Heir to a Lost Sun: A Caverns of Stelemia Novel

by Riley Morrison

  Minard moved to block his path. Stopping, Aemon glared at the dark-skinned monk, who stood over a foot taller than him. They stared unblinkingly at one another. No way would Aemon back down. Whichever one of them looked away first would lose face in the other’s eyes.

  Kara squirmed in his arms. Just hold on a moment longer. I do not want to move until Minard looks away. I cannot let him think I am weak.

  She let out a low moan, “Please, Aemon, put me down, I feel sick.”

  “Get out of my way so I can lay her on the bed,” Aemon snapped.

  Slowly, Minard moved aside and watched Aemon put her to bed. When Kara had settled, the monks escorted Wrynric from the room. After they had gone, another monk arrived to guard the door to Kara's room.

  Aemon went and sat on the bench along the wall and tried to bite his nails but found them all chewed down to the quick. Sighing deeply, he began to repeatedly thump the back of his head against the wall until it gave him a headache.

  By the divines, he hated Minard.

  TWO DAYS LATER, AEMON and Kara began martial training under the watchful eye of Aemon’s nemesis. Minard had Aemon running around a large stone hall and lifting gravel-filled sacks while Kara did easy stretches to build her strength.

  The monk seemed to take perverse satisfaction in making Aemon suffer. By the end of the first day, Aemon was so exhausted he collapsed onto his bed and fell asleep in seconds.

  When he woke, he was sore and stiff and Minard had to all but drag him to the training room. The following day was worse and the day after that, he begged Minard to kill him and be done with it.

  The monk laughed in his face. “Stay in bed and be a weakling. In the days to come, the Scion will need strong men like me beside her. Weak boys who refuse to train have no place at her side.”

  Then he tried to tuck Aemon back into bed like a child. “Stop that.” Aemon shoved away the monk's hands. “I will get up.”

  “I can call for your mother to come collect you. We both know you’re going to wet yourself at the first sign of danger.”

  Aemon flew out of bed and shoved his clothes on while giving Minard an indignant scowl. When dressed, he stormed to the training room.

  On the way there, Aemon vowed he would not give the other man the opportunity to call him a weakling again. The Monk was right; Kara needed strong men around her, not coin counters and quill pushes who could not hold their own in a fight. He would build his strength and learn to wield a weapon so he could stand by Kara’s side and guard her with his life.

  Now was his chance to become what he always dreamed of being.

  A heroic warrior, like the ones of old.

  THAT NIGHT, AEMON GRABBED his bag of books that he had carried all the way from the capital and took them to the bridge, where Meglen had died. Thankfully, the bridge remained retracted and no one seemed to be about. Beyond the flickering glow of magma, the precipice on the far side of the chasm was eerily dark. Kahan had extinguished the sacred lights running along the road.

  Were the Knives of Dwaycar watching him from the cloak of darkness? Why had no help arrived? Lucien had sent a messenger through a secret exit to request aid, and yet no soldiers had arrived to clear out the knives blockading the road. As far as Aemon knew, there had been no word from the outside world since Wrynric and the messenger arrived well over a week ago.

  Hopefully, it was only due to the refugees from Deep Cave keeping the army occupied with the logistical nightmare of feeding, housing and keeping order that so many people brought on. He did not want to think about the other possibilities. The messenger could have died and never got his message out, or another city—perhaps even the capital—had come under attack by the mysterious enemy.

  Aemon stopped beside the edge of the chasm, one eye ever watching the precipice across from him. Time to get this over with.

  Sweat poured down his face as, one by one, he began throwing his books into the roiling lava. Once, they had been his most prized possessions, each lovingly cared for and bearing his name in the cover. Now they meant nothing to him. No longer would he read of the heroes of old. He had learned all the lessons from them he could. Now he would strive to emulate them. To help Kara, to help humankind. To help himself.

  One by one, he condemned each book to their fiery end and felt lighter for it.

