Paladin's Prize (Age of Heroes, Book 1) (20 page)

“Would you like me to send word over to the Temple of Prophecy that you need an appointment right away?” the friar asked.

“I should think they already know,” Thaydor said, flashing a smile.

“Ha! Good point.” Piero laughed. “I’ll do it anyway so they can clear their schedules for you, under the circumstances. And the Venerables, too. I don’t know how many of them you’ll get, but I’m sure they’ll want to speak with you.”

“Thanks. Oh, and tell the priestesses at the Temple of Prophecy that we’ll both want a chance individually to consult the oracle,” he said, tilting his head in her direction. “I
should
do it, since I’m the one slated for destruction, but Wrynne may have better results. She’s already shown something of a gift for visions and such. That dream you had of Reynulf,” he reminded her.

She nodded. “Whatever I can do to help.” Then she looked at the friar. “Thank you, once again, for all your help, Brother Piero.”

“My honor, lady.” He bowed to her. “Just promise me I’ll be invited to the wedding?”

They looked at him and then each other in slightly guilty surprise.

“Are we that obvious?” Thaydor murmured.

“Ah, you don’t have to be an oracle to know when two people are in love. I have eyes! I trust you will behave yourselves under our roof, eh? Ilios sees all.” He arched a bushy eyebrow at them as he turned to go, chuckling as they blushed and mumbled their chagrined compliance.

“Piero?” Thaydor asked as the large, portly whirlwind of a man started striding off, dwarfing the narrow hallway through which he passed.

“Aye, lad?” he said, turning around.

Thaydor gazed at him affectionately. “Of course you are invited to the wedding. And the sooner the better.”

“Ha! I knew it! I was only teasing, but when I saw the way you looked at her… Finally! Ah, I am delighted for you both.” He ran back and congratulated them properly, pumping Thaydor’s hand and then nearly breaking Wrynne’s ribs with his big bear hug.

“You two are just…beautiful together. You’re going to have the most extraordinary children! Look at you. All Elysium will rejoice. Amen, I say! Take good care of him, my lady,” he warned, misty-eyed as he set her down on her feet again. “He’s the best we’ve got.”

“I know he is. I will,” she promised, hoping he didn’t crush her fingers as he held both her hands in his two big paws.

“As for your wedding, leave it all to me!” Piero announced with sudden zeal. “Yes, yes, I know you’re on the run for your lives, but this is
love
we are talking about here! The greatest gift of Ilios! No, don’t fret, ’tis no trouble. With everything you two are dealing with, all you’ll have to do is show up. Leave it to me! I will personally make sure you two have the perfect wedding.”

“You are more than kind.” Wrynne pressed her lips shut and dropped her gaze to the floor to avoid laughing, while Thaydor mumbled his rather astonished thanks.

Who’d have thought a burly, celibate warrior monk would be so keen to plan a spontaneous wedding for his friend? Perhaps the rugged friar harbored a secret romantic streak, bless him.

After Brother Piero had gone rushing off on his many, sudden wedding-party errands, she and Thaydor exchanged a twinkling glance.

“This should be interesting,” he whispered.

She shook her head, smiling. “As long as I end up with the right groom, that’s all I care about.”

“No worries on that point, lovely. You’re all mine. Or soon to be.” He sauntered over and kissed her, but with Piero’s reminder to behave ringing in their ears, they parted, biding their time for now.

Thaydor did, however, send her a playful leer from the doorway before retreating to his room across the hall. It was time to prepare to see the oracle.

* * *

Except for a few noisy birds calling from the fruit trees around the large building, the domed Temple of Prophecy was an especially quiet place. Wrynne and Thaydor followed the cloistered walkway through the afternoon shade to the arched door beneath the sunburst window, where they entered.

Inside the dim, silent vestibule, they followed the usual procedure and, at once, removed their shoes. Then one of the prophetic sisters greeted them. She was draped in plain white robes with a gold clasp at her shoulder and her hair piled in tendrils on her head.

