The Lost Sun Series Box Set 1: Books 1 and 2 (Lost Sun Box Set)

by Riley Morrison

  “They were regulars at the tavern I worked at. They know me... I used to sit with them and roll their dice and serve them drinks. They were there the night Kahan attacked.”

  The men slowed their pace, and Aemon grimaced. “What will they do if they find out it is you?”

  Before she could reply, a sergeant barked at the three men to get back in line. They gave one last look at Kara and then hurried away, their eyes remaining on her until they disappeared around a corner. Aemon thanked Lydan that they had not been able to stop and confront her.

  Kahan might have survived his assault on the temple and be tracking them at this very moment. The last thing they needed was for some armored fools to single Kara out and tell their compatriots about what she used to be. If they did, she could have dozens of rowdy men propositioning her.

  “I am surprised they recognized you,” Aemon said. “You look different now.”

  “I’m not so surprised. I was always their favorite courtesan and they’ve spent many hours admiring my face and bust.” Her lips spread into a small smile. “They used to call me...” She frowned.

  Aemon swallowed. “What is it?”

  Kara half closed her eyes. “I don’t remember.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Why don’t I remember?”

  He touched her hair. “Are you all right?”

  She only nodded and turned away.

  When the column of men had gone by, the companions were able to return to the street and resume their journey to the Telmed gate. Many of the buildings shadowing the road were fronted with colorful tapestries. Some were covered in patterns, while a large, intricately decorated one hanging in front of an apothecary depicted Roryur surrounded by a halo of greenish gold. Her left hand rested on the head of a crippled old woman while her right hand held a red cross, the meaning of which eluded Aemon.

  The majesty of the tapestries lining the streets paled in comparison to the colossal trio of mushrooms sheltering them from Roryur’s Tears. Aemon stared up at the towering stems and marveled at the hundreds of windows and balconies carved into them. Hanging from the underside of the caps were huge clusters of multi-colored sacred lights with ladders leading down to them to allow members of the Order of Ibilirith to conduct maintenance or repair broken bulbs.

  What a job that must be. Standing on a narrow platform, repairing broken lights and wires nearly half a mile off the ground!

  Aemon sighed wistfully. What an amazing place to live. If only things were different and there was not an enemy army approaching. He could spend years exploring Celestial Rest, soaking up its culture and observing the comings and goings of its people. Authors had truly failed to do Radashan Crevice justice with their descriptions, and again, they had failed here.

  The companions stopped to drink from a white marble fountain, its surface polished to gleaming perfection. If the city’s leaders had put half the time and effort into their defenses as they had making the city appear beautiful, they might not have had to rush around at the last moment to try and fix them.

  Beauty was fleeting and it could be snuffed out in moments when the enemy arrived.

  Moving off, Aemon pointed out a lovely gold statue of Roryur in front of a public bath to Kara. She forced a smile but that was all. She barely looked at anything but the faces around her. Did she not see the beauty all around them? This might be the last time anyone got to admire it.

  Kara had become withdrawn since leaving the temple. Her back had become stooped and her eyes had bags under them. Was it the passkey’s doing or her wound?

  He gnawed at the inside of his cheek. Why had he pulled away from Kara back at the Bellhole Tavern? He should have ignored Wrynric and held her hand and told her everything would be all right. Now, more than ever, she needed someone to comfort her.

  The night before, at the wayfarer’s inn, had been a long one for Aemon. He had spent hours tossing and turning in bed, feeling guilty for what he had done.

  Curse you, Wrynric, for making me keep my distance from Kara. So what if I love her? She wanted me to comfort her and now I have spurned her.

  According to a book Aemon had read, love could conquer all. Even whole cities in the old tales had been torn apart and put back together because of it. Love had even made a mortal man turn himself into metal so that he may live forever and await the return of his beloved Lady Ibilirith.

