Brother-Captain Kallinvar, Grandmaster Verathin, and Watcher Gildrick were all waiting in the Heart Chamber by the time Arden and Lyrin arrived.
The Heart Chamber resided at the centre of the great temple of Achyron, hence its name. Arden had stepped foot within its stone walls on but a handful of occasions. The Heart Chamber was mostly used for sending knights through the Rift, and Arden had not yet had the honour of undertaking such a journey. The Rift was reserved for when rapid action was needed. When time was the difference between lives saved and lives lost. And that was why the hairs on the back of Arden's neck were standing on end.
"Brother Arden, Brother Lyrin, welcome." Watcher Gildrick folded his arms across his chest and dipped his head slightly.
Arden nodded his head in return, with Lyrin following suit.
"Welcome, my brothers," Grandmaster Verathin said, his sharp eyes moving quickly between the two knights. "Watcher Gildrick?
Watcher Gildrick nodded, turning to address Arden and Lyrin. "We have been receiving reports for a few weeks now that the Bloodspawn have been raiding many of the villages along the foothills of Mar Dorul, with recent sightings near Helden," Watcher Gildrick added, looking towards Kallinvar and Verathin. "With Grandmaster Verathin sensing a convergence of the Taint so close to the town, it is highly likely that Helden is in imminent danger."
Brother-Captain Kallinvar stepped closer to Arden and Lyrin. "If the town is in danger from Bloodspawn, you are to eliminate the threat. Understood?"
"Understood, Brother-Captain." Lyrin gave a nod, turning to Arden with a half-smile.
"Yes, Brother-Captain," Arden said, closing his hand into a fist and bringing it to his chest. "For Achyron."
A deep sense of pride swelled in Arden's chest as Kallinvar's eyes locked on his. Even more so than Verathin, Brother-Captain Kallinvar was a legend. Arden could not count the number of stories he had heard about Kallinvar from the elders of Ardholm and even from the Watchers. He was one of the few survivors of The Fall, and it was said he was the greatest warrior ever to bear the Sigil. It was Kallinvar, along with the other knights of The Second, who had saved Arden and given him a second chance in the world. Arden would not let him down.
A shiver ran through Arden's body and a deep thrum resonated from his Sigil as a green orb appeared in the air behind Grandmaster Verathin, materialising as if from nothing. Before Arden's eyes, the orb flattened, spreading out into a wide disc over ten feet in diameter. As the disc spread, its centre grew darker until it was as black as night. After a few seconds, only the outer rim of the floating disc retained its green colour, and everything else within was dark as obsidian, rippling as though it were the surface of a lake.
The Rift.
Arden took a step forward, his legs moving on their own. Every beat of his heart resounded in his chest and sent a rippling shiver across his skin. He took a deep breath, a slight quiver betraying him as he exhaled. The Rift was a power given only to the Grandmaster. A portal that could send a knight, as long as they were encased in their Sentinel armour, anywhere in the known world in a matter of moments. Arden's mouth grew dry as his eyes traced the rippling lake of black that hung in the air, its green outer rim shimmering. It wasn't fear that gripped him; it was reverence. To step through the Rift was to feel the touch of a god – the god that had pulled him from death's door: Achyron.
"Step forward, Brother Arden, Brother Lyrin." Grandmaster Verathin moved to the side, allowing Arden and Lyrin to take their place before the rippling pool of black that hung in the air. "I will open the Rift ten miles south of Helden so as not to alert the Bloodspawn. It is your charge to protect the people of that town and any others around it. May The Warrior guide your hands. The duty of the strong is to protect the weak."
