THE CANDLES FLICKERED, WARMING THE cold stone walls of the enormous chamber – the heart of the great Temple of Achyron.
Brother-Captain Kallinvar felt the thrum of his Sentinel armour resonating through him from the Sigil fused into his chest. Smooth, overlapping plates of dark green covered every inch of his body, as hard as any metal and as light as the wind. It was not forged in a smithy by hammer and fire. No – it was called forth, wrought by Spirit. It was a gift bestowed upon the Knights of Achyron millennia ago by the warrior god himself.
Kallinvar knew no greater comfort than that familiar thrum of power that resonated through him.
All around him, he saw his brother and sister knights, encased in their armour. The Sigil of Achyron – a downward-facing sword set into a sunburst – was emblazoned across their chests in brilliant white, to match the cloaks that streamed behind them. It was a sight to behold.
"Listen to me, brothers and sisters." Grandmaster Verathin stood beside Kallinvar. The golden ornamentation of his Sentinel armour marked his rank. The man was the best of them. He had stood at their head for years beyond counting. And he was Kallinvar's closest friend. "I do not know what we will face on the other side. I do not know if we will survive. But a darkness has fallen over Ilnaen. I can feel it. We must go. We must hold back the shadow." Verathin turned to Kallinvar. "Do you wish to lead the way, Brother-Captain Kallinvar?"
It is time.
Kallinvar nodded. He pulled his sword from its sheath. The long steel blade shimmered in the incandescent candlelight.
"We stand when others cannot," roared Kallinvar. He beat the handle of his sword off his armoured chest – a drum of war. The sound of ninety-nine swords colliding with plated chests filled the chamber as the knights followed Kallinvar's lead. "We have been given a sacred duty. We were
chosen! Achyron himself led the Grandmaster to each and every one of us.
Men and women on the verge of death, who still had more to give to this world. The strength of the Warrior burns in our veins!"
The rhythmic hammering of steel on armour grew louder and louder, and Kallinvar's heart beat in unison.
"This is what we do. We stand against the darkest nights. When all hope is lost, we are the brightest light!" Kallinvar's chest swelled with pride as the knights crashed their swords against their armour, the sound consuming the chamber. He felt the fire of battle. It burned in his chest.
A familiar sensation tickled at the back of Kallinvar's neck. Verathin was opening the Rift.
"When we get to the other side," shouted Kallinvar, his voice booming,
"remember what we fight for. Remember who we fight for. Are you with me, Brothers and Sisters?"
The thunderous shouts of the knights echoed through the chamber.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as a tiny green orb appeared, hanging in the air ten feet in front of him. The orb spread into a circle about two feet in diameter and kept growing. Its edges were a vivid lime-green, growing darker towards the centre, where it was almost black.
The war drum of swords on armour grew louder, blending with the chants and shouts. But to Kallinvar, all sounds capitulated to the thrum that resonated through his body as Verathin opened the Rift.
The Rift was another gift from Achyron, a gift only given to the Grandmaster. It gave him the power to travel anywhere in the known world in an instant. It continued to grow until it was over twenty feet in diameter.
Its surface rippled with energy as everything but its outer rim – which still burned a bright green – faded to black.
Going through the Rift always gave Kallinvar an uneasy feeling in his stomach. It was what he imagined it would be like to enter the void.
Kallinvar took a deep breath, holding it to settle himself. The fear always came before the calm of battle. He turned to Verathin, who held his gaze for what seemed like an eternity before giving him a sombre nod.
"For Achyron!" roared Kallinvar.
"For Achyron!" came the reply. The war drum of one hundred swords picked up its pace until the chamber was a din of steel on steel. One hundred swords for one hundred knights, as it had always been.
One last deep breath and Kallinvar lunged forward, charging at the rippling lake of black that hung in the air. He did not know what lay in front of him. The Rift never allowed them to see. But he didn't need to look to know the rest of the knights were behind him – and that was what mattered.
Even through the Sentinel armour, Kallinvar felt the Rift's icy embrace wash over his skin as he plunged through its surface. Every hair on his body stood on end as the chill seeped from his skin to his bones. It was only a moment, and then he was through, into the training yard, in the western section of Ilnaen.
