Read Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen Online
Authors: Scott Rhine
Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen (48 page)
Charging a missile with even less silver energy than before, the young Imperial hurled it at the wall of rock facing him. It streaked across the gap and embedded several inches into the stone before detonating. Rock dust floated down. His eyes were no longer glowing. He’d learned to channel the power.
“Yes!” cheered Brent.
“That will suffice,” agreed Jotham. “Remember: technique and control over raw power.”
“Go. Hurry. I’ll hold the stair,” said Pinetto.
Jotham, Tashi, the gravediggers, Brent, and Sophia started the long climb to the temple.
The wizard was left with two archers, two invisible friends, and a long time to go till dawn. To the humans, he said, “I’ll take the first shift on watch. You two catch a nap.”
“Honor and the throne,” said one of the archers, and the two bedded down on the first landing of the staircase where they could get a good shot at anyone approaching.
“Anything else I should know about tomorrow?” Pinetto whispered to his two invisible companions. He was still waiting for the eagles and the dark men.
“Now he asks,” Bagierog laughed. “Only our first attack is a surprise. Once we actively interfere in the mortal realm, we become visible and vulnerable.”
“So who’s going to win?”
“Too many gods and too many unknowns involved,” the panther growled. “But there’ll be much blood and feasting. Songs will be written of this day. My name will be feared by generations.”
They settled on a word game where one player described a scene where offense was given, the second came up with the insulting description for the offender, and the third described the punishment to be given if the offender didn’t beg forgiveness. Pinetto turned out to be startlingly good at the insults, drawing from several cultures and languages. Bagierog excelled at inventive punishments.
****
Simon, Baran, and Sarajah crossed the bridge and were running along a dirt road. Because of her body alterations, the seeress loped along at an easy stride like her jungle-cat friend. Her only difficulty was that Alana’s breasts hurt when they bounced up and down. The cloak adapted to her will and tightened for support. The architect heaved and grunted like he was going to give birth. Eventually, they reached a fork in the road. The widest route continued north to the garrison, and the narrow branch went to the orchard. Both out-of-breath men rested at the crossroads, and the architect lay on his back on the grass.
The seeress paced. Finally, she said, “I don’t care what you all say. I’m not waiting on the prince. I’m heading to the garrison now.” She said, making sure she had the writ from Sandarac in her pouch.
“To scout?” asked the smith.
“To take it. I’ll leave it empty, with the gates standing open,” she said, distracted.
“Where are you going to be?” the smith asked, incredulous.
“I’m going to climb to the top, cross the bridge, and try to beat Tashi to the parapet. I’m going to save that idiot despite himself,” she said, taking her leave.
“Wait,” Simon panted weakly.
“That’s not going to happen,” Baran chuckled.
“Catch her.”
“She’s a tough lady,” the smith muttered. “You couldn’t keep up with her if you tried, and I don’t have time if we’re going to hold that gap.”
“Crown.”
Baran’s face fell, and then he swore.
Simon remembered something else. “And she has another artifact that Jotham needs to free the Traveler—the tuning fork.”
The smith swore more. “Maybe I can send a runner to catch her. Come on,” he said, pulling the middle-aged architect to his feet. “We have a kingdom and a god to save. We’ll rest when we’re dead.”
****
A third of the way up the stairs in the dark, Jotham’s group reached their first obstacle. A gatehouse blocked further progress. Owl examined the heavy door and the iron lock, giving a low whistle. “This here’s good workmanship, a Smaby special. You don’t see craftsmanship like this anymore.”
“Can you defeat it?” asked Tashi.
“One way or the other,” promised Owl. Tatters held the hooded lantern while the lead gravedigger took out a variety of tools.
While they waited, Brent removed his mantle and handed it to Jotham. “I name you high priest of the Bards and renounce the way. You’re now the only priest of the Traveler.”
The priest accepted the heavy cloak and noted, “That last part wasn’t necessary.”
“I know. But I want to be associated with any group my mom doesn’t approve of.” The boy shivered in the chill breeze.
Jotham placed his own over-long cloak on the boy’s shoulders. “Be warm and have many years in your new home.”
This was part of a blessing. Brent opened his mouth to supply the rest, but couldn’t. “I can’t remember.”
Tashi patted him on the back. “You’ll get used to it.”
Sophia doubled the cloak up and fussed over the boy.
The ex-sheriff casually mentioned to his teacher, “Sarajah tells me that the Doors make people sterile. She convinced me that the emperor is sterile as well. His heirs are . . . you know.”
Jotham blinked. “That makes sense. Perhaps the scandal that caused Akashua’s dismissal had to do with one of the infidelities? But that does explain . . .”
They turned to watch when they heard the rock hammer. Owl was boosting Tatters up on his shoulders, and the smaller man was leaning out over the edge of a long drop. Tatters wore a rope around his waist and was tapping a piton into place. “It won’t take more’n ten bits,” Owl claimed.
The young gravedigger stood on the piton and extended to place the next spike.
“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” asked Brent.
“Nah, he prefers the fresh air,” the gray gravedigger said amiably.
True to his word, ten beats later, Tatters dropped inside the gatehouse, walked over, and opened the door from the inside. “Only way to beat a Smaby on our schedule, and I didn’t want the lady to have to climb,” Owl insisted. Brent carried the lamp for the hard-working gravediggers.
The staircase went up for what felt like another mile. They had to stop several times, their calves and lungs burning. At the top they found the fifteen-pace chasm depicted on the map. On the far side, to the south, was Intaglios. On their side, the temple cemetery lay behind them to the north. The drop-off was sharp and seemed to go on forever into the darkness.
“All we have to do is deny our enemies access,” Tashi announced. “Who has a sword? I haven’t carried one since the dungeons.” He didn’t mention his oath to the being who’d made his armor.