  Stories of flawed heroes, merciless villains, strange anomalies, fierce love, unscrupulous nobles and bitter wars. The history of Stelemia, all consumed by flame in an instant. There was something poetic in that—or perhaps a foreshadowing of what was to come.

  When the last book had burned away, Aemon took a moment to reflect upon his past life. Morgon, Rubin, his uncaring mother and apathetic father who had given him over to the care of the bank. Their faces came and went, one by one, and he imagined tossing them into the fire with his books. When they were all seared away, his old life consigned to the purifying flames, he felt renewed. No longer would he carry books and quills—but swords and shields.

  He caught sight of movement over on the precipice. Black on black.

  One of the knives emerged from the darkness and stood watching him. It was not Kahan, as long hair spilled down the knife’s shoulders.

  Herald. It had to be.

  Aemon clenched his fist, feeling no fear, only anger. This was the knife that had almost taken Kara’s life. The two stared at one another, neither moving, too far apart for her javelins to reach him. All they could do was watch each other, each knowing that either one would want nothing more than to slay the other.

  Once I learn to fight and conquer my fear, like Rexus of Acid Lake, I hope to meet you face to face in battle, Aemon raged to Herald in his mind. You deserve to die for what you did to Kara, and to those back in the Limestone Caves. The blood of Morgon and the caravaners is on your hands.

  Eventually, he turned and made his way back to the temple, never looking back to see if Herald still watched him. Aemon burned her image in his mind. He vowed to bring that image to mind every time he thought of giving up, for it would spur him to greater feats of endurance.

  When he met Herald in battle, he must be at his best so he could avenge the dead.

  THEIR DAYS WERE LONG and hard as they lifted weights and ran around the training room. Kara tired easily at first. Her wound still pained her, but day by day she built her strength.

  Two weeks after Kara had woken, Wrynric and Minard watched as Aemon practiced fighting with an assortment of weapons to find one he liked. After an hour of trying everything from a staff to dual-wielding daggers, Wrynric stopped him. “How many more weapons do you need to try? Just pick one, so you can start perfecting it.”

  “I am not sure what one I like.” Aemon frowned. “Most of them feel too heavy, ill balanced or cumbersome. How am I meant to fight when I can barely hold them up?”

  Wrynric chuckled, “Get stronger. It’s as simple as that.”

  “I am trying. It takes time.” Too much time. Kara needs me strong.

  The old warrior picked up an iron mace and held the handle out to Aemon. “Use this. Maces are easier to learn than swords. All you do is smash your enemy to mush and be done with it. Once you’re strong enough to use it one-handed, you can try using a shield or, if you’re really skilled, an off-handed weapon.”

  Aemon took the mace and hefted it. Not bad. When he swung it one-handed, it made him stagger sideways. Planting his feet, he tried two handed and managed to get a decent swing while keeping his balance. “This will do. Simple is good.”

  “Fine choice, little lord.” Minard said. “Now go beat that practice bag to a bloody pulp.”

  Aemon cursed the monk under his breath, then set to work on the bag. For the last few days, the monk had started to show Aemon a modicum of respect. At times, he still mocked Aemon, but rarely did he go out of his way to embarrass him.

  The practice bag tore open under the barrage of Aemon’s blows, sending pulverized stones spilling over the floor. He went to the next bag and lay into
it.

  “Good, keep it up,” Minard said. “Won't be long before you're pounding heads and breaking arms with that thing.”

  If only the monk always acted like he did now, handing out praise rather than mockery. The monk was like a two-sided coin. One side the infuriating one Aemon hated, the other a serious, intense side Aemon had only seen a couple of times. Minard could flick between that persona and the other instantly, making it hard to know what the monk would say or do every time one saw him.

  Aemon did not think he could be friends with Minard, and the monk probably felt the same way about him. But at least they could learn to respect one another. After all, they were going to be heading into the Great Dark together, a place of danger and hidden mysteries, and Kara needed them to work together to protect her.

