Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1) Read online

  Lore turned. “No! Donar!”

  Donar’s face paled before her eyes, and he stopped screaming. “C-Capt—” he said with a gasp. He focused on Lore. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth.

  “I’m here.” Lore fell to his knees and grabbed Donar’s hand. “We’re going to get you out.” He turned toward Rowen. “Get all the men you can in here. We need to get this rock off of him!”

  Rowen nodded numbly and turned. Her mind felt paralyzed. Rumbles continued to shake the room around her. It took her a moment to make her legs work. Staggering around, she left the room, Donar’s panted screams filled her ears.

  “Oh, Word. Oh, Word. Oh, Word,” she whispered and made her way out into the hallway. Down the corridor she spotted someone. Rowen opened her mouth but nothing came out. She swallowed and tried again. “Help!” she cried. “We need help!”

  Two servants came running down the hall.

  “Quick, the training room.” Rowen pointed toward the Guards Quarter. The two men nodded and ran. Rowen continued down the corridor, shouting for more help.

  After finding three more, she ran back to the room, only to find everyone standing around. Moving past the servants, she found Lore brushing his hand across Donar’s face.

  The room began to spin. “No!” Rowen cried. She had to do something. She pulled at her glove and stumbled toward Donar. She fell beside him. “He can’t die! He has a wife…and a baby—” She ripped off the glove and threw it to the floor. She placed her hand on Donar’s neck. The healing came, bursting up from inside her and flowing toward her hand.

  Rowen heard Lore speaking to her, but his voice was muffled. She felt his hand trying to pull her own away. She held on. “Please, Lore,” she cried. Could he not understand? She had to save Donar if she could.

  Rowen could feel something cold moving up her arm now. Fear began to beat inside her chest. She didn’t care. She would not let this war take another person. She had power now. And she was going to use it.

  “Rowen.” Somewhere inside her mind, she could feel Lore’s face next to hers, his mouth next to her ear. “You can’t save everyone. He’s gone. Donar is gone.” It was like hearing him through a rush of wind.

  He can’t be, Rowen thought. She could not see through the haze of her healing. I can feel his—

  Agony tore into her and blew her away.

  • • •

  Lore heard Rowen shout and looked back. She came tumbling down at his side. Her hand was tugging at something. “He can’t die!” she cried. “He has a wife…and a baby—”

  He saw her pull at her glove and knew instantly what she was going to do. He couldn’t let the others see…

  Lore turned to those gathered. “Go, now! Find others who need help.”

  It took a moment for the servants and last two guards to move. The servants left first. One guard started toward Lore.

  “Find Commander Kelyn. He’s on the battlements. Tell him to start launching our catapults.” Lore pointed at the door. “Tell him I will be right there.”

  The guard nodded and left.

  Lore turned back toward Rowen. Her hand was already on Donar’s neck. “Rowen, he’s dead. You can’t do anything.” She didn’t seem to hear him. Life had already faded from Donar’s eyes. Fear grabbed Lore by the throat. What would happen to Rowen if she tried to heal a dead man? He grabbed her hand and tried to pull it away from Donar.

  Tears streamed down her face. “Please, Lore!”

  He couldn’t pull her hand away. When had Rowen become so strong? Was this part of her Eldaran power? Lore leaned in next to Rowen and spoke into her ear. “Rowen, you can’t save everyone. He’s gone. Donar is gone.” Please Word, make her let go—

  Her back arched. An earsplitting scream filled the room, causing the hair on his body to rise. Lore let go of Rowen’s hand and sat back. Her legs twitched, then jerked away from her body at odd angles. White bone shoved its way through the black fabric of her pants.

  Lore faltered at the sight, shocked. Her healing was nothing like he had imagined: the peaceful laying on of hands. Instead it was a violent affair where Rowen literally took on the injury, shattered bone for shattered bone.

  He panicked. He had to get her hand off of Donar before it killed her.

  Lore reached over and seized Rowen’s hand again. Her strength seemed gone. He pulled her hand away and held it by the wrist, careful not to touch her mark.

