Pounding came from the other side of the door. The captain’s body blocked it, keeping it from opening. Rienns was dead, his ears and nose seeping blood like the captives. Without Hathunor to shield him, the spell had hit him full force. Hathunor moved the captain out of the way and Nathel and Borlin peered into the tiny room, with Arynilas and the two other guards looking in from behind.
Torrin released the man’s head and straightened. Rowan was staring at the prisoners, her green eyes dark in the torchlight. She stood utterly still. Torrin grasped her by the shoulders and tilted her face up away from the grizzly sight. “Come away from this place.”
She nodded mutely and turned towards the door with the others. Torrin took a step to follow but he trod on something. He bent down and picked up the ornate key from where he had dropped it. Glancing once more at the dead prisoners, he gripped the key until it bit into his palm.
*
Rowan felt she was suffocating, a giant weight on her chest. The constricted space deep under so much stone made her feel trapped. Tears began to well in her eyes, spilling down her face. She turned away from the others and began to walk up the passage. All the time she had spent in Eryos, through all the hardships, sorrows and dangers with so few tears shed, and now here she had cried twice in two days. She shook her head.
It was a release of tension, but it was also a deep terror of a power that was strong enough to track her across Eryos; to enslave Raken and besiege a city. A power that was strong enough to send two men, against their will, to take her to Erys knew where, for reasons she did not even want to speculate about.
A sudden searing anger rose in her chest and burned there helplessly. She quickened her strides. They were directionless and floundering in a doomed city – simply hoping for some clue to lead them forward.
A soft touch on her shoulder stopped her. She turned to find Arynilas behind her. Even here, in this dark place, he was a peaceful presence.
Rowan began to wipe away the tears on her cheeks but he reached out a slim hand and gently brushed her face. When he lifted his hand before her, a single shining tear rested on his fingertip.
“Do you know that my people believe tears to be gifts from loved ones and ancestors beyond this life? We believe they are sent as messages to teach us about ourselves. Each single one is a valuable lesson, if we are only willing to listen.”
Rowan swallowed but the lump in her throat would not move and her voice trembled. “Arynilas, I have never before felt fear like this. A nameless dread has come upon me and I do not know how to fight it.”
The Tynithian studied her for a moment. “Perhaps it is not meant to be fought but simply to be endured and accepted; learned from, to gain strength. My grandsire once said of the Myrians: ‘They are unlike any other; their resilience is greater than any race I have encountered in this world.’ He spent many seasons among your people and grew to love them. Just as I have grown to love you, my Myrian friend. Know this, whatever darkness lies ahead; you will not face it alone but with friends at your side. With those who love you.”
Rowan released a long breath. With it went some of the paralyzing dread, and her pounding heartbeats slowed in her aching chest.
“Thank you my friend,” she whispered.
A Traitor to be Found
Rowan took in the king’s study as they were ushered in. Cerebus turned from the maps and scrolls spread out on the table before him. General Preven looked up from the other side of the table, a cluster of plans in his burly hand.
“My Lady Rowan, I am glad to see that you are all right.” There was concern and disquiet on Cerebus’s face. “I was told of the attack in your room last night. Forgive me, I would have attended to you sooner but there was a great deal of movement during the night and we feared an attack.”
“Please do not worry yourself,” Rowan said. “There were only two intruders and I had the help of my friends.
The king’s gaze was sharp as he took in the companions, lingering on Torrin. Leaning back against the table, Cerebus across his arms. “What has happened? I am told that Captain Rienns was killed this morning.”
“Someone went to a great deal of trouble to control those men,” said Dalemar, “to make sure that they completed their task. It kept them from revealing the truth about their mission.” The Rith touched Hathunor’s dark, scaled arm. “Thanks to Hathunor, we all might have been killed. Unfortunately, Captain Rienns took the full force of the spell.”
