Realms of Valor - James Lowder [85]
permanent. I have reason to believe the loremasters will be agreeing with me.“ Her eyes snapped fire. Tyveris's grin broadened. ”Thank you, Mother Melisende.“ 'Thank me by not proving my judgment foolish,” Melisende said smartly. The abbess turned to leave, but Tyveris reached up and touched her arm. “You don't like her, do you?” he whispered. Melisende hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I don't,” she said softly. “But she seems to have found a friend in Alamric.” “He wants her to be the patron of his order, doesn't he? To use her gold to buy an army of warriors to spread his truth across the Heartlands.” Melisende's usually warm visage was suddenly as hard and cold as steel. “Stay away from Patriarch Alamric, Tyveris. He may need you for his schemes, but you most certainly do not need one such as him.” With that, Melisende briskly departed. Tyveris's gaze drifted to the head of the hall once again. Alamric was still babbling at Kelshara's side, but she wasn't looking at him. Instead her sharp violet gaze was directed across the vast room. The note of triumph about her smile had deepened. She was looking directly at Tyveris. * * * * * After the feast, Tyveris made his way to the stables for some much-needed rest. Yet when the moon finally rose over the distant horizon, its silvery light streamed through the open window of the loft to find him still awake. “I know they'll decide to let me stay, Tali,” he whispered. “I feel it. I belong here.” He set down the worn bird of jade on the overturned crate he used for a table. Then, pushing his wire-rimmed spectacles into place on his nose, he bent back over the tome he had been reading. It was an account of an ancient war in an empire that had long ago vanished beneath the sands of Anauroch, the great desert to the north. His brow wrinkled as he concentrated on the words. It was late when he finished the tome, but still sleep would not claim him. Troubling visions of Patriarch Alamric's army of truth bearers, financed with Kelshara's gold, flickered through his mind. For a heartbeat he saw himself leading a crusade, carrying the symbol of Oghma on a battle standard, crying out triumphant praises to his god as the unbelievers were trampled, weeping, in the blood-soaked mud beneath the hooves of his thundering black charger. There was a dark appeal to the scene, a comforting sense of power. And if Alamric's cause proved a worthy one, Tyveris knew he could be a powerful force in such a holy war. But if Alamric spoke only from his own ambition... “No,” Tyveris whispered fiercely. “I will not be a pawn again. Never.” He headed quickly down the ladder. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well get another book from the library. Quietly he made his way across the moonlit courtyard and slipped inside the abbey, treading down the stone corridors as stealthily as he could manage. As he passed the doors to the chapel, he paused. A flicker of movement within had caught his eye. Curious, he peered through the
archway. Alamric was inside. The patriarch stood in the chapel's nave, no doubt sending some fervent plea to Oghma. Tyveris quickly hurried away from the chapel, his heart pounding in his chest. He had no desire to listen to any more of Alamric's diatribes. He walked quickly up a stone staircase and down the long hallway leading to the library. He was halfway down the corridor when he noticed something odd. A peculiar orange glow spilled from the crack beneath the door to Alamric's chamber. At first Tyveris thought little of it and continued on; no doubt the patriarch had left a candle burning while he was out. Yet there was something strange about the ruddy light, the way it flickered and danced. It looked almost like the light of a... “Fire,” Tyveris whispered, his eyes widening. An image flashed before his mind-a candle burning too low on a table strewn with parchments, flames licking