The Divided Knight - Chapter Eleven

The first night, they camped in the ruin of an ancient watchtower. At first, Thaddeus had been reluctant to make camp there, as the interior walls of the ruin had borne the mark of the Shadow Brotherhood. Even though the Shadow Brotherhood had supposedly been wiped out more than fifty years before, their influence was still felt in the sparsely populated lands of the kingdom's eastern marches, and anything that bore their mark was considered a potential den for thieves and brigands. Zoe had assured him, though, that the ruin was safe, warded against evil in much the same way as the abbey had been – the final battle against the Shadow Brotherhood had apparently been fought there, and, in its aftermath, the clerics who had been there placed the wards, intending for the ruin to stand as a monument to those of the Order who had lost their lives in service to the kingdom.

“There were monks here, then? Not just clerics?” Thaddeus asked as he settled down beside the small fire they had built.

Zoe nodded. “There were. One of the few times the Order's monks stood with regular soldiers in battle.”

“What made them do it? I thought the monks only fought in self-defense?”

“Normally, they do. You know how dedicated to peace the Order is. Back then, though, it seemed like the Shadow Brotherhood was growing more and more powerful. They had already organized all of the outlaw bands in the eastern marches under one banner, and it was thought that, any day, they might try and march against the kingdom in force. The Red Death had only been gone five years, and, even though it had somehow managed to survive, the kingdom still had not fully recovered. The monks chose to stand, here, because they felt that, if they didn't, the king's army alone might not have been enough to defeat the Brotherhood.” She paused, staring into the fire. “As it was, even with the monks' help, the battle was still a very closely run thing.”

Thaddeus looked at her. “You were there, weren't you?”

Zoe's eyes met his. “I was. I helped set the wards around this place, and helped bury the bodies of the monks who died. Thad, does it bother you? How old I am, I mean?”

Thaddeus smiled. “You don't look old, Zoe.”

She frowned. “I know I don't look old! I haven't looked my age in decades. Do you even know how old I am?”

“Older than fifty, if you were here at that battle.” Thaddeus studied her for a time, watching the way the light from the fire played across her features. “You're a lot older than that, aren't you?”

“I'm three hundred years old, Thad.”

Three hundred years old, and she didn't look a day over thirty. Truthfully, Thaddeus wasn't surprised by the revelation – those who could touch magic often lived longer than those who couldn't, and more than one of the mages back at the Conclave had been close to, if not more than, two centuries of age. They looked it, though, Thaddeus thought. “You've always been older than I am, Zoe,” Thaddeus said. “It doesn't bother me in the least.”

“And what about what I am? What I've become?”

“There are worse things to be than a cleric. Yes, the Conclave and the Order of Catharzen may never have seen eye to eye on things, but I only subscribed to that as much as I had to. And, as for what you've become, it surely can't be any worse than what I need to be. In fact, I have a feeling it will help me a great deal in the days to come.”

She was still holding his gaze. “I have that feeling, too,” she said. Then she frowned. “And what do you mean, what you need to be?”

“Well, what happens when I find the Wanderer? The other half of my soul? Something tells me that finding him will mean me becoming something . . . else. Something as new and different as Aylander says you are.”

The two of them were silent for a time. Thaddeus broke out the rations they'd brought – salted pork, bread, and cheese – handing some to Zoe while taking a portion for himself. They drank from their waterskins as they ate, Thaddeus finding it difficult not to drink more than he was supposed to because the meat was so salty. Even though there was clean water to be found in the eastern marches, it was supposed to be scarce, with most water sources said to be so polluted and poisoned that drinking from them brought a lingering, painful death. Hopefully there will be cleaner water in the mountains, and in the lands beyond. If there isn't, this is going to be a pretty short trip.

Have faith, friend Thaddeus, Aylander said, speaking for the first time that day. Eltara can't be as barren as we've been led to believe all these years.

Thaddeus glanced at his sword, which he'd laid on the ground next to him. What makes you so sure?

Nothing, Aylander said. But I do have faith.

Thaddeus grunted a laugh, shaking his head and taking another sip from his waterskin. Gods Above, the pork was salty.

“What did he say just now?” Zoe asked as she chewed. “Aylander?”

“He's admonishing me for a lack of faith,” Thaddeus said.

Zoe raised an eyebrow. “In what?”

“In the fact we'll be able to find clean water on the other side of the mountains.”

“Oh. Well, I'm sure we will be. Eltara can't be as barren as we've been led to believe all these years.”

Thaddeus gave her a sour look. “Have you two been talking behind my back, again?”

