Temple of Achyron – Earlywinter, Year 3081 After Doom
Kallinvar knelt with his hands resting on his lap, feeling the soft cloth of his trousers against his palms. The warm glow of the candles flickered, ever-shifting against the stone walls of the Soul Vault. He was alone, as he had been for some time. He wasn't sure precisely how long. Hours. He had needed the peace.
Letting out a sigh, he looked up at the alcoves set into the wall before him. One hundred alcoves for one hundred Sigils. One for each knight. The Soul Vault was where the Sigils returned if their bearers were slain. Brought back by Achyron so another might bear its gifts, and its burdens. As it stood, all but three of the alcoves were empty. All three knights had been slain at the battle of Kingspass. Irythinia, Alenor, and Verathin. Both Irythinia and Alenor had been knights of The Third, Sister-Captain Olyria's chapter.
Kallinvar knew he should have gone to see Olyria after the battle; he knew the pain she would have been in. Every knight felt the loss of a brother or sister. It surged through their Sigils, thrummed in their bodies. They were connected, one and all. But to lose a knight under your command was something different. Kallinvar wasn't sure why. Perhaps it had something to do with the bonds they created over time, or perhaps the Sigil of a captain was simply different. Kallinvar would have been more inclined to believe the former over the latter until recently.
Staring forward, his eyes traced the greenish metallic Sigil that sat in the alcove before him. Forged by Achyron himself, shaped in the symbol of the knights – a downward-facing sword set into a sunburst. The Sigils were what granted the knights their strength. They were the tether between the warrior god and his chosen. They were everything.
This particular Sigil had belonged to Verathin. Kallinvar could feel it pulsing through him. Just like he had felt the Sigil of every single knight since Verathin's death. He brought his hand to his chest, tracing his fingers over where his Sigil sat beneath his shirt, fused with his body. As he had held Verathin in his arms, he had felt a change. He had always sensed his brothers and sisters, such was their bond through Achyron, but this was different entirely. Now he could feel everything – their lives, their hearts, their fear. Had you always felt this, old friend? Was this the weight you carried on your shoulders?In his mind's eye, Kallinvar could still see Verathin's body in his arms, bare and void of life, his soul shorn from the world. Even the thought of it caused his pulse to quicken and his jaw to clench. It wasn't right. Rage flared in Kallinvar's heart, and with it, power surged from his Sigil, setting his veins alight. Verathin had served Achyron for centuries. Hundreds upon hundreds of years. He had been Kallinvar's saviour, his guide, his master, and eventually, his friend. He had given everything. Only for his soul to be denied its deserved rest in Achyron's halls by the nithrál of a Bloodspawn Shaman. Kallinvar shook. He could still see it – the dark, flickering nithrál punching through Verathin's armour; his friend's body dropping to the ground.
Kallinvar rose to his feet, his knees feeling weak beneath him. He stepped forward, running his hand along the cool metal of Verathin's Sigil. "I will make them bleed in your name. I will make their god shake."
As he ran his fingers along the metallic surface, Kallinvar's own Sigil pulsed, sending rippling waves of energy through his body. A shiver swept over him, the hairs on arms and neck standing on end. He had felt this before, a number of times since Verathin's death. Each time he'd pushed the sensation back, holding it at bay, unwilling – or unable – to face whatever it may be. But this time, it was stronger. It burned like a signal fire, blinding his vision with a pure green light. His body shaking, Kallinvar dropped back to his knees, the shock vibrating through his legs as he hit the stone.
"Kallinvar."
A voice echoed through Kallinvar's mind, calling to him.
"Efialtír's hand grows closer to the world, my child. You must stand."
Kallinvar clasped his hands behind his head. The surge of power from his Sigil caused his body to tremble. He knew the voice to be Achyron's. Had Verathin been able to hear this too? A god's voice whispering in the depths of his mind?
"You wonder why I chose you. You doubt."
"I cannot be what he was," Kallinvar whispered, digging his fingers into the back of his head. The pressure calmed him. "I cannot be Verathin."
"You doubt," the voice repeated. "But I do not."
As suddenly as it had begun, the pulsing in Kallinvar's Sigil stopped, the shaking in his body ceased, and the green light that blazed in his eyes dissipated.
He knelt there, his hands clasped at the back of his head, his breaths short and rapid. Had that happened, or had he imagined it? "Please tell me I'm not going mad…"
"Grandmaster."
