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 th
at 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, who 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.
He died horribly, because of me. She swallowed bile. Will it ever end?
The temple was a labyrinth of rooms, hallways, stairwells and antechambers, and if it weren’t for Minard, Kara would have been lost within minutes of leaving her room. From the outside, the temple hadn’t seemed nearly as large.
Aemon’s grip on her arm was firm, his mace held ready. He peered down every corridor and into every empty hall as they passed, his face a mask of focus. She drew comfort from his strength. He would stand by her, no matter what.
They entered an antechamber with cables and square, glass windows affixed to its walls. Words moved across the windows. Wait. The glass wasn’t windows. It was computer monitors.
She’d only ever seen one at the templeshine of Ibilirith in the capital. Here there were dozens, each with writing scrolling across so quickly Kara doubted the acolytes standing before them could read it before it disappeared.
At the center of the room stood patriarch Lucien, with six hard-faced monks and two scroll-carrying acolytes. He gripped the cog around his neck like he meant to crush it with his bare hands. The light over his head shone like the Sun
from her visiondreams, making it hard to look upon him. Minard fell to his knees and bowed his head at the patriarch's feet.
Lucien removed his hat and the light adorning it, and passed it to an acolyte. Then his icy blue eyes studied Kara, sweat beading on his forehead.
Kara’s courtesan intuition tingled. Lucien meant her harm. His escort of warrior monks were busy watching for danger and none seemed to be paying her any mind.
But that didn’t mean they weren’t a threat. They could turn on her in an instant.
She lowered her gaze to Minard. Had Lucien ordered him to lead her into a trap? Surely not. He’d had ample opportunity to kill her and she’d never picked up a hostile vibe from him. If Lucien meant to betray her, Minard wasn't part of the plan. The patriarch mightn’t care about Minard either, and might see him as expendable.
Minard was a Divergent after all.
A thought struck her like a falling stone and she flinched. What if Lucien was the one who’d let Kahan in? Would he sink so low as to work with his mortal enemy? Lucien still studied her, icy daggers in his eyes.
But also fear.
The attack wasn't his doing, then. He would find some other way to betray her. Perhaps it wouldn’t come until her return to Stelemia, where she’d find an army of Inquisitors waiting for her. Or perhaps when she turned to leave, he’d plunge a knife into her back. Either way, she needed to be ready.
After a long moment, Lucien let go of the cog and took a deep breath. “I shall pray you do not fulfill the prophecy and that you will return to us as our savior—not our destroyer.” He blew out air through his teeth. “I should hand you over to the Inquisitors, but our enemy, those who assault our holy temple, want you dead. That, and my desire to end the rift in my order, is all that stays my hand.”
Though still ill at ease about the patriarch’s intentions, Kara gave him a deferential nod. When Minard stood, Lucien reached out to grab him. “Remember your promise to me, monk. I place great trust in you to see it done.”
Promise? Was he talking about the one where Minard would return and help him mend the rift in the Order, or was it the monk’s promise to kill Kara if she ended up being a threat?
The Lost Sun Series Box Set 1: Books 1 and 2 (Lost Sun Box Set) Page 23