  But spurning Kara had not been the only thing that had kept Aemon awake. Since the battle under the temple, every time he closed his eyes to sleep, he saw the face of the woman he had killed. She had been the first person he had ever slain and part of him regretted it, and felt there could have been another way. The other part knew there was not. The woman would have murdered Kara had he not stopped her. He felt less for the second knife he had felled. Her mask had never come off, and he had never seen her face. It was easier to see that knife as a faceless monster. Not a real woman, with a name, a mother and father. Just a monster.

  Easier to think of our enemies that way.

  Distant booms erupted from somewhere in the distance. Seconds later, glass and mushroom flesh exploded outward from halfway up one of the towering stems. More booms followed, and glass and fungal flesh plummeted down into the city, crushing all beneath it.

  It was Deep Cave all over again. Except this time they were in the city, not watching it from the outside.

  Wrynric grabbed Kara and Aemon and shoved them toward a doorway. He kicked in the door and pushed them bodily inside, just as debris crashed to the street outside. Something big landed on the roof and bits of broken tile and twisted metal fell around them.

  Aemon threw himself on top of Kara and they fell to the ground. He covered her as best he could from the falling debris. The old man stumbled over and held his shield over them, grunting as something struck him on the head.

  Then the rain of debris stopped. Aemon climbed off Kara and quickly checked her over for injury.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Wrynric helped her to her feet. “Are you sure?” Kara nodded and he turned to Aemon. “Quick thinking, son.”

  Aemon did not know what to say to the other man’s praise so he only nodded like Kara had.

  Minard brushed dust from his robes. “Ibilirith is merciful. I didn’t even get a scratch.”

  The cries of the wounded and dying flooded in from outside but were drowned out by a long series of distant booms as more projectiles hurtled toward the city. “Not merciful enough, it seems,” Wrynric muttered as he went back to the door and stuck his head outside. “It’s chaos out there, but we must press on. This is only the beginning of what is to come. To stay here any longer is suicide.”

  They followed him back out into the street. Dead and dying soldiers lay around them, crushed by fallen debris. And there is nothing we can do to help them. Aemon hated that. These soldiers all had names and loved ones somewhere out there. Hopefully, the healers would get to them soon. But with all the destruction and growing number of casualties, the healers would be overwhelmed... or dead.

  He screwed his eyes shut and tried not to think about the soldiers being left here to die a slow and painful death

  Something exploded high above their heads. Aemon opened his eyes and saw smoke billowing from gaping holes in the great mushroom stems. More explosions erupted outward from the stem as the houses and shops inside caught fire and jars of flammable liquids were caught in the inferno.

  Aemon mouthed a prayer to Lydan that no one remained up there and for the defenders to come to their senses and flee before it was too late. For if one of the great mushrooms fell... The whole city would be crushed under it.

  As they passed onto an arched metal bridge spanning a water-filled canal, rounds of projectiles roared overhead. This time the projectiles smashed into the inner side of the walls on the opposite side of the city from the enemy. Men, metal and stone were blasted outward. Eight more projectiles followed, each tearing ragged chunks through the defenses.


  All at once, hundreds of soldiers began to flee the walls and down into the streets. Never in his life had Aemon seen such terror in so many. Even though he was more than four hundred feet away, he could feel the hysterical fear from the routing soldiers wash over him.

  The numbing terror he had experienced when confronted by Kahan at the bridge returned. They were going to die. He wanted to be anywhere but here. He put his arm though Kara’s again and fought to control his fear. I am a warrior now. I cannot allow myself to be afraid.

  When they reached the highest point of the arched bridge, Aemon got a good look at the damage to the defenses. Parts of the wall had collapsed on every side of Celestial Rest.

  The city lay open.

  Trumpets blared and a hundred drums beat as officers tried to regain control over the routing defenders. For all their shouting and cursing, few soldiers returned to their posts; most were too busy fleeing toward the gates.

  A catapult atop a turret along part of the wall flung burning pitch at the enemy. Before the fiery liquid had splattered over its mark, the engineers had already began reloading the engine. Suddenly, the tower exploded, as the metal beasts focused fire on it. Jars of pitch rained down into the city’s streets and burst into flame. The distant screams of those caught in the inferno drifted over the rooftops.

