ã€ŠThe Winds of Fate B1 - The Blood of Kingsã€‹


 0. The World-Eater

    Prologue: The World-Eater

    ¡°When twilight draws near, the demon wolf will swallow the sun and plunge the world into darkness.¡±

    ¡ªMorene Revaengur, Prophecies of the Crow

    It had been three days since the mountain shook. The trees huddled together, holding to their wizened branches as the wind swooped softly and silently like a taloned bird. It came down from the east, soaring through a sky as grey as the smooth river-stones beneath the streams, above the winter snowdrifts, around the trees as they whispered to each other across the broken mountain. The silence was not natural, they said. It was not a peaceful silence. It was an expectant silence, the silence that came before a storm, the silence that came when the world itself was holding its breath.

    A band of men marched up the mountain, heads hung low, armour rattling as they trudged through the snow. They wore the black and silver of the Legion, the spear and shield of House Uldan emblazoned proudly upon their breasts, all except one. Edric Thoren wore gold¡ªthe fiery-orange Rhinegold of the Kingsblades, shaped in the Soulforge itself.

    Edric was not particularly tall like Long Jon, nor was he broad like Darius the Crusher¡ªyet, when he raised his hand, the company halted. Edric lifted the visor of his helmet and looked back towards his men. Their faces were heavy withbran sweat, fatigue, and homesickness.

    ¡°About time we stopped for a rest,¡± Darius growled. The big man¡¯s face was red, his sweat freezing on his skin before it could drop to the ground. ¡°How far are we from the top?¡±

    Edric took a sip of water and pointed behind him. ¡°The Summit of the World lies on the other side of this pass,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ll be there before sundown.¡±

    The passage lay between two jagged crags, a yawning chasm of darkness in the side of the mountain. Rugged rock jutted out from either side like broken teeth coated in ice and snow. Looking up at the crevice, Edric was reminded of the great, gaping maw of a giant beast. The path spiralled upwards into the distance, disappearing in a haze of grey and white.

    ¡°We shouldn¡¯t have left our mounts behind,¡± one of the men said. ¡°We¡¯ll be too tired to fight by the time we get through.¡±

    ¡°We would have had to leave them anyway,¡± another pointed out. ¡°The pass is too narrow and dangerous for a horse.¡±

    The men took turns peering into the gloom before settling beneath the shadow of the rock face, away from the wind and snow. They took from their bags stale bread and washed it down with water, every last crumb. One man unwrapped a wheel of cheese and sliced it into pieces, sharing it with the rest. After that, the scowls eased considerably.

    It had been a week since they¡¯d left Darmouth at the base of the Muzzle. The locals had been cold and unfriendly, their tongues only loosening at the sight of the King¡¯s gold. It had cost a fortune to hire guides up the mountain, and even then they had only agreed to take them halfway. They feared the mountain more than death itself.

    Mandara, they called it¡ªthe Pillar of Heaven, greatest of the Tomb of the Ninety. The locals firmly believed in their god, going as far as to offer sacrifices to appease it. The snowstorms were caused by the god¡¯s roar, the tremors by its restless sleep. Everything wrong in the world was a result of its wrath.

    Little did they know their god was actually a demon. A relict, a creature of ages long gone.

    But is there really a difference between a god and a demon? Edric wondered. Winter stretches on all the same. Snowstorms and earthquakes happen regardless.

    Long Jon had drawn a circle in the snow with a stick. He placed a stone statuette of a woman in the centre, a slender goddess with long, flowing hair and a floral dress, and knelt down before it. Edric watched with interest as the tall man closed his eyes and prayed before the makeshift shrine, his lips moving wordlessly in the wind. He had never really paid heed to any of the Pantheon save Mother Anturia and Kalador, the god of war. Perhaps it was time for a change.

    Jon looked at Edric as he knelt down next to him. ¡°I didn¡¯t take you to be a religious man.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Edric replied. ¡°But this may well be the last chance I get to pray.¡±

    Jon nodded. ¡°You¡¯ve chosen the right god, then. Cenedria is the goddess of love and mercy. She also watches over the mountains, and I daresay we could do with her help.¡±

    Edric closed his eyes and clasped his hands together, wondering what he should ask for. Most of the men would be wishing to come home safely to their wives and children. Edric¡¯s own wife was dead, along with their unborn child. So was his brother. In fact, his entire family was dead. He wasn¡¯t sure what else to pray for, so he simply asked to be remembered. If the Thoren bloodline was to die, he wanted his name to at least be carried on in legends and tales of his ventures.

    He was halfway through his prayer when the cry of a hawk roused him and he stood up, the shrine forgotten. There were no hawks in this part of the world, yet there was one right above him, descending from the sky in a streak of grey. A few of the men raised their heads as the bird began to contort, growing in size as if its skin were wriggling beneath its feathers, becoming bigger and broader until it was the rough shape of a man. The figure landed, and its feathers were no longer feathers but a shivering cloak sewn from a thousand patches of grey. A face emerged with matted hair and a beard trailing down to his chest. There were lines on his face etched as deeply as the cracks that ran through the mountain, a hooked nose rising up like a gnarled trunk among them.

    ¡°Keldan,¡± Darius grunted. ¡°You took your time.¡±

    The druid ignored him and looked at Edric. ¡°I¡¯ve scouted the pass ahead,¡± he said. ¡°It is safe. As for what awaits on the other side¡­ I cannot say.¡±

    No matter how many times Edric saw the transformation, it always unsettled him. There was something about the druids that made him uncomfortable, whether it be from the endless wealth of knowledge they all seemed to have, or the incredible age some of them claimed to be. There was also the magic of course, the Songweaving that few in the world were gifted with.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Is it dead?¡± Edric asked. ¡°The mountain hasn¡¯t shaken in three days. The people of Darmouth seem to think their sacrifice did the trick.¡±

    Keldan shook his mane. ¡°You must see for yourself.¡± He dusted the snow from his cloak and wrapped it more tightly about himself.

    Edric looked at the plethora of faces around him. ¡°What do you say, men?¡± he asked. ¡°Should we rest for the night, or forge on?¡±

    Darius raised his axe. ¡°Forge on, I say. I don¡¯t want to stay another day on this damn mountain.¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± said the rest, nodding in agreement. Long Jon packed up his statuette and erased the circle in the ground.

    ¡°Very well, then,¡± Edric turned to Keldan. ¡°Lead the way, Druid.¡±

    #

    They heard the song about halfway through the pass. It was a haunting echo that bounced off the walls, multiplying a single voice into a ghostly choir that resonated from everywhere at once. It was beautiful and eerie, loud enough to be heard above the howl of the wind and the rumble of the earth. It sang of ages long gone and times long passed, of sleep and dreams, and of memories that lay buried. Before he knew it, Edric had stopped.

    ¡°Concentrate,¡± Keldan said, turning around. ¡°Don¡¯t lose focus now.¡±

    The other men looked dazed, as if they¡¯d only just woken from a dream. Edric placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and shouted a few words of encouragement, moreso to rouse himself than anything else.

    The wind had whipped into a frenzy, snaking through the two bluffs, tugging and twisting at the company as they made their way. They were approaching the highest point in Faengard, the Summit of the World, the closest man could get to the gods above. They clambered over rocks and brush, pulled each other over low ridges, waded through inches and inches of powder snow, all while the song continued around them. They were panting, each and every one of the men, gasping and wheezing in the cold. The air here was much thinner, and if it weren¡¯t for the druid¡¯s protection, they would have long fainted from mountain sickness.

    A shadow passed over the company as they entered the final leg of the route. A section of the crag had fallen above the path, forming a small cave that wound the rest of the way to the other side. Spruce and frostweed lined the stone, creeping down to the shadows that pooled in the corners of the passage. Keldan sang a word and a flame burst to life in the air next to his head, lighting their path. The song grew muffled above them, drowned out by the clanging of plate armour and the chink of swords in their sheaths.

    At last they emerged, back into the roiling snowstorm, onto the mountaintop. The path fell away around them, plunging into a dizzying drop on either side. They were above the clouds now, atop a lonely peak that jutted from a sea of white and grey. Before them was a narrow stretch that led to a plateau with another ridge atop it. The song was as sharp and clear as cracking ice, piercing through the air, rolling off the mountain in quivering crests and troughs.

    ¡°There she is,¡± Jon shouted.

    ¡°Where?¡± Edric lowered his visor to keep the snow from his eyes.

    ¡°Chained in front of the crag.¡±

    Jon pointed, and Edric saw a slight figure sitting on the ground. It looked to be a girl on the border of adolescence, her long, dark hair whipping in the wind. The grey haze of the snowstorm prevented him from seeing more. He took a step forward, but Keldan stopped him.

    ¡°Be careful,¡± he said. ¡°We don¡¯t know where the relict is. It could come at any moment.¡±

    Edric nodded and drew his sword. The fiery Rhinegold flashed defiantly. Slowly, one step at a time, he approached the Summit of the World.

    The wind seemed to grow angrier as he traversed the path, threatening to pick him up and hurl him into the clouds. He crouched low, crawling his way forward on all fours, never looking down, never looking back. He heard the grunts and curses of his men as they stayed close behind.

    The girl wore a threadbare robe, and she was barefoot. Her hair was midnight black, her eyes an ice-cold, her skin as pale as the snow. The song spilled from her lips, heavy with spirit, heavy with magic.

    ¡°She¡¯s practically naked,¡± Darius shouted. ¡°How has she not frozen dead?¡±

    The girl jerked upright, the glaze in her eyes disappearing. She saw them and tried to stumble to her feet, but fell over. Edric realized she was chained to a stone in the ground, bound by a black manacle.

    ¡°Hang on,¡± he cried. ¡°We¡¯re coming!¡±

    She shook her head, hair whipping across her face, desperately waving her hands. As Edric and the rest of the men moved onto the plateau, she backed away to the rock behind her.

    ¡°Don¡¯t come any closer,¡± she cried. ¡°Go back! Go back while you still can!¡±

    The song broke to a halt, its spell shattered for a brief instant. The mountain trembled.

    ¡°Darius,¡± Edric yelled, ignoring her. ¡°Help me break this chain!¡±

    He brought the Rhinegold blade down as hard as he could. The sound of steel rang clear atop the summit, but the chain held. Darius stopped next to him, his axe ready.

    ¡°Go away!¡± the girl pleaded again. ¡°Before it¡¯s too late!¡±

    Her voice was as hoarse as sandpaper. How long had she been singing on the Muzzle, alone in the cold? She was just a girl, younger than the age his son would be if he were alive. Anger boiled through Edric, at the people of Darmouth, at the relict that lived atop the mountain, at the mountain itself. No person deserved such a fate.

    ¡°Hold still,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ll have you freed before it comes back.¡±

    The girl shook her head. ¡°No,¡± she moaned. ¡°It¡¯s already here. It was always here.¡±

    The mountain shook again. The stone structure behind the girl trembled.

    ¡°Hurry, or the mountain will come down upon us!¡± Edric yelled, chopping at the chain again, but no one moved to help. He looked around for Darius and the others, confused. ¡°Come on, what are you all doing¡ª¡±

    The rest of his men were standing still behind him, looking past his shoulder. Frowning, Edric turned around.

    The ridge shifted slowly, groaning as if waking from a deep sleep, snow spilling off its sides to the ragged slopes below. It moved one leg and then another, reared its head towards the sky. Two blood-red eyes sprung open, each as big as a horse, peering about the mountaintop, taking in the armoured men before it. Yellow teeth bared themselves in the mist.

    The creature growled and shook itself. Ice fell off its fur in great chunks, spiralling into the wind, churning the snowstorm into a blizzard. The mountain quaked and trembled, sending Edric and his men to their knees. Somewhere below them, they heard the sound of rocks and ice crashing to the base of the mountain.

    ¡°Wyd save us,¡± Edric murmured. He craned his neck up and up, trying to take in the sheer enormity of the beast. He had never seen anything so big. It dwarfed the tallest buildings in Aldoran, stretched across the entire mountaintop, rose as high as Uldan Keep. Its pelt was a silver so bright it almost blinded him.

    It was Faenrir the World-Eater, child of Al¡¯Ashar, one of the oldest of the relicts, survivor of the Hundred Years War and the Age of Gods. Down by its feet, Edric saw the fetters that bound it¡ªa gossamer thread of rainbow colours that held its feet together, preventing it from standing. Even so, its maw was big enough to swallow them all¡ªit could probably swallow the sun if it wanted to, if it somehow found a way to stand. The girl was silent, backing away from the beast as far as the chain allowed her to.

    Edric shook, and it wasn¡¯t from the cold.

    The World-Eater roared, and the mountain roared with it. The earth quaked so violently the men were thrown off their feet. Pieces of the ground broke free below them. The clouds were torn apart, the blizzard itself frozen for an instant as yet another crack threatened to split the Muzzle.

    The World-Eater roared, and its roar was the wrath of the mountain.

 1. The End of the Hunt

    Chapter One: The End of the Hunt

    ¡°Winter will come, and it will not end. Brothers will kill brothers. The bonds between father and son will be rent, and the mountains will shake with each breath of the world. As the Ward Tree wilts, so shall the Oathbreaker return.

    ¡°Heroes will rise once more, for this will be the age to end all ages.¡±

    ¡ªMorene Revaengur, Prophecies of the Crow

    It was dusk, and the wood was waning. The wind whispered of happier times as Ein and Alend trudged through the snow.

    ¡°Let¡¯s stop here for the night,¡± Alend said, coming to a halt. ¡°It¡¯s getting too dark to track.¡±

    Ein frowned. ¡°If it snows harder, we could lose all the ground we gained.¡±

    His father gave him a stern look. ¡°Better to lose a day or two than to lose our quarry completely.¡±

    Ein sighed and stepped away from the trail. Alend nodded in approval.

    The trees shivered and sent a light dusting of snow across the tracks, almost as if to mock the two. For three days they¡¯d been stalking the buck, three cold, harsh days filled with nought but grey skies, dry winds and white-flecked wood stippling the snow. Sometimes Ein would see a fox scurrying into its den or a snow finch flitting between the branches, but most of the time he and his father were the only signs of life for miles around.

    ¡°We could push a little further,¡± he murmured. ¡°Cover enough ground to end the hunt tomorrow. We¡¯d be back in Felhaven before the week¡¯s end.¡±

    Ein¡¯s father folded his arms. ¡°What can you tell me about these prints?¡±

    Even in his middle ages, Alend Thoren stood as tall and broad as a great oak. He was wrapped tightly in warm leathers and thick boots, a greying cloak the colour of his beard fastened about his shoulders. Muscles bulged beneath his shirt, thickly corded and wrought with a lifetime of experience. Ein was tall for his age with the beginnings of a broad chest, but beside his father he was little more than a sapling.

    Ein pulled back his hood and bent to examine the tracks, squinting in the murky light. Specks of snow touched his face.

    ¡°I¡¯d say a couple of hours old,¡± he concluded. ¡°The print belongs to a deer, a young male. Looks to be in good shape.¡± He turned around and stood. ¡°Reasonably well-fed, considering the stool we found a while back.¡±

    ¡°And what about that over there?¡±

    Alend extended a finger to one of the trees nearby. Ein approached it and brought his face closer to the trunk. The outer layer of snow had worn thin, revealing the bark beneath. There was a scrap of fur snagged against one of the grooves.

    ¡°It rubbed itself against the tree,¡± he said. ¡°Probably to scratch an itch or remove some brambles from its side. There hasn¡¯t been enough snow to cover it yet.¡±

    ¡°Does that give you a more accurate timeframe?¡±

    Ein tilted his head toward the sky, watching the snowflakes spiral towards the ground. ¡°Three hours,¡± he said. ¡°It hasn¡¯t been snowing that heavily.¡±

    ¡°Exactly,¡± Alend nodded. ¡°Good to see I haven¡¯t raised a thickhead.¡±

    Ein scowled.

    ¡°Now, tell me,¡± his father continued. ¡°If we took your suggestion and kept going for an hour or half, what would any simple-minded animal do?¡±

    Ein didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°It would run¡ªunless we sneaked up on it. But that would be hard to do in the dark.¡±

    ¡°Added to the fact that we¡¯re both tired and hungry and in no condition to chase,¡± Alend said. ¡°Still think it¡¯s a good idea?¡±

    Ein slung his travelling pack from his shoulder and set it at the base of a tree. ¡°Alright, Father. You win.¡± He unstrung his bow.

    The shadows lengthened yet another inch. Though light still shone through the clouds, Ein hadn¡¯t seen a hot sun or a clear sky since the start of winter almost three years ago. In that time, snow continued to fall, crops refused to grow, rivers continued to freeze, and animals buried themselves beneath the snowdrifts to wear out the storm. It felt like a lifetime ago when the land had been green and wet, lush with the sweet smell of summer. Now it was a wasteland, a desert of white. Some said it was freak of nature. Others blamed the gods, as long gone as they were.

    To the more superstitious, it was the Great Winter¡ªjust as the Three-winged Crow had foretold.

    Alend rifled through his bag and produced a bundle of supplies¡ªcured meat and nuts, a hunk of stale bread and a wedge of cheese. Ein took his portion and washed it down with water, taking relish in the feeling of having something in his stomach. It wasn¡¯t much of a dinner, but then again nothing was these days. The abnormal weather had stripped Felhaven of its produce, restricting the villagers to a meagre diet and forcing them to dig into their supplies if they needed more. Many a night was spent with food on the mind and a dream of spring.

    Alend began packing snow into his flask, so Ein did the same. There was a stream about half a day away on foot, but there was a good chance it would be frozen, so they¡¯d taken to drinking snow instead. Although it took an entire night to thaw, it was far better than running out of water.

    When they were both finished, Ein¡¯s father unfurled his bedroll and burrowed into it. They decided not to light a fire¡ªthere was nothing to cook and no pressing need to melt snow. The light and smoke of a flame would only alert their quarry to their presence, and there was no time or strength to be wasted on gathering wood.

    Ein remained seated against the trunk, watching as the trees blended into the shadows. Slowly, his eyes grew accustomed to the dark. He was still hungry; most of the fullness he¡¯d felt before had been the water, and hunger did little to drive away the cold.

    A winter night was dark and long. It was cold and quiet, and if you weren¡¯t careful you might find yourself never waking up. The sky fell into pitch black, turning the woods into an unseeable mass. Ein allowed his other senses to take over, listening to the rustle of leaves above him, smelling the crispness of the snow. His heartbeat slowed. Before long, his eyelids had grown heavy with fatigue.

    It was then that the first of the howls rang sharp in the night, and then a second, and a third. Ein¡¯s eyes shot wide open and he reached for the knife by his waist, heart thumping.

    Wolves, he thought. But what are they hunting? Us?

    The chorus of howls echoed. They were further away this time, just a bit. He became aware of his father sitting upright in the darkness, having woken from his sleep. He couldn¡¯t see Alend¡¯s face, but he knew those steel eyes would be alert and searching. Alend had a sixth sense forged in the pits of Hellheim.

    ¡°Should we go?¡± Ein asked.

    There was no response. The dark shape that was his father tilted an ear to the sky. They waited patiently, wordlessly, listening to the wind. The wolves cried again. They were travelling in the opposite direction, their sounds growing more and more distant, fading like the toll of a bell. When their cries could no longer be heard, Alend fell back to his bedroll.

    ¡°They¡¯re hunting something else,¡± he said. ¡°We should be safe for the night.¡±

    Ein felt the tension ease from his shoulders as he sank back into his covers. He¡¯d never fought for his life before, even if he¡¯d been taught the skills to. He hoped that day would never come.

    Alend was already asleep, breathing long and deep in tune with the wind. Ein wished he could do that. Sleep and wake at will, like the flick of a switch. It was a learned skill, one he had yet to master, along with hunting, tracking, fencing and the myriad other skills his father knew. Idly, he wondered how a person like Alend had ended up as a village blacksmith. That was his last thought before he fell into an uneasy sleep.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    #

    Alend was up before him in the morning, bedroll already folded up and packed away. He tossed Ein another hunk of bread, barely a mouthful to break his fast. It was tough as a rock and his mouth was unbelievably dry, but he ate it anyway. Ein reluctantly left the warmth of his blankets, slapping some life into his cheeks, shaking his limbs, ironing out the tiredness from his joints. His fingers felt cold and leaden in his gloves.

    ¡°Come on,¡± his father said. ¡°Let¡¯s not waste any time.¡±

    They were ready to go in moments. It had stopped snowing at some point in the night, and patches of dirt and grass were beginning to show like brushstrokes on a blank canvas. The land changed as easily as the wind¡ªsome days he saw the verdant leas of old, buried beneath a layer of weathering snow. Other days the snow piled on so heavily it smothered everything under a thick white blanket. Ein supposed it was lucky they hadn¡¯t experienced any snowstorms during their hunt.

    They slogged further along the trail, Ein leading, his father following. They tracked the prints at a steady pace without stopping or speaking¡ªthe hunt had stretched on for too long. Every day they spent away from home was a day their family starved. It was thoughts of his mother and Cinnamin that kept him going, and he was sure it was the same for his father.

    Ein noted the clumps of hair and fur snagged in the bushes, scratchings over rock where the buck had clambered across, half-bitten stalks of grass where it had stopped to eat. They found another piece of scat, but didn¡¯t stop to analyse it. The sky grew brighter, just a bit, and Ein thought he saw a single ray of light peek out from behind a cloud. Then, just as soon as it had appeared, it was gone.

    ¡°We¡¯re getting closer,¡± Alend said. It was noon.

    ¡°Are we?¡± Ein had been mindlessly following the tracks, too lost in thoughts of food and sleep. His feet were sore, his eyes prickly, his muscles burning with exertion. They were likely going to skip lunch as well.

    ¡°Fatigue is no excuse for tardiness,¡± Alend said. ¡°Look at the tracks and tell me what you see.¡±

    Ein resisted the urge to snap a reply. Instead, he took a glance at his feet. Then, he blinked and looked again.

    ¡°Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s eyes and ears,¡± he muttered.

    They were no longer following a single target. Somewhere along the way, a pack of beasts had joined the trail, their pawprints running rampant across the buck¡¯s.

    ¡°Wolves,¡± Alend said. ¡°From last night, no doubt. Look at the width between each step. They had it on the run.¡±

    It was true. The stag¡¯s walking pattern had changed from a simple trot to an all-out sprint. How had he missed it?

    ¡°Let¡¯s keep moving,¡± his father continued. ¡°I think we can afford to go a bit faster. Our buck is probably dead by now; the earlier we confirm it, the earlier we can head back.¡±

    Ein nodded, and they broke into a trot. Sweat dripped down his face and cooled on his skin, soaking his shirt. His breath escaped in puffs of white, the travelling bag chafing against his back. Alend had taken him running when he was a child, through the woods and the rolling farmland to build endurance, but they¡¯d never gone on an empty stomach before, on five hours¡¯ sleep and in temperatures below freezing. Before long his mind began to wander, veering away from the trail on the ground. So it was that he came to a halt where the snow ended and mossy-green grass began, at a loss for what to do.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Alend urged. ¡°Why are we stopping? Every step we take is a step further from home.¡±

    Ein stared at the ground. What little snow that had covered it last night had vanished, melting under the light of midday¡ªtaking with it signs of the animals¡¯ passing.

    ¡°Get on your knees,¡± his father said. ¡°You don¡¯t need snow to track.¡±

    A flame of frustration welled within him. He knew all this; he knew what to do. He had just been too tired and hungry to focus.

    Come on, he berated himself. You can do better than this.

    Ein bent down and angled his head so that the light shone a glossy layer on the grass, highlighting the smallest inconsistencies. It was bent in places where the beasts had passed, the stalks snapped at unnatural angles to the ground. Faint marks dotted the ground, places where dirt and grime had either been pressed together or wiped away by a footfall. The trail wasn¡¯t dead; far from it. Alend saw the recognition on his face and nodded.

    ¡°String your bow,¡± he said, ¡°and let¡¯s run.¡±

    Ein did as he was told and slid his bow from his pack, looping the string around both ends. Giving it a few strums, he nodded at his father. Suddenly he felt fresh and alert, the tiredness gone from his limbs, his body no longer sluggish. Things were about to come to an end, for better or worse. Alend raised his own bow, an arrow already nocked. Without waiting for a response, he broke into a jog.

    For a man of his size, Ein¡¯s father moved surprisingly swiftly. His boots barely made a sound as they pressed into the dirt, his cloak flapping behind him. Ein felt like a clumsy beast in comparison, rousing the entire forest with each step. They stole through the trees and the trail, across patches of snow and grass alike, hopping over stones and through snow-crusted bushes. Every so often, Alend bent down to the ground to make sure they were still on the right track.

    In half an hour, they¡¯d covered several miles of ground through the twisting growth, following the wolves and the buck deep into the woods. It was familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time. Ein had spent many a day of his childhood in the woods, but with the place covered in snow he barely recognized it anymore. He remembered when he, Bran and Evaine had gotten lost playing fetch-and-find once, spending an entire night alone and huddled beneath a large pine. That was back when Alend had yet to teach him how to navigate the wilds with only the sun and the stars, how to set up traps, a fire, even create a tent with limited supplies¡ª

    ¡°Ein.¡±

    Alend raised a hand, signalling him to stop. Ein crouched low and was in the middle of drawing back his arrow when he realized his father wasn¡¯t doing the same. They hadn¡¯t stopped because they were nearing their prey, or because there was danger. They¡¯d stopped for a different reason.

    Ein stepped up to his father¡¯s side and looked at the ground. A splotch of dark red, almost rust stained the dirt¡ªthe blood of an animal. Bushes had been broken in a struggle of some sort, claw and bite marks carved into the base of nearby trees. It didn¡¯t take a skilled tracker to understand this was where the buck had finally been killed.

    ¡°Where¡¯s the body?¡± Ein asked.

    Alend wordlessly pulled apart the bushes and stepped through. There was more blood, splattered along the ground and the undergrowth. Snow began to fall.

    They found the corpse a little while later, under the shadow of a rocky outcrop. The buck lay crumpled on its side, soaking in a pool of frozen blood. It had been stripped from neck to tail, leaving only bones, bowels and bloodied fur held together by a ragged spine. Ribs stabbed the air like broken fingers among the reds and yellows of flesh and fat. Half an antler lay broken and discarded, partly embedded in the packed dirt. Alend bent down and placed his knife against the corpse, sawing away at the freezing fur without a moment¡¯s pause.

    Ein walked over and pulled out his own knife. They worked quickly and efficiently, taking what little that could be taken. The bits and pieces of fur might be enough for a pair of gloves or a cap. There were a few shreds of meat attached to bone that could be stripped, and in a pinch, the eyes, tongue, even the neck could be eaten for sustenance¡ªthough the thought of that wasn¡¯t particularly appealing. This was what the Great Winter had reduced them to.

    As Ein packed away the last of plunder, Alend stood up. He peered at a trail of prints on the ground, leading through another blood-stained thicket.

    ¡°Wait here,¡± he instructed.

    Ein didn¡¯t wait, of course. He shook free the layer of snow that had settled atop his head and stalked his father into the trees.

    ¡°Did you find something?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Perhaps.¡± Alend looked at the tracks on the ground. ¡°I wonder what happened to the wolves.¡±

    ¡°They probably ran off, having had their fill.¡±

    Alend didn¡¯t answer. Ein glanced at the ground and frowned.

    Mixed in with the tracks of the six odd wolves were another set of prints¡ªlarger, heavier ones. Something that walked on two legs, but wasn¡¯t human. They were already fading with the coming snow, but Alend seemed to have no problem following them.

    ¡°They¡¯re not the right shape to be a bear,¡± he murmured.

    What other creatures lurked in the woods? Especially big ones capable of taking on packs of wolves? There were bears¡­ and that was all Ein could think of. Even then, wolves had strength in numbers. Snow tigers perhaps? But they were rare, and walked on all fours. These prints belonged to a bipedal creature, one with five toes ending in razor points that moved with an uneven gait.

    Alend picked something up and exhaled.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Ein asked.

    Alend turned and seemed to pause for a moment, hiding his find. Then, he brought his hand out from behind his back and raised it to the light. He was holding half of a wolf by the ears, its body ripped apart at the belly. A spine dangled among bloody entrails, dripping slick blood onto the ground.

    Ein¡¯s breath caught in his throat. He¡¯d seen dead animals before, but this one had been murdered in such a vicious manner he couldn¡¯t help but gasp. It reminded him of the careless way a child would rip apart a doll simply to see what its innards were made of.

    ¡°There¡¯s more,¡± Alend said. ¡°Look.¡±

    He pointed into the trees. Forgetting his bag, Ein trudged over and broke through a small clearing, a meadow of sorts bordered by a few jagged rocks and stunted trees. The smell of blood flooded his nose, thick and permeating.

    It was a scene of carnage. Wolf corpses lay lifeless in the snow, ripped to pieces and thrown aside like ragdolls. Entrails scattered the clearing like blue snakes, glistening under the afternoon light. It was as if a whirlwind of claws and teeth had run into the pack and killed them for the sake of simply killing. The flesh remained on their body, untouched. Eyes open, lifeless, they looked like pups instead of predators.

    ¡°At least our trip wasn¡¯t for nought,¡± Alend smiled grimly. Ein looked at his hand and realized it was shaking.

    What sort of creature had done this? Wolves who ruled the woods, whom man had feared since they¡¯d first learned to hunt and create stone spears to wield¡ªthey¡¯d been decimated, torn to shreds with such ease. The bodies lying dead on the ground could have easily been theirs.

    He caught Alend¡¯s eye as his father bent down to skin one of the grey hides, jaw firmly set. As usual, he seemed unfazed.

    ¡°Come on, boy,¡± he growled. ¡°I don¡¯t want to stay here any longer than you do.¡± He looked at the tracks, leading off into a battered section of trees. ¡°It looks like the creature¡¯s gone the other way, but it could turn back at any moment. We don¡¯t want to be here for that, do we?¡±

    Ein felt the spell lift, and he was able to move once more. He unclenched his fists and bent down in front of one of the carcasses, drawing his knife. As he set about shaving off slabs of meat to drain and take back to the village, he tried to not to breathe in the stench of blood or think about what was out there in the woods, waiting for them.

 2. Homecoming

    Chapter Two: Homecoming

    ¡°They came from the darkness. We¡¯d never seen anything like them. They were abominations of nature.¡±

    ¡ªYlva Norn, A History of Faengard: The First Age

    Ein and his father stuffed themselves until they were bursting at the seams that night. There was no need to hold back; anything left over would be thrown away between all the meat and wolf pelts they needed to carry home. They abandoned the scraps of deer they¡¯d salvaged and a few other odds and ends¡ªa spare pot, a quiver of arrows, a flask full of alcohol for treating wounds. There wasn¡¯t much else they could afford to discard. They hadn¡¯t packed many things in the first place.

    Alend sprinkled another handful of salt over the roasted meat and then passed it over to Ein, who took it eagerly. Even with such basic seasoning, the smell caused Ein to salivate like a canine himself. It had been a long time since he¡¯d been this full. Even when his stomach was so bloated he couldn¡¯t stand up straight, he refused to see the food go to waste. Sitting around a crackling campfire with a full belly and waves of warmth licking at his face, he found himself wishing his mother and sister were there.

    We¡¯ll be back before long, he thought to himself. Back with enough food to last a month.

    He couldn¡¯t wait to see some of the fullness return to his mother¡¯s cheeks, to see the bright smile light up Cinnamin¡¯s face when she met them by the door. He also wanted to see Evaine again, and Bran.

    Alend tossed a gnawed bone into the darkness and drank a mouthful of melted snow. The plan was to take the night to rest and recover, and then set off on the road home at first light. They¡¯d left markers along the trail to aid them¡ªstrips of cloth, nails hammered into trees, things that didn¡¯t appear naturally in the wild. Hopefully the winds hadn¡¯t torn them away.

    Ein realized his father had fallen silent against his tree, arms folded across his chest. Alend was staring into the clearing where they¡¯d found the wolves, where the corpses still lay stripped to the bone. The flames painted dark shadows across his face. His brow was lowered into an almost horizontal line, eyes dark and distant, brooding.

    ¡°What do you think killed them?¡± Ein asked. He licked clean the skewer in his hand and massaged his stomach.

    ¡°I only wish I knew,¡± Alend replied. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell me?¡±

    He directed his attention to his son, eyes glinting. Ein couldn¡¯t tell if his father even knew the answer at all.

    ¡°Something dangerous,¡± Ein said. That much was obvious, and Alend¡¯s look told him so. ¡°Something that can take on six wolves at once with enough strength to rip them apart. Something that walks on two legs and has claws.¡±

    ¡°An idiot would be able to tell me that much.¡±

    Ein ignored the jest. ¡°My first guess would be a bear¡­ but bears hibernate in winter, and even the strongest bear can¡¯t fight six wolves and win with such ease. If we ignore bears, wolves are probably the next highest on the food chain. The next top ¡®dog¡¯, so to speak.¡± He smirked.

    Alend scowled and threw another bone at his son. ¡°I didn¡¯t spend all these years raising you to become a court jester.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re just mad you didn¡¯t think of it first.¡± Ein swerved, watching the bone as it whistled past his ear and into the darkness. He cleared his throat. ¡°It¡¯s not tigers or mammoths for sure; they don¡¯t live around these areas. That only leaves¡­¡± he broke off.

    ¡°That only leaves?¡±

    ¡°This is just a guess,¡± Ein said. ¡°But the next thing I would think of would be something from the legends. Perhaps¡­ a relict.¡±

    He paused, looking towards his father. He¡¯d expected admonishment for believing in such superstition, but Alend was strangely quiet.

    ¡°What do you know about the relicts?¡± he asked.

    Ein stared deep into the flames, watching them crackle and spit. Sparks of orange and ash sprayed onto the ground every few moments, sizzling into nothingness. The relicts were legends, folk tales told by housewives to scare children out of the woods. If you spoke of them in front of the villagers, they¡¯d only laugh and ask if you still wet your bed and drank your mother¡¯s milk.

    ¡°They¡¯re demons,¡± he said at last. ¡°Creatures of pure evil from mankind¡¯s darkest nightmares. Natives of Nephilheim, the land of shadows.¡± He cleared his throat and began to sing:

    ¡°Relict, relict, creation¡¯s delict;

    Promises broken, Pantheon tricked.

    Strength and will of no man living,

    Vicious spirit, unforgiving;

    Eyes of night and claws of steel,

    The Faceless Ruler¡¯s troops ideal,

    See a relict, run, survive!

    No mortal man returns alive.¡±

    ¡°Relict, relict, creation¡¯s delict, Promises broken, Pantheon tricked. Sealed behind great Aedrasil, Return to war one day they will.¡± Alend joined in, finishing the last verse of the rhyme. ¡°So you think these murders are the work of a relict?¡±

    Ein shrugged. ¡°Could just as well be a dragon or some other legend. But with the way things have been lately, especially with the Great Winter and all, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised.¡±

    Alend nodded. Ein waited to see if he would say anything more, but he didn¡¯t. It was almost as if his father believed in them¡ªin the relicts. That would mean he believed in the Oathbreaker and the ramblings of the Three-winged Crow. Given the current circumstances it wasn¡¯t a far cry, but the thought of demons and an ancient god of evil marching on Felhaven was so absurd Ein couldn¡¯t keep from smiling. Felhaven was a sanctuary, a village in the middle of nowhere in the far reaches of Faengard. Even if the Oathbreaker was real, there was nothing he could possibly want with such a secluded place. The villagers would sooner die of starvation than mythical monsters marching into town.

    ¡°So that¡¯s it?¡± Alend spoke up, startling him. Ein thought his father had gone to sleep.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Is that all you have to say?¡± Alend said. ¡°In regards to what killed those wolves?¡±

    Ein thought for a moment. ¡°I suppose so,¡± he slowly said.

    ¡°It could have been done by something wielding a human weapon. Like a sword.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s ridiculous. Humans wouldn¡¯t leave those kinds of tracks.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Alend said. ¡°But the relicts were not Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s only servants. There were also the Faceless, men and women who¡¯d sworn themselves to the Oathbreaker in exchange for power, and among them, seven who stood head and shoulders above the rest. The Urudain.¡± He bundled his furs about him and curled up against the tree. ¡°Didn¡¯t Garax ever tell you stories about them?¡±

    ¡°So you believe in it, then? In the Twilight of the World?¡±

    Alend waved his hand in a shooing motion, signalling the end of the conversation. Ein shifted his attention back to the soft crackling of the fire.

    Relicts. Monsters, demons, creatures of old from ages long gone. Any stories that remained likely contained but a glimmer of the truth, as was the nature of recollection. However, a glimmer of truth was still a glimmer. Ein looked around at the flickering shadows, picturing wolf-men with claws prowling through the night. Then, they turned into cloaked swordsmen drifting between the tree trunks, with only emptiness where their faces should be.

    Ein shook his head at the absurdity of it all. The relicts had not been seen since the Second Age, according to the stories. They didn¡¯t exist. He snuggled down into his blankets, yet, try as he might, he continued to see dark shapes floating about the edge of his vision. It was a long time before he finally fell asleep.

    #

    Morning came. Ein and his father wasted no time, skirting through the woods as quickly as they could with their bulging packs. Ein had the sharper vision so he led the way, picking out landmarks and discrepancies in the wood where they¡¯d left signs of their passing. Alend brought up the rear, cleaning as they went, removing the scraps of cloth and nail they¡¯d wedged into trees to mark the path. It was slow going but they were no longer underfed or poorly rested, or hindered by the need to tread lightly.

    As the sky brightened into midday, Ein¡¯s pack grew steadily heavier until he felt like he was hauling a great boulder on his back. Sometime later his father took on part of his load, giving him the chance to massage some blood back into his shoulders.

    They moved until it was too dark to see and then slept. They didn¡¯t eat as much on the second night, nor did they talk, and Ein¡¯s sleep was much better than before. Physical exertion was a fine cure for insomnia.

    Finally, they broke out of the woods and onto the snowy outcrop overlooking the valley. Alend dropped his pack, signalling for a rest. Ein brought his waterskin to his lips and drank deeply.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    The Sleeping Twins stood tall and proud against the horizon, two white-capped peaks marking the start of a mountain chain. There was a lake just past the sprawling mass of trees below them, and a river running from the lake, and next to the river, nestled right between the Twins was the village of Felhaven. Ein knew it well, all of its tidy buildings with their snow-covered roofs, the well-worn dirt paths that snaked around them, the village square that lay in the middle of it all. Smoke rose in sleepy wisps as dawn¡¯s first light crept across the valley.

    It was an old village, steeped in a history almost as rich as Faengard itself. He remembered old Garax telling the story when Ein had been but a child, sitting around the fireplace with all the rest of the children. The legend spoke of a pair of talented Songweavers, the titular twins Fel and Brackenburg who¡¯d roamed the land, calling down lightning and redirecting rivers in their wake. They¡¯d travelled far and wide in search of a place to settle down, slaying monsters, rescuing damsels in distress, until finally they stumbled across a small plot of land nestled between a lake, a forest and a chain of mountains¡ªa natural fortress isolated from the rest of the world, an oasis that was difficult to reach from the outside and easily overlooked by unfamiliar eyes. Thus, Felhaven was founded, and when the twins died, two great mountains rose from their corpses to seal off the last remaining path to the village. The valley was named in their honour.

    Ein had envied the twins once, wishing he could have lived a life as a Hero of Faengard. Not anymore, though. He was happy just the way he was now, the son of a blacksmith.

    ¡°I wonder if they¡¯ve started making preparations for Founder¡¯s Eve yet,¡± Alend muttered.

    Ein squinted into the distance. ¡°I think so,¡± he said. He could make out the beginnings of food stalls in the village square and a line of lanterns that had been preemptively tied between a few of the rooftops. ¡°How many days left again?¡±

    ¡°Two. We should be back with a day or so to spare.¡±

    With all the excitement and danger of the hunt, Founder¡¯s Eve had slipped Ein¡¯s mind completely. The festival had been a long time coming, a day of peace in a time of darkness. The villagers didn¡¯t celebrate often, but when they did, they celebrated like kings. Word had it that Mayor Walmsley had somehow hired the Wydlings, the most famous travelling troupe in all Faengard to perform for the day. They even had with them a Songweaver, which was a feat in itself given the current state of things.

    ¡°It feels like a complete waste of time,¡± Ein grumbled. ¡°It¡¯s money that could be spent on food and furs instead.¡±

    ¡°You sound like a sellsword,¡± Alend said. ¡°Money and food aren¡¯t the only things you need to get through tough times. A good boost to morale can be just as important.¡±

    ¡°I suppose. Though, having a full stomach and a heavy purse definitely lifts the spirits.¡±

    Alend grunted. ¡°Have any of the village girls spoken to you yet?¡±

    Ein tilted his head. ¡°About what?¡±

    ¡°About your birthday.¡±

    The blood immediately rushed to his face. This year¡¯s festival would mark the third year of the Great Winter, and the conclusion of his boyhood. He was sixteen, a fully fledged man, and this Founder¡¯s Eve would be his first as an adult. Certain things were expected of men from Felhaven¡ªparticularly unmarried ones.

    ¡°They haven¡¯t,¡± he said, busying himself shovelling snow into his flask. Alend¡¯s gaze continued to bore into him.

    ¡°Do you have anyone in mind?¡±

    ¡°Do I really have to be married?¡± Ein asked, tucking the flask away. He took his time tightening his straps. ¡°I don¡¯t feel like I¡¯m ready yet.¡±

    His father scoffed. ¡°Trust me, boy. No one feels like they¡¯re ready when they come of age. It¡¯s just the way the world works. Be thankful your mother and I didn¡¯t pick someone for you, though if you remain indecisive for too long we might have to.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ It just feels so sudden¡ª¡±

    Alend raised an eyebrow. Ein looked away uncomfortably, staring at the treetops below. The village had more than its share of unmarried girls¡ªhe simply could not think of them as women, not yet¡ªbut they were girls he¡¯d known his whole life, whom he¡¯d grown up alongside. The idea of taking one of them to be his bride was an uncomfortable one. It would be like marrying Cinnamin, and last he checked, siblings did not marry, not even in Felhaven.

    ¡°Can¡¯t I wait a while longer?¡± he asked. ¡°It¡¯s not like anyone will be leaving.¡±

    ¡°No one will be leaving,¡± Alend agreed. ¡°But time doesn¡¯t wait for anyone. In a few weeks, some of the other boys will come of age and you can rest assured they¡¯ll snatch away all the good ones come next Eve. I¡¯m sure a lot of the girls will be hoping you pick them.¡± He scratched at his beard. ¡°In hindsight, I should have just arranged for you and Evaine to be wed back when I could.¡±

    ¡°Surely not? Why Evaine of all people?¡± Ein couldn¡¯t see her in that way no matter how hard he tried.

    ¡°Your mother would cuff you over the head for saying that,¡± Alend chuckled. ¡°Evaine is good friends with Cinnamin, and her father¡¯s farm is the biggest in all Felhaven. She¡¯s one of the prettiest girls in the village, and she¡¯s strong and healthy enough to bear a few sons. I couldn¡¯t think of a more suitable person.¡±

    Ein sighed. Alend was right; if he were to pick any person from the village to wed, it would be her¡ªfor practical reasons, if anything else. He would have to make an effort to befriend any other girl, and there was always the chance that they wouldn¡¯t get along. He wasn¡¯t sure if he was supposed to be relieved or not that Evaine was already betrothed.

    ¡°Just remember,¡± Alend said. ¡°If you stay in Felhaven, you¡¯ll have to marry eventually. The early bird gets the worm. You don¡¯t have a lot of time to decide.¡± He slapped Ein on the back and shouldered his pack, signalling the end of their break.

    Ein nodded, took one last drink of water and strapped on his own belongings.

    ¡°Go and enjoy Founder¡¯s Eve,¡± Alend continued. ¡°Enjoy your first Dance, and have a good think about your future.¡±

    Ein didn¡¯t respond. He¡¯d been looking forward to their return, but now he wasn¡¯t so sure.

    They left the edge of the outcrop and began making their way down to the valley, one hand against the cliff face, the other on the ground. It was slow going. The rocks were half-frozen and as slippery as ice, and several times Ein almost slid to his demise. The sky grew brighter and slightly less grey as the day progressed. Ein looked forward to reaching the bottom. From there, it was just a single flat stretch through the woods and farmland before they were home.

    They reached the base of the valley in two hours¡¯ time and found their way onto one of the many hunting trails that streamed through the woods. Snow fell for a while and then stopped. The Felhaveners had only taken to hunting about a year ago, but even in that time the wildlife population had taken a drastic plunge. Scarcely a few years before, it wasn¡¯t uncommon to see flocks of songbirds dancing through the trees, herds of deer grazing in the meadows, schools of fish swimming through the ponds. Now there were only pigeons and snow finches. Most of the deer were either dead or had migrated, and over half of the bodies of water were frozen solid.

    By the time evening came, Ein and Alend had left the woods well behind and were on the road, footsore and weary but hopeful. The fields stretched on in an endless swathe of white, dotted with the hardiest of weeds here and there. When the wind blew, snowflakes washed away like veils of dust across the plains. They might have stopped one more night before continuing on, but both father and son had travelled the route enough times to know how close they were to home. Ein recognized a broken trunk and a crop of evergreens that signalled the start of Evaine¡¯s farm. He quickened his pace.

    The Tamelyn homestead took up a good portion of the roadside, bounded by a rickety old fence that any man could step over. Fields of snow-beans gave way to frosted radishes, leeks, turnips and other winter vegetables. Scarecrows stood guard, weathered and worn by wind and time. It was the biggest farm in Felhaven, feeding half the village¡¯s population.

    ¡°It¡¯s a bit quiet, isn¡¯t it?¡± Alend asked.

    Ein nodded. The Tamelyn family didn¡¯t just grow crops, they had a flock of sheep too, along with a lone wolfhound who kept the livestock herded. The hound was usually the first to greet them, loping alongside the fence from several hundred yards away as soon as it caught their scent, sometimes even further if the wind was blowing in the right direction. It was about as old as Evaine herself, and she¡¯d named it Einar just to spite him. Evaine was odd like that.

    ¡°Maybe they¡¯re having dinner,¡± Ein shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s about that time, after all.¡± The last vestiges of daylight sunk from behind the clouds.

    ¡°Perhaps.¡± Alend wasn¡¯t convinced. Neither was Ein, if he was to be honest with himself. The old hound always met them whether or not it was meal-time.

    They slogged further along the farm until they reached the sheep pen. The gate was open. It had been ripped off its hinges.

    Ein stared at the fractured wood for a moment, trying to comprehend what had happened. It was splintered and sheared across the centre, lying in a dreary heap across the road like a bundle of driftwood. Alend took one look and then stepped into the paddock.

    It didn¡¯t take long for them to find the livestock. The entire flock of sheep had been slaughtered and left in bits and pieces on the ground, fleece dyed deep in the scarlet of blood and guts. Bodies lay scattered across all corners of the pen. Eyes stared lifelessly, beads of dull black locked in expressions of terror. Ein could almost see them fleeing in their final moments, bleating with frenzy as their brethren were slashed to pieces around them. The thick smell of blood, entrails and scat pierced his nose, causing him to gag.

    ¡°It¡¯s the same,¡± Alend said. He retained his composure, studying a series of tracks on the ground. ¡°Exactly the same.¡±

    ¡°The wolves,¡± Ein realized. ¡°The same thing killed these sheep as those wolves.¡±

    His father nodded. The tracks on the yellowed grass matched the ones in his memory¡ªfive-toed, clawed, bipedal. They littered the inside of the pen and around the edge of the fence, near the splintered gate.

    Ein wandered amongst the corpses, checking each one in the hopes that at least one of them had survived. He found the lifeless body of Einar the hound buried beneath two of the sheep. The beast had spent its last moments trying to protect its charges from the unknown assailant. Its body was already frozen stiff, a single clean slash opening up its belly.

    ¡°Einar¡­¡±

    The hound would never bark again or wag its tail, never snap at his ankles when he came to visit. Tears pricked behind his eyes. Then, with a sudden realization, Ein jerked his head towards the house.

    ¡°Evaine,¡± he cried out, everything else forgotten.

    ¡°Hang on,¡± Alend said quietly. He grabbed the back of Ein¡¯s pack and held him in place. ¡°Don¡¯t go charging in right away.¡±

    Ein almost snapped at his father, but common sense got the better of him and he nodded. Father and son armed themselves, making sure their hunting knives were within easy reach by their waists. Then, as the last corner of the paddock sunk into the darkness, they made for the house.

    It was a simple structure in the same fashion as most of the other houses in Felhaven, single-storeyed with wooden walls and a straw-thatched roof. There were no wisps of smoke coming from the chimney however, no sounds of chatter or dishes being washed, and the windows lacked the homely glow of a hearth-fire. Alend led the way around the side and to the front door, the entrance nearest the scene of bloodshed. Ein followed with bated breath, hoping against hope that his childhood friend and her family were safe.

    There were no marks on the walls, no scratches or splinterings, no shattered windows. However, the front door had been beaten inwards, the top half cracked, a great gash running along its length. Alend prodded it with his foot, then bent down and pulled it off its hinges with a low grunt. It made a loud creaking sound as it came free.

    ¡°Evaine!¡± Alend called out in a low voice. ¡°Valeesha! Nath!¡±

    His voice echoed against the empty walls.

    ¡°Wyd almighty,¡± Ein swore. Unable to wait any longer, he pushed past his father and ran into the homestead, kicking down doors, calling at the top of his lungs. His eyes frantically darted across the rooms, searching. ¡°Evaine!¡± he cried. ¡°Evaine, are you there?¡±

    The inside of the house was a disaster. The plates were shattered and strewn across the kitchen, shelves upturned with books and tableware spilling across the floor, chairs and tables broken into tiny pieces. A large crack ran through the centre of the fireplace where something had rammed into it. It was like a wild beast had whipped through the house, leaving nothing untouched. There was a pool of dried blood on the dining room floor and a large bloodstain on the wall nearest to it.

    Ein couldn¡¯t remember how long he stood there for after he¡¯d sifted through all the rooms, but Alend finally brought him to his senses with a firm tap on the shoulder. While he¡¯d been frozen in silent panic, his father had been carefully examining the door and the paddock for clues. Apparently he¡¯d found nothing, and now that the initial shock of it all had worn down, Ein could see the tiredness settling in his eyes.

    ¡°Let¡¯s keep going,¡± Alend said. ¡°They might be waiting for us up at the village.¡±

    Ein swallowed the lump in his throat. ¡°They¡¯ll be there,¡± he nodded. ¡°They¡¯ll be there.¡± He repeated the phrase to himself, as if saying it would make it come true.

    Gods, what the hell is going on?

    Whatever had killed those wolves in the forest had reached Felhaven. Ein and his father weren¡¯t safe, not even in the Sleeping Twins.

    They left the farm, heading out along the road in complete darkness. Resting was not an option, not anymore. Ein never loosed his grip on the knife strapped to his waist. Not even when the farm was far behind them, as broken and lonely as they¡¯d first found it.

 3. The Sleeping Inn

    Chapter Three: The Sleeping Inn

    ¡°One of the most important places one can find in a settlement is the inn. Whether it be a place to rest and recover, a place to meet or a place to unwind after a long day of work, the inn serves a purpose to everyone in Faengard. It is a place of safety. It is a place where journeys begin.¡±

    ¡ªDagus Adem, The Adventurer¡¯s Guide to the Continent

    They reached Felhaven in the middle of the night, winding their way through the shops and houses to where the inn stood beside the village square. The streets were pitch black and empty, the father and son guided only by memory and soft firelight filtering from behind windows and doors. The inn was the central news hub of the village; just about everything passed through the ears of Koth the innkeeper. If anyone knew what had happened at the Tamelyn homestead, it would be him.

    ¡°Take our things back to the forge,¡± Alend instructed. ¡°I¡¯ll meet you when I¡¯m done.¡±

    The Thoren family forge was on the other side of town, about a few minutes¡¯ walk down the street. Ein had no intention of doing as he was told.

    ¡°I¡¯m coming in with you,¡± he said. He gave his father the most determined stare he could. A muscle twitched in Alend¡¯s cheek.

    ¡°Fine,¡± Alend growled. ¡°But don¡¯t do anything foolish. Let me do all the talking.¡±

    The inn was two storeys tall and stretched the entire length of the square. Every time the wind brushed against it, shutters rattled and sent flakes of snow crumbling from the windowsills. A sign with the name ¡°The Sleeping Twinn¡± swung on a hinge above the doorway, the once dark lettering faded to obscurity. Noise spilled through the gap beneath the door¡ªloud guffaws of men complaining about work, mugs slamming against the table, the odd belch. Alend pushed the door open with his shoulder and they stepped through.

    A blast of warm air hit Ein in the face, laced with the smell of honeymead and the red glow of fire. What little chatter there was faded into nothingness as the regulars swivelled in their seats, eyes coming to rest on the two visitors. Master Koth Kinley stood behind the counter with a mug in one hand, rubbing it clean with a stained dishcloth. Staring across the room at Alend, the two were almost mirror images of each other. Both were broad and hardened, though Alend moreso from his work in the forge, and both had shaggy manes of hair and greying beards. Koth¡¯s was laced with dull red, while Alend still showed patches of black in his.

    ¡°Alend,¡± Koth greeted, and set his mug down on the benchtop. ¡°Ein. Returned from your trip, I see.¡± His eyes ran across the bulging packs that the two carried. He raised an eyebrow. ¡°Looks like you¡¯ve brought back quite the haul.¡±

    ¡°Koth,¡± Alend dipped his head. ¡°We bring some unsettling news, though that can wait for later. Do you know what happened to¡ª¡±

    ¡°Evaine,¡± Ein interrupted. ¡°Where is she? Is she safe?¡±

    There was an uneasy murmur as the patrons of the inn spoke amongst themselves. Alend flashed Ein a warning glance.

    ¡°You must have seen it, then.¡± Koth lowered his gaze. A dark expression took over his face. ¡°The poor Tamelyns¡­¡±

    ¡°We passed the farm on the way back,¡± Alend said. ¡°Tell me, what happened?¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s go upstairs,¡± Koth said. He looked understandingly at Ein. ¡°They¡¯re all alive, son. I¡¯ll take you up to them.¡±

    Ein eased, but the look on the innkeeper¡¯s face told him there was more to be told.

    ¡°Come,¡± Alend gestured. ¡°Koth, is it alright if we leave our packs here for now?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    The moment passed and the inn broke into chatter once more. Snippets of conversation floated past Ein; complaints of the weather, crops dying, animals giving birth, more of the usual. Occasionally Ein heard mention of the attack on the Tamelyn homestead, but they¡¯d reached the bottom of the staircase before he could discern anything of importance.

    Koth took them up the stairs to the guest rooms. Most of them were empty. Not many people passed by the Sleeping Twins, let alone Felhaven. When visitors came, it was usually all at once¡ªwhether it be a squad of soldiers returning to the Capitol, a group of travellers passing by or the odd peddler taking shelter from the storm. The door at the end of the hallway was closed. The innkeeper knocked softly before opening it.

    The first thing Ein saw was Evaine sitting on the floor, her head splayed across one of the beds in the room. Her brunette hair converged into a single braid hanging down to her waist, showing her status as coupled and unavailable for all to see. She jerked upwards at the sound of the door opening and looked around, a sleepy lock falling into her face. Her skin was an unhealthy white, with grey shadows lurking beneath deep, chestnut eyes.

    ¡°Evaine,¡± Ein breathed.

    Her eyes brightened and he was about to rush to her side, but he stopped himself. On the bed was a frail body beneath a single woollen blanket. Ein recognized the face of Master Nath Tamelyn, Evaine¡¯s father. He was chalk white, even whiter than his daughter, and his chest barely rose and fell with each breath.

    ¡°Evaine is well,¡± Koth spoke. ¡°But her parents weren¡¯t so lucky. They¡¯ve been like this since morning, clinging on to life by a single strand.¡±

    Ein¡¯s eyes travelled across the room to the other bed, where Evaine¡¯s mother lay. She too was deathly pale, though in much better shape than her husband. Ein smelled stale sweat and dried blood.

    ¡°The attack,¡± Alend said. ¡°Tell me more about it.¡±

    ¡°I wish I could,¡± Koth sighed. ¡°We don¡¯t know much more than you do. Evaine wasn¡¯t there when it happened. We have no idea what could¡¯ve done it, let alone why. Doesn¡¯t seem to be human hands at least.¡±

    Ein and Alend exchanged a look.

    ¡°Are they going to be alright?¡± Alend asked. ¡°Is there anything we can do to help?¡±

    ¡°Not at the moment, no.¡± Koth wrung his hands uneasily. ¡°All we can do is pray the gates of Vallaheim stay shut for them.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re going to be fine,¡± Evaine said. Her eyes were hard, her jaw set with determination. ¡°They¡¯ve stabilised. Father¡¯s condition was worse this morning; he¡¯s stopped bleeding since then and he no longer tosses and turns in his sleep.¡±

    Alend nodded and gestured to the innkeeper. ¡°Let¡¯s go back downstairs,¡± he said. ¡°There are things I wish to discuss with you, and the village council as well. We¡¯ve brought back plenty of meat. I daresay Nath and Valeesha would enjoy a warm bowl of wolf stew when they wake up.¡± He smiled warmly at Evaine.

    ¡°Wolf stew?¡± Koth raised an eyebrow. ¡°I knew you were a capable man, but hunting wolves?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a long story. Come down and I¡¯ll tell you.¡±

    The two men turned to leave. Koth looked over his shoulder at Ein.

    ¡°Do you want anything to eat or drink? You and your father look like you¡¯ve walked through the nine circles of Hell themselves.¡±

    Ein glanced at Evaine and shook his head. ¡°I¡¯ll eat later,¡± he said. ¡°Save me a bowl of stew.¡±

    Koth nodded and followed Alend out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Their footsteps faded along the floorboards and down the stairs outside.

    As soon as they were gone, the air of defiance left Evaine and she sagged. Ein approached her and sat down on the floor. Now that he had the chance to look closely, he realized the shadows under her eyes were just as much from worrying as crying.

    ¡°Evaine,¡± he said. ¡°Tell me what exactly happened.¡±

    Evaine sat back and folded her legs beneath her. She pulled her braid to her chest and played with it, twisting and twirling it around her fingers. It came as a shock to see her like this, the brash and tomboyish Evaine reduced to a sullen wreck, and Ein wasn¡¯t quite sure what to think.

    ¡°I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re back, Ein,¡± she murmured. ¡°So glad¡­¡± She rubbed her eyes. When she turned to face him, she was trembling.

    ¡°What happened?¡± Ein asked again, and this time she answered.

    ¡°They came this morning, shortly after dawn,¡± she said. ¡°I was at the village buying groceries, and when I came back¡­ when I came back¡­¡± She swallowed. ¡°The sheep were all dead, and the gate had been ripped apart. They were dead, Ein, and they were still bleeding¡­ I could see their insides spilling onto the grass, their eyes¡ª¡±

    Ein squeezed her hand, which had begun to shake violently.

    ¡°I went up to the house,¡± she continued. ¡°Everything was¡­¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Ein said. ¡°I saw it all. You don¡¯t have to describe it.¡± The image of the ransacked house was fresh in his mind. It struck a painful chord within him; the Tamelyn homestead had almost been like a second home.

    Evaine nodded. She shifted on her spot so her back was leaning against the bed, still holding his hand. A few moments later, he did the same.

    ¡°They were lying on the ground,¡± she said. ¡°Father was¡­ he was the worst. His leg was broken, crushed beneath one of the shelves. I think he fought off the attacker; he had a scythe in his hand and there was blood on it. Mother must have taken a blow to the head. She was just lying against the wall, unmoving.¡±

    ¡°What happened then?¡±

    ¡°Well I tended to them, of course. I did the best I could, and then I ran back to the village to call for help. The Mayor and a few of the other Masters came and we took them here, to the inn. Father was in a terrible shape at that time. He was talking in his sleep, sweating, bleeding through his bandages. But he¡¯s alive. We worked non-stop with Helda and cleaned his wound, stopped the bleeding. He¡¯s alive, and he¡¯s going to make it.¡±

    ¡°Do you know what he was saying?¡± Ein asked.

    Evaine shook her head and leaned into him. ¡°I wasn¡¯t paying attention. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d remember even if I knew.¡± She looked up at him with wide, questioning eyes. ¡°What¡¯s happening, Ein? Nothing like this has ever occurred before. We¡¯ve always been safe in Felhaven, in the Sleeping Twins. Not even the wolves or the bears come here. Why now? Is it the winter? The prophecy of the Three-winged Crow? What¡¯s going to happen to us?¡±

    Ein had been about to tell her what he and his father had encountered in the woods, but thought better of it. What she needed was rest. Now that he knew she was safe and that the rest of her family had survived, fatigue was beginning to creep into his eyes.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Ein,¡± she started again. ¡°Is Einar¡­ did you find him? I didn¡¯t see his body. Maybe he survived.¡±

    A lump grew in Ein¡¯s throat. Of course she hadn¡¯t seen the hound; its body had been buried underneath two of the sheep. There was no way she would have been able to move them by herself.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± he lied. He was careful not to look her in the eye. ¡°Father and I didn¡¯t get enough time to check. We¡¯ll go tomorrow morning and look for him. Maybe he did the smart thing and ran away.¡±

    He knew that wasn¡¯t true, and she probably did too. The wolfhound had been the most loyal of beasts. It would have fought to keep the herd safe, no matter the odds. Ein would just have to leave before she did and make sure the hound with his namesake was buried far away from the farm.

    ¡°He was getting old,¡± she continued. ¡°I think¡­ he might have died anyway, maybe in a year or two. Hounds age faster than people, did you know? I think one year for us is seven years for them. That would mean Einar was almost a hundred years old.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t know that he¡¯s dead,¡± Ein repeated. ¡°Come on, Evaine. There¡¯s no use worrying. Here¡¯s what we¡¯ll do. We¡¯ll rest well and fill ourselves with some warm wolf stew. Then, when our minds are clear and sharp, we¡¯ll head out to the farm and try to salvage as much as we can. Your mother and father will be up and walking in no time, and then we¡¯ll all go and watch the Wydlings and the Songweaver¡¯s fireworks come Founder¡¯s Eve. How does that sound?¡±

    He waited for a reply, but it didn¡¯t come. When he finally looked towards her, her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply, her hair tickling his cheek with each breath. He tried to pull his hand away, but she tightened her grip, preventing him from leaving.

    Ein eased himself into a more comfortable position as Evaine continued to sleep, leaning into the crook of his neck for support. He decided to wait for a while longer before heading back to the farm to bury Einar. He¡¯d need a torch. It was approaching midnight, and it would only grow darker from here.

    Ein was still busying himself with those thoughts when his eyes closed and he too fell into a deep sleep.

    #

    ¡°I must admit, I¡¯ve never eaten wolf before,¡± Koth said, gulping down the last of the stew. He dabbed at his lips with a clean handkerchief.

    ¡°How do you like it?¡± Alend asked. His own bowl sat empty on the counter in front of him.

    ¡°It¡¯s tough and it tastes like a cat pissed itself three times over.¡± The innkeeper made a face. ¡°But better than the radishes we¡¯ve been having for the past fortnight. If I eat another radish I might go mad.¡±

    The two men sat by the counter as the last of the inn¡¯s customers trickled drunkenly out into the night. Alend had spent the last few hours salting the meat and stashing it in Koth¡¯s cold-room, and the hour after that helping Caurin the tanner carry all the wolf pelts back to his tannery. The pelts would be enough for a couple of new furs for those in the village who needed them, and the wolf meat would keep for a long while given the ongoing winter.

    Koth poured Alend another mug of ale and slid it across the counter. Alend downed it in a single breath, sighing at the sweet aftertaste on his tongue. He was looking forward to heading home. He missed his wife and daughter. They¡¯d probably turned in for the night by now, or at least he hoped they had¡ªhe would have a word with Rhea if she let Cinnamin stay up again. Just the thought of being in his own bed under the same roof as them set a flame of longing within his chest, though he couldn¡¯t go back just yet. There were still things he had to take care of. Important things.

    ¡°Still here?¡±

    Garax the storyteller slid into the seat beside him, gnarled face pulled into a smile. The balding man was one of the oldest in the village and he knew more than enough stories to warrant his title. He picked at a rotten tooth with his little finger and tapped his other arm against the counter. ¡°Come on, Koth. Another round, if you¡¯d please.¡±

    The innkeeper scowled. ¡°You¡¯ve had more than enough to drink, old man. I need to save a few barrels for Founder¡¯s Eve.¡±

    Garax sighed. ¡°Just water then,¡± he said. He wore a simple long-sleeved shirt with loose fitting pants that smelled of ale. ¡°I¡¯m thirsty, is all.¡±

    Koth snatched the mug and filled it at a tap beneath the counter. ¡°Here,¡± he said, thrusting it back. ¡°Take it and be gone.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s no way to treat a customer,¡± Garax smirked. ¡°Especially not one who¡¯s good for business.¡±

    Few things kept men in the inn better than a good story and fine wine¡ªunless it was a nagging Mistress waiting at home. Garax emptied his mug and slammed it back down on the counter with a burp.

    ¡°Now off with you,¡± Koth said. ¡°Master Thoren and I have important matters to discuss.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll say,¡± Garax said. ¡°Matters important enough for a man on his last legs to wait for an entire inn to empty on a Friday night.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine if you listen in,¡± Alend interrupted. He¡¯d known the old storyteller for over a decade now, and he trusted him. ¡°The news will spread soon enough. But I¡¯d ask of you to please keep it to yourself, at least until the Mayor decides what to do.¡±

    ¡°Certainly,¡± Garax said. ¡°Gods know who would believe me, anyway. Part of the curse that comes with being a storyteller is that they assume every word that comes out of your lips is a story.¡±

    Koth opened his mouth as if to say something, but stopped. ¡°Well?¡± he said instead, peering at Alend. ¡°You¡¯ve got me more strung up than a bride on her wedding night. What¡¯s the news? Spit it out.¡±

    Alend glanced around the inn, confirming its emptiness. Then, he leaned in towards the counter.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t kill those wolves,¡± he said. ¡°The same thing that attacked the Tamelyn farm killed them.¡±

    Koth¡¯s eyes narrowed. Garax said nothing.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if it was the exact same beast,¡± Alend continued. ¡°But it was definitely the same species. The tracks, the way they were killed, they were the same as what we saw up at the farm. It¡¯s not bears or anything we know of, that¡¯s for sure.¡±

    Relicts. He longed to say it, but he knew the innkeeper would only shoot him down. He would keep his silence and let the discussion take its natural course.

    Koth nodded grimly. ¡°I thought as much. Mayor Walmsley keeps insisting it was a bear, but everyone knows he¡¯s just saying that so the people don¡¯t panic. There haven¡¯t been bears coming down from the woods since I was a boy.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your guess then?¡± Garax asked. ¡°What¡¯s your plan, blacksmith?¡±

    Alend looked between the two, and then sighed.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said. ¡°If worse comes to worse, I might have to track it and find out. We can¡¯t have something like that out there going around attacking our farms. If only Nath and Valeesha weren¡¯t out; they might have an inkling of what we¡¯re dealing with.¡± He needed to talk to them, to learn if they¡¯d seen anything. If they really were up against relicts, they needed more than a simple nursery rhyme to fight.

    ¡°Madness.¡± Koth shook his head. ¡°Even with a blade in your hand, you wouldn¡¯t come out of it alive. Not in one piece, anyway. You¡¯re a fine swordsman and all, but if what you say is true then that thing ripped through an entire pack of wolves like it was nothing. I won¡¯t have Rhea and Cinnamin coming up and asking me why I let you kill yourself.¡±

    Alend flinched at the mention of his wife and daughter. ¡°Nath came out of it alive,¡± he insisted. ¡°And he¡¯s never fought in his life.¡±

    ¡°A stroke of luck,¡± Koth snapped. ¡°You should have been here this morning. We thought he wouldn''t make it, we did. Could have sworn the White Women were in his room. If it weren¡¯t for young Mistress Evaine, they might have taken him. And don¡¯t forget, he had his wife to help. Valeesha fights like a woman possessed when her family is on the line.¡±

    Alend frowned and knitted his brows. ¡°What do you suggest we do, then? The threat isn¡¯t going to go away on its own.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not impossible to kill a relict. In fact, I¡¯ve done it before.¡±

    Both Koth and Alend flinched as if they¡¯d been slapped¡ªAlend moreso at the fact that Garax had come to the same conclusion as he; that relicts were behind the attacks. The old man had been listening so quietly they¡¯d almost forgotten he was there. He now leaned in, eyes shining.

    ¡°You¡¯ve killed a relict?¡± Alend asked, studying the storyteller. He¡¯d known the man for over a decade and had never taken him as the fighting type. Then again, people didn¡¯t think much of his son either, and Ein was almost as fine a swordsman as himself.

    ¡°Relict? Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s eyes and ears, what makes you think they exist?¡± Koth said at the same time.

    Both innkeeper and blacksmith stared at each other. The fireplace flickered as the night grew deeper.

    ¡°You believe in them?¡± Koth finally said. With an unsteady hand, he reached under the counter and brought out a bottle of ale. He popped the lid off and poured himself a mug, and then, with some hesitation, poured some for both Alend and Garax as well. Garax nodded his thanks.

    Alend stared at his drink for a while before answering. ¡°The signs are all there,¡± he said. ¡°I can¡¯t think of what else it could be.¡±

    ¡°Gods forbid,¡± Koth said. ¡°Are you out of your mind? I know it¡¯s been a long winter and all, but relicts? Really?¡±

    ¡°You said it yourself,¡± Alend snapped. ¡°What else could have done it?¡±

    ¡°Mark my words,¡± Garax said. ¡°What attacked that farm was a relict. Probably one of the elites, to cause that much damage. A Bloodmane, maybe. They¡¯ve returned, just as the Crow foretold.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re out of your mind,¡± Koth said. ¡°The relicts were sealed behind Aedrasil during the Second Age. Locked up.¡±

    ¡°But not gone,¡± Garax said. ¡°The Great Winter, the Age to end all Ages. It all lines up. Besides¡­¡± The storyteller lifted up one of his sleeves, and instead of a hand, there was only a stump wrapped up in linen bandages. ¡°I know damn well what a relict is capable of. Lost my hand to one of the stragglers left behind from the Second Age. They¡¯re as fast as lightning they are, and just as sharp. It¡¯s a small miracle the shepherd and his wife survived at all.¡±

    Koth look uncertainly at the stump. ¡°I don¡¯t believe a word of it,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°Take your stories outside, old man. Take your ale and get out of here.¡±

    ¡°Wait.¡± Alend turned towards the storyteller. ¡°What do you propose we do, then?¡±

    ¡°We could try hunting it,¡± Garax fixed his eyes onto Alend¡¯s. They were gold in the firelight. ¡°If a shepherd could fight it, it either wasn¡¯t very experienced, or the shepherd was one hell of a lucky bastard. I wouldn¡¯t recommend it, though. If there¡¯s a single relict roaming the countryside, there¡¯ll be a couple more. They follow a chain of command. Trust me, relict elites are nothing to laugh about.¡± He downed the rest of his ale and wiped his mouth on the cuff of his missing hand. ¡°With all that said, I think we should wait.¡±

    ¡°Wait?¡± Koth cried. ¡°Are you mad? Founder¡¯s Eve is just around the corner. What if it attacks?¡±

    ¡°We would have an easier time killing it if it were in our territory,¡± Garax replied coolly. ¡°But you know what I really think? I think we should wait until those troupers that Mayor Walmsley hired arrive. They¡¯ll have news of what¡¯s going on in the outside world. Who knows, maybe there¡¯s a reason the relicts are here in the Sleeping Twins. Maybe there are relicts roaming the rest of Faengard, too.¡±

    He looked at Alend, who turned away.

    ¡°I suppose that could work,¡± the blacksmith said. ¡°The other farms aren¡¯t quite as far out as the Tamelyns¡¯. We¡¯d be able to reach them in time if anything happened. Besides, there¡¯s only one day to go after tonight. The Wydlings will be here tomorrow, and we can decide then.¡±

    Koth looked between the two and then shook his head.

    ¡°Relicts,¡± he sighed. ¡°I always knew there was something wrong in the head with our storyteller, but you too? I didn¡¯t think you were the type to be believing in faerie tales.¡±

    ¡°Like I said,¡± Alend muttered. ¡°We¡¯re living in difficult times. We can¡¯t discount that possibility.¡±

    He and Garax slid their mugs back to the innkeeper. Garax stood up, dragging his sleeve over his wrist once more.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be heading off, then,¡± Garax said. ¡°Rest assured, not a word of tonight will leave these lips. You¡¯ll want to discuss with the mayor, I take it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not so sure now,¡± Koth said bitterly. ¡°Last I checked, Mayor Walmsley wasn¡¯t a child who believed in bedtime stories.¡± He shot a glance at Alend.

    ¡°We¡¯ll leave that for tomorrow,¡± Alend said. ¡°I¡¯m too tired to think right now. You have a good night, storyteller.¡±

    Garax nodded and closed the door of the inn behind him. A cold breath of air rushed into the room.

    ¡°I guess I¡¯ll be turning in as well,¡± Koth said. ¡°What about you? Rhea and Cinnamin will be looking for you in the morning, won¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°Let me check up on Ein first.¡±

    Koth smiled. ¡°That¡¯s right, he hasn¡¯t come down at all, has he? Leave a young man and woman alone in a room and it¡¯s a guaranteed recipe for trouble.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t raise my son to go after taken women,¡± Alend snorted. ¡°Least of all under their parents¡¯ noses.¡± Some of the tension eased from between them. ¡°Besides, his head is thicker than a mammoth hide. I doubt he¡¯d do anything to her until she stripped him down and tied him up in the bath.¡±

    They shared a hearty chuckle before the Koth gathered the mugs in his hands and withdrew into the pantry. Alend rubbed his eyes and made his way back towards the stairs.

    As much as he hated to admit, Garax¡¯s plan of action was much sounder than his own. He needed information. He needed to know just how much of the storyteller¡¯s claims were true, and he needed to know if there had been news of relicts in places outside of the Sleeping Twins. What better way to find out than to talk to the Travelling Folk? Troupers were bound to bring with them news of the outside world.

    No matter how much he thought however, he couldn¡¯t shake the image of the Tamelyn household from his mind. It could have been his own house in tatters like that, with Rhea and Cinnamin lying comatose in bed. He and Ein could have been left in the woods to die, bleeding into the ground like those wolves. The sheep that lay slaughtered in their pen could have easily been the villagers of Felhaven.

    He opened the door to the room at the end of the second floor and smiled at what he saw. Ein had dozed off beside Evaine, mouth ajar, a strand of drool creeping down his chin. He reminded Alend of his dear wife, down to refined cheekbones and the jet black hair. In fact, his son had little in common with him, apart from the colour of his hair and eyes. Even then, Ein¡¯s hair was blacker, and his eyes a more stormy grey compared to the metallic shade of his father¡¯s.

    Alend walked over to one of the drawers and opened it, pulling out a large woollen blanket. He draped it over the two sleeping figures and left the room with a yawn, making sure the door closed quietly behind him.

 4. A Village of Beginnings

    Chapter Four: A Village of Beginnings

    ¡°Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Return to the earth and be free, for death is but another beginning. May Mother Anturia watch over you.¡±

    ¡ªA prayer to Mother Anturia for the dead

    It was early in the morning when Ein woke. He sat groggily for a while, listening to the quiet breathing of Evaine beside him, ignoring the stiffness creeping into the hollow of his neck where her head lay. It took a while longer for him to remember he wasn¡¯t supposed to be asleep, and when he pulled his hand away from hers she let out a quiet groan and began to stir. He remained perfectly still as she shifted into a more comfortable position, and it wasn¡¯t until her breathing evened that he dared move.

    Ein rose to his feet and made a quick check on Evaine¡¯s mother and father, noting the tinge of colour creeping back into their cheeks. Nodding to himself, he left the room on the balls of his feet. Hopefully he would make it back before Evaine woke, and she would be none the wiser.

    After a modest breakfast from the innkeeper and a knowing wink which he ignored, he set out to the Tamelyn farmstead. Smoke rose from the chimneys of Felhaven as fireplaces burned to life and villagers woke up to tend to their daily chores. Some of them waved to Ein as he passed them by.

    He reached the farm in what felt like no time at all. However, he wasn¡¯t alone.

    ¡°Bran,¡± he exclaimed. And then, with a more respectful tone, ¡°Master Sutherland.¡±

    Bran and his father Sanson stood in the middle of the pen, working away at the sheep corpses. They¡¯d sheared the bloodstained fleece already and were hacking away at the bodies with an assortment of knives and cleavers. A wagon stood beside the fence on the road, laden with several sacks of what Ein assumed were tools and cuts of meat, and tethered to it stood a brown mare pawing idly at the ground.

    ¡°Ein,¡± Bran nodded. His father ignored them. ¡°How¡¯s Evaine? I would visit, but we can¡¯t leave these corpses out for much longer. It was hard enough finding the time to come today.¡±

    ¡°You left them out for the whole of yesterday?¡± Ein asked. He approached one of the sheep carcasses, fighting down the uneasiness in his stomach. Soon enough, part of that corpse would be on his plate. He hoped the flies hadn¡¯t gotten around to laying their eggs yet.

    ¡°The village was in an uproar,¡± Bran sighed. ¡°We spent the entire day scouring the countryside for the attackers. Didn¡¯t find anything, of course.¡±

    Bran stood up and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. He was a sandy-haired youth with a splattering of freckles across his red skin, just as tall and thin as his father. Ein remembered a time when young Bran had been the shortest of the three and Evaine had towered a full head above them both. Back then their worries had consisted of getting home before dark, following rabbits to their holes and finding the tallest trees to climb in the woods. How the times had changed.

    ¡°Evaine¡¯s doing fine,¡± Ein answered. ¡°The Master and Mistress look to be in better shape as well. Hopefully they¡¯ll be awake later today.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good to hear,¡± Bran said. He turned to where his father was on the other side of the pen and furrowed his brow. ¡°Of all the times for disaster to strike, it had to be now. I hope they¡¯ll be able to enjoy the festival tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Get back to work,¡± Sanson called out from across the field, startling them both. The tension left Bran¡¯s shoulders and he bent down to the corpse, cleaver raised. With a firm chop, he severed one of the hind legs and pulled it from the main body.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Ein said. ¡°Anyway, have you seen Einar around?¡±

    Bran nodded, cleaning off the tendons from the cut. ¡°Yeah. He¡¯s dead. I pulled his body to the side since I figured you¡¯d probably want to bury him.¡± He pointed to the edge of the pen. ¡°Didn¡¯t touch him or anything. Evaine would kill me if I carved him up like the other animals.¡±

    ¡°Thank the gods.¡± Ein exhaled.

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t know he¡¯s dead yet, does she?¡±

    Ein shoved his hands into his pockets as Bran wrapped the leg into a flap of leather. ¡°I think she suspects it. But don¡¯t tell her; just say we didn¡¯t find his body. I¡¯ll go and bury him now.¡±

    ¡°Got it.¡±

    Ein left him then, trudging over to the remains of the hound with heavy steps. His breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes for a moment. Einar¡¯s jaw was still locked into a snarl, eyes open in fierce determination, staring down whatever it was that had killed him. It had been dark and Ein had been tired the night before, but under the stark daylight the scene was exposed in all its savagery. He gently closed the hound¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°Mother Anturia watch over you,¡± he murmured.

    He bundled the body into his arms, careful not to let any of the insides spill out, and found a place beneath a pine well away from the edge of the farm. Bran and his father were small dots in the distance, moving back and forth between the sheep carcasses and their wagon. Neither of them paid him any heed.

    The first spadeful was the easiest. The soft snow quickly gave way to packed ice and then firm, frozen soil, and it soon became a strenuous task. He fell into a steady rhythm, working up a sweat before long. It was a mindless exercise, one he didn¡¯t dislike at all. He didn¡¯t want to think. The past few days had given him enough to think about, with the upcoming Flower Dance and the whole issue of who he would take to be his bride, as well as the attack on the Tamelyn farm.

    When he was done, he took a moment to admire his handiwork before gently lowering Einar¡¯s body into the grave. A knot of sadness grew in his stomach, followed by anger and frustration. Things wouldn¡¯t quite be the same without the wolfhound.

    The screeching of a crow startled Ein out of his thoughts. He quickly began packing the earth back into the hole. Evaine would be up soon, and it was as safe a bet as any that she¡¯d come back to her farm¡ªif not to look for him, then to salvage what little she could. He wanted the job to be finished by then. Hopefully, a light sprinkling of snow would have covered the patch of dirt he¡¯d dug up.

    Bran and his father had just about finished when Ein returned to the farm and left the spade in the shed. Bran was panting with exertion, even more red-faced than usual. Sanson finished securing their wares at the back of the wagon, feeding the old mare a turnip while he was at is.

    ¡°All finished?¡± Bran asked.

    Ein nodded.

    ¡°Just in time too, it looks like.¡± Bran nodded in the direction of the road. ¡°We¡¯ve got some visitors.¡±

    Ein followed the other¡¯s gaze to where two figures slogged towards them; the tall, broad figure of his father and the smaller, waif-like figure of Evaine. Alend dragged an empty sled behind them.

    ¡°Evaine,¡± Ein exclaimed, as she came to a halt. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± she snapped. ¡°This is my home. I don¡¯t need a reason to be here.¡±

    She nodded curtly at Bran and then stormed off towards the battered entrance to the house, braid swaying behind her. Ein and Bran looked towards Alend.

    ¡°She¡¯s a bit angry,¡± he explained. ¡°I told her she¡¯d have to move elsewhere until either her parents woke or the house was repaired. It¡¯s too dangerous for a girl to be living alone so far out from the village, especially with dangerous beasts roaming about. Not to mention, she needs a new door as well.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s she going to stay?¡± Ein asked.

    ¡°She¡¯ll be staying with us, at least until her mother or father wakes up. They can decide what to do after.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Ein watched Sanson carefully out of the corner of his eye. ¡°Aren¡¯t Bran and Evaine betrothed?¡±

    ¡°It was Sanson himself who suggested it,¡± Alend said. The butcher nodded, wiping his hands on his apron. ¡°The Sutherland homestead is packed enough as it is. They don¡¯t have enough room to spare for another.¡±

    ¡°Besides,¡± Sanson added, ¡°it wouldn¡¯t feel right having her sleep under the same roof as my Bran. He¡¯s not of age for another few weeks, after all. It¡¯ll only be for the next few days¡ªthe troupers are due in tonight, and once they¡¯re gone, Koth has kindly offered one of his rooms at the inn to the young Mistress.¡±

    Ein looked uncertainly at Bran, whose gaze was fixed on the floor. ¡°If it¡¯s alright with everyone then, I guess.¡±

    Sanson gave Alend a courteous nod before turning to leave, taking Bran with him. Bran murmured a quiet farewell over his shoulder.

    ¡°What are you trying to do?¡± Ein asked, once they were out of sight. ¡°Evaine and I are close enough as it is. Poor Bran must be worried out of his mind that I¡¯ll try to take her from him.¡±

    ¡°I tried my best, but Sanson insisted. Their house can definitely fit a third; I¡¯ve seen it myself.¡± He sighed. ¡°The way he went about it, you¡¯d almost think he was trying to hide something.¡±

    Before Ein could enquire further, Evaine emerged from the broken door carrying an armful of clothes. She stalked past the two to the sled, dumping them in an unruly heap.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to see if I can salvage anything else from those sheep corpses,¡± Alend said, unpacking a toolbox from his bag. ¡°We might need to replace those arrows we dumped during the trip. Bone makes for decent arrowheads.¡±

    Ein nodded as his father made his way over to the field. Evaine passed by again, this time with a large trunk in her arms. She stopped halfway to the sled and glared at Ein.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to help me?¡±

    There was no sign of the vulnerable girl from the night before. Evaine was normally quite overbearing, but Ein had never seen her so irritable before. It was probably her way of dealing with the events of yesterday, so he kept quiet and made the wiser decision.

    #If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    Ein and Bran walked home under the noonday clouds, taking turns dragging the sled behind them. Evaine skipped between the two, firing complaints and annoyed remarks at nobody in particular. She¡¯d spent several hours scouring through the wreckage for things to take back, which seemed to have improved her mood¡ªif only slightly.

    ¡°Felhaven¡¯s traditions are stupid,¡± she said. ¡°Why do I have to get married? I want to go adventuring as well. Don¡¯t you agree?¡±

    Ein and Bran nodded, though it was clear on their faces that they didn¡¯t. It wasn¡¯t the first time Evaine had complained about the matter, and Ein suspected it was more to take her mind off her mother and father than anything else.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe no one¡¯s ever tried to leave before,¡± she continued. ¡°Surely I can¡¯t be the only one who¡¯s sick of being a farmer. Every day is the same; there¡¯s never any excitement. Where are the dragons? The knights and the sword-fighting tournaments? The wizards casting thunderbolts from the sky? I don¡¯t want to live my whole life having never seen a city before.¡±

    ¡°Those are all stories,¡± Ein said. ¡°My father says real life doesn¡¯t quite turn out like that. I can tell you for sure, sword-fights aren¡¯t at all what I imagined them to be.¡± He rubbed his bruises absentmindedly. Alend held nothing back during their fencing bouts.

    ¡°Still,¡± Evaine said. ¡°I want to at least experience something for myself. Remember when we used to run around playing pretend? Wasn¡¯t that so much more fun than doing chores?¡±

    ¡°Evaine¡­ we were kids back then.¡± Bran said. ¡°We have to work and do our part for the village now.¡±

    Even though Evaine was the eldest of the three by a good half year, she didn¡¯t act like it. Perhaps it was because of how she¡¯d been raised, the only daughter of an overprotective couple. She¡¯d never been away on a hunt for days on end, never had to kill an animal with her own hands and stain herself with blood. Bran and Ein had spent many a night discussing the reasons behind her outlook on life and arrived at that conclusion. However, they didn¡¯t dare say it to her face, and they refused her requests to stow away on trips outside the village no matter how hard she begged. Valeesha would have them flogged, and Nath would skin them alive even if nothing happened to her.

    Once, Ein had thought it to be unfair. There was no reason to refuse her if she wanted to join them. In fact, it would be safer if she ventured outside the village with others rather than by herself. That way at least, if anything happened they would be able to protect her.

    Then, Alend had suggested taking Cinnamin on one of their expeditions. After that, he¡¯d changed his mind.

    Evaine folded her arms and pursed her lips. ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± she huffed. ¡°If none of you will take me away, I¡¯ll wait for some smooth-tongued traveller to whisk me off.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious,¡± Ein sighed. He knitted his brows. The lack of sleep was starting to affect him. ¡°We¡¯re in the middle of the Great Winter. Wyd help me, isn¡¯t there something else to complain about?¡±

    Evaine paused and gave him a hard look. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.

    ¡°Ein¡¯s just worried about you,¡± Bran cut in quickly. ¡°And so am I. Evaine, your farm was just attacked a few nights ago. Surely it would be wiser to wait, at least until your parents are well again?¡±

    Evaine sagged.

    ¡°I would,¡± she said quietly. ¡°But it won¡¯t be long before we¡¯re married, and once that happens I may as well be chained to the village.¡±

    Whatever Bran had been about to say was cut short. It was no common knowledge that he was the most tame of the three, even when they¡¯d all been children. Ein couldn¡¯t see Bran leaving the village, not even if Hellheim plunged into winter. And once the two were married, Evaine wouldn¡¯t be able to leave either unless Bran left or she was content with being exiled from the village. Husbands and wives who disgraced their vows without good reason forfeited any right to live in Felhaven.

    ¡°Are those the troupers?¡± Ein asked, pointing into the distance.

    Bran and Evaine looked towards Lake Felhaven, the words on the tips of their tongues forgotten. Beside it was a small gathering of cloth tents flying the green and gold banners of the Wydlings. Tiny human figures moved about, unpacking their carts and tending to the horses.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Evaine said. ¡°I want to meet them. The last time we had troupers come around was almost ten years ago. And these aren¡¯t just any troupers, they¡¯re the Wydlings!¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s go home first,¡± Bran suggested. ¡°The troupe won¡¯t be going anywhere, and I¡¯m not sure Ein would appreciate towing your luggage everywhere with him.¡±

    Ein looked gratefully at Bran. ¡°Cinnamin will also want to come,¡± he added. ¡°I¡¯d feel guilty if we saw them without bringing her.¡±

    That seemed to do the trick, and Evaine fell quiet between the two.

    They split up at the village square, Bran heading off to his house at the butchery. Ein and Evaine continued down the street to the Thoren family forge.

    Word of the troupe¡¯s arrival had already spread across the town, and Ein couldn¡¯t help but begin to feel excited. They¡¯d had visited once, long ago, when the fields were still green and marriage was not a topic at the forefront of their minds. He recalled bits and pieces of juggling acts, sword swallowers, men who pulled animals from the hats out of their head, and the songs¡ªso many songs, each telling their own story in such a vivid and memorable manner that they stayed long after the Travelling Folk were gone. There were tales of Lady Reyalin the Stormdancer and Dalan of the Legion, Selin and Sonata, the relicts, even the seven Urudain who served Al¡¯Ashar. It wasn¡¯t often that outsiders passed through Felhaven, and troupers were bound to bring with them the latest happenings around Faengard.

    They weren¡¯t just any ordinary performers, though. These were the Wydlings, living legends themselves. Ein found his step quickening despite himself. He wondered what stories they¡¯d have that ordinary troupes wouldn¡¯t, what songs and performances they¡¯d planned for Founder¡¯s Eve, what tricks the Songweaver had to show.

    The Thoren family forge soon popped into view, a low, stocky building chugging black smoke into the air. When his father wasn¡¯t home, his mother was usually tending the shop or working her way through the never-ending list of chores. There was always something to be done, whether it was cleaning the furnace, dusting the windows or polishing the fine display of weapons hung up on his walls. Ein could barely remember a time he¡¯d returned home to find Rhea idle, unless she was taking her afternoon nap. She either worked hard or rested hard.

    Today, she was sitting by the grindstone sharpening a hoe that had seen better days.

    ¡°Good afternoon,¡± she greeted, as Ein opened the door to a faceful of heat and iron. ¡°What can I do for you today¡ª¡± Her lips widened into a smile when she saw him. ¡°Ein! Welcome back!¡±

    Rhea Thoren had a small, round face with high cheekbones and lustrous, jet-black hair that hung down to her waist in a single braid. The beginnings of wrinkles lined the corners of her mouth and eyes, but she was still attractive enough for many of the widowers to drop by the store for no purpose other than to enjoy her company. She stepped out from behind the grindstone, placing the hoe to one side, wiping her greasy hands on the leather apron around her waist.

    ¡°And Evaine too,¡± she continued. Her face creased into one of concern. ¡°I heard about your parents. I¡¯m so sorry.¡±

    ¡°Mistress Rhea,¡± Evaine curtseyed. ¡°I spoke to Master Alend and he said it would be fine if I stayed here, at least until my parents recover.¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± Rhea dismissed. ¡°I know already. Leave your things over there, I¡¯ll have the room set up for you in a bit. Come in, come out of the cold. Come sit by the fire. Is there anything I can get you to drink?¡± She ushered them to a table and chairs by the furnace. A cold draught blew through the room, whipping at a stack of receipts pinned under a paperweight.

    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary. We won¡¯t be staying for long,¡± Evaine said.

    Ein took a few steps to warm his hands by the fireplace. His father¡¯s hammer and anvil lay to one side, along with a bucket of water and a pair of blackened tongs. It had been a while since he¡¯d seen them in use; there wasn¡¯t as high a demand of forging new tools as mending old ones.

    ¡°I was wondering, would it be alright if I took Cinnamin with us down to see the troupers?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Rhea said. ¡°Gods know if she¡¯s doing anything productive at the moment. Cinnamin!¡± She called out towards the room behind her. ¡°Your brother is home!¡±

    There was a rumbling of footsteps from the hallway behind the forge. Rhea picked up the hoe and wiped it once with a dirty rag before bringing it back to the grindstone. Red sparks burst from the wheel, fizzling before they hit the ground. A low, keening sound filled the room. Ein sat back and closed his eyes.

    He was home.

    ¡°How was the hunt?¡± his mother asked, turning the blade with practiced hands. ¡°Your father told me most of what happened. Are you injured anywhere? Did you get enough to eat?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Ein sighed. ¡°It was tough, but we made it back in one piece. It could have gone worse, though.¡±

    ¡°Every time you two leave the village I stop sleeping,¡± she shook her head. ¡°You know, I actually caught Cinnamin crying one night after a bad dream. She said she heard wolves howling, and a blade whistling in the night.¡± Rhea smiled. ¡°Maybe the blade was your father¡¯s. I heard about the haul you two brought back. With that much food, they¡¯ll be calling you the Heroes of Felhaven in no time.¡±

    A blade whistling in the night. Ein shivered, even as his sister¡¯s voice reached his ears.

    ¡°Mother! I wasn¡¯t crying...!¡±

    Ein and Rhea shared a smile. Cinnamin emerged from the doorway in a flying mess of black hair and skirts, barrelling into Ein¡¯s chest. She pressed her face against his shirt. Ein looked away from Evaine¡¯s amused look.

    ¡°You¡¯re back!¡± Cinnamin exclaimed. ¡°You were gone for so long¡­¡±

    Much like Ein, his sister seemed to have inherited more traits from their mother than father. Her hair was the same lustrous black, the shape of her face slightly round. She was the spitting image of Rhea except for her eyes. They were yet another shade of grey¡ªthe flickering of quicksilver, livid and formless.

    Ein patted her head. ¡°The woods are emptying,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s not as easy to bring back food anymore. We aren¡¯t the only ones who need to eat out there.¡±

    Cinnamin regarded him with a disapproving look. ¡°You won¡¯t be going away for a while yet, right? Mother told me how much food you brought back.¡±

    ¡°Hopefully not,¡± Ein said. ¡°But growing people like you need to eat. If you helped some of the others on the farms, we might not need to hunt as much.¡±

    Cinnamin scowled. ¡°Working on a farm is boring.¡±

    Evaine snorted in an unlady-like fashion.

    ¡°Everything seems to fall apart when you and Father aren¡¯t here,¡± his sister continued. ¡°I¡¯m sure the monster that attacked Evaine¡¯s home wouldn¡¯t have dared come if you were here.¡±

    ¡°Now, now,¡± Rhea interjected. ¡°Father and Ein are hardly the great warriors you make them out to be.¡±

    ¡°You told me you were the best, though,¡± Cinnamin said, tilting her head at Ein. ¡°Or was that a lie?¡±

    Ein swallowed. He did vaguely recall saying that, several years ago¡ªback when his Father had gone easy on him in their duels, back when he¡¯d been cockier than was warranted, proclaiming himself a hero. Under the scrutinizing glares of Evaine and his mother, he now regretted it. Thankfully, his sister¡¯s attention moved on and he was saved from having to provide an explanation.

    ¡°You stink,¡± she said, wrinkling her nose. ¡°Go and take a bath.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Ein asked. ¡°I only came back because I knew you¡¯d want to see the troupers.¡±

    Cinnamin¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°They¡¯re here already?¡±

    ¡°They are.¡±

    Unlike he and Evaine, Cinnamin hadn¡¯t been old enough to remember when a troupe had last visited Felhaven. For her, they were as much a myth as the dragons were. Cinnamin looked to her mother, bouncing up and down as if there were coals beneath her feet.

    ¡°Mother, is it alright if I go?¡±

    ¡°Yes, dear.¡± Rhea chuckled. She didn¡¯t look up from her work. ¡°Go and enjoy yourself. Take care of her, Ein. And you take care of him, Evaine.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡± Evaine curtseyed again.

    They left the forge in high spirits, Cinnamin chattering away with enough energy for the three of them, Ein and Evaine nodding and offering brief responses to keep the conversation flowing. Ein couldn¡¯t keep the grin from his face.

    It was good to be back. He¡¯d only been gone for a little under a week, but it had felt like much longer. He couldn¡¯t picture a life outside the village, away from Bran and Evaine, Cinnamin, his mother and father. Felhaven was his home. It was the only world he knew, the place where his heart lay, and he would struggle to the bitter end before he was forced to leave it.

    ¡°You¡¯ve grown since I last saw you,¡± Evaine smiled, stroking Cinnamin¡¯s hair. It hung down to her waist in a wavy mess, an all-too-similar fashion to her mother¡¯s.

    ¡°Yep! Mother says I¡¯ll be old enough to braid my hair in a few years. Then, I¡¯ll be like you!¡±

    Ein and Evaine exchanged a glance. Ein looked away.

    ¡°How old are you again, Cinnamin?¡± Evaine asked.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be twelve in a few weeks,¡± she quipped.

    ¡°So soon,¡± Evaine murmured. She looked towards the younger girl. ¡°You make sure you enjoy these two years, okay? They¡¯ll be two years you¡¯ll never get back again.¡±

    Cinnamin frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡± Evaine tugged at her braid. ¡°Come, I¡¯ll race you to the village square.¡± She sped off down the road.

    ¡°Hey, that¡¯s not fair! You have longer legs!¡± Cinnamin burst into a sprint, hair streaming behind her. Ein was alone before he had time to blink.

    ¡°Hey, wait!¡± He reached out a hand, but it was too late. The two girls raced off into the distance, kicking up dirt and snow in their wake.

 5. Children of the Wind

    Chapter Five: Children of the Wind

    ¡°We go where the wind takes us.¡±

    ¡ªWydlings saying

    There were a great number of myths associated with the Wydlings. Travelling performers and troupers were aplenty, but when someone mentioned ¡°wind¡± and ¡°children¡±, there was only one group they could be referring to. A Wydling¡ªa child of the wind¡ªwas said to know all the stories in the world and then some. Any trouper could tell stories from books, but only the eldest of the Travelling Folk still remembered tales from the First Age, passed on by word of mouth.

    Entertainment wasn¡¯t the only thing the Children were known for, however. Some said they carried techniques from ancient civilisations, ways to use the blade and the bow, words to whisper to a flower to make it bloom, poultices that could cleanse a festering wound. Some said they shared their partners and were the most skilled lovers in the world. Some said they were demonspawn who made pacts with evil spirits. That thought remained at the front of his mind as Ein crested the hill overlooking the camp.

    ¡°They looked more impressive from further away,¡± Evaine murmured from beside him.

    ¡°Mother says you shouldn¡¯t judge a race of people by their appearance,¡± Cinnamin said.

    There were about five tents in total, each with a domed top dipped in sunny splashes of green and gold. Three wagonfuls of barrels and crates stood to one side, presumably containing supplies and tradeable wares, and they were watched by two merry men armed with swords. Ein counted seven horses around the campsite, tough little creatures with a wild beauty to them. Horses of the Wind weren¡¯t the fastest mounts, but they were more resilient than the six-legged Orstreds and said to be capable of walking to the ends of the earth without stopping. The Wydlings themselves walked around the camp in travel-stained garments of all types and makes; some in sprightly shirts and pants, some in dresses and skirts, some in exquisite satin and silk, but all dyed the green and gold of their company down to the boots. A group of men hammered pins into the ground beside one of the main tents while another tended to the horses. Although they acted jauntily, it was clear from their movements that they¡¯d been on the road for a while.

    ¡°Are you sure we should be disturbing them?¡± Ein asked. ¡°They¡¯ll be tired from their trip. They need to rest before performing tomorrow.¡±

    Cinnamin gave him a pleading look. Evaine tossed her head dismissively.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go closer,¡± she said. ¡°I can barely see anything.¡±

    Without waiting for a response, she clambered back down the hill with light steps. Ein sighed and followed her, pulling Cinnamin along. They shuffled across the dirt, taking cover in the underwood until they reached the edge of the lake. A large thicket of trees hid them from the campsite.

    ¡°They don¡¯t look like anything special,¡± Cinnamin said.

    ¡°What were you expecting?¡± Ein asked. ¡°Men and women ten feet tall with glowing eyes?¡±

    Cinnamin pursed her lips. ¡°No¡­ but they look just like me and you. I didn¡¯t think they¡¯d be so ordinary.¡±

    One of the women sat against a gnarled tree, tuning the strings of her lute. Her eyes were closed, her slender fingers plucking a single note over and over again as her other hand turned the pins. Another man rested on a patch of grass, a feathered cap pulled over his eyes. Ein felt his eyes grow heavy as he watched them.

    Evaine stood up, startling him.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Getting a better view.¡±

    Ein frowned. ¡°If you¡¯re really that curious, just go up and talk to them. There¡¯s no point to sneaking around like a thief.¡±

    ¡°I want to watch them for a while first,¡± Evaine said. ¡°I want to see how they behave differently to us.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re people too, just like you and me. What¡¯s there to see?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re people who aren¡¯t afraid to move from place to place, people who aren¡¯t afraid of the unknown. I¡¯d think that¡¯s reason enough to believe they¡¯re different.¡±

    Evaine circled around behind the trees, and Ein followed. A group of young men played cards on a crate, eating from a bag of honeyed nuts and slinging insults at each other in a well-natured manner. One man sharpened a shortsword. The horses watched silently as Ein and the two girls passed.

    ¡°They look so happy,¡± Evaine said.

    ¡°How do they earn money if they just lounge around all day?¡± Cinnamin asked.

    ¡°They perform,¡± Ein answered. ¡°Performing is their job, and an hour of performance earns more money than an hour of farming.¡±

    ¡°That sounds like much more fun than what we do. Why can¡¯t we become troupers?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a very good question. You¡¯re smart for your age.¡± Evaine smiled, causing Cinnamin to flush.

    ¡°It¡¯s a dangerous life,¡± Ein countered. ¡°You have to travel, and you don¡¯t know what the roads are like. Food and water are the least of your worries. There are bandits and highwaymen and all manner of beasts that roam the country outside the Sleeping Twins.¡±

    ¡°How would you know if you haven¡¯t been?¡± Evaine asked.

    Before Ein could answer, a loud splash startled him. He turned around and ducked without thinking, hiding behind a large bush. Evaine and Cinnamin joined him.

    They¡¯d moved around to the other side of the camp where the Brackenburg River streamed from the lake. The splash had come from the riverbank, but as far as Ein could see, there was nothing there. The river had been teeming with life before the start of the Great Winter, but the temperatures had dropped so far that it often froze a few nights a week. Most of the fish had travelled downstream, leaving behind the valley for warmer prospects.

    Ein reached for the knife at his side, holding his breath. The splash had been too loud to be a mere fish. It had sounded like a beast of some kind¡ªa horse perhaps, or a wolf¡­ or a relict.

    He was just about to suggest starting back when the surface bubbled and a man burst from the depths in a geyser of gleaming droplets. He stood waist-deep in the river wearing nothing at all, rivulets of water streaming down a bronze body that could have been carved from stone. His eyes were dark and deep, his braided hair swept behind his ears like a mass of wriggling tadpoles. He flexed his arms and shook his head, sending water flying across the riverbank. Ein heard Evaine gasp from beside him as the man took a few steps to the bank, enough for the waterline to sink below his waist. He couldn¡¯t imagine how cold the river must be.

    ¡°He¡¯s massive,¡± she murmured. ¡°Almost twice your size.¡±

    Ein hurriedly covered Cinnamin¡¯s eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t recall ever flaunting my wares in front of you.¡±

    Cinnamin struggled to pull his hands away, but he held on tight. Evaine glanced sideways at Ein with a smirk. ¡°Remember when we used to swim here? Your little pecker was smaller than my pinkie.¡±

    ¡°That was over ten years ago. Things grow.¡±

    The man emerged from the river like a glistening god, striding over to where his belongings lay on a patch of grass untouched by the snow. He picked up a towel and began drying himself.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Ein said. ¡°It¡¯s wrong to spy on people like this.¡±

    ¡°Oh, come on. You know you¡¯d do the same if it were a woman in his place.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re out of your mind.¡±

    The man finished drying himself and pulled a tight-fitting shirt on, a green vest with golden stripes running down the sides. As he thrust his foot through one of his trouser legs he turned in the direction where Ein and Evaine were hiding. His eyes locked onto Ein¡¯s as if there was no brush between them.

    ¡°Do you like what you see?¡± he smirked.

    Ein gaped. The man continued to stare at them, looking between Ein and Evaine as he finished threading his belt through the waistline of his trousers.

    ¡°I know you¡¯re there,¡± he continued. ¡°Though I¡¯ll admit, I might have missed you had you not brought those two girls along. You move well for an Aimless.¡±

    Cinnamin finally succeeded in prying Ein¡¯s hands away, losing her balance in the process. She tumbled out from behind the bush in a scattering of snow, shortly followed by Evaine and a wary Ein.

    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± Ein said. ¡°My friend here is a bit of a pervert. We didn''t mean to spy on you.¡±Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    The man shook his head as Evaine punched Ein in the shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s not an issue,¡± he said. ¡°If the Wind wills it, then it shall be so.¡± He gathered his sack of belongings and slung it over his shoulder. ¡°What brings you here? The festival doesn¡¯t begin for another night. You¡¯d be hard-pressed finding any of us willing to perform for free.¡±

    ¡°We were just curious,¡± Evaine said. ¡°It¡¯s not often we get troupers visiting, and I¡¯ve never met a Wydling before. I was wondering what sort of customs and traditions your people had that were different to ours.¡±

    ¡°Like bathing traditions?¡± He raised an eyebrow.

    Ein could have sworn Evaine blushed, but she turned her head quickly.

    ¡°Being a trouper looks fun,¡± Cinnamin quipped. ¡°Ein says it¡¯s dangerous, but I don¡¯t believe him.¡±

    The man chuckled. ¡°Perhaps in times past. But the Wind shifts, and brings with it change. Danger will find you even if you try to avoid it.¡± He gestured towards the camp. ¡°Come, I¡¯ll take you to our Listener. Might I ask what your friends are called, Ein?¡± He looked towards the two girls.

    ¡°Evaine,¡± Evaine said, and then pointed to Cinnamin. ¡°And this is Cinnamin.¡±

    ¡°Nice to meet you.¡± Cinnamin bowed politely.

    ¡°I am Aren,¡± the man nodded. ¡°Let us be on our way. Perhaps we can answer some of your questions.¡±

    #

    The troupe was largely friendly, though also cautious in the stares they gave them. Aren took them straight into the camp, past the two men guarding the wagons. They narrowed their eyes at Ein, taking in his lean physique for a brief moment before looking away, apparently satisfied he was of no threat. They didn¡¯t so much as glance at Evaine or Cinnamin.

    Aren must have been some sort of highly regarded figure among the Wydlings, as none of them dared voice their disapproval even if it was apparent in their eyes. Each step he took had a confident air to it, every nod and greeting filled with purpose and discretion. If it weren¡¯t for his presence, Ein suspected they would have been asked to leave long ago.

    Aren took them to the largest tent of them all, almost as large as the main foyer of the Sleeping Twinn, and ducked through the open flaps. With some hesitation, Ein followed him. The inside of the tent was dimly lit by warm lanterns hanging around the circumference, much like those that had been hung up at the village square in preparation for Founder¡¯s Eve. It reminded Ein of a cross between a common room and the private quarters of an army commander¡ªnot that he¡¯d seen either. A single desk stood in the centre with stacks of crisp papers atop it, pens and an inkwell, and a square trunk at its foot. There was a miniature stove in one corner, next to a rectangular table with a plate and a wooden mug atop it. The air was thick with the smell of scented candles.

    ¡°Father,¡± Aren greeted. ¡°We have visitors from the village.¡±

    Bedrolls were scattered around the edges of the tent. Beside one of them sat a wiry man with salt and pepper braids and a stubble-lined chin, his skin the same shade of bronze as Aren¡¯s. The man looked up at the three and bowed his head.

    ¡°Welcome,¡± he said. ¡°I am Herod, Listener of the Wind, current leader of the Wydlings. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?¡±

    ¡°This flower is Evaine,¡± Aren said. Evaine¡¯s cheeks flushed a light red. ¡°And the little one is Cinnamin. The silent one is called Ein.¡±

    ¡°May the Wind blow in your favour,¡± Herod greeted and stood up, his limbs creaking as they unfolded. At his full height he was almost as tall as Aren. He might have been about the same height as his son in his younger days, but old age had begun to take its toll on the man. ¡°We don¡¯t have much to offer in the way of food except bread and cheap wine. Times are tough, as you might understand.¡±

    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary,¡± Ein said. There was a sudden groan from the bedroll beside Herod. He bent down, and it was only then that Ein realized there was more than just a bundle of sheets on the sleeping mat. A man lay sleeping under the covers, tossing and turning in delirium.

    ¡°How is Baird?¡± Aren asked.

    ¡°Physically, he is well,¡± Herod answered. ¡°His wounds have closed and there appears to be no infection or disease taken root. However, he appears to be suffering from particularly dire nightmares.¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡± Evaine asked. The answer came to Ein a heartbeat before it was spoken.

    ¡°Relicts.¡± Aren looked downwards, eyes burning black. ¡°You might not believe me, but I swear it¡¯s the truth. I swear it on the Wind itself.¡±

    Cinnamin¡¯s hand tightened on the hem of Ein¡¯s shirt.

    ¡°You were attacked by relicts?¡± Ein asked. ¡°Did you see them? When did this happen?¡±

    The sleeping man kicked off his sheets. Herod pulled them back up, but not before Ein caught a glimpse of sweat-stained bandages wrapped across his chest.

    ¡°Only yesterday,¡± Herod said. ¡°There was a whole herd of them, vicious little beasts with antlers like deer. We thought them to be wild game at first, thought ourselves lucky. By the time we realized the truth, it was too late.¡±

    ¡°Where was this?¡± Ein pressed. ¡°In the woods to the south?¡±

    Herod nodded. ¡°About half a day¡¯s travel. They were surprisingly close to your village. We managed to kill them all, but Baird here was gored in the stomach. He should live, though.¡±

    ¡°Gored?¡± Evaine asked. ¡°Not slashed, like with teeth or blades?¡±

    ¡°Gored,¡± Herod repeated. ¡°With horns. I don¡¯t think they had claws, just teeth and horns. Mereth is carving a figure out of wood as we speak; it will be ready by tonight. Another story for our annals.¡±

    ¡°Gored,¡± Evaine repeated, staring vacantly at the wall.

    ¡°Are the bodies still there?¡± Ein asked. ¡°Did you bring them with you?¡±

    ¡°Bodies? By the Wind, no,¡± Herod looked shocked. ¡°We cut them into pieces and burned them. Otherwise they will keep fighting.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡±

    ¡°What does he mean?¡± Cinnamin asked.

    ¡°There¡¯s an old song about the relicts,¡± Aren explained. ¡°We don¡¯t know how much of it¡¯s true, but better to be safe than sorry.¡± He cleared his throat and sang:

    ¡°Relict be dead, relict be gone,

    Stabbed through the heart; still fighting on?

    Cut off its limbs, cut off its head,

    Burn it with fire, relict is dead.¡±

    Silence filled the room after that. The wolves and sheep had been slain by either claws or blades, that much Ein was sure of¡ªnot horns. Was it possible that the troupe had been attacked by a different species of relict? Just how many of the monsters were out there? What did they want with Felhaven?

    ¡°That was a nice tune,¡± Cinnamin clapped her hands. ¡°Do you have any others?¡±

    ¡°I can think of one,¡± Ein said. ¡°Garax the storyteller sang it to us, once.¡±

    ¡°Relict be dead, relict be gone,

    Stabbed through the heart; still fighting on?

    Splash it with seawater, splash it with salt,

    Stab it again, relict will halt.¡±

    ¡°You have a fine voice,¡± Herod smiled. ¡°Travel abroad and learn the country¡¯s songs, and you could go far.¡±

    ¡°I have no intention of becoming a bard,¡± Ein said shortly. ¡°The Sleeping Twins is the place for me.¡±

    ¡°My farm was attacked as well,¡± Evaine said, interrupting them. ¡°The Mayor insists it was a bear, but I don¡¯t believe him. I think it might have been a relict, maybe even one of the those that attacked you.¡±

    Ein swallowed. Evaine had come to the conclusion herself; he hadn¡¯t even told her about the wolves.

    Is it really true? he thought. Is this really the work of relicts?

    He couldn¡¯t think of any other explanation, yet the idea of the tales being true was just too farfetched. He needed his father¡¯s opinion. Alend always had something insightful to say.

    Herod drew his lips into a thin line. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if that were the case. Tales of relicts have been popping up all over Faengard lately. I expect your Mayor will want to speak to us about this. Was anyone injured in the attack?¡±

    ¡°My parents were.¡± A shadow crossed Evaine¡¯s face. Her voice took on a more sombre tone. ¡°They have yet to wake.¡±

    Herod nodded. ¡°I will go and make preparations. Many of us will be visiting the inn tonight; perhaps we can do something for them. I¡¯ll have our Songweaver take a look as well.¡± He clapped his hands. ¡°Anyhow. Apologies for all this talk; I¡¯m sure you didn¡¯t come all the way here to listen to our troubles. Is there any particular reason behind your visit?¡±

    Ein looked toward Evaine. Cinnamin had fallen silent, the way she did when adults were talking about serious things. She looked between them with inquisitive eyes.

    ¡°I suppose,¡± Evaine slowly said, ¡°I was wondering what it would take to join you.¡±

    Ein and Aren blinked. Cinnamin gasped.

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Ein spluttered. ¡°Evaine, don¡¯t be silly. What about Bran?¡±

    ¡°Bran be damned,¡± she snapped. Ein opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind. ¡°The idea of leaving the village is becoming more and more appealing, even at the cost of exile.¡±

    ¡°What about your parents? Are you going to leave them behind, after all they¡¯ve done for you?¡±

    Evaine flinched. ¡°They¡¯ll be fine,¡± she said firmly. ¡°I¡¯m not going to argue with you again. Master Herod, would it be possible to join you and the Wydlings?¡±

    Herod rubbed his chin with an amused look. ¡°Is that really what you want, dear flower?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m seriously considering it.¡±

    Herod glanced at Aren, who hid a smirk. ¡°Many travellers join us for part of their journey, and we welcome their company. But to permanently join our family, to revoke your heritage and give yourself to the Wind, we have much stricter rules in place. Unless you have skills to offer us, whether it be in the form of performance, fighting, medicine and the like, there is but one other way¡ªand that is to be coupled with one of us.¡±

    Evaine held her chin high. ¡°That¡¯s a price I¡¯d be willing to pay.¡± She looked meaningfully at Aren. Herod hid a smile behind his lips.

    ¡°Evaine, think about this¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m flattered,¡± Aren said, cutting Ein off. ¡°But¡­ I¡¯m not interested in women.¡± He said so with a straight face, but his eyes were laughing. It took Evaine a moment to realize what he meant. ¡°If the young man were to offer though,¡± he added, glancing at Ein, ¡°I would be sorely tempted.¡±

    Ein wished he could sink into the ground. He wasn¡¯t sure which made him more uncomfortable; the fact that Aren had expressed interest in him or Evaine¡¯s seething glare. Cinnamin tilted her head quizzically.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you both men, though?¡± she asked. ¡°How can you be coupled if you¡¯re both men?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a question for Mother to answer,¡± Ein said, desperately looking towards the exit to the tent. ¡°I think it might be time for us to leave now. Thank you both kindly for having us, and please pardon our intrusion.¡±

    Herod smiled. ¡°It is nothing. If anything, we look forward to performing for you tomorrow, and taking part in your festival.¡±

    ¡°When will you be coming down to the inn tonight?¡± Evaine asked, still struggling to regain her composure.

    ¡°Before sundown,¡± Herod answered. ¡°Until then, tell the innkeeper to prepare some food and fine wine. We will pay in coin or wares, of course. But make sure you save some for tomorrow, else it won¡¯t be much of a festival.¡±

    ¡°Certainly.¡±

    ¡°It may also be ideal to gather the leaders of your village for tonight,¡± he continued. ¡°Regarding the attacks in the countryside. I expect they¡¯ll want to be there, and it would be preferable if we only have to tell the story of our encounter once.¡±

    Evaine nodded, and Herod returned to the sleeping man¡¯s side.

    ¡°Take them back to the village, Aren,¡± he said. ¡°And bring me Talberon. See if he has a cure for nightmares in that book of his.¡±

 6. The Soulsong

    Chapter Six: The Soulsong

    ¡°Why is it that a simple collection of sounds played in a particular order can invoke such deep feelings within us? It is simple. A song is magic, and it is the language of the soul.¡±

    ¡ªSonata the Speechless, The Woman with No Voice

    Alend had just seasoned the mutton and placed it into the oven when he heard the door to the Sleeping Twinn open.

    ¡°Go serve them,¡± Koth said. ¡°I¡¯ll watch the roast.¡±

    Alend nodded and wiped his hands on his apron. He was no chef, but the Mistresses weren¡¯t due in until sundown, and the innkeeper needed all the help he could get. More food and drink would be consumed over the next few hours than the entire week.

    ¡°Welcome to the Sleeping Twinn,¡± he called, walking out from the kitchen. ¡°What can I get you this fine afternoon¡ª¡±

    A shadow fell across the inn. A man stood in the doorway, the afternoon light casting an almost ethereal edge about him. He wore boiled leather boots and a light grey robe, and fastened about his shoulders was a cloak that had more patches sewn into it than not. Each patch was a differing shade of green and brown, and when they rippled they became a dizzying pattern of leaves and earth that made Alend¡¯s eyes swim. The man himself was old and wizened with parchment skin, unruly white hair flowing down to his waist, fraying whiskers extending into a lengthy beard that stopped at his chest. He held himself far straighter than others of his age, and his stare was like a mirror under a morning sky.

    Alend let his hands fall to his side. ¡°Talberon. What are you doing here?¡±

    The man closed the door behind him and approached the counter. Recognition flashed through his eyes as he took in Alend, from his grey-streaked hair to the calloused hands clenched into fists.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t expect to find you so easily,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ve changed.¡±

    ¡°I left for a reason,¡± Alend replied. ¡°I¡¯m not going back. I¡¯ve served my time. I have a family now, a wife and children.¡±

    ¡°You may not have a choice in the matter.¡± Talberon stopped behind the counter but remained standing. ¡°But for now, there are more pressing matters to be attended to.¡±

    ¡°What do you want?¡± Alend asked again. ¡°I daresay you didn¡¯t come here for a drink.¡±

    ¡°The troupers tell me there are people here who require my aid,¡± Talberon replied. ¡°Parents of a young lady who were attacked by relicts. It would be most kind of you to show me to them... Deserter.¡± He said the word slowly, as if tasting it on his lips. Alend scowled.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take you to them,¡± he said. ¡°But a word of this to anyone and I¡¯ll rip your throat out.¡±

    Talberon shrugged. ¡°Perhaps. But then your quiet village life would come to an end.¡±

    Alend stepped out from behind the counter and led him up the stairs without wasting a single movement. The sooner the man was gone, the better. They would talk later, when they weren¡¯t at risk of being walked in on.

    Nath and Valeesha Tamelyn were as they¡¯d been in the morning, sleeping deeply on their beds in the room at the end of the hallway. Talberon walked with quiet steps across the floorboards and stopped beside the Mistress, eyeing the bandage around her forehead.

    ¡°She suffers from a simple concussion,¡± Alend said. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be anything too serious. I expect she¡¯ll be up before tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Sometimes the unseen injuries are the worst,¡± Talberon murmured. ¡°But my intuition agrees with you. The Mistress¡¯s injury seems to be minor.¡± He moved to Nath¡¯s side. ¡°What of the man?¡±

    ¡°Broken ribs and internal bleeding. Stomach was slashed open by a blade of some sort, or incredibly sharp claws. It¡¯s been stitched up and the bleeding¡¯s stopped, but it will take a while to heal.¡±

    Talberon placed a hand against the sheet. ¡°Do you mind if I have a look?¡± he asked, though his tone implied it wasn¡¯t a question.

    Master Tamelyn stirred as the covers were pulled back, revealing a broad layer of cloth strips criss-crossing his torso. Talberon dug his fingers beneath one of the edges and unravelled it. The smell of damp flesh saturated the air.

    ¡°This was treated well,¡± he said, studying the wound. ¡°But the ribs will take a while to mend, and the threat of festering yet still remains.¡±

    The area around the wound in question was dark and blotched, stretching from Nath¡¯s lower ribs around to his waist and belly. Nine stitches held the two flaps of skin closed in a ragged line of black, crimson and cream. There were other cuts and bruises, but they were minor and all but healed.

    Talberon placed his bag on the table and opened it, retrieving a thick tome with crinkled pages stained yellow with age. The cover was bound with fraying brown cloth, and a silver lock in the shape of a sparrow kept the book sealed from unwanted eyes. He spoke a word, and the lock fell away with a clatter.

    ¡°You¡¯re still using the same book?¡± Alend asked.

    ¡°The book is alive, Deserter. New pages grow as I need them.¡±

    The old man flipped to a page and set the book open on the table. A recipe for a concoction of some sort was scrawled in black ink, along with a few notes scribbled into the margin. Talberon rummaged through his bag and brought out a distiller, a flask, and a mortar and pestle. Studying the distiller for a moment, he changed his mind and put it away.

    ¡°Do you have any medicinal herbs in this village?¡± he asked.

    ¡°We do,¡± Alend answered. The healer had a few, though they were mostly used on the animals than people. She had, however, gone through quite a few herbs during her treatment on the Tamelyns.

    ¡°Bring me these, then.¡± Talberon scribbled on a scrap of paper and handed it to Alend. Alend scanned through it, frowning at the contents. Ginger, mint, pepper. Bonemeal, tendervine, milk of the poppy, frostweed¡ªthey had plenty of that¡ªand bloodgrass.

    ¡°This is a potion, right?¡± Alend said, eyeing the open book. ¡°Not a salve?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a salve,¡± Talberon said.

    ¡°There¡¯s no congealing agent.¡±

    Talberon glared at Alend. ¡°Don¡¯t ask questions. It¡¯s obviously not an ordinary salve; I¡¯m only using it as a catalyst.¡±

    A glint of gold caught Alend¡¯s eye. He looked at Talberon¡¯s hands and noticed the bands on his left and right thumbs. Engraved on a flat disc on the left band were three feathered wings branching from a single point¡ªthe Trinity Wing, symbol of the Skyward Circle. On the right band was a spear and a shield, the symbol of the Uldan House, the royal family that held the throne of Faengard. Outside of the Uldans themselves, few earned the right to bear that symbol.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Of course, Alend thought. A catalyst. He¡¯d almost forgotten what Talberon was, and what position he held. It had been a long time, almost twenty years since they¡¯d last met, and the druid looked not a day older.

    A druid was different to an alchemist. Alchemists and herbalists used poultices and potions. Druids used the Soulsong.

    As Alend left with the list in hand, one thought remained on his mind¡ªa thought that had been gnawing at him ever since Talberon had first stepped into the inn.

    Why had the High King¡¯s advisor come all the way to the Sleeping Twins?

    #

    The healer¡¯s hut lay at the far end of the village square, a short walk from the Sleeping Twinn. Alend passed Sanson on the way and nodded a greeting. The butcher hauled a sack over his shoulder that was apparently quite heavy, muttering curses under his breath with each step. Seeing Alend, he grunted an acknowledgement.

    Helda opened the door at the first knock. The healer of Felhaven had been a farmer in her younger days, but her increasing involvement with midwifery for the villagers had seen her take over the role upon her predecessor¡¯s passing. Age had been kind to her; many thought her at least ten years younger than she actually was. Although she was a widow, she was well past her prime and had no intention to re-marry, so her braid remained.

    ¡°Back again?¡± she began. ¡°Did you forget something¡ª¡±

    She saw Alend and cleared her throat.

    ¡°My apologies,¡± she bowed. ¡°Master Sanson just came around and I thought he¡¯d returned for something else.¡±

    ¡°I saw him on the way,¡± Alend said. ¡°So that¡¯s what he was doing.¡±

    Helda nodded as they stepped into her hut. ¡°He needed salt. Took almost all of it; we¡¯ll need to re-stock before long.¡±

    Alend frowned. There was a lot of mutton to salt, but most of it would be gone after Founder¡¯s Eve. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the task at hand. ¡°I need these. They¡¯re for Nath and Valeesha.¡±

    ¡°Ah. I treated them yesterday, didn¡¯t I?¡± Helda took the scrap of paper from his hands and looked over it. She raised her brow, just as Alend had. ¡°This is a strange recipe. What in the world do you need bloodgrass and frostweed for? And bonemeal? Are you growing plants?¡± She shook her head. ¡°No¡­ frostweed would be counter-intuitive¡­¡±

    Alend considered telling her the truth, but if word got out that there was a druid in Felhaven, there was no telling what Mayor Walmsley would do. The entire village would be lining up outside Talberon¡¯s tent with gifts and requests to be blessed. Felhaveners were honest but simple folk, and knew little of the more mysterious forces that governed the rest of Faengard. Talberon was not one to take advantage of the naive, but refusing them would raise problems as well.

    ¡°It¡¯s a recipe Evaine brought from the Wydlings,¡± Alend said. ¡°I figured it couldn¡¯t hurt to try.¡±

    Helda frowned. ¡°I would advise against trying a recipe from the Travelling Folk without testing it. What if it causes more harm than good?¡±

    Alend drew a breath and thought for another excuse. Thankfully, Helda¡¯s face softened and she turned around, rummaging for the requested ingredients from the drawers in her medicine cabinet.

    ¡°I suppose you can be trusted,¡± she said above the sliding and clacking of wooden drawers. ¡°I¡¯ve seen you treat injuries, after all. You clearly have some level of knowledge in medicine.¡± She placed the ingredients in separate pouches and dropped them in a basket. ¡°I¡¯ve given you a small portion of each; bring back anything left over. And the pouches too, so they can be reused.¡±

    Alend took the basket and thanked her.

    ¡°While you¡¯re at it,¡± Helda said, ¡°if you see Sanson, remind him to go easy on the salt. That stuff isn¡¯t easy to come by all the way out here.¡±

    #

    Talberon wasted no time upon Alend¡¯s return. He took the pouches out and measured amounts on a small set of scales before adding them to the mortar. The milk of the poppy went last, turning the mixture into a murky paste with solid clumps floating about. He then picked up the pestle and began to grind.

    The room was soon filled with the sound of stone against stone. Noise filtered through the floorboards as patrons began wandering into the inn, unwinding after a long day of work. It wouldn¡¯t be long before the troupers arrived; Alend could already hear the voices of the Mistresses and some of the Masters as they busied themselves in the kitchen.

    Part of Alend wished to speak to Talberon immediately, ask him about the relicts and what was happening in Faengard. The druid would know the answers for sure¡ªin fact, Alend would bet his right hand that Talberon was at the centre of it all. The other part, the part with more common sense told him to stay quiet and wait. The troupers would offer him the same information without the extra baggage attached to it. He didn¡¯t care about Faengard. As long as the threat was removed from the Sleeping Twins, he was satisfied. The rest of the world could burn in Hellheim for all he cared.

    The grinding stopped. Talberon took the mixture to Nath and scooped it up in his hands.

    ¡°Close the windows,¡± he instructed.

    Alend moved to the far side of the room and closed them, pulling the curtains across as well. The last slivers of sunset disappeared, plunging the room into darkness.

    ¡°Should I light a lantern?¡± he asked.

    ¡°No,¡± Talberon replied. ¡°Just be quiet. And lock the door.¡±

    Once the door was locked, the druid began rubbing the paste into Nath¡¯s side. As he did so, he sang.

    His voice was low and soft, like a quiet wind weaving through the trees. The song had no lyrics, no words, yet it was laced with Spirit which spoke just as clearly. Talberon¡¯s eyes burned with emerald fire as he hummed the trees to life, chirped with the voices of songbirds sitting amongst the leaves, ebbed and flowed like the waters before they¡¯d frozen. Alend felt a lump rise in his throat¡ªhe remembered walking in a garden long ago filled with blooming flowers, side by side with two other boys¡ªone of them with black hair and grey eyes like himself, the other with a chiselled jaw and proud, noble features. A strangled chirp caught their attention, drawing them to a bleeding dove lying prone on the path. Its wing was bent backwards and broken, blood seeping across its snow-white plumage.

    They picked up the dove with gentle hands and took it home with them, washing the blood from its body, disinfecting the wound, binding it with bandages as it watched with timid eyes. They placed it in a cage and fed it day and night, watched it grow plump and healthy as the days became nights and the nights became days, watched as it grew stronger, greeting them every morning with a song. When the day finally came to free it from its cage, the dove spread its brilliant wings under the sunlight and took off into the sky, circling above their heads with a grateful cry before soaring away. There were still times when Alend heard its voice here and there throughout his day, even when he knew the dove was long dead and gone.

    ¡°Spread your wings and fly

    On the Winds of Fate.¡±

    Alend realized with a start that Talberon had stopped singing and was grinding again, a new mixture in the mortar with the leftover ingredients. He looked up at Alend, the green fire gone from his eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯d forgotten what the Soulsong was like,¡± Alend murmured.

    ¡°By the looks of it, you¡¯ve forgotten many things.¡± Talberon stood and tipped the powder from the mortar onto a square of paper. With a practiced hand, he rolled it up into a tube and spoke a word.

    No, Alend thought. He sang a word.

    An ember flickered to life at the tip of the tube. Talberon placed it on a bronze dish and left it beside Valeesha.

    ¡°That¡¯s for the Mistress,¡± Talberon said. ¡°Keep the windows shut and the door closed. Make sure she keeps breathing it in, and if all goes well she should be up and walking before the rooster crows.¡± He locked his book and packed it into his bag. ¡°I¡¯ve fixed the Master¡¯s ribs and cleansed the wound as well. Keep the skin exposed to the air so we can monitor the progress of his recovery. Make sure you feed him when he wakes up. The Song will continue to draw Spirit from his body until he is fully recovered, which shouldn¡¯t be long.¡±

    The dreadful blackness of the wound had already lightened to a dark purple. It was as if a whole day¡¯s worth of rest had occurred in the span of a few minutes.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Alend said.