  Rowen slumped to her side and looked up at him. She didn’t seem to recognize him. A small trickle of blood began to flow out of the corner of her mouth.

  He placed her hand down. His mind raced on what to do next. He couldn’t risk moving her, not with her lower body shattered and who knew what else. But he also needed to get to Lady Astrea. Now that the attack had started and he’d initiated their defensive plan, he needed to see to her safety.

  Lore ran a hand through his hair. “What do I do?” He knew the answer. He needed to leave Rowen. He went to stand, shock still tingling along his nerves. He had never seen Rowen heal before. Is this what she had looked like when she had healed him?

  Rowen blinked. “Lore?” She moved slightly and tried to sit up.

  Lore knelt down and placed his hand on her shoulder. “No, Rowen, stay there.” He guided her back down.

  “Donar, is he—” She coughed, sending blood flying across his face. Lore lifted a hand and wiped it away. “Is he well?” She looked up at his face.

  Lore felt her forehead. Her skin was cold. “No, Rowen.” He brushed her hair away from her face. “I’m sorry. Donar is gone.”

  Her face scrunched up. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

  Lore felt duty and his heart tearing apart on the inside. Duty said he needed to leave. But Rowen needed him too.

  “I couldn’t save him. And now…his wife…and baby…” Rowen’s voice drifted off. Her hands slowly fell from her face, her eyes shut. Moments later her breathing grew less rattled. Worried, Lore touched her forehead again. The clammy coldness had given way to warmth. He looked over at her legs and found the jagged edge of her bone no longer poking through her clothing.

  Once again Rowen had healed herself. She was safe, for now.

  Reluctantly Lore stood. Word, I don’t want to leave her like this. But he needed to go.

  “Captain Lore, do you need help?”

  Lore turned around. A servant stood behind him. He gave an inward sigh. Thank You, Word. “Rolph, I need you to get Rowen to Balint.” Rolph looked around Lore and gasped. “The others are dead. But Rowen is still alive, and needs to be brought to Balint. I need to get to Lady Astrea.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Lore took off at a run and didn’t look back.

  25

  An invisible tether pulled Caleb Tala through the Temanin camp.

  The force led him toward the dark forest. He could hear the shouts of soldiers and the heavy twang of taut rope suddenly loosening as nearby catapults launched their projectiles toward the White City. The assault was fully underway. But the sounds were only a distant echo around him. And in this numb state, he did not care.

  A couple of soldiers gave him puzzled looks. Caleb ignored them. All he could feel was steady pressure across his back, guiding him to the woman with the glowing hand—

  Caleb lurched to a stop, yanking back with all his might. He cursed loudly and swiftly turned around and headed back toward his tent.

  More soldiers looked up as he passed by. He snarled at them, siphoning off some of his anger at his lack of control. This was the second time he had left his tent in what amounted to sleepwalking, following that inner call to find this woman.

  I’m stronger than this, Caleb thought, clenching his hands into fists. Whatever forces were out there, he was stronger. He only needed to discipline his mind more to fight whatever was calling him.

  Caleb yanked back the flap of his tent and stormed inside. He startled the young red-haired woman tied up nearby. “What are you looking
at?” he yelled, pinning her down with his gaze.

  She stared back. He could see the faint ember of fury burning beneath fearful eyes. So she had a spark within her, did she? He felt her gaze follow him across the tent, where he sat down with a growl.

  I need to do something about this. Caleb drummed the desk with his fingers. Perhaps he could tie himself to the tent post. No, no, too many awkward questions, not to mention loss of respect. Visit the chief healer and demand some herb for these visions? Again, too many questions.

  For one moment he wished he knew someone he could confide in, someone who could help him figure out what was happening to him. He glanced over at the young woman, remembering that she was a scribe. She would certainly know a lot, having worked at the Monastery. No, he thought, slamming down that idea. He did not need his prisoner to see how vulnerable he was. Not that she didn’t see it every time the vision came upon him.

  She probably thought he was insane.

