Strife & Valor: Book II of The Rorke Burningsoul Saga Regina Watts (e book reader online .TXT) 📖

Yet the heart of the man who is visited by God—truly, absolutely, indisputably visited, not pretending he has been visited or merely under the impression by supernatural or hallucinatory forces that he has been visited—is filled with the certainty that he has experienced the truth. One who is so intimate with truth knows that there is no room for attachment to anything mortal in the world…even Weltyr’s own organization.

Perhaps this was why I felt a new confidence, a relationship with the past as I had never before experienced, while showing Valeria the halls and paintings and fantastical architecture of my childhood home. A few days before, when I had met Elishta-bet there, I had still felt like a small boy compared to the grandeur of the hallowed tower. Now I experienced a bold new sense of power as I knocked upon Father Fortisto’s door and turned the knob at his bright, “Come in!”

“Father,” I said, my heart glad to see him. He gasped and hurried up from his seat, crossing around the desk before the door was even fully opened.

“Rorke! Oh, what a frightful morning—I’ve prayed for days that the duel will go well for you.”

“That makes two of us!” With a dark laugh, I embraced the old man, then released him in a gesture toward Valeria. “And this is Valeria, my dearest companion. I wanted you to meet her before the duel. It’s she who helped me escape the Nightlands more than any other. Without her safe harbor, I might have spent far longer.”

His eyes widening with understanding, Fortisto looked sharply into her face. “A durrow!”

“And a companion sent to me by Weltyr if ever I have known one,” I assured him, stepping into the office as he hurried us in and shut the door behind. “Valeria, this is Father Fortisto—a very good man and by far the kindest priest in the Temple.”

Amazed to see one of the legendary subterranean elves, Fortisto smiled with the genuine warmth of a loving parent meeting a future daughter-in-law—and a loving priest, meeting a future convert to the sacred paths of Weltyr.

“How wonderful to make your acquaintance, my dear,” he told her, gently patting the back of her hand while shaking it with the other. Still not entirely used to the form of greeting, Valeria smiled somewhat weakly and allowed him to manipulate her as he would. “Weltyr bless you for helping our Rorke back aboveground…but I really must admit, if I was worried before, I’m terrified now. Surely you don’t want to be here and risk—”

“She insisted,” I assured him with a wave of my hand. “I dare not patronize her…where she’s from, Valeria is a queen of sorts.”

While I winked at Valeria’s ghostly smirk, Fortisto’s gasp glittered with amazement. “My goodness! Is that so! Well! You do me honor with your presence, Majesty. Have you come aboveground to learn of Weltyr’s ways?”

“That does rather seem to be the way things are working out,” Valeria admitted with a light laugh, free to push back her hood now that we were in the shut office. For the first time since Adonisius, I witnessed a man who could set eye upon her without lust. Only instant, godly affection.

Fortisto drew out a chair for her and she sat while continuing, “However, I have lost something most precious to me—something that has brought me to the surface as a consequence. Rorke told me you might be able to help me find it.”

“Is that so! Well”—the old man laughed slightly and settled into his seat—“I may be able to lend a bit of advice, but even with the Scepter we could only deliver a general idea of where it was…namely, the Nightlands. It took Rorke quite some time of running about, I’m led to believe, before he got an idea of where in the Nightlands it might be…and Weltyr knows, we didn’t predict its theft by his companions.”

Fortisto shook his head sadly while leaning back in his seat, but then peered over at me with sudden remembrance. “Ah—how did your search for that one pan out?”

“Far better than I could have hoped,” I said, gesturing to the desk. “Valeria?”

At my indication, Valeria opened the fabric of her cloak (a gift from the good people of Soot before we left town) and revealed the silken bundle in her arms. Fortisto’s face changed as she rested the package, easily four feet in length, upon his desk.

His eyes widened and his body rocked forward in his seat.

“Go on,” I said, “open it. You’ve been kindest to me of all men here—you deserve to see it before anyone else. Certainly before Zweiding.”

Fortisto’s faint laugh soon faded. He lowered a hand upon the knot tying the wrapping shut. Hesitation stayed him before he pulled the cord, fright passing through his face as it had through mine that very morning.

Then, with a light tug, he drew the covering back. We both inhaled to gaze upon it; even Valeria exuded a great deference. In the dim light of Fortisto’s office, the Scepter’s many colorful gems shone like a litany of eyes. Its gold gleamed with the same beauty as the sun rising steadily over Skythorn.

Fortisto pressed his fingers to his lips, eyes filling with tears, and looked as if he considered touching it. After a few seconds, unable to stand his own desire, he draped the silk over the Scepter again with a shake of his head.

“Wonderful,” he told me. “Simply wonderful. Oh! Rorke—”

Suddenly exhibiting the energy of a man half his age, Fortisto darted around the desk to kiss my cheeks and embrace me as a son.

“Well done, Rorke,” he cried, patting my back. “The Church has been missing this relic for so long! Good show, my boy, how proud I am.”

“I owe the success entirely to Weltyr,” I told him truthfully. “And I see the wisdom in sending young men out on such tasks, for the simple pursuit of