"The duty of the strong is to protect the weak," Arden and Lyrin replied, stepping forward. Taking a deep breath, Arden called to the Sigil of Achyron that was fused with his chest, summoning his Sentinel armour, a gift to the knights from Achyron himself. The thrum of the Sigil resonated through his body as it answered his call. An ice-cold sensation spread from his chest, sweeping through his bones and over his skin as the Sentinel armour poured forth from the Sigil. He watched as the molten green liquid spread down his arms and over his fingertips before hardening and taking shape. Within moments, he was covered from head to toe in smooth, overlapping plates of dark green. Power surged through the armour. Arden felt as though he could grind stone to dust beneath his boots. The Sentinel armour was stronger than any metal and lighter than a floating feather. It was armour wrought from Achyron's own Spirit.
"For Achyron," Kallinvar said, giving a slight tilt of his head.
"For Achyron," Arden and Lyrin replied.
Taking the sword and sword belt that Watcher Gildrick offered him, Arden fixed his gaze on the rippling lake of black that hung, suspended, in the air, its outer rim a vivid green hue. He had heard the other knights describe how it felt to step through the Rift, to feel its icy embrace wrap around your soul. He turned to Lyrin, seeing the man encased head to toe in shimmering green, the Sigil of Achyron emblazoned across his chest in a brilliant white, matching the cape that fell from his shoulders. No words needed to be said. Arden moved forward, hesitating only for a second before plunging into the darkness-obscured depths of the Rift.
An implacable chill swept over his body, seeping through his armour, prickling his skin, and leeching the warmth from his bones. For a moment, he felt as though he were back in the forest, blood pouring through his fingers, death standing over him, waiting patiently for his soul. Then he was through.
Arden's breath plumed out in front of him as it met with the icy embrace of winter air. Grandmaster Verathin had said he would open the Rift a little under ten miles to the south of Helden. Arden questioned that distance; they had been walking for hours through the darkness-enveloped forest, and there seemed no end in sight. The only sounds that pierced the eldritch silence of the dense wood were those of the frost-crusted leaves and twigs crunching and snapping beneath the weight of Arden's and Lyrin's armoured boots.
"How far do you think it is?" Lyrin asked, his breath misting as he spoke, all but his head encased in his Sentinel armour.
"Can't be much longer—"
Crack.
Arden snapped his head around, staring into the vast emptiness of the forest. He ripped his sword from the scabbard at his hip, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, and his blood shivering through his veins. If a Fade or the Bloodspawn had set a trap for them, they had walked into it like lambs to slaughter.
"Can you see anything?" A sharp rasp let Arden know that Lyrin had drawn his sword as well.
The pounding of Arden's heart resounded in his head, the rushing blood thumping in his eardrums with each beat.
Crack.
Something moved in the darkness, leaves crunching beneath its charge. Stilling the fear that had crept into the back of his mind, Arden lunged forward, sweeping his blade in a wide arc. He could see little in the dark forest haze, but he felt the resistance as steel met skin and bone, and the release as the blade sliced clean through.
With a heavy thud, the body of their attacker crumpled to the ground, the force of its charge carrying it forward into the trunk of a tree. Squawks and flapping wings echoed preternaturally through the night as birds jettisoned from the canopy above. Then there was silence.
"What is it?" Lyrin whispered.
"A doe," Arden said, letting out a sigh as he knelt beside the body. He ran his gauntleted hand along the deer's side, stopping as he came to the stump of its neck. He had taken the poor creature's head clean off. Arden's heart sank, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Forgive me, Heraya. Welcome her into your arms." Letting out a heavy sigh, Arden rose to his feet. "Let's keep moving."
Arden's gaze flitted from side to side as they continued through the forest, his senses heightened. Every snapping branch and rustling leaf made his hand twitch on the pommel of his sword. The susurration of the arthritic branches overhead crashed through his eardrums like breaking waves.
"Arden?" Lyrin's voice pierced through the cacophony of sound, almost causing Arden to leap out of his skin. "What do you think?"
"About what?" Arden asked, his eyes still scanning the depths of the surrounding forest.
"About what Watcher Gildrick said. The reports of the Bloodspawn attacking the villages at the foot of Mar Dorul, more and more each day. Do you think they are true? Do you think the Shadow truly is rising?"