Zoe's eyes glittered with amusement. She took a swallow – a swallow, not a sip – from her waterskin and said, “I haven't a clue what you mean, Sir Knight.”

“Bah!”

They ate the rest of their meal in silence, then laid down beside the fire and went to sleep.

“The Eltaran's wrong, you know. She isn't really something new.”

The voice woke Thaddeus from a dead sleep. Opening his eyes with a start, he reached above his head for his sword and touched nothing but bare earth. He sat up, looking across the remnants of the fire to where Zoe should have been. Zoe wasn't there, however – in her place was a bearded man in black, holding Thaddeus's unsheathed sword in his hands and studying it as if looking for defects.

“Who are you?” Thaddeus asked. “Where's Zoe?”

The man didn't look up from the sword. “Two very good questions, but I know of an even better one.” He looked up, and when he met Thaddeus's gaze, Thaddeus saw his eyes glowed blue. “How can there be light, here, if the fire has died?”

“Solanas?”

The bearded man smiled, and, though the face he wore was much younger than that of the spirit who had set Thaddeus on his journey, Thaddeus relaxed when he saw how familiar the expression was. “Yes, it's me,” the man said. “Or, rather, a piece of me, woven into your sword.”

“One of the enchantments Zoe couldn't identify?”

Solanas nodded. “She's a very perceptive one. Horace chose well when he decided she should succeed him as Abbott.” He sheathed the sword and handed it back to Thaddeus, who set it on the ground beside him. “Do you remember finding that sword, Thaddeus?”

Thaddeus frowned. “Of course I do. It was in the armory, just like you said it would be.”

Solanas studied him in silence for a moment. “How do you think I came to have that sword? True, it is my sword – or was, when I was still alive – but, after I died, it was lost. No one knew where it was, or even where to look. And then, more than two thousand years later, a sixteen year-old boy comes to the Royal Palace of the Kingdom of Voranar with the sword strapped to his back just like it belonged there.” He smiled, again. “You don't remember any of that, do you?”

Thaddeus said nothing. He had been the one who found the sword? How could that be possible?

“Not even I know how you found it, or where. But, when you arrived at the palace, the sword drew me to you. That was the first time you met me, the only other time before I freed you from the dungeon. You should not have remembered that meeting. The spell I placed on you should have wiped it from your mind completely. But, even then, I was sure you would remember at least some of it – if your finding the sword hadn't been proof enough, I could sense how different you were, though it wasn't until later that I learned the truth about your heritage, and your connection to the Wanderer.” Solanas paused, looking down at the remnants of the fire. As he stared, the fire suddenly flared back to life, which caused the false light that had surrounded them, before – the light of Thaddeus's dream – to fade. “Thaddeus, have you ever heard tell of something called the Nightslayer?”

“I think I heard some children mention it, once,” Thaddeus said. “It was part of a game they were playing. The Nightslayer was supposed to be someone who could slay the Bogeyman, though none of the children wanted to be him. Being the Nightslayer was supposed to be like being cursed, and the object of the game was to avoid being tagged. If you were tagged, you became the Nightslayer, and you were supposed to lie down and play dead while the other children threw flowers – which were really dandelions – on you.”

Solanas chuckled. “You think you heard some children mention it, and yet you remember so many other details about their game.”

Thaddeus shrugged. “I was bored, one day, and saw them playing in the courtyard.” He paused, staring into the fire. “Made me wish I had had friends to play games like that with when I was growing up.”

“I'm sorry you never had much a childhood, Thaddeus,” Solanas said.

“Wasn't your fault. Besides, it was all for my own good, right?”

“Indeed.”

“Why did you ask me about the Nightslayer?” Thaddeus asked. “And what did you mean about Zoe not being something new?”

“I met someone like Zoe once,” Solanas said. “Or, at least, someone like what I expect Zoe will become. As for the Nightslayer, I asked you about it because I think it might be important to your larger quest. I can't tell you why, or how, because I don't know, myself. All I can tell you is that the Nightslayer is no myth, no mere subject of a children's game. Based on what I was able to learn before I died, I think there may have even been more than one of them, when they still existed.” He gazed into the fire, his voice growing quiet. “I sometimes think, if things had turned out differently, if certain things hadn't been lost to the depths of time, I might even have been one of them.”

“The Nightslayers were demon hunters, weren't they?” Thaddeus asked, not certain what had prompted him to ask the question.

Solanas gave him a sharp look before answering, his eyes narrowing. “I think so, yes. And I don't think they all came from this world. They came from many, and were of many different races.”

