Arden stood at Brother-Captain Kallinvar's side as each of the nine captains surrounded the war table, the Grandmaster at their head. They had been there for hours.
"With each passing day the Urak attacks grow in number," one of the captains, Sister-Captain Valeian, leader of The Fourth, said. She was tall for a woman, closing on six feet. Her black hair was tied at the back of her head, and her sharp eyes were like those of a hawk. "We need to mobilise the full knighthood."
"Aye," Brother-Captain Armites of The Sixth called out. A powerful man with deep-set eyes, a thick beard, and long, matted hair. "We don't have time to play generals. The Shadow is not waiting, and neither can we."
"I understand your concerns, Valeian, Armites. But we cannot expose ourselves completely when we do not yet know the extent of what we fight." Grandmaster Verathin stood at the head of the table, his arms folded across his chest. As always, his voice commanded attention in the chamber, and his presence consumed the room. "We need to understand what the Shadow is doing. We must see the moves The Traitor is making, otherwise we will fall into his trap."
"But how long must we wait?" Brother-Captain Illarin asked, a little too curtly, in Arden's opinion. Though, if any had earned the right to speak out of turn, it was Brother-Captain Illarin. He was one of the seventeen knights who survived the battle of Ilnaen – the only survivor of The Seventh. Arden had heard tales of how he had taken on ten Bloodmarked single-handedly. Whether it was true or not, Arden could well believe it. He had watched Illarin and Kallinvar spar on five occasions, Illarin taking two victories, Kallinvar taking three. Until then, Arden had never seen another knight best Kallinvar. "You were there, Verathin. You felt our brothers and sisters die, as I did. Must we wait until the Shadow has once again reached that strength? Must we continue to stand idly by?"
"Illarin, you overstep!" Kallinvar growled, leaning over the war table, his eyes fixed on Brother-Captain Illarin.
But Illarin did not yield. "Do I, Kallinvar? Will we not see the Blood Moon in less than a year? What do you propose we do then?"
The chamber broke out into a cacophony of arguing. Many of the captains agreed with Grandmaster Verathin, but almost half saw the merits of what Illarin said. Even Arden saw truth in it. They could not wait like lambs to the slaughter, yet at the same time, running unknowingly into the darkness was the surest way to seal their fate.
Arden tuned out the arguing, instead focusing on the war table. It had been carved from solid stone aeons ago by the priests. Each river and lake, every hill and every mountain had been carved by hand. Since its first carving, adjustments had been made by commissioned Craftsmages as the land shifted, or so the texts said. According to those ancient texts, Epheria had once looked very different. It was said that at the height of The Order, rivers, lakes, and even mountains had been formed at the will of the mages. It was even said that the Sea of Stone itself had been forged by the mages' magic – the Spark.
On the table, all the known Lorian armies were marked by black lion carvings, with small white counters beside each carving to indicate the relative size of troops in their thousands. The same was done for each Southern army, though they were far fewer, and most remained at their capitals. Any knights currently outside the temple were marked with green counters. Where more than one knight travelled together, the counters were stacked. Black counters were placed wherever a major attack had occurred, while red counters were placed wherever a major attack had occurred and the knights had not arrived in time. There were a lot more red counters than black, and it had been days since they had received their last report.
"What do you think, Brother Arden?"
Grand Master Verathin's voice caught Arden so off guard that it took him a moment to realise that it had not simply been a figment of his imagination. It was accepted that each captain might bring a single member of their chapter to war meetings for counsel, but in the times Arden had accompanied Brother-Captain Kallinvar, he did not remember ever seeing any other captain exercise that right. Nor did he remember Brother-Captain Kallinvar ever asking him to speak. It was more an old tradition that only Brother-Captain Kallinvar seemed to adhere to and the other captains tolerated. Arden never truly expected to be addressed.
Arden looked up from the table to see each of the nine captains staring at him, some with expectant faces but most with looks of disinterest or outright irritation. None of them had brought a member of their chapter as counsel, and they clearly didn't see the value in whatever it was Arden might have to say.
