Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1)

by Morgan L. Busse

  “Well,” Lore said, “what you heard is true. The Word spoke, and the Lands were created. That is why we call Him the Word—everything exists because He speaks.”

  “So He says something and there it is?” Rowen said, trying to understand.

  “Yes. And everything continues to exist because He continues to speak.”

  “So who are these Eldarans you spoke of?”

  “The Eldarans were an ancient race of beings who served the Word.”

  “They’re not human?”

  “No,” Lore said.

  “But you said they live here in the Lands.”

  “They used to, a long time ago. They left the Celestial Halls to come here to the Lands.”

  Rowen furrowed her brow. “Why?”

  “So that they could serve the Word here. At first, they fought alongside the Word during the Great Battle.”

  “Great Battle,” Rowen said quietly. She had heard of that war, fought thousands of years ago. But she knew only bits and pieces, enough to know that the war had changed the face of the Lands forever.

  “Some stayed behind, choosing to serve the Word by living among humans and using their power to help mankind. However, by staying here, they lost their immortality.”

  “So do any still exist?” Rowen asked. Something deep inside of her began to stir with hope. Perhaps some had survived. Could she possibly be one of the—

  “Eldarans? No, I do not believe so,” Lore said. “Some people are descended from them, but most who have Eldaran blood do not possess their power. Balint is the only one I know of who has an Eldaran gift. But, like I said, his is not very strong. Too much human blood has thinned out the Eldaran blood.”

  Rowen’s heart sank. For one moment she had hoped that her ability was some kind of ancient power she had inherited from an Eldaran predecessor. But if they no longer existed… She sighed and pulled her cloak closer to her body. Her gift—or curse, as she saw it—was much too powerful anyway to have been passed on to her by some distant ancestor and watered down over the centuries.

  Perhaps her village was right. Perhaps she was some kind of witch…or worse.

  “Rowen, are you all right?” She glanced up and found Lore studying her. “If you want, we can talk more about this back at the castle—”

  “No.” Whatever brief hope she had held about the Eldarans had been dashed.

  Lore raised an eyebrow at her quick response.

  “I’m sorry,” Rowen said, noting his reaction. “It’s been a long day.”

  His eyes softened. “I understand. It has been a long day. Let’s finish up our search of the tunnel so you can settle into your new quarters.”

  Rowen nodded. They resumed their walk through the dark tunnel.

  Why can’t I just be normal? Rowen wondered bitterly. She followed Lore with her right hand clenched into a tight fist. That movement only reminded her of the glove she wore to cover her palm.

  She knew she should be grateful that at least she could touch people now, but suddenly she wanted more. She wanted to go back to the way things were, before the white mark had appeared. Or at least know the reason she was different. When Lore had mentioned the Eldarans…

  A stinging sensation settled across her eyes, and Rowen bit back tears of disappointment. The Eldarans no longer existed. And even if they did, and if her ability was an Eldaran gift, who would want the “gift” of seeing inside other people, of frightening them so much they turned on you?

  Rowen swallowed the lump in her throat. No, that could not be a gift. There was something wrong with her. And whatever it was would forever separate her from those around her.

  Like Captain Lore.

  • • •

  Rowen held her candle out and looked around her new quarters.

  The room was similar to the one she had left back in the Guards Quarter. A single bed by the right wall, a wooden chest for her belongings, a table with a pitcher and bowl on the top. The ceiling was high and three narrow windows opened up to the courtyard below. A faded blue rug lay on the white stone floor. At the far end of the room, along the left wall, was an open archway that led into Lady Astrea’s chambers. Orange light glowed from the lady’s room.

  Rowen crossed the room and looked out one of the windows. Stars twinkled high in the sky. Down below, everything was dark except for the torches that burned on either side of the gates.

  She turned and looked through the archway. At the far end of the room she could see a four-poster bed covered in a midnight-blue coverlet with silver tassels. Similar blue curtains hung around the bed, gathered by a silver cord at each post. The bed was at least three times the size of her own bed. For a moment Rowen wondered what it would be like to sleep in something so big.

