Kallinvar leaned forward, breaking off a piece of crusty bread from the loaf. He slathered it in butter, then soaked it in the last of the juices from the pork. With a tired sigh, he tossed the piece of juice-soaked bread into his mouth, closing his eyes as the flavours melted onto his tongue.
"All I'm saying," Lyrin said, leaning back in his chair, holding his arms out wide, "is if you hadn't tricked me, I would've won."
"And all I'm saying," Arden replied, "is if you hadn't lost, you would've won."
Tarron, Ruon, and Ildris burst out in fits of laughter, rolling their shoulders back and patting Lyrin across the back.
Kallinvar was truly thankful for nights like these. Nights when his brothers and sisters could put death and blood to the back of their minds. They were few and far between. In truth, he wasn't sure he could remember the last one.
The only blight on the occasion was that the rest of the chapter were not there to enjoy it. Sylven and Mirken had been sent to give aid to the towns along the northern edge of the Lightning Coast, while Varlin and Daynin had gone to investigate a convergence of the Taint at the foot of the Marin Mountains.
"I say you both rematch," Ruon said, creases forming at the corners of her mouth as she continued to laugh. No matter the situation, Ruon had always held onto that laughter. It was something Kallinvar had never stopped admiring in her. "I'll wager tomorrow's rations on Arden. Ildris, care to take that wager?"
Ildris raised both his hands. "I would prefer to eat, thank you very much."
"Hey, hey!" Lyrin shouted. "Let's everybody calm down, okay?"
Another chorus of laughter broke out, but it was soon cut short at the sound of the kitchen's door swinging open, cracking against the stone wall.
Kallinvar's eyes opened wide at the sight of Grandmaster Verathin standing in the doorway, all but his head encased in the overlapping gold-trimmed plates of his Sentinel armour.
"What's happened?" Kallinvar pulled himself to his feet.
"I have sensed another convergence of the Taint," Verathin said, a grim look streaked across his weathered face. "It's the largest I've sensed in a long time."
"Where?"
"Kingspass, just southwest of Lynalion. Multiple Fades and a Shaman."
Kallinvar nodded, his gaze fixed on the floor. "We will follow you to the chamber."
"Be quick about it, brother. I fear we do not have much time."
As Verathin disappeared from the doorway, Kallinvar turned back to his knights. "Lyrin, what is the last report we had on the Draleid?"
Kallinvar saw the realisation dawn in Lyrin's eyes. "Going north, Brother-Captain. Heading along the eastern coast."
Kallinvar gave a slight nod. It was too much of a coincidence. He took a deep breath, then spoke, addressing all his knights. "There is a darkness in this world, my brothers and sisters. A darkness that does not stop, does not sleep, does not tire or wane. It is relentless in its pursuit of all things. It is to stand in the path of this darkness that we were chosen. To stand in Achyron's name. To be his light. Will you join me in this?"
"Yes, Brother-Captain," Ildris shouted, rising to his feet.
"Yes, Brother-Captain," Lyrin, Arden, and Tarron chorused, following Ildris.
Ruon was the last to rise, her deep green eyes finding Kallinvar's as she pushed back her chair. "We would follow you to the void and back, Kallinvar. We would die for you a thousand times over. We would stand before Efilatír himself. We are with you, always."
As Kallinvar stepped into the chamber that was the heart of the great temple of Achyron, the thrum of his Sentinel armour pulsing through his body, his mind drifted back to that night four centuries gone. The night that one hundred of his brothers and sisters had stood in this very chamber. The night when one hundred Knights of Achyron had charged into The Rift, and only seventeen returned.
Looking about the chamber now, the orange candlelight casting shadows across the stone, he counted twenty-eight knights standing within its sacred walls, Verathin and himself included. The rest of the knighthood were on task, holding back the Shadow across the continent.
Most of those who stood in the heart of the temple had not held the Sigil for even a century. Five of the knights were his own. And though they were both fine warriors, Lyrin and Arden had borne the Sigil fewer than ten years between them.