No one had any blade bigger than an eating dagger. Meanwhile, Brent carried Owl’s lamp closer to the structure to examine it. The bridge had ropes strung in an arc from the large anchor posts at each side to the center point. But the planks appeared sturdier than a typicd to pe bridge. Perplexed, the boy leaned over the edge for a better look. The planks had thick support trusses.
“Why didn’t anyone bring a sharp weapon to cut the ropes?” accused the ex-sheriff.
“Simon did, but you sent him away,” Owl reminded.
“And you let me? I’ve had head damage!” Tashi exclaimed.
Jotham said nothing, as he was busy adjusting to the newest flood of memory from Brent’s Book of Mnem.
“I’ve got a saw,” Owl offered.
The pile of rocks across the bridge snorted in irritation. “Give it here,
now
,” Tashi whispered.
“Don’t get your breeches in a bunch,” muttered the gravedigger, rummaging through his pack. “I’ve got it in here somewheres.”
“Um . . .” the boy said uncertainly. “Guys. This isn’t a rope bridge anymore. They’ve upgraded. I can’t tell in this light whether the ropes make it a drawbridge, or if they’re just here for handrails. But cutting the ropes won’t do you any good.”
The ex-sheriff tugged on the end of one of the ropes. “It’s not a drawbridge.”
“We could burn it,” offered Owl.
The pile of rock on the far side growled as it stood up on two rough-hewn legs and turned to face the group. The troll was hideous, with a face like a slag heap. “Not fast enough,” Tashi said. “Run. I’ll hold him.”
A second troll crawled from its nest in the triangular supports under the bridge, screeching its displeasure. Everyone ran up the trail to the temple plateau except Tashi and Jotham. The ex-sheriff fell into his boulder stance, ready to defend. The priest strode past him, onto the bridge, oblivious to the clomping threat of the trolls. “Good night to you both,” said the priest cheerfully.
“Teacher?” Tashi said nervously.
“Relax, these two capable beings are just doing their duty, aren’t they?”
The closest troll grunted and beat his own chest with a fist that was thicker than the bridge posts.
Jotham leaned closer and stage whispered, “But I imagine you don’t enjoy it much.”
The troll ambled closer. “No, but must kill threat.”
“Not us. Dear me, no. I’m a high priest of the Traveler and my followers and I are going to his temple on legitimate church business.” The troll sniffed for a lie but smelled none. “But I
could
release you from your service.” The troll panted approval like a dog.
Jotham continued, “The only problem is that there’s a dangerous army coming here, over two hundred men and some fire mages.” The troll growled at this. The priest carefully avoided mentioning that the soldiers had been invited and had passes. “I imagine your contract has provisions for destroying the bridge in such situations.”
The lead troll scratched its head. The one behind nodded. “Well then, we have a solution. I release you from your duties once you’ve destroyed the bridge well enough . . .” His instructions were interrupted by the fist of the lead troll smashing through the planks. The impact knocked Jotham off his feet. The second blow rocked the bridge, rolling the priest toward the edge. Tashi leapt forward and grabbed his hand.
The third blow sent splinters into the air, forcing both men to close their eyes and spit out airborne debris. When one troll almost stranded the other mid-bridge, there was a lull in the demolition long enough for Tashi to haul his teacher up and race to safety. They stopped when they reached the other group members, who were hiding behind gravestones in the cemetery.
“How’d you do that?” marveled the boy.
“Trolls aren’t the brightest or most faithful employees,” said Jotham. “Plus probability seems to be more active at the extreme ends of the spectrum.”
“In our language?”
“Both severe good luck and bad luck can happen as we get closer to the Door. Shall we continue?”
“Um . . . I sort of accidentally left the lantern on the bridge,” admitted Brent.
“No matter,” said Jotham. “I can see where it’s sitting. I’ll just go back and . . .” A loud creaking groan and a snapping sound stopped him. Their light disappeared down the endless chasm. “Does Tatters have a spare?”
“Too expensive,” Owl said.
“Perhaps I can lead us,” suggested the half-Imperial with night vision. “Where are we going?”
“One of the mausoleums,” Brent explained. “Mom will know it when she sees it.”
“We can check each one. How many of them can there be?” asked Owl.
“People came here to get cured of fatal diseases or live longer,” Brent answered. “A lot of people never got better or just stayed here till they died.”
“Meaning?” Tashi said, rubbing the side of his head.
“Hundreds. They pre-date the temple,” said Brent.
“Perhaps we’ll wait for dawn to enter,” Jotham reasoned.
“I’m sorry. I’ve probably ruined the whole mission,” said the boy.
“Nonsense,” Jotham replied. “The abominations inside worship at sundown, so they’re probably all asleep or in their holes all morning. This’ll improve our chances of success.”
“Really?”
Tashi said, “No. This is the worst-planned mission I’ve ever been on.” Sophia kicked him in the shin. “Ouch. I mean, everything that can possibly go wrong has already. The rest has to go better.”
About four hours before dawn, the smith and Simon arrived in the Kiateran camp near the orchard. “I’ve brought a specialist to help us,” said the sword-bearer to the sentries. “We have to see Legato.”
The sentry shook his head. “No can do. He was up late fiddling with the puzzle and left strict orders not to be awakened before dawn.”
The smith wasn’t creative enough to talk his way around the chain of command. Instead, he found someone with the clout to ignore it. He led the architect to the wagon where the ambassador was dozing as she waited for the return of the scouting mission.
“Ambassador Sajika, meet Simon the Builder. He’s going to guide the throne safely through the pass to Kiateros.”
Simon leaned forward to kiss her hand. She was too muzzy to stop him or object. “I’ve met your husband, madam: an incredibly brave man.”
She was instantly awake. “Togg, what did you do with him?”