The Reborn King (Book Six) Read online

  Before a stunned Aremiel could say a word, she hurried from the room. He gave pursuit, but she was out of the inn and lost in the densely crowded street before he was able to stop her.

  His head spinning with questions, he returned to his room and carefully opened the bundle. Inside was a thick, leather-bound book and a folded parchment. Picking up the parchment, he began reading.

  Aremiel,

  I come to you because my heart will no longer allow me to remain silent. I hope that you are the man people claim you to be. If so, you will find a way to use what I have given you for the good of Amon Dähl.

  First of all, you should know that the death of Orias’ mother was not a robbery. I killed her under orders from my superiors. Please know that I was told a lie and acted with the understanding that I was doing my duty. They said that she had found the location of the Sword of Truth and was planning to pass this information to her husband. I now know this to be untrue. If Morzahn ever did discover the sword's location, she was not the one who divulged it to him.

  The book I am giving you was written by Orias’ mother and details the reasons Morzahn was driven to betray the Order. The corruption and greed described is beyond anything you can imagine. How deep it goes and exactly who is involved, I cannot say. But as you are the son of the High Lady, I can think of no one better to bring this to. Should I attempt to take it to her myself, I would be discovered and likely never make it to Valshara. I think they already suspect that I am aware of them, and if they knew I possessed this book, I would quickly find myself in a shallow grave.

  I am sorry to involve you in this, but I have nowhere else to turn. I pray that you can undo the evil that has been done in the name of the gods. Tell Orias that I hope he can forgive me for taking his mother from him, even though I can never forgive myself.

  I will now try to go east to the borderlands, and then into the deep desert. There are rumors of nomadic tribes there. Perhaps my enemies will not think to look for me in such a desolate place. Please do not seek me out.

  Good Luck,

  -S-

  Aremiel re-read the letter several times, unwilling to believe what he was being told. His eyes then shifted to the book and lingered there for several minutes. He tried to reach out and pick it up, but was unable to. It was as if he had lost command of his muscles. Only a loud pounding at the door jerked him out of his stupor.

  Orias poked his head in. “Are you coming or not?”

  “I…um…no.” He wanted to tell his friend what had happened, but something inside said that he should wait. “You go ahead.”

  Orias shrugged before shutting the door again. “At least I tried.”

  With movement now restored, Aremiel picked up the book. His hands trembled as he placed it on the table in front of him and turned to the first page.

  For the next few hours he pored over the text in absolute horror. It contained explicit details of the most heinous crimes imaginable, nearly all of them being committed by actual members of the Order. It seemed that they had been manipulating just about everyone for decades - the temples, kings, lords, merchants, and even the common people – all to advance their own hidden agenda. Orias’ mother believed that their ultimate aim was to maneuver and corrupt the nations of the world until they were literally unable to function. Then, when all was on the brink of disaster, a small core group of conspirators would be able to seize power and rule all humankind.

  The temples were their chief means of exercising influence, and they had corrupted members within every single one of these, from the Abyss to the desert.

  He continued to read until hearing Orias returning from his night out. Though still only halfway through the text, he had already uncovered hundreds of atrocities - murders, thefts, and treacheries of every conceivable kind.

  His door opened and Orias stumbled in, smiling broadly and clearly a little worse for drink. “You look terrible,” he grinned. “I said that you should have come with me.”

  Aremiel gestured for him to sit down. “There is something you need to know.”

  Orias rubbed his eyes. “I think I've had a bit too much fun tonight. Can’t it wait until morning?” But the expression on Aremiel’s face quickly conveyed the urgency of the matter.

  It took Orias a moment or so to focus after Aremiel handed him the letter. But the second he came to the part about his mother, his eyes shot wide and the effects of the wine vanished. Just as Aremiel had done, he read it again several times. Then, as if it were made of thin glass, he placed the parchment delicately on the table.

  “And you believe this?” he whispered.

  “I do.”

  Orias’ breathing was becoming rapid and shallow. “Let me see the book.”

  Aremiel handed it over. Orias studied the first few pages, then closed it again.

  “It is my mother’s handwriting,” he confirmed. He looked at Aremiel with hollow eyes. “Have you read it all?”

  “Much of it,” he replied. “Your father was right. All this time we believed him a traitor…and yet he was right.”

  “How can you say that?” Orias demanded. “Even if this is all true and the men he killed were a part of the conspiracy, he still was seeking the sword. That alone makes him guilty.”

  “Then what do you think he should have done?” Aremiel shot back.

  “The same thing that you are about to do. Go to the High Lady and report what you know.”

  “And if she is involved?” The words stung, even as he spoke them. He didn’t want to believe it. But he knew he couldn’t deny the possibility.

  “Your mother is a good and honest woman,” Orias countered. “Do not allow this to poison your heart. She is not involved.”

  “You can’t know this,” Aremiel said. “But you are right. I must speak with her.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No. You stay here and complete our assignment. If this runs as deep as I think, we must act as if there is nothing amiss. I am the chosen guardian. If I return to Valshara alone, no one would think it out of place.” He lowered his head. “But before I go, there is something more I must tell you.”

