Heir to a Lost Sun: A Caverns of Stelemia Novel Page 2

“I need to. I’ve had visions of my own... of a sort. The artifact is dangerous and it must be destroyed, for the good of us all.”

  Her father’s eyes filled with tears as he watched the Knives cut down the last of his people on the lower floor. When their screams died away, he sobbed, “I’m sorry that I’ve failed you and that you came to hate us so.”

  What did he know of Semira’s hate? He had always been too busy carrying out the work of the covenant or lost in a visiondream with the other scions to pay attention to her.

  The male Knife walked up beside her. “We have come to stop the Prophecy of Ibilirith from coming to pass. That item you hold will destroy us all. Hand it over or die.”

  Liana cried into their father’s side and he draped an arm around her, holding her close. “We don’t even know what it is, Dark Brother. My people and yours have been at peace for many years. You could have approached us and stated your concerns, yet you’ve come here and murdered us in our sleep.”

  Semira kicked a desk chair over. “Enough talk, Father. Give us the artifact.”

  Liana pushed away from their father. “You’re too late, Sister. Some have managed to escape through the secret tunnels. They have it, not us.”

  “You lie,” said the man beside Semira.

  Father laughed. “No lie, spawn of Dwaycar. The item is gone and you’ll never find it.”

  No, the voice inside wailed, the scar on her back searing hot. It cannot be. Kill them. Kill them. Kill them.

  A red haze descended over Semira, and she ran up the stairs. A guard threw a dagger at her as she reached the top but she ducked under it and charged her father. He turned to watch her bear down on him and made no move to defend himself.

  “Noooo...” Liana screamed, but their father held her back.

  Semira drove her sword into his stomach, feeling it graze his spine and emerge out the other side. He grabbed her by the shoulder; squeezing so hard Semira’s bones creaked.

  “I knew this day would come,” he said, in a strangely calm voice. “I saw it in a dream years ago. If I’d known it was today... Your sister—please don’t hurt her—”

  He coughed blood. “I hoped my vision was wrong and that you didn’t hate us so. You’re my daughter... How could—”

  He fell to his knees, dragging Semira down to hers, his other hand still holding Liana back. “Do not walk long in the dark, Daughter. Return to the light of the Lost Sun, or you’ll become a slave to darkness forever.”

  With those words, he let go, then slid sideways to the ground and breathed no more. Semira stared down at him. “I feel... I feel...”

  What?

  “You killed him. You killed him!” Liana cried, kneeling beside their father and cradling his head in her arms. She looked up. “Why, Sister? Why?”

  Hurry and finish this. You must find those who have taken the device.

  A guard fell to the floor beside Semira with a javelin lodged in his neck. Out of the corner of her eye, Semira saw the Knives of Dwaycar forming a half-circle around her. They watched and waited.

  Waited for her to finish what she’d started.

  Semira wrenched her sword from her father’s stomach, feeling his blood splash onto her hand. “I’m sorry, little sister,” she said, then rammed the sword into Liana’s side.

  Liana screamed in agony and scratched frantically at Semira’s face, tearing ragged gashes across it. Semira’s screams joined Liana’s and by the time Semira’s voice failed her, Liana was gone.

  Someone shook her and continued to shake her until she looked up. It was the male Knife. “We need to leave. The item is not here. A sister has found the entrance to a secret tunnel at the back of the repository.”

  Semira looked around as blood dripped from her face. It was hard to focus through the pain. The pain in her soul. Where were Mother, Erinie and Wrynric? Why hadn’t they been with Father?

  The Knife shook her again. “Come on. We must move.”

  Get up, my love. The device must be found. I will help you find it.

  Semira growled, deep in her throat. Tearing the bloody sword from Liana’s body, she hurled it over the railing to the lower floor. This was what it took to be a hero. One who saved lives. Who had the courage to do what must be done.

  She took a deep breath, then looked up at the Knife. “I think I know who has taken the artifact. Father wouldn’t trust it to anyone but his most loyal friend. A man named Wrynric.”