Arden shrugged. "That's why we're here. We will find out when we get to the town, I suppose. I hope it is not, but…"
Snap. Arden wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword, pausing only when a fox flitted across the ground at his feet.
"And have you heard the rumours of the Draleid?" Lyrin said, ignoring the fox. He had that usual excitement in his voice when he thought he knew more about something than someone else.
"I have, though surely they are not true." Arden let his fingers loosen, but kept them hovering over the sword's pommel. He narrowed his eyes, turning back to Lyrin. "What have you heard, Lyrin?"
"Not much."
Arden didn't take the bait. He simply raised an amused eyebrow and turned his gaze back to the darkness-shrouded forest path ahead, allowing the eerie sound of nocturnal bird calls and the rustling of foliage to fill the void of conversation.
"Oh, you're no fun," Lyrin huffed after a few minutes of waiting for Arden to break and ask him more questions. "When I was in Camylin, I heard rumours of Lorian soldiers arriving at the port in Gisa. Thousands of them. Days later, the empire had set up a blockade on Belduar."
"And? The empire has been trying to take Belduar since The Fall."
"And, not days ago, three of the Dragonguard reduced the city to smouldering ash. How long has it been since the Dragonguard have actually flown south of the Burnt Lands? Why did they come this time? The network has been tight on any news coming from the battle. But you can take my word for it, there is a new Draleid, and the empire wants them dead."
"I—" A high-pitched scream in the distance cut Arden short. He hadn't even realised they had stepped out from the confines of the forest. Up ahead, what he could only assume was the town of Helden was covered in flames.
"It came from the town," Lyrin shouted, breaking into a sprint. Arden followed him. As they drew closer to the town's outskirts, the screams grew louder, rippling through the night, accompanied by the crackling of burning wood and the clang of steel. Helden didn't seem a particularly large town, maybe big enough to house one or two thousand people at most. Now, nearly all those people filled the streets. Helden's buildings were a mix of stone and stout logs with thatched roofing. It was the thatched roofing that allowed the fires to burn so furiously, pluming smoke and embers into the air.
In the midst of the chaos, a man caught sight of Arden and Lyrin suited in full Sentinel armour, swords strapped to their belts. Arden could see in his eyes that it took all his courage to stop and call out to them. "Please, they're just—"
An enormous spear shot out from one of the side streets, bursting through the man's chest and sending him crashing to the ground, splattering the dirt with dark gore. Following the spear, several hulking figures rushed from the shadows cast by the blazing inferno of the town. Each carried blackened blades that radiated a red glow at their base. Leathery grey skin pulled tightly at the creatures' dense muscle, rippling as they moved. Bloodspawn – Uraks.
"I guess we have our answer." As Lyrin spoke, molten green metal rose from the collar of his Sentinel armour, moving up his neck and over his head, before settling, taking the shape of a smooth helm with slits for eyes that shimmered with a green light.
Arden followed suit, calling forth his own helm before charging towards the Bloodspawn. Choosing his target, he summoned his Soulblade, feeling the familiar burn in his hand as the Sigil responded. Tendrils of green light burst from his fist, twisting and turning like the roots of a tree. They wrapped around each other, joining together to form a sword of shimmering green light.
As the first Urak approached, Arden dropped his shoulder and lunged forward, charging into the massive creature's chest before it could strike back. While the beast was off balance, Arden pushed off his back foot to close the distance between them and drove his now fully formed Soulblade through the beast's sternum. The creature wailed in agony as Arden pulled his Soulblade free from its chest. It dropped to the ground, the life draining from its eyes.
Spinning on his heels, Arden brought his Soulblade around, deflecting a strike from one Urak, then ducking below a swipe from another.
"Move!" Lyrin shouted, leaping onto the back of the beast that had swiped at Arden. His glowing green Soulblade lit up the night around them as he brought the hilt above his head, then drove the blade down into the creature's skull. Lyrin leapt from the Urak's back as it crashed to the ground, plumes of dust and ash spiralling into the air.
