She feared if something weren’t done to halt the Priesthood, Pellar would slide into the darkness of a religious dictatorship.
Another knock sounded on the door. She turned; half expecting N’Avarin to be standing there but the door remained closed.
“Come.” She moved back towards her smothered desk.
The door opened to reveal Chancellor Galen. “Forgive the intrusion, my Queen. I can return later if you are busy.”
“Chancellor! Please, come in. Sit.” She ushered him to a chair and returned to sit behind her desk. “I have not seen Cerebus this morning yet. What news is there of the two men who attacked Lady Rowan last night? Have they confessed? Do we know who let them into the keep?”
Galen sighed and shook his head. “I have just seen General Preven. The men who breached the keep last night are dead.”
Elana drew in a sharp breath. “How?”
“It would seem they were under a powerful spell of some kind and when the Rith Dalemar tried to counter it, the spell was released, killing the two men in the process. Unfortunately, Captain Rienns was also killed.”
Elana brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes stinging. The loss of Captain Rienns would be a huge blow to the morale of the guard. The Captain had been a fine man, devoted to his duties and his king. Magic. So the men who had attacked Rowan were not acting of their own will. “Who put them under the spell?” she breathed.
Galen frowned. “It is as yet a mystery, my Lady.”
“And the traitor?”
“The General is only now verifying that all the bailey keys are accounted for,” said Galen. “I myself have just given him my key and I believe N’Avarin was on his way to see Preven as well.”
Elana frowned, thinking of the priest. “N’Avarin was just here to see me.”
“Oh?” Galen’s white eyebrows rose.
Elana nodded. “The priesthood would like to assume control of the city’s bureaucracy to aid us during the siege.”
Galen smiled thinly. “Always pushing for any advantage. Do not worry too much, my Lady. It will take some time of course, but once the siege is over the king will begin to block any inroads that they have made.”
“My worry is that the siege won’t end and the political struggle with the Priesthood will cease to matter,” Elana said blackly.
The chancellor’s white eyebrows drew together. “My Lady, you must not give up hope. The reinforcements will come from Klyssen and Tabor and the Lady Rowan’s arrival has brought new hope as well.”
“Yes, but now we have a traitor within our Keep.” Elana began rubbing her temples; she was getting a headache.
Galen rose from his seat and went to the counter beside the window where he poured a goblet of wine. He placed it gently in her hands.
“Thank you, Galen. You are a good friend.” She took a sip of the wine without tasting it.
Galen placed a pair of rolled parchments on top of everything else on her desk. “These are the reports that you requested, my Lady.” He paused, a frown on his lined face. “You should let me take care of this work, Queen Elana.”
Elana shook her head. “Nonsense, Galen, you have more than enough to do as it is. Leave the day to day worries to me. You just take care of Cerebus, he’s barely sleeping.”
The Chancellor nodded seriously. “I will make sure he has everything he needs, my Lady. Between Preven, myself and the other officers we will look after him.”
Elana nodded. “I thank you, Galen.”
The old man bowed and left her to the work piled before her.
The King's Study
Torrin sat stiffly in the large chair next to the fire. He had only been in Cerebus’s study a few times and he looked around at the book-lined walls. The room was simple and comfortable, made for work and reflection. A large window with a stunning view of the Eryos Ocean let in plenty of light and the high ceiling with its redwood timbers gave the room a spacious feel. There were a few chairs placed about the room and of course the large polished wooden desk, much of which was covered in maps and scrolls. Cerebus sat behind the desk in a high-backed chair. He sipped his Drenic silently, eyes unfocused on the desk before him.
Torrin had not tasted his Drenic yet and he brought the steaming cup to his lips. It had been a long time since he’d had the brewed leaf and he enjoyed the strong aroma and flavour. He looked up at the large map of Pellar hanging on the wall above the fireplace. Krang and the dark mark of Lok Myrr drew his gaze.
“Do you believe the answer to defeating the Wyoraith lies with sending a force into Krang after Miroth?” asked Cerebus.