  She crept closer to the doorway, curious to see more of Lady Astrea’s room. The orange glow came from a fireplace that stood against the outside wall. The fireplace was made of white marble, matching beautifully with the white stone of the castle. A blue rug lay in front of the fireplace. Silver candlesticks lined the mantle. Two highback chairs were situated near the fireplace with a low table between them.

  The warmth of the room drew Rowen closer until she was standing in the doorway.

  “Please, come in,” said a low feminine voice.

  Rowen started and found Lady Astrea sitting to her left at what looked like a small white desk. She was dressed in a long white nightgown with a deep green wrap draped across her shoulders. A servant girl stood behind her, brushing Lady Astrea’s hair, which was long and dark.

  “I’m sorry, I did not mean to intrude—“

  “Nonsense,” Lady Astrea said. “You are my varor and therefore welcome to my room.”

  “Thank you, milady.” Rowen gave her a small bow.

  “That will be all, Jaida.” Lady Astrea waved her hand dismissively.

  “Yes, milady.” The young girl bowed and placed the brush on the desk. She turned and left through the main door.

  Lady Astrea stood. She pulled her wrap around her body and motioned toward the chairs. “Please, take a seat.”

  Rowen hesitated, then entered the room.

  Lady Astrea crossed the room and sat down in the farthest chair. Rowen took a seat in the other. She clasped her hands together and stared at the fire. She could still feel the residual disappointment from her earlier conversation with Lore.

  “You are not what I was expecting.”

  Rowen’s head shot up and around. “Milady?”

  Lady Astrea smiled at her. “I met your father, Jedrek, a few times when he visited here. He mentioned a daughter once. I imagined a shy young country girl. When my father told me you had accepted his offer, I was surprised. I wasn’t sure a young woman from Cinad would make a good varor. But then I watched you train with Captain Lore.”

  Rowen shifted uncomfortably. Lady Astrea had been watching her? She’d never seen her.

  “I wanted to see what kind of woman would choose to be my protector. I was impressed. Captain Lore highly recommended you when he came to say you were ready to take your vow.”

  “He did?”

  “Oh, yes. He said you were one of the best he has trained.”

  Rowen felt her cheeks warm at the praise.

  “My father values Captain Lore’s opinion. And so do I. Captain Lore and his family have served the White City for many generations. He is a man with good judgment, a sincere heart, and wisdom. So when he says something, my father listens.”

  Rowen thought over Lady Astrea’s words. “Yes, he is that. The captain, I mean. Different. Not like other men I have met.” Her thoughts jumped to Cleon and the man in the tavern.

  “It is because he is a Follower.”

  “A Follower?”

  “A Follower of the Word. I have known others who claim to be Followers, but Captain Lore is different. He actually takes his devotion seriously.”

  “I see.” That explained why he knew so much about the Word and the Eldarans. But what did Lady Astrea mean
by ‘Follower’? ”Are you a…a Follower?”

  “No.” Lady Astrea turned her attention to the fire. “I believe the Word exists. And that is enough for me. But sometimes…watching Captain Lore makes me wonder if there is more to the Word. Perhaps I will find out someday.”

  9

  Caleb Tala brought his horse to a stop at the top of the hill. The Ari Mountains stood before him like an impenetrable wall of sand-colored stone, as high as the heavens, reaching from east to west as far as the eye could see. No man-made thing, machine or otherwise, could scale those natural walls. A perfect defense for the north, save for the jagged crack that ran longwise across its sheer surface. Hershaw Pass.

  Caleb stared at the mountain passageway. He knew the pass had another name, one whispered under the breath of those who had ventured through its narrow walls: the Valley of Shadow and Death. Though only a short distance, those few dark miles had seen more death and blood than anywhere else in the Lands. It was where north met south, where they fought. And soon its floor would run red again.

