Son of Truth (Follower of the Word)

by Morgan L. Busse

  Carvas stopped at the third door. He looked at Lore and opened it. “Master Farien waits inside.”

  Lore nodded and walked past Carvas, his hands still firmly tied behind his back. Carvas followed. He shut the door and stood by the wall.

  The room was spacious, with a high ceiling and a vertical wooden beam positioned in each corner. The outer walls and corners were dark. The only light in the room came from the torches hung from the four wooden beams and a fire burning in a pit in the middle of the room. A circle of three stairs had been cut from the stone floor, leading down into the pit. Couches and scarlet pillows with golden tassels filled in the spaces between the wood beams. Two curved swords hung from the ceiling a few feet above the fire pit.

  On the other side of the fire sat a man on the lowest step. His legs were sprawled in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His hair was thick and black, his face lean, with a small triangular goatee and a thin black mustache around his lips. He wore a wine-colored silk shirt open at the chest. A silver chain hung around his neck. He reached into a small ceramic bowl by his side, pinched the dark substance inside, and tossed it into the fire. A grey haze rose from the flames and filled the air with a spicy bittersweet scent.

  Lore turned his head and fought away a cough.

  “Are you the one who claims to come in the name of Stephen Argus?”

  Lore looked back and found Farien staring at him. “Yes. You are Farien Selk, I presume.”

  Farien grabbed a towel hidden behind the bowl of black powder and wiped his hands. “I am.” He tossed the towel to the side, stood, and walked around the fire, stopping at the lowest step. He looked up at Lore. “Who are you? And how do you know Stephen?”

  Lore took a deep breath. He felt Carvas’s gaze on his back. “I am Lore Palancar, Captain of the Guard and varor to the late High Lord Gaynor Celestis, of the White City.” He knew the titles no longer applied, but he wanted Farien to know whom he was dealing with. “I was the courier between Stephen Argus and Lord Gaynor during the war.”

  From the corner of his eye, Lore saw Carvas step away from the wall, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  Farien held his hand toward Carvas. “Everything is fine Carvas.”

  Carvas nodded but stayed where he was, with his hand still on his hilt.

  “Yes.” Farien looked back at Lore. “I heard about the assassination of Lord Gaynor. A pity. He was a strong leader. The assassination was not something I was privy to, or else I would have warned him. For a price, of course.”

  Lore swallowed the hot words forming inside his mouth. Remember, you need him.

  Farien walked up the steps and past Lore toward a table between the couches. Lore turned and watched him. Farien picked up a decanter and poured a dark liquid into a small crystal cup. “Wine?” he asked, looking back at Lore.

  Lore shrugged.

  “Oh, yes, your hands.” He looked past Lore. “Carvas, you may untie our guest’s hands. But do keep his weapons.”

  Carvas stepped away from the wall. Lore felt the ropes tighten then loosen and fall away.

  “Wine?” Farien asked again.

  “No, but thank you.” Lore brought his hands around and rubbed his wrists.

  Farien placed the stopper back on the decanter and turned with a cup in hand. “So you’re the famous Captain Lore.” Farien lifted the cup and took a sip. His eyes roved across Lore. Lore stared back, refusing to be cowed by Farien. Farien smacked his lips and smiled. “One of Lady Meira’s best.” He lifted the cup. “Are you sure you won’t share a cup with me? You have nothing like it up north.”

  Lore shook his head. “No, thank you.”

  “Your loss.” Farien moved toward one of the couches and sat down. “Take a seat, Captain Lore.”

  Lore hesitated then moved toward the other couch and sat down.

  “So why are you here?” Farien lifted his cup and took another sip.

  “I am searching for someone.”

  “Ahhh.” Farien placed his cup on the table and wrapped his hands around one knee. He looked at Lore. “Then you came to the right man. I like to think of myself as a trader of information. But then, you know that. And you also know my information is not free. So what have you brought in exchange for the information you seek?”