Everything before his eyes was chaos. Dark thunderclouds emptied blankets of rain and rippled the air with claps of thunder. The incandescent glow of burning buildings, mingled with the pale wash of pinkish-red light that drifted down from the Blood Moon, illuminated the city. The usually pristine, white stone buildings of Ilnaen were incarnadined with the blood of the fallen. All across the training yard, soldiers who should have been on the same side fought tooth and nail. Kallinvar watched as a Praetorian drove his sword through the back of an elderly woman whom he should have been protecting.
He felt the sickly taint of blood magic seeping from the Praetorian long before he saw the pale, almost translucent skin of his face and the bloody holes where his eyes should have been. A shiver ran down his spine at the sight of the blood and torn flesh in the man's empty sockets.
What in the gods is happening here?
Kallinvar grunted as a hammer blow caught him in the side before he had time to set his feet. He stumbled, catching his foot on the white steel breastplate of a fallen soldier – one of The Order's Highguard.
A particularly large Urak wielded the hammer that had struck him. The monstrosity of a creature stood nearly a foot taller than Kallinvar. Its
leathery skin was a mottled brownish-grey, and its body was laden with thick, heavy muscle. Its blood-red eyes were bisected with black slits.
The fear in Kallinvar's mind was replaced by the calm of battle.
Kallinvar swivelled, dug his heel into the ground, and swung his arm through the air, catching the second swing of the hammer in mid-air. Only a slight vibration shook through his arm as the heavy weapon crashed into his open palm, the Sentinel armour absorbing most of the impact. A look of shock spread across the creature's face.
Before Kallinvar could move to strike the Urak, the hammer fell to the ground, the beast's leathery fingers still wrapped around its shaft.
Grandmaster Verathin stepped between Kallinvar and the Urak – that now howled in pain over its severed arm – and plunged his sword through the beast's belly.
"Take your knights and find the Archon and the council. I would suspect she will either be somewhere on the battlefield or at the council chamber.
Best to start there. We will try to turn the tide here."
"Yes, Grandmaster. Knights of the Second, with me!"
The nine knights under Kallinvar's command fell in behind him as he carved his way through the training yard and out into the city beyond. The Sigil of Achyron that had been fused with his chest all those years ago granted him great strength. It seeped into his muscles and burned in his chest. It was a strength that was needed to fight the Bloodspawn, to stand toe-to-toe with creatures who were bred to kill.
Streaks of dragonfire tore through the skies overhead, illuminating the streets. Kallinvar and his knights fought their way across the city, towards the council chamber. He saw it in the distance, jutting into the sky, sitting atop the Tower of Faith.
Every thoroughfare and side street they passed was wet with blood.
Kallinvar sensed the taint of blood magic all around him. All the knights could. It was like a sickly oil that seeped into the back of his mind, causing his consciousness to recoil. And the city reeked of it.
Many of these soldiers had been twisted and tainted by its dark touch.
They were little more than vessels. But some of them had opened themselves to it, bathed in it of their own free will.
At the corner of one of the many courtyards they passed through, two mages ripped each other to shreds with their magic. The Spark. Kallinvar couldn't sense the Spark the way he could with blood magic. Only those who could touch the Spark could sense it in others.
Each of the mages wore gleaming half-plate armour of white steel.
Black cloaks billowed out behind them.
Battlemages of The Order.
They struck each other with bolts of lightning and slammed each other off buildings. Both survived blows that they had no right to survive, but such was the power of the Battlemages. They were famous across Epheria.
Some were even a match to the Draleid in strength.
In a flash, one of the Battlemages whirred his sword through the air, decapitating a nearby soldier. Kallinvar felt the Taint pulsate in the heavy air. As if emboldened by the kill, the battlemage turned back to face his counterpart. His hands outstretched, arcs of purple lightning streaked from his fingertips. The lightning ripped through the other battlemage, burning holes straight through his body and shattering the stone wall behind him.
A sickly shiver ran down Kallinvar's spine as the surviving battlemage turned. His eyes were as black as the darkest night, from corner to corner.
His skin was as white as snow. Kallinvar knew what the creature was instantly.
"Fade," he hissed.
