Forging Divinity (21 page)

“The more information we share with one another, the more we could potentially give away if one of us is captured,” Lydia continued the explanation. “So we’re going to be a little vague with each other here.”

“Aye, but we can talk a bit.” Gerald turned toward Taelien. “Any idea why the crown prince wants you in the arena?”

Taelien glanced at Lydia and she nodded to him. “I was arrested for carrying a symbol of the Tae’os Pantheon when I first arrived in the city. I was imprisoned in a strange cell in the low palace. I’m still not sure on why.”

“Calling what you carried a symbol is an understatement. Show him the sword’s real form, Taelien.” Lydia made an expression of wry amusement.

Taelien nodded, raising the scabbard.

Revert,
he commanded the metal.

The metal shell retreated from around the pommel jewel, and the crossguard expanded outward, reforming into a pair of silvery wings. Gerald gawked openly for a moment, and then raised his fist to his chest again. Taelien almost responded before realizing that Gerald was saluting the sword, not him.

“Gods around us...,” Gerald muttered. He turned to Lydia. “If he can change the shape, how do you know that form is the real one, and not the other form?”

“It was taken away from him for several hours, and it looked like that – the Sae’kes Taelien – during that time. None of my efforts to identify its functions have succeeded. It has powerful sorcery, and I could not even draw it out of the scabbard myself. Taelien here can draw it, and I’ve seen him make several of the runes on the surface glow,” Lydia rattled off.

“My,” Gerald said, “I never thought I’d actually see...Amazing. Would you be willing to show me the blade?”

“It’s dangerous,” Taelien warned. “I’ll just draw it out a little.” He stood up, drawing the blade enough to expose the unlit rune of Lissari near the bottom of the blade. To further the demonstration, he took a breath and concentrated, feeling a surge of his essence flood into the weapon. The rune flashed azure, and he snapped the sword back into the sheath.

“Beautiful,” Gerald said. “Thank you, I never believed I’d see it with my own eyes.”

“So, Taelien walked into the city with the Sae’kes, and someone in a high place – presumably Byron – panicked. Byron’s coronation is in a few weeks. It’s very plausible that he thought Taelien was sent either to make some sort of political statement, or perhaps to assassinate him during the coronation.” Lydia tapped a finger on the table, apparently thinking.

“According to rumors, Myros discovered an armed group – presumably assassins - skulking about the high palace a few months ago. They say that’s why the coronation was delayed. I assume the prince and the queen regent are somewhat on edge, given that the new date for the coronation is fast approaching.”

Taelien scratched at his chin. “I wasn’t hiding the sword, though. I mean, if I showed up in the middle of the coronation and attacked Byron with the Sae’kes, sure, that’d be a pretty serious political statement. But if I was going to do that, wouldn’t I have made some effort to conceal the sword when I came into the city?”

Gerald shrugged. “If you’re afraid of being killed, you’re not necessarily thinking rationally. Besides, even if you’re not an assassin, I’m sure having the sword of an outlawed religion in the city at the time of your coronation would be disconcerting. Maybe he’s worried about you inciting a rebellion.”

“Wouldn’t be enough people to do much with that,” Lydia noted. “But you’re right, Byron probably isn’t thinking that way.”

“Hrm. Why challenge me openly, then? Wouldn’t that just call attention to my presence?”

Lydia rubbed a hand against her left temple. “That depends on how the challenge is structured. Do you know the details, Gerald?”

“Says that if he wins, he’ll be given an ambassadorship. Seems like a reasonable tactic – if Taelien loses, he’s removed from the picture, either by being killed or imprisoned. If Taelien wins, he’s made into a public figure, where Byron can assign people to keep an eye on him.”

Taelien nodded. “Thank you for the insight. Why did you invite us into the back when I first asked about Erik Tarren?” Taelien asked.

Gerald folded his arms. “I thought you were a part of the organization that Lydia and I belong to. That’s a code name for one of our missions.”

Lydia seemed visibly taken aback by that. “Really? You mean there actually...?”