  He helped Semira to her feet. “Then lead the way, Sister. We must find him and stop the prophecy from coming to pass.”

  Remember, what you do is for the good of us all.

  Semira glanced at the bodies of her father and Liana. No. What I do, I do for myself.

  She walked away and left Sunholm to burn.

  Chapter 1

  KARA

  Kara stood combing her hair on the second-floor balcony of the Golden Keg tavern, enjoying the last few minutes of quiet before her shift. The early evening was so peaceful; she could watch the ships come in, their hulls lit by phosphorescent bacterial colonies growing among the stalactites on the cavern roof. A horn blew from the quartermaster’s tower, echoing like music off the wet stone walls of the cavern. A goods-laden cog broke ranks from the others and rowed toward the dock.

  Beyond the harbor, the bacteria grew over parts of the vast dormant-stalagmite citadel—the capital city of the caverns, Stelemia. The glowing city towered over the enormous cavern, a primordial monolith carved into houses, stores, taverns and at the very pinnacle, the Halls of the Priest King. It reflected off the smooth, black surface of Crystal Lake and attracted silver fish from the lightless depths to the surface to bask in its reflected radiance.

  Kara had lived her twenty years of life within sight of that spire. Her life, like that of her mother’s, her mother’s and her mother’s beyond count, had been lived in the cold, dark depths of the Caverns of Stelemia—a vast system of caves lit by bacteria and electric sacred lights, built in an age only spoken of in children's tales and ancient, tattered tomes in dusty reliquaries.

  In the caverns, life clung to the light, for beyond it, there was only death.

  The sacred light across the street flickered once and then died, plunging the street into darkness.

  Kara stopped combing her hair and watched the other lights further up the street. If another went out, they would be in trouble.

  When the others remained lit, she leaned over the railing to call to the door boy. “Olly, set some torches at the entrance so patrons can find their way inside.”

  Olly walked out onto the street and looked up at her. “That’s the second one to go out this past month and the Order hasn’t even fixed the first one.”

  “They will; have faith,” she replied.

  He grumbled and went to get some torches.

  Berda called to her from inside the tavern, “Kara dear, hurry up. Your shift is about to start.”

  Kara straightened her bangs. “I’ll be right there.”

  Kara took one last look at the ships, savoring her last breath of fresh air, then went inside. Berda met her at the top of the stairs leading down to the bar. The crone ran her wrinkled hands down Kara's face, then squeezed her breasts and buttocks and nodded in satisfaction. “That new gown fits perfectly.” She kissed Kara on the cheek. “You should make a fine penny tonight.”

  “Yes madam,” Kara replied, and looked down at her dyed pink-and-orange gown. It was low-cut and revealing and had cost her two week’s wages. Men found Kara beautiful with the dress on or without it.

  “Smile girl, you’re not some ninny that’s yet to lose her maidenhead.”

  “Sorry madam.”

  By the time she was halfway down the stairs, Kara had assumed her flirty, boisterous persona and was prepared for a long night entertaining the tavern’s patrons. When she entered the noisy taproom she took three flagons of ale from the old barman. “Who ordered them?”

  He pointed toward three men-at-arms with yellow mushroom
insignias on their vests identifying them as soldiers in service to House Mawborne. They sat around a table, rolling dice.

  “Watch yourself out there, girl,” the barman said. “There’s a funny feeling in the air tonight.”

  “You said that once before and nothing happened. If I recall, it was a good night all round.”

  He poured himself a drink. “Just be careful.”

  She chuckled. “I will.”

  Kara walked toward the men-at-arms. She’d entertained them before but they’d never done more than fondle her. Like many of their type, they spent too much of their meager incomes on ale and dicing and were often left with barely enough coin to sleep with the ugliest wretch from Blind Fish Wharf. It was Kara's job to keep them happy so they’d spend more on booze.

  There was only a smattering of other customers present so early in the evening. The other courtesans, Nyla and Mihiri, were working the floor already, their gaudy and revealing clothing eliciting hungry stares and playful groping from a rowdy group of mercenaries. Mensig, the one-eyed bouncer, stood near the entrance and kept watch for trouble. He carried a padded club to beat troublemakers with before tossing them out.