At the far side of the chamber, Kallinvar spotted Sister-Captain Olyria and Brother-Captain Armites – captains of The Third and The Sixth, both survivors of The Fall. Those of their knights who had not been sent on task stood at their side; four from The Sixth, six from The Third. The remaining numbers were made up by The First, Grandmaster Verathin's chapter, all with fewer than four hundred years to the Sigil. Fine warriors, all.
"Your sword, Brother-Captain Kallinvar."
Kallinvar let a soft smile touch his face at the sound of Watcher Gildrick's voice breaking through the otherwise sombre mood that had overcome him. It was sometimes a strange thing for Kallinvar to look upon Gildrick, with his greying temples and ever darkening eyes, and remember him how he was when they had first met – a child of but fourteen summers.
Since then, Gildrick had grown over a foot, his hair had thinned, his face had wisened, and his shoulders had become strong and broad. Thirty summers. Kallinvar had not aged a day in that time, thanks to the Sigil that was fused to his chest.
"Thank you, Gildrick." Kallinvar took his sword from Gildrick and strapped it around his waist. "Last we talked, you and Watcher Poldor thought you might have found a breakthrough in your research into why the dragons stopped hatching. How goes it?"
Gildrick shrugged, taking in a slow sigh, then releasing. "Another dead end, I'm afraid. But if you do happen to encounter this new Draleid, I would very much like to meet him, or even more, his dragon."
"I will keep that in mind." Kallinvar turned to head towards Grandmaster Verathin, who stood at the centre of the chamber.
"Kallinvar?" Gildrick's tone took a sombre tilt.
"What is it, Gildrick?"
"Watch over the others. I feel something tonight. I'm not sure what, but just…"
"I will watch over them, Gildrick, as I always have."
Both men exchanged a slight nod of acknowledgement before Gildrick turned and walked back to where some of the other watchers stood, waiting.
Verathin reached out his hand as Kallinvar approached, grasping Kallinvar's forearm and pulling him into a tight embrace. "Once more into the Rift, my friend."
"Be honest, Verathin," Kallinvar said, pulling back. "How bad is it?"
Verathin took in a slow breath, biting the corner of his lip, then released it even more slowly. "It is not as it was that night in Ilnaen, but the Shadow is strong. It will not be an easy fight."
"It is never an easy fight."
"True enough," Verathin said, giving a half-smile and blowing a short puff of air out his nose.
"Verathin, the Draleid may be on the other side."
"I suspected as much."
"I thought you might."
Verathin held Kallinvar's gaze for a moment; he did not need Kallinvar to ask the question they both knew hung in the air. "Killing any Shaman is the priority, Brother-Captain. But it is in Achyron's best interest if you can keep the Draleid alive."
"Understood, Grandmaster. Do you wish me to lead the way?"
"Not this day, Kallinvar. No, today I will lead."
Kallinvar bowed at the waist, turning to join his fellow knights, giving a slight nod towards Sister-Captain Olyria and Brother-Captain Armites, as he took his place by Ruon's side.
"What did he say?" Ruon whispered, leaning her head towards Kallinvar.
"That it will not be an easy fight."
Ruon struggled to suppress her laugh, that familiar grin spreading across her face. "Oh, is that all?"
"Brothers and Sisters." Grandmaster Verathin's voice echoed through the chamber, the golden ornamentation of his Sentinel armour gleaming in the candlelight. A shiver ran through Kallinvar's body as Verathin spoke.
Four hundred years had passed since the last time Verathin had addressed them so. Many great souls were lost on that night. Men and women whom Kallinvar had loved fiercely, brothers and sisters. So, as he stood there, ready to follow his friend through the Rift once more, he did not chase the fear or sorrow from his heart; he leaned into it, let it feed his anger. If the Traitor wanted blood, Kallinvar would give him blood.
"Achyron calls upon us once more. He calls upon us to shine his light in the darkest of places. To stand steadfast in the path of the Shadow."
As Verathin spoke, a familiar sensation tickled at the back of Kallinvar's neck, signalling that the Grandmaster was opening the Rift.