Torrin stepped passed Rowan and handed the king the key. “They used this to get into the bailey last night and we believe someone else, someone who had full access to the keep, went into Rowan’s room and secured a rope from the balcony. It was tied from above and the men climbed up in the night. She was attacked while she slept.”
“So you believe someone within the keep has betrayed us? Sweet Erys.” Cerebus wiped a hand over his face and stepped forward to clasp Rowan’s hands in his. They were warm and strong but his eyes were tired, regretful. “Lady Rowan, please accept my deepest apologies for this assault, I assure you the one who gave them this key will be found.” The king handed the key to Preven. “I want every person with a key to the bailey accounted for. Get it done quickly please, general.”
“Yes, my lord,” replied Preven. “Be assured, my Lady, the traitor will be found.” He bowed and strode out of the study.
“Were you able to get any information from the prisoners?” asked Cerebus.
Borlin shook his head. “T’was for naught for no information came o’ it.” His voice was bitter.
“Not completely,” said Torrin. “Does Lok Myrr mean anything to anyone?”
Cerebus went still. “Are you certain that is what he said?”
“Yes. Do you know who that is?”
Cerebus frowned. “Not who but where.”
Rowan held her breath and looked up at Torrin. He returned her glance with raised eyebrows.
Cerebus closed his eyes and shook his head. “It seems now as if I should have expected this. Lok Myrr is an isolated fortress in Krang. It is the seat of power in that land; at least it’s the only one that we have been able to discern. I have sent two envoys to Lok Myrr in the last year. The first was turned away and they returned without even being allowed to treat with the lord there. The second should have returned some time ago. There has been no word and I fear the worst; we should have received a message before the city was sealed.
“My father never believed Krang to be of any threat or interest beyond the barrier of the Krang Mountains, but over the last years, word has trickled out of a new power growing there.”
Cerebus turned to a map of Eryos unfurled across the table. He reached down and placed a finger on the vellum. Rowan stepped forward to see. Her friends gathered around the table. The wide swath of the jagged Krang Mountains formed an arc across the map, separating Pellar from the eastern realm of Krang. The dark ink on the page delineated a border and the major villages and towns in Pellar, but beyond, little was marked other than the massive range of peaks. Cerebus’s finger rested at the end of a long wide valley surrounded by more mountains.
“Lok Myrr,” he said.
Torrin leaned over the desk to get a better look. “Who controls the fortress?”
Cerebus shook his head. “We have been able to discover very little about the so-called Lord of Lok Myrr, which is how most of the local people refer to him. He is greatly feared by the sparse population between the border and the fortress valley. The people of Krang are mostly goat herders and subsistence farmers. They have a superstitious fear of strangers and it has been very difficult to gather information. We have heard the him referred to as Master Miro, Master Mithro and Master Miroth.”
Dalemar gasped. “Miroth!” He shook his head. “No, it’s impossible; he would have died hundreds of years ago. He must have, there has not been a whisper of his whereabouts.”
“Who?” The hairs on the back of Rowan’s neck stood up. “Who would have died?”
; “Do you remember when I told you about the Rith Wars and the trials of the vanquished – the Riths using human deaths to gain power? There was one among them who never went to trial. He disappeared, taking with him some of the most ancient and powerful scrolls from the Tirynus archives; many of them contained the arcane knowledge the war was fought over. Riths were sent after him and for a time they were able to follow his trail but it went cold. He was never found and held to account. Miroth was one of the most powerful Riths of that time.”
“Do you think it is him?” asked Torrin.
Dalemar frowned. “Riths live for about three-hundred and fifty years on average. The oldest known Rith was Warick the Great and he lived to an exceedingly old age of four-hundred and seventy-two. If Miroth were alive today, he would be almost fifteen-hundred years old.”
“That means he would have been alive during the time of the last summoning,” said Nathel with a measure of awe.
“If it is him, then he has been extending his life through the use of treacherous magic,” said Dalemar. “Sweet Erys, no wonder the people of Krang fear him.”