The word alone twisted knots in Kallinvar's heart. That title didn't belong to him. It belonged to Verathin. Taking his hands from the back of his head, Kallinvar pulled himself to his feet, doing his best to hide the tremble that had set into his hands. Ruon stood at the other side of the Soul Vault, the concern clear in her deep-green eyes. But he could not just see it, he could feel it. It radiated from her. It's not right, her emotions should be her own. The concern he could feel from Ruon vanished at the thought, as though a cord had been cut or loosened in some way. Had he done that? Had Verathin been able to feel everything Kallinvar had felt?When Kallinvar didn't answer Ruon's call, she walked towards him, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Kallinvar, are you well?"
Kallinvar nodded absently, unable to meet her gaze.
She brought her hand to his chin, pulling his head towards hers so their gazes met. The softest of smiles adorned her lips. "You were my Brother-Captain. You are my Grandmaster. You will always be the man I am proud to fight beside. His loss burns in me as well, but for now, your knights need you. I have summoned the chapters in the war room, as you have asked. Do you know what to say?"
"I do now." Through everything, Ruon had been his keystone, the only thing that kept him standing. "Lead the way."
Arden stood near the war table, his arms folded, his mind wandering. No matter how many times he had seen the war table, it never failed to instil a sense of awe within him. The sheer detail in the curve of every river and the peak of every mountain.
Ildris, Daynin, Mirken, and Tarron stood beside the table, pointing at different markers on its surface and conversing over plans of action. They hadn't stopped since their arrival to the war room. Sylven and Varlin waited patiently to Arden's right. Neither woman had said a word. Which wasn't anything new for Sylven, but Varlin's tongue was usually as quick as Lyrin's. Her silence added a sense of gravity to the tension that hung in the air. Sylven, Daynin, Mirken, and Varlin hadn't been at Kingspass. They had already been on task when Verathin had sensed the convergence. It didn't take much for Arden to sense the guilt that followed them. They were no more to blame for Verathin's death than the winds of the Lightning Coast were for a fallen tree in Valtara. But Arden understood that kind of guilt. The guilt of not being there. It didn't follow logic or reason. It simply was.
Arden looked about the war room. It was rare for him to see all the knights collected in a single place. Often less than half the knighthood were present in the temple at any one time, such was the way. The Shadow didn't stop, and it didn't sleep, so neither could they. But, in this instance, Kallinvar had recalled every knight to the temple.
As Arden glanced around the table, he met the gaze of Olyria, Sister-Captain of The Third. She had lost two knights at Kingspass: Irythinia and Alenor. He could see their loss in her eyes. Her usually fierce stare was replaced by a soft sadness. She held his gaze for a moment, then nodded, turning back to stare vacantly at the war table.
The chatter around the chamber grew louder as the minutes passed, the knights talking amongst themselves.
"Have you talked to him since Kingspass?" Lyrin stepped up beside Arden, raising an eyebrow. Last Arden had seen, Lyrin had been talking to Sister-Captain Airdaine of The Ninth.
"Hmm?"
"Brother-Capt—Grandmaster Kallinvar." Lyrin gave an awkward smile as he corrected himself. "That's going to take some getting used to. Have you spoken to him?"
Arden shook his head. He drew a deep breath, his arms still folded across his chest. Silence passed between him and Lyrin, not the comfortable kind of silence that was common with them, but a weighted one. One that held many looming questions.
"So…" The word hung in the air as it left Lyrin's mouth. "Haem. That was your name before?"
Arden's jaw clenched. When each knight took the Sigil, they were granted a new name to symbolise their rebirth. They weren't meant to talk of their past. It wasn't a rule, but it was the way. The only person he had spoken to had been Kallinvar in the Tranquil Garden after the Bloodspawn attack on The Glade. That attack had nearly broken him. Even thinking about it sent shivers sweeping over his skin. Seeing so many dead, so many he had known and loved. Ferrin Kolm, Joran Brock, Verna Gritten. Jorvil Ehrnin's boy, Aren, had seen no more than three summers by the time Arden had taken the Sigil. Arden had seen his decapitated head lying in the dirt in front of The Gilded Dragon. Seeing Erdhardt weeping over Aela's body had rent his heart. It had taken every shred of strength in his body to stop him from running to the man's side.
"It was," Arden said, not offering anything more.
"Well, who'd have guessed the Draleid was your brother? I mean, as far as coincidences go, that's something else. He rides a dragon, and you fight for a god. I…" Lyrin trailed off, letting out a sigh. "I'm sorry. You know my mouth runs faster than a horse sometimes. It's tough. All of this," he said, gesturing around the war room and the chapters of knights gathered within, "can be difficult to process on its own. To know that everything you once knew is gone is one thing, but to see it again, and to have to walk away… I can only imagine. At least my family are dead. It makes it easier, in a way. I still can't get around the idea of living for hundreds of years, though. Surely it gets boring eventually. Kallinvar is old enough to be my father's father's father's father's… father's father?"