Without missing a beat, Lyrin hit the ground and moved straight towards one of the two remaining Uraks, his Soulblade gripped firmly in hand.
A howl erupted on Arden's right. The other Urak charged at him, roaring as it swung its blackened blade through the air. The beast's red eyes shone almost as brightly as the gemstone set into its blade.
With the power of the Sentinel armour surging through him, Arden turned and met the creature's charge. He caught its first strike with his Soulblade, before parrying a second with such force that the beast's blade was knocked free of its grasp. Arden closed the distance between them in a fraction of a second. He ducked the Urak's flailing arm, sidestepped, then brought his boot down on the side of its knee. He felt the dense bone snap under the force of his boot, and the creature collapsed onto its good knee, howling in pain.
Arden flipped his Soulblade into reverse grip, rested his left hand on the pommel, and drove the blade down through the back of the creature's neck. Blood fountained from the wound as the creature collapsed, lifeless, on the ground.
"Arden," Lyrin called, standing over the body of the other Urak. "There are more. I can sense them."
"As can I."
Knights of Achyron could sense Uraks and any other Bloodspawn in the same way they could sense the Taint of blood magic, for they were one and the same. Arden could feel it now, a sickly, oily sensation that crept into the back of his mind. The horrid feeling oozed through the town like an infection in a festering wound. It was all around them, hanging heavy in the air, seeping into the soil, and bleeding into the minds of the weak. But there was something… more, towards the eastern edge of the town.
Arden turned as a blood-chilling shriek rang out from a nearby building, a shriek that carried enough fear to cause the hairs on the back of his neck to rise.
"Go," Lyrin shouted to Arden, "I will push on."
Arden nodded in response. The shriek had come from a tavern with a sign outside that read 'The Foot of the Hill'.
Drawing strength from his Sentinel armour, Arden leapt up the flight of wooden steps that fronted the tavern's main entrance. Dropping his shoulder, he crashed through the door, sending bits of shattered wood and splinters in all directions. Bodies littered the inn's common room, charred and broken, strewn about the floor as though the building had been hit by a hurricane of wind and fire.
On the opposite side of the room, by the bar, the wall had almost completely collapsed, leaving a gaping hole to the night beyond. But it was not the gaping hole that held Arden's attention. The air caught in his chest when he saw what stood over the crumpled body of what looked to be the innkeeper.
Bloodmarked.
Arden had never seen a Bloodmarked before. According to Watcher Gildrick, no one had in at least two centuries. But even had he not recognised it from the paintings in the textbooks, he would have known it by Taint that radiated from its twisted, black heart. The looming beast stood nearly ten feet tall, the top of its head scraping the ceiling of the tavern's common room. Smoke drifted from sets of glowing red runes that covered its thick leathery hide, carved directly into the monster's flesh. Its fingers were twisted into claws of obsidian black that looked as though they could rend steel with ease. For all that it had in common with what it once was, an Urak, the Bloodmarked looked as though it was an entirely different creature altogether. The beast's glowing red eyes locked on Arden as it turned to find the source of the shattered door.
"Pain is the path to strength," Arden whispered to himself before charging towards the twisted creature. He cast a momentary glance at the body of the innkeeper, checking for any signs of life. A sense of relief hit him when he caught the slight rise and fall of the man's chest. The duty of the strong is to protect the weak.
Just as Arden was about to launch himself at the creature, he felt it pulse with a sudden burst of the Taint. It swung its arms outward, stretching them behind its back then slamming them together, giving off the sound of a thunderclap. A wave of concussive force erupted from the beast's hands, so powerful Arden could see it visibly ripple through the air and strip the wood from the floor.
The wave crashed into Arden's chest, launching him backwards through the air, sending him crashing into the stone fireplace that was set into the wall behind him. Even encased in his Sentinel armour, Arden's back and legs ached, and a shooting pain lit up his spine. Were it not for the armour, the blow would have snapped him in half.
