The trees parted, and the sun glowed in the distance.
It took her a moment to realize that it wasn’t the sun.
A city.
Ryn staggered forward, barely able to believe she had finally reached it. Lights glowed from windows, smoke drifted from dozens of chimneys, and more than anything else, the temple rose high into the sky.
Ryn offered a quiet prayer to the gods before continuing on.
At one point as she neared the city, she stumbled, and she lay motionless for moments that stretched into hours. She wanted to get up, but her body didn’t work. Everything ached, and the longer she lay here, the more she stiffened up, making it even harder to stand.
After a while, movement caught her attention.
She tried to get up, but she couldn’t.
That movement called to her, but it left her unsettled. If she remained where she was, she would be captured.
A moment of terror fluttered through her. What if it was Lareth?
It couldn’t be him. He wouldn’t have followed her here, would he?
She didn’t think so, but she knew nothing about him. Maybe he tracked people like her, people that came from a place that shared his eye color. Maybe he hated all of them.
When the figure approached, she saw that it was an older man. A scar ran along one side of his face, ending beneath his chin. He had brown eyes that softened when he saw her. A long walking stick tapped the ground with each step.
“What do we have here?” he whispered, his voice soft, almost gentle.
Ryn tried to move, thrashing against the idea that this man might get too close to her, afraid of staying where she was, but at the same time afraid to move. If she did, how much would she hurt?
“Hush,” the man whispered. He ran his hands along her legs, and it took her a moment to realize that he was searching for injury. His fingers probed cautiously, and by the time he reached her feet, he was moving gingerly. He lifted one foot and then the other, a frown on his face deepening as he looked at her. “What have you been through?”
“Don’t hurt me,” she managed to say. Her throat was dry, and her voice harsh. How long had it been since she’d had water?
Ryn had lost track of such things. Her stomach had stopped rumbling at some point, no longer clamoring for food, and she didn’t think it mattered anymore.
“Hurt? No, no, no.” The man reached into a pouch, pulling out a small jar that he unstoppered. There was a strange odor to it, reminding her of the conosh shell.
He slathered something on the bottom of her feet. It hurt, but only for a moment. The pain lingered, and when it passed, she was left with a numbness.
She managed to open her eyes, watching as the man worked. She had thought him older at first, but the longer she stared at him, the less certain of his age she became. It was possible that he was older, but it was just as possible that he was the same age as her mother. There seemed to be a strength within him, though it was difficult for her to determine that.
“Is that better?” he asked her. She nodded, and he smiled. His eyes seemed to twinkle a little as he did. “What was I thinking?” He pulled a strap off of his shoulder and brought a bottle to her lips. “Drink.”
Ryn slowly took a drink, and when the water touched her lips, cold and refreshing, she sighed.
“How about now?”
“That’s… better,” she said.
“What happened to you?”
Images flashed in her mind, faces of the people that had been lost, killed in the village during the attack. She tried not to think of them, but they came to her unbidden, choking her up. “My home…”
The man stared at her for a long moment. “What happened to your home?”
Ryn swallowed, shaking her head. “It’s gone.”
“And you came here for—”
Ryn raised her eyes to the temple as it rose overhead. “Safety.”
“I see. Yes. I imagine that you do want safety. Do you mind if I help you?”
Ryn studied him for a moment. There was a warmth about him, and a kindness that seemed to emanate from him. After everything she’d been through, how could she refuse? She wasn’t sure she would be able to reach the temple on her own. Her muscles were stiff and sore, leaving her questioning whether she would even be able to get to her feet, and that was if her feet didn’t hurt so much they made that intolerable.
“Can you help me reach the temple?”
The man smiled. “It would be my honor.”
They started walking, and at first, pain continued to throb in her feet, and Ryn wasn’t sure she would make it. But the older man offered her his arm to lean on. As she walked, the throbbing and pain in her feet abated, the numbness fading, leaving her better able to keep going, until she needed to lean on him less and less.
“What’s your name?” Ryn asked.
The man watched her for a moment. “Olander. And what is yours?”
Ryn swallowed again, and Olander pulled the water bottle off his shoulder, handing it to her. After she had taken a long drink, she passed it back to him. “Ryn.”
“Just Ryn?”
“Ryn Valeron.”
It might’ve been her imagination, but Olander tensed for a moment. Then he smiled and patted her hand. “Well, Ryn Valeron, I think it’s lucky that I was coming this way.”
“Where were you heading?”
“The same place as you, it seems.”
“The temple?”
He nodded. They had reached the outskirts of the city, and it was late enough—or early enough, she was no longer sure—that the streets were mostly empty. Occasionally, she caught sight of someone making their way along the street, but for the most part, they were left alone. Had she managed to reach the city, she wasn’t sure if she would have felt comfortable traveling through here on her own. Maybe it was best that Olander had found her.
“The Temple of Hysha is a place of great power,” Olander said.
“I’m not looking for power.”
“What are you after?”