    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me, Deserter,¡± he said. ¡°Just be downstairs when the troupers arrive. I expect you¡¯ll want to know about the relicts that attacked them.¡±

    Alend froze. ¡°Relicts?¡±

    ¡°Oh, didn¡¯t they tell you?¡± Talberon looked genuinely surprised. ¡°The Wydlings were attacked on the way here, somewhere in the woods.¡± He pointed at the Tamelyns. ¡°Just like those two.¡±

    Talberon locked eyes with Alend, and he could have sworn the druid smiled.

    ¡°Like I said, you don¡¯t really have a choice in the matter. You¡¯re involved whether you like it or not.¡±

 7. The Binding of Faenrir

    Chapter Seven: The Binding of Faenrir

    ¡°Few relicts are so unique that they are given their own name. Faenrir the World-Eater, son of Al¡¯Ashar and one of the three Aldereich, is one of them.¡±

    ¡ªYlva Norn, The Encyclopaedia of Daemons

    ¡°Seventy-nine¡­ Eighty¡­ Eighty-one¡­¡±

    Sweat dripped from Ein¡¯s brow as he swung his wooden blade again and again, cutting the evening air. Each motion was fluid and seamless, a sequence of steps with no unnecessary movements. Stepping forward, raising his sword, bringing it down in a whistle of wood and wind. His back was straight, his knees bent, centre of gravity low as he stared down his invisible opponent. With each complete swing he exhaled with a hiss, sending a breath of white from his lips.

    ¡°Are you done yet?¡±

    He shut Evaine¡¯s voice in a small box that he locked and tossed into a corner of his mind. All it took was a moment¡¯s lapse in concentration to decide the outcome of a battle. If you were lucky, you¡¯d suffer a light wound or maybe a broken bone. If you were unlucky, or if your opponent knew what they were doing, your head would be separated from your neck. That was what his father had taught him, and Ein had never beaten Alend in all the times they¡¯d crossed blades.

    ¡°Ninety-nine¡­ one hundred.¡±

    He panted, letting his sword fall to his side. Goose-flesh formed along his exposed arms and it wasn¡¯t long before he was shivering. The patches of sweat on his chest and back were reaching uncomfortably low temperatures.

    ¡°Here,¡± Evaine called, tossing a towel towards him. Ein caught it and wiped himself, joining her by the back entrance to the forge where the fire still burned hot. He closed the door and sat down before the furnace, breathing steadily.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand you,¡± she said, watching him out of the corner of her eye. ¡°Why even bother learning to use a sword if you¡¯re never going to set foot outside Felhaven?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a good skill to learn,¡± Ein said. He rested the sword against the wall. ¡°You never know when you¡¯ll need to take up arms and defend your home. Besides, weren¡¯t you the one trying to convince me to leave the village and become a hero? Heroes don¡¯t become strong by lazing around.¡±

    Evaine rolled her eyes. ¡°Well, you¡¯ve finished your drills now. Are you ready to go yet?¡±

    ¡°Is Mother ready?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s already gone. She left with Cinnamin about an hour ago to help out at the inn.¡±

    Ein listened. Evaine was right; aside from the crackle of the fire, he couldn¡¯t hear a thing. They really were gone.

    ¡°The rest of the village is probably there already,¡± Evaine sighed. ¡°I saw the troupers marching through a while ago. I hope they haven¡¯t started their stories without us.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to wait for me,¡± he pointed out. ¡°You could have just gone.¡±

    Evaine picked up the wooden sword and tapped him on the shoulder. ¡°They¡¯d probably throw me into the kitchen to cook, or send me out as a barmaid.¡± She looked at the sword. ¡°This is heavier than it looks.¡±

    ¡°Father makes the training swords heavier to build muscle.¡±

    Evaine replaced it by the wall and smiled smugly. ¡°Well, it¡¯s working. I saw some of the trouper girls eyeing you on the way back.¡±

    Ein flushed. ¡°That¡¯s ridiculous.¡± Were they really?

    He placed the towel by the fire and slipped on his leather vest, drawing the strings tight around his collarbone. Evaine waited for him outside the forge as he doused the flames and closed the door. There were no thieves in Felhaven¡ªthere was no need to steal when you could borrow whatever you needed from your neighbour¡ªso very few of the shops and houses actually had locks. If someone stole something, a quick search of the surrounding houses would usually uncover it.

    They heard the troupe long before they reached the inn, above the grinding of feet on loose gravel and packed dirt. The festival stalls were all but ready, streams of lanterns hanging from roof to roof like wind chimes. Founder¡¯s Eve was a single night¡¯s sleep away. Ein might well find himself betrothed by this time tomorrow. Evaine was silent beside him, her deep eyes gazing far into the distance.

    ¡°You¡¯re serious, aren¡¯t you?¡± he said.

    ¡°Hm?¡± She gave a start and turned to face him. They stood in front of the Sleeping Twinn as sounds of song and laughter washed over them.

    ¡°About leaving Felhaven and joining the Wydlings.¡±

    Evaine cast her eyes to the ground. She opened her mouth as if to say something, and then stopped. She drew herself together and smirked, but the moment of hesitation had not escaped him.

    ¡°Of course I am.¡± Evaine pushed open the door and stepped inside before he could enquire further.

    The inn was packed to the rafters. Every seat, every table was full, villagers and troupers alike sitting in circles touching mugs together in drunken movements. A group of men played cards and dice on one of the bigger tables, while another downed beer after beer in childish rivalries. Several of the unmarried Masters flirted with troupers and villagers alike, boasting with flushed faces and loud mouths. Three men sat around a trouper in the corner, chatting while feasting on what looked like a wolf roast. The trouper moved his hands in exaggerated movements, and the men watched with eyes that saw not the Sleeping Twinn, but dragons and princesses from faraway lands. Between the incessant drone of gossip and the raunchy singing of the lutist by the fireplace, and the splash of mead and the clatter of mugs being thumped onto the tables, Ein could barely hear himself think.

    ¡°Young Master Thoren! And young Mistress Tamelyn! We were wondering when you¡¯d arrive.¡± Mistress Caitlyn greeted them. She was dressed in the roughspun apron of a barmaid and appeared to be enjoying every inch of attention it brought her. Ein spotted his mother nearby in the same outfit, serving a group of rowdy men.

    ¡°Is there anything I can get you? Food or a drink? Don¡¯t worry about paying; we wouldn¡¯t have much in the way of food if it weren¡¯t for you or your father.¡± She closed Ein¡¯s fingers around the coins he had out and looked solemnly at Evaine. ¡°Or the poor sheep on your farm. Do pass my best wishes to your parents.¡±

    Evaine nodded curtly.

    ¡°I suppose we can settle for something,¡± Ein said. ¡°Maybe some bread and mutton.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take wolf,¡± Evaine said. ¡°I feel a bit sick eating my own sheep.¡±

    ¡°Of course. And the drinks?¡±

    ¡°Ale or cider mixed in with some water, I suppose,¡± Ein said. Evaine nodded in agreement. ¡°Nothing too strong. I¡¯d prefer to keep my head tonight.¡±

    ¡°Of course, of course. I¡¯ll have your meal prepared right away. In the meantime, why don¡¯t you take a seat? I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find plenty in the way of entertainment.¡±

    The Mistress left them, rushing off to take orders from another table while collecting a platter of empty mugs from a third.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen this place so busy,¡± Evaine said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose your parents let you come here often, huh.¡± Ein spotted a familiar face and dragged Evaine to the fireplace where they sat down at a table full of villagers and troupers alike. Bran Sutherland greeted them, his face flushed redder than Ein thought possible.

    ¡°You should listen to this one sing,¡± he said. ¡°He¡¯s absolutely brilliant. I¡¯ve never heard anyone so funny in my life.¡±

    The trouper in question sat surrounded by half-drunken men and rosy-faced women, a lute in his hands. When he looked up, Evaine gave a small gasp. A sheen of sweat covered his bronze skin and his cheeks were flushed red with ale, but it was unmistakably Aren.

    ¡°Ah, more flowers come to listen?¡± he winked at the pair. Evaine looked away, red-faced.

    ¡°Keep playing!¡± One of the women smiled sultrily, running her finger along Aren¡¯s arm. ¡°I could listen to you sing for ever and a day.¡±

    ¡°Your fingers are so lively,¡± another said. ¡°I¡¯d be interested to see what else you could do with them.¡± She winked. Aren acted oblivious, ignoring the glares from the other men. Ein wondered if the trouper enjoyed building the hopes of women before dashing them against the rocks.

    ¡°This one I picked up from a busker in Aldoran,¡± Aren said, plucking at his lute. ¡°I was almost arrested by the guards for singing it in public.¡± He lowered his head and played a quick series of chords before singing:

    ¡°Old man Glock had a very fine cock,

    And a very fine cock had he!

    Any girl that he bed, any woman that he wed,

    Were as happy as happy could be!

    Though some might say he was fast,

    Or maybe not that skilled,

    He took them in with a merry old grin

    And left them all fulfilled!

    Old man Glock you give me a shock

    Every time we go to wee,

    Old man Glock, still as stiff as a rock,

    How I wish that you were me!¡±

    The song seemed to rile the Masters and Mistresses even more. Ein was about to suggest leaving before a fight broke out when Garax the storyteller appeared beside him, plopping down on the seat with a yawn. He finished the mug of ale in his right hand and placed it on the table with a loud thump.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard that one before,¡± he yawned. ¡°The men sing it in just about every city in Faengard.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Aren raised a brow. ¡°You¡¯ve travelled outside this valley, old man?¡±

    Garax held the trouper¡¯s gaze, a small smile playing about his lips. ¡°I daresay I¡¯ve been to more places than you have, my boy.¡±

    Aren shifted backwards in his seat and returned the smile. ¡°Sing me something I haven¡¯t heard, then.¡±

    ¡°Well, you see, I¡¯m not so much a singer as a storyteller.¡± Garax leaned forward. ¡°How about this? I hear you Travelling Folk brought a Songweaver with you this time around. Nights like these don¡¯t come often, so let¡¯s make the most of it and play a game.¡±

    Bran, Evaine and the rest of the table had gone silent. Garax had a way with his voice that simply demanded attention. It was a storyteller¡¯s voice, one that made a promise within the first few words, and Garax had never been known to leave his promises unfulfilled.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°If I tell you a story you haven¡¯t heard, your Songweaver puts on a fireworks show for us,¡± Garax continued. ¡°Not the light shows the alchemists throw in the city. A proper show of rainbow embers and butterflies made of sparks, dragons of smoke and flame. A show like no other.¡±

    A round of whispers erupted from the table. Fireworks were a rarity in all of Faengard, let alone the Sleeping Twins. A simple display of a few minutes could cost a fortune. Alchemists were capable of creating simple firecrackers, but only with the use of magic could true works of art be formed in the sky. For that, a Songweaver was needed.

    ¡°That¡¯s very bold of you, old man,¡± Aren said. ¡°But what if I¡¯ve heard them all?¡±

    ¡°Well then¡­¡± Garax thought for a moment. ¡°You can enjoy our hospitality at no cost to yourself.¡±

    ¡°Hang on a moment.¡±

    Koth appeared behind them, arms folded across his chest. The inn had fallen quiet as news of the challenge spread. Ein knew Garax held a large number of stories in his head, but to challenge a Wydling? He was either confident in his ability or completely mad, and there was a saying people jokingly used in Felhaven¡ªa man with no mane is oft insane.

    ¡°Who are you to go around wagering what doesn¡¯t belong to you?¡± the innkeeper glowered. ¡°What if you lose?¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± Garax matched the innkeeper¡¯s stare, his golden eyes twinkling.

    Aren threw back his head and laughed. Several of the other troupers had begun to migrate to the table in interest.

    ¡°I like you, old man,¡± he said. ¡°Father!¡± He called out to Herod, who watched with an amused look on his face. ¡°Can I accept this man¡¯s challenge?¡±

    Herod shrugged. ¡°Our Songweaver is preoccupied at the moment, but I expect he wouldn¡¯t mind. You have my permission.¡±

    ¡°You realize we can¡¯t lose, right?¡± Aren continued, still smiling at Garax. ¡°Even if you somehow end up winning, we still gain a story in the process. To us, a story is worth more than all the coin in the world.¡±

    ¡°Hang on,¡± Koth interrupted. ¡°What¡¯s to stop you from lying and pretending you¡¯ve heard it before?¡±

    ¡°A Wydling would never do such a thing.¡± Aren made a disgusted face and raised a hand, placing it against his heart. ¡°I swear it, on the Wind itself. But¡­¡± he eyed Garax. ¡°What¡¯s to say you won¡¯t just make up a story that never happened?¡±

    Garax raised a hand, mirroring the trouper. ¡°I swear it on the Pantheon. I swear over Wyd¡¯s dead body. I swear it on the Wind itself.¡±

    Aren held his hand before his heart for a moment longer. The inn fell into an expectant silence, broken only by the snoring of a single man beside the fire. Founder¡¯s Eve hadn¡¯t even started and Ein already knew it was going to be the most memorable one yet.

    ¡°Well,¡± the trouper said. ¡°You have my attention. Let¡¯s play this game of yours.¡±

    Garax cleared his throat and leaned back.

    ¡°Very well. Our story begins a long time ago, in a land far far away...¡±

    #

    Our story begins a long time ago, in a land far far away. Not so long ago as to precede the Age of Gods, and not so far away as to leave the realm of Faengard behind. The land as we know it today was different back then. Mountains had yet to rise, seas had yet to form, and the great cities and states of now were still fledgling settlements by the roadside.

    Aren scoffed. ¡°By the Wind, this must be the start of every story ever.¡±

    The world had been torn asunder by the Great War, the relicts sealed behind the Ward Tree. The Hundred Years War had begun, though it was more of a massacre than a war. Stragglers from the First Age who¡¯d escaped the Sealing were stalked and slain across the countryside by the Templars, a group of enigmatic demon hunters who answered only to the Three Kings themselves.

    One of the relicts left behind was a young wolf by the name of Faenrir. Faenrir was the son of Al¡¯Ashar the Oathbreaker himself, the Forsaken One, the Faceless Ruler. Faenrir found his way into our world by accident, and when the gate to Nephilheim was sealed, he became trapped in an unknown land full of humans and other strange creatures.

    The first time Faenrir encountered a human was at a farm, with a pen full of many sheep behind a fence. Faenrir was unsure of why they all shied away from him, even when he just wanted to play. As he sniffed around the edge of the paddock, he saw a wolfhound that looked similar to himself. He barked a greeting, but the animal turned on its tail and fled.

    Faenrir visited that farm for many more days, trying to speak to the wolf-like beast but never finding any luck. Every time it saw him it would howl and run away, diving through the door of the farmstead. Faenrir tried to ask the sheep, but all they did was bleat in fear.

    One day, the beast stood its ground and barked at him. Go away, it said. It told him he was not welcome at the farm. Two taller creatures, whom Faenrir would later learn were called ¡°humans¡± shot sticks with pointed ends at him, driving him back. One of the sticks pierced his hide, causing him great pain.

    As Faenrir fled back into the forest, he wondered why he was treated so. After he pulled the stick from his side and bathed himself in the river, he saw his reflection and realized he was different to the wolfhound. He had eyes the colour of blood and fur the colour of the moon. Although he was of a similar shape to the beast on the farm, he was not the same.

    Hunters came for him that night, humans dressed in the skin of animals and the forest, wielding more of the pointed missiles. Faenrir ran long and hard through the woods, but he could not shake them off no matter how hard he tried. It was not until he was forced into a corner with nowhere to go that he was saved. A pack of wolves emerged from the bushes, great beasts bigger than he was, although still different in appearance. They drove the humans back and took Faenrir in as one of their own, teaching him their ways.

    The humans were not to be trusted, they said. They were young and reckless, and did not think of the consequences of their actions. They destroyed forests, usurped the natural order and only cared for their own race. Faenrir spent the equivalent of his childhood with the wolves, learning to hunt and kill, learning the rules of the wild. He had finally found his place¡­ or so he thought.

    Rumours of a silver wolf with red eyes in the countryside spread quickly, and the Templars found their way to the forest where Faenrir lived. A terrible hunt ensued, one where humans clad in steel and fire chased the wolves through the trees, mowing them down relentlessly. Faenrir¡¯s pack was killed, and in their dying moments, they turned on him, cursing his appearance and how it had undone them all. Faenrir himself managed to escape, but only barely. He¡¯d killed several men by his own teeth and suffered just as many injuries, and as he lay down to die, he wondered why he had ever been born.

    Faenrir did not die, however.

    He woke up to find himself inside one of the human houses, tended by a boy with a kind face. The boy¡¯s name was not important, nor where he lived, only that he lived far away at the edge of civilisation. He was a simple shepherd who watched over the sheep on his farm alongside a trusty wolfhound and his widowed father.

    It took a long time for Faenrir to realize the boy did not want him dead. Faenrir was always cautious, accepting the boy¡¯s food hesitantly, always eyeing his throat and the door in case things went awry. But as Faenrir healed, his heart began to soften and he wondered if there was kindness in the world after all.

    The boy liked to explore the woods in his free time, pretending he was an intrepid explorer navigating his way through an ancient forest. The days back then were longer and brighter than now, but the winters were still the same. Winters are the same no matter where you go¡ªcold, wet and miserable. When Faenrir was able to walk, he and the boy spent many long evenings wandering the woods of his infancy, enjoying each other¡¯s company. Faenrir began to think that maybe not all humans were the same, after all.

    Time passed. Faenrir grew like a normal wolfhound, running out to meet the boy whenever he returned from his trips to the market, playing fetch, chasing the pigeons through the summer fields, his tongue lolling towards the ground in a happy grin, and when the boy¡¯s other hound passed away, Faenrir took its place as the sheepherder.

    Time passed, and the boy became a man. Faenrir grew to the size of an adult wolf, and the young Mistress who the man brought home often passed him fearful glances. The man reassured her. His wolf was a dear friend and would not harm a soul save the animals in the forest it hunted for food.

    Time passed, and the man¡¯s father passed away. He and his young wife moved into the old farm. Faenrir continued to grow; he was the size of a small horse now, and the man often rode him with his wife. He was swifter than the wind and jumped higher than the birds, and a single glare from his blood-red eyes sent wild bears and other wolves fleeing in fear.

    The Hundred Years War was nearly over, and the Three Kings made a final push to erase all traces of the relicts from Faengard. Calls were sent across the land for people with information to come forward, so that the last vestiges of evil could be purged. The man¡¯s wife heard them among the rumour mongers in the villages. The relicts were dangerous, they said. Pure evil, demonspawn, tainting the very air they breathed. The seed of doubt grew in her mind, and when she saw the bounty offered for a live relict, she succumbed to greed. On a night with no moon, she approached the King¡¯s men and informed them of the demon wolf residing at her home.

    The leader of the Templars himself rode out that night, for the demon wolf had been deemed dead nearly a decade ago. Its name was Faenrir, and it was a child of Al¡¯Ashar himself, the Forsaken One, the Faceless Ruler, the Oathbreaker. A small army gathered outside the farm that night, and the man was beside himself with grief when he realized he¡¯d been betrayed by his own wife. Faenrir had not stopped growing¡ªhe was the size of a small house now, and he could see truth in the words of the King¡¯s men. He was no wolf¡ªhe was a demon. The Three-winged Crow herself had deemed him an enemy of the world.

    So it came to be. On that night with the enemy at his doorstep, Faenrir fled¡ª

    #

    ¡°That¡¯s not how the stories go.¡± Evaine spoke up from beside Ein, startling him. ¡°Faenrir was poisoned by his master, wasn¡¯t he? At least, in all the times you¡¯ve told us this story.¡±

    ¡°Stories change all the time,¡± Garax said. ¡°Have you ever played Felen Whispers?¡±

    ¡°Felen Whispers?¡± Ein asked. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of that one before.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s also known as ¡®Rumour Wheel¡¯,¡± Bran interjected. The red flush had somewhat faded from his face. No one in the room had drank for a while. ¡°We used to play it while we were waiting for Rhea to cut our hair. Remember?¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Ein said. ¡°That one.¡±

    One of the young Mistresses who¡¯d tried to sneak beneath Aren¡¯s arms sang:

    ¡°Rumour wheel, rumour wheel,

    What stories have we to reveal?¡±

    ¡°In a game of Rumour Wheel, how many times does the original story remain the same after passing through one ¡®wheel¡¯?¡± Garax asked.

    A few of the troupers chuckled. ¡°You¡¯d be lucky if your tavern brawl didn¡¯t erupt into a lone man taking on an entire legion of guards with a flaming sword,¡± one of them said.

    Garax nodded. ¡°Exactly. There¡¯s bound to be some changes to the original story.¡±

    ¡°The Wydlings are pretty good at keeping their stories unchanged, though,¡± Alend pointed out. Ein hadn¡¯t even noticed his father¡¯s presence until now. ¡°I expect they¡¯d need to be if they wanted to make a living off telling stories.¡±

    ¡°What are you trying to say?¡± Aren interrupted.

    ¡°Well¡­¡± Garax paused, looking past the crowd of tentative faces that stared back at him. ¡°The only way you can be certain you¡¯re hearing the story as it was first told¡­¡±

    ¡°Get on with it already,¡± Koth growled. ¡°Some of us have got to wake up early for tomorrow, you know.¡±

    Garax gave a secretive smile.

    #

    With the enemy at his doorstep, Faenrir turned and fled. He fled across the rolling hills and plains, his powerful strides covering ground faster than a falcon in a full dive. He flew across the treetops, past rivers and lakes, leaping over mountains with a single bound. The Templars and the King¡¯s army were never far behind¡ªthey were everywhere, in every city and town he passed by, every well-worn road, every roadside inn. There was nowhere for Faenrir to hide. The human race had populated the entire world.

    During this time, Faenrir heard more and more rumours about himself. During the string of prophecies the Three-winged Crow announced ending in the ¡°Twilight of the World,¡± she recited a list of relicts who would ultimately contribute to the demise of Faengard, and Faenrir was one of them. The wolf was to eventually swallow the sun and plunge the world into an eternal darkness. Morene Revaengur was the greatest prophet in the land, and her clairvoyance had a record of never failing her. According to her, Faenrir had grown too big to be killed by conventional means¡ªhe could only be bound and chained so as to never threaten the world again. Faenrir had always wondered why he¡¯d never stopped growing, surpassing the size of his wolf brothers so long ago. Now, he knew.

    The King sent his best men to trap the wolf, and with them they took Glepnir¡ªfetters forged from the sound of a cat¡¯s footfall, the beard of a woman, the roots of a mountain, the sinews of a bear, the breath of a fish and the spittle of a bird, pounded together under a dweor hammer. The fetters were as thin as a silken ribbon but stronger than the strongest chain, and according to Morene was the only shackle that could bind Faenrir. Even then it would not hold it forever, for the demon wolf would never stop growing until the end of time, and it would eventually burst free from its bonds.

    As the hunt reached its climax, the Templars found the man who had once been Faenrir¡¯s friend and offered him a deal. They promised him fortune and fame if he turned in his friend. The man refused at first, but he was only a simple man and with some prodding from his wife, he agreed.

    On a night reminiscent of the night they¡¯d met, the man tricked Faenrir. He met the wolf under a full moon and convinced him that the King¡¯s men did not seek to kill, but rather guide him back to Nephilheim where he would be released. However, in order to do so, they needed to bind him so he would not turn on them. Faenrir was heavy with suspicion, but the man had saved his life and taken him in. Faenrir had grown up alongside him, watching him grow from a boy to a man. Faenrir trusted him. He wanted to trust him, wanted to believe in the kindness of the world. As a token of goodwill, he requested the man place his hand within his jaws until they reached Aedrasil and he was freed.

    The man placed his hand within Faenrir¡¯s maw, but he could not look the wolf in the eyes. Glepnir was fitted around Faenrir¡¯s legs and pulled tight, so tight that he fell to the ground and split the earth. Instead of leading Faenrir to the Tree, the Templars tethered him to the ground at what is now the Summit of the World and walked away with thoughts of fortune and fame. Realizing he¡¯d been deceived, Faenrir howled in despair and tore off the man¡¯s hand. He had been betrayed once again.

    Faenrir struggled against his bonds with all his might, but alas, the bonds were forged from impossibilities, so escape itself also became impossible. Faenrir still waits today, chained to the very spot, ever growing in size. When the Twilight of the World begins, he will break free from his bonds and devour the sun, plunging the world into perpetual darkness.

    #

    ¡°This is drivel,¡± Aren spat. ¡°Everyone knows Faenrir was killed. What¡¯s this nonsense about fetters and hands?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the truth,¡± Garax said simply. ¡°I swear it on the Wind.¡±

    Angry whispers escaped the troupers as they expressed their distaste. ¡°He¡¯s making it up.¡± ¡°He knew he was going to lose.¡± ¡°He¡¯s mad.¡± ¡°Where did he hear this from?¡± Herod stroked his chin, thinking.

    Garax leaned back from the table with a serious look.

    ¡°As I was saying,¡± he said, glancing at Koth and Alend, ¡°the only way to verify a story as real and unchanged¡­ is to hear it from the one who lived it.¡±

    Garax raised his right arm from beneath the table and rolled back his sleeve for everyone to see. Where there should have been a hand was only a stump, bound with linen bandages.

 8. Dutys Calling

    Chapter Eight: Duty¡¯s Calling

    ¡°From this day forth, my blade and soul shall belong to the Sovereign. I swear it in the name of Wyd and the Pantheon, and should I break this Vow, may my life be forfeit and my blood be forever stained.¡±

    ¡ªVow of the Kingsblade

    Roars of disbelief erupted from the Wydlings, claims of ¡°liar¡±, ¡°fraud¡± and ¡°senile¡± slung about like heavy stones. Garax sat through it all without a single attempt to defend himself. It wasn¡¯t until Herod raised his hands that the troupers stopped, and even then, they did so reluctantly.

    ¡°I find it hard to believe you¡¯ve been walking the earth for several thousand years,¡± Herod said.

    ¡°Believe what you will. I speak only the truth.¡±

    Herod looked to the old storyteller and then to Koth, whose face had whitened to ash, and Alend who betrayed not a single emotion.

    Then, he threw back his head and laughed.

    He laughed for a long time, his hollow voice bouncing around the walls of the inn, his lean frame shaking with each intake of breath. Aren stared at his father in puzzlement, an unspoken question on his lips.

    ¡°I had forgotten what it was like to hear a story for the first time,¡± Herod said, still struggling to catch his breath. ¡°I must say, whether or not you tell the truth, you spin a fine yarn.¡±

    ¡°It is the truth,¡± Garax said again.

    ¡°Father, surely you can¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°Quiet, son.¡± Herod placed a hand on Aren¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I will honour our agreement, storyteller. Talberon will put on his best display yet come tomorrow eve, as thanks for this wondrous and ridiculous tale you¡¯ve shared with us.¡±

    ¡°But he¡¯s a liar¡ª¡±

    ¡°If the Wind wills it, then it will be so.¡± Herod looked around at the rest of the troupers. ¡°Come now, we¡¯ve stayed awake for longer than desired. A long day awaits us, and I will not soil our reputation for putting on a fine show. Mereth, Aren, Baird, you three stay.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Koth said, waving around at the Felhaveners. ¡°It¡¯s time to leave. We¡¯re closing early tonight.¡±

    Complaints and shouts of protest rose around the room, but Alend silenced them with a clap of his hands. ¡°We have important matters to discuss,¡± he spoke. ¡°Only the Mayor and the village council is to remain.¡±

    A few more voices cried out, but for the most part people obeyed. As troupers and villagers bitterly left their seats and went out the door, Alend approached Ein and the others.

    ¡°You too,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s getting late.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t we stay?¡± Evaine asked. ¡°I¡¯m not tired yet.¡±

    Alend remained impassive. ¡°If that¡¯s the case, I¡¯m sure the Mistresses in the kitchen could do with an extra pair of hands for the washing up.¡± He jerked his head toward the splash of water and the clatter of wooden plates. Evaine blanched.

    ¡°Come on, Evaine,¡± Ein said. ¡°Let¡¯s go. Unless you want to help?¡±

    Evaine scowled but said nothing.

    It was pitch black when they stepped outside, Ein, Bran and Evaine, weaving their way from the inn¡¯s entrance. The evicted patrons continued to grumble among themselves, their voices carrying into the night long after they were gone. Ein couldn¡¯t shake the story from his mind. He couldn¡¯t forget the way Garax had told it, as if he actually believed it had happened, and he couldn¡¯t forget the glint in his golden eyes as he¡¯d brought the remains of his right hand to the firelight. Evaine had already made her way around the side of the building by the time he realized she was gone.

    ¡°Evaine, what are you doing?¡± Bran hissed. He waved frantically, but Evaine ignored him. She peeked through one of the windows behind the inn, lifting her skirts out of the dirt and snow.

    ¡°Father won¡¯t take kindly to eavesdropping,¡± Ein said. ¡°Neither will Master Kinley.¡±

    ¡°Come on,¡± she insisted. ¡°You want to listen, you know you do. Besides, the relicts hurt my parents. If anyone has a right to listen in, it¡¯s me.¡±

    Ein sighed. There was no use arguing with Evaine; he would only end up with a headache. Besides, she was right¡ªGarax¡¯s story had only heightened his curiosity about the relicts.

    ¡°We really shouldn¡¯t be here,¡± Bran mumbled. ¡°What the village council decides is none of our business.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Evaine looked unimpressed. ¡°Who was it that was saying we were adults now and needed to do our part for the village?¡±

    Bran flushed and glanced around nervously, though there was no one else nearby. Ein knew some of the village boys¡ªmen, he corrected himself¡ªwho became more courageous after a round of ale, but Bran wasn¡¯t one of them.

    ¡°Fine,¡± he said, taking his place beside the two, though the way he kept looking over his shoulder said it wasn¡¯t fine at all. ¡°Don¡¯t blame me if we get in trouble.¡±

    The adults had settled around the inn, seating themselves at one of the central tables next to the counter. While Koth straightened the chairs and helped pack away the mugs and plates, Alend fed another log into the blazing hearth. Four men donned the green and gold¡ªHerod and his son Aren, the injured Baird who looked the worse for wear, and a grey-haired woman who Ein assumed was Mereth. From the village council there was Sanson and Helda, Koth and Alend, Maisie the baker and Caurin the tanner, and of course, Mayor Walmsley. All the other Masters and Mistresses were either cleaning in the kitchen or had already left, save Garax who sat in a corner with an empty cup before him.

    A terse moment later, a wizened old man emerged from the staircase and stopped at its base, leaning with his back against the wall. Ein¡¯s eyes swam when he tried to follow the shifting greens and browns of his cloak, and he was eventually forced to looked away before his head started to hurt.

    ¡°Come and take a seat, Talberon,¡± Herod gestured. ¡°There¡¯s no need to stand.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± Talberon grunted. There was only one free stool and it was next to Alend. Talberon glanced over at Garax, noting the storyteller¡¯s missing right hand.

    ¡°So,¡± Koth said, surveying the room. ¡°Let¡¯s get to business then.¡± He stared directly at Herod, and with a hesitant glance towards Alend and the Mayor, voiced his question. ¡°We¡¯ve had a number of attacks happen around the Sleeping Twins, and we were wondering if you knew anything that might help us.¡±

    Alend cleared his throat. Koth sighed.

    ¡°There¡¯s a rumour going around that it¡¯s the work of relicts,¡± he added.

    What followed next came as no surprise to Ein. Mayor Walmsley and the rest of the council were sceptical, but Alend and Koth presented the evidence for their theory. Herod confirmed their fears and recounted the troupers¡¯ own run-in with the relicts on their journey, showing them Baird¡¯s injury as proof. It was the same story they¡¯d told Ein and Evaine earlier; mistaking the relicts for wild game, provoking them, killing them and burning them to ensure they stayed dead. Mereth produced a wooden carving from her pocket and held it up for all to see.

    ¡°Move over,¡± Evaine whispered. ¡°I can¡¯t get a clear view.¡±

    She nudged Ein to one side while Bran peered over their shoulders. At first, Ein thought the carving was of a buck¡ªwith four legs and antlers, he could see how the Travelling Folk might have mistaken it for one. However, as the statuette was passed around, he realized it was the wrong shape. It was too squat, with legs not quite as thick as a mammoth¡¯s but thicker than a deer¡¯s, and antlers that were too sharp and straight, lacking the branching grace of a stag¡¯s.

    ¡°A Celadon,¡± said Garax. ¡°And a male one at that.¡± He didn¡¯t look up from his drink.

    ¡°How can you tell?¡± Koth asked.

    ¡°The horns.¡± Talberon spoke this time, twirling the wisps of his beard between his fingers. ¡°The females have curved horns, like rams. The males have straighter, longer ones on either side of their head.¡±

    Aren snapped his fingers. ¡°I remember where I¡¯ve seen this before, Father. In the Encyclopaedia of Daemons, that book we traded away several years ago.¡± Herod¡¯s mouth formed an ¡®o¡¯ of recognition. ¡°According to the book, the relicts used¡ª¡±

    ¡°They used the females to track their prey, and they rode the males to war.¡± Garax propped his chin on his good hand. ¡°The females have a greater sense of smell since they hunt meat for their young. When the males grow up, they become herbivores. The humanoid relicts rode them since there was no risk of them turning on their masters in times of hunger¡ªthough they¡¯ll become aggressive if they¡¯re approached by those they don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°I thought all the relicts were blood-thirsty savages,¡± Koth said. ¡°That¡¯s how they were portrayed in the stories.¡±

    Garax laughed. ¡°If all the species in a world ate meat, what would the weakest eat? They would starve to death, and then those that fed on it would starve too.¡±

    They finished passing the carving around. Mereth tucked it into her pocket.

    ¡°How do you know all this?¡± she asked, looking over to the storyteller. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you wrote that book in addition to being a survivor from the Age of Legends.¡± She wrinkled her nose in disdain.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t write it,¡± Garax said. ¡°I knew the person who did, though.¡± He gazed into the fireplace. ¡°She died a long time ago.¡±

    Another silence ensued, and this time Talberon made no attempt to hide his scrutiny towards the balding storyteller. Alend and Koth asked more questions about the attack, how the Celadons had behaved, whether they¡¯d seen anything else, and the troupers did their best to answer. As the night grew colder, Evaine and Bran huddled closer to Ein, the three warming each other against the window. Sometime during the discussion, after the Masters and Mistresses in the kitchen had cleaned up and left, Mistress Caitlyn emerged with a platter of drinks and joined them. The council was still dismissive of the idea that relicts had returned, but Ein could sense their dispositions shifting. It was in the uncertainty in Caurin¡¯s voice, the uneasy looks that Maisie threw, the increasing amount of questions that Koth asked. One by one, they were opening themselves to the idea.

    ¡°The Celadon attack doesn¡¯t match up with the attack on the Tamelyn farm,¡± Alend murmured, asking the question that had been on Ein¡¯s mind for a while. ¡°The tracks belonged to a bipedal creature, and the method of slaughter was different.¡±

    ¡°Another species of relict,¡± Garax dismissed. ¡°The ones in control of the Celadon, no doubt. Worgals or Bloodmanes.¡±

    ¡°Speaking of which,¡± Mayor Walmsley said, ¡°have there been similar things happening outside of the valley? We don¡¯t hear much in the way of news around these parts.¡±

    Herod exchanged a glance with Talberon.

    ¡°There¡¯s been some unrest,¡± he said. ¡°Not just because of relicts. People as a whole are reaching their wit¡¯s end.¡±

    For the next half hour, the village council listened as Herod and Talberon summarized the goings-on of the world. The winter was taking its toll on the smaller settlements in the Far Reaches, slowly but surely wearing away their supplies and morale. Taxes were left unpaid, or rather, could not be paid, and as a result the bigger cities and towns also found themselves in strife. Trade was still alive, but the price of food and services had skyrocketed. Bandits had taken to the highways, and there were increased sightings and reports of monsters attacking lone homesteads and settlements. For the first time since the Rondo of the Three Kings, the Royal Road had been deemed unsafe for travel. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    That wasn¡¯t all, Aren continued. Shortly after they¡¯d left Aldoran, a series of earthquakes had ripped through the mountains surrounding the Summit of the World, and their tremors had continued for several weeks. Faengard was unravelling before their very eyes.

    ¡°Winter will come, and it will not end,¡± Talberon murmured. ¡°Brothers will kill brothers. The bonds between father and son will be rent, and the mountains will shake with each breath of the world. As the Ward Tree wilts, so shall the Oathbreaker return.¡±

    The villagers whispered uneasily among themselves.

    ¡°I still can¡¯t believe it,¡± Koth shook his head. ¡°It just sounds so¡­ ridiculous.¡±

    ¡°To think they¡¯ve reached us as well,¡± the Mayor¡¯s face was as pale as a sheet. He¡¯d been one of the last to be persuaded. ¡°I never thought I¡¯d see the day.¡±

    ¡°Believe me,¡± Talberon said. ¡°Something is very wrong for the relicts to have business in a place like this.¡± He eyed Alend as he spoke.

    ¡°What should we do then?¡± Helda asked. ¡°What can we do?¡±

    ¡°Well, the same thing is happening across all of Faengard,¡± Herod said. ¡°Word has it that Aedrasil is wilting and that¡¯s what¡¯s allowing the relicts to escape from Nephilheim. But the King¡¯s business is none of our own; only he knows what the best thing to do is.¡±

    ¡°I guess we have no choice,¡± Koth sighed. He turned to Alend. ¡°We¡¯ll have to take the fight to the relicts, just as you suggested. Garax, didn¡¯t you mention you¡¯d fought them before?¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious,¡± Maisie said. ¡°You¡¯re actually going to do it? Are you out of your minds?¡±

    ¡°What do you suggest, then?¡± Alend¡¯s face was a mask of grim determination. ¡°Would you sit back and hide beneath your covers while they continue to ravage our home?¡±

    ¡°No¡­¡± the baker took a step back, shrinking slightly. ¡°Surely there must be another way.¡±

    ¡°There is no other way.¡± Alend slammed a fist into his open palm. ¡°We¡¯ll make preparations during the festival tomorrow. After that, I¡¯ll head out with a group of others and we¡¯ll try to track down the attackers.¡±

    There was a sudden thump from the stairs next to Talberon, followed by a slow sliding of shoes against floorboards. He quickly moved to help whoever was coming down.

    ¡°You can¡¯t,¡± a voice said. ¡°It¡¯s suicide.¡±

    Evaine gasped. Valeesha Tamelyn staggered into the room, one arm supported by Talberon. Her hair was dishevelled and she held one hand to the bandage around her head, but she was alive, awake and moving. There was a scuffle of motion as the Felhaveners all rushed to her aid except for Alend, who had snapped his head toward the window and was peering out into the night.

    Bran swore and tried to run, but Ein¡¯s father was at the window in mere moments. It took him another moment to slide it open, and one more to stick his head through. Ein found himself pressed against the ground, just out of sight¡ªeven though he had no memory of ducking into cover.

    ¡°Evaine,¡± Alend scowled. ¡°And Bran. I¡¯d suspected we were being eavesdropped on.¡±

    Evaine looked around, realizing Ein was gone. Bran apologized profusely.

    ¡°Well, come in. Now that you¡¯ve been found, you may as well sit by the fire.¡±

    Alend looked out the window for a moment longer before pulling it shut. It wasn¡¯t until Evaine and Bran had stepped inside the inn that Ein crawled from his hiding place. He was surprised he hadn¡¯t been detected¡ªAlend had quite a keen sense of hearing. Hugging himself more tightly against the cold, Ein continued to watch.

    There was a brief refractory period as Evaine rushed to her mother¡¯s side, all the while being scolded by the adults. Bran hung his head as Sanson cuffed him behind the ears and sent him to refill their empty mugs.

    ¡°Go easy on the drinks,¡± Koth called. ¡°Else we¡¯ll have none for tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t have to worry about that,¡± Garax said with a wink.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Herod chuckled. ¡°Your storyteller saved you almost a barrel¡¯s worth of ale with his story. In case you didn¡¯t notice, your customers were too busy listening to remember to drink.¡±

    Koth gaped at Garax with a newfound look of surprise and grudging admiration. Garax simply winked.

    As the excitement died down, the village council turned their attention to Valeesha. The tale she told matched up with her daughter¡¯s¡ªthey¡¯d been attacked on the farm while Evaine had left to take care of the groceries. The Tamelyns had fought back and managed to wound the enemy badly enough for it to retreat, but had almost paid for it with their lives.

    ¡°Did you see the attacker?¡± Alend asked.

    Ein held his breath by the window. Valeesha nodded.

    ¡°I¡¯d never seen anything like it before,¡± she said. Evaine sat beside her with her hands in her lap. ¡°I thought it was a lion at first. Like the crest of the Leonhart family¡ªbut it was tall, and it stood on two legs.¡±

    Alend mumbled something under his breath.

    ¡°It had a mane of pure red,¡± she continued. ¡°Like it was stained in blood. And it wielded a sword, though it wasn¡¯t anything forged by a man.¡± She shivered even though she was sitting beside the fire. ¡°We were lucky that morning. By some stroke of luck, Nath struck it a heavy blow and drove it away. But before that¡­ before that, it tore through the house like it was nothing. Through the gates, the poor sheep¡­¡± Her voice fell away to a whisper.

    Alend angrily rose to his feet. ¡°If there was any doubt in my mind before,¡± he said, ¡°there isn¡¯t anymore. It¡¯s clear what the path is from here.¡± A few of the other villagers nodded in agreement, and they broke off to discuss finer details.

    Little else was spoken that night. Whether it was because everything that needed be said had been said, or because they were in the presence of Bran and Evaine, Ein wasn¡¯t sure. Alend confirmed the course of action with the council before they adjourned. The hunt would go ahead as planned, the day after Founder¡¯s Eve.

    Following the conclusion of the meeting, Mistress Tamelyn returned to her husband¡¯s room to watch over him while Bran and Evaine were forced out the door by an annoyed Koth. Ein lay in the shadows, contemplating whether or not to reveal himself when he realized the inn had already emptied during his hesitation. Even Garax had left, humming to himself as he trotted across the village square.

    Alend and the man named Talberon remained in the room, sitting across each other by the table. Koth called out to them as he climbed the stairs.

    ¡°You¡¯re not heading back?¡± he asked.

    Alend shook his head. ¡°Talberon and I have some things we need to discuss.¡±

    Ein decided then and there that he wasn¡¯t going to leave after all. His interest sparked once more, he drew closer to the window and pressed his ear as close to the wall as he could without it freezing solid.

    ¡°Alright, then. Make sure you put the fire out before you leave. And only water, you hear me? I won¡¯t have you ruining Founder¡¯s Eve.¡±

    Alend and Talberon relocated to another corner of the room where their voices barely rose above a whisper. Ein slunk to another window, one that was almost right next to where they sat, and warmed his palms up against each other. He¡¯d never seen Talberon before in his life, but his father appeared to know the man. What was so important that couldn¡¯t be said in front of the village council? And what was that expression on Alend¡¯s face? Could it possibly be fear? Ein frowned. His father was never afraid.

    ¡°We¡¯re alone,¡± Alend said, as soon as Koth¡¯s footsteps faded. ¡°You mind telling me what¡¯s really going on now? I take it you had a hand in getting the Wydlings to come here as well.¡±

    ¡°Any travelling troupe would have done,¡± Talberon said. ¡°They were simply in town at the right time and place. Though, they do charge a pretty penny.¡± He swivelled in his seat. ¡°You need to come back to Aldoran.¡±

    Alend didn¡¯t so much as flinch. ¡°I gathered that much. What use does the King have for a Deserter like me?¡±

    ¡°This has nothing to do with what happened back then,¡± Talberon said. ¡°Kingsblade or not, Deserter or not, you¡¯re needed.¡±

    ¡°Needed for what? So I can be shamed and executed? I broke the Vow, Talberon. I turned my back on Aedon¡ª¡±

    ¡°The Vow be damned,¡± Talberon interjected, knitting his brow. In that moment, his face suddenly became much older. There were more lines of worry than age, creasing the skin around his eyes and mouth like a piece of leather left under the sun to dry. ¡°The High King doesn¡¯t care about that. He has a kingdom to fix, and he needs you. He needs the blood of Kings.¡±

    Ein¡¯s ears pricked at the phrase. What did Talberon mean? There was no way his father was a king.

    ¡°What does that have to do with me?¡± Alend snapped. ¡°I¡¯m not the King, am I?¡±

    ¡°Kings,¡± Talberon repeated. ¡°Not the High King. The Three Kings born from the Ward Tree. Aedrasil is wilting, Alend. She needs to be saved, to be reborn, so we can put an end to all this madness. The blood of the Uldans runs strong in Aedon, but it¡¯s not enough. The Thorens are needed, and the Lachesses. Aedrasil has spoken to the Princess herself¡ªshe needs the blood of the three Kings.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious.¡± Alend studied Talberon¡¯s face. ¡°The Protector is really wilting?¡±

    ¡°She is, and the world is paying for it. You heard the troupers, Alend. You¡¯ve seen what the relicts have done. You¡¯re living the winter. What more proof do you need?¡±

    ¡°What about my brother?¡± he asked. ¡°The same blood runs in Edric¡¯s veins as mine. I don¡¯t see why you had to come all the way to Felhaven when you could have just taken it from him in Aldoran¡ª¡±

    He broke off. Talberon cast his eyes downwards.

    ¡°Edric is dead. He was sent to Darmouth to slay a relict, and he didn¡¯t come back.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡ª¡±

    Talberon drew his hand into one of the pockets in his cloak and pulled out a ring of pure gold in his palm. Ein squinted; there was an insignia on the ring, what he thought might be a sword and a crown¡ªthe symbol of the Kingsblade. He had to clamp his freezing hand over his lips to stay quiet.

    What¡¯s the ring of a Kingsblade doing here? Why does that man have it? I have an uncle? There were so many questions swimming inside his head, yet all he could do was watch.

    ¡°How can I be sure that¡¯s his?¡± Alend asked. ¡°There are always seven Kingsblades in the land. When one ring is lost, another is forged in its place.¡±

    Talberon pulled his cloak aside and brought his hand to his waist. There was a sword there, a hand-and-a-half sword bound in hardened leather straps. He placed it on the table between them, and Alend took it.

    ¡°This sword...¡± he muttered. He drew it from its sheath and angled it against the light of the hearth, watching shades of red and orange dance along its length. The blade was pure gold, with a fiery tint which remained even when Alend moved it back into the shadows. Ein was no blacksmith, but he knew enough about his father¡¯s craft to recognize the metal.

    ¡°A Rhinegold sword,¡± Talberon said. ¡°The weapon of a Kingsblade. Your brother¡¯s name is scrawled into the crossguard.¡±

    Rhinegold was one of the strongest and most beautiful metals in the land, and it made the sharpest blades and the hardest armours. A single bar of refined Rhinegold could buy you an entire year¡¯s worth of supplies in one of the bigger cities¡­ or a small forge in a quiet village.

    ¡°Aedon really wants me back, doesn¡¯t he,¡± Alend murmured. ¡°To waste an entire blade¡¯s worth of Rhinegold just to trick¡ª¡±

    ¡°Listen to yourself,¡± Talberon hissed. ¡°Stop denying the truth. Edric is dead! His ring and blade are before your very eyes¡ªwhat do you want me to do, bring you his dead body? What benefit would I gain from lying? We may not be on the best of terms anymore, but I¡¯d never wish harm upon you!¡±

    Alend sheathed the sword and took the ring into his hand.

    ¡°Edric is dead,¡± Talberon repeated. ¡°You are the last of the Thorens. I¡¯ve said it once and I¡¯ll say it again. Only with the blood of the Three Kings can Aedrasil be saved.¡±

    ¡°What then?¡± Alend asked. He slumped against the back of his chair, chin lowered. Ein had never seen his father so defeated.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Talberon said. ¡°The world will be saved, the relicts sealed and the winter ended. All you have to do is come to Aldoran and the Ward Tree¡ªthen, your work will be done.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Then you can go back home to your wife and children.¡±

    ¡°What about the relicts? What about the village?¡±

    A shadow fell across Talberon¡¯s face. ¡°The relicts are here for you, Alend. I¡¯d stake my life on it. As soon as you leave, they¡¯ll go after you.¡±

    ¡°What about my children? Won¡¯t they be in danger if I leave?¡±

    ¡°I can give them a charm to conceal their presence. Once you begin your journey, the relicts will go after you. The ones hunting for your blood, at least.¡±

    Alend closed his eyes and exhaled. Numbness crept into Ein¡¯s legs, and he realized he¡¯d been still for too long. Taking care not to make any noise, he shook the blood back into them.

    ¡°There really is no other way?¡±

    ¡°If there was, I wouldn¡¯t be here.¡± Talberon stood up. ¡°I¡¯m well aware of the consequences of breaking the Vow. I didn¡¯t tell Aedon about you for sixteen years; I wouldn¡¯t place your life in jeopardy unless the world itself was in danger.¡±

    Alend took the ring and weighed it in his hand. ¡°It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve worn one of these.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to wear it. You¡¯re a Deserter, remember? Just keep it as a memento of your brother.¡±

    Alend shook his head. ¡°No. I¡¯ll wear it.¡±

    He eased himself out of his chair and also stood, slipping the ring over his thumb. It fit perfectly, as if it had been his all along.

    ¡°We¡¯ll leave tomorrow,¡± Talberon said. ¡°The Horses of the Wind should be able to take us¡ª¡±

    ¡°Not tomorrow. The day after.¡±

    Talberon frowned. ¡°Why? The sooner we depart, the sooner you can return.¡±

    ¡°My son¡¯s first Dance is tomorrow. I want to be there when he becomes a man.¡± Alend set his jaw and folded his arms. Although he towered over Talberon, the older man stood his ground. They regarded each other for a moment, before Talberon nodded.

    ¡°In that case,¡± he said. ¡°The day after tomorrow it is. Herod needs me to put on a fireworks show for the festival, anyway.¡± He grimaced. ¡°But just remember, Alend. You can¡¯t keep putting things off forever. Sometimes, you just have to steel your will and do what needs to be done.¡±

    Talberon pulled his cloak around him and moved towards the door.

    ¡°I¡¯ll arrange for the troupe to provide us with horses,¡± he said. ¡°With a party of only two, we should be able to make good time. Once we reach the Royal Road, it shouldn¡¯t take more than a week¡¯s worth of travel.¡±

    Alend nodded.

    ¡°I¡¯ll see you in the morning, then,¡± Talberon said. ¡°Enjoy your festival.¡±

    With that, he shut the door and stepped out into the night.

    Ein¡¯s father remained standing for a long time, turning the sword over in his hands. It wasn¡¯t until he looked up that Ein remembered where he was and where he was supposed to be. Scurrying to his feet, he left the inn and raced back towards the forge, his head swimming with tales of gods, relicts and Rhinegold blades.

    Kingsblade, he thought. My father is a Kingsblade.

    He shook his head.

    No¡­ my father is a king. And I¡¯m his son.

 9. Founders Eve

    Chapter Nine: Founder¡¯s Eve

    ¡°It is time. Time for the boys to become men, and the girls to blossom like the flowers of spring.¡±

    ¡ªFel, First Mayor of Felhaven

    ¡°Rise and shine, Ein. It¡¯s Founder¡¯s Eve!¡±

    Ein woke to find Evaine standing over him, a lively smile plastered across her face. Her mother¡¯s recovery seemed to have taken a load of worry off her shoulders, placing her in high spirits. Her cheeks were red again, her eyes bright, and if it weren¡¯t for the faint shadow beneath them she might have been indistinguishable from the normal Evaine.

    ¡°Is it morning already?¡± he grumbled. He shifted in his bedroll and looked outside the window. Daylight met him full in the face. It was a brilliant morning; as good a day could get without the sun itself coming out from behind the clouds. ¡°Wyd help me, if I have to deal with you waking me up every day¡­¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be mean, Ein,¡± Cinnamin chirped. She stood by the doorway, already dressed and groomed.

    ¡°I¡¯ll only be here for one more night,¡± Evaine pouted. ¡°Then I¡¯ll be staying at the inn, remember.¡±

    ¡°Right. Good riddance.¡± Ein rolled over and blearily stood up. He¡¯d spent half the night digesting the conversation at the Sleeping Twinn and the other half in a dreamlike state, neither awake nor asleep. He wasn¡¯t sure if he had the patience to deal with Evaine for an entire day.

    ¡°Hurry up and get dressed,¡± Cinnamin urged. ¡°The stalls have already opened.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve got the whole day,¡± he muttered. ¡°Just go by yourselves.¡±

    ¡°Mother didn¡¯t give me any spending money,¡± she said, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. ¡°She said I have to go with you.¡±

    Ein sighed. ¡°Fine, then. Give me a moment.¡±

    They wandered along the streets, making their way to the centre of Felhaven. Cinnamin and Evaine chattered amiably among themselves as Ein brooded over the events of last night and what they implied for his father.

    By the time they set foot into the village square, Founder¡¯s Eve was well underway. The stalls were decorated in bright, vivid colours, yellows and rosy reds of blossoming flowers, the blue of summer skies, the greens and golds of the earth. Founder¡¯s Eve traditionally coincided with the start of spring, and if Ein were to ignore the patches of snow and barren dirt on the ground, he might have almost believed that winter was gone and ended. The villagers roamed in a bustle of excitement, an eclectic jumble of shouts, murmurs, chatter and cheers, their faces lifted towards the sky, the shadows of hardship gone, if only for the day. Today was not a day to brood on the past, nor the future. Today was a present, a day of celebrations.

    Ein found himself at the mercy of Evaine and his sister as they dragged him all over the square, flitting from stall to stall as if they were mistresses on Market Day. They bought some candied fruit and sat down before a trouper as he sang and played The Tragedy of Selinn and Sonata, his fingers dancing a myriad of melodies across his fingerboard. They watched a storyteller for a while, listening to the familiar tales of Dagus Adem, Reuben Cowl and the Urudain. They saw jugglers and fire-breathers, sword-swallowers and animal whisperers.

    Evaine stopped at the stage where the Wydlings were performing The Voyage of the Weatherwing and sat down to watch. Aren played the role of Captain Gerard Carandar as naturally as if he¡¯d been born into it, fighting off monsters, laughing, smiling, crying, weeping, singing his parts with a voice like honey. A female actor was with him, a tall, graceful vixen with silky black hair, dressed in regal robes from a foreign land¡ªReyalin, the Lady of Lightning. Together they braved the oceans, alchemical thunderbolts cracking across the backboard, illusory rain sang by the Songweaver misting out towards the audience. The Lady sang a path through the storm, and her song was so powerful that Ein could feel the slashing wind on his face and the dampness of the air on his skin.

    When the play finished with Gerard¡¯s ascension to godhood, Aren found himself drowning in tokens and handkerchiefs and compliments on how handsome and strong he was. The Mistresses apparently still did not know of his true disposition. Evaine wanted to keep watching, but Cinnamin had grown hungry.

    They ate lunch next¡ªflatbread rolls with roasted pigeon, a salad made of winter vegetables and Maisie¡¯s secret sauce, all washed down with chilled apple cider fresh from Koth¡¯s cellar. They found Bran at the archery contest that had been set up. Evaine goaded Ein into entering.

    The number of contenders fell quickly with the older Masters dropping out first, then the more experienced troupers and young Masters, until it was only Ein and Bran matching each other arrow for arrow. A small crowd had gathered when Ein missed a shot by a matter of inches and bowed his head, defeated. The butcher¡¯s son made no attempt to hide how pleased he was by his victory. Ein shrugged it off to a poor night¡¯s sleep while Bran was swamped by the female troupers who¡¯d been watching.

    ¡°I guess the rumours about them knowing ¡®ways to use the blade and bow¡¯ from ¡®ancient civilisations¡¯ was nonsense, after all,¡± Evaine said. ¡°I bet I could shoot better than half of them.¡±

    ¡°Maybe we¡¯re just that good,¡± Bran grinned.

    Once Ein had accepted his silver medal and new quiver, Bran joined them and they found themselves watching Talberon the Songweaver pull hares out of his cap and flowers from his sleeves. Ein scratched his head at some of the tricks he saw; had it been any other day he would have dismissed them as sleight of hand¡ªhowever, he¡¯d seen Talberon pull out Rhinegold blades and Kingsblade rings the night before. He wouldn¡¯t surprised if the man knew real magic.

    ¡°Let¡¯s head over there,¡± Bran whispered, pointing to an inconspicuous tent that had been erected a little way off the village square. ¡°Garax said it¡¯s the one place we should check out above all others.¡±

    Ein saw no reason to refuse. The stolid trouper at the entrance eyed them up and down and extended an open palm.

    ¡°That¡¯ll be three silvers,¡± he grunted.

    Ein raised an eyebrow. ¡°Three silvers?¡±

    ¡°Come on,¡± Bran urged. ¡°Who knows when we¡¯ll get another chance?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a week¡¯s worth of meals, Bran. What¡¯s even inside, anyway?¡±

    The trouper answered, and Ein¡¯s eyebrows shot up despite himself. He argued half-heartedly with Bran, and then they both haggled the price down to two silvers. The two boys handed a silver each and were ushered through the flaps with a knowing wink.

    When they emerged, both Ein and Bran were red-faced and sweating despite the cold. The trouper at the entrance grinned.

    ¡°Never tell Evaine what we saw in there,¡± Bran said. ¡°Or our mothers, for that matter. Or anyone at all.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± Ein swallowed. He didn¡¯t think he could look another woman in the eye for a while.

    And just like that, night came, and with it the annual Flower Dance.

    #

    Ein nervously shifted on his feet, making sure his sleeves were buttoned up and the drawstring around his collar pulled tight. Just about all the young and unmarried men of Felhaven were gathered in the village square under the stars, groomed and waiting with anticipation. Among them were a handful of young Masters Ein remembered from previous years, as well as the odd widower on the older end of the spectrum. The rest of the village sat around the square, eating and speaking of small things, or simply watching. The stalls had been packed and cleared away, the troupers returned to the crowds to unwind as Founder¡¯s Eve proceeded to its grand finale.

    Ein made his way to the edge of the square, away from the excited buzz of the other bachelors. Bran waved at him while Master Sanson watched, unimpressed. Cinnamin munched on a pastry nearby, hiding behind Rhea and Alend. Rhea had donned the expensive dress she saved for special occasions, and Alend had combed his hair into a slightly tidier mess than usual. He smiled encouragingly, but it was an empty smile and his eyes were looking past Ein¡¯s head to a point in the distance. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    He¡¯s leaving tomorrow, Ein thought. Leaving to save the world.

    That thought removed any anxiety he might have had before, replacing it with worry and agitation. He needed to speak to Alend tonight; he needed to confront his father about what Talberon had said and what it all meant.

    Somewhere to the side, a band began to play¡ªa conglomeration of high-pitched flutes and vibrant lutes, dancing fiddles and fingerboards and the steady rumbling of trumpets and drums. As the melody began, the young Mistresses emerged from one of the tents and streamed into the square in single file, dresses trailing gracefully behind them. They were painted and perfumed like dolls, heads held high, hair unbound in lustrous waves down their slender waists, and they wore masks that covered the upper half of their faces with holes for the eyes. The men formed a half-circle as each woman moved to find a partner. Ein found himself with a petite blonde in a red dress, one whose figure was vaguely familiar, and as the music settled into a steady rhythm, they began to dance.

    The first dance didn¡¯t last long, perhaps a few minutes at most, a combination of steps, twists and twirls that Ein acted out with embarrassing ineptitude. The girl laughed every time he made a mistake, making him only more aware of all the people that were watching. Some of the other dancers were clearly more experienced and put on a show for all to see, but most of them were like Ein¡ªboys fumbling their way into adulthood.

    When the music ended, the girl extended her hand towards him. Inside her palm was a ring with a five-petalled flower inscribed upon it, matching the one his mother and father both wore on the fourth finger of their left hand. Ein looked into the girl¡¯s eyes and shook his head, murmuring an apology. The girl pocketed her ring and shrugged, moving clockwise along the circle to her next partner as the music started up once more.

    The Dance continued for several more rounds, each round ending with a handful of couples making their way off the square to the cheers and congratulations of others. Several women offered their rings to Ein, but he refused every one of them. Some he recognized from behind their masks, but most were decorated so exquisitely he couldn¡¯t identify them at all. To him they were all the same, save the slight variations in size, shape or appearance.

    He couldn¡¯t do it. Even though he was supposed to be a man, he simply couldn¡¯t bring himself to take a bride and seal his fate within the village. It was too early, and he felt too young. There was still so much more to do, to learn. He wasn¡¯t ready.

    The reactions he received were mixed. Some shrugged off his rejection with indifference, others made a show of storming away or even crying, but no one spoke. The women were not allowed to speak, for that would defeat the purpose of the masks. The night blended into a mix of music and laughter, sweat and perfume, the lanterns above blurring into a breathless haze. Ein lost count of how many women he¡¯d danced with.

    The half circle was almost a quarter of its original size now, the Dance drawing to a close. Ein had partnered with all but a handful of girls, and of that handful several had already left the stage having exchanged rings. As the voice of a flute led the beginning of yet another song, a brunette girl approached Ein and grasped him tightly by the hand. Ein had danced enough times by then to be somewhat competent, and he was able to match her aggressive pace step for step. Her face was familiar; the shape of her mouth and lips, her eyes, the way she fluttered around him as lightly as a bird. It wasn¡¯t until the dance ended that she reached to her neck and tugged on the collar of her dress ever so slightly, revealing a small mole on her left breast. Ein frowned.

    ¡°Evaine?¡± he hissed. ¡°What are you¡ª¡±

    She pressed a finger to her lips in a gesture to be quiet and quickly looked around. It was Evaine¡ªit had to be. The way she moved, the shade of her skin, her eyes, the mole on her chest that only he and Bran knew was there¡ªbut what was she doing here? Why had she unbraided her hair?

    The girl held out her ring to Ein, urging him to take it. He looked for his parents and Bran, but Bran was gone and Rhea and Alend were deep in conversation with the Mayor and his wife.

    ¡°You¡¯d better have a good reason for this,¡± Ein said, taking the ring. The girl grabbed him by the wrist and towed him away from the village square.

    They kept up the pretence of a newly formed couple until the sounds of the festival were far away. The girl took off her mask. Ein¡¯s guess had been correct.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± he demanded. ¡°Master Sutherland will kill me if he sees¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shh!¡± Evaine shook her head. ¡°We¡¯re still too close to the village.¡±

    She led him further away from Felhaven, away from the houses and streets, down and around to the lake. They tramped through the bushes and trees, fumbling in near blindness along the well-worn trail. At one point Evaine nearly fell, and Ein had to catch her to save them both from tumbling down the path.

    They reached the lake and stopped, panting in the darkness. The waters lapped calmly against the shore, shimmering like a velvet drape, reflecting the light of a thousand stars above. The moon hung deep and still in the sky. Ein shivered beneath its gaze as Evaine inspected the hem of her outfit.

    ¡°Damned dresses,¡± she cursed. ¡°I¡¯d forgotten what it was like to wear them. They¡¯re so long and tight-fitting.¡±

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Ein began. ¡°Your braid¡­ the ring¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s exactly what it looks like,¡± she said. ¡°Marry me, Ein.¡±

    Ein blinked.

    Marry her? The thought had crossed his mind more than once, but he¡¯d never dwelled on if for long. Aside from how long they¡¯d known each other for, there was Bran who she was already promised to, and the fact that he was not ready at all. He wanted to stay a child for a little longer, learning from his father in the forge, before becoming a fully fledged member of the community.

    He waited for a while, waited her to break into a fit of laughter, to slap him on the back and tease him for taking her seriously. He waited and waited, his heart thrumming like a drumbeat. He waited some more.

    She can¡¯t be serious.

    ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± she said.

    ¡°You can¡¯t,¡± Ein repeated, searching for the right words. ¡°Bran¡ª¡±

    ¡°Bran and I aren¡¯t married yet,¡± she said. ¡°I can back out, all the way until his birthday in a few weeks. Our parents won¡¯t be happy, but as long as I find someone to take his place, I get the final say.¡±

    ¡°Do you really hate him that much?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true and you know it. Listen, Ein.¡± She took a step closer to him so that he could see the sweat on her skin, each individual lash above her eyes. They were dark and heavy with gravity. ¡°I had an argument with Bran a while back. He¡¯s as scared as mouse and stubborn as a mule. Nothing short of the world ending would get him to leave the Sleeping Twins.¡± She turned around and looked out towards the lake. ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re like him, Ein. If I marry you instead, we can go travelling outside of the valley and come back whenever we want to. I won¡¯t be doomed to live the rest of my life as a farmer. I won¡¯t be exiled either. I want to do something, Ein. I want to experience the world around me, see the world outside the village.¡±

    ¡°What makes you think I¡¯d be up for it?¡± Ein asked. ¡°We have our lives set out for us here, our families to support us, friends who we¡¯ve known for our entire lives. What do the roads offer? Danger. Highwaymen. Monsters.¡± He thought to the wolves in the woods and the slaughtered sheep. ¡°Where would we get the money? And why now, of all times? You were with me yesterday. You heard what the troupers said about the world outside. Do you want to get eaten by a relict? Do you want your throat slit by bandits as you sleep by the roadside?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly the reason why I want to leave now,¡± she retorted. ¡°If the world is going to end, I want to spend my last moments seeing what Faengard has to offer, not sowing seeds in the fields. Surely you feel the same way.¡±

    There was a sudden noise like a thunderclap, startling them both. A stream of gold shot into the air above the lake and exploded into a shower of sparks. Several more streams rose, shimmering trails of ruby and sapphire that exploded like giant flowers blooming across the sky.

    ¡°The fireworks,¡± Evaine gasped. Whatever argument that had been on her lips died as she turned her attention to the sight.

    The Songweaver had promised a fine display, and he kept true to his word. More and more orbs raced to join the stars¡ªemeralds and amethysts, sparkling diamonds and liquid silver. They exploded in different shapes and sizes, painting pictures of flying eagles and roaring lions, swift steeds and racing rabbits, armies of Nullarmen from the east with shields and spears marching on guarded fortresses built into the sides of mountains. The air grew thick with smoke and dust as the stories in the sky grew more and more grand, until finally a barrage of rockets shattered in a thunderous clap to paint a giant dragon breathing fire from its maw. The dragon held its flame for a good few seconds before crumbling into stardust. When the last of the dust motes had faded into nothingness, a distant cheer rose from the village. Founder¡¯s Eve was over.

    Evaine and Ein stood in silence by the lake. For a moment, Ein forgot why he was even there.

    ¡°You weren¡¯t always like this,¡± Evaine finally said, and the edge was gone from her words. ¡°We used to play Heroes all the time. You, me and Bran in the woods, pretending to be the crew of the Weatherwing, killing dragons and rescuing princesses, casting spells and saving kingdoms, braving the seas to lands unknown.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve been through this before,¡± Ein said.

    Evaine sighed. ¡°I know.¡±

    She turned around and wiped the cosmetics from her face. They came off in a bleary mess on her sleeve.

    ¡°I really hoped you would say yes,¡± she said. ¡°If there was anyone I wanted to take with me, I wanted it to be you.¡±

    Ein held out her ring, head lowered. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Keep it.¡± Evaine raised her chin. ¡°I hoped I wouldn¡¯t have to resort to this, but I guess I don¡¯t have a choice.¡± She looked him firmly in the eye. ¡°I¡¯m going to leave with the Wydlings tomorrow.¡±

    Ein frowned. ¡°What are you talking about? They already said they weren¡¯t going to take you in.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t ask to join their family,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll just travel as far as I can before I have to leave. They should be able to take me a good way out of the valley.¡±

    It took Ein a moment to realize what she was implying. Before he knew it, he had her by the shoulders. She flinched, her eyes darting away with a hint of fear.

    ¡°What are you saying?¡± he cried. ¡°The villagers will never let you come back if you leave. You¡¯ll be exiled!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡±

    Ein opened his mouth again, but no noise came out. Evaine placed her palms against his chest and shoved him backwards.

    ¡°I¡¯ll miss you,¡± she said. ¡°And Bran too. But I have to do this, Ein. I¡¯m not like you two. I have to leave.¡±

    ¡°Evaine¡­¡±

    It was at that moment a scream rose from the village, followed by a chorus of howls as cold and chilling as the night. Ein and Evaine turned to the path behind them. There was smoke in the air, but it wasn¡¯t from the fireworks.

    ¡°The village,¡± Evaine cried out.

    ¡°Wait! Evaine¡ª¡±

    Evaine gathered the hem of her dress into a bundle and rushed off into the darkness. Ein swore and raced after her, as more people began to scream.

 10. Fire and Steel

    Chapter Ten: Fire and Steel

    ¡°Fire birthed the world, so fire shall end it.¡±

    ¡ªAlysteria, Dragon Queen of the Mountain

    Upon the conclusion of the festival, couples old and new took to the village square to share one last dance under the fading fireworks. Alend had left his wife and daughter to search for Ein when he heard the scream.

    At first, he thought nothing of it. Maybe the Wydlings had decided to put on another performance, or one of the Mistresses had gotten into an argument. It wasn¡¯t an uncommon occurrence at this time of the year for two rivals in love to fight.

    But when the second and third screams came, he realized something was wrong. As men and women began to flee across the village square, he smelled blood.

    The first of the relicts emerged in the distance, a wolf-like humanoid waving a crude shortsword in the air¡ªa Worgal. It was grey and muscular with long, furry arms and a broad chest, and its thin lips were pulled into a ferocious snarl. Behind it were two more of the beasts and a Celadon with curved horns, and as Alend watched, the Worgals threw back their heads and howled. It was a long and chilling howl, one that froze his blood to ice, a sound that would make even wolves run in fear. Shouting at each other with low grunts and growls, the relicts advanced across the square with no regard to the bodies they trampled underfoot.

    Alend clenched his fists and looked around. There were more of the wolf-men coming from all directions, clustered in groups of twos and threes with growling Celadons between them. Troupers and villagers alike began to fall, cut to death and tossed aside like ragdolls. Alend instinctively reached to his waist for his sword, but it wasn¡¯t there. It hadn¡¯t been there for sixteen years.

    ¡°Go!¡± Talberon was suddenly beside him, his gossamer cloak flapping like the evergreen leaves of the wood. He stepped in front of Alend and yelled again, louder. ¡°Go get your sword! I¡¯ll take care of these ones!¡±

    One of the Celadons coiled and sprung at the druid, rippling through the air like a dark missile of claws and fangs. Talberon drew a handful of seeds from his pocket and scattered them into the air. His eyes flashed emerald and he lashed out with his voice, stoking the seeds as if they were coals in a fireplace. Three giant thorns sprung from the ground, impaling the Celadon through the chest, neck and abdomen. The creature writhed in place, struggling to break free as black blood splattered across the dirt. Talberon sang again, and this time great vines burst from where the seeds had landed. They arced through the air and cut through the Celadon as cleanly as a blade, severing it into three pieces. The Celadon stopped moving.

    The other relicts hesitated, eyeing the vines warily.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Talberon growled. ¡°Are you going to desert your village as well?¡±

    A black pillar of smoke rose into the air. Somewhere down the street, a house had caught fire.

    People are dying, Alend thought. Because I came to this village.

    He screwed his eyes shut and swore. When he opened them again, he was calm. He turned and ran.

    #

    ¡°Evaine! Evaine, wait!¡±

    Ein plunged through the darkness, scrabbling on all fours through the twisted undergrowth towards the village. He didn¡¯t know where he was or if he was even on the path, but the smell of smoke grew stronger and Evaine¡¯s ragged breathing was always ahead of him. He followed her blindly, listening to the crunching of twigs underfoot and the patter of snow as it shook free from the branches, ignoring the stinging cuts that lashed across his exposed skin. The screams never stopped¡ªshrieks of panic and hysteria, feet crunching desperately across gravel, barks and growls and howls that belonged to no animal he knew.

    ¡°Evaine! Evaine¡ª¡±

    The bushes broke apart and he found her hunched over by the edge of the road. Evaine let out a yelp as he collided with her and they both went tumbling onto the ground in a mess of sweat and hair and the peppery scent of her clothes.

    ¡°Evaine, what are you¡ª¡±

    Ein came face to face with a dead man and cried out. It was Master Damuth, one of the local farmers, and his face was contorted in a mask of horror. Ein and Evaine freed themselves from each other and scrambled a good distance away from the body.

    ¡°He¡¯s dead,¡± Evaine murmured.

    A gash ran from Damuth¡¯s throat to his ribs, almost splitting his body in two. A flap of skin the size of Ein¡¯s thumb connected his head to his neck, and his ribs were cracked and broken where he¡¯d been cut. Blood gurgled across the ground.

    Evaine rose shakily to her feet. Her dress hung in tatters, ripped and torn by the trees, coated in dirt and grime, her combed hair a tangled mess running down her back. Ein remained on all fours, his eyes wandering to the ground past Master Damuth. The Mistress was dead too, lying face-down in a mangled heap. He didn¡¯t look for where she¡¯d been wounded. The amount of blood told him it didn¡¯t matter.

    ¡°Gods above,¡± he whispered. He turned away from the bodies, back towards them, back away. His stomach lurched and he felt bile rise to his throat. ¡°Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s eyes and ears. Wyd almighty. Merciful Cenedria up above.¡± He swallowed and took a deep breath. No amount of slaughtered animals could have prepared him for this.

    ¡°Ein,¡± Evaine said. ¡°The village square¡­ we have to check if everyone¡¯s alright!¡±

    ¡°Damn it,¡± Ein repeated. He closed his hands into fists and looked into Evaine¡¯s eyes. They were wide and fearful. ¡°Damn it all!¡± He shook his head. ¡°Stay here, Evaine. Don¡¯t move. I¡¯ll come back when it¡¯s safe.¡± Behind him, the sky burned red with fire and ash.

    Evaine drew a deep breath. ¡°Like hell you¡¯re going alone. I won¡¯t let you get yourself killed without me.¡±

    Ein made a pained expression, but there was no time to argue¡ªpeople could be dying with each second that passed. He let out a cry of exasperation and bolted towards the village square.

    Felhaven lay on the brink of ruin. Houses had been pillaged and ransacked, and of those several had gone up in flames. Each step they took they found another dead body¡ªMasters, Mistresses, children, troupers, all carved up and left on the roadside to rot. Occasionally they found the body of a relict¡ªhalf man, half wolf, they could be nothing else¡ªtwitching on the ground, wriggling forward with three missing limbs or stumbling around without a head. Ein and Evaine gave them a wide berth, racing towards the village square where the screams had all but waned.

    They reached it in due time, though they almost missed it for what it was. The square was covered in wild undergrowth¡ªgiant thorns and vines exuding from the ground, wooden stakes impaling wolf-men, leaves and ashes blowing across the wind. Talberon stood in the middle of it all, a slender blade of polished wood in one hand, his face streaked with blood and ashes. He raised his hand as they approached, letting out a cry of warning.

    ¡°Behind you!¡±

    Ein had just enough time to shove Evaine to the ground as a relict lunged at them, emerging from his blind spot. A wooden stake burst from the ground beside them, impaling the creature through the stomach, and a heartbeat later three vines came around and cleaved it three-fold. The pieces hit the ground and thrashed about for a moment before falling still.

    ¡°What are you two doing here?¡± the Songweaver yelled. The wind tore at his cloak, whipping it into a frenzy. Wave after wave of heat blew across them, as hot as a furnace. ¡°Run! Get to safety!¡±

    ¡°Where is everyone?¡± Evaine cried. She looked at the inn in horror. ¡°What about Father?¡±

    ¡°Most of them are gone,¡± Talberon called back. ¡°Evacuated. Head to the river and leave the Worgals to me!¡±

    Worgals. The working class equivalent of the relicts, the wolf-human hybrids that had supposedly made up the majority of Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s armies. If Ein doubted the legends before, the last of those doubts had just gone up in flames like the village.

    ¡°Come on,¡± he grabbed Evaine. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡±

    #

    Alend breathed a sigh of relief when he found the forge untouched. He gripped the doorknob with unsteady hands and pushed it open, hurrying inside.

    He¡¯d left the sword on the table next to the furnace, but it was gone. Maybe Rhea had stashed it away somewhere. He hoped she hadn¡¯t drawn it from its sheath; he hadn¡¯t told his wife about the conversation with Talberon yet.

    The sword wasn¡¯t under the counter, either. Alend raced into the storeroom where he kept his materials and rummaged through the shelves. If Rhea had placed the Rhinegold blade anywhere, it would be here. He cried out in frustration as he finished sweeping the entire contents of his shelves onto the ground and then bent down to his personal trunk. Inside were a variety of tools¡ªhammers, buckets, tongs, whetstones, and at the very bottom...

    The Worgals are one of the lowest in the hierarchy, he recalled. The last time he¡¯d heard their tales, he¡¯d been no older than his son was now. Their strength lies in their coordination and resilience. Relicts make for formidable enemies, but there are three known weaknesses all relicts possess that allow them to be killed more easily.

    He tossed aside a pair of callipers in frustration. Where was the sword? Surely it wouldn¡¯t be that hard to spot, being nearly three feet in length.

    Fire. Setting a relict on fire can kill it, even faster if the aforementioned relict has already been dismembered.

    Soulforged steel. Rhinegold and Darksteel, the former of which is rare and expensive, the latter of which is all but extinct. A blade made from either has the same effect as fire on a relict. There are other types of metal used by those such as the felen and the dweor, but these are the most common.

    Alend finished upending the contents of the trunk. There was nothing. No blade, no sheath, nothing. He tipped it upside down and shook it. The sword was gone.

    The front door exploded and he heard three sets of footsteps enter. Alend grabbed the closest weapon at his disposal, an iron longsword, and stepped out into the forge.

    What was the third way? It was something to do with alchemy, wasn¡¯t it? Alend tried to concentrate, but the footsteps were growing closer. He heard the low growl of a Worgal, spotted the silhouette of a Celadon as it prowled through doorway.

    ¡°The Fire take you!¡± he roared, coming out to meet it. The Celadon sprung, leaping across the room in a mass of black hide. Alend felt the breath leave him as he fell, hitting the ground hard. His head spun while he kept the Celadon at bay with one hand, frothing jaws and all. Pinpoints of pain flared through his arm as the relict¡¯s fangs dug deep. He gripped the longsword and awkwardly shoved it into the beast¡¯s throat, piercing through the back of its neck. The blade was too long and cumbersome to be wielded in close quarters, but it did the job and loosened the Celadon¡¯s jaws. With another cry, he grappled the relict and hauled it into the furnace, coughing and choking at the smell of burning hair. Before he could recover, one of the Worgals came lumbering through, a glint of dull steel arcing past his ear. He fell over the anvil behind him, knocking over a bucket of water. Coldness seeped through his hair. He felt strangely calm.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Worgal, he thought. But didn¡¯t Valeesha say the relict had a mane like a lion¡¯s?

    The second Worgal trundled into the room. Alend rolled over and reached out his hand, grasping for something, anything he could use as a weapon. His hand closed around his hammer and he raised it with a howl, intercepting the Worgal¡¯s shortsword as it came at his chest again. Iron rang against steel and the blade shattered. The Worgal grunted in surprise.

    ¡°Wyd!¡± Alend cried. ¡°Anturia! Kalador give me strength!¡±

    He brought the hammer down as hard as he could. A tremor ran up his arm as the Worgal¡¯s face caved inwards along with the bone underneath. The Worgal growled and reached for Alend¡¯s throat, digging its yellowed nails into his flesh. Its partner raised its sword, mouth open in a snarl. Alend began to feel faint, black spots dancing around his eyes.

    ¡°Begone, demonspawn!¡± A voice cried out from behind, and the Worgal with the sword looked down to find a black blade sprouting from its chest. The blade twisted sideways and then disappeared. The wolf-man fell to the ground with a whimper, revealing the charred face of Garax the storyteller.

    Alend groaned and pried at the hands around his neck, kicking the second Worgal off him with all his strength. Garax spun on his feet and ran his blade cleanly through its neck, separating its head from its body.

    ¡°Blacksmith! You alright?¡± he cried, extending the stump of his hand. Alend gripped it and was hauled to his feet. He sucked in the acrid air, rubbing at his throat.

    ¡°Garax?¡± he coughed.

    Garax wiped his blade clean against the fur of a corpse. Alend realized two things¡ªthe sword was pitch black, the colour of polished obsidian, and the Worgals were dead.

    ¡°Darksteel,¡± he uttered in disbelief. ¡°Where did you get¡ª¡±

    Garax dismissed him with a wave of his right stump. ¡°Your swords won¡¯t work on them,¡± he said. ¡°You need fire, soulforged steel or salt.¡±

    Salt. That was it. Salt was like poison to a relict. It shut down a relict¡¯s internal systems, eroding them from the inside.

    ¡°Go to Helda,¡± Garax continued. ¡°Get as much salt as you can and come to the river. Most of the villagers are there and they want to fight. I¡¯ll keep looking for survivors.¡±

    Alend nodded. ¡°Are Rhea and Cinnamin okay? And Ein?¡±

    Garax was already heading toward the door. ¡°I can¡¯t say for sure,¡± he said. ¡°But I¡¯d assume so. They were on the side furthest away when the Worgals attacked.¡±

    Alend followed the old man into the burning village, eyes watering from the smoke. He gripped his hammer tightly and ran in the opposite direction to Garax, the direction where Helda¡¯s hut was. Some of the houses still burned, though most of the fires were beginning to die out. The wind had carried the majority of the embers in a westward direction to the houses that stood further apart, minimizing the spread of the fire. Alend let out a sigh of relief when he found Helda¡¯s hut intact, untouched.

    ¡°Helda!¡± he called out. No one answered. The hut was empty, and Alend silently thanked the gods. He rushed to the cabinets and skimmed over the neat little tabs that labelled each of them, searching for the one he was looking for¡­

    Abruptly he realized it was going to be empty, just as the door opened behind him and someone entered.

    ¡°You won¡¯t find any,¡± Sanson said.

    Alend had just enough time to turn around as the butcher stabbed him in the gut. Alend looked down at the Rhinegold blade embedded inside him, and then up at the red-faced man by the doorway.

    ¡°Sanson¡­¡± he spluttered. ¡°Why¡­¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± he was expressionless. ¡°Twilight approaches. When a ship sinks, everyone jumps. When Faengard goes up in flames, the Oathbreaker¡¯s followers will be saved and given a place in the new world.¡±

    Alend¡¯s face darkened. ¡°What are you talking about¡ª¡± His voice warped into a screech of pain as Sanson pushed the blade further in.

    ¡°The Lord will reward me for slaying you,¡± he continued. ¡°All I need to do now is find your son and daughter. With the last of the Thorens gone, the Protector will crumble. Lord Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s return will be ensured.¡±

    ¡°Bran¡­¡± Alend coughed. ¡°What about¡­ Bran?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve made sure the relicts are not to harm him,¡± Sanson said. ¡°When the time comes, I¡¯ll introduce him to my Lord. He was always a timid child; he will listen to what I say.¡±

    Blood tinted Alend¡¯s vision. ¡°Bastard,¡± he growled.

    ¡°Are you really in a position to be saying such things?¡± he smirked. ¡°I¡¯m going to have so much fun killing Ein. He always annoyed me, that boy, with how close he was to young Mistress Tamelyn and all¡ª¡±

    Sanson¡¯s eyes widened as Alend lunged at him with pure strength of will, gripping his thin neck with both hands.

    ¡°You¡­ goddamn¡­ bastard,¡± Alend spat. Pain wrenched in his gut, but he tightened his grip. Sanson released the sword and pulled at Alend¡¯s arms, kicked and flailed, but Alend had spent years in the forge and was by far the stronger of the two. Sanson¡¯s skin grew pale as his eyes rolled into his head. The area around his neck began to smoke¡ªonly slightly at first, and then more and more until it was burning Alend¡¯s hands. He squeezed tighter, fighting the darkness closing in around him, thoughts of the village and his family keeping him conscious. The butcher¡¯s eyes sank into their sockets, the fat melting from his cheeks, his nails extending into rotten claws, until finally, with a sickening pop, his eyes and ears vanished completely. Alend released his grip. The creature that fell to the ground was no longer Sanson the butcher. It was a thing without a face, a servant of Al¡¯Ashar. A Faceless.

    Alend lurched sideways and grabbed onto Helda¡¯s table to stop himself from falling. Blood trickled down his trouser legs, soaking them all the way through. He brought his hands to the Rhinegold blade and pulled it free with a cry of anguish. Leaning on it for support, he pressed his free hand firmly to his wound, fighting the pain and the tiredness and the seeping cold, and made his way out of the hut. He took three steps across the road and fell to his knees, the sword clattering uselessly to the ground.

    ¡°Ein,¡± he croaked. ¡°Cinnamin¡­¡±

    There was a distant cry and a rush of what sounded like leaves in the wind. Someone bent down beside him, sliding their arms beneath his armpits. The last things he saw were Talberon¡¯s eyes, dark and smouldering as the sky above.

    #

    ¡°I think there¡¯s someone in that house,¡± Evaine said.

    Angry red flames licked at the house in question. The roof had partly caved in to reveal the entrance hallway and the living room, which were fast becoming husks of blackened ash. Ein spotted three figures huddled against the wall, the large silhouette of a Worgal standing over them.

    ¡°Money, food, anything we have, we¡¯ll give you! Please spare us!¡± The voice was familiar, and once Ein was close enough to see who it was, he realized why.

    ¡°Bran!¡± he cried out. The Worgal turned around. The butcher¡¯s son was next to the wall alongside two crying children no more than ten years of age. He had his hands clasped together and was kneeling on all fours, spluttering through tears and a running nose. An axe lay on the floor next to him, and the corpse of a Worgal bathed in the flames near the doorway.

    ¡°Lauriel, Cenedria, Mother Anturia,¡± he blubbered. ¡°Wyd almighty, save us!¡±

    It pained Ein to see him in such a shameful state. Evaine bit her lip.

    ¡°Bran!¡± he called again. ¡°Bran, we¡¯re coming!¡±

    Evaine rushed past him and pried the shortsword from the dead Worgal¡¯s hand. ¡°Ein! Use this!¡±

    He plunged into the house after her and grabbed the sword from her hands. Ein had barely trained with a shortsword, and the blade didn¡¯t suit him at all¡ªbut it was a weapon, and it could kill. He weighed it and stepped deeper into the burning house, eyes stinging from the heat. A beam cracked above him and fell, sending a fireball roaring past his ear.

    ¡°Ein!¡± Bran had finally spotted them. ¡°Evaine! Gods above, help me, please!¡±

    The Worgal eyed the sword in Ein¡¯s hands and let out a throaty cough. It pulled back its lips and twisted them open and closed, its tongue flickering between its teeth. Ein realized it was talking.

    ¡°Your friend is a coward,¡± it laughed. ¡°He grovels and begs with no sense of dignity. He is a disgrace to your species.¡±

    Heat shot through Ein¡¯s body and it wasn¡¯t from the fire. He blinked and he was in his backyard, swinging a wooden sword under his father¡¯s watchful eye. Ein stepped forward and parried the Worgal¡¯s blow, catching it on the tip of his blade and driving it down to one side. Steel slid against steel among the crackling flames. The Worgal swung again, but Ein ducked this time, sinking just low enough for the blade to pass over his head. He took a step forward, right up to the Worgal and thrust the blade deep into its chest. The Worgal grunted in surprise, but didn¡¯t fall.

    Fire, he thought. Burn it with fire.

    He rammed his shoulder into the Worgal with all his strength, sending it backwards into the flames. It tripped and stumbled onto the floorboards, fire catching onto its fur, racing along its exposed belly in the blink of an eye. The Worgal screamed in pain and tried to rise to its feet, but stumbled and fell. Ein pinned it down with one foot, ignoring the flames licking at his boots, and yanked the sword from its chest. Then, with a cry of pure hatred, he split the relict¡¯s head from its neck.

    ¡°Bran!¡± he heard Evaine shout. ¡°Are you okay?¡± She ran over and helped him to his feet. The two children buried themselves into her dress, sobbing. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± she said, patting their heads. ¡°It¡¯s alright. Let¡¯s get you two out of here.¡±

    Bran looked down, sniffling. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said. His voice was worn so thin it barely came out as a croak. Ein noticed a wet patch on his pants.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here,¡± Ein said. ¡°Come on¡ª¡±

    The house shuddered as another flaming beam fell to the ground. The two children began to cry anew.

    ¡°Evaine!¡± Ein yelled. ¡°What are you waiting for¡ª¡±

    He stopped and stared in disbelief. At the far end of the building, standing by the front door was a relict¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t a Worgal or a Celadon. It had the head of a proud lion and a ragged mane the colour of fresh blood. In its hand was a curved sabre with a blade nearly twice as long as Ein¡¯s shortsword. Even in the heat of the inferno, Ein felt a chill at the sight of it¡ªthe blade wasn¡¯t made of iron or steel, but bone¡ªand from a single glance, he could tell it had tasted the blood of many victims. It was a whisper of evil that spoke to his soul.

    ¡°I thought it was a lion at first. Like the crest of the Leonhart family in the legends¡ªbut it was tall, and it stood on two legs. It had a mane of pure red, like it was stained in blood. And it wielded a sword, though it wasn¡¯t anything forged by a man.¡±

    ¡°...something that can take on six wolves at once with enough strength to rip them apart. Something that walks on two legs and has claws.¡±

    Ein looked at the beast¡¯s feet. They ended in claws, just like the monster that had attacked the Tamelyn farm.

    ¡°You have the scent of a warrior,¡± the relict breathed. ¡°I did not expect to find one like you in a village like this.¡±

    ¡°Evaine,¡± Ein said. He coughed, bringing a sleeve to his lips. The smoke was thickening. ¡°Take the children and go out through the back door. You too, Bran.¡± In that moment, his mind was surprisingly clear. If no one stopped the relict, it would kill them all. Of the three, only he stood a chance.

    Thankfully, Evaine didn¡¯t object. ¡°We¡¯ll be waiting by the river,¡± she said.

    She took the children by the hand and hurried past him, through the choking hallway and to the back door. Bran gave him one final look before following her into the night. A moment later, another section of the roof collapsed and sealed off the hallway behind him. The fire roared.

    ¡°Come,¡± the relict spoke. Its voice was surprisingly human, a deep baritone that could have come from a man. ¡°My blade wishes to taste your blood. Let us dance.¡±

    Ein adopted the stance Alend had taught him. It was just another relict, like the Worgal he¡¯d slain. He¡¯d killed one; surely he could kill another. He didn¡¯t try to think too much about what his father had said about relicts having a hierarchy.

    ¡°Kalador give me strength,¡± he murmured. If the god of war ever chose a time to take his side, he wanted it to be now.

    The relict moved, just as the wall beside Ein collapsed. It was in front of him in a heartbeat, fangs bared, mane shimmering in the heat, sabre racing in a roar swallowed by the flames, and he was ducking¡ªdiving, grazing his shoulder against the scorching floorboards, rising to his feet with a cry and sweeping his sword down low. Their blades met and Ein knew victory wouldn¡¯t come as easily as it had against the Worgal. The lion-man wielded its sword with deadly efficiency, as if it were an extension of its body rather than a tool. Under even circumstances he might have held the advantage, but the sabre had far greater reach than his shortsword, and the relict had clearly been given more than a few minutes to become accustomed to wielding it.

    They moved through the disintegrating house, the relict advancing, Ein retreating. Sweat leaked into his eyes but he didn¡¯t dare wipe them clean. A single blink, a single moment with his hands out of position could mean death. Smoke streamed through the air, searing his lungs. All the while he parried, blocked, ducked the relict¡¯s blows, stepped out of reach when he could do none of those. He gave his body to the motions that had been drilled into him. He didn¡¯t think. He simply reacted.

    Another section of the roof caved in. The night sky peeked through, grey with smoke. Ein began to grow light-headed, bursting into fits of coughing, his movements growing sluggish. The relict seemed to be the same, though it never made any sound or noise to confirm it. A section of its left shoulder had caught fire. Darkness clouded Ein¡¯s head, inch by inch. His senses shut down one by one. His vision narrowed to the figure before him. The howling blaze became a thick, heavy ringing in his ears, his nostrils stinging from the smell of smoke, his fingers no longer feeling the grip of the Worgal blade. He wouldn¡¯t last for much longer.

    The relict, apparently realizing the same, increased its tempo, swinging more wildly, erratically, with no disregard for what crumbling walls and furniture it knocked over. A piece of something struck Ein¡¯s shin, hot and burning. Ein stumbled through one of the blows and pivoted, throwing away his defences to attack.

    Just a while longer...

    He willed himself to stay upright, to stay standing. How long had it been since he¡¯d last drawn a breath of fresh air? The thought went unanswered when his shoulder ignited¡ªnot from fire, but from blood being drawn. The relict smiled, and in that moment Ein saw it¡ªan opening at the throat, one that had been left wide open to make the attack possible. Ein squeezed his eyes shut and thrust with all his strength, feeling the shortsword pierce flesh and blood. He staggered and lost his balance, crashing into the relict, grappling its sword arm. They tipped backwards for one sickening moment before the wall stopped them. There was a heavy thud as the shortsword impaled itself into the wood.

    The relict knocked Ein across the temple, sending him sprawling onto the ground. It gasped and choked, scrabbling at its neck where the sword pinned him down, but the flames raced from all sides to engulf him. It opened and closed its mouth in an attempt to speak, but only gnarled sounds emerged.

    ¡°I¡¯m alive,¡± Ein said, looking at his hands. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ alive.¡±

    Bursting into a fit of coughing, he turned around took a blind step to where he thought the exit was. His foot didn¡¯t obey him, and as he crashed towards the ground amidst the relict¡¯s howling death throes, he wondered if it was sweat or tears running down his face.

 11. The Blacksmiths Son

    Chapter Eleven: The Blacksmith¡¯s Son

    ¡°Smithing is the most rewarding of trades. Nothing grants more satisfaction than shaping and refining an ugly lump of ore into a beautiful sword. In many ways, it is like watching a child grow.¡±

    ¡ªAdin Smythe, The Art of Smithing

    Sometime in the night, Ein became vaguely aware of two people arguing. One of them was tall and broad, and he had a voice like a rough stone in a river. The other was smaller and more slight, and her voice quivered like a shivering bell. Behind them, in the distant sky, a storm brewed.

    The woman was close to tears, her voice cracking with hysteric peaks and troughs, while the man continued to speak quietly but firmly, never wavering. His voice was that of reason, of rationality, and even though Ein couldn¡¯t understand what was being said, he knew it to be the truth. The woman¡¯s voice was that of emotion, want and desire, a blazing flame of feelings that sought release. It shattered like a glass pane, and the woman finally stopped speaking and began to weep. The man held her close, and they didn¡¯t move. Lightning flickered in the distance, cracking toward the ground like a whip.

    Ein wondered what kind of person could do such a thing to a woman, to shatter her so irreparably. He must be a terrible man; yet, why was the woman still holding him so?

    Sleep took him again, and in his sleep he heard a song. It was a song without words, a soft melody unlike the songs of the troupers and the bumbling bards that frequented the inn. The music grasped him warmly by the hand and enveloped him, rocking him gently by a crackling fireplace. It smelled like his mother and father, like his sister and his friends, like the first blooming flower of spring and the drip-dripping of morning dew. Though it was a song without words, he heard it all the same, and understood it. Rest, it said. Be well again.

    He was sick with a fever, lying in a bed with a wet cloth on his forehead, and his mother was feeding him spoon after spoon of steaming chicken soup. Each mouthful he swallowed sent a fire rushing to the tips of his fingers and toes; not the painful-hot fire of the furnace, but the soothing warmth of a hearth on a winter¡¯s morning. Rest, his mother said. Be well again.

    He was on the floor crying, clutching at a scrape on his knee, and Evaine was there, laughing at him, scrubbing his wound clean with alcohol. Be a man, she told him, as she tore a strip of linen and wrapped it around his leg. She let him win at skipping stones later that evening, and it was the first time he¡¯d ever beaten her. When he jumped up and down in exhilaration, she simply smiled. Rest, she said. Be well again.

    ¡°Close your eyes and sleep,

    For tomorrow is a new day.¡±

    And he woke once more, his body laden with fatigue, his lungs aching with each breath. He saw a young girl with long, black hair and quicksilver eyes, and an older girl with a dark braid that snaked down to her waist. They were sitting on two chairs in the corner, sleeping. The younger girl rested her head on the older girl¡¯s shoulder.

    And then he was sleeping again. Sometime in the night, the song stopped¡ªbut the storm continued.

    #

    Evaine was the first to realize he was awake, and the first to knock the breath out of him with a gripping hug. Cinnamin was next, and then his mother was rushing through the door and embracing him as well.

    ¡°Can¡¯t¡­ breathe¡­¡±

    Ein nearly lapsed into unconsciousness again. Bran and Koth arrived not long after, and then Garax and Talberon, and quite soon the entire room was packed with more people than he could count.

    ¡°What happened?¡± Ein asked. His throat felt red and raw, like someone had pulled it out and ground it against the floorboards before shoving it back in. He remembered the burning house and the feel of his sword piercing flesh, and an ominous storm brewing in the distance, but everything after that was a murky haze.

    ¡°You almost died, that¡¯s what happened,¡± Garax grunted. He had a sword strapped to his side which hadn¡¯t been there before. ¡°I found you half dead on the floor, roasting in the flames. Managed to get you out before the whole house fell down. Never in my life have I wished I had two working hands more than that moment.¡± He smiled grimly.

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky to be alive,¡± Talberon said, scribbling something into a book. ¡°Your back was covered in burns of the worst degree. It took me the entire night to treat it all.¡±

    Ein felt behind his shoulders, pressing his fingers against the sweat-stained cloth of his shirt. He ran his fingers along his skin. It was smooth and tender, like the skin of a newborn babe. He looked down at his hands, peered beneath his collar. There was nothing to suggest he¡¯d ever been injured, except for the ragged pain that flooded his lungs with each breath.

    ¡°How?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Magic,¡± Helda said, with an expression halfway between admiration and aversion.

    Talberon looked away. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter how. Just that you¡¯re fixed.¡±

    ¡°You did a mighty fine deed that night,¡± Koth said. ¡°Rescuing those children. I¡¯m sure your father is proud of you. Right, Alend?¡±

    ¡°I would have preferred it if you¡¯d collapsed after reaching safety first,¡± Alend said, but he was smiling. ¡°The troupers will be singing tales of your feat for years to come.¡±

    Herod winked from the doorway. With the entire room¡¯s focus upon him, Ein didn¡¯t know where to look.

    ¡°How long have I been sleeping for?¡± he asked.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Cinnamin returned. ¡°Founder¡¯s Eve was only last night.¡±

    Last night! Ein shook his head. Of course. Otherwise, my father would be halfway to Aldoran.

    ¡°Anyway,¡± Helda cleared her throat, ¡°it¡¯s good to see you alive and well, Ein. If you¡¯ll excuse me, I have to go and tend to other people now.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Talberon agreed, as did several others around the room. As they all trickled out except Evaine and Cinnamin, Ein noted his father¡¯s sluggish gait and the way he clutched at his abdomen. It made for a stark contrast to the sure-footed way he usually carried himself.

    ¡°Is my father injured?¡± he asked. ¡°He doesn¡¯t look well.¡±

    Rhea was the last to leave them. Once the door was shut, Evaine sat back down on her chair beside the bed.

    ¡°Congratulations,¡± Evaine said. ¡°You¡¯re a Hero of Felhaven now.¡±

    ¡°A what?¡±

    ¡°A Hero of Felhaven. That¡¯s what they¡¯re calling you, Talberon and Garax,¡± Evaine said. ¡°The three men who single-handedly drove back the relicts.¡±

    What about my father? ¡°I didn¡¯t really do anything,¡± Ein said, even though his chest swelled with pride. ¡°The Songweaver, on the other hand¡­ and did Garax always have that sword?¡±

    ¡°Master Garax killed almost ten of the things by himself,¡± Cinnamin said. ¡°And he saved countless more.¡±

    ¡°How many people¡­¡± Ein swallowed. ¡°How many people died?¡±

    Evaine was silent for a moment.

    ¡°Twenty. And it would have been twenty-three if it weren¡¯t for you. Maybe even twenty-four, because I would have been killed as well.¡± She offered him a smile. ¡°Don¡¯t think too much on it, Ein. We did everything we could. What happened, happened. As the troupers would say, ¡®It is as the wind wills.¡¯¡±

    Twenty! The amount would not go unnoticed in a village of their size.

    ¡°What about Father?¡± Ein looked towards Cinnamin this time. She avoided his eye. ¡°How is he? Is he hurt?¡±

    ¡°Father¡ª¡±

    ¡°He was stabbed by Sanson. Sanson was a traitor.¡±

    It took Ein a moment to register what Evaine had just said.

    ¡°What do you mean Sanson was a traitor?¡± he cried. Almost immediately he regretted it as his lungs filled with searing pain.

    ¡°The Songweaver was calling him a Faceless,¡± Evaine said pointedly. ¡°Supposedly he was a servant of Al¡¯Ashar, and the reason the relicts found us.¡±

    ¡°Al''Ashar?¡± Ein winced again. ¡°The Oathbreaker?¡±

    Evaine shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m just telling you what I overheard. They couldn¡¯t find his body either, only a pile of ashes. Mayor Walmsley told everyone he died in one of the fires. Bran doesn¡¯t know, and I don¡¯t think we should tell him.¡±

    Ein quietly looked at his hands. Nothing had ever struck him as unusual about the butcher. He never would have expected Sanson to be a servant of evil.

    But how else could the relicts have found their way to Felhaven? It was more than likely someone had led them here. Bran¡¯s father was responsible for the deaths of so many, and the destruction of so many homes. Bran¡¯s father had almost killed Alend.

    ¡°Is Father alright?¡± Ein repeated. He¡¯d seen Alend up and walking, but he was pale and in not much better shape than Evaine¡¯s parents.

    ¡°He¡¯ll be fine,¡± Cinnamin said. ¡°But Mistress Helda said it will take a while for his wound to heal.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t the Songweaver heal them with magic?¡±

    Cinnamin shook her head. ¡°Apparently he was stabbed with a special blade. Magic doesn¡¯t work on it.¡±

    Ein cursed. To think that less than a day ago they¡¯d been revelling in Founder¡¯s Eve, fretting over talk of marriages and departure. It seemed like so long ago that the festival had happened. It had been a memorable one, that was for sure. A memorable nightmare. He would hear fire and screams, smell smoke and blood for a while yet.

    ¡°I¡¯m going for a walk,¡± Ein said. He rolled over, ignoring the protest in his muscles. Evaine and Cinnamin grabbed hold of his arms, steadying him.

    ¡°You should rest,¡± Cinnamin said. ¡°Helda said you should stay in bed for at least another day.¡±

    ¡°If you want, I¡¯ll bring the stones over and we can play Capture,¡± Evaine said. ¡°I¡¯ll stay with you to stave off the boredom.¡±

    Ein shook his head. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°I need to see the village for myself. And I need some fresh air; my head is swimming.¡±

    Evaine and Cinnamin looked uncertainly at each other.

    ¡°We¡¯ll come with you¡ª¡± his sister began.

    Ein raised a hand. ¡°I want to be alone for a bit.¡±The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Cinnamin bit her lip. As Ein tried to walk past her, she thrust something into his hand. ¡°Take this then,¡± she said.

    Ein looked at the item he¡¯d been given. It was a charm of some sort, a coin-sized pendant made of polished wood. A sigil was carved into it¡ªthree raven wings branching from a single point. It was a plain piece of jewellery, something no bandit would want to steal, and Ein suspected it had been made that way for a reason.

    ¡°Do you know what this is?¡± he asked.

    Cinnamin nodded. ¡°The Songweaver gave it to me,¡± she said, fingering an identical pendant around her own neck. ¡°He said to give you one as well. It¡¯s a good luck charm.¡±

    No it¡¯s not, Ein thought. It¡¯s to hide our presence from the relicts. Because for some reason, they have business with those of the Thoren bloodline. He closed his fingers around the trinket. He didn¡¯t know what the symbol meant, but there was a chance it could raise some eyebrows around the village.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he smiled, ruffling her hair. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to wear it. I think it would be a good idea not to have it in plain sight, though.¡± He tucked it underneath his shirt. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t want the other children to be jealous, would you?¡±

    Cinnamin nodded in agreement. He made for the door again, and this time neither of them stopped him.

    The main foyer of the Sleeping Twinn was a hive of activity. Barely anyone paid him any heed as he plodded along, stretching the soreness from muscles he didn¡¯t know existed. The tables and chairs had been stacked to one side to make way for a sea of bedrolls and groaning patients. Anyone who wasn¡¯t sleeping or complaining was tending to someone who was. The smell of sweat hung heavily in the air.

    ¡°How are you feeling, hero?¡±

    Bran, Garax and another man waved at him from one side of the room. Ein felt a smile light up his face as he recognized Evaine¡¯s father.

    ¡°Master Tamelyn!¡± he exclaimed. ¡°I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re alright!¡±

    Nath shook his hand. ¡°I¡¯ve only the Songweaver to thank,¡± he said. ¡°A miracle worker, he is.¡±

    ¡°Does Evaine know you¡¯re awake?¡±

    Nath chuckled. ¡°Of course. But she¡¯s spent more time watching over you than she has her own father.¡± He patted him on the shoulder. ¡°Thank you, son. Not just on behalf of the village, but for looking after my daughter.¡±

    Ein scratched his cheek, embarrassed. ¡°I didn¡¯t really do anything,¡± he said. ¡°The Songweaver did most of the work.¡± He recalled Talberon rising from the fires of ruin, calling up nature to do his bidding. Another legend to add to Felhaven¡¯s history, alongside the feats of the twins Fel and Brackenburg.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly,¡± Bran said. ¡°You saved me and the two children. You made short work of that Worgal like it was nothing, and the Bloodman too.¡±

    ¡°Bloodmane,¡± Garax corrected. ¡°It was at full strength, too. A Bloodmane will dye its mane red every time it feeds.¡±

    Nath shuddered. ¡°I remember that thing,¡± he said. ¡°The gods truly watched over me that day. I shouldn¡¯t be alive.¡±

    ¡°They ingest blood through their blades, which are crafted from their own bone. That would be the reason it slaughtered all the animals on your farm,¡± Garax continued. ¡°A fully fed Bloodmane can match with some of the higher ranking generals in the King¡¯s Legion.¡± He looked Ein up and down with a thoughtful expression. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you were able to kill it, actually. That thing could have single-handedly demolished Felhaven¡¯s population. I suppose between you both, fighting in a burning house was more detrimental for the relict.¡±

    ¡°It was the fire,¡± Ein agreed. ¡°I don¡¯t think I would have won if we hadn¡¯t fought in a burning house.¡± Kalador truly watched over me.

    ¡°Most of the villagers won¡¯t know that,¡± Nath winked. ¡°Nor would they care if they knew. I¡¯m already hearing songs of the blacksmith¡¯s son.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Garax said. He didn¡¯t look sorry at all. ¡°I couldn¡¯t resist.

    A misty moon on Founder¡¯s Eve,

    A night for dancing and reprieve,

    Over the hills the demons came,

    Swinging swords and breathing flame.

    Kill they did, burn and plunder,

    Men and women, ripped asunder.

    The sky was black and grey with smoke,

    The ground was red with dying folk.

    From the ashes did he rise,

    See the carnage, hear their cries,

    The blacksmith¡¯s son, a gentle lad,

    Always calm now, he was mad.

    Charge he did, roaring, leaping,

    Thrusting, slashing, sword sweeping,

    The bodies did pile, higher and higher,

    Reaching the heavens, fuelling the fire.

    And in the end he stood alone,

    Surrounded by blood and ashes and bone,

    Felhaven¡¯s Hero, the blacksmith¡¯s son,

    His legend had only just begun.¡±

    ¡°Are you alright, Ein?¡± Bran asked. ¡°You look a bit pale.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m no hero,¡± he muttered beneath his breath. Gods, that isn¡¯t what happened at all. ¡°I¡¯m no hero. I just¡­ I just did what felt right. If I didn¡¯t fight it, it would have killed you and the children.¡± I don¡¯t want to be a hero. I don¡¯t want people to see me as a hero.

    ¡°A hero is a person who fights, even when he doesn¡¯t want to,¡± Garax said.

    Ein shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not a hero. I¡¯m just a blacksmith¡¯s son.¡± He looked up. ¡°Have you seen my father, by any chance? I need to talk to him.¡±

    ¡°I saw him a while ago,¡± Nath said. ¡°Try the forge or the stables. I think he said he was leaving or something. Had a terrible argument with your mother last night, one I¡¯m not sure I was supposed to hear.¡±

    ¡°Leaving?¡± Bran raised an eyebrow. ¡°What for?¡±

    ¡°The hell if I¡¯d know. Anyway, I¡¯m heading upstairs to get some rest. These old bones aren¡¯t as young as they used to be.¡±

    ¡°Me too,¡± Garax said, stifling a yawn. ¡°I¡¯ve got some things to take care of as well.¡±

    Bran looked towards Ein. ¡°Want to head outside then? I¡¯ve got some errands to run as well.¡±

    ¡°Alright.¡±

    #

    For a village that had nearly been razed to the ground, the Felhaveners were surprisingly composed. They laughed and joked while they could, sifting through the ruins of charred houses and blackened piles of ash and timber. It was a facade and anyone with half an eye could see it, but they kept it up all the same. There was no use in brooding; the incident was over and nothing could reverse it. Only when they¡¯d finished picking up the pieces of their life would they allow themselves to mourn.

    ¡°Where are the troupers?¡± Ein asked. He hadn¡¯t seen anyone in green and gold for the entire day.

    ¡°Most of them are helping find spots outside the village to bury the dead,¡± Bran answered. ¡°The others are packing and preparing to leave. They were due to leave this morning, but after the attack several of them stayed to help put out the fires and tend to the injured.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    They walked past the village square. The giant thorns and vines were gone, but cracks still remained in the ground where they¡¯d sprouted. Ein never would have believed in such magic¡ªreal magic, not the tricks Talberon had displayed during the festival¡ªhad he not seen it with his own eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about your father,¡± he finally said. They¡¯d reached a deserted corner of the village, a fork in the road that split off to the forge in one direction and the butchery in the other. Barely any snow lined the ground. It was warm for a winter¡¯s day.

    Bran loosed a shaky laugh. ¡°In a way, I¡¯m glad he¡¯s dead.¡±

    Ein frowned. ¡°Why do you say that?¡±

    Bran looked up. He was crying.

    ¡°I¡¯m useless,¡± he said. Tears streamed silently down his face. ¡°I¡¯m a coward. Didn¡¯t you see me in that house? I wet my pants, Ein, like a baby. I was a snivelling wreck, begging the relict to spare my life. I went in to save those children and ended up needing to be saved myself.¡± The words came out of him in a jumbled mess, faster and faster like a stone tumbling down a hill. ¡°What sort of father would want a son like that? One who can¡¯t stand up for himself, one who can¡¯t even make his future wife happy? I don¡¯t blame Evaine for hating me. I wish I was you, Ein. I wish I could be as brave and composed as you¡ª¡±

    Ein lashed his palm across Bran¡¯s face. The taller boy staggered backwards, clutching his cheek in shock.

    ¡°You¡¯re wrong,¡± he said. ¡°First of all, Evaine doesn¡¯t hate you at all. Why would she spend so much time around you if she did? Use your brain.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡±

    ¡°Secondly, you think you¡¯re the only one?¡± Ein felt his own voice rising. ¡°I¡¯m not brave at all. When Einar was killed, it took everything I had not to cry in front of Evaine. I saw a dead person for the first time yesterday, and I nearly threw up my guts. I would have soiled my pants if I had anything to soil.¡±

    A terse silence floated between them.

    ¡°I was so scared,¡± Bran mumbled. ¡°I don¡¯t even know why I did it. By the time you found me, I was willing to let those children die just to save myself. I was regretting jumping into the fire to save them. I would have sold my soul to Al¡¯Ashar to live.¡±

    Ein looked down.

    ¡°If I was you,¡± he said in a quiet voice, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have even gone into the fire. I would have left those children to die.¡±

    Bran blinked and gaped at him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. ¡°Surely not?¡±

    Ein nodded. ¡°I would have, I¡¯m sure of it. The only reason I went in, aside from the fact that you and Evaine were there, was because I was sure I could get out. A man who goes into a burning building to save two children, even when he knows he won¡¯t come out alive, is braver than a man who goes in knowing he¡¯ll come out alive.¡± I¡¯m not a hero, Bran. Don¡¯t look at me like I¡¯m a hero.

    Bran wiped his eyes and sniffed. A faint mark had begun to appear on his cheek. ¡°Braver but more stupid,¡± he said. ¡°I would have died if you hadn¡¯t saved me. It would have been a needless death.¡±

    Ein shrugged. ¡°Some things are worth dying for.¡±

    Bran smiled painfully. ¡°Damn it,¡± he said. He squeezed his eyes shut and looked toward the sky. ¡°That sounds exactly like what a hero of Felhaven would say.¡±

    Ein shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a hero,¡± he said. ¡°I just want things to stay the same forever. You, me, Evaine and Cinnamin, Mother and Father.¡± And now I¡¯ve lost Einar, I¡¯m about to lose Evaine and my father, and half the village is gone. He shook his head and cleared his thoughts. ¡°Come on. Didn¡¯t you have errands to run?¡±

    #

    Talberon and Alend sifted through the ruins of the shed behind Sanson¡¯s house. The brief storm that had passed overnight had done wonders to douse the flames.

    The druid dug out a blackened plank and tossed it one side. Alend did the same. He might not have welcomed the other¡¯s presence in his village, but they needed to get to the bottom of the matter, and quickly. Before Bran came back.

    ¡°I¡¯ve found it.¡±

    Talberon sang a word, causing the wreckage to groan as it shifted apart. Sanson¡¯s collection of knives slid across the damp wood, clearing a small space in the debris. On the ground a circle had been carved, a curved line splicing it in two so it resembled a crescent moon. To the right of the crescent moon was an open eye.

    ¡°The Watching Moon,¡± Alend breathed. ¡°The mark of Al¡¯Ashar. No wonder he didn¡¯t want Evaine staying over¡ªshe would have found it, given her inquisitive nature.¡±

    ¡°There can no longer be any doubt,¡± the druid agreed. ¡°This man was a Faceless. Only the servants of Al¡¯Ashar have such shrines within their homes, enabling communication between them and their lord.¡±

    Alend shook his head. He couldn¡¯t believe it, even though he knew it was true. The Faceless were men and women who had given their flesh to the Oathbreaker in exchange for something only He could offer them. Aside from their increased resistance to pain and vulnerability to fire, salt and soulforged steel, there was no way to tell them apart. Only when they were dead would their human exteriors melt away to reveal their rotten core, their skin taking the form of the demons they had become.

    ¡°Since when, Sanson¡­?¡± Alend muttered. For how long had the butcher played them all to the tune of his fiddle? A month? A year? He didn¡¯t dare think further.

    Talberon lifted a plank of wood back over the circle. ¡°It would be best if we left as soon as we could, Deserter. I will be waiting for you by the Wydling camp.¡±

    Alend nodded grimly and began making his way back to the forge, dark thoughts in his head.

    #

    Ein found his father in the forge, packing his belongings into a travelling bag. Alend looked up in surprise as his son entered the storeroom, folding his arms.

    ¡°Going somewhere?¡± Ein asked.

    Alend put down the blankets and faced him. Ein noted the bastard sword strapped by his father¡¯s waist, the faint glint of fiery orange peeking through the leather straps, the golden ring on his thumb. He noted the way Alend winced every time he breathed, his hand moving instinctively to his abdomen every time he turned or straightened his back. His father was hurt, and he was having a hard time hiding it.

    ¡°I¡¯m heading to Aldoran for a while,¡± Alend said. ¡°There are some things I need to take care of.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Ein pulled the wooden charm from his neck, fingering it. Alend narrowed his eyes. ¡°What sort of things?¡±

    ¡°A business trip,¡± he said. ¡°To make some extra coin. The forge has been a bit slow lately in terms of customers.¡±

    ¡°Business trip,¡± Ein repeated. ¡°That¡¯s not what I heard.¡±

    ¡°What did you hear?¡±

    ¡°That you¡¯re heading to Aldoran because Aedrasil needs you. Your blood is needed to save it¡ªthe blood of a Thoren.¡±

    Alend let the bag drop to the ground. ¡°Who told you this? Was it your mother?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Ein shook his head. ¡°I heard you and Talberon talking the night before yesterday. I was going to ask you about it, but then¡­ well, you know what happened.¡±

    Alend heaved a heavy sigh. ¡°Damn you,¡± he said. ¡°Always listening in on things you¡¯re not supposed to. I take it you were with Bran and Evaine that night?¡±

    ¡°I was.¡±

    Alend nodded. ¡°Well, now you know. Don¡¯t tell Cinnamin or anyone else, for that matter. No use in people learning of my heritage.¡± He turned to finish packing, but Ein took a step in front of him.

    ¡°Hang on,¡± he said. ¡°You can¡¯t be seriously considering going on a journey to the Capitol in that condition. What if you get attacked? The way you are now, a light wind could knock you over.¡±

    ¡°I have no choice.¡± Ein¡¯s father looked down. He seemed to have shrunk a bit over the last few days. ¡°If I don¡¯t leave, Felhaven won¡¯t be the only thing that gets razed to the ground. The whole of Faengard is relying on the Ward Tree to hold back the relicts.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll go in your place,¡± Ein said. ¡°The same blood runs in our veins. I¡¯m younger and in better shape. You¡¯ve trained me well. I should be able to go with Talberon to Aldoran and do what needs to be done.¡±

    Alend shook his head. ¡°That won¡¯t do.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    Ein¡¯s father stared at him with sad, empty eyes. ¡°Because you¡¯re not my son.¡±

 12. Departures

    Chapter Twelve: Departures

    ¡°The hardest part of a journey is taking the first step.¡±

    ¡ªDagus Adem, The Adventurer¡¯s Guide to the Continent

    Talberon and Alend left at dusk, two cloaked riders disappearing into the horizon. Ein stood at the top of a hill, watching as they crossed the farmland and plunged into the trees.

    ¡°What do you mean, I¡¯m not your son?¡±

    ¡°Exactly what I said. You¡¯re the son of Rhea¡¯s sister and another man. They both died when you were young, so we took you in instead.¡±

    Ein kicked at a rock on the ground and sighed bitterly. People had always said he took after Rhea¡¯s appearance, but he never would have guessed the reason why.

    Alend isn¡¯t my father, he thought. My father¡­ isn¡¯t my father.

    He tore off the Three-winged charm from his neck and glared at it.

    ¡°Fat lot of use this will be,¡± he muttered. If he wasn¡¯t of the Thoren bloodline, the relicts would have no reason to go after him. He clenched his fist around the pendant so hard it dug into his palm.

    ¡°Now do you understand? Either I go or Cinnamin goes. This is why I have to leave, Ein.¡±

    Ein drew his hand back and hurled the charm as far as he could, watching it land in the river below. He shook his head in disgust.

    ¡°There you are. I was looking all over for you.¡±

    Ein spun around as Garax scrambled to the top of the hill, puffing. He had a sheathed sword in his good hand which he used as a cane to support himself. It was growing too dark to see, but the storyteller appeared to be smiling.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± Ein snapped. Then, shaking his head, he said again, ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m a bit worn out, that¡¯s all. Did you need me for something?¡±

    Garax shook his head. ¡°I was heading past the forge earlier and I couldn¡¯t help but overhear you arguing with your father.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s been a lot of eavesdropping going on lately,¡± Ein gave a dry laugh.

    ¡°Are you going after him?¡± Garax asked.

    He¡¯d thought about it, long and hard before Alend¡¯s revelation. He¡¯d made up his mind back then, that he was going to take his father¡¯s place. But now, he wasn¡¯t so sure.

    ¡°He¡¯s already gone.¡± Ein pointed into the distance at the black mass of trees. ¡°They left a few minutes ago.¡±

    ¡°We can still catch up to them.¡±

    ¡°¡®We?¡¯¡±

    Garax mopped his forehead with his sleeve. ¡°I was thinking it was time to leave this place, go on one last adventure while I still can. I¡¯ve spoken to the troupers and they¡¯ve got room to spare for a few more. I wouldn¡¯t mind your company on the journey, and you seem to know your way around a blade.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re leaving Felhaven?¡±

    ¡°Indeed. I fear I¡¯ve not long left to live, so I may as well make the most of it.¡±

    Ein stared at the old man, from his missing hand to the sword and golden eyes that always seemed to be dancing with amusement. He thought back to Alend, the way he¡¯d been walking, the wound in his stomach. There was a very real possibility that he wouldn¡¯t return, not if he was leaving in that state.

    He couldn¡¯t accept it. He needed answers. He needed to protect the life he¡¯d been living up until now, with the mother and father and sister he¡¯d lived with for his entire life.

    ¡°When and where should I wait for you?¡±

    #

    Rhea came up to Ein when he was packing that night. He¡¯d dumped his belongings on the bed and was shoving them into his bag, ticking off a mental checklist as he did so. He had his clothes, blankets, bedroll, food and water, a tinderbox and the small cooking pot his father¡ªAlend, he reminded himself¡ªhad given him, bandages and twine for making traps¡­ what else did he need? He strapped his bow against his back and a bastard sword to his waist. Where was his knife?

    ¡°Looking for this?¡±

    His mother¡ªaunt?¡ªwas there, the hunting knife in her hands. Ein took it from her and froze like a deer under torchlight.

    ¡°You¡¯re leaving as well, aren¡¯t you?¡± she asked. Her eyes were tired and red. ¡°Don¡¯t try to hide it.¡±

    Ein tightened his grip on the knife. ¡°I am,¡± he said.

    Rhea sighed. ¡°First Alend and now you. Next thing you know, Cinnamin will be old enough to want to leave the nest as well. Have you told her yet?¡±

    Ein shook his head.

    ¡°Make sure you do,¡± his aunt said. ¡°But don¡¯t tell her what you¡¯re really doing. Just say you¡¯re joining your father on his business trip.¡±

    ¡°Alend,¡± Ein corrected. ¡°Not my father. Alend.¡± It felt strange calling him by his first name.

    ¡°I guess he told you, then.¡± Rhea sighed. ¡°But as corny as it sounds, don¡¯t let it bother you at all. To us, you¡¯re our son, and we¡¯ve never thought otherwise.¡±

    Ein pulled his straps tight and hefted his bag in one hand. It was heavy, but not so heavy he couldn¡¯t walk with it. He fixed it onto his back and tied the knife to his waist.

    ¡°You¡¯re not going to stop me?¡± he asked.

    Rhea smiled sadly. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be able to, would I? Besides, it¡¯s not as if you won¡¯t be returning. Just a quick trip to Aldoran and you¡¯ll be back before we know it. Right?¡±

    Ein nodded. ¡°Of course.¡±

    His aunt moved in and embraced him, resting her head against his chest. He burned her face into his memory, her smell and the feel of her arms around him. Since when had he grown taller than her? Sixteen years had passed so quickly, like the blink of an eye. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    ¡°Be careful, okay?¡± she murmured. ¡°Make sure you eat and sleep enough, and don¡¯t push yourself too hard. Stay off the roads at night and lock your doors if you ever stop at an inn. Don¡¯t go chasing after too many girls, you hear me?¡±

    ¡°I will.¡± Ein swallowed the lump in his throat. Rhea pulled back and stepped away. In her hand was a cube-shaped box, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. She gave it to him.

    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± he asked.

    It looked to be made of ebony, a superb work of craftsmanship with no joints or seams whatsoever. In fact, he could have mistaken it for a solid block of wood were it not for the rattling sound it made when he shook it. He ran his fingers along its edge, searching for a lid or a lock, but there was none. It was completely smooth.

    ¡°It belonged to your father,¡± Rhea said. ¡°Your real father. He left it with my sister, and she gave it to me when she passed away. I¡¯ve tried everything short of breaking the thing open with a hammer, but nothing seems to work.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s inside it?¡±

    Rhea shook her shoulders. ¡°I only wish I knew,¡± she said. ¡°But it¡¯s rightfully yours, so it¡¯s only fair that you take it. Maybe there¡¯s a hint to who your real father is in there.¡±

    Ein looked at the box for a moment longer before tucking it in his pocket.

    ¡°Alend might not be my real father,¡± he said, ¡°but he comes damn close. And the same goes for you. And Cinnamin too.¡±

    Rhea smiled. ¡°It makes me happy to hear that.¡± She took a step back, her hands clasped in front of her. ¡°You should go and say goodbye to her now, before she runs off.¡±

    #

    He found Cinnamin outside the bakery with a few of the other children. She had an apron around her waist and her hands were white with flour.

    ¡°Ein!¡± she exclaimed. ¡°We were just looking for you!¡±

    Two more children emerged, dressed in similar clothing with dirty hands. Ein recognized them as the two he¡¯d saved from the burning building. Their eyes widened in surprise as they saw him.

    ¡°Young Master Thoren!¡± the boy exclaimed, bowed deeply. ¡°Thank you so much for rescuing us!¡± He was a few years younger than Cinnamin, scarcely a decade old. The girl, presumably his sister, was even younger.

    ¡°Are you doing well?¡± Ein asked, bending down on one knee. He caught Maisie¡¯s eye through the window. She smiled and went back to her work.

    ¡°We¡¯re alive and well thanks to you,¡± the girl said. Her brother nudged her and she came forward. ¡°We wanted to do something to show our appreciation. Cinnamin said you liked cookies.¡±

    Ein looked at his sister with amusement. ¡°I¡¯m not sure there¡¯s a person in this village who doesn¡¯t.¡±

    The girl brought her hands out from behind her back, revealing a small package wrapped up in a white cloth. It was still warm, and it smelled of butter and milk.

    ¡°We¡¯re sorry we couldn¡¯t bake some more,¡± she said. ¡°And they¡¯re a little burnt. But we hope you like them.¡±

    Ein took the bundle her hands and smiled. ¡°Thank you very much. What were your names?¡±

    ¡°Jayde,¡± the girl said.

    ¡°Thom,¡± the boy said.

    Ein stood up. ¡°Stop by the forge when I come back and we can play together.¡± He paused. ¡°And while you¡¯re at it, go and thank young Master Sutherland. He deserves it just as much as I do.¡±

    ¡°Okay!¡±

    The two children ran off, tottering into the darkness. As soon as they were gone, Cinnamin gave him a puzzled look.

    ¡°¡®When I come back?¡¯¡± she repeated.

    Ein sighed. ¡°I¡¯m leaving again.¡±

    He saw the emotions flicker through her face, one by one like the pages of a book. First was surprise and shock, then anger, frustration, and finally dejection.

    ¡°Why?¡± she asked. With her hands on her hips and a scowl across her face, she looked like Evaine. That reminded him¡ªhe needed to say goodbye to her as well.

    ¡°I¡¯m going with Father,¡± Ein said. ¡°Just to help him on his trip. We¡¯ll be back before you know it.¡±

    ¡°How long are you leaving for?¡±

    Ein wasn¡¯t sure how long it took to get to Aldoran from the Sleeping Twins. He wasn¡¯t even sure how long it would take to get out of the Sleeping Twins.

    ¡°A few weeks I¡¯d guess,¡± he said carefully. ¡°It¡¯ll be just like one of our hunting trips, only a little longer.¡±

    ¡°But you just came back from a hunting trip.¡±

    Ein fiddled with the bag of cookies in his hand. Cinnamin sighed.

    ¡°This had better be it,¡± she said. ¡°Things always fall to pieces when you¡¯re not around.¡±

    ¡°This will be it. I promise.¡±

    That seemed to appease her, if only by a little bit. Ein¡¯s sister gave him a quick hug, coating his jerkin with flour.

    ¡°Come home safely,¡± she said.

    Ein didn¡¯t reply.

    #

    He spent the remainder of the night searching for Bran and Evaine, but he couldn¡¯t find either of them. He was forced to give up at the seventh hour past noon, when he¡¯d promised to meet with Garax at the Wydlings¡¯ camp. The Children of the Wind had packed away their tents and prepared their horses to ride, and were waiting restlessly by the time he arrived. Garax came not a moment later, slinging a small bag over his shoulder, his sword strapped around his waist. The two stood at the path leading to the village as the troupe packed their luggage into the carts.

    ¡°Are we waiting for anything?¡± Ein asked. ¡°It¡¯s dark enough already; we won¡¯t be able to cover much ground.¡±

    ¡°The moon is out tonight,¡± a female trouper said. ¡°Its light will guide us.¡±

    Ein looked up. She was right. The moon was a pool of liquid silver in the sky, casting a sombre light across the earth. It was a full moon, large and heavy, and he could see every blemish on its surface. Ein couldn¡¯t remember when he¡¯d last seen a moon so clear and beautiful.

    ¡°Oh, there she is,¡± Garax suddenly said. ¡°I was wondering if she¡¯d decided to back out. I should have known better.¡±

    Ein turned back to the path and squinted. A small figure hurried towards them, laden with bags almost as large as she was. It took him a moment to recognize her.

    ¡°Evaine!?¡± He looked to Garax.

    ¡°She¡¯s the one who planned this whole escapade.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I just thought you might want to join.¡±

    It was Evaine, there was no doubt about it. She¡¯d donned a travelling garb, her braid swaying behind her, her arms straining with the effort of carrying her bags. One of the troupers went out to her and took them, tossing them onto the back of the wagon.

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Ein gaped.