“Oh, Master Tarren isn’t actually here,” Gerald explained. “Sorry to disappoint you. It’s just named after him.”

Taelien’s shoulders slumped. “My family sent me to find him. They said I should look for him here.”

“Are your parents members of my organization?” Gerald asked.

Taelien shook his head. “Not that I am aware of. Not the parents that adopted me, at any rate. Perhaps my biological parents were, but I don’t know their names.”

The bartender took a breath, shaking his head. “If you’re here about Master Tarren, I’m afraid you’re about ten years too late. He used to own this tavern. Members of our organization would meet here, and he’d teach them. This was before my time. When he left the city, he left the tavern to a friend, who in turn passed it off to me. I doubt the old man is still around, sad to say. He was ancient.”

“It’s possible he’s still alive, given that he most certainly knew how to extend his life with sorcery,” Lydia pointed out. “What’s this mission that’s named after him? Was he involved in it? Can you tell us anything about the mission that could potentially be relevant to Taelien?”

Yes, anything, please. I need to know.

Gerald scratched at his chin. “There was a battle many years ago between the armies of General Therin of Whitestone and Vyrek Sul, the Emperor of Xixis. During their final battle, Erik Tarren cast a spell that shattered Vyrek Sul’s weapon – Cessius, the Staff of Dissonance. He later successfully banished Vyrek Sul to another world. Sul’s followers gathered up the pieces of Cessius and hid them away in secret vaults, awaiting their master to return to this world and reclaim his empire.”

“I’ve heard the story, although I heard that Therin was the one that destroyed the staff. Anyway, the details are largely irrelevant.” Lydia mentioned.

“This was a Xixian city,” Taelien realized. “You think Cessius is here.”

“Master Tarren thought a piece of it might be here,” Gerald said. “He never found it, though. After he left the city, our organization decided to pick up where he left off. They named the mission in his honor. I don’t know where Tarren went after he left here, unfortunately.”

Taelien nodded. “Thank you. You’ve already helped a great deal. More than you know.”

Cessius, the Staff of Dissonance. The weapon of the Xixian Emperor. Perhaps I’m meant to help finish Erik Tarren’s work.

“Sorry, kid. Finish the drink - it’s on me. Maybe it’ll help you feel a little better,” Gerald offered. “Lydia, I’ve gotta get back. Pretending you were paying me for information is one thing, but this is taking a little long for that.”

Lydia nodded and smiled sadly. “It was good to see you, Gerald. We probably won’t be meeting again anytime soon.”

“Well, here’s hoping we both finish our secret missions soon, so we can go home.” Gerald stood up from the table.

“I’ll drink to that.” Lydia smiled, raising her cup and bumping it against Taelien’s. Startled, he spilled an inch of liquid and nearly fell backward, triggering a cascade of laughter from the two paladins.

Paladins. I’ll never understand them.
Taelien took a drink and stood to leave. “Gerald, before I go. You said you didn’t know where Tarren went, but do you have any idea who might?”

Gerald shook his head. “He didn’t tell my predecessor, as far as I’m aware. He was close with some of the leaders of my organization, but I don’t think they’d give his location away easily if they had it. Of course, since you’re carrying the sword of the gods around, I take it you’re actually someone important to us. Maybe someone very important, as Lydia was implying earlier. If I had any advice, I’d say you should talk to someone at the top of my chain of command. Maybe Orin Dyr.”

Taelien scratched the back of his head. “I suppose that makes sense. I might do that. Thank you, I am in your debt.”

“Don’t be forgetting that if you do turn out to be important,” Gerald grinned, “And also, you might want to cover that sword back up.”

“Ah, right.”
Ordinary.
The metal stretched back into its inconspicuous state, and Lydia clenched her jaw as she watched. She still didn’t seem to like the idea of modifying her order’s sacred symbol.

“I guess we should head home, then,” Taelien said.

“Not before I finish my drink,” Lydia insisted, elbowing him as they stepped out of the back room. A smile had returned to her face, and Taelien mused that he liked her much better with that expression.

