The Conclave

By S.C. Eston

It all came down to this.
A traitor.

~

The city of Telstar has been freed and the enemy defeated. In the streets, the townspeople are celebrating, singing and drinking to the promise of better days to come.

 

Yet, at the top of an abandoned tower, a secret meeting is about to take place. Although victory was attained, questions remain unanswered. Some of Telstar's deepest secrets got out and the impregnable city almost fell. It is unclear who betrayed the city and some will not sleep until the culprit answers for the betrayal.

 

Onthar, a high warrior dedicated to Tyr, deity of courage, takes it upon himself to call on emperor and queen, wizard and warriors, elf and orc, all heroes of the battle, to meet in secrecy and find out who among them betrayed his city.

 

But these are serious charges and these are powerful individuals. The meeting could easily turn into a confrontation, and if it does, it could achieve what the enemy could not: destroy the very city they all want to protect.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.C. Eston
• Release date: Oct 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781777178956

Book preview

— Prologue —

Anthem of the Unsung Heroes

☼

Day 7 of Nova, Year 790 of the Fifth Era

Inn of Ali Azra, city of Telstar, Tilia

The room was located on the third floor of the inn of Ali Azra, snuggled in the northeastern district of Telstar. It was a large room, overly spacious, stretching for almost the full width of the small establishment and tastefully decorated with paintings, pieces of armoury, statues, and works of art from realms close and far. It was a tribute to the world, to its inhabitants, to its diversity, from one end to the other.

A total of four windows offered views north, west, and south, toward the heart of Telstar. Here and there, two beds, a tall wardrobe, a wide wooden desk, three cushioned chairs, and a high bookcase standing along the western wall. Two fireplaces were present; one small, adequate for boiling and cooking, and one large, more elaborate, carved by none other than the dwarven hands of Kurtor, used to warm the space during the cold months of winter.

The room had once been used by the inn owner, Ali Azra, as his own living quarters. Now it was reserved for an elite group; heroes, the innkeeper would call them, defenders of the realm and the city. More often than not, it was empty, unused, until such a time when it was needed.

Like this day.

~

The lone man was seated by the southern window. He had only been in the city for fifteen days, and yet everything had changed since his arrival.

The man could easily remember a past when Telstar had been beautiful, rich, glorious. Those memories now seemed to belong to another time, another life. The city stretching in front of him was dark, shrouded in thick clouds of smoke that lingered above the buildings, some in cinders, some crumbled, others in ruins. Marks of the lengthy battle were everywhere, on every street, open or isolated. No corner, it seemed, had been forgotten or excluded. Even the air smelled of pain and suffering, of death.

Yet as he sat there, pondering, wistful, the lone man could hear a faraway chant coming from the streets below. It seemed to emanate from the city itself, from its walls, its buildings and its cobblestones. The anthem had been going on for eight days now. At night, it would stop, to reawaken with the morning sun, reaching its crescendo during mealtime. The melody had risen for the first time moments after the Lord of the orcs had been defeated, on the high Bridge of Stars that linked the island of Telstar with the mainland.

The Lord had not set foot on the grounds of the island himself. He had fallen first, and then been dragged onto the island to be displayed above the castle's high gate.

With the defeat of their Lord, the orcs' ranks had broken. Without the Lord, the lesser leaders had not been able to unite. Instead, most orcs had retreated, never looking back.

A soft knock echoed from the door. The man had been expecting it.

Enter, he said, looking over his shoulder.

The door opened slowly and a large man appeared. In his younger days, it was said that the innkeeper had been a traveller and adventurer. Now he was large, slow, and comfortable. Most of the signs of his glorious days were gone.

It is time, my lord, he said.

The lone man nodded.

They chant for you, said Ali Azra, pointing out the window with a movement of his chin.

And others, said the man.

Why don't you go to them? asked the innkeeper. You, Onthar, the others, together. They would love to see and get to know those who pushed back the invasion and liberated their city. Some, well, they say the populace deserves a chance to meet their saviours.

The man stood, the motion slower than it would have been a few weeks ago, before the battle. He could feel the injuries, so many of them, along his thighs, his sides, and on his chest. A lingering soreness, all over, just wouldn't go away.

He gazed through the window toward the city.

They will have their heroes, he answered.

But not the real ones, noted Ali Azra.

It won't matter to them.

To most, I agree, said the innkeeper. They just need someone, anyone, to idolize. But there are some who are sincere in their care.

The man turned around, left the window, and came to stand by the innkeeper.

You are a good man, Ali, he said, putting his hand on the shoulder of the large innkeeper.

It wasn't always so, said Ali, incapable of hiding his smile at the compliment.

