But I had no idea how much bigger than this series the story was going to grow!
If you’ve read the Hero of Darkness series (and I hope you have because it makes this story much more enjoyable), you know how the Serenii magic plays an integral role in the world of Einan. The discovery that these Serenii strongholds are “shut off” was a happy accident I stumbled onto while writing—now, it gives me an idea how I want to solve the problem the Hunter faced in Darkblade Savior (Hero of Darkness Book 6) when deciding whether to sacrifice hundreds of thousands of people to save the world from the Great Destroyer.
Aisha, specifically, is the key to solving the Hunter’s quandary. I won’t spoil it, but I’m pretty you’re your mind is already working on how her Spirit Whisperer abilities and the Serenii strongholds will come into play in the future stories. That means we’ll see her pop up in the Hero of Darkness series, with Kodyn by her side. And, seeing as she’s headed back home, it means I get to explore a bit of Ghandia, its culture, and peoples in that story!
Hailen’s role in the Hunter’s story is integral, so I have little doubt we’ll see him back. Which means Evren will be there playing the protective older brother. And, if we’re lucky, a little bit of Lady Briana as well.
As for Issa…I’m not certain what the future holds for her. As the daughter of the Lady of Blades and the Pharus, you just know she’s going to end up holding both titles at some point in her life. There may be a world we will find out more about the Pharus and Proxenos she becomes…only time and inspiration will tell.
But for now, please enjoy the stories that give you an idea who the other characters are:
Queen of Thieves and Traitors’ Fate for Kodyn and Aisha
Hero of Darkness for Hailen (and a bit of Evren)
For a special treat, check out Evren’s prequel novella to find out where this strong-willed, stubborn, defiant young man came from and who he was before meeting the Hunter on the streets of Vothmot. His story is told in The Renegade Apprentice…
The Renegade Apprentice
Chapter One
“The two of you ought to be ashamed.” Lectern Tinis’ pudgy lips pursed in disapproval as his mud-colored eyes darted between the boys before him. “Your service to the Master is one of learning. You will one day be scholars, men of learning and refinement. Not the brutes and thugs I see before me.”
Evren wiped the trickle of blood from his mouth. His knuckles ached, but Verald’s jaw would ache far worse for far longer. That alone was worth a busted lip and a black eye.
“As Lecterns-in-training, you are to use words to settle your disputes, never your fists.” Lectern Tinis folded his hands over his heavy gut and reclined in the over-stuffed armchair behind his ornate desk. “Those pendants you wear mark you as servants to the Master. Do I need to remind either of you what the words inscribed thereupon say?”
Evren resisted the urge to touch the platinum crescent moon that hung around his neck. He’d thumbed it so many times the words “Servitude, Humility, Concord” had faded.
The Lectern leaned forward, and the table creaked beneath his weight. “Have either of you ought to say for yourselves?”
Evren shot a glance at Verald, who sat stiffly in the hard-backed wooden chair beside him. Neither of the two young men spoke—Lectern Tinis’ punishment would only worsen if they offered excuse or justification.
“So be it.” Lectern Tinis gave a dramatic sigh and waved a fat hand toward the door. “To your cells, the both of you. Remain there until Lectern Uman comes for you.”
Evren clenched his fists, but he couldn’t stop the shudder from running down his spine. There was no worse punishment than this.
“I warn you,” the Lectern said, leaning forward in his chair, “resist the urge to pursue whatever grievance exists between you. Our service to the Master consists not only of seeking his holy wisdom but aspiring to follow the example of virtue and nobility he has set for us. A day of abstinence from food and water should suffice to remind you of your duties to our god.”
“Yes, Lectern Tinis,” Evren and Verald intoned in unison. Together, they bowed to the Lectern then turned to leave.
As always, Evren was struck by the richness of the Lectern’s rooms. Tapestries worked with gold and silver thread hung from the white marble walls, and the suite adjoining the priest’s office held a massive four-poster canopied bed, a plush divan, and a shelf laden with rare volumes—no doubt “borrowed” from the Vault of Stars.
