and continued. “I saw several Knives and witnessed the aftermath of a battle at the Rift Gate. The whole area was in a shambles, with refugees from Deep Cave trampling over the bodies.” Wrynric shook his head sadly. “Anyway, once in Jalarfed, I searched for the half-blood among the refugees. During this time, I heard a guard saying that the black-clad enemies that made it through the Rift Gate had been sighted on the road to the temple. I asked the guard about it, and what they planned to do, but he said they lacked the swords to reclaim the road because they were too busy keeping the refugees in order.”

  Wrynric shrugged. “Soon after that, I encountered the messenger who was looking for someone to help him reach this temple. So I teamed up with him.”

  “How did you know the Scion came here?” Lucien demanded.

  “The Knives wouldn’t be blocking the road to the temple for any other reason than her. They’d not risk another conflict with your order lightly.”

  Kara wanted to throw something at him, but nothing was in reach. “If the road is blockaded, how did you get through?” Her temples throbbed. “Why didn’t they kill you like they killed Berda?”

  “We were never attacked and made it to the temple unmolested. But little did we know, we had walked into a trap.”

  Lucien tapped his foot impatiently on the ground. “Yes, a trap that almost cost me the lives of a dozen of my monks.”

  “What happened?” Kara asked. His story still seemed improbable. Berda was dead because of this man.

  “As the messenger and I were waiting for the bridge to lower, we watched the road behind us,” Wrynric said. “Then we saw them. A whole line of knives charging at us from a fissure in the wall some distance back toward Jalarfed. By the time the bridge had lowered, they were almost on us and hurling their javelins.” He inclined his head toward Lucien. “Had it not been for the Order, we’d have died out there and the knives would have stormed across the bridge.”

  Lucien leaned back against the wall. “Knowing the road was beset by enemies, I sent three dozen of my most hardened monks out there to see to the safety of our messenger, once he had been sighted by our lookouts. Once my monks moved onto the bridge, they spotted the enemies of Ibilirith and drove them back into the darkness where they belong.” He sighed. “Sadly, we lack the warriors to retake the road and have found ourselves in an unfortunate stalemate with our enemy. But my people should fear naught, for our temple is impregnable and I have sent messages through our secret ways calling for aid. Help should arrive within a week.”

  The old warrior let out a weary sigh. “I’m not your enemy, half-blood, but I know
I’ve failed you. Much like I failed your father and your sister...” A tremor ran along his sword arm and he grabbed hold of his belt to stop it. “I failed everyone.”

  He tried to approach her but Minard put the tip of his staff against the old warrior’s throat. “Stay back.”

  Wrynric’s features tightened but he retreated a step, the staff still held at his throat. Grunting, the old man knocked it aside. “Get your weapon away from me before I break it over your head, boy.”

  Minard watched the patriarch out of the corner of his eye. Lucien gave him a slight nod. Lowering his staff, the monk backed away from Wrynric and positioned himself between the old warrior and Kara’s bed.

  “So, tell us how you found the artifact and why you gave it to the Scion.” Lucien gestured at a foot-tall statue of Ibilirith in the corner of the room, the light over his head growing a tad brighter. “And do not lie, for you are in the presence of our holy lady.”

  Wrynric glared at the statue, then scratched at his beard. No doubt he knew his life depended on what he said next. Kara played with the bulb on the passkey. Her life may also depend on what he said. The patriarch seemed to think her some sort of monster, there to destroy Stelemia.

  So far, Lucien’s story of the Scion in the Prophecy seemed more insane than Wrynric’s tale he’d told her back at the tavern. What would they think when she told them of her visiondreams? What would Lucien think when she told him she must leave the temple and go in search of Annbar?

  Wrynric repeated the story he’d told her about his journey to the Dead City and the discovery of the artifact, though she noticed he left out the part about hearing the Metal Man’s voice.

  “We brought the artifact back to Sunholm—our home in the Nether—to allow our Librarians to study it,” the old man said. “When they couldn’t work out what to do with it, Arden meditated and had a visiondream of his half-blooded daughter, Kara, wielding it.”

  Wrynric got a faraway look. “Soon after, we were attacked by the same people who besiege your temple. They wish to kill the half-blood like they killed Arden and her sister Liana, along with the other scions.” He shifted slightly, refocusing on Lucien. “Arden ordered me to lead a small band of people to safety and then go to the capital to find Kara.”

  He lowered his eyes. “I should have refused and had him send someone else, so I could have stayed at Sunholm to die with him. But I made an oath to Arden, and now I must see it fulfilled.”

  Kara studied the sacred light on the roof. What should she think about hearing how her father and sister had died? She hadn’t known either of them. If her father had really cared for her mother, why hadn’t he taken her away from the tavern to live with him? Wrynric had said Arden had visited many times over the years, so he’d had ample opportunity to do so. But then, he hadn’t even introduced himself to Kara.

  What sort of man would do that to his own daughter? What sort of vile man would leave her mother to die, weeping, with a broken heart?

  None she’d shed a tear for. That was for sure.

  I suppose, in the end, they’re just names. Arden and Liana. They mean nothing to me. Kara touched the artifact. Time to move on. Time to get into the hard part of telling them my tale.

  So, she ploughed straight into it. “I know what this thing is. It’s a passkey and it’s used to open locked doors.”

  Wrynric arched his thick, gray eyebrows. “How do you know this?”

  “I’ve had what I think are visiondreams. I saw a frozen world, the sky, the Sun—”

  “The Lost Sun is the symbol of my order—the Covenant of the Lost Sun—and we bind ourselves to its memory.” The old man stroked his beard. “Our written tradition states that it once watched over the world of our ancestors, the place us humans were exiled from. Once the Final Battle against the Ancient Enemy is won, we can return to it.”