Arden swallowed, trying to provide moisture to his rapidly drying throat. He examined the war table once more, scanning it from top to bottom. "There is merit in both approaches," he said, to mumbles of annoyance. "But neither is the correct one."
The mumbles turned to shouting within seconds.
"He is naught but a child, Kallinvar!" one of the captains called. "He bears the Sigil no more than two years."
"Aye," answered another in a lilted Drifaienin accent. Arden knew her: Sister-Captain Olyria. She stood no more than five and a half feet, but she was a fierce woman with a wit as sharp as her blade. For all that though, she was measured in her speech, and he knew her as a friend to Kallinvar. "I'm sorry, Brother Arden, but you do not yet know war."
"Let him speak." A chorus of 'Grandmaster' rang through the chamber as Grandmaster Verathin's voice boomed. The Grandmaster raised his hands to quieten the din before turning towards Arden. "Go ahead, Brother Knight."
Arden hesitated for a moment, looking to Brother-Captain Kallinvar, who gave him a nod. "We cannot overextend ourselves too quickly. Grandmaster Verathin is the only one who can summon the Rift, so we cannot rely on it for mobility. With each passing day, we place more and more red counters on the table because we simply cannot react fast enough. If we send all our knights into the field, then we lose our greatest advantage – our mobility. With the Rift, we can react immediately to the ever-changing landscape, cutting off the Shadow wherever it rears its head."
A slight rumble sounded through the gathered captains, some agreeing, some not. Arden ignored it, cleared his throat, and carried on. "Reports grow more frequent by the day, and with each report we are hearing of greater and greater numbers of Bloodspawn. Bloodmarked and Shamans are becoming commonplace. It will get to a point where we simply cannot hold back the tide alone, no matter what approach we take…" Arden let his words hang in the air as he glanced at Brother-Captain Kallinvar. The look on his captain's face told Arden that Kallinvar knew what Arden was about to say next. They had talked about it many a time, and Brother-Captain Kallinvar had argued with him every time. But surely he wanted Arden to say it now. He had called Arden to the table, after all. "We need to find allies. We need to reach out."
That was all it took for the chamber to break out in screaming and shouting, the captains jumping down one another's throats.
"We are warriors of Achyron," one of the captains called out. "We fight the Shadow. We do not involve ourselves in the politics of the continent."
"They are one and the same," Arden answered, his voice low and his hands trembling. "Just as it was at The Fall. The Shadow does not shy away from twisting the minds of men. It uses our absence to its advantage. We need to—"
"You know nothing of The Fall," one of the captains cried.
"The child speaks of what he does not understand!"
"Silence!" Once again, Grandmaster Verathin's voice boomed through the chamber, bringing all argument to an immediate standstill. A tense few moments passed as the din receded to nothing more than shuffling feet and hushed whispers. Grandmaster Verathin let out an irritated sigh before turning his gaze to Arden. "Brother Arden, I thank you for your input. You have given us much food for thought. Now, would you please leave me with the captains? There are some things that must be discussed."
"Yes, Grandmaster," Arden said through clenched teeth, before giving a slight bow at the waist. "Thank you for allowing my presence."
"Your presence is always welcome, Brother Knight."
Arden caught Brother-Captain Kallinvar's eye before turning. The man's mouth was an almost unreadable thin line, and his eyes were cold. He gave a slight nod, which Arden returned before making his exit from the chamber.
Arden was not five steps from the table when the arguing, once again, broke out. He kept walking. His frustrations would be better left to the sparring chamber.
Arden grimaced as Lyrin caught him with an uppercut, sending him stumbling backwards. His frustration from the war chamber was still yet to subside, and he always found unarmed sparring was a great way to burn away the anger. Rolling his head side to side, he lunged towards Lyrin, only shifting direction at the last minute. Lyrin didn't anticipate the shift, and his kick found nothing but air. Pushing on the ball of his foot, Arden swept in with an elbow, catching Lyrin square on the jaw. In the same motion, he pulled his knee up to his chest and caught Lyrin in the side with the flat of his foot.
