The False Martyr

The False Martyr

The Pattern’s
Purpose:

Book II

By H. Nathan
Wilcox

Praise for
From Across the Clouded Range
, Book One of
The Pattern’s
Purpose
:

“
Truly
epic - I could not put my iPad down. Characters are well-balanced
and believable. I cannot wait for the next book. It has been a long
time since I have read such a captivating story. Hats off to you!
Please keep writing. Talent such as yours must be shared with the
world.”

“
I’ve
been reading fantasy books for 35 years, so I have a lot of titles
under my belt. I loved this book and cannot wait to sink my mind
into the second. Please, Mr. Wilcox, write, write and write some
more.”

“
Excellent read, well-crafted and compelling. Desperate for
the next book to see how the story develops. Brilliant would and
have recommended it to anyone reading this
genre.”

“
This
book is quite hard to put down once you start reading it. The
characters seem real, and the story captivates the imagination.
Brilliant !!!”

“
Excellent & captivating. Characters are well written,
tons of action, and a story line that sinks its hooks into
you.”

“
From Across the Clouded Range
is a
story that is masterfully told. The characters have depth and soul
and the story unfolds in such a way that it was impossible for me
to put it down! Looking forward to more from H. Nathan Wilcox and
anxiously anticipating the next installment.”

“
I did not want this book
to end. A really great read. Can't wait for book two!”

I don’t know any of these
people. I’m not related to or married to even one of them. Though
here’s what my dad had to say:

“
Better than 80% of the
fantasy books I’ve read.”
– Thanks,
Dad.

And my wife:

“
It’s really good!”
– Though it was the first fantasy novel she’s
ever read, and she has to say that, or I’ll stop cooking for
her.

Download
From Across the Clouded Range
now anywhere that downloads are available. (And it’s
FREE!)

To the people of Greenwood
Village (and a few of you from Englewood)
for making us feel so welcome in our new home.

Copyright © 2016 by H. Nathan
Wilcox

Distributed by Smashwords

Cover Art by Bas Hollander

Visit him at
http://www.artbybas.com/

Maps by H. Nathan Wilcox

Thank you for downloading this ebook.
Please, feel free to share it. This book may be reproduced, copied
and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book
remains in its complete original form. Thank you for your
support.

Please note that this book
contains adult themes, sexual situations, violence, graphic images,
and naughty words

Seriously folks, this book
is a pretty hard “R”. Please, don’t let your kids read it unless
you’re prepared to have some uncomfortable
conversations.

All characters and events in this book
are fictitious.

Any resemblance to persons living or
dead is strictly coincidental.

Chapter 1

The
13
^th
Day of Summer

The storm had arrived
exactly as it should, exactly as the pattern dictated. Xi Valati
Teros Maciam stared at the dome above, listened to the thunder
rumbling, watched the first drops patter across the glass that
composed its expanse. The end was near.

His eyes turned to the
massive white desk before him – its expanse broken only by the
magnificent box in its center – then rose to the intricately
painted walls spanning the circular room at the pinnacle of the
Hall of Understanding. He studied the story described along those
walls, watched for the thousandth time as their savior brought his
followers together, aligned them to the Order, and called upon Its
power to exile the Lawbreakers. He glanced at the thick carpets,
the intricate lamps, the great doors, the statues of his
predecessors standing in judgment of his own efforts and silently
said goodbye. He had always loved and hated this room. He loved the
dome, the light, the painting and the story it told. He hated the
officious desk, the disapproving marble frowns, the weight of
responsibility he carried here.

A crash of thunder brought
his eyes back to the glass plates above. The lead between them was
old, the glass older. Over the years they had lost their ability to
restraining the nature they were meant to reveal. Water streamed
down the seams, dripped onto the carpets, created puddles on the
tiles, stained the heads of the petrified saints. Yet, Teros had
steadfastly refused to have the leaks repaired, had put up with the
dripping water for years in service to this night, to the pattern
he had painstakingly maintained.

