Introduction

Dawn was approaching on the horizon.

The sky changed from inky blackness to deep violet and then a deeper hue of blue. Soon the blue became lighter and lighter as the sun broke the line with a brilliant light. What clouds there were found themselves pushed back under the weight of the sun’s light. Where there was darkness, there was light, and the sun slowly illuminated the forest below. Within the tree line stood a figure in dark brown robes. The fabric’s color blended into the trees all around them, making them almost invisible.

The figure took a few steps forward into the patch of sunlight. Their gnarled toenails dug into the soil as they slowly stretched their gangly form skyward. Brown robes billowed softly in the breeze as the clouds drifted overhead. Like the figure, the massive oak trees had their branches extended skyward, leaves drinking in the precious sunlight. With the breaking of the sun in the clouds, the robed figure felt life stir within the forest as creatures began their waking routine. Pulling back their hood, the elf’s greasy locks of dirty blonde hair fell onto their shoulders. They let their face bask in the sun for a few moments until a cloud bank drifted forward and obscured the sun’s view. In the brief morning light, one could see an intricate tattoo interwoven along their features – but dirt and muck on their face obscured most of it.

“Today is the start of a new day,” they said to no one.

Despite the brilliant green all around them, they focused on the gray clouds overhead as they dimmed the majesty of nature.

“Your sunlight is nice, good Lord, but I am more inclined toward the gray. Shades of gray, much like the rest of the world,” they said with a bit of amusement.

Cries, bellows, and chirps that played their own song of life soon followed the brief appearance of the sun. Somewhere in that cacophony of nature, the elf swayed in time as if it were a song playing on the wind. Walking down the slope and deeper into the woods, the elf spread their arms outward while they swayed as if dancing with an unseen partner. Moving in tune with the song of nature all around them, the figure muttered to themselves as they ran their hands across the trunks of the trees.

“Compliments and pleasantries to see who was listening, you know?”

Though surrounded by life, the elf was alone here. Nothing would dare to approach them, and they would have no company on this errand.

The robed figure paused in step and held their breath to listen for… something. Closing their eyes, they slowly turned themselves around, trying to locate an item by sound alone. They walked forward as they filtered out everything else around. Inhaling deeply, the elf smelled the air. A smile crossed their face.

“There you are!”

Sharpened senses led them to the edge of the tree line that dropped off into a deep ravine. Had they taken another step, they would have gone right over. Staring down, they saw a river of fresh water making its way westward.

“Tried to hide now, eh? The nose always knows, hmm?” they said playfully to the river down below.

With an eerily graceful jump, they made their way down the hazardous slope of stone, roots, and mud. Anyone else without proper climbing gear would have surely lost their footing. At the very least, they would have tumbled to the bottom of the ravine and earned a broken limb. Had anyone been watching, they would have seen how the elf’s bare feet landed on just the right stone or that a thick errant root had extended far enough for them to reach their next purchase. Such a dexterous display would have won both the applause and jealousy of even the most veteran of acrobats and thieves.

But there were no such eyes to watch this morning.

When they finally reached the bottom, their body gave a shiver as their bare feet touched the cold, wet stone ground.

“Refreshing… are you not?” the elf said to the river with a smile.

Dropping to their knees, they leaned forward and dunked their head into the water. Whipping their head back with a laugh, they let the chill of the water wake up their skin and scalp. With a cleaner face, the tattoos were more pronounced – the imagery of branches of a noble tree that spread from between their brows and across their forehead. They contemplated bathing here, as they could not recall the last time they truly had properly cleansed. Then they started giggling at the thought of a farmer drinking their bathwater.

“No, no – fun later, work now. We have a sacred duty to perform,” they murmured to no one.

The elf turned right and found what they were looking for. Up ahead and hidden from above was a shallow cavern. Standing, they walked over and made their way inside. Within this hidden niche, they could see the water flowing out from the rocky wall, pooling itself in the center of the cavern before pushing itself outward to form the smallest of streams that would eventually become a river. This was one of many sources of fresh water on the island.