Lyrin staggered backward from the force of the kick, but just about managed to keep his footing. "What's gotten under your skin?" his friend asked, cracking his jaw then clearing the distance between him and Arden in a single stride. A swift exchange followed before Lyrin hit Arden in the chin and the nose with two left jabs.
"Nothing," Arden replied, spitting blood onto the sand of the sparring pit. Bringing himself low, he charged at Lyrin, ducking under a swinging left leg. Just as Lyrin's foot landed, Arden lunged, catching Lyrin with a spear tackle before lifting him into the air and slamming him back down into the sand. Before Arden could even contemplate following up his tackle, a pair of legs wrapped around his waist, and two sharp bursts of pain hit him in the side. Sand filled the air as he was flipped onto the flat of his back after Lyrin somehow managed to reverse him.
"Don't…" Lyrin said, panting heavily and catching Arden with a quick jab to the face, "lie"—Arden pulled his hands up to protect his face while Lyrin switched to jabbing his ribs—"to me."
Arden kept his guard up, Lyrin raining down punches on top of him. He definitely had a weight advantage on Lyrin, but his friend's mind was sharp as a blade when it came to close quarters brawling. He also had Arden beaten for speed. Be patient.
Arden let the punches fall, waiting for an opening. Then, as if by chance, he saw one. Lyrin paused, only for a fraction of a second to take a half-breath, but that was all the time Arden needed. Pushing with everything he had, Arden head-butted Lyrin square on the chin. It wasn't the perfect place to catch someone with a head butt, but it was enough to knock some stars into Lyrin's head.
With Lyrin's guard down, Arden hit him in the cheek with a hook, then threw him to the ground. Leaping to his feet, Arden kicked Lyrin onto the flat of his back, then pressed his foot against Lyrin's chest. "Submit?"
"You fughin ashhole," Lyrin spat, his voice muffled.
Arden laughed, reaching his hand down to his friend. Lyrin took it, pulling himself to his feet.
"Yourh shtill an ashhole." Lyrin bent over double, spitting blood and saliva into the sand. "Buh guh figh."
Arden snatched his waterskin up from the side of the sparring pit, took a long swig, then tossed it to Lyrin, laughing as he did. The sparring did its job. His body ached and groaned, and he would wake up with a headache and more than a few new bruises in the morning, but the frustration had leached from his bones. "Drink some of that, and for the love of the gods, stop talking. You're hard enough to put up with when you don't have a swollen tongue."
"Vehy fuhnny."
Arden smiled as he put his hands behind his head and stretched out his back. Sweat dripped down his chest and back, shimmering as it passed over the Sigil fused with his chest. The Sigil that had given him a second chance.
"Arden."
Arden let out a deep sigh at the sound of Brother-Captain Kallinvar's voice. He would follow his captain to the void and back, but right now, he wasn't in the mood for a lecture on when best to speak and when not to, which was a lecture he knew was coming. He had clearly misread the situation in the war room.
A thrum rippled through Arden's Sigil as a blade of bright green light burst from Brother-Captain Kallinvar's hand.
Arden nodded at his captain. He did not need to speak. Taking a deep breath, he called to his Sigil. The power of the Spirit of Achyron burned through him in response. He could feel it in every fibre of who he was. It was with that power that he summoned his Soulblade. Within moments, the tendrils of green light that burst from his hand had bound together to forge a blade of shimmering green light. Its shape was identical in every visible way to the sword Arden usually wore at his hip. Arden's Soulblade was an extension of who he was. It was a manifestation of the bond he had made to the warrior god.
Releasing the breath he had been holding, Arden nodded, and the two knights charged at each other. They traded blows back and forth for a while, their Soulblades colliding in flashes of green light. It was more a formality than anything else. At this stage, they knew each other's fighting styles as well as they knew their own. It did not take long for the formalities to end.