The halls outside Lectern Tinis’ rooms were equally adorned with valuables: bronze vases, prized Fehlan ice candles sitting in brass candlesticks, teak furniture, and gold and silver statuettes worth a fortune. No outsiders ever visited this section of the temple, so none but the Lecterns knew the full extent of the wealth housed in the Master’s Temple.
That wasn’t the only truth known exclusively to the Lecterns. These halls concealed more dark, twisted secrets than the rest of Vothmot would ever know.
He and Verald walked through the lamp-lit corridors toward the staircase that descended five floors to ground level. The two apprentice Lecterns remained silent until they left the ornately decorated High Lectern’s floor behind.
“You bastard!” Verald growled in a low whisper.
“Coward,” Evren retorted without looking at the apprentice. “Picking on those weaker than you.”
“You watch your back, fifth-year.” Verald’s voice was quiet but thick with menace. “The temple’s got too many shadows. Never know what’ll jump out at you when your back’s turned.”
Evren’s fists balled, but before he could whirl on the boy, a pair of green-and-silver-robed Lecterns appeared in the stairway below them. The two apprentices bowed as they made way for the priests to pass, but the Lecterns paid them no heed. The youths were beneath their notice until they were accepted as full-fledged priests in service to Kiro, the Master. Only the handful of Lecterns—including Tinis and Uman—tasked with training the apprentices even spoke to them. Conversation had no place in a life spent in meditation, silent study, and chores.
“You know where to find me,” Evren snarled when the Lecterns had disappeared around the bend in the staircase. “Don’t think just because you’re a sixth-year that won’t stop me from giving you another beating.”
Evren stepped close and stared into Verald’s eyes. At thirteen, Verald was a year older than him and nearly a hand taller, but his rail-thin arms couldn’t drive a punch with enough force to slow Evren down. He’d taken far worse knocks from the eighth-year apprentices.
“Verald!” A hard, angry voice echoed through the stairway.
Verald blanched and turned toward the speaker. “Dracat, I—"
“Shut up!” Dracat, a dark-haired ninth-year and captain of Grey Tower’s fighters, stalked up the stairs toward them. “I hear you two got caught fighting?”
“I-It was nothing, Dracat,” Verald stammered.
“Nothing?” Dracat loomed over Verald, his face a mask of rage. “Tinis is giving you the hunger treatment, right? Locked in your room for a day?”
“Yes, but—"
Dracat slapped him, hard, and the crack echoed off the dark stone walls of the hall. “No buts, Verald. I don’t give a rat’s arse if you’re kept out of the matches, but I had four imperials riding on Evren here getting laid out cold in the third round.” The older boy’s eyes went to Evren. “All of Grey Tower’s been looking forward to watching Engerack beat the snot out of you. Too many of us lost on your bout with Warner to let that go by unpunished.”
Evren gritted his teeth. Engerack was a seventh-year that weighed nearly as much as Lectern Tinis, but years spent mucking the stables had turned his body to hard muscle. He doubted he could have done more than stunned the larger seventh-year, and he’d resigned himself to a few weeks of painful recovery. Lectern Tinis’ punishment almost came as a reprieve—until he remembered Lectern Uman would be paying him a visit. He’d take a year of Dracat’s bare-knuckled fights any day.
/> “Don’t think this gets you out of it,” Dracat snapped, his teeth bared in a snarl. He bent low and whispered into Evren’s ear. “I might just have to put you against Oldsek for this.”
Evren’s gut clenched. Even Engerack feared Oldsek—the wiry eighth-year hadn’t lost a match since he bit Vorth’s nose off.
“Let’s go, Verald.” Dracat seized the fifth-year by the collar and dragged him down the stairs, then shoved him down a side hallway that led to Grey Tower, one of the four minarets rising from the Master’s Temple. “We’ll be waiting for you,” he called over his shoulder. “I just hope starvation and thirst doesn’t weaken you too much.”
Evren’s heart hammered a panicked beat in his chest as he hurried down a hallway in the opposite direction. The distance to White Tower might have been a few hundred steps, but dread made it feel like a hundred leagues. Dracat could out-cruel anyone in White Tower. Evren’s next fight, whenever it happened, would be heavily weighted against him. The best he could hope for was a beating without any broken bones.