"I will not stand here and pretend that I have eloquent words that will ease the burden that rests on your shoulders, for I do not. We are Achyron's chosen. Our burden was never meant to be an easy one to bear." Verathin thumped his armoured fist on the breastplate of his Sentinel armour as he spoke. Behind him, a small green orb flickered into existence, floating in the air, sending shivers throughout Kallinvar's body. Expanding outward, the orb spread into a circle, edges a vivid green colour that faded to black closer to the centre. "But we bear it with smiles on our faces, for our brothers and sisters fight by our side. There are men and women on the other side of the Rift who need us. Their lives hang on the tip of our courage. And in that, I do not mean you cannot hold fear in your hearts, for courage is not the absence of fear. It is the will to act in spite of fear."
Verathin slid his sword from the scabbard at his hip, and a series of rasps rang out through the chamber as the other knights, Kallinvar included, did the same. "And now, I ask you, brothers and sisters. Are you with me?"
Every hair on Kallinvar's body stood on end as he roared his response. He looked around, seeing the fervour on the faces of Lyrin and Arden as they, too, chanted their answer to Verathin's question. Young though they might be, Kallinvar had no doubts they would give their lives for the men and women who stood at their side.
Behind Verathin, the Rift continued to spread until it was over twenty feet in diameter, its black, water-like surface rippling with energy, its outer rim shimmering a vivid, green light across the stones.
"The duty of the strong is to protect the weak," Verathin called out.
"The duty of the strong is to protect the weak," Kallinvar shouted, joining the chorus of the other knights.
"Pain is the path to strength," Verathin shouted.
"Pain is the path to strength."
Kallinvar felt a nudge at his left shoulder and turned to see Ruon staring at him with a raised eyebrow, her eyes a brilliant blue. Kallinvar tilted his head slightly.
Ruon gave an almost imperceptible shrug. "I still think your speeches are better."
At first, Kallinvar just stared at her, his eyes narrowed, unsure of how to react. The woman had never cared for what was proper, no matter the situation. But then, against all his better instincts, he smiled.
Ruon matched Kallinvar's smile, giving him another slight nudge. "To the void and back," she said, giving a nod of her head before turning back to Verathin.
To the void and back.
Before them, Verathin turned to face the Rift, the dark green helm of his Sentinel armour forming over his head. "For Achyron!"
The fervorous response of the other knights faded in Kallinvar's ears, all sounds in the chamber capitulating to the thrum of the Rift that resonated through his body. Knots of fear twisted in his stomach as he gazed upon the rippling pool of jet that hung in the air before him. Only a fool held no fear in their heart as they charged to battle, and Kallinvar was no fool. The vibrations of Kallinvar's heart beat through his veins like a war drum, urging him on. Then, before he knew it, he was charging, his brother and sister knights at his side, encased in the dark green plates of their Sentinel armour. Pain is the path to strength.Kallinvar's body shivered as he charged into the icy embrace of the Rift. The black liquid washed over him, seeping through his Sentinel armour, through his skin, through his bones, reaching right down to his soul. It was only for a moment, but in the Rift, time was such that it could feel as though an eternity might pass in the blink of an eye.
Then he was falling.
Air whipped past Kallinvar's helm as he emerged from the icy pool of black, plummeting towards the battlefield below. The Rift had opened in the sky above the city, dropping the knights into the thick of the fighting. The city itself was painted in a mixture of silvery moonlight and the orange-red glow of roaring fire. A massive section of wall beside the main gate had completely collapsed, and the Bloodspawn had flooded into the city. Directly below was an enormous plaza where the fighting was thickest.
As he fell, a shimmering flicker caught Kallinvar's eye. He knew it was a dragon even before the fire spewed forth from its jaws, raking through a cluster of Bloodspawn below. At thirty or so feet, it was far smaller than the dragons he had once known, but it was still young and nothing to be sniffed at. The damage its fire caused was evidence enough of that.
Just before Kallinvar hit the ground, he called to his Sigil, summoning his Soulblade. The spirit of Achyron burned through him, flowing in his veins. Flashes of green light burst to life in the air around him as the other knights did the same, their Soulblades blazing in the dark of night.
Within moments he held his Soulblade in his grasp. Wrought by the warrior god, wielded by the chosen.
A cloud of dust lifted into the air as Kallinvar hit the ground, stone cracking beneath the boots of his Sentinel armour. Resounding hammer blows behind him signalled the landing of his brothers and sisters.
