Forging Divinity (24 page)

Taelien landed a single glancing blow against the shield, and another against the warrior’s left greave. The axe-wielder’s counterattacks were too slow, too short-ranged to catch Taelien as he danced backward, readying himself as the god of battle stood back up.

“Fourth warrior enters,” Edon proclaimed.

This time, Taelien was the one distracted, gazing upward toward Edon, betrayal evident on his face.
It hasn’t been two minutes,
his face seemed to say.

I know,
Edon’s grin seemed to reply.

Growling, Taelien spun on his feet as the Queensguard with the shield and mace sprang began to advance. Taelien charged – right past the mace-wielder, and toward the Landen of the Twin Edges, the only fighter that still remained on the sidelines.

Landen gave a nod of acknowledgement as Taelien approached, catching Taelien’s incoming blade a graceful parry with his left sword, and then trying a counter with the right.

Taelien blocked the riposte easily, taking a step back, and wincing noticeably as he landed heavily on his injured leg. Lydia winced along with him, watching as Landen raised both of his blades into a high stance, practically sitting the blades atop his armored shoulders.

The Lysen Tear stance,
Lydia realized.
He’s inviting Taelien to take a swing at him, gambling that he can parry anything that goes toward his exposed head, or trade hits if Taelien goes for a lower part of his body. Since Taelien is unarmored, Landen expects that trading blows would be to his advantage.

Taelien smirked, nodded, and took a swing at Landen’s feet. Landen hopped over the strike, swinging downward with both blades. Taelien caught both against the greatsword, then surged forward, shoving Landen back. Landen slashed as he stumbled backward, but his cuts met only open air.

Myros was approaching from Taelien’s side, but the swordsman didn’t seem to notice. Lydia grit her teeth, pressing closer against the edge.
I can’t shield him from here, but maybe if I was a little bit closer...

Taelien spun away, tapping the flat of his blade against one of Landen’s weapons, and then rushed across the arena into an open space, leaving Landen with a perplexed expression.

Taelien’s head scanned from side-to-side, taking in his four remaining opponents. Myros made a gesture at the three Queensguards, and they spread out at equal intervals, moving to surround Taelien and approach him at a steady pace.

Taelien planted the tip of his sword against the stone and used his off-hand to beckon for Myros to approach.

Myros didn’t take the bait – the four oppponents continued to advance as a group, while Lydia snatched one of her pre-written notes and placed it against the mirror.

Plan E,
it read.

Myros surged forward, a wave of steel piercing a dozen places as Taelien struggled to dodge. A second and third cut landed against his skin, and Taelien fell backward, a perplexed look on his face as he backed up nearly into the stone wall of the arena.

Taelien gripped his blade tightly, taking flashing strike at Myros’ midsection, but the Heartlance was there – and the bladed edge tore Taelien’s rusted iron apart.

Left with half a sword, Taelien struggled to parry Myros’ next strikes, each seeming to come faster – and harder – than the last.

Finally, the fourth strike dislodged the iron weapon from Taelien’s hand.

Myros gave a nod and raised the Heartlance, preparing for a killing strike.

And the Sae’kes descended from the sky like a comet, trailing silver fire.

Taelien caught the still-sheathed blade in his right hand, spinning it in whirlwind of silver light, deflecting the Heartlance and landing a strike against the chain mail on the inside of Myros’ right elbow.

Myros took a step back, stunned, as the crowd took a collective breath.

The scabbard of the Sae’kes, lined with metal, was sharpened into a blade. A blade now wet with the blood of a god.

Landen stepped in next, undeterred by Taelien’s resurgence, but Taelien parried his strikes easily now, his weapon a blur of untraceable motion. Two, three strikes landed against Landen’s plate, but none made a mark – and another Queensguard had stepped in behind Taelien, mace at the ready.

Taelien sidestepped to avoid the mace strike and rushed at Myros, but the god of battle had recovered quickly, and the Heartlance thrust forward to impale the incoming fighter. Taelien slapped the spear aside with the Sae’kes, never stopping his charge – and slapped his left hand against Myros’ armor as he rushed past.

Landen’s blades shot out of his hands, followed by the blade of the first Queensguard to fall, and the mace and axe of the other guards a moment later. All of them flew directly toward where Taelien had touched Myros’ armor.