  Lore had known Farien would ask for payment. Now he only hoped he had enough. Lore drew out the silk pouch that hung around his neck, untied it, and poured some of the contents out onto his palm. Gold coins flashed, small rubies twinkled, and one sapphire fell into his hand. Lore looked up. “And there is more inside the pouch.”

  Farien studied the coins and gems with interest. “I think that should be enough.” He looked back at Lore. “Now, this person you are seeking, is this personal or national business?”

  “Both,” Lore replied.

  Farien raised an eyebrow. “Continue.”

  “One of my guards was sailing to Thyra. Unfortunately, the captain of her ship deceived us, and my guard was taken into slavery. We believe she has been taken to Azar.”

  “‘She’? Interesting.” Farien sat back in his seat. “So you seek a woman guard sailing to Thyra. And who was the captain of her ship?”

  “Drake Delos.”

  “Ah, Drake.” Farien reached for his cup. “I know about Captain Drake. Slave trader on the black market.”

  A surge of fire flooded Lore’s body. Had Prince Evander known that when he arranged the voyage for Rowen? No, he couldn’t have. Unless he didn’t care about the men he sent and the possibility they would be taken too.

  Farien held his cup to his lips. “But I take it you didn’t know that.”

  “No, not when she first sailed. I was led to believe Drake was just a merchant.”

  Farien gave a small laugh before taking a sip of his wine. “Yes, he is that too. Recently, though, he has been staying in Azar. Odd for a man whose livelihood is made upon the sea.” Farien placed his cup back down. “So I checked into his new business. After all, that is how I make my money, by knowing what is going on. Come to find out, Drake is claiming to be able to heal people.”

  Lore’s heart drummed faster inside his chest. “How?”

  “Something about a young woman.” Farien looked at Lore. “That couldn’t be your guard, could it?”

  Lore did not like the sudden gleam in Farien’s eyes. “What is her name?”

  Farien shrugged. “I don’t know her name. Drake hasn’t even let out that it’s a woman. I found out that little tidbit in other ways. But amongst the elite in Azar, she’s being called the Mirelukahn. She healed Sherard, one of the noblemen of Azar cursed with leprosy. Only now the leprosy is gone.” Farien looked intently at Lore. “So, is this your missing guard?”

  Lore kept his lips pursed. Should he tell Farien who, or what, Rowen really was? Then again, he had a feeling Farien would find out whether he told him or not. “Perhaps.”

  “I also heard she did something strange to Lady Anya, of the Fahlon family.” Farien watched Lore. “Instead of healing the noblewoman, she performed some kind of dark magic on her, or so Lady Anya claims.”

  Lore went rigid. “What kind of dark magic?”

  “I don’t know.” Farien waved his hand. “Lady Anya wouldn’t say. She claims the Mirelukahn is actually a witch.”

  Oh, Word! No, not that. But he knew otherwise. This “Mirelukahn” had to be Rowen. And the dark magic was probably her truthsaying power. Why had she used it? Why now? Lore slowly let out his breath. Once word got out that Rowen was supposedly a witch, he doubted that the people of Azar would tolerate her within their city. He needed to find Rowen now.

  Lore looked at Farien. “So how can I find this ‘Miracle Healer’?”

  Farien glanced at his silk pouch. “It depends. How much more do you have in that pouch?”

  Lore leaned over and poured the rest out onto the table between them. Gold and gems scattered across the wooden surface.

  Farien picked up a ruby and held it up to the light. At length,
he placed the ruby down and nodded. “I will do more than just give you Drake’s whereabouts. I have some other business to attend to in Azar, so I will accompany you to Azar and personally help you locate your guard.”

  Lore looked at Farien, stunned. “I would greatly appreciate that.” He blinked and reached over to gather up the coins and gems. “I will give you half your payment now and half after we locate my guard.” Lore dumped half of the gold and gems into Farien’s palm. The rest he placed back in his pouch.

  Farien closed his hand into a fist and smiled. “Sounds fair. We leave tomorrow. Until then, you will stay here as my guest.”

