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

course for reality, then why should an institution, however old and revered, not be capable of the same straying?

Clarity arose in me. My hand upon the pommel of the sword that was once the Scepter of Weltyr, I told the man being attended to by now more than one medic at my feet, “It pains me to say this, but I cannot join the Order.”

“Then you’re a coward,” spat Zweiding, “and a failure. Forsaking your quest to find the Scepter over a woman! What does this concubine of yours think of that, by the by?”

At Valeria’s faint scoff, I drew her behind me and informed my former Commander coldly, “There are truths in this world that may only be found by traveling, and trusting, and risk-taking through time. You took all your risks in the military, Zweiding, and may Weltyr’s maiden daughters attend you well in his Hall for it; but, by taking ample advantage of the earthly rewards offered you for this service, you’ve begun slaving for yourself rather than our Master.”

“Fool! The outside world has poisoned your mind. Perhaps you enjoyed your time in the Nightlands a little too much—were you unmanned there in body as well as mind?”

“That’s a bitter tone for a duel already decided, and a fine example of why I cannot join the Order. If my time in the Nightlands showed me anything, it is that the durrow are, apart from the values of their society, just like elves; and that elves are just like us. All mankinds are equal in the eyes of God.”

A sacred raven crowed merrily from a battlement. I doubt Zweiding took heed of its agreement. “See what traitorous beliefs you’ve taken on! Next you’ll support interbreeding.”

I scoffed. “Of course I do.” That got a few more sidelong glances than I had expected, and I looked about in surprise. “The Church teaches nothing about such matters.”

“But history does,” responded Zweiding sharply, gritting his teeth as the wound upon his leg was sutured shut right there on the field. “The Order is the point where the Church meets with secular history. We are the intersection between clergy and militia, Burningsoul! It’s something you’ve never understood. You’re not a paladin—you’re a priest who likes to fight.”

I might have had my pride rebuffed by such a remark a mere few days before. Instead, it made me laugh. In so many ways, he was right; and, though I still consider myself a paladin in the name of Weltyr, I have remembered that comment with fondness for all of my days. I can only imagine how enraged Zweiding would be to know such a thing!

“That may be so,” I told him, trying to keep my smile under control lest he thought I mocked him, “but you must admit…as priests go, I am a very skilled fighter.”

“You really have changed,” observed a nearby paladin with whom I had trained but who I would not consider among my friends or mentors. “Not a boy anymore, eh, Rorke.”

“Only a coward. Very well.” Zweiding spat from the side of his mouth and into the dirt, his breath hitching as the hooked needle of the medic tugged his flesh shut. “The Order doesn’t need those who are too soft-hearted to carry out their duties. How pathetic you are! Lucky for you we’re not at war, and luckier still you weren’t raised in some rural principality where the primary duty is eradicating heretics.”

I had been about to extricate myself from a conversation that I felt could only lead to another, more informal and all the more dangerous fight, but that comment gave me pause. The voice of the hivemind pulsed through my consciousness while I asked, “So it’s true? In the Nightlands, I was told a terrible story—one of a durrow settlement destroyed by servants of Weltyr. Have we been truly committing such atrocities for generations?”

““Atrocities!” How weak you sound…and pathetic. Amazing that, after all these years of education, you never puzzled together what it means to defend the faith and wipe away heretical beliefs. The only thing for it is the sword, not words. Pagans will always find ways to justify themselves, but their sound defeat in battle proves Weltyr’s will is the only one that’s true.”

“If Weltyr’s will is true, and victory in battle is proof, then how can you say I’m false in my beliefs?”

Valeria’s voice was softer than a whisper and most assuredly inaudible from the distance of the other paladins. Some kind of prayer drifted from her mouth while Zweiding told me, “Because your beliefs are not in line with the Church. Are you saying it’s a good thing that all these races exist? That false species with false gods were introduced to Urde when the spirit-thieves invaded from whatever hellish location they once called their home?”

Glancing back over my shoulder at softly whispering Valeria, I studied Zweiding more intently and tried not to enjoy his wince too much when the suturing process began on his arm. “What do you mean to say, exactly?”

“You see…you jump to conclusions and leave the Order before the full truth can be disseminated to you. These durrow you so adore—and the elves, and the dwarves, and all of these other races competing with humanity for resources—they were artificially created, Burningsoul! Falsely engineered. Not by Weltyr, but by the spirit-thieves!”

The words of Al-listux swept back to me through time.

You have me and my kind to thank for the love of your life…for your own life, and your so-called ‘natural’ will.

“But—how could such a thing be possible?”

“Spirit-thieves possess technologies ungodly in design and origin. They hold knowledge that no mortal being should ever be permitted to know, and they worship a demon from beyond the stars.”

“To what end, though? Why would the creation of these races assist in anything like what you describe?”

“Because: with so many mankinds, and so many heretics, and with such frequently renewing warfare, we cannot agree on anything. Humankind cannot even agree among itself, let alone elf with