Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1)

by Morgan L. Busse

  “You’re right, Commander. But with this storm coming, I don’t know how effective that would be tonight.” As if to answer him, the sky lit up again followed by a loud boom. “On the other hand, lightning might start the fire for us.”

  “Just consider it, Captain.”

  “I will—”

  “Incoming!” came the shout along the wall.

  Lore and Commander Kelyn ducked behind the merlons and hunkered down.

  Boulders flew into the city. One crashed a few feet from Lore. Rocks cracked around him. Men shouted and screamed. Another projectile flew overhead. He felt the wall shake beneath him. The hammering continued. White powder rose into the air.

  Lore coughed and waited. The wooden gates groaned loudly below.

  A loud roar of voices came from the forest. Now what was going on? Lore cautiously crawled to one of the openings between the merlons. He waited a moment, and looked out—

  His heart froze inside his chest.

  A huge dark structure came rolling between the trees. It was at least two stories tall with ropes and cables dangling around it. Temanin soldiers cheered around it and waved torches in the air. The orange torches lit up the dark trees and structure. Lore didn’t need to hold his spyglass up to see what the mechanical monstrosity was. It was the largest catapult he had ever seen.

  “Dear Word, save us!” Commander Kelyn whispered next to him. “One shot from that thing will break any wall.”

  Lore knew he needed to move, to shout some instruction to his men. Instead he stood there paralyzed. Death stood before the city. And deep inside he knew he could do nothing about it.

  Something snapped inside Lore. But he would try.

  He forced himself to turn around. Fearful faces looked at him. His men needed him. He drew from his last dregs of courage. Lore stood straight and tall. “Get ready!” he shouted. “Archers, when the catapult comes close enough, shoot its operators with everything we have. The rest of you, brace for impact and be ready to put out the flames.” Lore leaned over the walkway and shouted down to the street below. “Reinforce the gates!”

  Voices began to shout along the wall. Lore turned and looked through one of the openings.

  A ball of fire the size of a bear blazed behind the catapult now. The Temanins shouted with exaltation. Their voices carried up to the battlements. They were about to launch their first volley.

  That’s what they had been waiting for, Lore realized. That’s why the Temanin Army had gathered at the tree line. The catapult would blast open the wall, and the infantry would rush the White City.

  The sight of it shook him to his very core.

  Lightning lit up the sky.

  The ball of flame pulled back. A hearbeat later it leaped into the air. Lore watched it arc. It flew toward the White City with a fiery tail behind it. Lore wanted to move but couldn’t. The sight of death held him transfixed. Thunder rolled over the city. No one spoke on the battlements.

  It was going to hit the main gates.

  Lore tried to speak. “Brace—brace for impact!” he finally shouted. “Archers, get ready—”

  Boom.

  A deafening explosion echoed across the wall. Lore was thrown to his knees. The walkway beneath him cracked. Men yelled all around him. Smoke came pouring up from the gates.

  His whole body shook with fear and adrenaline. Lore pushed himself up. Panic spread across the walls.

  “The gates are on fire!”

  “They’re coming!”

  “Archers, fire!” Lore shouted over the bedlam. “The rest of you, put out those fires!”

  Only a few seemed to hear him. The rest of the defenders had been thrown into chaos.

  “Captain, the Temanins are coming!”

  Lore moved to the merlon and looked around. His breathing stopped.

  Out of the forest poured thousands of Temanins, dressed in red and black. A huge battering ram led the charge. Torches waved in the air. Battle cries filled the night.

  “Take out that ram!” Lore cried. “Shoot the men around it!”

  The soldiers along the wall finally began to run to position. Archers fired down on the field.

  Lore watched. Where one Temanin soldier fell, three more ran by. The ram stalled slightly when two of the men carrying it were shot, but immediately others took up the load. Temanins ran across the field like a black wave of death. And Lore knew that once they hit, the gates would fall.

  Word, help us.