Kallinvar attacked with lightning speed, twisting and turning around Arden's counterstrikes as if he knew where each one would land before Arden had even thrown it. Frustration rekindled in Arden's mind, but it only had a moment to dwell there before he overstepped and Kallinvar caught him with a kick to the side of the knee. By the time Arden's knees hit the sand, the green glow of Kallinvar's Soulblade shimmered beside his head.
"Speak."
Arden clenched his jaw and kept his gaze fixed on the sand. He knew he was being stubborn, but his own stubbornness refused to let him admit it.
"Arden, I said speak." Kallinvar's voice held no frustration. It was calm and level, which only serve to irritate Arden even further.
"Why did you let me speak, Brother-Captain?" Arden fixed his head where it was, refusing to raise his chin. His words were met with silence. "You knew what I was going to say. Why did you let me speak?"
"Because it needed to be said."
Ignoring the Soulblade that shimmered beside his head, Arden pulled himself to his feet, keeping his eyes level with Kallinvar's. He didn't think he had ever looked at his Brother-Captain that way before – eye to eye, with anger. "So, you agree with me?"
"I do," Kallinvar replied, his Soulblade dissipating from his grasp.
Suddenly Arden didn't know what to say. He hadn't expected Kallinvar to back down so easily, and he most certainly hadn't expected Kallinvar to say he agreed. He released his Soulblade but kept his eyes fixed on Kallinvar's.
"Come." Kallinvar turned, gesturing for Arden and Lyrin to follow him.
"I feel like I've missed something," Lyrin said to Arden, spitting out another mouthful of blood, the swelling in his tongue clearly going down.
Arden and Lyrin followed Kallinvar from the chamber and through the corridors of the temple of Achyron. Unlike many great structures across Epheria, the temple was not adorned with gold or draped in tapestries and banners of fine silks and linens. No elaborate carpets ran the lengths of its halls, and no oil paintings decorated its walls. But what it lacked in indulgent beauty, it made up for in sheer awe. The corridors were so wide an army could walk forty abreast, and the sweeping ceilings rose for hundreds of feet. With each step Arden, Lyrin, and Kallinvar took, echoes resounded against the grey stone walls, only serving to reinforce one thing: they were nothing but specks of paint on a canvas for the gods.
As they walked, they passed the war room, the kitchens, the sleeping quarters, and the library, taking a left at the watcher's chamber. It did not take Arden long to realise Kallinvar was taking them out to Ardholm. It had been a while since Arden had visited the village. In his first year with the knighthood, he had spent a lot of time there. It felt nice to be around regular people. It felt like home. But as his responsibilities grew, he visited less and less.
Kallinvar stopped before the gargantuan wooden doors that marked the entrance to the temple. The doors rose almost as high as the ceilings, hundreds of feet, arching together at their highest point. According to the ancient texts, they had been built from the wood of the old trees of Lunwain, the first forest sung into existence by the Jotnar.
"You are both young," Kallinvar said, making his way over to where a small wicket gate was set into the great doors to allow easier access to both the temple and Ardholm. "Not simply in terms of how long you have borne the Sigil, but in the summers you have spent in the living world. That youth can bring a naivety with it. Yes, I agree with you, Arden, and so does the Grandmaster. The knighthood needs to look outside itself. What has always been done is not always what should be done."
A sliver of light streamed through the gap in the wicket gate as Kallinvar pushed it open and stepped through. Following Kallinvar, Arden stepped out onto the stone staircase that descended from the temple, bringing his hand up to his eyes to block out the harsh sun that sat overhead in the pale blue sky. His eyes adjusting, he smiled, looking down over the village of Ardholm.
The village itself was situated at the foot of the temple, built around a horseshoe shaped cliff nestled into the side of the mountain that rose at its back. How high up they were, Arden didn't know, but he knew that if he looked over the edge, he would see nothing but cloud.
