The Chosen - Kris Kramer (books suggested by elon musk .TXT) 📗

our grand adventure should be welcome.”

Aiden clenched his fist and grunted. It didn't feel right to let these two tag along, but he also didn't feel like arguing about it with Finias, who had already proven himself stubborn and headstrong. "Fine. Bring them. But their lives are in your hands." He turned to the young man and woman, who seemed reluctant to say or do anything that would upset anyone more than they already were. "And you two. What are your names?"

"I'm Katarina," the girl said. "Kat," she added.

"Malcolm," the boy said quietly. "Her brother."

"Kat and Malcolm." Aiden said, nodding. "I don't know what Finias told you, but this is no game. Once we're on the other side of those walls," he pointed, "you two will say and do nothing unless I or Riordan tell you it’s okay. We're not getting killed because you two have never been in a fight."

Their faces blanched but Aiden didn't care. Better to be harsh with them now and make sure they knew what they were getting into, than to regret doing it after they died from making a stupid mistake. He also hoped he could scare them into backing out, but Malcolm only nodded, and Kat, after a moment's hesitation, followed suit.

“You, you’re a wizard?” he asked Kat, who nodded. “Where’s your escort?” Kat pursed her lips in worry, obviously not prepared for that troublesome little rule.

All Resurrectionist priests practiced various forms of healing magic, but other types of magic were considered heretical and outlawed in Caldera. Wizards, and the magic they practiced, were deemed a necessary evil, especially in light of the war. Anduain and Bergsbor mages were dangerous and powerful, and Caldera had no choice but to literally fight fire with fire. However, because of the terrible temptation of magic, everyone trained as a wizard had to have an escort, specifically one who could keep them under control. To do that, the Resurrectionists came up with another necessary evil, and trained some of their priests in domination magic, a specialty of Anduain dominators. These priests, called sentinels, were assigned to keep an eye on the wizards under their purview, and to take any measures necessary to pacify the wizards if they ever showed signs of using their magic for anything other than wartime activities.

“My brother is a palatine–” Kat began, but Aiden shook his head, cutting her off.

“That doesn’t work. Palatines are only trained to ward magic, not to keep wizards from turning into tyrants. Luckily for you, Riordan here is a sentinel. So he can twist your brain.”

Kat looked at Riordan in surprise, and Riordan responded with a cautious smile. "I promise to go easy on you, my dear."

“Do you have food and supplies?” Aiden asked, and Kat nodded vigorously, pointing to Malcolm’s small leather pack.

"See?" Finias said, holding out his arms in a grand gesture. "Everything works out perfectly." Aiden shook his head at Finias and walked off. Finias scowled. "I'm not the one bringing a dog into the frontier."

Aiden ignored the comment. He walked around the edge of the pavilion toward the north end of the market, the others following him in a line. A worn, muddy path snaked up the hill, leading to the south gates of the keep, which stood open, a small company of swift-emblemed Venrian soldiers standing guard. He motioned Riordan forward, wanting a priest to lead them through the fortress so fewer eyes would be on him and the brand he tried to keep covered. The guards nodded them through, saving their stares for Kat instead of his partially-covered face. Maybe she wasn’t completely useless.

A wide courtyard awaited them just past the gates, leading to the inner keep ahead. Catwalks circled the interior of the walls, allowing defenders to see over the top, and two giant wooden staircases stood at the east and west edges. Some men congregated near the weapon storehouses in the corner, and a small group of robed casters, men and women, chatted near a tailor who was busy repairing the tears in a robe. Riordan took them left, where the courtyard wrapped around the western edge of the inner keep, cutting around to the other side, where they’d find the north gate. He stopped halfway around, though, and took them all about twenty paces to his left, toward a giant rune-inscribed stone with two small pillars standing on either side. The Soulstone.

Aiden and Riordan approached it instinctively, conditioned to do so after countless trips into battle. It stood as tall as Aiden, and was almost as wide at its base. The circular rune carved into its front glowed with a faint bluish hue, and two high-ranking priests of the Church stood on either side, watching Aiden and his companions as they approached. Aiden went to the stone first, keeping his head down in only partially feigned reverence, and he placed his hand on the stone. When he did, one of the priests – an older man with a long grey beard and a disinterested expression on his face – stepped forward to place his hand on Aiden's. The priest chanted something under his breath and the blue glow grew bright for a moment, then faded.

"For the glory of Caldera, my son. Praise be to the Goddess," the priest said in a monotone voice as he pulled his hand away.

"Praise be to the Goddess," Aiden repeated, and stepped away as Riordan came forward to repeat the process.

The Soulstone was a powerful magical relic, and the prized symbol of the Church of the Resurrection. The Goddess herself created the first Soulstone, used to temporarily capture part of a person's soul so that they could be resurrected. Dozens of men and women died in battle nearly every day. But by releasing a soul fragment to the stone before leaving the fortress, the priests of the Church could restore you to life, provided your body was returned to the stone within a reasonable time, usually within a day, and that it wasn't damaged beyond the care of healing magic.