    ¡°I was wondering the same thing,¡± Evaine said. Her eyes were dancing with excitement. ¡°I was looking all over for you but I couldn¡¯t find you at all. I guess the Winds of Fate were at play the whole time.¡±

    ¡°Evaine,¡± Ein said again. ¡°You can¡¯t leave. You have to realize, the moment you set foot outside Felhaven they won¡¯t let you back in. Think about it! What are you going to do for the next thirty, forty, fifty years of your life? What will you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t lecture me,¡± Evaine said hotly. ¡°I¡¯ve given this more than enough thought.¡± She climbed onto one of the wagons as the Wydlings began their final checks. ¡°Now, why are you leaving? I thought you said you were going to stay here and work the forge until you were old and wrinkled.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going after my father to make sure he¡¯s safe,¡± Ein said. ¡°I¡¯ll be coming back as soon as he¡¯s finished his business in the city. But you¡­ they won¡¯t let you back, Evaine. Your hair¡¯s been braided. It¡¯s been braided, and there¡¯s no undoing it.¡±

    ¡°Braid be damned. I¡¯m leaving with you, Ein, even if it means I won¡¯t be coming back. This is how much I care about my braid.¡±

    She whipped out a knife from her side, and before Ein had time to react, she pulled her hair taut in front of her and slashed through it in one swift stroke. The braid broke away cleanly, her remaining hair coming loose around the base of her neck in an uneven veil.

    ¡°Happy now?¡± she asked. Her eyes were a mixture of defiance and self-satisfaction.

    Garax cleared his throat from beside the two. ¡°I think we¡¯re about to leave, boy. You¡¯d best hop on if you don¡¯t want to be left behind.¡±

    Ein was still staring at where Evaine¡¯s braid had been when they set off. Felhaven grew further and further away as he watched from the back of the wagon, basking under the light of the moon. He was leaving. He didn¡¯t know when he¡¯d be back. His home of sixteen years where he¡¯d grown up alongside Evaine and Bran, his home where he¡¯d lived with Alend and Rhea and Cinnamin¡ªhe was leaving it. The streets he knew as well as the back of his hand, the houses and their cosy chimneys spouting smoke into the air, the valley and the woods he¡¯d played in as a child¡ªhe was leaving it all.

    He was leaving, but he would be back. This wasn¡¯t the end. He would be back.

    Ein unwrapped the cookies he¡¯d been gifted and began to eat. They were too sweet and slightly burnt, but there was something about the taste that made him unable to stop.

    It reminded him of home.

 [Authors Note #1] Notes for Book 1 Act 1

    Issue 1: Slow Pacing

    By far the biggest issue I''ve heard is the slow pacing for the entire act. Things do not pick up until Founder''s Eve. While this is intentional, as is the traditional fantasy novel style heavy with description that not all people may enjoy, there are certain areas that I have recognized can be improved.

    Spoiler:<input class="spoilerButton" type="button" value="Show">

    Where the Heart Is serves as a chapter to introduce Ein''s ordinary life up until now, some major characters, as well as establishing conflict for some of them (mainly Evaine). In the second draft, I will look at changing the events that happen in this chapter. At the moment, I''m considering adding a scene in which Alend visits Sanson to ask him whether Evaine can stay with them or not (this will require an adjustment to Sanson''s personality), and in the process introducing Bran, as well as providing foreshadowing for Sanson being one of the Faceless. I will also be looking to cut Einar (the dog)''s burial. The latter half with the conversation with Evaine will stay the same.

    Children of the Wind is by far the biggest culprit for the slow pace, moreso because it shifts the focus away from the relicts and onto a tangent than anything else. My tentative fix will be to rewrite that chapter from the perspective of Balinor tending to the injured, right after the relicts attack them, and I may or may not cut the visit by Ein, Evaine and Cinnamin.

    The Soulsong feels largely fine, though I will probably be removing the scene with Helda since it''s no longer necessary (see below). I''ll also be editing Alend''s memory slightly to include a third character (not really relevant at this time).

    Issue 2: Ein''s Characterization

    Many people have stated that Ein''s character is not fleshed out as much as say, Evaine''s. He''s mainly been reacting to things around him rather than actually taking a proactive approach. Partly this is because nothing has barely happened¡ªhe''s only just gained a motivation at the end of act 1, so he has plenty of room to grow. This is a bit of a hard thing to fix in the first act.

    Spoiler:<input class="spoilerButton" type="button" value="Show">

    My tentative fix will be to add in more snippets of conflict to Ein pre-journey, mainly his concerns about getting married and essentially entering adulthood. I''ll also place more emphasis on his admiration of his father and his desire to be included in important discussions (like the relict attacks), which directly conflicts with the previous and also the revelations regarding his heritage.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Now I''ll list some of the more minor changes I intend to make:

    Issue 3: Relicts

    I''ll be making a number of small changes to the whole relict system. I wasn''t entirely sure where I was going with it when I wrote it, but now I have a better idea of where I want to take it.

    Spoiler:<input class="spoilerButton" type="button" value="Show">

    Celadons will be downgraded to simple beasts. The main reason is so relicts all have something in common¡ªbeing half man, half beast.

    I will be adding in some references to Worgals and Bloodmanes in the early chapters discussing relicts, so we have a better idea of what they''re like before being suddenly introduced to the different species, and also to consolidate that knowledge of certain relict types are common knowledge among people.

    The descriptions of relict carnage with the wolves and sheep will be reworked to better reflect damage inflicted by a Bloodmane.

    The third weakness of relicts, salt, will be changed to sunlight. This makes more sense lorewise¡ªduring the Great Winter, the sun''s rays will be blocked, allowing relicts to run rampant again. I''ll also remove a few parts with Helda, the medicine woman to adjust.

    Issue 4: Names

    Some of the names are too similar to those from popular culture, and that makes them less memorable. I''ll be doing a whole comb-through and Ctrl F + replace them, but only at the end of Book 1, so that won''t be for a while. This is just giving you all a heads up.

    Issue 5: Miscellaneous

    Spoiler:<input class="spoilerButton" type="button" value="Show">

    - Misc prose fixes

    - Give the Children of the Wind carriages as well as wagons

    - Minor edits to dialogue in The Blood of Kings to make consistent with previous modifications

    - Mention the troupers being useless during Fire and Steel since I built up their reputation too much in Children of the Wind

    - Add a conversation between Balinor and Alend about Sanson being a Faceless. There''s a bit of confusion whether he turned into a creature or was killed and replaced by a creature. To clarify, Faceless are ordinary men who become creatures wearing human skin when they swear their fealty to Asmodon.

 13. The Way of the Wind

    Chapter Thirteen: The Way of the Wind

    ¡°When a sinner dies, he goes to Hellheim where he will be punished by the Warden with eternal damnation.

    ¡°When a man dies, he will return to the earth where Mother Anturia will create new life from his bones.

    ¡°When a hero dies, he will ascend to the Hall of Heroes to await rebirth.¡±

    ¡ªThe Doctrine of Wyd

    Alend and Talberon rode hard and fast through the night, as fast as they could among the tangle of the undergrowth and the white-tipped trees, staying to the faded trails when they could, always keeping the Brackenburg to their right. It had been a while since Alend had ridden a horse so aggressively. Before long his entire body was aching¡ªnot just the muscles he¡¯d neglected over the years but several he hadn¡¯t even been aware of. It was worst in his inner legs and abdomen, though the pain in his abdomen wasn¡¯t so much from the riding as from his stab wound.

    ¡°Talberon!¡± cried Alend. His words drowned in the rushing of wind and the patter of hooves against soil and snow. He ground his teeth and called again, louder. ¡°Talberon!¡±

    The druid heard him this time and pulled on the reins, easing his horse to a halt. Alend exhaled and slowed as well. The trees swayed around them as the Brackenburg trickled quietly to the east, winding its way out of the valley.

    ¡°We¡¯ve been riding since dusk,¡± he panted. His thighs and buttocks burned with each jostle. ¡°Isn¡¯t it about time we stopped for the night?¡±

    ¡°The sooner we get out of here, the better,¡± Talberon answered. His face was hidden beneath the shadow of his cowl. ¡°We should take advantage of the moonlight while we can.¡±

    He took the reins again, but Alend gripped his arm. ¡°I need to rest,¡± he said.

    Talberon sang and an orb of fire burst to life in the air, casting a red light across Alend¡¯s face. It was drawn and haggard, a bloodless white the colour of bone, beads of cold sweat dotting his forehead. He clutched at his stomach with a pained expression.

    ¡°Mother Anturia,¡± Talberon swore, pulling back his hood. ¡°Show me the wound.¡±

    Alend took his hand away. A dark, ugly patch seeped across the damp white of his bandage. Talberon extinguished the flame and dismounted.

    ¡°We¡¯ll stop here, then,¡± he said. ¡°We won¡¯t be able to ride fast until that wound of yours heals.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t there anything you can do to speed up the recovery?¡± Alend asked. ¡°Like what you did for Nath and my son?¡± He eased himself off his steed with the speed of an old man, wincing as his feet dropped onto the ground. Even the slightest of movements sent bolts of pain shooting through his flesh.

    ¡°Unfortunately not. I can make something to stop the bleeding again, but it¡¯ll open up if we ride too hard.¡± The druid walked over to a large spruce tree and placed his palm against the trunk. He closed his eyes and sang again, softly, as if coaxing it from a deep sleep. The tree creaked and groaned and then one of its branches snapped in five separate places, falling to the ground in a bundle of cleanly cut sticks. He sang another word, a harsh one this time, and a small fire sparked to life.

    ¡°Stay here,¡± he directed. ¡°I¡¯ll go and see what I can find. Hopefully there¡¯ll be enough ingredients around to make something for the wound.¡±

    Alend made his way to the fire and sat down with exaggerated care. He folded his legs in front of him and stretched his hands over the flames, relishing the warmth as it washed over him in heavy waves. Talberon led the horses aside and tied them to another tree, where they snorted and flung their tails at the moths.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be back shortly,¡± he said. He drew his cloak around him, wrapping himself in the colours of the trees and the leaves. Alend blinked, and when he opened his eyes again the druid was gone. A sparrow stood in his place, landing lightly on the ground. It kicked off and shot into the sky in a flurry of brown and grey.

    Alend exhaled and twisted the ring on this thumb. Too much had happened over the last few days¡ªmore than enough to make up for the years of peace he¡¯d been granted. He¡¯d been freed from his duties as a Kingsblade for sixteen years, and now he was going back. He must have known this day was coming even if he hadn¡¯t realized it. After all, he¡¯d made an effort to keep all the skills he¡¯d learned, even passed them down to his son.

    He could still remember the look on Ein¡¯s face when he¡¯d learned the truth¡ªthe surprise and despair, the uncertainty of a boy, no, a man who had discovered his life to be built on a foundation of lies. He had planned to keep his son¡¯s heritage a secret for a while longer but his hand had been forced. He should have known it would from the moment he¡¯d seen those wolves lying dead in the snow.

    Back then, he¡¯d thought nothing of it. In his mind, he¡¯d pushed all responsibility onto his brother Edric, and now it had come flooding back, crashing into him like white waters of the rivers that ran through the valley. He and Cinnamin were the only Thorens left, right when Faengard needed them most.

    But he would never let her find out. No¡ªshe would become a fine young woman and fall for some handsome farmer, marry him and bear him a few sons, then settle down as a housewife for the rest of her days in Felhaven. Hopefully the Thoren name would fade into legend, never to be called to serve the High King again. All he needed to do was perform one last duty as a Kingsblade, for the world itself, and then it would be over. Or so he hoped, but he had a feeling things would not progress so smoothly.

    Alend drew his brother¡¯s blade from its sheath and brought it to the fire, tracing a horizontal slash through the air. Pain flared through his stomach and he dropped the sword.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do that if I were you.¡± He heard a swooping noise and then Talberon was beside him, his cloak unfurled. The druid plucked a grey feather from his beard and then sat down. ¡°I couldn¡¯t find anything useful,¡± he said, looking slightly irritated. ¡°The valley¡¯s been picked clean. Looks like you¡¯ll have to deal with the pain, Deserter.¡±

    ¡°If you want me to reach Aldoran alive, you¡¯ll ride slower,¡± Alend muttered.

    Talberon shrugged. ¡°We can do that. Just remember, there are still relicts roaming about. I saw a group of them near the mountains to the north, though they don¡¯t appear to have caught our scent yet. I imagine we¡¯ll cross paths with them sooner or later. When we do, you want them to be far away from your village, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Alend didn¡¯t reply. Talberon brought out the book with the sparrow-shaped lock from his robes and began to write.

    ¡°What does that book of yours say about the Sleeping Twins?¡± Alend asked.

    Talberon looked up from his scribblings. ¡°Nothing to note,¡± he said. ¡°The last entry made was during the Age of Heroes. The druid who wrote it barely recorded anything. It wasn¡¯t important enough, apparently.¡± He scratched at his beard with the back of the pen. ¡°You picked a good settlement to hide, Deserter. How¡¯d you come across it in the first place?¡±

    Alend stared at the Rhinegold blade. ¡°Rhea told me about it,¡± he said. ¡°She didn¡¯t even know who I was, just that I needed a place to disappear.¡± He smiled fondly. He¡¯d barely spent any time with his wife since his return. He would have liked to stay a bit longer, just the two of them in the forge, enjoying each other¡¯s company while the children did their own thing. He wondered what Rhea was doing at the moment; probably tucking Cinnamin into bed or tidying up the house. His smile soured as he remembered the argument they¡¯d had in the early hours of the morning after the attack.

    This will be the last time, he promised himself. Faengard be damned.

    ¡°So she knows who you are?¡± Talberon questioned.

    ¡°She knows.¡± Alend sheathed the Rhinegold blade and looked at the druid. ¡°Tell me the truth, Druid. When all this is over and done, will Aedon really let me leave, just like that?¡±

    Talberon stopped writing and stared at his page. Then, he put down his pen and sighed.

    ¡°He¡¯s not going to execute you, that¡¯s for sure,¡± he said. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t sit well with the public, executing a Hero of Faengard. He might let you return to Felhaven¡ªbut that would put the village and your family under his radar. They don¡¯t know it exists at the moment. Well, they do, but it¡¯s so insignificant it may as well not exist. If they know you live there, it might give them a reason to start monitoring it, and that would mean taxes and regular visits. On one hand, you¡¯d get more business and tourism. On the other hand, it¡¯ll no longer be the ¡®safe haven¡¯ that it is at the moment.¡±

    ¡°And what of my daughter?¡±

    Talberon closed his book and clicked the lock shut. He placed it inside one of the pockets in his robe and leaned back, staring at the fire.

    ¡°I won¡¯t lie. He would probably draft her as a Kingsblade.¡±

    Alend closed his eyes. ¡°I thought as much.¡± She¡¯ll have to go through the same things Edric and I went through. ¡°It¡¯s a hard choice to make, between that and letting the world burn.¡±

    Talberon nodded. ¡°That¡¯s just the way things are. Though, the world might just burn either way.¡±

    #

    Ein was back in the burning village, breathing the foul smell of blood and smoke. It streamed into his lungs, thick and choking, stinging his eyes, robbing him of his senses. He fumbled around blindly on the ground, searching for his sword but finding nothing. The smoke cleared and he found the bone blade of the Bloodmane along with its severed lion-head. Falling back with a cry of distress, he turned only to see Master Damuth¡¯s dead body, the single flap of skin joining his head to the remains of his neck. The Mistress¡¯ corpse was next to his, and the corpses of so many others¡ªMaisie and Caurin, Koth and the Mayor and his wife, Alend and Rhea¡­ Bran, Evaine, Cinnamin¡­

    Blood, blood, so much blood his vision turned red. Blood of wolves, blood of sheep, blood of Worgals, blood of kings¡­ a flash of Rhinegold and golden rings¡­ Einar¡¯s guts in the snow, a giant wolf and a three-winged crow¡­ flashes of lightning in the distance, clouds rumbling...

    And then there was the quiet patter of rain, clean and sharp, a comforting darkness, and a voice. The voice sang to him, words he couldn¡¯t understand or remember, but they calmed him and soothed him. His breathing slowed and the thunderclaps in his ears died. As the song drew to a close, he thought he heard something.

    ¡°...sings to none other.¡±

    He opened his eyes to the grey sky and the gentle rocking of the caravan. It was morning and they were moving. Ein sat up and looked at the trees rolling by, the thin pines and crisp spruces swaying like tall reeds in a river of snow. Evaine sat at the front next to Aren, her shortened hair hanging loosely above her shoulders. He hardly recognized her from behind.

    ¡°The Wind is all around us,¡± Aren was saying, making grand, sweeping gestures with his hands. ¡°The Wind is fate. It cannot be seen, but we feel its touch upon us. We feel it when it blows in our faces, when it gives us a nudge behind our backs. When we are lost, we listen to the Wind. Sometimes it whispers back. Sometimes it roars. Other times it is silent, and we interpret it however we will.¡±

    ¡°Is that why you call Master Herod the Listener?¡± Evaine asked, hanging on to his every word. ¡°Because he listens to the wind?¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Aren nodded. ¡°Sometimes, Father hears things that others do not. Sometimes, these things come to pass. That is the mark of a Listener, the mark of a leader. I don¡¯t doubt that it was the wind that brought us to your village.¡±

    ¡°What about the Aimless? What does that mean?¡±

    ¡°Exactly what it sounds like,¡± Aren said. ¡°Those who are blind and deaf to the wind fumble for their path. Sometimes they find their way, sometimes they don¡¯t. They are the Aimless. The Wind can only do so much to guide them.¡±

    Ein heard a low chuckle beside him. Garax was sitting nearby, his arm casually resting over the side of the wagon. He looked no worse for wear, as fresh as if he¡¯d just woken from his bed at home rather than from the cold, hard boards of a cart and a scratchy woollen blanket.

    ¡°Morning,¡± he said, flashing a toothy grin at Ein. ¡°You look like you slept well.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I slept well alright,¡± Ein muttered. He had the vague feeling that he was the only one who hadn¡¯t.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it too much,¡± Garax told him. ¡°It¡¯s normal to get bad dreams after a night like that. It should get better in the next few days.¡±

    Ein stifled a yawn and looked around. ¡°Do you know where we are?¡±

    The landscape hadn¡¯t changed for a while now, ever since they¡¯d left Felhaven and the twin peaks far behind the treeline. Garax shrugged.

    ¡°Still in the Sleeping Twins,¡± he said. ¡°Herod says we should be out in three more days.¡±

    ¡°Three?¡± Ein exclaimed. ¡°We¡¯ll never catch up to Father by then.¡± Do I call him Father or Alend?

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure about that,¡± the storyteller rubbed the stump of his hand against his beard. ¡°We might be travelling in a larger and slower group, but your father is injured. I doubt he could ride hard even if he wanted to. I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll lose ground on him by any means.¡± He took a swig from a flask around his neck and offered it to Ein. ¡°Want some?¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°Wine.¡± Garax winked. ¡°I stole it from Koth.¡±

    Ein sighed. ¡°It¡¯s too early in the morning to drink,¡± he said, but took it anyway.

    They rattled through the woods at a steady pace, stopping every few hours to rest the horses and stretch their legs. The Wydlings had a myriad ways of entertaining themselves¡ªthey composed songs and plays, practised their acts and instruments, sat in circles of noisy chatter, and of course they played games. Ein recognized some of them¡ªhe¡¯d played Three Kings at the Sleeping Twinn before, though never with a pack of cards so beautiful, and Capture could be played with nothing but a handful of stones and a piece of paper. Sometime after a meagre lunch, the trouper named Baird started up a game of Hall of Heroes with three others, dumping a pouchful of coin-sized figures onto a grid of squares drawn into an upturned crate. The figures were carved from wood, so finely detailed that Ein could see the folds in their clothes and the lines in their faces.

    ¡°These are amazing,¡± he said, picking one of them up. It was of a tall, broad man with a bare chest and tangled hair, like seaweed. He recognized Brackenburg, one half of the legendary twins of the valley.

    ¡°I made them.¡± An elderly female trouper sat to the side, a block of wood and a knife in her hands. She carved the wood absentmindedly, flicking shavings off the side of the caravan, her eyes on the game. It took a moment for Ein to recall who she was.

    ¡°I used to play this back in the day,¡± Garax said, peering at the board. The troupers each picked a figure and placed the rest back inside the pouch. ¡°Though there are a lot more heroes now than there were back then.¡±

    ¡°Hall of Heroes is an ever-evolving game,¡± Mereth replied. ¡°But that¡¯s a good thing for me. It means there¡¯s always business, especially in the cities where the game is popular. You¡¯d be surprised at how much coin one of these sets can fetch at the market.¡±

    ¡°How do you play this?¡± Ein asked. ¡°It looks fun.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you join us for a couple of rounds?¡± one of the troupers said. ¡°We can add a fifth player.¡±

    It turned out Hall of Heroes was yet another exercise the Wydlings used to aid them in learning their stories. There was a cast of over a hundred heroes, each hand-crafted by Mereth herself, with their own capabilities that could swing the tide of the game. It was played with dice, pen and paper, and boiled down to an all-out fight between players to become the last man standing on the board. Ein immersed himself in the game and before he knew it, the sun was low in the sky.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have three new characters ready for tomorrow,¡± Mereth said, as they packed away the game. ¡°The Heroes of Felhaven. I doubt the taverns in the city will let us use them, though. They don¡¯t like country heroes.¡±

    The figure of Ein was taller and more muscular than his real self. It also carried twin flaming swords. The Wydlings shared a laugh before moving on to other things.

    As they drew to a halt and set up camp for the night, Ein found himself alone on the wagon. He dangled his legs over the side and brought out the ebony box Rhea had given him, turning it over in his hands. He didn¡¯t know what he expected. The box wasn¡¯t going to magically open simply because he looked at it, yet, he couldn¡¯t stop looking and listening to it, thinking about what it meant.

    My real father, he thought. What sort of man was he? What sort of person was my mother?

    He shook the box again. It sounded like there was a piece of jewellery inside; a pendant or a ring perhaps, maybe a coin.

    What sort of person is Alend?

    The thought came to him from nowhere. He knew barely anything about his foster father. Only that he was royalty and had seen his fair share of things in life, and he possessed a very particular set of skills¡ªwhich, in hindsight, probably came from his days as a Kingsblade. But the Kingsblades served the Uldan family until death¡­ and Alend most certainly wasn¡¯t dead.

    Ein shook his head. He raised me, and that¡¯s all that matters. I¡¯ll have time to ask him when I bring him back home, alive and well. He nodded. Yes, he would worry about that later.

    Or so he thought, but questions continued to gnaw at his mind. Ein pocketed the box and found something else he¡¯d forgotten about¡ªa ring with a flower carved into it. Evaine¡¯s ring.

    ¡°Thinking about me?¡± Evaine appeared without a word and dropped beside him. There was a flower in her hair¡ªit was frail and withered around the edges, but given the weather it was an incredibly rare find. Ein could sense her excitement and it stirred a range of emotions within him. He hadn¡¯t seen her so happy and alive for a long time.

    ¡°As a matter of fact, yes.¡± Ein brought the ring up to the sky. In the distance, the troupers had lit a campfire and were cooking scraps of fish and pigeon they¡¯d caught. ¡°It¡¯s not too late for you to head back, you know.¡±

    Evaine¡¯s smile lessened but she didn¡¯t snap at him. That was when Ein knew there was no point in trying to convince her anymore.

    ¡°Aren taught me about the ¡®Way of the Wind¡¯ today,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s amazing how it works. They say that our souls speak the same language as the Wind itself, even if we don¡¯t realize it. Whenever you¡¯ve lost your way or you don¡¯t know what to do, if you listen to the Wind it will tell you.¡±

    ¡°That sounds like a bunch of superstitious nonsense,¡± Ein said.

    ¡°The Wind tells me you¡¯re just annoyed because I¡¯m right.¡±

    ¡°How so?¡±

    Evaine folded her arms. ¡°Oh, come on. I saw how much fun you were having with the others. And just look at this!¡± She waved her arms at the trees around them. ¡°We¡¯re so far out of Felhaven. Isn¡¯t exciting?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s so exciting about that? It¡¯s just snow and trees, and more snow, and maybe the occasional rock.¡±

    ¡°Whatever you say.¡± Evaine brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. ¡°Aren is going to teach me the flute tomorrow. I can¡¯t wait¡ªmaybe I¡¯ll be as good as he is someday.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t going to last,¡± Ein said. He closed his fingers around the ring. ¡°Things will change. We haven¡¯t left the Sleeping Twins yet. We haven¡¯t run out of food. Sooner or later they¡¯ll leave us by the roadside. We can¡¯t expect them to feed us for much longer¡ªnot for free, at least.¡±

    Evaine shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll think about that when the time comes. The Wind will guide me.¡±

    She hopped off the wagon and skipped towards the campfire. Ein sighed and stowed the ring back into his pocket. He wondered what his mother and sister were doing back in Felhaven.

    #

    Garax came to him as he was practicing his sword swings by the river, away from the music and laughter of the troupers. Ein had a stick in his hand, one that weighed about the same as his training sword, and he was working up a sweat beating at a tall bush. It felt good.

    ¡°Not bad,¡± Garax said, as Ein stood at ease and caught his breath. ¡°Who taught you to fight?¡±

    ¡°Alen¡ªmy father,¡± Ein said. He swung at a low-hanging branch, sending a clump of pine cones flying into the Brackenburg. Someone was singing by the campfire and it annoyed him. Felhaven had almost been massacred the night before yesterday and here they were, laughing and jesting as if it were any other day. Evaine was probably with them too, slowly being poisoned by their songs and stories. His urge to attack the bush again rose.

    ¡°You should try lowering the head of your sword more,¡± Garax said. He stopped before Ein and placed his hand on the tip of the stick, bringing it down a few inches. ¡°Then bring it up like this. You¡¯ll get more power out of your swing.¡±

    Ein scrutinized the storyteller. ¡°I didn¡¯t take you for the fencing type.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Garax raised an eyebrow. ¡°You up for a midnight bout, then?¡±

    ¡°If you want. To make things fair, I won¡¯t use my right hand.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯ll be necessary. It¡¯s not wise to underestimate an opponent, boy.¡±

    Ein shook his head. ¡°If we fight, I want it to be on even grounds. Besides, I have a preference for one-handed swords myself.¡±

    Garax shrugged and picked up a stick, dusting the snow off it. He hefted it in his hand and nodded. ¡°It¡¯s your loss. Are you ready?¡±

    ¡°When you are.¡±

    The old man struck before Ein had finished speaking, his stick disappearing in a dark blur. Ein brought his training blade up to parry, but before he had time to blink it had changed direction, cutting towards him from the side instead. Ein dodged it and countered, but his stick swept through the empty air. An instant later, Garax rapped him sharply across the knuckles. Ein yelped and dropped his weapon, clutching at his hand.

    ¡°What the¡ª¡± He picked up his stick again, frowning. He¡¯d never seen a move like that before. ¡°Again?¡± he asked.

    Garax raised his weapon. Ein drew a breath and narrowed his focus. This time he attacked first, slashing and thrusting with a vengeance. He watched the old man carefully, eyeing his hands and feet, his gaze as it flitted left and right, up and down in time with his swings. Sweat flew from them both as they scuffled across the ground, boots scraping snow. Garax parried each blow effortlessly, deflected even the most rapid of Ein¡¯s attacks in a string of fluid motions. Ein¡¯s arm burned with exertion; his wrist and shoulder jarred in their sockets with each clash. His frustration began to mount. No matter what he tried, he simply couldn¡¯t touch the old man.

    Garax suddenly stepped forward, catching Ein completely by surprise. As Ein cut the air beside the storyteller¡¯s ear, Garax brought his stick back and prodded him once, firmly in the stomach. Ein stumbled backwards, clutching at his belly with a scowl. They were both panting now, sweat dripping down their faces in rivulets.

    ¡°You¡¯re pretty good,¡± Garax remarked, dabbing at his forehead. ¡°And you say you¡¯ve never fought another person before?¡±

    ¡°Only against my father,¡± Ein said. He swallowed between gulps of dry air. ¡°I¡¯ve never won, not when he was fighting seriously at least.¡±

    ¡°Interesting. Since when did blacksmiths learn to fence?¡±

    Their wooden blades met again, and this time the exchange lasted much longer. When Ein attacked, Garax blocked as if he saw each attack before it hit. When Garax attacked, Ein barely managed to hang on. The old man came at him from every angle imaginable and several more, pressing his attack, sweeping the duel into a blinding tempo, forcing Ein onto the back foot¡ªbut as the exchange stretched on he began to slow. Ein skirted out of reach when he could, buying time between strikes, eyeing Garax as his movements grew sluggish, until finally he turned and in one swift strike scored a blow to the ribs. Garax¡¯s stick had been moments away from deflecting. He bent over on his haunches, breathing raggedly.

    ¡°Damn,¡± he chuckled. ¡°Guess I¡¯m not as young as I used to be.¡±

    Ein looked at his stick and tossed it aside in disgust. ¡°You would have won that one easily if you were a few years younger,¡± he said. ¡°You knew where I was going to strike before I even knew myself.¡±

    Garax leaned on his stick and wiped his face. ¡°It comes with experience,¡± he shrugged. ¡°You think too much. Don¡¯t overthink what your opponent will do. The options are endless. Sometimes, it¡¯s better just to trust your instincts.¡±

    ¡°That sounds like a recipe for disaster,¡± Ein said.

    Garax shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s hard to explain. Your body¡ªno, your spirit subconsciously listens to the rhythm of your opponent, their footsteps, the whisper of the wind as it breathes around our blades. You need to trust it more.¡±

    Ein groaned. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me they lectured you with the ¡®Way of the Wind¡¯ drivel too.¡±

    ¡°The Way of the Wind isn¡¯t as silly as you think it is. Do you believe in the Pantheon, Ein?¡±

    They edged down to the riverbank. Ein dipped his fingers into the rushing water and splashed it over his face, neck and arms, gasping as the cold water cleansed the sweat from his skin. Beside him, Garax did the same. The both rose, faces flushed with the heat of battle.

    ¡°Of course I believe,¡± Ein said. ¡°How else was the world created? Something obviously had to create it, so it had to be the gods. We have records of them walking the earth, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Only of the Pantheon,¡± Garax said. ¡°Not the Creator. There has never been any evidence that Wyd almighty exists, only hearsay. Some even say that there was a world that existed before Wyd, a world of steel and glass and smog, but that¡¯s the beside the point. Believing in the wind is not so different to believing in Wyd. Some even say they¡¯re the same thing.¡± The storyteller tapped the side of his nose as they began to head back to the camp. ¡°Wyd and Wind are but a consonant apart. In some legends, when Wyd almighty died, his body became the wind. That¡¯s why the wind is always around us, watching and guiding us in everything we do. The Wind is fate.¡±

    Ein was silent. So was the forest. In fact, the only sounds present were those coming from the troupers in the distance.

    ¡°Everyone has their ¡®Way of the Wind¡¯,¡± Garax said, ¡°just like they have their own voice, their own likes and dislikes and habits. You¡¯ve learned your father¡¯s Way. If you¡¯d like, I can teach you mine. The fencing component, at least.¡± He looked at his hand and added, ¡°The one-handed fencing component.¡±

    The wind started up again, weaving through the trees, winding its way around Ein¡¯s body and limbs. It was ice cold where it touched his exposed skin. He thought, just vaguely, that it smelled of home. But it also blew to the east along the river, in the direction of the world outside. To places like Aldoran and Lauriel¡¯s Spine, Oster and Siraph, the Nullarhar desert far to the east. Places he¡¯d only ever heard stories about.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he sighed. ¡°I guess it couldn¡¯t hurt. Figuratively speaking, of course.¡±

 14. The Lament of Levine

    Chapter Fourteen: The Lament of Levine

    ¡°There are three things all brave men fear¡ªa love that goes only one way, a man with no face, and the first step on a journey away from home.¡±

    ¡ªDagus Adem, The Adventurer¡¯s Guide to the Continent

    On the morning of the second day, the trouper on lookout duty let out a cry that brought the caravan to a halt.

    ¡°There¡¯s something in the distance,¡± he said, squinting from his vantage point atop a large crate. ¡°I can¡¯t tell what it is, but it looks dangerous.¡±

    The horses snorted uneasily among themselves, craning their necks left and right. Herod dismounted and pointed to three other men. ¡°Go ahead and scout it out,¡± he instructed.

    The men nodded and dropped lightly onto the ground, arming themselves with shortswords and bows. Evaine peered over the side of the wagon, watching them disappear into the trees.

    ¡°They¡¯re not being very stealthy,¡± Garax remarked.

    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± she asked.

    ¡°The green and gold help them blend into the landscape during spring and summer,¡± Ein answered, making his way to the edge of the wagon. ¡°But during winter they¡¯ll be spotted from a mile away. Then again they¡¯re troupers, not rangers. I doubt the colours they wear have anything to do with practicality.¡± He dropped to the ground, bow in hand.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t bother going after them if I were you,¡± Garax said with a hint of a smile.

    ¡°Why not?¡± Ein frowned. ¡°If something¡¯s out there, they¡¯ll need all the help they can get.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll see.¡±

    True to his word, the scouting party returned a few minutes later. They¡¯d unstrung their bows and were laughing.

    ¡°It¡¯s just a tree,¡± one of them said. ¡°Nice one, Tam.¡±

    ¡°A tree?¡± Herod frowned. The trouper named Tam flushed.

    ¡°It¡¯s funny-shaped,¡± another said, climbing back onto the wagon. The horses gave a relieved grunt and began moving. ¡°Otherwise, it¡¯s harmless. Nothing to be concerned about.¡±

    ¡°A funny-shaped tree,¡± Evaine murmured. ¡°Could it be¡­?¡±

    Realization dawned in Ein¡¯s eyes. ¡°Of course¡­¡±

    ¡°I take it you know what they¡¯re talking about,¡± Garax chortled. ¡°Though I¡¯m surprised you two have been this far out.¡±

    The tree in question came into view a short while later, surfacing from the mesh of snow and pine needles that made up the surrounding wood. It stood twisted and tangled in the centre of a copse, an ancient husk of an oak towering over its neighbours, black and leafless and gnarled like an old man hunched over in pain. Its limbs splayed out like crooked fingers reaching towards the sky, its roots rolling out across the ground in a seething mass of tendrils. Two holes gaped like eyes in its trunk and another opened in a perpetual scream. Even in broad daylight it cast an ominous shadow.

    ¡°I remember when we first saw that thing,¡± Evaine said, snickering. ¡°You screamed your head off.¡±

    ¡°You would have too if you hadn¡¯t almost bitten off your tongue,¡± Ein retorted.

    ¡°I¡¯ll give you that,¡± she admitted. ¡°Though it wasn¡¯t anywhere near as bad as what happened to Bran. Remember?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. We had to stop him from running off in the wrong direction. I think that was the last time we played together in the woods. I can still feel the pain on my backside where Father hit me.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Evaine nodded. ¡°Mother and Father didn¡¯t take too kindly to us playing together after that.¡± She smiled wistfully. ¡°It looks a lot less frightening in daylight.¡±

    The tree drew closer and closer as they lumbered towards it. Ein, Bran and Evaine had encountered it once as children, back when they¡¯d still been allowed to explore the woods. It had been a particularly daring expedition, one Ein remembered well, since it¡¯d been the furthest they¡¯d ever travelled away from Felhaven. They¡¯d fully intended to explore outside the Sleeping Twins that day, as well as they could with their two days¡¯ worth of rations and their combined savings of three coppers, but their adventure had been cut short after encountering the tree on the second night. They¡¯d fled back to Felhaven with their tails between their legs, just in time to cross paths with Alend, Sanson and Nath, who¡¯d set out after them. That day had marked a turning point in their lives¡ªEin and Bran had begun working shortly after, and Evaine had come of age. That was the last time they¡¯d played together as children, free from responsibility and the worries of adulthood.

    ¡°The tree has an interesting story behind it,¡± Garax said, as they passed under its branches and clattered their way across the twisting carpet of roots. ¡°In the old days, the locals called it the Twisted Treeloc.¡±This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°Treeloc?¡± Ein frowned. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°During the Age of Legends there was a race of creatures called the Treelocs. As their name might suggest, they were spirits that took on the form of trees.¡±

    ¡°You mean this thing was once alive?¡± Ein exclaimed. The tree suddenly seemed a lot more ominous.

    ¡°Indeed,¡± Garax answered. ¡°By nature, Treelocs were conservative and preferred to make their homes far away from civilisation¡ªbut when people came chopping down their forests they became mighty angry. To them, the trees were sheep and they the herders.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not the only reason.¡± Aren, who had been listening, nudged his horse closer to the wagon so it fell into step beside them. ¡°Have either of you heard the Lament of Levine?¡±

    Ein and Evaine shook their heads. Garax scoffed.

    ¡°You can do the honours,¡± Garax said, as Aren cleared his throat.

    ¡°There once was a Treeloc called Levine,

    A spirited fellow was he,

    With elegant roots and a lovely leaf-line

    He was the most handsome oak tree.

    The Treelocs came from across the Reach

    To ask for young Levine¡¯s seed,

    Rosewood, Willows, red-and-gold Beech,

    But none of them did succeed.

    Levine would never settle for less

    Than a comely purebred pine,

    With lovely bark, a graceful noblesse,

    And maybe a thin waistline.

    So Levine roamed to the ends of the earth

    And there it was he found she,

    A beautiful pine of the purest birth,

    Alas, she was just a tree!¡±

    ¡°Mother used to sing that to me,¡± Evaine said, once Aren had finished the song. ¡°It was a good story, especially for children.¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± Garax nodded. ¡°Poor Levine searched far and wide for the fairest partner and he found her¡ªbut in the end, she was just a tree. It¡¯s a lesson applicable to real life. The story teaches you to think about what you really value¡ªa pretty face, or a sharp mind?¡±

    ¡°There are plenty of women out there with both,¡± Aren said. He winked at Evaine, who scowled. ¡°But also plenty with neither.¡±

    ¡°What happened to Levine after that?¡± Ein asked. ¡°How did he become the Twisted Treeloc?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s some speculation that the pine Levine found was actually right here in the Sleeping Twins,¡± Garax began. ¡°When the twins Fel and Brackenburg came and lopped her dead to build their village, Levine became mad with grief. He struck Brackenburg down in one blow, almost killing him. In response, Fel called down lightning from above, just like Lady Reyalin from the Age of Legends, and killed Levine in a single strike. They say that the tree is what remains of Levine, still screaming in pain from where the lightning struck him.¡±

    They finished passing the gnarled tree, and as the wind struck it it shivered and shook, almost writhing in pain. Then it was gone, sunken behind the layers upon layers of spruce and pine, a faint outline in the forest. Ein thought he saw a cloaked figure in the distance, standing beneath the tree next to a horse, but when he blinked it was gone.

    They stopped later at noon to eat lunch, and Garax taught him more of the Way of the Wind. The storyteller was by far the more skilled of the two, wielding his fencing stick with an elegance that reminded Ein of the Brackenburg. At times he came hard and fast, crashing through his defences with more force than a river through rocks. At times he hung back, lulling, moving just enough to avoid being struck, and at times he ebbed and flowed between attack and defence. While Alend¡¯s teaching had been blunt and effective, it had also been rigid. There were strict rules in place, be all¡¯s and end all¡¯s about which moves to make in what situation, which parts of the body to attack, how to move the feet. Ein learned all manner of movements, techniques, tips and tricks and quirky manoeuvres he never could have dreamed of. He was taught to improvise, to adapt depending on the situation, to overcome whatever was thrown at him no matter how left-field it came.

    Their training never lasted longer than a few minutes. Although Garax was experienced, he was also old and lacking the vigour of youth.

    ¡°You¡¯re still distracted,¡± Garax said. He sighed and thrust his stick point-first into the dirt and snow. ¡°We won¡¯t make any progress if you don¡¯t clear your mind. You think too much, whether it¡¯s about the battle or not. You need to stop doing that.¡±

    Ein nodded, though he¡¯d only taken in half of what the old man had said. His mind had been on a million things, two of them being Evaine and his father.

    As they finished refreshing themselves by the waters and headed back to the troupe and their carts, he heard a high, clear sound. It was hollow like the wind and sombre, yet there was a hint of hope in the short, sharp notes that accompanied each verse. As he listened, the tune took him away from the riverside and through the woods, through the snow and trees and along the worn paths to the quiet village that lay nestled between two tall mountains. It took him back to the forge, in front of the crackling furnace and the ring of iron and steel, and to a time when the broad-chested man and the petite woman had been his only mother and father.

    Ein was still shaking long after the tune had stopped. Evaine was looking at him with a flute held a little way from her lips.

    ¡°Did you like it?¡± she asked, smiling. ¡°Aren says I¡¯m a natural. Baird thinks with proper training, I could become one of the greatest in the land.¡±

    ¡°What¡­ was that song?¡± Ein asked. It felt vaguely familiar, the sensations he¡¯d felt, the memories that had been unearthed. He cast his mind back and remembered bits and pieces of a dream¡ªa dream where he¡¯d rested, where a voice had told him to be well again.

    Evaine shrugged. ¡°I just put it to my lips and played,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m still a bit rough around the edges, but it¡¯s only been a day.¡± She looked towards the wagon where Garax and the troupers were beckoning to them. ¡°Come, it looks like we¡¯re leaving.¡±

    She left him standing by the trees, still breathless, his heart aching as if a large hole had been carved inside it. He placed a hand against his chest and swallowed. With a start, Ein realized it was the furthest he¡¯d ever travelled from home. The village was behind him. The Twins were behind him. The Twisted Treeloc was behind him. Everything from here on was completely new ground. The fact hit him like a blow to the gut, and it was with a great force of will that he managed to take a step back towards where the caravan was waiting, and then another, walking further and further from everything he knew.

 15. Aedrasil and the Three Kings

    Chapter Fifteen: Aedrasil and the Three Kings

    ¡°...I understand it is my sole responsibility to commune with and ensure that the needs of the Protector are met. I will become a bridge between Mother Aedrasil and mankind, so that she can continue to watch over us and keep the Oathbreaker at bay. I swear under the eyes of the Pantheon that this shall be so, and I swear to carry out my duties with all my heart and soul, lest we fall into an age of darkness once again.¡±

    ¡ªOath of the Grove Tender

    It came as a great relief when the Wydlings finally stopped for the night. Although he¡¯d barely walked, Ein¡¯s behind was sore from the constant jostling of the wagon on the road. Ever since they¡¯d left the Twisted Treeloc he¡¯d been uneasy, catching glimpses of a cloaked man on a horse between the trees every few miles or so. Sometimes the rider would appear for an instant, a brief shadow flitting between the trunks, and other times Ein would see him for a full few moments, a thin, scrawny frame with a cloth cape draped around his shoulders. Whenever he blinked, the figure disappeared. Ein decided that if he saw it again, he would tell Herod.

    The troupers had started a fire and were sitting around it, singing songs and telling stories. Garax had made himself comfortable in the circle, laughing and jesting alongside Evaine as he picked at his teeth with a skewer.

    ¡°... and so it was that Lady Reyalin found herself alone on the mountain, facing Emir the Bonecrusher with nought but her blade of lightning,¡± the storyteller said. He made an exaggerated gesture with one hand, lifting it above his head to emphasize the giant¡¯s height. ¡°Being one of the giants of old, Emir stood almost as tall as the mountain itself. It was all Lady Reyalin could do to avoid falling into the fissures that opened with each of his steps.¡±

    ¡°How did she defeat him?¡± Evaine asked.

    ¡°Lady Reyalin sang to the sky,¡± one of the troupers said, picking up from where Garax left off. ¡°She called upon the gathering storm and channeled it into a single point. Lightning struck through her body, and when the smoked finally cleared, she was the storm incarnate.¡±

    ¡°She was a tempest,¡± another trouper added. ¡°A maelstrom of light. Her hair crackled like the stormclouds, her eyes a tumultuous grey as she rose through the air to Emir¡¯s height. And at that moment, Emir the Bonecrusher knew true fear.¡±

    ¡°It seems like I am no longer needed here,¡± Garax smirked.

    There was a flash of white, followed by a deep rumble in the distance. The storyteller and his listeners broke away from their chatter as a strong wind ripped through the trees, spraying snow across the campsite. Ein looked up as well. The stars had vanished, replaced by a wall of angry grey clouds marching across the horizon.

    ¡°How fitting,¡± Herod mused. ¡°It looks like there¡¯s a storm coming.¡±

    ¡°You know,¡± Garax began, ¡°before they went extinct, people used to think storms were created by two giants wrestling each other. They say the giants were as big as the dragons and just as fearsome. Never make a giant angry or he¡¯ll call down the fury of the storm upon you.¡±

    ¡°Faerie tales,¡± Herod scoffed. ¡°Though we¡¯re not ones to talk, since we make our living off of them. Words, you¡¯ll find, are the greatest weapons one can possess.¡±

    A fork of lightning split the sky. The growl that followed seemed to come from deep within, dark and angry. Ein wrapped his cloak tighter around himself.

    ¡°Do you have any other stories?¡± Aren asked Garax. ¡°Before the storm hits and we¡¯re all forced into our tents.¡±

    ¡°Yes, please!¡± Evaine said excitedly. ¡°There are so many stories you haven¡¯t told us. Right, Ein?¡±

    Ein shrugged.

    If there¡¯s time to tell stories, there¡¯s time to sleep, he thought. We won¡¯t catch Alend and Talberon by sitting around a fire, telling stories.

    ¡°I suppose we have enough time for one more,¡± Garax thought for a moment. ¡°Have you heard the story of Aedrasil and the Three Kings?¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± Aren said. ¡°Who hasn¡¯t heard it?¡±

    Evaine scowled. ¡°I haven¡¯t. At least, not that I remember.¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not a story that would be well-known in the more secluded corners of Faengard,¡± Herod remarked, poking at the fire. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s been a while since we¡¯ve told it. I think it would be a good exercise to refresh our memories. You don¡¯t mind if we tell this one, do you, Garax?¡±

    Garax shook his head. ¡°Be my guest.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no way I¡¯d ever forget a story,¡± Aren said, glowering at his father. ¡°What do you take me for, some ordinary trouper?¡±

    Herod waved his hand. ¡°Go on then, son. Enlighten our young visitors.¡±

    ¡°Alright, I will. Are you ready?¡±

    The sky flashed again, the rumble only a split second behind. The smell of rain hang heavily in the air.

    ¡°Once upon a time, there lived a girl named Aedrasil¡­¡±

    #

    Once upon a time, there lived a girl named Aedrasil. She was born in a time of darkness, when the Great War was at its worst, with Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s forces laying waste to all life across Faengard. The land was rife with murder and rape and all manner of sin, for the people had given up hope and had fallen into depravity in the face of imminent doom.

    Aedrasil was a beautiful girl, with lovely long hair the colour of molten gold and eyes like polished emeralds. Her skin shone with a warm lustre like the sun from happier days, and when she spoke her voice was like a birdsong winding its way down the mountain.

    Aedrasil was exceptionally gifted, even for one born during an age of miracles, and her magic rivalled the greatest and wisest of Songweavers. When she was old enough to speak, she was singing the flowers to full bloom and felling great trees into firewood for her family. When she was old enough to bleed, she could already sing deep chasms into the earth and cause entire rivers to change direction. By the time she came of age, her Song was capable of levelling mountains, a feat that bordered on the godlike.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    During this time, Faengard was still broken into three separate kingdoms, each with their own ruler. The Three Kings, as they later came to be known, had forged an alliance among themselves and were the last remaining obstacle standing between the relicts and the end of all things good in the world. Supporting them was the prophet Morene, first of the druids, founder of the Skyward Circle.

    One night, Morene witnessed a dream. In her dream she saw a golden-haired girl with a voice so powerful it tore the relicts to shreds, felling armies with her Soulsong. Convinced this girl was the one who would save them, she set out to find her.

    Morene travelled across the land, searching far and wide, flying high above the relict armies in her avian form. She flew with a purpose, navigating Astreal, the Spirit Plane, during her sleep to track the girl, for she knew she would not be the only one doing so. All the while, the Alliance stood fast as best they could.

    In the end she reached her, but it was too late.

    They came marching upon Aedrasil¡¯s quiet village in the middle of nowhere, twisted faces leering, malice in their eyes. They came like a shadow creeping across the land, slowly and steadily, a plague sweeping over all things living and beautiful. It was the first time Aedrasil had ever seen or heard of such nightmares. Wherever the servants of Al¡¯Ashar walked, the land withered. The grass dried and crumbled into dust, the trees shrunk into shrivelled husks, the sky itself became black like the desolate wastelands of Nephilheim.

    Aedrasil was a gentle girl by nature, but when the relicts came plundering and pillaging the place she called home, her magic erupted from her breast in a song of frenzy. She called to the earth and commanded it, carving a deep trench around her village that swallowed the encroaching darkness, and called forth fire and lightning to purge the land of its touch.

    In the aftermath of the battle, Morene explained to her the state of the world and its need for her power. Being an honest and dutiful person, Aedrasil agreed to join the Alliance, at least until the war had been won and the relicts driven back from the land.

    Morene took Aedrasil to meet the Three Kings, and from there they fought and won many battles¡ªthe reclaiming of Siraph, the river-defense of Tarinthe, the battle of Knife Edge Pass in Lauriel¡¯s Spine. Aedrasil shaped the earth, creating chasms, raising mountains, flooding and redirecting rivers to protect the people. When she wasn¡¯t fighting she was being taught to wield her Soulsong by Morene. Several landmarks she¡¯d terraformed still remain to this very day¡ªthe Teeth of Tarin Moor, Starwood Steppe, the Arrow River.

    Many years passed, and Aedrasil¡¯s magic grew stronger the more she used it. Even Al¡¯Ashar himself came to fear her, for she held more power at her fingertips than the greatest of armies, rivalling even the gods in the Age before Ages. However, as powerful as she was, she was but one person, and there was only so much one person could do.

    Gradually the relicts advanced, tearing the land, razing it to the ground without mercy. The allied forces were driven back, surrounded on all sides and forced into the last safe city in Faengard¡ªAldoran, home to the Worldspring. The felen, the dweor, the humans and the dragons and the giants gathered in the City of Twilight to prepare for what would be the deciding battle.

    Morene and her disciples approached Aedrasil that night with a daring plan that might just give them the edge they needed to win. Within the Worldspring lay all the Spirit of Faengard itself, a near limitless supply of energy to fuel her Soulsong. If Aedrasil could channel it successfully, there was a possibility she could cast a spell on a scale like no other and seal the relicts once and for all. However, there was a high risk that came with handling so much power. Death was a probable outcome, even with the aid of Morene and the druids of the Skyward Circle.

    Aedrasil looked around at the country she¡¯d grown up in and the state it had been reduced to. She thought about the village where she''d been raised that was no longer there, all the people whose lives depended on her. She alone had the power to end it all.

    She agreed to the plan.

    As the seven Urudain and the Aldereich¡ªthe Great Relicts¡ªcame marching into the City of Twilight behind the Oathbreaker himself, Aedrasil entered the Worldspring. With the aid of the druids, she drew upon the energies of the world and sang for three days and three nights to cast the Sealing, a great warding spell that rippled throughout Faengard, weakening the relicts, shutting down each and every one of the portals to Nephilheim. With no more demons streaming into the land, the Alliance made their move and fought back, cleaning up their weakened enemy, reclaiming their cities and lands in what would be known as the start of the Hundred Years War.

    The Great War was over, but it had not come without a price.

    Where Aedrasil¡¯s feet touched the ground, her toes burst from her shoes and splayed into a mass of tangled roots. Her body and waist lengthened as she grew taller, longer, thicker, shooting towards the sky. Where her hands had reached upwards during the casting of the Sealing, her fingers branched outwards and opened into a grand canopy of leaves, the same molten gold and emerald as her eyes and hair.

    Her body had changed into a tree to protect itself from the large amount of Spirit she¡¯d channelled. Upon finding out what had happened, the Three Kings cried out in grief and tried to speak to her, but her mind had retreated so deep within itself that not even the voices of her friends and allies could reach. Even so, she was still channelling Spirit through the Worldspring to maintain her spell, for the moment she faltered, the portals would open and the relicts would come spilling into Faengard once more.

    Sometime after the final battle, when the world had begun to recover, the prophet Morene had another dream. In her dream she saw three beautiful young women, and within them each they held a seed of power.

    She approached the Protector and there, nestled in the hollow of her roots were three newborn babies, daughters of Aedrasil conceived by magic. By some miracle of nature they¡¯d survived, even after her death. Aedrasil¡¯s spirit ran deep within their veins.

    The three girls were eventually wed to the Three Kings, imparting their mother¡¯s legacy to later generations. Even now, those who possess the blood of those kings are said to carry the latent power of Aedrasil herself.

    #

    ¡°How does a woman conceive a child with no father?¡± Ein scowled. ¡°Much less three.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s magic,¡± Aren shrugged. ¡°It doesn¡¯t need an explanation.¡±

    ¡°The laws of the world were different during the Age of Gods,¡± Garax said. ¡°There are many things that were possible which are no longer possible now. Aedrasil herself was a miracle of nature, so it comes as no surprise that she was capable of things that might have been deemed impossible.¡±

    White light flashed across the black sky, followed by a deafening thunderclap. The wind stirred uneasily around them. Rain began to fall, a light drizzle that grew heavier until it was a roaring downpour, all in the span of a few seconds.

    ¡°So the Ward Tree is wilting,¡± Ein muttered, as they fled for the shelter of the caravan. ¡°And only those with her blood, which just so happens to be the blood of the Three Kings, can save her.¡±

    Garax grunted as he eased himself through the flaps of one of the small tents that had been erected. The rain drummed a violent rhythm above them, threatening to rip apart the thin tarp.

    ¡°Who knows?¡± the old man shrugged. He winced as something in his back clicked. ¡°Wyd help me, it¡¯s cold.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that what the story implies?¡± Ein pressed, remembering the conversation he¡¯d overheard between Talberon and Alend. Alend possesses the blood of the Thorens. The blood of the Protector.

    ¡°It¡¯s no secret that the Uldans are descendants of one of the Three Kings,¡± Aren continued. He¡¯d wedged himself into a space not far away and had pulled a blanket over his chest. ¡°Princess Celianna is the current Grove Tender, the person who tends to Aedrasil¡¯s well-being. Rumour has it that Aedrasil herself has spoken and needs the blood of the Three Kings for the rejuvenation ritual. It¡¯s just word on the street, though. A lot of rumours have been flying around since the Great Winter started.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like we¡¯re at the dawn of an exciting age,¡± Garax chuckled. ¡°Something interesting always happens when those three bloodlines come together. Last time it happened we had the Rondo of the Three Kings.¡±

    The sky boomed again, deafeningly loud, drowning out the conversation between Garax and Aren. Ein flinched and rolled over, only to find himself next to Evaine. She rubbed her shoulders briskly, breathing on the backs of her hands to warm them up.

    ¡°Aedrasil was just like us,¡± she murmured. ¡°She left her village because of the relicts and became a hero. She became a legend. Maybe we¡¯ll be like that too.¡±

    Ein glared at her, but he doubted she could see him given how dark it was. ¡°She turned into a tree,¡± he hissed, struggling to be heard above the howl of the wind and rain. ¡°Nothing good comes out of heroes, Evaine. Have you ever heard a story of a hero who lived to a ripe old age and died in their sleep? I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    Evaine said nothing, but he heard her shift in her bedroll. The night passed with them huddled in their blankets, listening to the roar of the heavens above.

 16. An Unexpected Encounter

    Chapter Sixteen: An Unexpected Encounter

    ¡°Nothing good ever comes from a storm.¡±

    ¡ªGerard Carandar, Captain of the Weatherwing

    It was night, and activity in the forge had slowed to a lull. The smithy was silent bar the steady, rhythmic clang of hammer against steel and the crackling of the furnace.

    Ein tottered through the front door, shutting out the cold behind him. Alend looked up and raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°Where have you been?¡± he asked without missing a beat.

    Ein made his way to the fire and warmed his hands. His small face was flushed with sweat and excitement.

    ¡°Sorry, Father,¡± he breathed. ¡°I was playing with Bran and Evaine in the woods again, and we lost track of the time. When we started heading back, it was already dark.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Sparks flew from the anvil. From the back of the forge, a young child began to cry.

    ¡°Alend!¡± Rhea called through the walls. ¡°Come help me with dinner already! Cinnamin is getting impatient!¡±

    The bawling continued, and Alend sighed. He picked up the bar of molten metal with a pair of tongs and dipped it into a bucket of water, watching as clouds of steam hissed into the air.

    ¡°It¡¯s dangerous for children to be wandering alone in the woods,¡± he said. ¡°Especially at night.¡±

    ¡°We were fine,¡± Ein said defiantly. ¡°We had swords and spears to protect ourselves with.¡±

    ¡°Swords and spears?¡±

    Ein bit his lip. ¡°Well, staffs. And clubs.¡±

    ¡°You mean sticks?¡± Alend placed the length of metal to one side and then took off his apron. ¡°What were you playing, anyway?¡±

    ¡°We weren¡¯t playing,¡± Ein said. ¡°We were fighting monsters and hunting for treasure, just like the heroes of old.¡±

    ¡°Have you been listening to Garax again?¡±

    Ein didn¡¯t reply.

    ¡°Being a Hero of Faengard isn¡¯t as exciting as the stories make it out to be,¡± Alend said, wiping his hands on a piece of cloth. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous work, and people rarely ever appreciate you. Most heroes die young.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound too bad,¡± Ein replied, ¡°if it means my name will be remembered for ages to come, sang in tales long after I¡¯ve died.¡±

    ¡°You say that now, but when you¡¯re my age with a wife and two children you¡¯ll think differently.¡±

    Ein narrowed his eyes. ¡°You say that as if you were once a hero.¡±

    Alend shrugged. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call myself that. But I do know a thing or two about fighting and adventuring. The sort of things heroes do.¡±

    ¡°Can you teach me?¡± Ein¡¯s eyes grew wide.

    ¡°Alend! Hurry up and make yourself useful!¡±

    Alend winced. ¡°I¡¯m coming, dear!¡± He tossed the cloth aside and made for the door behind the counter. ¡°I can teach you if you want,¡± he said, looking over his shoulder. ¡°You might find some of the skills useful to know. But I¡¯ll warn you now, it won¡¯t be easy.¡±

    He disappeared through the doorway, leaving Ein alone. Moments later, Cinnamin quietened.

    Ein looked at the collection of swords his father had hung on the wall. A wide smile broke across his face.

    #

    The downpour continued through the night and into the next day. Progress slowed to a crawl as the horses slogged through the mud under dreary skies, hauling the wagons behind them. Several times they would become stuck and the troupers would have to disembark and push them free from their ruts, all in the pouring rain.

    It was cold, miserable and wet, but to Ein¡¯s surprise, Evaine never showed any sign of repentance. She dealt with the obstacles as they came, her hair plastered against her scalp, cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders, jaw firmly set. She didn¡¯t complain about the scarcity of food, not once. She didn¡¯t complain when she had to help everyone push the wagons, nor when a blister formed on the heel of her foot, red and swollen. Ein watched her with grudging admiration.

    The day dragged on, the rain showing no signs of stopping. Several times Ein found his gaze wandering into the wood around them, his thoughts drifting to Alend and Rhea and whoever his real mother and father were. He turned the ebony box over in his hands when no one was watching, and fingered it through his pocket when they were. Had the past sixteen years of his life been a lie? The memories he¡¯d had working with Alend in the forge, playing with Rhea and Cinnamin in the fields, sitting around the dinner table laughing and jesting, had it all been pretence? Had he really been their son?

    He needed to speak with Alend. Even though Rhea had reassured him, he needed to hear it from his own lips, to hear that he, Ein Thoren, was as much a son to Alend Thoren as he was to his real father. He needed to know that he still had a home to return to.

    With a start, he realized he was already beginning to forget what ¡°home¡± was.

    How long had they been travelling for? How far had they come? How much further did they have to go? He suspected they¡¯d been on the road for three days, but he couldn¡¯t be sure. It could have been three years for all he knew. He had no idea how far they¡¯d travelled; all sense of distance had been lost to him since they¡¯d passed the Twisted Treeloc, and it would stay that way until the surrounding landscape became something other than spruce and pine. As for how much further they had to go, he wished he knew the answer to that.

    ¡°Ein,¡± Garax suddenly said. The storyteller had put off their daily fencing lessons until the storm passed, and was staring thoughtfully out to the woods behind them. ¡°Do you see anything behind us?¡±

    Ein craned his neck to one side and peered into the gloom. The rain had settled into a fine drizzle, a mist that caressed his face with an icy touch. He saw as far as three rows of trees before they disappeared into the murk.

    ¡°What am I looking for?¡± Ein asked. A chill ran up his spine.

    Garax frowned. ¡°It¡¯s not there anymore, but I could have sworn I saw someone behind us. A man riding a horse, tall and dark. I thought I saw him a couple of times since we left the village, but I couldn¡¯t be sure.¡±

    Ein swallowed. ¡°Does he wear a cloak?¡±

    Garax lowered his brows and eyed Herod, who had turned around in his seat. ¡°He does.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re being followed?¡± the Listener asked.

    ¡°These old eyes believe so. What should we do?¡±

    Herod thought for a moment, looking around at the roiling mist. ¡°We won¡¯t be able to outrun them, not in this weather,¡± he said. ¡°I say we hide and ambush them, see what they¡¯re after. The mist will give us cover. I¡¯m sure we can take them on if they¡¯re hostile.¡±

    Ein and Garax exchanged looks. Garax nodded, his hand on his sword. Herod nudged his horse to the other wagons and gave the command.

    ¡°What do you think they want?¡± Ein asked, as they drew to a halt. The air was filled with the sound of several pairs of boots hitting the mud as the Wydlings alighted.

    ¡°The hell if I know. I just hope it¡¯s not a relict that¡¯s following us,¡± Garax said.

    ¡°If it was a relict, it would be riding a Celadon, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±

    The old man shrugged. ¡°It could be another servant of the Oathbreaker.¡±

    Ein waited for him to continue, but Garax had already touched onto the ground and was taking his place among the trees. Ein moved to the other side of the path, crouching low under the glistening pine needles. Mud and water soaked into his feet.

    They waited for a few minutes, the caravan pulled to a halt a little way up the path, a handful of troupers amidst the trees on either side. The mist billowed around them like a thick curtain, hiding the treetops, covering the wagons until they were but faint shadows around the corner. Ein rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. Evaine was on the side opposite him, watching with wide eyes from behind the troupers. She held a dagger in her hand.

    They heard the horse first, grunting as it trotted through the rock and mud. One moment they were staring into a veil of grey, the next, the man had appeared. He was tall and scrawny, a hood pulled over his head, and he rode an old mare with patched skin, well past its prime. Ein held his breath as the rider drew closer, eyes on the ground, following the tracks left behind by the caravan. Something about the man struck him as familiar. It was in the way he held himself, his head slightly hunched, turning to look over his shoulder every few steps. He was directly in front of them now, so close that if he turned his head sideways he would see them, and it was then that the wind caught the edge of his hood and pulled it back, just a little bit, revealing sandy hair and a red complexion¡­

    ¡°Bran!¡±

    Evaine called out at the same time as Ein realized where he¡¯d seen the horse before. It was Sanson¡¯s horse, the old mare who carried the butcher¡¯s belongings to and from the butchery every day. He was running before he knew it, deaf to the questioning cries of the troupers around him, coming to meet Evaine and the rider in the middle of the road. The mare let out a startled cry and stepped backward, her rider yelping and grabbing ahold of the reins to steady himself. His hood fell away.

    ¡°Bran,¡± Evaine cried again. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Surprise flashed across Bran¡¯s face, followed by what Ein assumed was relief. Bran swung his leg around and dismounted, coming to meet the two. Ein waved to the troupers, who slowly slunk from their positions in the trees.

    ¡°You¡¯re a long way from home,¡± Herod muttered.

    ¡°Evaine,¡± Bran sniffled. ¡°I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re alright.¡± His face was gaunt and sickly. From the sorry state of his pack, Ein guessed he¡¯d run out of food faster than anticipated. He¡¯d probably caught a cold along the way, too.

    ¡°Of course I¡¯m alright,¡± Evaine said. ¡°Look at you. Merciful Cenedria, what happened?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been following you for the past three days, trying to catch up,¡± Bran said, rubbing his nose. ¡°It was terrible. Old Bess was ready to give up on me so many times. I¡¯m so glad I finally made it.¡± The mare snorted angrily and flicked her tail.

    Ein frowned. The rider had given off the impression that it had been tailing them, not struggling to keep up. They¡¯d stopped to rest more than a handful of times, and Bran could have caught up during any of them. Ein looked back to the trees, searching, but saw nothing.

    ¡°It¡¯s no small wonder she¡¯s annoyed,¡± Evaine said. ¡°We were traveling pretty quickly. You must have pushed her hard.¡±

    Bran shook his head. ¡°None of that matters now. Evaine, you have to come back with me. Your parents are worried sick. You left without warning, without even waiting for them to recover. The village is willing to overlook it. You weren¡¯t thinking straight, not after the attack¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m thinking perfectly straight.¡± Evaine placed her hands on her hips. The troupers had returned to the wagons to prepare for departure. A few of them turned their heads at the sound of her voice.

    ¡°She¡¯s not going to listen, Bran,¡± Ein said, sighing. ¡°Believe me, I tried.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious¡­¡± Bran turned even paler than before.

    ¡°Look around you, Bran. We¡¯re almost out of the woods. There¡¯s no way I¡¯m heading back, not now.¡± Evaine swept her arms at the trees around them, glowering. Bran turned to Ein.

    ¡°Help me change her mind,¡± he pleaded. ¡°Cinnamin misses you. Your mother misses you. Come back with me. Bring Evaine with you¡ª¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Ein said, looking at his feet. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Bran. I have to go after Alend.¡±

    Bran slumped. He looked between them with stiff, jerky movements, as if he were a mouse caught in an open field under an eagle-filled sky.

    ¡°I still can¡¯t believe you actually came all the way out here,¡± Evaine said, shaking her head. ¡°What happened to never wanting to leave the village? I don¡¯t mean any offense, but¡­ I didn¡¯t think you ever had it in you.¡±

    A muscle twitched in Bran¡¯s cheek. ¡°I¡¯m not going back without you,¡± he said. ¡°I won¡¯t have you exiled from the village. They whisper behind your back, Evaine. They call you all manner of names, loose being the kindest of them. They say you sleep around with the Wydlings, that you¡¯re a heartless wretch who cares nothing for the home you grew up in and the parents who raised you. Tell me it¡¯s not true, Evaine. Prove them wrong.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Ein was surprised to find his own voice rising. ¡°Who said those things?¡± He clenched his fists, but Evaine placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back.

    ¡°Let them say what they will,¡± she declared. ¡°I won¡¯t be tied down by the traditions of the past.¡± In one swift movement, she pulled back her hood. Bran¡¯s eyes widened as he saw her hair, short and ragged by her neck, braidless.

    ¡°Y-y-your braid¡­¡± He stood rooted to the spot, mouth flapping loosely like a fish, blinking as if closing his eyes and reopening them would change what he saw.

    ¡°Do you understand now?¡± Evaine said. ¡°I¡¯m not returning. I really appreciate you coming all the way out here to find me, but you¡¯ve wasted your time. You¡¯d better get back before they exile you too.¡±

    Bran looked down, his hands balling into fists.

    ¡°Do you want my cloak?¡± Ein quietly asked. ¡°You look terrible.¡±

    ¡°¡ªnot going back.¡± Bran spoke in a small voice, so softly it barely rose above the whisper of the wind.

    ¡°Ein, do we have enough food to spare for Bran¡¯s return journey¡ª¡±

    ¡°I said, I¡¯m not going back.¡± He looked up, and his eyes were hard with resolve. Ein and Evaine stared, speechless.

    ¡°Bran,¡± Ein slowly said. ¡°Are you sure about this? I don¡¯t mean to turn your own words back on you, but¡­ it¡¯s not too late to turn around. Once the storm passes, the return trip will be a lot easier¡ª¡±

    ¡°I told them I wouldn¡¯t return without you,¡± Bran said, glaring at Evaine. His shoulders were shaking. He sniffed again, his breath escaping in cold puffs of air. ¡°If you¡¯re not coming back with me, I¡¯ll just stick with you until you change your mind. I won¡¯t leave you, Evaine.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± Evaine narrowed her eyes. ¡°Why are you doing this? Why are you going to such lengths to bring me back?¡±

    Bran averted his eyes. ¡°Because¡­¡±

    He paused for a moment, and then sighed.

    ¡°Ein needs to leave, and I understand that. But if you leave too, I¡¯ll have nothing left. No family, no friends, nothing.¡± Bran¡¯s voice shook like a leaf. ¡°I¡¯m just worried about you,¡± he said. ¡°Just worried, that¡¯s all.¡±

    Silence passed between them. Evaine sighed.

    ¡°Honestly, Bran. You should be more worried about yourself.¡± She turned around and called out to Aren as he led one of the horses back onto the road. ¡°Aren! Do you have any extra blankets to spare?¡±

    Aren nodded, and Evaine began making her way back towards the caravan. Bran led Old Bess past Ein, still avoiding his eye.

    ¡°That¡¯s not the real reason, is it?¡± Ein asked.

    Bran stiffened. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°You love her.¡±

    Bran didn¡¯t reply.

    #

    Ein was alone on a beach, staring into a stormy skyline. The sand was a dark grit that matched the colour of the sky, the waters an inky black. It was deathly quiet save the soft sloshing of the sea and the dull wail of the wind, and Ein¡¯s steady breathing within his chest.

    This dream again, he thought. Bits and pieces of it were familiar to him, like a distant memory from long ago. He¡¯d been in this place before, seen the cragged spires and bluffs that protruded from the horizon. The smell of the storm was in the air. Its song was in his ears.

    ¡°¡­the storm sings to none other¡­¡±

    He caught the last line as the wind picked it up and carried it far away to the stone formations beyond. Someone had been singing, had just finished singing, and they were starting up again. It began slow and tranquil, matching the lap of the sea against the shore and the low booming of thunder on the horizon.

    Ein moved towards the voice, trotting across the wet sand, feeling the spray of brine against his cheek. He¡¯d had this dream twice already, maybe three times, every night since the incident on Founder¡¯s Eve, and each time he¡¯d woken up before he could find the owner of the voice. He knew he would forget the moment the dream ended, but even so his curiosity burned and demanded he get to the bottom of it all.

    The song grew louder and more urgent, building up as the clouds came rumbling from the distance. Forks of lightning cracked down to the ocean. The waters lurched and began to froth violently against the shore.

    Ein carefully traversed a series of jagged rocks at the base of a cliff before coming to a small stretch of sand between two ridges. It provided a wide, spacious view of the sea for miles into the distance where it met the sky in a flat line. The song was at its loudest here, each chord striking terrible fear and awe inside him, and it was in this small outlet that he finally saw the singer.

    She was a woman with long, tangled hair and a regal dress, and that was all Ein could make out. She stood far in the distance, atop a broken rock jutting out of the sea, and her song rolled under the clouds and across the waves with a frigid vehemence. It climbed higher and higher, arcing to meet the lightning in the distance, so loud it was a roar now, a string of thunderclaps that shook the ground¡­

    And then it was gone, replaced by the pattering of rain, and Ein was being shaken awake into the cold, wet hours of the early morning.

    ¡°It¡¯s your turn,¡± the young trouper said, and Ein nodded. It was his turn to take the night¡¯s watch.

    He sat up and took his place beneath the tarp, pulling his furs into a snug cocoon around him. Rain trickled through the trees and onto the ground, turning it into an unstable bed of slush. Before long, the coldness had seeped through the blanket beneath him and into the seat of his pants.

    According to Herod, the Wydlings usually had groups of two or three keeping watch every night, though it depended on what part of the world they were in. The closer to the main roads and cities, the more people they placed on sentry duty. In a quiet place like the Sleeping Twins, one person was enough.

    Ein scanned the small tents and the sorry pile of wood that marked the remains of a fire. Everything was still. Everyone was fast asleep, or pretending to be.

    He pulled out the ebony box from his pocket just as Bran emerged from one of the tents. His eyes were tired and bloodshot, his face weary. Bran noticed Ein and crawled towards him, squelching through the mud. Ein pocketed the box and made some room, and they both huddled under the tarp.

    ¡°Can¡¯t sleep?¡± Ein asked. The sky blinked and grumbled. Bran shook his head.

    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­¡± he hesitated, hugging his knees to his chest. ¡°I never really gave it much thought, but we¡¯re really far from home, aren¡¯t we? I¡¯ve was so focused on following you that I never realized it.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Ein fiddled with the handle of his sword by his waist. He thought about telling Bran what Alend had told him regarding his heritage, but decided against it. Somehow, he felt like he needed to find the answer to his problem on his own. Instead, he looked at the tent where Evaine and a few of the other troupers slept.

    ¡°She¡¯s not going to hold back, you know,¡± he said. ¡°No matter how much she cares for us, she¡¯s not going to let that get in the way of what she wants. If you stay with her, you could well end up on the other side of Faengard before she comes to her senses.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Bran coughed. ¡°I think I¡¯ve always known, deep down, what I¡¯d have to give up for her.¡± He laughed shakily and stared at the wood around them. ¡°I¡¯ve made a huge mistake, haven¡¯t I? Falling in love with a person like Evaine. There¡¯s no way she¡¯d ever feel the same way for me, a coward and a weakling.¡± He fingered the quiver of arrows by his belt. ¡°I can¡¯t even fight and protect her head on. I have to run and attack from the shadows.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no shame in that. It¡¯s not cowardice to use your brain. Besides,¡± Ein said, ¡°I¡¯d say you¡¯re plenty brave, just for mustering the courage to set foot outside the village. There¡¯s a saying Koth told me a long time ago. There are three things all brave men fear¡ªa love that goes only one way, a man with no face, and¡ª

    ¡°¡ªthe first step on a journey away from home,¡± Bran finished, bursting into a violent fit of coughing. It was a wet, throaty noise, and Ein half expected to see him throw up his insides. Instead, Bran spat a thick glob to one side, where it splattered across the mud and was quickly washed away by the rain.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    Bran found his breath and wiped his mouth, nodding. ¡°It¡¯s just a winter chill.¡±

    Ein brought his hand to the other¡¯s forehead. ¡°You¡¯ve got a bit of a fever,¡± he murmured. ¡°How many nights did you spend out in the cold?¡± He frowned, remembering the state Bran had been in when they¡¯d first found him. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you didn¡¯t pack any furs at all? Did you at least light a fire?¡±

    Bran broke into another fit of coughing. He wiped his mouth and looked away guiltily.

    ¡°You idiot,¡± Ein growled. He racked his brain, quickly taking into consideration all the basic cures Alend had taught him for a fever. None of them could be made from the ingredients they had on hand. Unless the troupe had something to offer, there was a real chance Bran¡¯s fever might get worse, especially if the storm persisted.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell Evaine,¡± Bran said, sniffing. ¡°I don¡¯t want her to worry even more.¡±

    Ein sighed. ¡°You could have been a bit more prepared before leaving, you know.¡± He stripped off his outermost layer and offered it to Bran, who shook his head.

    ¡°I can¡¯t take that. I don¡¯t want us both to get sick.¡±

    ¡°Get in the bloody tent then,¡± Ein snapped. ¡°At least you¡¯ll be out of the wind.¡±

    As if on cue, a strong gale whipped through the campsite. A fork of lightning flickered in the distance, followed by sharp thunderclap.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± Bran insisted. ¡°I don¡¯t want to wake the others up with my coughing. A real man would grit his teeth and tough it out.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re walking a fine line between courage and stupidity, Bran. Go to sleep¡ª¡±

    Bran jerked upright, turning to one side and startling Ein.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Ein asked, puzzled. Bran raised a finger to his lips, signalling for him to be quiet. He kept his head cocked, even as he looked Ein in the eye. A moment later, as the wind lulled and the thunder quietened, Ein heard it as well. It was distant and barely audible above the increasingly loud drum of the rain, but there was no mistaking it.

    It was a howl.

    ¡°Not again,¡± Ein said.

    He sprung to a low crouch and tilted his head to the sky, listening. The howls came again, louder this time, closer. There was no mistaking what they were, not when they still haunted him every time he closed his eyes. He suddenly felt cold, and it wasn¡¯t from the storm.

    ¡°Wyd almighty,¡± Bran quivered. ¡°Could it be?¡±

    The bestial howls tore through the night. They were coming. Not just one or two but three, five, ten, maybe even twenty. A whole pack of them.

    ¡°Wyd almighty,¡± Ein agreed. ¡°Anturia, Cenedria, Lauriel, Eolas. Kalador, Aoshan, Zaxiem.¡± He named them all, all seven of the First Gods of Faengard. If any of them existed, he hoped they could hear him. ¡°By the Pantheon, it¡¯s them.¡±

    The Worgals were coming. They needed all the divine intervention they could get.

 17. Stormfront

    Chapter Seventeen: Stormfront

    ¡°Seven were the servants of the faceless Lord,

    Seven were the generals to lead His horde.

    Angramar the rider with the shadowy limbs,

    Lady Lirinelle with the voice of sins,

    Ataxis the scourge of the battlefield,

    Saidon the swordsman with his blade unsealed,

    Hrongar the giant with the fists of steel,

    Aesma the preacher of the deathly deal.

    Last but not least, Raginoth the Bright,

    Unrivalled in arms, fallen of the Light.

    Seven were the servants of the faceless Lord,

    Seven is the number that will be restored.¡±

    ¡ªJayke and Worlem Grim, Tales of Faengard

    ¡°Relicts! The relicts are coming!¡±

    Everywhere around them people stirred, crawling out of their tents with confused expressions on their faces, speaking in panicked tones. Some of the troupers had slept armed and fully clothed while others had changed into more comfortable wear. Regardless of the attire, all were alert and ready before Ein and Bran could finish rushing through the camp with their warnings.

    ¡°Get the horses ready,¡± Herod yelled to a group of troupers as he rushed past the tents, giving orders. He caught Evaine¡¯s bleary eye and stuck a thumb towards one of the wagons. ¡°My advice is to hop on, young flower.¡±

    Evaine frowned. ¡°What¡¯s happening? What about Ein and Bran?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll be in the wagon behind you,¡± Ein said, nodding at Herod. ¡°There are relicts on our tail, and I expect the troupers could do with a few archers to help fend them off.¡±

    Evaine¡¯s expression crystallized as she looked around, taking in the urgency of the situation. The camp had turned into a whirlwind of activity in the last two minutes. ¡°Let¡¯s stay and fight,¡± she said, clenching her jaw, her hand moving to the hilt of her dagger. Her eyes burned with a cold hatred. ¡°We should be able to win, right? We¡¯ve won once already.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea.¡± Garax had found his way next to them, arms folded across his chest. ¡°We don¡¯t know how many there are. There could be more than just Worgals and Celadons behind us. If there are Bloodmanes or other elites, things could get very bad indeed.¡±

    ¡°Besides,¡± Ein continued, ¡°we don¡¯t have the advantage of fire this time, or the Songweaver.¡± Above him, thunder and lightning pounded against the ground. ¡°I agree with Listener Herod. Listener, do you think we¡¯ll be able to outrun them?¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Herod said. ¡°We can¡¯t tell for sure until we¡¯re actually on the road. But if worse comes to worse, we can dump a few of our wares. Maybe even a few of our Aimless passengers, though I¡¯d prefer not to.¡±

    Bran swallowed and nodded. Evaine said nothing. The howls tore through the night again, louder. Everything was getting louder. The rain, the thunder, the panicked cries of the horses. Ein shut his eyes and gathered his thoughts.

    ¡°Come on,¡± he said, giving Bran a nudge. ¡°Let¡¯s not waste any more time. String your bow and meet me on the back of the last wagon.¡±

    Bran looked dazed for a moment before floundering towards the wagon after Ein. ¡°Why¡­¡± he mumbled. ¡°Why is this all happening¡­¡±

    ¡°Why is the sky blue?¡± Garax asked. ¡°Why is the grass green? Why does the Oathbreaker despise creation? Save the philosophy for later, boy. Aren¡¯t you supposed to be the best marksman in Felhaven? It¡¯s time to show your worth.¡±

    Ein and Bran hauled themselves onto the wagon as it began to move. A band of four other troupers sat with them, three of them young men and one with a peppered beard who was obviously the veteran. The caravan set off, the horses picking up momentum, breaking into a gallop down the road. Rain and wind lashed across Ein¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°These have got to be the worst conditions for shooting,¡± the veteran said. ¡°You¡¯d be lucky to hit a cow at three feet in this weather.¡± He offered a grim smile.

    The other troupers were silent. Two of them had clearly never fought before and gripped their bows with white knuckles, staring quietly at their feet. Bran was in a similar state.

    ¡°Is there anything we can throw away?¡± Ein called out, fighting to be heard above the storm. Herod looked over his shoulder from the next wagon down. Aren had armed himself with a sling and was making his way to the back while Evaine huddled in a corner, watching.

    ¡°There are some plates and crockery in one of the crates,¡± Aren replied. ¡°Father, can we use those?¡±

    ¡°They might slow down our pursuers in a pinch,¡± the Listener said. ¡°But I¡¯d prefer not to.¡±

    A string of howls erupted into the night. Ein squinted at the sky as a black haze approached them, arcing over the treetops. He blanched when he realized what it was.

    ¡°Arrows!¡± he cried. ¡°Take cover!¡±

    The three troupers ducked behind crates and barrels while the veteran raised a large wooden board and covered himself, Ein and Bran. The majority of the arrows scattered in the wind and flew off in random directions, but a small portion embedded themselves into the wagon with audible thuds. No one was hurt.

    ¡°What the hell,¡± the man spat. ¡°They have bows?¡±

    His words were cut short as another howl split the air beside them, startling the horses. As the driver worked to bring them under control, Ein rushed to the other side of the wagon and peered into the forest. He caught a glimpse of a black shadow riding a fierce dark creature of some sort, weaving in and out through the trees. They rounded a bend, the carriage teetering dangerously on one side before finding its ground on a flat stretch of road.

    ¡°They¡¯re gaining on us,¡± Ein yelled.

    ¡°I can see eight,¡± Bran shouted back.

    The treeline fell away for a brief moment and the relicts came into view. Eight Worgals rode alongside them, fangs bared, carrying shortbows and curved blades, their mounts thirsting for blood. The Celadons trampled through the undergrowth with their stocky legs and straight horns, barking and screeching in tune with their riders. They raced after the caravan, travelling parallel to the road, edging closer and closer. Another group of Worgals appeared behind the wagon, blurry silhouettes in the distance.

    The Worgals to the left loosed another volley. The troupers ducked behind cover as the arrows thudded uselessly into the side of the cart, a few stragglers flying overhead. Ein and the troupers fired in return. Their shots flew wide, but one of them pierced a Celadon through the eye and sent it and its rider plummeting to the ground.

    The Worgals howled anew. Ein grabbed one of the crates that contained crockery and bashed it open.

    ¡°Help me,¡± he grunted. Bran reached in and brought out a trembling handful of cheap porcelain tableware.

    ¡°What do I do with these?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Throw them behind us. Try to hit the relicts if you can.¡±

    They worked together and tossed the tableware at the Worgals, shattering them on rocks and roots. The Celadons roared in pain as they trampled across the jagged shards, but didn¡¯t falter. All the while arrows came at the beasts in dribs and drabs, forcing them low to the ground.

    ¡°It¡¯s not enough,¡± Garax yelled. ¡°You need fire¡ª¡±

    A bolt of lightning struck the nearby trees, shaking the earth, blinding Ein and sending him sprawling onto the floor. He became deaf for an instant as the sheer awesomeness of the thunderclap ripped through his ears, leaving behind a high-pitched ringing that drowned out all other sound. He smelled smoke, felt warmth and the world spinning around him as he clambered to his feet, grabbing onto the side of the wagon for support. The squad of Worgals running parallel to them had been almost halved.

    Looking back in the distance, he saw a burning tree lying across the road, trunk snapped in two smoking hunks. The Worgals behind them barked and growled, skirting around the fallen tree and back onto the road.

    ¡°Lauriel above,¡± Ein whispered, thanking the god of the sky. The lightning bolt had missed him by a fraction of a second.

    A bark beside him drew his attention and he spun, still reeling, only to come face to face with the gleaming red eyes of a Worgal. It swung its shortsword at him, catching a glancing blow to the side of his head. The Celadon snarled as its rider rose and leapt across the gap, arms outstretched and reaching for Ein¡¯s throat¡­

    ¡­just as an arrow struck it between the eyes, throwing it off balance. It tumbled to the ground behind them and rolled in the mud, coming to a halt far away. The Celadon turned back for its master, barking angrily. Ein spun around and saw Bran panting, a bow gripped tightly in his hands.

    Bran swallowed and drew another arrow from his quiver, bringing it to his bowstring. It shook in his fingers as he struggled to nock it.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Ein said.

    They broke out onto a cliffside path that ran far above a gaping chasm. The Worgals behind them had made up the distance from the burning tree and were back on their trail, hounding them with ragged screams. The squad to their left had been reduced to four riders. They steadily closed the gap between them, forcing the caravan to the edge.

    ¡°We have to fight them,¡± Aren yelled from the wagon up ahead. ¡°Or they¡¯ll send us over!¡±

    Ein looked out the side of the wagon to their right. It was a long drop below into the churning white waters of the Brackenburg. Rain had soaked through to his bone and his grip on his sword was wet and slippery.

    ¡°Bran,¡± Ein yelled. ¡°Aim for the eyes. We can¡¯t kill them but we can at least throw them off our trail.¡±

    He switched to his bow and fired. His arrow missed and pierced the forearm of one of the Worgals. It dropped the sword in its hand, but continued to ride. Ein realized the relicts had all put away their bows, drawing their swords

    ¡°Bran!¡± he yelled again. ¡°Are you listening? They¡¯re out of arrows! We can shoot without having to worry about¡ª¡±

    ¡°Ein, watch out!¡± Bran screamed, as the sky flashed.

    The four riders fell away. In that moment a gap opened in the trees and a third squad of relicts emerged in a spearhead formation, charging with reckless abandon towards the centre of the caravan. A figure in black led them, tall and cloaked, the silhouette Ein had spotted weaving through the trees before¡ªthe silhouette that had been following them for the past few days.

    It wasn¡¯t Bran, Ein realized. The rider who¡¯s been following us for the past few days¡ªit wasn¡¯t Bran. He should have trusted his instincts.

    The rider donned a piece of the storm-clouds themselves, a cloak sewn from a thousand patches of shimmering grey. The cloak covered it from head to toe, revealing nothing of what lay beneath. Under its cowl was a mask, half-silver half-black, smooth and flat with no holes except for a single eyeslit. The mask resembled a crescent moon with an open eye beside it¡ªthe Watching Moon, emblem of the Oathbreaker.

    The horse it rode was just as enigmatic, if not more. Not a horse, Ein thought. A demon. It was pitch black with crimson eyes and a wild mane, but that was where the similarities ended. The beast¡¯s teeth were sharp and pulled into a snarl as it raced after them, its powerful legs rippling with blade-like spines. Its tail was a thin cord that ended in a blade-like scythe of bone, and it had two horns above its ears, curved like a ram¡¯s.

    ¡°Angramar Urudain¡­¡± the trouper murmured.

    Angramar, Ein thought in fear. One of the seven doombringers of Al¡¯Ashar himself.

    The Urudain were Faceless servants of the Oathbreaker, elite warriors handpicked by the demon god to lead His armies. They¡¯d been exiled to Hellheim during the Great War, along with Al¡¯Ashar and the Aldereich. Angramar was the only one that rode a horse.

    Ein snapped his eyes to Bran, who¡¯d begun to whisper prayers beneath his breath. He looked back to the rider as it raised its arm, thin and wraith-like, sleeve billowing in the wind, and lashed out.

    A tendril of shadow emerged, trailing behind like a sleek whip, flexing across the ground between them and slashing across the caravan. Ein cried out as it struck in a splintering of wood, a shrieking of horses and people, a lurching that sent him tumbling head over heels across the floorboards and into the other side of the wagon.

    ¡°Evaine!¡± he screamed, but half the caravan was gone, flying off into the yawning chasm. Aren and Herod, Evaine and Garax, all gone. The remaining carriages veered out of control, skidding across the packed earth to the precipice. Angramar screeched and the Worgals charged, ramming the troupers off the edge, following them through into the canyon below.

    ¡°The Fire take me,¡± Ein swore. Their wagon was the only one left now, pulled by a group of horses gone wild with fear. They accelerated to a breakneck pace, chasing the side of the cliff, each jolt sending them flying off the ground.

    ¡°Wyd almighty, what was that?¡± the veteran trouper cried, looking over the edge. The screams of his people continued to echo along the walls of the chasm. ¡°The relicts just killed themselves to break our formation¡­¡±

    ¡°Strength and will of no man living. Vicious spirit, unforgiving,¡± Bran said, as if in a trance. He coughed and spat over the side of the wagon.

    ¡°Terrifying,¡± the veteran echoed. ¡°They have no regard for their own lives at all¡ª¡±

    ¡°Look out!¡± one of the younger troupers cried. ¡°Behind you!¡±

    The veteran turned just as the Worgal behind him stabbed his back. His eyes were still open in shock when he toppled over the side of the wagon, falling into the relict and its mount. The Celadon lurched and swerved to one side. There was a loud crunch as its horn caught the spokes of the back wheel and snapped it, sending one corner of the wagon dipping downwards. Two of the passengers lost their balance and tumbled onto the ground, crying out in terror as the horses raced onwards without them. Ein could only watch as the Worgals trampled over them, slashing and goring and stabbing them.

    ¡°Evaine¡­¡± Bran murmured again. His eyes were distant. ¡°Evaine¡­ no¡­¡±

    Ein ground his teeth, fighting down the rising sense of panic inside him. He wanted nothing more than to scream in frustration and jump off the side of the cliff to find her, but he forced himself to stay calm. There were three of them left¡ªhim, Bran, and one other trouper who had done nothing since the start of the pursuit. Their wagon was off balance and missing a wheel, the horses racing onward in a blind frenzy. A pack of ten or twenty Worgal riders hounded them, led by Angramar and his formless whip.

    ¡°It¡¯s over¡­ it¡¯s over¡­ it¡¯s over¡­¡± Bran had his head in his hands and was staring at a spot a few feet in front of him. ¡°Mother Anturia¡­ merciful Cenedria¡­ Wyd almighty, please let it be quick¡­¡±

    The road dipped and they began to descend. The storm continued around them, roaring and shaking violently. Wind and rain were one, beating at the wagon without mercy.

    ¡°How far until we get out of the Sleeping Twins?¡± Ein demanded. The young trouper didn¡¯t reply, so he grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. ¡°How far!?¡±

    The trouper threw himself to the side of the wagon and vomited. When he looked back, all the life had left his eyes.

    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be far,¡± he murmured. ¡°At the end of this road there¡¯s a bridge. That was the bridge we crossed to get here.¡±

    Ein looked up. They were still descending. The mountains were far away now, a faint line in the distance. The road widened, giving them more breathing space away from the edge of the cliff. The horses took them further inland, racing towards the thinning trees, using the descent to increase their pace. Ein turned back to face the relicts and was surprised when he saw that they were falling back, surrendering more distance between themselves and their quarry.

    ¡°We might just make it,¡± he exclaimed. ¡°They¡¯re losing ground¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh no¡­¡± the trouper moaned. ¡°Oh no¡­¡±

    Angramar had drawn forward, separating himself from the rest of the pack. His mount shrieked, a sound like shrill daggers that dug into Ein¡¯s eardrums. He covered them, grinding his teeth in pain.

    ¡°It¡¯s over. We¡¯re all going to die.¡± The trouper¡¯s eyes darted left and right in terror. He was frothing at the mouth.

    ¡°An Urudain,¡± Bran said vacantly. ¡°Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s eyes and ears, an Urudain.¡±

    ¡°Get ahold of yourself!¡± Ein demanded. ¡°How do you know it¡¯s the real thing?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the Oathbreaker¡¯s sigil,¡± the trouper rambled. ¡°No one would dare bear it if they weren¡¯t a servant of the Faceless Ruler.¡± His eyes darted to the relicts and then to the cliff beside them. ¡°I¡¯ll be damned if I¡¯m going to die by the hands of a Faceless. Gods, I¡¯ll be damned!¡±

    He loosed a panicked cry and flung himself off the wagon, landing in a rolling heap of green and gold, his limbs twisting in a hideous crunch. Pulling himself to his feet, he floundered towards the cliff, slipped once on the mud, righted himself, screaming in pain all the while. Three Worgal riders broke away and pounced. With one last look of sheer terror behind him, the trouper threw himself off the edge. The rain drowned his screams.

    ¡°We should just kill ourselves now,¡± Bran said, staring at the spot the boy had jumped off. ¡°It would be quicker and less painful.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Ein said, shaking his head. ¡°We¡¯re not going to give up.¡±

    Angramar flicked his wrist and the shadowy whip sailed through the air. The wagon jolted. Ein swung his sword in an attempt to cut through the tendril, half-kneeling on the ground for balance, meeting the harsh cries of the Worgals with cries of his own. The moment his blade touched the shadow it snapped cleanly into two, severed at the point of contact. Ein looked down at the broken halves of his sword and swore.

    ¡°There¡¯s no way we¡¯re getting out of this,¡± Bran said again. ¡°Evaine and Garax are dead. The Wydlings are dead. It¡¯s all over.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    The trees broke and the bridge came into view. It was a narrow span of wooden planks that rose high above the gorge, stained black by the pouring rain. The Worgals howled as thunder boomed across the sky.

    ¡°What if we make it out of the Sleeping Twins?¡± Bran mumbled. ¡°So what? They¡¯ll catch us anyway. The horses can¡¯t run forever. They¡¯ll hunt us down and kill us, the Urudain.¡±

    ¡°You bastard,¡± Ein growled. ¡°Are you going to throw away your life so easily? You don¡¯t even know why they¡¯re after us.¡± If they find Alend, it¡¯s all over. Aedrasil will die and the relicts will run rampant across Faengard.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to know why.¡± Bran threw his bow onto the floor of the wagon in despair. ¡°I don¡¯t care about any of this.¡± He looked sadly at Ein. ¡°I just want to go home.¡±

    The shadowy whip lashed again and this time it caught Ein across the chest. A numbing chill spread through his body where it touched him, like a blanket of ice wrapped across his skin. He pulled apart his shirt and touched the wound. There was no blood, no mark at all. Just an overwhelming cold, and a sense of despair.

    He¡¯s right, Ein thought. Why am I even going to all this trouble? He wasn¡¯t Alend¡¯s son. Why did he even care whether the man lived or not?

    And then his fingers brushed against the black box in his pocket, and he remembered Rhea¡¯s warm embrace and Cinnamin¡¯s excitement every time he came home. He remembered the forge, the days he¡¯d spent with Bran and Evaine by the river, along the quiet streets of Felhaven. Founder¡¯s Eve replayed itself in his head, the lights and the stalls and the dancing. He wanted to see fireworks like that again, one more time.

    If only those days could last forever.

    But those days were long gone. Even if everything fixed itself, things would never be the same again.

    Ein stared into the pale mask of the Urudain and howled. A hotness surged through his body, causing the rain to steam from his clothes. Something snapped inside him and came surging out through his voice, piercing through the rain and the wind. He was throwing up molten lead from his throat, forming words and inaudible sounds at the same time.

    On lightning I dance¡­

    They passed the bridge, and as Ein¡¯s body reached its breaking point, when he thought his skin would melt and his head would catch fire, when the steam on his clothes turned into smoke and invaded his nostrils, when the world became a monotone blur of storm-grey around him¡­

    For the storm sings to none other.

    The sky opened in an explosion of white and the world became silent.

    Smoke. Smoke filled his nostrils, and he tasted the wagon beneath his lips. Everything was white and grey. His head felt as light as air. Waves of heat rippled through his body as he lay prone on the floor of the cart, his mouth incredibly dry. Something was burning, its crackling the only noise he could hear. Water ran down his face, icy cold and yet steaming hot at the same time.

    He lifted his head off the ground. The bridge was gone, destroyed, obliterated. Nothing remained of it but two smoking piles of wood on either end. Orange flames flickered and fought against the rain. The Worgals stopped at the other end of the chasm and raised their heads to the sky, howling. The Celadons joined them.

    Angramar stood at the edge of the broken bridge and watched quietly as Ein and Bran drew further and further away. He was the last thing Ein saw before all the energy left him and he thudded to the ground, throat burning, vision fading.

 18. The Burning Village

    Chapter Eighteen: The Burning Village

    ¡°Little separates a bandit from a cannibal. In my eyes, they are the same.¡±

    ¡ªReuben Cowl, Ranger of the Freemen

    ¡°Fire,¡± said Talberon. ¡°Up ahead.¡±

    Alend looked up and rubbed his eyes. They were dry and prickly from lack of sleep, his eyelids as heavy as lead. The sky was grey above the horizon¡ªnot the grey of a storm but the angry, billowing grey-black of smoke. He could smell it too, sharp and pungent against the scent of sleet and snow.

    ¡°It can¡¯t be,¡± he murmured, gripping his reins as he sat to attention. ¡°It¡¯s been raining ever since we left the valley, and snowing before then. How in Hellheim could there be a fire?¡±

    ¡°A ransacked settlement, perhaps,¡± Talberon said.

    ¡°Last I checked, the nearest village to the Sleeping Twins was halfway to Caerlon.¡±

    ¡°That would have been long ago. Things have changed since then.¡± Talberon withdrew the sparrow-locked book from his robes and opened it to a page with a map on it. He drove his horse alongside Alend and tilted the book towards him, pointing to a small dot where the line representing the Brackenburg left the entrance to the Sleeping Twins. Felhaven wasn¡¯t on the map, and nor were several other places Alend remembered from his days as a Kingsblade, but there were about a dozen more farms and villages scattered about that hadn¡¯t been there before. The settlement Talberon was pointing to was a small village by the name of Adeir.

    ¡°A ransacked village,¡± muttered Alend. He frowned as an image of a burning Felhaven surfaced. ¡°Relicts? Worgals?¡±

    ¡°Possible, but I doubt it.¡± Talberon tugged at the wisps of his beard, thinking. ¡°Despite what you¡¯d think, most relict sightings have been around or close to the Capitol. Only those under the command of Al¡¯Ashar himself would have reason to venture this far. I¡¯d put my money on bandits or the like, though the only way we¡¯d find out for sure is if we checked.¡±

    They came to a fork in the road. One path continued straight ahead while the other wound up the side of a small hill. Talberon took them up the second one.

    ¡°Why are we going this way?¡± Alend asked. ¡°Aren¡¯t we checking on Adeir?¡±

    ¡°If stopped by every village that needed our help, Aedrasil would be dead and gone before we reached her. We simply don¡¯t have the time, Deserter.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious. We¡¯re just going to leave them to die? We could take on the enemy easily, just the two of us, whether it¡¯s relicts or bandits or¡ª¡±

    Talberon swivelled in his saddle and scowled. Creases formed across his brow like gathering storm-clouds. ¡°Have you forgotten your condition so soon?¡±

    Alend glowered but held his tongue. His stomach had stopped bleeding, but it still reminded him that he was wounded with a dull pang every few miles of travel. He was in no condition to fight¡ªespecially not against several people at once.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be faster if we cut straight through,¡± he said, though he already knew what the response would be.

    ¡°I¡¯d rather lose a day and get there in one piece than take a risk and lose three.¡±

    Alend couldn¡¯t argue with that. Had their positions been reversed, he would have said the same.

    The decision was made. The fork disappeared from view behind them, and soon they were rushing up the hill as fast as they could without the horses tripping over the rocks and roots. It had been almost a day since they¡¯d left the Sleeping Twins, passing the bridge just before the storm had reached its worst. It was behind them now, just a smudge of grey in the distant sky, and the familiar fields of motley green and yellow and patches of white had returned. The Faengard Alend had left behind had been a lush land of trees and grass, of wildflowers blooming by the roadsides and sparkling waterholes where critters and all manner of wild beasts congregated. The Faengard Alend saw now was a land ravaged by unrest and strife, a land stripped bare of its beauty. It was shocking, even if Alend had already seen its effects in the Sleeping Twins.

    ¡°It¡¯s not all like this,¡± Talberon said, as if reading Alend¡¯s mind. ¡°It¡¯s worst in the north and the west, though the north has always been cold. There are some parts of the world that the Winter has been kind to, even a few places that remain untouched.¡±

    ¡°I imagine they¡¯d still be affected,¡± Alend muttered. ¡°The world probably relies on them for food and supplies now. That¡¯s a lot of pressure, even for a large city.¡±

    ¡°True, that. It¡¯s good to see the years haven¡¯t dulled your knowledge and rhetoric.¡±

    Alend ignored the remark and focused on the rhythm of his horse, loosening his muscles and allowing his body to move naturally. The soreness of his thighs had already disappeared, and like an old man awakening from a dream, his body was beginning to remember. Riding, fighting on horseback, navigating the wilderness, all the skills that he¡¯d allowed to rust, they were coming back. The rust was crumbling, giving way to the polished silver beneath. Ein had struggled to wrap his head around some of those skills. Alend smirked; he¡¯d barely scratched the surface when it came to some of the things he¡¯d taught his son.

    He hoped Ein would forgive him. He couldn¡¯t remember how many times he¡¯d thought that thought, but he hoped nonetheless. When it was all over, when the business with the Great Winter and Aedrasil was done, he would sit down with his wife and children in the forge and explain everything. Ein had a right to know, not just about the situation of his upbringing, but about Alend¡¯s own past and how a Kingsblade, one of Faengard¡¯s elite, had ended up in Felhaven.

    The smoke in the air thickened until its acrid taste was all Alend could think about. They¡¯d climbed high onto the hill by now, a mattress of stunted grass and withered trees below them to the left, the Sleeping Twins behind them. A pillar of black and grey rose from somewhere up ahead. The slope flattened out. The horses crunched across the loose rock and around a bend, taking the two men down the other side of the hill to where Adeir came into view.

    ¡°Mother Anturia,¡± he muttered.

    He heard them before he saw them. Voices, a mixture of high pitched wailing and cries of despair, overlapped by the gruff barking of feral men. Alend almost didn¡¯t want to look, but the village was right beneath him and he had no choice.

    Adeir reminded him of Felhaven in more ways than one. A small collection of square-cut houses and flimsy fences, a modest inn at the centre, a noticeboard at the point where all the roads met. Thatched roofs burned to a crisp, crackling with violent flames, neat paths splattered with blood and sprawling bodies. The bandits swarmed the village, rusty blades flashing, looting everything from food to jewellery and ragged clothing. They wore crudely cut animal hides and weathered rags themselves, no strangers to the harsh wilderness. In a world on the brink of destruction, you took what you could get.

    A group of bandits dragged a woman from a burning house, laughing through her kicks and screams. They pried her arms apart, revealing two children clutching desperately to her dress. As Alend watched, they separated the three and dragged her around the corner, out of sight. Someone gripped his hand and he realized it was Talberon.

    ¡°Don¡¯t look,¡± he said. ¡°And try not to listen, either.¡± Alend¡¯s hand was on his Rhinegold blade, his knuckles as white as bone. His teeth were clenched so tightly it hurt.

    ¡°Cenedria have mercy.¡± He squeezed his eyes shut. The woman¡¯s fate was sealed, but what of her children? What would they do to them? The boy would either be killed or forced to work, but the girl¡­

    ¡°Alend!¡± Talberon¡¯s voice was sharp and commanding. ¡°Remember what we talked about. By the time we get down there, it¡¯ll be far too late.¡±

    With a shaky breath, Alend removed his hand from the hilt of his sword. It was by far the hardest thing he¡¯d ever done, that simple motion of lifting his fingers off the grooved leather and back to his reins. He hoped he¡¯d never have to do it again.

    Adeir was past them now, and he finally dared open his eyes. He kept them fixed straight ahead, into the lightening sky as they began their descent from the hilltop. The sounds of strife behind him grew fainter until at last he couldn¡¯t hear them anymore. The smell of smoke and burning hair faded to a mere aftertaste in the air, and then nothing at all. Alend glanced behind him and saw nothing but the horizon, studded with runted trees and bushes.

    ¡°You¡¯re telling me this is happening all over the world?¡± he asked. His jaw was sore.

    Talberon scribbled in his book, murmuring under his breath. He nodded once. ¡°It¡¯s in our nature, unfortunately,¡± he said. ¡°When we run out of food and supplies, we take it from others. It¡¯s the way of the world.¡±

    ¡°Never,¡± Alend growled. ¡°We would never do that, not in Felhaven.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Talberon looked up, regarding him with a sad look. ¡°What if it was your wife and children starving to death? Would you take from another family to ensure the survival of your own?¡±

    ¡°I would, but no more than necessary.¡±

    ¡°And what is the definition of ¡®necessary?¡¯¡± the druid asked. ¡°If there was a loaf of bread, maybe ¡®necessary¡¯ would be half of that loaf. But what happens after you finish that half? You can¡¯t take the other half, because the other family has eaten it. So in this case, isn¡¯t ¡®necessary¡¯ really the full loaf? That way, your family survives for twice as long.¡±

    Alend struggled to think of a response, but his mind felt dull and sluggish from the hours of hard riding. ¡°I would never destroy their home,¡± he said instead. ¡°I would never kill them, never touch their women or children.¡±

    ¡°I believe you, and I would say that most humans would never do that. But when nature throws everything at us, we go back to our roots¡ªour base instinct to survive. And when that happens, we are no longer humans. We are animals. Demons, even¡±

    Talberon pocketed his pen and showed Alend the map once more, pointing to a spot near the entrance to the Sleeping Twins. ¡°That¡¯s where we are now. I expect we¡¯ll be at Caerlon in the next day or two, and from there the Royal Road should take us the rest of the way.¡±

    Alend squinted at the double-spread inside the book. ¡°Where¡¯s Adeir? Wasn¡¯t it there just a few minutes ago?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s gone. I took it off the map.¡±

    #

    Bran wanted to die.

    Since their escape from the relicts and the Urudain, three of the four horses pulling the wagon had snapped free, racing off into the horizon without so much as a backward glance. The final horse, none other than Old Bess herself had run for a good distance before finally calming down. She waited by a large pond now, lapping up the water with gusto.

    Bran slumped against the side of the wagon, one hand on his forehead. He was sweating and shivering at the same time, his head muddled as if someone had filled his skull with cotton by stuffing it through his ears. Every few moments he would cough¡ªsometimes it would be a deep, chesty cough and he would hack up something yellow and sticky from the depths of his lungs. Other times it was dry and shallow, a mere itch in his throat that refused to go away. The good news was that he was in no worse shape than the night before.

    The bad news was that he was in no better shape, either.

    He was sick and he knew it. Bran knew what it was like to have a fever and a cold, and he knew he was suffering from a particularly bad one at the moment. If it went untreated, combined with their shortage of food and water, death was a real possibility.

    He wished he could die and just forget about all his worries. Forget about the Worgals that pursued them, about the sinister figure and his whip of shadows. Forget about the Wydlings and the people of Felhaven waiting for him back home. Forget about Evaine.

    Unfortunately he was still alive, and so was Ein.

    The blacksmith¡¯s son lay in a sheathe of wet blankets on the back of the wagon, shuddering and shaking with each breath. His hair hung damp and matted against his forehead, his already-pale complexion a deathly white, and he rambled under his breath like a man who¡¯d lost his mind. He had a fever unlike anything Bran had ever seen before, one that put his own fever to shame. It wasn¡¯t a fever brought about by cold or sickness. It was something different.

    He remembered the strange words Ein had said¡ªsang, even¡ªthe night before, when the storm had been at its most violent. It had been like some magic incantation out of a faerie tale, mystical words that had brought the lightning crashing down at his command. The bridge had not been some collapsing, rickety piece of driftwood awaiting a strong wind to blow it over. It had been a solid bridge, well-maintained, well-designed and engineered to be steadfast and sturdy, and the lightning had destroyed it like it was made of toothpicks.

    Ein mumbled something else under his breath. His eyes were wide open and rolled back into his sockets, revealing the whites. Occasionally he jerked and tried to move, but the blankets restrained him.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Bran said, patting Old Bess gently on its rump. ¡°Let¡¯s keep moving.¡±

    The mare regarded him with intelligent eyes and nodded, trotting back onto the road. Bran had always been good with animals.

    The storm had passed, leaving the land wet and muddied. Trees showered the rickety wagon with raindrops every time the wind blew. Every so often Bran had to drag Ein back up to prevent him from rolling off the rear end. He was surprised their ride still functioned with only three wheels.

    The hours ticked past. Ein went through several stages during his fitful sleep, laughing at times, croaking in anger, sobbing, sleeping peacefully. Bran himself fell into delirium more than once. One moment he would be sitting with his knees hugged to his chest, wishing he were dead, the next he would be remembering a song from Founder¡¯s Eve, remembering the clapping and the dancing, the pretty lights, the girls. He would then burst into tears at the memory of Evaine, of Angramar and the Worgals charging the caravan off the side of the cliff, of his poor father whose body had never been found.

    He wondered what they looked like to an outsider who might happen across them. Two boys, barely men, laughing and singing, crying and screaming and glaring at the sky, one thrashing in a bundle of blankets, the other beating his fists against the wagon. It would be an interesting sight, to say the least.

    They reached a fork in the road not long after. One branch split off towards a hill while the other stretched on straight ahead. Bran squinted into the distance. Was that smoke he smelled? The sky was grey, but then again the sky was always grey.

    He looked at Ein, who had finally closed his eyes and was sleeping, and made up his mind. It looked like the path through the hill would take longer, and besides, going straight would be easier for Old Bess. They didn¡¯t have time to spare. Bran didn¡¯t even know where they were going. He had thrown their fates to the wind. If the wind gave them a town, then so be it. If the wind gave them a kind-hearted peddler, so be it. If the wind gave them nothing, so be it.

    As the wagon bounced onwards, the smell of smoke grew stronger. It wasn¡¯t just smoke from the burning of wood, but the burning of other things as well, things that weren¡¯t meant to be burned. Burning hair or fur, which he¡¯d smelled a couple of times in the butchery. Burning of flesh. Through the haze of his mind, Bran realized something was amiss.

    When the village came into view, he almost thought that they¡¯d returned to Felhaven. It looked identical to his hometown on the night of the attack, neat houses aflame, streets bloodied with corpses and carnage, the roar of fire in his ears, wave after wave of heat blasting across his face. Bran was no expert but he guessed that it couldn¡¯t have been ransacked more than a few hours ago.

    It wasn¡¯t until they¡¯d plodded well into the village that Bran realized they were out in plain sight for relicts to see, but by that point he was well past caring. They could take him and Ein for all he cared. At least then he wouldn¡¯t have to worry about his empty stomach and the dreaded headache hammering inside his skull. Or the coughing that threatened to throw up his insides.

    ¡°Come and get us!¡± he yelled, cackling. ¡°Finish us off!¡± He waved his hands at the sky, panting. Yelling was hard work.

    Silence greeted him back, and in that silence, reason returned. He let his hands fall to his sides and swore. He had to get Ein somewhere and hide, wait for a while until he was sure the pillagers were gone.

    But wait¡­ if no one had responded to Bran¡¯s call, didn¡¯t that mean everyone was either dead or gone? That meant there was nothing to fear. The best option would be to take a look around, see if the relicts had missed anything. Relicts didn¡¯t eat human food or take medicine, not as far as he knew. There was a good chance he might find something for his fever, find something to eat other than the stale bread he¡¯d had over the last few days. His stomach began to rumble. He was going to live. He and Ein were going to live! Oh, but what was the point? Evaine was dead, and¡­

    ¡°Don¡¯t move or I¡¯ll cut you in half.¡±

    A cold line touched his throat. Bran froze. His mind was crystal clear now. Don¡¯t move, don¡¯t move, don¡¯t move or you¡¯ll die¡­

    He swallowed. The sensation by his neck shifted, and all he heard was a scuffle of clothing before his feet were out from under him and a heavy weight pinned him down, straddling him from above. The knife was back at his throat, a hair¡¯s breadth away from his skin.

    ¡°Who are you? How are you still alive?¡±

    The voice belonged to a girl, a flaming red-head no older than he or Ein. She sat with her full weight bearing down on Bran¡¯s chest, eyes of burning gold running up and down his body, sizing him up. She was lean and lithe, a bit shorter than most other village girls Bran knew, and she wore a strange one-piece garment that hung loosely off her body, tied at the hips, shoulders and thighs with thin cord. It resembled a burlap sack with holes cut out of it.

    ¡°Answer me,¡± she repeated, pressing the blade against his throat. Bran coughed, nearly killing himself in the process. The girl narrowed her eyes, releasing just enough pressure from her knife so his convulsions wouldn¡¯t slash his throat open.

    ¡°My name is Bran,¡± he managed, swallowing a glob of phlegm with discomfort. ¡°Brandon Sutherland, from the Sleeping Twins.¡±

    There was another coughing noise from beside them. They both turned. Ein was stirring, thrashing within his blankets, muttering and mumbling. The girl sprung back, her hair flaring behind her. Her face was charred and scratched, her exposed skin covered in scrapes and bruises. She didn¡¯t appear to be wearing anything else under her rags, and to Bran¡¯s increasing surprise, she was barefoot.

    ¡°Bran of the Sleeping Twins,¡± the girl said, still crouched low like a cat ready to pounce. ¡°What are you doing here? Who is your friend? How did you survive?¡± She flourished her knife when Bran tried to stand up. ¡°Don¡¯t move! Just answer my questions.¡±

    Bran raised his hands in a gesture of peace, lowering himself back down to a sitting position. The girl had a feral look about her. He didn¡¯t want to know what she could do with that knife.

    ¡°We came from the Sleeping Twins,¡± Bran began. ¡°My friend¡¯s name is Ein, and he¡¯s sick¡ªeven sicker than I am.¡± As if to back his story, Ein cried out again before breaking into a string of coughing and spluttering. ¡°W-we¡¯re on the way to Aldoran, and we just happened to pass by. We didn¡¯t do anything. We didn¡¯t see anything. Please believe us!¡± Bran pressed his forehead to the ground. If there was anything he could do to save them both, it was grovelling.

    ¡°Aldoran?¡± the girl lowered her knife an inch. ¡°What business do you have in Aldoran?¡±

    Bran kept his eyes on the mud in front of him. ¡°We were with another group,¡± he said, thinking of Alend and Talberon, ¡°but we were separated during the storm. We¡¯re trying to catch up to them, but it¡¯s been hard since we¡¯re both ill.¡± He had never had to think so fast before in his life.

    ¡°Bran and Ein of the Sleeping Twins, on the way to Aldoran,¡± the girl muttered to herself. She appeared to be thinking, turning through his story in her head. ¡°And you had nothing to do with this massacre?¡±

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Bran yelped. ¡°I swear it on Wyd almighty and the Pantheon.¡±

    ¡°Your gods mean nothing to me,¡± she said.

    ¡°I swear it on the wind. On my dead mother¡¯s grave. I¡¯ll swear it on whatever you want me to.¡±

    The girl gave him a disgusted look. ¡°Swear it on your friend¡¯s life, then.¡±

    ¡°I swear it on Ein¡¯s life,¡± Bran said without hesitation.

    She lowered her knife. ¡°You either tell the truth or you have no honour. Perhaps both.¡± She walked over to Old Bess, who shied a few steps away. ¡°In either case, I doubt you¡¯d pose a threat to me, given your current condition.¡±

    The girl peered at Ein in his bundle of blankets. Next, she noted the missing wheel on the wagon, as well as the marks where the relicts had slashed and rammed into them during the pursuit. ¡°Gods above, what happened here?¡± She pulled out an arrow, holding it up to the light.

    ¡°We were attacked by relicts,¡± Bran said, finally allowing himself to raise his face from the dirt. He didn¡¯t dare lie. ¡°I imagine they were the ones who did this to the village.¡±

    The girl shook her head. ¡°This carnage was not done by relicts,¡± she said. ¡°It was done by humans.¡± She spat the word ¡®humans¡¯ like a curse from her lips. ¡°Bandits.¡±

    ¡°B-bandits?¡± Bran looked around in fear.

    ¡°They¡¯re all gone now, luckily for us.¡± She gave him a look of disdain. ¡°That¡¯s right, Bran. It wasn¡¯t monsters that did this, nor beasts. It was people.¡± She sheathed her knife and reached out a hand to the mare. Old Bess grunted and took a few steps away, still refusing her touch.

    ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking¡­ what are you doing here?¡± Bran asked. He stood up with a cough, still maintaining his distance from the girl.

    She sighed and stepped away from Bess. ¡°I¡¯m on the way to Aldoran as well,¡± she said, ¡°to see the High King. I have business with him.¡± Bran didn¡¯t dare ask what business a travel-stained girl had with the most powerful man in Faengard. ¡°Your horse is healthy and well-trained. I¡¯d take it for my own if I could, but then I¡¯d be no better than a bandit myself. Therefore, I ask of you this: may I join you on your journey, at least until you reach Aldoran?¡±

    Bran pointed a finger to himself. ¡°Join? Us?¡±

    ¡°I daresay you¡¯ll have use of my skills along the way,¡± she continued. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like either of you are capable of fighting at the moment. I¡¯ll be able to protect us from anything on the road, whether it be relict, beast or man. I¡¯ve also a basic understanding of medicine, so I might be able to do something about you and your friend. In exchange I¡¯ll share your horse and cart, and what supplies you have left.¡±

    She was in front of him now, arms folded, waiting for his response. Bran didn¡¯t even need to think to give his answer.

    ¡°We¡¯d be glad for your company,¡± he said. ¡°What should we call you?¡±

    ¡°Rhinne is my name,¡± she said. ¡°Now, tether your horse somewhere so it doesn¡¯t run away and let¡¯s see if we can scavenge anything useful.¡±

    They split up and combed through the burning village. Rhinne walked through the flames and searing heat without fear, kicking down doors, waiting around in the cold for Bran without a single shiver. As expected, most of the food had been taken, though she did find a small stash of bread and dried fruits in a house that had been overlooked. Bran found some dry blankets which he promptly swapped with Ein¡¯s damp ones. By the time they¡¯d finished their search, most of their clothes had dried.

    ¡°Did you find any survivors?¡± Rhinne asked, once they¡¯d congregated around the wagon.

    Bran shook his head. He¡¯d seen people alright, plenty of them¡ªmen and women, the young and the elderly, all dead. He still found it hard to believe it had been the work of men and not beasts or relicts. He had never seen such violence in his life, not until the attack on the Tamelyn farm at least, and even then it had only been sheep who¡¯d been massacred.

    ¡°Me neither,¡± the girl said. She tossed the small sack of food onto the ground and took out a wooden jewellery box. There was no jewellery inside but instead a collection of medicinal implements¡ªbandages and linen, alcohol, scissors, a scalpel. Several vials of liquid also lined its walls. ¡°You¡¯re in luck. It seems like the bandits lack any knowledge of the healing arts, else they wouldn¡¯t have left this.¡±

    Rhinne lifted the bottles and opened them one by one, sniffing.

    ¡°The Wydlings were right,¡± Bran muttered.

    ¡°Hm?¡±

    ¡°We had some people visit our village a few days ago, before we left, and they brought news of the outside world. They said the world had deteriorated, that brothers had turned against each other and that the land was torn with war and strife. They were right.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be surprised,¡± the girl said. ¡°Mankind has always been like this. Whenever the going gets tough, they turn on each other for personal gain.¡± She wrinkled her nose at one of the vials. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of very few people who are different.¡± Rhinne handed the bottle to Bran.

    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±

    ¡°Medicine. Drink a mouthful every morning, noon and evening and you should feel better. Wash it down with water.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Bran asked, turning the bottle over in his hands. ¡°How do you know what it is? There are no labels anywhere.¡± He coughed.

    ¡°Honeycomb, mint, moonthistle and whitebark oil. A common concoction for alleviating symptoms of fever and the common cold.¡±

    ¡°All that from the smell alone?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to make you take it. Do you want to get better or not?¡± Rhinne¡¯s gaze was unwavering. Bran flinched and nodded, taking the bottle.

    ¡°What about Ein?¡± he asked.

    She sighed and shook her head. ¡°I¡¯ve no idea, unfortunately. I¡¯ve never seen anything like it. I don¡¯t think the medicine will work on him, but I would try it anyway. You¡¯ve got nothing to lose.¡±

    Rhinne carried a piece of burning timber from one of the houses and built a fire from it, settling down onto the ground. It was getting dark and the village had just about burned out. The blackened husks loomed around them like charred skeletons in the night.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s the story?¡± Rhinne asked. ¡°How did your friend end up like this? Was it the relicts?¡±

    Bran rubbed his hands and swallowed the medicine, washing it down with water. It was thick and pungent with a sickly sweet aftertaste¡ªlike someone had tried to drown out the bitterness with an abundance of sugar and honey¡ªbut it hung smooth over his throat and unblocked his nose. For the first time since he¡¯d fallen sick, he breathed unhindered. The air was sour with smoke.

    ¡°Have you seen them before?¡± Bran asked. ¡°You didn¡¯t really question my story like I thought you would. I was under the impression most people thought the relicts were extinct.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t say for everyone,¡± Rhinne said. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen them myself but I¡¯ve heard of them, as have many people I¡¯ve known. They¡¯re becoming more and more common out in the countryside, not just the relicts but other creatures as well, creatures of old that were sealed away by Aedrasil during the Second Age. Near my home, the Treelocs, thought to be long extinct, have started to walk again.¡±

    ¡°Treelocs?¡± Bran¡¯s thoughts immediately turned to the gnarled tree in the Sleeping Twins. ¡°Where are you from?¡±

    Rhinne blinked.

    ¡°I come from across the woods to the north,¡± she said cautiously, as if she¡¯d revealed too much.

    ¡°North of the Sleeping Twins?¡± Bran pressed.

    ¡°No. North of here, past the Whitewood.¡± She cleared her throat, staring into the flames. ¡°We¡¯re getting off track. I need to know what happened to your friend if I¡¯m to treat him.¡±

    Bran nodded, swatting at a moth that had drawn too close to the flame and his face. ¡°I don¡¯t know why they were chasing us, and I don¡¯t know how he did it, but¡­¡± he paused, looking to Rhinne with uncertainty.

    ¡°Go on.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how he did it, but¡­ Ein called down the lightning.¡±

    Rhinne frowned.

    ¡°I know there was a storm and all,¡± Bran hurriedly added, ¡°and it could have been coincidence and whatnot, but I swear he called it of his own will. He said something, some kind of incantation, and his voice sounded different. It almost sounded like a song of some sort, what I imagine a storm would sound like if it were played on an instrument, or translated into words.¡± He scratched his head. ¡°It¡¯s hard to explain.¡±

    ¡°What happened after that?¡±

    ¡°Lightning came down,¡± Bran said. ¡°It broke the bridge, and the relicts couldn¡¯t follow us anymore. We kept running, all throughout the night. Ein passed out and I fell asleep, and when I woke up he was feverish and mumbling all manner of nonsense under his breath.¡±

    Rhinne sat still for a moment, running her hands through her hair. ¡°Interesting,¡± she said. ¡°I have a hunch as to what his condition is, but¡­ there¡¯s nothing I can do about it. However, I know someone who might be able to help.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡± Bran kept a wary distance from the girl, never taking his eyes off her. She might have let down her guard, but that could change at any moment. He needed to be vigilant, to remain in her good graces until they reached civilisation. ¡°How long will it take to reach them?¡± he asked again, choosing his words carefully.

    He wanted Ein to survive. He needed him to survive, especially after what had happened to Evaine¡ª

    No, he scolded himself. I¡¯m not going to think about her, not when there are things that need to be done.

    ¡°As a matter of fact,¡± Rhinne began, ¡°he lives in Caerlon, not too far from here. If we¡¯re taking the Royal Road to Aldoran we¡¯ll need to pass through Caerlon anyway. Hopefully it won¡¯t be too late for your friend by then.¡±

    ¡°Thank the gods,¡± Bran breathed. ¡°Thank the gods.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not out of the woods yet,¡± Rhinne continued. ¡°Figuratively speaking. I imagine his fever will only get worse. We¡¯ll have to make haste.¡±

    Bran cursed. ¡°Should we leave now, then?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Rhinne¡¯s golden eyes glowed fiercely. ¡°You need to sleep for the medicine to take effect. I won¡¯t have you throw your life away, not when that horse will only listen to you.¡± Old Bess snorted. ¡°We leave first thing tomorrow morning. Eat well. You¡¯ll need your strength.¡± Rhinne nudged the sack of food towards Bran with her toe.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to have some?¡± Bran asked.

    Rhinne shook her head. ¡°I¡¯ve already eaten. Besides, you need it more.¡±

 19. Draurig and Graendal

    Chapter Nineteen: Draurig and Graendal

    ¡°Dancing children by the river,

    Pale skinned with eyes that quiver,

    Dancing on the bones of men

    Who never will be seen again.¡±

    ¡ªJayke and Worlem Grim, Tales of Faengard

    Evaine was falling, twisting and turning in the air, tumbling like a ragdoll at the mercy of the winds. She was aware of the horses and their frenzied whinnying, the bucking and groaning of the wagons, the cries of the troupe as they screamed for help, their faces mirroring her own. She was aware of the relicts behind her, eyes burning with hatred, mouths opened in voiceless snarls. She was aware of the sky, black and angry up above, the rain pelting down hard.

    She fell for a long time. One by one, her surroundings disappeared. The first to vanish were the rock faces and the cliff top. Next were the horses and the wagons. Then the people were gone and finally the relicts too, and she was alone with the spinning sky.

    Am I dead yet? she thought.

    If she was, death was a very boring place. Where were the golden halls of Vallaheim and Cenedria¡¯s White Women? Where was the fire and ice of Hellheim? The Damned who walked with their heads on backwards, suffering for eternity? She saw only the sky in all directions, stretching on with no horizon in sight. Above and below were the same. The storm-clouds parted and gave way to a velvet curtain of stars. The stars parted and gave way to the void, a realm where no light, sound or sensation existed. She was a baby in a womb.

    Finally, her feet touched down and she could see again. The horizon split her world in half. Above her was the sky, an azure expanse without a single cloud in sight. Below her was water, calm and clear. She was standing atop it.

    ¡°Flow freely, blood of the earth.¡±

    Someone was singing. It was a haunting song, grating on her eardrums like the crooning of a river hag as it beckoned its prey to a watery grave. It was a familiar song like the comforting slosh of water being drawn from a well. It was a beautiful song like the flutter of a swan as it came to roost upon the surface of a lake.

    Evaine looked down, staring at the emptiness beneath her feet. A reflection stared back, but it wasn¡¯t hers. It was of a complete stranger, a bare-chested man she¡¯d never seen before in her life, with sharp, angular features and flowing hair the colour of seaweed. His eyes were deep, blue and unblinking, his skin a deep brown, tanned by the sun. Coarse bristles crept down his jaw and to his chin.

    ¡°Wash away our sins.¡±

    Evaine gasped and stepped backwards, sending a wave rippling across the water. The reflection disappeared and then the entire world rippled as well, and she was opening her eyes to thick darkness and a dank stench.

    She waited for a while, listening to the hammering of her heart in her chest. She was alive. She had fallen off a cliff and survived. She would have laughed if her body didn¡¯t feel so utterly wrecked.

    ¡°She lives! Look, she lives!¡±

    A piece of the darkness broke away, scampering towards her. Cold, clammy hands latched onto her wrist and squeezed tight. A foul stench assailed her, the smell of vomit and defecation and dead animals rotting in stagnant water. Evaine retched.

    ¡°Get away from me,¡± she cried, pulling against the darkness. The hand gripped her tighter, sending pangs of pain through her forearm.

    ¡°No! You must stay with us! We are so lonely¡­¡± The voice was ragged and high pitched, raucous against her ears. Another hand touched her cheek, creeping down her face like a cold, slimy sea creature. Sour breath tickled her neck as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. She saw a bloodshot eye quivering against pale skin, a mouthful of yellow teeth stretched into a smile¡­

    Evaine screamed. Her voice ripped through her surroundings with the ferocity of a tidal wave, bouncing off the walls and sweeping away everything in its path. An icy sensation washed through her. Something snatched the creature away and slammed it onto the ground.

    She climbed to her feet, panting. Water soaked through her shoes. She was in a cavern of some sort¡ªa half-submerged grotto lit by thin slivers of light that hung down from the ceiling in silvery drapes. The creature climbed to its feet, coughing and spluttering.

    ¡°Why?¡± it rasped. ¡°We just wanted someone to talk to¡­¡±

    Now that her eyes had fully adjusted, she saw the creature for what it truly was. It was the size of a child, small and shrivelled, with pasty white skin stretched thin over blue veins and flesh. Wide, bloodshot eyes darted frantically left and right above a mouthful of rotting teeth. It might have had hair once, but it had long since fallen out, and all that remained were a few sorry strands hanging loosely by its ears.

    The creature no longer looked so threatening now that she could see it. In fact, she was sure she could crush it with her bare hands if it came at her. It was a sad, pitiful thing.

    ¡°Where am I?¡± she demanded, taking a step forward. She stumbled over something and righted herself. A head rolled over in the water, revealing a face.

    It was Aren.

    Evaine screamed again and fell backwards, cold water soaking through her behind. Aren¡¯s head bobbed up and down, the ragged threads of his neck bleeding into the current. More things floated by her ankles in the darkness, more body parts. Dismembered heads and limbs, scraps of bloodied clothing, half of a horse. A wooden wheel here, a broken crate there. She was looking at the remains of the Wydlings.

    Bones lay beneath the surface as well, so many bones of humans, animals, everything that had been unfortunate enough to find its way into the grotto. Evaine covered her mouth, forcing the bile down her throat. She felt detached from the sight before her, as if she were looking through a glass pane rather than her own two eyes. She expected terror, fear, disgust, anything, but all she felt was a deep, numbing sense of despair. They were gone. The Wydlings were all gone, and she would never hear their voices or their songs and stories again.

