The temple of fate, p.8
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The Temple of Fate, page 8

 part  #5 of  Bander Series

 

The Temple of Fate
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Eton Sward was a mage.

  And those mutterings were spells—likely disarming wards so that they could enter the courtyard.

  Bander asked, “May I inquire of which Following are you, Master?”

  Eton Sward didn’t seem surprised at the question.

  “My Guild Master is Stricha. Of the White. Though, at this point, he has fairly much disavowed me, the wretch.”

  Stricha. That made sense. He was based in the Steading and most of the province was under White jurisdiction, not that it meant much. The division between the Followings was mostly ceremonial. The Guild acted and spoke with one mind and one voice.

  “For the past eighteen years, Eton Sward has been the scholar in residence here at the Temple of Dreams,” Valthar said.

  “More like caretaker, if we are being honest,” Eton Sward said.

  “Really?” Bander asked.

  “Come, let me show you what I’m charged with taking care of.”

  Eton Sward led them past the chickens and the cottage to the temple entrance: a pair of massive ceaon doors blackened with age and banded with iron. He motioned at the lock and intoned something under his breath, and a series of loud clicks sounded as the locks disengaged.

  They pushed into a windowed hallway that looked mostly intact. Thick columns reached to a high ceiling, decorated with ancient paintings. The air here smelled dank and stale.

  “I gather this temple doesn’t see many visitors,” Bander said.

  “Not any more, I fear. Even the Guild scholars ceased their visits years ago. Now, it is only me. And the chickens.”

  They walked past antediluvian statues of long-forgotten gods and heroes, tall stone urns, and unused braziers set in alcoves between the ornate columns. On either side of the room were the outlines where pews and benches once stood. They passed through the transept and then along the ambulatory, circling past lecterns and altars, and more statues—some desecrated.

  Bander took everything in, and he tried to reach back into the forgotten corners of his memory and recall the temple in Tamoa where he found Valthar. Maybe it was similar to the space he walked through now, but maybe not. It was too long ago for him to be certain.

  “Watch your step here,” Eton Sward said, pointing to where a section of the tiled floor had collapsed. It was covered by wooden planks, but Bander detoured around the covered section. He weighed over 230 pounds—the same as a large stag, and he tried to avoid crashing through floors whenever possible.

  At the eastern end of the temple was an archway through it a passage that sloped underground. They followed the tunnel down for a bit and ended up at a smaller doorway set into a stone block wall.

  “The passage originally ended right where you’re standing,” Eton Sward said.

  Bander could see that part of the wall had been dismantled, opening up a rough doorway into a dark chamber.

  Eton Sward gestured and spoke a trigger word and from his fingertips grew a globe of light which floated into the dark chamber, lighting it up completely.

  “The Nave of Time,” Eton Sward said. “But it’s completely safe now. There’s nothing left of the gate.”

  As they made their way into the chamber, the first thing that Bander noticed was that the floor had been ripped up. And the second thing he saw was that large sections of the far wall had been removed. That was probably where the murals had been.

  “See, Bander,” Valthar said, pointing to the floor. “This is where the rails were.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Long since excavated and shipped to Delham University for study,” Eton Sward said. “Same with the murals. In fact, the only time I ever saw them with my own eyes was in the Ucherin vault. But that was many years ago.”

  Bander turned in a slow circle, trying to take in everything. “So this room is the time path…?”

  “We refer to it as the Nave of Time,” Eton Sward said.

  “And if I stepped in here with an aona, I would travel through time?”

  “You have been well-instructed, friend. You are correct, but with the caveat that you would be stepping into the Nave with an aona at least 300 years ago.”

  “Why? What was 300 years ago?”

  “312 years ago to be precise. That was the last time the Nave was operational. In the year 1404 this room was torn apart by Halden Kel.”

  “Halden Kel?”

  “A magical scholar from Waterside. He collected the rails and the murals and had them shipped to Rundlun where they were stored in the old Red Tower for seventy years or so before being relocated to Delham University.”

