Read Online The Assassin King by Elizabeth Haydon - Free Book Online Page B

level, insane. Anwyn, the Seer of the Past, was the least so—the Past was a more concrete realm than either the evanescent Present or the uncertain Future—and she had been known to connive in the use of her gift of sight, hoarding the knowledge it gave to her and dispensing it in ways to be interpreted as she wished it to be. Manwyn, the Seer of the Future, was both the most unbalanced and most sought after, because being able to see what had not yet come to pass gave many desperate pilgrims the belief that her aid might help them achieve or prevent what they could not otherwise be able to achieve or prevent. Most left her crumbling temple disappointed or deluded, because the prophecies the madwoman chanted at them often had many interpretations. Rhonwyn, the most fragile of the sisters, actually had the clearest grip on reality. The difficulty was that it was momentary; as seconds passed, the Present turned into the Past, and she could not recall from moment to moment what had been asked of her, or even what she had said. Few had the patience or the insight to tolerate speaking with her for more than a few minutes, and most generally gave up in frustration, leaving her alone and unsought after in her decaying abbey, smiling to herself and staring up with blind eyes that had no irises into the sky above her. “For a week or more before the Seer disappeared, she had been visited regularly by a priest from the manse of Sorbold within the city of Sepulvarta,”
    the Patriarch continued gravely. “Each day the man would come to the abbey with two acolytes, climb the courtyard stairs, and pose a single question. Then he left, returning at the same time the next day.” “Did the abbess conveniently overhear the question?” Achmed asked. “After a few of the daily visits, she made it a point to be working in the outer garden beneath Rhonwyn's tower at the time the clergy arrived,” said Constantin. “She tells me that the same question was asked on two occasions—the last two days before the Seer disappeared.” “And what was it?” Anborn demanded. The Patriarch glanced at Rhapsody.
    “The question the priest asked was this—'Where is the Child of Time?' On the two occasions that she overheard, the Seer was silent, then said only that there was no Child of Time. It would seem that on the last day the priest received a different answer. By my estimate, that would have been on Yule, the Turmng Day of the new year.” His voice became softer. “When was your son born, m'lady?” The Lady Cymrian's face went white; Achmed and Ashe exchanged a glance. “New Year's Day,” Ashe said finally, “as the night passed from one day to the next, from one year to the next. But why was a priest of Sorbold seeking this child—our child, if he be this so-called Child of Time?” “Because his emperor has been searching for that child ceaselessly,” said the Patriarch darkly. “I have heard it in his prayers, and in those of the remaining priests of Sorbold.” He eyed Gwydion Navarne, the only adherent of his religion in the council. “In our faith, unlike that of the Filidic order of Gwynwood, prayers are not offered directly to the Creator, but through channels, to the pastor of each congregant's local temple, who offers up those prayers and the others of the locality to central abbots, who pass them along to the benison of their area, who present them, in prayer, to me. I offer them to the All-God in supplication through the great spire of Lianta'ar. At each step the worship becomes more powerful, more pure, because it is joined by so many other offerings of praise and thanksgiving. I do not normally discern what is being asked for—it is only my responsibility to add my own entreaties for the All-God's grace and make the offering. ”But, as I told you, Nielash Mousa, the benison of Sorbold, is dead, or dying. And Talquist has killed many of the order, especially those who lived within the manse at Jierna Tal.“