The Lady Penitent

XIV. The Tree of Knowledge

Holland sat cross-legged in the grass, sipping at the tea Khagra had made as she talked with Dunak and Asthore. It was a greenish, herb-filled concoction, but it seemed safe enough. Once she'd finished her story, albeit leaving out the most personal parts of it and her struggle with Deus's voice, the two had relaxed considerably. Khagra was listening attentively as well now that she'd fetched tea. Asthore was nodding. "We may be able to help," the priestess said. "Not with the army, at least not directly, but Khagra's brother Murdak is a warleader in the north."

"Haven't talked to him for years," Khagra said. "But blood is blood."

"What were you thinking, then?" Holland said, sensing that something had gone unsaid.

"If your Princes of Iron have truly shrugged off the yoke of the Deceiver's power—or even if they have not—they will require the Desolate Throne to make their true conquest of the world," Dunak rumbled out, the delicate teacup looking tiny in his large, rough hands. "It is more than just a symbol of power. It is a weapon in its own right, or so the few scraps of history left from the Revealing suggest."

"It was lost to the ages," Asthore said, taking up the thread. "Even in the west, from what we can tell. But that does not mean it was completely lost. Our order once sought to find it and destroy it, but without the sorcery of the Deceiver and his princes, we were unable to read the fragments of maps we recovered. We have managed to preserve what we believe to be hints to its location throughout the centuries all the same. It would be very dangerous to pursue it, and perhaps it would bring about the very end we seek to avoid, but there is also a chance that it would offer us a way to combat the immortal princes themselves."

Holland felt a twist in her stomach at the idea of possibly slaying Saraqael. Her audience with the Divine Prince had reminded her that despite all her anger, the old devotion and adoration hadn't died. Still, she knew it would have to be done if there were to be a true end to this. "I see," she said quietly. "If we could assemble an army, we could entrust its leadership to the various agreeing parties. That would leave myself, Vladan, Ardashir, and perhaps Khagra here free to pursue the Throne."

"They would be likely to fall into chaos," Dunak muttered. "The races are not known for their cooperation."

"All they have to do is slow the Imperium's advance and buy us time," Khagra pointed out. "If we can find the Throne, if it is as powerful as the myths say, then we could win the war regardless of how the army fares."

"Be careful not to put all your faith in myths," Asthore said with a gently chiding tone. "Without the maps, we know nothing about it, and even if we could read them, they would be no guarantee."

"I may be able to read them," Holland said quietly. "But you would have to trust me to let me see them, I imagine."

Asthore stood up and motioned for Holland to do the same. "We will walk and talk. Dunak, Khagra, please fetch the Lady Penitent's companions. They should not camp at the bottom of Kel Badur. It isn't safe." It was an obvious attempt to get Holland alone, but neither Dunak nor Khagra protested. They had spoken to Holland long enough to know she was serious in her promise to do no one harm.

They parted ways, and Holland followed Asthore deeper into the temple. The priestess's bare feet sank into the grass and moss as they moved towards another spring. "I want to trust your intentions, Holland," Asthore said quietly. "I have had my own encounters with the servants of the Princes of Iron and you are not like any of them. You have emotion, passion, pain, regret. I am not certain what makes you different, but I have a suspicion."

"Oh?" Holland said.

Asthore turned to her, expression soft. "Your eastern reputation precedes you, most particularly your devotion to the Queen of Yssa. Answer me truthfully: on whose behalf did you come to this place?"