Ryn thought about what she wanted. Ever since leaving the village, she had focused on needing to make it to safety, but now that she was here, now that she had the temple in sight, she wondered if that was all that she should want. Maybe there was more for her.
With not only her mother gone but the entire village, she didn’t know what she wanted.
Safety, but what did that mean now?
A name drifted into her mind, one that left her trembling. Lareth.
Somehow, she needed to avoid him.
Olander was watching her, waiting for her answer, though he did so with a kindly expression, and the warmth in his eyes seemed almost as if he understood the questions she had.
“If you didn’t come to the temple for power, then what did you come for, Ryn Valeron? What would safety mean for you?”
She hadn’t given it much thought, but now that she was here with Olander, she knew that she should.
Could she find power?
If she did, she wouldn’t have to fear running. She wouldn’t have to fear Lareth attacking.
Maybe the temple would grant her that.
And if it did, how would she use that power?
The answer came to her unbidden, quickly. It mingled with the anger that raged through her at the thought of Lareth and what he had done to the people she cared about. She didn’t want to be afraid. She didn’t want to run.
“Revenge,” she whispered.
Olander watched her for a long moment before patting her hand. “Then perhaps the temple will provide that as well.”
Shadows Within the Flame
Prologue
Steam rose from the distant mountain, black and thick. It smeared across the sky, creating a fog that climbed ever higher, a beacon that called him back. Volan rubbed the scar along his cheek, feeling the ridge of metal buried beneath it, debating what he might say when he returned. He had failed.
Failure wasn’t acceptable, not
to the Ai’thol. Punishment would be severe. Volan had avoided punishment for so long by succeeding; now that he would return a failure, he feared what might befall him.
He glanced at the others with him. Of the Chosen who had gone to make the exchange with the Architect, only these two remained.
So much had been lost because of Lareth. He had tormented them for years, and they had thought they finally had a chance to capture him—and they had had him captured, only to lose him once again.
It was a mistake that would not be repeated.
“Why the hesitation, Volan?” Jans asked.
“Don’t mistake my consideration for hesitation,” Volan said. He had to be careful now, especially after having failed with Lareth. Any sign of weakness would be leapt upon by the rest of the Chosen, especially those with him. They would be eager to cast blame, and while he wasn’t blameless, he would not accept responsibility for everything that had happened. It was not all upon him. The capture of Lareth was meant to be a shared duty.
It was the Architect’s fault, but he wasn’t someone Volan could blame. The Great One himself had bestowed the Architect’s gifts upon him.
“You fear standing before him,” Nandal said.
Volan looked over, glaring at Nandal. “You should worry about yourself.”
The other man studied Volan for a long moment. He rubbed his finger across his forearm, where his implant was located. It was much less powerful than the one Volan had around his face, but then, Nandal’s potential wasn’t nearly the same as what Volan had. Volan had sacrificed much to reach his position, and after everything he’d been through, he had been so close to finally reaching the payoff, only to see it ripped from him.
“Someone has to take the blame for this,” Jans said.
He was smaller, and though Volan couldn’t see it, he was fully aware of the implant beneath the man’s chest. It gave him strength, but it also gave him a certain vitality that Volan didn’t have. It was part of the reason Jans had been selected for this mission. The sort of indestructibility he had was valuable, and the only reason he had survived in the fight.
“Someone will. Lareth.”
Nandal grunted. “You give him too much credit. You always have.”
“You know what he’s taken from us,” Volan said.
“I know what he’s taken from you, but you blame him for everything when he is little more than an impediment to claiming the rest of the stones. Your focus remains misplaced, Volan.”
“And yours remains shortsighted,” Volan said, glaring at him. He paused with his hand on his cheek, filling himself with the connection he had to the alloy. It made him strong, powerful, and with anyone else, it would allow him to know their thoughts, but Volan wasn’t able to connect with those currently with him, not the way he wished he could. “Do you really believe I am so fixated on Lareth that I overlook the rest of our responsibilities?”
Let Nandal believe that his focus was not on Lareth. There were others who could take the blame, others who were equally responsible for what had happened to them, but neither Jans nor Nandal knew of the connection Rel had to Olandar Fahr. When he discovered Rel still lived, everything else would be overlooked. It was the benefit Volan counted on.
“Who do you intend to lay this on?” Jans asked. He had been mostly silent on their return, having said very little in the time that they had Slid back here. The distance was great, far enough that they couldn’t safely make the journey in a single Slide. It was that distance that protected them.
“We have many who were lost,” Volan said. “Any of those would be able to take the blame for what transpired.”
“And by taking the blame, they will not receive the exaltation.”
Volan grunted. It was a price they would have to pay for failing. All wanted to be Exalted following their demise, and had they not failed in this mission, any of them could have been.
Volan was determined to be Exalted, though it might not even matter. All that mattered was defeating Lareth. At this point, that was all he cared about.
How much had he sacrificed in order to be given that opportunity?
“Would you rather be blamed?” Volan asked.
“You know I would not,” he said.
