Kallinvar stood at the war table, his hands gripping the edge. Every soul in the knighthood, except for Arden, stood around him in silence, watching, as they had since the Blood Moon first tainted the sky. He drew in slow breaths as he studied the stone map carved into the table. As Gildrick had taught him, he had layered the convergences and pulsing of the Taint over the map in his mind.
Small glowing patches of red dotted the continent – convergences where Bloodspawn were gathering and harvesting Essence. On any other day, he would have sent his knights straight through the Rift, but not this day. This day, it wasn't the small glowing patches that concerned him. As he looked at the map, he could see and feel the tears in the veil between worlds. They manifested in his mind as black tears with a red glow at their edges, the sickly, oily sensation of the Taint seeping from them. One was torn across a small section of Mar Dorul where the mountains sloped towards Gildor, another near Copperstille, one just north of Catagan, one on Driftstone, and several more about the continent. The largest was stretched across the entirety of the Burnt Lands, shrouding it in black.
"While we wait, people are dying." Brother-Captain Illarin spoke calmly, his words simply a matter of fact. "The Bloodspawn are stronger under the light of this moon – the people don't stand a chance."
"I know, brother." Kallinvar didn't lift his gaze from the table.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tarron step up beside him, arms folded. He didn't speak, but he held Illarin's gaze.
"I know it's hard," Kallinvar said, watching as the black tear above the Burnt Lands pulsed. "But you must remember. 'No decision is straightforward. Black and white do not exist. We live in a world of ever-shifting grey.'"
"I do not need reminding of those words, Kallinvar. I have lived by them."
"And you must live by them again today, Illarin. We must let the lesser evils pass. You know as well as I that we must be ready to strike like a hammer when Fane Mortem or a Bloodspawn Shaman tries to reach through the veil."
"We could be here for weeks," Sister-Captain Airdaine said, moving towards the left side of the table and casting her gaze over Varsund. "I understand your words, Grandmaster. But it's hard to stand by and wait while so much blood is spilled. Ilnaen did not fall until the twenty-fifth day of the last Blood Moon."
"That was different. Fane and the Bloodspawn were working together. That is no longer the case. At Ilnaen they waited until the perfect moment, but now they race against each other. Both seek to win Efialtír's favour. They cannot afford to wait, lest the other succeeds in their stead. I will know when an attempt is made to widen the tears. Be ready."
Kallinvar glanced up to see Illarin with his arms folded, nodding as he looked over the stone map.
"Here." Ruon handed Kallinvar a wooden cup.
"What's this?" Kallinvar brought the cup to his nose and sniffed, puffing out his cheeks and recoiling at the sharp botanical smell.
"Dragon's Tears," Ruon said, producing a second cup and tipping it off Kallinvar's. "Got it off a dwarf about a century ago. Been saving it. Drink up. It'll take the edge off."
"Hey," Tarron said, leaning in. "I thought we spoke about holding out?"
Ruon glared at him but handed over her cup. She pulled a small flask from a satchel that rested atop one of the folding tables the Watchers had brought in. She pulled the stopper, then tipped some of the blue liquid into a third cup. "There's not enough to go around, so—"
"Ahem."
Kallinvar smiled as he looked up to see Ildris standing behind Ruon.
"Fuck sake. Keep it down, or Lyrin will drink the whole flask."
Ruon poured another cup, and they drank.
The last time Kallinvar had drank Dragon's Tears, he'd thought he'd drank liquid fire; this was no different. He clenched his jaw and held a cough in his chest as the spirit burned its way down. "Fuck…" He let out a puff of air, shaking his head.
"I told you it would take the edge off," Ruon said as she collected the four cups. "Any word from Arden?"
Kallinvar looked down at the stone map where a single green counter rested in the Darkwood. As Kallinvar stared at the counter, a green glow encased it. Not only could he feel the thrum of Arden's Sigil, but he could also sense the blend of fear and resolve in the young man's heart. A small patch of glowing red rested just southwest of Arden, moving ever closer. Kallinvar pushed himself away from the table, then reached through his Sigil to Arden's, sending a pulse to let the young man know he was needed.