  Gathered below Hershaw Pass were hundreds of siege towers, heavy catapults, and other war machinery. Canvas tents spread out across the rest of the desert like ants on a hill. Wisps from a thousand campfires filled the basin with an early morning haze. The sky changed from red to orange to a pale blue. Black banners emblazoned with a scarlet wolf’s head hung limply in the muggy morning air.

  Caleb shook his head and pulled the reins of his horse toward the right, down a narrow dirt path toward the camp. He didn’t understand war or why his cousin was so obsessed with this particular one. All he knew was he was here to make sure Commander Arpiar—and his army—made it through the pass.

  The commander’s tent stood near the outskirt of the camp, its size and grandeur giving it away. The tent had three smaller rooms jetting out from the main. A large black flag waved from the tallest tent post. Guards mingled around the front.

  Few knew who Caleb really was. And Commander Arpiar was one of them. Hopefully, that knowledge and subsequent fear would motivate him to finish what the other commanders had not. Caleb hoped so. He had no desire to stay here any longer than necessary. Nor to assassinate any more commanders.

  Caleb approached Arpiar’s tent. One of the guards headed toward him. “What is your business here?” the man asked.

  Caleb held up his right hand.

  Squinting against the desert sun, the guard glanced at the large black stone imbedded with the Tala family crest wound around his middle finger. “Lord Tala,” the guard said, backing away with a bow. “We had no word that you were coming.”

  Caleb dropped his hand. “There was no time. I need to see Commander Arpiar right away.”

  “Yes, sir, this way.” Caleb dismounted and the guard motioned to one of the men surrounding the commander’s tent. The man came and took Caleb’s reins. Another guard held open the tent flap.

  Caleb ducked inside. At the far back of the main room stood a table with a man hunched over it, a round lens in his hand.

  The man glanced up as Caleb approached. “Caleb Tala.” Commander Arpiar slowly rose and placed the lens down. He was a tall, lean man with peppered black hair and mustache. A red sash ran from his right shoulder to his left hip, indicating his position as commander. Caleb noted the curved sword that hung on Arpiar’s left side. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” His expression indicated it was anything but.

  Instead of answering, Caleb reached inside his cloak. Arpiar stiffened at his movement.

  Good, Caleb thought. Commander Arpiar already feared him, or at least what he could do.

  Caleb slid his hand across the dagger strapped to his chest then reached for the papers Lord Corin had sent. He withdrew the tightly rolled piece of parchment and handed it over.

  Frowning, Commander Arpiar broke the seal and unrolled the parchment.

  Caleb clasped his hands behind his back and waited for Arpiar’s reply. He did not have to wait long.

  Commander Arpiar cursed. “I don’t like it.” He crumpled up the paper with one hand. “But it seems I don’t have a choice.” He looked over at Caleb. “Well, you won’t have to worry about looking over my shoulder. I know what I’m supposed to do.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Caleb took a step toward the man. “I’d hate for Lord Corin to have to find a new commander. It would be…inconvenient.”

  Commander Arpiar glared at Caleb, although his face was a shade lighter. He had caught the hint. “I assume you’ll need lodgings and a guard detail?” Commander Arpiar said through gritted teeth.

  “Lodgings, yes. Guards will not be necessary. I can more than adequately take care of myself.”

  Commander Arpiar snarled. “I’m sure you can.”

  Caleb ignored Arpiar and looked over at the map spread across the table. A red X stood just above the small town of Menes, and a jagged line had been drawn through the Ari Mountains. Interesting. What did the commander have planned?

  In the end, he really didn’t care how Commander Arpiar got across the mountains. Once Temanin held Hershaw Pass, Caleb could return to Azar and back to his way of life.

  • • •

  A fortnight later, as the sun began its ascent and bathed the desert in the pale light of early morning, the Temanin camp geared up for war. Men scurried between tents, checking weapons and armor. Siege towers tottered toward the pass, their stories filled with archers ready to take out the enemy along the high cliffs.

  Caleb watched all the activity from his vantage point near the top of the hill where his tent stood. A chilly wind rustled through his clothing, sending a slight shiver down his back.