Twenty-foot-high walls lined the cliff edge the entire way around the horseshoe, joining back into the mountain at either end. A gate was set into the wall on the eastern edge where it met the mountain, providing passage out to an enormous plateau that rose another forty or fifty feet. There was no view in the known world more beautiful than sitting on the edge of that plateau at sunset.
"Do you know the story of Ardholm?" Kallinvar asked as he moved down the steps towards the village.
Arden had heard stories from the elders of the village, but they had always seemed to change depending on who was telling them. "The village was built at the founding of the knighthood, was it not? The villagers are descendants of those who constructed the temple."
"Very good, Brother Arden." Kallinvar stopped at the bottom of the steps. He nodded towards the villagers who passed him, raising their fists to their foreheads, a mark of respect. "But that is not the entire story."
Arden smiled as three children passed him and raised their fists to their forehead. He imitated the gesture, earning wide-eyed looks of amazement as the kids charged off down the street.
Turning, he tilted his head back, looking up at the statues that framed the entrance to the temple. The two statues stood hundreds of feet tall, rising slightly higher than the great doors themselves. They were carved to depict knights of Achyron in their Sentinel armour, their Soulblades held with two hands, the tips resting at their feet. The first time Arden had laid eyes on the statues that watched over the village of Ardholm, he had simply stood there, awestruck by their sheer size and scale.
"It is true," Kallinvar continued. "The village was initially founded by those who constructed the temple. They made the sacrifice of not leaving, so as to never reveal the temple's location. But that is not where the story ends. Over two and a half thousand years ago, centuries after the temple was built, the Knights of Achyron fought a great horde of Bloodspawn in what was then known as the province of Lurïnel. After the battle, survivors from a nearby village asked the Grandmaster for refuge. In his compassion, seeing the devastation they had suffered, he acquiesced."
Gesturing for Arden and Lyrin to follow, Kallinvar set off eastward through the village, towards the plateau. As they walked, villagers made a point of coming out of their homes to pay their respects, each of them raising their fists.
The priests and the Watchers swelled their ranks from the population of Ardholm, as did the porters, cooks, and chambermaids who served in the temple. But besides that, Arden had never really thought much of where the villagers of Ardholm had come from. To him, they were just… there.
"What's wrong with that?" Lyrin said, ruffling the hair of a small, rosy-cheeked girl who passed by. "They are happy here."
"Are they?" Kallinvar's mouth turned into a half-frown, twisting at the edges. "They can never leave, Lyrin. Now, they do not know any different; they have been here for thousands of years, and even still, not all are satisfied by simply serving the will of Achyron."
Reaching the gate set into the eastern edge of the wall, Kallinvar led Lyrin and Arden through the giant archway and up towards the great plateau.
"No. They were not happy. At first, of course, they were thankful for the refuge. But after a while, when it became clear none of them would ever be allowed to leave, everything changed. Of course, they had been told the terms before they were brought here, but in their desperation, they had not taken them seriously. You will not read of it in any of the books in the library, but in the year five-twenty-one, After Doom, a rebellion broke out in Ardholm."
"What?" Arden stopped in his tracks, a shiver running through his body. "That's not true. Somebody would have recorded it somewhere."
"It is true, brother. Books are not a complete history. They are only the history people chose to record." Kallinvar rested his hand on Arden's shoulder, and Arden could see a melancholy in his eyes. Giving Arden a weak smile, Kallinvar continued towards the plateau. "Many innocent people died. It is one of the darkest days in the history of the knighthood, and one that has been scrubbed from all records. Ever since, we have kept to ourselves and refused to meddle in the affairs of the common people. Our task has been to drive back the Shadow, nothing else."
"But… how?" From his vantage point on the plateau, Arden looked down over the village, a knot in his stomach.
"Do you see now why the other captains might be hesitant to reach out? But despite their hesitation, if we do not build alliances with others who will fight the Shadow, then we will be pulled apart and shattered, just as we were at the fall of The Order at Ilnaen. We came too late that day, refusing to join the fold until we could feel the Taint of blood magic radiating from the city. We should have been there sooner. Our failure was in not seeing the binding of things, and it still is. It is not enough to simply hold up the sky as it falls, when we always knew it was going to collapse. We need to bring together those who would stand by our side."
