Light of Eidon (Legends of the Guardian-King, Book 1) by Karen Hancock Page B

oaken slats down the slope of the white marble moat toward the central
Flame.
    Eldrin watched from the lofty tier, his eye held by the cross-shaped pattern of light and shadow moving both toward and away from the leaping
Flames, the slats fluttering through the air as they were cast into the well.
Visually mesmerized, he found his thoughts returning to the inner turmoil
that had kept him awake since he had returned from the palace over three
hours ago.
    Brother Rhiad, still smarting from the way he had been treated and
incensed that a dangerous heretic like Meridon should be so close to the king,
had questioned Eldrin closely on the ride back. It had taken Eldrin’s full powers of wit and self-control to keep the man from guessing just how much the meeting had distressed him-and how much of it Eldrin kept to himself. He
said nothing of Raynen’s probing with regard to his being touched by Eidon,
nor of Meridon’s uncannily precise description of that troubling experience.

    His conscience pricked him for that. Were not sins of omission as bad as
flat-out lying? And yet he would have told the Haverallan everything had the
man asked. He just hadn’t asked, being more concerned with debunking the
king’s tale of their father’s death. And with whether they had given Eldrin
anything. That seemed a particular concern. “You’re saying they gave you
nothing, then?” he’d asked for the third time in a row. “No trinket? No gift?
No family heirloom?”
    “No, sir.”
    “How about a brooch or a signet? Or … or a good-luck stone.”
    A good-luck stone? “No, sir, they gave me nothing at all.”
    “Nothing. You’re sure?”
    Of course I’m sure, Eldrin thought. How could I not be sure? What’s the
matter with him? But he only said, “Yes, sir.”
    Rhiad had stared into his eyes as if searching for the lie in his words. But
truly they’d given him nothing. Only an uncannily accurate description of his
troubles with Eidon’s touch and an admonition to search for a secret chamber
beyond the vesting rooms. An admonition he had kept to himself, as wellwhich troubled him more than any of the rest. For why would he hold that
back, unless some part of him believed the room was real?
    As the last four Guardians cast their slats into the moat, the humming
silenced, leaving the great chamber filled only with rustlings and an occasional cough as the lines of holy men withdrew up the aisles. The bell of
dismissal tolled and Eldrin’s companions began to slip away, back to their
pallets. Eldrin let them move past him, shoulders bumping him slightly from
time to time, until all had gone and he alone remained.
    Even then he stood listening and waiting-for what he did not know.
Thunder rumbled outside, remnants of another evening storm. The Flames
barely flickered above the lip of the brazier now, and shadows hung heavily
over the Sanctum. Silently he slipped along the tier to one of the eight aisles
that stair-stepped down to the marble moat. At the bottom he stood again
before the brass railing, staring into the Flames, recalling how he’d started the
day here, full of the anticipation of reaching his goal….
    The dancing, throbbing colors pulled at his eye and mind, inviting him to enter. He held back, aversion shivering through him. It was possible another
touch would put all his fears to rest, but somehow he could not make himself
seek it.

    “You’ve studied the Words for eight years … longed to know him all your life.
Do you really believe revulsion and terror would be your strongest feelings if you
were truly meeting him?”
    He swallowed hard. His gaze fixed upon the tier above the moat where
the curtained doorways led into the vesting rooms. The south one lay directly
across the Flames from him.
    This is madness, he told himself. You can’t go in there. The man must’ve put
a spell on you. Go back to your cell and read the scriptures if you cannot sleep.
    Thunder rumbled