  A stranger in chainmail sat in a corner, his face hard to make out in the poor light. His eyes followed Kara as she walked toward the men-at-arms, so she blew him a kiss and he looked away.

  “Aye, look boys; it’s the buxom beauty of Westhollow come to play with our dice.” The fatter of the men-at-arms laughed and took a tankard from her as she arrived at the table. He wore a chainmail shirt that jingled as he moved. Kara handed the remaining tankards to his two companions before he pulled her down onto his lap and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

  Like many men who frequented the Golden Keg, the fat man’s breath was foul. It smelled of rotten cheese and sour ale, though she’d grown accustomed to worse.

  “Roll the dice for me, love. I want ya to win back me coin,” he bellowed. “These bloody robbers ave taken it from me.”

  Kara grinned, scooped up the dice and shook them, making sure her breasts bounced up and down. When she rolled them, the men were too busy watching her bust to notice. “You scored a seventeen!” She laughed and took a mouthful of ale from his tankard.

  He scooped up the pile of copper coins. “I knew you were lucky.”

  After he pocketed them, he ran a hand up her leg and she giggled playfully.

  “Roll mine now m’lady, and if you win I promise I’ll buy you a jewel,” the short man across from her said.

  “Oh, a jewel is it?” She blew him a kiss. “And where are ya going to put it?”

  Grinning, he reached over and ran a hand over her breasts. “I'll drop it between them two lovelies and see where it lands.”

  The other two men roared with laughter as they slammed their tankards on the table. Then the fat one said, “Where are you gonna get coin for a bloody jewel, Sonard? Surely not playing dice with penniless scum like us.”

  Sonard scowled and motioned for Kara to roll the dice. She scooped them up, shook them, and scooted them across the table. The dice rolled a fourteen. Sonard slammed his fist on the table. “To the dark with ya, woman. There goes me last four coppers.”

  She reached over and patted him on the cheek. “Better luck next time.” He waved her away and went back to drinking. The fat man groped between her legs but she batted his hand away. “You have to pay to touch down there.”

  He growled like a dog and bit her playfully on the neck, then lifted her off his lap. “Off with ya; you’ve soured poor Sonard and now we’ll have to listen to him whine the rest of the night.”

  Other customers had entered the tavern so she left to fetch them drinks and entertain them with girlish laughter and womanly flesh. The early hours of the night wore on, and Kara took a quick break to clean herself up.

  Berda met her outside the washroom. “Go see to the man in the corner. Nyla said he’s got a purse full of coins but he wasn’t interested in spending them on her. He said he wanted you.”

  Kara went to attend him. As she approached, he leaned forward into the light. He was an older man with a beard shot through with gray. A jagged scar ran down his left cheek, and another three that looked like claw marks ran down his neck. He wore loose-fitting chainmail covered by a leather doublet displaying a yellow-circle insignia she’d never seen before. A fine-looking dagger hung at his waist and leaning against the wall beside him was a longsword sheathed in a silver embroidered scabbard.

  She gave him her well-practiced radiant smile, showing off her fine white teeth. “Do you need another drink, my lord?”

  He studied her a long moment, then lifted his tankard. “Yes, more ale would be good.”

  Kara took it and filled it at the bar, then returned and placed it before him. He pulled out the chair next to him and motioned her to sit.

  She quickly glanced over at Mensig to make sure he knew she was there. The doorman nodded to her, so she collapsed playfully into the chair, maintaining her pleasant smile. The strange warrior put the tankard to his mouth and drank, his eyes on hers.

  “Are you a lord?” she asked to break the ice.

  He lowered the tankard and chuckled. “What gave you that idea?”

  She pointed at his fine scabbard. “That, my lord. It looks beautiful. Not the sort of thing common soldiers carry with them.”

  He shrugged and took another sip of ale. His eyes were on her but, unlike those of most men, she saw no lust in them. “How have you been treated here?” he asked.

  “Treated?”

  “Yes. How have they treated you?”

