Forging Divinity (4 page)

“The few arrests that have been made in the past usually result in the culprit apologizing, promising to never worship the old gods again, and being set free after paying a minor fine. This case cannot be so easily dismissed. The man was carrying a sword that resembles the sacred weapon of the Tae’os religion, realistic enough to appear authentic,” Morella concluded.

A replica of the Sae’kes Taelien?
Lydia’s mind hit several possibilities immediately. A wealthy noble that worshipped the Tae’os Pantheon could have been making a statement, hoping that his trial would reverse the laws against Tae’os worship. This would be an ineffective tactic, but it was plausible. More likely, a noble had bought the replica in another city, thinking it was a beautiful design and not realizing the significance. Even more likely, however, was that the sword-bearer was sent from the city of Velthryn to provoke the people of Orlyn into taking action against him. If Orlyn took an overt action against the man, it might be significant enough to convince Velthryn to declare a holy war.

Lydia concluded that her colleagues had been discussing the third scenario in her absence.
It couldn’t possibly be authentic, could it?

“We believe it is possible the sword is authentic,” Sethridge declared, leaning back slightly as he spoke.

Lydia considered her actions carefully. Revealing her level of knowledge about the weapon in question would potentially lead toward unraveling one of her best kept secrets – as such, she decided to keep her inquiries brief and her statements briefer.

“Why do you believe it may be authentic?” Lydia asked.

Sethridge unclasped his hands, putting his right on top of the table. “One,” he said, extending his pointer finger. “The man gave no resistance when he was taken in. He claimed confusion and ignorance of the law. I know this may not seem relevant yet, but bear with me.”

“Two,” he said, extending his middle finger. “He proved extremely reluctant to part with the weapon, far more so than to surrender any other possessions – or to surrender himself into custody.”

“Three,” he continued, counting with the next finger. “The city watch members who confiscated the weapon were unable to draw the sword from its sheath. They found no bond, latch, or other mechanism to keep the sword in place.”

“Four,” he said, extending his pinky. “The man had black hair and blue eyes.”

Lydia knew those traits immediately – they were associated with the mortal appearance of Aendaryn, the leader of the Tae’os Pantheon. She said nothing to give any indication that she understood the significance of this, save perhaps with a blink of her eyes. Neither black hair nor blue eyes were individually uncommon, but they rarely appeared together.
Of course, alchemy can be used to dye hair
, Lydia considered.
And someone with Rethri blood might have exhibit a rare combination of hair and eye colors naturally.

“Five,” Veruden added, interrupting. “We haven’t been able to get the reshing thing out of the scabbard, either. It’s up in the armory. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

Lydia quirked a brow with that. “All of you have tried and failed?”

“I wouldn’t go near the thing,” Morella explained. “Veruden tried to teleport the sword out of the scabbard. When he touched it to cast the spell, a flare of blue sparks seared his hand.”

Veruden lifted up his right hand with a grimace, displaying the bandages that Lydia had noticed earlier. She crossed that mystery item off her mental checklist, nodding to him.

“Has anyone attempted any sort of identification spells on it?” Lydia asked. “It could simply be an ordinary weapon with some sort of protective sorcery on it.”

“That’s part of why we woke you up,” Sethridge explained. “Veruden and I have no expertise at that sort of sorcery, and Morella won’t touch it. Istavan isn’t here, so that leaves you. We need information, fast. Chances are we won’t get another opportunity to look at it after Myros arrives.”

Lydia could not contain her concern at that last statement. “Myros is coming here?”

Myros was one of the four local gods. He represented battle, strategy, and protection. Unlike in any other kingdom Lydia had ever heard of, the gods of Orlyn took part in the affairs of their land, walking among mortals undisguised. To most, this meant that Orlyn’s gods cared about their people. To Lydia, it meant several completely different things – not the least of which was that these “gods” were more than likely not gods at all.

Still, they were formidable, and wielded more political power than anyone. She did not relish having to deal with the supposed god of battle for any reason – and this was one of the worst reasons possible.

Myros carried the Heartlance, an artifact that served as a symbol of the gods of Orlyn. Edon, the leader of the local pantheon, had held the spear until Myros had ascended to the position of god of battle. Any blood drawn by the weapon was said to strengthen of the wielder.

Faithful of Myros would volunteer to cut their hands on the Heartlance’s blade, supposedly contributing to the god’s strength. Wounds inflicted by the weapon were rumored to bleed indefinitely, and thus, Myros would supposedly bless the wounds of his faithful himself, reversing the artifact’s effect and showing his appreciation for their dedication.

“How does he know?” Lydia asked, folding her hands in her lap, intentionally mirroring Sethridge’s earlier gesture. She frequently modeled her body language after his, as Sethridge was typically considered the leader among them, and any similarity in their behavior would help to cause others to consider her to be of similar importance.

“Protocol,” Veruden explained. “I sent him a messenger as soon as we ran our first tests and determined the sword was dominion bonded. Even if it is not the real Sae’kes, someone went to the trouble of dominion bonding a weapon. That costs, and someone would need a good reason to spend that kind of coin.”

Resh. Last I checked, Myros was in Torlan. That’s only a week’s ride from here.

“Such as keeping four court sorcerers busy while they do something unrelated?” Morella suggested.

“An excellent point,” Sethridge conceded, frowning. “Well, since you have decided not to be useful in investigating the weapon, you can go try to discover whatever this other scheme might be.” His tone was bitter enough to border on outright hostility.

Lydia frowned as well, but she wasn’t mirroring Sethridge intentionally this time. She found that the possibilities were growing ever more disturbing.

“I don’t need your permission to be here or to leave,” Morella pointed out in a neutral tone, leaning forward slightly as she spoke. “But I do have better things to do.” She stood, nodding at Veruden and Lydia, and departed from the chamber.