  23

  Caleb crumpled up the parchment and threw it across the room. He’d known this moment would come: Corin had finally found him. But how? He had no idea. Maybe one of his own servants had sent word to his cousin. Or maybe Meira. In any case, Corin now knew Caleb was back in Temanin, and he wanted an account of Caleb’s actions up north.

  Caleb sat on the bed. What would he say? That the Word had taken hold of him? That an Eldaran had used her power on him? Meira had told him the story of a brilliant light that had shattered the Temanin Army. Not being conscious during that last battle, he wouldn’t know. But considering what that Eldaran woman had done to him and the power of the Word, he could believe it.

  Caleb closed his eyes. He didn’t understand who he was now. The books he had found in Lady Meira’s library had told him about the Word, but hardly anything about the Eldarans. And Nierne still distrusted him. He could see it in her eyes. So she had hardly been forthcoming with information.

  He looked at his palm. It hardly looked different than his other hand, only a shade lighter. But he couldn’t deny that there was something about the faded mark on his hand. He had almost asked Nierne about it, but when she had spoken of the death of that father in her order, something in her voice had made him stop. Instead, he had hoped he would find something about a mark in the books she had found for him. He read all morning and found nothing.

  Caleb curled his hands into fists and laid his head across his knuckles. A warm breeze from the balcony brushed his face. “Word,” he whispered. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know who I am.” He stared at the stone floor. “I don’t know what to say to Corin. I’m a different man now. Please give me direction and the words to say to my cousin. Show me what to do. And help me understand what it means to be a Son of Truth.” The door opened behind him. Caleb lifted his head and looked around.

  Nierne stood in the doorway, her hand still on the door. “Am I disturbing you?” she asked, taking a step back into the hallway.

  “No.” Caleb stood and turned. “Actually, I’ve received some news. I need to head to the capital city, to Azar.” A trace of fear darted across her face. “And you will come with me. In Azar, I can find transport for you back to Thyra.”

  Interesting. He still hadn’t found out what had brought Nierne away from Thyra. And from the look on her face, it looked like she had no desire to go to Azar either.

  No time to think about that now. Corin was expecting him in three days. “Pack your things,” Caleb said, moving toward the dark wooden chest shoved up against the wall. He pulled out his pack and began to stuff his belongings inside. He glanced over his shoulder. Nierne picked up her other tunic from the corner where it had been dumped, placed the few garments she owned inside, then rolled the tunic up.

  “Here.” Caleb turned around with his pack in hand. “Put it in.” He held open the canvas pack. She hesitated, glancing between him and the pack. “Your clothing will pick up dust if left out in the open.”

  She still held back. Would it hurt her to trust him just once? Caleb thought angrily. Finally, Nierne moved across the room and dropped her clothing into his pack, taking care to come only as close to him as she needed to.

  Unfortunately for her, he had only one horse. Which meant they would be very close, at least until he could find another mount for her. Caleb paused. Maybe he could get one from Meira.

  Caleb cinched the bag shut, then studied Nierne for a moment. She blushed and looked away. She never seemed to be able to stand him looking at her. The old Caleb would have continued staring just to get a reaction from her. But he sensed that wasn’t the best way to build a bridge between them. So he hefted his pack onto his back and walked toward the door.

  Caleb held the door open for Nierne. The clothing she wore caught his eye. “That tunic won’t do,” he said, shaking his head. “The dust and sun will eat your skin. I’ll see if Lady Meira can provide you with some travel clothes.”

  Nierne looked down and tugged at the bottom hem of her tunic. He had seen her do this a couple of times. Probably not used to something so short. He doubted the monastery robes she wore were that short. Pity, her legs looked good in the short white tunic. He wondered what—

  Caleb glanced away. Not going there. He turned to leave then stopped. “Wait.” He looked back. “Where is your pendant? The one you used to wear?”

  Her hand was halfway to her throat when she paused. She dropped her hand. Her eyes darted to the left. “I don’t have it anymore.”

  “But isn’t it important to you? To your order?”

  Nierne lifted her chin. “Yes.”

  “Did Lady Meira take it?”

  “No.”

  Caleb cocked his head. “Don’t you need it? You know, to prove you are a scribe or something?”