Torrin looked away from the map to find the king watching him intently. “He will not be defeated here,” was all he said.
Cerebus leaned back into his chair, fingers steepled before him. “During the council the Lady Rowan offered to go after the summoner of the Wyoraith herself. If that means going into Krang after the lord Miroth, do you truly think she would?”
“Erys herself might have a hard time stopping her.”
Cerebus’s eyebrows twitched. “And you would not let her go alone.”
Torrin looked down at his cup. “I would keep her safe if I could,” he replied guardedly.
“Even if this siege is broken,” said Cerebus. “Miroth will still have to be dealt with regardless of whether or not he is the summoner. He must answer for the abduction of the Pellarian envoy.”
“If we can find this slayer, perhaps we might have a chance,” Torrin said.
“And if no slayer is found?”
Torrin shrugged his shoulders. “Miroth is ancient and powerful, but like all Riths he can still die.”
“Indeed.” Cerebus frowned, his grey eyes fixed on the cup before him. “Let us hope that Dalemar is able to find something helpful in the library.” Cerebus looked up at Torrin. “You and you brother have come back to us with very interesting friends. Tell me, how did you meet them?”
Here then were the questions Torrin dreaded.
He told the king succinctly of the Ren Wars and how they met Dalemar, Arynilas and Borlin. To his surprise the king asked nothing about his family and their loss. Torrin found himself beginning to relax and enjoy Cerebus’s company. “I have not seen Daelyn. Is he here, he must be almost a grown man now?”
Cerebus sighed. “Daelyn is not here. I sent him to Tyrn, to safety. He was not happy with me.”
Torrin nodded. He knew Daelyn, or at least he remembered the ten-year-old boy who had trailed after him and Nathel.
Cerebus shook his head sadly. “I could not take the risk of Pellar loosing its capital and king as well as its heir. I do not believe he will ever forgive me for sending him away from the battle.”
Torrin sighed, acutely aware of his own need to keep loved ones safe. To keep Rowan safe.
“Nathel has not changed a bit,” said Cerebus, changing the subject.
Torrin frowned and ignored the inference. There was nothing to say and nothing could change the past. He placed his empty cup on the table beside his chair and rose. “I should get down to the walls and see to the rest of those recommendations you asked for, Sire. Thank you for the Drenic.” His chest was tight with the need to escape.
Cerebus stopped him as he was pulling the door open. “Torrin, I understand how difficult this must be for you. I do not presume to know what you went through, but I want you to know that I am glad you have returned. There is a place for you here. Your father’s place, if you want it.”
Torrin released the latch and clenched his hand into a fist; he closed his eyes for a moment then he forced himself to turn around and face the king. He offered a short bow, carefully controlling his voice. “I thank you, King Cerebus, but my return to Pellaris was for Nathel and duty to you as my king, not for myself. The man you seek died seven years ago and what is left of him cannot find peace here.”
“And is there peace to be found wandering from one war to the next without a home or a country, away from those who love you?”
/> Torrin took a deep breath, released it. “There is contentment of a sort, an ease to the restlessness.”
Cerebus sighed. “You are a natural leader, an experienced master swordsman as well as a talented strategist. I’ve seen the Pellarian soldiers look to you for guidance, even in the short time that you have been back with us. If you cannot find peace here, perhaps at least you can find fulfillment and a worthwhile use for your skills.” The king stood and turned to face the window. “Give it some thought, Torrin. That is all I ask.”
Torrin turned away and the king remained at the window looking out at the roiling sea.
Atop the Battlement
Torrin leaned on the stone battlements looking down across the vast Raken army. The black skin of the Raken seemed to absorb the light of the midday sun, sucking it from the air. They stood like statues, just out of arrow range.
Soldiers arrayed along the city’s wall, kept watch continuously on the enemy below, but the bulk of Cerebus’s army rested just behind the walls in provisional dormitories. The buildings closest had been commandeered for the purpose and the army bedded down in whatever room could be found: warehouses, shops and stables; and the lucky ones in the few houses found close to the battlement steps built at intervals along the wall. When the Raken attacks came, it was a short hustle to get up and into position.