“None of them were Eltaran, though.” It was a statement, not a question, and, again, Thaddeus had no idea what prompted him to say it.

“How do you know that, Thaddeus?”

“I don't know,” Thaddeus said. He frowned. “Somehow, I just do. It's like I've always known.”

Solanas looked at him for a long time, his expression solemn. Then he smiled. “You always seem to find ways to surprise me, Thaddeus.” The fire was beginning to die, again, and darkness was creeping in from all sides. “Our time, here, for now, is nearly over. We will talk again, at least once more before the end. Until then, I wish you the best of fortune, Thaddeus. Goodbye.”

“Wait!”

“Thaddeus?” Zoe asked. “What's wrong?”

Thaddeus was laying on his back, staring up through the ruined watchtower at the sky. He blinked, then sat up, looking at Zoe. “Nothing,” he said. “Just a dream.”

Zoe looked at him for a moment, frowning in concern, then said, “Well, at least I don't have to wake you. We need to get going.”

They gathered up their things and stepped outside. As soon as they were outside, though, Zoe stopped, holding up her hand, her head tilted to one side as if listening for something.

“What is it?” Thaddeus asked.

“Shh!”

I can sense it, as well, Aylander said. Something changed during the night.

Like when we sensed Atraxos's return? Thaddeus asked.

No, this is different. More immediate. Closer.

“The wards are gone!” Zoe said, dashing off around the southern edge of the watchtower.

Thaddeus hurried after her. Behind the watchtower, on the southeastern side, was a patch of ground that looked as if the earth had been thrown up and out from beneath. It was clear that, before whatever had happened, this area had been home to a number of graves. Zoe stood looking at it, her eyes wide. “Gods Above, no,” she whispered. “No!”

Atraxos has raised the first Abominations, Aylander said. His power is growing, just as it did before the Great Mage War. From here on, our path becomes much more perilous.

The Divided Knight - Chapter Ten

Atraxos ran his fingers – it was still difficult for him to think of them as his, even though the body which had belonged to Garris Galgana was not the first body that had played host to Atraxos's essence in the long years since his original body had been slain – uneasily over the surface of the book. This book's title, translated from Eltaran into the mongrel form of Common that was spoken, these days, was The Book of Unfathomed Darkness. It had been in Atraxos's possession for more than three millennia, and, even now, even after understanding so much of what power the book could grant him, and what powers it had in its own right, he still found it disturbing. Perhaps what disturbed him about it was the fact that no mortal hand had played a part in the book's creation – it had been crafted in the Sundered Halls by the Demon Lords, its final touches placed on it by the Hidden King, himself – or perhaps it was how it had served as Atraxos's prison for four hundred years. He had been aware of every tortuous moment of those four hundred years, his only solace being that the book had slowly corrupted those who guarded it. When the time had finally come for him to escape, when he had at last been found by Galgana and his followers, Atraxos had taken much satisfaction in having soldiers who were already primed to accept his commands.

If the book had been encountered by someone who knew nothing about it, and if that someone had no way of sensing the book's arcane origins, there would have been nothing about it to make it look or feel out of the ordinary in any way. Its cover was unadorned, with the texture of well-weathered leather, and, if viewed in normal lighting, the edges of its pages would have looked yellowed with age. A metal hasp held the book closed. The hasp could be unlocked with a twist of the knob set into it, and Atraxos let his fingers linger over it, both wanting and not wanting to twist at the same time. Why do I hesitate? he wondered. The escaped knight has forced my hand, and I know what I must do.

There was no turning back once Atraxos opened the book, however. Once opened, the power of the book would be laid bare, and, for only the second time in his existence, Atraxos would no longer be in control. Long ago, he had sworn to himself that he would only open the book, again, in the direst of need. Was his need that dire, now? Was one escaped knight, who, though aided by magical means, had no magical ability of his own, worth becoming vassal to the Demon Lords over? Haven't I always been their vassal, though? Aren't all Necromancers, in one way or another, servants to the Lords of the Sundered Halls?

Atraxos twisted the knob. An electric shock snapped at his fingers, making him jerk them away, and the hasp fell open. As soon as the hasp was open, the book opened, as well, and Atraxos's study, which had only been lit, before, by the flickering light of a few candles, was flooded with a blood-red glow. The glow came from the middle of the open book, and Atraxos found himself unable to look away from it. At first – just as he had the last time he'd opened the book, in those days now long since lost – he tried to fight it, gripping the edge of his desk as he tried to pull his head backward. Gradually, however, his struggles began to lessen, the glow growing welcoming, like that of a campfire on a cold winter's night. There was nothing about that glow to be frightened of. And, in the place where it came from, there were friends – friends who had been waiting for him for a long, long time. I'm coming! he thought, and then, in the blink of an eye, Atraxos was elsewhere.

