Strife & Valor: Book II of The Rorke Burningsoul Saga by Regina Watts (red queen ebook .TXT) 📕

office on the other side of the hall. “Some gods are sacred messengers,” the priest was saying, “yes, and deliver good news and secrets in dreams at Weltyr’s behest just as he would. Some have even had Church-confirmed blessings attributed to them—though, of course, one again, these are recognized as being derived from Weltyr, who works through lesser manifestations of his might.”

“Of course,” I said, my ear still caught by external noise. Now not by a raven’s croak, but by a slight scuffle that rang oddly soft. Shaking it off, I struggled to hone my attention in on Fortisto, who continued.

“Some heathen gods have even been known to bless artifacts on behalf of Weltyr…there are three in particular that spring to mind, items as coveted as the Scepter of our Lord. The Ring of Roserpine”—a horn in the courtyard indicated the time to be 1700, its brass announcement braying five times while Fortisto thought out loud as much as contemplated the runes and responded to my question—“the Lantern of Hamsunt…and the Casket of Oppenhir.”

“Wait,” I said, struggling to focus above all these noises and, most of all, the rising commotion in the hall outside. “Did you just say the Lantern of—”

“Let go of me, Zweiding!”

Elishta’s voice wrenched my attention out to the hall entirely. Now knowing it was her, her tone had me moving quick as a flash. I threw open the door, Strife drawn by the time I stepped into the hallway. Indeed, I was assailed by the sight of Order Commander Zweiding, his powerful frame filling the hall and Elishta’s narrow wrist clenched in his fist.

“You heard the lady,” I told him. Having been long enough absented from the Temple and since educated in the value of impudence, I did not think twice about threatening a man fundamental in my training and status within the Order—a man who could, by rights, have ordered me to do nearly anything so long as it be in Weltyr’s name.

But I had never thought twice about defending Elishta from cruel teachers when we were children. Now, shocked to be addressed in such a way, Zweiding released her. Elishta-bet scrambled away with her long skirts held around her ankles.

“Why,” he said, a dark laugh on his sneering lips, “Burningsoul! Back at last—with the Scepter, I presume?”

“Not yet.” Seeing as, unarmed, Zweiding wore his black Temple garb, I sheathed Strife and studied Elishta as she rubbed her wrist. “Are you hurt?”

“Oh, please. She’s not made of spun sugar, Burningsoul. The little witch was eavesdropping on your meeting with Father Fortisto…you had ought to thank me, then profusely apologize for your mistake.”

“While it may be out of line to point my weapon at a superior officer, I only heard a woman protest—and, seeing as I did not know the context, I thought it better that I should intervene first and worry about the details later on.”

“Well, now…travel has changed you at least a little, hasn’t it! What happened to the boy who wandered off to find the Scepter? A man now…still empty-handed, though.”

I had never liked Zweiding on a personal level, and after my time abroad he seemed more unpleasant than ever. At the very least, he did no honor to the mark upon his neck.

“Not for long,” I told him. “You remember the report I sent you?”

“Ah, yes—something about the Nightlands, correct? Seeking the Scepter there, in a den of spirit-thieves. How did that go for you?”

“I was captured by some durrow, but—”

“Durrow!” With a noise that was something of a crossbreed between a scoff and a laugh of derision, the steel-haired officer folded his arms. “You were captured by a bunch of elves, you mean?”

“I went with them honorably,” I corrected him, maintaining as calm a tone as I could in the circumstances. “They agreed to heal an otherwise mortal wound if I would consent to come with them as a slave and not to trouble them about it.”

Zweiding’s shock only grew. “And you did it? Surely not.”

“It was the honorable thing,” I repeated, though this seemed to mean next to nothing to him. No more than it did, infuriatingly, when I pointed out, “I sensed it was Weltyr’s will that I should obey. Sure enough, look how soon I was liberated from the bonds of—”

But he had stopped listening and, in fact, had been laughing for some time. “What a fool you are! How less than a man you are, permitting yourself to be captured by a bunch of women…it’s true, isn’t it, that they’re all females? Weltyr’s beard! All this time I’d been worried that you would return home and prove a problem between myself and my intended—but what concern have I that a wretch so unmanly might usurp my right?”

I, baffled, could only help but ask before he carried on, “How do you mean?”

“Ah! You didn’t tell him, Elishta?” His laughter fading, that arrogant sneer returning in full, the Commander glanced at my old friend. Elishta had been cowed into thin-lipped, shame-faced silence. She stared at her feet while Zweiding informed me, “Elishta here is my intended.”

Mouth open, I looked between the two of them and saw very clearly that Elishta-bet had no part in such a decision. “How could that be? Did you not just call her a witch?”

“And I meant it. You are one, aren’t you, Elishta?”

My heart was pained while my friend clenched her hands in fists of impotent rage. Now I could feel Fortisto in the doorway behind me, wondering perhaps if he had ought to intervene. I silently willed him to stay out of it while Zweiding went on in a mocking tone, “This wretched girl was thrown out of the convent for practicing profane magical arts not permitted to members of the Church. She’s lucky she wasn’t killed! But, owing to her ties to the Temple, we have deigned to reform her. In such a case as this, part of the reformation process involves the engagement of the witch in as many sacraments as