“What the...?” Veruden muttered, no doubt mirroring the thoughts of near-all the people in the stands.

Magnetism,
Lydia realized.
Taelien’s feints, each time he clashed against their weapons – he was magnetizing them.

Myros was a tornado of motion, slamming each of the projectiles with the Heartlance, deflecting them harmlessly. As each weapon was knocked backward, the remaining Queensguard retreated to avoid being hit by their own now-flying weapons.

Orlyn’s god of battle was not so easily deterred.

As each weapon boomeranged back toward Myros’ now-magnetized armor, Myros smacked them aside seemingly effortlessly, advancing toward Taelien one step at a time.

Taelien fell back toward where he had entered the arena, a look of determination on his features as he leveled the still-sheathed Sae’kes in front of him.

Myros snatched one of Landen’s swords out of the air and hurled it at Taelien, who obligingly dodged the strike. Myros charged as Taelien dodged the rebound, bringing the Heartlance downward in a heavy strike, too fast to avoid. Taelien parried, but the strike drove him back toward the ground, and Myros hopped over Taelien’s attempt to perform the same sweep that he had before.

The Heartlance tilted upward, catching Taelien under the chin, flattening him against the arena floor with a thump.

Myros did not hesitate, plunging the Heartlance’s point toward Taelien, but he rolled to the side. The point grazed Taelien’s side and pierced into the ground.

Taelien’s hand shot upward, grabbing the Heartlance and pulling it deeper into the ground. Myros grabbed the spear with both hands, lifting it – and Taelien off of the stone.

Taelien released his grip, tapping Myros on the armor with his hand a second time, and then shoved him toward the entrance.

Myros spun toward Taelien, thrusting the Heartlance at Taelien again, but the Sae’kes flickered and deflected the strike.

Then a spear flew out of the entrance hallway, arcing toward Myros armor –

Followed by two dozen other weapons and pieces of armor.

Myros swept the spear in a wide arc, and the entire audience could hear the god’s sorcery-amplified curse. Weapons and armor shattered from Myros’ strikes, but each piece of shrapnel simply boomeranged back a moment later.

Meanwhile, the magnetism gradually began to pull two of the remaining Queensguard across the arena, the intensity of the force now sufficient to drag them – armor-and-all.

Taelien continued to retreat, his off-hand reaching down to cover the freely-bleeding wound from the Heartlance’s last successful strike.

And, Myros continued to spin and deflect each of the weapons, Taelien raised the Sae’kes to throw.

“Enough!” Edon’s voice boomed.

The magnetized weapons clattered to the ground, and Lydia gasped as sorcery washed over her, triggering her Comprehensive Barrier.

Eru volis mar sharu taris.

The words were nonsensical to Lydia, but the effect was familiar – too familiar.
Counter Sorcery
, Lydia recognized immediately.
The ability to remove any sorcerous effect. The greatest Gift of Sytira.

Edon had just invoked what she had only ever known to be the power of Sytira – and with greater effect than she had ever seen.

“No,” Lydia muttered. “How?...”

As Lydia watched, even the runes on Myros plate flickered for a moment, as the god of battle looked upward toward Edon.

“The challenger has proven, beyond the doubt, that his might matches his bravery. He will be given a place as an ambassador to our court, and the boon that I have promised.”

Taelien nodded, slumping to his knees, catching himself on the Sae’kes. Myros advanced on the fallen warrior, and Lydia gripped her sword, readying herself to vault over the rail – a forty foot drop - if Myros attacked again.

As Myros drew close, the god of battle thrust the Heartlance downward – anchoring it in the stone – and reached down with a gauntleted hand. Taelien clasped the gauntlet, and allowed Myros to haul him to his feet.

The crowd cheered wildly as the pair stood, each raising an arm to acknowledge the city’s cries.

Lydia breathed a sigh of relief, releasing her tense grip on the handle at her side.

“Well,” Veruden said, looking to her. “That was unexpected.”

Lydia found Taelien in the now nearly emptied armory, a medic tending to his wounds. Landen of the Twin Edges was sitting next to him.