They bowed to her and murmured their thanks for so quickly being seen. With barely a word, she nodded and turned away. “Follow me.”

As the oracle’s attendant led them deeper into the temple, they began to hear the vibratory tones of meditative chimes resonating on the air as they were softly struck, while the scent of incense burning wafted toward them. It helped create a very soothing mood, but Wrynne was still nervous.

She glanced at Thaydor. Never had she dreamed that one day she’d be visiting the Temple of Prophecy with the Paladin of Ilios.

Let alone marry him.

She had never been so happy and so scared at the same time in all her life, but she pushed her anxiety aside as the woman in white gestured for them to sit. There were benches in the large, serene anteroom just outside the center courtyard where the oracle received her petitioners.

They were the only ones there.

“Sit. Make yourselves comfortable. Breathe deeply for a few minutes and think of the matter that brings you here. In your heart, tell the Father of Lights that you seek his guidance and form your question clearly in your mind. Which of you will go first?”

Wrynne pointed at Thaydor.

The woman nodded and continued her recitation of the instructions given to all visitors, whether they had ever been there before or not.

“Whenever you feel ready, go to the table there.” She nodded at the long, waist-high countertop that ran the length of the wall. “Take one of the small squares of parchment provided and write your question on it in as few words as possible. If you cannot read or write, one of us will write it for you. Simply ask.

“Then roll your parchment into a tiny scroll or fold it as you wish and bring it with you to the doorway.” She pointed to the door gracefully. “From there, I will take you one by one to consult the oracle. When your parchment is burned, she will read the shape of the smoke and the ashes, and give your answer privately. What you do with the information, or with whom you choose to share it, is entirely up to you unless she tells you otherwise. Any questions?”

They had none, so she left them to carry out the simple instructions. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, Wrynne found it difficult to clear her mind
or
concentrate while sitting next to Thaydor. His big, powerful presence was still just too thrilling to her in so many ways. She feared she was a little obsessed with the man, especially after last night.

The way he had touched her… She shuddered with pleasure at the vivid memory.

She stole a glance at him. He was of course doing as he was told, breathing slowly and meditating on his weighty questions and probably wondering how to pare it down to just one. Since his eyes were closed, Wrynne stole a moment to gaze at him.

How beautiful he was. How good. How reassuring to be next to him and to know that Ilios himself had ordained their match, bringing them together…

Thaydor must have sensed her study, for he opened his blue, blue eyes and sent her a curious glance, as if to say,
What?

She just smiled, caught staring.

The way he arched his eyebrow at her in wry reproach nearly made her burst out in inappropriate laughter, given the solemnity of the place.

She got a chiding elbow on the side for that, and he sent her a twinkling scowl that said,
Don’t make me laugh, you rascal
.

“Sorry,” she whispered, then closed her eyes with determination, though her smile wouldn’t dim. Couldn’t a soon-to-be bride feel a little giddy on her wedding day?

She still couldn’t concentrate, distracted by her acute awareness of the irresistible man who would deflower her tonight.

Only when he rose and went to write his question could she begin to settle down.
You’ll have the rest of your life to dote on him
, she scolded herself.
Now pay attention.

Finally, she managed to clear her mind, but even so, she watched Thaydor with pleasure when he finished writing and walked over to the arched doorway, still rolling his parchment into a tiny matchstick for the oracle to burn.

The white-clad assistant met the tall, princely paladin there and offered the open base of a bronze censer in which to place his question. He did so, then followed the woman out of view into the central courtyard open to the sky.

Consultations with the oracle usually only took about a quarter hour, giving Wrynne time to calm down. At length, she rose in a relatively serene state and walked over to the table. She took a piece of parchment and picked up a stylus.

As she dipped it in the ink, she puzzled over how to word her question. With her entire life having been turned upside down, she decided to leave it up to Ilios to tell her whatever he thought best. Sometimes a mere mortal didn’t even know the right question to ask, so she left it open-ended:
Father, what is Your will for me?

She trusted that somehow Ilios would let her know how she could best help Thaydor and the kingdom, which was all she really wanted. It might take time, but she believed whole-heartedly that good would win, that their names would be cleared and justice restored to the kingdom.