"Pain is the path to strength," Arden repeated, the iron tang of blood coating his tongue. He gritted his teeth and dragged himself to his feet, calling on his Soulblade once more – in the shock of the blow, he had released it. Spirit burned through him as the weapon formed in his right hand, its green glow striking against the red light that emanated from the Bloodmarked's runes.
Clenching his jaw, Arden once more stilled his fear and charged towards the Bloodmarked. This time, when the beast unleashed its shockwave of blood magic, Arden was ready. He leapt out of the way, jumping onto one of the few upright tables in the common room that stood outside the shockwave's reach. The wood creaked under his weight, but he didn't need it to hold. The table gave an audible groan as he bent his knees and launched himself towards the Bloodmarked. He could feel the Taint begin to well in the creature as it prepared to strike again.
Swinging his arm, Arden launched his Soulblade through the air. The creature howled in pain as the shimmering blade sunk into its shoulder, searing through its rune-marked flesh.
But as the beast howled, it reached out and snatched Arden from the air, wrapping its clawed hands around his armoured throat. Arden's entire body shivered, convulsing at the Taint that radiated from the enormous creature. He slammed his fists down on the Bloodmarked's arms, trying desperately to break free, but the beast did not so much as flinch, its grip growing tighter and tighter.
His heart pounding and his throat constricting, Arden reached out, trying to grab hold of his Soulblade, which was still lodged in the Bloodmarked's shoulder. But before he could reach it, the beast lifted him into the air and slammed him down into the ground with such force he almost lost consciousness.
Arden gasped for air. His lungs felt as though they were bound with rope, and his back burned with a pain that ran the length of his spine. He pushed himself up with one hand before something crashed into his side and sent him careening through the air. He came to a stop only when he smashed through the inn's wooden bar.
Again Arden scrambled for air, dragging it into his hungry lungs as he lifted himself to his knees, a ringing in his ears, his head spinning. The Bloodmarked stood over him, smoke drifting from its rune markings, its blood-red eyes fixed on his. Taint oozed from the creature, seeping from its bones.
But as the beast raised its hands to deliver the final blow, a shimmering green light burst from its gut, slicing through its thick hide as though it were paper.
The beast howled and thrashed, trying desperately to pull free from the blade. But the Soulblade held, lodged in its torso of dense bone and leathery, rune-marked skin. Then the blade shifted, ripping down through the beast's body, tearing it open from chest to groin. The runes across its body burned with a fierce light as the creature stumbled away from Arden, its blood and entrails spilling out onto the floor at its feet. Two steps and then it crashed to its knees before its runes lost all light and it collapsed to the floor.
Arden's heart pounded like a war drum. He took a deep breath and held it, savouring the sweet taste of air as it filled his lungs.
In the space where the Bloodmarked had stood, he saw Lyrin, his Sentinel armour glistening in the flames that shone through the holes in the building.
"The innkeeper," Arden said, panting, as Lyrin reached out his hand and dragged Arden to his feet.
"He's alive. This is worse than we feared." Lyrin nodded towards the mutilated body of the Bloodmarked that lay crumpled on the floor. Even lying there, the light of its runes faded to nothing and its body near shorn in half, the beast was monstrous. The people of this town never stood a chance.
Arden sighed, his bones aching as he knelt beside the innkeeper, checking the weak rise and fall of the man's chest. Lifting his head, Arden passed his gaze over the other charred and mutilated bodies that lay about the inn. "May Heraya take you in her arms."
Picking the innkeeper up in his arms, Arden carried him from the half-wrecked building, Lyrin following close behind. Stepping through the open passage where the door had once been, Arden lay the man down against the inn's outer wall. The buildings around them were still ablaze as the townsfolk ran about, carrying buckets of water and sacks of sand.