A shiver of repulsion ran through Kallinvar's bones as the sickly Taint of blood magic oozed through the air, seeping into the back of his mind. "For Achyron!"
Charging forward, Kallinvar carved his way through the mass of Uraks that surrounded him. Amidst the chaos, he could see Lorian soldiers fighting back-to-back, swinging swords and shields, holding Uraks at bay with long spears. Some even rode on the backs of obsidian black mounts that looked as though they could hold a knight in full Sentinel armour. But wherever he looked, the men fell, ripped apart by bloodthirsty beasts.
Kallinvar brought his Soulblade across his body, meeting the blackened blade of an Urak head-on before sidestepping the beast's next strike and driving his shimmering Soulblade through the creature's sternum.
"Not bad," Ruon called, gliding by on Kallinvar's left, leaping through the air, beheading two Uraks with a single wide sweep. Ildris and Tarron surged after her, leaving blood and bodies in their wake.
To his right, Verathin sheared through the Bloodspawn, moving like the harbinger of death, the knights of The First following in his wake. Kallinvar watched as the Grandmaster pulled his Soulblade from the belly of a Bloodmarked, only to take another's head from its shoulders in the same motion.
Arden and Lyrin moved beside the Grandmaster, their Soulblades scintillating as they cut through their enemies, never taking a moment to pause.
Something struck Kallinvar across the back, sending him stumbling forward. Whatever it was had not cracked his armour, but it had certainly left a bruise. Spinning on his heels Kallinvar found himself face-to-face with a Bloodmarked. A corpse encased in heavy plate armour dangled from the beast's right hand, blood dripping from its neck.
The Bloodmarked charged, swinging the corpse through the air as though it were a mace.
Sliding onto his knees, Kallinvar ducked under the creature's swing and extended his Soulblade, cleaving the Bloodmarked's leg in half at the knee. The creature collapsed, howling in pain, the runes that covered its skin burned with a fury, pluming smoke.
Planting his foot on the beast's neck, Kallinvar forced all his might down through his leg until he felt a snap resonate through his Sentinel armour, and the beast's body went limp, the light from its runes fading to nothing.
Around him, Kallinvar could see the flashes of green light drifting in and out of the thick of bodies as the knights carved through the army of Bloodspawn. But he knew they could not keep it up indefinitely. He had seen the sheer number of the creatures when he had emerged from the Rift. They needed to kill the Shaman and any Fades. Only then would they stand a chance.
Kallinvar had only killed four Shamans in his many centuries. But each time he had, the effects of the creature's death had rippled through the Bloodspawn around it, breaking them, sending them into a panicked retreat. Cut the head off the wyrm and the body will die.
Reluctantly, Kallinvar opened his mind, sifting through the dense layers of oily darkness that permeated the city. Trying to find the strongest pulses of the Taint amidst the chaos was akin to searching for the hottest point of a blazing inferno. Kallinvar's consciousness recoiled at the Taint's sickly touch, but he pushed onward. Then, just as his mind had reached its breaking point, he felt the epicentre. The pulsing, throbbing heart of darkness amidst the horde of shadow.
"Knights of Achyron, with me!"
With his brothers and sisters at his side, Kallinvar cut a bloody path through the battlefield, his mind following the pulsing core of the Taint. Leathery hide and dense bone yielded to his Soulblade, the spirit of Achyron surging through him.
Bending at the knee, Kallinvar launched himself through the air, his shoulder hammering into the chest of a Bloodmarked as smoke drifted from the creature's runes. The force of the blow knocked the beast backward, stumbling over the many corpses that littered the ground. As the Bloodmarked dropped, Kallinvar fell with it, driving his Soulblade through the bottom of its jaw and up through the back of its skull. The light of the creature's runes had faded by the time its body crashed to the stone.
As Kallinvar picked himself up, the sickly touch of the Taint throbbed in his mind, pulsing – a thick, visceral oil that leeched at the fabric of the world. The Shaman. Scanning the battlefield, he found the creature ripping its way through the Lorian soldiers. It stood at least nine feet tall, horns of bone protruding from its head, whips of fire streaking from its staff.
