EPILOGUE

Taras breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the salty tang of fresh air. The harbor seemed brighter and more hopeful than he remembered. He’d spent his entire life in the shadow of the darkstorm but never realized how much it dominated the mind and spirit. Regardless of what Indara chose to try with that accursed object, he had served his city well by removing the shadow.

Soon he would report for duty to the temple and tell the true story of his role in what had transpired on the Bridge. But for now, he basked in the warmth of the dawn, watching gold and scarlet lights play across the clear sapphire water in a patina of early morning glory. He had missed quiet moments of contemplation like this while on the Bridge. It was good to enjoy the light again now that he had returned to the mainland. He tossed a pebble over the edge of the pier. Ripples spread out from its point of impact, breaking the pattern of light.

He slung his shield over his shoulder and turned to the shoreline. Duty called. He could come back another day and take in the sights.

Two clerics stood on the beach, hands clasped together under their robes. They seemed to be waiting for him, so he quickened his stride to meet them. Best not to keep his fellow clerics any longer than necessary; he could pay them the courtesy of haste.

Although he didn’t recognize either man, he knew the sigil on the scroll they held out for him to read. His mouth went dry, but he nodded in greeting and took the offered scroll, scanning its contents to confirm his suspicions. Word of the soulbond had spread. He would be called on to give an account.

“Thank you for delivering this message, brothers,” Taras said, inclining his head. “I will be on my way shortly.”

The one on the left, a slender, slightly-stooped man with a goatee, flashed an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid that you’ll have to come with us at once in answer to the summons. Right this way, if you please.”

Taras shifted his cloak on instinct, loosening his shield in case he needed to fight. Far in the recesses of his mind, the cleric’s aged, pockmarked face jogged a memory of a name. With a practiced bow, Taras brought his emotions under control. “Naturally.”

They walked toward the temple district, crossing through Hubbard District along the way. Taras kept searching the past. Where had he met this man?

After a few moments of silence, the second cleric gestured toward a tavern. “Eaten yet? Could stop for a quick bite, if we pick up the pace afterward to make up the lost time.”

“Not necessary. I do not wish to delay your orders.”

The fat man shook a sausage-like finger at Taras. “No trouble at all! I’ll buy. No one ever accused Kioko of lacking generosity.”

Taras studied Kioko’s heavy jowls. He was probably accustomed to a life of ease, here in the city, much like the newer acolytes Taras despised so much. Physical labor was right out of the question, and a walk through the city appeared to be enough to qualify. Already a thin sheen of slick sweat already dotted Kioko’s forehead. Taras schooled his face to stillness, keeping his disgust hidden.

“Very well. I have no wish to deprive you, brother.”

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They ducked into the tavern and took a seat along the back wall, away from prying eyes. No one wanted to eavesdrop on temple business, but prudence never hurt. The barkeep waved over a server as soon as they entered, and the young man soon emerged from the back kitchen with a platter of bread and apple slices, piles of soft yellow cheese, and three flagons of ale.

“Well-known here?” Taras asked, attempting to make small talk. Rhae had encouraged it, although he generally found the practice useless.

“Aye, real regulars,” Kioko said, spitting out the words around a mouthful of cheese.

His partner crossed his arms, not eating. “Some of us are regulars.”

Taras tore off a hunk of brown, crusty bread and smeared it with cheese. The rich flavors prompted a smile. Simple pleasures had taken on new dimensions and quality after his time on the Bridge. He washed it down with a swig of ale. The amber brew carried a bitter bite, but there was a hint of sweetness and subtle scents that spoke of finer tastes than he expected, given the grubby establishment.

Kioko belched and slapped his belly. “Good, huh?”

“Worth the stop,” Taras agreed, finishing up his plate quickly. The scrawny cleric seemed ready to leave any second, tapping his fingers against the worn wooden table. Taras didn’t want to appear impolite. He stood, ready to depart.

His world tilted sideways. Taras staggered, clutching the edge of the table to maintain his balance. Kioko steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, a sad smile on his face.

Taras reached inward, conjuring a ball of flame—but nothing happened. Chest heaving as he gasped for air, Taras tried to pull away from the clerics. His body felt sluggish and heavy, each movement requiring his full focus.

Betrayed by my own brethren.

The reedy-looking man gripped the front of Taras’s cloak, holding him up, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. Through the pain, a name came to Taras in a sudden moment of clarity: Rieth, one of the high inquisitors.

Reith and Kioko dragged Taras to the back. The other patrons of the inn ignored Taras’s struggles. They must all be on the take. Agony exploded in his side. He doubled over, unable to brace himself when Reith struck again. His thoughts scattered.

Kioko swung open a heavy, iron-bound door near the kitchen. They shoved him inside a small room, walls blackened with soot. Heat rolled over him in waves from an iron furnace. Half of the furnace reached into the kitchen, and the other half into this room, embedded in the wall. He puzzled over the construction in a daze.

Reith pulled on thick leather gloves. He opened a small portal on the side of the furnace and pulled a red-hot poker from the coals. “Say the words of your oath.”

Taras tried to form the sounds, but his tongue felt like sludge in his mouth. He coughed, hacking up bloody froth, but no words came out despite his efforts. Reith moved the glowing metal closer to his face. Taras sputtered, sinking to the floor.

At a nod from Reith, Kioko waved a hand toward Taras, sending a light healing through his body. Taras gulped down a breath of air. He tottered to his feet and spoke. “I am a light in the darkness.”

“And were you faithful to the light on the Bridge?”

“I was,” Taras began. Reith slapped him across the face, spinning him to the floor.

“You were not! You betrayed your brethren. You betrayed your oath.”

Taras stood as tall as he could, gathering his remaining strength. “All my life I have done what is right. My record speaks for itself.”

“And the soulbond? You deny you performed this abomination?”

“On the Bridge, I did what I had to do in order to preserve an innocent life. I saw justice in it. I still see justice in it.”

Reith leered at him. “A fine choice of words. As punishment, you will see no more.”

Kioko gripped Taras by the arms before he could fight back, forcing him to his knees with inexorable strength. The poker flashed in front of his face, its tip glowing red with heat. Searing pain ignited in his eye sockets.

Taras screamed as the world blazed white. Then darkness fell, and he knew no more.