Bringers of Doom Page 16

  "And you didn't want to be a miner?"

  He shakes his head. "The wages are a pittance and the work is hard and dangerous. I wanted to get out and see the world, what's left of it anyway, and I figured the best way to do that was become a ranger. Then lo and behold, I am stationed practically in my backyard."

  He shakes his head again and mumbles something that I can't understand.

  "Apprenticeships don't last forever," I offer, attempting to be consoling. "Once you become a ranger in full, I'm sure you'll be sent somewhere different. Acacia, maybe?"

  "Maybe," he responds, shrugging. "But knowing my luck, I'll probably just keep to the south and die at the end of some Nightingale's sword." Despite his dark words, he smiles a lopsided grin, and I find myself smiling as well despite myself.

  This fellow is different than Zara, I find myself thinking, glad to have some company. He's a little bit of a loudmouth, but other than that, he seems nice.

  Nice folk have been in short supply lately.

  We pass the time by chatting amiably as we delve deeper and deeper into the forest. Our conversation becomes so lively, in fact, that Rickard has to look back and shush us more than once, reminding us sternly to keep quiet and watch our surroundings. His reminders quiet us for a time, but we always pick up our conversation anew, this time more stealthily than before.

  When night falls we stop in a small clearing and set up camp. It is an efficient, silent affair, and before long we have a small fire crackling in a pit with our bed rolls set up around it.

  After a simple meal of jerky and dried fruit, we settle in and sip tea from tiny pewter cups.

  "You come across any Nightingales in the Emberwood?" Rickard asks me before taking a drink from his cup.

  "Yes," I reply simply, without offering to go into any more detail.

  "That's good," he responds with a nod of his head. "Because the lands we're entering have been claimed by the rebel scum."

  I take another sip and give them both a questioning look. "Have you seen any lately?"

  Talon replies next. "Only from a distance. They've never been hostile as far as we can tell."

  "It only takes one time," Rickard rebukes him softly. "That's why we're here, to ensure that never happens. Nightingales are in open rebellion to the king, which makes them the enemies of the rangers."

  I don't say anything. My own heart is a raging war of emotions, without a clear victor on either side. On the one hand, Barus and his Nightingales had helped us defend Forest Hill from the demon Moloch. But on the other hand, they had killed my father when I was just a baby, and have killed many more innocent people around the kingdom.

  Nothing can ever be simple, I think to myself bitterly.

  After a moment, Rickard continues. "I tell you so that you'll be prepared. You need to know what we're facing out here. This is one of the most heavily populated Nightingale strongholds in Tarsynium."

  A grim silence falls over the camp as we finish drinking our tea, the crackling fire carrying smoke and embers into the dark sky, and casting a flickering light over each of us as we stare into its flames.

  At length Rickard stands up, pulling out his bow and depositing his cup on a stone near the fire. "I'll take first watch tonight," he says, taking a step back into the gloom. "I'll comb the perimeter to make sure that we aren't being watched. In the meantime, try and get some sleep. We'll be entering the foothills tomorrow and I need both of you to be extra sharp."

  We oblige his request, moving over to our bed rolls and letting the fire die out.

  Before long I drift off into a fitful sleep.

  I AWAKE AS THE GOLDEN light of dawn filters through the trees, causing me to open my eyes and blink away the sleep.

  At first, I worry that I have slept through my watch, and I push myself up to a sitting position in alarm. When I see Talon in the distance, sitting on a stone whittling a piece of wood, and Rickard wrapped up in his bed roll still asleep, I realize what has happened.

  Rickard and Talon allowed me to sleep through the night.

  Getting out from under my blanket, I make my way over to the fire and begin stoking it back to life. My sleep had been long, even though it was plagued by dark dreams that I no longer remember.

  Still, it is the first time in my apprenticeship I have been able to sleep a full night while ranging.

  It is a kindness I am truly grateful for.