  Kara forced herself to keep smiling. What an odd question. Most men didn’t care how she was treated; they wanted her on their laps so they could feel her woman-parts and boast about their exploits and have her laugh at their jokes.

  “I’m treated well, my lord. Thank you for asking.” Kara glanced at her sister courtesans who were entertaining fat merchants at another table. “This tavern is all I know.”

  He took a silver coin from his purse and lifted it so it caught the glow of the sacred light hanging above the bar. The silver bore the same ring of light bulbs around a crown that was embossed on all coins minted in the Caverns of Stelemia.

  Kara tried to take it, but he moved it out of her reach. Still smiling, she put a hand on his leg. If she pleased him, perhaps he would give it to her. She’d never held a silver before. It was a month's wages. “You’re handsome, my lord. I can be yours if you wish it.”

  He swiped her hand from his leg. “Do you know the old tale of the Metal Man behind the door?”

  She blinked. “My lord?”

  “Do you know it?”

  Kara brushed back her bangs and studied him. He looked normal enough, and gave off no threatening vibe. What was he playing at?

  “Do you know it or not?” he insisted.

  "Yes. My madam used to read it to me when I was a child.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “It’s a sad story about a man who was courting Lady Ibilirith when she still walked the caverns as a mortal. But then the War in Heaven came, the One God was driven out and Lady Ibilirith and the other divines went to heaven to bring him back. The man—whom she’d left behind—was heartbroken and in despair. He turned himself into metal so he would live forever, then locked himself inside his castle, behind a metal door, hoping she would one day come back for him.” Kara paused for dramatic effect. “It is said his voice can still be heard crying out for her if you chance upon his door.”

  The story was told so children would know how powerful love could be and how it could change the nature of a man forever.

  “What if I told you I found the door and heard the Metal Man’s voice?”

  “I don’t know, my lord.”

  He grabbed her right hand and placed the silver coin in it. “Fetch me another drink, and it’s yours.”

  She gasped, “Really?”

  The man nodded and motioned her away. She pocketed the
coin, not believing her luck, and raced to get him more ale. When she returned a minute later, he motioned her to sit again. He drank quickly, then set the tankard down, wiped foam from his mouth and let out a satisfied belch.

  “It’s been too long since I’ve had a drink.” He inclined his head toward the door leading to the back rooms. “Let’s go somewhere more private. I must speak with you alone.”

  Kara beamed at him. Finally, he was speaking a language she understood. She didn’t enjoy sleeping with men—most at any rate—but she enjoyed their money and the compliments they gave her. Being a courtesan was a job and it had good days and bad. His strange questions and aloofness made things awkward, but it was satisfying to know she’d gotten a silver out of it.

  Hand in hand, she led him upstairs. Berda sat on a stool in the hallway knitting a new blanket, and she gave Kara an almost imperceptible nod as she went by.

  When they arrived at Kara’s room, she closed the door behind the man and lit a candle. He leaned his sword against the wall and took a seat at the small table with the candle on it. “Your name’s Kara, isn’t it?”

  “Why yes, my lord. How did you know?”

  A faint smile crossed his face. “My name is Wrynric. I’m... an explorer of sorts. I have traveled places few dare tread in search of ancient artifacts.”

  Kara put her hands behind her back to undo her gown. “You sound fascinating, my lord. I like brave men.”

  He grimaced. “Leave your clothes on.”

  She caught hold of the gown before it slid off. “Sorry, I thought...”

  “I have things I must tell you. I’m not here to pleasure myself on you.”

  Kara did up her gown, then reached for him. “That’s fine. Some men are happy to pay to talk to a woman.”

  He gave her a disapproving look and gently pushed her back. “I’m not one of those men.”

  “I’m a courtesan, my lord. You gave me a silver. That’s more than any man has given me.” She gave him another one of her smiles. “I’ll repay you for your generosity however you like, as long as you don’t hurt me.”

  She’d slept with men far uglier, older and unkind than Wrynric and they’d not given her any silvers. She would do anything he asked in the hopes he’d give her another.