"The Taint touches every corner of this city," said Ruon in her harsh Valtaran accent. "I want that creature dead as much as you do, Brother-Captain, but we need to keep moving."
"Aye," said Ildris. "Ruon is right, loathe as I am to admit it."
Kallinvar couldn't see Ruon's face, but he knew she was smiling beneath her helm. She's always smiling. Or grinning, more like.
Kallinvar took one more glance back at the Fade. The creature was gone, and it had left more than one body in its wake. "Okay, keep moving."
As they made their way through a side street behind the keep, Ildris stopped dead in his tracks, throwing a glance towards Kallinvar.
Kallinvar felt it too.
Bloodmarked.
Almost as soon as the feeling touched the back of his mind, an enormous creature crashed through the wall of the side street, about twenty feet ahead. Fragments of stone soared through the air, crushing soldiers and Uraks alike, filling the street with clouds of dust.
The Bloodmarked were Uraks. At least, they used to be. The monstrosity that stood before them was at least ten feet tall. Its body was so heavily laden with muscle that it looked as though its leathery skin might tear open at any moment. But its size was not what set it apart from the other Uraks. Smoke drifted from sets of glowing red runes that covered its chest, back, and arms.
Blood runes.
Markings of ancient magic were carved straight into the beast's flesh by the hand of a shaman. Kallinvar did not know much about blood runes.
None of the knights did. Over the centuries, they had tried to learn as much as they could, and the priests chronicled their findings. Despite their efforts, that section of the great library remained sparse. Surprisingly, the Urak shamans were never willing to give up much information.
All Kallinvar knew was that the Bloodmarked were vicious monstrosities that destroyed everything in their path.
"So," said Kallinvar, turning to Ruon, "seeing as this one is blocking our path…"
Ruon sighed, which only made Kallinvar laugh.
"Get some of these soldiers to safety. The duty of the strong is to protect the weak."
"The duty of the strong is to protect the weak," repeated Ruon. "Knights of the Second, spread out. Get the soldiers to safety. Kill any who bear the
Taint."
As the nine other knights moved about the wide street, Kallinvar sheathed his sword. It would be no use against a Bloodmarked. He felt the strength of the Sentinel armour surging through him as he charged at the beast. Its smooth, overlapping plates didn't hinder his movement like regular plate armour would have. When he wore the Sentinel armour, Kallinvar felt as though he could tear through a mountain and leave behind nothing but dust.
Ahead of him, the creature slammed its fist down onto a fallen soldier, crushing the man's breastplate instantly. Rising to its full height, its blood-red eyes settled on Kallinvar, who dashed towards it at full speed.
The Taint of blood magic oozed from the creature. It slammed its fist down into the ground again, sending a shockwave of fire and stone towards Kallinvar.
Kallinvar bent at the knees, dug the balls of his feet into the ground, and launched himself over the shockwave, straight towards his target. He hung in the air for what felt like an eternity before crashing into the creature's chest with such force that it knocked the wind from his lungs. Both Kallinvar and the Bloodmarked crashed through the wall of a nearby building.
Kallinvar's head spun, and his lungs dragged in stone dust as he gasped for air. But he didn't have time to waste. He heaved himself up onto his knees, feeling the hard flesh of the Bloodmarked beneath him.
The creature snarled, its blood-red eyes glowing with rage. Kallinvar threw his arm back and rammed his gauntleted fist into its face. He felt the crunch of bone meet the metal of his Sentinel armour, but the beast barely flinched. Kallinvar hit it again. A punch like that by someone wearing Sentinel armour would have killed a man instantly, but all the damage Kallinvar could see was a few flecks of blood on the beast's jagged yellow teeth.
Kallinvar felt something large wrap around his ankle.
Fuck.
The beast's fingers tightened, lifted him, and flung him through the air.
He collided with something solid, and a ringing noise filled his head. He dragged himself to his feet, using whatever he had collided with as leverage. Looking down, Kallinvar saw his hand resting on an enormous, wrought iron anvil that now had a sizable dent in its side. The building they crashed into must have been a forge. Well, that explains why my ribs hurt.
A visceral roar filled the half-wrecked forge as the creature charged at Kallinvar. The deep red glow from its blood runes cast a shimmering light through the clouds of dust.
