Forging Divinity (39 page)

Epilogue – Greetings and Goodbyes

Five days later, Jonan stood at the city gates. He had hoped to stay long enough for Edon’s trial and the coronation, but reporting back to Selyr was a higher priority. He had finished his remaining business in the city, paid his informants for their assistance, and given his final report to his contact through one of his remaining mirrors.

Knowing that his contact was the queen regent, he had briefly considered visiting her in person, but that would have violated his operational parameters. And besides, it was more fun keeping his identity a mystery.

The queen regent had delivered on her side of the plan perfectly – her appearance near the entrance to the Paths of Ascension couldn’t have been better timed. He still wasn’t certain why the Order of Vaelien had chosen to work with her in the first place, but she had certainly had proven to be efficient.

In the distance, Jonan could see Taelien and Lydia approaching, coming to see him off as they had promised. Taelien’s left arm and right shoulder were still wrapped in thick bandages, and he walked with a slight limp, but he otherwise seemed cheerful. Lydia was laughing at one of Taelien’s jokes, and Jonan felt a very brief pang of jealously at the display.

Bah. I’ll probably never see her again, anyway.

He waved with his free hand as they approached, giving the pair as sincere of a smile as he could muster.

“Hey!” Taelien shouted as they came closer, closing the distance quickly and wrapping him in a hug. Jonan returned the embrace awkwardly, pulling away after a moment.

“Um, hey,” Jonan stammered. “How’s the arm doing?”

“Better, thanks,” Taelien said, stepping back to give Lydia room to approach.

Dare I test my luck?

Jonan extended his free hand and Lydia grasped it at the wrist, nodding professionally.

“It was good working with you,” she said. “I hope you have a safe journey home.”

“Thanks,” he said, pulling his hand back and adjusting his glasses. He turned to Taelien. “You know, you could still come with me and visit your family.”
He shook his head. “Sounds fun, but Lydia has me convinced that Velthryn is going to treat me a little better than Orlyn did. And I have to admit, I’m pretty curious if they’ll be able to figure out why I have this thing.” He patted the sword on his hip meaningfully.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Jonan set down his walking staff, undoing his belt and removing a scabbard that carried a long sword. He extended the sheathed weapon toward Taelien. “This is the sword you dropped in the palace. I got a scabbard for it. Consider it a present.”

Taelien accepted the sword, holding it up to look at the hilt in the dawnfire’s light. “You sure you don’t want to keep it? This thing might be valuable. I didn’t even recognize the metal.”

Jonan shrugged, refastening his belt. “It would just slow me down. I’ve got a long walk ahead of me, and I pack pretty heavily as it is.” He patted his backpack, which was practically overflowing with gear.

“Fair enough,” Taelien replied. “Thanks for the present. I’ll owe you one, for next time I see you.”

Next time. Well, I suppose it’s possible I might see you again – your family does live nearby. Her, on the other hand...

“Sounds good,” he said, a hint of sadness dripping into his tone. He reached into a pouch on his side, retrieving a flat disc wrapped in cloth.

“And for you, Lydia,” he said, offering it to her.

Lydia quirked a brow. “You didn’t have to get me something.”

She accepted it, removing the cloth to reveal a fine hand mirror. “Hah. I’ll make sure I get dressed in front of it every day.”

Jonan laughed. “Good. I’ll see you both soon enough.”

Maintaining the illusion that disguised the Heartlance as a walking stick was a constant strain on his eyes, but nowhere near as difficult as what he had been forced to engage in over the last week. He felt a slight pang of regret that he hadn’t managed to sneak away with that fascinating green gemstone as well, but he doubted it could possibly be as valuable as the spear he carried.

Weeks passed in relative calm as Jonan made his way back toward Selyr. As he traveled, he and Lydia would occasionally send notes through their mirrors. He had little of import to tell her, but she gave him useful news.

He read as he walked, drinking in Edon’s notes eagerly for more clues about the strange language the sorcerer had utilized for casting his spells. Between scholarly notes, Jonan discovered many more personal passages.

At first, I thought that being robbed of my sorcery was a curse. A punishment from Sytira for daring to speak out against the isolation and selfishness of the Tae’os gods. In truth, retracting my sorcerous abilities may have been the greatest gift she ever bestowed on me, if only accidentally. If she had never done so, I never would have heard the first whispers of divine power, relayed through the simple Intuitive Comprehension spell that I maintained at all times.

The first months were a difficult period of adjustment, a frustrating attempt to wrench anything useful out of those few seemingly meaningless syllables. It was Mora that provided the inspiration I needed to study the fading echoes of my spell in earnest, and for that, she will ever have my gratitude.

Jonan fixated on those particular passages, considering their possible implications. He wished that Tailor had written the exact words that the spell had given to him, but if they were recorded anywhere, Jonan had yet to find them.

Tailor lost the ability to use dominion sorcery years ago and believed Sytira was responsible, but is that the most likely scenario? Sytira isn’t known for having the ability to take dominion sorcery away – only the Vae’kes are supposed to be able to do that. Could one of them somehow be responsible for all this?

Unsurprisingly, Donovan Tailor had been found guilty of several crimes. The only surprise was that murder was not among them. That that particular crime could not be proven – not without the evidence that Jonan still carried.

“They’re going to keep him imprisoned,” Jonan explained to his traveling companion, shaking his head.

“That’s quite a risk,” Vorain replied, turning her bright eyes to glance at his mirror for confirmation. “The new king is too soft.”

Vorain still had scrapes and bruises from her confrontation with the strange black-haired girl, but had staunchly refused to tell Jonan exactly what happened after he had escaped. All he knew is that Vorain had somehow talked the other woman down, and that she had gone to check on her brother soon thereafter. Elias was still being cared for by Raymond Lorel, and Vorain apparently trusted the older man enough to leave her brother behind while she traveled for a few weeks.

