Forging Divinity Page 19

  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 thi
nk 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?”

  “Hrm. I think it’s a good idea to make this match happen, so if you have a way to enable that, it’s probably good. Tell him you’ll help. I’ll come with you, though, and back you up in case he tries anything.”

  The younger sorcerer nodded solemnly. “Thanks, Lydia. You’re the best.”

  She chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, I’ve been itching to meet him. Have you heard anything about who he’ll be fighting?”

  The sorcerer laughed. “More like ‘who haven’t I heard he’ll be fighting’. The rumors are running wild. Korin Matthews, Sophia Beaumont, Edrick Case, Velas Jaldin, maybe even Landen of the Twin Edges.”

  Lydia nodded, trying to keep her face neutral. It was easier than forcing a smile. Those are almost all Queensguard, Lydia realized. And some of the best. I think I’ve heard of all of them before – and Velas and Landen are both champion duelists. I’ve seen Landen fight before, at least. Maybe I can give Taelien some advice if he ends up being the opponent.

  “That’s quite a list,” Lydia mused. “I wonder who they’ll end up picking.”

  “Rumor has it that Edon will select the champion personally,” Veruden told her.

  Lydia blinked at that. “Edon is going to be there?”

  “That’s the word,” Veruden grinned. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

  Lydia nodded, taking a for
k of potatoes and chewing fiercely, thinking. They won’t need to have a sorcerer in the stands to interfere, Lydia realized. Edon could just do it himself.

  I need to be ready to counter that. But how? If I put a protection spell on Taelien before the match, it’ll work on anything – not just Edon’s interference. And they’d certainly detect it, and trace the spell back to me. That’s no good.

  “How’s your hand healing?” Lydia asked absently.

  Veruden winced. “Healing seems to have slowed down. Guess that ointment wasn’t quite the cure-all Sethridge told me it would be.”

  Lydia nodded. “You have my sympathies. And my thanks, too – if you wouldn’t have gotten that burn, I probably would have tinkered with the sword and burned myself.”

  “Better me than you, then,” he smiled. “But if I took a burn for you, you can treat me to a better meal than this sometime.”

  “Deal.” Lydia grinned.

  Lydia stood with Veruden near the rear entrance to the arena, both of them wearing their formal robes. She saw Taelien approaching in innocuous peasant garb, but she initially ignored him. Veruden seemed to notice Taelien a few moments later, waving with his bandaged hand.

  “That’s him,” Veruden said.

  The sorceress nodded to him, resting a hand on her saber as Taelien approached, trying to look overtly suspicious.

  “Thank you for meeting me here,” Taelien said, reaching out with his left hand to clasp Veruden’s own uninjured hand. Veruden clasped Taelien’s hand at the wrist, smiling like he was seeing an old friend.

  “Good to see you again,” Veruden said, releasing his grip on Taelien’s arm after a brief trust-testing squeeze.

  “And who is this lovely creature?” Taelien asked, turning toward Lydia.

  The sorceress barely resisted rolling her eyes. “Lydia Scryer,” she replied, extending a hand.

  When he knelt and kissed her hand, she did roll her eyes.

  Gods, what a show off.

  “It is my earnest pleasure to meet you, miss Scryer,” he said.

  “Good to meet you. Ready to fight?”