Chapter Thirty-Five
Since the amulet doesn’t reach a heat level I can’t bear, I don’t mention it to the others.
I don’t want to stop and have a conversation about what it might mean or argue with Elianna about who should carry it.
I remain vividly aware of the goddess’s objects around my neck, and the way they gradually grow warmer the closer we get to the temple.
Maybe it’s our nearness to the second key causing a reaction?
It’s impossible to know and futile to speculate, so I do my best to ignore it and urge Cloud up the path.
Half an hour’s ride later, Andras and Chitai gesture for us to be prepared.
When we round the bend in the path, we see two armed and dangerous-looking women standing guard between two twenty-foot-high stone pillars.
Behind them, a bright-red gate bars access to what appears to be a partially hidden cave entrance carved into the side of the mountain.
“Not another cave,” I groan. Too loudly, evidently, because everyone looks at me.
One guard, a tall, lean woman with brown skin, eyes, and hair, touches her hand to her forehead, then heart, and bows to us. “Blessings of the day to you. I am Scholar Haven.”
Studying her scarlet tunic, I realize it’s true. These are two of the warrior scholars of the Temple of Knowledge. “And to you,” I respond. “Forgive me, but I half believed you were a myth Octorran Gillam made up. It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Soli.”
“He may have invented much of what he said about us. Gillam had an unorthodox approach to study. We did not allow him to remain at the temple for long,” says the other guard, shorter and stouter, with green eyes and tawny hair and skin. “Call me Bean. Everyone does.”
Kaelen bows formally and correctly. “Are you indeed warrior scholars of the Temple of Knowledge?”
Bean returns his bow. “We are, prince of Valourian. Your party may not enter herein, but we wish you well.”
Kaelen tilts his head, his brows drawing together. “How did you know who I am?”
“There are not a lot of men your age with the famed Valourian purple eyes, Your Highness.”
The “not a lot” surprises me. I wouldn’t have thought there were any.
“Call me Kaelen, please. I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist you allow us entrance,” he says, steel beneath the polite words.
The scholars exchange glances.
“We think not.”
“It’s important,” I say, but Elianna speaks over me.
“I’m Elianna Lianonne, Air Touched, Twelfth Rank, Sorcerers’ Guild,” she says, head held high, a note of command in her voice. “I will not be denied entry without serious offense to the Guild … and my father. Is this your wish?”
The guards, who bowed low at her recitation of her name and rank, stare at her with narrowed eyes.
“You will excuse us to discuss this request,” Bean says. The two guards back away from us and hold a low-voiced conversation that only takes a minute.
“We cannot grant this request, but we won’t offer offense by leaving you here in the road,” Haven says, returning to her previous position between the pillars while Bean walks over to the gate and opens it.
“We invite you inside for refreshments, and we’ll collect our Scholar Superior to meet with you. ”
I flinch, just a little. “Scholar Superior” is far too similar to “Sister Superior.” A shiver of unease drifts down my spine.
“Thank you, Scholar Haven,” Andras says, gracefully dismounting his horse and bowing low.
“You will leave your horses here, and the Pyrrhan soldiers,” Haven says, gesturing at Bern and Sergeant Neville.
“Pardon my forwardness, but how would you be knowing that, lass? We wear no identifying uniforms,” the sergeant says.
Haven’s lips quirk at “lass,” but she answers readily enough, if obliquely. “We know many things, Sergeant Neville. Bern, we offer condolences for your loss.”
Bern, in the process of dismounting, jerks his head around to stare wild-eyed at the scholar. “How … Thank you.”
“I can stay out here and help watch the horses,” Trick volunteers. “Maybe Soli should stay with me while you ask about the … things.”
“No,” I say. “I need to be there. I can feel it.” I resist the urge to touch the amulet and key beneath my shirt.
“Either none of you or all of you, barring the soldiers,” Haven says firmly, and I see a trace of regret cross her face that worries me.
I glance at Chitai, and our eyes meet. I can see she’s thinking the same thing.
Trap.
What choice do we have but to spring it?
Bern and Sergeant Neville take the horses, protesting the entire time, and the rest of us follow the scholars through the gate.
I lean toward Kaelen and speak softly. “They didn’t ask us to surrender our weapons. Maybe it’s not a trap?”
He shrugs. “Or they have overwhelming numbers, and no amount of weapons will make a difference.”
When the six of us cross through the doorway, we enter a magnificent rotunda that is, to me at least, entirely unexpected.