I need to end this. We don't have time.
Kallinvar emptied his mind, focusing on nothing but the Sigil that lay under his Sentinel armour, marked into his chest. A downward-facing sword set into a sunburst – the Sigil of Achyron. A gift and a burden given to every knight.
Kallinvar felt it – a low, resounding thump. A heartbeat. His heartbeat.
Feeling the power of the Sigil, Kallinvar summoned his Soulblade. He felt the Spirit burning in his hand. Strands of green light burst from his fist in both directions, wrapping around each other, twisting and turning, leaving behind a solid shape in their wake. Within fractions of a second, the entire weapon was corporeal.
He held a massive greatsword of glowing green light, wrought from the spirit of Achyron. It was the weapon of the knighthood: the Soulblade.
Some mages or Draleid who were powerful enough could imitate it. But that is what their níthrals were: poor imitations. They did not understand the power of a true Soulblade.
The beast was within arm's reach, charging with its head down.
Kallinvar lunged to meet it. Just as they were about to collide, Kallinvar dropped to the ground, sliding beneath the monstrous creature. It was powerful and swift, but the blood runes clouded its mind. It was not quick to react.
With a swing of his Soulblade, he sheared straight through the beast's leg, splitting it in two at the knee. It howled, shrieking in pain. Kallinvar did
not pause. He bolted to his feet. Digging his foot into the ground, he launched himself. Swinging his Soulblade again, he separated the beast's arm from its shoulder. The Soulblade cut through its thick hide and dense bone as if it were paper. It was a weapon made with the sole intent of killing its kind.
The beast howled as it crashed to the ground, its blood runes burning with red light. Blood runes always burned brighter when the Bloodmarked were injured or dying. The priests believed the runes were attempting to keep their host alive. Kallinvar was inclined to agree.
He stood over the maimed creature as it howled and thrashed. Not even the slightest feeling of sympathy crossed his mind as he drove his Soulblade through its chest, where its heart should be. Its blood runes burned with an intense fury; smoke streamed from the deep markings carved into its flesh.
The red light mingled with the green glow of Kallinvar's Soulblade as he twisted it deeper into the beast's chest. The creature roared, spraying blood and bits of flesh up into the air. Its breath smelled of death and burning coals. Kallinvar stood over it until the glow from the blood runes dissipated and the creature lay still.
"Brother-Captain." Ildris approached Kallinvar, blood splattered across his helm. "The street is clear. Are we to keep moving?"
"Yes," replied Kallinvar, releasing his Soulblade. His body felt almost empty without the constant flow of Spirit burning through him. The absence of it seemed to dull his senses, just for a moment. "With every passing minute, the city comes closer to ruin."
"I fear it is already there, Brother-Captain."
Beneath his helm, Kallinvar's mouth was a grim line. I fear it is too,brother. With one last look at the grotesque creature that lay lifeless in the rubble, Kallinvar stepped out from the ruined forge and back into the street.
The rest of the knights stood waiting for him, Ruon at their head. "We continue on and make for the council chamber."
"Yes, Brother-Captain," chorused the knights.
Kallinvar had fought beside many of them since he first received the Sigil, nearly three centuries ago. They were his brothers and sisters in more than just title. But in those three centuries, he had felt nothing like the fear he felt now. He had never felt the Taint so strongly. It hung in the air and seeped into the ground. This battle is about more than just the fate of Ilnaenor The Order. Kallinvar pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind. They would not help him.
It didn't take long before they reached a side entrance to the keep. A set of reinforced doors, atop a small staircase, was set into the side of the massive structure. Kallinvar had only been inside Ilnaen three times before, but his memory was solid. He knew that once he went through those doors, it would only be a few minutes before they reached the walkway that bridged the keep and the council chamber.
A thunderous roar boomed overhead as the knights scaled the staircase.
For a few moments, the street was bathed in darkness as an enormous figure flew low over the city. A flicker of hesitation passed through Kallinvar's mind. He hadn't entertained the idea that some of the Draleid might have succumbed to the darkness. Even the notion of it filled him with dread. He saw the same hesitation on Ildris's face. "We keep moving."