Arden couldn't help but suppress a laugh as Lyrin's statement slowly turned into a question. Lyrin was one of the few people he had met who could bring a touch of happiness to a situation like this.
The large wooden doors at the western end of the room creaked open, and the murmur of voices that had slowly consumed the chamber ground to a halt as Kallinvar and Ruon entered, walking side by side.
Kallinvar's steps were laboured, his eyes dark-ringed and despondent. Arden had always known that nothing living, or that has ever lived, could pass through the Rift without being encased in Sentinel Armour. But he had never seen what would happen if it were attempted. He was not sure what he had expected. Something dramatic perhaps. But when Kallinvar carried Verathin's body through the Rift, it had simply vanished, every shred of Verathin's physical being broken down and claimed by the portal. Watcher Gildrick had said that is what had been done for all knights when possible. Their bodies given to the Rift, reclaimed by Achyron. When Gildrick had said it, it seemed almost poetic. But seeing Kallinvar kneeling on the stone in the Heart Chamber, his arms outstretched and empty, had been agonising.
Ruon nodded to the rest of The Second as she separated from Kallinvar and took a place to Arden's left, a weak smile on her lips as their eyes met.
"Thank you for coming, brothers and sisters," Kallinvar said as he moved to the side of the war table between Sister-Captain Olyria and Brother Holden of The Fifth. The knights standing at the head of the table had cleared a space for Kallinvar but moved back into their positions when they noticed him stop beside Olyria.
Kallinvar looked around, his gaze passing over each of the knights assembled before him. "I know it is strange," Kallinvar said, drawing in a deep breath, then exhaling through his nostrils. "There is not a knight in this room who has seen this knighthood without Verathin at its head. Not only was he the wisest of us, but he was also the best of us. Verathin knew when to tilt and when to hold back. He knew when a gentle word was more powerful than admonishment. It was he who granted many of us our Sigils, saved us, gave us a chance to fight for those we left behind instead of drifting into the void. He was our anchor. But most importantly, he was our friend." Kallinvar turned to Olyria, resting his hand on her shoulder. "And sister, do not think I forgot those else we lost. Irythinia and Alenor. They were fine warriors and finer knights. Alenor spread much joy here. His dry humour was appreciated, and his levity was a break from the darkness. Irythinia was a beautiful soul. If I had half of her kindness, I would be four times the man I am. We all mourn with you."
Thin streams of tears rolled down Olyria's cheeks as Kallinvar spoke. She inclined her head towards Kallinvar, the smile on her lips bereft of joy.
"Before I continue, there are two matters that must be attended to." Kallinvar stepped back and made his way around the table, all eyes following. "Sister Arlena," he said as he walked.
Sister Arlena, of The First, stood at the side of the table opposite Kallinvar, her hands resting on the war table, her eyes dark and red from crying. She lifted herself to full height. "Yes, Grandmaster?"
Kallinvar stopped before her. "You stood with Verathin for centuries. You fought by his side at The Fall. You tended his wounds. You gave him the gift of your companionship. I am proud to call you my sister-knight."
"Thank you, Grandmaster. And I am proud to call you my leader."
Kallinvar gave Arlena a half smile, nodding his head, his eyes glistening. "Kneel, Sister Arlena."
Without hesitation, Arlena dropped to one knee, her head bowed towards the floor.
"When you knelt, you knelt as Sister Arlena, Knight of Achyron, chosen soul of The Warrior." Kallinvar looked down at Arlena, drawing in a long breath. "But now as you rise, you do so as Sister-Captain Arlena, Knight of Achyron, chosen soul of The Warrior, Captain of The First."
Cheers and shouts rang out about the chamber, hands clamping, feet stomping. Arden could see fresh tears rolling down Arlena's cheeks as she rose.
"I… It is my honour, Grandmaster."
"The honour is ours, Arlena. Let it be known that you are not filling boots, you are carrying a flame."
The knights of The First, who stood around Arlena, congratulated her as Kallinvar walked back around the table. But as the cheers and chants faded, an expectant silence took hold.