    As she tried to stand up again, still dazed from the sight, the creature pounced.

    ¡°Ours!¡± it hissed. ¡°You are ours! You will not leave!¡±

    Evaine shrieked, panic rising to her throat. The familiar sensation of coldness swept through her body. The water rose up around her like a defensive wall and pummelled into the creature, pinning it down.

    Evaine blinked. Had she caused that?

    ¡°Answer me,¡± she demanded, climbing to her feet. ¡°Where am I?¡± The water eased and bubbles burst towards the surface. The creature sat up, coughing.

    ¡°Our home,¡± it spluttered. ¡°The river. We are sorry¡­ please don¡¯t hurt us again¡­¡±

    Evaine looked around. ¡°The Brackenburg?¡±

    At the mention of the name, the creature hissed and slapped at the water. ¡°No! Don¡¯t say it! Don¡¯t say his name!¡±

    ¡°Whose name? Brackenburg?¡±

    It clamped its hands over its ears and screamed. ¡°No more! He will come, he will come and punish us again!¡±

    Evaine didn¡¯t mention the fact that the twins Fel and Brackenburg were long dead. ¡°Who are you? Who is ¡®us?¡¯ What are you?¡±

    The creature lifted its head from the water, apparently having calmed down. ¡°We are Draurig and Graendal,¡± it said, pointing to itself, and then to the water around it. ¡°We belong to the river. Stay with us, land-walker. We are so lonely.¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t answer my question.¡± Evaine took a threatening step forward. ¡°What are you?¡±

    Draurig raised its hands. ¡°No! Don¡¯t hurt us! Don¡¯t call the Punisher! This is all we know, we swear!¡± It backpedalled in the water until it touched the cavern wall. ¡°Draurig is Draurig, Graendal is Graendal!¡±

    ¡°What about the caravan?¡± She gestured to the remains of the Wydlings around her. ¡°Is there anyone else alive? Any relicts?¡±

    Draurig shook his head vigorously. ¡°No, none alive. All dead. Graendal ate them all, all but you. Graendal tried to eat you but you were different.¡± The creature bobbed his head up and down, eyes dilating. ¡°Yes. You can sing. You can sing like the Punisher. Stay with us, land-walker. Protect us from the Punisher!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t do that,¡± Evaine said. ¡°There¡¯s a place I need to be.¡± Wyd almighty, I hope Ein and Bran are okay.

    She focused on her voice again and sought the cold sensation that washed through her every time she commanded the water. The sound that emerged from her lips this time was a strangled choke, not the wild song that had forced the creature back.

    A chill ran up her spine. The water hadn¡¯t obeyed her.

    ¡°Take me outside to the surface,¡± she continued, clearing her throat in an attempt to cover up her failure. ¡°Or I¡¯ll punish you just like Brackenburg did.¡±

    Draurig flinched. ¡°But we are so lonely¡ª¡±

    ¡°Draurig, I won¡¯t ask you again.¡±

    The creature rose its frail arms over its head. ¡°Okay! We will take you to the Light! Just don¡¯t hurt us again!¡±

    It let out a whimper and scampered across the grotto on all fours, throwing a fearful glance over its shoulder every few steps while Evaine waded after it. As the stench grew stronger, she became thankful for the darkness. It was oppressing, but she¡¯d rather that than seeing what the bits and pieces floating about her feet actually were. Aren¡¯s severed head surfaced in her mind and she forced herself not to think about it.

    They moved deeper into the grotto, splashing through the waters. At times it was knee-deep, soaking the fabric of her clothing all the way up to her thighs. At times it was only ankle-high, and at times there was no water at all¡ªbut the ground was always smooth and flat, slick with slime, and sloping downwards. Whatever direction they faced, the water was always behind them, nudging them forward. Water only flowed downstream, so they had to be descending.

    As Evaine¡¯s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, she saw that the walls themselves were in fact smooth as well, made from some kind of metal or glass, with sharp edges and square corners. Several rooms broke away from the main path, lined with strange steel tables and chairs. Large boxes of rusted metal littered with buttons and cracked black panes decorated them. Curiosity raised its head, but she didn¡¯t dare run the risk of losing Draurig and her way out of the strange cave system.

    As they continued to descend, a seed of worry took root in Evaine¡¯s chest. She had nothing except Draurig¡¯s word to say they were heading in the right direction. What if it was leading her into a trap? She took a deep breath through her lips and hardened her resolve. She could have been safe and sound at home, tending to the farm, helping to rebuild the village, but instead she was here.

    No, she thought. I knew full well what I was getting myself into.

    But had she really? Could she really have known she¡¯d be chased by relicts and captured by this strange creature upon leaving the valley? It was too late now. She had left, and there was no going back.

    ¡°Flow freely, blood of the earth.

    Wash away our sins.¡±

    Draurig was singing. Its voice was warbled and barely resembled a melody, but she had heard those words before, sang in that same manner, albeit by a different voice. The voice in her dream had been smoother and far more elegant. If that voice had been a clear mountain stream, Draurig¡¯s voice was a stagnant trough at the bottom of a swamp.

    ¡°Where did you learn that song?¡± she asked, interrupting him. Draurig looked up in surprise, still splashing his way across the cavern.

    ¡°You were singing it, land-walker,¡± it said. ¡°It is your song, is it not?¡±

    Evaine frowned and said nothing, and they continued to walk. Draurig cycled through a multitude of songs, some of them sad laments, others happy jigs that wouldn¡¯t be out of place in a tavern or an inn. She recognized a few, though they differed from the versions she knew. There were tales of giants and beanstalks, nursery rhymes about twinkling stars and rings of posies. The cavern echoed Draurig¡¯s voice, turning it back upon itself over and over until the darkness was alive with song, like a Friday night at the Sleeping Twinn.

    ¡°Dagus Adem was the greatest of men,

    An explorer with no sense of fear.

    Touring Faengard as a wandering bard,

    He saw all things strange and queer.

    When Dagus Adem had seen all things then

    He heard in his mind a call,

    A summons from the land of the dead and the Damned

    For the greatest adventure of¡ª¡±

    ¡°How long have you been living here for?¡±

    Draurig blinked, bringing its song to a premature halt. It scratched at the hairs on its scalp and then tilted its head. ¡°Draurig does not know,¡± it rasped. ¡°Draurig is as old as Graendal. But Draurig does remember days when it danced in the Light with many other Draurigs. It was a time before the End, when the cities were great and vast, when the Graendals were happy. When the Graendals were happy, so were we.¡± Its tone lightened and Evaine almost saw the smile on its face.

    Then it was gone, replaced by a dark shadow. ¡°It didn¡¯t last. After the End, we were forced into the valley while the land recovered. Many years passed then, and we Draurigs remained in our haven in harmony. Then, the Punisher came and unleashed his wrath upon us, flushing us away with the river, driving us underground. Draurig was forced to take shelter here, with the last Graendal, after it ate all the other Draurigs.¡±

    Evaine could imagine Draurig humming to himself among the lonely walls, singing of better times. For a moment, she felt sorry for the creature.

    ¡°Draurig is so lonely,¡± it said. ¡°It has been a long time since Draurig has spoken to another.¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t Graendal eat you?¡±

    Draurig stopped moving and swivelled around to face her, smiling toothily. ¡°Oh, Graendal tried, believe me he did. But Draurig is clever, land-walker. Draurig bargained for its life. Now he serves Graendal. We are one¡­ and now you will become one with us too.¡±

    Evaine was suddenly aware of how warm and dark it had become. She was sweating. The water lapping at her feet was hot and prickly, rubbing at her legs like molten sandpaper. The air still stank, but it was a different stench this time¡ªa more gaseous smell that wafted around her, slowly invading her lungs. The cavern expanded and contracted with a sluggish rhythm, almost as if it were breathing, and then it burst to life.

    Lights blinked on the walls around her, reds and greens, some of them flashing, some of them not. An alarm blared in the distance, the warbled voice of a foreign tongue reciting a warning of some sort. Evaine spun around, splashing the liquid around her feet, but all she saw were Draurig¡¯s rotting teeth as they disappeared into the darkness, singing.

    ¡°Meat,¡± it sang. ¡°Meat, fresh off the bone! Brackenburg cannot save you now, Tel¡¯rahn!¡±

    ¡°Draurig!¡± Evaine screamed. ¡°Come back here!¡±

    There was only a distant cackle, and then she was alone. The grotto rose and fell beneath her feet. The water she was standing in¡ªshe knew it wasn¡¯t water, for her feet beneath her ankles were beginning to burn, but she didn¡¯t know what else to call it¡ªfrothed and boiled.

    She finally realized what Graendal was. It was the cavern itself.

    ¡°Draurig!¡± she cried again. The walls threw her voice back. It rang in her ears like the call of a mockingbird. The lights were all red now, dyeing the cavern the colour of blood.

    The hem of her robe sizzled away. The ground shook and she stumbled, almost falling over. Her skin grew red and raw, chafing against the water, pieces of debris in the ground digging into her exposed feet.

    And then, in the distance, she heard Garax.

    ¡°Evaine!¡± he called. ¡°Evaine, move towards my voice!¡±

    She was crying now, partly from the smell, partly from despair. She sloshed through the water towards him, feeling her clothes melting away, then her skin. Was this what had happened to the travelling troupe? Dashed against the rocks and then swept into this grotto to be dissolved and digested by the earth itself? She tripped over a jagged piece of metal and sank beneath the water. She thrashed and broke her way back above the surface, spitting out the foul liquid, shaking it from her hair and eyes, the red lights still whirring above her¡­

    And then Garax had her by the hand and hauled her onto a patch of dry land.

    ¡°Move,¡± he urged. ¡°Come on!¡±

    She had her eyes clamped shut against the world. Her shoes had worn away and she was barefoot, feeling every blemish in the smooth surface beneath her. It was wet and slippery, and it was only Garax¡¯s strong arm holding her up that kept her from sliding back into the breathing cesspool.

    The walls rumbled and shook, trying to draw them back in, but she was running now and the air was brightening. She opened her eyes at last and saw a stream of silver light in the distance, around the corner of a curving tunnel. Garax gave her a firm push from behind, urging her to run, to follow the path and not turn back. She scrabbled against the sides of the tunnel, feeling the slime-coated walls give way to wet stone, feeling the cold wind bite into her raw skin.

    Behind her, she heard Garax roar. Then, there was a low whoosh as if something had sucked all the air out of the tunnel, and suddenly the hall was bright red and searing hot. Garax came charging from behind her, grabbing her hard by the wrist and almost pulling her arm off. He was shouting something, but she couldn¡¯t hear what it was. All she could see was a torrent of fire behind her, wild and angry, sweeping down the tunnel faster than her eyes could follow. The flames met the grey light in front of her and they plunged out into the winter air, out of the side of a rock face and onto the snow. A wave of heat rushed over their heads as they lay prone on the ground. It swept past the trees and rocks, turning snow into mist, charring the rocks. Something screeched from inside the cave. It could have been Draurig, but there was no way of telling.

    And then it was over. Garax wrapped her up tightly in his cloak, sheltering her from the wind as she sobbed.

 20. The Road to Caerlon

    Chapter Twenty: The Road to Caerlon

    ¡°Just as all rivers lead to the ocean, all roads lead to the city.¡±

    ¡ªDagus Adem, The Adventurer¡¯s Guide to the Continent

    Garax walked across the snow in his bare feet, having given his shoes to Evaine. There were no signs of weakness in his stride¡ªGarax the knobbly storyteller was gone, and in his place was Garax the survivor, strong and upright, a package of lean muscle and steel resolve.

    ¡°What in Hellheim was that?¡± Evaine muttered. Her skin was still sensitive, the furs rubbing against her like coarse stone. ¡°Were they relicts? Draurig and Graendal?¡±

    Garax gave her a puzzled look. ¡°Draurig and Graendal?¡±

    Evaine rubbed at the headache pounding against her temples. Of course Garax wouldn¡¯t know them, she thought. I¡¯m the only one who Draurig spoke to.

    ¡°I met a creature called Draurig,¡± she explained. ¡°He knew songs from past Ages and seemed to be very old. He said there were more of their kind in the past, but Graendal¡ªthe cavern¡ªate them all.¡±

    Garax¡¯s face hardened. ¡°The river children,¡± he said. ¡°They walked Faengard long ago, just like the Treelocs and a myriad other creatures, though some say they¡¯ve been around for as long as the gods themselves. They played tricks on men, pretending to be drowning children, luring them to the river and then feasting on their bones. It wouldn¡¯t surprise me that one of them managed to survive for so long inside that¡­ thing.¡± He looked behind them at the gorge in the distance. ¡°They¡¯re not relicts though, not the children nor Graendal. Simply creatures like us, though I don¡¯t think there¡¯s anything like Graendal anywhere else in the world.¡±

    Evaine shivered at the memory of rotting teeth smiling at her from the darkness. She¡¯d cried for a long time after their escape, the combined tension of everything that had happened since the relict pursuit and the sudden death of the troupers finally bursting free in a flood of emotion. She was glad to simply be alive, to be able to see the sky once more, as dreary as it was. A voice inside her mocked her, telling her she should have listened to Ein and Bran. That same voice told her there was no going back now, that she had locked herself onto this path. For the first time since they¡¯d been separated, she was glad the two weren¡¯t there. She didn¡¯t want them to see her in this state.

    ¡°How did you find me?¡± she asked, drawing a shaky breath. ¡°What happened after that night?¡± The storm had long since passed. It had been over a day since they¡¯d been separated.

    ¡°We landed in the river,¡± Garax answered. ¡°For those of us who survived the drop, we were washed into Graendal¡¯s maw. It¡¯s a clever position, right along the curve of the Brackenburg. I didn¡¯t even know the danger existed until it was too late. I was lucky, though. I managed to stay conscious and find a place above the waterline. The troupers and the relicts were probably killed by the monster¡¯s digestive juices and swept into its stomach to be absorbed.¡± He frowned at Evaine. ¡°On that note, how did you manage to survive?¡±

    Evaine thought back to the strange power she¡¯d held over the water with her voice.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± she said at last.

    As they trotted across the snow, winding their way along the Brackenburg and back to the higher ground, she told Garax everything that had happened. She told him about how she¡¯d commanded the water, how Draurig had heard her singing, about her strange dream and the reflection that wasn¡¯t hers. She tried to recall the lyrics, but she¡¯d already forgotten them.

    ¡°It said I was a Tel''rahn,¡± she finished. ¡°Just like Brackenburg, who had ¡®Punished¡¯ them somehow.¡±

    Garax raised his eyes. ¡°Brackenburg? The co-founder of Felhaven?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d assume so.¡±

    ¡°Interesting.¡± He hacked at a bush with his sword. ¡°There are many stories about how Fel and Brackenburg slayed the monsters around the valley. You already know the one about Fel calling down lightning to kill Levine the Treeloc. There¡¯s another one where Brackenburg summoned a flood of water to wash away a giant monster that slept at the base of the mountains. That was how the Brackenburg River was formed, though I wouldn¡¯t expect you to know it.¡±

    ¡°Why not? Isn¡¯t it an important part of the history of the Sleeping Twins?¡±

    ¡°It is,¡± Garax replied, ¡°but few people know the story, and fewer still pass it on. Those types of stories started to die out after the Age of Magic. You¡¯d hardly hear of people calling on the elements in this day and age.¡±

    ¡°But did magic really exist?¡± she pressed. ¡°Even if it was a long time ago?¡±

    ¡°It did and it still does, though it¡¯s known by a different name. They call it the Soulsong now, and only Songweavers can do it. Most of them work for the King, but some other people know bits and pieces of it, like the man that was with the troupers.¡±

    ¡°What about you?¡± Evaine asked. ¡°Didn¡¯t you call on fire to kill Graendal? Was that the Soulsong?¡±

    Garax blinked. Then, he stopped and laughed.

    ¡°A classic example of how legends are formed,¡± he said, slamming the tip of his sword into the dirt with a chuckle. ¡°Tell me, young Mistress. Have you ever been to a swamp?¡± He frowned at his own question, murmuring to himself. ¡°No, of course you haven¡¯t. What about a gas stove?¡± He frowned again. ¡°No, people in Felhaven don¡¯t use those¡­¡± Garax threw his hands up into the air and sighed.

    ¡°One time when it rained a lot, the area around the river became boggy like a swamp,¡± Evaine offered.

    The storyteller shook his head. He scratched at his beard and then sighed.

    ¡°Certain types of gases are flammable,¡± he explained. ¡°Normally, you¡¯d find them in swamps or places where food or other organic material has had time to decompose. You can also find it in the digestive systems of most living things. That¡¯s why, back there, the air smelled like manure. It was full of that gas.¡±

    ¡°So you ignited it?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I did.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you did it so quickly. Did you use a tinderbox?¡±

    Garax shrugged. ¡°I used two stones. It doesn¡¯t take much; all you need is a spark.¡± He shuddered from the cold and pointed at the tree in front of him. ¡°Can you do an old man a favour and climb that tree? Tell me if you see the main road or anything that might help us find our way. Hopefully we¡¯re not too far off from Caerlon and the Royal Road.¡± He sat down and began ripping off pieces of his trouser leg, wrapping them around his feet. Evaine looked down at Garax¡¯s shoes on her own feet. A pang of guilt ran through her.

    She placed her hands against the bark of the tree and shimmied up it, using the furs as padding against her skin. She¡¯d climbed trees more times than she could count back when she¡¯d been ten or so, always reaching higher points than the other boys. She¡¯d been as nimble as a squirrel back then, and whatever other animals were good at climbing trees. She could barely remember what wildlife had roamed the woods back then, during times when spring and summer were more than wishes on the wind.

    She reached the top of the tree with great effort, gritting her teeth against the pain in her thighs and forearms. The treetop swayed beneath her, rocking back and forth under her weight. She poked her head through the snow-tipped needles and scanned her surroundings.

    Green and white. Green and white all around, and in the distance a small rock structure that was the gorge they¡¯d come from. The Brackenburg ran across it in a crooked line. She didn¡¯t see any roads, any landmarks, any tell-tale signs of towns or villages that might be nearby.

    Evaine slid her way back down the tree to where Garax was waiting. He had fashioned a pair of makeshift slippers to protect his feet and was wearing nothing else but a thin shirt and trousers ripped at the knees.

    ¡°Do you want your cloak back?¡± she asked, offering it to him.

    He shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me. I¡¯ve been through worse.¡± He stood up and rolled his shoulders. ¡°Well? Did you see anything?¡±

    Evaine slumped her shoulders. ¡°Nothing. Only the river behind us.¡±

    Garax swore and knelt down. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll have to go off memory,¡± he said.

    He picked up a stick and thrust it into the ground. Studying the shadow it cast across the snow, he looked at the sky and then drew a circle in the dirt around the stick, murmuring under his breath.

    ¡°We go this way,¡± he said, pointing into a patch of trees.

    ¡°How do you know that¡¯s the right way?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t. But it¡¯s the best option we¡¯ve got.¡± He stood up, hefting his sword in his hand. ¡°Caerlon lies slightly north of the Brackenburg, and it¡¯s a big place. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll find it if we keep walking. As long as we reach the road, we shouldn¡¯t have any problems. Roads are like rivers, anyway¡ªthey all lead to the city.¡±

    #

    By the time morning came, Bran¡¯s fever was all but gone, the clouds in his head washed away like the storm. He could think clearly again.

    Unfortunately, just as Rhinne had predicted, the medicine had no effect on Ein. Instead, while Bran readied the wagon and reassured Old Bess, Rhinne forced spoonfuls of water and honey down Ein¡¯s throat.

    ¡°Tell your horse to start moving,¡± she said, settling down at the back of the wagon. Bess was looking uncertainly at Bran, flicking her tail back and forth.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he coaxed, petting the animal gently along its neck. ¡°She¡¯s a friend.¡±

    Bess whinnied, but began to move. They took turns on the back of the wagon, one watching Ein while the other walked on the road. Bess always stiffened when it was Rhinne¡¯s turn to walk, but she obeyed Bran¡¯s commands. He¡¯d never seen the mare like this before, not even when he¡¯d taken her to Evaine¡¯s farm following the massacre.

    The road was long and dreary. Rhinne didn¡¯t say much. Whenever she did open her mouth, it was to let Bran know that it was his turn to ride, or to pass her the waterskin. The rest of the journey was spent listening to Ein¡¯s laboured breathing as the crows cawed on the winds above.

    Bran¡¯s curiosity burned like a penny in his pocket. Who exactly was Rhinne? There was a wild look about her, something fae about her edges. She wasn¡¯t like Evaine, who always spoke her mind. She kept all her secrets inside her like a locked chest. She knew too much for her age.

    They stopped at noon to eat. While Bess drank and snacked on some of their dwindling supplies, Bran wiped the sweat from Ein¡¯s torso with a strip of cloth. Rhinne stood by the roadside, studying the ground.

    ¡°Do you mind me asking what business you have with the King?¡± Bran asked. It had taken a while for him to pluck up the courage to do so. Even now, his eyes were fixed on the blade by her waist, though he was sure she wasn¡¯t so volatile as to kill him for asking a question.

    ¡°Why do you want to know?¡± she returned, though more out of curiosity than annoyance.

    ¡°I figure we¡¯ll be on the road for a while,¡± Bran explained, ¡°and there¡¯s nothing else to do but count the amount of trees we¡¯ve passed. Which is nearing three-hundred, by the way.¡±

    ¡°Do you think you¡¯d be able to trust me more if you knew more about me?¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± he admitted.

    Rhinne looked behind them at the way they¡¯d come. ¡°The King stole something from me, and I want it back. That¡¯s all I¡¯m willing to tell you.¡± She came to a halt in front of Bran. ¡°I¡¯d advise we get off the road, by the way. If we keep following it, we¡¯ll run right into the bandits that ransacked that village.¡±

    Bran blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    She pointed at the ground. Bran wasn¡¯t learned in tracking like Ein was, but the mass of footsteps beneath him was so obvious that even a novice could have deduced that fact.

    ¡°We¡¯re moving faster than they are,¡± Rhinne continued, ¡°and if we keep going, we¡¯ll probably run into them by nightfall. My advice is to follow the road from afar and hopefully overtake them. We¡¯re a small group; the trees will cover us.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°How do you know it¡¯s them?¡±

    Rhinne frowned. ¡°Can¡¯t you smell it? The air reeks of their stench.¡±

    Bran couldn¡¯t say he could, but he nodded anyway. He was glad she was with them.

    They took Bess and the wagon off the road, across the uneven grass to the stunted trees. Afternoon came and passed. Bran continued to turn Rhinne¡¯s words through his head. Her claim at the High King having stolen from her only piqued his curiosity further.

    Though Rhinne didn¡¯t tell Bran anything more about herself, she started asking questions about him and Ein. What sort of place was Felhaven? How did each person earn their keep? What happened to people who didn¡¯t? She seemed surprised that they¡¯d remained in a state of peace for so long, having never suffered from bandit attacks or power struggles from within the community. Bran didn¡¯t know how to answer that question. Felhaven had always been peaceful. The people just didn¡¯t have it in them to commit crime.

    ¡°The place I came from was like that too, long ago¡± she said. ¡°We lived in a secluded corner of the mountains, away from unwanted eyes. But that all changed when they found us.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡± Bran asked. It was the first time Rhinne had revealed anything about herself, and like a child cornering a stray cat, he was afraid to probe her too deeply.

    ¡°People, of course. Mankind will always conflict with each other. That¡¯s simply how the world works.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s true,¡± he said. Rhinne¡¯s eyes darted towards his, anger flashing for a brief moment. ¡°If you want, I¡¯ll take you to visit Felhaven sometime. You¡¯ll see; not all people are like those bandits.¡±

    ¡°Maybe not on the surface,¡± she said, ¡°but always on the inside. What happens when two men fall in love with the same woman? When disaster strikes a family and they can no longer carry their weight for the community? When a servant feels they aren¡¯t being paid enough? Even with no external factors, it¡¯s only a matter of time before something bad happens and the rules are broken. That¡¯s why law and punishment exists.¡±

    Well, something bad had happened, and it had taken the form of the Great Winter. No matter how much Bran refused to admit it, if winter continued for another year or two, Felhaven would crumble¡ªthough he remained persistent it wasn¡¯t the fault of any individual.

    But his home was far behind him now, and it would be a while before he returned.

    Their conversation left them in a heavy mood, and silence settled over the wagon once more. Old Bess trundled onwards through the trees as the shadows engulfed them. Cold permeated through the air, settling along Bran¡¯s face in the form of icy dewdrops. Rhinne remained barefoot, impervious to the temperature.

    Then, as the last rays of light disappeared, she grabbed Bran¡¯s arm and gestured for him to stop.

    ¡°They¡¯re up ahead,¡± she said, pointing at the road in the distance. ¡°We need to be careful.¡±

    Bran squinted in the direction of her finger. He could make out the dim glow of fire and the sound of raucous laughter in the distance, and that was enough for him to believe her. Ein groaned as they rattled over a dip in the ground.

    ¡°Gag him,¡± Rhinne hissed. ¡°Otherwise he¡¯ll give us away.¡±

    Bran complied and, whispering an apology, bound a strip of clothing across Ein¡¯s mouth. Ein groaned again and was still.

    They waded their way through the snowdrifts as quietly as they could, passing behind the trees whenever possible. They were shorter and more gnarled compared to those in the Sleeping Twins, a darker and broader cousin of the spruce he was familiar with. They cast black shadows across the group, their twisted roots forming a knotted floor beneath them, their whispering leaves masking the sound of their footsteps. Old Bess made no noise. She was an intelligent animal; she had never failed Bran, and she wasn¡¯t about to do so now.

    The bandits had set up camp off the side of the road, around a small circle of packed dirt. A bonfire crackled mirthfully in the centre, surrounded by tents made of stitched animal hide and crude wooden struts. Men and women laughed and sang by the fire, feasting on roast meat cooking over the spits, guzzling down mugs of wine. They wore patches and pieces, a smorgasbord of articles that were dizzying to the eye. Bran heard a sharp intake of breath beside him. Bess had taken a step away from Rhinne, who had her knife out.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± he whispered. ¡°Put that thing away!¡±

    Rhinne unclenched her jaw and took another few steps around the camp. One of the bandits must have told a joke, as they all burst into laughter. It unsettled Bran. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine Alend and Koth, Mistress Tamelyn, Mayor Walmsley and the rest of the Felhaveners around that fire¡ªyet, these people were different. They had killed. The meat they ate and the wine they drank may as well have been flesh and blood, for they were no better than cannibals. Bran began to understand why Rhinne was so angry.

    But Bran was a coward, and even if he felt the same, the thought of retribution didn¡¯t cross his mind at all.

    ¡°I won¡¯t let you run off and kill yourself,¡± he said, ¡°not when you¡¯re our best hope of survival. Think about it, Rhinne. There¡¯s no way you can fight them all and win. Let¡¯s keep moving.¡±

    ¡°I could have taken them on, once upon a time,¡± she murmured. Bran frowned, but she was already moving. The hand holding the knife made no attempt to sheathe it, however.

    They¡¯d scarcely taken three steps when Old Bess let out a frightened noise and stopped. The wagon lurched and Ein slammed loudly into one of its walls.

    ¡°Hellfire,¡± Rhinne swore, red hair blurring around her as she looked to the trees. Bran froze like a statue. Surely the bandits had heard them¡ªthey¡¯d fallen deathly quiet. The only voice that spoke in the night was the crackling voice of the fire.

    Then, a howl pierced the air. It was a howl that Bran had heard twice before, and it chilled his blood to ice. He looked at Rhinne and saw his terrified expression reflected in her eyes.

    Old Bess whinnied, sharp and panic-laden, rearing back on her hind legs. Bran reached out a hand to calm her, but the mare tossed her head and threw her weight between two closely-packed trees, crashing the wagon into them. There was a loud crunch as it splintered. She raced off into the night, half of the vehicle still trailing behind her. The remaining half, no more than a large chunk of wood with a single wheel attached, clattered onto the ground with Ein on top of it. He groaned again.

    Another chain of howls rang clear across the wood. The bandits were yelling now, arming themselves. The commotion Old Bess had caused had been completely ignored.

    ¡°Those aren¡¯t wolves, are they?¡± Rhinne whispered. She sniffed the air. ¡°They smell¡­ wrong.¡±

    ¡°No, they¡¯re not,¡± Bran affirmed. ¡°They¡¯re relicts. Worgals.¡±

    ¡°Worgals,¡± Rhinne breathed.

    He bent down and heaved on the plank of wood with Ein on top of it. The lone wheel attached to it had caught on one of the roots and wasn¡¯t moving. Bran swore and looked around for a stick, a rock, anything he could use to break it free, but found nothing. Then Rhinne was beside him, driving down hard with her dagger. It made a quiet thunk, wedging half-way through the axle. With a low grunt, she rammed her foot into it and broke it in half. The plank of wood fell to the ground, the wheel rolling away.

    It quickly became apparent that they wouldn¡¯t get far hauling Ein behind them, even with a makeshift sled to bear some of his weight.

    ¡°We can¡¯t take him with us,¡± Rhinne said. ¡°The best we can do is hide him.¡±

    Bran grimaced, but he knew it was true. They dragged the plank with Ein atop it half-way into a bush and covered him with two branches. The bandits were screaming now, forming rudimentary ranks around the fire. They¡¯d donned an assortment of armour and weapons¡ªiron pot helmets, breastplates made from shingled metal held together by wire, crude clubs with nails hammered into them. Rhinne yanked on Bran¡¯s arm, drawing him to one of the trees.

    ¡°Bran!¡± she said. ¡°Do we run or hide?¡±

    He briefly wondered why she was asking him. Then, he looked to the bush where they¡¯d hidden Ein and made up his mind. He wasn¡¯t going to run and leave him behind. There was no way he¡¯d stoop that low. Bran began to climb.

    The Worgals raced into the clearing shortly after he and Rhinne had reached a safe height in the foliage, hugging the trunk tightly, breathing laboured breaths. There were about ten of the wolf-men, far outnumbered by the bandits, but they charged with no inhibitions. No Celadons accompanied them, much to Bran¡¯s relief. He didn¡¯t know how sharp a Worgal¡¯s sense of smell was, but from what he¡¯d overheard back at the Sleeping Twinn, hiding would have been a fruitless endeavour against a Celadon.

    The battle was clustered and chaotic, a tangle of flesh and fur and limb, of ringing steel and uneven growling and the roar of the bonfire. At first the bandits seemed to be winning, landing blows to the head and the heart, lopping off limbs. They laughed and jeered as they riddled the Worgals with holes, drenching the dirt with black blood. The battle was over, they declared.

    But Bran knew better.

    The bandits began to realize their predicament as the Worgals continued to swarm them, picking them off one by one with pack tactics. Cries of confusion rose through the air as the wolf-men fought on despite missing limbs, despite having steel pikes thrust through their skulls, despite spraying blood in the air with each movement. Bran longed to tell them to use fire, for that was what Ein had told him after Founder¡¯s Eve¡ªthat he¡¯d only defeated the relicts with the help of fire¡ªbut calling out would give them away, and he didn¡¯t want to die.

    So he watched as the bandits fell, one by one, overwhelmed in both body and spirit. What use was there fighting an enemy that wouldn¡¯t fall?

    When there were about five bandits left, their backs against the fire, the Worgals suddenly backed off. Two of them had fallen, impaled with so many wounds and missing so many limbs they were unable to move, but the other eight still looked fresh. Rhinne stiffened beside him, no doubt wondering the same thing he was. What were they doing?

    Then it arrived. Another relict, but not a Worgal. A tall beast-man with a mane the colour of dried rust, a curved blade in one hand. It had the proud face of a lion, wearing nothing but a loincloth and a single pauldron on its left shoulder. There was an emblem of crescent moon and an eye upon it. It was the emblem of the Oathbreaker.

    Bran¡¯s knees began to quake. It was a Bloodmane, one of the creatures that had attacked Felhaven, the same species as the relict that had attacked the Tamelyn farm and destroyed Evaine¡¯s home. Even by looking at it, he knew it was dangerous. It exuded deadliness, reeked of bloodlust and the smell of carnage. There wasn¡¯t a single part of this creature that wasn¡¯t made to kill. It was a creature that lived for war. What was it that Garax had said? A fully fed Bloodmane can match with some of the higher ranking generals in the King¡¯s Legion. This one wasn¡¯t fed, judging by its mane, but it still looked more than a match for a few paltry bandits.

    If only Ein was in a condition to fight. He¡¯d defeated one of them; maybe he could do it again. But Bran? Even if he had his bow, his fingers would be shaking too much from fear to do anything.

    The bandits stared at the Bloodmane with a mixture of awe and apprehension. The Worgals had stepped back and were watching silently, their breaths ragged in the night, blood trickling down their bodies. They held their curved swords by their sides, waiting.

    One of the bandits let out a hoarse cry and moved forward, swinging clumsily at the relict. The Bloodmane caught the club on its claws and sheathed its sword inside the man¡¯s armpit. The blade emerged from his neck and he fell, dead before he hit the ground.

    ¡°Mmm.¡± The relict closed its eyes, inhaling deeply. Blood trickled along its blade, slick and scarlet. The rest of the bandits took a step back, looking between their fallen comrade and the lion-man in dismay. One of them dropped his rust-covered sword and made for the trees, screaming.

    The Bloodmane was there in an instant, skirting around the fire like a dancer. It plunged its blade through a gap in the man¡¯s armour, piercing through his spine, sending him screaming to the ground. It cut the lifeless man again, through the side this time, embedding its blade inside his body and leaving it there for several moments to soak. The other bandits looked on in horror as it fed, watching them with calm eyes. Then, governed by sheer instinct and terror, they rushed the creature as one.

    It reared its head from its prey in one swift movement, catching the first club between its teeth. A scythe came at it next, passing through the gap between its elbow and waist. The Bloodmane clamped its hand around the blade and pulled its wielder forward. Blood sprouted from its fingers, but it didn¡¯t flinch. With its free hand, it raised its blade from the ground and effortlessly flicked through the bandit¡¯s wrist, following up with a deadly arc across his exposed neck.

    The man whose club had been caught in its teeth released it and drew a knife, thrusting it deep into the Bloodmane¡¯s chest. The last bandit, who had been watching the whole time let loose a roar and swung his axe at the relict¡¯s shoulder with all his strength. It struck deep into the crook of its neck, almost taking its entire arm off.

    The Bloodmane lurched to one side, throwing both men off balance. In one sudden movement, it slammed the pommel of its blade into the jaw of the first man and brought him to the ground. The bandit with the axe stumbled and tripped over his ally, falling on top of him in an unruly heap. Without missing a beat, the Bloodmane slammed its blade through the two bodies, shearing through iron and leather with a grating noise. A fountain of blood exploded and splattered the campsite, sizzling where it touched the bonfire.

    The night was quiet as the bandit camp bled. The Worgals finally stirred, lumbering through the tents, pulling them apart with their claws and teeth. They took enough weapons and armour to replace their own and left everything else. The Bloodmane stayed next to the bonfire, dyeing its mane red. It made no attempt to eat its victims. It simply splashed their blood down its neck while its blade soaked in their bodies.

    Once the Worgals had ransacked the place, they gathered around their two dead and ripped into them. Bran forced down the vomit at the back of his throat. He wanted to look away, but he couldn¡¯t. Rhinne was white-faced beside him.

    They devoured their brethren in mere moments, stripped them down to the bone. Two of them had eaten less than the rest, so they turned to one of the dead bandits and continued to feast. All the while, the Bloodmane watched.

    Once all the Worgals had fed, it sheathed its blade and strode off in the direction of the road. The Worgals followed, leaving behind bloody footsteps in their wake.

    It was a long time before Bran felt steady enough to climb down the tree. Rhinne was waiting for him when he finally did, pulling apart the branches that had concealed Ein.

    ¡°So those were the relicts,¡± she said, watching the scene of carnage. ¡°They¡¯re just as bloodthirsty as the legends made them out to be. I can¡¯t say the bandits didn¡¯t deserve it though.¡±

    ¡°How could you say that?¡± Bran croaked. Just the thought of the half-eaten bodies made him feel sick. It was different to the sheep on Evaine¡¯s farm. They¡¯d only fought a single Bloodmane. They hadn¡¯t been cannibalized. They¡¯d only been killed.

    These bandits, they¡¯d been slaughtered by a full squad of relicts, by both Worgals and a Bloodmane, and they¡¯d been eaten. Bran finally caved in, falling to the ground and hurling up what little left there was in his stomach.

    ¡°Those bandits had it coming,¡± Rhinne repeated, eyes smouldering. ¡°They fed on that village, so the relicts fed on them. It was only nature taking its course.¡± She eyed Bran, as if daring him to challenge her. Bran wiped his mouth and stood up.

    If anything positive came from that encounter, it was the food and supplies they took from the camp. Bran had never looted from a dead body before, but in the face of what he had just seen, it seemed a silly thing to hesitate over. He left the bandit pale and naked in the snow, donning his furs and leather armour, taking his bow and arrows for his own. Rhinne did the same beside him, and together they pilfered fresh blankets for Ein as well. They ate as much as they could that night, packed as much food as they could take, left the rest. Bran washed down the last of his medicine with his back to the scene lest he throw it all up again. Rhinne fashioned a basic harness with her knife, and they threaded it through the remains of the wagon to create a simple sled.

    They took turns keeping watch that night, though Bran didn¡¯t sleep at all and he suspected Rhinne didn¡¯t either. They stayed as close to the bonfire as they could. There was no telling how many more relicts were out there; it was their only defence. When morning finally came, he felt like he¡¯d been awake for an entire week rather than a single night.

    They continued their journey before the sky had fully brightened, glad for any excuse to leave the area. Ein showed no signs of recovery as they hauled him along in his sled¡ªin fact, he seemed to be in even worse a state than before, shivering and sweating, babbling under his breath. They found their way back onto the road, throwing caution to the wind. If they ran into relicts or bandits again, then so be it. It would be as the wind willed.

    The trees continued to thin as they pressed onwards, until the surrounding countryside became a sprawling plain of frosted grass and dirt. Bran¡¯s back and shoulders burned from dragging Ein behind him, but he fought on. If Rhinne could do it, then so could he. There was nothing for miles around except for the road stretching into the horizon in either direction. They were well into the Far Reaches now. The Brackenburg was gone, well behind them. The Sleeping Twins were gone.

    Finally, as the invisible sun reached its peak behind the grey clouds, as the dreary daylight reached its brightest, he saw the tip of a rooftop in the distance, the curl of chimney smoke. Rhinne called out and they smiled at each other like children opening presents on Saint¡¯s Day. The fatigue was gone in an instant, washed away by hope as square buildings emerged inch by inch from behind the horizon.

    They¡¯d made it to Caerlon. They¡¯d reached civilisation.

 [Authors Note #2] Proposed Name Changes + Poll

    Elric = Edric or Erik (leaning towards Edric)

    Asmodon = Al''Ashar

    Bran = Merrill or Derrick (leaning towards Merrill)

    Balinor =Talberon or Meridan (leaning towards Talberon)A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Lady Raiden = Lady Reyalin

    <hr>

    I''ve put up a poll for when I should make these changes. I''ll be doing it all at once, changing all instances within all chapters, as well as everything I currently have stockpiled. The question is just when I should do it.

    Also, feel free to leave suggestions or thoughts in the comments below if you think of a better name/another name I should replace!

 21. Whispers in the Dark

    Chapter Twenty-One: Whispers in the Dark

    ¡°They are not humans, nor relicts. Though they wear our skin, we are not the same. The darkness has corrupted them. They answer only to the Forsaken One.¡±

    ¡ªThe Doctrine of Wyd

    Caerlon was one of the more livelier towns Alend had seen, bordering on city status. It was several times larger, taller and more packed than Felhaven, so much so that he almost felt claustrophobic as they walked through the stone walls.

    A cobbled road ran from one gate to the other, winding through multi-storeyed shops and tenements on either side. Small gardens and patches of grass littered the roadsides and the storefronts, weathered to sickly shades of brown and yellow. Half-melted snow crept down the rooftops and onto the ground while frost covered the windows and lampposts in a white sheen.

    The town was rife with the chatter of townspeople as they went about their daily business. The guards strutted in ones and twos, donned in thin layers of chainmail that were more for show than for anything else, swords swinging by their hips, striking up conversation with groups of blushing Mistresses. Merchants chatted to each other from across their stalls. Farmers rang their bells while their pack-horses waited fitfully beside wagonfuls of produce.

    Caerlon was the last town before the wilderness, marking the edge of the High King¡¯s territory. Few people ventured past it. It was the end of the line, the last stop on the Royal Road. Alend¡¯s memory of the place was faint; the last time he¡¯d been here had been with Rhea as they¡¯d ventured off the edge of the map in search of the Sleeping Twins. He¡¯d been focused on fleeing back then, running away from the legacy of the Thorens and the iron fist of the Uldan House. Now, after finally escaping, he was walking back into the beast¡¯s lair.

    They left their horses by the stable, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Talberon had turned his cloak inside out so the patches faced inwards, but it did little to divert the pairs of eyes that had turned towards them. Even in a town as populated as Caerlon, it wasn¡¯t hard to spot a visitor. They had an air about them, an uncertain way of walking that only came from having to navigate unfamiliar paths. Besides, Alend was a big man, almost as big as Talberon was old. Both big and old people drew attention to themselves in this part of the world¡ªespecially when one of them carried such a fine sword.

    ¡°Keep your head down,¡± Talberon murmured, drawing his cowl across his face. ¡°And don¡¯t look anyone in the eye.¡±

    That was easier said than done, but somehow Alend managed. They stopped at the darkest, dingiest inn they could find, a ramshackle building of two storeys that looked like the slightest gust of wind could blow it over, and stepped inside. The interior was just as Alend had expected¡ªan ill-lit room that smelled of spilt ale and piss, held upright by mouldy pillars and beams that were slippery to the touch. There was a counter in the bar directly in front of the entrance, the only well-lit area in the entire building. A lantern hung from a beam above it, casting an ominous glow on the knobby innkeeper and the cabinet of dusty drinks behind him.

    ¡°What brings you to the Drunken Peddler?¡± the innkeeper asked. He had a strange way of talking, only moving a corner of his mouth at any time. Now that Alend was closer, he realised the man¡¯s face was pocked and scarred everywhere from the forehead to the chin, no doubt from countless knife fights and alleyway brawls. He immediately scanned his surroundings, raising his guard.

    ¡°How much for a room for two?¡± Talberon asked.

    The innkeeper took them in, from their travel-stained clothes to the lines of fatigue across their faces. ¡°Dinner and breakfast or no?¡±

    ¡°Dinner,¡± the druid confirmed. ¡°No breakfast.¡±

    ¡°Five silvers.¡±

    Alend¡¯s brow twitched. ¡°Now hold on¡ª¡±

    ¡°Three,¡± said Talberon.

    ¡°Our prices aren¡¯t negotiable,¡± the innkeeper insisted. ¡°Take it or leave it.¡±

    Talberon placed a hand on Alend¡¯s arm, flashing him a stern look. ¡°Very well, then.¡±

    He counted five silver coins and slid them across the table. The innkeeper snatched them up, chomped on them with blackened teeth, then nodded to himself and produced a half-rusted key from under the counter. ¡°Room thirteen, upstairs and second door to the left. Dinner will be at the sixth hour.¡±

    Talberon nodded and took the key, and together they went to one of the tables and sat down. Alend glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. There were still a few hours until sundown.

    ¡°This is robbery,¡± Alend hissed. ¡°Five silvers for a place like this? It wouldn¡¯t be worth more than two at most.¡± He glared at the innkeeper over his shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t trust the owner, either. He looks like the type who¡¯d slit our throats in our sleep.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Talberon said in a low voice, ¡°but we¡¯ve got no choice. Have you seen the looks they¡¯re giving us? Before morning comes we¡¯ll be the talk of the town. There¡¯s no use in drawing more attention to ourselves. Better to save some coin and stay in one of the less popular spots.¡±

    Alend looked over his shoulder just as a group of men turned away. It was true. What little customers the inn had were seated in the corners of the room, staring at them from the cover of darkness. They spoke to each other in hushed tones, heads and bodies turned away from them, but their eyes were always watching.

    ¡°Remember,¡± said Talberon, ¡°our goal is to get you to Aldoran. Nothing else matters. If you¡¯re lucky, they¡¯ll talk about us for a bit and then we¡¯ll be gone. If you¡¯re not, someone will recognize you and then the next thing you know, you¡¯ll be on an express carriage to Uldan Keep.¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t that the point? I thought that was where we were going.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll be going there, alright. In pieces.¡± Talberon leaned in closer across the table. ¡° King Aedon still wants your head, Alend. You¡¯re a Deserter. You¡¯re worth a small fortune, dead or alive, even if you¡¯ve disappeared off the face of Faengard for sixteen years.¡±

    Alend frowned. ¡°Isn¡¯t the King the one who sent for me?¡±

    Talberon tugged at his beard. Alend paled.

    ¡°I thought Aedon had finally decided to forgive me,¡± he said.

    ¡°You know how he is,¡± Talberon murmured. ¡°He¡¯s a stubborn man. If I told him the last of the Thorens was you, he would have rather faced the Oathbreaker himself in single combat than welcome you back.¡±

    ¡°You fool,¡± Alend spat, his face darkening. ¡°You¡¯re only delaying the inevitable. He¡¯ll lock me up and have me executed at this rate. There¡¯s no talking sense into that man.¡± He knitted his brow. ¡°Wyd almighty¡­ and here I thought you had it all planned out¡­¡±

    ¡°Trust me when I say this, Alend. He¡¯ll change his mind when the time comes. I¡¯ve read it on the wind.¡± He raised an arm towards one of the serving girls, gesturing for a drink. ¡°As long as we reach Aldoran in one piece, and by ¡®we¡¯ I mean ¡®you¡¯, things will work out. Just focus on laying low and not drawing any attention from bounty hunters, relicts, or even worse, the Faceless.¡±

    Alend¡¯s mood soured even more as the girl placed two frothing mugs of ale on their table. It was far from the best ale he¡¯d ever tasted, but it was better than water at the very least, and it didn¡¯t taste like melted snow. His thoughts turned to Sanson, the father of poor young Bran who was now an orphan. Alend had thought he¡¯d known the butcher, having lived practically down the street to him for well over a decade. He still remembered when Sanson¡¯s face had melted during that skirmish on Founder¡¯s Eve, when his eyes and ears had fallen off, when his true self had been revealed. When had the butcher left behind his humanity and taken on the path of a Faceless? How long had he been lying in wait, watching Alend¡¯s family and reporting back to his master? How long had the plan to attack Felhaven been in motion for?

    Those were things Alend would unfortunately never know. There was no use dwelling on the past¡ªwhat was done was done. He just hoped Ein and Cinnamin were still safe and sound at the village, under the protection of the charms Talberon had given them.

    The druid downed the rest of his mug and stood up, drawing his cloak about him. ¡°I¡¯m going to look around town and stock up on anything we need,¡± he said, taking out the tome he always carried with him. ¡°I¡¯ll also need to update the entry in the Codex. It¡¯s been a while since a druid last set foot here, and I expect they¡¯ll want to know how Caerlon¡¯s dealing with the Great Winter.¡±

    ¡°Should I just stay here, then?¡± Alend asked.

    ¡°That would be a good idea. Keep your head down and your mouth shut. Go to bed and barricade the door, then sleep. It¡¯ll be good for that wound of yours.¡±

    ¡°How will you get in if I barricade it?¡±

    ¡°Leave the window open.¡± Talberon scoffed and then slammed the empty mug back onto the table, making his way out of the inn. Before he knew it, Alend was alone and the eyes were back on him. He sighed, took another sip from his mug and leaned back in his chair.

    Alend was no stranger to the taverns, having frequented them more times than he could count in his days as a Kingsblade. He¡¯d learned the art of listening, not just hearing but filtering out noise and picking apart only specific conversations that were of interest, and he used that skill now.

    ¡°¡ªshe has a big pair of jugs, that young Mistress¡ª¡±

    ¡°¡ªhave you heard? Old Master Pat finally sold his prized cow yesterday¡ª¡±

    ¡°¡ªdreadful things, those mudcrabs. At least they keep our bellies full¡ª¡±

    He hadn¡¯t expected to hear much else, but he continued to tune in to the town¡¯s gossip. By the sounds of it, Caerlon was faring better than Felhaven, but not by much. They had access to the Royal Road, which allowed for trading of supplies between cities, but the underlying problem was still there¡ªthe entire world was pressed for resources.

    ¡°¡ªhave you heard? There was another avalanche at the Muzzle a couple of days ago. Came right close to destroying Darmouth, it did. Clipped a couple of houses on the outskirts.¡±

    Alend¡¯s ears pricked. Wasn¡¯t Darmouth the place his brother had fallen, according to Talberon? He shifted on his seat, moving all his focus to the conversation between the two scrawny traders by the corner.

    ¡°The peddlers say terrible things are happening on the mountain. The Darmouthers are convinced their god has returned to the Pillar of Heaven and is unsatisfied at the world, unleashing his wrath upon the village.¡±

    ¡°A god,¡± the other chortled. ¡°We¡¯re three ages too late for those.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t believe in the Pantheon, then?¡±

    ¡°Of course not. I laugh at those believers and their petty temples, preaching to each other to try and convince which god is best. The only thing that exists is luck, skill, and a man¡¯s hard work.¡±

    ¡°Wise words,¡± the trader said, taking a break to drink, ¡°though some say Wyd is luck itself. What do you think is causing the disasters, then?¡±

    ¡°A little man at the Summit of the World stomping on the ground.¡± The other man shrugged. ¡°Burn me, the hell if I know. Some monster woken out of hibernation, probably. A remnant of a past age. There¡¯ve been rumours all over the countryside about those. Some even say the relicts themselves have returned and are scouring their way across Faengard to Aldoran.¡±

    If only you knew the truth, Alend thought. He closed his eyes and saw a flash of fire and smoke. Adeir had been literally a day¡¯s travel from Caerlon and the townspeople didn¡¯t even know it was gone.

    ¡°At the heart of each rumour lies a kernel of truth. You know what I¡¯ve heard?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    The trader on the left looked around and leaned in.

    ¡°A peddler told me this: they say Faenrir the World-Eater waits at the Summit of the World.¡±

    The other man slammed his palm on the table and stood up, drawing the attention of every other man in the room.

    ¡°That¡¯s horsecrap,¡± he said. ¡°A demon wolf that doesn¡¯t stop growing?¡± He lowered his voice, grumbling. ¡°It¡¯s been great catching up with you, but I think it¡¯s time I went home.¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± the trader said. ¡°Not too long ago, they sent a small taskforce up the mountain for gods know what. A Kingsblade, a druid and a handful of war heroes. None of them returned. It could just as well have been an avalanche or a snowstorm, but everyone¡¯s saying it¡¯s Faenrir.¡±

    ¡°Peddlers aren¡¯t to be trusted. Half of them are looney old men who still think we¡¯re in the Age of Magic.¡± The man turned on his heel and briskly left the inn, slapping down a few coins on the counter along the way. Quiet chatter returned to the room once more. The trader remained at his seat, drinking.

    Alend glanced at the clock and made up his mind. He left his seat and strode over to where the man drank alone, pulling out the stool and sitting down. ¡°Young Mistress,¡± he said, waving towards the nearest serving girl. ¡°Two mugs of ale for the Master and I, if you¡¯d please.¡±

    The trader lifted his head as the girl poured them their drinks with a bored expression. He had a gaunt look about him, one that made him look five years older than he actually was, and his hairline was beginning to recede. Faded clothing hung loosely off his shoulders. In short, he looked like he¡¯d once been well-fed and had stumbled across some hard times¡ªjust like everyone else in the world.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked gruffly, touching the handle of the mug as if it were made of lava.

    ¡°A chat is all,¡± Alend replied. He brought the mug to his lips and took a sip. ¡°Tell me more about the King¡¯s strike force. Do you have any names?¡±

    A dark look crossed the trader¡¯s face. ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear?¡± he asked. ¡°It¡¯s all bullcockery. Faenrir doesn¡¯t exist. He died like everything else from the Age of Legends.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care about Faenrir. I want to know names, specifically the name of the Kingsblade that accompanied them.¡±

    The trader eyed Alend carefully before taking a long swig from his mug. ¡°Thoren,¡± he finally said. ¡°The peddler mentioned his first name, but I forgot it. Makes sense if Faenrir exists and he was sent to kill it, though. Kill two birds with one stone. If Thoren slays the beast, the kingdom gains reassurance that the right man is on the throne. If Thoren dies, that¡¯s another contender for the throne out of the way.¡±

    ¡°Is Aedon still concerned about being overthrown?¡± Alend asked. He was met by a suspicious stare. ¡°King Aedon,¡± he corrected himself.

    ¡°You¡¯re not from around here, are you?¡± the trader asked, running his eyes across Alend¡¯s large build. When Alend didn¡¯t answer, he continued. ¡°The masses are on the brink of rioting. They blame the King for the Great Winter. Other parties have stepped into the picture, promising to put an end to it if he relinquishes the throne to another House. The people want Kingsblade Leonhart, the Lion of Aldoran to take over, as much as he holds his honour. Kingsblade Thoren was just another obstacle, albeit a minor one, that he needed out of the way.¡±

    ¡°Bastard,¡± Alend muttered. By the sound of it, Aedon had only grown more fearful in his old age.

    ¡°Thoren had no followers anyway,¡± the trader continued. ¡°His blood and honour was stained by his brother several years ago, when he betrayed the King and fled his duties. No one wants the brother of a Deserter on the throne. If you ask me, I¡¯m glad he¡¯s dead. It was probably only a matter of time before he went turncoat too.¡±

    Alend was up before he knew it, grabbing the man by his collar. The mug between them tipped over and rolled off the edge of the table, shattering in a mass of ceramic fragments and spilt ale. The inn fell silent once again, all eyes turning towards Alend. There was a brief pause before the serving girl hurried over, a broom and dustpan in hand. She shrank from Alend as if he were a relict himself.

    ¡°Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s eyes and ears,¡± he said, releasing his hold on the man. Standing at his full height, he towered head and shoulders above everyone else. So much for keeping my head low.

    Alend eyed the staircase leading to the second floor and then shook his head. He needed some time to think. Leaving two coppers on the counter on the way out, he folded his cloak around his shoulders and tried to make himself as small as possible.

    #

    Alend¡¯s walk took him off the main road and into the darker districts of Caerlon, between the high-rising tenements and under the wooden walkways that spanned between them. The buildings here were noticeably less well-maintained, stained with all manner of dirt and grime, patches of dull moss and ivy oozing from cracks in the tiled roofs. He took careful steps through the alleyways, sidestepping the stagnant puddles, avoiding the eyes of hopeful beggars. Wet clothes hung from lines far above him, billowing in the air.

    ¡°Edric,¡± he sighed. ¡°You were always so na?ve.¡±

    There had been a time when he, his brother and the High King had been friends, brought up together in the same castle, learning the same lessons, playing the same tricks on the servants. That had been long ago, over thirty years gone now. As Aedon had taken on the crown, so too had his character begun to change. He grew from a boy into a man, drifting further and further from the brothers, shaping himself to fit the mould of a King, while Alend and Edric became Kingsblades¡ªthe King¡¯s own hands, elite warriors of the realm who carried out his work. Although at first they¡¯d remained close, the sheer weight of responsibility had taken its toll on Aedon, poisoning his mind with the fear and paranoia that so many rulers experienced. Alend had seen it coming from a mile away. Edric, being the believer he was, had firmly believed their friend to be different.

    Now he was dead, and Alend had nothing left of his brother but a ring and a sword.

    You should have come with me, Edric.

    That night had been clear in his mind, the night when he¡¯d made up his mind to break the Vow and flee. He would have been killed either way¡ªif not sent on a suicidal mission like Edric, then assassinated. Though Aedon himself hadn¡¯t sunken so deep into paranoia at that time, there had been a thousand other strings tugging on him that had. Alend didn¡¯t regret taking on the title of Deserter. To House Thoren, it meant Survivor.

    Oh Aedon, he thought. What have you done to yourself? The world is crumbling and you¡¯re still concerned with petty court politics.

    He heard the splash of a puddle and turned around. He¡¯d wandered into a dead end of some sort, where the path ended just before the outer wall of the town. Tenements rose above him on either side like tombstones under the misty skies, rotting and leaking with filth and residue rain. He was in the slums of Caerlon.

    ¡°Good afternoon,¡± he greeted, hand resting on his blade.

    Three figures emerged from the opening of the alley¡ªa towering man with a pot belly, a shorter man with a ring in his nose and a woman with closely-cropped hair and a pierced ear. Alend evaluated the three in the span of a second and dismissed them as petty thugs.

    ¡°Lovely day for a walk, isn¡¯t it?¡± Pot-belly asked, continuing to advance. Ring-nose and Pierced-ear flanked him on either side, blocking off his escape route.

    Alend glanced upwards as two window shutters slammed closed. It didn¡¯t look like any of the locals wanted to take part, and he didn¡¯t blame them. In places like these, street thugs usually collected ¡®taxes¡¯ from those in their territory. More often than not, the poor residents wouldn¡¯t be left with enough money to even feed themselves.

    ¡°A day without snow is almost as good as it gets,¡± Alend agreed, still keeping his tone civil. ¡°What can I do for you fine Masters? And you too, Mistress.¡± He straightened his shoulders, drawing to his full height in the hopes of intimidating them. The hilt of his blade was visible for all to see. He didn¡¯t miss the flash of uncertainty that passed through Pierced-ear¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°That¡¯s a fancy sword you¡¯ve got there,¡± Ring-nose said, coming to a halt.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Alend grasped his blade and unsheathed it, bringing the fiery Rhinegold into the cold. The woman with the pierced ear stepped back.

    ¡°Is that Rhinegold?¡± she murmured.

    ¡°You¡¯ve a fine eye for steel, my lady,¡± Alend said. ¡°I¡¯m sure you know what this means?¡± He hefted it in his hand, taking a step forward. She was panicking now, turning to the two men for guidance, but their eyes were fixed on the sword. There were two types of people who carried a Rhinegold blade¡ªthose who could afford it, and those who could use it. The thugs would need to take a gamble now. The wrong guess would mean death.

    ¡°We¡¯re not here for the sword,¡± Pot-belly said. ¡°We¡¯re here for your life, Thoren.¡±

    The moment Alend realized they knew his name, the two men attacked. They were armed with serrated daggers, just long enough to be concealable beneath the clothing by the hip or waist, and they attacked with perfect coordination, coming at him from either side in synchronized movements. The woman drew her knife a heartbeat later and jumped in after her comrades.

    Alend parried both strikes and sidestepped, slamming his shoulder into Ring-nose. The thug grunted and latched onto Alend¡¯s cloak, yanking it towards him.

    ¡°Goddamn,¡± Alend grunted. He ripped the cloak off his shoulders and forced himself backwards. The garment would only slow him down in the fight. With a quick pivot, he cut deep into Pot-belly with all the force of his shoulder and hips. Pain flared through the wound in his stomach and he almost dropped his sword. Talberon was not going to be pleased, but at least he¡¯d taken down one of the¡ª

    The man with the pot belly smiled, even as his blood and guts spilled onto the floor. Alend frowned, blocking a feeble strike from the woman. ¡°What the hell¡ª¡±

    He didn¡¯t get a chance to finish his sentence as Ring-nose attacked, dagger flashing towards Alend¡¯s throat. Alend swerved and countered with a chop to the wrist, cutting through the tendons to the bone beneath. Blood spewed from Ring-nose¡¯s hand. His dagger dropped to the floor with a clatter, but he too smiled.

    At that point, the woman lost all interest in robbing Alend and reeled backwards in a mixture of confusion and horror, slipping and sliding on the growing pool of blood on the ground. Ring-nose picked up his dagger with his other hand. His slashed wrist flopped uselessly by his side.

    ¡°Wyd almighty,¡± Alend panted.

    Pot-belly charged and he stepped to the side, redirecting him with all his might. The thug slammed into the wall and pried himself away without batting an eyelid. Ring-nose threw a clumsy strike that Alend blocked easily, following through with a slash to his other wrist. The dagger clattered onto the ground once more. Ring-nose might have been under some abnormal spell that allowed him to continue fighting, but it didn¡¯t look like that spell improved his actual skill. Alend ducked a bloody swing by the man and, pulling him forward by the ring on his nose, slashed open his neck. A geyser of blood spurted across Alend¡¯s cheek. The thug howled and sunk to the ground, clutching at his throat, flopping like a fish out of water.

    ¡°The Lord¡­ I see him¡­¡±

    Ring-nose¡¯s face began to smoke. The skin melted off his face and his nails extended, lengthening into yellow claws the colour of rotting teeth. His eyes shrivelled and grew black in their sockets until they resembled dried fruits. With one last cry, they rolled out of his face completely, his ears dissolving into two lumps of flesh that dribbled down the sides of his head.

    ¡°A Faceless¡­¡± Alend paled, and his eyes met the woman with the pierced ear. She looked back and forth between Pot-belly and the creature on the ground, mouth open in terror. Pot-belly ignored her, chopping down at Alend with the entire weight of his body behind his arm.

    ¡°Run!¡± Alend cried, gasping as he blocked the attack, a shockwave rattling through his forearm. ¡°Get the guards! Get help!¡± Sharp pain tore through his abdomen, and something wet tricked out. Disengaging, he shoved the thug away and backpedalled to the wall. The woman took one last look at the creature and fled, screaming down the alleyway.

    ¡°You won¡¯t escape,¡± Pot-belly said. ¡°Lord Al''Ashar is all-powerful. Even with the Druid by your side, you are far outnumbered.¡±

    Alend clutched at his stomach. He¡¯d manoeuvred himself to a better position through their exchange. The path down the alleyway was open.

    ¡°The Fire take me,¡± he said, struggling to catch his breath. ¡°To think that in this day and age, there are still those who follow the Oathbreaker¡­¡±

    Even though he¡¯d seen Sanson with his own eyes, he still couldn¡¯t believe it. The Faceless were as much a myth as the relicts were. What was more frightening was that they¡¯d all been human, once upon a time in their lives.

    ¡°We were always there,¡± the man breathed. Blood continued to stream out of his stomach. ¡°As long as there are men, there are Faceless. Just as you follow Wyd, we follow the Oathbreaker.¡±

    ¡°Demons,¡± Alend said, sweat beading down his temples. ¡°You¡¯re not men, you¡¯re demons. The moment you make a pact with Al¡¯Ashar, you no longer belong to our race. You¡¯re just a demon in the skin of a man.¡±

    ¡°Demons to man, just as man is a demon to the earth.¡±

    Alend took off, sprinting down the alleyway. He heard Pot-belly behind him, lumbering into walls and crates full of rubbish on each corner. Pain lanced through his body with each step. His throat was dry, his heart racing uncomfortably fast. He hadn¡¯t recovered enough to fight all out again, especially not against an enemy that felt no pain. So what if he had Rhinegold? Rhinegold could only do so much.

    A hand grabbed his vest, bringing him to a crashing halt. They tumbled across the moist ground, hard cobble banging into shins, wet earth trickling into ears, melted snow soaking though fur. Grubby fingers reached for his throat. With a cry, Alend threw a blind thrust and felt his sword dig into something soft. Hot blood spewed over his torso and he pulled, hard. The man wrenched the sword from his armpit, a lunatic glint in his eyes. He was bleeding everywhere, staining the cobble red, the Rhinegold blade digging through his fingers and scraping against the bone. He pulled himself forward on his other hand like a water hag from the depths of Hell.

    Kalador¡­ help me¡­

    Pot-belly¡¯s eyes widened as someone pulled him off in a squelching of boots and crinkling chain. Alend saw a hand covered in mail, a shield and a sword.

    ¡°Caerlon Town Guard! You¡¯re under arrest!¡± came the voice. The thug rolled over and grabbed the soldier, pulling him down to the ground. He was a boy, barely a man, with little to no muscle on his body. His chainmail did nothing to protect him from Pot-belly¡¯s strength.

    ¡°Run away,¡± Alend yelled for the second time that day. ¡°Call for reinforcements!¡±

    The guard let out a surprised gasp as Pot-belly wrapped his arms around him in a deathly tight grip and squeezed. Alend hammered at the thug¡¯s neck, but it was so thick his blade nearly became stuck.

    ¡°Help¡­ me¡­¡± the guard was turning blue now, struggling to draw his sword. Pot-belly bellowed and there was a crunch, and then he was rising as the guard fell limp to the ground. Blood gushed from the thug¡¯s neck where Alend had half-severed it. Alend made to escape once again, but slipped on the slick stones and thudded onto the ground. The wound in his stomach tore open and he groaned in agony.

    Pot-belly advanced, an evil grin spreading across his face. He took two steps and then fell to his knees, his legs no longer supporting him. Even so, he didn¡¯t falter, shambling forward with his ruined body. Alend scraped his way down the alley, the sword still in his hand, struggling to keep two arm-lengths¡¯ worth of distance between them. His hands found a gutter and he pulled himself up to his feet, head spinning. Blood drenched his body. At least half of it was his own.

    ¡°Al¡¯Ashar¡­!¡± the thug called. His lips were pale and trembling, cold sweat forming on his body. ¡°Lord Al¡¯Ashar¡­!¡± His eyes quivered in their sockets, seeing a spot past Alend. Pot-belly¡¯s nails grated against the cobble and then came away. In their place, yellowed claws began to grow. Alend thrust the sword point-first at the ground and leaned on it, using it as a support to limp forward. Pot-belly¡¯s movements behind him grew wild and erratic as he lost more features, his eyes shrinking, his skin melting.

    Then, a door opened in one of the buildings. A man extended a hand from the shadows, speaking in an urgent voice.

    ¡°Come with me,¡± he whispered, reaching out to Alend. ¡°Quick!¡±

    Shouts and cries rang from the end of the alleyway. The rest of the Town Guard was coming, their leather boots pounding against the ground, their chain shirts ringing. Alend took the man¡¯s hand and heaved himself into the darkness. The door swung shut behind him.

    A moment later he heard the Faceless scratching against the bottom of the door, hissing in a voice like rusted nails.

    ¡°You cannot run forever,¡± it croaked. ¡°The Lord will find you¡­ and he will destroy the twig that protects your realm¡­¡±

    ¡°Come,¡± the man said, dragging Alend down the corridor. ¡°We have to hurry!¡±

    The scratching and whispering continued all the while. It was the only thing Alend could hear, and it wasn¡¯t until the guards arrived in a storm of steel that he allowed the darkness to take him.

 22. Dreams and Memories

    Chapter Twenty-Two: Dreams and Memories

    ¡°Though the Winds of Fate are all-knowing, there are certain people who remain immovable, like stones in the flow of a river. It is these people who change the direction that the wind blows. It is these people who will ultimately decide the fate of us all.¡±

    ¡ªMorene Revaengur, Prophecies of the Crow

    Bran and Rhinne passed through the gates of Caerlon early in the afternoon, dragging Ein behind them. Inquisitive looks and hushed whispering followed them everywhere they went. Between their decrepit demeanour, Ein¡¯s rambling and Bran¡¯s occasional coughing, the townsfolk avoided them like the plague.

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised we haven¡¯t been pulled over by the guards yet,¡± Rhinne murmured. It was her turn to drag Ein, and her face was flushed red with exertion. She looked at Bran and then nudged him.

    ¡°Sorry?¡± Bran blinked, dazed. He¡¯d been too busy staring at the buildings and the people, gaping at how much there was to take in. So much noise, so many shops, so many sights and smells. It was like being at Founder¡¯s Eve again, multiplied a hundred-fold.

    ¡°Here.¡± Rhinne shook her head in annoyance and passed the harness to Bran. Bran reluctantly pried his eyes away from the town and strapped it across his body. ¡°Follow me. I¡¯ll lead the way.¡±

    They got off the main road as soon as they could, taking Ein with them. Bran¡¯s head was already swimming as he tried to remember all the twists and turns, the forks and branches that darted from each path. The buildings were packed shoulder-to-shoulder, several layers high like giant monuments of wood and stone. Rhinne didn¡¯t falter at all, striding along the alleyway with purpose. How could she be so calm and relaxed? The town felt like a monster to him, and each step only took them deeper into its bowels.

    They weaved their way to a small street that smelled faintly of urine. Several stores lined either side, dubious little blocks with barred windows and rickety wooden doors laced with dead ivy. There weren¡¯t many people¡ªin fact, they were completely alone. Maybe the shops were simply closed for the day. Business couldn¡¯t be blooming, surely not in times like these.

    ¡°Leave the sled here,¡± Rhinne instructed, pointing to an alcove in the wall where people had dumped all manner of crates and barrelfuls of rubbish.

    ¡°What about Ein?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re taking him with us. Just get rid of the sled; it¡¯ll only draw unnecessary attention.¡±

    Bran nodded and lifted Ein off the piece of wagon, grimacing as he stepped into something sticky. Rhinne kicked the sled deeper into the pile of rubbish and then came next to Bran, grabbing Ein¡¯s other side. Together they dragged him back along the stores, his heels grazing the ground. They came to a stop in front of one of the doors. Rhinne let go of Ein and slammed the knocker three times.

    The door opened after a few terse moments. Bran caught a glimpse of a crinkled eye and a flat nose.

    ¡°How can I help you¡ª¡± the man began. He took one look at Rhinne, Bran, and the shuddering Ein, and made to close the door. Rhinne wedged her bare foot into the gap, forcing it open. She didn¡¯t even flinch as the wood rubbed against her exposed skin.

    ¡°Lord Drakhorn,¡± she said. ¡°We need your help. Please.¡±

    The man froze and opened the door an inch wider, revealing more of his face. He was clean-shaven with sagging cheeks, thinning white hair combed across his head, and he wore a velvet tailcoat and breeches. Bran recognized the outfit as one that only middle to upper class men were supposed to wear, though it looked like a cheap imitation rather than the real thing. He guessed the man to be about fifty or sixty years old¡ªthere was a certain point where ten years no longer held any significant meaning to a person, and this ¡°Lord Drakhorn¡± had reached that point.

    ¡°That¡¯s Master Drakhorn,¡± the man said, though his tone was more curious and less dismissive. ¡°I haven¡¯t been a Lord for some time.¡±

    Rhinne shook her head. ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter. Let us in, we need your help.¡±

    ¡°And who are you, young lady?¡±

    ¡°Rhinne.¡± She pulled at something around her neck. At first Bran thought it was a heart-shaped ruby, but as she brought it to the light he realized it wasn¡¯t quite the right texture to be a gem or a piece of metal.

    A scale, he realized. That¡¯s what it is.

    A similar expression had crossed Drakhorn¡¯s face. ¡°A crimson Heartscale¡­¡± He looked at Rhinne as if seeing her with new eyes. ¡°Rhinne, you said your name was? Of the Brightflame clan?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she nodded. ¡°Now please, let us in. We¡¯ve drawn enough attention as it is.¡±

    ¡°Surely this can¡¯t be a coincidence,¡± the man muttered, gesturing for them to come inside. ¡°The Winds of Fate must be at play here¡­¡±

    They hefted Ein through the door and into a well-lit room with a counter in the far corner. It quickly became apparent to Bran that Drakhorn was a tailor of some sort. The walls of his store were lined with expensive-looking furs, fancy coats, and leather jackets from all manner of strange and exotic animals. A shelf stood in the corner with boots and hats and gloves, and another with stitched cotton shirts and trousers that the more common folk might be able to afford. On the opposite side of the room was a bench with a measuring tape and scissors, and several rolls of silky fabric resting against the wall.

    ¡°Rhinne,¡± Drakhorn said. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it. How you¡¯ve grown¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d love to talk, but I need your help now. Ein¡ªthe one who¡¯s unconscious¡ªis sick, and I don¡¯t know how to cure him.¡± Bran lowered Ein to the floor and stepped back. Drakhorn frowned, bending down beside them. He ran a hand along Ein¡¯s forehead with a practiced touch.

    ¡°A fever,¡± he said. ¡°How long¡¯s it been going for?¡±

    Rhinne looked at Bran. ¡°This would be the third day,¡± he said.

    ¡°Not good. Not good at all.¡±

    ¡°I tried giving him fever medicine,¡± Rhinne continued. ¡°Honeycomb, mint, moonthistle and whitebark oil. It worked on Bran here, but not his friend. I think it might be Soulsickness.¡±

    Drakhorn paled. ¡°Soulsickness?¡± He looked to Bran. ¡°Your friend¡­ he wields the Soulsong?¡±

    Bran shrank under their gazes. ¡°I-I don¡¯t know,¡± he stammered.

    ¡°He called down lightning with his voice,¡± Rhinne said.

    Drakhorn lifted Ein¡¯s eyelid and peered into it. Ein mumbled something under his breath.

    ¡°Soulsickness,¡± the man confirmed. ¡°A golden ring around his pupils. Rhinne, get me my medicine kit from beneath the counter, and close the shop while you¡¯re at it. Go, now!¡±

    It was as if a switch had been flipped. The man before them now was Lord Drakhorn and not Master Drakhorn. Rhinne sprung to her feet and rushed to the front counter, drawing a leather carrying-bag from underneath.

    ¡°Move aside,¡± Drakhorn said. Bran fell to his feet as the man lifted Ein¡¯s sleeve and felt for his pulse. As Rhinne returned with the kit, Drakhorn pulled out a pair of gloves and slipped them on.

    ¡°Do exactly as I say,¡± he commanded, ¡°and I will save your friend¡¯s life.¡±

    #

    Ein sat by the window, staring into the terrible darkness outside. The sky flashed, followed by a deafening boom of thunder. Mugs and plates rattled on their shelves as the forge itself shook.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid, Ein,¡± his mother said. Rhea patted his head gently, placing her arm around his shoulders. She smelled vaguely like steam and iron shavings. ¡°It can¡¯t hurt us if we¡¯re indoors.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not scared,¡± he said. A part of him felt that he should be, but the only thoughts turning in his head were of how wild and beautiful the storm was. It intrigued him¡ªthe violent wind whipping blades of rain against the windows, the arcs of white lightning in the sky, the tumultuous storm-clouds that flashed as if a heavenly battle were occurring before his very eyes. Every time the sky roared and the forge trembled, Ein felt a small shiver run up his spine. His heart pounded in his ears. The hairs on his arm stood on end.

    The furnace burned with a fiery vigour, snapping and spitting, feeding warmth into the forge. The air cracked again as another fork of lightning lit the sky. Cinnamin began to cry, filling the room with her shrill bawling.

    ¡°Ein¡¯s a brave one,¡± Alend said, cradling Cinnamin in his arms. ¡°He doesn¡¯t need you to comfort him. Cinnamin on the other hand¡­¡±

    Rhea rolled her eyes. ¡°You were never good with children,¡± she said, taking the small bundle that was Ein¡¯s sister into her arms. ¡°There, there, Cinna. Mama¡¯s here.¡±

    ¡°Sing her a song,¡± Alend said. ¡°She always likes it when you sing.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a bloody songbird, you know,¡± Rhea said, but she smiled anyway.

    ¡°Thunder and lightning, the giants are fighting.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    It¡¯s raining and roaring, isn¡¯t it frightening?

    Thunder and lightning, the giants are fighting.

    Look up above, the sky is brightening!¡±

    Cinnamin immediately quietened, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. Ein returned his attention to the window as his father joined them.

    ¡°How about a game of Capture?¡± Alend asked, hefting a pouch of stones in his hand. ¡°You still haven¡¯t won against me yet.¡±

    Ein shook his head.

    ¡°Suit yourself, I guess.¡± He peered outside the window. ¡°It¡¯s really pouring down hard, isn¡¯t it? The river will probably flood again.¡±

    Rain pelted the roads, turning them into brown sludge. Giant puddles already covered half the village. Ein always looked forward to the morning after a storm, especially an intense one¡ªit was fun wading through puddles, even if he was always scolded for coming back dirty. Sometimes the water was so deep they could almost swim in it, him and Evaine. Bran never joined in, though. He was afraid of everything, even water.

    Ein looked back at the clouds. If only I could walk among them, he thought.

    And when he looked down again, he was no longer five years old or in the forge. He was on the beach once more, walking across the colourless sand, tasting the storm on the horizon. The air was heavy and unnaturally still, like a cup of water filled to the very brim, ready to spill. The rain was gone, the howling wind and the crashing thunder, all gone, replaced by a lone voice singing a song.

    He saw her straight away this time, standing on a rock jutting out of the sea, the hem of her exquisite dress swirling around her ankles. There was no walking to be done, no exploring the barren wasteland in search of her. A sense of finality accompanied the dream this time. He was climbing a mountain and he was almost at the top. Nothing would be the same again once he reached that peak.

    He took a step forward and into the sea. The water lapped against his feet, cold and cool. It wasn¡¯t an uncomfortable feeling. Step by step, he sank deeper into the water, feeling it rise above his ankles and knees, his waist, up to his chest and his neck. Then he was swimming, slow and steady breaststrokes, like a frog kicking out across a pond. The sky let loose a low and throaty growl as he breached the gap, stroke by stroke.

    At one point, Ein no longer became aware of the song. All he heard was the viscous sloshing of water as he pushed it behind him, his leaden limbs feeling blindly for the way forward. He was alone with all his senses robbed. How long had he been swimming for? Every time his head rose above the water, nothing seemed to change. Was he even moving?

    Then his hands touched rock and he felt a strong grip latch around his wrist. With one last burst of effort, he dragged himself out of the sea and onto solid land once more.

    The woman waited as he coughed and spluttered, gasping for breath on all fours. Water streamed through his hair and into his eyes, running down the rugged crag in rivulets. He shook himself and climbed to his feet. He should have been freezing, convulsing from the cold, but he wasn¡¯t. In fact, he might even say he was warm.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting for you,¡± she said, smiling. She was relatively young, perhaps ten or so years older than Ein himself, though at times she looked much older. It was in her eyes, a stormy grey that constantly shifted, never staying still. He saw the fury of the storm inside them, ever-changing, untameable. Her hair was as black as the clouds except for a streak of stark white. She was beautiful, ethereally so, in a way that made Ein worried she would disappear if he touched her.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± he asked.

    She turned around and looked at the sky, the wind whipping at her hair. She had the build of a fighter, lean and lithe, though her skin was unblemished.

    ¡°They¡¯ve called me many names in the past,¡± she said. ¡°The Lightning Blade, the Lady of Lightning, Stormdancer.¡±

    ¡°Lady Reyalin,¡± Ein breathed. ¡°From the Age of Magic¡­¡±

    ¡°That was the first of my titles,¡± she said, looking back at him, her eyes sparkling. ¡°I take it you¡¯ve heard of me?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ yes,¡± Ein began. ¡°But you¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re dead.¡± He looked around, staring at the endless expanse as it ate away at the rock they were on. ¡°Does this mean I¡¯m¡­?¡±

    Reyalin shook her head. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Ein. You¡¯re not dead. This is a dream, remember? Your body would wake you up before you died.¡± The sky flickered above them.

    ¡°How long have I been here for?¡±

    Reyalin¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°A long time, Ein. Not long for me, but long for those around you. In fact, you came close to dying yourself.¡± She placed a hand on his shoulder. A tingle of heat raced up his arm. ¡°You have a strong spirit. Few vessels are capable of hosting my Wyrd.¡±

    ¡°Wyrd? What are you talking about?¡±

    Reyalin frowned. ¡°Are you not a Songweaver?¡±

    ¡°Songweaver? Like the King¡¯s Songweavers?¡± Ein wanted to laugh, but he couldn¡¯t. ¡°No way¡­ I¡¯m don¡¯t have magic in me.¡±

    Reyalin looked taken aback. She brought a hand to her lips, frowning. ¡°An untrained weaver wielding the Soulsong¡­ to think that such talent still exists, in this day and age¡­¡±

    The heavens opened at that moment and rain came pouring down in a veil of grey. Thunder boomed across the horizon.

    ¡°You have a long and arduous path ahead of you, Ein,¡± Reyalin said. ¡°I only wish I could be there to guide you. Unfortunately, it may be a long time before we meet again.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± Ein said. ¡°What did you mean by¡ª¡±

    Reyalin closed the gap between them and thrust her palm into his chest. Ein took a step back, feeling the wind leave him. His muscles locked up as something hot poured into his blood, flooding his veins, spreading to every inch of his body.

    He clutched at his heart, vision blurring. Lightning lanced down from the sky and pierced his chest. Thunder followed. He was blind and deaf for an instant, though it didn¡¯t hurt anywhere near as much as he expected it to. All he felt was heat and the spinning of his head as he struggled to figure out what had happened.

    ¡°It is done,¡± she said. ¡°Our fates are intertwined now.¡±

    Ein lay panting on the ground, face streaked with rain, tears and sweat. He tried to climb to his feet, but his body convulsed and he fell back down. His head was swimming.

    ¡°You must be careful from here on,¡± Reyalin said, her voice moving further and further away. ¡°Now that your Wyrd has awakened, it will be even harder to conceal your presence from the Forsaken One.¡±

    ¡°Lady Reyalin!¡± Ein rolled onto his knees and reached out through the rain. ¡°What did you do to me?¡±

    ¡°I will be watching you, Ein. Until the wind shifts and I return to the Hall of Heroes, my power is yours to wield.¡±

    The Lady was gone, and he was alone once more. The place where she¡¯d touched his chest still burned. Although the storm was in full force around him, it was strangely silent.

    The sky split as another thread of lightning traced down, striking the rock beside him. Time seemed to halt, freezing the bolt in place. Ein took a step forward and into the air. It was as if gravity had disappeared, as if he¡¯d somehow gained control of this solitary world.

    With deliberate steps, Ein climbed the path of lightning into the sky, higher and higher, until the jagged rock was but a small speck beneath him. The beach was gone; there was only the stormy sea, stretching on to infinity. The rain continued to fall but it swerved around him, following alternate pathways to the ground. Words came to Ein¡¯s lips automatically¡ªa prayer to the storm, his storm. The words of Lady Reyalin¡¯s song of lightning.

    ¡°On lightning I dance,

    For the storm sings to none other.¡±

    And then he broke through the clouds and out of the rain, out of the world. A strong wind took him, tugging at the edges of his being, threatening to scatter him into a sea of voices. There were so many voices, above, below, everywhere around, even inside him. Voices of people, animals, even faint whispers from bushes and trees. He was in a great black void, a swirling maelstrom of cosmic energy, tiny lights whizzing past him like shooting stars. He was everything and nothing. Like a droplet of water in an ocean. A grain of sand in a desert.

    Ein¡¯s mind nearly shattered as the torrent of information streamed through him. He had no body, yet his head felt like it would explode. The wind tore at his being, eroding it, threatening to wash it away. Thousands of years, millions passed in the blink of an eye. He knelt down, clutched his head in his hands. But he had no head. Ein opened his eyes. He had eyes now. Slowly, the years unwinded. His body came back to him. He tightened his focus and an arm appeared, then a leg. The pieces of his broken mind came coalescing. The stars flitting past him slowed and reversed. He recognized some of them. If he gave them his full concentration, he could hear their individual voices.

    I¡¯m glad I decided to leave, said a girl with short brown hair, dancing through the streets of a large town.

    To think there would be Faceless even here of all places, said a broad-chested man, lying in a bed.

    Time grows short¡­ I must find the Ember, murmured a flame-haired girl to herself, seated by a table.

    She grows weaker every day¡­ surely there¡¯s something you can do, Father? said a princess, sitting in a garden.

    Coward, spat a prince, kicking at a table.

    Tired¡­ so tired¡­ a girl mumbled to herself, chained to a stone.

    Gods, I hope he¡¯ll be okay¡­ I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do if I lost him, too. No¡­ don¡¯t think about it¡­ she¡¯s gone, she¡¯s not coming back¡­

    They plunged through him, jostling him, clipping the edges of his existence. Some of them were brighter than others, louder, more distinct. Some were familiar. Some were completely foreign. At once, the void was no longer a void. It was a whirlpool of information, an entire universe. A realm that transcended the senses.

    Where am I? Ein thought. His voice reverberated inside his head. He was thinking. He was capable of thought. His body had a form. He had weight. The wind was no longer strong enough to blow him away.

    He thought about the caravan and the Wydlings, and as he thought he flew. The void rippled beneath him and he saw a distorted image of a dark cavern, bits and pieces of wood and wheels floating adrift, dismembered limbs sunken in the depths. He thought about Evaine and he saw her in a room he didn¡¯t recognize, crying quietly to herself. He thought about Alend and the void rippled, washing away into a candle-lit room and a bed where his father lay, fists clenched. He thought about Bran and the void rippled, taking him to a small kitchen where he sat next to a girl with hair like a flame.

    Then he traced his memories, sifting through them one by one, trying to find where they¡¯d ended. He traced them back in time to the night of the storm, back to the night they¡¯d been pursued by Worgal riders, when the Urudain with the black cloak had appeared¡­

    I SEE YOU.

    It was like a hammer had come down on his skull, cracking it with the weight of a thousand worlds. He fell to his knees under the pressure, fighting to keep himself from flattening into a pancake. His head was an anvil, his arms and legs encased in lead. Breath shuddered through his lips as he fought to keep himself from extinguishing like a flame.

    I SEE YOU, TEL¡¯RAHN. YOU CANNOT HIDE.

    The voice blared from everywhere at once. The lights around him shrunk, winking into darkness, plunging him back into the void. There was just him, the voice, and the overwhelming pressure.

    YOU WILL FALL, TEL¡¯RAHN. YOUR FRIENDS AND ALLIES, ALL OF YOU. NO MATTER HOW MANY, NO MATTER HOW STRONG, YOU WILL FALL.

    Ein¡¯s ears were bleeding, not blood but the essence of his soul. He clenched his teeth together, so hard that his jaw ached.

    ¡°Who¡­ are you?¡± he managed.

    I AM THE END.

    Ein saw an image of a flat, smooth face, half of it burned to a blackened crisp, half of it a sterile chalk white, looming so dark and wide above him that it pushed against the corners of his mind. It had no ears, no nose, no mouth, only a single bloodshot eye that gaped open from the ruined half of its face and two bladed antlers stretching out like wings. The eye blinked, and somehow he knew it was smiling.

    ¡°Al¡­ Ashar¡­¡±

    The image disappeared and the pressure came back, stronger than before, holding Ein¡¯s head in a vice-like grip, splintering his bones, squeezing his brains out of his ears. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he screamed as the cosmic wind blew harder, unravelling him¡­

    And then it was gone.

    Ein opened his eyes to the ceiling of a room, panting, his heart struggling to escape from his chest. His entire body was sore, from the tips of his fingers to his toes. He craned his neck, feeling a pillow shift beneath his weight, and saw Bran sitting next to him with a mixture of surprise and disbelief on his face.

    ¡°Ein¡­¡± he whispered. Tears of relief began to form in the corners of his eyes.

    Ein smiled weakly. ¡°I¡¯m back.¡±

 23. Reunion

    Chapter Twenty-Three: Reunion

    ¡°The Winds have a way of bringing people together.¡±

    ¡ªUnknown

    Ein couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu as Bran gushed on, telling him everything that had happened since the night of the storm. He¡¯d been in the exact same position back in the Sleeping Twinn not long ago, talking to Evaine and Cinnamin in the aftermath of the relict attack.

    She¡¯s gone, he thought numbly. Evaine¡¯s gone.

    He¡¯d expected to shed a tear or two, but his eyes were bone dry. There was only a sense of emptiness inside him, and a cold fury like a biting wind blowing across a wasteland.

    ¡°¡ªcan¡¯t believe we made it,¡± Bran finished, shaking his head. ¡°I thought we were goners, especially when we almost ran into those bandits. And the Worgals! Ein, you should have seen them¡­ they¡­ they ate each other. The Worgals cannibalized each other!¡±

    Ein sat up, guzzling the mug of water on the table beside him. He was in an infirmary of sorts, a small room with a shelf of herbs and poultices on the wall at the far end, an alchemy set on a table in the corner. Medical supplies were strewn around it, bandages and scissors and scalpels, a set of scales, a strange device of convoluted glass tubing that he didn¡¯t know the name for. The smell of alcohol hung flagrant in the air.

    Lord Drakhorn stood by the doorway to the room, speaking animatedly with the flame-haired girl called Rhinne. She looked familiar, though Ein was certain he¡¯d never seen her before. Then again he¡¯d been hallucinating for three days straight, seeing things he couldn¡¯t hope to comprehend. He remembered voices, countless voices melding into an incoherent buzz, and a blurred sea of faces to go with those voices.

    I AM THE END.

    Had he really seen Al''Ashar himself? The half-blackened face was harrowing in his mind, the single eye boring a hole through his skull. A crescent moon with an open eye beside it¡ªthe Oathbreaker¡¯s emblem, the Watching Moon made sense to him now.

    Drakhorn noticed Ein and excused himself, leaving Rhinne by the doorway. The tailor rolled up his sleeves and withdrew a mercury thermometer from his breast pocket.

    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Terrible.¡± Ein took the tube into his lips and met the other¡¯s eyes. ¡°Thank you for saving me.¡±

    Drakhorn threw a passing glance at the thermometer and then rubbed it with a white cloth. Placing it on the bedside table, he picked up a lantern and lit it with a candle. The flame burst into a harsh white light, blinding Ein. Ein squinted and raised a hand to cover his eyes.

    ¡°Look away from the light,¡± Drakhorn said, pulling his hand away.

    ¡°What are you doing¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t resist,¡± Rhinne said from the doorway, playing with a charm around her neck. ¡°He¡¯s not here to hurt you.¡±

    Ein faltered and dropped his hand. Drakhorn lifted both of Ein¡¯s eyelids, peering into the pupils beneath. Ein tried not to stare into the light. It was almost as bright as the sun.

    ¡°Good,¡± Drakhorn said, and blew out the lantern. ¡°The rings are gone. You should be back to full health in a day or two.¡± He stood up and looked to Bran. ¡°The gods must be watching over him¡ªnot many people live past a third day of Soulsickness.¡±

    ¡°Soulsickness? What¡¯s that?¡± Ein frowned.

    ¡°It¡¯s a condition that only affects Songweavers. It happens when they try to sing a Soulsong more powerful than they can handle.¡±

    Songweaver. Wasn¡¯t that what Lady Reyalin had called him? And the Oathbreaker had called him something else as well. Tel''rahn. But the Soulsong was magic. Wizened men like Talberon had magic, not the sons of blacksmiths.

    But I¡¯m not his son.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a Songweaver,¡± Ein said, more to himself than anything. ¡°I don¡¯t have magic.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what your friend told me.¡±

    Ein looked at Bran, who turned away. ¡°You called down lightning from the sky,¡± Bran mumbled. ¡°Just like in the legends.¡±

    Ein sat dumbfounded, looking at his hands. There had been lightning, and he did remember screaming something. But to go as far as to call him a Songweaver? He knitted his brows and scrunched his eyes shut. His head throbbed behind them.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Ein asked. ¡°Who are you really?¡±

    Drakhorn shrugged. ¡°Like Bran said, I¡¯m just a tailor.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s an acquaintance of mine,¡± Rhinne said, ¡°or rather, of my mother¡¯s. Back in his youth he used to be an alchemist. He could cure the most grievous of ailments and bring people back from the brink of death.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re too kind.¡± Drakhorn heaved a sigh. ¡°Times have changed. For one, alchemy is damn expensive now. I must have used up a week¡¯s wages worth of ingredients to fix you up. Not to mention your father.¡±

    ¡°My¡­ father?¡± Ein swivelled around to Bran.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to tell you yet,¡± Bran said. ¡°But by some stroke of luck¡ª¡±

    ¡°The Winds of Fate are in full force,¡± Drakhorn said. ¡°Father and son, brought together under the same roof.¡±

    ¡°Where?¡± Ein demanded, surprising himself with his alacrity. He clambered out of bed, wincing as Bran took his arm and helped him up.

    ¡°Calm down,¡± Rhinne said, peeking around the edge of the doorframe. ¡°He¡¯s not going anywhere anytime soon. He wants to talk to you as well.¡±

    She took a step away and there, looking so drawn and haggard than he could have been washed through the river and hung up to dry, was Alend.

    ¡°Father¡­¡± Ein drew a sharp breath.

    He¡¯d thought about this moment for so long in his head, what he would say, the allegations he¡¯d make, but now that it had finally come to pass, all he could manage was silence. Alend had a pained expression on his face, his eyes lowered to the ground, unable to meet his son¡¯s. It been little more than a week since they¡¯d left the village, but it already felt like a lifetime¡¯s worth of events had happened.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Ein¡ª¡± Alend began.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡± Ein asked. ¡°Sixteen years¡­ Sixteen years and I never even knew¡­¡± Drakhorn turned away uncomfortably. Rhinne pretended to dig at something beneath her nails, while Bran furrowed his brow in confusion. ¡°Were you ever going to let me know?¡±

    ¡°I wanted to, son. I wanted to, but every time I resolved to bring it up¡­ I just couldn¡¯t do it.¡± Alend finally looked up. He was so old, so tired, so shrivelled¡ªa shadow of the man Ein had looked up to.

    ¡°And you left right after as well,¡± Ein went on. Words escaped him faster than he could think. ¡°You didn¡¯t even say goodbye properly. What if you never came back? You might not be my real father, but¡­ you¡¯re the only father I¡¯ve ever known. I don¡¯t want you to go off and die and never come back.¡±

    Bran gasped. ¡°You mean, Alend isn¡¯t your father?¡±

    Alend ignored Bran and raised his chin. ¡°What about you? You¡¯re my only son, Ein. I never intended to leave you. I only skipped the goodbyes because I wanted to get things over and done with as soon as possible.¡± He took a step forward. ¡°You, Rhea and Cinnamin, I would die for you. The world outside of the Sleeping Twins is dangerous, Ein, and I¡¯d never want any harm to befall you. If I didn¡¯t leave right away, I¡¯d be placing you all in danger.¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    ¡°Did you ever consider how I felt?¡± Ein demanded. ¡°You always go off and decide things on your own. You were going off to hunt the relicts even before they came to us, without letting any of us know. You didn¡¯t tell us a thing about Talberon coming to whisk you away. I¡¯m not a boy anymore, Father. I¡¯ve had my first Dance. Isn¡¯t it about time you started including me in your decisions?¡±

    ¡°You think you¡¯re a man but you¡¯re not,¡± Alend said. ¡°You¡¯re young and impulsive. Look at you, come chasing after me of your own accord, nearly killing yourself in the process. You know how scared I was for you when your friends dragged you in here, half dead and rambling?¡± He drew a deep breath and looked at Bran. ¡°You too, Bran. Why didn¡¯t you talk more sense into him? Look at what¡¯s come of this mess. We¡¯re in Caerlon now, far away from home, and Evaine is dead¡­¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re one to talk,¡± retorted Ein. ¡°Look at yourself. You almost died in Felhaven and then you left right after, and now you¡¯ve almost died again. You¡¯re skin and bones, Father. You look like you¡¯ve seen the White Women themselves. And as for Evaine¡­¡± He took a deep breath as well. ¡°As for Evaine¡­ maybe if we all went together, she wouldn¡¯t have died. You would have seen them coming, Father. The Worgals, when they came to ambush us in the night. If you were there we could have fought back.¡±

    They stood an arm¡¯s length apart, facing each other, panting. Ein kept his chin up and glared at his father, and his father glared back.

    ¡°Why can¡¯t you just admit you¡¯re getting too old for this sort of stuff? You don¡¯t have to run off and do everything by yourself.¡±

    ¡°I might be old, but I can still handle myself better than you.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re so stubborn,¡± Ein said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

    ¡°Ever heard of the saying, ¡®like father, like son?¡¯¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m not your son.¡±

    ¡°Exactly.¡±

    They both sighed and then bumbled into each other, embracing like drunken men. Rhinne sheathed her knife at Bran¡¯s questioning glance.

    ¡°I thought they were going to fight,¡± she explained. ¡°They sure sounded like it.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Bran said, looking strangely satisfied at the sight. ¡°That¡¯s just the way some men are.¡±

    #

    It took almost an hour for Alend to exchange recounts with everyone else. In that time, Drakhorn fixed up a small dinner using the supplies Rhinne had plundered from the bandits, and before long the tension had completely dissolved between the two Thorens.

    ¡°A Kingsblade in the service of the High King himself,¡± Drakhorn said, ¡°and a Deserter at that.¡± Alend winced at the mention of his title. ¡°I¡¯m surprised the Faceless were the only ones after you. If any bounty hunters or guards caught wind of your return, they¡¯d be swarming the town looking for you.¡±

    ¡°A Kingsblade,¡± Ein breathed, feeling newfound respect for Alend. ¡°It all makes sense now. I always wondered where you¡¯d learned everything from. You know more things than an ordinary blacksmith should.¡±

    ¡°Kingsblades are the ultimate soldiers,¡± Alend said. ¡°Though the price to become one is steep indeed. Strength does not come without cost.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll say,¡± Drakhorn nodded, spreading a layer of grease across his loaf. ¡°I¡¯ve fought alongside them before. They¡¯re like demons in battle, human machines.¡±

    ¡°Why did you leave?¡± Ein asked. ¡°Wasn¡¯t it exciting living as a Kingsblade? Hunting and slaying monsters, keeping the peace in the name of the King, doing heroic deeds? You would have had a property in the city and income until the end of your days. Why give that up to hide in a village in the middle of nowhere?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re starting to sound like Evaine,¡± Alend growled. ¡°The life of a Kingsblade is a dangerous one, Ein. Your entire bloodline is dedicated to the Uldan House. Not just your life, but the life of your children, and your children¡¯s children. If you¡¯d ever experienced the type of training a Kingsblade gets put through, you would understand. I would never want you or Cinnamin going through that.¡±

    ¡°But why?¡± Ein asked. ¡°Surely there are people out there who would actually want to go down that path?¡±

    ¡°Because we have the blood of kings,¡± Alend said simply. ¡°We carry the Thoren name upon our shoulders, and as long as we exist, we are a threat to the Uldan reign. The Kingsblades were created for House Uldan to monitor its rival families and their descendants, all under the farce of a peace treaty. Breaking the Vow places the status of Deserter upon you, a crime punishable by death. Upholding the Vow binds you for the rest of your life. There are people out there who support our name, Ein, who believe us to be the rightful claimants to the throne, and Aedon doesn¡¯t like that. Even now, when we¡¯re all believed to be dead, he turns his attention to other houses¡ªthe Leonharts, for one.¡±

    ¡°If becoming a Kingsblade grants you so much power, couldn¡¯t you just use it to overthrow the King?¡± Ein asked. ¡°Kingsblades are the ultimate warriors, aren¡¯t they? It would be hard to stop you.¡±

    Alend shook his head. ¡°You see, the magic of the Vow is such that the taker must obey the command of his master at all times. The High King has absolute control over all his elite, and through them, absolute control over the rival Houses.¡±

    ¡°Cinnamin¡­¡± Ein breathed.

    Alend nodded. ¡°Yes. Cinnamin has a right to the throne. What do you think King Aedon would do if he became aware of her existence? He¡¯d draft her as a Kingsblade. She would grow up never knowing the life of an ordinary girl. Do you see why I left?¡±

    ¡°And now if you return, he¡¯ll be able to track you back to Felhaven¡­¡±

    ¡°Exactly.¡± Alend sighed. ¡°There were a few other factors that contributed to my decision to leave, but that was the main one. Nothing short of the end of the world would have convinced me to go back.¡± He gave a hollow chuckle.

    ¡°Ein should be safe though, shouldn¡¯t he?¡± Bran, who¡¯d been silently eating and listening, finally spoke up. ¡°He¡¯s not a true member of the Thoren House.¡± Bran had been wide-eyed and disbelieving when Ein had explained it all to him, and was only just appearing to come to terms with the fact.

    ¡°I¡¯m hoping that¡¯s the case. But if word ever gets out that he can wield the Soulsong¡­¡± Alend¡¯s face clouded. ¡°Let¡¯s just say that King Aedon needs as many Songweavers as he can muster, especially in times like these, and survival rates don¡¯t look high when it comes time for war.¡±

    ¡°Speaking of Songweavers,¡± Bran said, ¡°didn¡¯t you say you were travelling with the druid? Where is he now?¡±

    ¡°Druid?¡± Rhinne snapped to attention.

    ¡°Probably looking for me back at the inn. He won¡¯t be very pleased to find out that I¡¯ve gone for a walk.¡±

    ¡°Indeed. You might even say I¡¯m furious.¡± The voice that spoke came from the window, startling them all. Rhinne leapt back from her seat and reached for her knife, her mouth still full of dried meat. A sparrow flitted across the table in a flurry of feathers, vanishing as it touched down. In its place was Talberon, forest-green cloak around him, his clear blue eyes frosted over with mistrust.

    ¡°Alend,¡± he demanded. ¡°Who are these people?¡± He looked at Drakhorn and Rhinne with all the stillness of a stone in a storm, emanating an aura of intense volition.

    ¡°Druid,¡± Rhinne hissed. She leapt back with surprising dexterity, opening up the distance between them, her knife finding its way into a reverse grip. She remained low to the ground like a coiled predator, ready to fight at a moment¡¯s notice. Drakhorn rose to his feet as well, taking his place a few steps in front of her, shifting himself into a defensive stance.

    ¡°Talberon!¡± Alend stood up, steel taking over his eyes. ¡°These people are on our side. Lord Drakhorn saved my life, and my son¡¯s too. And if it weren¡¯t for Rhinne here, Ein would almost certainly have died.¡±

    Bran looked back and forth between the blacksmith and the druid, nervously biting his lip.

    ¡°Just because he saved your life doesn¡¯t mean you can trust him,¡± Talberon said, almost growing in presence with each word. ¡°Tell me what you know about this person, Alend. At first glance he appears to be a tailor, but tailors don¡¯t have such in-depth knowledge of herbs and medicine.¡±

    ¡°He was an alchemist,¡± Ein said, cutting in. He too had stood up, leaving Bran the only one seated at the table.

    ¡°Yes? So tell me, alchemist. Why are you living a life all the way out here as a tailor? And why would you risk your life to save a man from a Faceless?¡±

    ¡°Is it so wrong to wish to save another man¡¯s life?¡± Drakhorn asked. He was quiet and calm despite the druid¡¯s cutting interrogation. ¡°What else is a healer to do? Saving lives is our purpose, druid.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± said Talberon. ¡°Tell me this, then. Why does a simple alchemist have a door laced with Darksteel, a metal that is all but extinct? A metal forged from the fire of dragons, who haven¡¯t been seen in Faengard since the Age of Legends?¡±

    ¡°And what would you know about that?¡± Rhinne spat, eyes blazing gold. ¡°After mankind robbed us of our power and drove us from our home? Your order is supposed to preserve the balance of Faengard, yet you helped them! You reduced our proud race to¡­ to this!¡± She gestured at herself, teeth bared.

    ¡°Lady Rhinne¡ª¡± Drakhorn began.

    ¡°We had no choice,¡± Talberon said quietly. ¡°We would have avoided it if we could. We had to stop the relicts before they damaged the land beyond repair.¡±

    ¡°And so you damaged us beyond repair,¡± Rhinne seethed. ¡°Took away our only form of defence, even though we were on your side. Even now, we face the same enemy¡ªHe who Seeks to Quell the Heartfire¡ªand you dare question us for aiding the enemy of our enemy?¡±

    ¡°So it¡¯s true,¡± Talberon murmured. All the fight left him in an instant, like a light that had suddenly flickered out of existence. ¡°I¡¯d suspected it was the case, but I had to make sure it was true.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s true, druid. After all this time, we dragons have clung miserably to our half-lives,¡± Rhinne said. ¡°Cursed to look forever at the sky, dreaming of the days that we could fly.¡±

    As Ein, Bran and Alend watched the exchange with wide eyes, there came a sudden knock from outside. Rhinne and Talberon spun around. Drakhorn eyed the door warily.

    ¡°Don¡¯t open it,¡± Talberon warned. ¡°It might be the Faceless. The Darksteel frame will protect us as long as we keep the door closed.¡±

    The knocking came again, louder. Alend reached for the sword by his waist. Ein tried to do the same, only to remember he¡¯d lost his sword in the storm.

    ¡°Could it be a customer?¡± Bran asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s not a customer,¡± Drakhorn replied. ¡°You don¡¯t buy clothes in the middle of the night, especially not during a world-wide recession.¡±

    The door rattled again and this time there was a muffled voice, one that Ein and Bran knew all too well.

    ¡°Hello? Is anyone in there?¡±

    They rose to their feet at once. ¡°Evaine,¡± they said simultaneously.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Talberon rushed forwards, trying to pull them back. ¡°Don¡¯t open it¡ª¡±

    But the two boys were already there, pulling back the locks and unbarring the door. It creaked open, a sound that seemed to stretch for an eternity, a cold gust of wind slithering through the doorframe¡­

    And there stood Evaine Tamelyn, face flushed with sweat, her eyes widening to saucers as she saw the two, Garax the storyteller smiling crookedly behind her.

 24. In the House of a Dragon

    Chapter Twenty-Four: In the House of a Dragon

    ¡°When the Ember was taken from the dragons, they lost the ability to hold their forms. They became a mere shadow of the proud beasts they once were, cursed to walk the earth forever dreaming of that which was no more.¡±

    ¡ªYlva Norn, The Encyclopaedia of Daemons

    ¡°You fools,¡± Talberon said, as they all gathered around the cramped dining room at the back of Drakhorn¡¯s store. ¡°It could have been the Faceless. You should have waited and asked more questions to confirm their identities.¡±

    His words fell on deaf ears as the three childhood friends chattered excitedly amongst themselves. They¡¯d embraced at first, Ein and Bran shocked speechless at Evaine¡¯s appearance, and then the relieved scolding and half-hearted arguments had broken out, and finally they¡¯d settled down and were simply filling each other in on their respective journeys. With Evaine here, Ein felt complete again. Never mind the fever he¡¯d been struck with, the nightmarish visions he¡¯d experienced. Never mind the shadow of doubt in Evaine¡¯s eyes that hadn¡¯t been there before. Never mind the way Bran trembled when they mentioned the relicts. They were alive. He, Bran and Evaine had made it out of the Sleeping Twins to Caerlon, alive and well.

    Ein caught his father¡¯s eye. Alend tried to maintain a disapproving frown, but his relief and the smile playing about his lips were plain for all to see.

    ¡°How did you find us?¡± Bran asked.

    ¡°Well,¡± said Garax, ¡°it actually wasn¡¯t that hard. All it took was a few drinks in the right taverns. It¡¯s not every day that a barefoot girl and a ragged boy walk into town dragging a half-dead person on a sled behind them. I guessed who you were soon enough.¡±

    ¡°But how did you know we were here of all places?¡± Ein questioned.

    Garax looked sideways at Drakhorn. ¡°I had some dealings with Master Drakhorn before in the past.¡± The tailor gave a disapproving frown but said nothing. ¡°From the way they described Ein¡¯s delirium I guessed it was either Soulsickness or a severe fever. There aren¡¯t many healers I know who can reliably cure either, and considering the street they were taking you down and the condition you were in, I guessed where you were right away.¡±

    ¡°You seem to know a lot of people, storyteller.¡± Talberon remained distrustful, looking back and forth between Garax, Rhinne and Drakhorn. ¡°First, I¡¯m to believe you knew the World-Eater and Ylva Norn herself. Now you¡¯re saying you¡¯re acquainted with the dragons? Just what are you, Garax?¡±

    ¡°Dragons?¡± Evaine exclaimed, looking around the room. ¡°Where?¡±

    ¡°We all hold secrets, druid, as you well know.¡± Garax gave Talberon a meaningful look. ¡°But rest easy. Neither I nor Master Drakhorn and young Rhinne mean you harm. We all seek the same thing in the end¡ªto preserve our beautiful world and put an end to the Oathbreaker¡¯s madness. Believe me, if we meant you harm you would know it already.¡±

    ¡°Would anyone mind telling me what¡¯s going on?¡± Evaine asked again. She shot an accusatory glare at Ein and Bran, who both shrugged and shook their heads.

    ¡°I suppose we¡¯d better get this sorted,¡± Alend finally said, waving at the table. ¡°Talberon, I¡¯ve known Garax for as long as I¡¯ve known my son. He might have his secrets, but I trust him to reveal them in his own time, just like I trust you to a certain degree despite how secretive your order is.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re too trusting,¡± Talberon said, though he eased back slightly. ¡°That¡¯s why you were betrayed by King Aedon. That¡¯s why you were stabbed at the village by a man you thought to be a friend, with your own blade too.¡±

    Everyone but Bran looked away.

    ¡°Anyway, I suppose we¡¯d better sort this mess out. I expect your son and his friends will be adamant in joining us.¡±

    They took up a front of civility once more, Rhinne and Drakhorn cautiously taking a seat on the far end to Talberon. Evaine sat down between Ein and Bran and began shovelling food into her mouth like a starved animal. Introductions were made, albeit with reluctance.

    ¡°Rhinne,¡± Drakhorn murmured. ¡°I think you can trust the humans. After all, Garax is with them.¡±

    Rhinne maintained her scowl.

    ¡°They¡¯re your best bet of reaching Aldoran,¡± the tailor continued. ¡°There¡¯s safety in numbers, and as much as you hate the druid, he¡¯s probably the most capable of all of us here in the event that things go wrong.¡±

    ¡°Rhinne,¡± said Evaine. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking, what¡¯s the deal with the dragons? I thought they were supposed to be giant lizards of fire and fang.¡±

    ¡°We were.¡± Rhinne set her jaw into a hard line. ¡°Long ago, we were. Back when we had the Ember. Then, mankind stole it.¡± She glared at Talberon. ¡°And the druids helped them.¡±

    ¡°I would apologize to you if I could,¡± Talberon said coolly, ¡°but the sins of my predecessors are not mine to shoulder. I will do what I can to help you, as long as it doesn¡¯t interfere with our current mission.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re a dragon?¡± Evaine asked, eyes gleaming. ¡°An actual dragon?¡±

    ¡°I am,¡± she said curtly. ¡°And so is Lord Drakhorn. He was one of our best healers long ago, which would have been over several hundred years by now. Shortly before I was born, he decided to move here to Caerlon. That was the worst decision he¡¯s ever made, in my opinion.¡±

    ¡°Never.¡± Drakhorn shook his head firmly. ¡°Not once have I regretted my decision. When you truly love someone, Rhinne, you will understand.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°You fell in love with a human, Drakhorn. A human.¡±

    ¡°So what? We share the same bodies, Rhinne. We look the same. He was the same as you and me, inside.¡± A forlorn look clouded over his face. ¡°Humans burn bright, but their lives are so short. Fate is truly cruel.¡±

    ¡°If you insist, Drakhorn. All I see is the shadow of a great and proud dragon, reduced to the owner of a petty store because of one man.¡±

    ¡°It was always his wish to become a tailor. I¡¯m simply fulfilling it in his place.¡± He cleared his throat and gazed at Talberon and the Felhaveners. ¡°I apologize for the confusion. I once lived with the rest of my people, far away across the mountains, but through some unforeseen circumstances I ended up living here. I still make journeys back home every few years, and occasionally some of my people stop by my store to visit when they venture out of the village. I know Rhinne from one of my trips home, though the last time I saw her, she was but a hatchling.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± nodded Alend. ¡°Excuse my question, but if you¡¯re really dragons, can¡¯t you just¡­ fly to Aldoran?¡±

    ¡°Like I said,¡± Rhinne said bitterly, ¡°all our power came from the Ember. When the humans stole it in the Second Age, we lost the ability to maintain our true forms and were reduced to these weak bodies. Now that the relicts threaten to overwhelm the world once more, we simply cannot do without that power. We need the First Flame again, to fight back and defend the world in which we live, and I¡¯m sure the High King knows where to find it.¡±

    ¡°If the King knew of some magical stone that could save the world, I¡¯m fairly certain he would have used it already,¡± Talberon said.

    Rhinne shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll be the judge of that. Who knows, maybe someone from your order knows where it is.¡±

    ¡°I assure you, if I had knowledge of such an artifact the Great Winter would be over already.¡± Talberon sighed. ¡°But I will check, just to be sure.¡±

    ¡°See to it that you do. I¡¯ll be travelling to Aldoran either way, to make our presence known.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± Talberon sighed and turned back to Ein, Bran and Evaine. ¡°Now that that¡¯s sorted, there are some questions I need to ask you three. You said you were pursued by an Urudain?¡±

    Bran swallowed, while Ein remained quiet.

    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Evaine said. ¡°The blasted creature almost killed us.¡±

    Talberon looked to Alend, who had suddenly grown pale. ¡°How do you know it was one of them and not a relict?¡± he asked Evaine. ¡°Can you describe what you saw?¡±

    ¡°It had a cloak of shimmering grey,¡± Evaine answered, ¡°and a pitch-dark mask resembling a crescent moon with a single eyehole. It was long and thin, almost spectral.¡± She stroked her chin thoughtfully. ¡°It also had a whip made of shadows. I can¡¯t remember how long it was, but one flick of it destroyed half the caravan and sent it flying off the side of the cliff. Do you remember anything else, Ein? Bran?¡±

    ¡°The horse,¡± Bran said with a tremor in his voice. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anything like it. It had blood-red eyes and fangs, and spines running down its legs. It was like a¡­ a demon.¡±

    ¡°The trouper called it Angramar,¡± Ein said. ¡°First of the seven,¡±

    ¡°Damnation,¡± Talberon muttered. He pointed to Ein. ¡°You, son of Alend. Did your sister give you anything before you left? A wooden charm of sorts?¡±

    Ein felt all eyes turn on him and shook his head. ¡°She did, but I¡­ I threw it away.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Talberon eyed Alend. ¡°You¡¯re sure this boy doesn¡¯t share your blood?¡±

    ¡°As sure as the sky is grey,¡± the blacksmith replied.

    ¡°Then it must be coincidence. The only person the Oathbreaker should have business with all the way out here is you.¡±

    ¡°E-excuse me, Master Alend,¡± Bran said. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking¡­ why are you on a journey to Aldoran? Ein said it was for a business trip, but¡­ I don¡¯t believe it.¡±

    Evaine nodded. ¡°Neither do I.¡±

    They frowned at Ein, who turned away. Rhinne folded her arms. ¡°I think I¡¯d like to know too,¡± she said, ¡°what business the Oathbreaker¡¯s generals have with you. I¡¯ve told you my story and it¡¯s only fair that I hear yours. The last thing I want is to be killed by an Urudain without even knowing why.¡±

    ¡°Should I tell them?¡± Alend asked.

    Talberon heaved a sigh.

    ¡°Might as well,¡± he said. ¡°Listen carefully, everyone. I will not repeat myself. Alend is the last of the Thorens, a line of kings that traces back to Aedrasil herself. The Ward Tree weakens at the Worldspring in Aldoran, and has requested the blood of each of her three descendent families to cure her. The Thorens are one of them, along with the Uldans and the Lachesses. Hopefully with their blood, Aedrasil can do whatever she needs to do to make a full recovery and seal shut the portals of Nephilheim.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t those the three families involved in the Rondo of the Three Kings?¡± Evaine asked. She looked at Ein. ¡°Wait a moment¡­ doesn¡¯t that mean you¡¯re descended from a line of kings?¡±

    ¡°Alend isn¡¯t my real father.¡±

    Evaine¡¯s eyebrows shot up. ¡°What? Why didn¡¯t you tell¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you later, Evaine. We need to sort out what¡¯s happening next.¡±

    Evaine fell silent, but she continued to throw cursory glances between the father and son.

    ¡°This puts things into an interesting perspective,¡± Drakhorn remarked. ¡°Perhaps it wasn¡¯t mere coincidence that you stumbled into these people, Rhinne. It seems that their quest intertwines with your own.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps.¡± Rhinne didn¡¯t say anything more.

    ¡°I take it none of you are having second thoughts, then?¡± Talberon asked. Evaine had fallen silent, struggling to wrap her head around everything that had been explained. Bran was staring into space, fists hardened in resolve. Ein kept his head down while Alend watched, arms folded.

    Then, Garax began to chuckle.

    At once, all heads in the room turned to him. The storyteller had a habit of fading into the background when people weren¡¯t paying him notice, and he¡¯d made full use of it. Leaning back, his chuckle turned into a throaty guffaw as he slapped his palm against his knee, shaking his head.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe my luck,¡± he said, smiling widely. ¡°To think that these old bones will venture forth on one last quest, and possibly the greatest to pass. A quest to Aldoran and the Worldspring to save our dying Protector, along with a Kingsblade and a dragon of old. A quest fighting relicts and Faceless and Urudain, rising against the Forsaken One himself. Our tale will be told for ages to come.¡±

    ¡°People have died because of this,¡± Talberon scowled. ¡°Remember the poor travelling troupe? The world is at stake here, storyteller. This isn¡¯t some game.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a game,¡± Garax agreed. ¡°It¡¯s a legend, and what a damn fine one it¡¯s turning out to be.¡±

    Lord Drakhorn stood up and clapped his hands. ¡°I think now would be a good time to turn in for the night,¡± he said, before the two old men could break into further argument. ¡°I don¡¯t have many rooms, but we can split up bedrolls across the store and the dining room floor tonight. A lot of things have happened today, and I daresay we all need some time to absorb it all.¡±

    There was a round of nods as everyone packed their belongings and began to move about, setting up their resting areas. As they filtered out one by one, Ein remained behind with Bran and Evaine. Although Evaine looked tired and seemed to be fighting to keep her eyes open, she tugged on Ein¡¯s arm with the excitement of a young child.

    ¡°I guess we¡¯ll sleep here tonight,¡± he said. ¡°We have a lot to talk about.¡±

 25. The Laws of Songweaving

    Chapter Twenty-Five: The Laws of Songweaving

    ¡°There are rules to singing a song. You cannot simply string together a group of sounds and call it music.¡±

    ¡ªSonata the Speechless, The Woman with no Voice

    Ein¡¯s sleep was deep and undisturbed that night. He didn¡¯t dream of beaches or storm maidens, or burning villages and starless realms watched by faceless gods. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, it was light and the muffled sounds of morning were trickling through the thin walls.

    Everyone was up already, gathered by the table and eating, all except Talberon. The Druid watched impassively from the corner, flipping through the tome he always carried.

    ¡°Eat up,¡± Drakhorn said, waving at Ein. ¡°The food belongs to you, anyway.¡±

    ¡°It does?¡±

    ¡°We salvaged it from the bandits,¡± Bran explained. ¡°Come on, Ein. It¡¯s going to go bad if we don¡¯t eat it, anyway.¡±

    Ein sat down beside Rhinne and began to eat, breaking off a chunk of hard bread and bringing it tentatively to his mouth. Drakhorn had boiled some vegetables in a stew, and although the seasoning was basic and left much to be desired, he found himself inhaling everything as quickly as he could without even bothering to wipe his mouth.

    ¡°When are we leaving today?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Never,¡± Talberon answered. ¡°If you think your father¡¯s in any state to travel after last night, you¡¯re a fool.¡±

    ¡°Sorry.¡± Alend smiled sheepishly, sawing through a thick cut of meat. ¡°Lord Drakhorn says it¡¯s going to be another day before I¡¯m ready to travel.¡±

    ¡°Only because you keep opening up that wound of yours,¡± the tailor glared. ¡°I¡¯ve stitched it up and applied the best poultice I could make. Talberon¡¯s done his part as well, running ragged across town to fetch the necessary ingredients. Promise me you won¡¯t go anywhere, or you¡¯ll undo all our hard work.¡±

    ¡°I promise.¡±

    ¡°Does that mean we get the day to look around town?¡± Evaine piped.

    Garax smirked. ¡°Eager to venture out again so soon?¡±

    ¡°Of course. Don¡¯t you and Ein feel the same?¡± she asked, poking Bran in the ribs.

    Ein couldn¡¯t deny his curiosity. They were in Caerlon supposedly, and he hadn¡¯t even set foot onto the streets yet. He wanted to see what the town was like at least once before they left.

    ¡°No,¡± Talberon immediately said. Ein¡¯s face fell, and Evaine opened her mouth to protest. ¡°You¡¯ll stand out too much. We¡¯re already taking a huge risk by staying here. Letting them loose in the streets will be like lighting a signal fire to the Faceless.¡±

    ¡°Come on,¡± Garax said. ¡°Cut them a bit of slack, will you? Don¡¯t you remember what it was like to be a child?¡±

    Ein¡¯s jaw twitched. I am not a child.

    ¡°I can give them some proper clothes,¡± Drakhorn offered. ¡°Maybe then they¡¯ll draw less attention.¡±

    Evaine brightened. ¡°Yes, please! That would be amazing!¡±

    ¡°Even so, it¡¯s dangerous. Do you think you¡¯d be able to defend them both with that crude sword by your side, young Thoren?¡± Ein swallowed but shook his head. The Worgal blade he¡¯d salvaged was barely enough to defend himself. If he met an opponent wielding a weapon with longer reach, he would be in trouble.

    ¡°Who says we need defending?¡± Evaine fired.

    ¡°You told us the story yourself. If the storyteller hadn¡¯t been with you, you wouldn¡¯t be alive right now.¡±

    Evaine shut her mouth, fuming.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you go with them, Talberon?¡± Alend asked. ¡°You¡¯re not doing anything today, anyway. We¡¯ve already stocked up for the journey ahead. Besides, you can keep watch from afar in your avian form, can¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°You can teach them about the Soulsong too,¡± Garax added. ¡°Ein¡¯s already Awakened, and I think Evaine is close.¡±

    ¡°Teach us the Soulsong,¡± Evaine said. ¡°That¡¯s magic, right? Then we¡¯ll be able to defend ourselves.¡±

    ¡°The path of a Songweaver is a dangerous one,¡± Talberon spoke. ¡°Once you take the first step, there¡¯s no turning back.¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s already too late to turn back,¡± Ein said. All eyes turned towards him. ¡°When I saw Al¡¯Ashar in that vision during my sickness, he said something. He said that I was a Tel¡¯rahn, and that I would fall¡ªwe would all fall before him. Somehow, I get the impression that Al¡¯Ashar has taken a personal interest to us.¡±

    Dark lines crossed Talberon¡¯s face as he tugged at his beard, thinking. ¡°You¡¯re sure it was the Oathbreaker?¡±

    ¡°It had to be. The presence I felt from him was unlike anything I¡¯d ever felt before.¡±

    Talberon drew a deep breath and exhaled. ¡°Merciful Cenedria,¡± he muttered. ¡°I suppose I have no choice then, do I?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad that¡¯s decided,¡± Evaine quipped. ¡°Come on, Ein, Bran. Do you want to join us, Rhinne?¡±

    ¡°Gods no,¡± the girl said. ¡°I absolutely hate the skins you people wear. How can you stand walking around with all that weight on you? And don¡¯t get me started on shoes. Why would you want to smother your feet like that?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to dress properly when you leave,¡± Drakhorn pointed out. ¡°The guards won¡¯t let you into Aldoran if you look like a beggar. Especially since all the beggars wearing as little as you would have frozen to death by now.¡±

    Rhinne scowled. ¡°All the more reason to enjoy my freedom while I can.¡±

    Evaine shrugged, wiping her mouth against a napkin. ¡°Come on then, let¡¯s not waste any time. Hurry up and finish eating, Ein. You too, Bran!¡±

    #

    A half hour later, the three Felhaveners set foot onto the streets of Caerlon in the clean, dry cotton of middle class citizens, free of dirt and grime for what felt like the first time since they¡¯d left home. Talberon soared above them, a grey shadow flying just out of reach of the scruffy alleycats, flitting between the rooftops and the thin clotheslines and tall lampposts that decorated the town. Ein froze like a startled deer as they turned onto the main street, unsure of where to look. He¡¯d heard stories and seen pictures of towns before¡ªthere was nothing special about them, yet he found himself overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information assailing his senses. There were so many people, places, sounds, smells, sensations that his mind simply shut down and refused to operate.

    This isn¡¯t even a city, Ein thought. He couldn¡¯t fathom what Aldoran would be like.

    -Don¡¯t stand still.-

    A voice projected itself into Ein¡¯s head, startling him. He looked around, coming face to face with Bran and Evaine.

    ¡°Did you hear that?¡± Evaine asked. Bran nodded.

    -Keep moving. You¡¯ll stand out if you stop in the middle of the street, gawking.-

    There was a shrill cry from above as a sparrow swooped past them, clipping Ein on the ear. Ein winced.

    ¡°We¡¯d better listen to him,¡± he said, gesturing to the others. It felt strange to have someone project their voice directly into his mind.

    They took their time walking through Caerlon, peering at the signs and into the windows, eyeing the stalls and their owners by the side of the road. Evaine talked without stopping while Ein and Bran occasionally offered one-word inputs. There were more shops than Ein could count, a stark contrast to the scant amount of services available in Felhaven¡ªeverything from apothecaries to potteries, cobblers¡¯ to breweries, carpenters to stonemasons and a dozen merchants selling miscellaneous goods from banged up wagons. He counted three forges, four bakeries and eight grocery stalls before finally giving up. Bran had surrendered long ago, resigning himself to being pulled about by Evaine¡¯s whims.

    -Ein. Evaine.-

    They both looked upwards towards the voice as Talberon swooped from one rooftop to another.

    -Listen very carefully to what I¡¯m about to tell you. The Soulsong is an extremely dangerous weapon, not just to others but to the wielder themselves. You must not try to jump ahead at any time. Do you still remember how it felt to be stricken with the Soulsickness, Ein?-

    Ein nodded. He wouldn¡¯t be forgetting for a while.

    -Good. Never forget that feeling, for the slightest misuse, the slightest miscalculation can result in death. Do you both understand?-

    Ein and Evaine nodded, not trusting themselves to speak in the middle of the busy street. Bran followed a short way behind them, hands thrust into his pockets.

    -Sound is magic. Think back to when you were a child, listening to the merry harping of a jester¡¯s song, or the sad wail of a tragedy. Think of how you felt. Think of the happiness, the laughter, the sadness, the weeping. Think of how your body was manipulated. Tavern songs and performances are magic, in their most basic form.

    -Now think of another time, perhaps not so long ago. Think of a time a travelling troupe visited and performed and sang. Think of the emotion laced within their voices, and how that made you feel. It magnified those feelings, didn¡¯t it? A song sang with emotion had a greater effect than a song sang without.

    -That is the Soulsong. To truly impose your will upon reality, you must entwine your voice with Spirit. By creating sounds, whether it be by singing or speaking words, sometimes even playing instruments, Spirit can be channelled. Spirit governs the world. It is present in all living things. It makes up life, and when we channel it, we use it to manipulate the natural laws of the universe. It is most easily accessible during times when we feel great emotion, but a trained Songweaver can draw from it at will.-

    Ein thought back to when he¡¯d wielded his Soulsong on the bridge, calling on the lightning. He¡¯d experienced a torrent of emotions¡ªfear, despair, anger, frustration, several more he couldn¡¯t put names to.

    -The more powerful the intended effect of a Soulsong, the more Spirit it will draw upon. At its most basic level, a Soulsong will draw energy from its weaver. On the night you called down lightning against Angramar, you drew far more Spirit than your body could give. That was what caused the Soulsickness. You became fever stricken for three days, the amount of time it took for your body to recover the amount of Spirit it needed to function. Had you remained in that state for much longer, your body would have given out and you would have died. That is the most important law of Songweaving¡ªthe Law of Equivalence. Spirit can neither be created or destroyed, only manipulated. Never draw upon more Spirit than you can provide, or you will pay for it with your life.-

    They took a turn into a series of alleyways, focusing on the druid¡¯s voice. Evaine was silent for once. Ein became aware of just how much noise there was in the world. Even when the voices were gone, there were the cries of birds in the distance and the scampering of rodents in the gutters. Beneath those, there was the grass and the trees and the brushing of the wind against cobble. And when all sound was gone, there was the beating of his own heart, the rustle of his clothes as he walked, the pattering of his shoes against the ground. They were the sounds of Spirit as it leaped from one form to another, from noise to movement to heat and then back again, a never-ending cycle.

    -There are two more universal laws of Songweaving. Memorize and understand them, and you will be on the path to becoming a competent Songweaver.-

    Evaine muttered something under her breath about scholars and classes.

    -The Law of Translation states thus: A Songweaver can draw upon another the Spirit of another entity. However, the more potent that entity¡¯s Spirit, the more resistant they are to your attempts. For example, a Songweaver may easily draw energy from a tree, but would have a harder time drawing energy from a man or a fellow Songweaver. Some objects such as certain metals and gems make near perfect wells of Spirit due to their low spiritual resistance.-

    ¡°Wait a second,¡± Ein said. ¡°So we can draw energy from other people to fuel our magic?¡±

    -Correct. But the greater control over their Spirit that entity has, the harder it is to take from it. As a general rule, the more sentient a species is, the more resistance it will put up, but the energy it provides would also be minimal. I could draw upon an entire tree and I would only be able to start a small fire. I could also draw upon energy from one of you to start that campfire, but it would require far more effort and concentration.-

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that mean you could potentially kill someone without even touching them? Just by using them as a source of fuel for your song?¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    -It is possible. Come over here with me.-

    Talberon brought them to a halt in front of a water fountain, surrounded by the looming townhouses of the residential district. The statue of the messenger god Eolas, god of wisdom, logic and cities stood in the centre of the stone basin, encircled by water spewing from holes by his feet. He wore a thin hemp tunic and held a messenger bag under one hand as he stood atop the water in mid-stride, feathered wings splaying from his sandals. Talberon landed atop the messenger god¡¯s helmet and stared at them.

    -Young Mistress Evaine.-

    Evaine blinked. ¡°Yes?¡±

    -You mentioned you had brief control over water through your voice?-

    Evaine nodded. ¡°I did.¡±

    The swallow swivelled its head, examining their surroundings. The area was empty save a few housewives wandering about, carrying bags of groceries and basketfuls of washing in their hands. None of them paid them any heed.