"There is more still to be done here. I can feel something… else," Arden said. The sickly sensation of the Taint still clung to the air, pulsating from somewhere deeper in the town. Arden could feel it probing at his mind, touching the edge of his consciousness with its oily tendrils.
"It lies further in."
"You," Arden called out to one of the men who had just emptied his bucket into the unquenchable flames of a nearby bakery.
The man turned at the call, but Arden saw fear in his eyes the moment he realised who had called him. It wasn't difficult for him to understand why; not many people in the past few centuries had seen a Knight of Achyron in Sentinel armour, never mind covered in the blood of a Bloodmarked. Arden called out to the Sigil. In a matter of moments, the green metal helm that covered his head had turned to liquid and receded into the main body of the Sentinel armour, allowing the man to see that Arden was, in fact, human. Though it seemed the sight of that alone only served to set a deeper fear into the man. You always fear what you do not understand.
"I am Arden of the Knights of Achyron. This is Lyrin. We are here to help you."
Judging by the look on the man's face, he was not entirely convinced, but Arden didn't have time to waste convincing him. "There are more of those creatures." Arden gestured to the Urak corpses that he and Lyrin had left strewn on the ground. "I need you to help this man so we can deal with them."
The fear never left the man's eyes, but he did not back away. Instead, he gave a weak nod, his body trembling. "I'll… eh… I'll look after him… I…"
Arden did not wait for the man to regain his composure. Calling his helm forth once more, he rose to his feet, and he and Lyrin set off towards the source of the Taint.
Bodies lay littered throughout every main street and side alley. Torn limb from limb, mutilated, beheaded. Arden watched as a group of women dragged the mangled body of a small child, his bones twisted and broken, out from under a toppled cart. The boy could not have seen more than six summers. The Bloodspawn cared little for who they slaughtered so long as they collected the Essence. Arden held his breath as he ran, releasing it when he had no other choice. No matter how many times he saw the brutality of death, the vomit in his stomach never ceased to rise.
A shiver ran through Arden's body as he and Lyrin turned a street corner and entered the town centre.
Gore and shattered bone decorated the ground everywhere he looked. Men, women, children. So many dead. The sound of crackling wood and the shouts of men and women echoed through the night as the townsfolk rushed to put out the fires that consumed their homes. But there, in that square, the air held an eerie silence.
"By the gods…" Arden followed the direction of Lyrin's stare.
A creature stood at the other side of the square, partly obscured by shadow. An Urak. Short, barbed horns protruded from its head, and a long sleeveless robe was draped over its broad grey shoulders. A red gemstone shimmered at the tip of the wooden staff it gripped in its fist. At the bottom of the staff was a blackened blade, slick with blood.
The creature did not move. It just stood there, its crimson eyes fixed on Arden and Lyrin. The Taint radiated from it, oozing forth in short pulses, causing the air to ripple. Arden's mind recoiled as the shroud of sickly Taint crawled along the dirt and seeped through the air. He shuddered, a coil of dread twisting in his stomach. He had never felt the Taint pulsate with such ravenous hunger before. He knew if he were to lower his guard, even in the slightest, it would consume his soul.
"A Shaman." Lyrin's voice held as much awe as it did contempt.
Just as Lyrin spoke, the Shaman's lips pulled back into an abhorrent grin, blood coating its jagged yellow teeth. The beast stared at them for a moment, Taint pulsating from its soul. But then, as though it had seen all it had wished to see, it turned and stepped back into the shadows.
Arden moved to rush after it, but Lyrin's arm caught him across the chest. "What are you doing? We need to kill it!"
"No. There aren't enough of us. Not to kill a Shaman."
Arden clenched his fingers into fists, rounding on Lyrin. "Then why is it running? We need to go after it!"
"It's not running," Lyrin said, none of his usual mirth in his voice. "It's gotten what it came for." Lyrin gestured towards the twisted and broken corpses that filled the square, feeding the ground with their blood. It had come to harvest.