Ildris gave a brief nod before pushing open the doors.
There was not much of note in the long, cold hallways of the keep. They were built from the same white stone as the rest of the city. A red carpet ran along the length of every corridor. The combination of colours reminded Kallinvar of death. The cold, pale transparency of a dead man's skin mixed with the blood that he had lost.
However, although The Order decorated with scarcity, the ornamentation they chose always displayed their vast wealth. The sconces that lined the walls were cast from solid gold. The candles themselves emitted the fragrant aroma of flowers, but not any that Kallinvar recognised. They were exotic flowers, the likes of which were sold in Vaerleon for fists full of silver by the traders that crossed the Narvonan Sea.
Except for the odd servant or housemaid in red and gold livery fleeing in panic, the hallways of the keep were empty. At least, they were empty of the living. Bodies lay everywhere, strewn about the floor like spilt grain.
Their wounds were gruesome. Some were split from head to groin. Some missed limbs. Others were barely recognisable for what they once were.
Men, women, elves, giants – children. Even to someone like Kallinvar, who had seen death in more forms than most, it made the hairs on his neck stand up and set an uneasy feeling in his stomach. The killing was senseless and twisted. This is not a siege. It is an eradication.
It didn't take long for the knights to reach the enormous staircase that led to the walkway. The doors that stood in front of them, framed by thick walls of white stone, were another example of the ostentatious taste of the people who had built Ilnaen. Practicality hidden behind beauty. Kallinvar could think of quite a few different ways he would have spent the gold paid to construct those doors.
Kallinvar stepped past Ildris – the first to reach the top of the staircase –
and pushed open the two doors. His Sentinel armour made them seem as light as paper.
The keep had provided a brief respite from the din of battle that roared throughout the city, if not from the death and destruction that the Bloodspawn had left in their wake. But as soon as Kallinvar stepped out onto the walkway, everything came flooding back.
The dark thunderclouds that filled the sky were illuminated by a grimly beautiful blend of pinkish-red light from the Blood Moon, the blaze of dragonfire, and the blinding flashes of lightning. The rain drummed on Kallinvar's armour as he stared up at the sky. He heard it and saw it, but he did not feel it; the Sentinel armour left no gaps.
A brief nod to Ildris and Ruon, and they started across the gargantuan stone bridge. There was no second of command in the knight chapters, not officially. There was the Bother-Captain and his knights. But Ruon and Ildris were as close to true kin as Kallinvar had known since he was given the Sigil. They had been with him through everything.
"Brother-Captain." Concern painted Ildris's voice as they reached the middle of the walkway. It was littered with death. Bodies of Uraks, elves, giants, and men.
"We keep going. Pain is the path to strength." Kallinvar tried not to look down at the bodies. The dead on the ground did not bode well for what they might find within the chamber.
"Pain is the path to strength."
Great white banners marked with the symbol of The Order hung on either side of the council chamber's entrance. They billowed in the ferocious wind that battered at the tower. The enormous oak doors of the chamber were ajar; a dim light flickered from within.
Kallinvar steeled himself. He knew that once he brought his knights through those doors, they may never walk back out again. He reached out for his Soulblade. He didn't summon it, but he wanted to feel it. To know it was there.
"You will die. Like she did. Like they did. Why fight me, Aeson? I don't want for madness and death. I want a world where we are not used as puppets by the Council. A world where we are not at the beck and call of lesser men. Alvira could not see that. You can. You are capable of great things. Join me."
Two men stood in the central atrium of the chamber. One was an elf with long white hair that fell over the front of his heavy, gold-trimmed, white-plate armour. Kallinvar recognised him as Eltoar Daethana, First Sword of The Order. They had met only once before. Eltoar loomed over the other man, a wicked greatsword clutched in his hands.
The other man was human. His studded black-leather armour was slick with water, and rain matted his short black hair to his head. He held a sword in each hand, spinning them nonchalantly as the two men circled each other.
A pair of dead bodies lay at their feet, both in the white-plate armour of the Highguard.