The Sigil fused with Kallinvar's chest, ignited with a burning fire as he summoned the Rift. The fire flowed through his veins as ice swept over his skin. The juxtaposition of the two sensations always sent a jolt of panic through him. As he drew in a slow breath, he pictured Arden in his mind, feeling the man's Sigil, sensing his surroundings. Seconds later, the core of the rift materialised in the shape of a glowing green sphere a few feet from Kallinvar. The gathered knights turned their heads as the green sphere flattened and spread, its centre turning to a pool of rippling black. Normally he wouldn't summon the Rift in the war room, but this night was no normal night, and Kallinvar could focus better when he could see the war table.
Within moments, Arden stepped through. His helm receded into the collar of his Sentinel armour as the Rift vanished behind him.
"Brother." Kallinvar reached out his hand and clasped Arden's forearm.
"Grandmaster. An army of eighty thousand strong marches through the Darkwood. Three dragons fly with them, and the Angan have reported several Fades amongst the armies."
"Fane must have known of Aravell for a long time." Kallinvar folded his arms, turning to the war table, the other knights moving closer. "He's waited until now to strike, until the prize was more than just the elves. He's splitting us, dividing our attention between the Draleid and the tears in the veil."
"Does the Draleid really matter when placed against the veil itself, Grandmaster?" Sister-Captain Olyria stood on the opposite of the war table, her palms resting against the stone. "Like you said, we must let the lesser evils pass."
"No matter what happens today, this war is only beginning, Olyria. What happened at Ilnaen all those years ago was only the first step."
"What makes you so certain, Kallinvar? What makes you so certain there will even be a time after this? What if we allow Efialtír to push his will into this world and he destroys everything we love?"
Achyron's words echoed in Kallinvar's mind. 'What I have brought you here to tell you is that the Alignment will happen, my child. It is inevitable. You cannot stop Efialtír's harbinger from widening the tear in the veil. Too much has been set in motion. But you must meet him when he does. You must limit the crossing, and then continue to do as you have done – prepare the world for the war to come… The Alignment is only the beginning – only a single step in the Great Deceiver's plan.'
How did Kallinvar explain that he had spoken to the warrior god himself, that his soul had been brought to the realm of the gods? Gildrick knew – Kallinvar had told him that day but had asked the Watcher to keep it a secret. Faith was a strange thing. Every man and woman in the war room knew Achyron existed; they were alive solely by his grace. The Sigils fused with their chests imbued them with his will and power. And yet, none had ever seen him or heard the sound of his voice. If Kallinvar told them, he risked them thinking him a mad man. He needed to know more before he did. Now was not a time to have a crisis of leadership. Verathin had never spoken of hearing Achyron's voice, and from what Kallinvar had read in the journals of the other Grandmasters, neither had any before him.
"Do you trust me, Olyria?"
The woman stared at Kallinvar from across the table, her Sentinel armour shimmering in the light of the candles that sat about the room. She nodded. "I would follow you to the void, Grandmaster."
"Good. You may have to." Kallinvar summoned the Rift once more, feeling the ripple of fire and ice through his blood and over his skin. As the Rift opened, he turned to Arden. "Take Lyrin and Varlin with you. Ildris and Ruon will stay here."
"Thank you, Grandmaster."
Kallinvar looked back at Arden, taking the young man in. The last Sigil Bearer. The first time in four centuries the knighthood had been complete. He remembered finding Arden that day in Ölm Forest. Even then, as the blood had poured through Arden's fingers, Kallinvar had seen something in him. Since then, Arden had become a knight and a man Kallinvar was proud to call brother. He could have sent any knight to protect the Draleid; they were all fine warriors. But he knew none would fight harder than Arden. "The duty of the strong is to protect the weak, brother. Never forget that."