    -This will be a good place to try and put some of this into practice. I want you to concentrate on doing something with that water. Alter the direction of flow perhaps, or increase the intensity at which it cycles from the fountain. Focus on that one thing you want it to do, and then make a sound with your throat. It can be a hum or a whisper, a word, a grunt, a howl even, though I¡¯d advise you keep your voice low. Speak as if speaking the language of water itself.-

    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± Evaine scowled. ¡°Could you get any less specific?¡±

    -This is something you will just have to practice and work out yourself. Now, go.-

    Evaine stared at the water and then whispered. ¡°Stop.¡±

    The water gurgled but made no attempt to halt.

    -Try and lace your voice with emotion. Will it to stop. Coax it, coerce it, whichever path you choose, make sure it is apparent in your voice. Tone and method of delivery are often more meaningful than words themselves.-

    Evaine stared at the fountain, thinking. Then, she pressed her lips together and hummed. Ein felt it at once¡ªa soft brush against his ear, like a mother crooning to a child. One of the streams of water froze in mid-air, individual globules hovering in place. Evaine gasped and the spell was broken, the water splashing back into the basin.

    -Good. You have a great deal of talent, Evaine.- Evaine flushed with pleasure. ¨CHow do you feel?-

    ¡°Fine,¡± she said. ¡°That was nothing. I think I could do more, maybe lift a whole bucketful of water even, now that I¡¯ve gotten the hang of it.¡±

    -Do it then.-

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you take it easier?¡± Bran asked. ¡°Isn¡¯t that what you said to do, Talberon?¡±

    The druid didn¡¯t answer. Evaine stared at the fountain again and growled. It was a harsher sound this time, a command for the water to rise and obey her. Her brow lowered into a straight line, her fists clenching by her sides, her shoulders tensing up. A bucket-sized sphere of water surfaced from the basin, slowly rising to eye level as droplets and streamed down its sides. Evaine began to tremble as she eyed the water with fierce intensity, struggling to lift it.

    -You can stop now. Save your energy.-

    Evaine exhaled and the sphere dropped back into the fountain, landing with a splash that wet Ein¡¯s shirt.

    -What did that feel like?-

    ¡°It felt like I was trying to lift a boulder,¡± Evaine said. ¡°It was hard. I was running out of breath to keep humming, too.¡±

    -That is why we need to string together separate sounds and words for more potent Songweaving. But, enough of that. Try to do the same thing again¡ªbut this time, I want you to focus on that tree over there as well. Focus on not only getting the water to obey you, but the tree to give up its life-force. Don¡¯t try to lift as much this time, just a cup¡¯s worth will do.-

    Evaine wiped the sweat from her forehead and locked her jaw. She hummed again, and a small bubble of water rose from the depths. Evaine faltered and it collapsed before it had even risen an inch.

    -A lot harder, isn¡¯t it?-

    She nodded.

    -Now, look at the tree.-

    Ein and Bran turned along with Evaine and they let out a collective gasp. The tree had already been stunted before, covered with withered leaves of yellow and grey-green, but it had shrivelled even further, drooping over like a dying man, several patches of leaves turned black in colour.

    -Remember this sight, Songweavers, for this is the price of the Soulsong. If you¡¯d tried to draw any more energy, that tree would have died. If you¡¯re ever forced to draw Spirit from another being, whether it be a tree or a man, never take more than you need to. There are patches of land around the Far Reaches where the relicts and Faceless drew Spirit from the earth with no mercy. That grass will never turn green again, not for millennia to come. We call it Blight, for it is a blight upon Faengard.-

    Evaine paled. ¡°And any Songweaver can do it? Any enemy Songweaver could do it on us?¡±

    -Try it on Ein. Ein, when you feel it, I want you to fight back and do everything you can to defend yourself from the pull.-

    ¡°Should we really be doing this?¡± Bran interjected. ¡°Isn¡¯t this dangerous?¡±

    -The ground rules must be established. Go, Evaine.-

    Evaine hesitated and then turned to Ein. ¡°Let me know if you want me to stop,¡± she murmured.

    Ein swallowed, his gaze darting back to the tree. If he didn¡¯t act quickly enough, would he end up like that? A withered husk of a human being, blackened and broken¡ª

    He felt the tug at once, drilling into his skull. There wasn¡¯t a chance in the world he could miss it. It was a foreign substance, a hideous tentacle slithering through his ears, yanking at his brain. He fought back instinctively, slamming shut the iron gates of his mind, teeth locking up, fists closing, bending his knees. He didn¡¯t stop until the tendril had fled, and even as he stood panting on his haunches, he still felt its touch inside of him. It felt like Evaine¡ªhe knew it was hers, the way he knew her voice was hers¡ªbut it was foreign and disturbing all the same, as if his entire body had been skinned and laid bare for her to scrutinize.

    Evaine was on her backside across the ground from him. She was shaking.

    -What did it feel like?-

    The two looked at each other, Bran standing above them, trying to figure out what happened. She rose to her feet and brushed her hair out of her eyes with a shaky hand.

    ¡°I was walking,¡± she said. ¡°Walking through a dark forest. I was heading deeper and deeper into it, into a den of some sort. It wasn¡¯t mine. It told me to go back with each step I took. When I passed the threshold¡­¡± she looked nervously at Ein, and there was fear in her eyes. ¡°A black wolf came out and chased me away. The trees started collapsing. I thought I was going to die.¡±

    -And that is what it feels like when a Songweaver tries a Spiritual attack on another. Even the most basic of animals have the instinct to defend themselves. Learn what it feels like to be attacked, and rest easy that it is no simple feat to take from another without their consent. But also, do not forget that there exist people in our world, abominations who are capable of such feats. Keep your wits about you at all times.-

    Talberon took to the skies while Ein and Evaine were still reeling, putting the pieces of their minds back together. ¨CLet us keep moving now, and I will tell you the third law.-

    They left the fountain in the residential district and made their way back to the main road, passing a cluster of guards along the way. The guards surrounded the entrance of an alleyway, two of them roping it off, another small group down the far end examining a body on the ground, a third interviewing a woman with closely-cropped hair and a pierced ear. Ein caught the scent of blood in the air.

    ¡°That must be the place where your father was attacked by the Faceless,¡± Bran murmured. ¡°It¡¯s right behind Master Drakhorn¡¯s store.¡±

    -The Faceless are everywhere, young ones. You must not give out your trust easily.-

    They finished their second circuit of Caerlon and strode down the main square. It was nearing noon now and the food stalls were piling up with customers. Though resources were scarce, there were always ingenious recipes to be made by skilled chefs, creating meals where only leftovers and stale scraps were to be found.

    -The third and final law is the Law of Similarity. The Law of Similarity states that the cost of a Soulsong can be reduced by drawing Spirit from a similar source, as our Young Mistress demonstrated. Had you tried to convert matter itself, for example creating water from air or earth, it would have required far more Spirit to do so. But because the water was already there, all that was required was for you to manipulate it. It is a simple concept¡ªlike attracts like. The same goes for you, young Master Ein. The only reason you were able to call down such a great bolt of lightning was because there was a storm happening at the same time. We call these things catalysts. By adding a factor, in this case the presence of water, or a storm, the cost of the Soulsong is reduced and we can attempt greater feats with our voices. Is that clear?-

    Evaine and Ein nodded.

    -Good. There is a second part to the law also. I take it neither of you have heard of Wyrd?-

    The sparrow¡¯s question was met by blank stares. Only Bran answered.

    ¡°I remember Garax talking about it once,¡± he said. ¡°He was telling me about the origins of certain words. Just as Wyd and wind are derived from each other, Wyrd is yet another variation. It means fate, doesn¡¯t it? Destiny?¡±

    -That is correct.- Bran looked proud at finally having something to contribute to the discussion. ¨CWyrd is the embodiment of a person¡¯s soul, their signature among the Winds of Fate. In terms of Songweaving, it is their affinity. There are certain feats that each Songweaver can do better than others of their kind. Specialities, of sorts. For the young Mistress, it would be controlling the element of water. For young Master Ein, it would be manipulation of lightning and storms. There are many more I have encountered¡ªthe essence of speed, unrivalled skill with arms, bewitching beauty, just to name a few.

    -The second part of the Law of Similarity states that a Songweaver who tries to manipulate an element that is not theirs will be far less efficient at it, requiring exponentially higher amounts of Spirit to accomplish that feat than one with a matching affinity. Effectively, this means that the songs most Songweavers can sing, such as lighting a simple fire or concealing oneself, are limited to small areas of effect and potency.-

    ¡°Talberon,¡± said Ein, keeping his voice low. The sparrow landed on his shoulder as they waded through a crowd of people, tagging onto the end of a line. ¡°Does Wyrd have anything to do with dreams? For the past few days until I woke up, I had a lot of dreams where I was alone on a beach, listening to a woman sing. She claimed she was Reyalin, the Lady of Lightning, and that I was one of the few vessels who could ¡®host her Wyrd.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Me too,¡± Evaine cut in. ¡°Though my dreams have been a bit different. I¡¯ve been standing on a pool of water, looking into my reflection, and instead of seeing myself I see a man. I have no idea who he is, though, and he never mentioned Wyrd, but he was also singing.¡±

    They both looked to Bran, but he shook his head. ¡°I haven¡¯t had any dreams like that,¡± he said.

    Talberon was still for a moment. -Do you still have these dreams? Either of you?-

    ¡°No,¡± Ein said.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Evaine said.

    -That is interesting. Another piece of the puzzle falls into place.-

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Ein asked.

    -Among those with Wyrd, there are certain anomalies¡ªprodigies if you will. During their time, they develop such powerful Wyrds that fate itself begins to gravitate toward them. We call people with these Wyrds Tel¡¯rahn, or Figures of Destiny¡ªfor almost certainly, they will play a part in the destinies of many around them. Traditionally, most Tel¡¯rahn have been Songweavers, but there have also been a select few who hold abilities outside of Songweaving. All Tel¡¯rahn will go on to become Heroes of Faengard, leaving their mark on the world in some way or another, and rather than passing on to Vallaheim or Hellheim, they will ascend to the Hall of Heroes to await rebirth. Rebirth will take the form of their Wyrd re-establishing itself in the body of another¡ªreincarnation, if you will. We call these Wyrds Aldisir¡ªGreat Spirit, in the old tongue.

    -If what you say is true, Ein, then you possess one of these Aldisir, the Lady Reyalin. The same goes for you, Evaine. Thus, you are both Tel¡¯rahn as well as Songweavers, and your actions will decide the fates of many to come.- Talberon took off into the air again as the crowd grew more dense. ¨CThere is, however, a great downside that comes with being Tel¡¯rahn.-

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Evaine asked.

    -Ein, you mentioned that you saw the Oathbreaker himself during one of your delusions. Might I ask, what was the context of that? Where were you in your dream when you saw him?-

    ¡°It was a strange place,¡± Ein said. ¡°Like I was flying among the stars, but instead of stars there were lots and lots of lights.¡± He frowned, trying to recall all the details of the dream. ¡°The lights were all people, with their own hues and shades of colour, their own voices. Some were brighter than others. I recognized a few of them, like my father and my sister.¡±

    -Was that after or before your final dream with Reyalin?-

    ¡°After.¡±

    Talberon landed atop the tarp of one of the stalls, fluffing his feathers. The three reached the front of the line and they broke off briefly to buy a skewer of meat each and a loaf of bread. As they stepped away to find a place to eat, Talberon re-joined them.

    -All Tel¡¯rahn go through a stage called Awakening, usually triggered by an extremely distressing incident. Once a person has Awakened, they become detectable in Astreal, the Spirit Plane. My guess is that after the battle with the Bloodmane at Felhaven, you began that process, and you ended it a day ago. That dream you had was a visit to Astreal. The lights you saw, those were the spirits of everything in the entire universe. It¡¯s a wonder you managed to remain sane.-

    ¡°You mean that pressure I felt from Al¡¯Ashar¡­ that was his Spirit?¡±

    -Yes. He is a god, Ein. He is beyond the realm of mortals, and the mere touch of his presence is enough to drive a man insane.- Talberon circled above, startling a group of pigeons. -For people who can enter Astreal and remain sane, tracking a particular signature is possible, especially one as bright as a Tel¡¯rahn. That would explain why the relicts pursued you. It is likely that the Oathbreaker is seeking to destroy all Tel¡¯rahn in the world, all the Reborn Heroes of Faengard, for combined, they pose a threat to his return.-

    ¡°Is there a way to protect ourselves? Maybe hide our presence in the Spirit Plane, like that charm you gave my sister?¡± The charm I threw away.

    Evaine finished her skewer and licked her fingertips. ¡°This is all so much to take in,¡± she shook her head.

    -I cannot hide your presence completely. But I can create that charm again for you both. To a light like your sister who doesn¡¯t burn as brightly, it would serve to completely conceal them. To those like you and your father, it would lower the range an entity would be able to detect you from and help you blend in with those around you, making it harder to be found. I will create one for you also, Young Master Bran.-

    ¡°Me?¡± Bran pointed to himself, forgetting about the food in his mouth. Evaine scowled, flicking the crumb from her shoulder.

    -Yes. I, too, have been to Astreal. You shine brightly as well, Bran. You will have a part to play in this Age to end all Ages.-

    A look of concern spread across Bran¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I want to be a part of all this,¡± he murmured.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Evaine said, punching him on the arm. ¡°Most kids could only dream of being in your place. Doesn¡¯t it sound great, being a Hero of Faengard?¡±

    Just how much are you willing to sacrifice to go after her? Ein wondered.

    ¡°I suppose I don¡¯t have a choice,¡± Bran said. ¡°There¡¯s no way I¡¯m going back alone, after all.¡±

    They finished their meal and threw away their skewers. ¡°We should head back,¡± Ein said. ¡°Make sure we¡¯re packed and ready to leave tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°What? We haven¡¯t even been to the taverns yet,¡± Evaine protested.

    ¡°We can go at night,¡± Bran said. ¡°That¡¯s when they¡¯re the busiest, anyway. Garax would probably want to join us.¡±

    -Bran is right. You¡¯ll have plenty of time for that tonight, if you so wish it. Besides, there will be far more to see at Aldoran. Go back and practice your Songweaving. I will go and secure a ride along the Royal Road for tomorrow morning.-

    Evaine sighed. ¡°Alright,¡± she said. ¡°You two had better come with me.¡±

    ¡°Just don¡¯t use up all our funds,¡± Bran warned. ¡°We might need that money for the journey.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure money won¡¯t be a problem,¡± she said, smiling sweetly. ¡°Ein and I are Tel¡¯rahn! We¡¯ll just go beat up another bandit camp.¡± She waltzed away, humming to herself.

    ¡°Sometimes I wonder why I even bother,¡± Bran sighed.

    Ein looked at the sky. It was going to be a clear night.

 26. Urudain

    Chapter Twenty-Six: Urudain

    ¡°They were the bringers of death and destruction, the most powerful of the Faceless, the Forsaken One¡¯s most trusted generals. Each of them held power to rival a god¡¯s, and when they rode across the land, the Blight came not far behind. Seven they were, the most magical number of them all, and we called them the Urudain. Along with the Aldereich, greatest of the relicts, they were the bane of all things that lived in the Light.¡±

    ¡ªYlva Norn, A History of Faengard: The First Age

    The Lusty Barmaid was the busiest inn in Caerlon, a twin-storied building on the main road that attracted patrons from all over town with its raunchy signs and overly steeped roof. Noise and golden light spilled from the windows and into the darkness outside as Rhinne, Drakhorn and the five Felhaveners approached it. Talberon flew above them in sparrow form, landing atop the wooden sign. He flashed them as annoyed a look as a bird could manage.

    -You¡¯re going to regret this,- he glowered. ¨CWe leave at sunrise tomorrow whether you¡¯re ready or not. I don¡¯t care if you¡¯re Tel¡¯rahn, I¡¯ll leave you behind without a second thought¡ªso try not to drink too much.-

    ¡°It¡¯ll be alright,¡± Evaine said. ¡°Alend will watch over us, right?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be busy,¡± Alend said. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of information that could be gained from a bit of listening.¡±

    ¡°What about you two?¡± she asked, turning to Rhinne and Drakhorn.

    ¡°We dragons prefer not to drink,¡± Drakhorn explained. ¡°The slightest twitch of the throat could ignite any alcohol in our gut, and then we¡¯d be breathing fire all over the place.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m only here in case you try to sneak off without me,¡± Rhinne grumbled. She wore a light-coloured tunic over baggy trousers and thinly stitched shoes that barely offered her feet any protection. Her flaming hair was tied back into a tail and hidden under the cowl of her cloak. From a distance, she could be easily mistaken for a boy¡ªthe grandson of Drakhorn, perhaps.

    ¡°Garax, then?¡±

    The storyteller grinned. ¡°I¡¯ll drink with you, Evaine. You have to experience getting drunk at a real tavern at least once in your life.¡±

    Evaine smiled smugly. ¡°See?¡± she said. ¡°He understands.¡±

    The inn was so packed with people it seemed small and cramped, even though it was easily double or triple the size of the Sleeping Twinn. There were more people at each table than it could fit, with another roomful on the balcony of the second floor overlooking the first. Scantily-clad barmaids hurried with drinks and stools in hands to accommodate the steady influx of customers, drawing lustful looks from all around. Ein¡¯s eyes went wide at the sight. It seemed that the Lusty Barmaid had an eye for picking women with large busts and it made no attempt to hide that fact, giving them noisy bracelets and low-necked blouses to go with their curves. Two burly bouncers held vigil by the doorway, watching and listening for unwanted grabs and remarks.

    ¡°What a place,¡± Garax whistled. ¡°Makes me wish I wasn¡¯t so old.¡±

    Rhinne and Drakhorn scowled. ¡°We¡¯ll be at the table by the doorway,¡± Rhinne said.

    Alend turned towards Ein. ¡°I¡¯ll be with them if you need anything. I don¡¯t plan on drinking anything tonight, and I¡¯d advise you to do the same.¡± He nodded at Bran and then his eyes flickered towards Evaine. ¡°Keep an eye on her, okay? I trust Garax but he doesn¡¯t always act as responsibly as he should.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Father.¡±

    Alend lowered his voice. ¡°And don¡¯t do anything silly. We¡¯re here to gather information and have a bit of fun. I don¡¯t want to see anyone running off to the first serving girl who looks doe-eyed at you.¡±

    Ein and Bran flushed. ¡°Of course.¡±

    They took a seat at a table as Alend went to join the two dragonoids in the corner. The air was warm and sweet, and the chatter was at a manageable level. Either the people of Caerlon were tame, or the hour of folly hadn¡¯t hit yet.

    ¡°It¡¯s very different, isn¡¯t it?¡± Bran murmured.

    Ein nodded. An ordinary night at Koth¡¯s inn involved a bit of chatter and a bit of drinking, maybe a song or a story if Garax was there. A night at the Lusty Barmaid was much more eventful. Arm wrestles were ongoing at a table, surrounded by a ring of rowdy men waving tickets and purses and overflowing mugs of ale. There was a scarred trader telling war stories to wide-eyed subordinates, tables of drinkers playing cards, a small group of people throwing knives at a board, and a square section of floor where couples danced to the lively jingle of a bard. The fireplace crackled merrily by the counter, blasting waves of warmth across the inn.

    ¡°This reminds me of Founder¡¯s Eve,¡± Ein said, with the beginnings of a smile.

    Evaine had already been whisked away by one of the men who¡¯d won the arm wrestling contest. She danced with him now, laughing and smiling as he twirled her in tune to the bard¡¯s lute.

    ¡°What are you going to do when all this is over?¡± Bran asked. ¡°When your father¡¯s done what he needs to do and is ready to head home?¡±

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll go with him,¡± Ein sighed. ¡°Though things won¡¯t quite be the same. Evaine won¡¯t be there, and neither will you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s true.¡± Bran looked lost for a moment. ¡°You¡¯ve got your mother¡ªor aunt?¡ªand Cinnamin waiting for you.¡±

    ¡°Mother. She¡¯ll always be my mother no matter what,¡± Ein affirmed.

    ¡°Your mother,¡± Bran nodded. ¡°I wish I knew my mother. Now my father¡¯s gone too. Even if Evaine wanted to go back and they let her, I¡¯m not sure what I¡¯d do with myself. I¡¯ve never felt so alone in my life.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re more than welcome to move in with us,¡± Ein offered. ¡°I¡¯m sure my parents wouldn¡¯t mind. And you could always take up your father¡¯s butchery.¡±

    Bran sighed. One of the barmaids came up to them, a black-haired girl with a sultry gaze. She stopped before the two, so close Ein could see all the individual freckles across her cheeks, and offered the platter of drinks in her hand. ¡°Can I get you two gentlemen anything to drink?¡±

    Ein found himself staring at her bust and quickly looked away, only to be drawn into her eyes. The girl smiled. Ein felt his ears grow warm.

    ¡°We¡¯re fine,¡± he managed, staring hard at the table. Bran did the same opposite him.

    ¡°Are you sure? I can get you something else, if you¡¯d like. Anything at all.¡± She peered through her lashes at them, her smile remaining the same yet somehow more sensual.

    ¡°N-no thanks,¡± Bran said. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t talk like that, Mistress. People might take it to mean the wrong thing.¡±

    ¡°You two are no fun at all,¡± the girl sulked.

    She left, hips swaying behind her. Ein tore his gaze away, searching for something else to concentrate on. He locked eyes with Rhinne and Drakhorn from across the room. Rhinne looked away with a disgusted look on her face.

    Ein was just about to go and join them for lack of anything better to do when the room fell quiet, as if the inn had inhaled and was holding its breath. A cold draught swept through the inn, washing away the smell of ale and replacing it with the harsh scent of winter. The fireplace flickered.

    He turned his attention to the front of the room and realized that at some point, the door had opened. A group of men from a range of backgrounds strode through, dressed in everything from rags to cotton shirts and silk doublets. They filtered out around the doorway, blocking it off. People began to whisper uneasily as all eyes turned to the visitors.

    ¡°Close the bloody door,¡± someone yelled.

    The men ignored him, scanning around the room. Ein felt a sense of discomfort as one of them made eye contact and then broke away. They didn¡¯t seem like ordinary men. In fact, staring into their eyes reminded him of¡­

    Another figure stepped into the room, and the whispers sank into deathly silence. Ein could almost hear the beat of his own heart, thumping so loudly it echoed off the walls of the inn.

    Thump. Thump.

    The figure wore a hooded cloak of tattered blacks and greys, standing tall and thin like a wraith. Underneath its cowl was a mask, half bone white, half black, so that it looked like a crescent moon spreading across a night sky. There was a single eyehole on its left side.

    Ein shivered. It was Angramar.

    A chair clattered to the floor as Alend rose to his feet, the blood having completely left his face. Drakhorn had tensed up as well, though he remained seated and out of sight.

    ¡°Good evening,¡± Angramar said. His voice came out slightly muffled from beneath his mask, but there was no mistaking his words. They were like the slithering of maggots across freshly killed corpses, the cold hands of creeping shamblers crawling from the forest graves.

    ¡°W-what do you want?¡± the innkeeper bumbled, his knees knocking together.

    The cloaked man took a step forward, peering around the room. His gaze stopped on Alend, and he extended a bony finger.

    ¡°Come with us, Thoren.¡±

    Alend closed his hand around his sword. Ein had already climbed to his feet and counted all their opponents, weighed their skill levels and threat potential, gauged all possible obstacles and exits around the room. There were eight in total¡ªtwo scrawny old men and a youth who looked scarcely older than fifteen, three well-built commoners and two massive man-hulks on par with Alend himself. They all had one-handed swords and sabres strapped to their waists, with the exception of the two massive men who had one-handed axes. They didn¡¯t have the advantage of reach against Ein, but neither did he¡ªand besides, they made up for it with numbers.

    What am I doing? he thought. I¡¯m not seriously thinking of taking them all on, even with Father by my side, am I?

    ¡°Burn in Hell,¡± Alend said through clenched teeth.

    ¡°Our Lord will prevail,¡± one of the men said. ¡°The old gods are powerless. Twilight will descend.¡±

    They drew their weapons. The patrons of the inn began to murmur in hushed tones. Those who had previously believed the appearance of the Faceless to be a hoax or a staged act were growing concerned.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    ¡°Will you come with us?¡± the Urudain asked. ¡°Or will you die here?¡±

    Alend answered by drawing his blade, just as a window on the second floor above them shattered. A sparrow swooped down among shards of falling glass, coming to a halt beside him. It flapped its wings once, shaking them out into a cloak of green and brown. Talberon emerged from within, his eyes pale with anger.

    ¡°Faceless,¡± he hissed.

    Angramar raised his hand and a coil of shadows appeared. Lanterns flickered as if a strong wind had just blown through the rafters.

    ¡°How kind of you to join us, Sparrow.¡±

    Talberon thrust his hand from his cloak, scattering seeds across the group of men. He hummed and the seeds burst into fireballs and then all hell broke loose.

    Ein leaped over the table as the maids dropped their platters and ran. The patrons began shouting and yelling, some of the drunker ones still struggling to realize what had happened, the sober ones already making for the back door. The bard was gone. The man who had been dancing with Evaine was nowhere to be seen.

    ¡°Alend!¡± cried Talberon. ¡°Take everyone and run!¡±

    The bouncers charged into the fray, shortswords swinging. Steel flashed again and again. It took less than a dozen strikes before they were prone on the ground, lying in a pool of blood. The Faceless were also bleeding, but they only laughed.

    Garax found himself beside Alend and Talberon, Darksteel blade drawn. Drakhorn and Rhinne were up without hesitation, fighting against the tide of people, the girl leaping across tables and chairs with her knife drawn, the tailor holding a dagger of slightly longer length to his breast.

    ¡°Evaine!¡± Bran ran towards her, grabbing her hard by the wrist. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡±

    Evaine looked at him like a startled rabbit, her eyes wide open with memories of dark dreams. Then she shook her head and pulled back, crying out in protest. ¡°We can¡¯t leave¡ª¡±

    The air flickered and a tendril of shadows swept across her head, cutting cleanly through a pillar behind them. It continued across the bar until Talberon stopped it, singing to life a shield-shaped leaf that took the full impact of the blow. The giant leaf crumbled as the whip recoiled and sprung back towards its owner.

    ¡°Run!¡± he cried again.

    ¡°Oh no you don¡¯t,¡± one of the men growled.

    Ein blinked and they were surrounded by the two old men and the youth. The remaining five had formed a half-circle around Alend, Talberon and Garax, while Drakhorn and Rhinne waded through the last of the fleeing patrons towards the fight. The inn was near empty by now¡ªeveryone had either fled through the doors or barricaded themselves in their rooms.

    ¡°What are you two doing?¡± Talberon cried, as Garax and Alend stepped out to meet the oncoming threat.

    Two of the Faceless came at Alend and he withdrew, ducking behind a pillar. Garax severed one of them through the elbow, sending the arm flying across the room complete with fraying ligaments and fractured bone. Talberon roared and the pillar splintered, sending dagger-like shards of wood through the other Faceless. The man fell backwards, pinned against the wall, struggling to pry himself free as blood spurted from his body. One of his eyes had fallen out, and his left ear was drooping.

    ¡°Get back!¡± Ein swiped at his assailants, trying to keep them at bay as Bran and Evaine backpedalled to the rear door. Two of the men dodged while the third grabbed ahold of his arm and pulled. Ein went flying off balance. Loosing a cry, he let go of his sword and drew his knife at the same time, embedding it deep into the neck of the man who¡¯d grabbed him. Blood sprayed across his face, foul and black.

    ¡°Ein! Duck!¡±

    Ein threw himself to the ground without thinking as Drakhorn heaved a bottle of mead at the old man on the left. It shattered in his face, dazing him. A second later Rhinne was there, planting both feet against the man¡¯s chest. She kicked and blew flame from her lips, turning the Faceless into a walking fireball. It let out an inhumane shriek and stumbled blindly, falling over a table, its human facade melting as it did so.

    ¡°It would be a good idea to leave now,¡± Drakhorn said, lifting Ein to his feet. Bran had kicked open the door while Evaine continued to look over her shoulder at the ensuing chaos. With a nudge from Rhinne, the two Felhaveners stepped out into the winter night.

    ¡°Don¡¯t look back,¡± Rhinne said to Ein, rushing ahead. ¡°They can handle themselves.¡±

    ¡°I have to help,¡± Ein insisted, pulling away from Drakhorn, picking up a sword from the ground. The tailor let out an exasperated sigh and chased after him.

    Angramar was duelling Talberon on the other side of the room, lashing his whip through wood and wine alike. Bottles shattered as the druid took cover, whirling across the cabinets and behind the barrels with the agility of a beast, tossing seeds and igniting them mid-air with his voice. Angramar moved with equal efficiency, stepping across the fallen stools and broken glass without missing a beat, a black shadow dancing to a song of fire and glass. One of the flames brushed past a keg of ale and detonated it, sending a blast of heat and wood splintering across the room. Ein felt his brain rattle in his skull as the shockwave swept him off his feet.

    Alend and Garax were back to back against the fireplace, swords raised against the Faceless. They¡¯d landed several blows that would have ended mortal men but the Faceless continued undeterred, even as their lifeblood stained the floor red. One of them had been opened along the gut and was dragging a length of intestine behind him.

    ¡°Father,¡± Ein cried. ¡°I¡¯m coming!¡±

    He brought his hand up to hurl the sword before thinking better of it. It would be too easy to hit his father or Garax by mistake. Instead, he picked up a stool and flung it at the biggest of the five men. It crunched into his back and he turned around, only to be met with a faceful of Drakhorn¡¯s dragonfire.

    The tailor stepped aside as Rhinne emerged, launching herself at the man¡¯s face in a blur of crimson and steel. She slammed her knife into his eye socket, sending him flat onto his back, then jerked downwards and ripped off the lower half of his face. The man screamed as his skin fell away, taking his eyes and nose with it.

    ¡°Father, let¡¯s go!¡± Ein shouted. He broke a bottle over another man¡¯s head, and then Garax cleaved the man¡¯s legs from beneath him. Alend slipped through the opening and the three made for the door. The remaining Faceless staggered to their feet, human features distorting as the flames ate away at their skin. Talberon landed in the middle of the ransacked room, standing between Angramar and the exit.

    ¡°Foolish druid,¡± he rasped. ¡°You struggle in vain.¡±

    The front door burst open and three more men rushed in, sprinting through the flames without pause.

    ¡°More Faceless?¡± Alend gasped. Ein grimaced. Just how many of the Oathbreaker¡¯s servants were in Caerlon?

    ¡°Why are we still here?¡± Rhinne hissed. ¡°We should be gone already!¡±

    Talberon turned his head over his shoulder. ¡°Go to the stables outside of town, next to the start of the Royal Road! Look for Marc and tell him Talberon sent you!¡±

    Angramar flung his whip out again. Talberon stepped to one side and it went above his head, splitting one of the pillars. The flames roared, racing across the puddles of shattered beer and wine that laced the inn, climbing up to the rafters on the second storey. The roof shuddered and then a section collapsed, falling to the ground like a flaming meteor. Smoke and ash billowed out from the point of impact. A sliver of the moon shone through the hole in the ceiling, a silver beam that illuminated the Urudain. He froze, whip falling to one side.

    ¡°Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s eyes and ears,¡± Talberon swore. ¡°It¡¯s a full moon.¡±

    Angramar let out a high pitched noise between a laugh and a shriek. Another shadow spurted from his arm, and then three more from its back and several from the other side of its body. The tendrils of black rose to the air like smoke, shifting and shaking, each with a mind of its own. Anything they touched crumbled to dust. The Faceless gathered around the Urudain, smiling viciously.

    ¡°Alend!¡± cried Talberon. ¡°Show this to the King in case I don¡¯t make it to Aldoran. Tell him everything I¡¯ve told you!¡±

    He tossed his ring through the air and Alend caught it. The blacksmith didn¡¯t move, looking between the druid and where everyone else waited by the door.

    ¡°GO!¡±

    When Alend still didn¡¯t budge, Drakhorn stepped forward and pulled him back.

    ¡°I¡¯ll stay behind to help,¡± he said. ¡°You must run, before it¡¯s too late.¡±

    The writhing shadows were still expanding, a thousand moonlit snakeheads slithering from a single body. Talberon screeched and wood exploded all around him, racing across the ground in a path of stakes towards the shadows. Drakhorn roared as well and the room exploded in a vortex of red. Alend, Ein and Garax were thrown off their feet, blasted against the door by a wave of heat as hot as the Eternal Fire itself. Bran and Evaine pulled them onto the road and helped them to their feet, shortly before Rhinne emerged from the inferno.

    ¡°Go,¡± she cried. ¡°Lord Drakhorn and the druid are buying us time. We¡¯d be fools to waste it!¡±

    People were screaming outside, guards yelling and shouting in an attempt to maintain order. Fire and shadows erupted among the sound of cracking timber. Alend took one last look at the inn and then nodded.

    ¡°Looks like we¡¯ll be leaving a bit earlier than planned.¡±

    They raced down the main road of Caerlon, putting as much distance between themselves and the Lusty Barmaid as possible. Evaine was silent, letting herself be pulled along by Bran without a word of complaint. Ein kept pace behind them, holding yet another foreign blade in his hand. He felt numb. It hadn¡¯t even taken a day for the Faceless to find them. Would they ever manage to gain a moment¡¯s reprieve?

    ¡°Ein!¡± called Garax. ¡°Are you alright¡±

    He realized he¡¯d slipped and was lying on his side, having rolled several feet across the road. Black smoke spiralled into the sky behind him. Alend, Rhinne, Bran and Evaine were waiting outside the town gates, waving at him from the other side of the palisade. The guards were gone, abandoning their posts to tend to the fire.

    Ein shook his head clear and scrambled to his feet, running out to join Garax. They fled a short distance from the walls before reaching the stables, ragged and heaving, sweat stinging their wounds. The windows were gold with lanternlight, maintaining a watchful vigil across the outskirts of the town. Alend slammed his fist against the knocker.

    On the fifth knock the stable master opened the door. He was half-dressed and bleary-eyed.

    ¡°Wyd almighty, what¡¯s going on?¡± he growled. ¡°What do you lot want at this hour?¡±

    ¡°Are you Marc?¡± asked Alend, panting into the night.

    The man shook his head. ¡°By the Pantheon, how could you mistake me for that scoundrel?¡± He stabbed a finger into the darkness to where the horses rested. ¡°He sleeps in the hay with his two darlings at the very end. Don¡¯t know why he does it when he¡¯s got a perfectly fine carriage to himself.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Alend bowed.

    The stable master squinted into the distance and sniffed. ¡°Is that smoke I smell?¡±

    ¡°A fire¡¯s broken out at one of the inns.¡±

    The man saw the blood on Alend¡¯s shirt and quickly scanned the rest of the group, taking in the soot-stained Garax and the scorch marks on Rhinne¡¯s trousers. He blanched and took a step back.

    ¡°Is there anything else I can help you with? No? Goodbye then, and I wish you all a safe trip.¡± The words tumbled out in an incoherent rush as the stable master slammed the door shut without waiting for a response. A moment later they heard a lock click and a bar slide into place. The golden candlelight went out, plunging the house and its surroundings into darkness.

    ¡°We¡¯d better hurry,¡± said Garax. ¡°They¡¯ll be asking questions about us in no time. We don¡¯t want to land on a wanted list for arson, do we?¡±

    ¡°Definitely not,¡± Alend agreed. ¡°I could do without a third party after my hide.¡±

    They hurried through the stables under the silver moon, treading across the dirt as quickly and quietly as they could. Some of the horses shied away when they walked past, no doubt smelling the blood and smoke on their clothes. Bran calmed them with soft words as he walked past.

    They found Marc where the master said he would be, dozing on a bale of hay next to two shaggy-maned horses. The two beasts eyed the party warily from within the stall. Alend rapped on the gate, startling him.

    ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± he mumbled, stumbling drunkenly to his feet. His eyes focused as he saw them, turning into mirrors of fear. ¡°What do you want?¡±

    ¡°Relax,¡± Alend said. ¡°Talberon sent us. You¡¯re Marc, right?¡±

    Marc nodded, taking the time to study each of his patrons. He noted the fearful Evaine and Bran, the scuffled Ein and Rhinne, the breathless Garax who had sheathed his sword and resumed the hunched-over pose of an elderly man.

    ¡°He said we were leaving tomorrow morning,¡± Marc said carefully. As Ein¡¯s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized the man was in no better condition than they were. His clothes were patched and fraying as if he¡¯d scavenged them from a rubbish heap, his beard black and unkempt, his untamed hair streaked with maggot-like strands of white. He smelled of manure and all the unclean things of the wilderness. Had they encountered Marc in Caerlon, Ein would have mistaken him for a beggar.

    ¡°There¡¯s been a change of plans,¡± Alend said. Marc stood up, the look of panic slowly giving way to confidence and a hint of haughtiness.

    ¡°The deal was that we leave at sunrise tomorrow,¡± he said. ¡°Not a minute earlier.¡±

    Evaine stepped forward, but Alend stopped her. There was a loud creaking of wood in the distance, followed by a roaring crash and more screaming.

    ¡°Name your price,¡± Alend said.

    ¡°A gold and five silvers,¡± Marc replied without hesitation.

    Ein almost felt himself snap. A gold was worth ten silvers. That was enough to buy food for an entire week, maybe even two, and that was in addition to whatever Talberon had already paid him. This man was asking for fifteen. Evaine¡¯s eyes were livid.

    ¡°One gold piece,¡± Alend said, exposing the sword by his side. ¡°Or I¡¯ll kill you and take your mounts by force.¡±

    Marc met his gaze, smirking. ¡°Go ahead. They only listen to me.¡±

    Alend drew his lips into a thin line but said nothing.

    ¡°Bastard,¡± Bran muttered under his breath.

    ¡°It¡¯s the middle of the night,¡± Marc continued, ¡°and these are the fastest rides you¡¯ll find in a place like this. Besides, I¡¯m risking my life by taking you along the Royal Road at this time.¡± The ground trembled as another explosion rocked through Caerlon. ¡°Well? What¡¯s it going to be?¡±

    Alend shook his head in disgust and counted out the money from his purse.

    ¡°If you so much as try to trick us, you¡¯ll be dead before you have time to say ¡®Merciful Cenedria¡¯,¡± he spat.

    Marc tucked the coins into a pocket, face breaking into a wide grin. ¡°You¡¯ve made the right decision, my friends. Come with me¡ªthe carriage is around the back.¡±

 [Authors Note #3] Notes for Book 1 Act 2

    There''s a couple of things I''ll be looking to change in the second draft, since I more or less didn''t really plan anything in the story.

    - The rather sudden revelation that Ein is a Songweaver. I''ll be looking to sprinkle in some foreshadowing in act 1

    - More emphasis on the ''legends'' of people like Lady Reyalin and other Fateweavers in Act 1

    - I might do a major restructuring when Evaine and Ein/Merrill split paths. At the moment she pretty much goes off on her own for 2 chapters after the Draurig part and then they''re all back together in Caerlon again. Keeping them split up until Aldoran might make for a better read (I''m told the Caerlon to Aldoran part which will be up shortly is rather slow).Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    However, I''d have to invent some stuff for her to do while she''s on her own. I would really like input in this after the next chapter or so¡ªwhether they should have been split up until Aldoran rather than Caerlon.

    Minor spoiler, but they split up once again after Aldoran.

    - There''s a bit of an issue some with Ein, Merrill and Evaine (and Garax) all being important people who come from the same place. I don''t really have a fix for this yet, though I may consider one in the future. It would either come in the form of some plot point revolving around why Felhaven produced these three Fateweavers, or I might just edit it so that only Ein and Evaine are "important." In either case, they are but 3 of many important characters in the world. The rest have yet to be revealed and will join them along the journey.

    - Speaking of which, there will be some more name changes planned. At the end of the book I''ll be changing ''Raginrok/The Throne of Destruction'' to ''The Muzzle/Nanak Tur, Tomb of the Ninety''. Some other stuff like Fateweaver and Heart of the World will also come under review.

 27. The Blight

    Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Blight

    ¡°Wherever the servants of Al¡¯Ashar walked, the land withered. The grass dried and crumbled into dust, the trees shrunk into shrivelled husks, the sky itself became black like the desolate wastelands of Nephilheim.¡±

    ¡ªAedrasil and the Three Kings

    Despite the steep price of his service, Marc was true to his word. He had the ride ready and was sitting in the driver¡¯s seat in a matter of minutes, as fresh and alert as if he¡¯d just woken from a full night¡¯s sleep. The carriage clearly wasn¡¯t meant for more than four passengers at once, but no one complained. Ein squeezed in after Bran and Evaine, and then they were off.

    It took a while for his heart to settle down, and when it finally did a wave of exhaustion hit him. He fell asleep upright, wedged between Rhinne and Garax, the smell of blood and sweat permeating through the confines of the carriage, and it felt like only a minute had passed when he opened his eyes again and it was morning.

    ¡°Rise and shine,¡± Marc said from the front seat.

    Ein craned his neck out the window. They were racing through the countryside up a gentle incline, following the Royal Road as it carved a path through the snow-covered plains. Evaine and Bran slept peacefully on the other side of the carriage, Alend between them. Garax snored to Ein¡¯s left while Rhinne crossed her arms and stared out the window to his right.

    ¡°Have we been moving for the entire night?¡± he asked.

    Marc gave him a crooked grin. ¡°You bet. Take a look behind you, lad.¡±

    Ein swivelled around, trying not to wake Garax. The horizon behind them was flat. Nothing remained of Caerlon but the faint smell of smoke in the air, already fading.

    ¡°Incredible,¡± he said, turning back to the driver. ¡°Did you sleep at all?¡±

    Marc nodded. ¡°Of course. Fire and Frost can run for days on end, and they¡¯re smart enough to follow a road that only has one direction.¡± The two horses grunted. ¡°The carriage can practically drive itself.¡±

    ¡°We can slow down now,¡± Alend said. ¡°I think we¡¯ve put enough distance behind us.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure? My darlings can keep going for a while longer.¡±

    ¡°It would be best if they saved their energy.¡±

    Marc shrugged. ¡°Alright, you heard him,¡± he said, tugging on the reins. ¡°Fire! Frost! Steady now. Let¡¯s take it to a canter.¡±

    Trunks and crates slid along the wooden floor as the horses decelerated. The blurring landscape disseminated into snow and dirt.

    ¡°Do you think Angramar will be able to catch us?¡± Ein asked his father.

    ¡°It¡¯s hard to say,¡± Alend replied. ¡°There¡¯s no telling how fast he can ride. If he hounded us all the way from the Sleeping Twins, what¡¯s to say he won¡¯t continue to hound us now? We can only hope that Talberon bought us some time by staying behind.¡±

    Ein shuddered at the memory of the Urudain under the moonlight, shadowy tendrils erupting from its back. Although the druids were powerful, so were the generals of Al¡¯Ashar. Who would win in a battle between legends?

    ¡°Did Talberon get around to making more charms for you?¡± Alend asked.

    Ein shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think he had time.¡±

    ¡°Damnation.¡± Alend turned Talberon¡¯s signet ring over his finger. ¡°We can¡¯t let down our guard. Even if Angramar is detained, any Celadon can still track our scent.¡±

    ¡°I sure hope we don¡¯t run into any relicts,¡± Ein said. ¡°That would be very bad luck indeed.¡±

    ¡°I doubt we will,¡± Marc spoke. ¡°Haven¡¯t seen a soul on the Royal Road these past few weeks. Normally you wouldn¡¯t be able to travel a mile without running into a merchant or a guarded caravan, but as of late even the hardy peddlers are gone. This is the most snow I¡¯ve seen on the road in a fair bit¡ªusually it¡¯s worn to the dirt from travel.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be so complacent if I were you,¡± Rhinne said, looking away from the window. ¡°Especially if Ein and Evaine really are Tel¡¯rahn, the relicts will have a reason to come after us.¡±

    Marc shrugged.

    The road went up and down through undulating terrain, curving around snow-covered ridges and small copses of trees that sprang up here and there. It was straight for the most part, a worn, commanding stretch of dirt that continued with no end in sight, forcing the land to give way to it. Ein sat quietly in the carriage with Bran and Evaine, staring into space. Occasionally they fell in and out of sleep. Ein tried to strike up a conversation with Rhinne, but she didn¡¯t seem to want to talk.

    At some point they reached a small spring next to a scattering of barren trees, and it was then that Marc pulled them to a halt.

    ¡°How far are we from Aldoran?¡± Evaine asked, stifling a yawn.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be too far. Three days at this speed, maybe?¡± Marc said.

    Ein stripped off his gloves and splashed the water onto his face. His behind was sore from sitting for so long and his neck felt as stiff as a board. Everyone else had gathered around the pool as well, rinsing the dirt and sweat from the exposed parts of their bodies, trying to wash away the smell of blood and smoke. Evaine tried using the Soulsong to move the water, but Garax quickly stopped her.

    ¡°Be careful who you use your magic in front of,¡± he said, eyeing Marc as the man tended to his horses by the trees. Evaine breathed sharply and nodded, going back to using her hands.

    Once they¡¯d washed themselves as best they could, Ein and Alend searched around the carriage for their bags before realizing they¡¯d left without packing anything. With some coins changing hands, Marc agreed to lend them his spare waterskins for the duration of the trip. The father and son duo returned to the waterhole to fill them up.

    Meanwhile, Bran had wandered back to the carriage, stretching his arms and legs. After some hesitation, he circled around to where the horses waited and eyed them.

    ¡°These aren¡¯t horses, are they?¡± he asked.

    Fire and Frost stared back at him with intelligent eyes. Marc laughed.

    ¡°It took you long enough to realize,¡± he said. ¡°Not even a Horse of the Wind can run for as long or fast as my darlings.¡±

    At first glance Fire and Frost appeared to be ordinary beasts of burden, albeit slightly smaller and sleeker. They had thicker necks and longer legs in proportion to the rest of their body, and their tails were about half the length Ein expected them to be. Fire had a mane of russet hair while Frost was pure white with clear blue eyes. As he continued to study them however, it quickly became apparent what placed them above normal mounts.

    ¡°They have six legs,¡± Ein said in wonder.

    ¡°Orstreds,¡± said Alend. He drew his face close to Fire without fear. The beast flicked its tail as if to challenge him. ¡°How did you ever manage to get your hands on these beauties?¡±

    ¡°Heh.¡± Marc petted Frost¡¯s mane. ¡°I used to be a city guard, you know. Picked up these two babies from a drunken night up in Siraph after a game of Hall of Heroes gone right and never looked back ever since. Your Talberon is a smart man, traveller. He knows quality when he sees it.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s an Orstred?¡± asked Bran.

    ¡°They¡¯re distant relatives of horses,¡± Garax said. ¡°However, as you can clearly see, they have an extra pair of legs. More legs makes for less effort on each leg and faster, more efficient running. Orstreds were quite abundant a long time ago, though after the recent changes in climate their population has shrunk to a fraction of the size it once was.¡±

    ¡°Their coats aren¡¯t as thick as horses,¡± Ein noted, examining the two creatures. ¡°And their hairs are also finer and more widely spaced apart.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not winter animals,¡± Marc nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll probably be using that coin you paid me to buy them some well-earned vests to protect them from the weather.¡±

    Fire snorted appreciatively.

    ¡°Rhinne, don¡¯t you want to have a look?¡± Ein asked. ¡°Are there Orstreds from where you come from?¡±Stolen novel; please report.

    Rhinne had been leaning against a tree the whole time, staring into space. She looked up towards them, startled, and then stared at the two Orstreds.

    ¡°I think it would be better if I didn¡¯t,¡± she said with a shake of her head. ¡°Most animals tend to get nervous around me.¡±

    ¡°Why on earth would that be?¡± Marc asked.

    ¡°Animals tend to have sharper instincts than people. Maybe there¡¯s something about me they don¡¯t like.¡±

    They can sense her true nature, Ein realized.

    Once the Felhaveners had had their moment with the beasts, they broke away and resumed their duties. Bran came to help Ein and Alend while Garax, Evaine and Marc sifted through the supplies in the carriage, making sure everything was still there. Ein noticed Rhinne staring at the two horses every time he turned around, even going as far as to approach them when she thought no one was watching. Her eyes burned with the curiosity of a small child.

    But every time she drew near, the two beasts turned their backs to her and she would walk away awkwardly, head hung low.

    #

    The next few days flew by and before long the land was changing, the grass growing longer, stronger and taller, the clouds thinning. At one point they even caught a glimpse of the sun. Its warmth was a familiar touch on Ein¡¯s skin. He didn¡¯t realize how much he¡¯d missed it, even if it was dull and half-hidden behind the clouds.

    However, just as he was beginning to grow hopeful, the Blight dashed those hopes and buried them back into the cold earth.

    It stained the land like the blackened limb of an amputee-to-be, a single splotch on a field of grassy green. Trees and shrubs jutted from the ground, withered husks worn completely bare. Even the animal carcasses were barren, devoid of the teeming masses of maggots and blowflies that usually accompanied them.

    It came as somewhat of a shock to Ein as he and the rest of the party came across the first patch along the side of the road. For miles they¡¯d seen nothing but life, frail as it was, and now they were met with a scene of death and decay from the deepest depths of a nightmare.

    ¡°We should be careful,¡± Rhinne said. ¡°Blight means relicts have been this way.¡±

    ¡°Oh no,¡± Marc groaned. ¡°Not now, when we¡¯ve had such a good run.¡±

    ¡°There was never any Blight when they attacked our village,¡± Bran pointed out. ¡°Why is there Blight now?¡±

    ¡°Songweavers,¡± Garax said. ¡°The relicts have them, too. They¡¯re a lot less averse to drawing Spirit from the earth.¡±

    They dismounted¡ªthe land was far too unstable for the Orstreds to race through¡ªand picked their way through the black earth, leaving behind cracked footprints in their wake. Ein pulled a stalk of grass from the ground. It crumbled in his hand, drifting away like a trail of ashes in the wind. The land had been steadily recovering as they¡¯d neared Aldoran, and now it was suddenly dead again.

    ¡°It¡¯s called siphoning,¡± the storyteller continued as they walked alongside the Orstreds. ¡°When you draw upon the land rather than your own Spirit. What most people don¡¯t know is that siphoning weakens the fabric between dimensions. It¡¯s never been a problem before, but during times like these¡­ an accidental siphon could well open up a portal between our world and Nephilheim.¡±

    More patches began appearing, dotting the land like a deathpox rash, like a series of black and blue blood-drops splattered across the ground. They passed an abandoned farm, the house razed to the ground, the withered corpses of livestock strewn around the paddock. Evaine came to a halt before one of the bodies, a young piglet fallen to one side. There wasn¡¯t a single wound on its skin.

    ¡°So this is what happens when an animal has all the Spirit siphoned from it,¡± she murmured.

    The piglet was shrivelled like a prune, its once-pink skin now a dark violet tinge. Ein could count all the bones in its rib cage¡ªit was as if a hole had been made in its body and all the muscle and fluid sucked out.

    The piglet gave a sudden shudder of breath, startling them. Rhinne dropped down next to it, a soft hand against its face.

    ¡°It¡¯s still alive,¡± she murmured. It let out a weak cry, flinching at her touch. She spun to Ein and Evaine, eyes wild. ¡°Is there a way to fix it? Can we restore it?¡±

    ¡°Rhinne,¡± said Ein, exchanging glances with Bran and Evaine, ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s possible.¡±

    ¡°It might be, theoretically,¡± Garax murmured. ¡°If we can draw Spirit from life, we should be able to give it back¡­ but¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s too dangerous,¡± Bran interrupted. ¡°You weren¡¯t there when Evaine tried to siphon from Ein. She nearly collapsed.¡±

    Evaine nodded at the memory. ¡°We don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like trying to form a link with an animal. It¡¯s hard enough trying to draw energy from one¡ªit might instinctively try to push us away. Worst case, we might get hurt.¡±

    She¡¯d experienced it first hand, the wolves inside Ein¡¯s mind when she¡¯d tried to invade him. Rhinne bit her lip and turned her attention back to the animal. It shuddered again.

    ¡°Rhinne,¡± Alend said softly. ¡°We should go. The sun will set soon.¡±

    Rhinne gave them a pained look and then drew her knife from her waist. Closing her eyes, she brought it to the pig¡¯s throat and slashed it, hard and fast. The animal fell still, blood gurgling across the ground.

    She wiped her blade on the blackened grass and stood up. Her golden eyes gleamed with a silent fury.

    Rhinne spoke even less after that, staring glumly outside as the carriage picked its way along the Royal Road. Ein wanted to talk to her, but with everyone packed so tightly together it was nigh impossible. He couldn¡¯t talk to anyone. Any topic of a sensitive nature was immediately out of the question, and Marc¡¯s presence stopped them discussing any important matters. The Blight had dampened their mood¡ªeven Evaine, who was usually so bright and lively, had fallen silent.

    It wasn¡¯t until they reached the relict camp that people started to talk again.

    It lay at the heart of an enormous patch of Blight, complete with a pool of blackened water in the centre. Rough tents lined the premises, scattered chaotically in clusters of five to ten. Worgals roamed about, some wearing crude leather, some naked, speaking to each other in barks and growls as they went about their duties.

    There was a fenced off section for the Celadons¡ªa pen with equally spaced stakes driven into the ground, a dozen or so of the beasts tethered to each. Bloodmanes monitored their respective squads. There were also Slazaads, giant lizards with heads shaped like battering rams and tails that ended in vicious bulbs of spines. The party stayed low, sticking to the curve of a crest that provided them cover from the relicts.

    The camp was only about the size of a small farm, but it wasn¡¯t the only one. There was movement along the other patches of Blight up ahead, leading all the way to the horizon where the tips of what Ein presumed was Aldoran poked into view. There were at least a dozen of the encampments, maybe more.

    ¡°They¡¯re so organized,¡± Evaine breathed.

    She was right. Although their tents had been scattered in no particular order, each group of relicts had their own delegated tasks. A group of Worgals tended to the Celadons and the Slazaads. Another stockpiled and distributed arms, slaughtering creatures as well¡ªrelict or not¡ªfor food, while Bloodmanes oversaw them and snapped out instructions. It was, Ein realized, an actual camp preparing itself for war, and he sensed the others coming to the same conclusion.

    ¡°Look over there,¡± Rhinne said, keeping her voice hushed. ¡°Near that group of tents.¡±

    He followed the direction she pointed and spotted what looked like a rip in the fabric of the air, a slash of violet that ran vertically towards the ground for about the height of a tree. Relicts moved back and forth through it, disappearing and reappearing with weapons, armour, cratefuls of supplies, or more relicts in tow.

    ¡°A portal,¡± Alend murmured. ¡°To Nephilheim?¡±

    ¡°Looks like it,¡± Garax said grimly. ¡°I¡¯d say the majority of the damage to the earth is caused from sustaining the portals that are opening up everywhere.¡±

    A man stood guard beside it, a ragged half-giant that spoke in grunts and groans. He was enormous, perhaps a few feet away from reaching the height of a full giant, with bulging muscles and limbs the size of tree trunks. Scars crisscrossed his naked torso, forming a fleshy pink pattern across his body. Black iron manacles hung from either wrist, and he wore a mask across his face with the Watching Moon upon it. The mask of an Urudain.

    Hrongar, the giant with the fists of steel, Ein thought.

    It wasn¡¯t the only portal. There were a few others, guarded by groups of Bloodmanes and Worgals, but the one in front of them was the biggest.

    ¡°We¡¯ll have to go around them,¡± Ein said.

    ¡°As opposed to going through them,¡± Evaine joked, but her voice was flat. They lay prone at the top of a hill, peering across the war camp. Bran had his back towards them, trembling.

    ¡°This is worse than I thought,¡± Alend muttered. ¡°I don¡¯t think we have much time.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re close,¡± Marc said. ¡°It¡¯s not in my business to guess, but I¡¯d presume your business in Aldoran is related to this.¡±

    Alend¡¯s face hardened as he realized he¡¯d said too much. ¡°Let¡¯s head off now, before night falls. If we hurry, we might just make it to the city before dusk.¡±

    #

    Through some miracle or other, they reached the gates to Aldoran without incident. The Blight had given way to vegetation once more, though they passed many a farmstead that had been raided and left to rot.

    The wall towered above them into the crimson sky, a proud barrier of grey stone that raced towards the horizon in either direction. They approached from the southern woodlands where the canal left the city and trickled down towards the sea, flushing away all the filth from within. Soldiers patrolled the walls, tiny specks bobbing up and down between the watchtowers.

    ¡°Halt,¡± called a pair of guards by the gate, stepping in front of the party. The two great doors loomed behind them, tall and solid. ¡°What business do you have in Aldoran?¡±

    ¡°We wish to seek council with the King,¡± Alend said, looking out from his position in the carriage. Ein ran his eyes across the black and silver armour of the Legion, resting longer than necessary on the Uldan crest.

    ¡°So does every other fugitive along the Royal Road,¡± the first guard said.

    ¡°Be that as it may, we have no right to refuse them,¡± the other replied, quickly scanning the inside of the carriage. He turned to Alend. ¡°How long do you plan on staying?¡±

    ¡°A few days at most,¡± Alend replied. ¡°Once our business is done, we¡¯ll be on our way.¡±

    The guard eyed the group of ragtag travellers with a critical gaze. Ein looked away, staring at a spot in the distance while Bran shifted uncomfortably beside him. ¡°How did you lot make it this far? The countryside is anything but safe. It¡¯s been teeming with relicts, or so I¡¯ve heard. They¡¯ve been making us close the gates several hours early because of it.¡±

    ¡°I guess we were lucky,¡± Garax shrugged.

    The two guards looked at each other, exchanging a series of looks and head tilts. Ein held his breath. Would they be allowed inside, or did their filthiness make them unfit to enter? He was sure they¡¯d cleaned themselves, though Rhinne¡¯s garb was still unusual for a girl. They¡¯d made her put on shoes and extra layers to at least maintain the pretence of being an ordinary human.

    ¡°Very well then,¡± the guards finally said. ¡°We¡¯ll open the gates for you. Do take note for the future, though¡ªwhen the sun goes down, so does the portcullis, and it won¡¯t be coming up until first light. With times as they are, the King takes no risks. You¡¯ve just made it before night though, so there¡¯s no problem.¡±

    ¡°Understood.¡± Alend¡¯s hand twitched into what Ein suspected was a salute, but he caught himself and instead scratched his beard.

    The guards stepped aside, pushing the wooden doors open enough to fit the carriage through. With a gentle nudge, Marc eased the Orstreds forward and into the City of Twilight.

 28. The Blade of the King

    Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Blade of the King

    ¡°We live and die as one. We are the blades of the King.¡±

    ¡ªVow of the Kingsblade

    The first thing Ein noticed as they rolled onto the streets was the trees. They stood on either side of the road and around every corner, tall and proud like watchful sentinels, leaves shining with a deep red¡ªnot the red of blood or the red of fading autumn, but the red of a setting sun. When the wind stoked them they would flare to life, flickering softly like a candle in the darkness, like a kindling fire. Like the glow of twilight.

    If Ein had compared Caerlon to a giant, then Aldoran was a leviathan¡ªa living city, a realm in itself. It was built on the side of a hill, layers and layers of tall buildings rising unevenly into the distance. Three walls separated the districts, each growing smaller towards the apex. At the top was Uldan Keep, a grey pin-cushion of towers and spires, and higher than that, drifting among the clouds was Morene¡¯s Perch, the flying sky-fortress of the Druids. For once the party was silent, not from low spirits but awe.

    Marc took them up the hill towards the second wall, passing guards and citizens, merchants with horses and wagons, page-boys running errands for their noble masters. There were more side-streets than Ein could count, more districts, more shops and houses and inns. Bridges spanning canals, parks of lush green grass, tenements that towered high into the sky. Slums, forges, squares and fountains, a clock tower that poked at the heavens. There were so many people, so many voices, heads and faces that amassed into a single blur. This was Wall Smythe, named after the first and humblest of Aldoran¡¯s founders, the man who had invented modern smithing techniques.

    Wall Norn was next, after the author of the Encyclopaedia of Daemons. The proportion of shops to houses was far smaller here. Most of the apartment blocks were of higher quality than those in Wall Smythe, and the same went for the merchants. Some of the price tags Ein saw through the windows left him speechless.

    Wall Norn was also home to the Soulforge, a great, ever-burning furnace where armour, weapons and tools were mass-produced, and the Songweavers refined and tempered Rhinegold. It wasn¡¯t until they passed a large, clear window that Ein saw his own face. His eyes were wide open in wonder, a look that was mirrored on both Bran and Evaine¡¯s faces. They were in Aldoran. Aldoran, the biggest city in Faengard, home to the High King. Aldoran, where all tales ended and began.

    Marc stopped a few streets past the wall, next to a homely little inn by the roadside.

    ¡°This is as far as I¡¯m taking you,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ve made it to the City of Twilight, just as promised. It¡¯s time to fulfil your part of the deal.¡±

    Alend scowled but handed over the coins. Marc counted them eagerly, holding them up to the sunset. ¡°Pleasure doing business with you,¡± he said, thrusting them into a grubby pocket. ¡°Now if you¡¯ll excuse me, get out of my carriage.¡±

    ¡°If it weren¡¯t for these guards, I¡¯d teach him a lesson in manners,¡± Garax muttered.

    They dismounted. Fire and Frost neighed and then Marc turned around and gave the Orstreds a gentle tug, setting them back down the hill. Once the carriage was out of sight, Rhinne took a few steps away and turned around.

    ¡°Thank you for bringing me along,¡± she began, ¡°but it¡¯s time I left as well.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t want to stay with us for a while longer?¡± Alend asked. ¡°I¡¯m in your debt for saving my son.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate the offer, but I¡¯m afraid I simply don¡¯t have the luxury of time.¡± She dipped her head and had turned to leave when Ein and Bran stepped forward. Bran surprised Ein by extending his hand.

    ¡°Thank you for saving me as well,¡± he said. ¡°I wasn¡¯t in the greatest of mindsets when you found me, and I don¡¯t think I would have made it without you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll never understand you humans and your strange customs.¡± Rhinne eyed the hand and then shook it. Once they¡¯d finished, Ein gave her a friendly smile.

    ¡°Do you need anything from us before you leave?¡± he asked. ¡°Supplies? Food? Blankets?¡±

    Rhinne shook her head. ¡°No, you¡¯ve helped me more than enough.¡± She looked around at each of them, as if searching for more words to say.

    ¡°Hopefully we¡¯ll meet again then,¡± Ein said. ¡°I only wish we could have spent more time together. I would have liked to learn more about your people.¡±

    ¡°Me too,¡± Evaine quipped.

    ¡°¡­yeah.¡±

    The flame-haired girl paused awkwardly and then left, climbing up the hill towards the third wall. The Felhaveners watched as she disappeared around a corner. Magenta leaves tumbled across the street in her wake.

    ¡°It feels strangely lonely without those two,¡± Evaine said. ¡°Even though we barely knew them.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t miss that damned Orstred driver at all,¡± Alend muttered. ¡°Good riddance to him.¡±

    Garax sighed. ¡°I¡¯d hoped the girl would have stayed a while longer. No epic quest is complete without a dragon¡ªor a red-head for that matter.¡±

    They headed back down the road, searching for a cheap inn to stay the night. Alend led the way, passing the odd remark about how this store had closed down or that building hadn¡¯t been there sixteen years ago. Ein was content to simply watch and admire the city around him. As he walked, he wondered if Rhinne would ever find what she was looking for. That led him to thoughts of Talberon and Drakhorn, and soon he was remembering the Urudain with its shadowy whip, standing amidst the blazing inferno that had once been the Lusty Barmaid. They might be behind the city walls, surrounded by the Kingsblades and the Songweavers of the Legion, but were they really safe?

    He shook his head. Of course they weren¡¯t. The relicts amassing outside the gates were proof enough of that.

    Whatever, he thought. It doesn¡¯t concern me. Once Father¡¯s finished his business with the King, we can be on our way home.

    He ignored the small voice at the back of his mind that hissed ¡®Tel¡¯rahn.¡¯

    #

    Alend picked a small inn under the shadow of Wall Norn to stay, haggling the price from six silvers to four. Meals weren¡¯t part of the deal, but considering the amount of people he needed to account for, it was a bargain. They paid for dinner separately and then filed into the one room, spacing their five bedrolls evenly along the floor. It didn¡¯t take long for the quarters to fall quiet with steady breathing.

    Once he was sure Garax and the children were all asleep, Alend got up and left.

    He walked across the empty streets of Aldoran as quickly as he could, leaving the inn behind in the darkness. He kept his cloak wrapped around him, covering the Rhinegold blade.

    He could feel it. There was a power coursing through his veins, one that had been stirring ever since he¡¯d set foot in the city. It had started as a faint buzz at first but was quickly turning into a roaring heart-fire now that he was approaching Uldan Keep. He was nearing his Master, and although he was no longer a Kingsblade by name, the magic of the Vow still bound him.

    He passed the open gates of Wall Norn and into Wall Adem, the last of the three main sections of Aldoran. Wall Adem, named after the intrepid explorer, consisted mostly of fancy estates and grand mansions, and was the smallest of the three levels. Uldan Keep stood at the centre at it all, surrounded by a moat that flushed sewage down and out of the city.

    Alend waited outside the Keep, hiding under the shadows of its towering walls. He fretted impatiently, constantly looking over his shoulder, watching for any guards that might be patrolling. The slightest noise sent him on edge. He had no idea if he¡¯d be recognized, or if they were still actively keeping an eye out for him, but one thing was certain¡ªif he was found out, they¡¯d throw him in the dungeons in an instant. His only chance was to see Aedon directly, speak with him before the rumours and hearsay stacked up and vilified him once more. With Talberon¡¯s ring, there was a chance the King just might listen.

    He¡¯d just begun to question whether he was waiting in the right place or not when Gilfred Leonhart appeared.

    ¡°Alend?¡±

    Alend turned around and blinked. It took him a few moments to realize the tall man in the Rhinegold armour was, in fact, the beardless youth he¡¯d left behind sixteen years ago. Gilfred¡¯s face squarer and manlier, reflecting the thirty odd years behind him, and his golden mane had grown until it hung down to his shoulders. On his chest was the insignia of House Uldan, and on his pauldrons were the emblem of House Leonhart, a roaring lion. He¡¯d been the youngest member of the Kingsblades when Alend had last seen him. Now he was an adult, and he looked every bit the elite warrior he was.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Alend Thoren,¡± Gilfred murmured. ¡°So it is you. Gods, you¡¯ve changed.¡±

    ¡°Age does that to you,¡± Alend replied, extending his hand. Gilfred shook it with his mailed gauntlet. His grip was firm.

    ¡°I thought it was a joke,¡± the Kingsblade said as they began tracing the edge of the wall. ¡°When that courier passed your message to me, I took it as some sort of cruel jest. It¡¯s been what, sixteen years? We never really thought you dead, but we never thought you¡¯d be coming back, either.¡±

    ¡°Trust me, I wouldn¡¯t be back for no reason,¡± Alend muttered. He¡¯d taken a great risk by sending a message back at the inn, but it had paid off. ¡°I was sent by Talberon, and I have his signet ring as proof.¡± He flashed the wooden band under the moonlight. Gilfred raised his brow at the sight of the Trinity Wing.

    ¡°Druid Talberon himself?¡±

    ¡°The one and only.¡±

    Gilfred and Alend followed the moat to a small cluster of bushes. The night was crisp and clear, the moon illuminating their path. Guards watched from the sentry towers, their torches burning bright against the darkness.

    Gilfred stopped before one of the bushes and bent down, running his hand along the ground. He found a rock and pulled on it, and a whole square of grass opened along a hinge. It was a trapdoor, the cover cleverly disguised with a layer of dirt and grass over the top.

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t there back in the day,¡± Alend remarked.

    Gilfred shrugged. ¡°Aedon¡¯s had a few of them built around the Keep, while some of the other ones have been closed down and booby-trapped. He¡¯s only gotten more paranoid since you left.¡±

    ¡°The fool¡­¡±

    Gilfred eyed Alend as he lowered himself into the secret passageway. ¡°You didn¡¯t betray Aedon, did you?¡±

    ¡°Of course I didn¡¯t,¡± Alend snapped. ¡°It was Illia, the damned wretch. She¡¯s the one who started it all.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    The tunnel was supported by rickety wooden beams and lit every few metres by glowing lanterns. It wasn¡¯t very tall, and Alend found himself having to hunch to prevent banging his head against the ceiling. They walked for several minutes, winding up and down, under sounds of rushing water and chattering voices before reaching a staircase. At the top, following at least three storeys¡¯ worth of steps was a door, and when Alend opened it, he found himself in a dark room.

    It was decorated with expensive-looking furniture, a large double bed in the centre. Paintings of stone-faced nobles and scenes straight out of faerie tales lined the walls, matching the antique ornaments propped up on the dressers and drawers. A chill wind blew through the open balcony, and for a moment Alend was stunned. The City of Twilight lay beneath them, its golden trees glistening with starlight. He could see far, far away, past the three walls and into the rolling hills. It was truly a spectacular sight.

    There was a sound behind him as Gilfred shut the back panel of the closet they¡¯d come out of. The Kingsblade circled around Alend, standing between him and the exit.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Aedon?¡± Alend asked.

    Gilfred looked down, biting his lip. The power was surging through Alend now, thumping in his ears. Every sense was magnified tenfold; the stroke of the wind, the droplets of moisture touching his skin, the roughness of fabric hugging his body. He could see perfectly in the darkness, hone in on every minute detail. He could spot every dislodged brick in the side of Wall Smythe, every leaf on every tree, every sign on every street.

    And he could hear footsteps coming, loud as the clatter of cooking pans.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Gilfred murmured. ¡°The King wasn¡¯t available, so I had to ask the Queen.¡±

    A shadow crossed Alend¡¯s face. He looked around, pulse rising. There were no other doors save the closet they¡¯d come out of, which was on the other side of the room.

    ¡°No,¡± he muttered. ¡°You don¡¯t understand. Gilfred¡­¡±

    ¡°They were the Queen¡¯s orders,¡± Gilfred said. ¡°I tried to arrange a meeting with Aedon, believe me. But only she was free to talk, and I couldn¡¯t lie to her about you.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s the one who set me up in the first place!¡± Alend cried. ¡°Why would you tell her I was back?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll get a fair trial, I promise. I¡¯m sure they don¡¯t have enough evidence to condemn you. Wyd almighty, it was sixteen years ago!¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll just make it up,¡± Alend sighed. ¡°Gilfred, you have no idea what you¡¯ve done. She¡¯ll twist everything I say. This is no longer about petty court politics, and neither of them can see that. The world is at stake, and now there¡¯ll be no chance of the truth reaching him, at least not until Talberon is here to back my word.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you,¡± the Kingsblade shook his head. ¡°Queen Illia is a kind person. She would never do such a thing.¡±

    ¡°Gilfred. She was consorting with your late father! The only reason you¡¯re not the High King is because I found them out!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re wrong!¡± Gilfred cried. ¡°Don¡¯t disrespect my father¡¯s name!¡±

    ¡°Move aside, boy! I don¡¯t have time to waste with you!¡± Alend tried to push past Gilfred, but the Kingsblade grabbed his wrist with an iron grip.

    ¡°She warned me about you,¡± Gilfred growled. ¡°She was right. You¡¯re a liar¡ªa liar and a traitor.¡±

    ¡°Gilfred, let go of me.¡± The armoured hand was digging into Alend¡¯s wrist, squeezing him down to the bone. The only reason it hadn¡¯t snapped already was the magic of the Vow. ¡°Illia was planning to poison Aedon. I had the letters before she destroyed them.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a lie. Why wouldn¡¯t she have done it already? She had sixteen years to do it.¡±

    ¡°Because your father died before she could,¡± Alend replied simply. ¡°There was no point in killing the King without someone to replace him.¡±

    He felt Gilfred¡¯s grip loosen and took the chance to drive himself forward, slamming the younger man against the wall. Cracks split from where the Rhinegold made contact with the draped stone. Gilfred fought back, grappling at Alend¡¯s forearms.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell anyone?¡± the Kingsblade asked. ¡°You ran away. That only made you look more guilty.¡± The footsteps were growing louder. It wouldn¡¯t be long before they arrived.

    ¡°I did,¡± Alend spat, pushing Gilfred away, ¡°but Aedon didn¡¯t believe me. He was blinded by her sweet words and her pretty face. Did you know that she tried to kill me the very same night? I bet you didn¡¯t, because she¡¯s pulled the wool over your eyes too.¡±

    He lifted up his shirt and twisted, exposing a large gash that ran across his back. Gilfred¡¯s eyes widened but he said nothing.

    ¡°She sent someone to assassinate me,¡± Alend said, panting, ¡°but I survived. That was when I decided I was leaving. But my brother? No, he wouldn¡¯t have any of it. He trusted Aedon, he had faith that if worse came to worse, our former friend would have our back. Now look what happened to him. He was sent to his death by the King himself. She¡¯s turned him against us, Gilfred.¡±

    He pulled his shirt back down. The only people still alive who knew the full truth about his past were his wife, Rhea, and the druid Talberon. Talberon had tried to stop him from leaving, but Alend would have none of it. The King had been beyond redemption. If Talberon had backed Alend at that time, the druid himself would have been executed.

    Alend had hoped to take his secret to the grave with him, but it seemed that was no longer possible. He just hoped he could escape. He needed to regroup with the druid and try again. Hopefully, with the world actually on the brink of destruction, Aedon would take their side.

    ¡°Let me go, Gilfred,¡± he tried again, speaking more softly this time. Gilfred took an uncertain step away from the door, looking as confused as the fourteen-year old boy Alend had first met. A surge of hope welled within him and he rushed forward, only for the door to burst off its hinges.

    Three Kingsblades filtered into the room, forming a half-circle around Alend. They drew their blades, visors pulled down across their faces.

    ¡°You¡¯re under arrest by order of the Queen,¡± one of the spoke. Alend didn¡¯t recognize his voice.

    ¡°Damnation,¡± he muttered, looking around him. There was only one way out.

    ¡°You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used as evidence in the Halls of Judgement. Do you understand?¡±

    Alend turned around and jumped.

    The ground came rushing towards him, the wind lashing his arms and face. He landed in the courtyard three storeys below, rolling to his feet, kicking up dirt and grass as he did so.

    Thank the gods, he breathed. An ordinary man would have been shattered to pieces.

    The three Kingsblades leaped after him, Rhinegold blades flashing in the night, rocketing down like arrows in flight. Alend brought his own sword up and parried the first blow, his arm nearly breaking from the impact. He disengaged and bolted for the gates at full speed, covering dozens of metres with each step.

    The castle was coming alive now, guards and servants poking their heads from the windows, calling for help. Alend jumped, feeling his feet sink into the earth beneath him, shooting up towards the stars. He took three steps along the wall, running diagonally up the edge of the fortress, landing at the top among the stunned sentries. A flash of Rhinegold armour barrelled into him from the side and he went flying, punching a hole through one of the turrets. He clutched at his ribs in pain and freed himself from the rubble.

    ¡°Turn yourself in,¡± the Kingsblade said, stepping toward him. Moments later the other two landed on the wall as well, cutting off his escape routes.

    Alend looked sideways, across the courtyard and to the balcony where he¡¯d jumped from. Gilfred¡¯s tiny face watched from afar, perplexed.

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand,¡± he tried to negotiate, raising the hand with Talberon¡¯s ring. ¡°I just want to speak to the King. I have druid Talberon¡¯s word.¡±

    ¡°The Queen will be the judge of that,¡± one of the Kingsblades said. ¡°For now, the only thing that matters is that there¡¯s a warrant out for your arrest.¡±

    He came at Alend in a whirlwind of steel, and Alend blocked each strike with inhuman precision. The exchange ended in less than a second and a total of three blows. The Kingsblade took a step back, surprised. Then he looked to the other two and together, they advanced towards Alend.

    Although Kingsblades were skilled enough to be one man armies, they were still trained to work in teams of up to seven, with both fellow Kingsblades and ordinary foot-soldiers. The three knights demonstrated this now, wearing Alend down with a steady barrage of attacks. He never fought more than one at any time, for it was all too easy for his opponents to harm each other if they both struck at once, but the Kingsblades transitioned and cycled with practiced perfection, driving Alend back. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he lowered himself into fierce concentration, searching for a way out. The moment he stumbled or found nothing behind him was the moment he¡¯d fall.

    Frustration mounted on either side as Alend continued to hold his own. He was deaf to all but the ring of steel and slashing wind. His mind became as clear as a frosted pond, his body remembering more of itself with each strike. He felt that maybe, just maybe, if an opening presented itself, he might even be able to turn the situation around¡ª

    And then, as if a hidden signal had been passed, the Kingsblades disengaged and fell back as one. Puzzled, Alend had but a second to wonder why before the fireball hit him and detonated, taking part of the wall with it.

    He fell towards the courtyard in daze, releasing his grip on his sword. The ground spiralled towards him, flashes of frightened faces and floundering guards flitting across his vision, the tall towers of Uldan Keep, the fiery orange of the rest of the Kingsblades as they rushed to provide backup.

    At last, he saw the Songweavers¡ªa small group of black and silver-robed figures standing from a safe distance near the main gates, heads lowered in concentration. Then the ground hit him and his brain rattled in his skull, driving all thought from his mind.

    Footsteps came to a halt behind him. Hands grabbed his wrists and he felt the cold, hard shackles of steel clamp across his skin. There was a bright, burning pain at the back of his head and he knew no more.

 29. An Ill-fated meeting

    Chapter Twenty-Nine: An Ill-fated Meeting

    ¡°Section XII: Treason

    A person is guilty of treason if they commit or aid an enemy party in an act that would kill, grievously wound or hinder the Sovereign in any way, or if they abandon the Sovereign during a time of need. Penalty: Life imprisonment or death.

    Section XII(II): Deserting

    A person is guilty of deserting if they are guilty of treason and they are currently a sworn member of the Legion. Penalty: Death.¡±

    ¡ª Criminal Deeds Act, 220, 4E

    Alend woke with his cheek plastered to the cold, hard floor. He was in a square cell with a bundle of hay in the corner, steel manacles binding his hands behind him. The door and the surrounding wall was lined with iron bars, allowing him to see into the hallway outside. A stream of moonlight shone through a barred window high above.

    His body was sore all over, especially his arms and legs, and his head throbbed like it was in a vice. He could feel blood on it, half dried, warm and sticky. He wriggled his way to the wall and sat upright.

    Judging by the state of his wounds and the position of the moon, it had been a few hours since the skirmish had occurred. Considering he¡¯d spent those hours lying face down with his hands cuffed, he was lucky to be alive. One of the first lessons a guard, let alone a Kingsblade learned was that people could die when left in uncomfortable positions for too long. The heavier the prisoner, the greater the risk. Aedon¡ªor rather, Illia¡ªclearly didn¡¯t care whether he lived or died.

    Alend searched himself as best as he could with his hands restrained, looking for anything he could work with. They¡¯d taken his sword and stripped him of his leather armour, leaving him with nothing but his travelling clothes and his cloak. His purse was gone, though he wasn¡¯t too concerned about that. There¡¯d been barely anything inside it.

    What he was concerned about, however, was Talberon¡¯s ring¡ªor the lack thereof.

    Someone spoke from outside. Alend rushed to the gate, trying to see what was happening. Footsteps and voices sounded outside. Two pairs of leather boots, the standard issue of a Legion guard. One pair of soft slippers, made of a leather that wasn¡¯t a cow¡¯s, and the rustle of exquisite silks. He smelled violets.

    Illia Uldan, High Queen of Faengard emerged from around the corner, flanked by two prison guards. She wore a long-sleeved white dress buttoned tightly around her slim waist, the hem trailing behind. Golden hair piled atop her head, held together by a ruby red needle. She was a white rose blooming in the darkness of the dungeon.

    But all roses had thorns.

    ¡°Good evening,¡± said Illia, sending the guards away. ¡°Or should I say, morning?¡± She tapped a finger idly against her chin.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± Alend growled.

    Sixteen years had passed and she was still just as beautiful, with a proud, regal face, bright azure eyes and cherry red lips. White powder hid the lines that were starting to appear around her forehead and the corners of her mouth. She was the very image of beauty and innocence, of purity¡ªyet that couldn¡¯t be further from the truth. Alend saw her real self when he looked into her eyes. Beauty was only skin deep, after all.

    ¡°That¡¯s no way to speak to a friend,¡± she said. ¡°Let alone your Queen.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re no friend of mine,¡± Alend spat. ¡°And you won¡¯t be Queen for long if you keep up those shenanigans of yours. This isn¡¯t a game, Illia. I need to speak to Aedon.¡±

    He would have broken through the bars if he still had the power of the Vow, but it was gone now¡ªexpunged from his veins. When he tried to draw upon Aedon¡¯s Spirit he found only nothing. They must have drugged him with an inhibitor.

    ¡°I was shocked when Gilfred told me you were back,¡± Illia said. She paced in front of his cell, keeping just enough distance so he couldn¡¯t reach her through the bars. ¡°I thought I¡¯d never have to deal with you again. I¡¯m glad you returned, though. Loose threads are no good untied.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s Talberon¡¯s ring?¡± Alend asked. ¡°Give it back to me. At least let me try and reason with Aedon.¡±

    ¡°Ring? What ring?¡± she smirked. ¡°You won¡¯t need that, Deserter. You¡¯re a traitor who needs to be executed.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand,¡± Alend shook his head. ¡°This is no longer about which House sits on the throne. Haven¡¯t you heard? Aedrasil is dying! She needs my blood to live!¡±

    Illia stopped and turned towards him.

    ¡°You think that excuse will save you? There¡¯s more than one way to skin a cat, Alend. Or in this case, to skin a relict.¡±Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Alend took a step back, confused.

    ¡°The Age of Magic is past us now,¡± the Queen continued. ¡°There are other ways to fight the relicts, ways which don¡¯t involve restoring a tree that belongs in a faerie tale. Fear not, Alend. Faengard is safe in my hands.¡±

    ¡°Gods above,¡± said Alend. ¡°What do you have planned?¡±

    He wasn¡¯t sure whether or not to believe his ears. On one hand, the fact that there was a backup plan to stop the Oathbreaker took a great weight off his shoulders. On the other, it meant that they no longer needed him alive.

    ¡°That¡¯s not something a Deserter needs to know,¡± Illia replied. ¡°All you need to do is die for me and take my secrets to the grave.¡±

    She left Alend to his thoughts after that. The scent of violets remained long after she was gone. Alend sat down with his back against the stone wall, turning the exchange over in his mind.

    Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s eyes and ears, he thought. A way to wipe out the relicts on a world-wide scale.

    There were three things relicts were weak to. Fire and Soulforged steel were out of the question¡ªthere was no way to use fire on a large scale outside of setting the world alight, and Rhinegold was far too precious to be mass-produced. That only left salt, which admittedly was rather common and easily obtained from the ocean¡ªbut how did she plan on using it? Salt didn¡¯t kill relicts; it only made them easier to fell in battle. Besides, it would take time and resources they didn¡¯t have to harvest the amounts they¡¯d need.

    There had to be something else Illia had discovered.

    Another group of footsteps appeared, rattling off the walls of the dungeon. Alend tilted his head to one side, listening.

    Hollow metal clanging, too light to be steel. Rhinegold, most likely, and there were three pairs. The third pair belonged to a man that was twice the weight of the others.

    They rounded the corner and stopped in front of the cell. It was Gilfred, another Kingsblade he didn¡¯t recognize, and Aedon. Alend felt his breath catch in his throat.

    ¡°You¡¯ve changed,¡± he whispered.

    The Aedon he knew had been a handsome, well-built man, slightly shorter and slimmer than Alend himself, with a chiselled jaw and auburn hair. He¡¯d been the very picture of life, a stallion on the battlefield, a whirlwind of death when a spear was placed in his hands. The Shining Spear of Aldoran.

    The Aedon that stood before him now was grossly overweight, his Rhinegold armour stretched to the seams, three chins wobbling around a pudgy face and an unkempt beard streaked with grey. His once-clear eyes hid under layers and layers of fat, shifting nervously like the eyes of a mouse. Dark bags hung beneath them. There was a sickly look to his face, an unhealthy paleness like the skin of a dead person left to rot for a few days. This man would probably fall onto his behind if he tried to wield a spear. Even with the Uldan emblem emblazoned across his breastplate and pauldrons, Alend had a hard time believing he was looking at the High King of Faengard.

    ¡°Alend,¡± the King said. Though his appearance had changed, the pride and authority within his voice had not. ¡°It¡¯s been a long time. How are you?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ could be better,¡± Alend answered carefully.

    Aedon nodded. ¡°Illia told me you¡¯d returned. She insisted she¡¯d taken care of everything, but I had to come and see for myself.¡±

    Alend felt a surge of hope. Would his old friend listen to him?

    ¡°Aedon,¡± he spoke. ¡°Listen to me. Aedrasil is dying, and she needs my blood. Talberon himself sent me, you have my word on it.¡±

    Aedon sighed. ¡°She told me that much,¡± he said. ¡°But how am I to trust you, after all you¡¯ve done?¡±

    Alend bit back his tongue. ¡°I had his ring, but I lost it.¡± He had to be careful. The moment he implied Illia was a liar, he was done for. The damn fool loved his wife so much it blinded him.

    ¡°My daughter tells me every day,¡± Aedon continued. ¡°The Protector is dying, she says. Only the blood of the Three Kings can revive her. I must say, I had no idea the last of the Thorens that Talberon mentioned was actually you. Where have you been hiding these past sixteen years?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯ve been living in a secluded village at the edge of Faengard,¡± Alend answered. ¡°Please, the facts are unimportant. Do you have the blood of the Lachess heir? We mustn¡¯t waste any time¡ª¡±

    ¡°Do you have any children? Any next of kin?¡± Aedon interrupted. ¡°You know what the treaty says.¡±

    Alend froze.

    ¡°Aedon,¡± he said, feeling an edge creep into his voice. ¡°Stop it. This is no longer about the throne. I couldn¡¯t give a rat¡¯s arse who rules Faengard¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh yes it is.¡± Gilfred and the other Kingsblade shifted beside him, but the King raised a hand. ¡°My wife is very resourceful, you see. Her alchemists have forged new technology that will allow us to destroy the relicts without the aid of the damned tree. We don¡¯t need Aedrasil anymore, Alend, or the blood of the Kings.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious. You¡¯re just going to let her die?¡±

    Aedon folded his arms. ¡°Any why shouldn¡¯t I? She is a remnant of the past now, Alend. With our new Celesite technology, we can lead humanity to heights never reached before. Aldoran lies on the Worldspring, the greatest Spirit Font known to man, but almost all of its energy is wasted on maintaining Aedrasil and the Spirit Garden. Think of all the things we could accomplish if we used that energy for other things, Alend. Like making new discoveries, uncovering the mysteries of nature¡­ killing relicts.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Alend whispered. ¡°That can¡¯t be¡­ you must listen to Talberon! Heed the advice of the druids!¡± He pressed himself against the bars, pleading. ¡°At least consult Talberon, see if Illia¡¯s plan is safe!¡±

    ¡°Oh, I would.¡± A shadow crossed Aedon¡¯s face. ¡°If you hadn¡¯t killed him.¡±

    He opened his palm, revealing a wooden ring inscribed with the Trinity Wing. Alend paled.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t kill him,¡± he said. ¡°What madness is this? She¡¯s lying, Aedon!¡± He realized too late what he¡¯d said. Gilfred looked away.

    ¡°That¡¯s rich, coming from a Deserter.¡±

    ¡°Aedon, she tried to kill me! That¡¯s the only reason I ran away! She was planning to kill you, and I found her out¡ª¡±

    ¡°Enough!¡± Aedon roared. The cell shook, and Alend fell back into the darkness. ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of your lies, Alend. I¡¯d hoped you had time to think through your mistakes, but it seems my faith was ill-placed.¡± He turned to Gilfred. ¡°Send a message to the Cirantheon at first light. Tell the Master I have a present for him.¡±

    ¡°No¡­¡±

    Aedon tossed something through the bars. It clattered at Alend¡¯s feet, coming to a halt under the square of moonlight.

    ¡°A present for you,¡± Aedon said. ¡°I kept it all this time. Wear it tomorrow with pride, Deserter.¡±

    It was a Rhinegold pauldron. On it was the emblem of House Thoren¡ªan upright sword transposed across an oak tree, tip pointing towards the sky.

 30. Trial of the Fallen Hero

    Chapter Thirty: Trial of the Fallen Hero

    ¡°The strange colour of the trees within the City of Twilight lends itself mostly to the presence of the Worldspring. Twilight has long been thought to be the time when the boundaries between Astreal and the physical realm are the thinnest, when the flow of Spirit is most easily moved, so it is only fitting that the trees take upon that colour.¡±

    ¡ªDagus Adem, The Adventurer¡¯s Guide to the Continent

    Ein was furious.

    ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± he fumed, staring at the scrap of paper in his hands. There was a single line of hastily scrawled text on it, a brief notice that Alend had left to go visit the King. Beneath it was another note, this time by Garax, advising how the storyteller had also left to ¡®see the sights.¡¯

    ¡°Well that works perfectly in our favour,¡± Evaine said merrily. ¡°Let¡¯s go exploring.¡±

    ¡°Exploring my foot,¡± Ein said. ¡°I can¡¯t believe Father left without us.¡±

    ¡°Come on,¡± Evaine pouted. ¡°Your father¡¯s probably just caught up in the technicalities or something. The King gets a lot of visitors every day. Let¡¯s give it until the evening before we check up on him.¡±

    Ein folded his arms. ¡°Well I¡¯m staying right here, Aldoran be damned.¡± And here I thought we¡¯d cured his stubbornness.

    ¡°What about you, Bran? Ein¡¯s going to let little old defenceless me roam the streets by my lonesome.¡± Evaine curled the edges of her lips.

    Bran shrugged. ¡°I guess it would be a bit of a waste if we came all the way here and didn¡¯t have a look around.¡±

    ¡°You two have fun then,¡± Ein said hotly. ¡°I¡¯ll be here when you come back.¡± He picked up his sword and began to swing at the empty air, swearing under his breath as he did so.

    #

    Bran and Evaine started from the bottom of Wall Smythe at a marketplace several streets down from the inn. It was early in the morning, but the sheer amount of people was staggering. Farmers and merchants were already setting up their stands, swamped by low-class citizens dressed in patched rags scrabbling for the best deals. Stalls had been erected on the side of the road, selling fruit and vegetables, ice-boxes of meat, silken robes and odds and ends. Carpets lay unfurled on the paved ground with rings and amulets, bangles and bracelets and necklaces with fake diamonds as large as a fist. The air was rife with noise, of people bargaining and bartering, of sellers flaunting their wares.

    Bran took a break under one of the trees as Evaine continued to wander around the square, marvelling at every second thing that caught her eye. He plucked a rosy leaf off its branch and stared at it.

    If only I were more like Ein, he thought. Maybe then, she would look in his direction.

    Now that he thought about it, he was surprised enough as it was that Nath and Valeesha had promised their daughter to him. Granted, wealth and land had played a large part in it, but Ein was just such a better person than he was. Ein didn¡¯t freeze up in times of need. Ein was decisive. Ein was heroic.

    Bran hated himself for thinking that way, but he couldn¡¯t stop. That was just the type of person he was, and now that they¡¯d left Felhaven and its traditions far behind, he had to win Evaine¡¯s affections entirely on his own.

    They went to the chapels next, all seven of them. They were spread out along the border between Smythe and Norn, identical in design but with a different statue and symbol outside each entrance. Priests moved about, reading their sermons, giving their blessings, sweeping the dust off the front steps. There was a wedding happening outside Cenedria¡¯s chapel which Evaine stopped to watch. Once the vows had been exchanged and the sky was raining with pink blossoms, they entertained themselves by donating at the wishing fountain, each tossing a copper coin into the water by the goddess¡¯s feet. Bran¡¯s wish was to be with Evaine, preferably back home. He didn¡¯t know what Evaine wished for and he didn¡¯t ask, as much as he would¡¯ve liked to.

    Aldoran was laid out like three concentric circles, so it was nigh impossible to get lost. Each Wall was like a city in itself, complete with a multitude of shops and inns. One only needed to walk in a single direction until they reached a Wall and then follow it all around to be back on their way.

    They spent a while in front of the map, resting their feet. Evaine had finally conceded that it was impossible to explore every corner in just a single day, so they formed a plan of sorts¡ªa shortest path through the most sights and landmarks they could manage. Bran couldn¡¯t say he was disappointed that they¡¯d be skipping the graveyard and the slums. He¡¯d had enough of the dead and the dirty on the road to Caerlon and the Blight-stained King¡¯s Highway.

    They followed the canal up to the second Wall, passing children as they played in the knee-deep murk, diving off the bridges as their parents chatted nearby. Bran¡¯s spirits lifted as they passed through some of the strange bookstores and pet shops in the more obscure corners. He¡¯d always liked books and animals¡ªthe former because they transported him to lands far away, the latter to compensate for the few friends he had. He¡¯d been one of the more timid children back in Felhaven, the type to always sit on the sidelines and watch while everyone else played kickball. He had no idea why Ein and Evaine had even befriended him.

    He could still remember when they¡¯d first met, as clear as day. He¡¯d been five, playing by himself at the river. He hadn¡¯t minded spending time alone, watching the waters lap against the coast, skipping stones as far as he could. That wasn¡¯t to say he didn¡¯t long to join the other boys in their little games, but he was content enough being by himself.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    There had been a bend in the Brackenburg where a tree had fallen down during a storm, forming a makeshift bridge across the waters. Bran used to hop back and forth across the trunk, studying the fishes swimming below, poking them with sticks and watching them scatter. One of those days he¡¯d slipped and fallen in.

    He could still remember the feeling of despair as his feet failed to touch the bottom, his body growing heavier and heavier as he sank into the soundless void. He¡¯d floundered wildly, trying to stay afloat, but only succeeded in tiring himself further. His last thoughts had been as dark as the depths of the river.

    Then Evaine was there, grabbing his shirt, diving after him with no disregard for her own safety. Ein had extended a stick for Evaine to hold onto and hauled them both back to the fallen trunk, where they¡¯d grabbed on and regained their breath. When they finally crawled back onto dry land, Bran had been gasping like a fish out of water, a mix of tears and river-water gushing down his cheeks. Evaine had comforted him while Ein ran back to the village to call for help.

    Bran smiled at the memory. Pretty, kind Evaine. A little older than them both, always looking after the two, always leading the way and adding colour to their lives. She¡¯d changed since then, but the core of her personality remained the same. When he thought about it, it came as no surprise that he¡¯d fallen for her.

    They continued their tour of Aldoran, and bit by bit he felt himself loosening up. They spent a few minutes watching the Soulforge as it chugged black smoke into the air. Ein would have liked that. They indulged themselves in the entertainment district, Bran proudly scoring them some extra coin with some well-placed shots down at the archery range. He basked in satisfaction as Evaine gushed on about how impressive he was, ignoring the small voice that told him he was useless in the face of real crisis.

    They spent the money on colourful desserts and sandwiches with all manner of meat they¡¯d only ever heard of. They weren¡¯t in Caerlon; tourists here were more than welcome and nothing out of the ordinary. Bran felt like he could live here for his entire life and still be a complete stranger to some of the streets and back-alleys.

    Eventually it came to be noon, and they arrived at the last stop¡ªthe Cirantheon. It was a large stadium with an open roof, almost an amphitheatre of sorts, except instead of there being a stage in the centre there was a gladiator¡¯s ring. Entry was free for first-time visitors. Evaine took full advantage of this, dragging Bran in behind her.

    They took a seat at in the middle, well away from a puddle of foul-smelling liquid. The air was rank with the smell of blood, sweat and human waste. A small crowd of a few hundred were present today, scattered about all ends of the arena, gamblers and loan sharks watching the ring eagerly. At the opposite end was a special balcony where the King and other nobles sat, and below that was where the announcer called out with a magic-enhanced voice.

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t we have found somewhere a bit cleaner to spend the afternoon?¡± Bran asked.

    ¡°Shh,¡± Evaine said. ¡°They¡¯re starting.¡±

    The two barred gates on either end of the ring swung open and the two combatants charged into the ring. The announcer introduced them as highwaymen found on the Royal Road, sentenced to trial by combat. Whoever won would be spared their life and afforded a second chance.

    Bran closed his eyes half-way into the fight, feeling sick. The two prisoners had fought without holding back, biting and gouging eyes and scratching when they¡¯d lost their blades. It wasn¡¯t a very pleasant sight. Even Evaine was starting to grow pale, though she maintained a front of attentiveness. Bran suspected it was more a sign of defiance than anything else.

    ¡°Our next battle will be between another prisoner¡ªa man guilty of adultery¡ªand a relict. Yes, folks, you heard right! We¡¯re pitting him up against a Slazaad captured from the Blight, fresh from Nephilheim! Wyd bless his soul, let¡¯s hope he gives us a fine display!¡±

    ¡°A Slazaad!¡± Evaine breathed. ¡°How on earth did they manage to capture one?¡±

    ¡°Can we go?¡± Bran asked. ¡°I don¡¯t think this will be very pretty.¡±

    ¡°No, I want to see! It¡¯s going to cost us the next time we come in, so we might as well stay.¡±

    Bran groaned.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± Evaine asked. ¡°Scared?¡±

    He shook his head, deliberately neglecting to mention how queasy Evaine herself was looking.

    The Slazaad was let into the ring first. It was a massive lizard¡ªa dragon without wings¡ªand it had a short, stubby neck and tail. Its head was oblong shaped, broad and flat between the brow and the tip of the snout, and long. Like a battering ram, he thought. The relict snorted and roared, trying to shake off the Rhinegold collar around its neck, but to no avail.

    ¡°Now we have Master Bowun, our felon! Let¡¯s see if Cenedria takes mercy on him today!¡±

    The gates lowered and a scrawny stick of a man was thrown into the ring, armed with nothing but an iron sword. He ran back to the gates and banged against them, screaming for help. The audience jeered at him from above.

    The Slazaad snapped its head toward Bowun and breathed deeply, suddenly calming down. A forked tongue flicked between its lips as it crept closer to the frenzied man.

    ¡°Help!¡± he cried, having given up on prising open the gates. He tried to climb the walls, tried to scrabble up into the stadium while people threw stones and rotting fruit at him.

    ¡°Are you sure you want to watch this?¡± Bran asked. ¡°There¡¯s no shame in changing your mind.¡±

    ¡°Who do you think I am?¡± she said, tossing her head. ¡°A bit of blood and gore won¡¯t be enough to faze me.¡± She failed to hide the quiver in her voice.

    The Slazaad charged, lumbering across the dirt like a mammoth. Bowun leapt out of the way as wall trembled behind him, dust and debris raining down from where the relict had made impact. It screeched and swung its tail, catching the prisoner in the side of the face. Bowun spun into the dirt and lay, lifeless.

    The Slazaad ripped itself from the wall and plodded towards the body, snapping it up in one swift movement, crunching and a grinding as it ate the man whole. The crowd cheered.

    ¡°Evaine,¡± Bran said. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    The Slazaad burped and spat out a pair of bloody manacles and a scrap of clothing.

    ¡°O-Of course,¡± she said.

    ¡°Do you want to head back? Let¡¯s go check up on Ein.¡±

    Before she could reply, the announcer¡¯s voice boomed across the stadium. ¡°This ends our programme today, ladies and gentlemen! I hope you enjoyed the show, and we¡¯ll be back the same time tomorrow with a fresh line-up of fighters!¡±

    There was a deafening round of applause.

    ¡°We have a special guest tomorrow, one who¡¯s guaranteed to put up a fight! Some of the older people among you may remember a man by the name of Alend Thoren¡ª¡± Bran and Evaine looked at each other in horror, ¡°¡ªwho was charged with high treason against the High King! A former Kingsblade and a member of the all but extinct House Thoren, we¡¯ll be pitting him up in a special gauntlet tomorrow morning for your entertainment! He¡¯ll have some of his abilities restrained of course, for your own safety, so there¡¯s nothing to fear! Come one, come all, place your bets, and I¡¯ll see you tomorrow for the Trial of the Fallen Hero!¡±

    The crowd erupted into loud cheering, all except Bran and Evaine. Evaine turned around slowly.

    ¡°We¡¯d better tell Ein,¡± she said.

 31. Whispers of the Three-Winged Crow

    Chapter Thirty-One: Whispers of the Three-winged Crow

    ¡°Some say she was a monster. Some say she was simply wise. They all agreed on one thing, however¡ªshe was never wrong.¡±

    ¡ªTurnus Hibernon, On the Prophet Morene

    High above the City of Twilight, sailing atop a sea of clouds was a castle.

    It wasn¡¯t particularly large, with no battlements or moats or any of the other defensive features one would come to expect of such a stronghold, yet it exuded an air of mysticism¡ªof estrangement and otherworldliness, as if it weren¡¯t quite part of the realm of man. It was made of several black towers piercing the sky, a cluster of uneven pillars capped with pointed tips, layer upon layer of soulless windows staring from the walls. The whole fortress lay upon a floating chunk of earth that looked as if it had been ripped out of the ground below.

    One of the towers rose high above the rest, a spire of obsidian black. Unlike the others it wasn¡¯t tipped with a conical roof¡ªinstead it was an open rooftop, a circle of stone surrounded by a low parapet, a pool of silvery light at its centre. The light was like water, formless and still. A mirror of glass.

    It was into this pool that the sparrow dived, breaking the surface into a thousand shards.

    The light stretched deep into the tower, a path of radiance that slashed through the darkness. At the end of the path was a chamber¡ªa council of sorts, seven seats arranged in a circle. The sparrow fell, and when it hit the ground Talberon was in its place, bloodied and bruised.

    His beard was tangled and charred in places, his face marred by black bruises. The Druid¡¯s robes looked like they¡¯d been sliced by a thousand whips. They hung loosely off his body, his skin red and bleeding beneath, his leaf-green cloak matted and blood-stained like the pelt of a wounded animal. He twitched and rolled over weakly, leaving a trail of red behind him.

    Talberon lay in the centre of the hall, panting, blood still oozing from his wounds. Though he looked bad, most of the damage he¡¯d sustained had been to his Spirit. The Urudain¡¯s attacks had wounded it directly, which was much worse than wounding the flesh. On the other hand, it also meant that he could recover faster with the right resources.

    Talberon groaned as the light tickled his skin, granting him relief from his pain. The battle had been long, the journey longer, and he was utterly exhausted. The Knight was strong, frighteningly so, and it was daunting to think that there were seven of them out there. He looked around the empty chambers at each seat and felt a sense of dread rise within him. There had been seven of them in the flying fortress, back when the Skyward Circle had prospered. Now there were only three¡ªand that was assuming Keldan and Elspeth were still alive. He had a bad feeling about them.

    As the light restored his Spirit, Talberon brought the book from his robes and undid the sparrow-shaped lock. He browsed through the entries, flipping through to the most recent one. The Codex was a shared store of knowledge between the Druids of the Skyward Circle. Each Druid carried with them an individual tome they could use to access and update that knowledge. Keldan had last updated his over a week ago, Elspeth even further before then.

    14th Winterheart, 334, 4A

    Passed the town of Adeir with Alend. Witnessed its destruction at the hands of bandits. Updated entry for Adeir.

    ¡ªTalberon

    16th Winterheart, 334, 4A

    Arrived at Caerlon. Much like the rest of the world, the town is suffering at the hands of the Great Winter. Alend is still with me at this time, and appears to have almost recovered from his injuries. Updated entry for Caerlon.

    ¡ªTalberon

    17th Winterheart, 334, 4A

    Met with and agreed to accompany a group of travellers from Felhaven. They consist of Ein Thoren (Alend¡¯s adopted son), Evaine Tamelyn (a shepherdess), Bran Sutherland (son of a butcher turned Faceless¡ªunsure whether or not he is aware of this, will have to keep an eye on him), Garax (village storyteller¡ªvery curious circumstances surrounding him, especially the things he knows, though I believe him to be on our side) and Rhinne (a dragon in human form who seeks to recover the Ember. She is adamant that the High King possesses it, and believes we helped in stealing it from them. I haven¡¯t a clue whether any of it is true).

    The village children¡ªEin, Evaine and Bran¡ªappear to be Tel''rahns. Ein claims to have seen the Oathbreaker himself during a visit to Astreal. He and Evaine have also exhibited symptoms of possessing Wyrd¡ªEin¡¯s of Lady Reyalin the Stormdancer, and Evaine¡¯s unknown. I will see if I can find time to instruct them.

    ¡ªTalberon

    The entries went further back, all the way to Talberon¡¯s first days as an Initiate several millennia ago. He flipped over to where the other Druids had left their notes.

    1st Winterheart, 334, 4A

    We near the Summit of the World. The mountain is eerily quiet, and I am hopeful something has happened to the World-Eater. Tomorrow I will scout the situation and hopefully rescue the girl without prompting any confrontation.

    ¡ªKeldan

    1st Winterheart, 334, 4A

    My journey continues. I¡¯ll be forced into avian forme in order to stay safe and cover ground, so you might not hear back from me for some time. I only wish I had more to say, but time spent writing is time that could be spent flying.

    ¡ªElspeth

    2nd Winterheart, 334, 4A

    Edric is dead. The World-Eater is real, and the legends do it no justice.

    There must be another way. That girl cannot be the last of the Lachess¡¯s. Give up on rescuing her from the mountain, for it is an impossible task.

    The death of the Kingsblade also presents us a problem. I understand that Edric had a brother who is now in hiding. You must find him and his children if he has any, for they are now the last of the Thorens.

    I will try and escape the mountain, but I have been grievously wounded. If you do not hear from me again, assume the worst.

    ¡ªKeldan

    That had been Keldan¡¯s last entry. Something had obviously happened at the Summit of the World, and they¡¯d failed to secure the girl. A short while later, a rescue team had come across Edric¡¯s sword, his ring, and a book with a hawk-shaped lock¡ªKeldan¡¯s Codex¡ªat the base of the mountain, along with the corpses of half the party. Talberon had consulted the shade of Morene and then left for Felhaven immediately after.

    The Druid rolled over onto his back, feeling the strength return to his body. Morene¡¯s Perch had been built upon a Spirit Font, a well of energy that could be drawn upon by Songweavers to fuel their magic. It was the source of energy that kept the castle afloat, and it had been concentrated into the beam of light that was now shining down upon his body. He took out a quill from his robes and scrawled an entry into the Codex, even if there would probably be no one to see it.

    19th Winterheart, 334, 4A

    Two days ago I fought an Urudain under the light of a full moon, buying time for Alend and the Tel''rahns to run away. I grievously wounded the Knight, but suffered severe injuries myself.

    I have only just made it back to Morene¡¯s Perch after a gruelling two day flight upon bleeding wings. As I recover, I will visit Astreal and try to discern the whereabouts of Alend and the Tel''rahns.

    I expect I will have to visit the Three-winged Crow once more, for the last time. I pray I will walk away knowing what to do.

    ¡ªTalberon

    He exhaled and closed the book, then tucked it into his robes. As his heart settled in his chest and warmth flooded his veins, Talberon closed his eyes and dreamed.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    In his dream he was a bird again, and he was flying. Soaring on the Winds of Fate, riding them higher and higher above the chamber, through the Spirit Font and into the open sky, higher still. Morene¡¯s Perch became a speck beneath him, and then it was swallowed in a sea of clouds. The air grew dark and cold. Soon, he¡¯d broken through the atmosphere and was drifting among the stars.

    A wave of voices assailed him, but he blocked them off. Talberon had ventured across Astreal enough times to be able to hold his form without too much effort. He now glided through the cosmos, riding the wind rather than fighting it, watching the stars shoot below him. Fragments of people and places, thoughts and feelings drifted past him like an ocean current. He listened with half an ear, dismissing those he had no interest in, latching onto those that might lead him to the information he needed.

    He followed the threads one by one, like the strands of a great spider web. He followed each thought until it touched on another, then he switched. He did this a handful of times until he¡¯d found the strand he was looking for and then he traced that one until it broke away from the rest.

    The world around him shifted. He saw Aldoran and its magenta trees. He spotted Rhinne on the streets, talking to Garax. He dived deeper, flying through the roof of an inn. Ein was there, swinging his sword, working up a sweat. He followed the boy¡¯s thoughts to Evaine and Bran, who rushed hastily through the city, and then to thoughts of Alend. He flew into Uldan Keep, dark and brooding, through its rooms and hallways, staying as small as he possibly could. The Oathbreaker¡¯s presence was a constant pressure atop his skull, a heavy weight that threatened to crush everything.

    He followed the starlit road into the dungeons. There he was¡ªAlend Thoren, chained to a dark cell, watched by a pair of guards. Shoulders drooping, face lined with concern, head lowered. Broken.

    But alive.

    Talberon flapped his wings and withdrew from the dream. The sensation was like lifting his head from a pool of water. He opened his eyes to the empty council¡ªeverything was exactly as it¡¯d been before he¡¯d slept, though the light filtering down was a different shade of gold. It was the gold of late afternoon.

    He stood up, flexing his limbs. His Spirit was back at full strength. Most of his wounds had clotted, though he was still bleeding in some places. His muscles were sore and his joints ached. He was incredibly tired and wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for an entire week, but there were things that needed to be done. That was his duty.

    As a Druid of the Skyward Circle, he was responsible for maintaining the peace in Faengard. Much had changed since he¡¯d been an Initiate. He¡¯d seen things, darker sides of humanity that had forever scarred him, but he couldn¡¯t lose sight of himself. He couldn¡¯t forget the ideals he¡¯d once held as a dewy-eyed boy all those years ago, the reasons he did what he did. If he didn¡¯t act, who would?

    No one, Talberon thought. That was even moreso true now, with Elspeth and Keldan missing.

    The Druid left the chamber, wandering through the empty hallways. It hadn¡¯t always been this way¡ªMorene¡¯s Perch had once been bustling with activity, full of Druids and Initiates, back when ranks had meant something and the world had been at peace. Back when Morene had been alive, several ages ago, when there had been a need to elect Archdruids.

    Then the relicts had attacked. The Circle had fought alongside Aedrasil herself and the Alliance, the Archdruids lending their strength to the Protector to cast the Sealing. Of the original seven, only Morene herself had survived. That had been the beginning of the end.

    Most of them had left after the Great War. They were afraid of what being a Druid entailed, and the Skyward Circle had no desire to take in those who weren¡¯t willing to fully commit to the cause. Talberon had been one of the few who stayed behind.

    When Morene died during the Age of Legends, the Druids lost what little influence they had left. Without her, they were just long-lived Songweavers and historians who could turn into birds. The amount of Initiates they recruited slowed to a halt, all while the Circle continued to grow smaller. The Druids died one by one whether it was by battle or otherwise.

    When the Age of Magic began, there¡¯d been seven of them left, removing the need for the Archdruid rank. When it ended and the current age began, only Talberon, Elspeth and Keldan remained. He supposed he should be thankful the High King listened to them at all, even if it was because of Morene and her reputation than anything else.

    Talberon came to the lowest floor of the castle and stopped. The door to Morene¡¯s tomb always unsettled him, even though he¡¯d been there more times than he could remember. Perhaps it was the fact that it lay below the lowest floor, in a place where there should only have been open sky. Or maybe it was the blue flames that burst to life by themselves, flames that never seemed to dim or go out. There were many mysteries surrounding the Three-winged Crow, most of which she¡¯d taken to the grave with her.

    And now, even when she was dead, the amount of mysteries only grew.

    Talberon descended the staircase, following the trail of flickering flames. He avoided staring into them¡ªthey reminded him of gravestones in a burial ground, watching him from the darkness. Sometimes he heard voices. One time he thought he saw a face in the fire, so frightening he¡¯d nearly tripped and fallen. That was the last time he¡¯d dared to look.

    He descended for what surely must have been ten or twenty floors, even though there was no way Morene¡¯s Perch stretched that low. At one point the walls fell away into nothingness, empty space, an endless hole. The steps beneath him were no more than flimsy slabs of floating stone. His only light came from the blue fires. Even though he could fly, the void¡ªand what lay below, if anything¡ªscared him.

    He reached the bottom at last, a round platform that lay suspended in the air like everything else. There was a pool filled with black water in the middle, about the size of a small room in diameter. If it weren¡¯t for the flickering reflections on its surface, it could have been a bottomless pit.

    Talberon approached the water and sang her name. ¡°Morene Revaengur.¡±

    The water flickered. A single ripple spread across the centre.

    ¡°Morene Revaengur,¡± he called again, and then a third time, ¡°Morene Revaengur, heed my summons.¡±

    The water began to froth. It bubbled and burst, sending angry waves out towards the edges. A head rose from the surface, the head of an ageless woman with flint eyes and a crooked nose. She wasn¡¯t pretty or ugly and she didn¡¯t have any wrinkles, but she had about her an air of wisdom like a hallowed book. Her black hair was ragged and hung limply on either side of her face. She wore a cowl in the likeness of a crow¡¯s head, with two beady black eyes and a hooked beak open in a harsh cry.

    The woman continued to rise until she was standing atop the pool, arms by her sides. A black cloak covered her entire body. She was surprisingly small, no taller than an adolescent girl, yet the air was electrifying in her presence. Three feathered wings hung loosely from her shoulder-blades, two on the left, one on the right.

    ¡°Talberon the Sparrow,¡± she spoke. ¡°I hope you¡¯ve thought long and hard about your predicament, for this will be the last time I can manifest in this world.¡±

    Talberon swallowed. Even as she spoke, Morene¡¯s shade flickered like a weak candle-flame. Time after time the Druids had called upon her to aid with their struggles. He wasn¡¯t quite sure how it all worked, but it seemed that she lost a bit of power every time she was summoned. After the Age of Magic, Talberon and the remaining members of the Skyward Circle had agreed they would only consult Morene as a last resort, lest she disappear forever.

    If now wasn¡¯t the time, he didn¡¯t know when was.

    ¡°Prophet Morene,¡± Talberon began, bending down on one knee. ¡°I come to you for your guidance. The events prophesied in Prophecies of the Crow have finally begun. The Great Winter reaches its third year, and relicts once again find their way to our world. Aedrasil wilts, and only with the blood of the Three Kings to which she sowed her seeds can she be restored.¡±

    Morene nodded. The edges of her cloak flickered, as if fighting back the darkness around her. The floating blue flames burned silently.

    ¡°So it begins,¡± she whispered, her voice feathery light. ¡°The Twilight of the World.¡±

    ¡°The Uldan family rules Faengard in the present, having oppressed the other houses after the Rondo of the Three Kings. Of the Thorens, two remain¡ªone of whom is in custody of the High King. The main problem is House Lachess, which has all but died out. There is one known member who remains, and she is chained at the top of the Muzzle, under the watch of the World-Eater itself. Druid Keldan left to rescue her, but¡­¡± Talberon paused. ¡°He failed.¡±

    ¡°Keldan is dead?¡±

    ¡°I presume so. He last wrote in the Codex over two weeks ago, with fears that he would not survive.¡±

    Morene was silent for a moment.

    ¡°This much I know,¡± she said. ¡°Yselin Lachess, for that is her name, is indeed the last of the Lachess¡¯s. Of the Thorens, there are three. Of the Uldans, there are eleven. The blood of the three Kings will be central to the upcoming war with the relicts.¡±

    Three Thorens? thought Talberon. That thought was quickly lost as he realized what Morene had just implied.

    ¡°War?¡± he asked. ¡°I thought the whole purpose of this quest was to prevent a war by stopping the relicts from returning.¡± A flame of frustration welled within him. He still remembered the damage they¡¯d suffered during the Great War, all the pain and suffering, all the deaths. He never wanted to see such a scene of carnage again.

    ¡°I have read the wind,¡± Morene said sadly. ¡°I have seen the Twilight, so it will come to pass. But whether Faengard is saved or not, the outcome is unclear. It will depend on the Tel''rahns of this Age, who may well be the last of their kind.¡±

    ¡°Tel''rahns¡­¡± Talberon muttered. He thought immediately of Ein, Bran and Evaine. The wind had been strong around them. The dragon-girl too, and Alend Thoren of course.

    ¡°Make no mistake,¡± Morene continued. ¡°You will need the Lachess, for she is one of the Tel''rahns. You will need to deal with Faenrir no matter what.¡±

    Talberon swallowed. He remembered Al¡¯Ashar riding into battle with the Aldereich¡ªthe Aldereichs, Wyrdhaugg and giantsorm. They¡¯d been several times more devastating than the Urudains. Faenrir was an Aldereich as well.

    ¡°What do I do?¡± he asked, suddenly feeling like a child again. He¡¯d been left with so much weight on his shoulders, so much responsibility. He wasn¡¯t ready. He wasn¡¯t prepared.

    ¡°Take the Stormdancer to the Muzzle,¡± Morene said, ¡°and protect him with your life, for he will have the biggest part to play in the upcoming war. That is all I can say.¡±

    ¡°Wait!¡± cried Talberon, as Morene began to disappear. ¡°Isn¡¯t there anything else you can tell me?¡±

    The Prophet shook her head. The edges of her being were dissipating, fading like the dying embers of a fire. ¡°That is all I can see,¡± she said. ¡°Take him to the Muzzle, for his fate closely twines with that of the World-Eater. A storm looms on the horizon¡ªthe winds are turbulent and change with each passing breath.¡±

    ¡°Master¡ª¡±

    ¡°I fare thee well, Sparrow. This will be the last time we speak, until your time comes to join me in the place beyond the Hall of Heroes.¡± Morene offered a soft smile. ¡°I am proud of you and all that you have achieved.¡±

    She vanished, leaving Talberon alone once more. He stood an inch away from the water, looking at the spot where she¡¯d been just a moment ago, doing everything he could to not wade in after her. He didn¡¯t know what would happen if he did, but something primal at the back of his mind warned him to stay away. The pool was a veil between life and what lay beyond.

    Talberon let out a deep breath and sat down on one of the steps. That was it. All the times the Druids had called upon Morene she¡¯d offered them a tidbit of advice, never more than a vague whispering, yet it had made all the difference. Talberon had been hoping for a little more, seeing as this would be the last time they ever spoke. He should have known better.

    Take him to the Muzzle. That was simple enough. But what was a blacksmith¡¯s son and a group of village children to do against a servant of Al¡¯Ashar? Talberon wished he knew. If only he¡¯d possessed Morene¡¯s gift. Maybe then, he¡¯d be worthy to take on the mantle of the last Druid.

    And what of Aedrasil? If war was going to break out, what was the point of saving Aedrasil in the first place? What was the point of gathering the blood of the Three Kings? There were so many questions he didn¡¯t know the answer to.

    Talberon sighed and took out his Codex. Then, he began to write.

 32. Under the Ward Tree

    Chapter Thirty-Two: Under the Ward Tree

    ¡°Heavily does the price lay for victory upon this day. No person deserves such a fate, yet she shoulders it without complaint. You have my gratitude and my respect, Aedrasil.

    ¡°If only this were the end. Unfortunately, I have seen your fate. I am loathe to admit it, but someday you will wither and fade, and when that day comes, the world will be stricken with war once more. I cannot see how it will unfold, but I know that yours will be a tragic end.¡±

    ¡ªMorene Revaengur, Prophecies of the Crow

    ¡°Why do you want to become a Hero of Faengard?¡± Alend asked.

    They were in the woods outside of Felhaven, two days deep on the trail of a wounded deer. The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the trees. Alend had put Ein in charge, allowing him to take the lead.

    It was an easy trail to follow. Their quarry walked with a limp, dripping thick, red blood across the ground wherever it went. Even without the trail of blood, the prints themselves were heavy and sluggish in the soft dirt. It was Ein¡¯s first hunt at the age of ten, and he couldn¡¯t wait to return and tell Bran and Evaine about it.

    ¡°Why do I want to become a Hero of Faengard?¡± Ein said to himself. ¡°I suppose¡­ it just sounds really cool. I imagine it would be an exciting life to live.¡±

    ¡°What makes you think that?¡± Alend forced his way through a stubborn thicket.

    ¡°They¡¯re always looked up to and admired by people, and remembered through stories. I want to become a person like that, someone who uses his strength to save those in need, someone who fights monsters and finds treasure.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve been listening to Garax again, haven¡¯t you?¡±

    Ein nodded sheepishly.

    ¡°What stories did he tell you this time?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Ein said, ¡°there was the tale of Reuben Cowl, Ranger of the East, who stole from the rich and gave to the poor. There was the tale of Lady Reyalin the Stormdancer, who guarded Gerard Carandar and the Weatherwing from vicious sea monsters across the Blue Divide. There was also Cu¡¯Lahn the Lightborn, who single handedly defeated the armies of Levios in the Second Age.¡±

    ¡°And these are the figures you want to be like?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Ein. ¡°Someday, I want people to sing songs and stories of Ein Thoren from Felhaven. I want to slay a dragon and find treasure, and live the rest my of life in luxury.¡±

    Alend chuckled. ¡°So, glory and wealth. That¡¯s your reason.¡±

    ¡°Not just that,¡± Ein pouted. ¡°I want to be a good person, too. If you¡¯re a bad person, you¡¯ll just be killed in your sleep.¡±

    ¡°And if you¡¯re a good person, you¡¯ll be called every time someone is in need.¡±

    ¡°Then I suppose I¡¯ll just have to help them.¡±

    Alend nodded. ¡°It¡¯s good to think that way. Heroes and villains are but separated by a single line¡ªthough I¡¯d rather you became neither.¡±

    He suddenly grabbed Ein¡¯s shoulder, bringing them to a halt. Alend brought a finger to his lips and jerked his head to the side. Ein stared through the trees and saw a shape in the distance, hobbling across the grass with the weakness of a crippled animal. He looked down and realized they¡¯d caught up to the deer. He¡¯d been so lost in his thoughts that he¡¯d almost given away their position.

    ¡°Go,¡± Alend whispered. ¡°Take the shot.¡±

    They¡¯d strung their bows a few hours earlier in anticipation, so there was nothing left to do but shoot. Ein nocked an arrow and stood upright, drawing the string back until the feather touched his chin. He closed one eye and traced the deer as it limped through the forest.

    Breathing deeply, he slowed his pulse by counting the seconds in his head. His arm began to fatigue as the string took its toll on his young body. There were about twenty metres between them, a clear line of sight, no wind, and the deer had just stopped to rest against a trunk¡­

    Ein released. The arrow whipped through the air and buried itself into the deer¡¯s neck, killing it instantly. The bowstring continued to thrum.

    ¡°Good shot,¡± Alend said. ¡°Let¡¯s take it back to the village.¡±

    #

    Later, as they marched back through the woods with the carcass slung across Alend¡¯s shoulders, Ein voiced his thoughts.

    ¡°Why?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Hm?¡± Alend looked up.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you like heroes? What¡¯s so bad about being one?¡±

    Alend regarded his son with a stoney gaze. ¡°It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t like them,¡± he said. ¡°Like you, I respect and admire them greatly for the things they do. But the fact of the matter is, no Hero of Faengard lives a fulfilling life.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Ein frowned.

    ¡°Of all those stories Garax told you, did he ever tell you how they died?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ no, he didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Let me tell you now¡ªno hero dies of old age, in the comfort of their own home, surrounded by friends and family. Reuben Cowl was captured and executed to set an example to vagabonds everywhere. Lady Reyalin was murdered in her sleep by a rival, and Cu¡¯Lahn died buying time for his country when he tried to fight an army while deathly ill. I personally knew people who you would call ¡®heroes¡¯, and their lives were not happy ones.¡±

    ¡°Surely there are exceptions to the rule?¡±

    Alend shrugged. ¡°None that I know of, not in all the stories amassed over the ages. I¡¯ll say it now and I¡¯ll say it again¡ªthe life of a hero is not one you envisage it to be.¡±

    #

    Ein finished the sequence and sheathed his sword. The blade he¡¯d picked up from the Faceless all the way back in Caerlon was smaller and lighter than what he was used to, but over the past few hours he¡¯d grown accustomed to the weight.

    He sat down before a basin of water and began wiping himself down, cleaning the sweat from his body. At first, he¡¯d persuaded his father to teach him because he wanted to be a Hero of Faengard. Like all the village children, he¡¯d dreamed of slaying dragons and rescuing Princesses, fighting for mankind, becoming a person everyone looked up to.

    But as time passed and his horizons broadened, he realized just what that entailed. Never in the history of Faengard had a hero died of old age, surrounded by friends and family. They shouldered incredible responsibilities, unimaginable burdens, the fates of countless other people. For each tale of a successful hero, there were ten more tales of unknowns, people who had failed in their duties and let down those who looked up to them.

    Ein had no desire to be such a person. He practiced the blade now so he could protect his way of life, the tranquil every-day he¡¯d come to appreciate and look forward to each morning. He constantly refreshed his knowledge of survival and tracking, herbs and medicine, so he could help his father carry their family through the Great Winter.

    Unfortunately, the wind had other plans in store for him.

    Evaine would have loved to be in his position. She was already leagues ahead of him in terms of Songweaving. Ein had barely practiced¡ªhe almost hoped the ability would go away if he ignored it. After all, he hadn¡¯t dreamed of Lady Reyalin or Astreal for a while now. Surely that meant something?

    He¡¯d just finished slipping on his shirt when he heard footsteps running up the stairs. They stopped outside the door, followed by two knocks.

    ¡°Ein, it¡¯s us,¡± called Evaine¡¯s voice. She sounded breathless.

    He opened the door and found her and Bran with their hands on their knees, gasping for air. ¡°What happened to you two?¡±

    ¡°Ein,¡± gulped Bran. ¡°You won¡¯t believe this. It¡¯s really bad.¡±

    ¡°We came as quickly as we could,¡± Evaine continued. ¡°Promise us you won¡¯t do anything rash¡ª¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Ein asked. ¡°What¡¯s bad? What did you see?¡±

    Evaine caught her breath and stood upright, brushing her hair out of her face. ¡°It¡¯s your father,¡± she said. ¡°He¡¯s been captured¡­ and his execution is tomorrow.¡±

    #

    As night fell across Aldoran, Ein, Bran and Evaine left the inn, cloaks wrapped tightly about them. Ein had wasted no time in making his decision. Left with no choice but to either accompany him or wait, Bran and Evaine had followed suit.

    Ein continued to simmer all the way through the city, a look of cold determination on his face. The fact that the High King had left but a single day between Alend¡¯s capture and his execution told him one thing¡ªthe grudge Aedon held for Ein¡¯s father was real.

    He scanned the skies every few steps, hoping to see the shadow of a sparrow fly into view, but the only thing he saw was a half-moon, bright and silver. The streets were near empty, the majority of people fast asleep in their homes or drinking in the taverns. Guards with torches patrolled the roads, but they paid the three no heed.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we plan this out better?¡± Bran asked. ¡°I doubt we¡¯ll have much success without knowing what the layout of the Keep is.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have time,¡± Ein said. They¡¯d waited until the last possible moment for Garax to return, without success. ¡°They¡¯re sending him out to die tomorrow, Bran. We can figure it out when we get into the castle.¡±

    ¡°And how are we going to do that? The King sees few people in person, and the Silent Council shuts its doors two hours past sundown.¡±

    ¡°What do you suggest we do then?¡± Ein snapped.

    ¡°Why not see the Council tomorrow morning? We could explain the situation and hopefully seek an audience with the King.¡±

    The Silent Council was a council of ministers and powerful men, most of them Songweavers, that saw to the minor matters brought before Aedon. Ein had no doubt any attempt to bypass them would be rebuffed.

    ¡°What makes you think negotiation will do anything?¡± he questioned. ¡°I¡¯m sure my father would have tried that already. He even had Druid Talberon¡¯s ring, for Wyd¡¯s sake.¡±

    ¡°And what are you going to do when you reach him?¡± Bran continued. ¡°There¡¯s a difference between bravery and recklessness, Ein.¡±

    Ein blinked. It was the first time Bran had argued so intensively with him. Quiet, timid Bran.

    ¡°There¡¯s also a difference between recklessness and indecisiveness,¡± Ein said softly. ¡°You don¡¯t have to come with us if you don¡¯t want to, Bran. I understand your concern¡­ but there¡¯s really no other way. If what you saw was true, then my father will be killed tomorrow. We have to at least try something¡ªif not for his sake, then for the sake of Aedrasil and the rest of the world.¡±

    ¡°There might be something I can do,¡± Evaine interrupted them.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±

    She raised her waterskin. ¡°Depending on the type of lock they¡¯re keeping him under, I could try picking it. I¡¯ve been practicing a lot with my Songweaving and I¡¯m pretty confident with moving little things. A lock is just a series of pins and tumblers, after all. If I can move those, I should be able to bust it open.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯d you find the time to do that?¡± Ein asked.

    Evaine shrugged. ¡°On the Royal Road. I wanted to do more, but Alend told me not to Songweave in front of Marc. So I just made sure to practice when everyone wasn¡¯t watching.¡± She smiled smugly.

    ¡°But what about the guards?¡± Bran pressed. ¡°How will we get past them all?¡±

    ¡°Stop worrying,¡± Evaine said. ¡°We¡¯ll think about that when the time comes.¡±

    ¡°If worst comes to worse, I¡¯ll fight them,¡± Ein said.

    Bran shut his mouth and looked between them both. Then he sighed.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he finally said. ¡°I wasn¡¯t saying we shouldn¡¯t attempt the rescue or anything. I just¡­ I was just hoping we had a better plan.¡±

    Evaine placed a hand on his arm. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Bran. Everything will be alright.¡±

    They approached Uldan Keep from the shadows. There was a moat directly in front of the wall, one that ran around the castle and down into the canals of the city proper. A single bridge spanned from one side to the other, two torch-bearing guards keeping watch on either side.

    ¡°Blast,¡± Ein swore. There wasn¡¯t a chance they¡¯d be able to get through the gate without the two soldiers noticing. ¡°What do we do now?¡±

    They circled around the moat, following it all the way until the bridge came into view once more. There were no other ways across. Even if they swam, it would be impossible to climb out of the water and onto solid land due to how steep the edges were.