The main area of the Master’s Temple reeked of grandeur, with high-vaulted ceilings, plush Al Hani rugs, and more ornate woven tapestries of every conceivable hue. People came from all around Einan to see the Grand Chapel’s breathtaking stained glass window, or to bask in the sunlight that streamed through the enormous glass dome in the central nave—the light of the Master’s wisdom, some said, able to turn even a fool wise.
But there were many sections that the people of Vothmot never saw: the Grand Lectern’s rooftop suite, the luxurious rooms of the High Lecterns, and the vast knowledge stored deep underground in the Vault of Stars. And the dingy, freezing cells where the apprentice Lecterns spent their ten years of training to become priests in service to Kiro, the Master, father of the gods.
The main temple building served as home to the Lecterns, and the apprentices’ cells filled the lowest levels of the temple’s four minarets. Close to a hundred boys between the ages of eight and seventeen lived in Black, White, Grey, and Crystal Towers.
The corridors that led into White Tower were simple, all bare stone walls and floors, lacking the elegance of the main temple. He dreaded running into any of the other White Tower apprentices—Rhyris, the ninth-year who served as captain of White Tower’s fighters, would lay into him for his scuffle with Verald. No doubt he had a lot of money riding on Evren’s fight with Engerack—which side had he bet on?
Down one floor he went, then he turned into the stark hallway that led to the apprentices cells. He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the plain wooden door to his cell. He’d made it without trouble.
The cell doors bore deadbolts and padlocks, but the Lecterns rarely used them. They had apprentices to keep even the most stubborn and problematic—those like Evren—in line.
The interior of his cell was dark, with no windows, candles, or lanterns to provide illumination. The thin strip of lamplight leaking through the barred slot on the cell’s door was wasted on the featureless stone walls, floor, and ceiling of the cramped chamber. Four steps wide and five steps long; he’d paced it a thousand times during the many days he’d spent locked away as punishment for some misdeed.
The Lecterns believed apprentices needed nothing more than bare stone cells—nothing to distract them from their devotion to the Master. Only once they were accepted into the temple’s service did they receive a proper room, and never any as nice as Lectern Tinis’ luxurious chamber. By all appearances, his duties as caretaker for the apprentices in the Master’s Temple afforded him more luxuries than the other Lecterns. Either that, or Lancred was right and Tinis was dipping into the temple’s coffers to line his pockets.
“Evren?”
The quiet voice came from the pile of straw heaped against the room’s eastern wall, the only thing resembling furniture in the bare chamber.
“It’s me, Daver.” Evren knelt beside the bed. “How’s the head?”
“Better, I think.” The mattress rustled as Daver tried to sit up.
Evren studied Daver’s forehead in the dim lamplight. The blood leaking from the gash above his right eyebrow had begun to crust. Verald couldn’t hit hard enough to give even a smaller, weaker fifth-year like Daver a concussion.
“Stay down, Daver.” Evren pushed the boy’s shoulders back down to the sparse bed. “You remember what happened that time I took a head hit against Lancred?”
Daver gave a little laugh. “You emptied your guts on Rhyris’ new sandals.”
“The dizziness’ll pass with a bit of rest,” Evren said, and he couldn’t help smiling at the memory. Rhyris had beaten him soundly, but the leather sandals the ninth-year had been so proud of had never been seen again. Here in the Master’s Temple, that was as close to happiness as it got.
“You shouldn’t have intervened, Evren,” Daver said in a quiet voice. “Verald’s going to find a way to get even with you, and Dracat and Rhyris are going to be pissed that you missed your fight.”
“I’m not worried about them. I’m just worried about you, Daver.” Evren sat on the floor beside the head of the bed he and the smaller boy shared. “I told you I’d watch out for you, and so I will.”
“But—"
“What’s done is done,” Evren cut in. “I’ve gone without food and water for longer than a day. I’ll manage.”
“I’ll see if I can sneak something in for you,” Daver said.
“No!” Evren’s retort cracked like a whip. “The Lecterns will know if you do. They’ll punish the both of us. Just let me get through it.”