Jonan shrugged in response to Vorain’s assertion. “I think it’s a political move. Edon was the foundation of a religion. Executing him would have been almost certain to cause his worshippers to take action.”

“More likely than the riots he’ll induce when he escapes and proclaims his innocence?”

The scribe waved his hand dismissively. “It’ll be hard for him to escape after he dies quietly in a cell.”

Vorain quirked a brow. “You think they’re going to arrange for that?”

“It’s what I’d do,” he replied. The memory of a helpless Esharen flashed in his mind.

“Well,” she said, “We’ll have to see if they’re as brutally pragmatic as you are.”

“They’d better be. He still has at least two allies out there that we never found,” Jonan pointed out.

“Two? Morella and who else?” Vorain asked.

“Veruden,” Jonan replied. “From what Lydia tells me, Veruden was badly hurt when she last saw him, but we have no idea what sorts of abilities those strange runes might have given him.”

Vorain folded her arms. “Doesn’t that mean they have enough information to keep doing what Edon was doing?”

Jonan shook his head. “Maybe. Edon’s notes imply that he relied on Morella heavily, so she might have known all the details of the process. That said, the whole kingdom is going to be looking out for them at this point. They might be able to start over somewhere else, but not in Orlyn.”

The pair continued their walk silently for a while, before Vorain stopped him by taking his hand.

“Do you really think your order can find a cure for my brother?” She tried to stare into his eyes, but he turned his head away immediately.

“Hey, no need to use the eye tricks. I can’t promise anything, but if anyone can help your brother, yeah. Vaelien is a Rethri himself. Not that he’s going to act on it personally, but I’m sure there would be a number of talented sorcerers who would be willing to look into it. Especially if I give them a chance to look at all this existing research,” Jonan offered.

She released his hand, taking a step away. “Fine,” she said simply. “I’m trusting you to take care of it personally,” she added after a few more moments.

He nodded once, resuming his walk. “Not a problem.”

Weeks later, Jonan finally arrived in Selyr. He rented two rooms at a local tavern, leaving Vorain behind in one of them, and then went to give his report.

When he arrived at Fort Amber, the Order of Vaelien’s local headquarters, he was quickly escorted to a private room to wait for a superior officer to arrive. The door closed, leaving him apparently alone in the dark. He sat down on a long bench, nervous that they might send one of the Thornguard to interrogate him.

He waited for a handful of minutes, something itching at the back of his mind, before finally tapping the right side of his head.

A woman was sitting next to him, idly inspecting the walls of the small chamber. Her hair was a sheet of molten gold, brighter than the golden trim on her crimson dress. She looked to be unarmed, but Jonan knew from years of experience that her lack of weaponry was utterly irrelevant.

Instinctively, he slid an inch away from her. She whirled on him immediately, grinning broadly. “You’re getting slow, Jonan.”

She poked him on the nose, still smiling broadly.

“So, how’d it go?” she asked, gathering her hands under her chin to stare at him.

“I was able to successfully orchestrate the downfall of the target, utilizing a Paladin of Sytira and a swordsman as resources,” he explained, attempting to keep himself calm.

Being near one of the Vae’kes always made his skin crawl – and she was the worst of them. She could kill him as easily as she smiled.

The woman steepled her fingers. “And what were you able to ascertain about his identity and motives?”

The sight sorcerer set his hands on the bench, gripping tightly against the wood to ease his tension. “As my initial reports indicated, I determined his identity to be Donovan Tailor, a former priest of Sytira. After being expelled from the priesthood, he traveled to Selyr, at which point he was somehow robbed of his ability to cast dominion sorcery. I don’t know how-“

“Speculate,” she instructed him, waving a hand.

Jonan tightened his jaw. “Donovan believed that his sorcery had been taken away by Sytira, who was punishing him for preaching that any mortal could ascend to godhood.”

“And do you believe that?” she inquired, her eyes fluttering.

“It’s a possibility,” he began, sensing her gaze weighing more heavily upon him, “But he ignored a much more plausible explanation. Selyr is one of Vaelien’s cities, and a Vae’kes could have been responsible.”

The woman grinned brightly at him. “Continue.”

“He felt it the moment his sorcery was taken from him. He didn’t see or hear anyone, but he was under the effects of one of his spells, something called Intuitive Comprehension.”

The Vae’kes made a ‘hmmm’ sound, tapping her fingers on the bench.

“The spell identified the effect that was taking his sorcery, but the words it showed him initially appeared to be gibberish. He wrote them down, determined to learn how his sorcery had been stolen and reverse the process. He shared that information with a friend, a Paladin of Sytira, and they worked together to attempt to find a solution.”

“Difficult business, replacing lost sorcery,” the Vae’kes noted. “Like trying to sew on a new limb.”

Jonan nodded at that. “The Paladin of Sytira hadn’t lost her sorcerous abilities, which involved knowledge and memory. The pair of them speculated that if they could determine how his sorcerous abilities had been removed, they could find a way to reverse the process. Not only to give his sorcery back, but potentially to give them – or others – access to new types of sorcery.”

The blonde haired woman fidgeted in her seat, frowning. “Is that all? I thought you were going to tell me something interesting, Jonan.”

Jonan flinched. “Well, he does seem to have eventually succeeded.”

The Vae’kes tilted her head to the side. “How?”

Jonan adjusted his glasses, unsure of how much to say. If the Vae’kes learned the secrets that Donovan had used, his chance of executing his own plans in the future would be drastically diminished.