The overpowering stench of sulfur and blood told Atraxos all he needed to know about where he was. Opening his eyes and looking around, he found himself in a small room with walls of stone. A dungeon cell, he thought. Why put me in here? Looking down at himself, Atraxos saw he was dressed in beggars rags, which also made no sense – the last time he had visited the Sundered Halls, he'd been draped in a robe the color of midnight, a crimson serpent spewing fire sewn onto its front.

Atraxos turned as the door to his cell was unlocked and pulled open. A skeleton with burning eye sockets, wearing a scorched steel breastplate and carrying a wicked looking halberd, stood in the doorway looking in on him. Though the skeleton said nothing, Atraxos understood it had come to collect him, but he had no intention of going with it without at least trying to figure out what was going on.

“What is the meaning of this?” Atraxos asked, pleased that the voice he spoke in was his original one, and not that of Garris Galgana. “Why dress me in rags and throw me in the dungeon like some kind of criminal?”

The skeleton said nothing, and it did not move. The fire burning in its eye sockets seemed to grow brighter, however, and Atraxos thought he could feel its heat. Incensed, Atraxos readied a spell that, armor or not, would blast the skeleton apart. However, just at the moment he was about to cast it, he realized something that made his blood run cold – he could feel no magic here. That should not have been, could not have been. Magic was everywhere, in everything, and someone with an arcane talent as strong as Atraxos's should have sensed it at all times, even in a place like the Sundered Halls. What had happened to him?

Atraxos sagged in defeat. He looked at the skeleton in the doorway a moment longer, then let it lead him out of the cell. The skeleton wasn't alone – a second, dressed and armed in the same manner as the first, and possessing the same burning eye sockets, joined them once Atraxos was outside the cell, falling in behind him as they walked. The skeletons led him through the cavernous halls of an enormous palace – based on its size, along with the finery and opulence that surrounded them as they walked, it had to be the palace of the Hidden King, himself, a thought which gave Atraxos no small amount of pause – until, at last, they came to a high-ceilinged room dominated by a throne made of bone.

A human-shaped figure, dressed all in black, its face silhouetted by a nimbus of flickering flames that seemed to emerge directly from its shoulders, sat on the throne. Though he had never been in the presence of the Hidden King, before, Atraxos knew that was who the figure was, and the terror that knowledge spawned inside of him subsumed all confusion over why he did not look like an Eltaran. From his throne, the Hidden King looked down on Atraxos, and, though he couldn't see it clearly because of the flames, Atraxos was sure the smile that graced the Demon Lord's lips was a cruel one.

“Atraxos Solkanan,” the Hidden King said, his voice clearly audible even though it was little more than a menacing whisper. “It has been a long time since you have visited these Halls. Millennia, in your reckoning, has it not?”

Atraxos was too terrified to speak. He was too terrified to even think.

The Hidden King chuckled. “You fear me. You fear all my kind. And yet, you use our power to do your will. If you are not afraid of our power, why are you afraid of us?”

Atraxos licked his lips. He had to say something. If he didn't, the Demon Lord was sure to destroy him. “I . . . I do not fear, Great One.”

“Ah, at last the Eltaran speaks, even if it is to lie. Tell me, Atraxos, why did you turn your back on us? Did we not bestow upon you all that was promised?”

“You . . . you gave me great power, indeed, High One. And I never intended to forget the debt I owed to you and yours. I always intended on calling upon you, again.”

“Did you?” Atraxos could sense the Hidden King narrowing his eyes. “Did you, indeed?” The Hidden King sat back in his throne. “You spoke of the debt you owe. Are you prepared to repay it? Are you prepared to unleash us on the world? To set us free, at last?”

Atraxos wasn't prepared. This was why he had avoided opening the book for so long. Even he, a Necromancer who commanded dark powers and sought only to dominate others, had never wanted to see the Demon Lords let loose upon the land. They would ravage it in ways he never could, and, once they were free, there was no one who could stand against them. The Council of Light had perished eons ago, and Solanas had been the last mage who could have named himself a Nightslayer. I opened the book, Atraxos thought. But it will not only be me who pays the price.

“What if I say no?” Atraxos asked.