  Another practice bag tore open. Aemon moved to the next, his arms beginning to tire. He had trained long and hard and felt stronger for it. Best of all, earlier in the day, Kara had told him how impressed she was with his progress. Her words had spurred him to train all the harder.

  He would grow strong enough to protect her or die trying.

  Near the end of the following day of training, Wrynric approached Aemon and commended him on his progress. “I didn’t know what to make of you when I first met you. I was told you helped Kara get to the temple, but seeing how scrawny you were, I found it hard to believe. Yet you got her here, and then stood up to Lucien not once, but twice, and refused to back down.”

  He patted Aemon on the shoulder. “Seeing how far you’ve come in the short time I’ve known you makes me think there’s more to you than meets the eye. We’ll be stronger with you than without you.”

  Aemon held his head high. “I do it for Kara. I want to protect her with my life.”

  Wrynric watched Kara as she practiced thrusting a blunted short sword at Minard. “I can see why you love her.”

  “Love,” Aemon spluttered. “I do not. I mean...”

  “Don’t deny it—I've seen the way you look at her.” He let out a weary sigh. “You need to put your feelings for her aside, and stop touching her the way you do. She likes you too, but she’ll need to forget such girlish notions.” Wrynric’s face became granite. “She’s a half-blood scion, with a great destiny ahead of her, and what she does will determine the fate of us all. She cannot be distracted by lust, love or any other pleasures of the flesh.”

  Aemon bristled at the old man’s words, even if he could see the sense of them. Kara chuckled as Minard made a joke, then playfully lunged for him with her sword. Aemon slowly balled his fists. He never made her laugh like that.

  Wrynric must have seen Aemon’s anger. “I don’t like the monk either, but we both need to put our animosity aside.”

  “Why? He means to kill Kara if he thinks she has become a threat.” Aemon had made that promise too, but the old man did not need to know that. Unlike Minard, Aemon never intended to keep his word.

  “He’s a good fighter and we’ll need all the help we can get in the days ahead. For that reason, I’m willing to put my dislike of him and his kind aside. For now.” The old man put a mailed hand on his empty scabbard. “Trouble yourself not, boy. If he ever tries to hurt her, I’ll kill him.”

  Aemon nodded. “I will help you.”

  Wrynric was silent for a long time. Then, in a troubled voice, he said, “Something bad is coming, I can feel it in my bones. Already I fear we have lingered here too long. Keep training and building your strength, for I think our days here are near an end.”

  Before Aemon could ask what he meant, Wrynric strode off. Aemon turned back to Kara and Minard. She swung her practice sword clumsily at the monk and he side-stepped her attack and whacked her on the buttocks with his staff, making them both laugh.

  Aemon no longer felt jealous of Minard. He felt sorry Kara would never be able to live a normal life again. The passkey and the poison had changed her, and she would never be the same person again. She would be something more.

  Late in the night, five days later, the old warrior’s premonition came to pass.

  Kahan had come.

  Chapter 15

  KARA

  Minard burst into Kara’s room. “Get out of bed and grab your things.”

  Kara sat up, still half asleep, gripping the glowing passkey. It had been with her in another dream of the icy surface where she’d watched the Sun rise over a colossal statue of Imogen.

  As she went to stand, another bout of headspins made her clasp the side of the bed for support. Her wounded chest ached terribly and her muscles were stiff and sore. Sleep had been her only escape from the unending nightmare of pain.

  The headspins passed and she let go of the bed. Then she heard bells. “What’s happening?”

  “The temple is under attack.”

  Her fatigue drained away instantly. “Attack. By who?”

  “Do you really need to ask?”

  Not really.

  Minard handed her a brown, hooded robe and a leather vest to wear under it. “Hurry and put these on. We need to leave.”

  She took them and started to undress out of her bed clothes. He didn’t turn his back to give her privacy, nor did he look uncomfortable with her stripping down in front of him. Only when she’d stripped to her small clothes did he finally look away. Lucky for him, she was used to being naked in front of men.