Arynilas and Hathunor had seen Rowan up to her room, while Nathel, Borlin and Torrin after his meeting with the king, had come down to the battlements to make their assessments of the defences. The more experienced eyes and minds we have behind us the better, the king had said.
Torrin scanned the line of trebuchets, arrow and pole stores. Aside from minor changes to the placement of the burning pitch and arrows for easier access and deployment, there was little left to change. The slings had already been shifted for better effect after he advised the captains to move them the other night.
Arynilas materialized beside him.
“How is Rowan?”
“She is well,” said the Tynithian. “Hathunor will not leave her side.”
“Good.”
“She is afraid,” said Arynilas, “But her fear does not control her.”
Torrin nodded grimly. “I just wish I knew what this Miroth wants with her. If he is in fact the Summoner we are looking for.” Anxiety fluttered in his chest at the thought of Rowan in the hands of a black Rith.
“Dalemar worked at healing as many of the wounded as he was able in the keep’s infirmary before he went to the library again to search. My knowledge of Miroth is limited. We hear of the rest of Eryos as faint whispers from within Dan Tynell, and this Rith disappeared before I was born.”
Torrin glanced at the waiting army below. “I hope he finds something soon. This city is a trap. Rowan is right; the fight must be taken to the Summoner himself and time is running out. But without more information, without knowing who this Slayer is or where to find him…” Torrin ground his teeth in frustration, his fingers drumming on the stone.
The meeting with the king had been unsettling, but he had learned one thing: Cerebus was thinking about sending a force into Krang.
“They stir!” Torrin looked to where the Tynithian pointed. There were ripples of movement within the press of black bodies.
Torrin shouted to the nearest soldier. “Raise the alarm! The Raken move.” The young man hurtled down the steps and bells further along the wall began to ring.
There was a surge of activity – weapons drawn, men running up the steps from below. Soldiers rolled the huge vats of boiling pitch over to the edge of the wall and made ready. Archers knocked arrows and the giant slings crews released the safety latches so they were ready to fire.
Torrin looked back down at the Raken, they were moving in a solid line now towards the wall. Torrin heard the first distant howls as the wind carried the sound up to the ramparts. Arynilas waited, a golden-fletched arrow in his slim hand. The Tynithian still leaned on the wall, ignoring the activity around him, tilted eyes upon the foe.
Torrin caught sight of Nathel and Borlin jogging along the wall towards them. The Pellarian soldiers had lined up now behind the crenelation, arrows aimed down into the enemy ranks. All stood poised, awaiting the signal.
A horn blasted into the air. Bowstrings thrummed as arrows were loosed. The men who had shot stepped aside quickly, already reaching for new arrows. Another line of archers took their place, aimed and fired. Torrin saw many of the beasts go down but it was like drops of water lost to the sea.
Beside him Arynilas drew and fired in one fluid motion. Before his arrow found its mark, and Torrin knew it would, the Tynithian already had another missile set.
The Raken came on. Scaling ladders and grappling hooks appeared. Torrin and Arynilas stood on the widest part of the wall over the huge iron gates of the city. It was the only place without water in front of it. Raken all along the front lines leapt into the fetid moat, scrambling over rotting bodies and debris. Torrin coughed at the stench as decomposing gases were released to waft up.
A grappling hook clanged against stone beside him. Torrin ducked as stone chips flew outward. Leaning over, he looked down the length of rope to the Raken climbing quickly up; he sliced his sword through the rope. Nathel and Borlin reached them and shoved a scaling ladder out from the wall with long poles. The soldiers atop the gates began to pour the burning pitch down upon the Raken and screams rose up from below.
The first Raken made it up over the wall. It was killed quickly, surrounded by Pellar’s defenders. Torrin’s world contracted to a span of battlement and the sword in his hand. A beast jumped at him over the ladder and died. Nathel and Borlin were beside him. Arynilas whirled through the press, dealing death. They rallied the soldiers when the Raken broke through the lines; kept the battlements clear of enemy. Time disappeared and there was only battle.