  Seeing that I am awake, Talon tosses away his piece of wood and walks up to me, squatting down beside the firepit and warming his hands by the flames.

  "Quiet night," he remarks quietly. "I know that Rickard goes on about Nightingales, but I've never seen one in these woods."

  I raise an eyebrow at him. "I thought you said that you've seen them here before?"

  He shakes his head. "That was farther southeast. We were basically in the mountains at that point. I've never seen one this close to the Grand Lodge."

  For a moment I say nothing as I feed the growing fire with broken sticks. Then, I speak up again.

  "Thanks for letting me sleep."

  Talon doesn't look up from the flames. "Don't mention it. It was Rickard's idea, really. I would have woken you up."

  He looks over me and flashes me that lopsided grin, and I can't quite tell if he is mocking me or not.

  Not one minute later, Rickard pulls himself out of his bed roll and begins breaking down camp. "We have a long way to go yet," he says gruffly as he starts loading his stallion. "Let's eat and get back on the trail."

  We eat a swift meal of oats, nuts and jerky, and then we are back in the saddle, making our way through the trees as the sun grows gradually brighter.

  The terrain of the Ashwood, already rough and strewn with rocks, becomes rockier and more uneven still, rising up in a gentle slope as we approach the not-so-distant mountains. The gnarled trees still grow thickly around us, but it is as if the forest and the mountains are at war with one another for who can claim the most ground. Roots interweave with stone in a way that does not seem entirely possible, and several times we are forced to dismount and guide our horses through the broken forest trails.

  Around midday, Rickard abruptly stops, raising a closed fist for us to do the same. He lithely slides out of his saddle and unslings his bow, pulling an arrow and nocking it to the string.

  Talon and I eye each other uneasily as we get off our horses and pull our own weapons, doing our best to be as silent as possible.

  Strain though I might, I cannot see or hear anything out of the ordinary.

  "We're not alone," Rickard whispers urgently, taking a few steps ahead and trying to look at something through the trees. "Be ready."

  A twig breaks somewhere in the woods and I hear a snapping sound, like a bowstring being released. My heart leaps into my throat as I realize too late what is happening, my grip tightening on the handle of my father's hatchet.

  Before I can even blink Rickard's head jerks backward, a black feathered arrow protruding from his right eye socket like a banner.

  Talon cries out as his body falls on the stones, but I know that he is dead before he even hits the ground. Ducking behind a tree I call for Talon to find some cover.

  We are being ambushed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Zara

  Light, I forgot how big this city is!

  I hasten down the streets of Tarsys, weaving through the bustling crowds with renewed urgency in my steps.

  I had estimated that the trip to the Cathedral of Light and back could be accomplished before sunset, but the sheer size of the city and the density of the crowds cause me to doubt that very much.

  Gathering my mage cloak around me, I press on, trying not to jostle anybody as I pass.

  Even in my mad dash, I cannot help but take in the sights, sounds and smells of civilization, reveling in once again living in the heart of the world. The sounds of the people echo off the white stones of the city in a reverberating cacophony, filling my soul and reminding me of simpler times
. Perfumed ladies, street vendor food and even the scent of sewage mix together, assaulting my nostrils with a smell that is both wonderful and nauseating at the same time.

  Despite having spent the last five years living in Tarsys, I find that navigating the twisting streets is quite challenging.

  Initiates in the Conclaves rarely got to leave the sheltered halls of the Academy, and so I have only been out in the city proper a handful of times. Still, I think to myself as I pass by a pair of prissy noblewomen, at least there are plenty of landmarks to go by.

  Buildings like the towers of the Conclave and the domes of the royal palace are excellent for navigation.

  The steeples of the Cathedral of Light rise up several blocks ahead of me, and I adjust my course accordingly so that I am heading in the right direction.

  Distantly thunder booms, and I notice clouds beginning to gather thickly in the sky.

  Great, I think, more annoyed than anything else. On top of everything, it may rain.