  “Speak,” Orias urged. He could see the conflict on his friend's face. “Whatever it is, I’ll understand.”

  The next sentence caught in his throat. “If the High Lady is involved, then I am partly responsible for your mother’s death.”

  Orias furled his brow. “What is this nonsense? Of course you’re not.”

  “I told her what your father said to you,” he explained. Guilt racked his spirit. “I told her about his message to your mother.”

  Orias gave him an understanding smile. “I thought you might, even then. You never could keep secrets from her. But that was a long time ago. And like I said, I know she is not involved.”

  “But what if she is!” He hadn’t wept in years, but now tears were starting to fall quite freely. “What if I’m responsible for...”

  Orias’ hand came up, silencing him. “You are not responsible for my mother’s death. And if I am wrong, I still do not blame you. You were only a child then, and you did what you thought was right at the time.”

  Aremiel could only nod.

  “Whatever happens, trust that the gods will guide you,” he continued. “Listen to what they say and all will be well.”

  Mention of the gods only brought forth anger in Aremiel's heart. They had allowed their own temples to become corrupt and vile. Where were the gods when an innocent child was murdered just so someone else could inherit power and wealth from its father? Where were the gods when villages were burned to the ground because they would not sell their land to local lords? Where were the gods when husbands were slain in order to marry the wife into a more influential family? These and countless other crimes had been committed by the temples – and all of them covertly orchestrated by members of Amon Dähl. Yet still the gods remained silent. But Aremiel dare not say any of this aloud. Orias would never accept it. He was a man of absolute
faith. To him, even the evil that had infected the temples and the Order was being allowed by the gods for some greater purpose. Aremiel could see that in his expression.

  “I trust in you, my friend,” he said. “That has to be enough.”

  His ride to Valshara was plagued with rain. It was as if the storm was following his every mile. On the morning he departed, Orias had suggested he join him in prayer at the temple of Gerath. He had refused.

  So the gods care nothing of evil, he thought bitterly. But when I refuse to pray, they send a deluge to torment me.

  When the walls of the Valshara came into view, he stopped and stared at them for more than an hour. All his life he had believed in the principles taught there. Over the years he'd watched good men die fighting in the name of Amon Dähl. Now he was discovering that it was all a lie.

  With a violent crackle, a streak of lightning split the sky. It was time. He would now discover if his worst fears were to be realized. As he spurred his horse to a slow walk, deep rumbles of thunder heralded his approach.

  The greeting and bows from the sentinels went unnoticed, as did the voices of the people expressing their delight in having the guardian return to Valshara. Nor did he thank the groom who took his horse and gear. His eyes remained fixed resolutely on the door leading into the main temple complex.

  “I will see the High Lady at once,” he told the servant who met him inside.

  “Would you not prefer to dry off first?” the man asked.

  Aremiel shot him a furious glance. “I said at once.”

  The servant lowered his eyes. “I will let her know that you’re here.”

  “There’s no need for that.” He brushed his way past and stalked down the hall.

  With every step he took, his feet felt heavier. He had gone over in his mind what he would say a hundred times. And each time the scene ended differently, leaving him more confused than before. If she knew and was involved, what would he do? He still had no answer to that. And even if she wasn't, did that really change anything?

  On reaching her door, he knocked and quickly entered before his mother could respond. She was sitting at her desk in her casual robes, reading a book and sipping on a cup of hot tea.

  “Aremiel!” She sprang up and rounded the desk, but stopped just short of him. “You’re soaked. Why didn’t you change first? You may be a knight, but you can still get ill.”

  Aremiel wanted to speak, but even after pondering for so long over what to say, he still didn’t have any idea how to begin.

  His mother’s expression quickly changed from joy to concern. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “Sit down, mother,” he said. “We must talk.”

  The despondency in his tone startled her. “At least let me get you something to dry off with.”

  She retrieved a towel from her closet. Aremiel hesitated before accepting it, then quickly dried his face and arms.

  Velinia sat back down. “Now tell me what is wrong.”

  Without a word, Aremiel reached inside his shirt and pulled out the bundle of cloth containing the book and letter. He tossed them both on the desk in front of her.

  She opened the book and began reading. After only a few pages she looked up, her face pale and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Did you know?” he asked, desperation seeping into his tone.

  “Yes.”

  Her voice was less than a whisper, yet the single word echoed in Aremiel’s ears like a hammer striking an anvil. His head began to swim and his vision blur. His worst nightmare had just come true.

  “How can you be a part of this?”

  She shook her head, tears dripping onto the desk. “I’m not a part of it, son. But there is nothing I can do to stop it.”

  “What do you mean?” His focus was slowly returning…along with his fury. “You are the High Lady, are you not?”

  “This has been going on long before I ascended to the position,” she explained. “And when I first found out, you were but an infant. I was afraid…”

  “You were afraid of what?” he demanded.

