Forging Divinity (7 page)

Please be as impressionable and foolish as you look.

“That does sound pretty exciting,” Taelien said, nodding lightly.

Thank you.

Lydia shook her head fervently. “Look, I can’t just go running around the city with a fugitive. He needs to be out of the city, and then I can pursue this Erik Tarren business – if there’s anything to be pursued – without having to worry about having Taelien recaptured. Taelien, I’d be glad to bring Erik Tarren to meet you somewhere outside the city if I can find him,” she offered, a pleading expression on her face.

“Assuming, of course, that you work for someone we can trust. You’ve already clearly betrayed the government of Orlyn – who’s to say you wouldn’t just kill this Erik Tarren if you find him, or turn him in to your own people to steal his secrets?” Jonan leaned forward in his chair, narrowing his eyes. He was making a rough gamble and he knew it. He had to hope that Taelien’s lack of trust for Lydia was sufficient to put Taelien on his side.

Taelien, unfortunately, remained silent. He scratched at his chin, looking to Lydia, apparently seeking her guidance.
Resh.

“All right,” Lydia said. “You tell me who you work for and why you’re here, and I’ll tell you who I work for and why I’m here,” she offered Jonan. “Do we have a deal?”

Jonan nodded without hesitating.
This should be interesting, if nothing else.

“You first, then,” Lydia said.

Oh, come on. I didn’t expect that?

“Very well,” Jonan said. “I am a humble servant of the priesthood of his majesty Vaelien, the King of Thorns.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed.

That can’t be good.
Jonan tried to subtly reach for one of the pouches at his side, but it was too far away at his current angle.

“You’re a Kesite?” Lydia asked, tilting her head to the side.

Jonan nodded. “Yes, of sorts.”

“Bad luck for you, I’m afraid.” She gave him an apologetic look, standing up. “I’m Lydia Hastings of the Paladins of Sytira, and you are my prisoner.”

All things considered, Lydia was a fairly courteous captor. She had bound Jonan’s wrists with some of his own hemp rope – which he had “graciously” provided to her – and ordered Taelien to keep an eye on him.

A gods-curst paladin. Really? I couldn’t have been fairly expected to guess that.

Lydia apparently worshiped Sytira, one of the seven gods of the Tae’os Pantheon. Sytira was particularly associated with the acquisition and distribution of information, which made Lydia’s usage of knowledge sorcery unsurprising within that context. More surprising was that she was a paladin – essentially a warrior dedicated to enforcing the tenants of her religion. Paladins of Sytira were usually assigned to finding and stopping abuses of sorcery – he had never heard of one being utilized as a long-term spy.

Jonan, on the other hand, was a follower of Vaelien, a solitary deity with many demigods – known as the Vae’kes – in his service. The two religions were often at odds, and many legends depicted the leader of the Tae’os Pantheon as Vaelien’s personal rival. At present, the followers of the two religions were not engaged in any open hostilities with one another, but they tended to keep their distance. For Lydia, Jonan knew that the sword would be a symbol of the strength and love of her gods. For Jonan, it was a bargaining chip – the weapon of Vaelien’s legendary opponent.

Deciding to steal a Tae’os artifact is probably a bit above my level of authority,
Jonan considered.
But it’s awfully tempting. Using the wielder of the Sae’kes as a tool, however, fits perfectly within my mission parameters. It even cleanly deflects blame away from Vaelien. The Tae’os Pantheon would look responsible.

“You can still help yourselves to the food,” Jonan offered weakly.

“It’s probably poisoned,” Lydia replied dryly. She hadn’t drawn her sword, thankfully, but now she was watching him with twice the intensity she had been before. This was impressive, seeing as she had already looked like she could burrow straight through a wall with her eyes.

“It’s not poisoned. It’s food. I eat it. Here, bring me some bread. I’ll take the first bite,” Jonan offered.

“You’re probably immune to your own poison.” Lydia shifted in her seat.