"Gods dammit!" Arden pushed Lyrin's hand away and stepped out into the square, his eyes trailing over the bodies of the dead. And as he looked, anguish, rather than anger or fury, surged through him. "We should have been here sooner!"
"We did what we could. Many more would have died had we not been here."
"We should have done more!"
Lyrin closed the distance between them in a flash, clasping his hands on either of Arden's shoulders. "I know what you're feeling. But we can't save everyone, Arden. Many people are alive here today because we came."
"You, there." The voice cut through the tension. It sounded as though it came from someone who was accustomed to wielding authority, but it held a tremble, an uncertainty in itself. Arden and Lyrin turned to find three men standing behind them. Each of them wore steel breastplates over surcoats of murky brown. Their faces were streaked with soot, ash, and blood.
"Who are you?" one of the men said, stepping to the front. He was the man who had initially spoken. "We've not seen…" The man stumbled backwards as Arden called on the Sigil to remove his helm. "…What are you?"
Arden took a step closer to the three men. "We are the Knights of Achyron. We are here only to help."
Arden saw the uncertainty painted on the faces of each of the men. But one of the two who stood at the back took a tentative step forward.
"What are you doing?" one of the man's companions hissed. "They're—"
"They're the Knights of Achyron. Have you not heard the stories?" The man who had stepped forward gave one last glare towards his friend before turning to face Arden. "My name is Dilon, this is Kop, and our captain, Loril. We are members of the town guard. What's left of it…"
The captain, Loril, looked as though he was about to say something, maybe to chastise his inferior, but he did not speak. He just held his chin high in the air and attempted to look as though he were firmly in control of the situation. But the same tremble that betrayed his voice moved through his hands as well. Arden could only see one thing in the man's eyes: terror.
Arden gave Lyrin a look that said to take his helm off. It took a moment for him to understand, but then the metal that encased his head shifted to liquid and receded into the main body of his Sentinel armour. "What happened here?"
"They've raided from time to time, over the years," Dilon said, stopping to release a trembling breath. "But there were never many of them. In truth, we usually have more trouble with bandits. Tonight, though, there were so many. They came out of nowhere. I was on my watch in the western tower, and I turned around to see fire. Then the warning bells rang out. They just slaughtered everyone… I watched them burn that young girl alive… it just picked her up and… I…"
Tears rolled down Dilon's cheeks, carving rivers through the matted dirt that coated his skin. His words turned to a blubbering mess as the other town guard, Kop, pulled him into an embrace. "It's all right," Arden heard him say. "It's all right."
"What do we do?" the captain, Loril, said, approaching Arden. Even through soot and ash, his face was etched with fear. "We can't survive another attack like that. I saw what you can do. I saw how you fought them. Will you stay?"
"I'm sorry, we cannot," Lyrin said, his mouth drawing into a thin line. "Send word to the other towns. Tell them what happened here and ask them for aid."
"It would do no good," Loril replied. "All the towns and villages along the foot of the mountains are being attacked, and they do not have a man to spare."
"So, it is true," Lyrin whispered to Arden.
"It would appear so." Arden took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it. He turned to Loril, summoning his helm once more. "We must go and bring news of this to our commanders. I will ask that they send help. But in truth, I believe it is best that you pack your belongings and make for Berona."
A look of shock spread across the man's face. "Leave our homes? This we will not do."
"Then you will be dead before the next full moon," Arden replied, turning back towards the forest. He did not intend to sound callous, but it was a simple fact, so there was no point in pretending otherwise.
The surface of the water glistened and sparkled in the light from the sun as it rose over the mountains to the east. It gave the false impression that the morning was a warm one. An impression that was quickly eroded by the bitterness of the wind as it swept over the deck of the ship. At the very least, the breeze carried a refreshing mist of sea salt that served to somewhat replace the pungent aromas of a well-travelled ship.