All eyes followed Kallinvar as he made his way back around the table, passing where he had stood before, beside Olyria. Whispers spread through the gathered knights. "Verathin and I never discussed succession. We had lived for so long it's not something we'd thought about." Knights moved out of the way as Kallinvar walked towards Arden, Ruon, Lyrin and the other knights of The Second. "I'm sure the Watchers have their own ideas, but in this time of war, I may be Grandmaster, but The Second still need its captain." Kallinvar looked to Ruon. "Sister Ruon, kneel."
Shock spread across Ruon's face. "Kallinvar, why… you…" Ruon swallowed hard. Arden had never seen her so shaken. She dropped to one knee, bowing her head. Even as she knelt there, Arden could see the tremble in her breathing.
"Will you take this burden?" Kallinvar asked, standing over Ruon. "Will you lead The Second, as I have for centuries? Will you bear the mantle of captain?"
"It would be the greatest honour of my life," Ruon said, lifting her head.
"And knowing you has been one of the greatest honours of mine, Sister-Captain Ruon. I will continue to fight by your side, but The Second is now yours. Rise."
Another chorus of cheers and shouts thundered through the chamber as Ruon rose, shock still etched into her face. Ildris and Tarron both wrapped their arms around Ruon, Daynin, Varlin, Mirkin, Sylvin, Arden, and Lyrin all congratulating their new captain. Arden had not expected Kallinvar to name a new captain. Verathin had not granted the title to any of The First. From what he understood, it was not necessary, but some Grandmasters had seen fit to do so in the past. If it were to be anyone, Arden was happy it was Ruon.
As the cheers died down, Kallinvar pulled Ruon into a tight embrace, then rested his hands on her cheeks for a moment, before stepping back. When silence once again held sway, Kallinvar let out a soft sigh, turning towards the table, once more looking across those gathered, his gaze lingering on Arden's.
"The Blood Moon will rise within this year. The last time, we were not ready. We had grown complacent. We had thought the Shadow diminished. We were wrong. And because we were wrong, many of our brothers and sisters were sent to dine in Achyron's halls. And while we rebuilt, the Shadow grew stronger. I can feel the Taint even now. It lingers in the air. Leaches into the soil. Efialtír's hand grows closer to the world with each passing day. The traitor god feeds on the souls of the dead. Every drop of blood spilled by his servants' hands gives him strength. He seeks to carve open a path between worlds. To bring his darkness here incarnate." Kallinvar paused, gazing down at the carved stone war table. He lifted his head, looking around the table, his gaze passing slowly, as though measuring each knight. "Which is why we can no longer sit back."
A ripple of murmurs spread throughout the gathered knights and Lyrin looked to Arden, an eyebrow raised. This topic had come up before. The captains had not been able to come to a compromise. Illarin, Armites, and Valeian had all pushed for the knights to be more aggressive, but it had been Kallinvar himself, along with Verathin, who had pressed for caution.
Kallinvar raised a hand, calling for silence. The chatter ceased. "We have been too timid, too patient. We have waited for convergences and fought on our enemies' terms. No more. The time has come for the Knights of Achyron to strike at the Shadow's heart. When you want to kill a weed, you don't trim its leaves when it grows too tall, you rip it from the ground. You tear it out, root and stem. We…" Kallinvar stopped as though the words had suddenly become lost to him, floating just out of reach. He stared at the war table, muttered something to himself, then shook his head, lifting his gaze once more. "We cannot stop the Blood Moon from coming. It will rise as sure as death will one day come for us all. But what we can do is root out the Bloodspawn before death calls our names. We can hunt them, we can kill their Shamans, and we can break them."
Arden saw many of the knights nodding in agreement, looks of fervour on their faces, Illarin, Armites, and Valeian among them. But not all shared the sentiment.
"But, Bro—" Brother-Captain Darmerian of The Fourth caught himself before finishing. "But Grandmaster, if we spread ourselves too thin, we will not be able to respond to the convergences in time."
"Agreed," Brother-Captain Rivick of The Eighth said. "Was it not your own knight, Brother Arden, who in this very room argued that if we send all our knights into the field, then we will lose our greatest advantage – our mobility. That with the Rift, we can strike like lightning wherever the Shadow rears its head. I must say, I am inclined to agree. This is not a wise course of action, Grandmaster. We will be left exposed and vulnerable."
Arden swallowed hard. All eyes turned to him, expressions ranging from curiosity to irritation.
Ignoring the others, Kallinvar folded his right arm over his left, stroking his beard as he stared down at the war table. "When Arden last spoke here, I believe, Brother-Captain Rivick, your response was 'The child speaks of what he does not understand'. Am I correct?"
The colour drained from Brother-Captain Rivick's face. "Yes, Grandmaster, but—"
"So which is it, Brother-Captain. Do you agree with him, or is he a child who speaks of what he does not understand?"