“That’s absurd. Look, I admitted I work for the priesthood of Vaelien. I’m not a priest myself, and even if I was, that wouldn’t make me some sort of assassin,” he offered.

“No, working for the priesthood and not being a priest is what makes you an assassin, or at very least a spy,” Lydia replied.

She’s not entirely wrong,
Jonan admitted silently. They did have other branches to the organization, but he was a field agent, not a civilian or even a member of their own pseudo-military. He had never killed anyone, but he was certainly a spy.

“Right, yes, I’m clearly a spy,” Jonan said in a deadpan tone. Lydia tilted her head to the side inquisitively. “No more or less than you are, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. And I doubt you poison the contents of your cupboard, just for the contingency that you might be having guests that you need to murder.”

Lydia nodded slowly. “You’re right. That would be a needlessly extreme measure, as well as careless. Taelien, you can bring us some of his food.”

The dark-haired youth turned his head to her. “I appreciate your permission, but it’s not necessary. I don’t work for you,” he noted in a bemused tone. He paused for a moment, and then stood and added. “But I am very hungry.”

Ah, the lad has some autonomy after all. That’s good, that could work to my advantage later.

Lydia sighed as Taelien started walking to the kitchen. “Sorry to presume, Taelien. Please bring us all some food to eat. It’s been a long day for both of us.”

Jonan watched Taelien go to the cupboard, nodding silently in response to Lydia.

Good move, paladin. Remind him you’re human and smooth things over. Keep your game piece friendly.

“Look, we don’t need to be at odds about any of this. While I recognize that our religions don’t always get along-“

“And occasionally engage in holy wars against one another-,” Lydia added, folding her arms and smirking.

“-We can still find common ground on these issues. Neither of us wants the Sae’kes in the hands of the local gods. Neither of us wants anything of importance in the hands of the local gods.” Jonan gestured to the ceiling with his bound wrists.

“True,” Lydia confessed. “But I find the idea of the Sae’kes in Vaelien’s hands...or worse, his son’s, to be far more disturbing than losing it here.”

Jonan deliberately kept his expression as neutral as he could, but the mention of Vaelien’s son sent a torrent of painful memories through his mind.
A teenaged girl with a manic grin, the blood on her right hand illuminated by a globe of flame hovering above it. Oppressing heat everywhere, smoke thick enough to crush his lungs. The screams of the dying reverberating around him, while he hid, useless, praying that he would not be seen.

No,
he considered grimly,
his son is not the one you need to worry about.

“Well, while I am quite certain that I would be rewarded – immensely, in fact – for securing that weapon, you’ve made it more than evident that I will not succeed in doing so. Moreover, our good friend Taelien,” he gestured to Taelien, who was returning carrying a plate with a loaf of bread and a carving knife, “would likely be averse to either of us taking charge of the sword he carries.”

“The sword stays with me,” Taelien said simply, setting down the bread plate on the nearby table with a loud ‘clack’.

“Right,” Jonan said with a faint hint of laughter in his voice. “So, since that is settled, we can feel free to cooperate on other matters.”

Lydia glanced at the bread that was now seated next to her, and then back to Jonan. Taelien began to cut the bread into smaller slices.

“I see little else we could cooperate on. I appreciate you providing a place for us to stay for the evening. We will keep watches to ensure you do not try to kill us – or take the sword – while we rest. In the morning, if you have not betrayed us, I can escort Taelien out of the city.” Lydia shifted her gaze between the two men, scrutinizing.

“I’d like to hear his proposal, actually,” Taelien said.

Lydia frowned, turning to glance at Taelien. “You don’t know these Kesites. They can’t be trusted. Think back to the beginning of our conversation with him – he tried to mislead us twice before admitting who he worked for.”

“What, you mean sort of like you dressing up like a court sorceress and helping a prisoner escape?” Jonan shot back.

“I am a court sorceress,” Lydia growled. “I was hired legitimately.”

Jonan nodded, putting on an impressed face. “So you actually infiltrated the government of a nation, rather than just putting on a costume. Well, that’s certainly a step up in scale.”