“Going to be quick about this,” they said as they pulled out a small leather pouch. Opening it, they revealed a smaller cloth pouch within. The aroma that drifted off of the contents of the pouch was spicy and foreign.

“Time to give you some help, my little friend,” the figure whispered. They gazed around at the rich, black earth all around them. Leaning down, they pulled a small stone aside and found what they were looking for. Pink and black night crawlers wiggled in a writhing mass. They had been quietly feeding on a mass of dead roots. Grasping the worms, roots, and all, they quickly added it to the leather bag.

Closing their eyes, they held the pouch in one hand and gestured over it with another. The shadows in the cavern darkened and their voice echoed as they spoke in an ancient tongue. Eldritch power soon emanated from them and swirled around the pouch. Opening their eyes, they walked across the surface of the pool as if it was solid earth, and walked towards the stone wall where the water flowed out. They paused and held the leather bag aloft with two fingers. With their other hand, they stuck out a sharp nail and quickly made several small punctures in the leather’s skin. Tiny droplets of blackish blood seeped from the small pouch as it writhed. Then, just as quickly, they shoved the small leather object into the mouth of the wall and withdrew their hand.

For a moment, nothing seemed to have happened, and the elf frowned. “No, there were enough holes. This is easier than making…” they stopped mid-sentence as they noticed a single blackish line of ink within the clear water. Their eyes widened. They smiled. When the single line hit the pool below, it spread outward. Stepping back to the outside of the water, the elf watched as the black ink filled the pool and then bled out into the river.

“See, now that was a simple chore. Simple… anyone could have done it. Well… no, not anyone. Just me,” they said as they looked down at the ground. “Did you hear that, my Lord? Me. No one else. Just me.”

Turning away, the figure walked out of the shallow cavern and scaled up the side of the ravine. This time, there was no question about it as they commanded the roots and stones to aid their ascent.

When they reached the top, it surprised them to find a creature standing there. The elf was tall, but this creature was taller. The white monarch stag’s rack was draped with fur, vines, and green moss. It stood tall and dangerous.

The elf smiled and slowly reached into their robes. “I have something for you, my friend.” Producing a large red apple, they rubbed it against their robes to give it a bit more sheen. “Freshly picked from yesterday.” Holding the apple toward the stag, the elf slowly made their way forward. The massive creature bowed its head and took the apple from the elf’s hand.

“Delicious no?”

The elf’s other hand shot forward and tore into the beast’s throat. It attempted to buck back, but the elf dug their hand further into the flesh of the beast. Red blood sprayed them both. With an unsettling crack, the beast’s amber eyes went wide, and it collapsed to the forest floor.

“Well… that was rude,” and they walked away, but paused in step. “No… that will not do.”

The robed elf turned back and placed a foot on the shoulder of the beast. A shadow passed across the black eyes of the once majestic monarch. With bare hands and unnatural strength, the elf twisted, pulled, and removed the head from the body of the fallen creature.

A small flock of ravens took to wing, disturbed by the actions.

The figure looked toward the sky, “Tsk Tsk- no witnesses,” they murmured and then looked back at the head.

“Time to go home and clean up. We will have a visitor soon.”

Chapter 1

In the wastelands of the Seteshi desert, there were only three things that could be counted on:

The Radiant Lord’s “Mercy” was never merciful.

The desert was no friend to the weak.

Sand would always find a way into your nethers.

Isolde stretched as sweat ran down her back. She shifted, uncomfortable with grit in creases that were never designed to be gritty. She braced to lift the next basket of sun-fired bricks onto the cart.

“Ready, Jamal!” she called out.

The driver steadied the beast at the front of the cart, clucking and cooing soothing tones. He waved his right hand.