The sorceress was still jittery with nervousness. “Plan E” had been one of the contingencies she had hoped to avoid – placing the Sae’kes and Taelien in the same location was gambling at the possibility of losing both. The swordsman had proven to be worthy of the risk, but she still felt the mild echoes of panic at having made such a rash decision.

“Resh, boy, you gave me an embarrassment there,” Landen was saying. “People are going to be talking about that fight for years to come.”

“Thanks,” Taelien said, wincing as the medic plunged a stitching needle deeper back into the skin on his left side. “You’ve got great speed and reflexes, but my sorcery gave me an unfair advantage.”

“That’s an understatement,” Landen replied. “But you needed it. And if you had to prove something today, gods, you sure proved it.”

Landen looked up, seeming to notice Lydia entering. “Ah, court sorceress. You catch all that?”

Lydia nodded. “Great fighting, both of you. Where are you both heading next?”

“Dinner, I think,” Landen replied. “Edon wants to meet Taelien at the palace as soon as he’s patched up.”

“I’d imagine. That was quite a show. Do you two mind if I come along? I’d love to hear more about the fight from your perspectives,” she asked.

Landen shrugged. “Up to this guy,” he nudged Taelien, triggering another wince. “What do you say, swordsman? You want the sorceress to come to dinner with us?”

“Well, if you put it like that, I don’t see any way I can refuse,” Taelien said, giving Lydia an exaggerated wink. “Didn’t catch either of your names, actually.”

“Lydia,” the sorceress replied, nodding to Taelien.

“Call me Landen,” the other swordsman replied. “What about you? I’ve only heard them calling you the Taelien – which I guess is true. Reshing showy there. How’d you make it come out of the sky?”

“Trade secret,” Taelien replied. “And you can call me Salaris.”

Chapter IX – Decieving Sight

Jonan was exhausted and, once again, half-blind as he stumbled into his false bedroom. Maintaining his invisibility over two hours had taken a toll, and casting the spell to cause the Sae’kes to shine like a comet as he hurled it into the arena had added to that burden. He had rushed to a hiding place as soon as he had thrown the sword, abandoning the invisibility spell, but the cost to his sight had still been significant.

Still,
he considered with a grin,
it was worth it. I just wish I could have seen Taelien’s expression when he saw it falling from the sky. Or Myros expression – that’d have been even better.

Throwing the sword to Taelien had been Lydia’s emergency plan – and one that had proven to be more successful than he had imagined. On one level, he regretted parting with the sword – he could have simply left the city with it and come home to a cascade of promotions when he handed it over. That, however, was not his mission – nor what he cared about.

He locked the bedroom door and slipped the rug off of the secret passage hastily, eager to get to bed. The lack of guests was somewhat disorienting – Taelien and Lydia had been a near-constant presence for the last several days, and he had been getting used to them.

I hope they’re alive, Jonan considered.
Lydia is playing a dangerous game, and Taelien isn’t playing at all. He’s just dangerous. Or in danger. Probably both.

With a sigh, Jonan opened the passage down to his room. He had only taken the first step downward when he noticed a glint of glass in the wrong place.

Peering down, Jonan scanned the area with blurry eyes. Broken glass. Everywhere.

Jonan half-stepped, half-jumped back up the stairs, kicking the trap door shut a moment later.

Erase image of self.

He rushed to his false bed, reaching into the pillow case of one of the bottom pillows and withdrawing a sheathed leather dagger. With that in hand, he moved to the cabinet nearby, opening the third drawer from the bottom. Four unlabeled glass bottles sat in the drawer; he grabbed the furthest on the left.

With the vial in his right hand and the sheathed dagger in his left, Jonan moved back to the trap door and pulled it open, hurling the glass vial inside. As the vial shattered, an inky black mist began to spread across the chamber. Jonan slammed the trap door shut, took a step to the side, and drew his dagger.

And then he waited.

Minutes passed, Jonan’s heart rattling in his chest. Gritting his teeth, he eventually returned to the cabinet, retrieving the center bottle of the remaining three.

The smoke should have lined anyone inside, making them visible. If they have to breathe, they shouldn’t be conscious at this point.
Jonan flicked the cap off the top of his newly acquired vial and gulped down the contents.

With the utmost hesitation, he walked back to the trapped door.