“Then you will die,” the Hidden King said. “By rights, I should have had you killed, already. Killed for turning your back on us and betraying us.” He paused, and Atraxos knew he was smiling his cruel smile, again. “But I decided to be merciful, instead, and give you this one last chance to redeem yourself.” He leaned forward, and his tone grew conspiratorial. “And, if you do say yes, the reward will be substantial. I promise you that.”

“What . . . what reward?”

“I will make you one of us.”

One of them? Suddenly, Atraxos's felt his lust for power stir within him, felt as it pushed his terror at standing before the Hidden King's throne aside. Before, when he'd been told what the cost of the deal he struck with the Demon Lords would be, nothing had been said about him becoming one of them. He had always assumed that, when the time came for him to pay, he would suffer alongside everyone else.

“You would do that, Great One?” Atraxos asked. “Truly?”

“I would,” the Hidden King said. “All you need do is say yes.”

“Yes, then,” Atraxos said. “Yes!”

The Hidden King threw back his head and laughed.

The Divided Knight - Chapter Nine

Thaddeus stood at the edge of the woods, looking off to the east. Dawn was just beginning to come up, its first rays of light bringing color back into the sky, but it would still be a few hours yet before the sun was well and truly above the distant, craggy, snow-clad forms of the Ivory Spires. Traveling by foot – which they would have to do, as the abbey had no horses, and there were no places between here and there where some could be found – those mountains, which split the continent neatly in half, and had no peaks that were less than fourteen thousand feet high, were three days away. It was always winter in the Ivory Spires, and the passes through them always seemed to change, shifting from place to place, which made finding a safe route through the range notoriously difficult.

Why would my people want there to be an easy way for outsiders to enter our lands? Aylander said, reacting to Thaddeus's train of thought.

“I don't know,” Thaddeus said. “Might make trade a little easier.”

During the Golden Age of Peace between my people and the Torvaran Empire, trade through the Spires was an everyday thing.

Thaddeus gave a sour smile. “That's because all of the merchant caravans from this side were escorted by Eltarans who knew the way.”

Aylander didn't respond, but Thaddeus could sense his amusement.

“Good morning, you two.”

Thaddeus gave a small start. He hadn't heard Zoe's approach, and when he turned to look at her, standing beside him as if she had been there the whole time, he immediately knew something was different about her. There was a calmness to her that hadn't been there the day before, a look in her eyes that gave off a sense of serenity that went well beyond a cleric's natural aptitude at easing the nerves of people who were anxious. Did she also seem somehow older than she had, yesterday? More mature and focused? Thaddeus thought she did, and, within him, he felt Aylander agree.

“Thad,” Zoe said, the corners of her mouth quirking upward, “you're staring.”

Thaddeus blinked, then glanced off to the side, clearing his throat. Zoe giggled, and he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Why, this morning, did her presence suddenly make him feel like he was sixteen, again?

“Do you know,” Thaddeus said, looking back at Zoe, “other people might think it strange that you just said good morning to a sword?”

Zoe smiled. “Oh, but yours is a very special kind of sword, Thaddeus. It likes it when I say good morning to it.”

I do, actually, Aylander said, his voice so deadpan that it was all Thaddeus could do to keep from laughing out loud.

They shared the next few moments in silence, Zoe staring out at the mountains just as Thaddeus had done, watching as light slowly crept back into the world. At last, Thaddeus said, “Something's changed in you, hasn't it, Zoe?”

She sighed. “It has,” she said, looking at him. “The Abbott is dead.”

Thaddeus wasn't surprised. In fact, he was sure he remembered feeling the man's passing, a brief, vague impression of leave-taking that came to him shortly before he'd awoken, earlier. “You're him, now, aren't you?”

“No, I'm still me. But I'm more than I was, before.” Zoe shook her head and looked out, again, at the mountains. “It's not something that's easy for me to explain.”

“Are you still coming with me?”

She snorted a laugh and looked at him, giving him a crooked smile. “Of course I am, silly. Nothing could keep me from going with you. Not even this.”

She's something different, Aylander said. Something new.

“So, what are you, now? What can you do?”

A moment passed before she answered. “Just like all the Abbotts before me, I've become a focus, a lens through which the powers of our Order flow. Through me, through what I've become, the Order of Catharzen survives, and I remember.” She blinked, refocusing her gaze, which had grown distant as she spoke, on Thaddeus. “Thaddeus, the powers of our Order are ancient. Much more so than I ever realized.”

“Aylander thinks you're something different from the ones who came before you. He thinks you're something new.”

“He is a powerful one if he can sense that even from within your sword. And he's right. I am the first woman to have ever had the Abbott's power passed to her. Not even I have any idea what to expect.”

Thaddeus smiled. “I guess that means we'll find out together, then.”