  They had to fall back. If they waited until the enemy hit the wall, they wouldn’t be able to withdraw.

  “Retreat!” Lore yelled. He ran along the wall. “Retreat to the inner gate!”

  Men scrambled along the walls.

  Lore looked over the battlements. The ram was almost to the smoldering gates. “Now!”

  The command to withdraw was shouted along the wall. Soldiers ran down the steps. Archers let loose one more volley before following.

  Lore hurried behind them. He’d reached the top of the steps when the ram hit.

  Wham.

  The wall shook. His knees buckled from the impact. Lore steadied himself and finished the steps, two at a time. At the bottom, he took off in a run. The muffled booms of the ram echoed across the city.

  He dodged a burning wagon and raced along the cobblestone street. Broken glass crunched beneath his boots. Other soldiers ran beside him, the sound of their metal armor echoing off the stone homes and stores like a thousand clashing chains.

  Lore could barely see through the darkness and smoke. A flash of lightning filled the sky, its jagged edge tearing through the night sky.

  In that one bright moment, he saw the streets filled with soldiers running toward the second gates. Then all was swept back into shadow and night.

  The sky rumbled overhead. Behind him, he could barely hear the boom of the ram.

  Lore slowed and looked behind him. “Move it!” he shouted, motioning with his hand. Soldiers ran past him. He glanced toward the gates. How much longer would it hold? Lore turned and ran. He panted, and his heart thudded hard inside his chest.

  More lightning flashed across the sky. Thunder drowned out every other noise.

  Sweat poured down Lore’s face and back. His legs burned with each step.

  As the thunder grumbled away, he heard a new noise. Adrenaline swept across his body at the sound, and Lore turned back. What he saw confirmed his worst fear.

  Temanin had broken through the gates.

  Men poured through the shattered opening with torches and swords drawn like a legion from hell. Their battle cry made his hair stand on end.

  “Run!”

  Lore ran as he never had, with every bit of strength he possessed. He had to make it to the second gates. He had to protect these people, his men, Lady Astrea. Rowen.

  His fellow soldiers yelled and scrambled around him. Lore passed them, his focus solely on the gates ahead. White rubble lay scattered across the street. He dodged a couple of broken pieces, but tripped over a railing in the dark, and fell to his knee.

  The sound of hand-to-hand combat grew behind him. Swords clanked and shouts filled the air. Men screamed.

  Lore pushed himself up. Just one more block.

  Torches were already lit along the second battlement. The gates were still open.

  Flash after flash of lightning scattered across the sky. Thunder rolled across the city in waves.

  Twenty feet…Ten feet—

  “Behind you!”

  Lore twisted around and drew his sword. One of his men behind him cried out and toppled to the ground. In the orange torchlight and flashes of lightning he saw a soldier in black pass the man on the ground and advance on Lore.

  Lore dropped into defense position.

  The man yelled and swung his sword. Lore parried the move and returned one of his own.

  The man swung again.

  Lore parried, his body acting on instinct and years of training. His eyes studied his opponent. Clad in black and red,
the man was a Temanin soldier.

  How had the Temanins moved this fast?

  Lore moved his sword into a guard position. He barely registered others running past him.

  The Temanin thrust to his left. Lore dropped his sword and caught the man’s blade, gave a hard twist, and sent the Temanin’s sword flying to the right.

  Before the man could react, Lore thrust his own sword low, catching the man in the leg. With no armor there, his blade slid deeply into the man’s leg.

  The man screamed.

  Lore pulled his blade free. The Temanin fell to the cobblestone.

  Glancing up, Lore saw more men running toward him and the second gates. In the torchlight he could not tell whether the ones running were his own men retreating or Temanins advancing.

  A sick feeling twisted through his chest.

  Lore strained against the darkness, hoping to see some color or insignia. His mind raced for any other option.

  He could see neither.

  Lore knew then the moment had finally arrived. The one he had trained for all his life but hoped he would never live to see. The impossible choice.