  “I was afraid they would do to you, what they did to your father,” she replied meekly.

  “You’re telling me that they killed my father?” His hands began to tremble. His father was an Amon Dahl builder. He had been told all his life that he had died from a fall while constructing a temple in Helenia.

  She lowered her head. “Yes. And I was given a choice. Stay silent, or see you suffer the same fate.”

  Part of him understood. She had acted out of a mother’s love. But another part of him could not forgive her lack of courage.

  “When I was a child, you may have had reason to fear,” he contended. “But I have not been a helpless boy for a long time. You could have told me. I could have done something about it.”

  “There is nothing you could have done. They are everywhere. No matter how strong you have become, they would have found a way to silence you.”

  “Like they silenced Orias’ parents?” He leaned in. “Did you have anything to do with that?”

  “Not the death of his mother,” she replied. “I swear it. But I suspected Morzahn had unearthed the truth, and that it was this knowledge that had sent him into insanity.” She straightened her back and leveled her gaze. “Morzahn sought the sword. No one should ever possess such power. He knew this better than anyone. Yet he did it anyway.”

  “He didn’t deserve to die!” Aremiel shouted.

  “He committed the one crime that is unforgivable by the Order,” she countered.

  He sneered. “Yes. It seems that any other crime is simply a part of the routine, with no one there to punish them or challenge their authority. Well, all that is about to end.”

  “Son...please.” She knew her child well, and could see the conviction building behind each word he spoke. “There is nothing you can do about this. They’ll kill you.”

  “Will they?” He laughed. “Perhaps.”

  Rising from his chair, he reached inside his shirt and grasped the medallion of the Order. For an instant he paused. Then, in a single determined motion, he ripped it from his neck and tossed it contemptuously onto his mother’s desk.

  She stared at it, pain and panic striving for supremacy in her eyes. “No! I’m begging you. Take your place as guardian. The old guardian will be gone soon. Once there you won’t need to worry about anything ever again. The gods ...”

  “Never speak to me of the gods again,” he hissed. “They have done nothing to prevent this. And yet we give them praise and worship. For what?” He turned his back and strode to the door. “Morzahn was right. The madness must end.”

  He paused for just a moment to look over his shoulder. “Tell Orias that I am sorry. I must follow my own path from now on.”

  “Son, wait!”

  But it was too late. Aremiel was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Althetas – 19 years earlier

  The streets below were quiet as Aremiel watched carefully for his prey to emerge from the tavern. The small shop he had chosen for his perch was closed, though unfortunately for the shopkeeper, he did not close early enough. He now lay bound and gagged in a broom closet.

  Aremiel's breathing was controlled and his hands steady. In spite of the fact that what he was about to do would almost certainly lead him to the prize he had sought for so long, his training and experience allowed him to keep his focus.

  It was regrettable that another knight would have to die. It troubled him each time, even after the scores he had slain. He could never completely rid his heart of the fraternity and kinship he'd once felt when he was one of them. But that was long ago, and he was a different man now.

  The Order of Amon Dähl had stricken his true name from the record, and even his own mother had been forced to denounce him. In fact, it was an offense to merely speak the name of Aremiel. But they had given him a new one anyway - one that suited him much better. He had heard it cried out in terror more times
than he could easily count by the men and women he was about to kill. It was also spoken with dread in hushed whispers within every temple from the desert to the sea.

  The Dark Knight. It was more than a name. It was what he had become.

  He shifted his weight and took a deep breath. The Master Builder should be coming out any time now; the man wasn’t much for drinking, and was a terrible gambler. As the Dark Knight, Aremiel had often studied his prey for months before striking. It was a lesson learned from matching wits with agents. Patience was their greatest strength. Twice they had cornered him, and only his prowess with a blade had saved his life – though be bore three deep scars to remind him of his carelessness.

  But he had learned the agents' weakness. Arrogance. They had lived in the shadows for so long, they had begun to believe they were truly invisible. And to most people, they were. But not to him. Sometimes he had to watch a town for weeks before picking them out. Usually the arrival of a knight gave them away, and once they realized this, they abandoned all contact with the Order except via messenger bird.

  He smiled every time he thought about the panic it had caused. He had picked off more than a dozen agents before they became aware of what was happening. They tried everything to stop him. He was a fugitive within every kingdom in the land; his description had been given to every magistrate and constable in every city and town. But their feeble attempts to apprehend him were useless. He had made his home in the one place they all feared to go.

  Soon he would return there and consolidate his power. Then the earth would tremble. And at long last the reign of the wicked, and the tyranny of the gods, would come to an end.

  The tavern door opened and the Master Builder stepped outside. His knight escort was close to his side, his eyes constantly alert and his hand poised ready to draw his sword.

  A young one, Aremiel thought. A pity. How foolish to send a newly ordained knight to guard the Master Builder.

  He watched as they rounded the corner, then jumped down from the roof. The impact jarred his knees, causing him to wince briefly. Age was catching up with him. But soon, age would no longer be a matter of concern.