"WE ARRIVED AT San Michon on the last findi of the month, wreathed in snow-grey fog. Frère Greyhand led the way, Aaron de Coste came next, me on the saddle behind him. As I rode into the monastery's shadow, I didn't quite know what to feel. Fear of the sin inside me. Sorrow at all I'd left behind in Lorson. But in truth, what I felt most as I looked to the bluffs above was awe. Simple, jaw-dropping awe.
"San Michon seemed born from a faerie tale. It was built in a valley along the Mère River, nestled among rocky black crags. Seven massive pillars of lichen-covered stone rose up like spears from the valley floor, as if left there by giants in the Age of Legends. The river flowed between the granite pillars it had carved, like a serpent of dark sapphire. And on those mighty pedestals, the monastery of San Michon awaited me.
"At a nod from Greyhand, Aaron unslung a silver-trimmed horn and blew a long note through the valley. Bells answered above, butterflies dancing in my gut as we rode down mushroom-covered shale toward the central pillar. Its base was hollowed, the entrance sealed by iron gates wrought with the sevenstar. I caught a whiff of horse within, realizing the silversaints had built their stables inside.
"Next to the gates, a broad wooden platform was being lowered on heavy iron chains. After handing over our horses to two young grooms, Master Greyhand slung his captured wretched over his shoulder, then strode to the elevator with Aaron and me on his heels. The platform swayed ominously as we rose a hundred, then two hundred feet off the valley floor. This high, I could see the Godsend Mountains to the northwest—that great spine of snowcapped granite splitting Nordlund from Talhost.
"Archer circled us as we ascended, and I found myself hanging onto the rails with a white-knuckle grip. I'd never climbed anything so high. Instead of looking down, I turned my eyes up, to a place I thought could exist only in a children's tale. A monastery in the sky.
"'Scared of heights, Peasant?' Aaron sneered.
"I glanced at the blond lad, my grip tightening. 'Leave off, de Coste.'
"'You cling to that railing like to your mother's tits.'
"'I'm actually picturing your mama's tits. Though I'm told you favor your sister's?'
"Greyhand growled at us both to simmer down. De Coste kept his tongue behind his teeth, glaring at me the rest of the ride. But I couldn't really bring myself to care. After three weeks of being treated like something Aaron had found smeared on his boot, I was finding this highborn prick's company about as pleasant as a case of crotch lice.
"Our platform creaked to a halt. To our left, a toothy fellow in black leathers manned the winch house. His hair was long and greasy, and I noted no silver on his hands.
"'Fairdawn, Keeper Logan,' Greyhand nodded.
"The thin man bowed, spoke in a heavy Ossway brogue. 'Godmorrow, good Frère.'
"Gazing down, I guessed we were near five hundred feet off the grey valley floor. Master Greyhand simply glowered at me until I pried my fingers from the railing.
"'No fear, Little Lion.'
"'Not if I don't look down,' I said, trying to conjure a grin.
"'Look forward instead, boy.'
"I dragged the windswept hair from my eyes and sighed. 'Now there's a sight…'
"Before us loomed a cathedral—the first I'd ever seen in my life. Our tiny chapel in Lorson had seemed a palace to my young eyes, but this—this was a true house of God. A great circular fist of black granite with spires that bled the sky. In its courtyard stood a fountain of pale stone set with a ring of angels. Chiara, the blind Angel of Mercy. Raphael, Angel of Wisdom. Sanael, the Angel of Blood, and her twin, my namesake, Gabriel, Angel of Fire. The Cathedral's stonework was crumbling, some of the windows boarded over, but still, I'd never seen anything so grand. Workmen crawled over it like ticks on a fallen log, and gargoyles grinned atop the eaves. Huge double doors were set in its east and west faces, and in the stone above the dawndoor was a magnificent window of stained glass.
"It was fashioned like a sevenstar, each point depicting the tale of one of the Seven Martyrs: San Antoine parting the Eversea, San Cleyland guarding the gates to hell, San Guillaume burning the faithless on their pyres. And, of course, San Michon and her silver chalice, all flaxen hair and fierce eyes, staring into my very soul.
"A man awaited us atop the eastern stairs, dressed in the greatcoat of a silversaint. He was Sūdhaemi born; his skin dark as polished mahogany, his eyes a pale green rimmed with kohl. He was older than Greyhand, black hair knotted in long, winding braids. A vicious horizontal scar cut deep through both cheeks, twisting his mouth into a permanent, humorless smirk, and there were beautiful silver tattoos atop his hands. He was broad-shouldered like my papa, but he radiated a gravitas that my papa and his fists never did.
"This, I thought to myself, is a leader of men.
"Greyhand bowed low before him, as did de Coste.