  He had never seen a battle before. Today would be his first taste. And he wasn’t sure if he would like it.

  Caleb turned and stepped back into his tent. He moved toward a wooden chest that sat in the corner. He opened the box and pulled out his daggers. One, he placed in the sheath across his chest. Two went into the leather casings on either side of his middle. And one small wicked dagger he pushed into the hidden pocket woven inside of his boot. He needed no other weapons. What an average soldier could do with a sword, he could do faster and quicker with his blades and cunning.

  However, he had no plans to fight today. Commander Arpiar had needed no persuasion from him since the day he’d arrived. From the shadows Caleb had followed Arpiar, his presence enough of a reminder that, should Arpiar back down and fail to enter the north, a blade would be waiting. But Commander Arpiar had something planned, something to do with that map back in his tent. Caleb had a partial idea of what Arpiar was doing, but nothing concrete. Whatever it was, it had been put into action before Caleb had arrived. Soon, though, he would know.

  Today he would accompany Commander Arpiar to the pass. Whatever else Commander Arpiar might be doing, today was the day he would start the battle for Hershaw. And Caleb would be there so that, when the death count began to arrive, he could remind Commander Arpiar that retreat was not an option this time. Even if it cost every Temanin his life.

  Caleb threw his cloak over one shoulder and headed out of the tent. Soon Temanin’s army would be on the other side of this pass. Whether Commander Arpiar lived to see that would all depend on him.

  • • •

  “Commander Arpiar.” The young runner pulled himself inside the commander’s tent. “I’m here to report on how the siege towers are faring against the enemy.”

  “Go on,” Commander Arpiar said. Caleb stood nearby, a shadow along the canvas siding. The tent was warm now that the sun had reached its zenith in the sky.

  “Two have been burned to the ground, and a third is on fire.”

  “And the others?”

  “The remaining two are still making their way through the pass. But they’re only halfway. Captain Falun says we need to turn back and try again with more towers—”

  “I don’t care what Captain Falun says,” Commander Arpiar bellowed, cutting the young man off. The runner’s eyes widened with fear. “You tell h
im…” Commander Arpiar pointed a crooked finger at the young man’s face… “that there will be no retreat this time. And if he fails to obey my command, he knows the penalty.”

  “Y-yes, sir,” The young man turned and fled from the tent.

  Commander Arpiar sat back into his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Caleb moved out of the shadows. “Very good, Commander.”

  Commander Arpiar removed his hand and glared in his direction.

  Caleb ignored the look. “Don’t let your captains dictate this battle.”

  Commander Arpiar’s face twisted in silence. Caleb knew Arpiar wanted to say something but didn’t dare. Perhaps his cousin had been right in sending him. Caleb could already see weaknesses in Commander Arpiar’s resilience.

  • • •

  “Sir, Captain Falun has lost half his unit.”

  Commander Arpiar paled slightly. “And how far into the pass is he?”

  “Only a quarter.”

  Commander Arpiar looked down and began to tap the table with his finger. “And Captain Kolin?”

  “Not as many, sir, but they are having a hard time following Captain Falun. The…” the messenger swallowed as if tasting something bad… “the… uh… bodies… are making it difficult.”

  Caleb took a closer look at the messenger. His face was pale. Most likely, this was the young man’s first look at death.

  “Let the chief healer know that I want those bodies moved faster,” Commander Arpiar said.

  “Yes, sir.” The messenger bowed and left.

  Commander Arpiar glanced at Caleb as if expecting another lecture, but Caleb chose to step outside instead.

  The desert sun blasted him once he left the protection of the tent. Caleb shaded his eyes and looked toward the crack in the mountain, where spirals of smoke curled toward the sky, high above the mountain pass. In his mind’s eye, he could see the burning towers with dead soldiers piling up along the narrow walls, healers bustling around trying to remove those no longer able to fight. Enough dead that those following behind could hardly wade through the pass.