"I was wrong," Rivick said, glancing towards Arden. Letting out a sigh, Rivick gave Arden an apologetic nod. "I was wrong, Grandmaster."
"Humility is a trait to be admired, not scorned, Brother-Captain. Thank you for your candour." Kallinvar unfolded his arms and reached towards the table, picking up two green counters. One for Irythinia, one for Alenor. Prior to the battle at Kingspass, Verathin had not been outside the temple and thus there was no corresponding counter to denote his position on the continent. Kallinvar stared down at the two counters in his palm before closing his fingers over them. "When we captains last stood here with Grandmaster Verathin, Brother Arden also said that the Shadow does not shy away from twisting the minds of men. That it uses our absence to its advantage and that it will get to a point where we cannot hold back the tide alone." More murmurs rose throughout the gathered knights, particularly from some of the captains, but Kallinvar continued. "We are ninety-seven, my brothers and sisters. That is our number." He tapped the two green counters on the surface of the war table. "Ninety-seven green counters for ninety-seven knights. For those of you who have not been in this room before, those of you who have not held the honour of being a Chapter Captain, each of these white counters—" Kallinvar tapped his finger against one of the hundreds of white counters dotted about the war table that sat next to small carvings used to denote allegiance "—marks a thousand soldiers. A thousand. In Loria alone there are over three hundred thousand soldiers, even more split between the varying armies of the Southern provinces. Hundreds of thousands of warriors willing to die to protect what they love. Hundreds of thousands. True, some will stand by Fane Mortem, fight for the empire they call home, but they will all invariably stand against the Shadow or fall to its will. They will make that choice with or without us. I, for one, would rather it be with."
As Arden watched Kallinvar speak, he realised what the man was doing. He was using the desire of captains like Valeian and Armites for a more aggressive stance to justify the knights reaching out. He had steered the conversation masterfully. Before the battle of Kingspass, Arden had indeed worried that taking a more aggressive stance might limit the knights' ability to react. If they pushed against the Shadow with all their strength, then they would have no knights left in the temple to react to attacks such as the one on The Glade. But after seeing what that Shaman had been able to do, after seeing the sheer devastation that Bloodspawn force had wrought on a heavily defended city like Kingspass, and after watching the life drain from Grandmaster Verathin's body, Arden's stance had begun to shift. And from the looks of many in the room, he was not alone.
If they overcommitted, they would still be left exposed, but they had no choice. They could not continue allowing the Bloodspawn to pick and choose the battlefield, stepping into the fray only when the fighting had already begun. But if they could find allies in the people of Epheria, if they could stand together against the Shadow… that might change everything.
"For too long, we have fought alone." Kallinvar leaned over the war table, rested his hands on its edge, casting his gaze over the continent of carved stone. His voice held a quiet rage. "For too long we have lost brothers and sisters because we were too proud. Because in our hubris, we believed this burden was ours to bear, and ours alone." As Kallinvar spoke, he lifted his gaze from the table, his chest rising and falling in heavy sweeps, an intensity in his eyes. A low thrum resonated from Arden's Sigil, sweeping through his body, carrying a tide of emotions in its wake. Anger, sorrow, rage. It was almost imperceptible at first, but slowly it grew until Arden was all but consumed by fervour. His jaw clenched, his lungs heaved, and cold fury swept through his veins. Around him, the other knights were the same. He could see it in their eyes as well as feel it. It was as though Kallinvar's emotions were flooding through the Sigils of every knight in the room. Kallinvar lifted his hands from the table, standing straight. He drew in a deep breath, his gaze passing across every face.
"The Shadow feeds off our division. It thrives where our pride shines. It is time, my brothers and sisters, to stand shoulder to shoulder with the warriors of Epheria. We will not let the Shadow in. We will not allow the traitor god's hand to carve a bloody path through this world." Kallinvar paused, his eyes fixing on Arden. "In the millennia past, it was not solely by our actions that the Shadow was held at bay, despite what we may like to believe. The Draleid astride their dragons were a beacon to the people of these lands. Wherever the Shadow reared its head, they stood, defiant. Wherever their fire was needed, it burned. There was a time, long ago, where we fought side by side. But four hundred years ago, when they needed us most, we stood back and waited. We allowed the Shadow to worm its way into the minds of The Order, determined not to meddle in the 'politics of the continent.'" Silence filled in the air as the chamber hung on Kallinvar's words. "We failed them then, but we will not fail them now. A new Draleid has been brought into this world. Those of you who fought at Kingspass saw how the imperial soldiers rallied around him. You saw how they fought by his side. And you saw the light of Varyn in his eyes. The empire were his enemies, and yet when they needed him, he answered their call. Whatever your opinions, you follow Achyron's creed. Do you not?"