  “But isn’t the temple itself much older? Valthar said—” Bander cut himself off. He didn’t know how much of his personal story Valthar had told Eton Sward.

  “I know what I said,” Valthar took a step towards the light. “This temple, and in fact, all the time temples are much older than 300 years.”

  “Of course they are,” Eton Sward said. “My research places their construction at the first century or so. But they are possibly even older than that.”

  “So this has been standing for nearly two thousand years?” Bander found that hard to believe.

  “Longer, I’d wager.”

  “But why? Surely such a dangerous deathtrap would have been destroyed as soon as it was discovered.”

  “Well, thank Dynark that Halden Kel didn’t share your lack of regard for historical relics,” Eton Sward said. “Point of fact, the room in which we are standing was only discovered several months after the Great Earthquake of 1403. It had damaged part of the temple’s outer wall. Workers trying to repair the wall detected some sort of anomaly in the construction. However, there’s nothing in any of the records that suggested anyone had actually entered the Nave—intentionally or otherwise.”

  “Lucky for them,” Bander said.

  “Lucky for us,” Eton Sward said. “Scholars, I mean. Armed with the discovery of the false wall, Halden Kel journeyed to the Temple of the Ages near Vale and found a false wall there as well.”

  “Did he try to enter that Nave of Time?” Valthar asked.

  “Of course not. Kel was wise enough to rip everything out, crate it up, and ship it back for study in a more controlled environment.”

  Bander nodded. “I have to ask, then. With the magic stripped from this room 300 years ago, what are you doing here?”

  “Ah, that is an excellent question, my large friend. And it requires a longer answer than is possible in this rather dreary and uncomfortable chamber. Let us retire to some place more civilized.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  As Eton Sward led them out of the temple and back into the walled courtyard, Bander leaned over toward Valthar.

  “How much does he know?” Bander whispered.

  “Enough. You may speak freely in his presence.”

  Eton Sward invited them into his cottage, a modest one-room home with a large fireplace, a sturdy table, a wardrobe, a chest, and a single bed.

  “No books?” Bander asked. “Odd for a mage. Doubly odd for a scholar.”

  Eton Sward smiled. “My books and research would fill this abode a hundred times over.”

  “He has an office in the dimmery,” Valthar said.

  “The chapter house, actually. It’s quite peaceful there.” He fetched a bottle and a few earthenware cups and placed them on the table. “And once we reinforced the walls and repaired the windows, quite safe.”

  Eton Sward poured out some amber-colored liquid into the cups and handed them around.

  “You still have some of this old rotgut left?” Valthar asked.

  “Rotgut, Devil Dog? Is that what you think of my hospitality? I’ll have you know this is Tolworth’s finest creation. You, sir, are not worthy of ambrosia such as this.”

  Bander sniffed at the liquid. It was uskbow. The first sip was smooth and peaty. He was no aficionado, but it tasted fine to him.

  “What say you, Bander?” Eton Sward asked.

  “I approve.”

  “See that, Devil Dog? Your friend has a much more refined palette than you do.”

  The two of them bantered back and forth for the better part of an hour, talking about nothing in particular. The cups were refilled several times before Eton Sward decided to answer Bander’s original question. And even then, it took some prodding.

  It turned out that, some years ago, as a young adept, Eton Sward had the misfortune of embarrassing a prelate named Rhodan Lunt during Synod. Apparently, Eton Sward rather publicly contradicted the prelate regarding disposition of a certain artifact—an artifact which Eton Sward declined to mention by name. The man never forgot the slight and Eton Sward found himself reassigned from teaching duties at Delham University to field work here at the Temple of Dreams. The only problem was that there wasn’t much in the field for Eton Sward to study.

  “They had to make me a third adept, of course, but I believe that I am the only third adept in the Empire who has to grub around in the dirt, looking for bone shards or pottery fragments.”

  “Don’t forget the parchment scraps,” Valthar said.