But there was a catch. The process of releasing and regaining a portion of your soul – dying and being brought back to life – was incredibly taxing, and most people could only handle a resurrection two or three times before they started undergoing terrible changes. Too many resurrections and people began losing their memories, seeing their bodies break down, or even going insane. Because of this, most soldiers were forcibly retired from any kind of active combat after their third resurrection, although there were always a few who managed to sneak through until they reached five or six. Aiden himself had only been brought back once, after dying during a failed strike on Grunland. It was a terribly traumatic experience. But he'd known soldiers who had been resurrected four or five times, and none of them was the same person they'd been when he first met them.

Once the other four touched the stone – Finias was noticeably hesitant to do so for some reason – he let Riordan lead them across the courtyard and around the inner keep to the north side of the fortress, toward the outer gates. He tried to push down the excitement as they approached the giant iron portcullis that stood between them and the entrance to the frontier, where all his best years had been. Memories flashed before him of walking through that gateway into a land where only your weapon, your shield, and your wits kept you alive. He'd been part of countless battles out there, defending keeps and outposts, destroying towers, roaming the countryside with his comrades, claiming narrow victories and suffering crushing defeats. Even though some days had been better than others, in the grand scheme of things every moment had been worth it because Aiden knew he had been lucky. Not everyone was able to find their true calling in life, and he'd found it, and lived it, for a decade. Now he was only moments away from going back, and he wanted to relish every moment before fate conspired to take it from him again.

Riordan nodded to the guards manning the gate, and one of them signaled the two in charge of operating the winch that raised and lowered the portcullis. They turned the heavy winch and the portcullis slowly creaked upward, as did Aiden's excitement. He didn’t even wait for it to open completely, slipping under as soon as he had enough room, and then walking down the short stone hallway that led through the open outer gate. Outside, a sloping trail led down the hill, away from the massive walls, and Aiden stopped, staring at the vast, rolling landscape before him. For a moment, a brief moment, Aiden forgot everything that troubled him. He didn't see the several dozen Calderan soldiers patrolling the grounds around him, or the powerful wizards and archers manning the walls above. All he saw was his home.

And that's when he knew for sure that he'd made the right decision. He needed to lose his Coward's brand with a clear conscience, and he'd never been more sure that this journey, this fateful trip to Teekwood, or wherever he ended up, was a test to earn back his honor and reputation. Riordan meant well with his offer, but it was a temptation, an easy way out, and that's not what the Goddess had intended. She had greater plans for him, and right at this moment Aiden had never felt more confident about his future, and everything that would come with it. He would pass his test, he would reclaim his honor, and he would once again stand with the armies of Caldera, as he was born to do. And it all began out here.

Chapter 31

 

Finias crouched over the fadeblade lying on the floor of Aiden's shack, holding his hand next to the man's mouth and nose. This one was likely dead, but he'd learned from an early age to be thorough when dealing with assassins, because they made their living by convincing people to lower their guard. He dutifully went through all the tests he'd been taught to do – feeling for a heartbeat, even a slow one, checking for breathing, even jabbing a knife point into the palm of the hand. This guy had passed all of them, which meant he was either dead, or really good at pretending.

He moved to the other body lying motionless on the floor, and reached out to check his breathing. As soon as his hand touched the man's nose, the fadeblade jerked away, and reached for something on his belt. Finias grabbed the man's wrist with his right hand, snatched a dagger from his own belt with his left, and held it to the assassin’s throat.

"Don't move," he whispered. The man kept still, but that meant nothing. Finias knew he was only biding his time until he could strike. He glanced down, expecting to see the dim outline of a dagger in the man's hand, but instead the moonlight illuminated a small glass vial. Poison. He'd been reaching for a way to end his own life.

At first Finias was tempted to let the man take his poison and die. It would be one less assassin to worry about. But then he realized that this was his chance to take back some control. Everyone else kept secrets from him, maybe now he could finally find out something that the others didn't know.

"You want to die?" he whispered. "Fine. I'll make a deal with you. You answer one question for me, and I'll let you take your poison and die honorably." Finias felt the man's muscles tighten in his grip, no doubt expecting some kind of trick. "Or, we can fight. And if we fight, I'll break that vial and then I'll gut you with this knife. My friends outside will hear the noise, come in here, and tie you up. You'll be tortured for a while until we get our information. Either way, I get what I want. The only question is, do you get what you want?"

Neither of them moved for a long moment, and Finias worried that the assassin might be mulling over his options. So Finias decided to put his offer in perspective.

"Remember, if you're found with that poison on your lips, your bosses will know you died without revealing anything. If you die with rope burns on your wrist, they'll have to assume otherwise. And I know what kind of leverage they keep on men like you."

Another long moment passed, and Finias worried that he’d get nowhere with this one. He prepared to knife the man before the fadeblade's body finally relaxed, and he nodded his consent.

"Smart man," he said, not relaxing his own