  Yes, and back at the Golden Keg when they’d first met, he said it would be Kara who would lead a host against them. Strange. The idea of that doesn’t seem half as funny to me now as it did when he first told me. Not after all I’ve seen and experienced. Now... I almost believe him.

  “I saw the Sun and I also saw a man who carried another passkey,” Kara said. “He swiped it through a machine and it opened a mechanical door.”

  Wrynric’s face lit up. “There were many mechanical doors at the Dead City where we found the passkey, but none would open. Perhaps this is what’s needed to get past them.” He leaned closer. “What else did you learn?”

  Aemon touched her arm. “Be careful what you say,” he whispered.

  Kara watched Lucien out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t look like he noticed what Aemon did, though the bright light over his head made it hard to be certain.

  Her eyes watered so she turned her attention back to Wrynric. What she planned to reveal next could end with her being sent to the Inquisitors if she didn’t tread carefully.

  “A ghostly woman spoke to me in my visiondreams and told me things. She called me Imogen, Mother of Steel Children.”

  She’d also accused Imogen of destroying the world and murdering her. But those things were best kept secret. Lucien already thought Kara a harbinger of doom and seemed enraged enough to order her or Wrynric killed at any moment.

  “Who is Imogen?” Wrynric asked.

  “I’m not sure. The ghost woman said her own code—whatever that is—had been corrupted, which caused her to lose much of her memory. She didn’t even remember her own name.”

  Kara ran the passkey between her fingers. What should she say next? If she revealed too much, the patriarch would kill her. And if she revealed too little... he might kill her, too. “The code that allowed the ghost to speak to me was the same one that’s meant to have made Imogen take control of me. But something went wrong because I’m still Kara.”

  She glanced at the letter resting on Lucien’s lap. “The ghost warned me that Imogen’s children have woken from eons of sleep and will seek to purge the world of life.”

  “Fascinating,” Wrynric said. “A mere half-blood having visiondreams speak to her. That doesn’t even happen to full-blooded scions. I’ve been told theirs were only images and feelings and the scions had no control over them.”

  He gave her a thoughtful look. “The passkey didn’t light when the other scions touched it, yet it has for you. There’s something different about you and we need to find out what it is.”

  Wrynric wasn’t the first to say there was something different about Kara. The ghost woman had said the same thing.

  “The other scions at Sunholm were mere flesh and blood, and lived and died like normal humans,” the old man said. “The only things setting them apart from non-scions were their visiondreams and the knowledge of what they were.”

  Lucien leaned forward, gripping the cog around his neck. “Exactly how many scions were out in the Great Dark with you?”

  Wrynric took a step backward, mouth snapping shut. Minard tapped the floor with the butt of his staff. “Answer.”

  The old warrior grimaced. “By the time Sunholm was destroyed, there were less than forty.”

  “Why were you living out there in the Great Dark with heretics and vile Dark Brothers?” Lucien asked, leaning back.

  “Because that is where my people have always lived. We remained out there in the Nether because we knew if the fanatics of the Priest King ever found our community of scions you’d send an army out there to wipe them out.” Wrynric’s laugh came out as a bitter hiss. “All because of a fragmented message on an ancient computer...”

  Lucien’s face reddened. “Watch what you say, churl. That message is the Prophecy of Ibilirith, the Divine who created much of the technologies of Stelemia.” He lowered his voice. “How many scions still live?”

  Wrynric studied Lucien, as if pondering whether to answer the question or not. Finally, he said, “I know of ten, but there could be an eleventh. All full-bloods.”

  Kara put her hand over her mouth to cover her smile. What Wrynr
ic had just said could work in her favor. She was a mere half-blood. Perhaps Lucien would see the other scions as a greater threat and go easy on her. It was a slim hope, but slim hopes were better than nothing.

  Maybe that was why Wrynric shared that information. Why else would he have shared it with a man who would order the death of any scion without a moment’s hesitation?

  “Who are these other scions?” Lucian asked.

  “Two are siblings, little more than children. A third is the half-blood’s stepmother, Meridia. A fourth, who I’m not sure is still alive, is her half-sister. The rest are warriors I have fought beside for many years.” Wrynric gave Kara a solemn nod. “Your half-sister, Semira, looked much like you, though she always wore a frown. I tried to find her during the attack on Sunholm, but she was nowhere to be found.”

  Wrynric clicked his teeth together. He appeared to want to say more but perhaps struggled to put it into words.

  “Why didn’t you tell me I had another sister?” Kara asked.

  “I’m sorry, half-blood. I didn’t see the point.”

  Kara dug her nails into the passkey. Why did he insist on calling her half-blood? It was worse than Lucien calling her Scion. “My name’s Kara, not half-blood.”

  “The prophecy never spoke of there being multiple scions,” Lucien said, ignoring Kara’s protest. “This is dire news indeed.”

  While he conferred with his two acolytes, Kara returned the conversation back to the her visiondreams. “Aemon, have you read anything about a woman named Imogen?”

  Aemon shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I do not think so, but the things we saw at Deep Cave... they could be her Steel Children.”

  That’s what Kara thought too. It made sense. The prophecy, the history of the War in Heaven, and Arden’s and her own visiondreams all mentioned an ancient enemy.

  But what if the ghost woman was right? That they’d woken because of the passkey, or beacon as she’d called it? A chill passed through Kara’s body. Lucien would order his monks to kill her or she would die screaming at the hands of the Inquisitors.