Two Fades fought by the Shaman's side, their black cloaks billowing in the wind, hoods drawn down, exposing skin as pale as thin parchment stretched over a naked flame. In their hands, they held blades of flickering black flame – abominations. Soulblades wrought from the traitor god. The creatures moved like wyrms, coiled and ready, snapping at their enemies.
Charging towards the Shaman and the Fades, Kallinvar saw a young man, no more than twenty summers, his eyes streaming with a purple light, three companions at his side. They fought like rabid wolves, cornered and desperate. No Draleid Kallinvar had ever known had eyes like that, but he was of no doubt as to who the young man was.
"Verathin, the Draleid!" Kallinvar reached out his Soulblade, pointing towards the young man with the glowing purple eyes.
Verathin's helm turned to liquid metal, receding into his Sentinel armour as his head turned towards the young man, then back to Kallinvar. The Grandmaster gave Kallinvar a nod then raised his Soulblade in the air. "For Achyron!"
The Grandmaster charged towards the Draleid, his helm reforming around his head. Brother-Captain Armites and Sister-Captain Olyria charged after him, their knights in tow.
"Knights of The Second, with me!"
A cry rose out around Kallinvar as his brothers and sisters charged alongside him, their white cloaks streaming behind them, the ground yielding to their Sentinel armour.
The Draleid and his companions fought valiantly, but they were nearing their end. Blood streamed from the many wounds they had sustained, a heaviness held in their movements, and an inevitability hung over them.
Kallinvar watched as one of the Draleid's companions, a man as large as Arden garbed in full plate armour and wielding a mighty greatsword, blocked a strike from a Fade's black-fire blade, dragging his own sword across the creature's chest, then driving it to the hilt into its gut. He watched as the Fade swatted the man to the ground with an unseen force. It had to be the Spark. Kallinvar could not sense the use of the Spark in the way he could with blood magic, but he knew it well enough to know when it had been used.
An imperial Battlemage rushed to the mountain of a man, whips of fire swirling around her. But to Kallinvar's surprise, the mage did not move to drive home the final blow. Instead, she reached out her hand and dragged the man to his feet. It was not a sight Kallinvar had expected to see.
Kallinvar urged his legs onward as the Fade pulled the greatsword from its gut. Bounding over the mutilated corpse of a black horse, he struck out at the Fade, his Soulblade colliding with the creature's black-fire níthral. The Fade hissed, staring at him with those empty black eyes. The Taint that oozed from the creature set a sickly feeling in Kallinvar's stomach.
"I have not seen your kind in a long time, knight." The Fade's voice was harsh and raspy, dripping with malice. It pushed forward, whipping its black-fire blade in short strokes, testing Kallinvar's defences. The creature moved with inhuman speed, matching every swing of Kallinvar's Soulblade with ease before a shockwave erupted from its hand, and Kallinvar crashed to the ground.
Before the Fade could take advantage of Kallinvar's position, Arden and Lyrin surged in from the left, nimbly dashing between the whips of fire the creature hurled at them.
"Try and stay on your feet," Ruon shouted as she reached down, heaving Kallinvar up and forward. "You're no use on your back!"
Kallinvar gritted his teeth and charged after Ruon, Ildris and Tarron at his side. All six of the knights surrounded the Fade, attacking as one, their Soulblades shimmering through the air.
The creature called forth all manner of dark magic, striking out with bolts of purple lightning and whips of fire. But each time one of the knights was pushed back, another slipped into their place. Kallinvar could feel the Fade's fear. For in their hands, the knights held weapons forged with the sole purpose of shearing the dark creatures' very existence from the world: Soulblades.
As Kallinvar moved forward, charging at the creature, a violent shiver pulsated through him, resonating from his Sigil. A knight had been sent to Achyron's halls, one of Olyria's. Kallinvar could feel the man's loss viscerally as it thrummed through him. Rest easy, Brother.
Kallinvar pulled his mind from the feeling of loss that pulsed through his Sigil. He could not afford distraction. Stepping forward, he traded blow after blow with the Fade, pushing it back. The Taint pulsated from the creature as it struck out with blood magic, sending an arc of purple lightning crashing into Tarron's chest.