Lydia glowered at him. “Yes, I’m capable of deception as well. Taelien doesn’t have to trust me, either. The distinction is that I’ve already helped him escape a prison, so he knows that unless that was some sort of absurdly long-term plan, I am legitimately trying to help him. You, on the other hand, just happened to be tracking us on the way out.”

A good point, and one I don’t have a very strong counter to. Still, I’ve planted a few sprouts of doubt in Taelien’s head, at least.

“Peace,” Jonan said. “I concede that. You are clearly trying to help him.” That wasn’t really true, it was plausible this really was a longer term plan on her part, but he didn’t need to antagonize the Paladin any more. “Let me help you both. Not out of goodness, as you would never believe such a motive, but out of self-interest. I didn’t come to this city for the sword, just as you didn’t. We are both working against Orlyn in different ways. Allow me to assist you.”

Lydia swept up a piece of bread with her left hand, bit into it, and put her hand back down without ever looking away from Jonan. He blinked in response.

“All right,” Lydia said. “Let’s hear why you’re in the city, and what you have to offer.”

“Excellent,” Jonan replied, grinning slightly. When her eyes narrowed in response, he knew he had just made his pleasure a tad too overt, but he continued regardless. “One of Orlyn’s ‘gods’ is called Edon. He appears to be human, but he has presided over the city for fourteen years with no signs of growing older. Much as you pointed out when we discussed Erik Tarren, slowing the aging process is difficult, and every sorcerer that I have studied has eventually run into limitations. Baron Edrick Theas is perhaps the oldest human alive, but even he appears to be ancient and withered – he will eventually die. This Edon apparently looks younger than when he first appeared – which could be an illusion, or it could be that he’s found some way to reverse the aging process.”

“Certainly, I’ve met the man myself,” Lydia said. “He only looks to be about thirty or thirty-five. The people of Orlyn say he is a god. Do you have a reason to believe otherwise?”

“Oh, yes,” Jonan said, grinning and folding the fingers of his bound hands together. “I have discovered who he once was.”

Lydia adjusted her glasses again, her gaze shifting to the side for the first time. Nervousness, perhaps? Jonan couldn’t quite tell.

“What have you found?” Lydia asked, her tone sounding more suspicious, rather than curious. She looked back to Jonan, pressing her lips together.

Perhaps I stumbled upon a line of conversation I should have avoided, but it’s too late now.

“We believe Edon was once Redeemer Donovan Tailor,” Jonan said.

“A former Priest of Sytira of some repute,” Lydia added, speaking to Taelien, and then turning back toward Jonan. “Go on.”

“We believe he is preserving his life by stealing the lives of others.”

Lydia folded her arms across her chest. While she was trying to look taciturn, Jonan thought he caught a flicker of something – concern, perhaps? – in her eyes. “And what led you to that conclusion?”

Careful, now. Too late to back out, but if she discovers too much, I might end up eating a yard of steel instead of that delicious bread.

Jonan took a deep breath, considering where to begin.

“About twenty years ago, Donovan Tailor was expelled from the priesthood of Sytira for heresy. As a Sytiran, I’m sure you’ve heard about it,” Jonan offered, gesticulating dismissively with one of his bound hands.

“Certainly,” Lydia said. “He claimed that because our gods were once mortals, our priests should aspire to achieve godhood themselves. The viewpoint gained some popularity among his contemporaries, and his superiors in the priesthood most likely saw it as a threat to their control. He published an essay on the subject, and he was excommunicated shortly thereafter.”

Jonan raised an eyebrow. He had been expecting more religious fervor.

The spectacled man shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Yes, precisely,” he said. “Excommunication robbed Donovan of many of his friends, allies, and resources. He left Velthryn and traveled for a handful of years, eventually making his way to Keldris. That was where the priesthood of Vaelien took note of him.”

Taelien looked up from nibbling on his bread, gave Jonan a brief quizzical look, and then went back to eating.