She stooped and wrapped her arms around the basket, legs tensing as she shifted her weight once more to get underneath the balance point. Lifting with her legs she exhaled deeply and hefted the contents into the back of the cart. The boxboard bounced under the sudden load. The camel bellowed and grunted. Jamal held it in place.

“Ah! Thank you, Sister!” Menebhi smiled broadly and opened his arms wide to pull the Avalonian Knight into an embrace. He smelled of garlic, onions, and spices.

“Oof!” Isolde exclaimed, and forced an uncomfortable smile. She nodded and patted the burly merchant on the back. “Happy to help,” she commented.

“I don’t know what the Temple will do when you leave,” the merchant replied as he released her and stepped back. “Your help has been immeasurable.” He tapped the fingers of his right hand over his heart and inclined his head.

Isolde held her right hand over her heart and inclined her head in reply. “I suppose we will just have to make certain that the loading crane is repaired before that happens,” she grinned.

“Caravan!” a young girl’s voice called out from the Temple walls. “Caravan!”

Isolde looked up at the walls of the Temple and shaded her eyes from the setting sun. Her heartbeat fast for a moment. Perhaps …

She hastened to the end of the loading ramp toward the animals’ watering trough. Dipping her hands into the water, she scrubbed them as best as she could. Pulling out a clean-ish cloth from her waistband, she soaked it and quickly wiped her face free of the dirt and grime.

A merchant caravan of half a dozen camels and carts made its way through the tall gates of the Temple of Tarf-qua. The Knight took a place on the step to look out at the approaching group, searching for a familiar figure – someone easily a head or taller than any of the others. Less than a handful of travelers crossed the threshold of the temple. He wasn’t among them. She released a hopeful breath and looked down, and nodded to herself.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, turning her around, and an arm came up behind her legs, sweeping her off of her feet. She was raised up from the ground and twirled for a moment before being set back down, then bent backward as someone leaned over her. Golden brown eyes, the color of clover honey, smiled into hers.

“You are a sight that these eyes will never tire of seeing,” Safar smiled down at her.

Isolde shook her head and chuckled as the Reysis held her in his arms. Travelers and members of the faith glanced up at the exchange and then went about their business, unconcerned.

“You only say that because you see me maybe twice a month,” she countered.

“Ah … Island … you wound me! You know that is not true. When will you marry me?” The handsome Sun Guide smiled.

“And become one of your caravan wives?” she asked and forced herself into a standing position.

“Indeed!” Safar beamed broadly. “It would be a great honor!”

“For which one of us?” Isolde countered.

“Both, of course!” Safar smiled winningly at her.

“Mmm.” Isolde pursed her lips. “And what will you do, Reysis, when my time in Tarf-qua is done, and I am free to explore the world once more?”

The man pondered her question. “You make an excellent point …” he mused and scratched at his dark beard.

She moved to lean against the edge of a wall and crossed her arms over her chest as she watched him. “I suppose I could always come with you …” she said with a slightly bemused look. “Your caravan would have my arm on every venture, and you could have me in your tent. Every … Day …” She smiled at him.

Safar’s eyes widened as he realized the weight of her words in his world. He took a step back and held up his hands. “Now, now, Island …”

“I am certain that … what was her name … that potter in Thyta …”

“Tasneem,” Safar said.

“Exactly!” Isolde smiled broadly. “I’m sure Tasneem would understand.”

Safar pursed his lips and inclined his head. “I yield the field, Ser Knight.” He held his hands up in surrender. “You are such a cruel woman! To strike at the very heart that beats faster for you so,” he said with feigned hurt but with mirth in his eyes.

“Mmmm,” Isolde nodded and kicked off of the wall. Walking over to Safar, she wrapped her arms around him tightly. “It IS good to see you, my friend.”

Safar chuckled and returned her embrace, then inhaled deeply. “Augh! You smell like Menebhi!” Making a face, he broke away from her.

Isolde stopped and sniffed at herself and frowned. “I do. It is not a pleasant thing.”