"'Welcome home, Brothers. We've missed you at mass.' The mighty man turned to me, his voice deep as cello song. 'And welcome to you also, young paleblood. My name is Khalid, High Abbot of the Ordo Argent. I know you have traveled long to be here. And this life may not be what you imagined for yourself. But it is your life now. You have been both blessed and accursed, called by Almighty God to this holy task. You must not shirk. You cannot fall. For if you do, so shall all we know and love.'
"I bowed to him. I didn't know what else to do. 'Abbot.'
"'Until you take your vows as a full-blooded frère of the Order, you will look to your master for guidance. Initiates are not permitted to leave Barracks after evebells, nor may they visit the Great Library's forbidden section. Duskmass will be held tonight, and you'll have your maiden taste of silver. On the morrow, your training begins.' Khalid glanced toward Greyhand. 'If I might have a word, good Frère?'
"'By the Blood, Abbot. De Coste, show our Little Lion the grounds.'
"'By the Blood, Master.' Aaron glanced at me and growled, 'Follow.'
"Leaving Greyhand and Khalid to confer, de Coste led me across one of the broad stone walkways. I realized all seven pillars must have been naturally connected once, but the hands of time had brought most of those bridges low, replaced now with long spans of rope and wood. Instead of looking to the dizzying fall, I gazed to the skyline, at the beautiful, ancient buildings around us and the men crawling the walls.
"'What are all the cranes for? The workmen?'
"'You will refer to me by the title of Initiate, Peasant,' de Coste replied, not even looking at me. 'When Frère Greyhand is absent, I am senior member of this company.'
"I bit my tongue. I was well and truly sick of Aaron's shit. But he did outrank me.
"'In answer to your question, the Silver Order has only recently gained patronage of Emperor Alexandre. This monastery stood for centuries before that, and for long years, these buildings were let run to rot. Not always have we enjoyed the favor we hold now.'
"I chewed on that for a moment, gazing with a peasant boy's eyes at the buildings about us. They were dark stone, grim and stately in design, arrayed on towering spires above the Mère Valley like the crowns of ancient kings. I wasn't certain what I'd been expecting to find here among this hallowed order of monster slayers, but even run-down and crumbling, San Michon was the most wondrous place I'd ever been in my life.
"Aaron motioned to the building behind us. 'The Cathedral is the heart of San Michon. The brethren meet for mass twice daily, dusk and dawn. If you miss mass, you'll find yourself missing testicles shortly after.'
"De Coste waved northwest, at a many-windowed structure in modest repair.
"'The Barracks, where we lay our heads. The refectory is on its lower level, as are the privies and washhouse. Silversaints spend much of their lives on the Hunt, so I'd usually advise you to take advantage of the baths while you may. But I doubt a lowborn maggot like you would know a lump of soap if it hit you in the teeth.'
"I rolled my eyes as de Coste nodded to the southmost structure—a circular building with blood-red banners embroidered with the sevenstar fluttering on the walls.
"'The Gauntlet. While staying in San Michon, you'll spend much of your time training there. In the star, you'll be taught bladework. Unarmed combat. Marksmanship. The Gauntlet is the furnace where silversaints are forged.'
"My jaw clenched at that, and thinking of my sister, I nodded.
"'I'm ready.'
"Aaron scoffed. 'If you last more than two weeks in there, I'll send a personal missive to the Grand Pontifex, proclaiming it a miracle.' De Coste nodded to another building, round and roofless. 'To the north is the Breadbasket. The kingdom of good Frère Alber. There, we keep our food stores and henhouses, the glasshome where we grow our herbs. To the northeast is the Priory, where the sisterhood sleep.'
"'… Sisterhood?'
"Aaron sighed as if I were somehow supposed to know all this already. 'The Silver Sorority of San Michon. Before our order found patronage in good Empress Isabella, it was their work keeping this entire monastery afloat.'
"I saw small figures in long black habits walking out from that grand and gothic building. Their cloth fluttered in the mountain wind, lace veils whipping about their faces.
"'Are they palebloods like us?' I asked.
"'There are no female palebloods. The Almighty saw fit to spare his daughters our curse. These sisters are godly women, devout in the One Faith and brides of the Almighty.'
"'I'd not expected to find nuns among an order of warrior brothers.'
"'Mmm.' De Coste eyed me sidelong. 'And you've spent a great deal of time among warrior brothers, Little Kitten?'
"I blinked at that. 'I—'
"'The Great Library.' De Coste nodded to the sixth pillar, the beautiful hall of stained-glass windows and tall gables atop it. 'One of the finest collections of lore and learning in the empire. There is a forbidden section within, and if Archivist Adamo catches you even looking at it, he'll skin your hide and use it for book binding. I'd normally recommend you investigate the general shelves in your free time, but I doubt you can actually read.'