At the sight of his brother hitting the ground, Kallinvar charged forward, sliding past the Fade's defences. Pulling his arm back, he drove his Soulblade through the creature's chest, burying it to the hilt. The Fade unleashed an unnatural shriek as the Soulblade tore its soul from the living world. It thrashed and writhed like a trapped animal, foaming at the mouth. Then it grew still, its arms drooping to its side. The fabric of the world rippled as the Fade's soul was torn from the body it inhabited, and the cord that tethered it to the living world was sheared.
"Go!" Kallinvar shouted to his knights, pulling his blade free of the dark creature's chest, letting its body drop to the floor. "To the Grandmaster!"
Kallinvar and his knights charged towards where Verathin was supporting the Draleid and his companions against the Shaman and the remaining Fade. As they did, a clutch of Bloodmarked and Uraks crashed into them in a frenzy of claws and blackened steel. Kallinvar spun through them, shearing bone in bursts of green light. "Ildris, Tarron, Lyrin, Ruon, hold them off. Arden, with me!"
Arden fell in beside Kallinvar, the other knights holding back the tide of Bloodspawn.
A thunderous roar ripped through the skies overhead, followed by a gust of wind. Its scales gleaming white, shimmering in the silvery light of the moon, the dragon dropped to the ground behind the Draleid.
Even amidst the battle, a shiver ran the length of Kallinvar's spine as he took in the sight. The white dragon's head craned over its Draleid, wings fanned out to its sides, its lips pulled back in a snarl. Beneath the great beast, the Draleid stood tall, his eyes coruscating with a purple light. Then, the dragon's head pulled back, its jaws opened, and a river of dragonfire poured forth, consuming all in its path.
A familiar shriek pierced the din of battle as the dragon's flames washed over the second Fade, scorching its flesh. As the dragonfire flickered from existence, a large patch of blackened earth and charred husks were left in its wake. With its soul still tethered to the living world, the Fade could still return one day, once it found another living host. But for now, it was gone.
"The others are holding back the tide," Verathin said as Kallinvar and Arden reached his side, his eyes still fixed on the Draleid and his dragon. "But if we don't kill that Shaman, this city will be completely overrun."
Kallinvar's eyes fell on the Urak Shaman. A clutch of Bloodmarked surrounded the creature, the shimmering red light of their runes painting the night with an unnatural light.
Verathin turned to Kallinvar. "The duty of the strong is to protect the weak, my brother. Always remember that. No matter what happens here." Before Kallinvar could respond, Verathin turned, charging towards the Shaman, his glowing green Soulblade bursting into life in his hand. "For Achyron!"
"For Achyron!" Kallinvar yelled, following after his old friend. He could hear Arden mimicking the cry as the young knight charged alongside him. There was a moment while they ran in which Kallinvar's mind took in all that was around him. The guttural war cries of the Uraks. The screams and wails of dying men and women as they defended their home. The shriek of steel colliding with steel. The smell of charred flesh, the iron tang of blood, and the acrid stench of vomit and voided bowels. Around him, flashes of green light meshed with the glowing red runes of the Bloodmarked, the pearlescent shine of the moon, and the incandescent flicker of dragonfire. This was his purpose. This was where he was meant to be. Standing against the Shadow, wherever it may rise.
As Kallinvar's shoulder collided with a Bloodmarked's chest, eliciting a resounding crack, his mind was pulled back into the world. The creature reeled backward, unprepared for the force of the blow. Kallinvar did not hesitate. Lunging forward, he drove his Soulblade through the beast's exposed throat, tearing its soul from the world.
A deep whoosh tore through the air, and Kallinvar threw himself to the ground just in time as the spear head tip of the dragon's tail whipped above his head and sliced into the belly of a Bloodmarked.
As Kallinvar got to his feet, he found himself face-to-face with the white-scaled dragon, its neck craned down so the tip of its snout hovered just over Kallinvar's head. The dragon's upper lip was pulled back, exposing a row of dagger-like teeth. A tense moment passed where the dragon looked from Kallinvar to the body of the dead Bloodmarked, its warm breath washing over Kallinvar's helm. Then, with a beat of its leathery wings, it pulled away, lifting itself into the air.