  He watched her jaw move back and forth. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Now he was curious. But the look on Nierne’s face broached no further questions on the matter.

  Caleb shrugged and started down the hall. The cut on Nierne’s foot had healed nicely. Not that he would have minded holding her by the waist and helping her al—

  Sands! What was going on with him? Had he been without a woman too long?

  And it would probably be longer still. According to what he’d been reading, the Word took the act of bonding seriously. One commitment to one woman for the rest of his life. When Caleb had first read those words a few days back, he had laughed out loud. What man could live that way? One woman? But the more he’d read, the more he’d realized that, if he truly followed the Word now, that would have to be his path too. The thought had sobered him up.

  “Caleb, I didn’t realize you were leaving.” Lady Meira stood at the bottom of the stairs, wrapped in fine pale silk. Her hand rested on the railing, her eyes on Caleb.

  Caleb stopped near the bottom of the stairs. “Meira. Yes, I am leaving. I’m afraid I received a letter from Lord Corin this morning. He insists I come to Azar immediately.”

  “How unfortunate. You’ve only been here three days.”

  “And you have been most hospitable,” Caleb replied. “But even I cannot say no to Lord Corin when he summons.”

  Meira smiled, a smile more suitable on a snake. Caleb clenched his teeth. He was pretty sure now who had informed Corin of his return to Temanin. “I understand. I will see that your horse is readied.”

  “I have seen to that already.” Caleb stepped off the stairway. “I sent word to Thalis, my head servant, to deliver your payment for N— For the slave girl. You may give him my ring when you have your gold.” Meira’s gaze darted toward Nierne as Caleb walked past her. He stopped and turned. “And could you provide traveling clothes for my servant? I would see it as a favor to my family. And a mount too.”

  Meira’s smile disappeared. It was Caleb’s turn to smile—inwardly, of course. Meira hated being reminded that her family and station were below his own. To deny him his requests would be considered a slight. “Of course.” Lady Meira took a step back.

  “When we arrive in Azar, I will leave your horse in the care of the palace stables.”

  Lady Meira nodded, her lips tight.

  Caleb walked out the door. He stepped out from the shade of the portico and the hot desert air blasted him. Ahead and to the right were the stables. He headed directly toward it, Nierne behind him. I
nside the long building he found his horse saddled and ready. A young stable boy stood holding the reins.

  “Thank you.” Caleb took the reins. The boy bowed and backed away. “One more thing.”

  The boy looked up.

  “I need one more horse, for my servant girl here. A favor from Lady Meira.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  The boy turned and headed down the row of stalls.

  Nierne walked in and stopped abruptly when she saw him beside his horse. “Are we riding together?”

  Caleb was half tempted to say yes and see her reaction. He was brewing for a fight. Instead, he turned and patted the horse. “No. I arranged for a mount for you.”

  “I hate riding,” he overheard Nierne mutter.

  Caleb spun around. “Do you want to walk to Azar?”

  Nierne stared at him, her eyes wide.

  Caleb turned back toward the horse and sighed. Sarcasm will not help. But he was still angry over Corin’s letter. And Nierne’s outright hostility was beginning to grate on his nerves.

  “Look.” He turned back toward Nierne. The wind tugged at the hair around her face, distracting him for a moment. “I know you don’t like me, and you have every reason not to. I wasn’t a nice person when we met up north. But I’m… I’m not that man anymore.” Her face looked like chiseled stone. “Temanin is not a safe place for a woman like you.” Not with exotic hair and looks like those, he thought, marveling again at the color of her hair. “So I want to help you find your way home.”

  Nierne studied him. He could see the fight inside her. Believe me, Caleb thought, willing her to believe him. She looked down, then back up. Her face still looked guarded, but the hostility was slowly ebbing away.

  “Thank you,” she said finally, “for helping me. And I’m sorry about my comment about riding.” She shrugged. “I’m not much of a rider.”

  It was a start. “You’re welcome.”

  A servant girl entered the stables, a small bundle in her hands. “For Lord Tala,” she said, walking up to Caleb.