Zoe smiled back. “I guess it does.”

“Coming with me won't endanger your Order, will it? They're at least as much of a threat to Atraxos as the Conclave was, and he's bound to start going after them.”

“He will, but my being distant from my brothers and sisters means little. Even though we are a peaceful Order, we can defend ourselves, and, as I said before, my place is now at your side. The only thing that could change that is my death.”

“The only thing?”

“The only thing.” She looked at him. “Are you ready, Thaddeus?”

And so they headed east, for the mountains.

The Divided Knight - Chapter Eight

The Abbott sat, motionless, in the chair behind the desk in his study. Dawn would break in three hours, and, when it did, nothing would ever be the same, again. In three hours, once Zoe and Thaddeus, along with the soul of the Eltaran Sword Priest currently locked within Thaddeus's sword, had left the abbey and headed east, the Order of Catharzen, which, even during the Mage Wars, had always been dedicated to peace, would be at war. The Abbott had always known this day would come – Solanas, himself, had claimed to have seen its coming in a vision, a vision he had also claimed he'd shared with no one but the man the Abbot had been back in those days – but, now that it was upon him, he did not know how he felt about it. If everything went according to Solanas's vision, the world would soon see the end of Atraxos the Black, and would be graced with a hero that would unite it in a way that it hadn't been for thousands of years. But, if Solanas's vision proved false, the darkness that would fall would be absolute, and it might not be just this world that was affected.

The Abbot, of course, had faith in what Solanas had told him. Back then, back when the Abbot had just been a monk named Horace Alvarem, Solanas had been the closest thing he'd had to a brother, and his trust in him had been absolute. While it was possible that that trust may have blinded him, the fact that so much of what Solanas had told the Abbott had already come to pass made him sure the rest of it would turn out true, as well. He still worried, however, and it didn't help that Zoe had insisted on accompanying Thaddeus on his journey across the Ivory Spires. Didn't Zoe understand that she was needed here? Didn't she understand that she was more than just a cleric and that, if the Abbott fell, someone would need to be there to take up the mantle? Of course she doesn't, you foolish old man. You've never explained those things to her.

There was a knock on the study door. “Come,” the Abbott said.

The door opened, and the Abbott wasn't at all surprised when Zoe stepped into the study. She closed the door behind her and faced him, saying nothing. The Abbott didn't need magic to tell that she hadn't slept. “You should be asleep, Sister Zoe,” he said.

“So should you.”

The Abbott smiled at her. “It has been a long time since I slept through a night. One more of missed sleep won't hurt any more than any of the others.”

“What troubles you, Father?”

“Many things, Sister.” The Abbott gestured at the chair in front of his desk. “Please, sit.”

She hesitated a moment, then moved to the chair and sat down. It was clear to the Abbott that she was nervous, which wasn't like the Zoe he knew, at all. “You spoke to Thaddeus, I take it?” the Abbott asked.

She nodded, and, as she did, the nervousness melted away – a thing which pleased the Abbott greatly. “Yes.”

“How is he taking things?”

“He's angry, but I think he's beginning to understand. He's very anxious to leave.”

“That's understandable. What of your friendship with him?”

A hint of a smile touched her lips. “It's still there.” The smile vanished. “I almost lost it, though.”

“I'm pleased that you didn't.”

Zoe blinked, then smiled. “So am I.” She focused her gaze. “Father, why did you try and keep me from going with him?”

The Abbott didn't answer right away. “Zoe,” he said at last, “do you know what will happen when Thaddeus leaves here? The Order of the Crimson Serpent will declare war on us. We will be made anathema throughout the kingdom.”

“We can fight them, though. We're spread out, not centralized like the mages were, and no one knows the locations of all of our abbeys. Particularly not this one.”

“That's all very true, but, in the fight that is to come, there is still a chance that I might fall. Zoe, when you leave here with Thaddeus, there will be none who can take my place.”

She frowned. “What do you mean? There are plenty of other monks who could be named Abbott.”

“Named Abbott, yes. None of them would be the Abbott, however. Mine isn't just a title, Zoe. Only those with a gift like yours can truly become what the Order of Catharzen needs as its leader.”

Zoe was silent for a time. “What does it mean to be the Abbott, if it isn't just a title?” she finally asked.

“The Abbott is a focus for the Order's power. When the holder of that focus dies, it must be passed down to someone with the strength of will necessary to hold it. It has been three thousand years since the focus was passed to me, and, in all that time, I have never encountered another who could hold it.” He paused, looking at her. “At least, not until you came along.”

