He stepped inside, leaving the foreboding landing behind him. As he traveled into the temple, his breath was quiet as he felt like he walked on sacred ground.
He’d taken the scouting mission for a lot of reasons, the most important being only he could do it well and safely. But privately, he remembered thinking about how nice it would be to see Anden and everything in it without the disturbance of others. If Mave and Matesh had come, so would half the Company, believing they needed to be a group to be protected. He was glad he could just stand in the silence of the deserted temple, even though his heart squeezed with longing for his little family.
They’re fine. Mave and Matesh wouldn’t let anything kill them before I could see them again. Hopefully, they’re missing me as much as I’m missing them.
Bryn walked deeper into the temple toward the main altar. For such an extravagant entrance, the main altar was simple in design—a sacrificial table with a clay bowl on it, all covered in a thick layer of dust. It made the black marble seem gray, but he figured that was also because of the light. He frowned and realized he couldn’t go any further until he dealt with it.
Rushing back out of the temple, he found scraps of wood and tinder. He needed a fire if he planned on spending his night in the temple so high on the mountain. Luckily, the vegetation of Anden was used to altitude and snow, and trees grew high up on the mountains with ease, providing him with everything he needed. He approached the main altar again, deciding he would use it as his main room. He could search the numerous backrooms and quarters of the temple later.
He built his fire quickly, letting it grow to a blaze, lighting the entire room. From the main altar, he only had to turn around to see the entrance, a convenient design for those who wished to say their prayers and leave again. It was a large, open space, but it was sheltered from outside light. The fire was definitely needed to see the rest of the temple.
He took a moment to take in the artwork over the altar. Sculpted with a thin layer of paint was a mural of Kristanya, the black dragon, standing on a mountain peak with several Andinna flying around her. Legends said she never took another dragon as her lover, instead showing love and receiving it from the bravest and most true warriors of their people. There was an interesting thing about her design captured on the mural.
She had no wings.
So, the priests took that literally, eh? The reason Andinna have black wings was that Kristanya decided no warrior of hers would ever long for the love of the sky. Ownership of the sky made her great, and she would see her people great. She gave us her wings.
He chuckled as he remembered learning that from his grandmother as a little boy. She drilled him in all the ancient lore of their people and made sure he knew how to show respect for each of their gods and goddesses. Never disrespect the sky, she said. That was where their gods were the most watchful. The Andinna and the wyverns only had the claim of supremacy over the expansive sky thanks to their gods.
Too bad my grandmother never got to see Elvasi riding gryphons. Our claim is being challenged.
It was yet another reason he chose Kristanya’s temple to pray during his mission. He didn’t have the time or resources to get to a temple for every member of the dragon pantheon, but he could make it to one. He had to make it count.
Could have picked Lariana. She’s the true creator of our race. She’s the one who led the dragons and claimed the male elementals as her husbands and…
Bryn shook his head at the idea. He was a warrior. Kristanya was his to pray to. In the end, she had just as much a hand in their people as her twin sister did.
He stared at the altar, pondering what he was going to ask for from the goddess. Victory was too much. The larger the request, the larger the payment. He had learned that lesson from Varon, who had dealt closely with this sort of offering before. He wouldn’t test the priest’s wisdom on the manner.
He couldn’t ask to survive, for it was just as dangerous a request as victory. Who would die in his place if he was meant to die? He couldn’t tolerate the idea of Mave or Matesh or any Andinna dying for him.
Help. He could ask for help. However the goddess decided to answer was her own business. He would take the smallest handout from her if she decided to answer his prayers.
With resolve, he walked to the altar, ignoring the flickering shadows of the temple around him. He pulled out a rag and wiped down the bowl and marble altar, cleaning away the dust, doing his best to purify the sacred ground he stood on. Legend had it that temples were built where the dragons themselves once roosted. That made them precious, and he felt the need to do his part in keeping them maintained, even after so long.
Once it was clean, he knew the ritual, buried deep in his memories, also learned from his grandmother if the time ever came when he felt the need to pray.
There was only one gift their gods truly wanted when official prayers were made. He pulled a dagger from its sheath on his hip and lifted his left hand.
“Kristanya, giver of wings and leader of war, hear me,” he recited, his voice echoing off the mountain stone and marble around him. “Kristanya, bringer of death and master of shadows, hear me.” He sliced a thin line on his palm and squeezed his hand shut, forcing blood to pour from the wound into the bowl. “Kristanya, your warrior needs you. Hear me.”
He continued to squeeze the wound and closed his eyes, bowing his head. If she heard him, his head would be lowered in respect for the dominant female, the dominant being. He could only hope her eyes were turned in his direction.
“I ask, for all the Andinna, help in the coming days. Our King has decided to begin a rebellion against the corrupt forces of the Elvasi. We have just begun this quest, and I hope you will see fit to aid us in any regard.”
A strong wind blew into the temple, knocking him forward, sending him into the altar. Winds so strong weren’t uncommon at the altitude of the temple, and he groaned as he realized his blood was no longer going into the bowl. He felt a certain annoyance as the wind blew out the fire, which he hadn’t properly sheltered.
“Of course,” he grumbled. “One time I try to do somethin’ good and proper, everythin’ is ruined by the wind.” He sighed, looking down at his offering. In the end, it wasn’t much, but he hoped it was heard.
He cleaned himself and wrapped a piece of cloth around his left hand before getting back to his fire and starting it again in a better location behind a pillar. For some reason, he didn’t want to go deeper into the temple. Generally, only the priests and priestesses saw beyond the main altar of a temple, and anyone else had to be invited.
He didn’t want to push his luck and disturb those old laws, even if no one would ever know he broke them.
Later, when the only light he had was the fire, he pulled out the leather book and began to write a small report, only relaying he was safe and had not yet run into any serious threats. He didn’t give a location, in case anyone was compromised. Mave and Matesh deserved to know he was okay. They all did, his friends and family in the Company.
For the first time in weeks, he felt secure enough to try to sleep properly. He’d spent weeks now perched on cliffs, barely getting enough sleep to function properly, but in the temple, he felt like he was protected. There was no way Elvasi, humans, or even wild animals would come for him here.
Much later, his eyes flew open as something came down at him. His fire was out, and his eyes weren’t adjusted, but there was no mistaking steel swinging in the dark. He tried to jump up, only to get grabbed from behind. The sword stopped, angled perfectly to slit his throat in a second.