As the dragon took flight, the Draleid rushed past Kallinvar, his eyes shimmering with purple light. With a motion of the Draleid's hand, shards of stone and shattered steel lifted into the air and launched towards a clutch of the Bloodmarked, shredding their flesh.
Two of the Draleid's companions moved on either side of him. One was an elf with shoulder-length blonde hair, a curved blade in his grasp and a white bow across his back. The other was a human with a sword in each hand. Both warriors moved with an undisguisable grace, dancing through the Bloodspawn, steel shimmering in their hands.
Kallinvar pushed himself into another charge, the power of his Sentinel armour thrumming through his body. He watched as the Draleid joined Verathin and Arden, the three warriors fighting toe to toe with the Shaman. The hulking beast held its wooden staff in one hand, a dark Soulblade of black fire in the other.
Just as Kallinvar reached Verathin's side, the sensation of blood magic pulsed through the air. The warning came just in time for Kallinvar to leap out of the way, a pillar of black fire scorching the air where he had stood. A rippling shock wave followed the black flames, cracking through the ground beneath Kallinvar's feet, hurling fragments of stone and steel through the air.
Rolling to his side, Kallinvar pulled himself to his feet. The Shaman stood at the epicentre of the blast, the earth around it broken and charred. Once more, Kallinvar summoned his Soulblade – he had released it as he fell – and charged towards the Shaman.
His heart stopped as he realised Verathin had been quicker.
Kallinvar watched as his brother collided with the Shaman, the black-fire blade swallowing the green light from Verathin's Soulblade. The pair exchanged a quick flurry of blows before the Shaman dragged its black-fire blade across Verathin's leg, the unnatural weapon slicing through the Grandmaster's Sentinel armour.
Dread shivered through Kallinvar's veins. Bending at the knee, he launched himself towards his friend. But just as he was within touching distance, something hammered into his shoulder, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing to the ground.
Scrambling to his feet, Kallinvar swept his blade across the throat of the Urak that had charged him and pushed forward, stumbling towards Verathin. He watched in agony as the Shaman drew back its arm before plunging its black-fire blade through Verathin's chest. The twisted Soulblade sheared through Verathin's Sentinel armour and sliced into his heart, ripping his soul from the world, denying him entry into Achyron's halls.
The all-consuming wave of loss that flooded from Kallinvar's Sigil pounded through his chest like a hammer blow, knocking him to his knees. The unyielding torrent of anguish that consumed him was like nothing he had ever felt, not in seven hundred years. It pulled at him, dragging his soul to and fro, tearing at the fabric of his mind. "No… by Achyron… no…"
Verathin had been by Kallinvar's side through everything. He had been the best of them, the light that shone brightest in the darkest of nights. Were it not for Verathin, Kallinvar would have died in Ilnaen. Were it not for Verathin, Kallinvar would probably have died long before that on the fields of Lithwain, where Verathin had first offered him the Sigil. And now the greatest man he had ever known was not even to be granted the respite his soul had so desperately deserved.
Verathin's body collapsed to the ground as the Shaman slid its blade free of his chest. And as Kallinvar watched his friend's body fall, the anguish that flooded his mind was replaced with a blinding fury, a fire so bright it consumed every piece of him, searing through his veins, boiling his blood, igniting his soul. All sounds capitulated to the thrum that resonated through his body.
Kallinvar dragged himself to his feet. Power coursed through his bones, radiating from the Sigil fused with his chest. He threw himself at the Shaman, slamming his armoured fist into the creature's leathered cheek, then swinging his Soulblade down in an arc. A deep vibration resonated through Kallinvar's arm as the creature's blade met his in the air.
"Your… god… abandons… you…" the creature hissed, its lips struggling with the Common Tongue.