    ¡°I guess that does it,¡± Bran said. ¡°I think we should wait until the guards turn over for their shifts.¡±

    ¡°Hang on,¡± Evaine said. ¡°Let me try something.¡±

    She drew close to the edge of the moat, as far as she could without slipping into the water itself. She stayed there for a moment, eyes open and unmoving, staring in fixation. Then she turned around.

    ¡°I might be able to use the Soulsong to get us across,¡± she said.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think of that. Are you sure you can do it?¡± Ein¡¯s tone was hopeful.

    ¡°No. But it¡¯s better than not doing anything.¡±

    She closed her eyes and hummed. The strip of water before her grew still at once, as if it had frozen to ice. She increased the intensity of her voice, taking ahold of the water, willing it to rise. It obeyed her, hovering above the moat like a glass panel, sparkling droplets dripping down on either side.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°Go,¡± she said through clenched teeth. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

    Ein took Bran¡¯s arm and rushed onto the bridge. The strip of water was solid beneath him, though it slowly began to sink once they¡¯d made it on. The two scrambled forward, crossing the gap, landing on the other side.

    ¡°Evaine,¡± Ein called. ¡°Are you coming?¡±

    Evaine opened her eyes. A tremor crept into her song, matching the quivering of the water-bridge she¡¯d created. She bolted forward, still singing, her tune waning as if she were running out of breath. The strip of water shook as she passed the halfway point.

    Then, without warning, it collapsed.

    Evaine let out a small yelp as her foot landed on water droplets held together by nothing. She tried to reassemble the bridge but her voice was too weak and strained. Ein stepped forward and grabbed her outstretched arm, nearly losing his footing, but Bran held him in place. With a groan of effort, the two managed to pull her up from the edge of the moat and onto the grass.

    ¡°That was close,¡± Evaine said, panting. ¡°It¡¯s hard work lifting the weight of three people.¡±

    Ein dusted off his trousers and stood up. ¡°We made it, though. Somehow.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s too soon to relax,¡± she said, managing a smile. ¡°We¡¯re not even in the castle yet.¡± She stood up and gave Bran a friendly punch in the arm. ¡°I guess that makes things even now, eh?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Bran cocked his head.

    ¡°Remember that time you fell into the river and it was Ein and I who saved you? This time, it¡¯s you two who saved me.¡±

    ¡°It was nothing,¡± he said, scratching his cheek. ¡°I almost drowned back then. You were in nowhere near as much trouble as I was.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly. You give yourself too little credit, Bran.¡± Evaine looked around at the walls and then rushed off before he could answer, already scoping their surroundings for alternate entrances to the castle.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe she remembered,¡± Bran said after a while. ¡°That happened years ago.¡±

    ¡°I remember it too,¡± Ein said. ¡°It was the day we first met. You don¡¯t forget those types of things.¡±

    They made another lap of the inner wall, gathering as much information as they could. There was a single gateway that led to the courtyard but it was directly in front of the bridge, watched by the same guards from before. There were also drainage holes dotting the bottom of the walls, but they were barred and far too small to crawl through.

    ¡°You¡¯d think there¡¯d be a secret passageway or something,¡± Evaine said. ¡°There usually are in the stories.¡±

    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be secret if was in plain view,¡± Ein said.

    ¡°We could try getting in through the sewers perhaps?¡± Bran offered.

    Ein shook his head. ¡°The entrance would either be underwater or somewhere in the city below.¡±

    He ran his hand along one of the stone bricks that made up the wall. The gaps between each brick were quite large, and in several places the mortar had been worn away to form a stable foothold. Ein wedged his foot into one of them and tested his weight against it. It didn¡¯t budge.

    ¡°I think we can climb these walls,¡± he said.

    Bran arched his head upwards. ¡°You¡¯re not serious, are you?¡±

    ¡°They don¡¯t seem that high,¡± Evaine agreed. ¡°We¡¯ve climbed higher trees before, back in the Sleeping Twins.¡±

    ¡°You can wait here if you want,¡± Ein said.

    Without waiting for a response, he launched himself up and onto the stone, feeling for hand and footholds, small roots jutting out of the wall, places where the brick was uneven and cracked. He was about halfway up when he looked down and realized Bran and Evaine hadn¡¯t moved.

    ¡°Are you two coming?¡± he asked.

    Bran looked at Evaine.

    ¡°I¡¯m not wearing anything underneath,¡± she said.

    Bran flushed and hastened towards the wall. Ein didn¡¯t think he¡¯d ever seen his friend climb so quickly and deftly.

    All three of them reached the top of the wall safely, hauling themselves over the parapets and onto the walkway. They were on one of the ramparts between two sentry towers. Behind them was a clear view of the whole of Aldoran, rows and rows of tiled rooftops streaming down the hill, separated by each of the three Walls. Lampposts and glowing windows lit up the city like fireflies in the night.

    ¡°What a view,¡± Evaine murmured.

    ¡°Let¡¯s not forget what we¡¯re here for,¡± Ein said. He turned around and surveyed the other side of the wall.

    The courtyard lay before him, a garden of crisp greenery that painted a patchwork of bent elderbark trees, straight hedges and paved paths running at right angles to each other. Lanterns hung at equally spaced intervals next to wooden benches. Ein took a good few minutes to calculate the best route through the hedges, the one that would expose him for the shortest amount of time, before turning back in to Bran and Evaine. A quick glance to the watchtowers on either side of him revealed sleepy or bored sentries who were more interested in idle chatter and games of dice than watching for intruders.

    ¡°We¡¯ll go this way,¡± he began, tracing the path out with his index finger. Bran and Evaine listened without interruption as he outlined the plan of attack. Their destination was the back door to the main hall, which as far as they could tell, was unwatched.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go first,¡± he finished. ¡°If the guards catch wind of us, don¡¯t worry about me. Just run.¡±

    The two nodded. Ein took one last look around him and then vaulted over the wall.

    He took his time descending, feeling around in the dark with his hands and feet for each foothold. Descending proved to be much harder than ascending, for the simple fact that it was easier to look up than down. Despite this he made good time, curving around smooth sections of the wall, stopping about halfway at a point where one of the elderbarks met the stone. Ein strained his neck and reached for it, taking care to always keep at least three points of contact to the brick. His hands found the bark and he prepared to jump. It would be much easier to shimmy down a tree than to scale the rest of the wall.

    With a firm grip on the branch, he tested it and nodded to himself. It was shaky, but shakier branches had held his weight before. Evaine and Bran watched from above, their faces small and distant.

    Ein tensed himself and kicked off, reaching out with his other hand, using the momentum to propel his legs to where they¡¯d hopefully land on the trunk and give him some footing.

    They landed on the trunk¡ªand then immediately slid. A loud crack echoed across the walls as the branch broke cleanly in two, sending crimson leaves raining down. The sickening sensation of freefall took over him.

    Shit, he thought. He¡¯d forgotten how brittle elderbarks were compared to the evergreens of the Sleeping Twins.

    The night sky spun before him as he fell straight to the ground, landing waist-deep in one of the hedges, his brain rattling in his skull, the wind knocked out of his ribs. Voices rose from the walls and around the courtyard. There was no way he hadn¡¯t been heard.

    Flying into a panic, Ein peeled himself from the broken hedge and ran. Thoughts of Bran and Evaine escaped his mind, replaced by the base need to flee. He fumbled through the darkness, turning blindly around the corners, leaping and charging over sections of hedge. The guards were everywhere around him, closing in, their harsh cries unmistakeable. There was an intruder in the Keep, they called. Find them at any cost.

    Ein vaguely recalled leaping over a bench before landing in a body of water. It had appeared out of nowhere, the icy coldness shocking him to his senses. He tried to wade across the stream but it swept him off his feet, throwing him under the surface. It wasn¡¯t very deep, only reaching up to his waist, but as he touched the bottom and took a step forward, his foot landed in nothing but empty space. Ein let out a cry as the current sucked him under, pulling the rest of his body into the hole.

    The water dragged him through and out the other side along a dirt chute, a groove in a wall that slanted downwards. Air, fresh and sweet greeted him. He continued to fall, tumbling and turning along the groove, scrabbling desperately for a handhold, water gushing around him. At last, the gutter spat him out and he landed in a knee-deep puddle, coughing and spluttering and shivering.

    He was in a cavern of some sort, several holes in the ceiling leaking water and moonlight. He must have fallen through one of them during his escapade. The sound of guards grew faint above him.

    He splashed out of the puddle and fell to his knees, panting. A dim glow lit the place, a fluid kaleidoscope of reds, greens and blues. The ground was soft and lush, the grass cool beneath his fingers. Fireflies wafted lazily in the air.

    As his head stopped swimming and the wind came back to his lungs, he stood up. Trees sprouted everywhere around him, evergreens and moonglades, elderbarks and oaks with twisting ivy creeping up their sides. It struck him as odd that there was such lush vegetation in a place so deep beneath the earth. He began to walk, weaving his way through the trees to the source of light. There were flowers too, blooming lilacs and daisies, violets and dandelions. The shifting glow gave the place a mystical feel, almost dreamlike in quality.

    Ein found himself drifting off, his mind losing focus, his thoughts scattering like a flock of birds. There was only the trickle of water and the rustle of the wind as it stroked the leaves. He thought of nothing in particular as he walked, drawn to the source of the glow.

    ¡°Protector of man, how fair your leaves doth bloom,

    Red and gold and violet against the gloom.

    A little bird once said this puzzling thing,

    Related we are, both you and me and my King.

    A strange and addling idea, I do believe,

    That a tree could be my mother, I cannot conceive.

    Yet here you are, our Mother Aedrasil,

    Hope within us all you do instil.¡±

    Ein blinked. He¡¯d stopped by the edge of the trees, in front of a large pool of shimmering light. Flowers sprouted where it lapped against the earth, white lilies and patches of nightshade, red tulips, orange posies. Wisps of steam drifted from the surface like rainbow ribbons, snaking up to the ceiling above. He somehow felt intoxicated by the sight, yet his mind was as sharp as a blade. Energy buzzed through his veins. He felt like he could sing down the entire cavern if he wanted to.

    In the centre of the pool, upon a raised patch of land was a tree. It was nothing like Ein had ever seen before. He¡¯d seen taller trees and wider ones, yet this one held such a presence that it put all the others to shame. It had a canopy of red-gold, violet, mauve and scarlet, all the colours of twilight and sunset and flickering flames. Its trunk was strong and robust, each of its roots as thick as an arm. It was wizened, and it was regal¡ªlike a witch-queen on a throne of fire.

    Yet the more Ein stared at it, the more faults he noticed. The dull sheen that covered the leaves. The way they all pointed towards the ground, like the drooping heads of defeated soldiers. The splotches of rot and wilt upon its once proud bark, creeping outwards like a black stain. Signs of sickness and death.

    ¡°What would it feel like to outlive your children?¡±

    The voice belonged to the same girl who¡¯d been singing. It was soft and yet lively, like a pipe on a bright morning.

    ¡°I¡­ imagine it would be quite sad. And painful.¡±

    Ein answered without thinking. The girl sat with her legs folded beneath her under the great tree, looking out towards him. He thought of her as a girl, though she was probably older than he was¡ªa young woman. She wore a plain white frock that reached down to her knees, her liquid-gold hair cascading across naked shoulders. She had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, beneath a pair of wide blue eyes that reminded him of melting frost.

    ¡°What if you had so many children you lost count of them?¡± she continued, as if Ein¡¯s presence were the most natural thing in the world. ¡°Would it still hurt then? Wouldn¡¯t you grow numb to the pain?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m no mother,¡± he replied, ¡°but I think no matter how many children a woman has, she would still care for each and every one of them, feel their pain, their joys and sorrows. I¡¯ve heard that a mother¡¯s love for her children is unconditional.¡±

    ¡°An interesting answer,¡± she said. ¡°Now consider grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren after that. Would the mother still feel their losses, each and every one of them? Assuming she were everlasting?¡±

    Ein considered the thought. ¡°I suppose not,¡± he said. ¡°Each generation would be a further degree removed from the mother, until eventually she would no longer recognize or see herself in them.¡±

    ¡°Aha!¡± the girl clapped her hands together and stood up. ¡°So a mother who outlived her children would eventually stop feeling once all her direct children passed away.¡± She looked up at the tree. ¡°I imagine it would be quite lonely to live such a life.¡±

    Ein scratched his head. He had no idea what the girl was trying to say.

    ¡°How do I get out of here?¡± he asked. No¡ªthere was a better question to be asked. ¡°Where am I?¡±

    The girl stepped across the narrow stretch of raised land that spanned the pool. ¡°Good questions,¡± she said. ¡°I do agree that knowing where you are would make it easier for me to tell you the way out. But I think there¡¯s a more important question to be asked.¡±

    ¡°Who are you?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s it!¡± she smiled, and Ein¡¯s heart skipped a beat. Despite her whimsical nature, there was no denying the girl¡¯s beauty. If he were to give his honest opinion, she was probably the most beautiful thing he¡¯d seen. Then again, his experience was limited to village girls and barmaids from places too unimportant to be featured on the map.

    ¡°So, who are you?¡± she asked, parroting his question.

    ¡°I thought I was the one asking you.¡±

    ¡°You thought right. But it would be good manners to introduce yourself first. Maybe then I might be inclined to tell you where you are, and therefore how to get out.¡±

    Ein sighed inwardly. As pleasant as she was to look at, he was growing tired of her antics. The guards are still looking for you, he reminded himself. You still have to rescue Alend. And what about Bran and Evaine? He hoped the two were alright.

    ¡°My name is Ein,¡± he said.

    She waited. ¡°Ein¡­? Ein who? From where?¡±

    ¡°Ein¡­ Thoren.¡± He decided to tell the truth. ¡°From the Sleeping Twins. I doubt you¡¯ve heard of the place.¡±

    ¡°Thoren¡­¡± she looked off to one side, lost in thought. ¡°I used to know a Thoren. His name was Edric, I think.¡± She passed a quick glance over him. ¡°He was prettier than you, though. It¡¯s a shame he¡¯s not here anymore.¡±

    ¡°Anyway,¡± Ein said, ¡°can you show me the way out?¡±

    ¡°All in due time,¡± the girl said, raising a finger. ¡°There¡¯s an order to these things. Let me introduce myself¡ªI am Celianna Uldan, Grove Tender, second-born of Aedon, High King of Faengard¡ªthe Shining Spear of Aldoran.¡±

    Second-born¡­ High King¡­ Ein blanched. Gods, a Princess!

    ¡°Wh-where are we?¡± he stammered, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn¡¯t know much about Aedon, but being found alone with the Princess of Faengard couldn¡¯t end well for him.

    ¡°You¡¯re learning!¡± she turned around and gestured at the cavern. ¡°That pool of light over there is the Worldspring, and this cave is what we call the Spirit Garden¡ªa little place I like to come to when I want to be alone.¡± She eyed him. ¡°Though I can¡¯t say I don¡¯t enjoy your company. Mother Aedrasil rarely speaks, you see. It gets a little boring sometimes.¡±

    Spirit Garden. Mother Aedrasil. Ein realized with a shock that the great tree in front of him was the single thing keeping the relicts at bay. The reason he and his father had left. The destination to their journey.

    ¡°I wonder why they gave it a name,¡± Celianna continued, speaking to herself. ¡°It¡¯s not as if things aren¡¯t confusing enough with everything having a name¡­¡±

    ¡°Cel¡ªYour Highness,¡± Ein said. ¡°Do you¡­ has Aedrasil told you yet? About what she needs?¡±

    ¡°I thought you wanted to know the way out,¡± she said. ¡°Or are you having fun talking to me?¡± Her face brightened. ¡°I¡¯m so glad! And don¡¯t call me Your Highness, it makes me feel like an old lady.¡±

    ¡°Celianna, this is really important. Has Aedrasil asked anything of you?¡± The Princess had mentioned she was the Grove Tenders. That meant she was the main person the Ward Tree spoke to about its troubles.

    ¡°She has,¡± Celianna replied, taking on a more sombre tone. ¡°She¡¯s not faring well, as you can see. Things have been like this for a while now.¡± She looked back towards the tree. ¡°She told me she was dying, and that only with the blood of the Three Kings could she survive. I told Father, but it¡¯s been a while and nothing¡¯s happened yet.¡±

    ¡°Celianna,¡± Ein said, urgency creeping into his voice. ¡°My father, Alend, has the blood of one of those Kings. He¡¯s been arrested by your father and is scheduled to be executed come tomorrow. I need to go and find him.¡±

    Celianna frowned. ¡°Why would my father arrest yours? Especially if he¡¯s so important as you¡¯ve told me?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve no idea. But I have to get out of here. I have to save him.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯ll probably be in the dungeons.¡± Celianna looked around them and frowned. ¡°How did you even get here in the first place?¡±

    Damn it, I don¡¯t have time for this. He¡¯d wasted too much time already. Before long, the Keep would be swarming with guards. Frustration welled within him.

    ¡°Please,¡± he said again. ¡°I have to go. How do I get out of here? How do I get to the dungeons?¡± He grabbed her shoulders without thinking. A small yelp escaped her lips.

    ¡°Cel?¡± another voice called out. ¡°Cel, where are you? There¡¯s trouble in the castle and Father wants you back in your room.¡±

    Ein gave a start and jerked his head around. A young man emerged from the trees, dressed in a lavish tunic of red and gold with a flowing cape swishing by his feet. He had a head full of stark white curls that were unruly and yet somehow orderly, and his eyes were a deep violet. Ein had never seen anything like it before, and in the heat of the moment, he thought of one thing.

    Demon!

    And so he drew his sword.

    The man¡¯s expression clouded. He saw Ein, saw the blade, saw Celianna. ¡°What the hell do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±

    Realizing his mistake, Ein sheathed his sword and stepped back. ¡°You¡¯ve got it all wrong! I¡¯m not here to fight!¡±

    ¡°Celianna, get away from him! He¡¯s one of the intruders everyone is looking for!¡± The man¡¯s eyes were livid.

    ¡°Wait!¡± the Princess cried, stepping in front of Ein. ¡°He hasn¡¯t hurt anyone! Aeos, stop!¡±

    Aeos stalked towards them, drawing a slim blade of silver from under his cloak. Ein took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. The Worldspring lay behind him, blasting waves of tingling warmth across his skin. He heard shouts and cries and rattling armour in the distance, boots storming across grass. Aeos, it seemed, had not come alone.

    In that moment, several things passed through his mind. He could push Celianna aside and try to run, but he didn¡¯t know the way. He could try and wield the Spirit Font behind him, but he had no idea if it would work or not, and if by some chance he ended up hurting either of the royals, he would probably be looking at the death penalty. The thought of grabbing the Princess as hostage flitted through his mind, but he stomped it into the ground before it could take root.

    Besides, the Prince was armed. Fleeing would require turning his back on the enemy, and that was one of the first things Alend had taught him never to do. Celianna was also in the way.

    So instead he stood still and did nothing.

    Aeos approached his sister. ¡°Step aside.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no need to have your sword out,¡± she said. ¡°Ein and I were just talking. In fact, I was the one who invited him here.¡±

    ¡°What do you take me for, an idiot? I assure you, being different doesn¡¯t mean I have rot for brains.¡± He shoved Celianna aside and stood in Ein¡¯s face. Ein raised his hands in a gesture of peace.

    ¡°Listen,¡± Ein began. ¡°I have a reason for being here. You have to¡ª¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have to do anything,¡± he spat. ¡°Guards! Hurry up and arrest this man!¡±

    Moments later, four breathless soldiers stumbled through the bushes. Aeos sheathed his sword and grabbed Celianna. ¡°You¡¯re going back to your room, Cel.¡±

    ¡°Wait!¡± she cried, looking back towards Ein. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt him, he hasn¡¯t done anything wrong!¡±

    Ein gave himself to the guards, allowing them to shackle his wrists. One of them grabbed him by the arm and began escorting him away from the clearing.

    ¡°Karn,¡± Aeos directed. ¡°Take Celianna back to her chambers.¡±

    The guard named Karn nodded and gripped the Princess gently but firmly. ¡°Yes, sire.¡±

    ¡°Colm, Jared, San. Take this one to the Council. I¡¯ll go look for the other intruders.¡±

    ¡°The Council? But aren¡¯t they adjourned at this hour?¡±

    Aeos flung his cloak back over his sword. ¡°Not tonight they aren¡¯t. Not when the place is teeming with trespassers.¡±

    Ein kept silent as the guards towed him away, the manacles rubbing raw against his skin. The only thing he could do now was hope¡ªthat Evaine and Bran were safe, and that he¡¯d be able to talk himself and his father out of this mess.

 33. The Halls of Judgement

    Chapter Thirty-Three: The Halls of Judgement

    ¡°Truth is the sharpest blade.¡±

    ¡ªLauriel, God of Charity, Justice and the Sky

    The guards took Ein along a path that wound upwards towards the surface. They climbed a flight of steps carved into the stone and threw open a rickety door at the top, setting foot into the castle itself.

    Uldan Keep was quiet but alive. It was in the flicker of lanternlight against the walls and the whispers of servants behind their doors. Oil paintings of mountains and monsters and men watched as he was taken through the castle and up the stairs, twisting and turning. Patrolling guards nodded as they walked by, keeping the way clear of curious wanderers¡ªnot that there were many at this time of the night. Ein tried to remember the layout of the Keep and the way he¡¯d come, but the fortress was simply too big and complex to do so.

    At last they reached a double-door on the ground floor, two dragon-shaped knockers on either side. Colm grabbed one and slammed it down. ¡°Your Majesty,¡± he called. ¡°We bring with us one of the trespassers.¡±

    There was a pause. Then, the doors opened from the other side to reveal another pair of Legionnaires armed with spears. Ein was shoved forward and into the hall.

    It was tall and cavernous, the ground marble white with a picture of the goddess Lauriel etched upon it¡ªa blindfolded woman in a plain white robe. She held a set of scales in one hand and a sword in the other, and by her feet were the words ¡®Truth is the sharpest blade.¡¯ Around the room there were twelve raised seats of slate grey stone, almost like thrones, and a thirteenth wedged in the middle that was slightly higher and further back than the rest. Hanging from the walls were the banners of several Houses with their names labelled beneath¡ªthe spear and shield of the Uldans, the sword and tree of the Thorens, the roaring lion of the Leonharts and the harp of House Lachess, among many others.

    Figures robed in black and gold sat on each of the twelve seats. A wide man who Ein presumed was the King sat on the thirteenth seat, accompanied by two Kingsblades in fiery gold armour. At each of the exits was a pair of guards. They watched impassively as Ein was taken into the centre, right on top of Lauriel¡¯s left shoulder.

    There was a girl already there, with short brown hair and a familiar face.

    ¡°Evaine!¡± Ein uttered. Evaine turned around, eyes widening in surprise at first and then worry.

    ¡°Ein¡­?¡±

    ¡°You were caught?¡± he continued. ¡°What happened to Bran?¡±

    ¡°Bran got away¡ª¡±

    ¡°Do not speak out of place in the Halls of Judgement.¡± One of the guards shoved Ein with the butt of his spear and gave him a warning look. Ein and Evaine fell silent.

    ¡°You gathered us here to pass judgement on a pair of children?¡± a council member snapped. He looked old and irritable, with a white moustache split into two downward-pointing tips and a bald head. He was scowling.

    ¡°There are more to come.¡± Aeos was there as well, the white-haired Prince glaring at Ein and Evaine from beside his father. Ein looked back and forth between the two. He saw no resemblance, even looking past the layers of fat and age around the King¡¯s face.

    The twelve figures who Ein deduced were the Silent Council murmured uneasily among themselves. Aedon raised a hand, subduing them.

    ¡°Ein Thoren,¡± the King said. ¡°Young man, that is you, is it not?¡±

    Ein nodded. He felt the attention of the entire room shift towards him.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been caught trespassing upon the castle grounds. What do you have to say about that?¡±

    ¡°I was only following the instruction of Druid Talberon.¡±

    Aedon raised a brow.

    ¡°That¡¯s a load of trite,¡± one of the council members cried. ¡°What evidence does he have¡ª¡±

    ¡°Silence. I ask the questions here.¡± The man fell silent and retreated into his robes. Aedon turned his gaze back to Ein. ¡°What did Talberon tell you to do?¡±

    ¡°He told me that the blood of my father, Alend Thoren, was needed to save Aedrasil and drive back the relicts. He told me that the Great Winter would end and the world would be saved if this was done.¡± The words came easily to Ein. Everything he said was true to the best of his knowledge. It was just that no one had actually told him directly.

    ¡°I was one of the few tasked to accompany my father to Aldoran,¡± Ein went on, ¡°to make sure he reached the Ward Tree alive. The reason I¡¯m here is because I heard he was captured and to be executed tomorrow.¡±

    Aedon ran a hand through his beard. ¡°If you¡¯re his son, wouldn¡¯t your own blood suffice?¡±

    Ein looked down. ¡°I was adopted, Your Majesty.¡±

    Aedon nodded, thinking. Then, he turned to one of the guards. ¡°Bring him in,¡± he said.

    From one of the back doors a woman emerged, a magnificent being with golden hair pinned atop her head and a trailing white dress. Though Ein saw traces of Celianna within her, the woman¡¯s beauty was of a more mature nature¡ªa flower at the peak of its lifespan, ripe and ready to be plucked, sharing no signs of the Princess¡¯s slight clumsiness or naivety. She was immaculate, a walking goddess. There was no doubt in Ein¡¯s mind¡ªthe person in front of him was Illia Uldan, the High Queen of Faengard, and she was every bit her reputation made her to be.

    Yet he couldn¡¯t help but feel a tremor run through him as he saw her eyes. They were cold and so very deep, a bottomless trench at the base of the sea.

    Once his initial shock had worn off, Ein realized Alend had been dragged into the room. He was paler than he¡¯d last remembered, his clothes dirt-strewn and fraying in places where it looked like he¡¯d been tackled to the ground. His shoes had been removed and he¡¯d been shackled by the wrists and ankles. His hair was unkempt and a fresh layer of stubble lined his chin. Two Kingsblades held him on either side.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    ¡°Father!¡± Ein cried.

    ¡°Your father is a traitor, Ein,¡± the High King said. Illia came to join him, standing on the shoulder opposite to Aeos. ¡°He fled the Kingsblades after a failed attempt to take the throne.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a lie,¡± Alend cried. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him, Ein¡ª¡±

    One of the Kingsblades cuffed him to the side of the head, bringing him to his knees. Fury swept through Ein and he reached for his blade, but Evaine grabbed his wrist. As if he¡¯d been doused with water, Ein felt the red mist clear.

    ¡°Your father is a liar,¡± Aedon said, ¡°a liar and a traitor. His story matches with yours, so you must be a liar as well.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not lying,¡± Ein said. ¡°What reason would I have to lie? What would I gain from coming here?¡± He looked at his father, small and defeated before him.

    ¡°Ein,¡± said Aedon. ¡°You said you were not the only one tasked to accompany your father. I presume this young woman is one of your friends?¡± He pointed to Evaine.

    Ein narrowed his eyes at the sudden change in topic. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Was she the only one?¡±

    ¡°¡­No.¡±

    Aedon rubbed his chin, looking around at the rest of the council. They sat straighter in their seats, apparently placated by the appearance of the Queen. If a matter warranted the presence of both sovereigns, it was probably worth hearing.

    ¡°Who else came to Aldoran with you?¡± Aedon asked.

    Ein swallowed. He tried to catch his father¡¯s eye, but it didn¡¯t seem like Alend knew anything more than he did.

    ¡°There were three more of us,¡± he said, thinking of Bran, Rhinne and Garax. ¡°And a horse driver we hired from Caerlon.¡±

    ¡°Caerlon? You mean you travelled all the way here from Caerlon?¡± one of the twelve asked incredulously. Aedon flashed her an angry look and she quietened.

    ¡°What do they look like? Be warned that my council is wise and experienced, and they are quite capable of telling lies from the truth. It is in your best interest to be honest.¡±

    Alend snorted. One of the Kingsblades struck him in the ribs.

    ¡°The boy and the girl are around my age,¡± Ein said, glaring at the Kingsblade. ¡°The boy a bit taller and skinnier, with sandy hair. The girl with flame-red hair and a scrawny build. The old man only has one hand and is bald, but otherwise looks like an old man. The horse driver¡­ from what I remember, he was unshaven, with shaggy grey hair.¡±

    A smile slid across Aedon¡¯s face. He turned to each member of the council. ¡°Did you all hear that?¡±

    He was met with a collective round of nods.

    ¡°Aeos. Bring in the other two.¡± As the Prince moved to obey his father¡¯s direction, Aedon looked back to Ein and Evaine. ¡°Guess who else we found trespassing on the grounds tonight.¡±

    Footsteps echoed from the doorway. Four guards emerged, and between them were Garax and Rhinne.

    Ein felt a cold hand grip his spine.

    ¡°Tell me¡ªdo these two not match the description you just gave?¡±

    Rhinne¡¯s jaw was clenched, her eyes burning with hatred. Garax smiled sheepishly.

    Ein drew a deep breath. ¡°Yes, Your Majesty.¡±

    ¡°And why exactly were they prowling around my property?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know, Your Majesty.¡± He tried to catch either of their eyes, but the two kept their gazes averted. Why was Rhinne here? She¡¯d mentioned her search for the Ember, and her belief that the King had it¡­

    Oh no¡­ don¡¯t tell me¡ª

    ¡°Would it help if I told you we found them trying to break into the Vault?¡± Aedon had the look of a predator cornering his prey now, his beady eyes alive and piercing. ¡°Would you happen to know anything about that?¡±

    Ein remained silent.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what I think, Ein. I think that you and your father came back to Uldan Keep to rob me. I think that your plan was to create a diversion while your two friends broke into my vault and stole my¡ªno, Faengard¡¯s¡ªwealth. I think that you and your father are liars and traitors.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true,¡± Ein spluttered. ¡°Why would we even bother? What use is money if there¡¯s nothing to spend it on?¡±

    ¡°A poor attempt to reason,¡± Aedon replied. ¡°Money can buy anything if you know where to look. If my hypothesis is false, please enlighten me. Tell me what your friends were doing at the Vault.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not with them,¡± Rhinne interjected. ¡°We split up upon reaching the city. Our actions are completely our own.¡±

    ¡°Possible,¡± Aedon acknowledged, ¡°but given the circumstances, unlikely. What do you all think?¡± He glanced at the rest of the council.

    The twelve Songweavers nodded in agreement, hushed murmurs escaping their lips.

    ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± Alend spoke up. ¡°Aedon, listen to yourself. You¡¯re grasping at straws! Everyone knows it¡¯s impossible to break into¡ª¡±

    ¡°How many times do I have to tell you not to speak out of turn!?¡± the Kingsblade on the left rammed his gauntlet into Alend¡¯s gut. Alend fell to his knees, winded.

    ¡°You¡¯re making a mistake,¡± Ein said, his voice rising. ¡°Your Majesty, have you seen the world beyond Aldoran? Have you seen the relicts? They gather around your home even now, preparing for war! Surely we deserve the benefit of the doubt?¡±

    Aedon held up two fingers. ¡°Two things,¡± he said. ¡°One: traitors don¡¯t deserve anything¡ªand two: there are already plans in place to end the threat of the relicts.¡± He looked at his wife, who smiled back.

    ¡°At least wait until you enact your plan and it succeeds,¡± Ein pleaded. ¡°What if it fails? Then you¡¯ll be glad you kept my father alive.¡±

    ¡°That is true,¡± Aedon shrugged. ¡°Perhaps I was a bit rash. In either case, I¡¯ve promised the Cirantheon a show tomorrow and there¡¯s no withdrawing now.¡±

    ¡°Why not postpone Alend¡¯s execution? In the meantime, we can give them these other people as entertainment.¡± Illia gestured at Ein, Evaine, Garax and Rhinne. ¡°An opening act, of sorts.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Alend shouted.

    ¡°That¡¯s an excellent idea,¡± Aedon beamed. ¡°I should have thought of that.¡±

    ¡°Father,¡± Aeos interrupted. ¡°Surely that won¡¯t be necessary? An execution should be just that, fast and simple. Why let them suffer?¡±

    ¡°Traitors must be made an example of,¡± Aedon said. ¡°Yes. Illia, your idea is perfect. What are your thoughts on the matter, Council?¡±

    The Silent Council gave another nod of agreement. Aeos crossed his arms and frowned.

    ¡°You bastards,¡± Alend growled. ¡°This isn¡¯t fair at all.¡±

    ¡°Be quiet,¡± Illia snarled. ¡°Be grateful for the time your son and his friends have bought you, Deserter. I want you to think long and hard about what you¡¯ve done when they¡¯re sent into the arena tomorrow.¡±

    A dark expression crept over Alend¡¯s face. ¡°If Ein dies, I¡¯ll kill you,¡± he quietly said. ¡°I¡¯ll kill you and your children, and I¡¯ll make sure they die just as painfully. Mark my words, woman.¡± His fists were shaking, the chains rattling by his feet. Ein shivered. He¡¯d never seen his father in such a state.

    Next to him, Evaine edged closer until their shoulders were almost touching.

    ¡°I¡¯m scared,¡± she whispered.

    Ein grabbed her hand and didn¡¯t reply.

    ¡°It¡¯s decided then,¡± declared the King. ¡°At noon tomorrow, the four traitors will be sent out into the arena to undergo trial by combat. Are there any objections?¡±

    Ein counted the heartbeats one by one. Surely one of the Silent Council would speak up? There had to be an inkling of doubt somewhere. Or were the ¡®judges¡¯ just a fa?ade of equality under the King¡¯s name?

    Five heartbeats passed, and no one spoke.

    ¡°Very well, then.¡± Aedon raised a mailed gauntlet, preparing to bring it down upon his armrest. ¡°I, Aedon Uldan, High King of Faengard, hereby pass my judgement upon¡ª¡±

    The air flickered as a grey streak shot into the hall, swooping dangerously low above the heads of the Council. Several of them cried out in surprise and ducked, sending a ripple of chaos across the room.

    It stopped in the air for a moment, flapping its wings to stay afloat, and then fell to the ground. As it fell it expanded into a figure with a forest-green cloak, touching down gently upon the marble in front of Ein and Evaine. The figure flung back its cloak and there was Talberon, tall and dark before them, rage pouring off his body in invisible waves.

    ¡°I object,¡± he said, and his voice was like a blade being drawn.

    But to Ein, it was a song of hope.

 34. Kaladors First Tenet

    Chapter Thirty-Four: Kalador¡¯s First Tenet

    ¡°He who hath sinned shall fall to the blade.¡±

    ¡ªKalador¡¯s First Tenet

    The Druid¡¯s arrival evoked an array of responses from those in the Halls of Judgement. Aeos and the Silent Council broke into uncertain whispers. The King¡¯s brow furrowed and he looked at Illia, who had locked her jaw and was seething in rage. Hope illuminated Alend¡¯s face like the sun emerging from behind a cloud. Even Rhinne eased a little, though she quickly hid her relief behind a scowl.

    ¡°Talberon.¡±

    The name echoed around the room as several different voices spoke it. It was uttered like a prayer by some, a curse by others. The Druid stood in the centre of the Hall, facing the High King with a gaze that melted steel. ¡°Your Majesty.¡±

    ¡°I was told that you were killed.¡±

    ¡°And who told you that? The Deserter Alend?¡± He flashed Illia a look of contempt. The Queen kept her head high, maintaining her composure. The fury in her eyes was palpable.

    ¡°No,¡± Aedon said, turning to his wife. ¡°Illia did.¡±

    ¡°It seems I was mistaken,¡± she said crisply. ¡°Do accept my apologies, Alend.¡±

    ¡°Tell me, then,¡± the King continued. ¡°What really happened, Druid?¡±

    Talberon eyed each of the twelve council members in turn. Now that the excitement had died down, Ein realized the Druid was in terrible health. His cloak was dull and shredded in places, the skin beneath dark with clotted blood, his eyes jaded and weary. The battle with the Faceless had not been an easy one.

    ¡°I fought an Urudain in Caerlon to allow Alend and his companions to escape.¡±

    A moment of silence hung over the hall, heavy like a suffocating blanket.

    ¡°That¡¯s ridiculous,¡± someone said. He was a young man sitting beside the bald, irritable member, and his voice had a high-pitched whine to it. ¡°Everyone knows the Urudains were sealed along with Al¡¯Ashar during the Age of Gods. Do you take us for idiots?¡±

    As if the floodgates had opened, the other members began to speak.

    ¡°This is a waste of time.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re kind isn¡¯t welcome here!¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s your proof?¡±

    ¡°You never told me the last of the Thorens was Alend. Did you always know he was still alive?¡± The last voice was Aedon¡¯s, and it silenced the others. Talberon slowly looked up.

    ¡°Would it matter if I¡¯d told you?¡± he asked quietly.

    Rage crept across Aedon¡¯s face. ¡°You¡ª¡±

    ¡°You are a fool,¡± Talberon cut in. ¡°You are all fools. You sit here behind your walls every day, fighting over trivialities while the world steadily ticks towards its doom. Are you blind? Can you not see the Blight creeping across the land, the hordes of relicts roaming the countryside and amassing outside the city? Every day more people turn to the Oathbreaker and walk down the path of the Faceless. At what point will you finally acknowledge that action must be taken? At what point will you stop looking into the past and start looking towards the future?¡±

    ¡°Talberon,¡± Aedon warned. ¡°As much as I appreciate your advice, I will not have you insult me or my men. You have always been of great aid to me, but I fear that you yourself are growing blind in your old age. Aedrasil is not the only means we have to put the relicts in their place. If you¡¯d stopped focusing on tradition and the tales of old world, you would have realized that.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°The new Celesite Technology we¡¯ve been developing has turned in a solution to the current predicament,¡± Illia smirked. ¡°Dominus, would you care to tell Druid Talberon about your latest inventions? I feel that you may as well, seeing as we have an audience and all.¡±

    The bald man with the drooping moustache gave a haughty grin. ¡°I¡¯m glad you asked, Your Majesty.¡± He stood up from his seat and took a few steps toward the centre of the hall before turning around to face the rest of the council. ¡°It just so happens I have a small piece of technology on me that I can use as a demonstration. Watch closely, Druid. This is the future of Faengard.¡±

    He withdrew what looked like a lantern from his robes, a small cylinder of wood-framed glass with a handle on top. However, where Ein would have expected to see a wax candle or even a torchstone inside, he instead saw a large crystal. It was dull and colourless, like the stained window of a rundown shop.

    ¡°I present to you the Celesite Lamp.¡±

    Dominus flicked a switch and the crystal burst to light, a deep silver like the stars in the sky.

    ¡°What the blazes is this?¡± the man with the high-pitched voice said. ¡°We¡¯re in the middle of a hearing and you¡¯re giving us a light show?¡±

    ¡°Watch your tongue, Kenet,¡± Illia snapped. ¡°Go on, Dominus.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± the minister said. ¡°This, my friends, is no ordinary lamp. It doesn¡¯t run on fuel or charged torchstones. No, this runs on Spirit¡ªthe same Spirit that Songweavers use to power their Soulsong.¡±

    ¡°How is that possible?¡± Talberon asked. ¡°Last I checked, you weren¡¯t a Songweaver.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all thanks to this.¡± Dominus turned off the lamp and unscrewed the top. He pulled out the dull crystal inside and held it up for everyone to see. ¡°Several months ago, we came across a traces of an ancient comet buried deep in the caverns. Around it was a substance we¡¯d never seen before, a crystal that sparkled like the stars, which we named Celesite. It turns out that Celesite can store several hundred times more energy than other gems, making it the best gem to use as a Spirit Well.

    ¡°But the real differentiator between Celesite and say, diamond or agate is its ability to discharge its stored energy. A fully charged Celesite crystal can be made to leak Spirit, as you can see now, until it runs out. In a way, it¡¯s like torchstone¡ªwhereas torchstone absorbs light during the day and emits it at night, Celesite absorbs and emits Spirit instead. This energy, aside from being a more stable source of light, can be harvested for other things which my team and I are currently looking into.¡±

    ¡°What does this have to do with the relicts?¡± Talberon growled.

    Dominus replaced the crystal in the lamp and tucked the device into his robes. ¡°Aside from the obvious fact that we may be able to create Celesite-powered weapons in the future, there is a way to speed up the process of emission¡ªand that is by breaking the stone. A crystal like the one you¡¯ve just seen, when charged to full capacity inside a Spirit Font can be broken to destroy an area the size of this hall. Imagine how much damage we could do if we broke several of the things at once. We could wipe out the entire relict army.¡±

    Aedon clapped his hands together. ¡°A marvellous discovery. It will save us many lives, being able to eradicate the enemy in such a fell swoop.¡±

    Dominus gave a twirl of his moustache and bowed. ¡°It is only thanks to the funding of Her Majesty the Queen that I was able to conduct the necessary research and experimentation. I have naught but the utmost gratitude.¡±

    Illia smiled. ¡°Thank you, Dominus. You may return to your seat.¡± The minister sat back down, revelling in the envious stares the others threw his way.

    ¡°So you plan to drop a bomb on the relicts,¡± Talberon said. He was dangerously quiet.

    ¡°A far more reliable way to go about fixing our current predicament, is it not?¡± Illia¡¯s smile grew wider.

    ¡°Please accept my apology in advance,¡± the Druid said to Aedon. ¡°Your Majesty, you have married an idiot.¡±This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Two of the four Kingsblades moved at once, rushing towards Talberon while the guards backed them up. Talberon flung his arm wide and and sang. Seeds flew from inside his sleeves and burst into life, enveloping the two knights in tangled nets of vines. They fell heavily to the floor, cursing as their bonds began to constrict.

    ¡°You would think to fight me?¡± Talberon boomed. His cloak flapped around him even though there was no wind. Ein suddenly felt a great pressure in the room, one that was reminiscent of his encounter with the Oathbreaker in Astreal¡ªlike he was being slowly flattened into the ground. The soldiers hesitated, gripping their spears tightly.

    ¡°Stand fast,¡± Aedon commanded, rising to his feet. Illia had moved to a safer position behind Prince Aeos. ¡°Talberon, there is a limit to what I will allow you to do. Explain yourself, or I will make you an enemy of Faengard.¡±

    The two Kingsblades broke free from their bonds and sheathed their blades, not attacking but watching. The pressure in the room eased slightly. Ein felt his eardrums pop.

    ¡°Your wife would think to defeat the relicts using sheer firepower,¡± the Druid said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see anything wrong with my suggestion,¡± Illia declared. ¡°Aside from the fact that there will be no more reason to keep the traitor alive.¡±

    ¡°What if there are more armies out there?¡± Talberon asked. ¡°They¡¯re streaming into our world from another realm, Your Majesty.¡± He said the words spitefully. ¡°There could be more armies in Nephilheim, waiting to march. What would you do then? Drop more bombs?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see why not.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see what the problem is, Talberon,¡± Aedon said at the same time. ¡°As long as we have the resources to mine more Celesite, why not? We could take the chance to wipe out the relicts once and for all, rather than put our faith in a tree for the next thousand years.¡±

    ¡°The relicts won¡¯t be the only things affected. People, animals, plants and trees will be killed as well. Water will become undrinkable if it doesn¡¯t evaporate first.¡±

    ¡°What difference does it make? As you said before, the Blight has already begun its conquest.¡±

    ¡°The Blight may be disruptive, but it is not absolute. The land will regrow given enough time.¡± Talberon¡¯s eyes darkened. ¡°But if you lay more waste to it, there is a chance it may never recover. The Great Winter has weakened it enough as it is. Is it your wish for Faengard to become a barren wasteland?¡±

    ¡°All things come with a cost, Talberon. If it means putting an end to the Oathbringer and his relicts, then I would be willing to pay the price.¡±

    ¡°That price is not yours to pay. Faengard does not belong to you.¡±

    ¡°What would you have me do then?¡± Aedon gave an exasperated sigh. ¡°You belittle our ideas and insist on fixing things your way. Well, Alend is here. What now? I¡¯ve already lost several good men chasing down the Lachess heir. Edric Thoren was a dear friend of mine, and he will never be by my side again. Your fellow Druid Keldan has also fallen victim to the mountain. Would you have me lose the rest of my Kingsblades as well?¡±

    The look Ein¡¯s father gave the King was murderous.

    ¡°I have a proposal,¡± Talberon said. ¡°Advice granted to me by the shade of Morene herself.¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± Illia sniffed. ¡°First Urudains and now ghosts? Aedon, don¡¯t listen to his rubbish.¡±

    ¡°Quiet, Illia. What did the Prophet say?¡± the King asked.

    ¡°Unfortunately, not much.¡± Talberon continued before Illia could gloat. ¡°But she did tell me one thing. Your Majesty, do you believe in the Pantheon? In particular, the tenets of the God of War, Kalador?¡±

    ¡°I am aware of them, yes.¡±

    ¡°The first tenet states that¡ª¡±

    ¡°He who hath sinned shall fall to the blade. The belief that all sinners will meet their fate eventually, for none may escape the judgement of the gods,¡± Aedon stated. ¡°The principle that my original sentencing for Alend was based on. Those who are truly innocent will survive any and all trials thrown their way, no matter the impossibility, for the wind will blow in their favour.¡±

    Talberon nodded. ¡°Good,¡± he said. ¡°I will now hold you to that tenet. In Kalador¡¯s name, I request an alternate trial. I will take Ein Thoren to the Muzzle in a final attempt to defeat the World-Eater and rescue the Lachess heir, for that is the advice the Three-winged Crow provided me.¡±

    ¡°The World-Eater is not real,¡± Illia said. ¡°Sightings of Faenrir are products of altitude sickness and no more.¡±

    ¡°Be that as it may, Kalador will be our judge.¡± Talberon looked at Ein. ¡°We will go to Darmouth and brave the mountain, and if we return with the Lachess, you will know we speak the truth. In the meantime, you will keep Alend alive and in good condition.¡±

    ¡°You are in no position to be making demands,¡± Illia said.

    ¡°Illia.¡± Aedon silenced her with a look. ¡°I will grant you your request, Talberon. But you will take the would-be thieves with you, for they too have sinned.¡± He gestured towards Garax and Rhinne.

    ¡°What about Evaine?¡± Ein asked. ¡°She hasn¡¯t done anything wrong.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a trespasser,¡± Kenet said. The other ministers glared at him and he went quiet.

    ¡°Thank you for bringing that up,¡± Aedon said curtly. ¡°Yes, I do suppose the girl deserves a lighter punishment. What would you have me do with her, Talberon?¡±

    ¡°I suppose a caution is too much to ask?¡±

    ¡°He who blinds shall be blinded in turn,¡± recited Aedon. ¡°As I am bound by the tenets of Kalador, I think it is only fitting that I be bound by Lauriel¡¯s teachings also. All crimes must be punished.¡±

    Ein swallowed, taking a protective step before Evaine. ¡°We can take her with us,¡± he said. He sounded much more confident than he felt. ¡°Right, Talberon? She¡¯ll be safe with us.¡±

    The Druid eyed Evaine. ¡°No. It will be safer in the city.¡± He turned back to Aedon. ¡°Your Majesty, I request that the young Mistress be taken to the Legion Songweavers for training. She happens to possess a good deal of talent, and with war on the horizon she may prove to be of use to your army. I can vouch for her enthusiasm and dedication.¡±

    Ein stiffened. ¡°You can¡¯t¡ª¡±

    The King nodded. ¡°A simple request. She can pay for her crimes with service for the kingdom. Do I hear any objections?¡±

    The Silent Council remained silent. Ein was beginning to understand why they¡¯d been named so. The High Queen continued to stare daggers at Talberon, while Alend had a mixed expression on his face¡ªone that matched Evaine¡¯s.

    ¡°Are you sure about this?¡± Ein whispered.

    Talberon didn¡¯t respond.

    Aedon raised his hand once more. ¡°Then it is done. I, Aedon Uldan, High King of Faengard, hereby pass my judgement upon those before me with the gods as my witness. I would have your names now.¡± He looked at Ein first.

    ¡°Ein Thoren.¡±

    ¡°Evaine Tamelyn,¡± Evaine said in a small voice.

    ¡°Rhinne.¡± When Aedon continued to stare at her, she added, ¡°Brightflame.¡±

    ¡°Garax¡­¡± the storyteller frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t have a family name. Sorry.¡±

    Aedon flashed him a look of annoyance. ¡°Ein, Rhinne and Garax, I sentence you to trial by quest¡ªyour mission, to climb to the Summit of the World and bring back the heir to House Lachess. If you set foot in the city again without having completed your mission, you will be killed on sight.¡±

    ¡°What if they decide to flee?¡± Illia asked.

    ¡°Then the Deserter will die,¡± Aedon replied. ¡°I will have Aeos will go with them; it will be a good learning experience for him if he is to inherit the throne. He will have the Druid Talberon with him as well.¡±

    Illia nodded. Aedon slammed his gauntlet against the throne.

    ¡°For the matter of Evaine Tamelyn, you are hereby conscripted to join the Legion Songweavers with the rank of Novice. You are to go to the barracks and seek Grand Songstress Milena, who will oversee your training. A sealed letter will be provided upon the conclusion of this council.¡±

    The gauntlet came down again. At last, Aedon turned to Alend.

    ¡°As for you,¡± he said, ¡°your execution shall be postponed. I will give Talberon and his party up to a month to complete their quest and return. Until then, you will be kept in the dungeons where you will continue to be administered Spirit inhibitors. Any attempts to escape will result in your death. Am I understood?¡±

    Alend swallowed. ¡°Yes, Your Majesty.¡±

    ¡°Lazarus, find an alternative for tomorrow¡¯s execution. Pass on my apologies to the arena master.¡± The minister who¡¯d been addressed nodded. ¡°And finally, Ein, you are to stay behind after this hearing. You will be Bonded to my son as a Kingsblade to ensure his safety.¡±

    At this, Alend suddenly howled. ¡°No! You can¡¯t do this¡ª¡±

    ¡°Father,¡± said the white-haired Prince. ¡°The Vow is something one should take only if they are worthy of becoming a Kingsblade. With all due respect, I think it inappropriate to hand such a status to one of such low birth.¡±

    ¡°He is a Thoren, if only by name alone. I would think it appropriate to give him a chance to redeem the House of his father.¡±

    ¡°Your Majesty, I must also voice my opinion,¡± one of the Kingsblades said, lifting his visor. ¡°The Bonding process is a dangerous one¡ªit is not every layman who can emerge from it unscathed. A failed Bonding could result in death.¡±

    ¡°You bastard,¡± Alend continued to shout, as the guards dragged him away. ¡°Don¡¯t do it! Run away, Ein! Don¡¯t take the Vow; don¡¯t throw away the life I worked so hard to give you!¡±

    ¡°Throw the Deserter back into the dungeons,¡± Illia said, while Ein stood still in a daze.

    Bonding. Vow. The terms swam around his head. He didn¡¯t know what exactly they meant, but he knew they would make him stronger, even superhuman. He also knew there was a steep cost to pay, one his father resented with his entire being. One that would change his life forever.

    With a start, he realized his dream of living a quiet life in the Sleeping Twins was fading.

    ¡°He will survive.¡± Talberon¡¯s declaration drew order from the chaos. He looked at Alend as the blacksmith was dragged away, despair in his eyes. ¡°Your son is strong, Alend. He will survive the Bonding.¡± He glanced at Aeos and the King and murmured to himself, so low that Ein could barely hear: ¡°Somehow, I have a feeling¡­ that she knew this would happen.¡±

    Aedon stood up. ¡°Judgement has been passed. I now declare the council closed. You are all dismissed, save those given prior instruction.¡±

    The Silent Council rose to their feet and began making their way out of the room, followed by the Queen and the guards. Garax and Rhinne were taken away, as was Evaine. She gave Ein a worried look as she was escorted to the doors, a small v forming between her brows.

    ¡°Ein¡­ will you be okay?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡± He offered her a small smile, though he was sure she could see through it.

    Only Aeos and his father were left now, along with two of the Kingsblades. Ein shifted on his feet, realizing how still he¡¯d been standing the entire time. The Prince regarded him with a look of disdain.

    ¡°Let us go then,¡± Aedon said. ¡°It is a cool night with a clear sky. You would be hard pressed to find a better time to take the Vow.¡±

 35. Sword and Tree

    Chapter Thirty-Five: Sword and Tree

    ¡°Although each of the Three Kings had roots stemming back to Aedrasil herself¡ªno, even further than that¡ªthere could only be one victor.

    ¡°When the dust settled and their rondo came to an end, House Uldan emerged as the new ruling family of Faengard. Fallen rivals were bound by the laws of ancient magic and made to swear allegiance to the High King. Thus, the Kingsblades were formed.¡±

    ¡ªYlva Norn, A History of Faengard: The Third Age

    Ein found himself being escorted through Uldan Keep for the second time that night, flanked by a Kingsblade on either side. Aeos walked two steps in front, following his father¡¯s trailing cape. The Prince gave no hint as to what was running through his mind, but Ein had a feeling he wasn¡¯t pleased.

    They left the castle and crossed the courtyard under the moonlit sky. All was quiet save the metallic sound of armour and the crunch of boots across the pavement. Ein had long since given up trying to make sense of the situation¡ªtoo much had happened since he¡¯d fallen from the walls and everything had gone wrong.

    At least Father is still alive, he thought. For now.

    Whether or not Alend would continue to live would depend on him.

    Aedon took them through a small garden, passing a water fountain and a statue of a broad-chested King. On the other side was an open doorway at the top of three steps, leading to a brightly lit room with rows and rows of pews on either side. At the end of the aisle was a stone altar.

    Aeos and Aedon bowed upon entering the chapel, as did the two Kingsblades. Ein felt obliged to do the same. Behind the altar was a large effigy of a woman, head lowered and eyes closed in prayer, hands clasped to her breast. She had a wreath of roses around her forehead and wildflowers growing by her feet with their faces upturned. He recognized her as Mother Anturia, goddess of nature and the earth, the eldest of the Pantheon.

    They came to a halt before the altar. A single beam of moonlight shone from a hole in the ceiling, lighting the slab of stone bright silver. The two Kingsblades released Ein and shoved him forward.

    ¡°Take off your outermost layer,¡± Aedon instructed.

    Ein saw no point in resisting, so he obeyed. Although his stomach twisted with fear, another part of him burned with curiosity. He was about to join the Kingsblades, the most elite faction in the whole of Faengard, a band of figures who belonged in songs and legends¡ªfigures who were heroes to the common man.

    As he finished removing his vest, seven Songweavers entered the room, dressed in loose-flowing robes of black and gold. Tired and grumpy looks adorned their faces, though they didn¡¯t dare voice complaint.

    They approached the altar with practiced movements, lighting scented candles that smelled like lilacs, cleaning a silver knife, washing Aeos¡¯s hand with a basin of water. One of them looked at Ein and asked: ¡°isIs he the one?¡±

    Aedon nodded.

    ¡°Lie down on the altar,¡± the Songweaver directed.

    Ein hesitated, eyeing the Kingsblades. Then, he lay across the cold stone and stared into the crescent moon above. Metal rustled and then he was chained to the altar, each of his limbs bound in heavy iron manacles. His heart began to race, panic threading through his veins.

    ¡°Are you sure about this?¡± he heard Aeos say. The Prince had rolled up his sleeve, exposing a pale forearm. ¡°I¡¯m don¡¯t think this is entirely necessary.¡±

    ¡°It is for your own safety,¡± Aedon replied. ¡°Your mother would not have me send you off without some form of protection. The fact of the matter also remains that he is a Thoren, and all Thorens must be subservient to the Uldans.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re obsessed with that House,¡± Aeos scowled. ¡°I don¡¯t understand it. They¡¯re barely a threat as things stand. The boy isn¡¯t even a true Thoren.¡±

    ¡°We have nothing but the Deserter¡¯s word for it,¡± Aedon replied. ¡°Better to be safe than sorry. Besides, in the event that the Celesite bomb fails and we have need of Mother Aedrasil, granting him the power of a Kingsblade will ensure the highest chance of success in rescuing the Lachess heir.¡±

    ¡°And are you going to force her into submission as well, once this is all over and done with?¡±

    ¡°That shall remain to be seen.¡±

    Aeos shook his head in disgust. One of the Songweavers took his hand and ran the knife across his palm, drawing a thin stream of blood. Once she was done, another bound the Prince¡¯s hand with a strip of linen.

    The tip of the knife was held above Ein¡¯s forehead, looming blood-red like an evil omen. It occurred to him that if they wanted to, they could bring the knife down right now and slit his throat, and he wouldn¡¯t be able to stop them. He swallowed his fear.

    It¡¯s too late to do anything now, he thought.

    The blood dripped onto his forehead, warm and wet, and the knife was taken away. The Songweaver extended a finger and traced a shape onto his forehead, smearing the Prince¡¯s blood into his skin. She then stepped away and joined the other Songweavers in a circle.

    ¡°You will now recite the Vow,¡± said Aedon, clearing his throat. ¡°Repeat after me.¡±

    He began to speak, reading from a pocket-sized book. The Kingsblades watched quietly, visors lowered, like golden statues guarding a sacred temple. Ein repeated the oath with a dry voice, sweat beading across his forehead. He felt nauseous.

    ¡°I do solemnly swear before all those gathered here¡­¡±

    ¡°...that I will faithfully serve the royal family, House Uldan¡­¡±

    ¡°...to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend¡­¡±

    The words lost all meaning as he said them, goosebumps breaking out across his skin. At some point the circle of Songweavers started to sing, a low, eerie hum that sent chills up his spine. The thick smell of lilacs invaded his nostrils.

    ¡°...from this day forth, my blade and soul shall belong to the Sovereign. I swear it in the name of Wyd and the Pantheon, and should I break this Vow, may my life be forfeit and my blood be forever stained¡­¡±

    ¡°...join my new brothers and sisters, for honour runs thicker than blood¡­¡±

    ¡°We live and die as one. We are the blades of the King.¡±

    The singing reached a crescendo. Ein¡¯s eyes rolled back into his head as a sense of vertigo overtook him. He was falling, the world spinning around him, the hooded Songweavers continuing their frenzied chant...

    And then his mind left his body, and he was no longer there.

    He opened his eyes and found himself staring at an unfamiliar scene. There was the High King, younger and slimmer with only one chin, the beautiful Queen by his side. A little girl stood between them, golden hair as bright as her smile, a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose¡ªthe Princess Celianna.

    There was another person with them, an adolescent boy with the same radiant hair, though he had on his face a perpetual smirk. He said something to the King and the Queen, and they both laughed. Illia reached down and ruffled the boy¡¯s hair.

    The image clouded over and reassembled, and this time he was in the dining hall sitting by himself. On the other side of the room, next to the crackling fireplace was another table laden with tankards of beer and platters of food. Lords and ladies and other nobles of the court crowded around it, laughing and drinking as they shared the day¡¯s news. The fair-haired boy was there once again, except he was no longer a boy but a young man. The ladies gazed starry-eyed at him as he boasted his feats, speaking with grand gestures and a confident smile.

    The Princess looked over to Ein and came to sit down beside him. He found himself turning away, staring down at the pale yellow liquid in his mug. The sweeping warmth of the fire seemed to stop just short of his table.

    The scenes continue to flow seamlessly into each other, like an endless wave rippling across a pond. He saw the fair-haired boy excel in swordplay and academics, never far away from the King and the Queen. They were always smiling. Aedon was a younger, better man around the boy, and the Queen was positively radiant. The boy¡¯s life was built upon stroke after stroke of good fortune.

    With each of these scenes there was a contrasting one, a memory of grey where other children gave Ein fearful looks, whispering venomous words behind his back. There were scenes where Aedon and Illia neglected him, even admonished him for reasons unknown. Ein found himself alone more often than not, with only books and the Princess for company. Sometimes he screamed in frustration and beat at the walls, though it was only ever in the privacy of his own chambers.

    The stream of memories stopped and coalesced into one final apparition. It was of a funeral, with mourning women and stone-faced men, eyes downcast. Illia was bent over the coffin, weeping, while Aedon stood behind her. Everywhere Ein looked, people looked back with scorn, not even trying to hide their disgust. He heard snippets of conversation here and there. He was the new crown Prince, the new heir to the throne. The demonspawn, the one who no one understood, the dark horse of the family. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    The sky grew grey, and the fires bent beneath pelting rain. As Ein walked away with the Princess in tow, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the fast-forming puddles. A pale-faced boy stared back at him, his eyes an unsettling shade of violet, his hair a bone white. Neither feature belonged to the King or the Queen. He truly was a demon, a mistake of the midwives at birth. It was no small wonder he was despised.

    The pond rippled, and Ein opened his eyes. He lay sprawled upon a bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Beside him was a window glazed orange with the rising sun.

    He sat up, expecting pain to lance through his limbs, but oddly enough it didn¡¯t. In fact, he felt refreshed. There was a vibrant hum in his veins, a pulsing as if his entire body had a heartbeat. He pulled his right hand out from beneath the sheets and flexed it.

    ¡°Stand.¡±

    The word shattered all other thought in his mind, and before he knew it he was standing barefoot beside the window, shivering under his thin robe. Outside, the red-gold trees of Aldoran sparked to life as the light of morning touched them.

    ¡°I guess it worked,¡± said Aeos. ¡°Congratulations on surviving the ritual, Ein. You¡¯re a Kingsblade now.¡± The Prince sat beside a small table, a dusty old tome in his hands. He¡¯d switched out his tunic for a chainmail shirt, and with the short-spear on the ground beside him, looked ready to ride out to war.

    ¡°A Kingsblade¡­¡± memories of the trial flashed through his mind. ¡°Evaine! And Rhinne and Garax¡­ where are they?¡±

    ¡°The two thieves are with the Druid, making arrangements for us to go to Darmouth,¡± Aeos replied. ¡°As for the girl, I have no idea. She¡¯ll turn up at the barracks soon enough, if she values her life.¡± He stood up and tossed a heavy bundle at Ein¡¯s feet. ¡°These are yours now. Once you¡¯ve sorted through them, we¡¯ll leave. The sooner we get this over and done with, the better.¡±

    ¡°Those memories,¡± Ein blurted. ¡°Were they...?¡±

    Aeos stared at him for a time, violet eyes blazing. ¡°Yes, they were mine. Now, pick up your things.¡±

    The voice blared in his mind again and Ein bent down, taking the burlap sack into his hands. Aeos grimaced, bringing a hand to his head.

    ¡°Damnation,¡± he swore. ¡°Giving Commands is harder than I thought. No wonder Father never does it.¡±

    Ein opened the sack and took out a sheathed blade. Engraved into the pommel was the emblem of a crown and a sword¡ªthe mark of a Kingsblade.

    ¡°Deserter Alend¡¯s sword,¡± Aeos said. ¡°Formerly Kingsblade Edric¡¯s sword, now the property of Kingsblade Ein. Take care of it; Rhinegold doesn¡¯t come cheap.¡±

    Ein drew the sword and gasped. He¡¯d never seen Rhinegold up close before, and its beauty blew away his expectations. It was like holding a living flame, a mesmerizing sliver of red-gold that felt wonderfully light and balanced in his hand. He knew at once that this would be the best weapon he would ever use.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you afraid I¡¯ll use this against you?¡± he asked.

    Aeos curled his lips. ¡°Go on,¡± he said. ¡°Try it.¡±

    Ein stood up and walked towards the Prince, the sword by his side. The bastard had his usual scowl upon his face, a look that a housewife might give a filthy rat that had made its nest in her kitchen. It would be good to knock him about a bit, wipe that look of his face and teach him some respect. Just because he was older didn¡¯t entitle him to treat people like rubbish.

    But then again, he was the Prince. He¡¯d sworn to protect him, and even if he¡¯d been given a direct command, the Vow took precedence above all. Ein wasn¡¯t one to go back on his word, and besides¡ªhe felt like it was worth a chance to try to get along with Aeos. After all, they were Bonded now, by some ritual whose origins were completely unknown to him.

    When he was about an arm¡¯s length away from the Prince, Ein made up his mind and sheathed his sword.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to,¡± he said.

    ¡°It¡¯s not that you don¡¯t want to. You physically can¡¯t,¡± Aeos said. ¡°The Vow stops all hostile intentions towards the Master in their tracks.¡± He gestured to the rest of the items in the sack. ¡°Go on, take everything else. We don¡¯t have all day.¡±

    That remark struck a chord with Ein and he almost drew the sword again. He¡¯s just trying to provoke you, he thought. Ignore him; you¡¯re better than that. And that was the end of that.

    He rummaged through the sack, digging under the fresh clothes and boots he¡¯d been given. Alend¡¯s Rhinegold ring¡ªor was it Edric¡¯s?¡ªwas also inside, as was a hefty pouch of coins, a set of furs and a leather breastplate. The last item was a Rhinegold pauldron with several leather straps and buckles dangling from it. Carved into the pauldron was an upright sword transposed upon an oak tree.

    ¡°That¡¯s the sigil of your House,¡± Aeos explained. ¡°It was originally meant for Deserter Alend to wear to his execution. My father doesn¡¯t believe you¡¯ll return alive, so you won¡¯t be receiving any suits of Rhinegold armour. Boiled leather and that pauldron are the best you¡¯ll get.¡±

    Ein slipped on the clothes he¡¯d been given, sliding the leather plate over his breast. He took the pauldron and fiddled with the straps, trying to pin it down across his left shoulder.

    ¡°Who was that?¡± he asked, remembering the visions he¡¯d seen during the ritual.

    ¡°Who was who?¡±

    ¡°The fair haired boy. Was he your brother?¡±

    Aeos¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°If you ask me that question again, I¡¯ll make you fall on your sword. Now, come with me to the stables. Druid Talberon should be finished with our travel arrangements by now.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± said Ein. ¡°Can I see Alend before we leave?¡±

    Aeos turned around, already halfway to the door. ¡°You don¡¯t want to see him as he is. He didn¡¯t take kindly to my father¡¯s sentencing.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care. I want to say goodbye to him.¡±

    Aeos paused for a moment.

    ¡°If you insist,¡± he said. ¡°Follow me¡ªbut make it quick.¡± Without waiting for a response, he slung the spear over his shoulder and left.

    Ein hurried after him. The pauldron felt cumbersome and heavy on his shoulder.

    #

    The castle¡¯s inhabitants gave Ein curious looks as he and Aeos made their way down to the dungeons. The sun had only just risen, but he was sure the rumour mill was already turning. After all, a whole night had passed since he, Evaine, Rhinne and Garax had been caught. Combined with Alend¡¯s capture the night before, it must have been an exciting time to be a resident of the keep.

    Ein itched to see Garax and Rhinne again, and Talberon too. He needed to know what Rhinne had been doing and why Garax had joined her. He needed to know what had happened to Bran and more importantly, what he planned to do now that everyone from Felhaven had been swept away by the Winds of Fate.

    But most importantly, he needed to see Alend. The entire reason he¡¯d left the Sleeping Twins had been to bring his father back, and now he was going even further away, to Darmouth at the foot of the mountains. He thought back to his mother who would be waiting anxiously at home, and little Cinnamin who still believed that they were on a business trip. He wondered how the Great Winter was treating them.

    They descended a darkening hallway beneath the ground floor and came out in a small room watched by two guards playing cards. They straightened up as they saw the Prince, hurriedly burying their half-finished game beneath piles of papers and ledgers.

    ¡°You,¡± Aeos pointed.

    ¡°Y-yes, Sir!¡± the guard straightened up, eyes darting frantically around the room. They rested on Ein¡¯s pauldron for a fraction of a second.

    ¡°Which cell is Alend Thoren in?¡±

    The guard swallowed. ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry, sir, but I¡¯m under direct orders from the King not to allow any visitors¡ª¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± Aeos took a step forward. Even though they were the same height¡ªin fact, the guard might have even been taller¡ªthe other man stepped back, shrinking in fear. ¡°I wonder what he would say if I told him you two were shirking your duties.¡±

    The two soldiers looked at each other.

    ¡°J-just a quick visit then, Your Highness. His cell is at the end of this corridor... but please don¡¯t tell your father.¡±

    Aeos nodded and waved at Ein. ¡°Well? You heard him. Off you go.¡±

    Ein fought down the urge snap a reply and strode down the corridor as quickly as he could. The cells were small and square and smelled of vomit and piss. There was a barred window in each one, allowing the occasional breath of fresh air through.

    He stared at the inmates as he walked past. There were all manner of people behind the bars, from petty thieves and cutthroats to wealthy merchants and upper-class citizens. Some of them stared back, some of them ignored him, and some of them lay flat on their backs among buzzing flies, staring off into space.

    As he neared the end of the walkway, Ein wondered if he really wanted to see his father again after all. Alend had been crushed, utterly defeated when they¡¯d taken him away from the Halls of Judgement. It might have been better to just maintain that image of him than see how much further his spirit had been broken.

    But Ein¡¯s feet continued to take him forward, regardless of what his mind was thinking. He came to a halt at the last cell and then looked through the bars. There was no window in this one. It was pitch black.

    Alend sat with his knees hugged to his chest in the corner, staring at the stone wall. His clothes were dirty and ragged. There was a bowl of gruel by the door, untouched.

    He turned around at the sound of Ein¡¯s footsteps.

    ¡°Ein?¡± he asked. His voice was ragged and thin, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. He had been crying.

    ¡°Father¡­¡±

    Alend slowly crawled to his feet and wandered over to the bars. He looked like he¡¯d lost several pounds of weight since they¡¯d arrived at Aldoran, even though it had scarcely been two days. His muscles were flat and deflated, the luster gone from his hair, his skin a pasty yellow. He looked at Ein¡¯s pauldron and the Rhinegold ring on his thumb.

    ¡°I survived,¡± Ein tried to reassure him. ¡°I survived the Binding.¡±

    ¡°...nothing.¡± Alend fell to his knees. His eyes were empty and lifeless.

    ¡°Father, I¡ª¡±

    ¡°It was all for nothing,¡± he said again, hands closing to fists. ¡°We should have just stayed in Felhaven¡­ in the Sleeping Twins, where they couldn¡¯t find us¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll be alright,¡± Ein said awkwardly, reaching out for his father. Alend¡¯s shoulder felt small beneath his touch, even though he was still far taller and broader than Ein.

    ¡°It won¡¯t,¡± Alend said. ¡°It¡¯s all over. You¡¯ve taken the Vow¡ªyou¡¯re Bonded to the Uldans for life now. They won¡¯t ever let you leave, not after what they think I did.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯ll make things work,¡± Ein said, trying to find the right words to say. ¡°I¡¯ll go to the Muzzle and come back. I¡¯ll save Aedrasil and end the Great Winter, and then we can all go home again.¡±

    ¡°That won¡¯t happen.¡± Alend sat down on the ground, staring into his lap. ¡°Rhea and Cinnamin¡­ oh gods¡­ they¡¯ll take Cinnamin¡­¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t let them. We¡¯ll figure it out.¡± Ein brought a hand to the Thoren family crest on his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m wearing your armour, Father. I¡¯m wearing your sword and your ring. I¡¯ll redeem you, and I¡¯ll make sure you go free. If not¡­ if not, then...¡±

    ¡°...I¡¯d hoped he¡¯d changed over these past sixteen years,¡± Alend said sadly. ¡°At the very least, I hoped he would have mercy on you. You¡¯re not even my son, and now your entire line is doomed. I should never have let you come.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Ein said firmly. ¡°I am your son. Until my real father reveals himself, I am Ein Thoren, son of Alend. I will return, and I will save you.¡± He clenched his fist. ¡°I will find a way to keep Mother and Cinnamin safe. And I will not spend my life in servitude to the Uldans. I will walk free. I swear it on my name. I swear it under the all-seeing gaze of Wyd almighty. I swear it on wind.¡± He let his hand fall to his side.

    Alend remained seated on the ground, head hung low. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he murmured. ¡°So sorry.¡± And he turned away as his shoulders began to shake.

    Ein took one last look at the broken man that was his father and then left. The least he could do was allow Alend some privacy to weep.

 36. The Shifting Wind

    Chapter Thirty-Six: The Shifting Wind

    ¡°Take nothing for granted, for the wind may shift at any time.¡±

    ¡ªA saying popularized by gamblers from the east

    Ein found Evaine in the courtyard, speaking to Garax and Talberon. He was surprised to see two familiar six-legged creatures beside them, waiting patiently next to a beaten-up carriage.

    ¡°There you are!¡± Evaine said, rushing towards him. He steadied himself for an embrace, but she stopped a few steps short as if she¡¯d changed her mind. ¡°How are you feeling?¡±

    ¡°Could be better,¡± he grunted. The sallow image of Alend resurfaced in his mind like an itch that wouldn¡¯t go away. Aeos came to a halt beside him, folding his arms.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be off to the barracks?¡± Aeos asked. ¡°You have your letter already, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I wanted to say goodbye to everyone first,¡± Evaine said with a hint of defiance. The Prince scowled.

    ¡°Good morning, Your Highness,¡± Talberon greeted. He had his hand along Fire¡¯s coat and was looking into the Orstred¡¯s pupil, apparently checking on its condition. ¡°I trust you are ready for departure?¡±

    ¡°Of course. Is this the carriage we¡¯re taking?¡± he looked at the creatures in contempt.

    Marc emerged at that moment, a hammer in one hand and a handful of nails in the other. He dropped to one knee upon sighting the Prince. ¡°It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Highness,¡± he said. ¡°I am Marc, and I will taking you to Darmouth.¡± He nodded at Ein. ¡°And hello again, young Master.¡±

    The driver was one of the people Ein had least expected to come across again on his journey, but there was a part of him that was glad he would be in familiar hands.

    ¡°Are you sure you can¡¯t find a better ride?¡± Aeos wrinkled his nose. ¡°One that smells¡­ nicer? Money shouldn¡¯t be an issue.¡±

    ¡°Marc¡¯s fine,¡± Evaine said. ¡°He got us here in one piece.¡±

    ¡°I can assure you, you would be hard-pressed finding any sort of ride faster than a carriage drawn by two Orstreds,¡± Talberon said. ¡°Unless it¡¯s a carriage drawn by three Orstreds. We¡¯ll be at Darmouth before the week¡¯s end.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll be heading back to the inn first, though,¡± Garax explained. ¡°So we can pick up our things. Then we¡¯ll drop Evaine off and be on our way.¡±

    Bran, Ein thought. It will be good to see him again, one last time.

    ¡°I see. I suppose I¡¯ll wait for you lot inside, then.¡± He gave the beaten vehicle another frown. ¡°Are you sure it will hold us all?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely, Your Highness,¡± Marc said, nodding vigorously.

    Talberon finished his inspection of the Orstreds and moved around to where the supply crates lay on the ground. Marc scuttled off after the Prince, leaving Ein and Evaine alone with Garax.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Rhinne?¡± Ein asked.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Evaine piped. ¡°What exactly were you two doing in the castle, anyway?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s already inside,¡± Garax said. He turned around, making sure Aeos was out of earshot. ¡°To cut it short, I had an inkling of what she was trying to do and was unfortunately swept up in her antics. She didn¡¯t find the Ember like she¡¯d expected, and now she¡¯s in a sour mood.¡±

    ¡°You mean you actually broke into the Vault?¡± Evaine asked. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ admirable.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you more along the way,¡± Garax said to Ein. To Evaine, he said: ¡°Unfortunately you¡¯ll have to wait until we return.¡±

    ¡°All the exciting stuff happens to you, Ein,¡± she complained. ¡°It¡¯s not fair. I would have gladly taken your place as a Kingsblade.¡±

    ¡°I would give it to you if I could,¡± Ein muttered.

    Ten years ago he would have been elated at the recent turn of events. He was a Kingsblade now, a servant of the King, a title of almost legendary status. A hero that the people of Faengard looked up to. A knight-general by the likes of which his father had once been.

    Yet he didn¡¯t feel any different. He didn¡¯t feel like a hero. Heroes lived short lives, walking paths rife with blood and tragedy. The people would be looking to him now to maintain the peace, to solve their problems and rise to the occasion when the enemy was at the gate. Ein wanted no part of that. He just wanted his father back.

    ¡°Be careful what you wish for,¡± Garax warned Evaine. ¡°Remember what happened on the road to Caerlon?¡±

    Evaine quietened. ¡°I try not to.¡± She stayed for a moment longer, still searching Ein¡¯s eyes before she, too, boarded the carriage. Garax watched her go.

    ¡°Ein,¡± he said, and laid a hand on his shoulder. ¡°You be careful from now on, okay?¡±

    ¡°I try to be careful whenever I can.¡±

    Garax shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m serious this time. You¡¯re a Kingsblade now; that means Aedon can kill you off any time he wants. I would act very carefully from here on, lest you invoke his wrath.¡± He drew closer, lowering his voice. ¡°I get a different feeling from his son, though. Best to keep your head down and follow the Talberon¡¯s lead for now. We¡¯ll see in due time whether or not the Prince can be reasoned with. If we can get him on our side, he might be able to undo your Bond.¡±

    ¡°I somehow doubt that,¡± Ein said. ¡°I don¡¯t think Aeos even wants to talk to us.¡± Who does he think he is, anyway? He doesn¡¯t even look like he¡¯s ever been outside the castle.

    ¡°He would be too powerful of an ally to pass up,¡± Garax replied. ¡°If we have to make the first move, then that¡¯s what we¡¯ll do. Like I always say, the hardest part of a journey is taking the first step.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not even your saying.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t use it.¡± The storyteller chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you¡¯re still largely the same, though. A lot of people become different after the Bonding ritual.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean ¡®largely¡¯?¡±

    But the old man was already tottering away, his sword swinging by his hip.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    #

    The serving girl with the braided hair was looking at Bran again. He didn¡¯t like it¡ªshe reminded him too much of Evaine.

    The whole night had passed with neither Ein or Evaine¡¯s return. He¡¯d spent the majority of it on the edge of his seat, skulking about the inn as its patrons whispered tales of the intruders and how close they¡¯d come to pulling off the greatest heist of their time. He¡¯d then fallen into a restless sleep in the early hours of the morning before waking up again to listen for news.

    He wished he¡¯d gone after them, wished he¡¯d been caught alongside them that night. Anything was better than sitting in silence, waiting to hear news of what had happened. Even now, he was torn between heading off to Uldan Keep and staying back in case they returned.

    ¡°What¡¯s on ya mind, young Master?¡± the girl had come around to his table. Her brown hair was twisted into a braid, just as Evaine¡¯s had been before she¡¯d cut it.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± he muttered.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like it to me.¡± She drew closer to him. ¡°Thinkin¡¯ about a girl ya fancy?¡±

    Bran stood up, his stool sliding back with a clatter. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk right now.¡±

    He made for the stairs and took them two at a time, keeping his head down, ignoring the girl¡¯s complaints. Once he was inside his room, he shut the door and leaned against it.

    Their blankets were still on the ground, their travelling bags half-packed. Everyone had gone and left him behind¡ªAlend and Ein, Evaine and Garax. He should have felt relieved, but instead he was agitated.

    What am I going to do now? he wondered. He didn¡¯t have the means or the money to make the trip back to Felhaven. He had no idea where anyone else was. I should have stayed with them.

    But he knew that given the chance, he wouldn¡¯t have. He could still remember the fear he¡¯d felt as they¡¯d scaled that wall, hiding from the vigil of the guards. Even now he felt anxious about storming off to Uldan Keep. What would he say? What would he do? A lowly butcher¡¯s son from the Sleeping Twins had no power in the King¡¯s castle. He wasn¡¯t like Ein or Evaine. He thought too much. He didn¡¯t act.

    Yet here I am, a million miles from home. He cursed Evaine and then cursed himself. He only had himself to blame for the situation he was in.

    There came a sudden knock at the door, startling him. Was it the serving girl again? Couldn¡¯t she just leave him alone¡ª

    ¡°Bran! Open up, it¡¯s us.¡±

    A wave of relief swept through him at the sound of Evaine¡¯s voice. He opened the door, a smile already creeping across his face, words of admonishment forming on his lips.

    ¡°You have no idea how worried I was,¡± he began. ¡°What happened? Did you find Ein¡¯s father¡ª¡±

    He broke off. Something didn¡¯t feel right.

    There was Ein of course, with a Rhinegold pauldron on his shoulder¡ªthe mark of a high-caste House. That pauldron alone was probably worth a fortune. There were also his eyes, which were darker and deeper than usual. They bored into him, unmoving, unsettling.

    But all that flew past him in lieu of Evaine. Bran had spent enough time talking with her and watching her from afar to know what she was feeling. There was a sense of excitement and elation within her, and yet the way she pursed her lips and held her arms by her sides told him that she had something she had to say, and it wasn¡¯t something he wanted to hear.

    ¡°Bran,¡± she began.

    And they told him what he¡¯d so desperately wished to know. Of their trial in the Halls of Judgement, of Ein becoming a Kingsblade, of the separate ways they were to go, with Evaine to join the Legion Songweavers and Ein to journey to the Muzzle while Alend was held in the dungeons. It took a while to sink in, and all he could think of was one thing.

    They¡¯re leaving me. For the second time.

    It was like Founder¡¯s Eve all over again, back in the Sleeping Twins. It had seemed so long ago when he¡¯d woken up to find that his closest friend and the girl he loved had left. He¡¯d braved the woods, fought relicts and even survived an encounter with an Urudain, and now he was being told that their journey was only just beginning.

    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious,¡± he whispered.

    Evaine looked down.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry it came to this, Bran,¡± Ein said. ¡°We¡¯re¡­ we¡¯ve been left no other options.¡±

    ¡°What am I going to do?¡± he asked. ¡°What¡­ what am I going to do?¡± His tongue felt thick in his mouth.

    Evaine brought a pouch of coins from her pocket. ¡°Talberon¡¯s given us some coin in case you wanted to head back.¡±

    ¡°You could also come with us,¡± Ein offered. ¡°Though things will only get more dangerous from here.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Bran shook his head. The only reason I came anyway was to be with Evaine. He didn¡¯t say that part out loud.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be able to find someone to take you back to Caerlon,¡± Evaine said. ¡°After that¡­¡±

    He stared at the pouch in her hand and then, in a burst of emotion, slapped it away. It flew across the room, gold and silver spilling onto the ground. Evaine flinched.

    Don¡¯t look at me like that, he thought. I¡¯m just a burden, aren¡¯t I?

    The three stood facing each other amidst an awkward silence.

    ¡°Bran¡­¡± Ein began.

    ¡°Go away,¡± he said. ¡°Please, just go.¡± He stormed off to the bags in the corner and dragged them across the room, tossing them out the doorway with a groan of exertion. ¡°Take everything you need and go!¡±

    ¡°Bran¡ª¡± Evaine said.

    He slammed the door shut against her face and slumped onto the ground. There was silence for a time.

    Don¡¯t knock again, he pleaded silently. He didn¡¯t think he could take it if he saw them again. He didn¡¯t want to break down into tears before her.

    He didn¡¯t know whether to feel relieved or not when he heard their footsteps drifting away from the door, leaving him to wallow in his misery.

    #

    ¡°He¡¯s mad,¡± Evaine said to Ein, when they were alone behind the inn. They looked upwards at Bran¡¯s window, but the shutters were tightly closed.

    ¡°Well, he has a right to be. I don¡¯t think he ever planned this far ahead when he first left the Sleeping Twins.¡± Ein was twisting the Kingsblade ring around his thumb, deep in thought. He¡¯d looked different ever since the night of the trial, when he¡¯d undergone the Vow. Evaine couldn¡¯t put a finger on how. He hadn¡¯t changed in appearance, but he seemed to stand stiller, straighter, with the slow, deep breathing and the composure of an adult. She¡¯d always thought him to be rather good-looking in a boyish sort of way, but now he seemed distant. Ominous, even.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you think he¡¯s over-reacting? I mean, it¡¯s not like it¡¯s the end of the world. We¡¯re the ones who¡¯ve been conscripted by the King.¡±

    ¡°How do you feel about that?¡± Ein asked.

    Evaine frowned. ¡°Well, I¡¯m not against it. It lines up nicely with what I¡¯ve always wanted. I can¡¯t imagine a better outcome considering how they¡¯re hellbent that we broke into the Keep to rob the King.¡±

    Ein turned towards her and she flinched. His eyes were cold and grey, like steel. ¡°It might be what you¡¯ve always wanted. But what about what Bran wants?¡±

    What Bran wants. He¡¯d always been the quiet one, following them both when they¡¯d played in the streets of Felhaven. Evaine had always assumed he¡¯d been fine with everything.

    Otherwise he would have spoken up, wouldn¡¯t he?

    Wouldn¡¯t he?

    ¡°He should be able to look after himself,¡± Evaine said defensively. ¡°He decided to come here of his own accord. I¡¯m not going to change what I want to do for him.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m not asking you to. Maybe have a think about how he feels, and try to understand him. Think about why he came all the way here and what he lost because of it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not making sense, Ein. Has that Kingsblade ritual done something with your head?¡±

    A young Master and Mistress toppled out of the back door of the inn, starting them both. Red-faced and giggling, they scrambled away without a backward glance. The smell of ale was heavy about them.

    Ein sighed. ¡°Perhaps. There are a lot of things going through my mind at the moment.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you go and talk to Bran, then?¡± Evaine suggested. ¡°You¡¯ve been his friend for as long as I have.¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s best to leave him alone for a while.¡±

    There was a neigh from the front of the inn. Garax poked his head around the corner. ¡°Come on, you lovebirds. Let¡¯s go before the sun sets.¡±

    ¡°I guess this is goodbye, then,¡± Evaine said. ¡°I suppose you¡¯ll get a hero¡¯s welcome when you come back.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± Ein growled, a pained look on his face. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ just going to do the King a favour, that¡¯s all. To get my father back.¡±

    ¡°If you say so, Ein. I¡¯ll be a powerful Songweaver by the time you return.¡± She smiled.

    Ein didn¡¯t say anything.

 37. A Time to Fight

    Chapter Thirty-Seven: A Time to Fight

    ¡°We fight for our King and our country. We fight for the people. We fight for honour and glory, and most of all, we fight for the people whom we hold dear in our hearts.¡±

    ¡ªDalan Kelethar, Thirteenth General of the Legion

    Evaine¡¯s mind was elsewhere as she made her way across the courtyard to the Legion barracks. They were separated into individual quarters, with the infantry in the main building and the cavalry at a spot closer to the stables. The armoury and the training grounds were nearby, filled with guards and soldiers practicing their routines.

    The Songweavers counted as infantry, but they had their own building in the form of a large clock tower overlooking the premises. The clock had only one face, and instead of numbers signifying the hour of the day, there were symbols. Ordinarily she would have been captivated by them, a thousand and one questions surfacing faster than she could voice, but today there was only one.

    Why?

    Try as she might, she couldn¡¯t stop thinking about Bran. It wasn¡¯t so much the things he¡¯d said or what he¡¯d done¡ªthough it did hurt having the purse smacked from her hand¡ªbut rather the look on his face as he¡¯d slammed the door shut. It was a look of utter defeat, a despair that belonged to the Damned in the pits of Hellheim.

    Have a think about how he feels, and try to understand him. Think about why he came all the way here and what he lost because of it.

    She was beginning to see what Ein had meant by that. Bran had travelled all the way from Felhaven to be with them, when adventure had been against his very nature, and now they were leaving him behind yet again. Of course he would be upset, and he was fully entitled to be. She felt a sense of overwhelming guilt.

    Why did things have to turn out this way?

    She knitted her brows, speeding up the paved path to the base of the tower. Try as she might, she couldn¡¯t think of a solution. He¡¯d been dropped in the middle of nowhere, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Considering the challenges they¡¯d faced just getting here, it was a near impossibility for Bran to make it back to the village by himself. They should have tried harder to discourage him back in the Sleeping Twins, when it had still been possible to turn around.

    Evaine reached the door to the tower and entered. The building was cylindrical with a hollow centre. When she looked up, she saw past layers and layers of balconies and doors to a flat circle of glass across the ceiling. Through it was the sky, bright and blue.

    Double-checking the address on the sealed letter in her hand, she crossed the entrance hall to the staircase and began to climb. It spiralled up and up, opening into a circular corridor on each floor. Songweavers in Legion robes passed her on their way down, sparing her odd looks¡ªthose who weren¡¯t dressed in black and silver were few and far between. The air smelled of crisp paper and clean cloth. It made for a welcome change to the dust and snow she was so used to.

    As Evaine climbed, she read the signs and the maps. They were posted on each floor for convenience, labelling what services and facilities that floor held. She counted seven floors in total holding two libraries, three training areas, an observatory and a dungeon, as well as labs, infirmaries and countless rooms where the tower¡¯s inhabitants slept.

    She was just about reaching the end of her patience when she arrived at the top floor. On the other side of the balcony was a dizzying drop to the ground, which she¡¯d only just noticed was carved with the emblem of House Uldan. There were three doors on the level¡ªone leading to the observatory, one to the clock room, and one to the Grand Songstress¡¯s office. Evaine approached the third door with the letter clutched tightly in her hand and knocked.

    ¡°Hello?¡± she asked.

    The hallway was silent. She listened to the sound of boots, rustling robes and quiet chatter echoing up and down the tower. The place resembled an academy more than a place for soldiers to eat and sleep.

    Then a voice spoke: ¡°Enter.¡±

    It was a simple command, yet Evaine felt compelled to obey. As she grabbed the handle and pulled, she wondered if this was the power of a true Songweaver.

    Milena¡¯s office was small and cramped, lined with bookshelves that reached up to the ceiling. As if that weren¡¯t enough, there were also several stacks of tomes piled precariously high, scrolls and ledgers in open crates, others left in the corners in chaotic heaps. A girl in a plain cotton robe was digging through them, cursing under her breath as she did so.

    Evaine looked past the piles to the antique desk at the far end, her eyes resting upon yet more books in display cases and cabinets littered around the room. Sitting at the desk was a withered old crone with a hunched back, and behind them both was a glass window overlooking the courtyard and the rest of Aldoran.

    ¡°Excuse me, Grand Songstress,¡± Evaine curtseyed the way her mother had taught her to. ¡°I¡¯ve been sent here to join the Legion Songweavers.¡±

    The old woman looked up, her bones crackling as she did so. Her eyes were small and like slits, causing creases to run across her face whenever she blinked. ¡°Ah yes. Evaine, was it? Do you have your letter?¡±

    Evaine nodded and toed her way over to the desk. As she brushed against a stack of books, the girl in the cotton robe lifted her head.

    ¡°Watch your step!¡± she snapped. ¡°Some of these books are worth more than your life!¡±

    Evaine flared but swallowed her anger. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    Who was this person to speak down on her so? She glanced at Milena and composed herself. It wouldn¡¯t sit well if she started bickering in front of her future commander.

    She approached the desk and handed over the letter. The old woman ran her fingers across the wax seal and then broke it, unfolding the piece of paper. Her eyes moved across the page as she read it beneath her breath.

    ¡°Your affinity is water?¡± she asked.

    Evaine nodded. She thought about mentioning Tel''rahns and the man with the seaweed coloured hair she¡¯d been dreaming about, but decided not to.

    ¡°The King says his advisor speaks quite highly of you,¡± the old woman continued. Her voice was slow and drawling, not at all like the one that had called on her to enter the room. ¡°According to this, you¡¯ve been Songweaving for less than a week and the Druid already thinks you to be capable.¡±

    Evaine said nothing. There was no point to giving them false expectations.

    ¡°Really?¡± the girl behind them asked, making her way to Evaine¡¯s side. She looked young, no older than Cinnamin, yet she had a full head of grey hair that fell untidily to her waist. Her brow was lowered into a perpetual scowl. ¡°It¡¯s rare for a water-user to develop so quickly. Water is one of the hardest elements to manipulate, being fluid and formless.¡±

    ¡°We always have a place for new recruits,¡± the old woman said, ¡°especially if they are talented. With war on the horizon, we could use all the help we could get.¡±

    The grey-haired girl chuckled. ¡°I get that,¡± she said, her frown disappearing. ¡°War. Horizon. The relicts are literally on the horizon.¡±

    The old woman scowled. ¡°That was not intentional, Grand Songstress. I don¡¯t think this is a laughing matter.¡±

    Evaine blinked. ¡°Grand¡­ Songstress?¡±

    The girl smirked. ¡°Am I not what you expected me to be, Novice?¡±

    ¡°Novice Evaine, this is the Grand Songstress Milena Labeaux, commander of the Legion Songweavers. She answers directly to the High King.¡±

    ¡°I love pulling that trick on people,¡± Milena said. ¡°This is my secretary, Zabura. A formidable Songweaver in her own right, of course.¡± She somehow managed to look down her nose at Evaine. ¡°I must say, I expected more of one recommended by Talberon himself. You look like a peasant girl who¡¯s been rolling around in the stables.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been a long road,¡± Evaine said stiffly.

    ¡°Yes, I hear it has. The Sleeping Twins, was it? That place rings a bell, though I might have come across more than a few sleeping twins in my time.¡± No one laughed at her joke.

    ¡°If I might ask, how old exactly are you?¡±

    ¡°How old do you think I am?¡±

    Evaine paused. ¡°Not old enough.¡±

    ¡°Oh my.¡± Milena said. ¡°He¡¯s certainly sent me a problem child. Someone who disrespects my books and has no manners.¡±

    ¡°Do you know Talberon?¡±

    ¡°I do. Very well, actually¡ªwe go back a long way. You however, have yet to earn my respect.¡± Milena pointed to a jug of steaming tea on the desk. ¡°There¡¯s water in that. Show me what you can do.¡±

    Her voice changed at once, from light-hearted to authoritative in the snap of a finger. This was it, the commanding voice that had spoken at the door. Shifting tentatively from her spot, Evaine faced the jug.

    ¡°What do you want me to do?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care. Spill it, freeze it, turn it into steam. Let¡¯s see what you can do with your Soulsong.¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°Alright then.¡± Evaine smiled inwardly at the thought of scalding the annoying woman and hummed. It had become much easier for her to manipulate water over the past few days. She was able to lift the tea from the jug in a steaming blob of brown liquid.

    She looked around, considering what to do. Judging from how the Grand Songstress had reacted to her accidental touching of the books, it probably wasn¡¯t a good idea to splash hot tea everywhere. Instead she lowered her voice, slowing it to crawl. The steam disappeared as the tea cooled rapidly, freezing into a chunk of hovering ice.

    ¡°Very good,¡± Milena nodded. ¡°You¡¯ve good control over your element. Now let¡¯s see how well you handle this.¡± She, too, pressed her lips together and sang a note.

    It was like Evaine had just been given a great shove. The block of ice flew towards her, and it was only with great effort and concentration that she was able to slow it. Even then it was like trying to push back against a wall. She bent at the knees, her fists clenching as she fought against the Grand Songstress.

    Evaine felt something crack in her mind and then the ice shattered, relieving her of the pressure. Shards flew across the room and stopped in mid-air. Milena guided the frosted fragments back to the jug with her voice. Then, with another whisper, the tea was steaming again.

    ¡°Interesting,¡± the small woman said. ¡°I begin to see why Talberon was so insistent for you to be taken in. With the right training, you could become a very powerful weapon indeed.¡±

    Evaine puffed her chest with pride. It was finally happening, the two biggest things she¡¯d ever wanted to do, combined in one. Leave the Sleeping Twins to see the world. Master the gift she¡¯d been born with; the gift of the Soulsong. She couldn¡¯t help but feel a shiver up her spine in anticipation.

    But what if it¡¯s not the life you imagined? that small voice in the back of her mind whispered. What if you regret it?

    She¡¯d been conscripted. There was no turning back now.

    I¡¯ll love it, she assured to herself. Songweavers. Robed magicians singing floods across the land, meteors from the sky, trees from the ground. There was no ¡®what if¡¯. She¡¯d gotten to Aldoran fine, hadn¡¯t she? There had been a few close calls, but she was still in one piece. She wasn¡¯t afraid of the unknown, not like Bran.

    ¡°By the way, Novice. Do you play any instruments?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± she thought for a moment. ¡°I started learning to play the flute, though I¡¯ve only had a few days to practice with it.¡±

    ¡°And did you pick that up quickly as well?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Or so I was told.¡±

    ¡°Talent does tend to come in bursts,¡± Milena muttered. ¡°Zabura. Take the young Novice down to the first floor. She will be placed in Unit Three under the instruction of Minstrel Kedryn.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Grand Songstress.¡±

    ¡°Also,¡± the grey-haired woman continued, ¡°arrange for a flute to be given to her. She will be given every opportunity available to flourish.¡±

    #

    Bran spent the afternoon sitting by the window, staring at the city outside. Aldoran¡¯s scarlet leaves were mesmerizing to watch, and they helped take his mind off things¡ªbut only for a while. Once the sun set they became dark again, almost lifeless. Just like how he felt.

    There came a knock at the door, and he opened it. It was the serving girl with the braided hair who looked like Evaine.

    ¡°Young Master¡­¡± she said with a shocked expression. He probably looked a mess. He hadn¡¯t shaved or washed, and his eyes were red and baggy from all the crying and the lack of sleep. ¡°You¡¯ve only paid for a single night. Would you like to extend your stay?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Bran thanked her. ¡°That will be fine.¡± He slung his bag over his shoulder.

    ¡°Are you sure? I might be able to help you get a discount from the innkeeper¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be alright.¡± He gave a strained smile, wondering for a moment if he should settle for her considering how out of reach Evaine was. He stopped himself mid-thought and nearly threw up.

    I¡¯m disgusting. Not that she¡¯d want me anyway, once she finds out what a coward I am.

    He left the inn and stepped out into the chilly night, exhaling deeply. Uldan Keep towered above the city, casting its shadow over the third wall and down the hill. What was he to do? He had a pocketful of money and bagful of supplies. He could set out in any direction he wanted; north, south, east or west. It wasn''t too late to go after Ein to Darmouth, was it?

    No, it wasn¡¯t that. Ein was his friend, but there was no point in going after him. He¡¯d left to be with Evaine, not Ein. What else could he do? He could find a butchery and try to find a job. Or he could take his chances and brave the journey home.

    None of this would have happened if I¡¯d gone with her, he thought. If we¡¯d all been caught together in the castle and sentenced¡­

    He shook his head. If he wasn¡¯t careful, he¡¯d end up falling into the cycle of dejection again. He didn¡¯t think he had any tears left to shed.

    I¡¯m useless.

    What was that Master Koth had said again? There were three things all brave men feared¡ªa love that went only one way, a man with no face, and the first step on a journey away from home. Well, he¡¯d faced all three head on and he still wasn¡¯t a brave man. If only logic worked backwards.

    Bran found himself before a chapel, having walked aimlessly across half of Wall Norn. It was a spindly building with a statue of Eolas at its apex, taking his trademark strides across the sky. The youngest of the Pantheon, Eolas had been Wyd¡¯s final child, springing to life fully formed when Wyd sang the Worldsong. He had a square, youthful face with curly hair, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and winged sandals on his feet.

    Eolas represented many things¡ªmessages, wisdom, logic, cities, and ironically enough, crossroads. Bran was at a crossroads in his life right now. Perhaps it was fate that had led him here¡ªor the wind, as Evaine or Garax would say. His father, Sanson, had once worshipped the messenger god, as well as Mother Anturia and the goddess Cenedria. Bran could remember watching him pray for their good fortune every week or two, all the way until the Great Winter had begun. During the second year, Sanson had packed away his shrine and never prayed again.

    Bran stepped out of the icy wind and into the chapel, closing the door behind him. The pews were empty, the candle sconces flickering against the darkness. A strip of crimson carpet stretched down the aisle to a raised stage and a lectern, where a bespectacled old priest stood reading a tome.

    ¡°Young man,¡± he greeted in a gentle voice. ¡°It¡¯s a cold night. What brings you here?¡± He closed the book.

    Bran thrust his hands into his pockets and sighed. ¡°I¡¯m not sure, Father. I suppose I¡¯ve lost my purpose in life.¡±

    The old man gave him a look laden with both pity and understanding. ¡°Ah. Why don¡¯t you come join me before Eolas, then? Perhaps he can help you find your way.¡±

    Bran eyed the statue of the messenger god next to the lectern and shrugged. There was nothing to lose in entertaining the man. After all, he was in no hurry.

    ¡°Did you know, young man, that Eolas is the god of crossroads?¡± The priest clasped his hands in front of his robe as Bran stepped onto the stage.

    ¡°I had that thought myself only a few moments ago,¡± he replied.

    ¡°I see. So, what was your purpose before you lost it? What did you live for?¡±

    Bran stared the god atop his pedestal in the eye. It almost looked alive in the candlelight. ¡°There was a woman I loved.¡±

    ¡°You speak in the past tense. Is she gone?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s still alive,¡± Bran said. ¡°But she¡¯s in a place where I can¡¯t reach.¡±

    The old priest nodded. ¡°What stops you from reaching her? Is it distance? Another man, perhaps? Her opinion of you?¡±

    ¡°No¡­ none of those. I suppose it would be her status. I¡¯m simply not good enough for her.¡±

    ¡°And whyever not?¡±

    Bran looked at his feet. ¡°Because of my own shortcomings, I suppose.¡±

    Before he knew it, the priest had slapped him across the face. It wasn¡¯t a hard slap, but it hurt nonetheless. Bran was reminded of a similar time when Ein had struck him square in the jaw for feeling sorry for himself.

    ¡°Of all the things to stop you, you choose yourself?¡± the gentleness was gone from the old man¡¯s voice, and instead there was a hard edge.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t choose to be born this way,¡± Bran said. ¡°I just¡­ I¡­¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t choose the type of person you were born as. But you chose not to try and change. Nothing in this world is impossible, young man.¡± He pointed to Eolas. ¡°Men have no wings, yet Eolas can fly. Did you know that he is also the god of possibilities?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know that.¡± Bran rubbed his cheek. It made sense, though. Possibilities arose from decisions, and decisions were made at crossroads.

    ¡°Distance can be overcome with your two feet,¡± the elderly man said. ¡°Rivals in love can be overcome with your actions. And cowardice¡­ it can be overcome with persistence. A man who runs away a hundred times from a fire is a coward. But a man who runs towards a fire just once, even if he has failed a hundred times, is a hero. I am not necessarily calling you a coward; that¡¯s just an example. But whatever personal flaw it is that is stopping you¡­ all it takes is one decision to set you on the right path.¡±

    Bran thought for a moment. What exactly was stopping him from going after Evaine, anyway? It wasn¡¯t cowardice. He¡¯d given up his home for her, after all. Then what was it?

    As if a switch had flipped within him, he realized.

    He¡¯d simply given up too easily. That was all it was.

    ¡°I see the light dawn upon your face.¡± The old man was smiling now.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Bran reached into his pocket. ¡°Thank you for showing me the way, Father. I¡¯d like to make a donation.¡±

    ¡°Of course. Eolas accepts and appreciates your generosity.¡± The Father retrieved a box from under the lectern and held it out to Bran, who dropped a coin inside. ¡°Would you like to make a prayer?¡±

    ¡°I would.¡±

    The priest took a step back and allowed him some privacy. Bran closed his eyes and lowered his head. He¡¯d prayed before at shrines, whispering wishes¡ªto Cenedria, mostly¡ªfor Evaine to fall in love with him.

    This time, however, he was praying to Eolas. Eolas had no power over love. In fact, he didn¡¯t really have power over anything that would be of use to Bran¡ªso, instead of praying to the god, Bran prayed to himself. He wished to change. To stop running away from the fire, and instead run towards it. Eolas was the god of messages. Perhaps he would carry the prayer to Wyd almighty, the embodiment of change. The wind, after all, was always changing.

    He must have been smiling, because when he opened his eyes the priest was smiling in return.

    ¡°Have you regained your purpose?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I have.¡±

    ¡°Then be blessed, young man, and may Eolas carry the voice of your heart to the woman whom you so desire.¡± He clapped his hands together in a prayer of his own.

    ¡°Thank you, Father. I don¡¯t know what I would have done without you.¡±

    The old man shook his head. ¡°Do not thank me. Thank Eolas, and thank yourself, for in the end, you are the one who made the decision.¡±

    #

    The barracks were rife with revelry when Bran finally reached them. The Clock Tower rose into the darkness, multitudes of windows flickering with candlelight. Evaine would be behind one of them, settling in for the night, or perhaps preparing for the next day¡¯s duties. There was no way Bran would be able to join her, not as he was now. He wasn¡¯t a Songweaver. He wasn¡¯t special, even if Talberon said he was.

    He pushed open the door, walking into a common room of some sort. Soldiers in half-uniform sat by the fireplace, talking, laughing, drinking, playing games. Some of them turned around at his entrance but lost interest soon enough. After all, it wasn¡¯t their job to question; only to follow orders.

    He strode down the hallway, following the signs hung up on the walls. He looked for the most important-looking door and then knocked. It was the office of a high-ranking official; a commander of some sort.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± a gruff voice called from within.

    He opened the door before he could change his mind.

    The smell of Ssmoke and cinnamon filled his nostrils. The room was plainly decorated and yet there was plenty to see. Books and journals lined the shelves neatly, a pot plant standing in one corner next to a ceremonial sabre that hung from the wall. At a desk with a large map of Faengard splayed across it sat a bald man, his jaw as square as a block of stone. He was dressed in formal military uniform, a crisp garment of black and gold silk, even though it was night and he should have been preparing to sleep. Bran didn¡¯t understand the markings on his epaulettes, but there were many of them and they looked important.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± the man snapped. ¡°I¡¯m busy.¡±

    Bran drew a deep breath. ¡°My name is Brandon Sutherland and I come from the Sleeping Twins. I¡¯d like to join the Legion.¡±

 [Authors Note #4] Notes for Book 1 Act 3

    Issue:

    Looking at this act as a whole, a few of the plot threads start to become inconsistent. Especially in regards t o the quality of the writing itself and some of the decisions the characters make, they aren''t as logical as one would think.

    The main reason is that at this point in the story, I really hit a slump and wasn''t sure what direction to take it. As a result, the quality of the act in whole suffers.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    The main offenders I feel are the first few chapters of the act.

    Current Progress:

    I''ve actually already finished the Blood of Kings and am taking a break by working on some other projects. Act 4, although it also has its own problems, probably has the most badass moments in the book. It''s also the longest act, and where the results of my pansing the plot and world start to show.

    Next chapter of Winds of Fate will tomorrow. Look forward to it!

 38. To MorGravar

    Chapter Thirty-Eight: To Mor¡¯Gravar

    ¡°Perhaps the greatest of all underground kingdoms is the city of Mor¡¯Gravar. Built during the Age of Legends, it was said to be the most technologically advanced city of them all, the epitome of dweor engineering. When access to the city later fell into the hands of the Uldans, they spent centuries trying to uncover its secrets with no success. It was as if Mor¡¯Gravar had a mind of its own.

    ¡°Then, that which we only know as the ¡®Master¡¯ took over, and the mining tunnels leading to the city were closed. Even I dare not venture into the City of Sorrows, as experienced as I am. There are some secrets in this world that should be buried and forgotten.¡±

    ¡ªDagus Adem, The Adventurer¡¯s Guide to the Continent

    The carriage rolled along the Royal Road, leaving behind the eastern gates of Aldoran. Talberon flew above them in sparrow form, scouting the land for relicts, while Ein, Aeos, Garax and Rhinne sat within. In the distance were the white-tipped spires of Lauriel¡¯s Spine, their tips poking through the clouds.

    Marc brought the stalnags to a halt as the wind began to pick up, several hours since their departure. Night had fallen fast, sweeping the distant mountaintops under the cover of darkness. Aldoran and its surrounding Blight was out of sight now, over the hills and far away, and winter¡¯s frost was once again creeping across the land.

    They set up camp by the side of the Royal Road, next to a rugged bluff. The path had eased them into the highlands, a series of low-rolling peaks and troughs littered sparsely with trees and large clusters of rock. They jutted out of the slopes in all shapes and sizes, wet with moss and fresh snow¡ªimperfections in the wintry waste.

    Rhinne and Ein were tasked with starting the campfire while Aeos went to find firewood and Marc and Garax unloaded the carriage. Talberon had left an hour ago to scout ahead. The last Ein had seen of the Druid was a dark shape flying off towards the mountains.

    ¡°Move over here and help me block some of this wind,¡± Rhinne instructed, pointing to a spot beside her. Ein obeyed and found himself squatting beside the flame-haired girl, just as a strong gust of wind buffeted them both. The miserable pyramid of frozen sticks rocked in place.

    Rhinne brought her face closer to the pile and began to exhale. Her breath smelled faintly of smoke and spice, lighting up their surroundings like a candle-flame in a dark room. Yellow sparks bounced off the pyramid and into the snow, fizzling. One of the sticks caught fire and soon enough the entire structure was alight. Warmth licked at their fingers through their woollen gloves.

    ¡°Where does your fire come from?¡± Ein asked. They sat beside the flames with their knees to their chests, staring into the darkness. No matter how many times he saw it, her fire-breathing still amazed him.

    ¡°From our bellies,¡± she replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. She was fingering the scale around her neck again, the heart-shaped disc of crimson that wasn¡¯t quite a metal or a gem. ¡°Every time we dragons breathe fire, the fire that burns within dims a little. Like a flame in the wind, if we shelter it and nurture it, it will eventually grow strong again. But if we neglect it and it dies, then so do we¡ªand our bodies will return to the earth.¡±

    ¡°Are there Songweavers among the dragons?¡±

    Rhinne turned to him, the red and orange of the firelight flickering across her face. ¡°We dragons do not sing like you do, no.¡±

    ¡°In a way,¡± a voice said, ¡°your fire is your Soulsong.¡±

    Ein and Rhinne looked back to find Garax peering down at them, a waterskin in his hand. He passed it to Ein, who drank his fill and then handed it to Rhinne.

    ¡°Your description of dragonfire and fire-breathing is awfully similar to Spirit and Songweaving, don¡¯t you think?¡± the storyteller asked, sitting down. ¡°In essence, breathing is just another form of singing. Perhaps dragons are just different types of Songweavers.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps.¡± Rhinne shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t particularly care. Our race is doomed, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Come now. Are you still upset over that?¡±

    ¡°The one treasure that could have saved our race¡­ It is now gone and lost, forever without a trace.¡± Rhinne¡¯s eyes flashed in anger. ¡°How flippantly you act.¡±

    ¡°Rhinne,¡± Garax said. ¡°Don¡¯t admit defeat so easily. There¡¯s a purpose for everything. If it weren¡¯t for you, young Ein here would be ten feet underground, pushing up daisies. The wind brought you to us, I¡¯m sure of it. And the wind continues to push us towards our destinations.¡±

    Rhinne folded her arms, sulking.

    ¡°Is this about¡­?¡± Ein broke off, a puzzled expression on his face. Garax glanced around them, noting Aeos¡¯s absence. Marc was also out of earshot, rummaging through the supplies.

    ¡°Do you mind if I tell him what happened?¡± the old man asked softly. ¡°We might not get another chance. I think Ein would keep your secret.¡±

    Rhinne sighed and poked at the fire with a sick. ¡°Do what you will. Nothing matters anymore.¡± She stood up and went over to where Marc was tending to the caravan. The driver gave her a handful of vegetables which she quietly began to feed to the stalnags.

    Garax and Ein turned back to each other.

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll tell you then,¡± Garax said. ¡°You must be dying to know.¡±

    ¡°Did you really try and break into the Vault?¡± Ein asked.

    ¡°We didn¡¯t try, boy. We did. Do you know what guards the King¡¯s Vault?¡±

    ¡°Traps,¡± said Ein. ¡°Mazes. Animated statues from the Age of Gods. After Althur Uldan emerged victorious from the Rondo of the Three Kings, he had the dweor build him a Vault to store all manner of precious artifacts that had been raided from the other Kings and the lesser families. It¡¯s said that there are pieces of history all the way from the beginning of time hidden there, things that the King doesn¡¯t want the people to know exist.¡±

    Garax nodded. ¡°I¡¯ve taught you well, it seems.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re telling me you fought through all that to find the Dragonstone?¡±

    ¡°Nay. I¡¯m telling you the stories are a lie, and that the King¡¯s Vault is just that¡ªa vault. We broke in easily enough by melting the doors. It was a large underground room filled with nothing but bags of coins and precious gems. Don¡¯t look so surprised, Ein.¡±

    Ein realized his mouth was ajar and hurriedly closed it. ¡°None of it was real? There were no traps or golems? No magical weapons?¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Garax shook his head. ¡°Rhinne and I were disappointed, too. When I heard she was going to steal the Dragonstone, I knew right away what she was planning.¡±

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t the Dragonstone have been hidden among the gems?¡± Ein asked. ¡°You said there were precious stones there, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°No, no.¡± The storyteller shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s not like that. The Dragonstone, the Source, the First Flame¡­ it¡¯s not something you can mistake for an ordinary gem. You would be able to feel it just by standing in the same room.¡± He looked up. Aeos was approaching in the distance, lugging a bundle of frosted firewood under one arm.

    ¡°Anyway, now you know what happened. Just remember, don¡¯t tell anyone if you can help it. I daresay that quest has been fuelling the girl for a while now, and with her only lead lost, she doesn¡¯t know what to do anymore.¡±

    Rhinne looked up at them from the distance and their eyes met. Ein realized the storyteller was right. The fire was gone from her eyes.

    #

    It was early the next morning, when the grey skies had brightened and the worst of the night¡¯s frost had melted, that they reached the fork in the road.

    It was a threefold fork nestled between the hills, with the worn dusty brown of the Royal Road curving into the distance, two smaller paths branching out from it. A beaten signpost stood at the intersection, leaning at an angle to the ground. The party alighted from the carriage and gathered around the sign.

    ¡°Mor¡¯Gravar,¡± Marc read, looking at the path that broke off to the left. ¡°Knife Edge Pass. And Siraph. Which way do we go, Druid?¡±

    ¡°Not Mor¡¯Gravar, that¡¯s for sure,¡± Aeos muttered. ¡°That would be a deathwish.¡±

    ¡°Mor¡¯Gravar?¡± asked Ein.

    ¡°The underground city of Mor¡¯Gravar was our greatest asset back in the Age of Magic. We sourced our metals, gems, even Rhinegold from the mines around it. Then something happened and they had to close it down.¡±

    Talberon fluttered atop the sign. -An ancient evil reclaimed it,- he said, projecting his thoughts towards the group. -The Mines of Mor¡¯Gravar were not originally the property of House Uldan. Mor¡¯Gravar was a dweor city, and when the dweor left, the terror in the dark which had been imprisoned was released. I regret to inform you of this my Prince, but it is the City of Sorrows which we will be passing through.-

    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious,¡± Aeos growled. ¡°The Mines haven¡¯t been open for millenia. Half of the tunnels have probably collapsed by now, and even if we reach the city, there¡¯s no telling if we¡¯ll be able to navigate it.¡±

    -I will take responsibility and lead the way,- Talberon said firmly. -The other option would be to cut through Knife Edge Pass, which will throw us out in the middle of Lauriel¡¯s Spine. The terrain will be tougher there, and we¡¯d have to circle back to reach Darmouth. Crossing through Mor¡¯Gravar would cut our journey in half, maybe even more.- The Druid chirped. -Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re afraid of some old faerie tale, Your Highness?-

    Aeos crossed his arms. ¡°Faerie tale or no, you run the risk of us losing our way. There¡¯s a reason my father¡¯s stayed away from that place, despite all the treasures it promises.¡±

    ¡°Mor¡¯Gravar,¡± Rhinne suddenly said, and everyone turned towards her. ¡°I¡¯ve heard that name before.¡±

    ¡°When wise men fall and bid goodbye,

    When traitors reign beneath the sky;

    The Master claims the throne of steel

    In Mor¡¯Gravar where widows cry.

    A place where eagles cease to fly,

    Where death doth sing its lullaby;

    Shadows leak from broken stone

    In Mor¡¯Gravar where sorrows lie.

    A will no mortal can defy,

    A hunger none may satisfy,

    It feeds upon the fear of men

    In Mor¡¯Gravar where all things die.¡±

    A chill ran up Ein¡¯s spine. ¡°Are you sure we should do this?¡± he asked. ¡°What sort of creature is so terrible that even the dragons fear it?¡±

    ¡°Man,¡± said Rhinne, and laughed loudly.

    -It has been three weeks since the villagers of Darmouth sent the Lachess girl up the mountain,- Talberon said. -It has been three weeks since Raginrok has stopped shaking. Assuming the girl has something to do with that, there¡¯s a good chance she¡¯s somehow managed to survive without food, water or shelter. But she couldn¡¯t possibly keep it up for long. Every day we tarry is a day she could die.-

    ¡°And what if she does die?¡± Aeos asked.

    -Then we are all doomed. Because I can tell you now, your mother¡¯s Celesite bomb will not solve our problem.-

    The Prince shook his head in frustration. ¡°Do what you will, then,¡± he said, throwing his hands up in the air. ¡°This is folly.¡±

    -You do not have to come with us, Prince,- Talberon replied, taking to the sky once more.

    ¡°Oh, please. You know as well as I do that Father hopes I won¡¯t come back.¡±

    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± Ein frowned.

    ¡°You saw it didn¡¯t you? My memories.¡±

    ¡°I saw them, but I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯re a thickhead.¡± Aeos gave an exasperated sigh. ¡°Perhaps I¡¯ll tell you another time, my Kingsblade. When we¡¯re away from unwanted ears.¡±

    #

    It began to snow as they followed the winding path through the highlands. The carriage bumped and rattled, making Ein nauseous. They¡¯d slowed to a trot, the landscape far too rocky and slippery with ice to traverse, and several times the entire party was forced to disembark and push the vehicle past a section of difficult terrain.

    Marc spent the journey singing bawdy songs, to which Garax heartily joined in. Rhinne continued to brood, while Aeos read a book he¡¯d packed. When they stopped to rest, Ein would cross stick-blades with Garax a few times, loosening his shoulders. It took a while for him to grow accustomed to his abnormal strength and speed, but he quickly learned that good technique surpassed all.

    Then they would be on their way again, leaving behind nothing but the charred remains of a campfire and deep ruts in the fresh snow.

    The transition of the mountains from the background to the foreground seemed instantaneous. Ein couldn¡¯t quite pinpoint when they¡¯d left the highlands behind for the alpine, but the slopes were significantly steeper now, the bluffs towering high above them, piercing the winter sky.

    Talberon screeched above, and they came to a halt. They¡¯d stopped by a large opening in the side of the mountain, a yawning cavity framed by rickety wooden scaffolding. A warning sign had been thrust into the snow, labelling the entrance to the mines.

    ¡°They don¡¯t try too hard to deter people, do they,¡± Garax said. ¡°Any old codger could wander in. There isn¡¯t even a door.¡±

    ¡°Anyone foolish enough to wander in deserves their fate,¡± Aeos said.

    Ein approached the cavern and peered into the gloom. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look very special,¡± he remarked. ¡°I¡¯d expected more from a place that spawned so many legends.¡±

    ¡°This is but many of the entrances to Mor¡¯Gravar,¡± Aeos replied. ¡°There is no majestic portal or gate. The dweor were a reclusive race; the mines were a last resort in case they needed to flee to the surface. When man stumbled across them, they traced the tunnels to gain access to the city.¡±

    Talberon touched onto the ground and took on his human form. ¡°You know much, Prince.¡±

    ¡°Only of history. It is useful to learn from the mistakes of our ancestors. Though that doesn¡¯t stop some from repeating them,¡± he added bitterly.

    Talberon ignored the jibe and walked to where Marc was unloading their baggage. The scraggy man wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up.

    ¡°You have our thanks for taking us this far,¡± the Druid said. ¡°Not once, but twice.¡±

    ¡°My pleasure.¡± Marc flashed a toothy grin, though it was more at the pouch of coins Talberon was holding than anything else. ¡°If you ever need us again, my darlings and I would be happy to serve. You¡¯ll probably find us wandering around Aldoran somewhere.¡±

    ¡°I will keep that in mind,¡± Talberon nodded. ¡°Something tells me we may yet meet again.¡±

    Marc shrugged. ¡°It will be as the wind wills.¡±

    He stepped onto the carriage and nudged the stalnags, breaking into verse yet again. The two beasts grunted a farewell and then began to descend the mountain. Ein continued to hear Marc¡¯s song long after he¡¯d disappeared from view.

    ¡°So,¡± he said, looking around. ¡°I guess this is the last of any daylight we¡¯ll see for a while yet.¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡± Talberon took a few steps into the opening, until the shadows had all but swallowed his cape. He uttered a low word and a ball of flame burst to life beside him.

    Looking back at the rest of the party, he gestured for them to follow. The darkness engulfed them, one by one. Rhinne was the last one through, and she let out an audible shiver as the mountain swallowed her whole.

 39. Ill Met by Moonlight

    Chapter Thirty-Nine: Ill Met by Moonlight

    ¡°The Leonharts are perhaps the most interesting secondary family of Faengard. Their origins can be traced to before the Rondo of the Three Kings, when the Uldans, Thorens and Lachess¡¯s had yet to gain the gift of Aedrasil¡¯s blood.

    ¡°They are known for having high moral codes and a strong sense of chivalry, as well as lion-gold hair and fearsome battle prowess. It is a wonder why they did not end up taking the throne; they certainly had the support and charisma to do so. Perhaps it was their honour that got in their way, and their desire to see their brethren succeed.¡±

    ¡ªTurnis Hibernon, Royal Bloodlines of Faengard

    ¡°Up, everyone! Get your lazy behinds up and working!¡±

    Bran¡¯s eyes snapped open as the warden walked past the doorway, ringing her bell loudly. The other men were awake already, clothes and belongings flung all over the place as they prepared themselves for their daily duties. The boy who¡¯d been sleeping on the bunk above Bran was running about like a headless chicken, apparently unable to find his undergarments.

    It was the first day of his life within the barracks. He shared his quarters with seven other people, divided into four pairs of bunkmates who used the same facilities. They were all young and fresh-faced, some having found their way to the Legion in search of a roof and a hot meal, others hoping to become something more. Bran quickly dressed himself and left the chaos behind, determined to start the day on a positive note.

    He passed the muster room and its huge noticeboard with the city guard roster. The footsoldiers argued among themselves, their boots and armour freshly polished, those with management roles donning crisply ironed uniforms. They were above him. Bran didn¡¯t have the right to wear the black and silver, let alone the black and gold. High-ranking officers yelled at him to move out of the way as he bumbled out into the courtyard, the grass still wet with dew.

    At once he felt disheartened, but he fought it down.

    Remember why you¡¯re here, he told himself, and straightened up.

    He went out to the stables, where the horses roused from beneath their blankets. Some of the riders were already there, tending to their mounts. Bran found the storage shed and prepared a bucket of soapy water. He began the first of his duties¡ªcleaning the stables.

    He wasn¡¯t a soldier. He wasn¡¯t even a recruit. He was a servant, what the soldiers liked to call a ¡®runner boy,¡¯ someone who tended to all the jobs no one wanted to do in exchange for food, shelter and a meagre wage.

    The officer had laughed at him when he¡¯d stormed into the barracks two nights ago, demanding to join the Legion. They¡¯d had a brief conversation, where Bran learned just how hard it actually was to become a recruit. It wasn¡¯t as simple as signing his life away, at least not yet. There were tests to be done, checks to be made, interviews to be had. The man, who Bran later found out was a lieutenant, had been impressed by his resolve and offered him a job as a runner boy. Bran, eager for any role that would put him in proximity of the Legion Songweavers, had accepted.

    A day of induction later and now he was here, picking up horse manure with his bare hands.

    There were dozens of stables laid out in the Keep, rows and rows of them overlooking the training ground. Once he¡¯d cleaned up his share of them, he scrubbed his hands clean and sat down in the shade outside the Clock Tower with his lunch, hoping to see Evaine. He¡¯d scarcely been but a few minutes into his flatbread when the warden came around with another list of jobs for him to do.

    ¡°Good work on the stables,¡± she said, though her scowl remained. His supervisor Jezelle was a thin, grey woman, the wife of one of the commanders. Her hair was tied back in a simple bun and she wore coveralls emblazoned with the shield and spear. ¡°I need these jobs done by the end of the day. Come find me in my office if you have nothing to do.¡±

    Bran sighed. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±

    She nodded to herself and walked away in search of her next victim.

    That was the first lesson Bran learned. Always look busy, even if you have to pretend.

    He scanned the list of jobs and found himself sighing when none of them placed him in proximity of the Clock Tower. There were dishes to be washed, boots to be polished, messages to be delivered and papers to be sorted, but no task that might send him to the Songweavers where there was a chance of meeting Evaine. Bran swallowed his disappointment along with the remainder of his lunch and made for the mess hall.

    It was only the first day, after all. There was hope yet.

    #

    Minstrel Kedryn was a tall, square woman who looked to be more suited to scuffling than singing. She stood six feet tall with a shaved head and tattooed forearms, and a voice so loud even the drill sergeants were no match. It was a voice used to good effect, for every time Evaine made a mistake the Minstrel made sure the entire floor knew about it.

    ¡°No, no, no,¡± Kedryn was screaming, flecks of spittle flying from her mouth. ¡°You dunce, that¡¯s not how you do it. It¡¯s like courting a woman. You need to be gentler. More affectionate. Ask the water, and you shall receive. It¡¯s infinitely easier than taking it by force.¡±

    They were inside one of the alchemy labs on the first floor, a beaker of seawater in front of them. Medics and alchemists also frequented the clock tower, making use of all the facilities it provided. There were potion brewers present now, cooking up all sorts of concoctions Evaine could only imagine, and healers speaking in hushed whispers as they rifled through the ingredient drawers.

    Evaine sucked in her breath and started to sing again, an almost baritone hum escaping her lips. She directed it towards the beaker of water, enveloping it with her voice, asking for its compliance. It bubbled as if something invisible were stirring it. Small crystals began to form, twirling around the clear liquid, coalescing into clumps that sank to the bottom. Evaine released her breath, her heart racing.

    Kedryn grabbed the beaker and held it up to her face.

    ¡°Good,¡± she said, and even her happy tone was loud. She tipped the contents into the sink until only the crystals remained. ¡°Now go practice on that barrel of seawater over there while I go for lunch.¡±

    Evaine resisted the urge to groan. Last time she¡¯d complained, Kedryn had yelled her ear off.

    As the big woman left, Evaine slumped onto her stool and ran her hand through her hair. She¡¯d spent the entire day drawing salt from water. If she smelled brine again, she would vomit.

    ¡°It¡¯s easier and far more energy efficient to filter salt directly from water,¡± Kedryn had said. ¡°Boiling it wastes Spirit, Spirit that could be used for other things. Besides, it teaches you control.¡±

    She understood the principles and why she was being made to do it, but it still frustrated her. When the Minstrel had informed her that she¡¯d be helping to fight the relicts, she¡¯d imagined learning to send whips of water at her enemies, summoning great geysers from the earth, dancing and spinning with blades of ice. Not extracting salt from seawater.

    With all that being said, there was still a level of excitement to it all. She was inside Uldan Keep, learning magic from the Legion Songweavers. To think that only a few weeks ago she¡¯d been stitching dresses and herding sheep in the Sleeping Twins.

    I wonder how Mother and Father are doing, she thought. She missed them, but not in a million years would she trade away her current position. She just wished she weren¡¯t so¡­ alone. Mother, Father, Ein, Bran, even Alend¡ªshe just longed for company.

    Evaine poured another beaker from the keg and sang, pulling crystals of salt to the bottom. She repeated it three times with three beakerfuls, tipping out the purified water, pouring the sludge-like salt into a separate flask. On a whim, she dipped her little finger into the white mess and tasted it.

    It was salt all right. Evaine scrunched her face and looked around for a waterskin. Someone handed her one and she drank a mouthful, washing the foul taste from her mouth.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± she said, handing it back.

    The man who¡¯d given it to her was tall and lanky, with neatly combed blond hair and loose-hanging robes of black and silver. The two stripes on his shoulder indicated his rank¡ªAdept, two ranks above her own. In other words, a nobody.

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t go around putting things in your mouth without knowing what they are,¡± he smirked. He reminded her of Bran, though unlike Bran he held himself with a confidence bordering on arrogance. His chin was held just a bit too high, his gaze a bit too haughty. She immediately decided she didn¡¯t like him.

    ¡°I know perfectly well what this is,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s salt. We eat it every day.¡±

    ¡°But do you know for sure?¡± he asked, pouring another beaker of saltwater. ¡°Salt isn¡¯t the only mineral present in seawater. There are others as well, some which are toxic to the human body.¡±

    He sang a note, lifting the entirety of the water from the beaker. With a harsh grunt, the man ripped a few flakes of white from the mixture and then tossed the remaining liquid into the sink with a splash. The particles came to a rest on his extended palm.

    ¡°Eat a tablespoon of this and you¡¯ll die,¡± he said, holding up one of the fine crystals. ¡°It¡¯s a popular ingredient to use in a poison.¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    ¡°Thanks for the heads up,¡± Evaine rolled her eyes. ¡°It must be hard being able to divide seawater into the sum of its parts. I wish I was that good.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve had a lot of practice. The Minstrels say it¡¯s only a matter of time before I get promoted,¡± the man boasted, completely overlooking the derision in her tone. ¡°Time-altering Wyrds are rare enough, and I¡¯m one of the youngest. If you¡¯d like, I can teach you a thing or two.¡±

    Evaine ignored him and made for another bench. The man followed her.

    Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s eyes and ears, he¡¯s like a pest, she thought.

    ¡°I¡¯m Gerrard,¡± he was saying, ¡°like Gerard Carandar, the famous Captain of the Weatherwing, but with an extra ¡®r¡¯. My brother is one of the generals of the Legion.¡± He continued to ramble, standing far too close for her liking. She looked around, but none of the other people had noticed¡ªor if they had, they were keeping their heads down.