Resh. Now or never, I guess. What would Vaelien do in a situation like this? Oh, yeah, he’d grab whoever was inside and pull the sorcery right out of them. Which I, of course, can’t do.

I do have a knife, though,
he reassured himself.
It’s kind of sharp.

He knelt down and reopened the trap door, the smoke from the room below rising into his chamber.
Hope this counteragent didn’t expire, otherwise this is going to be really embarrassing.

Jonan took a step down the stairs, tapping the right side of his head with a finger. The darkness seemed to flee from his vision, giving him a clear view of the room below as he descended.

The mirrors lining the walls had been smashed very deliberately – perhaps even artistically. One of the mirrors looked to have been sliced apart into over a dozen equally sized pieces, and another remained within the frame, a web-like pattern of cracks spreading across from the exact center.
Some patterns, if they existed, were more difficult to discern at a simple glance – especially given that Jonan was more preoccupied with finding the intruder.

Once, twice, thrice he glanced over the room – even tapping the right side of his head a second time to intensify his vision further. There was no sign of any intruder within the room. Either they were gone, or their invisibility far outstripped Jonan’s capabilities at detection.

He did notice another peculiarity, however – an indigo flower, atop a piece of folded parchment that sat undisturbed on his bed. Gritting his teeth, Jonan glanced around the room one more time, debating retreat.

There was a clear path between the pieces of broken glass, leading to his bed. It was deliberate, though he couldn’t be sure if it was left for his convenience, or so that the intruder could easily leave.

He walked the rest of the way down the stairs, drawing the dagger from the scabbard as he walked. Every two steps, he paused, jabbing the dagger at the empty air. It wasn’t a certain way to find an invisible watcher, but he felt better taking some steps than none at all. His strikes met no resistance.

As he reached the bed, he swept the flower and note onto the floor using the edge of the dagger, and then flung the bed’s covers to a side, checking if someone was hiding within them. Again, he found nothing – and an awkward series of probing attacks at the air above his bed proved equally fruitless.

With another glance around the room, Jonan spun and lashed out in all directions, and then ducked and swept up the note in his left hand, rushing back up the stairs to the floor above.

With a swift kick, he closed the trap door, breathing heavily as he slid the rug back atop it.

Well,
he considered,
this is bad.

The mirrors had not only been his primary means of surveillance, but also his method of communicating with his only contact in the city – an ally that presumably worked for the Order of Vaelien. His orders were to report to this ally periodically, and he or she had a mirror that matched one of his, allowing them to send messages through the mirrors.

How did someone find my hidden room? Was I careless?

He sat upon the nearby bed, setting down the dagger, scabbard, and folded note. A grimace crossed his face as he examined the parchment – it was clearly left for him to find, and it could easily be a trap.
Will this explode if I open it?
He had heard of a type of foreign rune sorcery that allowed for such effects; it wasn’t all that dissimilar to what he had accomplished with his mirrors.

But the odds of the parchment being deadly were low.
If they wanted to kill me, they wouldn’t have to be so flashy about it. They would have just had to wait until I came home and slit my throat.

He grit his teeth at the thought.
Helpless again. Some things never change, I suppose.

Jonan shook his head.
Thinking like this is useless. How’d they find me?

His contact might have been able to accomplish it. With a matched mirror, they might have been able to use some sort of spell to trace the connection between the two. Knowledge sorcery, most likely.
Like what Lydia uses.

Lydia had been in his home several times, and she had spells for detecting things that were invisible. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to assume she could also detect enchanted objects – and he had told her about how his mirrors worked. He had even given her a couple of them.

Yes, he considered,
Lydia could have found it.
Or my contact has access to someone with a similar skill set. Maybe Lydia is my contact, or working with my contact. But what would her motive be?

Jonan shook his head.
I’m ignoring my best clue.

He picked up the note, and, taking a breath, he unfolded it.

Meet me at the corner of Abigail and Morningway in the Commons at six bells after the nightfrost rises. –V

Jonan folded the note back up, grimacing.
Vague note is vague. Maybe that’s what the ‘V’ stands for. Could have given me a description of who to look for, or –

Jonan remembered the flower. The indigo flower – indigo like a certain Rethri woman’s eyes.
Oh, bloody resh. V stands for Vorain. I just got played by a goddess.