“You should be glad that His Radiance is not with me, “ Safar tapped the side of his nose. “Sound sense of smell.”

The smile faded from Isolde’s eyes for a moment. “How is he, Safar?” she asked.

Safar’s eyes softened. He reached out to place his arm around her shoulders. “Ahhhh, Island … you know how he is … he is … himself,” He hugged her gently and then took her arm into his as he led her towards the main hall.

“Is he well? Can you tell me that at least?” she prodded as they walked toward the hallowed halls of the Temple. The sunset meal was just being prepared.

Safar shrugged noncommittally. “He is a busy man, Father Tulok,” he said, looking over at Isolde. “Moreso since arriving in the capital,” he added. “His Order … they have many questions about …” He gestured southward but said nothing.

Isolde nodded and clasped her hand firmly around the man at her side in a display of familiar camaraderie. Many of the villagers of Tarf-qua wondered at the relationship between the Wanderer and the Reysis. When he was present in town, the two were all but inseparable. They walked together, laughed together, took meals, drank, and told stories to one another late into the night and early morning. Some whispered that the Reysis had taken the Island woman as one of his many wives, but others disregarded such things as mere gossip from members of the village, seeking to add flavor to their otherwise humdrum lives.

“But you HAVE seen him?” she pressed.

Safar nodded, “Yes. I have laid eyes on our wayward friend, and been able to exchange a … few … words with him here and there.” The Reysis stopped and turned to face her, taking her hands into his own. They were of equal stature, unusual for a woman; but Isolde was anything but typical. His honey-brown eyes searched the emerald green windows of her foreign soul for a moment. “You are truly concerned for him in this?” he asked her quietly.

The knight pursed her lips and nodded. “I am. I should have heard from him by now … or …” she frowned a little and blinked and looked askance, “ … or maybe I misjudged …”

Safar continued to search Isolde’s face. He dropped her left hand and tucked his fingers under her chin to lift her face and eyes back to him. “Isolde duAvalonne …” he began, using her proper name instead of the nickname he always used, “If I thought that for one moment, you and I would have a very different conversation,” He smiled gently at her, the former pretenses for public show fallen by the wayside.

Isolde nodded and leaned forward to place her forehead on his. “Thank you, Safar,” she breathed.

Two women walked past the pair as they were caught up in their clandestine exchange. They covered their mouths and leaned into one another, whispering and giggling.

Isolde held Safar’s gaze as the women walked by. “Rafika and Namira?” she asked him, neither moving nor looking at the women.

Safar pursed his lips and nodded. “Mmhmm,”

“Their clucking is going to have us espoused in the village eye …”

Safar beamed brightly, his smile widened, and he pulled back, eyes gleaming.