The central atrium was ringed by a colonnade of white stone, with statues of the six gods interspersed between them. Kallinvar's eyes fell on the statue of Achyron. The Warrior. The duty of the strong is to protect theweak. A crack of lightning flashed to Kallinvar's left. About twenty feet behind the statue of Elyara – the Maiden – stood a gaping hole in the western wall of the chamber. Beyond the opening in the wall, streams of dragonfire roared through the sky, and the night was awash with a pinkish-black hue.
The two men did not notice the chamber's new entrants as they circled each other.
"You betrayed her."
"She betrayed us! "
"She trusted you, and you betrayed her!"
The man with the twin swords lunged at Eltoar, whirling his blades with incredible speed. He struck one out, like a wolf testing its prey. Eltoar brought his greatsword up in time to block the strike, sweeping it back in a sideways arc. The other man – the one called Aeson – leapt backwards, just out of reach of the massive blade, and returned to circling Eltoar.
"You betrayed us all."
"I'm disappointed in you, Aeson. You had so much potential."
As the two men circled each other, something caught Kallinvar's eye.
Dark shapes hung in the air just below the golden dome. Bodies. Thecouncil.
Kallinvar took a step forward. "Eltoar Daethana. What is happening here?" The words resounded throughout the chamber, rising above the constant drum of rainfall on the golden-domed roof.
Both men stopped in their tracks. Kallinvar imagined that neither of them expected to see ten Knights in full sentinel armour, standing at the entrance to the chamber.
An amused grin spread across Eltoar's face. "The Knights of Achyron?
You have come out of your cave to save The Order? You are too late. Their
gods did not save them. Achyron was nowhere to be seen."
Eltoar moved too fast for Kallinvar to react. The elf dropped his sword to the ground and stretched out his hand. As he did, an unseen force lifted one of the knights – Ohren – into the air and launched him towards Eltoar.
In Eltoar's other hand, a níthral formed, an enormous greatsword wrought of shimmering blue light. He thrust the sword into the air, cutting straight through Ohren's sentinel armour, through his chest, and out the other side.
Kallinvar's heart lurched. A sharp vibration burst through his body, from the Sigil fused to his chest. He felt Ohren's light go out. He felt his pain. He felt his soul scream.
To be killed by a níthral – a Soulblade – was to have your soul utterly destroyed. That is why the knights were given the Soulblades to fight the Bloodspawn: to ensure that creatures like the Fades could not return to the world. It was also why they refrained from using them whenever they could. It was a weight that held heavy on a man's shoulders, to have ripped another's soul from the very fabric of the world.
Rage burned in Kallinvar. He had not even noticed that he was charging, nor that his Soulblade was shimmering in his hands. The elf would pay for what he had done. He felt the power of the Sentinel armour coursing through him as he launched himself at Eltoar, the Battlerush consuming him.
The air rippled with blue and green light as the two Soulblades collided with each other. Kallinvar pulled back, pivoting on his foot, and struck at Eltoar's hip, only for the elf to block the strike in a flash of blue light.
Then something crashed into his chest. It hit him with the force of a lightning bolt and sent him hurtling through the air. Kallinvar felt a crack as his body collided with something solid. His body was surrounded by a cloud of dust and stone. The Sentinel armour took the brunt of the blow, but his bones still ached, and he sensed a small crack in his armour, just below the breastplate.
Kallinvar's body screamed at him as he pulled himself to his feet. The other knights were charging at Eltoar, as was the man with the twin blades
and black leather armour.
The elf just stood there. His lips were moving, but it was impossible to tell what he was saying. His hand was outstretched in front of him. Thick droplets of blood dripped out over his fingertips.
Panic set into Kallinvar as he realised what the elf was doing. It clicked in his mind before the sickly sensation drifted through the air. Using the base of the now crumpled statue that he had collided with for leverage, Kallinvar flung himself towards the elf. But he was too late.
He watched as Eltoar clenched his fist. All the knights and Aeson were stopped in their tracks and lifted into the air. Kallinvar was about five feet from Eltoar when the elf slammed his fist down into the ground. A wave of concussive force rippled through the chamber, catapulting everyone in multiple directions. Kallinvar felt himself spinning again. He stopped only when he crashed into one of the columns that ringed the chamber. It didn't break, but he saw the crack that snaked its way through the stone. Once again, he dragged himself to his feet. He summoned his Soulblade and approached Eltoar.