  He could not allow any Temanins to pass through the second gates. Not if he wanted to protect those inside the castle. But closing the gates would leave many of his men on the outside.

  With a sick heart, Lore turned and ran. “Shut the gates,” he yelled. “Shut those gates!”

  “What?” he heard someone shout above. He passed beneath the archway. “If we shut the gates, our soldiers can’t—”

  “I know!” Lore shouted back. Emotion slammed his insides: anger, fear, and grief. If he was wrong, then he was condemning his men to death.

  He held his sword and watched the gates pull shut. A couple of friendly soldiers made it through. Many more almost did. They held their hands through the gap, but pulled them quickly back.

  Lore looked away. He knew deep inside he was making the right choice, the only choice.

  He could not allow the Temanins to make it through the second gates.

  The gates slammed shut with a reverberating bang.

  Shouts and pounding began to echo from the other side of the wooden barrier. Screams and the clash of metal quickly followed.

  The sounds tore at Lore. Each cry carved itself upon his heart.

  He looked back at the gates. A sudden desire to open them and rush out and aid his countrymen filled him. Lore clenched his sword and turned.

  His duty as captain dictated he protect those inside the castle first.

  “How could you do that!” someone shouted at him.

  Lore barely heard. He staggered away from the gates and collapsed to his knees. He held his sword to his chest. Tears streamed down his soot and blood covered face. All his strength was gone. He felt so…helpless.

  They couldn’t hold much longer. Not with that catapult behind them. And the myriad of Temanin soldiers. Unless something changed, they wouldn’t last the night, not to mention the couple of days until help arrived. The White City would fall tonight.

  Overhead, the sky lit up with lightning, then boomed as thunder washed over the city.

  Lore looked up at the tempestuous storm-filled sky. Unless…

  “Word,” he shouted. “Please, if You’re going to help us, we need You now!”

  26

  Nierne watched beneath half-lidded eyes as Lord Tala walked toward the tent flap. His eyes were distant and unfocused, like they’d been the last two times he had left the tent. And, like the times before, he would most likely return full of dark rage.

  I need to get out of here, she thought. She watched him walk by the small sitting area where she lay, hands tied behind her back and feet bound by thick cords. The man acted like he was mind-possessed. Perhaps he was going crazy. She didn’t want to be here when he finally went over the edge.

  Lord Tala lifted the tent flaps and disappeared into the night.

  Nierne waited and listened. She could hear nothing other than the muffled sounds of men moving around somewhere outside the tent. The silhouettes of Lord Tala’s two guards stood right by the tent entrance. She waited a few more heartbeats, then lowered herself onto the brightly colored rug.

  Time to go.

  Nierne knew she was taking a risk as she began to inch her way along the colorful rugs. If Lord Tala caught her…

  Well, eventually he would tire of her, and she’d be dead anyway. Might as well leave now. She was lucky that all he had done was kept her tied up. He could have done a lot worse.

  No time for thoughts like that. She needed to pay attention to now. Even so, moving around would be a lot easier if her hands weren’t tied behind her back. Nierne shoved her knees into her chest and pushed off toward the next rug. Ahead she could see the side of Lord Tala’s dark, wooden chest. She had seen him pull a dagger out of it yesterday, and she wondered if there might be more inside.

  After a couple more shoves, she bumped up against the chest. Using the side, she sidled her way upwards until she sat beside her target. Sweat beaded her forehead and she panted from the effort. Nierne eyed the lid. There was a small hole where a key could be inserted.

  Her shoulders slumped. Was it locked? She eyed the chest again. One way to find out. Gritting her teeth, Nierne turned away from the chest and sat up on her knees so she could shove her bound hands into the gap between chest and lid.

  She tugged with all her might. The lid barely budged. She sat back down on her legs and took a couple of breaths. Then she shoved her fingers back in and pulled again. With a loud creak, the lid slowly opened.