"'I can read fine,' I scowled. 'My mama taught me.'
"'Then I'll be sure to send you a letter when I start giving a damn.' Aaron waved back at the Library. 'Books are kept on the lower level, and the Silver Sisters work in the bindery above. Along with the Brothers of the Hearth, they create the most beautiful tomes in the empire.' He raised his hand to interrupt my question. 'There are two castes within the Ordo Argent. The Brothers of the Hunt are palebloods like me and Greyhand, men who get their hands dirty stalking horrors in the dark. The Brothers of the Hearth are simple men of faith who keep the Library, craft our weaponry and … other tools. Speaking of…'
"De Coste pointed at a sprawling building ahead. It had few windows, but many chimneys. They all spat black smoke, save one, which trailed a thin finger of red fumes.
"'The Armory.' Aaron squared his shoulders and smoothed back his thick blond hair. 'Follow. You'll want to see this.'
"'Wait,' I said. 'What is that?'
"I pointed to a stone span jutting out from the Cathedral's pillar. It seemed a bridge, save that it led nowhere at all, ending in a balcony without a railing and a plunge down into the river Mère. A large chariot wheel sat at the edge, locked in a stone frame—the same kind of wheel the Redeemer had been flayed upon, and that now graced the necks of every priest and holy sister in the realm.
"'That,' Aaron said, 'is Heaven's Bridge.'
"'What's it for?'
"The young lordling clenched his jaw. 'You'll find out soon enough.'
"De Coste turned on silver heels and marched to the Armory. Pushing open great double doors wrought with the sevenstar, he led me into the vast entrance hall. And there, I breathed a sigh of wonder.
"The space was lit by myriad glass spheres suspended from the ceiling. I knew not how, but each glowed like a burning candle. It was as if the long-lost stars of my youth had come back to the sky, bathing the hall in honeyed light. And looking about, I saw that warm glow playing on a multitude of weapons, lined up in vast racks along the walls.
"I could see swords like the ones Greyhand and de Coste carried, the steel run through with traceries of silver. Longblades, bastard swords, axes, and warhammers. But there were stranger weapons too—the kind I'd only heard whisper of. Wheellock pistols and rifles and pepperboxes, wrought of beautiful metal and engraved with scripture.
"I AM THE SWORD THAT LAYS THE SINNER LOW. I AM THE HAND THAT LIFTS THE FAITHFUL HIGH. AND I AM THE SCALE THAT WEIGHS BOTH IN THE ENDING. SO SAY'TH THE LORD.
"If I was in love with the monastery before that moment, now I was utterly smitten. I'd been raised the son of both a blacksmith and a soldier, remember. I'd been drilled hard in use of a blade, but I also knew the art of making weapons this beautiful. The smiths who worked this armory were geniuses …
"'Wait here,' de Coste ordered. 'Touch nothing.'
"The lad stepped through another set of doors, and I caught the familiar song of hammer and anvil beyond. I saw figures in leather aprons, muscular arms glinting in forgefire. I ached with homesickness at the sight. I missed my sister Celene, Mama, oui, even my papa. I supposed I needed to stop calling him such in my head, but Seven Martyrs, that was easier said than done. I'd lived my whole life thinking of Raphael Castia as my father. Never once guessing I was the son of a real monster.
"As the heavy doors swung shut behind Aaron, I stepped closer to the longblades, marveling at their beauty. Each pommel was decorated with a sevenstar, the crossguards all some variation of the Redeemer hanged upon his wheel, or angels at wing. But the silver patterns in each blade were like whorls in lengths of fine timber; each subtly different from the next. I reached for the closest sword, and brushing the back of my hand against the edge, I was rewarded with a sliver of pain and a thin line of red across my skin.
"Razor sharp.
"'You have fine taste,' came a deep voice behind me.
"I turned, startled to find a young Sūdhaemi man watching me. He'd entered the hall through a second door, lithe as a cat and quiet as a mouse. He was in his early twenties, ebon-skinned like all his folk. He wore no tattoos on his flesh, but the scorched hairs on his forearms and the leather apron he wore told me this young man was a smith, through and through. He was tall, crushingly handsome, hair worn in short, knotted braids. Striding across the hall, he took the sword from my hand.
"'Who told you how to test a blade like that?' he asked, nodding to my cut.
"'A swordsman's strength rests in his arm. But his finesse lies in his fingers. You don't risk them on the blade's edge. My papa told me that.' I caught myself then, clenching my teeth. 'Well … the man I thought was my papa, anyway…'
"He nodded, soft understanding in his eyes. 'What's your name, boy?'
"'Gabriel de León, my lord.'