    Evaine poured a beaker of seawater and concentrated, trying to drown out his voice. It didn¡¯t work. As her frustration mounted, her Soulsong grew sharper and harsher, like a serrated knife. Gerrard was talking about his achievements now, pointing out flaws in her technique that he could ¡®teach¡¯ her how to correct.

    Evaine felt her temple throb a moment before the beaker shattered and water sprayed across them both. Glass tinkered across the floor.

    That shut him up, at least.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± she said, without a hint of apology at all. The majority of the water had exploded onto Gerrard¡¯s robes.

    ¡°That¡¯s alright,¡± he said, some of his vigour lost. ¡°Everyone makes mistakes¡ª¡±

    ¡°Novice Evaine.¡±

    Evaine snapped her neck around and came face to face with Kedryn¡¯s chest. Kedryn glanced at Gerrard and bowed. ¡°Please accept my apologies, Adept Gerrard. I¡¯ll have her clean up this mess at once.¡±

    For a man who was lower ranked than her, Kedryn treated Gerrard with an unusual amount of respect. Was Gerrard¡¯s brother really that important?

    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary,¡± Gerrard smiled. He sang, and the shards of glass lifted themselves off the ground and onto the table, reassembling in the shape of a cracked beaker. With another quick note, the cracks disappeared and the piece of glassware was whole again.

    ¡°Incredible,¡± Kedryn said. ¡°I¡¯d heard the rumours, but to see a Reversal in action amazes me every time. You truly are something else, Gerrard.¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± Gerrard said. ¡°You give me too much credit.¡± He glanced at his timepiece. ¡°I have to go now. They¡¯re expecting me in the war room.¡±

    Evaine waited until he was gone, the door shut behind him, before opening her mouth.

    ¡°War room? What business does he have there?¡±

    ¡°Do you not know who that man is?¡± Kedryn asked, mopping the table with a spare cloth.

    ¡°Well, you have to remember I¡¯m a shepherdess from off the edge of the map. Songweavers were legends to me until a short while ago.¡±

    Kedryn grunted. ¡°That was Gerrard Leonhart, younger brother of Kingsblade Gilfred, the Golden Beast. A genius among geniuses. He isn¡¯t just a prodigal Songweaver, he¡¯s also a tactician and an engineer. They say he read through his entire family library and committed it to memory before he could walk. The High King and his generals have been seeking his advice as of late, with the rising threat of the relicts and all.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s too cocky,¡± Evaine decided. ¡°I prefer men who are humbler in their demeanor.¡±

    Kedryn laughed. ¡°Evaine, you¡¯d be lucky if Gerrard so much as batted an eyelid at you. Now, come with me. You¡¯re going to filter a hundred gallons of seawater before the day¡¯s end. That¡¯ll teach you not to break any more flasks.¡±

    #

    Evaine left the mess hall in a foul mood. She¡¯d ended the day with a sack of salt, a crushing headache and a burning hatred for seawater. Her ears were ringing with Kedryn¡¯s voice and her robes carried the sickening stench of brine.

    So it was that when she saw Bran walking back from the stables with a tired expression, she let out a shout of glee and barrelled into him, driving the breath from his ribs.

    ¡°Huh?¡± he asked, a glazed look on his face. It took a moment for him to realize what had happened. ¡°Evaine! I can¡¯t believe it, I¡¯ve been looking all over for you.¡±

    ¡°You smell like¡­ horse shit,¡± she laughed. ¡°To put it lightly. What the blazes are you doing here? I thought you¡¯d left the city.¡±

    Bran looked around. She noticed deep lines of fatigue on his face under the moonlight.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go somewhere else,¡± he said. ¡°The warden is probably in her chambers by now, but better to be safe than sorry. I don¡¯t think I could deal with another chore to complete.¡±

    Evaine didn¡¯t understand, but her headache was gone, and she was no longer alone. She followed Bran behind the stables to a low bench that faced the courtyard.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe it,¡± he said again. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯ve found you. I took on this job in the hopes of seeing you again, but I didn¡¯t expect it would happen so soon.¡±

    ¡°Oh, Bran,¡± she shook her head. ¡°If you¡¯d just asked, I¡¯m sure they would have let you visit. Me joining the Legion isn¡¯t the end of the world, you know.¡±

    Bran muttered something under his breath.

    ¡°Anyway, I hate to see you looking so tired and filthy. You should find another place to work¡ªlike an apprentice butcher in the city, perhaps. I¡¯m sure the pay would be much better.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather not, Evaine. Ein¡¯s gone; I don¡¯t want to lose you as well. Being alone frightens me more than anything else. In this enormous city, you¡¯re my only tie to the world I know.¡±

    Evaine sighed. ¡°I guess you¡¯re right. I feel the same way; it¡¯s nice to have someone familiar to talk to.¡±

    Bran seemed to brighten at that.

    He¡¯s like a pup, she thought, remembering Einar, her family¡¯s wolfhound. It¡¯s comforting to talk to him. Unlike a certain golden-haired Songweaver who thought too highly of himself.

    ¡°Tell me about your day,¡± Bran said, and she happily obliged.

    It was a lovely night to sit in front of the courtyard. The rose bushes and hedges were neatly cropped, streams of water weaving through the cobble paths to the sewage drains and the moat. They could see the castle from here, its candlelit windows and curtained balconies, the nobles smoking their expensive pipes up above, tendrils of ivy creeping their way along the stone walls. Evaine continued to ramble, not even thinking about what she was saying, simply wishing for the moment to draw on forever. She complained about Kedryn and Gerrard, she spat foul atrocities towards seawater, she whined about how many stairs she had to climb to reach her room and how many other women she had to share the latrines with. Bran listened to it all without speaking, staring quietly into the distance with the occasional nod or word of sympathy.

    By the time she¡¯d finished, it felt like a great weight had been lifted from her chest. They sat in comfortable silence and her thoughts turned to Ein, who was probably far, far away by now, shouldering the name of a family that wasn¡¯t his, a title he didn¡¯t want, and a fate he would resist until the very end.

    The Ein from ten years ago would have embraced it, she thought. I wonder what became of him.

    Their tryst was broken by a feminine voice rustling through the bushes, singing a song as light as a cloud.

    ¡°Fair moon, how bright you shine upon

    Our windy wasted land,

    Across the ranks and echelons

    To where the beasts doth stand.

    O moon, how sad your lambs must be

    Under the silver light,

    As the shepherds lead them to

    A moonless night.¡±

    The song stopped short, jarring Evaine. On the other side of the pavement, having just emerged from behind the rose-thorn hedge was a girl with hair like liquid gold. She wore an exquisite silk nightdress of velvet blue with a glimmering silver sash around her waist and matching sheepskin slippers. As her face came under the moonlight, Evaine couldn¡¯t help but gasp.

    She was beautiful.

    The girl saw them both and broke into a smile. She waved and skipped across the cobble, shortly before a hushed voice spoke through the bushes.

    ¡°Your Highness,¡± it said. ¡°At the very least, put on a jacket. I¡¯ll be skinned alive if you come down with a cold.¡±

    The owner of the voice came into view, wearing a black cloth-spun tunic with golden stripes. The symbol of a crown and sword were sewn into his epaulettes.

    ¡°Gilfred,¡± Evaine uttered. She recognized the Kingsblade from the Halls of Judgement, though he looked less majestic out of his armour. Recognition flitted through Gilfred¡¯s eyes as well, and he nodded a greeting.

    ¡°Evaine, was it?¡± he asked. ¡°Good to see you¡¯re still sane. Most ¡®prodigies¡¯ break down under Grand Songstress Milena¡¯s instruction.¡±

    ¡°The Grand Songstress isn¡¯t actually teaching me,¡± Evaine replied. ¡°She brushed me off to Minstrel Kedryn.¡±

    Gilfred raised an eyebrow. ¡°I hear she¡¯s worse.¡±

    ¡°Hold on a second. You¡¯ve met before?¡± The girl frowned. ¡°Gilfred, have you been seeing women behind my back again? Even after taking the Vow?¡±

    ¡°The Vow of the Kingsblade isn¡¯t a marriage contract,¡± Gilfred said in a resigned voice.

    ¡°You¡¯re terrible, Gilfred. You said you¡¯d faithfully serve me until death did us part.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I said.¡±

    ¡°Words to that effect.¡± She pouted. ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll forgive you this time, since you helped me sneak out of the Keep.¡±

    ¡°Please, it¡¯s not as if you don¡¯t talk to other men. And I don¡¯t in any way endorse your little midnight walks.¡± Gilfred glanced at Bran. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Bran,¡± Bran said, before Evaine could reply. ¡°A friend of Evaine¡¯s. I¡¯m a runner boy down at the barracks.¡±

    The Kingsblade nodded. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of you. Marched right into First Lieutenant Walter¡¯s office and demanded to join, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    Bran flushed. ¡°Something like that.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a brave man,¡± said Gilfred. ¡°If only more people had your courage. The public is too afraid to voice their concerns to the King, choosing instead to trust his blind counsel. No one really knows what¡¯s going to happen in the coming weeks, and no one wants to suggest that things could go wrong.¡± Gilfred grimaced. ¡°Then there are people who have tombstone courage, spouting nonsense that would turn close friends against them.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Anyway, enough of that. What brings you two here?¡±

    ¡°Stop interrogating them, Gilfred,¡± the girl jabbed him in the ribs. ¡°They¡¯re just here to breathe the fresh air and enjoy the night.¡±

    ¡°Um¡­ excuse me,¡± Evaine began. ¡°Who¡­ are you?¡±

    ¡°Celianna,¡± she said, clapping her hands together. ¡°Pleased to meet you, Evaine!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s Your Highness to you,¡± Gilfred snapped. ¡°You¡¯re speaking to the royal Princess herself, Novice.¡±

    ¡°Be quiet, you,¡± Celianna said, and then to Bran and Evaine both: ¡°Honestly, he speaks like he has a quarterstaff up his rectum sometimes. Celianna is fine if we¡¯re in private.¡±

    Gilfred fumed but said nothing.

    ¡°I heard the gist of what happened,¡± the Princess continued. ¡°I do apologize for what my Father¡¯s done. Hopefully Ein will be back before long¡ªI really did enjoy our conversation, brief as it was.¡±

    ¡°You met Ein?¡± Bran asked.

    ¡°I did! It was down by the Ward Tree, too. We talked about lots of things. About mothers and names, and pain. I only wish I¡¯d known about his father when I spoke to him; I had no idea he¡¯d been sentenced to death.¡±

    ¡°Is he okay now?¡± asked Evaine. ¡°How is Alend doing?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s in the dungeons,¡± said Gilfred, an unreadable expression on his face. ¡°They¡¯re still feeding him the inhibitor drugs, but I doubt they need to. His spirit has been crushed. He just sits in the corner all day, staring into space.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s horrible!¡± Celianna exclaimed.

    Gilfred shrugged. ¡°His Majesty thinks it to be a fitting punishment. A month of suffering as he wonders about the fate of his son, followed by a public execution. One has to wonder what the man did to deserve such an end,¡± he added bitterly.

    ¡°That won¡¯t happen.¡± Celianna looked up, and her blue eyes had frosted over. ¡°Ein will be coming back. I know it.¡±

    Gilfred shrugged. ¡°If Aldoran is still standing, that is. The relict army won¡¯t be leaving anytime soon.¡±

 40. Guardians of Steel

    Chapter Forty: Guardians of Steel

    ¡°Blueprint for a Sentry Unit:

    Required materials:

    1 x Celesite core

    1 x Cooling unit

    1 x Motion detector

    1 x Command unit

    1 x Processor

    1 x Head

    1 x Torso

    ? x Limbs (2-8 recommended)

    ? x Weapons (Fitted to the creator¡¯s preference)

    The creator may add any desired features to suit his needs, however, it is worthy to note that more features will result in lower life expectancy of the unit.¡±

    ¡ªPart of a blueprint uncovered in the Mines of Mor¡¯Gravar. The rest of the plans were not found.

    The mines were like a city in themselves, their tunnels winding deep into the earth, past flights of stairs and elevator shafts, minecart tracks and yawning chasms, collapsed cave systems and broken bridges. They passed half-dug tunnels streaked with veins of iron, caved in cavities barely held together by splintered wood, upturned carts surrounded by the bones of the dead. Ein lost track of how many times they were forced to change direction upon hitting a dead end.

    Every level they descended unearthed another layer of history. They found black and silver uniforms of alien design, branded with the Uldan family crest. They found rusted swords and pickaxes, old ledgers and dusty dockets pinned to desks, as well as stone furnaces lined with cold coals. Garax and Aeos took particular interest in each find, stopping every few minutes, touching the relics and brushing the dust from them, hefting them in their hands. Aeos hadn¡¯t been lying about his interest in history¡ªeven the smallest piece of cracked pottery held his attention. If it weren¡¯t for Talberon urging them on or their dwindling supplies, they would have been there for gods knew how long. It was hard to gain a sense of time without daylight to aid them. The only way they had of counting the hours and days was when they stopped to eat or sleep. Ein guessed they¡¯d spent a total of two days wandering the mines, but he couldn¡¯t be sure.

    Eventually they broke out into the main hub, a wide, cavernous expanse like the inside of a bee hive, with layers and layers of shattered lanterns hanging from ropes like Founder¡¯s Eve decorations. There were broken ladders and rickety ramps that spanned between levels, shovels and spades strewn along the edges, pools of stagnant water dyed black with dirt and soot.

    Talberon¡¯s firelight lit the path three feet in front of them and no more. The rest of the space was dark and smothering and achingly vast. Each step they took was echoed a thousand fold. One time Ein kicked a rock over the edge and it was minutes before he heard it reach the bottom.

    The party kept their conversation to a minimum. Somehow, it felt like the earth itself was listening in on their every move.

    It wasn¡¯t until they reached the hundredth floor or thereabouts that the Druid pulled them up before an enormous steel door. There were intricate markings carved all over it, troughs and grooves coloured neon in the darkness. Light bulbs winked red above the door handle and a glass panel littered with runed buttons.

    ¡°Here we are,¡± Talberon declared. ¡°The gates to Mor¡¯Gravar.¡±

    ¡°These lights are made of Celesite,¡± Aeos murmured, staring at the door. ¡°To think the dweor were so far ahead of us even back then...¡±

    ¡°What do the historians say about the dweor?¡± Ein asked.

    ¡°Surprisingly little,¡± Aeos replied.

    ¡°Too busy singing praises of their own feats no doubt,¡± Rhinne muttered.

    Aeos threw her a scowl. ¡°The mountain children were advanced beyond their era, reclusive and untrusting of others, and above all, incredible engineers. Following the Age of Magic, when man became the dominant race of Faengard, they retreated into their strongholds and were never heard of again. Mor¡¯Gravar was one of the few cities we managed to capture.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like this place,¡± Rhinne said. ¡°It feels¡­ dark. Evil.¡±

    ¡°Well I¡¯m not walking all the way back up,¡± said Garax. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over and done with.¡±

    Talberon pressed a few buttons on the panel. The lights became green, and the door hissed open.

    There was an immediate change in their surroundings. Behind the door was a single hallway of polished steel, lit on either side by Celesite bulbs. Some of them were dim while others flickered like dying fireflies, but they could see down to the very end and that was enough. Talberon dismissed his fire-light and looked around.

    ¡°This was the equivalent of a sentry tower for the dweor,¡± he said. ¡°They had means of monitoring their surroundings remotely without needing to leave their seats. Past this would be the entrance to the city proper.¡±

    Aeos had stopped in front of an open doorway. Inside was a dark room with several chairs around a black screen. Underneath it was a table with more of the marked buttons.

    ¡°Why weren¡¯t we able to make use of all this technology?¡± Ein asked, looking around. ¡°It might have helped in the fight against the relicts.¡±

    ¡°The dweor were tight-lipped about their secrets,¡± Talberon replied.

    ¡°And for good reason,¡± Rhinne added. ¡°Who knows what mankind would have done given so much power.¡±

    There was a loud bang behind them, and they rushed back out into the hallway. The steel door leading to the mines had slammed shut. The lights were red again, like eyes watching them from the shadows.

    ¡°A city with a mind of its own,¡± Garax murmured. ¡°I suppose there¡¯s no going back now, even if we wanted to.¡±

    They wandered down the hallway until it widened into a lobby of some sort. It was well-lit with a large rectangular table of glass in the centre surrounded by plush leather seats, another of the black screens hanging from the wall above. Two barred doors stood at the far side of the room.

    ¡°One of these should lead to the city centre,¡± said Talberon. ¡°The left one, I believe. Wait here while I go and scout ahead.¡±

    ¡°Hang on,¡± said Garax. ¡°I don¡¯t think it would be wise to go alone. We haven¡¯t come across anything sinister yet, but that could change at any moment.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll come as well,¡± Aeos said. ¡°If I¡¯m going to die here, I might as well see as much as I can before it happens.¡±

    Talberon looked back towards Ein and Rhinne. ¡°Will you two be alright to wait for us?¡±

    Ein looked at Rhinne, who shrugged. ¡°We¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t go anywhere,¡± the Druid reiterated. ¡°We¡¯ll be back shortly.¡± And the three disappeared through the doorway, their footsteps echoing down the hall.

    Ein walked around the room once they¡¯d left, marvelling at its strange and exotic design. Everything had a crisp feel to it, a smooth and sterile edge. The seats were so soft he could sink into them; the benches square and aligned, the lights blinking rhythmically. He found what looked like a cupboard in the corner and opened it. It was ice cold inside, like a pocket dimension of winter, and there were clear bottles of coloured liquor lining the shelves. For a moment he was tempted to take one, but his common sense got the better of him and he returned to where Rhinne was sitting.

    ¡°We¡¯ve never really had a chance to talk, have we?¡± Ein asked, sitting down. ¡°You don¡¯t seem to like people very much.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right. In case you¡¯d forgotten, they¡¯re part of the reason behind our fall from grace.¡±

    Ein blinked, taken aback. Rhinne sighed.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said. ¡°I know you mean well. It¡¯s just¡­¡± She looked up. ¡°I¡¯m just so frustrated. I left my village and came all the way here, and now I¡¯m going to have to tell my people that I failed them.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯ve failed them yet,¡± Ein said. ¡°I don¡¯t know much about the Dragonstone, but I¡¯m sure someone knows what happened to it.¡±

    Rhinne scoffed. ¡°If the High King and the Druid know nothing, what hope is there left? Not that that I expected much from Talberon in the first place.¡±

    ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking, what happened between the dragons and the Druids in the first place?¡±

    ¡°You mean the storyteller didn¡¯t tell you?¡±

    Ein shook his head.

    ¡°That¡¯s odd,¡± she said to herself,. ¡°Cconsidering how much he rambles about the Winds of Fate and everything being connected, I thought he would have told you.¡± She looked at the doorway and then back to Ein. ¡°Well, I suppose there¡¯s not much else to do while we wait. Why don¡¯t you make yourself comfortable and I¡¯ll tell you a story?¡±

    #

    This is a tale my mother once told me, when I was but a dragonling waiting to hatch.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    Did you know that dragon eggs are able to withstand incredible temperatures? You could place an egg inside a furnace and it would soak up the heat and retain it long after the fire has died. In fact, we dragons, or drennan as we are known in our own tongue, cannot hatch unless exposed to the heat of the burning mountain Freortahn for seven days and seven nights.

    Freortahn is our heart. The very place in which Alysteria, drennanmor, Dragon Queen of the mountain was born. It burns with the heat of a thousand suns. It rains fertile ash upon our fields. It is the light that shines through the darkness on the coldest nights, and it is home to the the Drennan Kar, Dragonstone, the source of our strength.

    No one knows why this is so. Just as no one knows where Wyd almighty came from, or why the sky is blue. Perhaps it is something to do with the Drennan Kar being present at our time of birth. Perhaps it is something else.

    Our true forms are like the legends. Giant lizards of flame, with scales as hard as diamond and great wings that span across the sky. But unlike other beasts, we are fuelled by the Heartfire, that which cannot be seen but burns inside us all. It is our fire within, the source which we draw upon to breathe flames and transform. It is far easier to maintain a weaker, humanoid form than it is to walk as a dragon.

    The Drennan Kar was described as a blood ruby the size of a closed fist. But when one gives it a closer inspection, they might notice swirling patterns within, like coiling flames. Some might even see things, of past, present and future within its depths.

    The Drennan Kar emanates power. One only needs to be near it to feel its strength¡ªbut alone, it is useless. It is to Freortahn as a sword is to a soldier. None may be complete without the other. The Dragonstone is the fuel, the burning mountain the furnace. When our Heartfire dims, all we need to do is to sleep in the warmth of Freortahn, and we will be well again.

    And then our precious relic was stolen.

    There will be some who say it was given of our own free will. There will be some who say it was recovered, that it was man¡¯s rightful property in the first place. There will be some who say we had no claim to it.

    It is ours, and it was stolen.

    We dragons are a peaceful race. We do not poke our snouts where they do not belong. Perhaps that is why we live for so long, in such harmony deep in our mountains and valleys away from the world. When travellers stumble upon our haven, we welcome them. When show them our hospitality, and we send them on their way with blessings abound.

    When the Druids came to us for help, we gave them our finest warriors. We flew to battle with them, fought with fire and fang, even let them ride us like beasts of burden in the face of the oncoming threat. It was the Great War, the Forsaken One¡¯s first conquest, the first encounter we had with the relicts and the Blight. Even though we would be safe in our havens, watched over by Freortahn, we went out of our way to help them.

    And it wasn¡¯t enough. We woke one night to find the Drennan Kar gone, the fires of Freortahn extinguished. Our Light, our Fire, our Heart had been stolen. And to make things worse, the Forsaken One was advancing. Without the First Flame to protect us, we had no choice but to commit to the Great War.

    As you know, the Alliance won. As a result of the battles fought during that war, most of us used up our remaining Heartfire and lost the ability to transform. The relicts had been sealed, the Forsaken One imprisoned in the deepest circles of Hellheim. Faengard would live to see another day.

    But to us drennan, it was a loss¡ªfor we never saw the Drennan Kar again. To this day Freortahn remains dark and lifeless, like an empty fireplace on a cold winter¡¯s morning.

    #

    Rhinne broke off and stared at the table in silence. Ein wrung his hands, uncertain of what to say.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he finally managed.

    ¡°Do not be. It was before your time, after all,¡± she sighed. ¡°Before my time as well, and even my mother¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°Do you know for sure it was the Druids who stole it?¡± Ein asked. ¡°It could have been anyone.¡±

    ¡°It was the Druids,¡± she said. ¡°As surely as my flame burns bright. The eldest of our kin lived through those times, and he still remembers. It happened just after we¡¯d returned from a great battle, one that the Alliance had lost. There are no others who could have taken it, unless it was one of our own¡ªand if you dare suggest such a thing, I will rip your throat out and swallow it whole.¡±

    Ein nodded. ¡°Well, I¡¯m sure Talberon is willing to help,¡± he said. ¡°Maybe when all this is over, he¡¯ll be able to find a clue as to where the Dragonstone is. Isn¡¯t that a Druid¡¯s job, after all? To preserve the peace of the races? According to the stories, at least.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps.¡± Rhinne sighed. ¡°In all honesty, I¡¯m glad we¡¯re here. Hopefully the Master will take me and I won¡¯t have to worry about returning empty-handed to my people.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Ein stood up, eyes flaring. ¡°You know what?¡± I¡¯m going to regret saying this. ¡°I¡¯ll help you find it. When this is over, I¡¯ll help you find the Dragonstone and restore power to your people.¡±

    Rhinne blinked. ¡°Don¡¯t make me laugh. What can a petty human like you do? You are like a hatchling, a newborn chick who still shies away from the fire when it spits.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But you and Lord Drakhorn saved my life when I was on the brink of death, and I¡¯ll never forget that. I¡¯ll find a way, Rhinne. I swear it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re interesting,¡± she said, and a smile slowly crept across her lips. Some of the fire had returned to her eyes, and Ein thought they gave her a fierce beauty. ¡°You know, for a person who wanted nothing more than to work as a blacksmith for the rest of his days, you take on a surprising amount of heavy burdens.¡±

    ¡°Who told you that?¡±

    ¡°Garax.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t always this way, Ein thought. I dreamed of becoming a hero as well, once.

    A dark memory flashed through his mind and he shook it away. ¡°Well, it looks like fate has other things in store for me,¡± he said, tapping his pauldron. Then, he looked at the door. ¡°Say, the others have been gone for an awfully long time, haven¡¯t they?¡±

    Rhinne frowned and stood up. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡±

    The words had scarcely left her mouth before the lights within the lobby blinked and went out, plunging them into darkness.

    Ein waited with bated breath, counting the heartbeats until his eyes adjusted. Rhinne had her ear to the wall and was listening.

    ¡°There¡¯s something else in the building,¡± she whispered. ¡°Listen.¡±

    Ein crept to her side and listened. She was right; something was stirring in the distance. A mechanical whirr, like nuts and bolts clashing, steel wires rubbing against each other. Somewhere in the building, something was coming to life.

    ¡°Rhinne,¡± Ein said. ¡°Grab your things. We¡¯re going.¡±

    Rhinne nodded, pulling tight the strings of her pack. They circled around to the door on the left where the other members of the party had gone. Ein pulled on the handle and stepped through.

    ¡°Ein,¡± Rhinne tugged on his sleeve. ¡°Look¡­¡±

    He froze in his tracks. The corridor ahead of them was smothered in choking mist; a thick, rolling wall of grey that blanketed everything from sight. He could see about five metres in front of him and then nothing¡ª

    And the noises were growing louder.

    ¡°Damnation,¡± he said, drawing his sword, and began to run.

    They fled into the mist, past feebly blinking lights and panels, taking the left path whenever a fork presented itself. It was like a dream¡ªthe viscosity of it all, the pounding of blood and footsteps in his ears, the shrill growls of steel beasts. Rhinne was always two steps behind him, her knife drawn, golden eyes searching.

    Then the mist parted and something emerged. It was a spindly, shambling figure of metal, of wire and glass, with glowing lights all over its body and a heart-sized chunk of Celesite in the centre of its chest. It had a single eye on its head that rolled around erratically, searching.

    The eye came to rest on the two. A shrill cry emerged from the creature as it raised its arms, fluorescent neon flaring to life around its chest. Ein rolled to one side just before the ground behind him exploded.

    The smell of burning metal filled his nostrils, his ears ringing in pain. He saw Rhinne opposite him, having dived in the other direction. There was a scattering of pebble-sized craters in the ground where the monster had fired a barrage of bullets.

    Ein swallowed his fear. If those projectiles had hit him, he would¡¯ve been dead. They¡¯d blown holes in steel¡ªsteel¡ªwhen arrows would have barely put a scratch.

    The creature was moving again this time, joints grinding, pulses of neon flaring along its arms as they prepared to discharge. Ein cried out in desperation and swung his blade like a club, all his training forsaken. It rammed into the monster¡¯s arm and kept going, shearing through metal plates and wires, shattering glass. The limb fell to the ground, still glowing.

    The creature continued to whirr, energy gathering in its other arm, until Rhinne darted forth and shattered the Celesite core with her knife. It froze and began to tremble.

    ¡°Get down,¡± she cried, yanking him hard by the arm. They fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and hair as the core detonated, sending waves of scrap metal and searing heat over their heads.

    When the smoke had cleared and the mist had begun to inch back, the two climbed to their feet and surveyed the wreckage.

    ¡°I thought we were done for,¡± Ein panted. ¡°Didn¡¯t they say a single Celesite core could destroy an entire building?¡±

    ¡°These¡­ things have been active for a long time,¡± Rhinne said, picking up the cracked gem. ¡°They don¡¯t seem to have too much Spirit left in them.¡±

    ¡°We have to find Talberon and the others,¡± Ein said. ¡°They could be in trouble.¡±

    Rhinne nodded. ¡°It was a mistake to come here,¡± she muttered. ¡°The dweor may be gone, but their constructs still remain. We were lucky this time. We might not be lucky again.¡± She touched the holes in the ground. ¡°And we haven¡¯t even reached the city yet.¡±

    #

    The mist crept upon them without warning, swiftly and silently like a falling night. It wasn¡¯t until Talberon¡¯s cloak had begun to meld into the darkness that Aeos realized what was happening.

    ¡°Talberon,¡± he called out.

    The Druid stopped and waited. Garax came striding out of the mist behind them not long after, his brow furrowed in concern.

    ¡°It might have been a mistake to leave those two behind,¡± the storyteller murmured.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Talberon agreed. ¡°I think we should turn back¡­ but I fear that may not be possible in our case.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s too late. The layout¡¯s already changed.¡±

    ¡°What are you two talking about?¡± Aeos asked. He felt like a child in the middle of a conversation between adults.

    ¡°See this?¡± Garax slapped the wall with his hand. ¡°I scratched it with my blade not long ago. This is the very same mark.¡±

    Aeos and Talberon looked at the place he was pointing to. There was indeed a symbol etched into the polished surface, one that could only have been man-made.

    ¡°It¡¯s the mist,¡± Garax continued. ¡°It addles our senses. That¡¯s the ¡®shadow that leaks from broken stone¡¯, and I suspect it only grows worse in the city proper.¡±

    ¡°We need to find Ein and Rhinne,¡± Talberon said. ¡°I need a place to visit Astreal, somewhere away from danger.¡±

    ¡°Some of the rope back in the mines would have been useful,¡± Aeos said. ¡°It¡¯s too easy to get separated.¡±

    Talberon took out a seed from his pocket and breathed onto it. It shuddered and then sprouted into several fine tendrils of green, winding and coiling back upon themselves until a thick rope of vine had formed. He tied it around his waist and then passed it to Aeos and Garax.

    ¡°Good idea,¡± the storyteller said.

    Once the three had tethered themselves, the Druid took out another seed and sang a string of words. The outer shell split and sprouted into a blade of wood, black as ash. He stood still with the sword raised, staring into the murk as if waiting for something.

    Aeos¡¯s experience with Druids and their kind were limited, but he¡¯d read the recounts and seen their power for himself. He swallowed his impatience and waited, looking uneasily into the mist.

    There was a low buzzing sound, like the crackle of electricity in a storm. Then a small shape emerged from the darkness, a hovering sphere the size of a human head with whirling blades keeping it afloat. In the centre of the device was a glass panel with a stone inside¡ªa Celesite crystal. It moved around, up and down and side to side, surveying the trio like a pupil within an eye.

    The sphere watched them for a moment. Then, Talberon lashed out with his blade, stabbing it through the core. It fell to the ground in a smoking heap, wing-blades whirling to a halt, lights dimming. There was a loud bang as the Celesite crystal shattered, spraying clear fragments everywhere. The mist engulfed them without a sound.

    Somewhere deep in the building, something began to stir.

    ¡°The Master has awakened,¡± said Talberon.

 41. Courage

    Chapter Forty-One: Courage

    ¡°Courage can come from the most unexpected of places.¡±

    ¡ªDalan Kelethar, Thirteenth General of the Legion

    Jezelle was surprised when Bran accepted the job without complaint.

    ¡°Are you sure about this?¡± she asked, pinching her nose against the overpowering smell of horse manure. ¡°I¡¯d be happy to have you work some of the other tasks if you want. Gods know you¡¯ll probably finish them in half the time.¡± The warden was surprisingly considerate this morning. Perhaps she¡¯d finally decided she¡¯d worked him hard enough.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°I mean, yes Warden. I¡¯ve seen dead bodies before so I should be fine.¡±

    Jezelle paused for a moment. ¡°You?¡± She looked him up and down, from his patched trousers to the bits of hay sticking out of his hair. ¡°Well I won¡¯t pry any further, but if you insist. Those are some pretty mangled up corpses you¡¯ll be handling. If you ever change your mind, just let me know.¡±

    ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll get onto it right away.¡±

    Bran dumped the shovelful of manure into the bucket and handed it to the runner boy who was taking over. He then climbed onto the wagon behind the warden as they rode out of the barracks to the city.

    He¡¯d only been working for three days, but it already felt like he¡¯d been a runner boy for his entire life. He¡¯d learned the names of everyone in his bunker¡ªthe bespectacled Kaev and Harren the Wall, Sagg Longlegs and Adit the dark-skinned boy from the east, Brian One-eye and the pervert Leon, and mild-mannered Sam with a voice like honey. Half of them were off running duties across the Keep while the other half had been conscripted into what the Legionnaires liked to call the ¡®cleanup crew.¡¯

    Harren, Sam and Adit were with him now, stewing in anticipation as they rolled down the hill through Aldoran. It was just another day with the Soulforge chugging black smog into the air and the crimson red-leafs of the city swaying in the morning wind. There were two more wagons behind them with four runner boys each, totalling twelve in all. An unusually high number, but then again these were unusual circumstances.

    After all, the relicts had finally made their move.

    As the caravan drove past the gates, Sam took out his lute and began to sing. He had been a bard once, wandering from city to city with his parents before they¡¯d been killed by bandits during the Great Winter. Having lost his wanderlust he¡¯d decided to settle down in the safest place he could, even if it meant joining the Legion in one of the dirtiest, toughest and most underpaid jobs there was. His voice cast an eerie thrill across the landscape.

    Red as roses do they lie,

    Battered, broken, ¡®neath the sky.

    Wiggling, waggling, writhing worms

    Wait in hunger for their turns.

    Innards spilt across the floor

    Black and blue, a gross decor

    Why do ravens come and fly

    To pluck these flowers as they die?

    Sam drifted off into silence as they passed the war camp. It was a small gathering of tents and a large medical station by the side of a ford, where the Arrien began to widen into the sea. Tall, proud Aldoran was behind them, watching over copses of elderbark trees and acres of rippling grass.

    The soldiers stared at the boys as they passed, nursing their wounds through blood-soaked bandages, guzzling down flasks of water. They had a haunting look about them, ash white faces staring into the distance, shadows under their eyes that spoke of no sleep. A battle had taken place here, one that many were still reliving.

    At last, they reached the place where black met green¡ªwhere the grass ended and the Blight began. There was a great pit in the dead soil lined with hot coals at the base, still smoking with sweltering heat. A beaten soldier met the Warden by its edge.

    ¡°We¡¯ve burned them,¡± he said, and his voice oozed with nothing but hatred. ¡°Burned them all, scorched their flesh, heated their bones until they cracked. They won¡¯t be coming back any time soon.¡±

    Jezelle nodded and looked out past the pit to where the bodies lay. ¡°And how many were lost?¡±

    The man closed his eyes. ¡°Too many. They came at us in the dead of the night, the howling wolfmen riding their horned steeds. There were three lionmen with them, creatures of blood and blade, each the equal of ten men. We were not prepared.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± She waved to the drivers of the second and third carriages. ¡°Send the boys out! We have a lot of work to do.¡± And then back to the soldier: ¡°The High King passes his condolences. A fresh unit will be here by the day¡¯s end, and they will have a Kingsblade with them.¡±

    As Bran and the others were ushered out to the battlefield, he couldn¡¯t help but overhear the rest of the conversation.

    ¡°They cannot be stopped, Warden. Mark my words. We stand no chance, even if we hole up in the city and let them come to us. They are not bound by the laws of this world.¡±

    ¡°Gather your men and rest,¡± she said. ¡°You have done well. It is not my place to comment, but I have complete faith in my King.¡±

    The soldier shook his head and walked away, muttering to himself.

    The group of Legionnaires had been stationed out by the ford to watch the enemy. Some time during the night the relicts had flanked them and launched a surprise attack, nearly wiping out the entire camp. The soldiers had won by the skin of their teeth. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    That was all Jezelle had told them. They didn¡¯t need to know any more; their job as the ¡®cleanup crew¡¯ was to gather the bodies and help set up the camp for replacements.

    Crows circled boldly above, diving into the bodies and digging into flesh. The first corpse Bran found was a man who¡¯d been slashed through the abdomen. His insides spilled across the ground like lifeless snakes, his blood leaking out in a wide pool around him. Sam threw up. Even dark Adit had grown pale.

    They really are like roses, Bran thought. The bits and pieces of rent armour were the thorns, the innards the roots, the blood the petals. There were blowflies flitting about the bodies like bees, pollinating them with their eggs, the hatched maggots teeming like a living carpet. The smell was dizzying, like that time his father had forgotten about an animal they¡¯d slaughtered and left it in the basement until it began to rot. Bran knew he was supposed to be sick, pale, throwing up his breakfast like Sam, but he felt nothing.

    After all, this wasn''t anything new. He¡¯d seen Bloodmanes kill. He¡¯d seen Worgals cannibalize each other. He¡¯d seen men fall to relicts, ripped to shreds, bones snapped, organs burst like overripe fruit.

    ¡°Come. Help move.¡± Harren was also unaffected. The big man looked like he¡¯d lived through some hard times in his life. They didn¡¯t call him the Wall because he was big, though that was part of the reason. They¡¯d given him his name because they never knew what he was thinking, just like a brick wall.

    Bran nodded, and together they began dragging the corpse back to the wagon.

    Their work took them late into the afternoon, though they never ventured far into the Blight. The majority of the fighting had happened about a hundred paces from the border, where the canal widened towards the Arrien and the sea. The bodies tended to be in clusters of tens and twenties, men and the occasional woman in mangled piles of flesh and bones and steel. The others got over their initial shock soon enough. With the warden shouting at them from the camp and the bodies slowly festering away, it was in their best interest to get the job done as quickly as possible and return to the safety of the city walls. Bran and Harren did most of the work, prying apart disfigured limbs, tearing swords from bodies, finding identification tags when they could. At first it was unsettling, feeling the touch of cold flesh and dried blood, the way the bodies lolled their heads when they were moved, the various pops and cracks that came from their bones and bowels as gases erupted in vile spurts. However, Bran adapted quickly enough, and before long he was lost in the blissful embrace of mindless labour.

    The last rays of the sun had just sunk beneath the horizon when they reached the final pile of corpses. It was the biggest one yet, with what Bran guessed to be more than two dozen in total lying stacked atop the Blighted soil. A Bloodmane had fought here, maybe even two. He recognized the savagery in which the bodies had been slashed up, left to bleed in a river of blood. Sam fell to his knees once more, retching, though nothing came out.

    ¡°Anturia watch over,¡± Harren murmured, patting him on the back. Bran circled around the pile to find a place to begin, and that was when the corpse moved.

    It was the one directly beside Sam¡¯s head, the shredded body of half a spearman. Sam screamed as it rolled off the pile and onto the ground, revealing a head underneath with a shaggy mane drenched in blood. Eyes blinked and saw. A scarred snout sniffed the air, cruel lips pulling back into a snarl.

    The Bloodmane roared and clawed its way out from under the mountain of corpses, breathing heavily. Harren dragged the petrified Sam back, his brow lowered, his gaze unwavering.

    ¡°Blood,¡± the relict breathed. Bran realized his knees were knocking together. It was just like that time he¡¯d been stuck in the burning building, when the relicts had attacked Felhaven. It was happening again. It was happening again, and Ein wasn¡¯t here to save him.

    The Bloodmane climbed out into the open air, treading over corpses with disregard. Its tawny fur was scarlet with blood, one of its arms severed at the elbow. Three spears pierced its chest and a longsword stuck out from its thigh, yet it continued to move with frightening purpose.

    In its good hand was its boneblade, long and serrated, brown with crusted blood. It raised the blade and brought it down in a lazy motion. Harren yanked Sam backwards, a gasp escaping his teeth as the blade drew blood from his calf. A wave of dizziness passed through Bran at the sight of more red. He suddenly felt sick.

    Gods, really? he thought. He¡¯d felt nothing for all the dead soldiers he¡¯d come across, yet at the first sign of danger he was ready to puke his guts out. Before he knew it, he was crying out for help.

    The warden and the other soldiers must have heard him, for they¡¯d suddenly burst into a flurry of activity. Shouts and cries rang across the edge of the camp as people armoured up and equipped themselves. Bran wasn¡¯t the only one who was scared. The Legionnaires were too, looking around uncertainly at each other, none of them willing to be first into the fray.

    Do something. Do something, god damn it!

    He clawed at his thighs and felt his nails draw blood. The pain seemed to wake him up. Looking around, he grabbed the first thing he saw¡ªthe bow of a fallen soldier. It was a familiar sensation, a familiar weight in his hands.

    Ahead of him Sam was scrambling away, sprinting for his across the bloody battlefield. Harren was wrestling with the relict, trying to pin it down with his enormous body, but the Bloodmane refused to submit. Blood trickled from the big man¡¯s hands where the claws bit into him. His face was a mask of determination.

    I can¡¯t shoot, Bran thought, taking three arrows from a quiver on the ground. I¡¯ll hit him.

    Then, immediately, he realized something.

    I¡¯m fighting. I¡¯m actually going to fight.

    He felt strangely calm, even as he wet his pants. It was almost like a dream. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe he would blink and find himself fleeing, pelting at full speed across the Blight like Sam had before him.

    All it takes is one decision to set you on the right path.

    ¡°Harren!¡± he cried, and he surprised himself with the loudness of his voice. There was a slight quiver to it, like a tall reed in a river, but it was strong. It was a reed that would not bend to any current.

    Harren saw Bran, saw the bow. He loosed and almighty battlecry and threw the relict off him, diving under cover. Bran drew the string back in one quick motion and released.

    There was a twang that deafened one ear and a distant thud that followed. An arrow sprouted from the Bloodmane¡¯s forehead, emerging from the other end in a sprinkling of blood. The creature turned away from Harren, eyeing Bran hungrily. It brought a hand to the shaft and tried to pull it out, but it had embedded itself too deeply.

    Bran loosed another arrow and this one pierced through its arm, pinning it in place. The relict roared in pain as blood began streaming down its face, blinding it. It ripped away its hand, leaving behind a chunk of flesh on its forehead and charged like a maddened bull.

    Bran didn¡¯t move from his spot. He was rooted; his feet refused to budge. All he could do was nock another arrow, draw, aim and fire.

    The third arrow landed in the Bloodmane¡¯s chest. Bran was surprised; all three arrows had hit their mark despite how hard he¡¯d been shaking, despite how slippery his hands were with sweat. The creature staggered from the force of the blow, its movements growing more sluggish. The light in its eyes was dying. It fell to all fours, dropping its blade, still moving.

    Then, it planted its face into the ground and stopped. Blood oozed across the ground, black as ink. No matter how resilient a relict was, it couldn¡¯t live if all the blood had been drained from its body.

    Bran exhaled, his arms falling to his side. His thighs stung from where his piss had leaked into the open wounds. All he could see was the Bloodmane lying dead on the ground and Harren limping towards him with tears in his eyes. He heard the roar of the wind in his ears, the sound of steel as soldiers raced to his position with burning torches and pouches of salt in their hands. He felt the warden shake him, but he didn¡¯t hear what she said.

    It took a while before he realized what he¡¯d just done. By then the Bloodmane¡¯s corpse was far away, in the flaming pit along with everyone else.

    Alone on the empty battlefield, Bran pulled himself up from his knees and laughed. It was a laugh of relief, almost a sob.

 42. The City of Sorrows

    Chapter Forty-Two: The City of Sorrows

    ¡°What was there before Wyd?

    ¡°Some say there was nothing; just an empty void. Some say there were the stars, and Wyd simply raised the land and the seas.

    ¡°Me? I think there was an entire history before our almighty Creator came to be. Perhaps gods and races had already come and gone, and Wyd simply grew new life from the ruins of the old.¡±

    ¡ªKirin Wright, Religions of Faengard

    They somehow avoided running into any more of the constructs, or the ¡®Steel Guardians¡¯ as Rhinne had started calling them. The corridors eventually gave way to open ground.

    Tall, rectangular buildings stretched towards the sky in the haze, their tips hidden by the mist. They were made from some kind of grey stone Ein had never seen before. It was too flat and smooth to be carved from one piece, yet it lacked the cracks and seams that came from joining multiple bricks together.

    ¡°Do you have any idea where they might be?¡± Ein asked.

    Rhinne gave a start. She¡¯d been on edge since their encounter with the Steel Guardian. ¡°I know as much about this place as you do.¡± She stared ahead into the gloom. ¡°I can see through the mist, though. I¡¯ll let you know if I notice anything dangerous.¡±

    Ein nodded. They continued walking down the road, taking quick but careful steps, staying in the shadows of the buildings. The dweor city was like a dark mirror to Aldoran. Several of the larger structures had collapsed upon themselves, revealing living quarters decorated with mountains of rubble and debris. Steel pipes and wires stuck out like maggots in flesh. Dark green growth crept up along the walls, seeping from the great cracks that split them asunder.

    The city was broken, as if the wrath of the gods had come down upon it and then left it for Anturia to reclaim. There were crumpled steel carriages, rusted hunks of coloured metal that rested along the sides of the road with rubber-rimmed wheels. There were street lamps that stretched high into the sky, thin cords running between the poles. There were shops with brightly packaged food, metal implements and more of the black screens they¡¯d seen in the sentry bunker. Everything in the city was made of either steel or seamless grey stone.

    They passed an enormous statue of Zaxiem, a short, stout figure hidden beneath a hood. At his feet was an open treasure chest depicting gold and gems. The statue alone remained untouched, while every other statue they¡¯d come across had been hammered to the ground and left to deteriorate.

    ¡°Ein,¡± Rhinne called. She pulled him to one side and they ducked behind Zaxiem¡¯s legs. ¡°I see something in the distance.¡±

    A piercing ray of light shone through the mist, sweeping over the spot they¡¯d just been standing. It continued its arc, tracing the road like a lighthouse beam before disappearing into the darkness.

    ¡°What was that?¡± Ein whispered.

    Rhinne brought a finger to her lips, still peering around the side of the statue. A moment later, a hovering sphere flew past them, heading down the road from where they¡¯d come. Three whirling blades kept it afloat. It stopped midway, shining the light from its Celesite core into one of the side streets, and then continued on its way.

    Rhinne allowed herself to breathe again.

    ¡°There are more of them out there,¡± she said. ¡°Floating eyes. But whose eyes are they?¡±

    Ein stepped out from behind the shadow, looking into the mist. He was beginning to feel nauseous.

    ¡°Rhinne. Is it just me, or is it getting hard to breathe?¡±

    He felt like there was weight pressing down on his lungs, stopping them from expanding to their full capacity. The sensation worsened every time his heart rate increased.

    ¡°It must be the mist,¡± she said, her eyes narrowing. ¡°It isn¡¯t¡­ clean.¡± She looked around. ¡°Let¡¯s take shelter in one of the buildings. I think they keep the mist out.¡±

    Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed his hand and led him towards one of the store fronts. The door was locked but the window had been shattered, so she kicked away the stray shards of glass and hauled him inside. Ein drew a deep breath, feeling the cloudiness clear from his mind.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± he breathed, slumping on a plastic crate on the ground.

    ¡°It¡¯s not safe to be out there,¡± the dragonoid said softly. She knelt down before him. ¡°Are you crying?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± Ein brought a hand to his eye and realized it was wet. ¡°It¡¯s not what you think it is.¡± He snapped his head toward the window. ¡°A place where widows cry¡­ I think it¡¯s the mist, Rhinne. I can¡¯t think straight when I¡¯ve been in it for too long, and my eyes feel irritated.¡±

    ¡°I understand. I don¡¯t mean to rush you, but we don¡¯t have many supplies left.¡±

    Ein nodded, wiping his eyes. ¡°We¡¯ll get moving soon. Just give me a moment.¡±

    Rhinne stood up and began inspecting their surroundings. The store had been pillaged, the contents of its shelves long gone save the odd tin can or foil packet. Rhinne picked one of cans up, holding it to the light. The labels were faded away, the runes etched upon them unreadable. She sniffed it tentatively.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think we should eat anything from here,¡± Ein said half-jokingly.

    Rhinne scowled. ¡°I know that.¡± She shook it and listened, then replaced it on the shelf. After that, she made her way to the front counter where a metal contraption sat. Ein heard the jingle of coins as she reached in and drew out a handful, inspecting them one by one. They were of different sizes and thicknesses, with the thinnest as slim as a fingernail. There were also notes with faded pictures of men and women.

    Something else caught her eye, and she replaced the currency. There was a wire stand next to the counter with several thin booklets on display, their pages bound together by metal wire. She opened one of the booklets carefully, blowing the dust away. They crinkled as she flipped through, scanning through the foreign etchings.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think Mor¡¯Gravar belonged to the dweor,¡± she said at last, closing the book.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Ein stood up, his head clear again.

    ¡°The pictures on the notes and in the books. They look just like us, though obviously dressed differently.¡± She held one of them up to an open page. There was a faded picture of a woman upon it, smiling. Ein held his breath. He¡¯d never seen a portrait so realistic¡ªit was like reality had been captured and printed onto paper.

    ¡°The dweor were small folk,¡± Rhinne continued. ¡°They had horns and brown skin. There are some us who still remember them from before their disappearance.¡± She gestured at the shop. ¡°This doesn¡¯t look like a place designed for the dweor. The door handles are too tall; the shelves and the counter as well. It¡¯s almost as if¡­ as if the city was occupied before the dweor found it. In the Age before Ages. The Age before Wyd created the world.¡±

    The idea was a daunting one. Ein couldn¡¯t imagine a world before the Creator. What must it have been like? What existed before the Almighty?

    ¡°If that¡¯s true¡­¡± he said slowly, ¡°then the Master that reclaimed Mor¡¯Gravar is something far older than we thought.¡±

    Rhinne suddenly dropped the booklet, tilting her head to one side. Then, she turned her head to the corner of the ceiling. There was an orb mounted there, a small red core of Celesite pulsing in its centre. An Eye.

    She lashed out without warning, vaulting off one of the shelves and stabbing it. Glass shattered and the core dropped onto the ground, the light fading away. She turned back to look at Ein. Understanding dawned upon him.

    Moments later, something whirred outside. Multiple somethings. Footsteps moved towards them, trudging through the mist.

    #

    Talberon ducked into one of the abandoned buildings at the first chance he had, taking Garax and Aeos with him. The makeshift rope he¡¯d sang to life was still around their waists, preventing them from straying too far.

    ¡°We should be safe here, at least for a while,¡± the Druid said, passing a brief glance across the ceiling. ¡°I see no Eyes. We¡¯re in one of the few blind spots in the city.¡±

    They¡¯d taken shelter in an old restaurant, a dilapidated single-storey building wedged in one of the back-alleys of Mor¡¯Gravar. Part of the wall had caved in, revealing a section of the shop next door. Tables and chairs lay strewn across the ground, interspersed with large chunks of rubble and shattered glass.

    Aeos leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. His head felt dangerously light, and when he brought a hand to his forehead he found tears in his eyes. Talberon tapped him on the shoulder and handed him what looked like a handkerchief grown from a patch of moss.

    ¡°Breathe through this,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯ll filter out the mist. That¡¯s what¡¯s causing the dizziness.¡±

    ¡°A deadly combination,¡± Garax murmured. ¡°With eyes everywhere and air that kills, it¡¯s no small wonder the city¡¯s remained untamed for so long. Whatever controls this place doesn¡¯t welcome strangers.¡±

    Talberon took a moss gauze for himself and took a few deep breaths. Then, he pushed a pile of tables in front of the door, barricading it.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have any supplies,¡± Garax cursed. ¡°We left them back in the bunker with Ein and Rhinne.¡±

    ¡°They would have gone looking for us by now,¡± the Druid muttered. ¡°We have to find them, before something else does.¡±

    ¡°Just what exactly is this ¡®Master?¡¯¡± Aeos growled. ¡°What does it want?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an entity,¡± the storyteller said. ¡°An ancient being, perhaps as old as the gods, though from a world completely different to ours. It ruled the city before the dweor found it, and now that they¡¯re gone, it¡¯s back.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for telling me what I already knew.¡±

    ¡°You think I know everything, boy?¡± Garax snapped. Then, he drew a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯d say it¡¯s magic, of a sort. Not Songweaving, but something older. Something that belongs to the Age before Ages. All these Eyes we see and those metal golems we sneaked past back in the sentry bunker, they all run on Celesite. I¡¯d guess that the Master is the same. Somewhere around here is a giant Spirit Font that powers, or powered the entirety of Mor¡¯Gravar.¡±

    ¡°Garax,¡± Talberon said. ¡°Keep a lookout while I enter Astreal. Make sure our albino Prince doesn¡¯t do anything rash.¡± He propped his wooden sword against the wall and sat down, closing his eyes.

    ¡°Here we are, deep beneath the earth being hunted by an enemy we can¡¯t see, and the wizard takes a nap,¡± Aeos said. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    As he breathed through the moss again, he wondered how his father would react upon news of his death.

    Not as grievously as he did for my brother, that¡¯s for sure.

    #

    Talberon flew free from his body, surveying the void from above. It was quieter here, dimmer, like a pond under a moonless night. He was far away from the overworld and its distractions, far away from the Faceless and the Apocalypse Knights that lurked around every corner. He was in a place Al¡¯Ashar had no power over; a place where the Oathbreaker could watch and exert his presence, but not touch.

    He lowered himself deeper into concentration, extending the reach of his mind. He was like a tree, spreading its roots across Astreal, probing, touching any and all things that shone. He touched upon rodents in the dark and burrowing boreworms. He touched upon beetles and other mites of the earth. He touched upon the roots and saplings that lay deep below the ground, clusters of moss and fungi that decorated the caves. In the absence of the Forsaken One, he had free reign over the Spirit realm.

    He hovered in the air, searching. He tried to see past the shining lights that were Garax and Aeos. Where was Ein and the dragon girl?

    Protect him with your life, Morene had said. One simple task he¡¯d been given. Talberon drew a metaphysical breath. Focus. Losing one¡¯s focus in Astreal was incredibly dangerous.

    He lowered himself further still, like a dead stone plunging into the silent depths. Where were they?

    Then it hit him.

    Like a monster from the depths, writhing, clawing, thrashing. It slapped him out of the air, dragging him deeper still. Talberon cried out and struggled, flapping his wings, kicking, clawing, biting at the invisible tendrils. He lowered the barriers in his mind, slammed shut the stone gates, but the thing slid a limb in between and pried them open. He was drowning. The wind was tearing at his body, wearing it away as his mind split threefold. He Saw something, briefly¡ªwhat looked like a chair made of metal, surrounded by panels and panels of screens and buttons. On the screens were views of the entire city, all its rooms, all the dark streets and alleyways. The chair was empty, yet there was something there. Something was connected to the Eyes. Something controlled the Steel Guardians. An ancient spirit that lived inside all the metal devices and the circuit-covered boards, one that controlled the lights in the city, the doors, the heating and cooling units, anything that had Celesite inside it.

    Their minds touched. He understood. This was the Master that ruled from the throne of steel, a hive mind that would preserve itself to the bitter end. Talberon let out a weak sigh and allowed the darkness to embrace him.

    #

    The Druid had begun to scream about an hour into his rest. It was a soul-wrenching scream, one that sang of wilting flowers and crumbling trees. It was the breath of autumn, a shattering of glass, a withering of life into a blackened husk. The mould that leeched off the walls went black. The ivy winding its way up the streetlamp outside became dust. The moss bleeding from cracks in the ceiling fell off in dry clumps.

    Garax and Aeos rushed to his side, but it was too late. Vines erupted from the ground, wrapping themselves around the Druid, sealing him in a cocoon. His eyes remained wide open all the way, rolled into the back of his head. He screamed and screamed until his voice was raw, and continued to scream until at last the vegetation covered him completely. Then, he became silent.

    ¡°What the hell is happening?¡± Aeos cried.

    Garax grabbed the mass of vines and shook it. There was no response. Something red lit the mist outside, a blaring siren. An alarm. Hovering Eyes zoomed from the darkness, wing-blades shining, searchlights sweeping.

    ¡°Blast,¡± said the storyteller. ¡°Wyd help me. Zaxiem below, save our souls.¡± He drew his Darksteel sword and hacked at the cocoon with a strong grip. A chunk of green fell away, hard and brittle like a shell. The cocoon of vines had solidified into a tough casing, sealing the Druid from the rest of the world.

    ¡°Let¡¯s grab him and go,¡± Aeos yelled. Shambling humanoids stumbled from the mist outside, armcannons raised. He ducked as they sprayed pellets over his head, destroying the counter behind him. They were everywhere, the golems of glass and steel, creeping from within the crumbled buildings, behind the metal carriages, out of the yawning alleyways.

    ¡°To Hellheim with this,¡± Garax spat, and chopped at the casing with all his might. The green shell cracked in two. Inside was a small sparrow lying on its side, its chest rising and falling with the faintest of movements.

    Garax scooped it up, just as the barricaded door burst apart in a cloud of smoke and splinters. ¡°Run, boy!¡± he cried, waving with the stump of his hand. ¡°Don¡¯t let them hit you!¡±

    Aeos readied his spear and ducked through the hole in the wall to the shop next door. Garax followed, and the two scrambled through out the back exit and into the mist.

    ¡°Which way do we go?¡± he cried.

    ¡°Anywhere, damn it,¡± came the reply. ¡°Just go straight and hope we find something.¡±

    There were Eyes everywhere, dark shapes hurtling out of the grey, watching them with their floodlights. The Steel Guardians followed, arms flashing orange as they fired their cannons. Smoke filled Aeos¡¯s nostrils, sharp and acrid. His ears rang non-stop with the rat-tat-tat of muzzle fire.

    Damn this, the Prince thought. Damn this to Hell.

    He¡¯d imagined finding his death at the hands of an enemy soldier or an assassin, but never anything like this. Never being chased by automatons in a mist-veiled city beneath the earth. He sprinted across the straight roads, breathing through the moss handkerchief whenever he could, the storyteller never far behind. He didn¡¯t have time to wonder how the old man kept up, or why he was seemingly unaffected by the mist. Tears were beginning to stream down his eyes.

    Aeos had never really thought much of life, having been born with a different appearance and circumstances to everyone else. He was used to being spurned, being told he was worthless, always walking in the shadow of someone greater. If no one in the world needed him, then no one would miss him.

    But as he ran, cursing the times he¡¯d skipped his daily training in favour of reading, he thought: What a pity it would be to see all this and never live to tell the tale.

    As that thought flitted through his head, he saw a light in the distance. It wasn¡¯t one of the searchlights or the blinking of a Celesite core. It was a light in his mind, a hazy glow that didn¡¯t belong to this plane, as if he¡¯d opened a third eye and transposed it upon his field of view. It was a lighthouse beam piercing through the darkness, guiding him to port. There was indescribable tugging in his chest, a compulsion. Just as he knew which way was up and which way was down, he knew this was the way he needed to go.

    Aeos ran towards it, and Garax followed.

    #

    Ein and Rhinne fled blindly through the mist in what they hoped was the opposite direction to which they¡¯d come. They charged through the intersections, past the hordes of flying Eyes, enemy fire streaking across the road behind them, the click and whir of gears and machinations never far behind.

    Rhinne swore and spat a huge ball of fire, engulfing one of the spheres in a blaze of red. It spiralled out of control like a puppet with its strings cut loose, crashing into the other machines, setting off a chain of explosions. The two raced up a slope to a section of raised ground, pumping their arms and legs as hard as they could. Tears streamed down Ein¡¯s face. His body was growing sluggish, every movement weighing him down like he was running under a pool of water.

    They stopped to catch their breath at the top of a hill, swatting away at the Eyes and their beams of white light. The hill rose above the entire city, even higher than the mist itself. It was an island sitting atop a sea of silver, surrounded by the tips of tall buildings poking out like tombstones, stretching as far as the eye could see. Ein placed his hands on his knees, coughing and wheezing, drinking in the untainted air.

    ¡°I can see them,¡± Rhinne said, peering out into the distance. ¡°Aeos and Garax!¡±

    ¡°Behind you¡­¡± Ein croaked.

    Rhinne spun around just as one of the Steel Guardians scaled the hill and opened fire. She threw herself in front of Ein, sheltering him with her small body as the pellets hit her, riddling her with sparks and scratches. Lumps of flattened lead flicked across the ground, but when she stood up she was unscathed.

    Once the creature had run out of ammunition, Rhinne charged it and brought it to the ground, screeching flames into its face. She pried open the metal plates in its chest to expose the circuitry within and began tearing it apart, deaf to its mechanical screams. With one final outburst, she sank her teeth into the cords in its neck and wrenched them out with a violent twist of her head. The Steel Guardian stopped moving, the light in its chest winking out of existence.

    By then Ein had recovered enough to stand, though his eyes still stung with tears. Rhinne rushed past him, smelling of smoke and scorched metal.

    ¡°Down the hill,¡± she called out. ¡°Come on, quick!¡±

    Ein steeled himself and raced after her, his feet threatening to give way with each step. It was nothing but the Vow keeping him alive now, giving him the strength and endurance he needed to keep moving. He could feel himself drawing upon something, a source of energy somewhere in the mist, an unseen tether connecting him to his master¡ªto Aeos. The Prince was still alive. He concentrated on it and tugged, feeling it grow stronger, wider. A torrent of Spirit rushed through him and his head cleared, just a bit.

    ¡°This way,¡± Rhinne said, and they swerved around the corner to the edge of a canal. The water was black with dirt and waste from the mines, but it flowed. A Guardian stumbled in front of them and Ein slashed without thinking, cutting it in half. Ahead they heard the sound of fighting, the clash of steel against steel, the heavy thud of footfalls on stone and laboured breathing. Dark shapes took form in the gloom, and then the mist parted and the Prince and the storyteller were there, chased by a swarm of Eyes and two Steel Guardians. Garax shouldered one of them off the footpath and into the canal, where it landed in a sizzling splash. Its warbled cries continued to echo as the water swept it away.

    ¡°Gods above, you¡¯re here,¡± he panted. ¡°Guess that saves us the trouble of finding you.¡±

    A thin rope made of coiling vines bound his waist to the Prince¡¯s. He grabbed Aeos and ducked behind one of the metal carriages. A string of holes riddled it as the remaining Guardian opened fire.

    Ein tackled it to the ground and, mimicking what Rhinne had done before him, thrust his blade deep through the creature¡¯s throat. Screwing his face in exertion, he gave a hard wrench and opened the wound further, breaking cords and wires and other small things. Sparks spilled onto the ground like fiery blood. The air quietened as the Guardian went still. Ein yanked his sword free and stood, panting.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Talberon?¡± he asked.

    Aeos pointed to Garax, who held a frail bundle of fur and feathers in the crook of his bad arm. ¡°He became like that when he tried to find you,¡± he said. ¡°Through Astreal.¡±

    ¡°We should never have split up,¡± Rhinne murmured. The Eyes flitted above their heads, just out of reach. ¡°At least we¡¯re together again. But how the blazes do we get away from this place?¡±

    Something howled in the distance, a mechanical screech that sent shivers down their spine. Lights flickered on and off in the windows and on the streets. Doors slammed open and shut. The metal carriages wailed like mothers over dead children.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been following his Royal Highness here,¡± Garax said. ¡°He seems to have an inkling of an idea where to go.¡±

    ¡°Its this canal,¡± Aeos said. ¡°It holds the key to escaping this place. But I don¡¯t know how.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s moving,¡± Ein said, remembering something Alend had taught him. ¡°That means it has to go somewhere. Maybe outside. All rivers lead to civilisation.¡±

    ¡°I thought that too,¡± the Prince pointed out. ¡°But we¡¯re deep underground. All rivers flow downwards, not upwards.¡±

    ¡°Maybe things work differently here. After what I¡¯ve seen, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised.¡± Garax smiled grimly.

    Aeos bit his lip. ¡°Fine. Zaxiem be damned, I don¡¯t want to stay here a moment longer. Let¡¯s do it.¡± And without waiting, he dove into the canal. The rope around his waist grew taut and then Garax jumped as well, hugging the injured sparrow to his chest.

    It would be nice if Evaine were here, Ein thought. He wondered if things would be any different if he¡¯d learned to wield his Soulsong like her. Then, Rhinne shoved him from behind and his world was enveloped by the loud gushing of wastewater and thick, inky blackness seeping across his vision. Cold seeped deep into his bone.

    He thrust his head above the surface, gasping. The current was moving surprisingly fast, almost as it were being pumped by some unseen force beneath them. They entered a pitch black tunnel, their sight robbed away, replaced by nothing but moving darkness, numbing cold and the loudness of water. The Eyes didn¡¯t chase them; nor did the mist.

    Somewhere ahead of them, Garax called out.

    ¡°Ein! Rhinne! Grab onto the rope and don¡¯t let go!¡±

    What rope? Ein wanted to scream in frustration. He swept at the water with his arms, trying to feel for something¡ªanything¡ªbut without light, it was pointless. Then someone barrelled into him, a small body, and he felt a rope being squeezed into his hand. It was Rhinne.

    They twisted and turned as the tunnel narrowed into a giant pipeline, growing faster, angrier. Ein and Rhinne were sucked along, banged and bruised against the walls, tumbling and turning, ducking in and out of the water. Ein kept a deathgrip on the rope with one hand and Rhinne¡¯s wrist with the other.

    Then the water spat them into a pocket of calm. He flailed in the darkness, following the sounds of Aeos and Garax as they coughed and spluttered, regaining their breath. There was enough time for him to wind the rope a few times around his arm, to strain against the water and maybe reunite with the others¡ª

    The water rumbled.

    It creaked and groaned. Bubbles burst around them, frothing and churning. There was a feeling of apprehension, like a bottle of sparkling wine shaken and then uncorked, like a fork of lightning had flickered and they were waiting for the crash to follow. Ein closed his eyes, and the thunder came.

    It deafened him, a great roar that bounced around the walls of the well, black and frenzied. The waterline lowered an inch, like the drawing of a deep breath, and then it erupted.

    It rammed into them from underneath, fast, hard, unyielding, expunging. Ein felt his insides lurch as he hurtled upwards, swept by the geyser of water. Up became down and then up again as he lost control of his body and his bearings, falling completely at the mercy of the unseen force. His eardrums tightened and burst as he continued to rise, higher and higher, his blood frothing in his veins, his eyes rolling back into his skull. He lost sensation of everything else around him. There was just the water, his flailing body, and the small spot of light above him that was growing larger and larger. A patch of grey daylight, a tongue of cool air that licked his cheek.

    The mountain expelled him and he knew no more.

 43. Paradise Lost

    Chapter Forty-Three: Paradise Lost

    ¡°If only I knew as a child what I know now.¡±

    ¡ªAedrasil, Protector of Man

    Evaine was dreaming about the man with the seaweed-coloured hair again.

    In her dream she was back along the Brackenburg, in the dreaded cavern where Aren and Herod and the Children of the Wind lay in pieces around her. Draurig danced by her ankles, splashing through the water, singing songs with its nasal voice.

    Her dreams had been growing more frequent ever since she¡¯d taken up instruction at the Clock Tower, forced to use her Soulsong over and over until her throat was hoarse. She¡¯d never forgotten what happened in that grotto, the day she¡¯d found the entire troupe dead, the day she¡¯d almost been swallowed by the creature known only as ¡®Graendal.¡¯ It had taken almost a week for the nightmares to stop and for her to go back to her normal self.

    But now they were back, and more vivid than ever.

    She felt her voice well in her throat as the next phase played out in her mind. Draurig turned on her, gripping her ankles with its clammy hands, pulling at her dress, dragging her into the water. More hands appeared, white and sickly from the depths, grabbing her by the wrists, by the hair, submerging her.

    She sank deeper and deeper, her lungs burning. Bubbles escaped her lips. She grew faint, dizzy and heavy all at once, thrashing at the river children until, finally, the man appeared.

    He was just as he always was, sun-tanned skin and angular features, limp hair like seaweed running down his neck. He opened his mouth and, even though they were underwater, she heard him sing. Thin lines rushed through the darkness and cleaved the hands. She saw the water clear, felt it grow thinner until it was as light as air.

    Evaine opened her eyes and found herself kneeling atop a silver pond, watching ripples dance across its surface. Beneath her was the man, staring from a realm that mirrored her own, taking the place of her reflection. He was handsome in a rugged kind of way, the way Aren had beenwas, the way Ein and Bran weren¡¯t.

    ¡°Fateweaver,¡± he greeted, breaking into a wide smile. ¡°It is good to see you.¡± His voice was heavy with accent, though she couldn¡¯t quite pick out where from.

    ¡°What are you?¡± Evaine asked.

    ¡°I am your Wyrd,¡± he responded. ¡°The Lord of the River. I am a part of you, as you are a part of me. I am your sword and shield.¡±

    Wyrd, Evaine thought. My Soulsong taken form.

    She¡¯d heard about Ein¡¯s Wyrd during their travels, albeit briefly. The Lady of the Storm, the Stormdancer, Reyalin the Lightning Blade. A Hero of Faengard who¡¯d had such a large influence over the Winds of Fate that she¡¯d transcended time, summoned to the Hall of Heroes to be reborn again and again. Each rebirth saw a new vessel, a new string of stories and legends left behind in her wake. This man, the Lord of the River, was like her.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± she asked.

    The man laughed. ¡°Ah, to think you had known me for your whole life and yet you still know not my name. I have been watching over you for a long time, child.¡±

    It was the longest conversation they¡¯d ever had. Usually her dreams ended within the first few words, but this time was different. The more he spoke, the stronger the sense of familiarity she felt. He was right; she did know him. But from where? From when?

    ¡°You are learning, child. You are growing, like the trickling that widens into the stream and the roaring river. Very soon, you will find out what you are truly capable of, and you will act out your role.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand. Aren¡¯t I¡¯m doing that already? I¡¯ve joined the Legion to fight the relicts, haven¡¯t I? I¡¯m learning magic!¡±

    ¡°Oh no.¡± The man chuckled. ¡°Not yet¡ªfar from it. Soon, child. We watch you, myself and the other legends from the Hall of Heroes. Yours will be the final battle to the cycle, the battle to end all battles and begin the world anew. The Oathbreaker stirs, and with him his servants. The Faceless and the relicts, the Aldereich and the Apocalypse Knights, they are rouse from their short-lived slumbers. But they are not alone, for we, the Heroes of Faengard, are reborn. As a Fateweaver, you hold our power in your hands.¡±

    He reached out to her.

    ¡°The Heroes of Faengard will ride again. Let the sun rise, and the world be reborn through the ashes of war.¡±

    The man¡¯s hand broke the water, entering her realm. With a gentle tap, it left a mark on her forehead.

    A flood of energy rushed through Evaine, a waterfall crashing down the mountain. She was a pebble at the mercy of the raging river. The blood in her veins quickened, sweat leaking from her body. Tears sprung from her eyes, followed by memories¡ªof quiet baths down by the Brackenburg, swimming lessons with her mother, trips to the riverbank to search for mudcrabs. Water lapping at her ankles as she watched the fish weave patterns through the rocks. Splashing Bran and Ein as they played by the shoreline in the summer heat. Loud complaints as her father fished, waiting for a nibble.

    When the flood of memories stopped, the man was gone. She was kneeling alone atop the pool, staring into her own reflection. Her heart thumped in her ears, flooding her veins with raw power.

    The man with the seaweed-coloured hair had disappeared without leaving his name. But she recognized him. He¡¯d indeed been by her side from the day she was born.

    His name was Brackenburg, and he was the Lord of the River.

    #

    That very morning, Evaine graduated from the rank of Novice.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get full of yourself,¡± Kedryn said. ¡°You¡¯ve still got a ways to go in terms of controlling your Soulsong. But we need more hands, and the fastest way to get them is to promote those we already have.¡±

    The Minstrel took her through the barracks to one of the infirmaries. The common rooms were nigh empty, most of the soldiers away on patrol or training. Coals glowed dimly in the fireplace, the guard following their every move from behind his desk as they walked past.

    The smell of stale flesh and copper hit Evaine as she entered the room. Rows of beds lined either side of the wall with men and women atop them, bandages around their heads and bodies, limbs bound to splints. Flesh wounds and broken bones formed the majority of injuries, though there was one man who had a nasty rash spreading down his chest. All around them rushed the healers and medics, white-robed figures with pens and notepads boiling linen and salves, offering words of comfort and advice to those in need.

    Kedryn took Evaine to where a woman lay with her face contorted in pain, a gaping arrow-hole in her thigh. The medics were binding her leg tightly with cloth as blood continued to ooze.

    ¡°Minstrel Kedryn,¡± one of them exclaimed, as she mixed a salve in a mortar and pestle. ¡°What a pleasant surprise.¡±

    ¡°Good morning,¡± the Minstrel said. ¡°How fares the patient?¡±

    ¡°Not well, I¡¯m afraid.¡± The medic shook her head. ¡°Her wound clots too slowly. We fear death by blood loss.¡±

    ¡°Gods be damned,¡± the bedridden soldier rasped. ¡°To die of a pinprick wound of all things¡­¡± She squeezed her eyes shut as another wave of pain racked through her leg.

    ¡°Is there anything you can do, Minstrel?¡± the medic asked.

    ¡°Nothing that hasn¡¯t already been done, no,¡± Kedryn said, ¡°unless you need an extra set of arms on the pestle. But I have with me a young talent, the Journeyman Evaine, who wields the essence of water.¡± Evaine resisted the urge to brag about the true nature of her Soulsong. ¡°She is still inexperienced and incredibly naive, but perhaps she can help.¡±

    The medic¡¯s eyes brightened. ¡°That would be very kind of you, Journeyman,¡± she addressed Evaine. ¡°Sisters, let us give the two some privacy. Perhaps they can work some magic for us.¡±

    The other medics nodded and filtered away from the injured soldier¡¯s bedside, moving to other patients. Kedryn took her place before one of the basins of water.

    ¡°Come closer, Journeyman, so I do not have to shout.¡± The big woman was more reserved, respectful even, as she gazed at the bloody mess before her. Sensing the mood, Evaine quietly obeyed.

    ¡°You are incredibly lucky to be gifted with the aspect of water,¡± Kedryn said. ¡°It is one of the most versatile elemental Wyrds one can possess, second only to earth. After all, it is water and earth that make up the majority of our bodies¡ªnot fire or wind, or lightning and ice and light and shadow. Fire Wyrds are many; in fact, the King¡¯s army is primarily made of flame-wielders. Fire is hot. It is angry and untameable, and knows naught but destruction.¡±

    She pointed to the injured soldier now, more specifically at her leaking wound.

    ¡°Water is its opposite. Water is cool. It is calm and controlled, and like earth, it can repair. Blood is like water, Journeyman. Anything that flows is like water, and so you can repair it. Water carries the things that make our bodies well, the things that heal it. It carries away waste when we go to the latrines. A man can go for weeks without food but only days without water.¡±

    Kedryn pushed the basin towards Evaine. ¡°I am not a water-wielder, so I cannot teach you exactly how to do this. But I trust in your instincts. Stem the bleeding, Journeyman, and we will fight our own battle against the relicts.¡±

    Evaine swallowed and nodded. She¡¯d thought of the concept herself once before, when she¡¯d seen Alend¡¯s wounds in the house of Lord Drakhorn, but she¡¯d been too weak and unlearned back then. She could barely lift a goblet¡¯s worth of water, let alone manipulate it as if it were blood.

    But she¡¯d spent the past few days filtering salt from seawater, and she was much more confident in her ability. There was that, and also her dream of Brackenburg, which was still fresh in her mind. It was as if a gate had been opened, as if she¡¯d been walking around with weights on her ankles and had finally been allowed to removed them. She sang loudly, clearly, lyrics with no particular meaning that held the essence of water in their timbre. The water in the basin rose effortlessly, and she directed it so it formed a smooth bubble over the bleeding thigh.

    The woman¡¯s grunts of pain lessened, and her eyes rolled slightly into the back of her head. A small breath of relief escaped her lips. Red began to mix into the water, colouring it like a cloud of smoke.

    Evaine concentrated and redirected the blood back into the wound, keeping the bubble pure. The patient¡¯s breathing grew more even as Evaine continued to press, weaving the wound shut as if she were stitching a dress. She thought of baths as she sang, cool, refreshing baths washing summer sweat and grime off her body and hot, steaming baths on winter nights. She thought of the time she¡¯d burned her hand on the stove and her mother had poured cool, running water over it. She thought of those lazy afternoons she¡¯d spent with Bran and Ein, splashing across the riverbank in their bare feet.

    A firm hand on her shoulder stopped her. She looked up and realized the bleeding had stopped. The patient was sleeping peacefully, sweat drying on her forehead, a thin brown spot holding the puncture wound closed.

    ¡°Good,¡± said Kedryn, nodding. ¡°Now let us move on. There are many more that require your service.¡±

    Evaine looked at the clean wound in wonder. It was a strange feeling, to know that it was her power who had saved the woman. Perhaps that was what it meant to be a Fateweaver¡ªone who held influence over the fates of many.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    #

    They sent her out to the war camp the very next day, after she¡¯d spent the entire afternoon treating simple burns and bleeds. Minstrel Kedryn rode with her alongside twelve other Songweavers, mostly Journeymen and Adepts, and a small group of runner boys on a wagon. That would have been well and good had Gerrard not been sent as well.

    ¡°It¡¯s unnerving,¡± the Adept said, riding beside two robed women. ¡°The scouts have reported relict numbers nearly doubling over the past week. Every time a new portal opens, the Blight gains ground on the city.¡±

    That was indeed true. Past the immediate woods and the green grassland, the Blight had steadily begun its conquest up the hill. Evaine could see every small detail as they descended, from the streams of campfire smoke wafting in the distance to the portals, shimmering like slashes of violet upon the black earth.

    ¡°Can¡¯t we just take the fight to them?¡± one of the women asked. She was fair-haired with an airy voice, one that Evaine thought paired well with the inside of her head. ¡°My uncle always says the best defence is offence.¡±

    ¡°They outnumber us by far,¡± Gerrard replied, losing himself in his analysis. ¡°We have supplies of salt and oil which we can use to fuel fires, but we can¡¯t take them on in a frontal assault. The most we can do is hold them by the Arrien, though as you can see we won¡¯t be able to do so for long.¡±

    Even after the High King had bolstered his defences, the skirmish overnight had blown them a tattered hole. The Songweavers were on their way now to perform healing duties and take back the wounded. They had with them five water-wielders of which Evaine was one, three earth-wielders, a time-wielder in Gerrard and five all-rounders including Kedryn who were trained in basic healing arts and surgery. The bulk of the treatment would fall upon the specialists.

    The runner boys, or the ¡®cleanup crew¡¯ as they were known were also there to collect the bodies of the dead. Evaine had studied them all in turn as they boarded the wagon back in Aldoran, but she hadn¡¯t spotted Bran at all.

    ¡°If we can¡¯t win any battles, why even station them in the first place?¡± the woman continued. As airy as she was, Evaine had wondered that same question herself. Why not hole up in the city where it was safer?

    ¡°We hold the higher ground,¡± Gerrard replied. ¡°By keeping them back, we open up trade routes between other towns and cities. Aldoran receives many of its resources from the neighbouring towns like Caerlon and Oster. If we were to surrender the frontier we currently hold, it would allow the relicts to expand even further and possibly threaten other settlements, like Tarinth to the south. Besides, it also gives us more intelligence on how they live and fight. For instance, did you know that every species of relict observed so far has a purpose they are built for?¡±

    Evaine lost interest quickly after that. Her mind began to wander, to thoughts of Ein and her mother and father back in Felhaven. They must have finished rebuilding by now, she thought. I wonder if the village will still look the same.

    It was a useless thought when she remembered she¡¯d never be allowed to return.

    They reached the camp shortly afterwards, funnelling in through the tents to where the infirmary had been set up. It was a bustle of activity, with soldiers both wounded and unwounded moving in and out, doing their part for everyone else. A Kingsblade in Rhinegold armour met them, saluting Kedryn with a mailed glove.

    ¡°How many?¡± the Minstrel asked.

    ¡°Thirty dead,¡± he said. ¡°A further fifteen unaccounted for, probably dead also. And more than a hundred wounded. They¡¯ve been triaged and treated with basic first aid, but we only have so many medics, and there¡¯s not much we can do without healers.¡±

    ¡°Well, you¡¯ve got healers now. Go,¡± Kedryn ordered in her authoritative voice. The Songweavers and the runner boys scattered. Evaine stayed.

    ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡± the Kingsblade asked.

    ¡°My apprentice. She¡¯ll be helping me with the worst of the bunch.¡±

    ¡°Looks a little young to be helping out,¡± he said. He was a kind-faced elderly man, the type Evaine could picture rocking in an armchair by the fire. ¡°Some of the injuries out there aren¡¯t for the faint-hearted.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯ll be fine,¡± Kedryn smiled proudly. ¡°She¡¯s only been working for six days, but I¡¯ve already shaped her into a fine Songweaver.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°I suppose the young can¡¯t be underestimated these days. Why, just the other day we had a runner boy slay a Bloodmane.¡±

    At that Evaine perked up.

    ¡°For real?¡± Kedryn asked. ¡°One of them lion-men relicts, the ones that give you so much trouble?¡±

    ¡°Aye. It was a straggler from the skirmish three nights ago left forgotten under a mound of corpses. Lad finished him off with a couple of well-aimed shots. We¡¯ve got him at the camp now as a scout¡ªcan¡¯t let that talent and bravery go to waste. He¡¯s a young ¡®un, too. Not a day past his man-year, I¡¯d say.¡±

    Evaine slumped. It couldn¡¯t possibly be Bran; he would never be capable of such a thing.

    Kedryn whistled. ¡°Sounds like real fighter. Look after him, will you? In times like these, it¡¯s the young ones who carry the hopes of us all.¡±

    ¡°Oh, stop it. You¡¯ve got years in you yet, Kedryn. Now, off you go. We¡¯ve stood around chatting for long enough.¡±

    ¡°Of course. Journeyman!¡±

    Evaine snapped to attention and darted after the Minstrel.

    The first man they treated was absolutely hysterical. He bawled and screamed like a newborn, wailing for his mother, pleading to the gods for mercy. Evaine grimaced at his desperation, but she couldn¡¯t look away.

    ¡°Chances are we probably can¡¯t save him,¡± Kedryn said, ¡°but we have to try anyway.¡± There was a blanket draped over his lower half, one stained scarlet with blood. Around them the other Songweavers worked with the medics, singing their magic in tandem with the grinding of poultices and the bubbling of water over fire. Evaine was as silent as a rabbit, listening to the cacophony of coughs and screams that pierced the air.

    Kedryn pulled back the blanket. Evaine covered her mouth.

    The man¡¯s lower leg was attached to his knee by a sliver of bone, blood oozing from black-red flesh, yellow pus festering around the edges. The medics had bound a strip of linen tightly above the wound, a tourniquet that choked the flesh purple.

    ¡°His leg can¡¯t be saved,¡± Kedryn said. ¡°They¡¯ve decided that already. We¡¯re going to amputate it and hope he lives.¡±

    Evaine nodded, not daring to open her mouth. She didn¡¯t want to taste the smell of rank flesh on her tongue lest she started throwing up. She knew if that happened, she wouldn¡¯t be able to stop.

    It¡¯s completely different, she thought. Seeing a live person in this state compared to a dead one.

    ¡°Journeyman!¡± Kedryn snapped. ¡°Pay attention.¡± A red-hot poker had somehow found itself into her hand. ¡°I want you to stem the bleeding and numb the area above the knee. Lower the temperature to freezing if you can.¡± She held a great big cleaver in her other hand, one with serrated edges made for sawing bone.

    It took everything Evaine had to simply keep the contents of her stomach down and do her job. As Kedryn began the surgery, shearing through flesh and bone, augmenting the cleaver with her Soulsong, Evaine focused on taking away the pain. The man continued to howl, begging the relicts for mercy, screaming at his company to fall back. Quite soon, another smell joined the already overbearing stench. It was the smell of burning flesh.

    ¡°Not hot enough,¡± Kedryn murmured, and sang a quick chord. The poker in her hand flared red. ¡°Move the bubble up so I can finish sealing the wound! Quick!¡±

    Evaine stumbled over a word and the water collapsed. She swore and tried to recover, starting up her singing again, but it was too late. The man¡¯s shrieking reached a new level as water and blood spewed across the table.

    ¡°God damn,¡± roared Kedryn. ¡°You dunce!¡¯

    She pressed the steel deep into the stump, searing flesh, keeping it heated with short, sharp words. The man was thrashing now, trying to break free of the straps that bound him, his face a beet red, tears flowing, saliva frothing, mucus dribbling into a mess onto his sheets. Some of the other patients watched, transfixed.

    Kedryn finally removed the implement and stepped back, panting. The man had fallen silent, his eyes staring unblinkingly at the ceiling.

    ¡°He¡¯s dead,¡± she said quietly.

    Evaine drew a sharp breath. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t you. He lost too much blood, that¡¯s all.¡±

    A moment passed, and then Kedryn was moving again, dashing to the next patient, roaring for Evaine to follow.

    #

    Of the twelve injured they tended to, only six survived.

    Kedryn had done most of the work¡ªEvaine could restore most cuts and slashes, but she was inexperienced and knew nothing of surgery. All she could do was watch as people continued to suffer and scream, and eventually die.

    When it was over, the Songweavers went outside to eat in morose silence. Kedryn had forced a meat skewer into Evaine¡¯s hands, telling her to eat and restore her strength, but she¡¯d tossed it away at the first opportunity she had. It pained her to waste food, especially during the Great Winter, but even the mere smell of meat was enough to traumatize her. She could still hear their screams in her head, smell the blood and the searing flesh. Every time she blinked she saw red and black and yellow.

    She found a secluded corner of the camp behind one of the storage tents and threw up until her mouth was dry. Then she sat with her back to the tarp, hugging her knees to her chest. It had been so easy in the Clock Tower, healing the injured. She¡¯d even begun to think herself a messiah, a gift from the gods to the world who would save lives and end all suffering.

    What a joke.

    This was the real world. A world that spared no mercy to men or their feelings. One where everything could be done for a patient, but he would still die. One where nothing could be done for an enemy and he would live. What a cruel world it was.

    They knew, she thought. Alend and Koth and Helda. Mother and Father. Even Ein. She¡¯d gone on an adventure, far away from the Sleeping Twins to Aldoran where all tales began. She¡¯d started her legend in the Clock Tower, as a Novice Songweaver in service to the High King. She was a Fateweaver.

    She was a naive little girl who¡¯d thrown away her paradise. So what if she was Brackenburg¡¯s vessel? What use was that if she couldn¡¯t even save half the people who needed help? Her Wyrd would find so much more use in the hands of someone more capable, like Gerrard or Kedryn. How cruel the Winds of Fate were.

    Trumpets began to blow, sad and sombre. They played a tune of soldiers marching to war, bidding their wives and children goodbye. They played a tune of laughter, of music and tankards of ale shared around a fire, games of cards and dice passed under grey skies. Of honour between men, pride between blades, heartfelt conversations deep into the night. Hands shaken, rising to salute, the cheering crowds that awaited their return.

    The trumpets shifted in their pitch. There was violence now, blood and gore, the chaotic din of the battlefield. Still the men found opportunities to laugh, to drink and play. One man fell, and the entire squad went back for him. No man left behind. For the King. For Faengard, and for the smiles that prayed for them every night.

    Soldiers, chests swollen with pride, bidding their weeping mothers goodbye.

    Soldiers, bidding the world goodbye.

    A thick pillar of smoke rose into the air, carrying with it the dreams and aspirations of the fallen¡ªamong them, those she was unable to save. Evaine wiped her tears on her robe and looked up. A man was standing beside her, smoking a pipe. He was big and tall, but wore the plain garb of a runner boy. A bandage was wrapped around his thigh, tinged a faint red.

    ¡°Minstrel says eat.¡± There was an accent to his voice. He held a loaf of bread in his hand.

    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Evaine shook her head. Her stomach growled, but she didn¡¯t dare take it. ¡°I¡¯ll just throw it up again.¡±

    ¡°Take.¡± He proffered it, nudging it in her direction. ¡°Take.¡±

    She sighed and took the loaf. It was dry and hard between her teeth.

    ¡°Minstrel says do not dwell on your failures,¡± he continued. ¡°Dwell on success. Six lives lost. But six lives gained.¡±

    ¡°How do you deal with it?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Deal with?¡±

    ¡°The bodies. You¡¯re part of the cleanup crew, aren¡¯t you? How do you cope with heading out there and collecting all those dead bodies? How do you deal with those that are still alive but can¡¯t be saved, those who you can only comfort with false words as they lie dying?¡±

    The man took a moment to process what she¡¯d just said. ¡°Bodies usually dead. Rotting maggot flies. Very few alive.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    ¡°We not like you. You better than us; you hold power to restore. For that I respect you.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Evaine, resisting the urge to laugh. ¡°Not me, I can¡¯t do anything. Minstrel Kedryn was the one who did all the work. All I¡¯m good for is closing small scratches.¡±

    ¡°Everyone start somewhere. Do not be discouraged. What will happen will happen. It is will of the wind.¡±

    Evaine sighed. ¡°The world is a cruel place, isn¡¯t it?¡± she murmured.

    ¡°No,¡± the man shook his head. ¡°World not cruel. War cruel. Relicts cruel. Al¡¯Ashar cruel.¡± He nodded at the horizon, past the campfires to where the Blight was. ¡°You make world good for six people. Even one person saved is good. Friend once tell me this: only one person saved, still hero.¡±

    There was a scuffling of boots against gravel. The man blew another mouthful of smoke from his pipe and then pocketed it. ¡°He comes now,¡± he said. ¡°He is brave man.¡±

    ¡°Harren?¡± It was the last voice Evaine expected to hear. Bran emerged from the side of the tent, sleeves rolled up. ¡°Have you seen that loaf of bread I left¡ª¡± He locked eyes with Evaine and froze, jaw dropping open.

    ¡°I leave you two and go,¡± Harren said. ¡°I mourn for dead. But I also pray for future.¡± And he left.

    ¡°Evaine,¡± Bran said. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°I could say the same thing,¡± she said, her voice sounding cracked. ¡°I¡¯m one of the healers they sent. They sent runner boys too, but you weren''t among them. I didn¡¯t know you were already here.¡±

    ¡°They decided to keep me as a scout from the last cleanup crew,¡± he said sheepishly. ¡°After they discovered I could shoot a bow and arrow.¡±

    ¡°You mean¡­ you were the one who killed the Bloodmane?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ it was already wounded,¡± he mumbled, flushing. ¡°I just finished it off.¡±

    Evaine suddenly found herself laughing. ¡°You and Ein are both relict-slayers now. I guess that only leaves me, huh?¡± She patted the ground next her. ¡°Come, sit. I could use some company before I head back in the morning.¡±

    Bran looked surprised but sat down. They spoke of small things at first, as the night grew steadily darker around them. Evaine did most of the talking as she always did, saying whatever came to her mind, and Bran listened. As the conversation picked up she began to reminisce, dreaming of home, of better times. Not once did she mention what had happened during the day, and not once did Bran ask.

    Once her throat was dry and she¡¯d run out of things to say, they sat in silence for a while, simply listening to the wind. It was a comfortable silence, a calming silence. Like the silence of a baby resting against the rise and fall of its mother¡¯s breast.

    That night, as she lay in one of the stuffy tents alongside the other Songweavers, her sleep was dreamless.

 44. Mountain Demons

    Chapter Forty-Four: Mountain Demons

    ¡°The world is a vast place. Anywhere with fresh water and an abundant supply of food, you can bet that a human will establish a settlement there.

    ¡°Sometimes, if a place has been isolated for a long time, it branches off in its own direction. A separate realm of time and technology from the outside world, separate cultures, separate traditions. In every society, communication is key. Learning a language is the best compliment you can pay a culture, and it is one of the secrets to my success. I only wish language weren¡¯t an evolving thing, always improving, always changing. The day I return to find my mother tongue has left me behind is the day I retire from the life of an adventurer.¡±

    ¡ªDagus Adem, The Adventurer¡¯s Guide to the Continent

    Aeos was dreaming.

    In his dream he saw a man, old and balding, with eyes that told tales across the ages. He was lean and lithe despite his age, and he moved with a fluidity like a snake.

    The Prince was familiar with dreams. He¡¯d been dreaming since he was a child, not just ordinary dreams, but ones with meaning. He saw things that were lost, disasters that would happen, even people who would die. Every time he saw a face in his dreams, he would worry how long the person had left to live. Oftentimes he told himself that everyone would die eventually; it was just a matter of time.

    But some people died earlier than others.

    He couldn¡¯t quite see the face this time, which was a bit of a relief. The old man suddenly arched his back towards the sky, and he began to shift. His silhouette grew larger and elongated, and a wing sprouted from one arm. Aeos watched with the drifting sensation of being in a dreamworld as the man became a one-winged dragon, golden scales glistening along its back.

    It had been a while since he¡¯d seen such a vivid dream. They¡¯d been plentiful when he¡¯d been a child, back when Willard had still been alive, and he¡¯d told his mother about them every day. When she began looking at him strangely and taking him to the medics and healers, that was when he realized he was not meant to tell people about these dreams.

    He still heeded them, though, and even if he took them with a grain of salt, he acknowledged them. The Masters in the library always laughed at him for believing in prophecies, but they had not seen what he had.

    The one-winged dragon roared, spouting a breath of fire into the sky. Then it lost its lustre, hardening into a cracked grey, the grey of stone, and crumbled into the wind.

    #

    When Aeos opened his eyes, it was raining. The rain fell in sheathes of grey, plastering his hair to his head, pattering through the leaves and branches, turning the ground to mush. The river roared beside him, bashing its way down the mountain. He looked up at the layers and layers of rock and vegetation above, further still, at the dark mouth that spat froth out the side of the mountain, and guessed that was where he¡¯d been tossed from.

    ...from Mor¡¯Gravar, where all things die.

    All of a sudden he felt like laughing. Never mind the great welts on his ribcage or the red blood that trickled from his temple. Never mind all the scratches along his limbs where the riverside scrubs had pricked him. Never mind his empty stomach and the fact that he was completely drenched under a winter sky.

    He was alive. He¡¯d been through the mines and walked the streets of Mor¡¯Gravar, fought the terror that lurked in the dark, and he¡¯d lived. He let out a shrill laugh, one that wasn¡¯t very Princelike.

    But where was everyone else?

    There was a groan beside him, and he saw an old man roll onto his belly. Garax coughed and then climbed to his knees, wringing the water from his shirt. The vine-rope around his waist had snapped.

    ¡°Wyd almighty,¡± he said. ¡°Now I¡¯ve seen everything.¡±

    The storyteller unfurled the stump of his hand from his chest, revealing a tight bundle wrapped up in a blanket. It was Talberon in his swallow form, matted and wet, but still breathing.

    ¡°We¡¯re alive,¡± Aeos sang. ¡°We¡¯re alive.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not out of the woods yet,¡± Garax said. ¡°Where¡¯s Ein? And Rhinne?¡±

    ¡°The hell if I care. We saw the City of Sorrows and lived to tell the tale!¡±

    ¡°Aeos!¡± snapped the storyteller. ¡°Your lips are blue. We need to find cover or you¡¯ll get sick.¡±

    Some part of him must have registered the truth in that statement, for Aeos found himself nodding in agreement. Now that Garax mentioned it, he was freezing. So much so that his teeth were chattering uncontrollably, his face so numb he couldn¡¯t even feel the rain.

    The two made their way down the mountain, keeping to the thick pines to shelter themselves from as much of the downpour as possible. The more they moved, the colder and gloomier Aeos became. His elation was gone, replaced by doubt and questions. Where were they? How were they to find civilisation again, and least important of all, where were the other two members of their party?

    Perhaps the country boy Ein was guilty after all. None could escape Kalador¡¯s First Tenet.

    After a few minutes of slogging through the woodland, they found a small alcove formed by two slabs of stone propped up against a cliff face. There, curled into a ball in front of a fire was Rhinne.

    ¡°Garax,¡± she exclaimed. ¡°And Aeos. Have you seen Ein?¡±

    They shook their heads. Aeos sat down and thrust his hands as close to the fire as he dared, feeling his fingers and toes defrost. ¡°How on earth did you manage to start a fire in this weather?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a dragon,¡± Garax said. ¡°Or did you not believe her when she said so?¡±

    He had to admit there¡¯d been some skepticism when his father had told him such, but after what he¡¯d seen in Mor¡¯Gravar, nothing surprised him anymore.

    ¡°So, where the hell are we?¡± Aeos poked his head out from under the cavity, blinking away the raindrops from his face. Mountains of rock towered above them on either side, thrusting into the heavens. They were on a sparse ledge of stunted shrubs, a jagged plane of slate and dirt that grew more barren and rugged the higher he looked. At the very top, where the peaks disappeared into the rolling mist, the stone was blanketed by an almost perfect sheen of snow and ice.

    ¡°Lauriel¡¯s Spine,¡± Garax said. ¡°How good is your geography, boy?¡±

    ¡°So-so. I know the map of Faengard, though not well.¡±

    ¡°Lauriel¡¯s Spine spans a good distance lengthways,¡± the storyteller said, sketching in the mud with a stick. ¡°We came in off the Royal Road here, and entered the mines around this area. Raginrok is here, and Darmouth just beneath that.¡± He drew two big circles on the makeshift map.

    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of room to get lost in,¡± Rhinne said. ¡°We could be wandering for a long time. We don¡¯t have any food either, remember. And we¡¯ve only got one blanket between the three of us.¡±

    ¡°Perfect,¡± Garax said. ¡°We don¡¯t need blankets anyway.¡± Rhinne shrugged at that.

    ¡°Raginrok is the Summit of the World, isn¡¯t it?¡± Aeos asked. ¡°The tallest mountain in Faengard. Surely we should be able to see it from a distance. It literally towers above its neighbours.¡± He pointed to the mountain before them. ¡°That mountain¡¯s pretty tall.¡±

    ¡°You misunderstand,¡± Garax said with a wry smile. ¡°All the mountains in Lauriel¡¯s Spine are that tall. You know what the Darmouthers call this mountain range?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Nanak Tur. In their tongue, the Tomb of the Ninety. The locals believed the mountains were formed upon the deaths of their ninety gods. To them the mountains are sacred, with Mandara, the Pillar of Heaven, being the greatest of them all.¡±

    ¡°I think we should follow the river,¡± Rhinne said. ¡°It runs in the general direction we should be going. Like Ein said, all rivers lead to civilisation. And besides, we need to find him, and my guess is that the water swept him downstream.¡±

    Garax raised an eyebrow. ¡°For someone who¡¯d all but lost their way, you¡¯re awfully hopeful.¡±

    Rhinne paused for a moment. ¡°I suppose I was a bit hasty,¡± she admitted. ¡°Ein helped me see past my shortcomings. Sometimes it helps to have another perspective on things.¡±

    The storyteller nodded. ¡°I think you¡¯ll find that he influences us all in small ways, though we might not know it. That is the power of a Fateweaver.¡± He glanced at Aeos. ¡°Now, my Prince, are you sufficiently warmed yet? Because I don¡¯t think the rain is going away any time soon, and time halts for no one.¡±

    #

    About halfway down the mountain, Aeos saw the light again. Initially he thought it was a trick of the eyes, a cruel hallucination brought on by the harsh cold and the relentless rain, but another part of him said that it was real¡ªthat he shouldn¡¯t ignore it. It had guided him back in Mor¡¯Gravar, leading them to the canal and freedom. He¡¯d trusted it then; why shouldn¡¯t he trust it now?

    He realized he¡¯d stopped in the middle of the trail, staring ahead into the shivering pines while Garax and Rhinne watched.

    ¡°Something the matter?¡± the storyteller asked.

    Should I tell them? Aeos had never heard of anything like it, strange lights showing him where to go. Then again, if anyone knew, it was probably Garax. He¡¯d only known the storyteller for a few days at best, but he already had a feeling there was much more to the old man than met the eye. Their conversations and the insight he provided on the mines of Mor¡¯Gravar had revealed that much.

    ¡°I have a feeling it¡¯s this way,¡± he said, pointing to a direction in the woods. He decided not to tell the truth. ¡°I can¡¯t describe it as anything more than that.¡±

    ¡°A gut feeling?¡± Rhinne asked.

    Aeos nodded. The white glow continued to glimmer as if taunting him.

    ¡°Well let¡¯s go then. No use standing around in the rain.¡±

    ¡°Hang on,¡± Rhinne said. ¡°Are you just going to take his word for it? A gut feeling?¡±

    ¡°Better than randomly stabbing in the dark,¡± Garax said cheerfully. ¡°Are you going to ignore an order from your Crown Prince?¡±

    ¡°I bow to no human.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget he got us out of Mor¡¯Gravar as well,¡± the storyteller added. ¡°He¡¯s earned my trust from that alone.¡±

    Rhinne stared at Aeos for a moment longer and then shrugged. ¡°If you say so. He¡¯ll be the first to die anyway, if he¡¯s wrong.¡±

    The way she said it unsettled Aeos, but he masked it under a loose cough. Then, he began to lead them off the trail and toward the shimmering light in the woods.

    It was tough. The light shone through solid matter, whether it was a tree or a mile long stone bluff. They half-climbed half-crawled around ditches and landslides, fallen trees spanning vast gorges, soft ground buried under lush pine needles and undergrowth. The rain continued, soaking them to the bone, making their lives miserable. It made their bodies heavier, the rocks more slippery, the streams and rivers more violent. The land was always changing; steepening, flattening, becoming rockier and bushier. Sometimes they found natural paths worn into the side of the mountain, sheltered from the wind and the rain. Other times they were exposed to the fury of the elements.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    They felt the first tremor about three hours into the trail.

    At first Aeos thought it was thunder, low and booming along the horizon. But thunder didn¡¯t shake mountains. It didn¡¯t throw loose rocks and pebbles off the bluffs above them, or scatter minute droplets from the treetops.

    It lasted all of five seconds, too short to be anything threatening, too long to be dismissed. Then it was quiet again, save the monotonous drone of rain and rushing water.

    ¡°Did you feel that?¡± he murmured.

    The others nodded.

    They continued on their way, stopping briefly to wet their throats at a stream. Aeos dreaded each rest they took, each time they slowed their pace. When they slowed, he would feel the aches and pains of his body and the cold seeping into his veins. When they slowed, the wind would freeze the sweat and water along his exposed skin, reaching its icy fingers through his fur layers.

    Aeos had never been hunting before. Hunting had always been Willard¡¯s thing, along with duelling and all the other ¡®princely¡¯ past-times. While his brother had been hunting in the woods with the other knights and lords, he¡¯d remained in his room, reading. He knew the basics, of course¡ªof tracking and trapping, survival, how to use a spear. The Kingsblades and the weapons trainers made sure of that. No son of Uldan was exempt from the basics.

    But Willard was always the Prince, the one who all the ladies pined after, who all the ministers tried to befriend, who all the squires and knights and lordlings admired and envied. A journey of such importance and magnitude would have been right up his alley. He would have known the shortest paths to take, the right times to set up camp, the right plants and weeds to eat. He would have been laughing at the sky, daring the rain to come down harder. Maybe that was why Aedon always looked for excuses to send him out of the Keep. So he could become a proper Prince, or die trying. Illia was more protective of him, the way mothers were, but he could see the conflict roiling within her as well. The doubt. The disappointment. Things had never been the same since his brother died.

    The ground quaked again, bringing them to a halt. It was louder this time, deeper, like the great reverberations of some sleeping giant beneath the earth. Aeos was brought to his knees as a large boulder broke off from somewhere above and crashed through the trees, tumbling down the mountain in an uneven mess. Birds scattered into the rain, their shrill cries like warnings.

    ¡°The mountains will shake with each breath of the world,¡± Garax said. ¡°It stirs. The World-Eater.¡±

    ¡°That can¡¯t be it,¡± Aeos said, shaking his head. ¡°The World-Eater is dead.¡±

    ¡°It is not dead,¡± Garax said. ¡°Merely shackled at the Summit of the World. Winter has come and stayed for three years now. The relicts have returned. What more proof do you need?¡± Aeos had never heard the storyteller sound angry before.

    ¡°I¡¯ll believe it when I see it myself.¡±

    ¡°Then I take it you don¡¯t believe in the gods? They¡¯re invisible too, aren¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±

    Garax fixed him with a look of contempt. ¡°You are a fool, then.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll not believe every single story to come out of a children¡¯s book,¡± Aeos continued. ¡°I¡¯m sure you know that yourself, storyteller. More often than not, a legend does not reflect the facts of what happened. The relicts are real, and so is Aedrasil. I¡¯ve seen them for myself, and so I know this. But the World-Eater? Tell me why it has been quiet for all these years, old man. Tell me why it is awakening only now.¡±

    ¡°The time had simply not come,¡± he replied. ¡°Nothing more. Faenrir never stopped growing. Perhaps now he finally realizes he has grown enough to make a difference, to blot out the sun and cast the world into an eternal winter.¡±

    ¡°Hush!¡± Rhinne suddenly snapped. ¡°Stop your bickering and listen. Something other than the sky weeps.¡±

    They stopped at once and tuned their ears to the sound of rain. Aeos frowned; had he just heard a quiet sob from down the track?

    ¡°Did you hear it, Prince?¡± she asked. ¡°If you did, then it must be. Otherwise I fear the altitude sickness has taken me.¡±

    ¡°I did.¡± And he realized that the crying and the light were coming from the same direction.

    Rhinne took the lead this time, hacking savagely through the bushes. She never lifted more than a limb off the rocks at any time, for even on all fours it was all too easy to slip and slide down the mountain and break one¡¯s neck. Aeos and Garax followed her lead, with the old man having tucked Talberon into one of the pockets in his breeches.

    It wasn¡¯t long before the undergrowth fell away onto a flat circle of dirt, a barren clearing wedged between a springwater brook and a wall of arrowhead trees. A boy sat with his back to one of them, his shirt completely soaked. He had a mop of dusky hair as dark as his complexion, and his eyes were wet with tears and rainwater. He became quiet as they approached, backing into the trunk as if he wanted to bury himself.

    ¡°Shh,¡± Rhinne said, lowering her voice as if she were talking to a small animal. The boy couldn¡¯t have been a day older than a decade. ¡°It¡¯s alright, we won¡¯t hurt you.¡±

    He remained quiet, staring at the three in fright. His hands were bound behind him in thick ropes, his wrists raw and bloody from chafing. Aeos looked at the path leading from the clearing and smelled the faintest hint of chimney smoke.

    ¡°Where are you from?¡± the Prince asked. ¡°Who left you here? Where are your parents?¡±

    The boy started pointedly at the Prince¡¯s ashen hair. ¡°Talam,¡± he said. ¡°Talam.¡±

    Aeos frowned. ¡°Common tongue?¡± he asked, putting emphasis on each word. ¡°Do you speak it?¡±

    ¡°We should free him first,¡± Rhinne said. ¡°Get him somewhere out of the rain.¡± She bent down on one knee. ¡°We¡¯re going to cut you free, okay? We¡¯ll make a nice, bright fire and have you warmed up.¡± She breathed a flicker of flame from her nostrils. The boy¡¯s eyes widened in surprise.

    ¡°Talam!¡± he said again. ¡°Talam!¡±

    Rhinne drew her knife and the boy suddenly became frantic. ¡°Na! Na! Na¡¯absud ma!¡± He shuffled backwards, staring at the blade in fear. ¡°Na!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not going to hurt you. Just cut the bonds¡ª¡±

    ¡°Hang on.¡± Garax placed a hand on Rhinne¡¯s shoulder and pulled her back. ¡°Bhana Nepahl sur?¡±

    ¡°Bhana Nepahl?¡±

    Garax cleared his throat. ¡°Bhava Saksir sur?¡±

    The boy¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°Ka! Saksir ma sur! Bhava sa?¡±

    ¡°Ka.¡± Garax pointed to the knife. ¡°Ma na¡¯absud bhava. Ma absud bha¡¯dandha. Oke?¡±

    ¡°Oke.¡± He extended his hands eagerly.

    ¡°It¡¯s Saksir,¡± Garax explained, as Rhinne sawed through the ropes. ¡°Not the Saksir I knew, but a different dialect. I can understand most of it, though. It hasn¡¯t deviated too much over the years, probably because of how isolated the mountains have been.¡±

    The boy suddenly jerked. ¡°Asrah! Asrah!¡±

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Rhinne grunted. ¡°Stop struggling or I might accidentally cut you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Rhinne, leave him.¡± Garax¡¯s voice low, and very quiet. ¡°For now.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Aeos turned around to where the old man was staring into the trees. Something, or rather, somethings¡ªwere crunching their way through the bushes, speaking in low, guttural tones. Barks and grunts, like dogs conversing with each other. A chill ran up Aeos¡¯s spine.

    ¡°The Fire burn me,¡± Rhinne said.

    From the other side of the clearing emerged a pack of four Worgals strong, donning studded leather and crude pikes fashioned from wooden poles and sharp stoneheads. Upon sighting the three they immediately fell silent, spilling across the mud into a battle formation.

    ¡°Asrah,¡± the boy said, tugging at Rhinne¡¯s arm. She¡¯d left his bindings half-cut, and he was trying to break them against the slippery bark of the tree.

    ¡°We¡¯ll handle this,¡± she said. ¡°Aeos, stay back and watch him¡ª¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Garax stepped in front, his black blade drawn. ¡°The rain will quench your flames before they have any effect, Rhinne. Better you hang back with Aeos and the boy.¡±

    ¡°Will you be able to handle them?¡± Aeos asked. ¡°I have a weapon as well. Two will be better than one.¡±

    ¡°Your spear is useless,¡± Garax replied. He stepped across the clearing with his sword extended, exposing only one side of his body. ¡°There are three things all relicts fear¡ªsalt, Soulforged steel, and fire. This blade is Darksteel, forged from the hottest of dragonfires. It is one of the few steels detrimental to a relict.¡±

    The Worgals shifted uncertainly at the sight of the blade, but held their ground. Aeos released his grip on the hilt of his spear. He had seen the storyteller fight before in Mor¡¯Gravar, albeit briefly. Besides, this time was different. These were relicts. They couldn¡¯t possibly be stronger than the automatons, could they?

    The Worgals advanced, lowering their pikes in an attacking formation. Garax yelled Kalador¡¯s name and then slid between the spearheads, jumping into the fray.

    The first of the wolfmen fell instantly, ink-black blade sprouting from between its shoulder blades in a spray of blood. The others broke formation and collapsed, pinning the old man in a jumble of fur and limb. Garax caught one of the spears with the edge of his crossguard and tucked it under the crook of his arm, then snapped it. Grabbing the haft of the broken spear, he thrust it into the maw of one of his attackers and forced it back.

    As it struggled to pull the shaft from its throat, the third and the fourth members of the pack advanced, one circling around to flank him. Garax kicked at the body on the ground, sending it rolling into its brethren. The relict ahead of him tripped, while the one behind stepped in with a low, wide sweep.

    The attack caught Garax across the back of his knees and he stumbled, but righted himself with a step as light as the wind. Crouching low to the ground, he suddenly sprung like a panther, closing the gap between them in an eyeblink. The Worgal brought its pike up to parry, but Garax¡¯s blade sheared right through it and embedded itself inside its skull. The Worgal fell to the ground, eyes still open, mouth agape.

    The remaining two Worgals stayed back, eyeing him warily. The one with the broken spear barked to its ally, and the ally responded. Together they advanced towards him, driving him back to the brook. Garax was panting heavily, his face flushed red as he watched for any signs of movement.

    ¡°We have to go help him,¡± Aeos said in a low voice. Rhinne made to move, but the dark-skinned boy clutched tightly to her leg. When he looked up again, Garax had slipped on the riverstones and fallen backwards into the water. The Worgals pounced, not even bothering to use their weapons.

    ¡°No!¡± Aeos cried. Before he knew it he was dashing forward, picking up the half-spear that lay broken on the ground. One of the Worgals was in Garax¡¯s face, pressing him under the water, barking and snapping at his face. The storyteller had the blade wedged in the Worgal¡¯s teeth, but was struggling to lift his head out of the water.

    Aeos rammed his shoulder into the other Worgal, sending them both toppling into the stream. It wasn¡¯t deep; just a thin rustling of water above stone, and his knees scraped painfully against the bottom. Both Worgals growled, turning around, and Garax took the opportunity to flip himself over and drive his blade deep into the first Worgal¡¯s neck, piercing it completely, and then further still, impaling the second one in the chest. The two stacked corpses fell sideways, landing in a great splash. Aeos rolled to his feet, scrabbling back out of the water and over the stones

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Garax panted. ¡°I got careless. Should¡¯ve known they¡¯d try something like that.¡±

    He pressed a foot against the two bodies and then heaved, drawing his sword from a sheathe of black blood. He rinsed it in the stream for a while and then stood up.

    ¡°Let¡¯s take anything of value they have and go,¡± he continued. ¡°Before the cold and the rain finish us off.¡±

    The boy chattered excitedly in his foreign tongue, pointing at Aeos and Garax and the dead relicts. Rhinne coaxed him away from the clearing, holding his small hand in hers as they sought shelter from the rain.

    They stripped the Worgals of their pikes and studded leather, donning it for themselves. It made them heavier, but also warmer¡ªif only slightly. Garax handed one of the spears to Rhinne and one to Aeos, and they used them as staffs to aid in their walking.

    As they walked, Garax continued to commune with the boy in their strange language. The boy sounded ecstatic¡ªhe kept pointing at Aeos and Rhinne and making loud, exaggerated sounds and motions that sounded like barking dogs and steel. The word ¡®Talam¡¯ came up more than once. The boy seemed convinced they were ¡®Talam¡¯.

    ¡°He comes from Darmouth,¡± said Garax after a while, translating what the boy had told him. ¡°The village has been plagued by relict attacks for a while now, in addition to the constant tremors at the base of Raginrok. They¡¯ve formed a temporary agreement where they offer their children as ¡®sacrifices¡¯ to the ¡®mountain demons,¡¯ so that they¡¯ll leave them in peace. They sent one up Raginrok and it seemed to work, reducing the earthquakes in frequency and intensity, so they¡¯re doing it again with the relicts.¡±

    ¡°That must be the Lachess heir,¡± Aeos said. ¡°But then that would mean Faenrir really exists¡­¡± No, there must be another explanation.

    ¡°Ask him how many children have been sacrificed,¡± Rhinne cut in. As Garax had revealed the boy¡¯s story, she¡¯d steadily grown more and more livid until he could practically feel the anger washing off her in waves. On one hand she was no longer so silent and bleak as he¡¯d first met her on the carriage out of the city, but on the other, if all she was going to do was be mad and take on the problems of other people, he would have preferred the mopey Rhinne.

    ¡°I had the impression you didn¡¯t like humans very much,¡± Aeos muttered. At this point in time, all he wanted was to leave them behind and go home¡ªbut travelling alone lowered his chances of survival drastically. ¡°What makes this child different?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a child,¡± Rhinne said. ¡°He¡¯s done nothing to deserve this.¡±

    ¡°So if it were an adult you would be fine with it?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± Rhinne paused, her fire dampened. ¡°It¡¯s not the same. Adults are self-entitled bastards. They don¡¯t care for others; not the land nor their fellow man, only themselves.¡±

    ¡°And how many adults have you met in your lifetime? How many Druids and Kings, who you hold so much scorn for?¡±

    Rhinne fell silent, and before she could answer, Garax asked the boy her question. The boy replied with a sad voice.

    ¡°Nana,¡± he said.

    ¡°Nineteen,¡± Garax said. ¡°Nineteen children have been left for the relicts so far.¡±

    ¡°How many have returned?¡± she immediately asked.

    ¡°Agat abhis sa killi tur?¡±

    ¡°Vidi.¡±

    ¡°None. My guess is that they realized coercing the villagers for food was easier and safer than simply taking it.¡±

    Rhinne clenched her fists. ¡°I¡¯ll kill them all,¡± she seethed.

    ¡°Is he taking us back to the village now?¡± Aeos asked.

    ¡°He is.¡±

    Interesting, he thought. The light was still there in front of him, and the tugging at his chest was growing stronger. Aeos wasn¡¯t a gambling man, but he would have been willing to place money that Darmouth was the source of the light.

    What did it all mean? First the canal and now the village. Could it be that the light was some form of precognition that showed him which path to walk? The idea baffled him. To think that he, the one who¡¯d always been the ¡®other¡¯ Prince, might be gifted with such an ability.

    He would ask Celianna when he returned. She always seemed to know more about these things than he did, being a gifted Songweaver herself. For now, he would keep it to himself and pray nothing detrimental came from it.

    The rain continued to fall.

 45. Truth and Lies

    Chapter Forty-Five: Truth and Lies

    ¡°Some say that truth is always best

    Though others say that you should lie,

    Sometimes lies are truths well dressed;

    Something I cannot deny.

    To tell the truth or tell a lie,

    Which do you think I should try?¡±

    ¡ªSamil Tian, Wandering Bard

    ¡°Please, Your Honour!¡± the man cried. ¡°My daughter is dying. There was no other way for me to reach Caerlon!¡±

    ¡°The Council has passed their judgement. You have committed a crime of serious nature, and as such, you will pay the ultimate penalty. Take him to the dungeons, Kingsblade Gilfred. He will be executed come dawn.¡±

    The balding man continued to plead for mercy, falling down on his knees before the Halls of Judgement. Gilfred tried to look away but he was the prisoner escort, and as such, it was his job to lead the man down to the cells. He sighed and stepped into the centre of the hall.

    ¡°Please,¡± the man rasped. ¡°I¡­ I didn¡¯t mean it. I just needed a way to get to Caerlon¡­ to see my dying daughter¡­ and everyone was asking for so much money¡­¡±

    ¡°The times are hard,¡± Gilfred said softly. ¡°No one wishes to venture outside of Aldoran, least of all while the relicts are still there. That doesn¡¯t give you an excuse to injure an innocent civilian and steal his horse.¡±

    The man¡¯s face was a mess. Snot was dribbling down his nose and into his lips, tears springing from bloodshot eyes. He wasn¡¯t very high of class; a simple labourer at best, nearing the end of his working years. All he¡¯d wanted was to visit his dying daughter.

    Yet he¡¯d broken the law. The King and his Council couldn¡¯t just let criminals walk free. Everyone was growing desperate; the fraying threads of justice were the only things keeping society from breaking down.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Gilfred said, grabbing him up by the arm. The man stood up and allowed himself to be taken through the gates. Behind him, the Silent Council called for the next offender.

    They headed down the hallway and into the stairwell, plunging into the dank smell of filth and human waste. Taking prisoners to the holding cells was one of the things Gilfred hated most about being a Kingsblade. Sometimes they were monsters, humans who¡¯d been born without a conscience, who felt no compassion and had no sense of morality. Those were the best ones. He could be rough with them, order them about as if they were vermin and maintain a clean conscience.

    But more often than not, they were simply people who¡¯d made a mistake. People born under less fortunate circumstances forced to lead a life of crime to get by. The most undeserving prisoner he¡¯d walked to the cells and later on the gallows was a fourteen year old boy who¡¯d been sentenced for killing his father. Gilfred had known the father personally, and had their places been swapped, he would have done the same. The boy was perfectly sane; a long-suffering victim of abuse who¡¯d become reclusive and anti-social as a result. No one else knew his story. Only Gilfred, the last man to share a conversation with him as he¡¯d been marched to the hangman¡¯s noose.

    There were other things he hated about being a Kingsblade. The fact that the eyes of the public were always upon him, looking to him as their role model, criticising his actions when he dealt with offenders on the street, calling him for help when riots broke out. He was one of the right hands of Faengard, answering directly to Aedon himself. One of the King¡¯s golden knights. Heroes of the city.

    The man was silent as Gilfred took him to the prison guard¡¯s office. The guard met him by the doorway, taking a key off the rack.

    ¡°What¡¯s this one in for?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Armed robbery,¡± Gilfred said. ¡°Pleaded guilty.¡± He wanted to add on the man¡¯s circumstances, but held back. The guard didn¡¯t care. Most guards didn¡¯t¡ªto them, a prisoner was just another statistic, another number in the ledger.

    ¡°Alright. Come with me.¡±

    He grabbed the man roughly by the manacles and towed him into the torchlight. Gilfred followed three steps behind, looking left and right.

    You could tell how long a person had been imprisoned by how much they moved and how bright their eyes were. A young boy kicked and screamed at the bars, hair long and ragged, feet bare. A few days at most. A woman lay on her mattress, weeping silently. A week or two. An old man sat facing the wall, unmoving. One month. The dungeons were built to sap the will from its prisoners, with its disgusting floor and its plain walls, and the vile slop they served for meals. Gilfred had never spent a night in the dungeon, but he knew young troublemakers who had, and they¡¯d emerged as new people.

    ¡°In there.¡± The guard opened the cell door and gestured. Gilfred steeled himself and pushed the man through. The gate slammed shut with a click, and the guard left.

    Gilfred stayed behind for a while longer, thinking. The prisoner was crying silently.

    ¡°What¡¯s your daughter¡¯s address?¡± Gilfred asked.

    The man gave it to him. He took out a scrap of paper and noted it.

    ¡°I can¡¯t save you,¡± he continued. ¡°But I¡¯ll see what I can do for her. At the very least, I¡¯ll make sure she knows her father loves her before she dies.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± the man said, and broke into tears anew.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be quick and painless,¡± Gilfred continued. ¡°The hangman does a good job, and it¡¯s a much better fate than the guillotine. I hear the head continues to live for several seconds even after it¡¯s been severed.¡±

    The man seemed unconvinced.

    ¡°Be glad you¡¯re only here for one night. I¡¯ve known men who have gone mad and lost the will to live after just a month.¡±

    Gilfred turned around before he could change his mind and headed back towards the guard¡¯s office. Along the way he kept his head down, away from the haunted faces that loomed on either side. It wasn¡¯t right, the prison system. There were good, poor men who lay in those cells now, and bad ones who¡¯d gotten away with a fine or a bribe.

    He was so busy concentrating on his feet that he didn¡¯t notice Celianna as she came spilling out around the corner, golden hair and skirts and all. It wasn¡¯t until he was upon her that he realized and stopped, catching her before she fell to the ground.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, milady,¡± he gushed, bowing vigorously. ¡°I didn¡¯t see you.¡±

    ¡°Gilfred!¡± the Princess steadied herself and withdrew her hand from his grip. ¡°You should really keep your chin up, you know. You lose a lot of height when you look down.¡±

    ¡°Yes, milady.¡±

    Celianna sighed. ¡°I wish I could have you fired. You need to learn how to follow orders.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve not disobeyed a single order you¡¯ve given me.¡±

    ¡°Then why are you still calling me ¡®milady?¡¯¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    ¡°Because that¡¯s the decree of His Majesty your father,¡± Gilfred said. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t do well for a bodyguard to become too close to his charge. Distance must be maintained. Calling you by your name isn¡¯t a problem for me, but it might not sit well with others.¡±

    ¡°Do it in private, then!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re never in private, milady. You never know who¡¯s watching.¡± As if to make his point, Gilfred pointed to the dull-eyed prisoners in the cells.

    Celianna rolled her eyes. ¡°Okay, Gil. Let¡¯s get out of here; it¡¯s too dark for my liking.¡± She began walking again.

    ¡°If I might ask, milady, what are you doing down here?¡± Just the sight of her made the dungeons a little brighter. In a lot of ways, Celianna Uldan was the very definition of what a Princess should be. Beautiful, fair, and gentle, like a blooming flower.

    However, she was much more than that. She also had a mind like a blade and a stubborn streak rivalling the King¡¯s. Of all the people she was close to, including her brother and parents, Gilfred probably knew her the best. He¡¯d been watching over her since his training as a Kingsblade had begun, when he was barely a man and she barely old enough to walk.

    With that being said, the Princess continued to surprise him every day. She was simply too eccentric to predict, like a leaf dancing in the wind.

    ¡°I was visiting someone,¡± Celianna replied, staring ahead with a serious expression on her face. ¡°Alend Thoren. Do you remember him? He used to be a Kingsblade as well.¡±

    Gilfred swallowed. Alend. The lies and accusations the former Kingsblade had made still stung him. ¡°I know him well¡ªor at least, I thought I did.¡±

    ¡°I knew his brother as well, Edric¡ªWyd bless his soul. They were good people.¡±

    ¡°Did he say anything to you?¡± About your mother? And my father?

    Celianna shook her head. ¡°He didn¡¯t speak at all. Just stared into the distance. I feel terrible for him, poor man.¡±

    ¡°You should stay away from him.¡± They nodded to the custody manager and began climbing the stairs. ¡°He is not one to be trusted. He is a Deserter, a man who your father once considered a ¡®friend,¡¯ who betrayed him and fled for the borders of Faengard.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the thing,¡± Celianna said. ¡°He¡¯s not a bad man. I can¡¯t understand why everyone says he is. Do you know Ein Thoren, the boy from the country who was here only a few days ago?¡± Gilfred nodded. ¡°They¡¯re father and son. Ein seemed like a nice person too; I can¡¯t see the two being anything but.¡±

    And what about your mother? Is she a ¡®good person¡¯ as well? ¡°People are not always what they seem, milady.¡±

    ¡°Oh? I¡¯ve always thought myself good at guessing people. Call it a sixth sense if you will. For instance, I knew you were good the moment I laid eyes on you, when you barely had a hair on your chin and you couldn¡¯t stand being around any of the adults.¡±

    Gilfred flushed. That had been a long time ago, when they¡¯d first taken him to recite the Vow. Ironically enough, the only other person he¡¯d been able to stand had been Alend. He hated everyone else, for no reason other than the fact that they¡¯d forced him onto this path.

    ¡°Is that so,¡± he said. He slowed down a little to allow the Princess to catch up. He always forgot how long it took ordinary people to climb stairs. ¡°What if I were to tell  you I¡¯ve been scheming against your father all along, planning to take the throne?¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯d laugh, like I am now.¡± Celianna let out a mocking cackle as she did so, bringing a smile to his lips. ¡°You don¡¯t have it in you to lead a nation, Gil. Even the people can see it. Otherwise the protests would have begun a lot sooner.¡±

    She was referring to the unrest that stirred the streets of Aldoran. Though no one openly voiced it, there were rumours of followers loyal to House Leonhart emerging and preaching to others, convincing them Gilfred was a better leader than Aedon¡ªthat he would be able to solve the problems caused by the Great Winter and the relicts. It was silly. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the way Aedon ran the country. Perhaps the only thing Gilfred could criticize was how the old King seemed to dismiss prophecies. In Gilfred¡¯s opinion, the words of seers were too important to be ignored.

    ¡°Perhaps I¡¯m not after the throne,¡± Gilfred shrugged. ¡°Perhaps I¡¯m just after the King¡¯s beautiful daughter.¡±

    A flicker of something that might have been surprise passed across her Celianna¡¯s face, but she quickly regained her composure.

    ¡°Then you¡¯re a good actor. You¡¯ve been the most gentlemanly guard I¡¯ve ever spoken with.¡± Celianna stopped in the middle of the stairwell and turned around, looking down at him. ¡°Well? What are you waiting for?¡±

    Gilfred frowned in confusion. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no one else around. Aren¡¯t you going to profess your love to me?¡± She gave him that annoying smirk of hers, the one she reserved only for him.

    Gilfred fought to keep himself from snapping a reply. She was right, he realized with a start. They were alone in the staircase, deep beneath the castle floor. There was no one to overhear them.

    He would be lying if he said he didn¡¯t find her attractive. She was the Princess, whom knights and lords from other city-states pined after, renowned throughout the land for her beauty and kindness. He had fantasized about being with her many times, as much as he was ashamed to admit.

    But duty came first. Gilfred lived and died by his honour.

    ¡°I won¡¯t do anything of the sort,¡± he said stiffly.

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Celianna teased. ¡°Why bring it up in the first place, then?¡±

    ¡°It was a joke. A poor one, on my behalf.¡±

    The Princess smiled. ¡°I see. In that case, this shouldn¡¯t have any effect, should it?¡± She hesitated and then spoke: ¡°You will give in to your true desires.¡±

    Immediately Gilfred reached out to her, a wave of heat washing over him. His hand stopped inches from her cheek, quivering in place. He clamped his teeth, locking his jaw so hard it ached. The Princess watched him without blinking, making no attempt to stop him, an amused look on her face.

    ¡°What... are you¡­ doing¡­?¡± he gritted.

    ¡°Won¡¯t you show me the wonders of being a woman?¡± She said coyly, batting her lashes at him.

    Gilfred¡¯s brain nearly burst inside his head.

    Wyd almighty, he swore. She was too daring for her own good. He was not going to do it. On his honour, the lion pride of his House. Leonharts did not go back on their word. He¡¯d sworn to protect the Uldans, to place his life before theirs, even if it had been against his will. There was nothing in the oath that said consortation was okay.

    He tried to close his outstretched hand into a fist. It continued to shake, hovering inches from Celianna¡¯s milky skin. She smelled sweet as well, like blooming wildflowers¡­

    And at last, the sensation passed and he fell to his knees in relief. Cold sweat poured down his back. Blood filled his mouth¡ªhe must have bitten his tongue¡ªand the joints in his fingers burned like flaming hell.

    ¡°You have no idea what could have happened just then,¡± he said angrily. ¡°That was the most reckless thing I¡¯ve ever seen you do.¡±

    ¡°I knew you weren¡¯t going to do anything,¡± she smiled brightly. ¡°I told you so already. I can tell good people from bad, and I know you have a good heart.¡±

    Gilfred sighed. ¡°At least your obstinance remains consistent,¡± he said testily. Before he knew it, his lips were moving. ¡°If you¡¯re so convinced Alend is good, then explain why he accused your mother of consorting with my father.¡±

    Burn me, I said it. Celianna¡¯s expression became dark all of a sudden. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°He told me the reason he Deserted was because the Queen tried to kill him. He overheard her making plans with my father to overthrow King Aedon and confronted her. She tried to assassinate him afterwards, and that was when he left.¡± He¡¯d already said it. The words continued to spill out of his mouth, the words he¡¯d been mulling over for several sleepless nights.

    Celianna was silent.

    That¡¯s right. Who to trust? Your own mother or a man you barely know? The decision had been harder for him, infinitely so. Did he trust his own father or the man who¡¯d mentored him, the man who was like a second father to him?

    Two lions cannot rule alongside each other. It was something his father, Rainier, had always said. But surely it didn¡¯t apply to court politics?

    ¡°Tell me the truth. Are you lying to me?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± He held her gaze.