“Three thousand years?” Zoe asked, voice quiet. “You're three thousand years old?”

“More than that, Zoe, but does that really surprise you? You, yourself, are more than three hundred.”

“Why haven't you told me any of this before?”

“For selfish reasons that I regret deeply. Do you understand, now, why I did not want you to go with Thaddeus?”

“I could still stay.”

The Abbot closed his eyes and smiled, shaking his head. “No, my dear,” he said. He opened his eyes. “You've made your choice, and Thaddeus needs you, now. I cannot undo that.” He laughed. “I guess I'll just have to find a way to stay alive. I mean, that's never been a problem for me in the past. Why should it be, now?”

Zoe looked at him for a long time. Her eyes were sad, at first, then grew thoughtful. “You've never been Touched before, have you?”

“I've forbidden it. When I became the Abbott, I was given access to the knowledge and experience of all the Abbotts who came before me. All of that knowledge and experience told me that allowing a cleric to Touch me could be dangerous. And so, for the last three thousand years, I've had to heal myself the old-fashioned way.” He smiled, again. “Not that I've ever really needed to, of course. Being the Abbott has its advantages.”

“A cleric's Touch would be dangerous to you?”

“No, not to me. To the cleric.”

Zoe leaned forward in her seat and lowered her voice. “Let me Touch you, Father.”

“I have no need of healing, my dear.”

“Yes, you do. Father, three hundred years is a long time to live, and I've been lonely for most of them. I can only imagine how lonely you must be after three thousand.”

Loneliness. The Abbott rarely thought about that. Thinking about it allowed him to feel it, and feeling it was far too painful. She'd have inherited that loneliness if she'd stayed. It's better she go with Thaddeus. “Yes, I've been lonely,” the Abbott said. “But that loneliness is simply a fact of who and what I am. I've grown to accept it, and your Touch will do nothing to ease it.”

“I think it will, Father. Please, let me try.”

Surprisingly, the Abbott found himself tempted. But, if he allowed himself to be Touched, what would happen to Zoe? Other than a vague warning that a cleric's Touch could endanger the cleric, nothing within him provided a specific answer. Before he knew what was happening, he found himself holding his hand out to her, which was all the permission she needed.

Zoe grasped the Abbott's hand in her own and her eyes came alight with an amber glow. Almost at once, an immense sense of peace settled over the Abbott, and he felt himself relax, a long sigh of relief escaping from between his lips. Any pain he had been feeling before – and there had been some, like the vague ache in his joints that not even his being the Abbott could dispel completely – faded away, replaced by a warm rush of vitality the likes of which he couldn't remember having ever felt, before. At that moment, as he held Zoe's hand and stared into her glowing eyes, the Abbott felt young, again, and no longer alone. From experience, the Abbott knew that the way he felt, right now, was no different from the way anyone Touched by a cleric felt, and he could see no evidence that Zoe's Touch was doing anything to harm her. Why the warnings, then?

Suddenly, Zoe gasped, and her grip on the Abbott's hand tightened. The Abbott watched as Zoe's whole body went rigid. Her eyes widened, and the light coming from them ceased to be a glow, turning instead into a brilliant, golden flare. The Abbott wanted to let go of her hand, wanted to look away from her eyes, but found that he could do neither. Panic rose in him as he suddenly realized that he had become Life-linked to Zoe – clerics who became Life-linked to those they Touched almost always died, the person they were trying to heal draining away their life essence until it was gone. Life-links could only be broken by intervention from a third party, but, as Zoe and the Abbott were the only two people in the room, there was no one else who could help them.

It's time for you to rest, Father.

The Abbott heard the words from inside his mind. They were calm, soothing, and he felt his rising panic start to recede. This isn't an ordinary Life-link, is it, Zoe?

No. And I think I'm beginning to understand why the previous Abbotts never allowed clerics to touch them. It would have caused the same thing that's happening, now.

You mean it would have killed them.

Yes, and transferred their power to the cleric. Even if the cleric wasn't ready for them.

The rush of vitality the Abbott had felt a few moments earlier was beginning to fade. As it faded, a bone deep weariness settled over him. He needed to sleep, and he knew that, when sleep finally took him, he would never wake up, again. Are you ready, Zoe?

She didn't answer right away, and the Abbott thought he could feel her searching within herself. When she did finally answer, her thoughts were accompanied by a confidence the Abbott found surprising. What had Zoe found in her soul search that made her feel so certain? I am, Father. I will be an Abbott unlike any Abbott who came before me.