  Caleb looked at her from the corner of his eye. She had laid back down on the cushions, her hands and feet still tied. Commander Arpiar had asked him earlier that morning if he had learned anything from her. Caleb had told him the woman was not a spy, just some unfortunate traveler arriving to the White City at the wrong time. After thinking for a couple seconds, Commander Arpiar had told him to place her with the rest of the prisoners of war.

  For some reason, Caleb had felt uncomfortable doing that. He knew what would happen to a woman prisoner of war, especially a pretty one like her. So he had chosen to keep her tied up in his tent and wondered where this sudden display of conscience had come from. After a moment longer, he dismissed the idea that it was his conscience keeping her, but rather his fascination with the strange woman.

  She was definitely one of the most unique looking women he had ever met, what with that red hair and those dark grey eyes. And her commitment to an order famous for its celibacy and stringent way of life intrigued him. What was it about the Monastery that had made this young woman give up what he considered the best things in life?

  Caleb shook his head and turned back to his desk. Now was not the time to dwell on the mystery that lay within his tent. He needed to figure out how to keep from succumbing to—

  Wait. He stopped thrumming the table. A thought occurred to him, a thought so foreign that he almost laughed at its simplicity. Yet it was the most dangerous idea of all.

  Why not follow the vision?

  He had proven he could pull away from the impulse. But instead of turning back, he would follow the vision to its source: the woman with the glowing hand. And there he would find out why she was haunting him, question her until he had his answers. And if she was unwilling…

  Caleb fingered the dagger he always wore at his side. He knew how to make people talk.

  • • •

  The color of blood tainted the sky. The sun sank in the west, a burning ball of gold and orange behind the smoke. Black smoke belched and swirled above the White City. Fires blazed behind the walls and along the cobblestone streets, consuming wagons, barrels, storefronts.

  Shadows spread across the field and surrounding Anwin Forest like long black fingers. Chunks of white stone, broken ladders, and corpses littered the long grass. Small fires burned between the bodies. Long dark streaks of tar stained the once-white walls of the city. Its sickly sweet scent mingled with smoke and blood. Heat blazed across the battlements from the fires and hot summer evening.

  Lore stood on the archway right above the gates. Sweat poured down his back and chest, soaking into his undershirt. The chainmail he wore felt like a heavy mantle across his body. His hair was plastered to his head. He wiped his eyes and held the spyglass up.

  He could see the Temanin Army teeming within the trees. They were growing bolder, drawing closer to the tree line. As if they sensed the impending death of the White City.

  Well, they weren’t dead yet.

  Lore lowered his spyglass and turned. The battlements stretched across the top of the city’s outer walls. The walkway was about twelve feet wide and broken in a couple places where the catapults had found their mark. Archers and soldiers stood behind the merlons, ready for whatever assault came their way. The sky grew darker by the minute. Lore pointed to one of the soldiers behind him. “You, we need the torches lit.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you,” Lore pointed to another man. “I need you to tell the men at the catapults to prepare another assault.” Whatever the Temanins were planning, Lore wanted to be ready. “Archers, watch the fields. Hit anything that moves.”

  His command flew along the battlements. Sergeants shouted orders. Archers moved along the wall, grabbing more arrows.

  A messenger came running from the east side of the battlements. “Here to report, Captain,” the young man said, panting.

  “What’s the message?”

  A shout went up. Bows began to twang nearby. Lore ducked and placed a hand on the messenger’s head, pushing the young man down with him. Seconds later a shower of arrows hit the wall with flurry of clattering. A few made it past the merlons and hit whatever stood out. Lore looked up, but it was too dark to see the arrows.

  A muffled whomp sounded nearby. A soldier stumbled past Lore with a look of surprise and an arrow protruding from his neck.

  The messenger watched the man. His eyes grew big, and his face paled. The soldier fell onto the walkway with a gurgle.

  “Don’t watch.” Lore placed his hand on the messenger’s shoulder and turned the young man away from the soldier.

  The shower of arrows stopped seconds later.