I thank you for the room, as always.

You are most welcome, my lord. You are leaving, then?

I am.

It saddens me to see you go, as it will others, I am certain. Your visits are too few and far between. As well as too short.

At this, it was the lone man's turn to smile.

So I have been told, several times already.

Am I to understand you will be returning soon then?

The man only shrugged. The innkeeper’s smile broadened.

Know that when you next return, the room will once again be ready and waiting for you.

The lone man accepted the invitation with a slight nod.

He was about to leave when he noticed the innkeeper's eyes on him.

Nothing escapes you, he observed.

I'm sorry, but this reunion, to which you are invited, does it mean…

The man didn't say anything.

It is not over, then? asked Ali Azra. Danger still roams in the shadows.

I do not know, said the man, but my blades are ready.

It does reassure me to know you are watching over us.

There are others, said the man.

None like you, said Ali Azra.

To this, the man bowed his head, and left.

— Book 1 —

Advent of the Chosen Ones

Pendant

— Chapter 1 —

The Seeker

☼

Day 7 of Nova, Year 790 of the Fifth Era

Western tower of Komas, city of Telstar, Tilia

Telstar had been his home for most of his life. When he had been but a boy, a man with dark ambitions had taken his mother's life. The temple of Tyr in Telstar had rescued him, given him shelter and, later, a purpose.

There, under the strict tutelage of Turbidus, Onthar had come to respect the deity of courage and strength, the strong-willed Tyr. He had also come to love Telstar, the city and its inhabitants. Little by little, he had started to serve, to protect, and to care.

A short time after he had been accepted as a member of the temple, Onthar's mentor had fallen gravely ill. On his deathbed, with his last words, Turbidus had admitted to being Onthar's father. As if this revelation weren’t enough, he also asked Onthar to become the temple's Master.

Tears in his eyes, Onthar could only accept.

Today, so many years later, as he was standing by a large open aperture in the western tower of Komas, Onthar was torn by the state of his city, lying below. So many had died. Some by taking up arms and joining in the defence of their city. Others, complete innocents: children, mothers, fathers, grandparents… Onthar was so grateful that both Catrina and Hebsibia had been spared.

As he scanned the city, he was struggling, knowing that his father would have been disappointed. The image of Turbidus, in his study, his fingers in front of him in the shape of an elongated pyramid, his visage stern and severe, came back to him. How often had Turbidus scorned him during those days? Too often, it had seemed back then.

Turbidus had only learned Onthar was his son a few days before his passing. Onthar wondered if their relationship would have been different had they known earlier. Who could say? There was no point in speculating.

And there was no regret. Onthar was grateful for the hard lessons Turbidus had taught him. Without those lessons, he might not have been able to face the evil that had struck Telstar these past few months.

Onthar looked at the sun. It was getting low and would disappear behind the western city wall shortly. The sky was a deep orange, fading into darkness.

It was almost time.

Leaving the opening and his city behind, Onthar took his medallion in one hand and called forth the essence of Tyr. As he waved his hand around, drawing a large sphere, a thin glittering mist flew from his fingers and covered the whole room, isolating it in a protective and invisible shell. Any word pronounced inside these walls would be unheard from the outside, even for one standing just on the other side of the room's only door.

Then, Onthar proceeded to set chairs around a large round table. There were eleven chairs in all, including his, which he set first, facing west and the door. Next, he spaced nine in a perfect circle. The last he put in front of a small desk, outside of the circle, just behind his own.

Onthar had meticulously selected the location of the reunion after extensive discussions with Hebsibia. A neutral ground had been required, away from the temple and the castle; especially the castle. It had to be easily accessible, with many paths leading to it, hidden paths if possible. Also, it had to be rarely frequented, better yet if it was deserted.

They had settled on the top room of the western tower of Komas. The room had not been used for over ten years, ever since Pyro first came to the city and toppled the top portion of the eastern tower. The battlement had fallen all the way down to the street to crash on the cobblestones. Some remnants could still be seen, piled at the foot of the wall. Those posted as guards in the tower had perished in the destruction, and the top of the tower had never been reconstructed. Even though it had been spared, the western tower had been abandoned the next day.

Onthar had used it before and was now using it again.

Satisfied with the layout of the chairs, Onthar made his way back to the opening where he had stood earlier. It was one of three large slits on this floor, the westernmost one, providing the best view of the city and its main street.

The sunlight was almost gone. Below, evening darkness engulfed the streets, but up here, so high above the city grounds, the last rays of daylight were still shining.

From where he was standing, Onthar could see the broken eastern tower of Komas. The structure was a bleak reminder of Pyro's