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

human or dwarf with elf! It is not possible for us to become a star-faring planet in such conditions, and the spirit-thieves therefore have no competition when it comes to tightening their control over all the universe.”

“What nonsense,” I said almost without thinking. “Why should any species desire to control the universe?”

“For resources! That’s what the spirit-thieves want more than anything, Burningsoul—fuel for their ships, slaves for their consumption, gold for their sleeping demon-god!”

More aware of Valeria’s soft voice than ever before, I turned to see father Fortisto watching nervously from the hedges. He wrang his hands and looked more than once over his shoulder as though to ensure the path remained clear should we need to run…and I had the feeling we would, because I could not let the Commander of Weltyr’s Order say such insane things while the other members nodded sagely on, or at the very least listened with close interest.

“Yes, I’ve heard it said that the spirit-thieves were extraterrestrial demons who migrated to Urde long after its creation…but if that is the case, then I cannot help but suggest this, too, is the will of Weltyr.”

Balking, Zweiding demanded, “How can you say such a thing?”

“Because the True Will is too vast to be experienced by mankinds—even the longest-lived elf will never know its full scope. Who is to say that the creation of more races, or even a human loss when at war with the spirit-thieves, does not factor into the longterm aim of this True Will? How are we to judge what is right and wrong when we have not one iota of Weltyr’s understanding?”

The Commander’s eyes narrowed. “Are you really saying that Weltyr sent the spirit-thieves to us? That all these species and all these false gods are in some way the will of the All-Father?”

I spread my hands. From the corner of my eye, a black dot scuttled across the field. “I suppose I am. Having experienced what I have experienced on my journey for the Scepter, I have come to believe that even the greatest or most loathsome thing that occurs cannot ultimately occur if it interferes with the longterm fulfillment of the Master’s will.”

“Then I suppose we have nothing more to say to one another,” said Zweiding coldly. “Arrest this race-traitor—and that woman, too.”

With a scoff, I stepped back against Valeria and set my hand upon my blade. Another insect of some kind crept past. I noticed it was a spider but was much too shocked to fully absorb the implication. “What?”

“Such heretical thoughts cannot be expressed without consequence.” While a few of his comrades drew their blades, Zweiding continued. “Rest satisfied in your cell knowing that Elishta-bet will be free from the cold clutches of matrimony with me…and, perhaps, comfortable in the cell next to yours, since without reformation she can never hope to be anything but a witch.”

“Valeria,” I said as the Order members made their way toward us, “we have to—”

But her voice lifted in a high elvish cry that, upon fading from our ears, revealed like the pulling back of an audible curtain the scuttling of thousands of spider legs. Father Fortisto cried out in horror.

Seconds later a sea of arachnids from all the shadowy corners and dark alleys of Skythorn rushed into the training field in a hideous wave.

A few paladins cried out in fear that was somewhat shocking to me—perhaps it was the first time I saw them as actual, fallible mortals, rather than infallible celebrities. As they hurried back from the skittering onslaught, a pair of massive plane-walking spiders manifested on either side of Zweiding and his medics. All of them cried out in horror, the medical officials hurrying away and leaving the Commander to fend for himself.

“Let’s run,” said Valeria while Zweiding snatched up his blade. The braver men present all raised arms against the plane-shifting beings while more soldiers, attracted by the sea of spiders rushing past the temple gates, joined the fray and were very soon covered in thousands of the smaller arachnids. By the time we reached Fortisto, who had found an island of safety upon the large stones lining a flower bed outside the arena, a third alien spider had joined the battle—by the looks of its size, to defend its smaller children.

“The two of you must leave Skythorn at once,” advised the old priest, gripping my shoulders while we delayed to try and convince him to leave Temple grounds until the heat was off. “It’s not safe for you here anymore—Zweiding will see the both of you arrested, oh, Rorke—”

“But there’s no other airport for weeks of riding! Not one with ships that go as far as Rhineland, anyway.”

“Then you must flee now and hope you can make it before today’s flight departs…once you’ve left Skythorn, you’ll be a wanted man. Surely arrested when you try to return.”

My heart sank to think such a thing. Ejected from my own home, and under such sordid circumstances!

But—it was the will of Weltyr. I holstered my sword again and embraced Fortisto.

“May Weltyr grant you many more long, happy years, my friend. I love you as a son loves a father.”

When we drew away, Fortisto’s eyes were filled with tears.

“Take heed in the streets,” he told me, pushing me toward the gates. “Don’t look frantic, but neither should you take your time. Oh! Rorke—a true servant of Weltyr if ever I have been blessed to know one. Your name will be remembered forever. God bless you! God bless you! May you be selected for the Hall!”

BENEATH SKYTHORN

OUR RETURN TO the inn was tense. Heads ringing with Fortisto’s advice, Valeria and I found ourselves hyper-aware of every guard we passed, and the feeling was mutual. With my new sword unmarked by the Order and carried open on my hip without a sheath, I was neither a potential peer nor possible superior, but instead a likely rabble rouser.

Then, there were the citizens. The silver hilt of an Order blade was