  Eton Sward laughed and refilled their cups. “The crumbling parchments, yes. How could I forget those? I find one every year or so, but inevitably it turns to dust by the time I extract it from its case.”

  “How long have you been here?” Bander asked.

  Eton Sward looked up at the ceiling. “Hmm. This summer it will have been seven years. Yes, seven years of exile.”

  “And how long is the term of your posting?”

  “How long?” Eton Sward snorted. “Why? Until that old fish Lunt passes away, I wager. He’s a decrepit old git, but his memory has been undulled by time. He still hates me, I’m afraid.”

  “Until he passes away, you say?” Valthar’s eyes narrowed. “That could be arranged, my friend. That could be arranged very easily.”

  “By whom? You?”

  “Bah, I don’t stoop to common murder. But this one here might!” He clapped Bander on the shoulder.

  Bander shook his head. “Valthar has had too much to drink. We should be going.” He stood up.

  “Sit your outsized body back down, you lout,” Valthar said. “We haven’t traveled all this way just to gossip like old women. We are on a mission, are we not?”

  “Mission?” Eton Sward asked, clearly intrigued. “What kind of mission?”

  “I finally found it,” Valthar said, with a big grin on his face. He dug into his belt pouch. “Actually, to be fair, it was Bander here who found it.”

  “Found what?” Eton Sward asked.

  “This!” Valthar removed one of his aonae from a pouch and clicked it down on the table.

  “Another one?” Eton Sward asked. He leaned forward to get a better look.

  “Not just another one,” Valthar said. “752!”

  “A mid-700s!” He whistled. “That’s what you’ve been looking for all these years, you lucky bastard!”

  “Yes. Now I am on the cusp of victory.”

  “If we can find the temple,” Bander added.

  “Yes, yes. A small matter. I have a very good feeling that Eton Sward will be our savior in that regard.”

  “Which temple?” Eton Sward asked.

  “The fourth one, of course!” Valthar said. “The Temple of Fate.”

  “Ah, the mythical Temple of Fate,” Eton Sward said.

  “Mythical?” Bander asked. “How so? Valthar means to drag me to the Wilderlands to find this temple.”

  “It is a fool’s errand,” Eton Sward said.

  Valthar stood up. “Explain yourself.”

  “You know as well as I do we have insufficient data on the relative locations of the temples.”

  “Yes, but the Burritch book—” Valthar was clearly agitated.

  “That has never been verified. You know that.”

  “Hold,” Bander said. “Am I to understand that the Temple of Fate may not even exist?”

  “Of course it exists!” Valthar said.

  “It may not!” Eton Sward said, at the same time.

  “Explain,” Bander said.

  “We know of three temples for certain,” Eton Sward said. “The one here, the Temple of Dreams, is the northernmost. 130 miles south and 65 miles west is the second temple, the Temple of the Ages.”

  “Yes, yes,” Valthar interjected impatiently. “Near Vale.”

  “The third confirmed temple is in Tamoa. The Temple of Curses. Again, it is 130 miles south and 65 miles west of the second temple.”

  The temples were all equidistant. Fascinating. “And you believe that there is a fourth?” Bander asked.

  “I do,” Valthar said. “Not just I, but many scholars.”

  Eton Sward said, “Where do you get many? One. Burritch. And he wasn’t even a proper scholar.”

  “A reputable source, then.”

  Eton Sward shook his head. “’Tis conjecture. No more.”

  “How would you know?” Valthar asked.

  “I’ve read Burritch’s Travels more times than I care to admit. I just about have the tome committed to memory.”

  Bander asked, “Does this book mention the Temple of Fate?”

  “No, not specifically.”

  “Yes!” Valthar shouted at the same time.

  “And how would you know?” Eton Sward asked. “You’ve never laid eyes on the book!”

  “That is because you won’t let me, you red-cheeked villain!”

  Bander tried to calm down the two men. “Has anyone actually made an effort to find this Temple of Fate?”

  “Of course. Over the past century there have been many expeditions to find this fourth temple. Some Guild-sanctioned, some not.”