The one thing she really couldn’t say was whether the Almighty would send down divine retribution to punish the whole kingdom on account of King Baynard’s offenses. The maker of the universe was not one to be trifled with, after all. He was patient, long-suffering, and kind, but like any king, he would only tolerate so many insults.

It was frightening to contemplate what kind of fully deserved scourge he could bestow upon the kingdom if he chose to turn his back on them and leave them to their folly. Without his protection, they’d be left wide-open to any sort of evil—plague, fire, war. But they’d have brought it on themselves…

When Thaydor came out from the inner courtyard at the heart of the temple, his brow was furrowed. He looked a bit confused and more than a little annoyed. Wrynne did not stop to talk to him, however, as the assistant nodded to her and beckoned from the doorway.

She went right over, put her parchment in the base of another empty censer, which the woman held up, then followed her across the quiet stone corridor. Through another Gothic arched doorway, the priestess gestured to her to proceed into the center courtyard.

Wrynne went.

It was common knowledge that most oracles went quite mad on account of all their talking with the gods. But the middle-aged woman seated on a stool in the middle of the round, white-pillared colonnade did not look too terribly insane, just a little weary and glassy-eyed and somewhat unkempt. She was older than her assistant but wore the same uniform of white robes and ringlets piled atop her head with a bandeau. Only her hair was wilder, gray and frizzed out in all directions.

She did not make eye contact as Wrynne sat down on the stool across from her. Meanwhile, her helper brought the censer over and hung it on the low metal shepherd’s hook planted in the ground before the oracle.

“Are you ready?” the assistant murmured to the older woman, who nodded, staring fiercely at nothing in the most disturbing fashion.

She appeared already half in trance, perhaps from having just given Thaydor his predictions.

Wrynne was dying to find out what sort of prophecy or guidance he’d been given, but with her own answers about to be revealed, she nervously watched the process unfold.

The priestess assisting the oracle murmured prayers of intercession under her breath as she took a long, slender twig for a match and lit it from the coals burning in the golden brazier beside the oracle’s chair. Cupping her hand to protect the tiny flame at the end of the match, she transferred the sacred fire to the contents of the censer and set Wrynne’s parchment alight. She quickly replaced the bronze lid of the censer and blew out the match, bowed, and then withdrew.

It took a moment for the parchment to start burning well, but then the smoke began to rise up through the sunburst shape of holes and slits in the lid. The oracle stared at the smoke as it spiraled upward, twisted and gathered and wafted into a small cloud, only to disperse and drift away. Wrynne’s heart pounded as she waited to learn what the oracle was seeing in the ever-shifting shapes of the smoke. What Ilios was telling her.

“Yes, yes…” the prophetess mumbled to herself. “And then…?”

She narrowed her piercing eyes, leaned closer, tilted her head to the right and the left, searching the smoke for its secrets.

Wrynne was ready to burst. “What do you—”

“Shh! Don’t speak.” The oracle blinked hard and then stared again at the smoke. “You will betray him.”

“What? No,” Wrynne said. “Who? Ilios? Never—”

“Your husband,” she whispered. “The golden one.”

Wrynne turned white, staring at the woman. “Not possible.”

That was the problem with prophecy. Sometimes it brought news you couldn’t bear to believe. The last thing in the world you’d ever thought you’d hear.

Heart pounding, she strove to press past the horror of the woman’s words. “How can I avoid it?” she asked quickly.

“Stay by his side.”

Wrynne had no time to contemplate how specifically she meant this. The smoke was fading. “What sort of betrayal?”

The oracle shook her head, gazing at the tendrils of rising gray. “I cannot see it. But you will hurt him.” She nodded. “You will hate him. Even as you love him. You alone can destroy him. You will hunger for his death.”

“You are mad,” Wrynne breathed, recoiling. “That is impossible!”

“It will be.”

“Then I will change my fate! I won’t marry him.”

“Yes, you will. Ilios commands it. You must.”