As the question hung in the air, Ruon stepped forward, all eyes turning in her direction.
"The duty of the strong is to protect the weak!" Ruon's voice cracked as she roared at the top of her lungs, slamming her fist against her chest, her eyes fixed on Kallinvar.
Every hair on Arden's body stood on end, a shiver sweeping over his skin.
Ildris and Tarron stepped up beside Ruon, nodding to her before following her lead. "The duty of the strong is to protect the weak!" they roared in unison.
Around the chamber, the other knights and captains followed suit, a fervour rippling through the air.
"We have lost brothers, we have lost sisters, but we will never stop fighting!" Veins bulged on Kallinvar's neck as he shouted, pounding his fist off his chest.
"Pain is the path to strength!" the chamber roared back.
Arden's heart hammered against his ribs, all sounds around him capitulating to the pounding of his fist on his chest and the thrum that resonated from his Sigil.
"We will never stop!" Kallinvar roared. "The Blood Moon will rise." Kallinvar's voice dropped for a moment then rose to a shout. "But we will be there to meet it!"
His eyes closed, his legs dangling off the edge of the plateau, and the gentle crosswind balancing out the dwindling warmth of the setting sun, Arden drew in a deep breath, his shoulders sagging as he let it out. He sat at the very edge of the great plateau just outside Ardholm's eastern wall. The plateau rose forty or fifty feet above the village – if it could still be called a village. Arden was sure it had far surpassed that title centuries ago.
He had never questioned why the platform had been constructed – he could see no practical use for it outside being a beautiful place to watch the sunset – but after the meeting in the war room, he was starting to suspect it had something to do with dragons. What other reason could there be for a city built into the side of a mountain to have an enormous plateau upon which nothing stood?
But now there were no more Draleid. Except for Calen. Even thinking of Calen's name dropped a ball of lead into Arden's stomach.
'So that's it? You're just going to leave me?' Calen's words echoed in Arden's head. He opened his eyes, a momentary sense of calm washing over him at the breath-taking sight of the setting sun's orange-red light cascading over the mountain-pierced blanket of clouds that sat just below the city. The light seeped into the normally snow-white clouds, causing them to glow with an incandescent aura. Off in the distance, the semi-circular sun, striking against a canvas of blue and white, sank into the horizon.
'They're dead, Haem. They're all dead.'
When that name had left Calen's mouth, it had been the first time in almost three years that Arden had heard it spoken aloud. He'd often had dreams or memories of his past, and in them his parents would call him by his birth name, but he'd not heard it spoken aloud. In truth, he'd never honestly thought he would see his family again, never mind hear his name. It had been something he'd had to come to terms with after taking the Sigil.
Staring out at the orange-red sky, Arden pressed his hand against the Sigil fused with his chest. Even through his shirt it was cool to the touch, as always. He kept his hand where it was at the sound of footsteps behind him – likely Lyrin, come to talk about Kallinvar's speech. A slight thrum still lingered in Arden's Sigil since that speech. Kallinvar's words had lit a fire inside many of the knights, even some who had been vehemently opposed to the idea of seeking allies not so long ago. But something had felt different about Kallinvar, as though he was a different man entirely. Kallinvar was always measured and calm. But in the chamber Arden had seen a cold fury burning in his Grandmaster's eyes, a fervour.
"I've borne the Sigil almost six hundred years. And for nearly two hundred of those, I came up here to watch the sunset almost every day I was at the temple."
Arden turned, surprised to hear Ruon's voice. He had never been able to place her accent. Ruon was one of the seventeen survivors of The Fall. Which meant Arden had always known she had seen at least four centuries. But to look at her then, he couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that her face had seen over six-hundred summers come and go; she looked as though no more than thirty had passed her by. Her hair was dark brown, and her complexion was not much different to that of any in Illyanara, though maybe a little paler than most Arden knew. Her eyes were a deep green. She was one of the finest warriors Arden had ever seen, perhaps only behind Kallinvar, Varlin, and Illarin, yet she had a kindness to her.
"What changed?" Arden asked, turning back towards the sunset as Ruon sat beside him. "Sister-Captain."
Ruon gave Arden a soft smile at the mention of her new title, then let out a sigh. "It became difficult to see the beauty in things after The Fall. Even Kallinvar spent days in the Tranquil Garden after that night, sitting in silence. To lose so many brother and sister knights… it broke pieces of me, pieces that I am still trying to put back together."