The room has very high ceilings and must be a hundred paces across.
The floors are marble inlaid with brilliantly colored mosaics.
The columns ringing the room are also marble, carved into fantastical shapes of animals and birds, with prowling, leaping, and climbing snow leopards preeminent. The ceiling is bare stone.
“Does the temple extend inside the mountain?” From my reading, I’d had a vague idea of a building somewhere along the road or even on the top of the mountain—a building that looked like Artemisen’s temple in Pallanhold.
“It does. In fact, the very top of our temple is technically inside Valourian.” A ringing voice echoes through the room. Its source is a very old woman descending a set of stairs. Haven and Bean rush over to help her.
She wears an emerald green robe, the exact color of the amulet, and she’s walking slowly because she appears to be at least a hundred years old.
Her pure white hair is pulled back in a loose bun, and her face is all bone and hollows, as if age and time have wiped away any trace of fullness.
But her dark-brown eyes gleam with intelligence, and I don’t immediately sense any unkindness in her, the way I always did with the Sister Superior.
I force my tense muscles to relax and take a slow, deep breath. “Scholar Superior?”
“I am, child.” She finally reaches the floor and walks toward us, halting ten paces away. “I’ve expected you for nearly five decades. I was afraid I’d be dead and gone to the next life before you arrived. Now, though, you must leave. Immediately.”
Maybe she’s lost inside her memories? This happens sometimes when people get older. The books call it Altarran dementialus, or simply dementia. Surely, she can see I’m nowhere near fifty years old.
But then I see she’s looking at my shirt, not my face, as if she knows I’m wearing the amulet beneath it. When she raises her gaze to meet mine, she gives me a sudden, beautiful smile.
“Maybe there’s a chance after all,” she murmurs. “Maybe—”
A harsh voice cuts her off. “Are you making our guests welcome?”
We look up to see a tall man, dressed all in black, leap over a balcony rail and levitate down toward us.
“This is not good,” Andras says, putting a hand on the hilt of one of his many daggers.
“So brilliant at stating the obvious, Sylvan,” Chitai says, her teeth bared in a fighting grin, two blades already in her hands. “Trap.”
“No,” the newcomer says calmly, and he waves one black-gloved hand.
Chitai and Andras immediately crumple to the floor where they stand. “What did you do to our friends?” I rush over to them and check for pulses. They’re both still alive but out cold, their muscles rigid. “You had no right!”
Kaelen moves to stand between the newcomer and me, but he deliberately doesn’t touch a weapon. “We offered you no violence. Soli, are they dead?”
“No. Unconscious, but not dead.”
“Fortunate for you,” Kaelen tells the man, his voice ice.
The man in black shoves his long blond hair away from his face and laughs, his onyx eyes glittering. “Ah, but they did offer violence. They touched weapons in the Temple of Knowledge. This is forbidden.”
“They didn’t know,” the Scholar Superior protests, her voice subdued.
“Perhaps not. But is ignorance of the law a defense, Valourian princeling?” The stranger’s gaze never leaves Kaelen’s face.
“It depends on the circumstances,” Kaelen says. “And you are?”
“I am Darnen the Exalted, the Most High—”
“You’re Darnen the Exiled,” Elianna says flatly, moving forward from where she was hidden behind Trick. She glances at us. “My grandfather kicked him out of our territory decades ago.”
I catch my breath at the instant rage on the man’s face.
Elianna glances at me, her expression bleak.
“Darnen was the leader of a group of druids in the Sorcerers’ Guild Deeded Territory.
They were left to live as they wanted until they voluntarily joined the ranks of the Zhagarn and started playing with evil magic.
Now they’re Fallen Druids, sworn to Corvynne. ”
Darnen glares at Elianna, his lips twisting. “Ah. The heir apparent. I’ve heard of you. Done with your own exile in Pyrrh?”
“Zhagarn? What is the status of this temple, Scholar Superior?” Kaelen demands.
“You may address only me,” Darnen snarls. “She is nothing.”
“We are prisoners,” the Scholar Superior says, her shoulders slumping. “And now, unfortunately, so are you.”
Kaelen draws his sword. “I think not.”
Elianna raises her hands, as if to call her magic. Darnen flinches, and I realize he doesn’t know she doesn’t have any. Trick’s daggers are in his hands, and I even pull mine from its sheath, wishing the amulet had magic I could use in terrible situations like this.
Darnen shakes his head, a horrible, false sympathy on his face. “Now, what did I just tell you about touching weapons in my temple?”