Later that evening, Taelien glanced at a piece of parchment nailed to one of the city’s many announcement boards. It read,

In the name of Crown Prince Byron,

The bearer of the Sae’kes Taelien is challenged to fight for the truth of his gods in the Court of the Spear on the Ninth Day of Highwall at the fourth hour after the rising of the dawnfire.

Should the bearer of the Sae’kes Taelien be successful in this challenge, he will be treated as an honored ambassador and granted a boon of his choice.

Taelien smirked, attaching a parchment of his own atop it.

His reply read,

Challenge accepted.

Chapter VIII – Definitely a Trap

“Just so we’re both clear, you’re aware that this is obviously a trap, right?” Lydia asked, her arms folded across her chest.

Taelien shrugged, leaning back against the wall near the door to Jonan’s kitchen. “Sure, but it also presents an opportunity. If I win, I can demand knowledge about the captive Rethri in a public area.”

Lydia shook her head. “That’s not a good strategy. They could just have the Rethri moved, or even killed. Or just deny knowledge of the situation. You have no proof. And Byron might not even know about the Rethri, anyway.”

Jonan walked in, passing Taelien to lay a plate of steaming meat and vegetables in the section of the table.

“How’d you cook that?” Lydia quirked an eyebrow at Jonan.

“Magic,” he said, waving his hands in the air in a seemingly meaningless gesture and retreating back into the kitchen for more dishes.

Lydia shook her head, switching back to a more important train of thought. She looked back to Taelien. “If you’re going to ask for a boon, don’t use it to try to publicly humiliate the local leaders. Do something friendly. Get on the inside. We can do more effective work that way. But that’s assuming you can win – which, I’m going to be honest, I don’t think is a very good idea to bet on. They have every advantage here; information, territory, numbers. We don’t even know what challenge they will present you with. It certainly won’t be fair.”

Taelien grinned. “That’s the type of situation I do best with. Besides, they’re not going to want to kill me. I’m too important as a political prisoner, right?”

Lydia quirked a brow at him. “Um, no. Not at this stage. You’ve already escaped once. They are not likely to take that risk a second time. Moreover, an arena is the perfect place to have you removed – no matter how rigged the match might be, they can claim you died in honorable combat. If anyone tried to retaliate on your behalf, they will look like the villains, at least to the people of this city.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to make sure not to die, in that case,” Taelien tapped the sword at his hip thoughtfully.

He’s enjoying this. Is he insane?

Lydia’s lip twitched.
Velthryn’s fate could hinge on his actions. I can’t let him die in there.

“You need to take this seriously. There’s more at risk than your pride, or even your life.” Lydia pointed at the Sae’kes on his hip, still disguised by Taelien’s metal-altering sorcery. “If Edon gets his hands on that sword – publicly – there’s a good chance it will lead to a war with Velthryn.”

Taelien scratched at his chin. “You really think an army would march to war over a piece of metal?”

“It’s more than that, Taelien. That sword is a symbol of a religion. And one I think you should take a little more seriously, given that there are fair odds you could be a figure in that religion’s history if you survive long enough.”

Taelien tilted his head to the side. “You don’t actually think I’m related to one of your gods, do you?”

Lydia raised two fingers to adjust her glasses. “I don’t know, Taelien. But the people of Velthryn need something to believe in – it’s been years since one of our gods has appeared in person. Even if you’re just a man with a sword, many will see you as a sign. You have a good heart, too. I could see people wanting to follow you.”

Taelien leaned back further, resting his head against the wall and looking away from her. “I’ve led people before. It rarely ends well. If a religion wants to follow me just because I carry a particular weapon, I don’t want anything to do with it.”

Lydia scoffed. “Don’t be so dismissive of an opportunity to help people just because you can’t agree with every element of their reasoning. Maybe you took the time to learn about the Paladins of Tae’os, you’d understand why they’d be willing to follow a symbol.”