Arden had felt Irythinia, Allenor, and Verathin die. Each death had torn the breath from his chest, burning through him from his Sigil. The sorrow and loss that had filled him had been truly excruciating. He didn't want to imagine the pain Ruon would have felt losing all but sixteen of her brother and sister knights. "I… I'm sorry you had to go through that."
"Pain is the path to strength, Arden."
"Pain is the path to strength," Arden repeated the phrase, unable to hide his sorrow.
Ruon shifted slightly, turning her lower lip for a moment. "You say the words, but do you understand their meaning?"
"I…" Arden hesitated. "I do. Through pain, we grow stronger. It hardens us. It tempers us. Pain prepares us for what is to come."
Ruon only gave a slight nod in response, her gaze dropping to the clouds below. "What you did in Kingspass was not easy," she said after a few moments of silence. "Few of us ever have to do such a thing. To look upon the life we sacrificed."
Arden nodded, his heart twisting, a numbness setting into his muscles.
"You did the right thing, Arden."
"Did I?" Arden asked, lifting his head. "I left him, Ruon. He's my little brother. I'm meant to protect him. I'm meant to keep him safe. When he was born, I told my mam I would. I told her I'd always look after him, but he needed me, and I walked away."
No matter how hard Arden tried to block out Calen's voice, it echoed louder and louder in his mind. 'Mam, Dad, Ella, Faenir. They're all dead.'
"You walked away because you had to, Arden."
Tears rolled down Arden's cheeks. "Did you hear what he said? They're all dead, Ruon. My dad, my mam, my sister, Faenir. Calen is alone." Arden brought his hand up and wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. He had always imagined his family had kept on moving forward. Of course they would have mourned him, but had he not taken the Sigil, he would have died anyway, so they would have mourned him either way. At least this way, he could still protect them. He had imagined that Ella had wed, Calen had joined up with the town guard, and his mam and dad were as happy as they had always been. It had been so much easier not knowing.
A hand rested on Arden's back. "I'm sorry. My parents, too, passed after I took the Sigil, along with my three brothers, back when western Illyanara was once known as Irundir. Though I never spoke to them, I know they were within the walls when the Jinareans razed the city. The savages left none alive. Our scouts knew of the impending assault days before it happened, but as the Shadow was not involved, I had to stand and watch my homeland burn." Ruon's eyes glistened in the light of the setting sun, tears welling. "I wish I could tell you it gets easier. It doesn't. Six-hundred-and-forty-eight years have passed since that day. The pain hasn't lessened. It simply visits me less frequently."
"How do you keep going?"
"I put one foot in front of the other," Ruon said with a laugh that ached of melancholy. She let out a deep sigh. "When we take the Sigil, we pledge to forego our past lives and everything that holds us to who we were. That does not mean to forget, Arden. It means we must commit ourselves to Achyron so that we may do what must be done. You did not abandon your brother by walking away when you did, because wewill not abandon him."
Arden nodded, pondering Ruon's words. No matter what she said, he couldn't shake the guilt from his bones. But he supposed it was something he might simply have to learn to live with.
"And what's more," Ruon said, "you are luckier than most. Your brother is a Draleid now. With the Blood Moon rising and the Shadow threatening the continent, our paths are inextricably linked. You will see him again, and you will have the chance to stand by his side."
A momentary smile touched Arden's lips at that thought. He stared down at the blanket of clouds below the plateau, watching as two Angian condors descended from a natural cavity in the side of a mountain peak about two or three hundred feet away. His Sigil granted him the eyesight to detect the distinctive black T-shaped markings on the birds' backs. He watched in silence as the creatures glided majestically along the surface of the clouds before plunging downwards through the canvas of white. "How is Kallinvar?"
"He aches," Ruon said, a tenderness in her voice. "He will recover, but when a person lives for as long as Kallinvar and Verathin have lived, you become a constant in each other's worlds. A reference point. Anchors to which the other is tethered. Without Verathin, Kallinvar is…" Ruon bit her lip, searching for the word. "Off balance. He will need us by his side, now more than ever. In saying that, I am not here just to comfort you. He has asked for you."
Kallinvar closed the door behind him as he stepped into the room that had once been Verathin's study and now belonged to him. Much like Kallinvar's own study, Verathin's was illuminated by several beeswax candles that sat in stone alcoves about the room. A firm leather chair sat behind a long stone-carved desk against the back wall. Even as Kallinvar looked upon it now, he could remember his old friend sitting in the chair, stooped over scrolls and old texts, educating Kallinvar on the many things he did not know – which, despite Verathin's teachings, was still a bottomless chasm.