"The young man laughed then, so deep and loud I felt it in my own chest. 'I'm no lord. Although I am his devoted servant. Baptiste Sa-Ismael, Brother of the Hearth and Blackthumb of the Silver Order, at your service.'
"'Blackthumb?'
"Baptiste grinned. 'It's Forgemaster Argyle's expression. They say a man with a love for growing things has a green thumb. So we with a love for the anvil and the fire and the rule of steel…?' The smith shrugged. Cutting the air with the longsword, he smiled at it fondly. 'You've a keen eye. This is one of my favorites.'
"'You forged all these?'
"'Only some. My brother smiths crafted the rest. Every blade in this hall was made for recruits like you. A tiny piece of the maker's heart left in every blade. And once forged and cooled and kissed farewell, the silversteel waits here for the hand of its master.'
"'Silversteel,' I repeated, enjoying the word on my tongue. 'How is it made?'
"Baptiste's grin widened. 'We all of us have secrets within these walls, Gabriel de León. And that secret belongs to the Brothers of the Hearth.'
"'I have no secrets.'
"'Then you're not trying hard enough,' he chuckled.
"At first, I suspected he might've been mocking me, but there was a warmth in the blackthumb's eyes I took an instant liking to. Folding his arms, he looked me over, toe to crown. 'De León, eh? Strange…'
"Turning to the weapons behind us, Baptiste walked down the row. Almost reverently, he took a blade from the wall. And returning to me, he placed it in my hands.
"'I forged this beauty only last month. I knew not for who. Until now.'
"I looked at him in utter disbelief. '… Truly?'
"In my shaking hands was the most beautiful sword I'd ever seen in my life. Eloise, the Angel of Retribution, was wrought on the hilt, her wings flowing about her like silver ribbons. Bright whorls of silver rippled along the blade's darker steel, and I could see beautiful script from the Testaments engraved down the length.
"KNOW MY NAME, YE SINNERS, AND TREMBLE. FOR I AM COME AMONG THEE AS A LION AMONG LAMBS.
"I met Baptiste's dark eyes and saw him smile. 'I think perhaps I dreamed of you, Gabriel de León. I think perhaps your coming was ordained.'
"'My God,' I said, all awonder. 'Does … does it have a name?'
"'Swords are only tools. Even those wrought of silversteel. And a man who names his weapon is a man who dreams others will one day know his name too.'
"Baptiste glanced about us, his eyes twinkling as he leaned close to whisper.
"'I call mine Sunlight.'
"I shook my head, unsure what to say. No blacksmith's boy under heaven had ever dreamed of owning a sword as peerless as this. 'I've … I've no way to thank you.'
"Baptiste's mood grew somber. His eyes were far away then, as if lost in distant shadow. 'Kill something monstrous with it,' he said.
"'There you are…' came a voice.
"I turned and found Aaron de Coste at the door he'd left by. The dark mood that had fallen on Smith Baptiste vanished as if it had never been, and he strode across the room, arms open. 'Still alive, you bastard!'
"Aaron grinned as he was caught up in the older boy's bear hug. It was the first genuine smile I think I'd ever seen on his face. 'Good to see you, brother.'
"'Of course it is! It's me!' Baptiste released Aaron from his embrace, nose wrinkling. 'Sweet Mothermaid, you stink of horse though. Time for a bath, methinks.'
"'Such is my intent. Once this filthy peasant is situated. You,' Aaron growled. 'Little Kitten. Come grab your damned gear.'
"De Coste carried black leathers, a heavy greatcoat, stout boots with silvered heels like his. Without ceremony, he dumped the lot onto the floor. But I'd no interest in new boots or britches. Instead, I hefted my magnificent new sword, testing the balance.
"The silversteel gleamed in the dim light; the angel on the crossguard seemed to smile at me. The uncertainty I'd felt as I stepped into the monastery faded just a breath, the thought of home made me ache just a little less. I knew I had much to learn; that in a place like this, I had to walk before I ran. But truth was, despite the sin I was born of, the monster that lived inside me, I still felt God was with me. This sword was proof of that. It was as if the smiths of San Michon knew I was coming. As if I were fated to be there. I looked down at the beautiful scripture on my new blade, mouthing the words to myself.
"I AM COME AMONG THEE AS A LION AMONG LAMBS.
"'Lionclaw,' I whispered.
"'Lionclaw,' Baptiste repeated, stroking his chin. 'I like it.'
"The smithy handed me a belt, a scabbard, a sharp silversteel dagger to match the blade he'd gifted me—the Angel of Retribution spreading her beautiful wings along the crossguard. And looking at the sword in my hand, I vowed I'd be worthy of it. That I would slay something monstrous with it. That I'd not just walk. Not just run.
"No, in this place, I'd fucking fly."