That much the Abbott knew was true. There had never been a female Abbott, before. But there was a deeper meaning to Zoe's words. Why must he suddenly be so tired, right when a mystery like this had presented itself?

Rest, Horace Alvarem.

The Abbott let Zoe's hand go. He looked at her for a moment, his vision blurry, watching as her eyes returned to normal. She smiled at him, and, with muscles that barely wanted to respond, he smiled back. Then the Abbott folded his arms together on the top of his desk and rested his head on them, closing his eyes. He felt Zoe touch him gently on the head – just a normal, light, gentle touch – and that was the last thing Horace Alvarem ever knew.

The Divided Knight - Chapter Seven

Atraxos the Black was impressed with how well Galgana had done when he'd enthralled King Devin Lyrian. Even now, as Atraxos met with the man, it was almost impossible to tell where Galgana's spell ended and the king's true emotions began. Of course, this would make King Lyrian that much easier for Atraxos to use, and that much easier for him to mold – in the end, when Atraxos crowned Lyrian emperor of a reformed Torvaran Empire, it would seem to Lyrian that what had transpired had been his idea all along.

“Destroying the Order of Catharzen seems a dangerous prospect,” Lyrian said. “Theirs are renowned as the best Healers in the known world, and, now that the Conclave is no more, no one knows more of ancient lore than they do. Though I've never had any dealings with them, myself, it is said their monks have perfect memories, and are able to recite scrolls, and even entire books, after only reading them once.”

“Destroying them is, indeed, a risk, Your Majesty,” Atraxos said. “However, not destroying them would be an even greater one. They know things that no one but people like you and I should, things that could topple everything we've started to build. And, as for their Healers, my order is far more skilled. We are not afraid to look beyond death, Your Majesty. We are not afraid of anything.”

Lyrian was silent a moment, studying Atraxos with his emerald gaze – an emerald gaze that, while calm and calculating, now, Atraxos knew hid a spark of madness within its depths. “You fear the monks of Catharzen,” the king said, at last, a touch of amusement in his voice. “Else you would not be so vehement in your desire to see them destroyed. And what of the Conclave? Did you not fear them, as well?”

“If I did,” Atraxos said, “it was obviously unfounded, as we destroyed them utterly.”

Lyrian raised an eyebrow. “Utterly? Didn't one of their Holy Knights escape? The one you ordered my guards to be on the lookout for?”

Perhaps Galgana's spell hadn't been as effective as Atraxos thought. That didn't matter, however. Despite his questions, Atraxos knew the king would not back out of what they had started. Not now. “One escaped knight does not mean our destruction of the Conclave failed. He will be found. And, even if he isn't, he is not a mage, which means he will never be more than an annoyance to us.”

“Perhaps. In any case, I take it that you want me to personally oversee the weeding out and destruction of the Order of Catharzen. Is that correct?”

Atraxos nodded. “It is, Your Majesty. Your guards will be needed, as well.”

“Who will hunt for the escaped knight, then?”

“My men can handle that from here.”

“The people won't like that. Your . . . men . . . are rather fearsome, to say the least.”

“No need to worry about that. My men will hardly be noticed.”

Lyrian sat back, steepling his fingers. “And what of you? Where will you be? I already suspect you will not be present to see the monks' destruction.”

“You are correct, Your Majesty. I will be traveling eastward with some of my men, over the Ivory Spires to Eltara.”

“To Eltara? Why there? It's been a barren wasteland for centuries.”

To seize what has always been mine by right, Atraxos thought. “There are things there older than even the empire we seek to resurrect, Your Majesty. Things that will allow us to have dominion over the entire world.”

“Like the Eltarans in the old legends? Ruling all the lands east and west of the Spires?”

Atraxos smiled. “That, Your Majesty, and more. Much, much more.” He lowered his voice until it was only slightly louder than a whisper, something which wasn't necessary since they were the only two people in the room, but which he knew would heighten the effect of what he said next. “We would be as gods.”

Lyrian's gaze had grown unfocused. “Gods . . .”

Atraxos left the royal palace a short while later. As he began his solitary ascent of the path leading to the High Fortress, he felt supreme satisfaction at what he had done to King Lyrian. Galgana's enthrallment spell had been a promising beginning, and would have been more than enough on its own, but Atraxos had wanted to go one step further, had wanted to make Devin Lyrian – the last true king of the last true kingdom west of the Ivory Spires – a true kinsman to the Order of the Crimson Serpent. And so he had Twisted the king's soul, which was a thing Atraxos hadn't done to another person – another human, those pathetic beings who always thought of themselves as being so noble – in more than a thousand years.