When the Raken finally withdrew, Torrin and his friends stood weary and sweat drenched. Then the glint of a familiar golden braid caught his attention and he swore. What was Rowan doing here? He had thought her safe in the castle. Sheathing his sword, he stalked over to where she stood, surrounded by Pellarian soldiers.
“What are you doing here?” Torrin noted the blood she was cleaning from her weapon. He realized he was searching her for wounds and stopped himself.
Rowan lifted an eyebrow. “I heard the alarm raised and came to lend my sword.”
“One more sword wouldn’t have made a difference. You should have stayed where it is safe.”
Rowan’s expression hardened, green eyes glinting. “I would rather be down here doing something to help, then sitting up in the keep safely doing nothing.”
At least Hathunor had been with her. Torrin glanced around, looking for the huge Saa Raken. Rowan gestured behind him. Hathunor stood up from a crouch and the men around him fell back to give him space. The soldiers were looking at Rowan, their expressions rapt.
Rowan reached up and slid her sword into its baldric. “Shall we go find some food? I haven’t eaten since last night.” She turned on her heel and walked off along the battlements, her golden braid swinging down her back.
Torrin heard Nathel snicker and turned to glare at his brother, who lifted his hands in submission and backed away. “I’m going to see if I can help with the wounded, I’ll see you at the keep later, Tor.”
Nathel halted as he was turning away to stare at something over Torrin’s shoulder. With a last glance at Rowan’s retreating figure, Torrin turned to see what had captured his brother’s attention.
His eyebrows rose as a group of black-clad figures wound toward them through the soldiers in the aftermath of the attack. Small golden disks glittered on their chests and they all wore bright red strips of fabric around their upper right arms. The Priests were handing out food and water to the weary defenders and stopping to administer aid to the wounded.
“Huh, I haven’t seen the Priesthood up on the battlements before,” said Nathel. He shook his head in amused wonder and shared a gl
ance with Torrin as he pulled his healer’s satchel from beneath his armour and moved away.
Everything Torrin knew of the Priesthood was contradicted by the quiet, humble behaviour of this group. A short priest with sandy hair and a boyish face came over to him. “Erys’s blessing upon you, warrior. Your defence of the city is honoured and appreciated.” His brown eyes looking directly up into Torrin’s.
Torrin nodded warily.
“My name is Thaius, is there anything you require of us, food perhaps or water?”
Torrin accepted the proffered cup and drank deeply; the water was cold and refreshing. “My thanks. I had not expected to see the Priesthood upon the front lines,” he said flatly.
Thaius cast him a knowing look. “It is truly a pity that Pellar does not have more faith in the Priesthood of Erys, but I am ashamed to admit that the lack of trust is not unwarranted.”
Torrin looked more closely at the young priest. “You do not espouse what the Priesthood stands for?”
“Oh on the contrary, I am deeply committed to the teachings of Erys, but to the first and true teachings,” said Thaius with a twinkle in his eye.
Torrin frowned and folded his arms.
Thaius set his bag down. “The wisdom of Erys, as passed from the first of her priests, teaches us to honour women and men alike as the blessed creations of the Goddess. Women were imbued with her wisdom and ability to bring forth life and men with her strength and loyalty to that life. Sadly, what passes today for the teachings of Erys is but a shadow of her true wisdom.”
“Forgive my scepticism, but how could these ideas be part of the repressive, heavy-handed ways of the Priesthood?”
Thaius sighed. “There are some of us within the Priesthood who have been working quietly to restore the Goddess’s true teachings. The Priesthood has been corrupted by the quest for political power, twisting Erys teachings into a dogma used to control people. The path to Erys is one that each of us make on our own. It cannot be imposed upon us or Her true wisdom is lost. We have been blocked repeatedly and threatened with heresy, but when the request came from the king and queen for aid from the Priesthood in a more tangible form, many of us volunteered in order to begin the Restoration.”
Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1) Page 36