  I briefly wonder at how rain can even get through the Arc. In truth, I’m not entirely sure how the magic works. One book I have read seemed to indicate that the radiant magic encasing the kingdom also creates a livable atmosphere, preserving the temperate climate that existed before the Doom of Byhalya. The author claimed that this is what keeps Tarsynium green and lush while the world outside languishes as a desolate wasteland.

  I could do without all the rain, though, I think idly. I can't stand bad weather.

  Why this phenomenon occurs is beyond even the most revered scholars. There are many disagreements as to why the Arc keeps everything inside stable, but one thing is certain: without the magical protection it provides, the land itself would die just like the rest of the world.

  Luckily, no rain falls as I traverse the city streets, and eventually I make it to the wide courtyard in front of the holiest place on Byhalya – the Cathedral of Light.

  It rises like a monolith to the Light itself, buttressed walls of the whitest marble rising above the city with a grace unseen anywhere else. The building is not as tall as the Pillar of Radiance, of course, but it is still formidable in size. Sharp steeples banded in silver stab at the sky like glistening swords, capping the cathedral with what looks like a brilliant crown. Most beautiful of all, though, are the stained-glass windows set into the walls, glowing from inner fires in a dazzling display of colors that remind me of a rainbow.

  This is only the third time I have been to this edifice, the other two being when I was an initiate at the Academy. Even then, I was never permitted to go inside.

  Only taking a heartbeat or two to behold the Cathedral of Light, I cross the gardens of the courtyard and begin climbing the many steps up to the great double doors in the front of the holy building.

  There are no guards anywhere to be seen, and church day is still several days away. The way should be clear for me to go explore the crypts.

  Putting a hand on the carved brass doorknob of one of the doors, I open it and slip inside, closing the door behind me and taking in the scene within.

  What I see takes my breath away.

  Like a massive cavern the cathedral stretches before me, polished red tile floor reflecting the light of a thousand candles burning from sconces all around. Enormous columns flank the walls between the stained-glass windows, holding up the roof and giving the place an austere feeling, and lining the floors are intricately-made pews leading up to the main altar at the front.

  As I walk inside my eyes stray up to the high vaulted ceiling encapsulating the chamber like a great, inverted triangle. It is carved with intricate stone patterns and inlaid with gold and ivory, the craftsmanship of which causing me to marvel in appreciation.

  Common folk, including initiates from the Academy, do not attend church day services in the Cathedral of Light. That privilege is reserved only for the very elite of Tarsynium nobility. King Aethelgar himself has been known to come on occasion, though rumor has it that he is secretly an atheist.

  A priest of the Light in his ceremonial white robes notices my presence as I walk timidly down the hall. He looks up from where he is lighting candles near the front and approaches me quietly, his hands disappearing into the folds of his sleeves.

  "Can I help you, child?" He asks, his voice reverberating off the polished stone walls.

  "Yes," I reply, not really caring that he did not use the honorific 'Magus'. "I've come to pay my respects."

  His eyes widen slightly as he draws near and apparently realizes that I am a mage from the Conclave. "Forgive me, Magus. I did not realize who you were. You would like to pay your respects to the Light?"

  I pause just a few feet from him, shaking my head. "Not to the Almighty. Not today, anyway. I've come to pay my respects to the honored dead. May I be allowed to see the crypts?"

  "The crypts?" The priest raises his eyebrow. He is an older man, with a bald patch on top and snow-white hair on the sides of his head. "How unusual."

  "Is it so unusual for someone to want to visit the crypts?"

  "Visitors? No, I shouldn't say visitors are unusual. Patrons come every once in a while to pray over the tombs of their ancestors." A look of consternation suddenly crosses his weathered features. "What is unusual, Magus, is the apparent interest the Conclave has with these halls. Another mage came through here recently, wanting to see the crypts as well."

  I try my best to feign ignorance. "That is unusual," I agree. "But I can assure you, priest, that my intentions are good. I only wish to pay my respects to the saints who came before."