Ella laughed as Faenir grumbled, shaking his body side to side to rid himself of the water that had splashed over the lip of the vessel. She tussled the fur on the top of his head. "Don't worry, it's not long now. I can see Antiquar in the distance. We'll be there in a few hours. We just need to find Shirea."
Shirea had not been in her cot when Ella woke. This was the first time over the course of the journey the woman had risen before Ella. It gave Ella a bit of hope that Shirea had started the long climb out of her grief.
It was a climb they both needed to make. Every morning when she woke, Ella fought a powerful longing to not leave the bed. She knew that if she stayed wrapped beneath her sheets, then she would become entangled in her own thoughts. She would drown in the darkness. If Shirea had gotten up early to watch the sunrise, perhaps she had beaten that longing for the first time. "Come on, Faenir. Let's see where she is."
Ella searched for just short of an hour but found no sign of Shirea. The ship was enormous. And it seemed that every single passenger had come up onto the deck early to watch the sun rise over Antiquar, which didn't make it any easier to find Shirea. I probably just keep missing her.
Ella took a moment to admire the island city of Antiquar as it bathed in the morning sun. With the exception of the port, the entire island was surrounded by enormous walls of sand-brown stone that blended seamlessly with the sheer cliff edges that sank into the sea. It was as though, at some point, the ground had risen and smoothed itself into city walls. Ella couldn't see any of the buildings over the gargantuan walls, but the rooves of the city's towers were covered in a mixture of orange and greyish-blue tiles that looked striking in the morning sun.
Masses of white sails filled the open water around the island, flooding in and out of the port. Antiquar's port was famous across Epheria. In honesty, Antiquar itself was famous. 'The cultural capital of the North'. At least, that's what all the storytellers said. We'll have to spend a few nights there before we go to Berona.
"Ella."
Ella hadn't heard Farda approach. She turned to see him standing on the deck behind her. His black cloak flapped in the breeze, partially covering a steel breastplate and sturdy leather trousers. She hadn't seen him dressed like that before. Like a soldier. It left a bitter taste in her mouth.
But there was something else that caught her attention. He had a look on his face – the look of somebody who was about to give bad news. She had seen that expression on her father's face more times than she could count. "Farda, what is it?"
"I'm sorry, Ella."
"What do you mean, you're sorry? What…" The realisation sank in. Ella stepped towards Farda, Faenir moving alongside her. A deep growl resonated from the wolfpine's chest, the hackles on the back of his neck standing on end. "Where's Shirea? What did you do?"
"Me?" Farda tilted his head sideways, an incredulous look on his face.
"Yes, you," Ella snapped, her chest trembling.
"A deckhand saw her last night, Ella. She threw herself overboard."
Ella felt as though a sack of stones had hit her in the stomach. Her mouth dried up, and a shiver ran from her shoulders down through her chest. "That's not true… She would never…" Ella's voice dropped to a whisper. "She was getting better…"
Farda took a step closer. "I am sorry, but it is true."
Ella let herself fall backward, connecting with the rail of the ship. She brought her hands up behind her neck and let herself slide to the deck. Hot tears burned at the corner of her eyes, carving paths down her cheeks.
Farda reached down, as though intending to wipe the tears from Ella's face.
"Get away from me!" Ella snapped, slapping the man's hand away.
"I didn't mean to—" Farda stopped mid-sentence, stepping backwards as Faenir moved in front of Ella, a deep snarl forming in the wolfpine's throat. Farda went to speak again, but as he did, Faenir's snarl grew deeper and the hackles on his back rose higher.
Ella didn't lift her head as the man walked away. She didn't say anything; she simply held her hands at the back of her neck and let her tears fall.
Ella had been keeping herself together over the past few days. She had nearly broken, more than once. It was like holding back an ocean. She hadn't known Shirea long, but having someone who understood the gaping hole in her chest had been a small comfort. That comfort, however, was gone now, and nothing stood between her and her mind's darkest thoughts.
So, she wept.