  Aemon shuddered. At least he could not see the people burning. The sound was horrible enough.

  Minard raised his staff in the air. “This battle is lost already. If Roryur’s city can fall so quickly, then—”

  “Shut up, and keep moving,” Wrynric snapped. “The half-blood is the key to our salvation.”

  Kara looked troubled by the old man’s words and Aemon could not blame her. The weight of the world had been thrust upon her shoulders. Perhaps that was why her back was so stooped.

  If he were Kara, he would have been broken by the weight of it by now. I hope you are strong enough to bear this burden, Kara. I wish I could do more to help you.

  When they reached the end of the bridge, a group of soldiers raced down the street toward them from the direction of Telmed Gate. Minard waved them down. “Why are you fleeing the wall?”

  “Get out of our way, monk,” the female sergeant leading them screamed. She looked half mad with terror, as did those under her command who hurried after her.

  “What’s happening?’ Minard insisted, but stepped out of the way so not to be trampled by the sergeant.

  She slowed, the other soldiers pushing past, her breaths ragged. “Our commander fled when the walls came under fire. Dozens of us died... and he left me to pick up the pieces.” She grunted as a man with a bloody face shoved past her. “But I’m not staying on the wall to die when our noble officers have already abandoned their posts, so I ordered a retreat.” She moved off again.

  “Are there enemies on this side of the city?” Minard called after her, but no answer came. The sergeant ran on.

  Once the soldiers had gone, the four companions rushed down the street. Soon the Telmed Gate came into view and they slowed their pace. The gate appeared to be deserted, the wall around it a blasted, smoking ruin.

  Broken bodies were strewn carelessly about, some blackened by fire and still smoldering. Aemon felt nauseated as he got a whiff of the aroma of cooking meat.

  A barrage of projectiles exploded somewhere above them. Wrynric glanced up as embers and mushroom flesh rained down nearby. “If that keeps up, it won’t be long before Upper City comes crashing down on top of us.”

  Kara rubbed her hand over where the passkey was hidden under her robe. “Why isn’t everyone leaving, then? Look over there at that guard tower in the distance. There are people up there setting up a catapult.” She shook her head slowly. “Can’t they see what’s happening? They should be running.”

  She was right. There were soldiers loading catapults in the guard towers on the wall facing the enemy horde. Deep Cave had tried to kill the metal beasts with pitch and it had not worked. Had no one told them that?

  “You speak like the commanders here know what they’re doing,” Wrynric snapped. “Anyone with a brain would have fled the city hours ago. They could have left in an orderly column, but now they’ll flee in a ragged rout and scores of people will be crushed against walls or trampled underfoot.”

  Minard kicked a fallen chunk of mushroom flesh. “Most are already fleeing, old man. Had they stood together and called upon the divines to protect them—”

  Wrynric roared with laughter. “Your divines can’t save them.”

  Minard’s face darkened.

  “Lord Laython is an expert fighter and has led soldiers into battle half a dozen times,” Aemon said incredulously. “Surely he knows what he is doing.”

  The old man slapped his mailed hand against the front of a two-story stone house. “Laython is a fool. This city is lost.”

  Minard frowned. “Shut up, you cynical old ox. We have to make a stand somewhere. No one is better suited to leading the defenses than Lord Laython.”

  Wrynric laughed a second time. This time so loud that a looter coming out of a nearby house dropped a sack full of her ill-gotten treasure to stare at him. “The high and mighty Lord Laython has come here to die, as have those who follow him,” the old man said. “The Priest King was an empty-headed husk for sending him here.”

  Aemon glared at the old warrior, then turned away to watch the looter flee down the street. Wrynric was probably right and they all knew it.

  Moving off again, they cautiously approached the gate. Aemon let go of Kara so he had better access to his weapon. If any enemies were out there, he needed room to swing his mace.