  It was an innocent enough lie. Hopefully it was enough to put him at ease. Lying to a holy man isn't a sin if you are doing it for a good cause, is it?

  The priest considers for a moment before finally nodding his head. "I suppose there is no harm in letting you down there. Fortunately, the cathedral is quiet this evening. Please be sure not to disturb any of the tombs. A person's final resting place is sacred ground."

  I quickly agree and he takes me off to the side, through the stone pillars and toward a thick, iron-banded door set into the wall. A small candelabra rests on a table beside it.

  He picks up the candelabra and produces a brass key from somewhere within his billowing robes, sliding it into the lock and turning with a grinding click. The door swings inward, revealing a twisting stone staircase leading down into absolute blackness.

  "This way," he intones, leading the way down the staircase.

  I follow him without hesitation.

  The temperature quickly drops as we descend the stairs, the only light being the flickering candles held aloft by the priests gnarled hand. Deeper and deeper we go, and I find myself wondering just how far we are beneath the surface.

  Eventually, however, the stairs come to an end, depositing us into a musty chamber with an extremely high ceiling. The walls of the room rise up, disappearing into the darkness above, and set into the walls are shadowed alcoves, carved into the stone at varying intervals down the path. These, I realize, must be where the bodies are kept.

  "Would you like me to show you around, or would you like to spend some time alone?"

  The question catches me somewhat off-guard.

  "Alone is fine," I reply, steeling myself at the prospect of being along with thousands of decaying bodies.

  The priest hands me the candelabra, but I shake my head. Reaching up to touch the talisman around my neck, I channel source energy and produce a small ball of magefyre in my open palm.

  Nodding solemnly, the priest departs without another word, heading back up the stairs and disappearing from sight.

  Leaving me alone in the foreboding crypts.

  Pulling the talisman from around my neck, I set off, not really knowing where I should begin. What reason could Magister Halle have had to come down here? More importantly, what did he discover down here that would have given someone reason to kill him?

  Admittedly, I don't have very much to go by.

  The crypt, as far as I can tell, is r
eally a series of wide corridors carved into the bedrock of the city itself. Each corridor contains dozens upon dozens of tombs burrowed deep into the walls. As I wander through those corridors, I see that the tombs vary widely in appearance, despite their relatively similar size. Some tombs contain a stone casket with the name of the deceased simply carved beneath. Others are more ornate, containing masterful works of art and marble busts of the individuals.

  In the end, though, it doesn't really matter how pretty your tomb is, I think to myself as I go. The result is the same. Bones and ash and death.

  A shiver runs up my spine.

  I make a mental note of my path as I traverse the winding corridors. It would be a terrible thing indeed to become lost down here. Letting my feet take me where they will, I study the tombs as I pass, looking for any clue at all as to why Magister Halle would have been interested in this place.

  I'm not sure how long I wander, turning this way and that through the incredibly massive underground graveyard. The weight of the darkness around me feels crushing, and I find myself clinging to the limited blue light my magefyre creates, using it to ward away the oppressive shadows.

  Abruptly something catches my eye and I stop short, turning my body to regard a particularly austere-looking tomb chiseled deep into the rough stone wall.

  Below the tomb is the name 'Garreth Typhorus', stamped in bold letters, but beneath that I see a familiar four-pointed star surrounded by a circle of slim, intertwining bands. I recognize it immediately as the symbol from the assassin's blade. The book I had read at the library called it the 'Emblem of the Chosen'.

  The symbol of the Harbingers, I think to myself in shock.

  For a moment I am too stunned to move. I stand there in the darkness, staring at the faded symbol with a look of amazement, my thoughts racing.

  Who was this man? Was he the founder of this cult? Why would he display his allegiance to the Harbingers so brazenly, even in death?

  I don't recognize the name. For all I know, he could have been a noble or a holy man or a wealthy merchant. The tomb offers no information as to his accomplishments.