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

recognizable to everyone in the city. The blade that was once the gilded Scepter of Weltyr simply marked me as either a man of wealth or of supreme skill in battle, and the general sense of curiosity this drew was worrisome. If asked about us, people would remember.

Yet I could not be made to fully care. My senses were bright and crisp with victory. My heart soared every step, exultant. The sword swung at my side as though to perpetually remind me of Weltyr’s favor: of his remaining eye, following me through the city streets.

Impossible as it is to think, a small boy inside me was still afraid I had done something very wrong just then. The image of my old intentions decried me as a blasphemer and false prophet. I had turned away from the Order and quite literally run off with one of the many species to which they were, I discovered, opposed. How many men were confirmed into the Order completely before learning such a fact? How many remained not because they thought it was right or Weltyr’s will but because they had no other options left to them by that point?

But Father Fortisto’s parting words had taken root far more than any condemnation of Zweiding’s. He had lauded me! It was now my impossible task to not feel an excess of pride at being called a true servant of Weltyr by a man who was himself among the most godly I had ever known.

I was resolved, therefore, that I had acted in accordance with Weltyr’s will…but all this about the spirit-thieves was far more disturbing.

Though I had been aware that the presence of spirit-thieves on Urde was unnatural by one manner or another, (interplanetary or interdimensional, it made no difference to me then), I had never fully considered what that meant for all the species of mankinds. Why should I? Spirit-thieves were barely even spoken of anymore by the common citizen of Cascadia. Only those who had close dealings with dwarves (or, it would seem, durrow) knew what a danger they presented—and if even one quarter of what Zweiding had told me was true, that danger was greater than I had ever been taught.

The drowned temple with the images of the sleeping squid-god returned to me. If it was resources they wanted, what use was rousing it from its nightmares? It seemed to me that they only wished to prolong their own existences, and bringing the Sleeper into this reality would certainly not contribute to their own extensive lifespans. I had heard it said the thing drove men mad to look upon—that it devoured worlds and bred infinite offspring which, though lesser than itself, were a thousandfold more horrible than the basest of demons permitted to slip through the cracks of the Wyrd and perpetrate its sins on Urde.

Why, then? What was the will of the spirit-thieves, and, more important, what was the will of my God?

“Do you really think all that was true back there?” As I spoke, Valeria glanced into my face and looked away only before we crossed a certain busy street near the inn. “That business about spirit-thieves producing mankinds other than human.”

Though her expression briefly changed, as if she was first shocked I should ask such a thing, I watched her sort out the rationality and, moreover, neutrality of my question. Given a few seconds with it, she suggested, “I, myself, have questioned what was said by the witch woman in Soot. About elves coming from the durrow people rather than the other way around. Rest assured, if anyone remembered such a thing, my people would not let it be forgotten.”

I chuckled, thinking of Odile in particular. “No doubt! If such a long span of time has passed that even the durrow have forgotten they were the originators of the elvish peoples, I should think it long enough for aboveground folk with common knowledge to forget the origins of the species. But…”

“But?”

“But for Zweiding to suggest that such a thing could ever be accomplished without the blessing of Weltyr—that is the greater blasphemy.”

Her stare bored into me. I turned to see she in fact smiled. Brooding Valeria was so seldom given to such genuine expressions that, taken aback, I laughed even in the chaos of our in-progress flight from Skythorn. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, her tone exceptionally fond. Her hand lowered to mine, patting me through the armor. “I love you, Rorke.”

Before we stepped into the inn, I caught her and kissed her as I had after the battle. She sighed, patted my chest, and leaned into me even as we parted. Then, stepping into the Mongoose, we straightaway spotted Lively and Erdwud having breakfast with Sharp at a corner table in the presently quiet establishment.

All three looked up; Sharp seemed about to stand before he recognized us. Then, relaxing back down, he expected us to return to our rooms and delivered little more than a casual nod. The friends turned to resume their conversation.

Instead, Valeria and I went straight to them. Sharp’s face fell at the prospect of work, but nonetheless he gave us his attention. “What is it then?”

“Don’t be so crude.” Lively swatted Sharp’s hand before beaming to hold Erdwud’s. “Thanks to them, my Erdie’s all right, and already back to putting on the weight he lost while hidin’ in them woods.”

Muttering under his breath, Sharp said louder, “Right, well done. What can I do for yous?”

“We’ll be checking out today,” I said, provoking a sad little noise from Lively. “And, if you could, we need a bit of advice on how to get to the airport quickly…without attracting attention. It’s not a part of the city I’ve ever seen before.”

“Right! You’re aiming to leave today, in the blimp headed eastward? Could have mentioned that to me a mite sooner so I could have planned my chambermaid’s schedule today.”

“Our leaving is a bit short notice.”

Arching a brow, Sharp asked, “Do you lot even have tickets?

Valeria and I