“No, and neither would you,” Volan said, shifting his attention to Nandal. The other man simply stared at Volan, his eyes locked in a flat expression, though Volan didn’t need to know his mind to recognize the hatred burning from within him. He resented Volan and was jealous over his rapid ascension and command, but there were many among the Ai’thol who resented Volan for the same. He was determined to ignore that attention. It did nothing other than distract him.
He looked at the distant mountain, staring at the smoke rising. It had been his home for the last fifteen years, ever since finding the Ai’thol. Though it terrified him, there was something about it that also soothed him. It was home, at least as much as anyplace was these days. The fires that burned within the forges there gave strength to the Ai’thol, power that few men ever experienced.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the interior of the mountain, and when he opened them, he had traveled. The inside of the mountain was warm, the heat from the forges filling the entirety of the mountain with a humid warmth. Moisture was a critical component of everything the Forgers did. Lareth mistakenly believed that the soldiers he had confronted were all Forgers, but they were the Chosen, soldiers who served on behalf of the Ai’thol, not the Forgers.
They were celebrated. They were the source of the Ai’thol’s power. In time, most who served the Ai’thol dreamed of becoming Forgers. Not Volan. He was content remaining one of the Chosen. It was the way he had always longed to serve, and it was the reason he was gifted as he was. That was something the others did not understand. How could they, when they saw serving as one of the Chosen as a means of elevation and not the endpoint?
The others appeared next to him, the soft shimmering of light that surrounded them when they emerged the only thing he noticed, other than the gentle pulling of the alloy on his senses. Even that was faint, subtle, though he had honed his ability to recognize it over the years. It was difficult even now, and there were few among the Chosen who had the ability to do so.
Jans breathed out as they looked around. “We’ve been gone so long,” he said.
“We have been gone as long as was asked of us,” Volan said.
“You don’t mind?” Nandal asked. He spoke loudly, as if he thought those listening might care. Volan knew better, which was even more reason for him to continue to serve the Chosen.
“Why should I mind? Every task we’ve been assigned serves the Ai’thol, and isn’t that our duty as the Chosen?”
Nandal glared at him, and Volan ignored it. His attention was focused on the man at the far side of the room. Olandar Fahr was immense, imposing, radiating the kind of power that Volan longed for.
He turned to them, his eyes narrowing. How much did he already know?
It wouldn’t be altogether unsurprising for him to have already learned about their failure. Olandar Fahr was nothing if not incredibly well connected, and Volan didn’t know if that extended to an ability to detect what took place far beyond the borders of the Ai’thol. Then again, he suspected the Architect had already returned. He hadn’t been a part of the fighting.
“Just the three of you have returned?” Olandar Fahr asked as he approached. He was dressed in a vest, exposing his muscular chest. Scars angled toward his abdomen, though they might be random scars rather than implants. Volan had never learned whether Fahr had implants the same as the rest of them.
“Just the three of us,” Volan said, lowering his head. It didn’t do to stare at Olandar Fahr for too long. He would grow agitated, and when he was agitated, violence could often follow. Volan had learned that lesson after seeing far too many suffer for such ignorance.
“What happened?”
Could he not know?
That seemed unlikely. It would be unusual fo
r the Architect not to have returned by now. More likely was that he was testing them. It was the kind of test Volan would expect, but with the others? He could see Nandal denying his own failure—and his capture—though he doubted Jans would make a similar mistake.
“We were ambushed,” Volan said.
“Ambushed?” Olandar Fahr glanced from Volan to the others before his gaze settled back upon Volan. As the highest of the Chosen to have gone and returned, he was the one expected to report, and it was an obligation he took seriously. Even if he didn’t want to answer, what choice did he have but to speak as openly and honestly as he could?
And it was entirely possible that Olandar Fahr knew his thoughts already. There were some who were powerful enough that they could peer beyond the implants, could look inside the Chosen’s minds and know what they were thinking. The most powerful of them was Olandar Fahr.
“They were not alone.”
“The agreement was a trade. We should have Lareth.”
“That was the agreement, but we failed,” Volan said.
He kept his eyes down, and Jans glanced over at him, the briefest of movements. Did Nandal do the same?
“You brought nearly one hundred of the Chosen with you. Lareth was able to eliminate all of them?”
A painful burning sensation began in the back of Volan’s mind. It had to be Olandar Fahr, but Volan didn’t dare attempt to resist. If he did, he would suffer. Just the fleeting thought of resisting left his mind burning even more, as if in punishment for the mere consideration of such a thing.
There was little doubt that Olandar Fahr had a way of looking past his implant.
Jans sank to the ground, landing on his knees and clutching his head.
He was weak. And perhaps he had been foolish enough to attempt to resist. It was not a mistake that Volan would make.
What of Nandal? He thought himself above Volan, thought himself powerful, but did he think he was so powerful as to escape Olandar Fahr’s ability to peer within their minds?
The Elder Stones Saga Boxset: Books 1-3 Page 54