“Do ye remember what t’ Mora T’aith said ‘bout sittin in the Nor’east where the land lies frozen?” asked Borlin. He leaned with fists planted on the table looking darkly at the map.
“He also said the one we sought had wintered a thousand years,” said Arynilas quietly.
Rowan shivered and looked down at the worn map – at a star inked in black. “The Summoner.” she declared softly. “Now all we need to do is find the Slayer.”
The Concerns of the People
Elana was finding it hard to concentrate. After the astonishing events of last night, the security she had always relied on was in question. Someone Cerebus trusted had let two men into the bailey and the intruders had attacked the Myrian woman.
She sighed and lifted a sheet of parchment from the pile at her elbow and scanned it without seeing. At least Rowan had not been hurt and had subdued her attackers largely by herself. What must it be like to enjoy such physical self-sufficiency? When Elana left the keep, a guard always accompanied her. There had never been any need to learn self-defence; those within would never lay a hand on their queen. She was still fit for her age, her figure slender. She imagined herself learning swordplay – laughed at the uproar it would cause.
A certain confidence was inherent in the ability to protect one’s self and Rowan did carry herself like the warriors she traveled with, moving like a graceful cat. She behaved like a noblewoman but lacked the arrogance and superiority. It was refreshing. Were all Myrians like that? Elana smiled and dropped the page. She could see why Torrin was so smitten. He hid his feelings well but she and Cerebus new the sons of Ralor.
Torrin.
Dear Erys, but she remembered such a different man from the one who had returned. It was true Torrin had always been more serious then Nathel, but he had been as quick to laugh as anyone. There had been a quality about him that set him apart from others, a confidence of spirit that drew people to him. He certainly stood out now, but for his hardness, his distance. The pain he must have endured to loose Emma and those sweet little girls in such a way. Elana shook her head as she remembered the stricken look on Nathel’s face when the terrible news reached them. He had left immediately to go in search of Torrin. Ralor’s boys had been like sons to Cerebus and it had hit him hard when the brothers never returned home.
Cerebus loved his nephew Daelyn. The young man would one day make a good king, but she knew her husband had seen in Torrin what he had truly hoped for in a son. The son he and Elana had never been able to have –
She quickly closed herself off from that line of thought; she had no time for that now. Daelyn had become their son in all but name and she loved him deeply. She whispered thanks to Erys that he was safe in Tabor where Cerebus had sent him. The young man had been furious at being sent away, but Cerebus had been adamant. Pellar’s heir could not be lost along with its king and capital.
A light tap on the door pulled her from her thoughts and she looked up. Tihir N’Avarin opened the door walked into her study. He folded his hands piously before him. “My Lady, if you have a moment there is something of importance that I must discuss with you.”
Elana suppressed a surge of irritation and sat back in her chair. “I am sorry Tihir N’Avarin, but now is not the best time, I am very busy. Perhaps you could come back later when I can devote my entire attention to your matter.” She plucked up the parchment that she had been unsuccessfully reading before his intrusion.
He cleared his throat and stepped further into the room. “My Queen, I understand that you are very busy, but it is the very safety of Pellaris that I must speak to you about.”
Oh very good. She would appear unsympathetic to her city if she were to refuse him now. “Very well, what is it you would like to say?”
Without permission, N’Avarin strode forward to take a seat in front of her desk. “My Lady, I hate to burden you with this, but as the king is so busy with the defence of our fair city, I can see no other alternative.”
Her sworn duty was to see to the administration of the city during a time of war. N’Avarin had been there when Cerebus publicly passed the Seal of Pellaris to her before leaving to meet the advancing Raken. “Speak, N’Avarin and then leave me to my work.”
He looked curiously over the pile of documents strewn across her desk. “As a member of the High Commission of the Priesthood, it is my pleasure to inform you and the king that the Priesthood has agreed to take further action to ensure the safety of the city from the Raken invaders.”