Picking up the dagger, Jonann shoved it back into its sheath.
Tonight, six bells after the nightfrost. That’s not enough time to plan. Not enough time for my sight to fully recover – not even close.

He lay back on his bed, thinking.
She must have followed me here after our fight. I shouldn’t have assumed I lost her. Once she found the house, she could have investigated at her leisure. I can’t believe I was so careless.

But she didn’t kill me – not when we first met, nor after she discovered my hiding place. She did smash the mirrors, though. Clearly that was meant to send a message.

It could be someone else – the ‘V’ and the flower could be a ruse. Unlikely, though. No one, aside from Lydia and Taelien, even knows that I encountered Vorain. Unless Vorain told someone, which is also possible, but if this was one of her agents or contacts it’s effectively the same as it being her.

It still could be Lydia, trying to scare me somehow. She has sufficient information, but still no motive. Since it’s probably not her, maybe I should go to her for help. That could tip me off if she’s responsible, too.

But, if the intruder is watching me, going straight to Lydia puts her in terrible danger. They might have already seen me working with Lydia, they might not have. If it really was Vorain that went down there, I can’t let her know Lydia is working against Edon – that puts Lydia at too much of a risk.

He sighed. Wish Taelien wasn’t at the palace.
After handling one god, I’m pretty sure he could tackle another. I need to get that powerful someday.

Okay.
Enough self-recrimination. Action time.

Jonan sat up, contemplating his options and resources. It was time to make a plan.

Jonan sat across the street from Abigail and Morningway, wrapped in a blanket, a half-open bottle of whiskey at his side. An illusion wrapped him tighter than the blanket, producing false stubble, wrinkles, and blemishes on his clothes. He hunched forward, staring at seemingly nothing – but his gaze was firmly fixed on the point where his contact was supposed to arrive. Occasionally, his eyes would dart from left to right, scanning for anyone that approached him.

As he anticipated, most passersby kept their distance from him. Many avoided even looking at him. The smell of whiskey on his breath probably helped – that was real. Not only had he needed a drink, the odor helped add to his disguise. He didn’t beg for money or mumble – he didn’t want to do anything that might garner him any additional scrutiny.

He wasn’t quite sure what constituted six bells after the nightfrost rose – the ‘rising of the nightfrost’ was a somewhat subjective time. He had decided to arrive about an hour before the dawnfire set, and sat watching the area with temporarily enhanced vision. His vision had recovered only slightly during the intervening hours, and maintaining both the illusion and his sight enhancement was a dangerous prospect. He knew he could cause himself permanent damage by straining his eyes too much, but he saw no better alternative.

The indigo-eyed woman arrived without fanfare about forty minutes after he had. She looked to be alone, and she still wore the violet robes of a court sorceress, dotted at the collar with three of the same spear-marked pins that Lydia wore.

Jonan glanced across her body for weapons, finding none that were obvious. Her voluminous robes could have concealed daggers beneath, perhaps strapped to her legs, or even sheathed inside her boots. From his vantage point, Vorain didn’t look like much of a goddess. She shifted from foot-to-foot, glancing around the area as awkwardly as he had, and eventually began to pace.

After a few minutes, he felt somewhat sorry for her.

That girl broke my stuff
, he reminded himself.
Don’t be too nice.

Still
, he had to admit while he watched her,
she looks very...normal. Even with the indigo eyes.
That normalcy had a certain charm, given the madness he had been dealing with lately.

After a few minutes of pacing, the woman turned and looked as if she was debating leaving. He stood, discarding the blanket – he’d pick it up later – and walked across the street behind her, abandoning his illusion.

She turned around at the sound of his footsteps, taking a step back as she noticed him. Then her eyes flicked to the side of him, catching the discarded blanket, and she cracked a grin.

“Clever, hiding in plain sight. I expected you to be invisible, and I was checking for that.” She folded her arms in front of her, her prior signs of nervousness fleeing from her visage.

“I do endeavor to keep things interesting, miss Vorain,” Jonan replied, matching with a smirk of his own. “Now, how can I be of service?”

“Well, if that’s the question you want to ask, you can leave the city,” she replied. “Leave and never come back.”