Normally, buckets would be
arrayed, pans placed, towels dispensed, ire raised. Servants,
clerks, guards, officials would all mutter about the senile Xi
Valati who allowed the room at the center of the great and mighty
Church to leak like the thatch of a peasant’s hut. But on this
night, no one moved to capture that water or keep it from the
antiquities the failing ceiling was designed to protect. Save
Teros, the statues, and the box sitting before him, the room was as
empty as it had likely ever been in the history of its existence.
No guards stood at the door, no couriers awaited orders, no
secretaries scribbled notes, no valati gave advice or made
petitions. Tonight, it was Teros alone with the rain, at least for
a few more moments.

“
Enter, Lius,” he
commanded before the young man outside had the chance to knock. He
heard the boy jump. His hand had not even risen to approach the
door, but the Xi Valati had been following Lius strand within the
Tapestry a long time and did not need to see or hear
him.

The great carved door
swung slowly open. A bald head appeared in the gap – the most
devote acolytes within the Hall treated their heads and faces so
that hair would never interfere with their studies. A slim face
followed, a scrawny hand with thick, dark hair, a rough brown robe,
sandaled feet. The boy – really a young man, but to one of Teros’
age they were all boys – kept his head down, shoulders slumped,
back and knees bent. “You summoned me, Your Grace?” he asked, voice
barely audible.

“
I did. Please close the
door and approach.”

“
But, Your Grace, I am a
student. For me to approach the Xi Valati . . . .” His voice
trailed off, caught between the travesties of acting so far above
his station and doubting the Order’s highest
representative.

“
It is I that summoned
you. Now, close the door and approach. The time is
short.”

As if to punctuate the
statement, a scream, low and distant, wove its way through the
mammoth building and found its way to the door. The sound was of
unbridled pain, came from the greatest depths of the soul,
contained every remaining ounce of life in its owner, marked his
return to the peace of Order with its peace-rending ferocity. Lius
looked back through the doorway as if the sound had issued from
immediately behind him rather than eight stories and hundreds of
paces away. And that shriek was only the harbinger. Others rose,
one after another until a chorus of them were wending through the
corridors, climbing the stairs, and bombarding the doors to where
the boy stood trembling.

Finally, Teros was
required to rise. As he knew it would, the look on his face was
enough to force the boy into action – the threat before him enough
to overcome the more distant, if more terrifying, prospect below.
Lius stepped through the doorway and eased it closed behind him.
Slowly, he approached. He was a head shorter than the Xi Valati,
but Teros was a tall man, so the boy was not much below average. He
was thin, wiry, meek, and entirely plain – narrow brown eyes, broad
nose, big lips, crooked teeth, small ears, blemished skin. Teros
hoped that he had read the Tapestry correctly, that this sapling of
a boy would be able to carry the burden he was about to place on
him through the storm that would ravage him.

“
Your Grace,” the boy
mumbled and fell to his knees halfway to the desk, prostrate as if
approaching a god.

“
My son,” Teros spoke
softly. “Please, we do not have time for all this cowering and
subjugation.” He looked toward the door. Though its surface
restrained the screams, he could sense them, could feel the deaths
they foretold growing closer. “I have an important task for you,
and there is little time for me to explain it. Please, come
here.”

A crack of thunder sounded
with such force that the room shook. Water streamed from the
leaking windows, forcing Lius to dodge them as he approached. The
glass strained against the fury of the wind and water that pounded
it. Teros gave it his attention.
A few
moments longer
. A far better administrator
than weaver, he prayed that he had not missed anything, that he had
prepared the pattern as he should.

A crash from within the
building, screams loud enough to penetrate even this fortification,
focused Teros on the task at hand. He looked to the boy and took a
deep breath. “Do you see this box?” He placed his hand on the
delicately carved top of the seemingly seamless box. The wood
appeared to glow in the dim room. The carvings seemed to move, the
elaborate patterns flowing around its surface.

The boy stared then licked
his lips and held his breath. “Is that . . . ? The Order help me .
. . . I have only . . . .”

So he already
knows.
Teros nodded as his reading of the
Tapestry was confirmed. Only a handful of the most powerful and
trusted members of the Church knew of the existence of this box and
the book it contained. For the boy to have even guessed meant that
he had studied deep, had read the delicate web of clues, had seen
the pattern that pointed to its existence. “It is. And it is now
yours.”

Lius retreated, stumbled,
fell to his back. His hands came up as if the Xi Valati had just
offered him a rabid wolf. “I could not. I am . . . I don’t . . . I
have not.”