“That was a bit cold,” Veruden pointed out after the woman had closed the door behind her.

“I believe she may be involved,” Sethridge explained, drawing a shocked glance from Veruden. Lydia managed to keep her own expression neutral. “A spark triggered by defensive sorcery is not a sufficient reason for her to avoid casing a non-invasive spell on the weapon to identify its properties. She is an expert. If nothing else, she could simply wear a pair of gloves.”

“That does not necessarily mean she’s hiding any sort of involvement,” Lydia pointed out. “She could, for example, be going to go inspect the weapon right now, while the three of us are in here debating, and then keep the knowledge to herself.”

Veruden turned his shocked look toward Lydia. “Am I the only one here who believes in honesty and trust?”

“Yes,” Sethridge said without hesitation.

“Pretty much,” Lydia conceded, nodding. “Though, to be clear, I was not stating that I thought what she was doing was inappropriate. She may have a good reason for wanting to gather information and keep it to herself.”

“Oh? Such as?” Sethridge asked.

“If she suspects the weapon is real – and finds confirmation that it is – she may want to gather enough information to try to figure out how the dominion marks on the weapon work. According to legend, the Sae’kes has at least seven dominion marks on the blade. Dominion marks are impossible to replicate in modern sorcery. Knowing how to replicate that technique would be incredibly valuable information, especially if only she had it,” Lydia asked.

What she hadn’t said – but that the others almost certainly knew, save perhaps Veruden – was that dominion marks were only found on the ancient objects imbued with powerful sorcery, colloquially called “artifacts”. Artifacts were thought to have been forged by the gods themselves in the earliest days of the world, and many sorcerers actively hunted for artifacts for prestige – or in hopes of learning to weave the sorcery used to create them.

“And what is to stop you or Istavan from learning the same details after she does?” Sethridge inquired, sounding genuinely intrigued by this line of discussion.

“Well, she could replace the weapon with a copy – tricky, given the limited time. More likely, she simply expects that Istavan and I are not as good at analyzing sorcerous characteristics of objects as she is. She would most likely be correct if she made that assumption. But this is pure speculation, and it remains more likely that she is both unconnected to this whole incident and that she is not going to go inspect it right now. I was simply giving an example of an alternate motive behind why she may not have wanted to look at it earlier.”

Sethridge nodded. “Your point has been made. Well, regardless, it is best if you take a look at the weapon soon – in case Morella is trying to do something to keep the secrets to herself. Also, we should take turns speaking to the prisoner.”

“I already have, actually. He seems nice,” Veruden said. Seeing stares the other two sorcerers gave him in response, Veruden continued, “What? I wanted to get a good image of him in my head, in case he escapes later. Too often, we waste time on discussion, not acting until it’s too late. He may have escaped by now, for all we know.”

“I doubt that,” Sethridge said. “They did put him in the Adellan Room, after all.”

The Adellan Room was named after Prince Adellan, a legendary prince who had been captured in battle when Orlyn was still a part of the Xixian Empire. The Xixians had promised during a parlay with Adellan’s father to keep him in a chamber filled with “all the amenities entitled to a prince” while the other kingdom bargained for Adellan’s release.

Adellan had died chained to the wall of a pretty room, just out of reach of his precious “amenities”. The Xixians had held true to the word of their bargain, just as they had always been famous for.

A lesser known quality of the Adellan Room was that it was located so near to the palace’s barracks, allowing palace’s guards could keep watch on the Adellan Room with minimal effort.

The proximity to the barracks means anyone visiting the prisoner will be likely be noticed. Captain Randall probably carries the key, which means several people could find out if I go ask for it. That’s less than ideal.

“Who ordered for him to be put in the Adellan room, anyway? That seems a little harsh.” Veruden frowned.

Sethridge turned to Veruden, offering him an exhausted shrug. “Captain Randall. I assume his orders came down from the prince.”

A prince ordering someone to be held in the Adellan room. That’s rather ironic.

“Well,” Lydia said, “I suppose I’d better go take a look at that sword.”

“If you find anything of interest, please let us know,” Veruden implored her.

“Of course,” Lydia replied. She planned to do nothing of the kind.

Lydia took hasty steps as she headed to the palace’s armory. Her heart wanted to run, and her mind quickly outpaced even that.
Is this man an agent of the gods? If so, will my involvement interfere with their plans? No, more likely he is some sort of spy. But if so, from who? Would Velthryn be foolish enough to be so overt? What could they possibly gain?

Her mind sorted through other options as she walked, trying to maintain some measure of composure.
Either Morella is right and he’s a distraction, or he’s an agent of a third party. The Kesites, maybe, or the Rethri. The Kesites have the best incentive; a war between Orlyn and Velthryn could leave both cities vulnerable to conquest.

She was somewhat startled when she arrived at the armory door, noticing her own arrival as her hand moved to lift key to lock.

I need to focus
, she told herself, turning the key.

Inside were of assorted weapons, pieces of armor, and seemingly random trinkets. Her eyes caught the unmistakable hilt of the sole object that resembled a legendary sword. Her heart still racing, Lydia hesitated not out of fear, but out of reverence.

Gods, if by your grace you have chosen to guide me to this weapon, please give me the wisdom to know how to deal with it.

With that prayer in mind and a grim expression, Lydia stepped inside and shut the door. While she knew intellectually that prayers had never been proven to elicit direct results, and she doubted the gods had any method for hearing the errant thoughts of their followers, prayer had been drilled into her at such a young age that she engaged in it unconsciously as a matter of habit.

She did not bother to lock the door to the room; it would delay any potential rescuers if she injured herself by triggering a more powerful defensive spell than Veruden had.