He turned straight toward her, his blue eyes focusing on her own with a sudden intensity. “Would you follow me, Lydia? Knowing what you know about my heritage, about my doubts?”

Careful, Lydia. Don’t be impulsive about this.

“No,” she replied. “But I could follow who you could be, if you give yourself a chance to grow.”

In truth,
Lydia considered,
I would rather be the one leading you. But you don’t have to know that.

Taelien sighed, throwing up his hands. “I think you’re making assumptions about who I ‘could’ be based solely on an item, not my own background or personality. You know practically nothing about me.”

“You’re wrong. I know you carried a dying Esharen – who had tried to murder you – over your shoulders, trying to rescue him from torture. That speaks much for your character, and for your potential as a symbol. More than the sword. At least to me.”

The swordsman looked away from Lydia, slumping his shoulders. “If you’re basing your assessment of my personality on one of my greatest failures, I can’t imagine you have very high standards.”

Lydia pressed her lips together, biting back a sharp response.
He’s still grieving,
she reminded herself. “I was talking about your intentions. You took a tremendous risk to try to help someone else. That’s commendable. But if you don’t like my example, give me a better one. How do you define yourself?”

He glanced back in her direction, but still refused to meet her gaze. “I don’t really know. That’s a part of why I’m here. People see the sword and assume that I’m some sort of demigod, or that I have the ‘makings of a great hero’. I’ve spent my entire life living in the shadow of a god that I don’t even know if I believe in.”

Lydia quirked a brow. “I don’t want to be cruel, but that explanation sounded like you define yourself by the sword just as much as anyone else does.”

Taelien grimaced. “There’s some truth to that. That’s probably why I hate it so much when other people mention it. I won’t have peace of mind until I know who wanted me to have this thing and why.”

“And then what? You trade the expectations of the general populace for the expectations of whoever wanted you to have the Sae’kes?” Lydia asked, folding her arms.

Taelien shook his head. “I don’t know. You’ve got a point – maybe I’m the one who’s obsessing over the expectations of others. Maybe my past doesn’t matter. But I feel like there’s a piece of a puzzle missing, and I can’t rest until I find it.”

Well, when you put it like that, I can see where you’re coming from.
Lydia’s expression softened. She reached out and patted him on the arm. “Well, I’ll keep helping you look for answers. After this is all over, I think you should come with me to Velthryn and see if any of the other paladins have information that could help you track down where the sword came from. In the meantime, try not to be too suicidal.”

Taelien raised a hand, leaning his face into it. “I’ll take your warning about this tournament seriously. If you really believe that other lives may be at risk, I’ll take the necessary steps to ensure I minimize that risk.”

Lydia nodded. “Thank you.”

“As for later, I don’t know if I’m going to want to meet with the rest of the Paladins of Tae’os. I’m doing this to help those Rethri, and I’ll try not to start a war in the process. I’m willing to learn more about your paladins, but I won’t make you any promises beyond that.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Lydia smiled. “Being able to make your own choices is one of the tenants of Eratar, in fact. And Sytirans and followers of Eratar both have a strong proclivity toward educating yourself, even if it means doubting elements your faith.”

“Good,” he said simply. “For now, I have more important things to educate myself about. If you’re right that there is a real danger to my life, I should be gathering as much intelligence as I can about the tournament before I participate in it.”

“You keep saying tournament,” Lydia pointed out. “This won’t be a tournament. It’s not going to be a competition with brackets and eliminations; think more along the lines of a ‘trial by combat’.”

“Hrm. Have you seen anything like this happen before?” Taelien asked.

Lydia nodded. “It’s very rare, but occasionally you’ll see the Court of the Spear used to settle a dispute between nobles, or a trial where insufficient evidence is available. The accusing party will choose a champion and the terms, and the defending party will have to represent him or herself and accept those terms.”

Taelien scratched at his chin, considering. “That doesn’t seem very fair if the person being accused isn’t a warrior. And if the accuser determines the specific terms as well, doesn’t that mean they could offer something absurd?”