Arden turned, fixing his stare on Kallinvar. "If you agreed with me, then why have you always argued with me? What did you not say this yourself in the chamber?"
Kallinvar shrugged. "I argued with you to test your conviction in the same way you might repeatedly heat a blade and temper it to bring out its true strength. As for why I did not speak up? Politics."
"Politics?" Arden scoffed, feeling an anger rise in his belly. "Politics has no place in this temple. We are the Knights of Achyron!"
Kallinvar laughed, his mouth twisting into a condescending smile that only served to further stoke Arden's fire.
"You mock me?"
Kallinvar's demeanour changed in an instant, the laughter vanishing from his face. "Remember who it is you speak to, Brother Knight. We are familiar, but I am still your Brother-Captain."
The fire in Arden's belly was quickly replaced with a sinking feeling. He had forgotten his place. "I am sorry, Brother-Captain."
"It is all right." Kallinvar sighed, a frown setting itself on his face. "I do not mock you. I simply admire your idealism. It is a trait that I once held, though sadly, the centuries have stripped it from me. Politics exists everywhere. That holds true in one way or another in every facet of life within our temple and beyond. Sometimes it is as subtle as who speaks first, sometimes it is as complex as what you witnessed today."
Arden looked over at Lyrin, who didn't speak but appeared to be listening as closely as he could. If there was one of them who understood politics and the way to talk to people, it was Lyrin.
"Do you think," Kallinvar continued, "that just because the men and women in that room are a part of the knighthood they do not still hold their own ambitions, their own pride, their own vanity?"
Arden started to speak, but Kallinvar beat him to it.
"Do you not hold your own ambitions, your own pride, your own vanity?"
"I do not," Arden replied. "I swore the oath to serve Achyron, to forget everything that held me to the man I once was."
"Then why the anger? Why were you here in the sparring pit with Lyrin? I watched you. You did not fight with your head, you fought like someone who was angry, frustrated."
"I was angry!" Arden yelled, losing control of his temper.
An awkward silence hung in the air as Kallinvar held Arden's gaze. Arden held his breath as he expected a chastisement that never came.
"Why were you angry?"
"Because I have given my life to this knighthood. To Achyron. Just as they have, and yet they treat me as though I am a child."
"Then you see."
Arden thought about arguing, but then it finally sank in. He let out a sigh and nodded his head. "I do. You couldn't suggest it because then, when Grandmaster Verathin supported you, it would harm the others' pride, just as their dismissal harmed mine. But if I planted the seed, then others might come to it eventually, as if it were their own idea."
A smile crept across Kallinvar's face as he grasped Arden's shoulder. "There is not a soul in this world who does not feel the push and pull of pride. Damage it, and you can make an enemy for life. Keep it intact, and you may find allies in the strangest of places."
"Can someone please explain what we are talking about? I think I understand what is going on here, but I also feel like I'm missing something."
Arden laughed, shaking his head – partly at Lyrin and partly at his own ignorance. "It's nothing, Lyrin, I was just being pig-headed."
"What's new?" Lyrin said with a shrug, pouting.
Arden threw a glare at his friend. "So, what do we do now?" he said, turning to Kallinvar.
"Well, firstly, we will wait and let the seed take hold. There are others who think along the same lines. If a Brother Knight not more than two years with the Sigil has the courage to challenge tradition, then maybe they too will find it within themselves. Secondly, there is a task that must be seen to."
"Whatever Achyron requires." Arden straightened his back, throwing a sideways glance at Lyrin.
"Whatever Achyron requires," Lyrin chorused, with slightly less enthusiasm.
"Good. Now that is settled. Grandmaster Verathin has sensed a convergence of the Taint along the base of Wolfpine Ridge. I will be taking you both, along with Ildris."
Arden nodded. "When do we leave?"
"As soon as we are finished here.