  Lore cautiously stood. No more arrows came flying. “We have someone injured here,” he called out. His words were passed along. There were other groans of pain in the dark.

  “Follow me,” Lore said to the messenger. They passed two men slumped against the wall with a healer attending their wounds. Another healer went running by, dark stains across his white robes.

  Soldiers were placing torches inside the iron brackets along the wall. The sky rumbled up above. Lore stopped and looked up. Looked like a storm was moving in off the mountaintop.

  That was going to complicate things.

  Lore entered the gatehouse and hurried down the steps, the messenger following. At the bottom was a small round room lit by a torch that hung from one of the brackets. It smelled strongly of wet fur and smoke. Weapons hung on racks on one side of the room. Deer and cow skins were piled in another. Barrels surrounded the rest of the room.

  A large, robust man turned around. “Captain Lore, what can I do for you?”

  “I need water.”

  The man nodded and went to one of the barrels.

  Lore turned back toward the young man. “What is the message?”

  “I…um…” Shock filled the young man’s face.

  “Concentrate on me,” Lore said. “Look at my face. Now, breathe.”

  The young man took a couple of deep breaths. Slowly, color seeped back into his face.

  The large man handed Lore a ladle with water. Lore held it out toward the messenger. “Take a drink.”

  The young man nodded and took the ladle. He drank deeply. Water trickled from the corners of his mouth.

  “Feeling better?” Lore asked.

  “Yes.”

  Lore took the ladle and handed it back to the other man. “Now what is the message?”

  “Commander Eirik wanted to let you know the western gate is holding, but there was a surprise attack on the eastern gate. A ram was used. It was a simple one, but it did some damage.”

  “And?”

  “The gate held, barely. He and his men were able to shoot down the Temanins shielding the ram and set the ram on fire.”

  “When did this occur?”

  “About a half hour ago.”

  Frustration and fear clawed its way up Lore’s middle. The Temanins were like ants, millions of them. Every time he thought they would live through the day, the Temanin Army would swarm up
to the gates and almost break through. How much longer could they take the pounding?

  Lore let none of his emotions show on his face. “Go back to Commander Eirik. Tell him to let me know if he needs back up.”

  The messenger clapped his heels together. “Yes, Captain.”

  After the young man left, Lore went to the barrel and dipped the ladle inside for a quick drink of his own. The water felt wonderful on his parched tongue and throat. But he had no time to linger. The battle didn’t stop for him, or anyone else. Lore wiped his mouth and left the ladle by the side. He went back up the stairs.

  His body felt like it had been dragged across hot coals and ached with deep exhaustion. He hadn’t stopped since they had first traveled to Avonai. How long ago had that been?

  Lore left the gatehouse and walked along the wall toward the archway over the gates. Two healers passed him carrying a man between them. Light from the torches bathed the battlements in orange light. Lightning arced across the black sky. Seconds later, thunder rumbled.

  Lore stopped above the gates and looked through his spyglass again. He could see hundreds of torches among the trees now. What were the Temanins up to? They had not sent another volley of arrows, and it had been hours since the last catapult bombardment.

  Commander Kelyn walked over from the west side. He came to stand beside Lore. A fine white powder from crushed rock mixed with the soot across his face. He glanced over the battlements. “A lot of torches out there,” he said a moment later. “What are they doing?”

  “I don’t know,” Lore answered. He hated not knowing.

  “Captain Lore, if I may speak.”

  “Go ahead, Commander.”

  “I think it is time to use fire. Two of the gates have multiple fractures, especially the main one. And for every catapult we take out, they have two more.” Commander Kelyn turned to look at Lore. “I know you’ve seen this as a last resort, but I believe the time has come to burn the Temanins to the ground.”

  Lore wiped his face and sighed. He looked back over the battlements toward the forest. He had done everything he could, short of this. What kind of conflagration would he create? The entire forest was as dry as kindling this time of year. Then again, what choice did he have? What good would it do to save the forest and countryside if there were no people left to live in it? The people mattered more.