  “And?” Bander asked.

  “And nothing,” Eton Sward said. “No sign of any structure resembling the other three temples.”

  Valthar asked, “Have you ever set foot in Tengan jungle, Sward? Have you?”

  “Of course not. I am a scholar, not a tramper.”

  “Well I have been down there and I can tell you that the jungle is hungry. Literally. It will swallow anything it can. A two-thousand-year-old structure is likely thirty or forty feet underground by now.”

  Eton Sward refilled the cups. “Then the question is moot. Even if you could find the general location of Fate on a map, you could walk over it a million times and never know it was beneath your feet.”

  “I beg you, Sward. Let us take that chance.” Valthar stared right into the eyes of the mage.

  No one said anything for several minutes. Then Eton Sward sighed and drained his cup.

  “Come with me.”

  Eton Sward led them back into the temple, but instead of proceeding to the Nave, they turned the corner to the south transept where a staircase led down. The mage cast a light spell which lit up an ancient underground passage. It had been shored up by thick timbers and a dank smell hung in the hair. Everything down here seemed to be covered by a sheen of stagnant moisture.

  “Above us is the old chapter house,” Eton Sward said. “This is the only way to access it.”

  They passed through a pair of swollen wooden doors and then up a half flight of stairs. The air changed here; Bander felt a cool fresh air breeze that seemed to blow away the dampness. After turning a corner, they walked up a short flight of stairs into a large circular stone chamber ringed with tall windows. Most of the windows had been sealed by wooden shutters, but a few had been rebuilt with glass panels. Shafts of sunlight stabbed through the gloom, illuminating desks and work tables overflowing with stacks of books, scrolls, papers, wax tablets, and journals. The ceiling was vaulted and supported by thick stone columns decorated by various swirls and flourishes. Newer-looking braziers held large lightstones which provided even more light.

  “This was the first part of the temple we restored,” Eton Sward said proudly. “It houses all my research.”

  The chamber appeared originally to have been some sort of meeting hall—with stone benches and vestibules, and a raised dais at the far end. Opposite the dais was a large doorway, blocked with a bookcase. The benches were all covered with books and boxes and journals and a half dozen large bookcases were arranged in rows like a library.

  “Help me with this,” Eton Sward said to Valthar. The two men set about clearing one of the work tables. Then Eton Sward removed a large rolled map from a case and spread it on the table, weighing down its edges with books. He brought over a candelabra set with bright crystals, which lit up the table.

  Bander had seen similar research libraries before. Like this one, none had candles or open flames of any kind. Magical light sources were much safer in the vicinity of ancient scrolls and books.

  He moved in to get a better look at the map and recognized it as from the Thoudian Era. It showed the Empire of Harion with its southern border at Vale. This was pre-Tengan Territories, of course, so everything to the south was labeled simply as ‘Wilderlands.’ Still, it was a well-executed map from a time when people truly valued cartography.

  Eton Sward rifled through the drawers of a cabinet until he found what he was looking for. Then he placed a small coin near the Steading.

  “Here’s where we are. The Temple of Dreams.”

  Next he placed a coin just west of Vale. “The Temple of the Ages lies here. I know these two locations very well.”

  “I believe Ages is a bit more to your left,” Valthar said. “The width of a beckbit, no more.”

  The mage ignored him and placed another coin south and a little west of Vale. “And finally Curses.”

  “I know that one,” Valthar muttered. “But don’t say finally. Give me a coin.”

  “Use your own,” Eton Sward said. He stepped away from the table to one of the desks where he retrieved a mapping tool. Bander recognized it as a divider caliper.

  “I don’t have one with me,” Valthar said.

  “Very well, then. I’ll indulge you.” Eton Sward returned to the map and took a measurement with the caliper. He pivoted the device and marked the map with a coin. Then he took another measurement and put down another coin.

  “There. That’s as close as anyone can ever get.” He tapped the far coin. “On a map, at least.”

 
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