  They leaned against the wall beside the gate. Wrynric turned to Minard. “Go outside and tell me what you see. There should be farms and scattered houses but more importantly, a small fort. If the fort has fallen, we’re in trouble. The path leading to the Nether passes by it.”

  Without questioning why he was the one being sent, Minard made his way through the gate and disappeared around the outer edge of the wall. While they waited for him to return, Aemon began to chew on the inside of his cheek. With no fingernails left, he had to make do with what he had.

  Debris rained over the city as projectiles continued to pound into the mushroom stems high above. Some of the projectiles hit the defenses, but most were directed at Upper City. Perhaps the enemies were trying to topple one of the colossal mushrooms to crush Lower City under it.

  If their goal was the complete destruction of Celestial Rest, they were well on their way to achieving it. Fires burned all over the underside of the mushroom caps and up their stems and the air had become choked by falling ash. It would not be long before one of the stems weakened enough to collapse.

  Roryur’s sacred city had become a death trap.

  Then it truly hit Aemon. They were leaving the war behind. Once they left the city they would be making their way into the Great Dark—the place that haunted the imagination of all those who lived under the sacred lights. He had gotten a small taste of true darkness back in the Limestone Caves and it had terrified him. Now he was close to heading into a place that had never known light. A place of lurking horrors and ancient mystery, of heretics and madmen.

  Maybe the Great Dark was not all bad though. Aemon had never heard of Sunholm or the Covenant of the Lost Sun. Perhaps some small glimmer of civilization existed out there in the endless night.

  His stomach felt as if it were twisting itself into knots. Glancing at Kara, he admired her moist lips and flowing white hair. He could not let fear take control. He had made an oath to her and no matter where it took him, he had to be brave. His heart ached to put his arms around her and hold her tight, but Wrynric would notice and confront him.

  Minard returned and gave them the all clear. Aemon swallowed the bubbling fear at the back of his throat. It was time to leave Stelemia.

  Would he return one day or die in the Great Dark, far from home and the sacred lights?

  They left the city a
nd a few minutes later emerged from under the shelter of the great mushroom caps. Roryur’s Tears rained down on them from the roiling cloud of acrid smoke that slowly smothered the entire chamber.

  Nearby, a stone fort sat on a rise overlooking the city. Wrynric led them toward it. When they neared the fort, they found the gates open and weapons haphazardly dumped on the ground around it, as if the soldiers stationed there had thrown down their arms and ran. There were no signs the enemy had been there, nor any indication they had fired their projectiles at it.

  The closest ranks of the metal beasts were about half a mile away, so the four companions kept low to the ground as they made their way up the rise. From the top, they got a good view of the chaos spreading throughout the cavern. Much of the mushroom forest harboring the enemy was a smoldering waste, painting their bodies bright orange as their armor reflected the flames.

  A great banner out in the lake between the city and the burning forest drew Aemon’s attention. The banner bore the silver shield sigil of Lydan. Beneath it marched Lord Laython, leading his host of armed soldiers through the knee-deep water toward the enemy. The metal beasts did not react to his approach but continued to fire their projectiles at the city from the edge of the flames.

  Laython looked like a hero of old, leading his oath-sworn warriors to glory in the face of great adversity. The odds were against him, but he was the chosen Shield of Lydan and right hand of the Priest King. His bravery would live forever in the great tales of Stelemia, alongside those of Jorgen the Sunderer of the Abyss, Radashan the Holy Founder and Lucitiel—Igniter of the First Flame.

  “That vain fool,” Wrynric spat. “He throws his life away as I knew he would. He should have fallen back—”

  The old man’s words caught in his throat as a dozen human-shaped figures shoved their way to the front of the gleaming mass of enemies. They looked like enormously fat men with small, stumpy legs and arms, but still managed to stand about twice the height of a human. They were too far away for Aemon to make out their features, but it appeared as if they were dressed head to toe in plate-metal armor, with large cylinders attached to their backs.