"Never."
Lyrin and Varlin moved to Arden's side, nodding at Kallinvar. He could feel the sense of guilt radiating from their Sigils. He knew the weight of what he asked – to protect the Draleid while the rest of their brothers and sisters readied themselves to stand against the Shadow. It was not an easy thing. He stepped forwards. "Achyron asks much of us." He gestured around the room to the other knights. "But no matter where you hold your blade tonight, you will be at our sides. We fight the Shadow wherever it rises. We fight as one. For Achyron."
The knights of the other chapters echoed the words.
"For Achyron," Lyrin, Varlin, and Arden repeated.
Lyrin and Arden stepped through the Rift, the black pool rippling as they did. Varlin stopped for a moment, turning back. "Good hunting, Grandmaster."
The Rift collapsed on itself as Varlin stepped through, and silence settled in the chamber.
Moments later the doors of the war chamber creaked open and the Watchers, along with some priests and servants, swept into the room, laying out more trays of food and water. As the food was set down, the Watchers moved about the chamber, speaking to the knights and making sure all was well. Each knight may have been imbued with Achyron's strength, but behind it all, they were still human; they still felt fear and worry.
Gildrick approached Kallinvar with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze tracing the stone map carved into the war table. Watcher Tallia walked behind him, her gaze also fixed on the table. The man stopped beside Kallinvar and stood in silence for a moment before speaking. "Have you heard anything?"
Kallinvar shook his head. Gildrick's words needed no explanation. Kallinvar hadn't heard Achyron's voice since the Blood Moon had risen. It unsettled him.
"He will speak when he needs to," Gildrick whispered. Beside him, Kallinvar saw Tallia's head turn, her keen eyes watching. Had Gildrick told her what Kallinvar had seen?
Kallinvar nodded to Gildrick but didn't speak. As he looked down at the stone map, an almost imperceptible red glow pulsed in the Burnt Lands, momentarily breaking through the blackness of the tear that stretched across the waste. It was so faint he'd barely felt it in his Sigil. Then it pulsed again, stronger, and the oily sensation of the Taint probed at Kallinvar's mind.
The knights around Kallinvar shifted. He felt the weight of expectation in their gazes, the thrum of their Sigils resonating through him. They could feel the heady mix of fear and fervour in his blood.
The red glow pulsed for a third time, piercing through the black that shrouded the wasteland. But this time the pulse didn't sink back into the darkness, it remained, Taint oozing from it.
And so it begins now.
Drawing a deep breath, Kallinvar moved to the end of the table and called to his Sigil, feeling it burn in his chest as he summoned the Rift once more. Knights, Watchers, and servants moved out of the way as the green sphere materialised and flattened out into the rippling pool of black, a bright green light shimmering at its edges. A number of pulses ignited in Kallinvar's Sigil as some of the knights who had been in plain clothes called forth their Sentinel armour. As they moved to stand before Kallinvar, liquid metal poured from the Sigils fused with their chests, flowing over their clothes and bodies, protecting them in Achyron's spirit.
The Watchers, servants, and priests moved to the edges of the chamber, allowing the knights to take position in the war room's centre, standing ready for Kallinvar's words.
The knights of The Second who hadn't gone with Arden stood to his right, looking ready to walk through fire.
"There's not much I can say that you haven't already heard." Kallinvar looked about the room, his gaze meeting those of Armites, Illarin, Olyria, and Emalia – four of seventeen who had survived The Fall. "Some of you have been here before, seen the light of the Blood Moon. But most of you have not. Efailtír's hand reaches through the veil. The Bloodmarked will be stronger than you've ever faced. The Shamans and imperial mages will wield powers far greater than you have come to know. Steel yourselves. Ignite the fires in your hearts. The Shadow has taken from us. It has taken our sisters, our brothers. It took Verathin. But this day, we will make them bleed. We will make their god shake."
