But Paedrin was not as hasty as the city to begin rebuilding it straightaway.
Despite his anger and resentment, her apology rang true and she did genuinely seem interested in mending the breach. It would take time to regain her standing. What troubled him was the kind of character she had developed. They were truly as different as chalk and cheese.
But there was one thing he knew they could agree on. Tyrus’s quest to banish the Plague was an effort they could unite on. That needed to be the top focus and they could sort out the nuances of their relationship afterward. Tyrus had charged him to find a lost relic—the Sword of Winds. Master Shivu had mentioned it to him while he languished in the Arch-Rike’s dungeon. Now he understood that Tyrus had made a pact with Shivu to help restore the lost Shatalin temple and that his master had been training him all along to face the dangers of the Scourgelands. It had been subtle training, but always his master had hinted at greater things beyond the walls of the city. As a child he had been encouraged to float up to the roof of the temple and gaze at the lake waters surrounding the city.
Defeating the Arch-Rike. Ending the Plague. Traveling the world. It was everything that appealed to Paedrin. When it was over, he was certain he would be allowed to live anywhere he chose. A hero among his own people, the Vaettir.
He stopped the thought, remembering Master Shivu’s training. He could almost hear the old man’s words in his mind, so often he had heard them repeated. A desire to be observed, considered, esteemed, praised, beloved, and admired by his fellows is one of the earliest as well as the keenest dispositions discovered in the heart of man. Beware of those desires.
Paedrin had always been ambitious. He had felt destined to do great things, being one of the few Vaettir orphans in the city. It was important to check that ambition, to be sure he was doing it for the right reason, lest he become a true renegade like Cruw Reon who had stolen the blade and brought on the downfall of the Shatalin temple.
“There it is,” Hettie said. “How should we do this? Should we go in together?”
“The temple has so few visitors that the bell ringing brings an inordinate amount of attention. Let me float over the walls and see if I can find Master Shivu alone. You watch for trouble and ring the bell if any comes.”
“What information do you need from him?” she asked.
“Where to start looking,” he answered. “The Shatalin temple could be anywhere. I did not even know it existed.”
“Agreed. I will stay hidden near the front gate and ring the bell if trouble comes. But I will meet you outside the wall at the back of the temple, not the gate, when I ring the bell.”
He nodded and they parted ways. As he approached from the east, Paedrin’s heart filled with warmth when he saw the moldering walls, the broken tiles on the roof. In his mind’s eye, he could imagine himself as a boy, perched up there and overlooking the city. He increased his pace, feeling a sense of restlessness. It was nearly midday and he could not hear the clack of staves or shouts from the students training. That was odd and made him wary.
Paedrin reached the edge of the outer wall, examining the tender vines that snaked the surface and made curving patterns on the stone. The training yard should be on the other side. Where were the students? Where were his friends?
He inhaled and scurried up the side of the wall, ascending rapidly. When he reached the top, he crouched at the edge, staring down at an empty yard below. A few tufts of weeds had sprung from some of the flagstones. There was not a soul to be seen.
Alarm. Worry. Dread.
Paedrin battled his feelings down, studying the training yard for any sign of movement. There was none. He exhaled and lowered to the ground inside, dropping low and watching for clues. Finding none, he rose and quickly went to the sheltered walkway that led to the main building of the complex. As he passed the columns, he could imagine seeing himself in the yard, trying to impress Hettie with his abilities as she walked where he did. He pursed his lips. Something was wrong. Was the temple abandoned?
Paedrin reached the doors and pushed and they opened. There was a smell of death in the air. He felt the skin on the back of his neck prick and gooseflesh went down his arms. It smelled like a sewer. He could hear the sound of buzzing flies. Paedrin began to tremble, his stomach coiling into knots, his face beginning to twitch with raw anger and horrible fear.
He started across the tile toward Master Shivu’s chamber and nearly collided with another Bhikhu, his friend Sanchein.
“Paedrin!” he gasped. Sanchein was Aeduan and nearly his own height. His face was pocked and his eyes were swollen with fatigue. He stared at Paedrin in confusion. “They said you were dead. They said the Arch-Rike executed you!” He touched Paedrin’s arm, shaking his head with disbelief.