  When she finished dressing, he turned to face her again. He was about to say something when his eyes darted to the door as a distant scream echoed along the corridor.

  Kara put a hand to her heart. “Where is Kahan? How did he get in?”

  “Our best guess is he used the secret tunnels under the temple. We don’t know how he found them. Only those of my order know of their existence.” He grimaced. “Or so we thought.”

  As Kara slid the passkey under her robe, her stomach clenched. “Where’s Aemon?”

  Before Minard could reply, Aemon strode in. He was dressed in leather armor and carried a mace. Without a word, he positioned himself to guard the doorway.

  Well done, Aemon, you've changed a lot since you started your training.

  His arms were stronger, his back straighter and he had the beginnings of a beard. It wasn’t just physically he’d changed either; his personality had too. No longer was he a naive boy, but a young man coming into his own.

  It was heartening that he and Minard were getting along better too. The thought of them continuing to bicker as they ventured into the Great Dark was enough for her to seriously consider strangling them both. The last thing she needed was the added stress of listening to them fight.

  Once Aemon saw beyond the shell Minard armored himself with, he would see the monk was just as fragile and insecure as he was. Kara had quickly seen through Minard’s veil, but had yet to learn what he was hiding. Something dark from his past, maybe; or maybe it had something to do with him being a Divergent. Either way, the monk was not half the impervious man he made himself out to be.

  Aemon ducked his head out the door as a woman screamed somewhere nearby. When the scream faded to nothing, Aemon glanced at Minard and shook his head. Nothing was coming. They were safe. For now.

  Watching him stand there playing soldier made her heart ache. Did he really understand what they were heading into? Unlike Minard, he wasn’t a warrior and hadn’t been tested in battle. What if he lost his life in some foolhardy attempt to save her? How could she go on without him?

  Kara lifted her arms to let Minard wrap a belt around her waist. When he’d buckled it up, he attached a leather scabbard to it.

  If only Kahan had given them more time. The javelin wound and the poison had taken a staggering toll on Kara's body and the healer had claimed it would take months to heal. Now, he had her on the run once more and she was too weak to flee on her own. Others were being forced to put their lives at risk to protect her. But for what? Some vision seen by a father she’d never known that revealed her to be the savior of humanity?

  Kara, a lowly commoner, w
ho couldn’t read, write or wield a sword. The whole thing sounded like a bad joke slurred into her ear by a randy drunk as she sat on his lap and shared his ale. Unlike those jokes, this one was real, and she couldn’t pretend to laugh at it.

  Too bad if she ended up being the dreaded harbinger of doom Lucien thought her to be. The joke would be on all of them.

  Minard sheathed a short sword into her scabbard, then led her over to Aemon. “Take hold of the Scion and don’t let her go. I’ll guard you as we make our way to the Machine Chapel.”

  “What about Wrynric?” Aemon asked as he took Kara’s arm.

  “Your crusty old friend will have to look after himself. My brethren are buying us time to escape—so we must make haste.”

  Kara grabbed the monk's arm. “But he’s meant to show us the way to the Dead City.”

  “There’s nothing I can do; we may have to find the city ourselves.” Minard made her let go, then led them out the door. “The acolytes have left us equipment at the entrance to the tunnels under the temple. We’ll grab it, then escape through the catacombs.”

  “But you said Kahan got in that way,” Kara snapped. “What if some of his followers are still down there?”

  Minard tapped his staff against the floor. “Then we fight our way out.”

  He briskly led them from the infirmary and headed along a hallway. The air was filled with distant screams, chanting and the hum of machines, but it was difficult to tell what direction the sounds were coming from.

  Soon they passed a body. Kara could not help but look at the dead man’s face. A young monk, no older than her, his insides splayed out on the ground beside him, spilled from a gaping slash across his abdomen. Blood and the contents of his shredded bowels had pooled on the floor around him. His face, covered in bloody froth, was a mask of terror and pain so great Kara had to look away before it scarred her for life.