Again, much like Kallinvar's own study, Verathin's held little more than the desk and chair, though it was at least four times the size of Kallinvar's. Both the left and the right walls contained hundreds of open compartments carved directly into the stone; bookcases, of a sort. Each compartment was stacked full of old scrolls and texts to the point they were overflowing, scraps of parchment and lengths of ribbon sticking out from the wall. Kallinvar couldn't help but laugh, pushing the end of a worn scroll back into place. It had been Verathin who had insisted Kallinvar learn the histories of Epheria, commit them to memory as though they were his own. 'The past is the tapestry from which we learn the steps we should not take,' Verathin had said. 'Study it, learn from it, know it. Then and only then can we hope to avoid repeating the mistakes of those who came before us. Ignore it and doom yourself to being the story the next generation learns from.'"You were a wise man, old friend." Kallinvar ran his finger along the bookcase, where the stone had been worn smooth from millennia of use. "Wiser than I will ever be, even if I live to see a thousand more summers."
Making his way around the desk, Kallinvar hesitated for a moment before setting himself down in Verathin's chair. It felt wrong, sitting where he sat. Just as the title of Grandmaster felt wrong before anyone else's name other than Verathin's.
"Come in, Brother Arden." It was only after he had spoken that Kallinvar realised he hadn't even waited for Arden to knock. He had sensed the pulse of Arden's Sigil long before the young man had reached the door.
Arden gave Kallinvar a strange look as he stepped into the room, and Kallinvar could feel his curiosity, but the young man asked no questions.
"Sit," Kallinvar said, gesturing to the wooden chair that sat before Verathin's – his – desk.
Arden nodded, lowering himself into the chair that seemed barely capable of taking the weight of his frame.
"I know Ruon has talked to you already, and she has a far better way with words than I ever will, but I wanted to speak to you myself."
"Did you know?"
The question caught Kallinvar off guard. He drummed his fingers against the desk, running his tongue along the backs of his bottom teeth. "I did," he said, meeting Arden's gaze.
"And you said nothing…"
"There would have been no solace in it, Arden. Knowing your brother was the Draleid would have changed nothing. I needed you focused."
Arden nodded absently, staring into nothing. Even if Kallinvar had not been able to read the anger and loss in the language of Arden's body, he could feel it radiating from his Sigil. Had this been how Verathin had always known what to say? It was a powerful tool, to know, without question, the emotions and sentiments of those under your command. Kallinvar felt guilt for it, yet he had not refrained from utilising it in the War Room.
Kallinvar let out a sigh, resting his palms on his desk and pushing himself to his feet. "It will take time to decide the path forward." Kallinvar leaned against the back wall of the study and folded his arms. "As eager as the knights were in the war chamber, that fervour will soon be replaced by calm, and with calm comes questions, and finding allies will not be simple. The new scattered factions who are rising will care little for what we have to say. Their only concerns will be taking and consolidating power. The nations trying to break free of the empire's hold will be single minded in their task. The elves and dwarves – the ones who remember us – have long since disavowed us."
Arden sat in silence, still looking off towards something at the corner of the study. "Why?"
"None of either race has ever been called to serve under Achyron. They believe it is proof that it is not Achyron we serve."
"And what is the truth?" Arden lifted his head, his eyes sharp.
"The dwarves are under the patronage of Hafaesir – Achyron would not take from his brother's flock. And the elves, well, their honour system does not allow them to be amongst our ranks. They do not abide by a code that binds them all, but simply one of each individual's own making, and they do this to the point of zealotry. And all this, brother, is why we must track down the Draleid. If we truly are to find allies on this continent, it will be through him. He is the common ground we share. The elves, the dwarves, the fledgling factions. He is the rallying cry."
Arden's attention piqued, his gaze meeting Kallinvar's.
"I will send Lyrin to search for answers within his network. First to Kingspass, then to Berona. We will find him."
"And what of me, Grandmaster?"
Kallinvar smiled, a broad grin spreading across his face. "Gather Ruon and the others. Take them to the Heart Chamber. The war against the shadow does not stop while we make plans. Now, we make the Bloodspawn bleed."
Arden lifted himself to his feet. "At once, Grandmaster."
That title would never feel right in Kallinvar's heart.
As the door closed behind Arden, Kallinvar's Sigil pulsed, a shiver sweeping through him. He clenched his jaw, his fingers twisting into fists.
"Kallinvar, my child."