  Nierne tensed, her eyes staring at the tent flaps. Had the guards heard the sound? She watched their shadows, but neither of them moved.

  She sighed softly and turned around on her knees. She leaned over the chest and looked inside. The candle nearby barely lit the interior of the wooden box. She could see clothing, bits of metal and leather, and…

  A sheathed dagger.

  Hope soared across her heart. Nierne awkwardly turned around and sat down on the lip of the chest, then she leaned backwards, hoping to snag the dagger with her bound hands. After three attempts, she finally fingered the loop on the sheath and pulled it up.

  Nierne stood and hopped away from the chest. She dropped the dagger on the rug. Turning around, she fell to her knees beside it and studied the dagger. An intricate pattern was etched across the dark leather sheath. But the dagger itself was not bound to the sheath. It would easily slip out.

  “Thank the Word,” Nierne whispered with a sigh. She turned around and leaned back, feeling for the handle. Once she had it, she pulled the blade loose, then imagined the dagger’s edge and maneuvered the sharp end toward herself. After two sharp pricks to her wrist and one to her back, she finally found her rhythm and began to carefully saw away at the rope that held her hands together.

  • • •

  Rowen felt…peace.

  Opening her eyes, she gazed up at a star-studded sky, the stars like tiny white flecks against a backdrop of the deepest black. Small blades of grass waved gently in evening breeze, bending down to kiss her cheeks.

  Had she reached the Celestial Halls? Rowen moved her hands and pressed against the cold, damp ground.

  She sat up and glanced around her. No, Rowen thought she recognized the stone ruins nearby, illuminated by the faint light of the crescent moon that hung overhead. The ruins were the Eldaran Sanctuary that lay just outside the White City.

  So how had she ended up here? Hadn’t she just been in the Guards Quarter? She stood, and a faint light caught her eye. Looking down, Rowen found her hand pulsing with light. Lifting her palm, she stared as the light grew brighter and brighter until her entire hand lit up. Rowen blinked and looked away. She turned her palm face down and glanced back. Her hand lit up the entire field. Every blade of grass, every flower reflected the bright light from her mark.

  What is happening to me? Rowen took a step back. What is wrong with my hand? Has my power gone mad? She felt her
chest with her other hand. She could only feel a faint heat burning inside of her. But then why is my hand so bright?

  Rowen kept her hand facing away from her and backed away. Images began to filter through her mind. Standing in the training room. The glass dome shattering. Lore covering her. The boulder slamming into the wall. Cries and shouts. Donar’s body…

  Rowen lifted her left hand and covered her mouth. She had been unable to save him. The grief of that knowledge tore through her. I can’t do it. I can’t save everyone. I’m weak.

  No, you’re not weak. Somewhere in her mind, she could hear Lore’s voice chastising her.

  Rowen took another step back. Perhaps Lore was right. Perhaps she wasn’t weak. Even as an Eldaran, she couldn’t save everyone, as much as she wanted to. Wasn’t that what Balint had said the first time he’d told her she could heal?

  But how did I end up in Anwin Forest? Rowen looked around again. Why have I been brought here? Why am I not in the castle? This doesn’t make any sense. Wait, the Temanin Army—

  She whirled around, half expecting to see enemy soldiers lined up between the trees. She held her marked hand out like a lantern and searched past where her light reached. Rowen felt for her sword with her other hand, wondering how she would see if she had to begin wielding her sword with her marked hand. She patted her side and felt…nothing.

  Shocked, Rowen looked down. Her sword was gone. As were her cloak and boots. She stood barefoot in the grass with just a white shirt and pants on.

  Movement near the trees drew her attention. A man walked out of the trees. Tall with dark hair. He looked up. Even from a hundred feet away, she could see small pins of light reflecting from the darkest eyes she had ever seen. Rowen sucked in her breath.

  The man from her dreams.

  She took a step back and watched him slowly walk across the field. Was that what this was? Another dream? And yet this one was so different than the others. It felt so…real.