“Trial by combat is usually a last resort. The judicial system here is heavily influenced by politics – the priests of Xerasilis would hate it. The short explanation is that judges have nearly unlimited authority, and that trial by combat is one of few options the defense has available if the judge appears to be disposed against them.” Lydia took a breath.

“That’s essentially the situation you’re in. Given how public this is, they have two options. One is to present something that outwardly appears to be fair, and attempt to humiliate you. The second is to put you at an overwhelming disadvantage – like to send you in without a weapon – and claim that the match is disproportionate due to the severity of your crime or your affiliation with the Tae’os Pantheon.”

Taelien nodded in understanding. “What do you find more likely?”

Byron won’t want to come across as weak, which means he won’t do something that makes the challenge look impossible. On the other hand, he also won’t want to give Taelien any chance of success.

“If I was in Byron’s position, I would make the match look to be somewhat fair on the surface, but put you at a hidden disadvantage. Perhaps he’ll have a sorcerer on the outside to interfere, or give your opponent a poisoned weapon,” Lydia explained.

“You would do that in his position?” Taelien quirked a brow.

“I didn’t mean it quite like that,” Lydia sighed. “Essentially, I just mean that from his perspective, that’s the best way of accomplishing his goals.”

Taelien nodded. “All right. So, to avoid poison, I don’t get hit. To avoid outside sorcery, I, hrm, don’t get hit?”

Lydia frowned. “I’ll talk to the court sorcerers prior to the match and try to determine if there will be outside interference. If there will be, I’ll see if there’s any way I can warn you in advance or counteract it.”

“Thank you,” Taelien replied.

“Are you certain you still want to do this?” Lydia asked. “Honestly, I’d advise you against it. You’re putting yourself in Edon’s power, and once he gets a grip on you, I doubt he’ll release it.”

Taelien narrowed his eyes. “Then I’ll just have to break his hands.”

Lydia felt herself smirk in spite of the absurdity of the response.
He’s so arrogant. It’s almost charming, in a way.

Jonan finally returned with a stack of dishes, setting them down across the table.

“The kitchen try to eat you or something?” Lydia asked him.

“No, not this time,” Jonan winked at her. “It wasn’t hungry.”

“Well, I am,” Taelien said, moving away from the wall to take a seat.

“We’ll have to talk about this more,” Lydia pointed out. “We only have two days to prepare before the challenge.”

“Don’t let her scare you, Taelien,” Jonan said, taking a seat. “She’s just worried about you.”

Taelien glanced over to Jonan. “Really? That’s not the impression I got at all. I was under the impression she was more worried that I would trigger a catastrophic war.”

“I can be worried about both,” Lydia said. “But Jonan is right about one thing – you shouldn’t worry. You should prepare.”

“And let us help,” Jonan offered. “I think I have a trick or two you might find useful.”

Veruden pushed the plate of garlic-butter potatoes over to Lydia’s side of the table. “Hey, we need to talk.”

“About what?” Lydia asked, accepting the potatoes and picking at one of them with her fork.

“Someone left me a letter that says it’s from that Taelien guy. The prisoner,” Veruden explained.

Lydia quirked a brow. “What did it say?”

“Says he wants me to escort him into the arena, and to make sure there aren’t any other guards on the way in, since I was nice to him before. He doesn’t want to get arrested again. You think it’s some kind of trick?”

Lydia shrugged. “Sounds pretty reasonable, actually. I wouldn’t feel very comfortable in his position.”

“Yeah, neither would I. I’m surprised he’s accepting at all.” Veruden stared down at his place. “Do you think he’s really some kind of criminal?”

“He was carrying a Tae’osian symbol, Veruden. That’s against the law.” She jabbed a potato for emphasis.

“I guess. Just seems a little extreme to put him through all this because of a sword.”

Lydia smiled. “You’ve got a good hear, but you’re a little too trusting. He wouldn’t have that sword without a reason.”

Veruden frowned. “What do you think I should do?”