Elana raised her eyebrows. “Oh, how so?”
“The Priests wish to have a more visible presence within the city…to take on essential tasks beyond our simple role as spiritual leaders. We would like to lend a hand and shoulder some of the weight that is being bourn by so few.”
“I must say the Priesthood’s intentions are most noble, Tihir N’Avarin, and I gratefully accept,” Elana said. “There are barely enough men to keep the walls covered as it is.”
N’Avarin frowned. “My Lady misunderstands.”
“You had something else in mind?” She knew only too well.
“We wish to take on a more progressive role in helping with the administration and coordination of the city’s welfare. The king and his advisors are clearly stretched to their limits and there are many tasks being neglected as a result. The Priesthood is offering to assume responsibility for those tasks. We are here to serve the people of Pellar after all.”
Elana worked to keep her face smooth. The Priesthood was ever steady in their quest for power, but to seek it in the midst of a siege? N’Avarin request was not even concealed in religious doctrine. She supposed she should not be surprised, they had been maneuvering for years now, seeking to gain a greater foothold in Pellar’s circles of influence. It was alarming to see how they were succeeding. More and more of the powerful families in Pellar and Tabor had fallen under the sway of the Priesthood over the past few years.
What Elana didn’t understand was why, when their own safety was at stake, would they keep pushing to gain greater control? Perhaps the questing for power was too deeply ingrained.
“Tihir N’Avarin,” Elana replied evenly. “What Pellaris needs most are reinforcements. We need hands to wield swords to protect our city from the Raken outside its gates. I myself would pick up a sword to help, if I could.”
N’Avarin narrowed his eyes. “Of course, my Lady, but surely there are other…more suitable roles we could fill for the benefit of our citizens, until these dark days have passed?”
Elana sighed, feeling tired. “I will consider the Priesthood’s offer, and consult with the king at his earliest convenience. In the meantime, I request that the Priesthood ask its ranks for volunteers willing to stand in defence or to administer to the wounded.” Tihir opened his mouth to respond but Elana gave him no opportunity. “The priests should at least be able to serve as runners and medics. There
must be something they can do besides performing the last rights of Erys for the dead and dying.”
N’Avarin stood and bowed, his expression stony. “As my Queen requests.” He turned and stalked out.
She stood and turned to the window, looking out over the city below. The truth was they needed all the help they could get when it came to the proper administration of the kingdom. With the army at the gates, Cerebus had little time for statecraft. But they could not surrender more power to the Priesthood.
The Earl of Lochom had detested the Priesthood and been a strong voice in support of Cerebus among the other noble families. But he was killed in the first battle with the Raken and his sons were still squabbling over the estates. The balance of power shifted and the Priesthood wasted no time in swaying more of the weaker families to their side. Cerebus had neither time nor energy to deal with the increasing threat now.
Pellar’s strong central government kept it largely free of the constant maneuvering for power that afflicted other lands. Compared with a realm like Ren, Pellar was a paradise; but the subtle currents of power struggles still ebbed and flowed.
The Priesthood was not a rival lord whose claims could be dealt with quickly and openly. They had the support of the people, however erroneously, and their quest for power was buried under layers of subterfuge. Many of its more powerful supporters, blinded by religious zeal, were unaware of the ulterior motives. Others would align with the Priesthood simply because they perceived its star rising.
Elana had fond childhood memories of the Priesthood. She remembered kind, soft-spoken men in multi-hued robes that represented the diversity of all life as the Goddess’s creation. They helped to ease suffering, working and living with the common folk and bringing the light of Erys into people’s lives in simple ways. Now that joyous faith was buried beneath dogma and restrictive rules. Elana could not have said when politics became more important to the Priesthood than the care and tending of Pellar’s spiritual health. It happened too gradually to pin point any one incidence or give people who disagreed a rallying point.
Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1) Page 35