"I will rip your soul from this world." Kallinvar's chest heaved as he stared into the creature's crimson eyes. He threw his arms forward, breaking the deadlock, then charged. Bursts of green light rippled through the air as his Soulblade collided with the Shaman's again and again. As the two Soulblades crashed together once more, Kallinvar used the momentum to throw himself backward. The Shaman lunged after him, driving its blade towards his chest. It had taken the bait. Side stepping, Kallinvar twisted his heel into the ground and swept his Soulblade across the creature's back. The Shaman swung back around, crying out in agony, but Kallinvar held no mercy in his heart for the twisted creature. He brought his Soulblade upward, cleaving the Shaman's arm from its body. A harsh, guttural howl escaped the beast's throat as its severed arm fell to the ground, its black-fire blade flickering from existence.
A pulse of Taint seeped from the wailing creature as it extended its staff, arcs of vibrant purple lightning streaming from its tip. The arcs of lightning streaked through the air, ripping chunks of stone from the ground, shredding everything they touched.
Leaping out of the way, Kallinvar pushed forward, his eyes fixed on the Shaman. To his left, Arden charged, forcing the creature back, raking his Soulblade across its shoulder. Kallinvar stormed in beside his brother, fury consuming him.
For a few moments, the three exchanged blows, flashes of green light illuminating the night. Even with one arm the Shaman was formidable, its layers of thick muscle belying a deceptive speed. But then, just as the creature opened itself to block one of Arden's strikes, Kallinvar let out a roar and lunged forward, driving his Soulblade through the Shaman's chest, then pulling it free again in one motion.
The Shaman collapsed to its knees, shrieking, howling, thrashing. With one last swing, Kallinvar took the creature's head from its shoulders. The shrieking stopped.
Releasing his Soulblade, Kallinvar dropped to the ground beside Verathin's body, taking his friend in his arms. Before Kallinvar's eyes, Verathin's Sentinel armour turned to liquid metal, sliding back over his skin, receding into the Sigil that was fused with his chest. Kallinvar watched as the Sigil faded, leaving only a marking of scarred flesh in its place. "I am sorry, brother. I failed you…"
"Brother-Captain, is he…" Arden's voice cracked and faded as his eyes fell on Verathin's lifeless body.
"He's gone."
Calen's chest heaved, his eyes fixed on the two warriors in overlapping green plate. Even with Valerys's strength coursing through him, the drain leached at his bones. A deep wound burned through his thigh, his side ached, and he had lost the feeling in his left arm.
All around him, the Uraks were howling into the night, broken, fleeing. The imperial soldiers that were left cut them down as they ran, showing not even the slightest mercy. Calen couldn't blame them.
When he reached out to Valerys, Calen could feel the dragon's pain searing through him as he flew overhead. Deep wounds and gouges ran the length of Valerys's body, and his side screamed out in agony where the Fade's lightning had struck him.
His heart pounding, Calen approached the two armoured warriors, sheathing his sword as he did. Even if they had been enemies, he had seen the way they fought. He would never have stood a chance. The weapons they wielded reminded him of Asius's axe – a níthral. Soulblade.
One of the warriors knelt on the ground, their companion's body in their arms. Calen had watched the fallen man's armour melt away as though it were liquid. He had seen it, and yet he still did not believe it.
The second warrior stood, their armour shimmering in a deep green hue.
"Who are you?" Calen called out, not daring to move any closer.
For a long moment, the warriors did not respond, and dread coiled in Calen's chest. But then he watched as the helmet of the one who stood turned to liquid, just as the fallen man's armour had. Flowing freely, as though it were molten steel, the green helm receded back into the warrior's armour, disappearing as though it had never been.
"We have suffered a great loss," the man said, turning towards Calen. The one who knelt on the ground didn't move, and Calen could see his shoulders convulsing as he wept over his fallen companion.
"I'm sorry." Calen reached out his hand. "I…"
As the armoured man turned, Calen's heart fell into his stomach, every hair on every inch of his body stood on end, and a shiver rippled through his bones. He tried to speak, but his throat constricted, and his mouth went dry. This is not possible. Calen's mind felt as though it had been thrown into a whirlpool and left to drown. The man who stood before him had watched over Calen all his childhood. He had been the beacon for Calen's path, the light that guided him. But it was not possible that he stood before him now, for Calen's brother had been dead for two years, and that loss had ached in him ever since.
Feeling tears burn at the corner of his eyes, Calen only managed to push one word past his lips. "Haem?"