A murmur rippled through the knights, some slamming their gauntleted fists against their breastplates.
"I need you to hear me now. We will not just face Bloodspawn or imperial mages when we step through the rift. There will be men and women wielding nothing but sharp steel – men and women who, on another night, we would fight to defend. But there will be no mercy this night of all nights. When we step through the Rift, nothing can keep us from destroying the Shadow. If you hesitate, for even a moment, it will not just be you who suffers, not just your brothers and sisters, but every soul on this mortal plane. Tonight is a night of death. I know what I ask is not easy. That weight will stay with you, but we bear it so others do not have to – it is our burden. Take no more lives than are needed, but do not hesitate in the taking. Where possible, save your Soulblades for the Bloodspawn and mages. Use your steel to take the lives of those not touched by the Taint, but if it comes to it, tonight of all nights, do what must be done. Do you understand, brothers and sisters?"
A murmur of 'Grandmaster' answered. Kallinvar looked to Ruon, who returned his stare with a sombre nod. They had talked of this already, and she had been in agreement – there could be no hesitation this night. They could not allow Efialtír to reach his hand further into the world.
Kallinvar pulled his sword from its sheath at his side. "Each one of us was snatched from the jaws of death for a single purpose." He slammed the handle of his sword against his breastplate. "We were chosen by the warrior god himself. To be his sword and shield in this world. To protect those who cannot protect themselves." Kallinvar once more beat his sword against his armoured chest, a number of the others following suit. He had always found that no matter how many battles a warrior had fought, the fire in their hearts always needed stoking. To kill is no easy task. To sever a soul from the world was even harder. "When you step through the Rift, think of what you fight for. Think of who you fight for – the ones you love and the ones you loved. Are you with me, brothers and sisters? Will you follow me to the void and back?"
"To the void and back," Ruon, Ildris, and Tarron responded. A chorus of the words rippled across the knights, and Kallinvar could feel the fire burning in their Sigils.
"Will you allow the Shadow to take our world?"
"No!" Came the reply.
"Will you allow the Great Deceiver to twist the minds of our people?"
"No!"
"Then once more I ask you to follow me into the fires of battle. Once more, I ask you to live and die by my side. For Achyron!"
"For Achyron!" the knights roared, swords beating off armoured chests, veins bulging, voices burning with fervour.
Kallinvar nodded to Ruon and the other knights of The Second. Each of them stepped forwards.
"To the void and back, brother," Ildris said, grasping Kallinvar's forearm. "It has been my honour to fight by your side."
"And mine yours."
Kallinvar turned, drew in a short breath, and charged through the Rift. A chill swept over him, sinking into his core. Every moment in the Rift felt like a lifetime, silence swallowing all sound. He burst through, the icy chill leeching from his bones as his armoured feet thumped into the sand.
Before him, hundreds of soldiers were spread about in the red and black of Loria, billowing cloaks flapping behind them. The oily sickness of the Taint pulsed like an infection in the world, emanating from what looked to be hundreds of mages standing in a large circle behind the soldiers. Runic inscriptions in the sand glowed with a red light.
The soldiers nearest to Kallinvar charged, screaming as they did. A man swung his sword towards Kallinvar's side, but the blade skittered off his Sentinel armour. Kallinvar pushed forwards and drove his sword through the man's gut, wrenching it free in a spray of blood. He swung his arm back, slicing through the neck of the second soldier who charged over his companion's corpse. Steel collided against bone and then sliced through, the soldier's head dropping into the sand.
Kallinvar's Sigil pulsed as Ruon, Ildris, Tarron, and Mirken emerged from the Rift behind him, Daynin and Sylven following.
He dropped his shoulder, feeling bones crunch as he hammered into the chest of a charging Lorian. Blood sprayed as his sword carved through limbs and opened chests. He fixed his gaze on the mages at the centre of the circle.
"For Achyron!"