“Is that a yes?”

~~~

Tulok took a deep, steadying breath and relaxed his hands. Then he carefully entwined his fingers together and rested his hands on the carved wooden table before him. His deep red eyes looked up at the figure standing before him. He began again.

“With respect Father, you have asked me that question five times now,” the orc stated in a calm and even tone.

“And with respect, I will ask it once more,” Father Kalal answered. Kalal was an older human, tall and lean, whose body bore the signs of one accustomed to fasting to demonstrate his commitment to the Tenets of The Radiant Lord. He stared back at Tulok with bright eyes surrounded by dark circles. His robes were pristine and without so much as a single stain from wear and tear.

Tulok sighed once more. “Then I shall answer the same for the sixth time, and the time after that, and again the time that follows.” His eyes watched the gaunt figure of the man who was his superior. “We took nothing from the Temple of Silence, and the maps that led us there were taken by the Vidria merchant … Arman … and his accomplice, Nebiyre. Both assumed dead from the collapse of the Temple proper, the maps assumed lost in that same cave in.”

“And neither yourself nor … the woman who was with you …?”

“Ser Isolde duAvalonne,” Tulok inserted her name.

“Yes, yes …” Kalal waved the name off.

Tulok scowled at the display of disrespect.

“The foreigner. The Avalonian,” Kalal continued. “Neither of you knows the exact location of the Ruins?”

Tulok shook his head. “No. I could guess, Father, based on how long it took myself and Brother Bengt to reach the location from Kas-qua, but the precise location?” He shook his head once more. “No.”

“And Brother Bengt came to meet his end …? ” Kalal led the question without finishing.

Tulok remembered exactly how Bengt Kalb met his end. On his knees, having asked for forgiveness and absolution for his involvement in the presumed death of the Knight Wanderer Isolde duAvalonne. Tulok had stepped away from his brother-in-arms to regain his composure at the unexpected confession. While caught up in wrestling with his own emotions, Arman and Nebiyre’s people had ambushed their camp and murdered Bengt.

“At the hands of Nebiyre,” Tulok replied calmly. “She cut his throat and gave his life to the sands.”

“And you could not stop them?” Kalal asked.

Tulok closed his eyes and took another calming breath. This line of questioning was one he had answered multiple times since his arrival in Ophir. He had hoped that the Temple would be more interested in researching the existence of the Lost Temple of Silence and what ties Arman and Nebiyre might have had to it. Instead, they seemed more focused on who was still alive that knew about its existence.

“I may be an Orc, Father Kalal, but I am only one orc, and there were many of them. With barbed and poisoned nets, coupled with magic …”

“So you have said.”

Tulok opened his eyes and looked directly at the gaunt priest across the table from him. “And so I shall say again,” he replied firmly.

Kalal met Tulok’s gaze, unfazed. “And this woman …”

Tulok stared at Kalal but did not reply.

“This … Avalonian Knight,” Kalal continued.

Tulok inclined his head ever so slightly.

“She was seeking the Temple of Silence for what reason?”

Once more, Tulok took a steadying breath, swallowing down the taste of the Gurkh that welled up within. It whispered angry thoughts to the priest of The Radiant Lord and attempted to coerce him into taking out his frustrations on the gangly, irritating man.

“She was fulfilling a Quest,” Tulok answered simply.

Kalal opened his mouth to speak once more, and Tulok held up a hand, requesting that he pause. “With respect, Father Kalal. I gave all of this information to the Temple, and I was … assigned …” he emphasized the word, “the duty and responsibility of escorting the Wanderer’s most Holy Witness in Her sworn duty. Ahsom Ibris signed the order himself,” Tulok watched the priest’s face as he offered the explanation. “The Champion could not ride on this occasion, and I was to undertake this charge. Does the Devout Champion Ibris deny he issued these orders?”

“He does not,” another voice answered the question.

Father Kalal started ever-so-slightly at the interruption and turned to face the newcomer.

Ahsom Ibris was of Elven stock, blonde of hair, and bronze of skin. Where Father Kalal’s lean figure was because of his personal practices of devotion, the Devout Champion’s frame was lean by the design of the Divine. Ibris moved with an almost unnatural grace. Tulok was uncertain if this was because of his connection to the Divine or because of his Elven heritage. He was clad in armor crafted from hardened leather scales sewn together and dyed the white and gold colors of the Temple. His almond-shaped eyes, carrying the color of the sea, were fixated on Father Kalal as he entered.

Kalal inclined his head in respect. “Most Devout.”

“Father,” Ibris spoke curtly. He looked over at Tulok. “You’re done here, Father.”

Tulok’s eyebrows raised.

Ibris turned to look at Kalal even as the older man protested. “As are you,” he ordered. “You have been questioning this loyal member …” he emphasized, “of our faith for long enough. We have reviewed the testimony multiple times. It does not change. The truth sayers read it as accurate. You. Are. Done.”

Father Kalal stared at the Radiant Champion, a cool fire in his dark eyes. He forced a polite smile and inclined his head.

“May His will be done,” the priest intoned.

Ibris nodded once and then looked back to Tulok. “With me, Father,” he said and turned without waiting for a reply.