Kallinvar watched as three of the knights, who were quicker to recover than he was, charged at Eltoar. He shuddered as they died. Two of them were killed by the elf's Soulblade, and the third was crushed inside his armour with blood magic. The Sigil pulsated as it flooded Kallinvar with loss.
He looked towards the statue of Achyron, then charged at Eltoar. Pain isthe path to strength.
He gritted his teeth and let the power of the Sentinel armour flow through him. In seconds, he collided with Eltoar. Flashes of green and blue light illuminated the chamber as they exchanged a flurry of blows.
Kallinvar was a formidable warrior. He had fought enough battles to know this to be true. But Eltoar was the First Sword of the Draleid for a reason.
And with blood magic flowing through him, he was faster and stronger than he had any right to be.
Every stroke of Eltoar's blade jarred Kallinvar's arms. But Kallinvar kept attacking. The elf shrieked in pain as the metal tip of a sword pierced through his left shoulder. Aeson had crept up behind him. Eltoar jerked forward, ripping himself free from the blade. He didn't have time to strike at Aeson though, as Ildris and Pirdin charged at him, their green Soulblades in hand. Within moments, the elf was surrounded. Ildris and Pirdin struck at him from the left while Kallinvar and Aeson moved in from the right. Ruon and the other three knights attacked fluidly, interchanging positions.
Eltoar took multiple wounds, but nothing seemed to slow him down. In all his centuries, Kallinvar had never seen someone fight as the elf did. He wielded his shimmering blue Soulblade as though he had been born with it in his hands.
A pulsating shiver emanated through Kallinvar as Eltoar drove the blade through Pirdin's heart. Another knight denied his rest in Achyron's halls as his soul was extinguished.
The sensation of blood magic touched the back of Kallinvar's mind once more as Eltoar sent another rippling shockwave through the chamber.
It knocked Kallinvar back a few feet, but he kept his footing.
One of the knights – Loral – was not so lucky. She crashed to the ground and was consumed in a torrent of black fire that flowed from Eltoar's open hand. Her scream pierced the back of his mind.
Only five of them remained. Ildris, Ruon, Tarron, himself, and the man
– Aeson.
Bits of dust and stone plumed downward from the roof around the dome as a thunderous roar shook the chamber. Eltoar smirked. "Well, I guess our time here has come to an end."
The chamber filled with a sound like a waterfall crashing down on them.
Kallinvar peeled his eyes away from Eltoar as patches of the golden dome above them peeled away, glowing an incandescent orange. Globs of molten gold plummeted to the ground like drops of burning rain. Within seconds, an enormous hole formed at the centre of the giant dome. A large drop of
the liquid metal slammed into one of Aeson's blades, knocking it from his hand.
All Kallinvar saw in the gaping hole was blackness, where he should have seen the pinkish-red glow of the Blood Moon. And despite the new opening, the deluge of rainfall from outside hadn't filled the chamber.
His heart fell when two enormous, dark red eyes appeared in the blackness, like bonfires in the night. As Kallinvar's eyes adjusted, he saw that the hole in the dome wasn't filled with blackness at all. The flickering light from the candles illuminated a sea of overlapping black scales, accented with a light touch of crimson at their edges. Eltoar started laughing.
The enormous dragon craned its muscular, scale-covered neck through the gaping hole of the dome and into the chamber. It was the largest creature that Kallinvar had ever seen, though its true size was near impossible to determine, as its scales blended into the night sky.
"Run!" roared Aeson. He took advantage of the momentary distraction to leap at Eltoar, driving his blade through the elf's ribs. "I said run!" he screamed again.
Aeson thrust his arm up towards the sky. Arcs of blue lightning streaked from his fingertips, slamming into the dragon's face and neck. The dragon roared like unbottled thunder, rearing back out of the chamber. Aeson thrust his other hand towards Eltoar. The white stone beneath the elf's feet rippled, like the surface of a still lake, broken by a stone. The liquid stone oozed up over Eltoar's feet and up his leg, over his knee, locking him in place.
"Brother-Captain?" There was a mix of uncertainty and fear in Tarron's voice.