Daver drew in a breath, but before he could argue, Evren gripped his shoulders. “Swear it, Daver. Swear on the Master that you won’t try to sneak anything in here.”
Silence echoed in the cell for a moment. “I swear I won’t sneak any food or drink in here,” Daver said quietly.
The tension drained from Evren’s shoulders, and he leaned his head against the cold stone wall. He’d never had a brother, never had much in the way of family. Daver was as close as it got, so he’d do whatever he could to keep the smaller, weaker apprentice out of harm’s way. Even if that meant taking a beating or one of Lectern Uman’s “lessons” in his place.
Ice flooded Evren’s veins as he heard the unmistakable slap, scrape of Lectern Uman’s footsteps in the hall beyond. A moment later, the door to his cell groaned open and the Lectern himself appeared in the opening. The lamplight in the hall outlined his twisted, shortened right leg, his thick shoulders, and high forehead.
“Evren, my boy,” Lectern Uman said in the same rich, solemn voice that read out the afternoon service in the Grand Chapel. “Lectern Tinis tells me you are in need of the Master’s guidance.”
He seemed to loom even larger in the doorway as he leaned on his gold-handled cane and fixed Evren with a somber expression. “Wisdom is more than just the knowledge you acquire in your lessons, the skills you hone in your service. It is an integration of that knowledge with understanding and experience, knowing how your actions will affect others. Like how your actions have affected apprentice Verald, and now how they will come back to affect you.”
The tall Lectern set his cane against the doorway and took a shuffling step inside the cell. “Wisdom is hard to acquire, but I believe with the Master’s help, you can find it.”
Swallowing the acid that rose in his throat, Evren climbed to his feet. “Yes, Lectern Uman,” he replied in a dull, heavy voice. A chill settled over him, a numbness that seeped into his limbs. This was one fight he could never win.
“Then, let us pray together.” Lectern Uman’s strong hands went to the belt that held his robes closed.
With stiff, mechanical movements, Evren strode toward the Lectern and knelt in front of him. The coarse stone floor was rough beneath his knees, but the coldness in his gut drove all other sensations from his body.
For a moment, he toyed with the idea of throwing himself at Uman, using his weight to knock him back against the rusty nail that protruded from the do
or. He’d love nothing more than to see the Lectern bleeding and dying at his feet. But any attempt to retaliate or defend himself would serve no use. He could not escape what came next, and anything he did would only make his situation worse.
Lectern Uman removed his belt, heavy green and silver robe, and undertunic until he stood clad only in his thin loincloth. Evren tried not to stare at the Lectern’s leg, twisted by some accident or defect of birth. Instead, he closed his eyes as the priest began to unwind the thin strips from his waist. He could not escape this horror, but he had no need to watch what the Lectern prepared to do to him.
“Lectern Uman!” An urgent voice echoed from outside the cell. A moment later, a tall figure wearing the dull green robes of an Under-Lectern appeared in the hall. “Grand Lectern Risban insists that you attend him.”
“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of prayers?” the Lectern snapped. Evren didn’t need to open his eyes to see the anger that twisted the man’s face; he’d seen it too many times as Uman “prayed” with him or one of the other apprentices.
“Forgive me, but the Grand Lectern is insistent.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “The Caliph himself has come to the Grand Chapel for the midnight service, and he has requested you by name.”
“Ahh, of course.” The tone of Lectern Uman’s voice went from furious to pleased in an instant. “I will attend Risban at once.”
Evren opened his eyes as the shuffling footsteps of the retreating Under-Lectern grew louder. Lectern Uman was bending over to retrieve his robes and belt. When he straightened, he gave Evren a paternal smile. “We will continue our prayers later, apprentice.”
“Yes, Lectern Uman.” The words poured from Evren’s mouth by rote. Another reprieve, yet the inevitable would come. Waiting would just make it worse.
The door creaked shut behind the departing Lectern, taking the light with it. Evren’s heart hammered in time with the slap, scratch of Lectern Uman’s feet. The moment the sound faded, he slumped to the ground with a shuddering gasp. Tears streamed from his eyes, and silent sobs shook his shoulders.
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