Kallinvar hesitated. "Go," he said, his feet already carrying him towards Aeson.
Eltoar had already broken free of his stone chains and was moving towards the young man, his enormous Soulblade casting a blue glow across the floor. Kallinvar leapt through the air, dropped his shoulder, and collided
with the elf, sending them both tumbling to the ground. They were on their feet in seconds. Flashes of blue and green light burst through the air as they exchanged a flurry of quick strikes. The rain drummed against Kallinvar's armour as it fell through the now vacant hole in the roof.
He leapt out of the way as bolts of purple lightning shot from Eltoar's fingertips. The lightning streaked past Kallinvar and crashed into the statue of Neron that stood behind him, shattering it into a thousand pieces.
"You are becoming a nuisance." Eltoar stepped closer to Kallinvar, his eyes narrowed to thin slits.
Kallinvar didn't respond. He just set his feet. Prepared himself. He let his chest expand, counting his heartbeats as he held the air in his lungs.
Eltoar charged, his shimmering Soulblade held high over his head.
Kallinvar released the breath he had been holding. He was ready to die.
An ear-splitting noise, like a resounding thunder-clap, tore through the chamber, and Eltoar was ripped from his standing position. The elf careened through the chamber, smashing straight through the statue of Heraya and then further still, through the outer wall at the Northern edge of the chamber.
"Run. We need to run, now." Aeson stood at Kallinvar's side. His eyes were heavy and his breathing was laboured.
"But he—"
"He will be back, and so will Helios. If you want to live, we need to leave right now."
Kallinvar nodded. "Lead the way."
The rain continued to hammer down as they stepped out onto the stone walkway.
"Kallinvar. To me! The city is lost!" Across the gigantic stone walkway stood Grandmaster Verathin in his golden-trimmed Sentinel armour. Behind him was the Rift, a rippling pool of black liquid, with a pulsating green rim.
The other knights must have already gone through.
Aeson and Kallinvar broke out into a sprint. They were about halfway to Verathin when a terrifyingly gigantic shadow swept over the ground in front
of them. Kallinvar looked to the sky. An enormous black silhouette swept across the sky, twisted, and dived straight for them. Just as a burning glow of orange flame flickered in the black dragon's mouth, it was struck by a bolt of blue lightning that shot from of Aeson's fingertips. The dragon reeled away into the night sky.
"Keep going!" shouted Aeson as they ran.
"You can't go through the Rift Aeson. Not without Sentinel armour."
"Worry about yourself, knight. There are still things that need to be done here."
Helios's blood-chilling roar ripped through the sky. The immense beast had circled around the back of the council chamber and unleashed a river of orange-red dragonfire that crashed into the side of the stone walkway. The walkway shook violently as the section that was hit erupted in an explosion of stone and fire.
There was a moment where everything seemed to hang, suspended in time. Then the bridge lurched. Kallinvar struggled to right himself as the massive stone bridge shifted, no longer able to support its own weight.
A thunderous roar let him know that the dragon had circled back around. The walkway shook again as it was struck by dragonfire. The section closest to the keep collapsed. Large pieces of stone tumbled down into the city below. The walkway had been separated from both the keep and the chamber. It now stood alone as its supports collapsed, teetering precariously.
"Go through the Rift, Kallinvar," said Verathin, as the two men reached the Grandmaster.
Kallinvar nodded, then turned to Aeson. "Where will you go?"
"Wherever I can survive. This fight is not over."
"You will always have sanctuary in the temple."
"For that, I thank you. Now go." Aeson turned away from Kallinvar before he had a chance to reply. The man stepped up onto the parapet and leapt off, down into the city below. Kallinvar had no doubt he would survive the fall. The Spark was capable of incredible things.
"We failed," said Kallinvar, turning to Verathin.
"No, brother. We have survived. Many of our brothers and sisters did not. This is only the beginning. We must rebuild."
"Ruon, Ildris, and Tarron?"
"Have already gone through."
Eltoar and Helios circled back around again. Kallinvar stepped into the Rift just as the walkway was bathed in one last breath of dragonfire.
Blackness consumed him as he plunged into an icy well. He would live to fight again.
Pain is the path to strength.