    Celianna reached a hand to the wall to steady herself and then looked away. ¡°My mother is not a bad person,¡± she continued. ¡°Neither is Alend. I¡¯ve never been wrong before.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s always a first time.¡±

    She looked down uncertainly.

    ¡°Not all prisoners are bad people, either,¡± Gilfred continued. ¡°Sometimes good people do the wrong things for the right reasons.¡± To himself, he wondered if there was a reason Alend had lied.

    ¡°There must be more to this than meets the eye,¡± Celianna said. ¡°There has to be. I¡¯ll speak to Mother; maybe¡ª¡±

    ¡°No. Are you mad?¡± Gilfred made no hesitation to grab her shoulder this time. ¡°Don¡¯t say a word of this to anyone, least of all her. She could have me executed.¡± And Alend will probably be killed, too. Even now, without even realizing it, Gilfred was trying to defend him.

    Kalador will pass his judgement, he thought. I¡¯m just making doubly sure before I condemn him.

    Yet he knew that was a lie. He didn¡¯t want to believe Alend was a traitor and a liar. Did that mean his father was the traitor, then?

    Celianna seemed to be thinking similar thoughts. He nudged her on and they continued to climb the stairs to the Keep in silence.

 46. Darmouth

    Chapter Forty-Six: Darmouth

    ¡°I am what you would call a Prophet. We are few, but each of us holds a special affinity with the Winds of Fate. We can see things that others cannot, things that transcend the realm of time. Things from the past no man remembers. Things from the present no mortal should know. Things from the future that will come to pass.

    ¡°Some of these things are laudable. Some of them make no difference in the grand scheme of things. But some of the things we see are so dreadful, so dark and heavy and world-changing, that we lose our sanity and ultimately take our own lives. We do not always understand what we see. Sometimes the truth does not become apparent until the last piece of the puzzle falls into place.

    ¡°I am not the only one of our kind who has seen the things to follow. Others have seen them as well, bits and pieces, and only when the time is right can we make sense of it all. Until then, I will leave my dreams in this logbook. I pray that you will heed them.

    ¡°My name is Morene Gylfaginor, and this is what I have seen.¡±

    ¡ªMorene Gylfaginor, The Codex Gylfaginor

    Darmouth was a small village under the shadow of Raginrok, a scattering of huts and muddy paths winding around a cold mountain stream. The huts were small and circular and made of sticks and thatched roofs, with square back yards bounded by low wooden fences. Shaggy mountain goats chewed at stunted grass as puddles of water pooled in the streets around them.

    Aeos, Garax and Rhinne waited by the entrance to the village as the boy ran inside, calling out in his foreign tongue. The goats began to cry, lifting their heads from the ground. Aeos realized with a start that the strange light had disappeared as soon as they¡¯d set foot inside the village.

    ¡°Where is everyone?¡± he grumbled. ¡°The place looks deserted.¡±

    ¡°Well, it is raining,¡± Garax replied. ¡°And the poor villagers are probably scared to death of the relicts. Look over there, they¡¯re scouting us out as we speak.¡±

    Aeos looked towards one of the windows just as the curtains were drawn shut. The boy continued to run from doorstep to doorstep, knocking and shouting at the top of his lungs. At last, a woman in a fur jacket emerged, stepping out into the rain. The boy cried out and then ran into her arms. She stroked his hair and they spoke in relieved tones.

    After that the other villagers appeared, filing hesitantly out towards him. They eyed Aeos and the others warily, each of them asking the boy what had happened. He pointed at the three excitedly, making wide sweeping gestures, calling out the word ¡®Talam¡¯ more than once. Aeos was starting to cool down now, standing in the rain with layers of clothing that had been soaked all the way through. He stalked into the villagers¡¯ midst, feeling the mud squelch in his boots.

    ¡°Can we go somewhere dry to talk?¡± he asked, slowly and clearly.

    The villagers watched him like a group of sheep confronted by a wolf. They were all coffee-skinned with dark eyes, and they dressed themselves in stitched hides and fleece coats. Some of them even had fur caps on their heads. Darmouthers were no strangers to the cold, it seemed.

    Aeos was just about to ask Garax for a translation when one of the villagers stepped forward. ¡°You kill the mountain demons?¡± he asked, feeling around his mouth for each word.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Garax nodded. ¡°Mountain demons dead. Killi.¡±

    ¡°How many?¡±

    The storyteller held up four fingers. The villager nodded.

    ¡°Talam!¡± the boy continued to say, pointing to Aeos and Garax. ¡°Talam!¡±

    ¡°Come with me,¡± the man continued. ¡°We talk in my house.¡±

    #

    The man¡¯s name was Rakan and he was the father of the boy, Yusef. The mother, Farishta, was there as well.

    The inside of his hut consisted of only one room, with a tarp divider that separated the chamberpot from everything else. There were shelves filled with plates and cutlery, fur coats, vases and other foodstuffs, and in the corner was a fleece mattress that he shared with his wife and son. Farishta held Yusef tightly to her chest, much to his embarrassment. They sat around a small table on the straw carpet, Aeos, Garax and Rhinne on one side, Yusef and his parents on the other.

    ¡°Can I get you drink?¡± Rakan asked. ¡°Ko¡­ Koffee?¡±

    ¡°That would be excellent,¡± Garax said. ¡°It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve had a good coffee. It¡¯s the only thing I miss from Felhaven.¡±

    Rakan nodded and spoke to his wife. Farishta reluctantly let go of Yusef and went over to place a pot of water over the fireplace. Three sets of soaked clothes already hung in front of it, dripping onto the ground.

    ¡°Thank you very much,¡± Rakan said again, bowing deeply.

    ¡°There¡¯s no need to thank us,¡± Garax replied. ¡°It was the least we could do. Yusef told me that the relicts¡ªI mean, the mountain demons¡ªhave been plaguing your village for a while now. Can you tell me more?¡±

    Rakan nodded vigorously. ¡°Yes, is true. They come a few weeks ago, when Mandara started shaking. Was terrible. Houses knocked down, goats scared, rocks falling from mountain. The gods awaken from Nanak Tur.¡±

    ¡°And you sent sacrifices up the mountain to appease it?¡±

    ¡°Ap.. pease?¡±

    ¡°Happy. Make Mandara happy.¡±

    Rakan nodded in understanding. ¡°Only one at first. A not-girl. She come to Darmouth earlier, with travelling merchant. Bad things happening.¡±

    There was a sudden yelp from the fireplace. Farishta leaped back from the wet clothes as a bundle of grey crashed onto the floor. It fluttered weakly.

    ¡°Blast. I completely forgot about him,¡± Garax swore. He rushed over to Talberon¡¯s limp form, scooping him up in his hands. The Druid had been comatose ever since the events of Mor¡¯Gravar, when he¡¯d tried to find Ein through Astreal. Something had happened then, something no one else knew. Only Talberon could help himself now.

    And all for nought, Aeos thought. We¡¯ve lost Ein. I guess he was guilty, after all.

    But that didn¡¯t explain why Garax and Rhinne were still alive.

    ¡°Bird¡­ dead?¡± Rakan asked.

    ¡°No,¡± Garax said. ¡°Bird not dead. Are you able to take care of him for me?¡±

    ¡°Talam!¡± Yusef said again, pointing to Talberon. Rakan¡¯s eyes widened and he nodded, giving a spiel of instructions to his wife. ¡°He will be looked after,¡± he said. ¡°My wife very good with animals.¡±

    Farishta cupped her hands, and Garax gently placed Talberon inside them. She then took him to the fireplace and began rifling through the drawers, taking out bandages and cloth strips and strange jars of ointment.

    ¡°Thank you. Now, back to where we were before¡ªwhat sort of bad things happened with this ¡®not-girl¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Mandara angry,¡± Rakan said, making a shaking gesture with his hands. ¡°Rain without stop. Crop die. Goat die. People ill. Many things, all start when not-girl arrive at Darmouth.¡±

    ¡°What exactly do you mean by ¡®not-girl¡¯?¡± Aeos interrupted.

    ¡°Not¡­ girl. She look like girl, but she¡­ not.¡± Rakan frowned. ¡°She¡­ speak different. Her eyes too. She is mejah.¡±

    ¡°Mejah,¡± Garax murmured. ¡°So you sent her up Mandara?¡±

    ¡°We send her up to Mandara, and quaking stop. Now only happen a few times a day. Before, every hour.¡±

    ¡°And when did the reli¡ªthe mountain demons start coming?¡±

    The crisp smell of coffee wafted through the air. Aeos¡¯s stomach rumbled. It had been a while since he¡¯d drank it¡ªcoffee beans had become scarce upon the start of the Great Winter. The people of Darmouth probably used a different strain to make theirs.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Farishta poured six cups full of the brown liquid, mixing in cream on top. She handed one to each person at the table including herself, along with a saucer and a square biscuit of some sort.

    ¡°What is this?¡± Rhinne asked, sniffing it. ¡°It¡¯s so bitter.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s called coffee,¡± Garax smiled. ¡°A hot coffee on a cold day is like a cold beer on a hot day. Give it a try.¡±

    Rhinne wrinkled her nose and took a sip. She grimaced, but didn¡¯t spit it out. Aeos drank a mouthful from his own cup, savouring the sweet, frothy and yet bitter taste that was so sought after in the current times. If they somehow opened a trade route between Aldoran and Darmouth, they¡¯d be able to make a lot of profit during the winter. He filed that piece of knowledge away for the future.

    The biscuit was tasteless, but with the coffee it helped to fill their stomachs. Before he knew it, he¡¯d downed the entire cup and was longing for more. So was Rhinne.

    ¡°It¡¯s strange,¡± she said. ¡°It doesn¡¯t taste very good. But I feel like I want more.¡±

    ¡°Be careful,¡± Garax smirked. ¡°Drink too much and you¡¯ll have trouble falling asleep.¡±

    They returned their dishes to Farishta, considerably warmer now. If it weren¡¯t for the uncomfortable itching at his neck from the spare fleece they¡¯d been lent, he might have fallen asleep on the spot.

    ¡°Mountain demons start coming not long after,¡± Rakan sighed, picking up their conversation where they¡¯d left off. ¡°We sacrifice our young so they leave us alone. Our Yusef selected this week.¡± He bowed once more. ¡°We very grateful to you for saving our son and killing mountain demons.¡±

    ¡°Your people don¡¯t seem very happy,¡± Rhinne said. ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°They afraid,¡± Rakan looked at his empty saucer. ¡°Last time, we have knights and soldiers come to Darmouth to¡­ ap-pease Mandara. Even a mejahman. They say they going to take care of problem. That day¡­ very bad earthquake. Three houses crushed by falling rocks. Seven goats die. Very bad.¡±

    ¡°And were the knights and soldiers dressed in black armour? Black and silver?¡± Garax asked.

    ¡°Yes. They in black and silver. One in gold. He was very strong. We thought he was Talam.¡±

    ¡°Talam!¡± Yusef said again. ¡°Bhava Talam!¡±

    ¡°Your son keeps calling us that,¡± Aeos frowned. ¡°But what does it actually mean?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Rhinne. ¡°I¡¯d like to know that as well.¡±

    ¡°It is¡­ prediction,¡± Rakan answered. ¡°Pro¡­ prophecy? In our religion, we serve the Nanak. Ninety gods die to form these mountains. Ninety god spirits rule over us.¡± He pointed at the sky. ¡°We at mercy of gods. God will send rain and flood when unhappy. God will cause blizzard. God cause falling rocks and ice to crush us, earthquakes to destroy our farms. It is reason why we cannot make village bigger.

    ¡°But Talam¡­ Talam is godbreaker. Prophet Muamed say three people come to free us from Nanak Tur. Three people come to slay Mandara. One man like a ghost. White skin, white hair.¡± He pointed to Aeos¡¯s head. ¡°One man with no hand, old and wise, carrying dead bird.¡± He pointed to Garax this time. ¡°And the third. Young man with golden sword, who cause the storm. Last time, man with golden sword come. But no storm.¡± Rakan pointed to the roof. ¡°This time, storm. But no man with golden sword.¡±

    A man with a golden sword. Aeos exchanged looks with Rhinne and Garax. The prophecy was either wrong, or Ein was still alive and yet to make his way to the village.

    ¡°Can we meet this ¡®Muamed¡¯?¡± Garax asked.

    Rakan laughed. ¡°Muamed die long ago. Many thousand years. But we follow his teaching. We bow to mountain gods and continue to live.¡±

    Farishta took her place beside her son and they sat for a while in silence, listening to the drum of the rain above them. Talberon was resting in a bundle of warm furs, bound snugly in small bandages. Aeos wasn¡¯t quite sure what to think. He¡¯d always been one to trust his own eyes and ears rather than the stories of others¡ªbut he¡¯d never been one to dismiss possibilities. The fact that two prophets, Morene and Muamed, were saying similar things had him thinking.

    Was Faenrir really behind the tremors in Lauriel¡¯s Spine? Aeos was starting to consider that maybe, just maybe the relicts and the Blight, the Winter and Aedrasil, the boy Ein and the band of people he¡¯d brought with him¡ªhe was starting to think that they might be connected.

    The Twilight of the World. If it was all true, then the Twilight of the World was falling upon them.

    ¡°Rakan,¡± Garax said at last, addressing the villager.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve come to kill Mandara and the mountain demons. But to do that, we need to climb the mountain. We need to climb Mandara and reach the top. Do you know anyone who can guide us?¡±

    Rakan¡¯s face turned pale. ¡°Very dangerous,¡± he said. ¡°Few people dare set foot on Mandara. Tushar know how. Tushar can do, for gold money. Tushar crazy man.¡±

    ¡°Can you take us to this ¡®Tushar?¡¯¡± Garax asked.

    ¡°Hold on,¡± Aeos interrupted. ¡°What about Ein?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no way for us to find him,¡± Garax replied. ¡°None of us are capable of entering Astreal, and Talberon lies in a place no one can reach. I say we set foot on Raginrok and try to rescue this ¡®not-girl¡¯ first. We can worry about the rest later.¡±

    ¡°And how do you think we¡¯ll manage that?¡± Aeos asked. ¡°We have a dragon who can¡¯t transform, an old man and a Prince with laughable combat experience. You have to remember; Kingsblade Edric and Druid Keldan went up there with some of the Legion¡¯s finest warriors, and they didn¡¯t come back. What makes you think we¡¯ll do any better?¡±

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Garax said simply. ¡°But it must be done. Because if we don¡¯t do it, who will? We¡¯re the heroes of this story, Your Highness. We are the Heroes of Faengard for this age.¡±

    Aeos fell into silence. It was all beginning to come down on him, the weight of their mission, the pressure. They didn¡¯t need Ein. They would be stronger with a Kingsblade on their side, but he didn¡¯t matter in the grand scheme of things. Celianna had told him that Aedrasil needed the blood of the Three Kings. They had Alend and Aedon waiting back in Aldoran. All they needed was a Lachess, and the world would be saved.

    Of course, his mother believed in Celesite. But Celianna didn¡¯t trust it or Minister Dominus, and Aeos trusted Celianna. It was better to be safe than sorry.

    ¡°Can you take us to Tushar?¡± Garax asked again.

    Rakan ran his fingers through his hair. Farishta and Yusef watched the exchange wide-eyed, unaware of what was being discussed.

    ¡°No.¡± But before Garax could say anything further, he continued. ¡°You see¡­ Tushar is crazy man. Brave, but crazy. He go off to fight the mountain demons with his friends, to rescue our children. He never come back.¡±

    Garax nodded. ¡°So Tushar should be with these mountain demons, along with all the other sacrifices?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°How do we know he¡¯s still alive?¡±

    ¡°We not know,¡± Rakan shook his head. ¡°But the demons conserve their food. They eat slowly, one person a day. Maybe if hurry, you find him alive.¡±

    ¡°One person a day,¡± Rhinne growled. ¡°And what were you planning on doing once you¡¯d run out of people to sacrifice?¡±

    Rakan¡¯s shoulders drooped. ¡°We not know. Maybe is fate, that the Talam come to us before then.¡±

    She tossed her head. ¡°Tell the leader of your village that he¡¯s a coward and that he deserves to burn in hell.¡±

    Rakan bowed. ¡°I am village leader. I am sorry.¡±

    #

    Before they left, Rakan had their packs loaded with furs and blankets, water and food, and fleece caps to protect them from the wind. With all their gear on, Aeos felt warm to his very toes, even with the rain misting across his face. His boots and clothes were dry and his stomach was full, and the effects of coffee kept him alert and awake.

    The other villagers watched as Yusef, Rakan and Farishta walked them to the front of the village. They¡¯d kept their distance the whole time, whispering ¡°Talam¡± beneath their breaths, pointing to Aeos¡¯s hair and Garax¡¯s stump of a hand. The distrust was plain as day on their faces. They knew nothing about these foreigners who¡¯d come to slay the mountain demons. For all they knew, the last time foreigners had visited, they¡¯d brought with them a devastating earthquake. It was no wonder they built their houses from sticks¡ªthey were easier and quicker to make than carving planks from wood or bricks from stone.

    ¡°Look after the bird,¡± Garax said. ¡°We¡¯ll come back for him.¡±

    Rakan nodded and bowed deeply. ¡°Mandi se¡¯bhava. Mountain watch over you.¡±

    ¡°Mandi se¡¯bhava,¡± Yusef and Farishta repeated.

    They set off then, trudging across the muddy ground, feet growing sodden with each step. It didn¡¯t take long for Aeos¡¯s feet to be soaked again, and the effects of the coffee to wear off. The rain was like a harsh wind, weathering away at his spirit.

    They stopped under the shelter of a large tree as soon as the village disappeared from view. As they straightened their boots and regained their bearings, Aeos turned to Rhinne and Garax.

    ¡°How exactly are we supposed to track the relicts in this weather?¡± he asked.

    The rain was streaming down the mountain in waves, muddying the ground beneath their feet. Even the bootprints they¡¯d left earlier in the day had almost washed away.

    ¡°Leave it to me,¡± Rhinne said. ¡°If you had the nose of a dragon, you¡¯d understand. The minions of Asmodon leave behind a stench like rotting meat in a flower garden. Even without the rain and wind, I¡¯d be able to smell them.¡±

    She set off at once, following the river back the way they¡¯d come. Aeos stayed on her heels and Garax brought up the rear, sword against his hip. The mysterious light appeared not long after, a tiny pinprick in the distance beneath the snow-dusted pines. Aeos decided to call it the Guidelight.

    The rain stopped and started as they climbed, following the muddy trail. They came across signs of the relicts soon enough, faint footprints in the mud, scraps of clothing and bones¡ªhuman bones, small and thin like a child¡¯s. Rhinne went stone-faced when she saw them, and not a word was said.

    There were more signs the further they travelled. Claw marks along the barks of trees, trampled bushes, littered shortswords and knives strewn by the remains of more bones. It looked to be a large pack of at least twenty, maybe more. Aeos couldn¡¯t tell if they had Bloodmanes with them, but he saw the telltale signs of Celadon stools and Worgal footprints. The encounter with the Worgals earlier had been the first dealings he¡¯d had with any relict at all, but he¡¯d read the Encyclopaedia of Daemons before and seen Ylva Norn¡¯s sketches. For a book written several Ages ago, it was quite accurate.

    The longer and farther they travelled, the more he wondered what they¡¯d do when they finally found the camp. It had been a struggle fighting four Worgals alone. What were they to do against twenty? And what if they had Bloodmanes and Celadons with them, and Vallaheim forbid, a Slazaad?

    For the second time that day, he wished Willard were still alive. Then his blasted father wouldn¡¯t have been so determined to ¡®make a man¡¯ out of him and send him all the way into the wilderness with nothing but felons for company. Aeos sighed.

    Night fell soon enough, and Rhinne guided them into a crevice in the side of a stone spire. There they started a fire and dried their toes, listening to the sound of howling in the night as the rain washed their bootprints off the mountain.

 47. Vandrhind

    Chapter Forty-Seven: Vandrhind

    ¡°Contrary to popular belief, the Apocalypse Knights are not immortal. They are very, very strong, but not so strong that they cannot be defeated.

    ¡°The illusion of immortality rises from the emblem of the Oathbreaker. As long as the Eye and the Crescent Moon strikes fear in the heart of man, the Apocalypse Knights cannot die¡ªfor the death of one simply means the rise of another to take its place.¡±

    ¡ªTurnis Hibernon, Fact or Faerie Tale? A Study of Faengard¡¯s Folklore

    ¡°Ein! Are you okay?¡±

    Rhea wiped her hands on her apron and came out to where Ein lay flat on the grass, panting. His wooden sword was covered in chips and cracks and had been tossed to one side.

    ¡°Yeah.¡± He managed to sit up, wincing as bolts of pain ran through his body. His mother bent down beside him, taking in the fresh bruises that were beginning to form on his skin.

    ¡°I¡¯ll kill him,¡± she seethed. ¡°How dare he¡­¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Ein said. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, mother. I was the one who asked for it.¡±

    ¡°This fencing business has gone too far,¡± Rhea said, running her hands across his skin. They felt soft and cool, and yet firm.¡°There¡¯s no need to put you through such intensive training. Who are you going to fight here in Felhaven? The scarecrows?¡±

    ¡°No, Mother,¡± Ein said again, pushing her away. He picked up his sword and stood, brushing the stray grass off his back. ¡°I want to learn how to fight. Father may be harsh, but he¡¯s a good mentor.¡±

    ¡°Is this the whole Hero of Faengard business?¡± Rhea asked, standing a short distance behind Ein. The sun was setting, casting a crimson glow across the rear yard of the forge. ¡°You¡¯re being silly, Ein. In a few years, you¡¯ll look back on yourself and think of how silly you were. Playing pretend with your friends is all well and good, but when you start getting hurt, that¡¯s when things have gone too far. Besides, you hardly need to be a master swordsman to impress the village girls. You have a pretty face; I¡¯ve seen the way they look at you.¡±

    Ein flushed. ¡°It¡¯s not about that at all, Mother. I¡¯m doing this for myself. I don¡¯t want to live a boring life as a blacksmith. I want to see the world, rescue damsels in distress, fight dragons and meet wise old men. I don¡¯t see why you and Father are so against it.¡±

    Rhea¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°Do you really want to know the reason why?¡±

    ¡°Of course I do,¡± Ein said hotly. ¡°I don¡¯t understand any of this. And if Father was so against the idea, why does he continue to teach me?¡±

    ¡°The skills he teaches you are useful to have,¡± his mother said. ¡°But what matters is how you use them. I think he wants you to come to the conclusion yourself, rather than be told what you should and shouldn¡¯t do. In either case, I¡¯ll show you why your Father is so against you venturing outside of Felhaven. This Friday evening, once I¡¯ve put Cinnamin to bed, we¡¯ll go for a walk. Not a word about this to him, okay?¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Ein nodded.

    ¡°Now, be a good boy and go get cleaned up. Dinner is almost ready.¡±

    #

    The Worgals barked excitedly when they found Ein washed along the river, soaking wet in the dead of the night, sodden clothes and armour as heavy as lead. They grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet, causing his brain to rattle painfully inside his skull. Anger boiled inside him as he smelled their rancid breath.

    He could fight, definitely. They hadn¡¯t touched his Rhinegold blade. He could kill two of them in the blink of an eye and maybe a third before the rest of the pack noticed. But what then?

    Find out everything you can about your situation before you act.

    Alend¡¯s words calmed him, washing away the red mist. He allowed them to bind his hands, counting the glistening bodies in the rain as he waited. There were ten or so of the wolfmen lumbering about in the pitch black, yellow eyes glinting. Rough tents had been set up along the river, quivering beneath the downpour while their occupants feasted and conversed in low grunts. Some of the Worgals worked quietly in the corners, carving up meat, sharpening tools and weapons.

    As they led him through the camp, Ein decided he¡¯d made the right choice. Breaking free of his binds would be child¡¯s play¡ªhe could snap them as easily as stitches¡ªbut fighting his way through twenty Worgals at once would be a challenge, even in his superhuman state. It was better to wait and gain an understanding of what was happening before he tried anything. Besides, the camp was too dark to see. It was a camp made for relict eyes, without fires or sources of light. The shadows were not his friend.

    They tossed him in a barred cage somewhere, out of the rain. Ein wriggled into a more comfortable position and waited for them to leave. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized he wasn¡¯t alone.

    ¡°Bhava sa catan sur?¡± a voice asked him.

    Ein frowned. ¡°What did you say?¡±

    There was a pause, and then the voice cleared his throat. ¡°So they got you too?¡± He spoke the common tongue with a light accent.

    ¡°I guess so.¡± Ein peered into the darkness. There were three other figures in the cage with him. Two of them lay on their sides, sleeping. The one who¡¯d spoken was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a moustache like a comb. ¡°Where are we?¡±

    ¡°Somewhere in Nanak Tur. The hell if I know where exactly,¡± he grunted.

    ¡°And what¡¯s Nanak Tur?¡±

    ¡°Just the name we have for these mountains. You probably know them as Lauriel¡¯s Spine.¡± He leaned forward, peering at Ein¡¯s face. ¡°What¡¯s a foreigner like you doing all the way up here?¡±

    ¡°We were going to Darmouth to find someone,¡± Ein answered carefully. ¡°But I was separated from everyone else.¡±

    ¡°A little young to be on the road, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°No younger than any boy working in the fields.¡±

    The man nodded. ¡°I won¡¯t pry any further. But I¡¯ll say this; you must have all the bad luck in the world to be caught up in this mess.¡±

    They watched the Worgals, their slick shapes shuffling around the camp. The best avenue of escape would be to wait until late morning, when the relicts settled down to sleep, and then break free and run.

    But what about these men?

    Guilt gnawed at Ein as he studied the other captives. It didn¡¯t feel right, fleeing by himself and then leaving them to die. He was a Kingsblade, wasn¡¯t he? He had the power to save them.

    That¡¯s what a hero would think, he realized with a start. Ein Thoren, Hero of Felhaven, Fateweaver, Reyalin Reborn. Already the Winds of Fate were blowing against him, dragging him further from the quiet life he¡¯d yearned to live. An ember flickered inside his chest, a remnant of the bright-eyed youth he¡¯d once been.

    ¡°We¡¯re not the only ones,¡± the man continued, snapping him from his thoughts. ¡°There are other captives as well.¡± He pointed through the bars to the opposite side of the camp. Ein brought his face close to the wall of the cage and squinted into the night.

    ¡°They¡¯ve been coming down to our village for a while now, the relicts. Every child you see has been taken away from their family, offered as a sacrifice to keep these ¡®mountain demons¡¯ away for another day.¡±

    Ein swallowed. There were three cages in total, each housing a handful of small figures. The youngest was barely an infant, the oldest perhaps his own age. They sat gloomily, the shadows cloaking their faces.

    ¡°You see that Worgal carving meat over there?¡±

    The man pointed again, and Ein felt his stomach lurch.

    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious¡­¡± He knew Worgals ate human flesh, even relict flesh. It didn¡¯t come as a surprise that they slaughtered children for food, yet he refused to believe it. The cleaver came down again and again in the rain, blood splattering across the chopping board. The Worgal lifted the leg of meat and pulled it apart with a loud crack, separating the two bones at the joint.

    ¡°We of Darmouth who were not frightened took up arms,¡± the man continued. ¡°We tracked them to their camp. But we were overwhelmed and caged, left alive to watch our children die one by one.¡± His eyes burned with a silent fury. ¡°The demons are sadistic, it seems. They derive pleasure from our pain.¡±

    Ein forced himself away from the bars. Pain jolted through his palms, his hands clenched so bone-tight that his nails drew blood. He closed his eyes and saw the Worgal with its cleaver, coming down repeatedly across the child¡¯s limb. Blood splattering, organs spilling. Voices screaming. He opened his eyes and saw Cinnamin on the chopping board, looking to him for help. He saw Cinnamin lying weakly in the cages, saw Cinnamin sitting with a haunted look in her eyes.

    ¡°You¡¯re back! You were gone for so long¡­¡±

    ¡°Working on a farm is so boring.¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°You told me you were the best, though. Or was that a lie?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be twelve in a few weeks.¡±

    ¡°Come home safely.¡±

    The man was looking at him, waiting. Ein loosed a breath through his teeth. To hell with escaping. He just wanted to murder the relicts, murder them all, free all the children and bring them back to their mothers and fathers.

    ¡°...no hero dies of old age, in the comfort of their own home, surrounded by friends and family.¡±

    To hell with that. If it meant even saving one of those children, he would gladly give his own life.

    The ember inside his chest flickered and flared to life.

    I¡¯m sorry, Father. It looks like I¡¯m going to try my hand at being a hero after all.

    ¡°You¡¯re not an ordinary boy, are you?¡± the man asked.

    He was at a severe disadvantage. It was night, and the Worgals could see as clearly as day. There were twenty of them and one of him. He had the strength of a Kingsblade and the training of Garax and Alend. He had a Rhinegold sword. He might just be able to pull it off if he divided them, maybe into two groups of ten or three groups of six. He would need something else though, another factor to help him.

    ¡°Tell me this, boy. Is that sword by your waist made of gold?¡±

    He could remove one of the disadvantages by waiting until daylight. Maybe if he asked the man and the other adults, they¡¯d help him. But they were unarmed and most likely unskilled. Without a sword of Soulforged steel, they¡¯d need fire or salt to be a match. Fire wouldn¡¯t work. They couldn¡¯t start one in this weather, even if they had the materials. They didn¡¯t have salt either. He could use the men as decoys, but he wouldn¡¯t. Their lives were worth just as much as the children.

    Someone touched his blade and unsheathed it a fraction. Ein reacted instinctively, grabbing the man¡¯s wrist with an iron grip.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± he asked, pushing it away before he could snap it. He left a dark mark around the man¡¯s forearm, one that would bruise in the morning. I¡¯ll have to be more careful with my strength.

    ¡°I thought as much,¡± the man said, rubbing his arm. ¡°A blade of gold and a storm. You are Talam.¡± He was smiling.

    Ein pushed his sword back into its scabbard. ¡°You. What¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°Tushar.¡±

    Ein nodded. ¡°Tushar. Tomorrow, when the Worgals stop to rest, I will kill them. Make sure you take everyone and run, okay? As far away from here as you can. Don¡¯t help me or you¡¯ll die.¡±

    Tushar closed his hand into a fist across his heart. ¡°I will do as you say. Mandi se¡¯bhava, Talam. May the mountain watch over you.¡±

    Ein was already testing the strength of the bars, squeezing them as hard as he could. He loosened his grip and nodded at the grooves he¡¯d left with his fingers. They would snap like twigs come tomorrow, like the bones of the Worgals he would destroy.

    #

    The night passed painfully slowly. Ein drifted in and out of sleep, catching glimpses of limbless children, a village in flames and a half-burned face looking down at him from above. All the while he felt her presence, heard her voice in the patter of rain and the smell of the storm. Lady Reyalin was watching him, waiting to be loosed.

    He woke when the first rays of dawn peeked out from behind the mountains, curled up into an uncomfortable ball on the floor. The children regarded him from the cage on the other side of the camp, hollow eyes devoid of emotion. In front of him were two Worgals, eyeing him intensely.

    Ein stared back, resisting the urge to glower. Though Worgals couldn¡¯t understand the common tongue, body language was universal. Surprise was an element he could use to his advantage, something that might help him overcome the odds. If the Worgals deemed him a threat, they would treat him with caution and he would lose that advantage.

    He must have failed, because the two wolfmen took a step back and adjusted their stances to face him side-on¡ªan instinctive reaction for a bipedal animal when threatened. Alend had always told him that dogs and wolves possessed a sixth sense. They could tell when someone was frightened or when they were happy or sad. They must also be able to sense killing intent.

    The Worgals left, and Ein returned to plotting their downfall. He spotted a group of Celadons tethered to a nearby tree, beasts of burden to pull the cages and carts, another factor that would tilt the odds against him. He observed them for a while until the Worgals came back, talking to each other in short grunts and growls. They brought with them the Bloodmane.

    It had been a while since Ein had seen one up so close. In fact, he hadn¡¯t come within an arm¡¯s reach of one since the duel in the burning house at Felhaven, something that seemed a lifetime away. Even though he¡¯d won that duel, it had ultimately come down to the fact that he¡¯d had fire on his side, one of the three weaknesses that relicts possessed. Out here in the cold, even with the strength of a Kingsblade¡¯s Vow behind him, there was no telling who would win.

    The creature stopped before Ein, breathing clouds of smog from its nostrils. It was a white Bloodmane, a creature of the snow, but its eyes and mane remained red like that of its brethren. Its Boneblade was sheathed by its side.

    ¡°Greetings, Fateweaver,¡± it hissed, and Ein shivered. It spoke the common tongue so well it could have been a man. ¡°How fitting we meet here, where the demon wolf awaits the Day.¡±

    He felt the gaze of Al¡¯Ashar through its eyes, all-seeing, as heavy as the world. A shot of fear ran though his veins. Every inch of his body wished to yield to the creature, his natural instinct screaming at him to flee. He was the prey. It was the predator.

    ¡°Are you the one in charge of the relicts?¡± Ein demanded. He wouldn¡¯t show weakness. Not in front of a servant of Al¡¯Ashar, the one who¡¯d been responsible for the attack on his village, the death of the Children of the Wind, the massacres occurring all over the country.

    ¡°That is indeed me. Among my brethren, I am known as Vandrhind. It means ¡®Winter Lion¡¯ in the Old Tongue.¡± Vandrhind gestured to the Worgals on either side. They slunk back towards the camp, tails between their legs. Tushar and the other men from the village had woken up and were watching fearfully, gathered in the corner opposite Ein.

    ¡°The time draws near,¡± Vandrhind continued. ¡°The Protector will die soon, and when she does, the fabric between dimensions will wear thin. Already our Lord¡¯s servants gather outside your capital, readying themselves for war.¡±

    ¡°What are you doing here, then?¡± Ein asked. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you tell your dogs to piss off to Aldoran?¡±

    Vandrhind laughed. ¡°Ah, Fateweaver. Powerful as he is, our Lord cannot bring about the Twilight by himself. We serve Faenrir, Vard¡¯Atar, the One who will Swallow the Sun. When it breaks free of its bonds, it will plunge the world into eternal darkness. We must be ready to answer its howl.¡±

    The mountain trembled, causing the cage to rattle on the spot. The Worgals raised their heads to the sky and howled in return, their voices echoing like a thousand screams. It lasted for a brief moment, a mere hiccup of the world, before all was quiet once more.

    ¡°It stirs,¡± Vandrhind said. ¡°Very soon, it will wake.¡±

    ¡°What do you want with me, then?¡± Ein demanded. ¡°I¡¯m not going to join you, not on my life.¡± The image of the cleaver came back to him and he kept it in his mind, drawing strength from it.

    ¡°I must admit, it was a surprise to find you here. My brethren searched long and hard for the blood of the Thorens. Imagine its surprise when it found not only he, but three Fateweavers as well. Imagine its disappointment when all three escaped its grasp.¡± The Bloodmane laughed. It was a deep, throaty sound, a cross between a snarl and a cough. ¡°Oh, our Lord will be pleased to have you¡ªbut there are things that take precedence over an insignificant Fateweaver such as yourself.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Ein growled. A sinking feeling settled inside his stomach.

    ¡°Aldoran is where the End will begin,¡± Vandrhind breathed. ¡°The home of Aedrasil. Where the Thorens and the Uldans reside. Where the other two Fateweavers from your village are.¡±

    Ein paled. Bran¡­ Evaine¡­ oh gods, no¡­

    ¡°I will leave you to my servants,¡± the Bloodmane continued. ¡°I must ride to war, now. To Aldoran, where our Lord¡¯s army gathers. Your City of Twilight will be the first to fall, your two friends the first of many to bend to His will.¡± It drew closer to Ein, breathing heavily. ¡°Perhaps if you somehow manage to survive, I will come for you. But as you are now, untrained in your Wyrd, you are the least of our Lord¡¯s threats.¡±

    ¡°You bastard,¡± Ein said. ¡°I won¡¯t let you. I¡¯ll kill Faenrir, and then I¡¯ll return to Aldoran and save Aedrasil. Mark my words, Bloodmane.¡±

    Vandrhind laughed. ¡°If you can kill my servants first, Fateweaver. Even with the strength of ten men, you would be hard-pressed surviving a battle with a pack of Worgals.¡± The Bloodmane turned around to the mountain as it trembled again. ¡°It tastes freedom,¡± it breathed. ¡°It will not be long now. When the World-Eater finally breaks free, we will have razed your cities to prepare for its coming.¡±

    He barked at the Worgals in a harsh, commanding tongue, and they loped to his side like guard dogs.

    ¡°I will leave you now, Fateweaver. I do hope you somehow survive. It is no fun to hunt a prey that is too weak.¡±

    Vandrhind stalked away, taking the Worgals with him. Ein wavered, but he kept his chin up. Heads turned as the relicts left the camp and disappeared into the rain. The Worgals, the children, the adults, none dared say a word. Only when Vandrhind was gone did the camp breathe and Ein allow himself to fall to his knees.

    ¡°What¡­ was that?¡± Tushar asked. His coffee skin had turned as pale as snow. He reached a trembling hand to the cage wall to steady himself.

    ¡°A Bloodmane,¡± Ein said shakily. ¡°A commander of the Worgals. A servant directly under the command of Al¡¯Ashar.¡±

    Tushar¡¯s face paled. ¡°No. You must not say his name.¡±

    ¡°You know him?¡±

    ¡°He is the Lord of the Night, the father of Mandara. An entity whose name even the Prophet Muamed feared to speak. You must not speak his name or bad things will happen.¡±

    The ground rocked again, sending great ripples across the puddles. The Worgals were packing, binding the cages to waiting Celadons.

    ¡°They¡¯re preparing to leave,¡± Ein realized. ¡°So that was why they set up camp. To wait for their master.¡±

    Tushar spoke to the other two men in the carriage in their own tongue. They had watched the whole exchange without saying a word. Now they seemed to be arguing, making violent gestures, raising their voices above the rain.

    ¡°What are they saying?¡± Ein asked.

    Tushar spat a curse. ¡°They are getting cold feet, so to speak,¡± he said. ¡°They are not willing to follow you. They wish to wait for help¡ªhelp that will never come. The Bloodmane has scared the piss out of their pants.¡±

    Ein looked at the two men in turn. There was nothing special about them¡ªthey were just ordinary villagers, farmers and shepherds, like the Masters back in Felhaven. Men who¡¯d been pushed to take action, even when they lacked the ability to make a difference. Of course they would be scared, having sensed the taint of the Oathbreaker himself.

    ¡°Tell them they can do what they want,¡± Ein said. ¡°But I won¡¯t stand around doing nothing as more people die.¡±

    ¡°I agree with you,¡± Tushar said. ¡°I¡¯ve told them you are Talam, but they are still uncertain.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what this ¡®Talam¡¯ means. But in our tongue, there are people we call ¡®heroes¡¯¡ªand I¡¯m going to become one of them.¡±

    Ein grabbed the bars on the cage and pulled. They bent like a hunting bow before snapping off in his hands. On the other side of the camp, some of the children had seen and were whispering to each other. Hope returned to their eyes, like the flickering candleflame in his heart.

    He tossed the two rods of iron to Tushar. The other men stared, wide-eyed.

    ¡°Tell them to take the children and run,¡± Ein said. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of this myself.¡±

    He set to work on a third bar. Once that was done, he would have a hole large enough for a man to fit through.

    Vandrhind¡¯s arrival might have taken away their morale, but he had also taken away something else. He¡¯d taken six Worgals with him, and now the odds were stacked in Ein¡¯s favour.

 48. The Sword and the Storm

    Chapter Forty-Eight: The Sword and the Storm

    ¡°She always seemed a different person in the storms. Faster, stronger, more¡­ alive. Sometimes she was unpredictable like the wind. Other times she was calm, like the eye. One thing was for certain¡ªyou did not provoke the Lady when there were stormclouds on the horizon.¡±

    ¡ªTurnis Hibernon, The Stormdancer

    The Celadons pawed at the mud, squinting into the rain. The stormclouds were coming closer, a dark grey, almost black tumult rolling across the sky. Forks of lightning licked at the mountaintops followed by distant cracks, like the cracking of whips.

    Worgals hurried across the camp, taking down their tents, packing up their meat-cleavers and supplies. The children huddled inside their cages away from where the rain lashed their faces, watching. They had been held captive for days now, some of them weeks, fed nothing but water. Piles of waste and urine lay strewn across the floor of the cage, the floor that was their bed and toilet. They had long since given up hope of escape, living an endless nightmare where the wolfmen ate them one by one.

    The first bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree, frightening the younger children. They began to cry as the wind picked up, buffeting the small cages that held them.

    The second bolt of lightning struck soon after, but it wasn¡¯t lightning. It was a golden sword in the storm, carving a path to freedom.

    #

    Three Worgals. Three Worgals dead, eleven remaining. Ein left their corpses in the mud, searching for his next victims. He was the hunter. They were the prey.

    Tushar and the two Darmouthers crawled out from the cage, shouting above the rain, but he ignored them. A red mist had crept into the corners of his eyes. He saw a Worgal emerge from a tent and pounced. Seven metres became one in the blink of an eye, and he thrust his sword so deep into its chest that his entire hand buried itself into soft flesh.

    Four Worgals. The relict let out a death-howl, drawing attention to the rest of its pack. One of them freed the Celadons, and they began to stream towards him.

    The sky flickered. When had the rain become a storm? It was almost night now, the clouds as black as ash. He cleaved a Worgal in half, listening to the splash it made as it hit the ground. It was music to his ears. He hummed an unfamiliar tune on his lips, feeling his hairs stand on end. It was like his body had been charged by the lightning. He felt incredible. Strong, fast, like a demon. Maybe he was a demon, a demon of the storm.

    Five Worgals. The remaining eleven had taken up shortbows and were firing wildly into the darkness. Ein heard shouts and screams, the pattering of little footsteps splashing through the mud. They were freed. Who? He didn¡¯t know. He just knew that the Worgals had to die. He would break them and rip them, as they¡¯d done to the Masters and Mistresses in Felhaven. He would leave no bone unbroken.

    Arrows thudded into his body, drawing blood. They were little more than pinpricks, like the thousands of raindrops that pummeled him every second. He ripped an arrow from his thigh and looked at it. It was red.

    The Celadons howled as well and charged him. There were seven of them, one for each cage and another three for the supply carts. He roared and charged them in return. He rammed into one head on, shoving it out of the way. His shoulder popped, but he shrugged it back into place. In a single bound, he landed in the midst of the Worgals, teeth bared.

    Six Worgals. Seven, Eight. They fell to his blade, slithering in and out of throats and chests like a golden viper. He felt his skin tear. It was irritating, like the gnats in summer. The storm roared again, and a surge of energy anew shot through his veins.

    Kill them. Kill them all.

    Nine Worgals. Ten Worgals. He caught one of their blades with his bare hand, feeling it bite into his flesh. Pain was good. Pain meant he was still alive. His sword flashed, seeking its next target, guided by the wind. Alend stood on one side of him, whispering teachings into his ear. Garax was on the other, telling him to remember the Way of the Wind. Be fluid and formless, evershifting, everchanging. Be invisible until the moment you draw blood. Eleven, Twelve Worgals. One Celadon. They were all the same to him, animals that needed to be slaughtered.

    More arrows sprouted along his arm. The remaining two wolfmen had fallen back to the trees. They were frightened. He could see it in the way they held themselves, smell it in the air, taste it. It was a delicious scent. Celadons knocked him back. He grabbed one of them by the horns and pulled them apart, opening the beast¡¯s head in a spray of blood. He yanked his arm from one of their jaws and sank his teeth into its throat, feeling liquid explode inside his mouth. Three Celadons.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    More arrows. More jostling, more red. There was so much red on his body. He was beginning to have trouble thinking. Why was it so quiet? The Celadons were gnashing their teeth, the Worgals snapping their jaws at each other from across the treeline, but he heard nothing. Had the children escaped? The villagers?

    Ein brought his sword up to strike, but it didn¡¯t obey. He took a step forward and fell to his knees. He suddenly felt sleepy, as if he¡¯d eaten a large meal at Evaine¡¯s house. He smiled. He wanted to see her again. He¡¯d never told her how much he enjoyed her company.

    Then, he decided he¡¯d had enough. The sky was dark, almost as dark as night. Good boys should be sleeping at night. He was a good boy so he closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness...

    #

    ¡°With me! We have to hurry!¡±

    Aeos bolted after the Guidelight, scrabbling across the wet rock. Rhinne and Garax followed him, startled by his urgency.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± the girl cried, struggling to be heard above the wind. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t rush into this! There are relicts up ahead, at least a dozen of them!¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Aeos called in return. ¡°You don¡¯t understand. It¡¯s Ein! He needs our help!¡±

    He¡¯d felt it a few minutes ago, a sudden drain on his Spirit as if the strength were being sucked from his limbs. He¡¯d felt it before when the Kingsblades back home had fought, striking each other hard enough to crack metal, bounding across the courtyards in a single step. Ein was fighting, and he was fighting hard¡ªand the tether was growing weaker.

    Blasted kid, he thought. What the blazes was he doing to use up so much of his Spirit?

    He stopped on a rocky outcrop to catch his breath. Rhinne landed lightly beside him, looking around.

    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± she said, panting. ¡°The relict camp isn¡¯t far from here. But I can smell people, too.¡±

    ¡°The children of Darmouth,¡± Garax said, wiping the rain from his eyes.

    Rhinne¡¯s face clouded over. ¡°I smell blood. Human blood.¡± And she suddenly sprinted off, casting her hesitation behind.

    They hurried through the trees, racing up and down the slopes. Aeos heard barks and growls in the distance, whimpers, and the shrill cries of children. Rain sprayed into his eyes, blinding him. His clothes had long since soaked, his feet once again sodden in his boots.

    ¡°There he is!¡± Rhinne cried from up ahead. She stopped short beside the tree, ducking as Worgal swung a shortbow at her from nowhere. She drew her knife and stabbed it in one swift motion, burning a hole in its chest with her breath. A second Worgal fired at them and missed. Garax was on it in an instant, Darksteel glinting, taking off its head.

    They gathered at the edge of the trees, looking down at what remained of the camp. The cages had been busted open and three men were leading the children away, wading through the sea of corpses. In the centre was Ein, blood streaming from his wounds, surrounded by piles of relicts. Four Celadons circled him, edging back and forth, jaws snapping. He thrust and slashed at them but they stayed just out of reach.

    ¡°Ein!¡± Rhinne screamed.

    He didn¡¯t hear her, staggering like a drunk. There was a glazed look in his eyes, the eyes of a person who saw only red. The Celadons spaced themselves until they were surrounding him, preparing to attack.

    Rhinne tried to race down to the clearing, but Aeos stopped her.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± she cried, shaking him off.

    The sky suddenly flickered, blindingly white like the sun. Black spots danced around his vision. He felt the Spirit leave him, turning his arms and legs to lead, his stomach lurching violently. He fell to all fours, suddenly short of breath. Garax moved to help him up.

    ¡°Rhinne,¡± he managed. ¡°Get¡­ down¡­¡±

    At the campsite below them, the Celadons pounced. Ein raised his sword to the sky and howled.

    It was terrifying, a bolt of pure light racing down to the ground, cracking it like a hammer. The sound echoed inside his ears, tearing his eardrums, reverberating inside his skull. He became blind and deaf for a moment, numb to the rain and wind. All he smelled was smoke and fire.

    Slowly, his senses returned. There was dirt in his mouth, slick and bitter against his tongue. Head spinning, he saw Rhinne and Garax on the mud beside him, twitching and groaning like insects slapped out of the sky.

    A massive crater surrounded Ein, sizzling with flames that were already beginning to die. A cloud of thick, dusky smoke bled into the air, drawing tears from his eyes. The relicts were dead, scorched to black crisps around him.

    ¡°Ein!¡± Rhinne croaked, coughing into the crook of her arm. ¡°The Fire burn me, what the hell was that?¡±

    She stumbled to her feet but fell back down again. More sounds came back to Aeos; the patter of rain and the howl of the wind. Figures emerged from the trees¡ªthe three dark-skinned natives talking to each other in awe, the children watching, some of the younger ones crying.

    Garax was the first to his feet, hobbling down to Ein, using his sword as a crutch. He helped the boy up, draped an arm across his shoulder. Ein blinked hazily, his head hung low, his body dyed red. They were chanting, the villagers. They chanted as Garax, and then Aeos and Rhinne went down to help carry Ein, bringing him step by step out of the crater. Then, the children let out an ecstatic cheer.

    ¡°Talam,¡± they cried. ¡°Talam!¡±

    And as they chanted, the rain became a drizzle and then a fine mist, and the sky lightened. The storm passed over their heads, finally coming to an end.

 49. Clouds on the Horizon

    Chapter Forty-Nine: Clouds on the Horizon

    ¡°A white cloud is an adornment. A grey cloud is a boon. A black cloud is a curse.¡±

    ¡ªFarmer¡¯s saying

    Ein remembered little of what happened after. As he dreamed, all he saw was the dark-haired Lady of the Storm, singing on her rock in the middle of the sea.

    Reyalin stopped and turned as he walked across the churning waters towards her, as naturally as if he were walking on land. Her ragged dress was gone, replaced by a form-fitting tunic that a ranger of the forest might wear. He noticed for the first time a sword strapped across her back.

    ¡°Well met, Ein Thoren. It has been a while since we¡¯ve spoken, has it not?¡±

    He stepped off the storming waters and joined her on the rock. She spun the lock of white hair on her forehead about her fingers, turning it this way and that.

    ¡°Lady Reyalin,¡± he said. ¡°I¡ª¡±

    I what? I wanted to ignore you, pretend you never existed, pretend I wasn¡¯t a Fateweaver? His words caught in his throat. He¡¯d done it now; there was no going back. Memories of the massacre flashed through his mind. It didn¡¯t feel real. It was like he was watching a puppeteer wield his body, use it to kill and kill and kill.

    ¡°It is all right, child,¡± she said. ¡°It took you time, but you made the right decision. You will only grow stronger from here, until the blue skies darken at the very mention of your name.¡±

    ¡°How do I control it?¡± he asked. ¡°How do I¡­ control myself if this happens again?¡±

    ¡°Practice,¡± Reyalin replied. ¡°It differs with everyone. Remember the reason you summoned my power in the first place, and always keep it in your mind. Every storm has an eye. You must simply place that which you cherish most inside it, so that it may guide the gales of fury.¡±

    She waited before him, smiling the way a mother would at her child. Suddenly he saw Rhea in her place, and a feeling of homesickness overwhelmed him.

    ¡°I tried so hard,¡± he muttered. ¡°I tried so hard not to use it.¡± Deep down, he¡¯d known that calling upon his Wyrd would pull him further and further away from home, from the beach that contained everything he¡¯d known.

    ¡°It is the way of the world,¡± she replied. ¡°Not all people are born equal. Some are born to lead, and others are born to be led. You were born to be a hero, and I was born to aid you.¡± She thought for a moment. ¡°Or perhaps, it is the other way around. Time loses meaning in the Hall of Heroes.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be more careful next time,¡± Ein said. ¡°I won¡¯t let it consume me.¡± The memories were so vivid, so frightening. Had that person really been him? Had he really killed relicts with his bare hands, even his teeth? Could such a demon of war really be looked up to as a hero?

    ¡°It will come in time,¡± the Lady said kindly. ¡°Always remember where you came from. Remember the eye of your storm. Do not be afraid.¡±

    ¡°I am afraid.¡± Of the Soulsong, of his Wyrd, of himself. He would be singing for the children, for his family and his village, for Faengard. He was alone in an endless sea, with nothing but water in all directions. Could he really do it? Could he really accept his destiny as a Fateweaver and become a Hero of Faengard?

    ¡°Do not be, Ein. I will always be here to guide you.¡± She took him in her arms and embraced him. He breathed deeply, remembering the smell of the forge. The smell of home.

    He didn¡¯t think he would be returning for a long time.

    #

    Tushar was next to him when he woke, as were Garax, Rhinne and Aeos. He was in a single-room hut, a fireplace crackling merrily in the corner, burning sticks of incense clouding the air.

    ¡°And our hero awakens,¡± the storyteller said. ¡°No worse for wear, either.¡±

    Ein frowned, sitting up. A wet cloth fell off his forehead and onto his lap. He examined his body, looking for the scratches and bruises, the scrapes and the burns. He found nothing. Lightning had struck him, and he was unscathed. Had it all been a dream, after all?

    ¡°The relicts,¡± he began. ¡°Are they¡­?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re dead. You killed them all.¡± Aeos answered him, looking like he¡¯d skipped a night¡¯s worth of rest. ¡°Drained me dry as well.¡±

    ¡°Sorry.¡±

    The Prince scowled. ¡°I¡¯ll forgive you this time, Ein, but only because I saw it for myself. You really are something else.¡± He looked at Garax and Rhinne. ¡°I suppose you two are innocent, after all. If something like that didn¡¯t kill you, then by Kalador¡¯s First Tenet, you¡¯re all innocent¡­ and that means my father has made a grave mistake.¡±

    Kalador. Ein remembered the Way of the Wind, the various sword techniques he¡¯d used to fight his way through the camp. He didn¡¯t think he¡¯d be able to replicate it. Perhaps the god of war had been watching over him after all.

    ¡°What about the children?¡± he asked. ¡°And the adults? Did they escape?¡±

    ¡°We got them home,¡± Garax explained. ¡°Almost lost a few along the way, but we managed it. They revere us, now. We¡¯re the heroes of the legend, the Talam. Those who will break Mandara and free them from the wrath of the Ninety.¡±

    ¡°Mandara?¡±

    ¡°Faenrir. The demigod that resides at the Summit of the World.¡±

    At once Ein rolled out of the mattress, looking frantically for his sword. He found it next to the door, alongside the Rhinegold pauldron of the Thorens. ¡°Faenrir!¡± he cried. ¡°How long has it been? We need to save her!¡± We have to return to Aldoran, before the relicts attack!

    ¡°It¡¯s been two days,¡± Garax said. ¡°You¡¯ve been Soulsick for two days, muttering fever-dreams beneath your breath, thrashing about in your sleep. Be thankful it wasn¡¯t more.¡±

    ¡°By the Flame, what are you made of?¡± Rhinne muttered.

    Ein drew a deep breath, calming himself. He spotted his furs and his armour on the floor and went to don them.

    ¡°The relicts were under the command of a Bloodmane,¡± he explained, slipping on the jerkin over his shirt. ¡°It rides to Aldoran as we speak, to spark the attack that will bring the city to its knees.¡± He turned to Tushar. ¡°We have to get to the top of the mountain, as quickly as possible. If we don¡¯t make it in time¡­ there will be bigger things to worry about than Mandara becoming angry and raining destruction on your village.¡±

    ¡°I have explained to them already, Talam,¡± Tushar said. ¡°I have told them about the not-girl who pacifies the mountain god.¡±

    ¡°Then why haven¡¯t we left already?¡± He pulled the leather straps tight, trying to ignore the slashes that crisscrossed his armour. If we don¡¯t save her, we¡¯ll fail the quest and then Alend will be executed. It wasn¡¯t just Aedrasil at stake, but his father as well. Ein bent down and pulled on his boots, wincing as his shoulder moved in its socket.

    ¡°We will make it in time,¡± Tushar said. ¡°I know Mandara like the back of my hand. There are shortcuts up the mountain, shortcuts the Knight cannot possibly know. We can save time taking these shortcuts.¡±

    ¡°Tushar is the only person who can take us up there,¡± Garax said. ¡°And he refused to leave until you were recovered. I¡¯m beginning to see why, especially after what you did to those relicts. We may actually have a chance at snatching the girl from beneath the World-Eater¡¯s jaws with you there.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I wasn¡¯t myself back then,¡± Ein said.

    ¡°Yet you are yourself now,¡± Rhinne smiled. ¡°What is that, if not strength? The strength to accept the darker sides of yourself and move forward.¡±

    Ein stood up, looking at the four in turn. Aeos and Rhinne, who¡¯d joined him along the way. Garax, whose stories he¡¯d listened to as a young boy back in Felhaven. Tushar, who would guide them to the top of the world.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Talberon?¡± he asked.

    Garax averted his eyes. ¡°He was injured in Mor¡¯Gravar. The villagers are looking after him now, nursing his body to health, but his mind remains asleep. There is nothing we can do for him.¡±

    ¡°Anturia watch over him,¡± Ein muttered, and then cleared his throat. ¡°Are we packed and ready to go?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re packed,¡± Aeos replied. ¡°Our things are in the mayor¡¯s hut across the road. But have you rested enough?¡± He gave a wan smile. ¡°I won¡¯t have you falling behind on the mountain. The end of this cursed ordeal is close, and I fully intend on returning home alive to my bastard father. You swore on your life to protect me, remember.¡±

    How differently he speaks, Ein thought, recalling the first encounter he¡¯d had with the Prince. He¡¯d always sensed a prideful arrogance from the young man, but now it was more like a sense of grudging respect. As if he¡¯d accepted that Ein was worthy to be a Kingsblade in service of the Uldans.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± he replied. ¡°It¡¯ll be a relief to be rid of your company.¡± He smiled in jest. Rhinne frowned at them, murmuring something under her breath. Garax whispered a reply in her ear, and she shook her head.

    ¡°Men are strange creatures,¡± she muttered.

    Ein adjusted his sword on his belt and then strode towards the door. As he opened it, a cool breeze struck him in the face, followed by a warm cheer from the crowd. They were gathered on every corner of the street, mothers with their hands on their sons and daughters, fathers smiling in gratitude, brothers and sisters with fists clenched over their breasts. Ein recognized some of the children in the cages; they came up to him individually, kissing his hand, bowing, embracing him before moving on. They looked livelier already, their cheeks fleshed out, their eyes brighter. ¡°Mandi se¡¯bhava,¡± they said. Mountain bless you.

    ¡°I feel a bit left out that I wasn¡¯t part of this prophecy of theirs,¡± said Rhinne as they walked past.

    ¡°I daresay you will be soon enough,¡± Garax smiled, waving at a group of children. ¡°These things tend to change with time and perspective.¡±

    They reached the mayor¡¯s hut, where a trio of villagers waited¡ªthe mayor, his wife and his son. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    ¡°We will be taking our leave soon,¡± the storyteller said, taking the lead as Ein continued to be showered with thanks and blessings. ¡°Do you still have our belongings?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± the man nodded. ¡°I wish you best of fortune with journey. Tushar is crazy, but he is capable man.¡±

    Tushar smirked at that. ¡°You do me honour, Rakan.¡±

    Rakan dipped his head and disappeared into the hut. His wife and son bowed low.

    ¡°Than¡­ thank¡­ you,¡± the boy said, struggling to form his lips around the syllables. Rhinne bent on one knee and patted him on the head.

    ¡°We will be back,¡± she said, ¡°and we will free Darmouth from the mountain gods.¡±

    The boy beamed as his father emerged from with their travelpacks.

    ¡°Mandi se¡¯bhava,¡± he said once again.

    ¡°Mandi se¡¯bhava,¡± Garax took the packs and bowed. The villagers let out one last cheer, a cheer that was cut short as the ground trembled once more. Ein looked at the peak of Raginrok in apprehension¡ªbut as soon as the tremor passed, the exuberance resumed.

    They were Talam. Godbreakers. Fateweavers. Somewhere atop the mountain was a girl waiting to be saved and a giant wolf that needed to be slain. Somewhere in Aldoran, Alend was waiting to be freed, and Bran and Evaine waited for his return. Somewhere in Felhaven, his mother and Cinnamin were working in the fields, doing all they could to get by the Great Winter.

    The flame inside his chest brightened, and around it stormclouds began to gather. He held his resolve tightly within. It was the the eye of his storm.

    #

    The raven came to visit Bran during one of his shifts, standing persistently on the branch next to where he was nested. It was night, the most dangerous time to be on sentry duty, but the moon was bright and he could see the relicts all the way to the horizon.

    ¡°Hello there,¡± he said, reaching a hand to the bird. It didn¡¯t shy away but instead allowed him to stroke its head, rubbing its glossy feathers along his fingers. It was a big bird, so big that Bran wondered how many corpses it had fed on to reach its size.

    ¡°Hello,¡± it echoed. ¡°Hello!¡±

    Bran shifted towards the thicker end of the branch, sending a dusting of leaves down to the ground. He was quite high up, maybe two thirds of the way to the top. He¡¯d always been good at climbing trees, better than Ein and Evaine, and besides, the trees in the Sleeping Twins were much taller. From his vantage point he could see the entire relict camp as they moved around atop the Blight.

    ¡°Cold,¡± the raven cawed. ¡°Cold.¡±

    ¡°It is, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    There were clouds on the horizon, large, black stormclouds that towered into the air. They were a ways off yet, but when they hit the city, everyone would know. Bran had settled into his life at the war camp now, taking sentry duty when he was told to, performing his runner boy tasks when he wasn¡¯t.

    Since the attack about a week ago, the relicts had hung back and continued to amass their forces. Aedon had stopped sending them reinforcements. If they were attacked now, they would lose no matter how many they had. The camp was a slightly glorified sentry party, nothing more.

    The raven flapped its wings and tapped at Bran¡¯s hand. ¡°Come,¡± it cried. ¡°Come.¡±

    Bran sighed. He¡¯d always been good with animals, but when they started talking to him it probably meant he¡¯d been sitting still for too long.

    ¡°All right,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll come.¡±

    He packed away his spyglass and strapped his bow to his back, taking care not to lose his footing. Then, with practiced movements, he shimmied down the tree until his feet were on the grass once more. Evaine would be proud of him.

    I wonder what she¡¯s doing now, he thought. And the rest of the runner boys, too. He hadn¡¯t seen them ever since, when both the Songweavers and the cleanup crew had arrived to tend to the injured.

    The raven flapped its wings and took off into the sky. Bran followed it, sticking to the shadows of the trees, remaining behind cover. He had the higher ground and the relicts were far away, but it was night, and relicts had almost perfect night-vision. It was one of the reasons the night watch was so dangerous, not only for the sentry but the entire camp. On a clouded night or a night with no moon, the relicts could move unseen and be upon them before they knew it.

    A night with no moon will be upon us soon, he thought, spying the stormclouds.

    The raven took him around the treeline to a spot several hundred paces away and landed at the top of a tree, croaking at him. ¡°Come! Come!¡±

    Bran ran his hands along the trunk and found his handholds. ¡°I¡¯m coming,¡± he muttered.

    His body had grown slimmer and more lithe since he¡¯d joined the Legion, a result of hard labour and poor food. He was lighter than before and quicker on his feet, though he wished he had more muscle. Women always preferred a man with muscle¡ªat least, the ones in Felhaven did. He¡¯d seen the way Evaine looked at Aren.

    When he reached the top, he took a moment to secure his bag before taking a long drink of water. The view was worse here¡ªhe could no longer see the fires of his own camp, though in return he could see into some corners of the Blight he couldn¡¯t before. Celadons waited in their pens, grazing on bales of pillaged hay. Slazaads lay tethered to the ground, thick chains muzzling their snouts. Faceless forged weapons in quiet fires. Fires were a rarity; the only ones Bran had ever seen in the camp were those of the Oathbreaker¡¯s human servants.

    ¡°What am I looking for?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Look!¡± the raven replied. ¡°Look!¡±

    It took off again, soaring into the open sky above the blight. Bran watched it glide through the darkness, casting a much darker shadow across the ground. Crows and ravens were intelligent creatures. They were always there at the end of a battle, watching over the bodies of the dead. Some even went as far as to say they caused death, that they were ill omens. Morene herself had chosen the crow as her animal form, only adding to their reputation.

    The raven became a black dot in the distance, coming to a smooth halt atop a tent next to one of the portals. It was a large one, a tear in the fabric of the realm like a violet scar rising from the earth. A ring of Siphoners fed power to it, six hooded men and one shape larger than the rest¡ªa Bloodmane in cloth robes instead of armour. Bran brought the spyglass to his eye and watched them sing, their lips moving in tune with the pulsing of the portal. He couldn¡¯t hear their words, yet they sent a chill down his spine anyway.

    All of a sudden a great snout poked its way through the tear, heavy and square like the head of a hammer. Chains bound its jaw shut. Two yellow eyes sat on either side of its face, followed by squat torso and a muscular tail that ended like a morningstar.

    The creature had triangular scales overlapping its body, a dull grey-blue beneath the moonlight. It resembled a battering ram with legs; a lizard with a head like a tree trunk. A land dragon¡ªa Slazaad.

    The Worgals led the relict all the way out of the portal and to the centre of the camp. Bran realized he¡¯d been holding his breath. Before he could release it however, another snout poked its way through the portal.

    There were five in total to join the three that were already in the camp. Each of them were muzzled, grunting at each other in muffled bursts. He felt the tree shake beneath them as they walked, each of them as large as a house. The city walls would not hold against the might of these creatures.

    The raven cawed again. It had to be his imagination, but Bran heard it all the way from where he was watching.

    ¡°Urudain,¡± it cried. ¡°Urudain.¡± Apocalypse Knight.

    The portal rippled and another figure emerged. It was small and slim, slightly shorter than the average man, wearing loose-fitting robes tied at the waist by a scarlet cord, a short tail poking out from behind. Moon-silver hair hung in snake-like braids from its scalp, a stark contrast to its obsidian skin, and it had pointed ears atop its head¡ªblack and sharp like a hound¡¯s. On its hip was a curved blade, long and thin like a leaf. And on its face was a mask in the semblance of a crescent moon, a scarlet eye peeking out from the single hole.

    It walked like nothing Bran had ever seen, prowling like a wolf on the hunt. The Worgals kept their distance from it, remaining quiet with their heads bowed as the Knight passed. It looked like a wolfman as well, but closer to a man. The Worgals were wolves that walked like men. The Knight was a man that walked like a wolf, with a wolf¡¯s ears and tail and nothing else. A manwolf.

    Bran followed the manwolf with his spyglass as it moved between the tents, making its way to the command post. Worgals spilled out of its way like newborn pups. Even Bloodmanes bowed their heads in respect.

    The other Apocalypse Knight was waiting; the giant of a man with the manacles around its wrists. They exchanged a few words before entering the giant tent. Bran removed the spyglass from his eye. His throat was dry.

    Five Slazaads and an Apocalypse Knight. Something was about to happen, soon. The raven returned to the branch above Bran and stared at him with its beady eyes.

    ¡°Storm,¡± it moaned. ¡°Storm.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Bran agreed. There was more than one cloud on the horizon.

    #

    Evaine was making blades of water in her room when Kedryn entered, carrying a wooden case beneath a burly arm. Behind the Minstrel was an aged woman with sun-browned skin, dressed also in the robes of the Legion. The musical quaver on her shoulder indicated the rank of Songstress, so Evaine immediately curtseyed.

    ¡°Good morning, Songstress,¡± she said. ¡°Please excuse me.¡± She gave the puddle of water at her feet a sharp command and channeled it back into the basin. Kedryn nodded in approval.

    ¡°You¡¯ve gotten better at controlling your Wyrd,¡± she said. ¡°And you remembered your manners, too. We¡¯ll make a Songweaver of you yet.¡±

    Since the day they¡¯d operated on the injured down by the war camp, Evaine had spent every waking moment honing her technique. She¡¯d taken Kedryn¡¯s counselling without complaint, practicing the seemingly pointless exercises until her throat was hoarse, and when the day¡¯s lessons were over, she went down to the infirmary to watch the healers at work. Sometimes she helped them, cleaning and purifying wounds, staunching bleeding, boiling buckets of water. When there was nothing else to do¡ªif there was nothing else to do,¡ªshe would experiment in her room, creating blades of ice, jets of hot steam, drawing water from the air and cooling it to create unseeable mists. She held the spirit of the Brackenburg River inside her, and she was determined to wield his power to its fullest.

    ¡°I have a gift for you today,¡± Kedryn continued. ¡°One that has been long in the making. It should give you something else to focus on, during the times when you lose your voice and cannot sing.¡± She handed the case to Evaine, who opened it.

    It was a flute, made of a deep red rosewood polished to a sheen. Evaine¡¯s breath caught in her throat¡ªshe¡¯d never seen a work of such beauty, such elegance before in her entire life. She wasn¡¯t so knowledgeable about flutes as to recognize its exact qualities, but like the way a good horse always stood stronger than a bad one, or the way a sharp sword always shone brighter than a dull one, she knew it to be the best of its kind.

    ¡°For me?¡± she asked, forgetting her words for a heartbeat.

    ¡°For you,¡± Kedryn nodded. ¡°I may have had my doubts when I first saw you, but I was a fool to dismiss Milena¡¯s insight. You have come far over the past two weeks, farther than an ordinary Songweaver should, and for that I am proud. Though I will still continue to teach you, you are fast approaching a place I cannot follow.¡± She gestured to the brown-skinned woman beside her. ¡°This is Songstress Illanthi, a fellow water-wielder like yourself. She hails from the east, across the desert where water is a precious commodity and the flutists can charm snakes from baskets. She will teach you instrumental Songweaving.¡±

    ¡°Good day to you, Journeyman Evaine,¡± Illanthi greeted. Her hair was a dusty-grey bound into a braid, her eyes a deep blue. ¡°You are young for one of such prowess. Kedryn has told me good things about you.¡±

    ¡°Has she?¡± Evaine reluctantly pried her eyes away from the flute. In hindsight, maybe the Minstrel hadn¡¯t been so bad after all.

    ¡°No more than you deserved,¡± Kedryn said. ¡°Now I will take my leave. Do not forget afternoon practice with Unit Three, at the usual spot.¡± She nodded stiffly and was gone.

    ¡°She is a dishonest one,¡± Illanthi said, staring at the door. ¡°She was like that, even when I taught her.¡± The Songstress turned her gaze back to Evaine and looked deep into her eyes. Evaine shifted uncomfortably; Illanthi¡¯s eyes were like crystal pools of water. ¡°Kedryn has been watching you, Evaine, ever since she took you out to the battlefield as a healer, and she has been impressed by your efforts¡ªas well as their results.¡±

    Evaine blanched. No wonder the Minstrel had been softer on her ever since. The thought of her watching each mistake she¡¯d made set a flush to her cheeks.

    ¡°I am not like Kedryn,¡± Illanthi continued. ¡°Kedryn will shout at you until you follow her word, and find ways to punish you if you do not. To children, this method is effective. But as a Journeyman aspiring to become an Adept, you must rely on your own will more than the will of others.¡± She took out a flute from her robe. ¡°I will teach you to create music without your voice, Journeyman. You may find it much easier to control and direct your Spirit using an instrument, or you may find that it muddles your perception of sound. From what Milena has told me, you are of the former, and that is a rare type indeed. Instrumentalists are always valued in the Legion.¡± She gestured for Evaine to take up her flute, so she did.

    ¡°Do instrumentalists fight in battles as well?¡±

    Illanthi laughed. ¡°All Songweavers fight in battle, Journeyman. But much like the way a strategist commands his armies from a table and a chair, we instrumentalists remain in our perches where we can watch the battle without fear. Make no mistake, though. When the earth splits and swallows our enemies, or the rivers flood into battle beneath our command, you will understand what true strength is.¡±

    Illanthi blew a note, and the water in the basin behind Evaine sprung into the air. She blew a second and a third, stringing them together so quickly they sounded like a chain of bells. The water obeyed, lengthening and stretching into a viperous shape, a river that coiled in the space above them. The daylight caught it and split, shattering into all the colours of the rainbow.

    ¡°Now show me what you can do with your Soulsong.¡±

 50. Secrets of the Past

    Chapter Fifty: Secrets of the Past

    ¡°I have seen all the corners of the world I¡¯d care to visit. There are no mysteries left that I wish to uncover, yet I cannot die, not as long as my friend suffers. The gates of Vallaheim will not take me, nor the Warden of Hellheim, for the Winds are not done with me yet.

    ¡°So I will wait. I will wait, in this quiet corner of the world where men and women still enjoy the simple things in life, until the time comes to embark upon my final adventure. And what an adventure it shall be.¡±

    ¡ªDagus Adem, The Adventurer¡¯s Guide to the Continent

    Tushar hadn¡¯t been lying when he claimed to know Raginrok like the back of his hand. In a single day, the party was already so far up the mountain that Darmouth was little but an insignificant speck beneath them. They¡¯d climbed stone steps and natural footholds in the rock, trodden lightly over the ice, taken shortcuts through cracks and crevices in the walls, gone off the track every possible opportunity they could, and the benefits had been worthwhile.

    ¡°I used to play here when I was young,¡± Tushar called above the howl of the wind. ¡°I was always the bravest of the children. We used to see who could go the farthest before turning back, and I always won.¡±

    That¡¯s what we used to do as well, Ein thought, recalling the night he, Bran and Evaine had found the Twisted Treeloc. It seems that children are the same no matter where in the world you go.

    ¡°How long will it take to reach the summit?¡± Garax asked.

    ¡°I cannot take you to the summit,¡± Tushar replied. ¡°Only the place before the summit. Not even I have dared to conquer Mandara in its entirety. When you reach the upper parts of the mountain, it gets hard to breathe, and your vision grows dim. No¡ªI can only take you to the place before the summit.¡± Tushar held up a single finger. ¡°It will take a normal man two weeks¡ªbut I can make it one.¡±

    The mountain shook, and the party threw themselves against the floor, huddling as rock and ice crumbled around them. It wasn¡¯t snowing yet, but the air was growing colder and mistier. They¡¯d left the trees and weeds long behind. There was only snow now, dirt and stone, and the hardiest of yellowed grasses.

    ¡°In our culture, Mandara was the greatest of the Ninety,¡± Tushar continued. ¡°The Lord of the Night, or the Oathbreaker as you know him, he gave birth to the gods. They watched over us from the moon, guiding us every night as the sun did in the day.

    ¡°But Mandara, he was born on earth. He wanted to be with his eighty-nine brothers and sisters. He longed to dance among the stars with them, alongside his father. So great was his desire that he began to grow¡ªbigger and bigger, taller and taller, closing the distance to the moon with each year.

    ¡°But when he finally reached a height that he could touch the moon, he realized that he had grown too big. The moon would not hold his weight. He had grown so tall that not even the clouds could restrain him.¡±

    Ein peered at the mountains around them, their tips swallowed by the mist.

    ¡°Enraged, Mandara shattered the moon and brought the Eighty-nine down to the earth, where they became stranded. Thus, Nanak Tur rose¡ªthe Tomb of the Ninety¡ªand among them Mandara, who continues to lament, cursing the earth that binds him so. As children of the earth, we unfortunately take the full brunt of his anger.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard that version before,¡± Garax mused. ¡°In our culture, we believe in something else.¡±

    ¡°Oh? What might that be?¡±

    Garax told Tushar The Binding of Faenrir while Aeos, Ein and Rhinne listened in silence. There were piles of collapsed rock here and there, landslides caused by falling boulders from far above that they had to traverse, and their pace slowed to a grind. Part way through, they stopped to slip on more furs, fleece tops, woollen gloves and caps.

    ¡°An interesting tale,¡± Tushar remarked, once the storyteller had finished his spiel. ¡°It is certainly a possibility, that the quakes are caused by an enormous wolf at the summit. But I am faithful to my beliefs. They are all I have ever known.¡±

    ¡°And there¡¯s nothing wrong with that,¡± Garax said. ¡°Faith makes a man, as a friend of mine once said. It¡¯s not about what¡¯s right or wrong, but what we believe.¡±

    Night fell quickly as it did in this part of the world. Before they knew it they were trudging in the dark, the mist swirling around them, their breaths shuddering frigidly from their lips. Tushar led them to a small cave where they lit a fire and sat down to eat.

    ¡°It looks like it¡¯ll snow tomorrow,¡± the villager said. ¡°Sometimes I¡¯ve been lucky and I¡¯ve gone the whole way without a speck of it. Other times the snowstorms take the mountain by force, turning it into a maelstrom of white.¡±

    ¡°Merciful Cenedria,¡± Aeos muttered. ¡°As if it can get any colder.¡±

    Tushar frowned. ¡°This is not cold, ghost-Talam. Not anywhere near. Higher up, when we pass the clouds, it is colder.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that bad,¡± Rhinne sniffed. ¡°I¡¯m wearing less than you, and I¡¯m fine.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a dragon though,¡± Aeos said, and to Ein: ¡°You¡¯re a Kingsblade. And you¡­¡± he looked at Garax. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you are.¡±

    ¡°A storyteller,¡± he smirked.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it about time you told them?¡± Rhinne asked him. ¡°I think it would be in your best interests before we confront the World-Eater.¡±

    ¡°Not yet,¡± Garax said. ¡°Maybe later, when we¡¯ve gone a bit further.¡±

    ¡°What is a dragon?¡± Tushar asked.

    Garax peered out at the whirling darkness. ¡°There¡¯s a while yet before bedtime. Make yourself comfortable, and I¡¯ll tell you some stories about what is perhaps the most revered race in the world.¡±

    ¡°This will be entertaining,¡± Rhinne snorted.

    #

    It was dawn when Ein woke, next to the cold remains of the fire. Grey light shone through the entrance to the cave, sweeping specks of snow across the ground. Garax, Rhinne and Tushar slept soundly in their bedrolls, wrapped up like human cocoons.

    ¡°Early riser, I see,¡± Aeos said. The white-haired Prince was fully dressed and looked to have been awake for a while, staring outside the cave at the brightening sky. Ein joined him in the cold, peering into the horizon. The sky was grey as far as the eye could see, the other mountains of Lauriel¡¯s Spine no more than dark shapes in the fog.

    ¡°How long have you been away from your home again?¡± the Prince asked.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    Ein took a moment to think. It had been a while, hadn¡¯t it? The journey out of the Sleeping Twins, to Caerlon and Aldoran, and then Mor¡¯Gravar and finally here. Somewhere along the way, he¡¯d lost track of the days.

    ¡°A month,¡± he decided. ¡°Maybe more.¡±

    Aeos regarded him with a look of what might have been respect. ¡°I¡¯ve been gone for scarcely a week and I¡¯m already homesick. How do you do it, Ein? How do you keep going? Even when my father was so determined to bring you down, when the Steel Guardians of Mor¡¯Gravar hunted us around every corner, when the Celadons and Worgals had you outnumbered several to one. I would have given up long ago.¡±

    ¡°I have to save the world,¡± Ein answered. ¡°To save Aedrasil, to stop Al¡¯Ashar and the relicts, to protect Faengard. I don¡¯t want to do it, I have to. Because I¡¯m one of few people right now who can. Because I¡¯m one of the few people in the world with the power to do so.¡± He paused. ¡°But I¡¯d be lying if I said that were always the case, and besides, your mother seems to think she holds the spare key to solving our problem.¡±

    ¡°She might,¡± Aeos agreed. ¡°But then again, she might not. The prophecies of ancient civilisations should not be ignored, especially if they all say the same thing.¡±

    Ein nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you this, Aeos. When I left Felhaven and the Sleeping Twins with Bran and Evaine, knowing nothing of the world save that which Garax taught me, I only wanted one thing. I wanted to bring back Alend, my father who wasn¡¯t my father, the one who raised me and sacrificed so much so that I could enjoy my childhood. He was the one who was meant to go on this quest. If I hadn¡¯t come with him, he would most likely be here right now, braving the snow and the cold, reminiscing of the home he¡¯d left to save. He has the blood of kings, not me.¡±

    Ein brought a hand to his Rhinegold pauldron. ¡°But he¡¯s old now. He¡¯s not as strong as he used to be, and you can see it. Did you know that, when he first left the village, he was still recovering from a stab wound to the gut?¡±

    Aeos shook his head.

    ¡°A Faceless did it,¡± Ein spat. ¡°A friend of his, too.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a brave man, Alend Thoren. I would not have come back to Aldoran after making an enemy of the King, not if my life depended on it.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s the thing,¡± Ein continued. ¡°That¡¯s what took me so long to realize. It isn¡¯t just his life we¡¯re talking about anymore. If the relicts return, the entire world will crumble. It crumbles already. People starve in the streets where once they would be fat and rotund. Families bicker among themselves over supplies. Bandits slit throats along the Royal Road. Relicts taint the land, slaughtering innocents from villages like Darmouth. The whole of Faengard rests on our shoulders, and I think he knew that. The idealistic self that he left behind when he was a Kingsblade, I think that was what ultimately led him to follow Talberon to the capitol. And that¡¯s the torch that he¡¯s passed on to me.

    ¡°I want to go back to being a blacksmith¡¯s son, and I still cling on to that hope dearly. But I will rise to the call, because I must. The Heroes of Faengard will ride again, said Morene Gylfaginor. If I don¡¯t ride, then who will?¡±

    Aeos shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m moved to tears, Ein,¡± he said thinly. ¡°The throne of Faengard would be better kept by you than I.¡±

    Ein gave a wan smile in return. ¡°I only speak from my heart, Your Highness. If anything, Alend should be the King. It¡¯s in his blood, after all.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t say that in front of my father or he¡¯ll lose his head.¡±

    The two shared a chuckle, glancing back towards where the rest of the party slept. The sky had well brightened by now. It wouldn¡¯t be long before they set off.

    ¡°I envy the bond you share with Alend,¡± Aeos said suddenly.

    ¡°The non-existent bond?¡±

    ¡°You know what I mean. My own father despises me. He thinks I¡¯m not fit to rule, that I¡¯m a disappointment to the Uldan name, and my mother isn¡¯t much better.¡±

    ¡°Is this because of¡­?¡± Ein broke off, uncertain whether to continue.

    ¡°Yes. That man you saw in my memories, the night when we were bonded¡­ that was my brother.¡±

    ¡°I see. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be,¡± Aeos said. ¡°He was my brother, not yours. I don¡¯t suppose I have to spell it out for you, but he was everything my father wanted me to be. Even now he hopes I will come to my senses and become, in his eyes, a man fit to run a nation. I¡¯d like to see his face when we return, having braved both Mor¡¯Gravar and the Summit of the World.¡±

    ¡°His intentions are good,¡± Ein said. ¡°I think he¡¯s just forgotten where he came from. Who made him what he is now¡ªthe eye of his storm. I¡¯m sure he wouldn¡¯t be like this had he been born anything less than a King.¡±

    ¡°You know, for a boy who¡¯s barely a man, you sound awfully wise.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just repeating what a woman once said to me,¡± Ein smiled.

    ¡°Was she a pretty one?¡±

    ¡°She was. Not as pretty as your sister, though.¡±

    They spent the remainder of their time watching the snow fall, until Garax and Rhinne and Tushar woke. Then, they continued the climb.

    #

    They climbed for three more days and nights, slogging through the thickening snow, glancing fearfully at the sky every time the mountain roared. The tremors grew more and more violent, as if Raginrok could sense how close they were to the top.

    They broke through the clouds on the third day, only to find more clouds above them.

    ¡°A snowstorm,¡± Tushar murmured, as they looked down upon the sea of grey. And indeed, the snow had been coming down heavily the further up they travelled.

    ¡°How far from the top are we now?¡± Aeos asked. He rubbed his hands together and breathed into them.

    ¡°Half a day. We must be cautious now.¡±

    They made their way slowly along the rocks, taking extra care across the slopes and the narrow gaps. Ein¡¯s muscles were already sore from climbing; he couldn¡¯t imagine how tired everyone else must be. He could see it in their faces¡ªthe weariness, the frustration, the weathering of resolve as the snow-winds continued to buffet them. At one point they were caught in a particularly bad tremor where a large section of the mountain gave way beside them, missing them by a matter of armlengths. Aeos and Rhinne had cried out in alarm, watching the debris as it tumbled into the roiling mist.

    They spent a good part of the afternoon searching for a place to set up camp, and when they finally did, the relief on their faces was evident. The party dumped their belongings inside the cave and set about clearing a space to sit.

    ¡°I daresay we¡¯ll be at the top before long,¡± Tushar spoke Ein¡¯s thoughts, unwrapping items from his pack. He placed extra blankets and water, dried meat and cheese, even coffee on the ground before them, while Rhinne started a fire with the last of the fuel they carried. ¡°Tomorrow morning I will leave you. Walk for an hour along the trail outside, and you will see the final pass. Through that pass lies the Summit of the World.¡± He slid the blanket with all the supplies forward. ¡°I will leave behind everything I do not need. Please make the most of it.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for all you¡¯ve done for us,¡± Garax bowed. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t have made it this far without you.¡±

    ¡°Do not thank me,¡± Tushar shook his head. ¡°I should thank you. You are Talam; you have saved the village once, and you will save it again. You will break Mandara and free us from its curse.¡±

    They settled down in front of the fire, hiding behind the corpses of the relicts. Aeos sipped at his coffee, shivering, a blanket draped over his shoulders.

    ¡°You won¡¯t get much sleep like that,¡± Garax said. ¡°Coffee keeps you awake at night.¡±

    ¡°I doubt I¡¯d get much sleep either way, if our journey ends tomorrow.¡±

    Rhinne poked the fire a few times and added another log to it. ¡°In all seriousness Aeos, you don¡¯t look well. You¡¯re even paler than usual.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the mountain sickness,¡± Tushar spoke. ¡°The higher we go, the stronger its effects. It would be wise to turn back now, while you still can. I can take you down the mountain with me if you¡¯d like.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Aeos said firmly. ¡°I won¡¯t turn back, not while Garax is still going. If an old man can endure it, so can I.¡±

    ¡°Aeos,¡± the old man said, shaking his head. ¡°I¡¯m no ordinary old man.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Ein said, turning to the storyteller. ¡°Tomorrow, we face the World-Eater. I feel like there¡¯s no better time than now to tell us your secrets. How old are you exactly? How do you know Faenrir? What are you?¡±

    They stared at the man intently. Tushar tilted his head, puzzled, but saying nothing. Outside, the wind began to brush against the cave, almost whispering.

    ¡°I suppose there¡¯s no keeping it secret any longer,¡± Garax sighed, looking sideways at Rhinne. ¡°I¡­¡±

    He reached for his neck and revealed a cord with a heart-shaped scale looped upon it. A Heartscale, similar in shape and size to the one Rhinne had, only it was gold instead of scarlet¡ªlike the gold of his eyes.

    ¡°I am also a dragon,¡± Garax said. ¡°Older than Rhinne, much older. One of the firstborn of Alysteria, the elders who lived before the Dragonstone was taken.¡±

    Ein¡¯s mouth fell open. ¡°You¡­ you¡¯re a dragon too?¡±

    ¡°No wonder you always seem unaffected by the cold,¡± Aeos growled. ¡°I should have known.¡±

    ¡°But what were you doing all the way in Felhaven?¡± Ein asked. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you have been living with your people, wherever they were?¡±

    ¡°He was not like the other dragons of his time,¡± Rhinne said. ¡°The man you know as Garax, he had a wanderlust that could not be sated, not until he¡¯d seen the whole world and more. Your storyteller, he has been around for a long time. He is renowned not only among my people but your people as well.¡±

    ¡°Garax was not always my name,¡± he nodded. ¡°In fact, there is another name I go by, one I haven¡¯t used in a long time. That name... is Dagus Adem.¡±

 51. Revelry in the Dark

    Chapter Fifty-One: Revelry in the Dark

    ¡°A hunter hunts under a full moon. A demon hunts under no moon.¡±

    ¡ªElgaraf Moonshade, Relict Hunter of the Second Age

    Morene¡¯s house at the edge of the woods had always been a calm, quiet place for Talberon to think when he needed to be alone. It was small and old, handbuilt by her father himself from the crude logs of the surrounding birch trees, but it was well-kept and cozy in the way that a child¡¯s hiding place might be. Talberon still remembered when the Prophet had first taken him under her wing, before the Skyward Circle had been founded and they¡¯d moved to Morene¡¯s Perch. He remembered learning to wield his Soulsong in the woods around them, climbing the mountain and spending long periods of time camping in the wild, communing with nature. Those had been hard times. Their way of life had been simple¡ªdrawing water from the well every morning, lighting the cooking fire, gathering firewood, watering the garden. Making the trip to town every week to replenish supplies. Sweeping the bare floorboards every night, making the place neat and tidy. Every step had been a challenge, yet when he turned in to sleep at the end of the day in his simple cotton bedroll, he always felt an immense sense of achievement.

    So it was that when Talberon found himself on the back verandah of the house, sitting on the steps that were so familiar to him, he knew immediately that he was dreaming. The house no longer existed, and it hadn¡¯t existed for several thousand years¡ªyet he couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of nostalgia welling from deep within him.

    -Talberon.-

    A voice he never thought he¡¯d hear again spoke. He sprung to his feet and turned around and there was Morene standing in the doorway, still young, still bright-eyed and black-haired. A feeling he didn¡¯t recognize swelled inside his chest. Suddenly he felt like he was ten again, taken under her wing from the orphanage and all those who¡¯d despised him so.

    ¡°Master,¡± he croaked. He bolted up the steps to touch her, to make sure she was real, but as soon as his fingertips brushed her arm she disappeared in a flurry of black feathers. Talberon fell to his knees, grabbing at the air.

    -You shouldn¡¯t be here.-

    He spun around, searching. The sky had darkened, with heavy, thick clouds creeping across the sun. A wind was blowing from the west, riling the treetops and kicking the dust above the ground. Tall grassweeds bent under its might, rippling across the woods in wide arcs.

    -Talberon, Talberon¡­ what am I going to do with you¡­-

    A crow was sitting on one of the branches nearby, staring down at him with knowing eyes. He spotted the tell-tale hunch on its back; its third wing.

    ¡°Master,¡± he said again. ¡°I¡¯ve failed you.¡±

    -Listen to yourself,- the crow said, projecting its voice inside his head. -Look around you and tell me what you see.-

    ¡°I see my home,¡± Talberon replied. ¡°I see a place that has seen better days. And I see storm clouds that cover the light.¡±

    -Come now, Talberon. Look more closely. Look beneath that which lies in plain sight.-

    He stepped forward into the yard and looked at the trees. He looked at the grass and the weeds lining the landscape all the way into the woods of his childhood home.

    ¡°I see¡­ the wind,¡± he murmured.

    And suddenly, the world fell away. The ground disintegrated, falling into an endless cavity, taking the hut and its surroundings with it. Talberon found himself high in the sky, staring down at Faengard below him, from the Sleeping Twins and the mountains that lay to the far east, to the highlands and the Blight-stained City of Twilight, to the deserts of the east and even further. In the centre of it all was Lauriel¡¯s spine and Raginrok, the Summit of the World, and chained at the very top to the ice-cold peak was the World-Eater.

    The wind blew from the west, trailing along the abandoned roads and settlements, through the wild forestlands now smothered in snow, picking up force and momentum. It began to hum, growing louder in volume, an increasing roar like the roar of a river rushing violently down the mountain. It was a gale, a stormwind that brought with it the thoughts and feelings of people all over the land, swirling around the mountains, spinning into a vortex with its centre above Raginrok. A storm like none he¡¯d ever seen before was coming.

    -The Winds of Fate have begun to blow,- Morene said.

    They were shining, tiny dots of light all over Faengard. Among them was a small cluster along the slopes of Raginrok, inching its way to the top, and in that cluster of lights was one that shone brighter than any other.

    ¡°They¡¯re almost there,¡± Talberon whispered.

    -I asked you to take him to Raginrok, and you did. It does not take much to set the winds in motion.-

    ¡°Does that mean¡­ does that mean I can¡­¡±

    Talberon looked up towards the golden light of the heavens. He couldn¡¯t be sure but he thought there was a temple high in the sky, above even the stars themselves. A shining temple of white marble, a hall of pillars and statues where heroes and legends dined among a grassfield of spirits. He had been alive for so long, lived through so much, and the end was finally in sight.

    -No.-

    The word cut into him like a belt of daggers. He jerked and began to fall.

    -Not yet, little sparrow. Not yet.-

    ¡°Not yet?¡± He was tired, though. He wanted to be free, to spread his wings and fly.

    -Not yet. There are still things you have left to do. -

    Ah, Talberon smiled faintly. The crow circled above him, squawking.

    ¡°Goodbye then, Master.¡±

    -Goodbye, Talberon.-

    And he plunged down towards the earth.

    #

    It was night in the war camp, and the soldiers were gathered around the fire in the few hours before curfew. Bran sat on the outside next to Harren the Wall and Adit, listening as Sam the bard entertained them. The boys had been tasked to run supplies down from Aldoran, and with the sun setting sooner than they¡¯d expected, they¡¯d been forced to stay the night. Sam had brought his lute with him, much to the delight of the soldiers.

    ¡°When the battle ended and Sonata reached the Cavern of Souls, she found her lover Selin there. Selin had defeated the enemy, but lay dying in a pool of his own blood.¡±

    Some of the soldiers leaned forward, staring intently at Sam as he continued his tale. His fingers moved slowly and mournfully across the lute strings.

    ¡°Selin had sacrificed his own life to protect Sonata, and as he took his last breaths, he whispered something to her which we will never know. Sonata cried out in grief as he fell still, and even the cavern itself seemed to bow its head in sorrow.

    ¡°Life is a fragile thing. It can be taken easily, yet it is incredibly hard to create or restore. Sonata had always been gifted with her Soulsong, but even she was hesitant at what she was about to do. However, without Selin, her life was meaningless, and so she began to sing.

    ¡°Her song was a eulogy, a recount of her travels with Selin, from the moment they¡¯d met as young children in the streets of Siraph to their journey across Faengard, performing before Kings and Queens, Lords and Ladies, Dukes and Duchesses. She poured into it her heart, singing of the time he¡¯d sang songs to her under the moonlight, the time he¡¯d rescued her from her from the shackles of her family, the time he¡¯d gone hungry for a week to scrounge up enough money for a gift. She sang for three days and three nights, without stopping to eat or drink or rest, never faltering in her tone. So powerful was her magic that even the souls listened and cried, and the gods came down and wept, and the plants and animals shook in sorrow as the caverns echoed her voice.

    ¡°At last she fell over from exhaustion, and by that time the entire cavern had filled with people from all over the world who had come to mourn her loss. As much as the gods wanted to, they could not reverse death. Cenedria cried as the White Women approached where Selin¡¯s body lay, their heads bowed in grief, veils pulled back from their faces. His time had come; his body would be returned to the earth, his soul taken to Vallaheim to be judged for entry to the Hall of Heroes.

    ¡°Sonata¡¯s song drew to a close, and she whispered her last words to him and the White Women.¡±

    ¡°Take me away with you, for the sun will never again rise,

    And the birds will never again sing,

    And the flowers will never again bloom.

    Take me away with you, to the place where journeys end.¡±

    ¡°And the White Women stood still, weeping. Sonata¡¯s song spread out from the cavern, across the mountains and the valleys, the rivers and lakes, through the towns and cities, and everywhere, people turned to the sky. Even those who had not heard her and those who could not understand her, they were struck by a sense of grief so deep that their eyes blurred.

    ¡°Sonata poured the last of her spirit into her parting farewell, and a miracle occured. Everywhere on Faengard, men and women, children, animals, even the trees, they shed a tear. One tear for each, to send their condolences. The sorrow that emanated rippled through the fabric of reality itself.

    ¡°And Wyd heard her.

    ¡°No one knows how or why, but Wyd heard her and gave her his blessing. And as the White Women took hold of Selin¡¯s cold wrists, they felt life and warmth return to him, and his eyelids give a flutter. Selin opened his eyes and saw Sonata, and she was overcome with a relief that could not be expressed in words. The cavern erupted into cheers as the two lovers reunited, having overcome the greatest obstacle of all¡ªdeath.

    ¡°In the aftermath of Sonata¡¯s song, which they named the Lifesong, Sonata found that she could no longer sing or even talk, and so she became Sonata the Speechless. But she had her Selin, and she could still play the fiddle that he had gifted her all those years ago, and that was all that mattered¡ªfor in the end, the power of music was so great that it could even undo death.¡±

    Sam finished on a long, thoughtful note. The soldiers were quiet for a while, listening to the fire crackle. The story had left them in a sombre mood, even the effusive ones of the lot.

    ¡°Would be nice to have a lady like that,¡± one of them finally said. ¡°Goodness knows what my own missus is doing now. Talking up the innkeeper, no doubt.¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Some of the other men gave half-hearted laughs, but their hearts were elsewhere, on the women and children that were waiting for them at home.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind if the relicts attacked right now,¡± another man said, downing his ale. ¡°Get things over and done with; this waiting is killing me. What¡¯s it been now, almost a half-year?¡±

    ¡°Half a year¡¯s nothing, brother. I was out on the plains for two years back when Lord Syrvan had his campaign against the Nullar.¡± The grizzled veteran stroked his beard. ¡°Was a long two years. In that time my daughter had a child, and my mother died of deathpox.¡±

    Sam stood up and began packing his lute back into its case. Bran reached out and grabbed his arm. ¡°How about another one, Sam?¡± he asked. Thoughts of Evaine swirled in his head. He didn¡¯t think he¡¯d be able to sleep if he let them be. ¡°Something happier to end the night.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m tired,¡± the boy said. ¡°And we have an early start tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Come on, lad. Here, have another drink!¡± Someone thrust a flagon of ale under Sam¡¯s face. ¡°Don¡¯t tell the Sergeant; this one¡¯s on me.¡±

    Sam looked at it uncertainly. More men began to act up, pressing for another story.

    ¡°I can¡¯t think of any happy stories,¡± Sam said with a sigh, taking the flask and poppin it open. He took a swig, wiping a trickle of gold from his chin. ¡°Any suggestions?¡±

    ¡°How about the tale of Al¡¯Ashar?¡± asked Adit. ¡°If there¡¯s such a thing. I¡¯ve been here for almost a year now and I¡¯ve never heard it. Why do they call him the Oathbreaker?¡±

    ¡°Aye, that¡¯s a good one. Something to take our mind off our sorrows.¡±

    ¡°Do it, lad. It¡¯s not every day we get a bard down at our camp. I¡¯ll pour you another when you¡¯re done.¡±

    Sam looked longingly at the wineskin in his hand and gave a resigned nod. ¡°Okay, then. But this is the last one, understand?¡± He took out his lute and began to play. The soldiers settled into their seats, falling quiet.

    ¡°This is the tale of a god¡ªa god who was once among the greatest of gods, taking a seat among the Pantheon itself. It is also the tale of a traitor, one who betrayed his kin, and the tale of a fall¡ªthe fall of one who was by no means evil, yet somehow became the greatest evil of them all. This is the tale of Al¡¯Ashar, the Oathbreaker, the Forsaken One who rides upon the unravelling of the world.¡±

    Sam brought his fingers to the lute. At the same time he began to hum, and as the two melodies met in harmony, their song pulled him into its embrace.

    It took him to the beginning of the world, a humble era where gods walked a raw earth rife with flowers and sweet smells, where the sky was blue and the sun bright. Sam¡¯s lute was like the trickling of spring-water as it wound its way through the hills, the whistle of wind as it combed the grass in waves. His voice complemented the instrument with each step, providing the buzzing of the bees and the rustle of the leaves. It was a tranquil opening, yet it lacked one thing¡ªlife.

    Sam¡¯s hum turned into a voice, and then there was life.

    The seven gods of the Pantheon rose into being, one after another, and Sam paid respect to them each. There was Anturia, mother of nature and the wild, whose tune was calm and soothing. There was Zaxiem, god of caves and all things dark and deep, and his tune was the hollow breathing of a chasm. There was Eolas, the messenger god of wisdom and logic, watcher of cities, and his was a merry jingle both short and memorable. Kalador was next, a harsh trumpeting of chords mimicking war-horns across the desert plains, followed by the soft, slow, almost sleepy song of Cenedria, bursting with love and fertility. Then came the successive crescendos of the sea god Aoshan, carer of merchants, and the heavenly thunder and sun-fire of the sky god, Lauriel. At last, there was Al¡¯Ashar¡ªyoungest of the gods and least important, god of the moon and the creatures of the dark, nothing more than a modest trill tacked on to the end of a loud and colourful symphony.

    The Pantheon held a meeting, and they decided to create a pact¡ªthe pact of Creation. There were lesser gods and deities walking the earth during this age, the Age of Gods, but their time was drawing to a close. The torch of Faengard had to be passed on to its next custodians.

    It was a simple pact, and it had but two rules. Each member of the Pantheon was to create a race to populate the realm, but no race could be overly stronger than any other, and each god could only create one.

    Mother Anturia created the Treelocs, peaceful guardians of the earth who stood still in the passage of time. Sam¡¯s singing slowed to a crawl, matching the great lumbering of the giant trees as they tended to their unmoving herds.

    Zaxiem created the dweor, stout beings of stone and scale with an eye for the treasures of the earth, hardy and resilient but short and overly reserved. Sam¡¯s lute broke into a quick string of high-pitched notes, and Bran immediately thought of pickaxes digging against stone walls underground.

    Kalador created the eotun, giants of the mountains and plains with monstrous strength and resilience. They were unrivalled in the art of war but overly bloodthirsty and fought amongst themselves. Their battles were like the booming of thunder.

    Aoshan modelled the dragons after the mysterious serpents of the sea, giving them wings to venture into lands unknown and fire to warm themselves. The dragons lived for thousands of years, but were a slow race to reach maturity and breed, even slower than the Treelocs.

    Cenedria created the fae, fair beings of light and wind with Spirit in their veins. Their tune was a whimsical one, reflecting both their bright and sporadic nature.

    Eolas created man, who was the weakest of the races, but made up for it with resilience, abundance and the ability to quickly adapt.

    Lauriel created the sun felen, graceful beings taking characteristics from both man and beast, but sacrificed quantity for quality. Their song was an alien arrangement of man¡¯s.

    Finally there was Al¡¯Ashar, creator of the moon felen, who were almost identical to Lauriel¡¯s creations but of the moon instead of the sun. However, Al¡¯Ashar was not happy, for the moon was inferior to the sun, and so his creations were strictly lesser to Lauriel¡¯s. He had already been given what he felt was the short end of the stick, and so he created another race in secret to balance the scales: the relicts.

    Sam paused for a moment, watching the spellbound audience. He had shown his prowess with the lute before, but even so Bran was surprised at how capable he was. If he didn¡¯t know better, he¡¯d say the bard held an innate talent for Songweaving.

    The moment was over no sooner than it had begun, a breath of air before plunging back into the ocean. Sam began to play again, continuing his story.

    The relicts were accompanied by harsh, discordant noises, a jarring collection of notes that were painful to the ear and yet somehow still forming a melody. They were abominations, disgraces to nature, half man, half beast with none of the grace of the felen and all the resilience of the dweor. They were stronger, faster and more long-lived than humans, and bred even more quickly. Although they were nowhere near as powerful as the giants and the dragons or the Treelocs and the fae, they were a clear upset to the balance of Creation. Al¡¯Ashar had broken the Oath.

    A great argument broke out amongst the Pantheon, stopping just short of a war. With seven gods against one, Al¡¯Ashar conceded and agreed to be exiled along with his relicts. His prison would be an entire world separated from Faengard¡ªthe mysterious realm known only as Nephilheim.

    But exile was just the beginning of Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s concerns, for the gods had further punishment in mind. They feared the relicts. If the Oathbreaker¡¯s forces ever found a way back to Faengard, there was a serious danger of being overpowered, especially when some of the relicts were as strong as the gods themselves.

    Because of this, they waged war on him.

    They turned Nephilheim into the place it is today, the cold, dry wasteland devoid of life. They robbed it of its Spirit, permanently scarring it and hindering its regrowth. They punished the relicts for a sin they didn¡¯t commit¡ªthe sin of existing. Al¡¯Ashar tried to protect his subjects, but he was outnumbered and lost half his face in the battle. They gouged his eyes so he could no longer see, and his ears so he could no longer hear, turning him into first of the Faceless.

    The Oathbreaker was devastated. To him, the relicts were like his children. The gods had massacred his children, and at that moment he wanted nothing more than revenge. Wrath overtook him and ate him from the inside out. He became the embodiment of fury, hatred, violence and carnage. The Pantheon had not been kind to him, and so they would pay.

    ¡°And pay they did, when the Age of the Gods drew to its end. But that is a story for another time.¡±

    Sam stopped and waited, the last note of his song fading into the night. The soldiers gave him a moment and then brought their hands together in a rowdy applause.

    ¡°You spin a fine yard, lad,¡± one of them said, handing Sam another flagon. ¡°Any time you want to come again, feel free. You¡¯ve made an old man¡¯s night lively again.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± Sam said, smiling politely as several other soldiers slapped him on the back. Bran glanced at the timepiece atop one of the tents and blanched. He was late to his shift.

    ¡°Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s eyes and ears,¡± he cursed. ¡°Harren, Adit, Sam. I¡¯ve got to go; I was due to take over the night¡¯s watch half an hour ago.¡±

    ¡°Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s eyes and ears indeed,¡± Sam said, tying his ale to his belt. ¡°You¡¯d better go then.¡±

    Bran leapt to his feet and ran, leaving the other runner boys behind to discuss the tale. His sandals slapped across the dirt as he dashed out of the clearing and into the treeline, heading down the slope to where his post was.

    He broke out of the canopy a few minutes later, breathless, with more than a few bruises on his knees. He¡¯d fallen over several times in the dark, tripping across gnarled roots and jagged rock. Bran peered up at the tree, searching for the boy that should have been there.

    ¡°Damn it,¡± he muttered. ¡°Can¡¯t see a thing.¡±

    It was a moonless night, the black, inky type that swallowed everything in sight. Bran placed his hands on the tree and began to climb, his pack chafing across his shoulder. He scrambled up the tree so quickly he would have impressed Ein and Evaine, standing atop the higher branches with a puzzled frown on his face. There was no one in sight.

    Then, he spotted the note.

    I¡¯ll be sure to let the Sergeant know of your tardiness. I¡¯m off to bed now.

    ¡ªJarrod

    Bran closed the piece of paper into a ball and swore. The sentry before him must have left already, having gotten tired of waiting. Jarrod should have stayed even if his replacement was late, but being the person at fault in the first place, Bran couldn¡¯t blame him. The shifts were long after all, and he¡¯d probably grown tired.

    Hopefully nothing¡¯s happened since then, he thought. Surely it couldn¡¯t have. It had only been half an hour, after all.

    He took out the spyglass from his bag and looked through it, peering at the relict camp in the distance. Black shapes moved about the Blight, indiscernible in the pitch black. Nothing out of the ordinary. He peeled his eye away, and that was when the bush below him rustled.

    Bran froze, not even daring to breath. The rustling continued¡ªit was moving towards him. He crawled down a few branches and quietly strung his bow, flinching as the tree creaked beneath him.

    A Worgal ran across the space between two trees and disappeared into the darkness.

    Bran stifled a gasp. He¡¯d seen it unobstructed for a full second. There was no doubt to what it was. Something else rustled to his left, and then his right. He spun around, scanning the ground on either side. Dark shapes milled past, rushing up the slope with a fluid swiftness.

    The relicts were advancing.

    Wyd almighty, I let them past! What do I do?

    Panic filled Bran¡¯s mind. He could call out now, draw their attention, hope to warn the camp. But he was too far away for them to hear, and there was no way of telling how many were ahead of him. Another group of Worgals trampled up the slope, breathing harshly in the night.

    There¡¯s too many of them. There¡¯s nothing I can do now; drawing their attention would hinder them for a few moments at most. He tried to reassure himself of that, that he wasn¡¯t in a position to do anything, but he still felt guilty as he clambered down the tree as quietly as he could.

    Please don¡¯t see me, please don¡¯t see me, please don¡¯t see me¡­

    He somehow made it to the edge of the river without coming across anything. The Arrien was well-lit, as well-lit as it could be on such a night. If the relicts were flanking, this was the path they¡¯d be least likely to use. It would take longer to reach the camp this way, but it was infinitely safer.

    Please be all right, Bran prayed as he began to run.

    The night grew ever darker as he followed the river upstream, flinching at the slightest noises in the woods. The stories Sam had told around the fire seemed like a lifetime away. Had the relicts reached them? No. Of course they¡¯d reached the camp by now. Were they still alive? That was the question he should have been asking.

    At some point while breaking in and out of the tree canopies, he spotted a cloud of smoke in the distance. As he stopped to listen, the sounds of screams and steel rang through the air. Bran paled and quickened his pace.

    By the time he was close enough to identify each of the columns of smoke that formed the cloud, he knew it was too late. It was quiet; so quiet that he couldn¡¯t even hear the birds and the insects. The only sounds he could make out were the low grunting of Worgals and Celadons, and the crackle of fire as it devoured wood. He peeked through the gap in the trees and suppressed a cry.

    The camp was in ruins. The tents were alight, the bonfires streaking across the ground like the brushstrokes of some sadistic demon. Worgals ran between the flames, looting, pillaging, plundering, destroying. Celadons trampled dead bodies, sniffing out those who were still alive, killing them before they could put up a fight. Most of the soldiers had been caught by surprise, unarmed and unarmoured, sleeping in their quarters. A Bloodmane stalked along the perimeter, clearing the site piece by piece.

    Bran felt his bladder loosen, warming his pants with hot, heavy liquid. He clutched his bow tightly, even though he knew arrows of stone and steel would be useless. Flames flickered over the bodies of men he¡¯d known, whose faces had been drunken and boisterous only an hour ago. The Rhinegold plate of the Kingsblade who¡¯d been tasked to watch over them lay bloodied and broken on the ground. Next to him was the Apocalypse Knight Bran had spotted before, the masked swordsman with the wolf-ears and tail¡ªthe man-wolf. It barked orders at the Worgals as they cleared the ruins, lugging back their spoils of war.

    One of the tent flaps opened and a group of soldiers stepped out. Bran¡¯s hopes rose, and he watched them intently. But as they circled the flames and went to join the swordsman, he realized what they truly were.

    Faceless.

    Anger boiled inside him. He knew some of those faces, some of the Sergeants and bannermen, the sentries that taken him over during a few of the perimeter watches. He felt his fingers twitch, but he kept them clenched in his fists. Shooting and killing them would achieve nothing.

    No. Right now, the best thing he could do was to return to the city and alert the Commander and the King.

    The Worgals howled at the sky, proclaiming their victory. Some of them lumbered to the corpses and began to dig in, teeth and claws flashing among rent flesh.. Bran swallowed his rage and bolted, making for the walls of Aldoran in the distance, the City of Twilight that slept peacefully, oblivious to what had happened this night. He ran because he was afraid¡ªnot so much of the relicts behind him, but of the what awaited the city if he didn¡¯t.

 52. The Boy and his Wolf

    Chapter Fifty-Two: The Boy and his Wolf

    ¡°It is the highest point in the known world, a place where few men dare venture, where fewer still return alive. To go any higher is to become a god.¡±

    ¡ªDagus Adem, The Adventurer¡¯s Guide to the Continent

    Ein and his mother walked along the river, hand in hand. It was night, not so early that the drunkards were still sober in Koth¡¯s inn, but not so late that they¡¯d passed out or gone home to sleep. Rhea took him to where the Brackenburg wound towards the lake, a quiet corner away from the bustle of the village.

    ¡°Be very quiet,¡± she said. ¡°Not a single word, understand? Your father will kill me if he finds out.¡±

    Ein nodded, eyes burning with curiosity.

    They waded their way through the bushes, stopping at the very edge where the treeline gave way to the riverbank. There was a man standing knee-deep in the Brackenburg, washing himself. Rhea brought a finger to her lips.

    The man was tall and broad, and he reminded Ein of a sturdy oak. His muscles were thickly corded and hard like wrought-iron, his coal-black hair streaked with grey. Ein settled himself in his position beside his mother and stifled a gasp.

    Scars lined the man¡¯s back like a plague, marring the otherwise slick surface. There were all manner of markings covering his body¡ªsnakes of raised flesh, thin black lines bound together by gut, pale brown streaks spanning the length of his torso. They crossed his arms and legs as well, and the back of his neck too. There wasn¡¯t a patch of skin left untouched.

    There were burn marks, scalds, every manner of permanent disfiguration Ein could imagine. It was like watching a moving doll of flesh, a human body stitched together from the limbs of various others. He hurt just imagining what sort of pain the man had experienced.

    The man turned to one side, and the moon fell upon his face. It was Alend.

    Rhea clamped her palm over Ein¡¯s lips, smothering his cry of surprise. Alend waded across the river to the bank and began to dry himself.

    ¡°This is what becomes of heroes who have served their time,¡± Rhea whispered. ¡°Watch closely, Ein, and think to yourself: Is this what you want to become?¡±

    Alend finished dressing himself and sat upon a rock facing the river. A minute passed, and then two, and then three. Ein saw a quiver of movement from his father¡¯s back, heard a quiet sniffle.

    Alend was crying.

    ¡°Your father has lived a life steeped in blood,¡± Rhea continued. ¡°You cannot become a Hero of Faengard and keep your hands clean. Countless men have fallen to his blade; men with wives and mothers, sons and daughters. Every year he comes here to cleanse himself of their blood, and to mourn them.¡±

    Alend continued to cry, oblivious to his wife and son who were watching him. Ein couldn¡¯t peel his eyes away.

    Alend the blacksmith, the strong man who never showed any signs of weakness. Here he was, broken and battered before Ein, his body marked with a thousand scars, his soul marked with a thousand more.

    ¡°Being a Hero of Faengard comes at a steep price,¡± Rhea continued. ¡°It isn¡¯t always rescuing princesses and slaying dragons for treasure. A hero will kill one to protect ten. But once a hero has protected countless people, he will also have killed countless people.¡±

    ¡°My father¡­ what exactly was he?¡±

    ¡°That is not something you need to know right now,¡± Rhea said, stroking Ein¡¯s hair. ¡°He will tell you in due time. But know this¡ªhe was a hero, the type that you wanted to be, and now he is no longer. Each life taken becomes a burden, until in the end you walk with the weight of a thousand deaths upon your shoulders. He still sees the faces of those he¡¯s killed in his sleep, hears their voices in his mind. Villains they may be, but they are still human. Many a time have I woken to see him tossing and turning in his sleep, reliving nightmares over and over again. That is what it means to be a hero, Ein. Is that what you truly want?¡±

    Alend bent down to the edge of the river and washed his face. He drew a deep breath and released it, staring at the night sky.

    ¡°A quiet life is not something to be taken for granted,¡± his mother said. ¡°Know this, and understand why your father does not wish for you to take his path.¡±

    #

    Tushar left in the morning as he said he would. Ein, Aeos, Garax and Rhinne followed the trail as they¡¯d been instructed, and surely enough, they came to the pass that led to the Summit of the World. It lay between two halves of the mountain, a gaping chasm like an open maw, jagged pieces of rock sticking out of the sides like teeth. They could spot the peak above them, a vague shadow behind the whirling snow-wind that was picking up. At the base of the entrance were several large chunks of rock and ice, broken off from above to lie destitute in the snow.

    ¡°I still can¡¯t believe it,¡± Ein murmured, glancing sideways at Garax. ¡°To think that you were Dagus Adem, the greatest adventurer of all. Wyd almighty, to think a legend was living amidst us Felhaveners all this time.¡±

    Ein had always just assumed the storyteller was well-read and had travelled more than his fair share of roads, but when he gave it more thought, Garax had always known little tidbits here and there that only a person of extensive age and knowledge would have known. When his nature had first been brought to light that night in the Sleeping Twinn all those weeks ago, among the village elders and the Children of the Wind, Ein had thought him to be a Songweaver like the Druid Talberon, or perhaps a half-breed mix of some other race, which was rare but not unheard of. He¡¯d never expected the cripple to be a dragon of all things.

    Thinking back on it now, the signs had been there. The fact that Garax had never really seemed to be affected by cold the way a normal man would. His familiarity with Rhinne and Lord Drakhorn. The time he¡¯d ignited the air inside Graendal and saved himself and Evaine, the Darksteel blade he always carried that could only be forged with dragonfire, the sayings he¡¯d occasionally use from The Adventurer¡¯s Guide to the Continent, which Alend had a copy of back inside the Thoren family forge. His uncanny proficiency with the blade.

    ¡°Felhaven was a great place to settle down and lie low for a while,¡± the old man mused, acting as if his revelation had been nothing more than a childish fib laid bare. ¡°No one ever passed through, and if they did, I was just an old cripple with one too many stories under his belt. I only have your father to thank; he made it his business to limit the village¡¯s external dealings.¡±

    ¡°Why now, then?¡± Aeos asked. ¡°Master¡­ Dagus.¡± He seemed uncertain at what to call him, speaking with a tone of awe and respect that Ein never would have expected to hear from the Prince. Aeos had been surprisingly accepting of the storyteller''s true nature. Perhaps it was because of the conversations they¡¯d shared back in the mines of Mor¡¯Gravar, bonding over artifacts from times long gone.

    ¡°Why do you think? Things are on the brink of change, young Prince. New heroes will rise, and as a survivor from the ages of old, it¡¯s my job to guide them.¡±

    ¡°But surely, with you on our side, we don¡¯t even need to go to all this trouble of saving our damsel in distress and restoring Aedrasil. I¡¯ve heard your tales; I¡¯m sure there¡¯s child who hasn¡¯t. It was said you could slay armies with a single sweep of your blade and set cities on fire with your breath alone. Can¡¯t you just kill Al¡¯Ashar and be done with it?¡±

    ¡°Damn minstrels,¡± Garax muttered. ¡°If there¡¯s one thing I stress to people when I tell my stories, it¡¯s not to believe them. Any legend that sounds too incredible to be true probably is. I could do perhaps half of those things you mentioned, though that was long ago when we had the Dragonstone.¡± He glanced at Rhinne. ¡°I try to avoid using any of my Heartfire now if I can help it. I¡¯m old, and even walking around drains the fuel from my flame. I don¡¯t have much of it left. Perhaps enough for a single transformation, and I only plan on using it if I have to. Besides,¡± Garax peered into the chasm, ¡°there¡¯s something I have to do for an old friend.¡±

    The ground beneath them rocked slightly, sending powder snow sprinkling down from above.

    ¡°Faenrir,¡± Ein murmured.

    ¡°Aye,¡± Garax nodded. ¡°An old friend I have to take responsibility for.¡±

    Aeos and Rhinne looked at each other in puzzlement.

    ¡°Well,¡± Aeos said. ¡°Celianna will be beside herself with excitement when she meets you after all this is finished. She¡¯s a big fan of your work.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the old man muttered. ¡°After all this is finished...¡±

    They took a break before the passage, tightening the straps in their armour, making sure their weapons were secured, eating what little they had left to spare. Even Rhinne slipped on another layer, protecting her exposed skin from the biting cold. She spent a few minutes sharpening her knife with a whetstone, listening to the smooth sheen of stone against steel. Aeos polished the short-spear by his waist while Garax sat atop a rock, staring into the distance.

    Ein strayed away from the entrance to the pass, studying the creviced walls that rose towards the sky. They were jagged and uneven, as if a large pile of rubble had been dumped on the ground with snow cemented inside the gaps¡ªlikely caused by all the shaking. A short distance away from where they¡¯d set up camp, he found several bodies half-buried under the rocks and snow, the remains of a party that had gone before them. They looked to be soldiers¡ªLegionnaires, donning the black and silver of the Legion, with the spear and shield of House Uldan upon their breasts. Ein called out to the rest of the party, waving them over.

    Aeos came first, followed by Garax and Rhinne. The Prince lifted one of the visors, revealing a pair of frightful, unblinking eyes, and grimaced.

    ¡°I knew these men,¡± he muttered, running his hand along another of the bodies. It was a large man in black and silver armour, a warhammer embedded in the debris nearby. ¡°This one¡¯s name name was Darius. We called him ¡®The Crusher,¡¯ and he was one of our best.¡±

    ¡°The mountain does not discriminate,¡± Garax said. ¡°All men are equals before its wrath.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m beginning to have second thoughts about this whole thing. In the end, we really do only have a boy, a girl and an old man to fight one of the three Great Relicts.¡± Aeos sighed. ¡°Oh well. I¡¯m so sick of this place that death will be a reprieve. Can¡¯t even breathe properly up here.¡±

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t push yourself,¡± Rhinne remarked. ¡°I¡¯ll say it once again; there¡¯s no shame in staying behind and waiting.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯ll say it again as well, dragon,¡± Aeos snapped. ¡°I¡¯m fine. Worry about yourself.¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Rhinne scowled and shrugged. They finished their meal and stepped towards the entrance with heavy hearts. Ein drew a deep breath.

    ¡°To the Summit of the World, then,¡± he said.

    The others nodded. ¡°To the Summit of the World.¡±

    They entered the passage, ducking out of the snow and wind and into the unknown.

    #

    It was like a completely separate realm in itself, a path wedged between the two halves of the mountain. It was barely wide enough for two horse-drawn carriages to travel abreast, and it twisted and turned like a glacial serpent. Chunks of rock and ice spilled across the ground where pieces of Raginrok had broken off from above.

    Aeos found himself panting before long, partly from the climbing, partly from the thinness of the air. Each breath barely filled his lungs, as deeply as he breathed. He would keep going until his vision began to dim; only then would he admit defeat. For now, he would manage¡ªthough all the large boulders blocking their path were becoming a nuisance.

    The wind roared above them, a howling gale that buffeted the sides of the chasm, blowing snow horizontally in their faces. The tremors in the earth, although slight, were becoming more frequent. Aeos felt his heart stop every time a stone broke off above them, bouncing and clattering down the walls on either side to land in a small puff of dusty snow. The mountain could come down on them any time, and they stood little chance of surviving it.

    What would Mother and Father do if they found me dead? he wondered. He knew what Celianna would do; she would weep for him and sing of her loss, like Sonata the Speechless had for Selin. Would he have a funeral as exquisite as Willard¡¯s had been? Would they speak of him fondly, or as a stain upon the Uldan name?

    Abruptly they came to a halt. Garax had been leading the way, and now he turned around to address everyone.

    ¡°Concentrate on anything but the singing,¡± he said.

    Aeos frowned. The singing? He closed his eyes, and that was when he heard it. It had been so soft, melding seamlessly into the environment that he¡¯d scarcely paid it any attention. A distant echo that trickled off the walls, hidden in the wind and the snowdrifts, the quivering of the frostweed that lined the walls. It was the voice of a girl, a haunting song, one that spelled death and destination, one that tugged at him gently with sweet-sounding tendrils. It blew away the soil from the graves of his memories, laying them bare, all of them. Of Willard, of Celianna, of Aedon and Illia when they had been smiling from their hearts.

    ¡°The song that shackles the beast,¡± Ein muttered. They looked shaken, both Ein and Rhinne, even Garax, though he hid it well. The old man locked eyes with each of the party members and then resumed his passage.

    A shadow passed over them as they entered the final leg of the route. A large chunk of the mountain had fallen over the pass, forming a narrow cave that stood between them and the Summit of the World. It was dark inside, very dark. The song grew muffled overhead as they made their way through the dimly lit hollow, guided only by the faint slivers of light trickling through cracks in the ceiling. Aeos placed his hand against the wall, head swimming. Black spots were beginning to dance around the edges of his vision. Rhinne gave him another questioning look, but said nothing.

    At last the cave ended and they broke out onto the mountaintop, in the midst of a violent snowstorm. The wind lashed at their hair and clothes, threatening to push them off the steep precipices on either side. Grey clouds stretched on towards the horizon around them, a sea of mist with no end in sight. They were on the highest known point in Faengard, the mountain that was said to connect the earth to the heavens. The Summit of the World.

    #

    Before them was a narrow path that led to a plateau at the centre of the peak. The wind wailed and howled, blowing snow like sand across a white desert. Ein squinted into the distance and called out, struggling to be heard above the din.

    ¡°There she is,¡± he cried. In the centre of the snowfield, before a large stone ridge was a black-haired girl. She sat on the ground wearing nothing but a clothspun robe, and her face was streaked with tiredness, dirt, and grime. The words continued to spill from her mouth, an alien song that evoked feelings inside Ein he didn¡¯t recognize.

    ¡°A Sylvan,¡± Garax cried out, rushing to Ein. ¡°Be careful, Ein. Don¡¯t fall victim to her voice.¡±

    ¡°A Sylvan?¡± Ein stopped a few paces away, waiting for the others to catch up. Rhinne and Aeos made their way to the edge of the plateau, the latter bending over to catch his breath.

    ¡°The child of a fae and a human,¡± Garax explained. ¡°That would explain how she¡¯s managed to stay alive all this time. Look at her eyes.¡±

    They were deep and clear, like the frosty clearing they were standing on. But as he looked deeper, they shifted colour¡ªto steel grey, and then sky blue and lapis lazuli, to the colour of springwater and slate. They never remained the same shade for long.

    The girl noticed them at last and shook her head frantically. She waved her hands, urging them to go back, to leave the mountain. The chain that bound her ankle to the ground rattled.

    ¡°Go back,¡± she cried out in a hoarse voice. ¡°Go back!¡± Her song broke for a moment, its strange tone fading. The wind stilled.

    ¡°Lachess,¡± Ein cried, drawing his sword. ¡°Is that your name?¡±

    ¡°Leave me,¡± she said again. ¡°It will hear you. I mustn¡¯t allow it to awaken!¡± She tried to sing again but her voice was slow to weave its magic, its threads flailing weakly in the wind.

    She couldn¡¯t have been more than thirteen or fourteen years old. Ein was reminded once again of Cinnamin¡ªthey even shared the same hair colour, though this girl was paler in complexion. A brotherly instinct rose inside him, something that made him want to protect her, to shelter her from the cruel wind. He was next to her before he knew it, sword raised to strike at her chains.

    ¡°No!¡± she cried again. ¡°Stop¡ª¡±

    And then the mountain rumbled.

    It was a different rumble this time. It was laden with purpose, the low growl of a beast that had awakened to find trespassers within its den. The mountain shook from deep within, tremors slowly making their way to the surface, causing chunks of snow to break off the edge of the precipice and plummet into the clouds. Ein stumbled and righted himself, and then hacked at the chains again. His blade dug a chip from one of the links.

    ¡°Just a little more¡­¡±

    The ground before him darkened. Aeos had suddenly fallen backwards, his face a bloodless white. Rhinne was also looking up, mouth agape.

    Ein followed their gaze, puzzled, only to find that a large shadow had covered the sky. The shape loomed over them, slowly materializing from the mist, a titanic creature on four legs, silver fur sprouting along its length, crimson eyes as big as horses, yellow teeth like serrated swords. Each rise and fall of its chest caused the mountain to shake.

    The chain holding the girl in place snapped free, but Ein paid it no heed. The monster before them was still rising, higher than a house, higher than a tenement, as high as the walls of Uldan Keep. It rose so high that it blotted out the sun, staring down at them with a hungering look. A shimmering tether bound its feet, a weaving of reds and blues and violets that prevented the creature from standing.

    It was a demon god that belonged to no mortal realm. It was a Great Relict, a being as old as the Pantheon, a relic of the past from a time when men could raise mountains and split the earth. It was a child of Al¡¯Ashar, a survivor of the Hundred Years War and the Age of Gods.

    It was Faenrir, the World-Eater.

    The demon wolf roared, and the mountain roared with it. Ein was thrown to his knees, his palms jarring painfully against his wrists. The wind howled, tearing across the Summit of the World. Stone shattered and slid, tumbling down into the mist, blasting holes across the sea of clouds.

    Rhinne let out a high-pitched scream as a chunk of the ground fell away beneath her, sending her sliding towards the edge like a ragdoll. Aeos went with her, and together they clung desperately onto the broken crag. Garax thrust his darksteel blade into the snow, using it to anchor him as the landscape shifted.

    The World-Eater¡¯s howl continued long after it had stopped, echoing across the mountaintops in tune with the wind. Rhinne managed to crawl her way back to the the entrance of the cavern, dragging a dazed Aeos with her. Ein clambered to his feet, grabbing the girl¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± he screamed. He pulled her forcefully with him, towards the walkway that led back to where the others waited. Garax was two steps behind, slogging through the wind and snow.

    FATHER! OH, FATHER!

    The voice shrieked inside Ein¡¯s mind, the voice of a beast who¡¯d gone mad with solitude. He lost his step and the wind pulled him forward, almost tossing him off the edge of the mountain. The entrance to the cave before him quivered. He didn¡¯t know which way was up or down anymore. Everything was shaking.

    Faenrir howled again, and there was anguish in its voice. Clouds gathered around its head, tumbling across the horizon in a black mass. The wolf shifted forward on its haunches, eyes rolling madly in its head, froth dripped from its maw. Ein saw all the way through the rows and rows of teeth to its throat, a gaping black hole with no end in sight. The force of its voice blew a sheet of snow backwards, colouring the air white.

    FATHER! BROTHER! FRIEND! WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?

    The stone in front of Ein split and came crashing down onto the entrance of the passage, blocking it. He halted on all fours, the girl¡¯s hand still in his own. She was looking between him and Garax and the wolf, and at Aeos and Rhinne who were already inside the cavern.

    ¡°Shit!¡± Garax shouted.

    ¡°We can still get her through,¡± Ein yelled back. The wind was deafening. Faenrir continued to wail, a cry of woe and agony.

    ¡°I have to sing to it,¡± the girl said. Her lips were cracked from the wind, her eyes brimming with tears. ¡°I can make it calm again. Please, let me sing!¡±

    ¡°Aeos! Rhinne! Take her!¡± Ein ignored her pleas and boosted her up the rubble with all his strength, to the small gap above that only she could fit through. Aeos and Rhinne grabbed her from inside the hollow, one hand each, and hauled her through. He heard them land with a scuffle on the other side.

    ¡°What the hell do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± Aeos cried from within. ¡°You¡¯ll die out there!¡±

    ¡°Take her!¡± Ein screamed back. ¡°Take her down the mountain! Get her to safety, we can¡¯t lose her!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d better make good on your promise, Ein,¡± Rhinne cried out. ¡°You told me you¡¯d help me find the Dragonstone, remember. I won¡¯t have you dying before then!¡±

    Ein couldn¡¯t help but smile as Aeos and Rhinne fled with the girl, their footsteps disappearing deep into the mountain. Once they emerged into the pass below, they would be safe.

    He turned around, only to find Garax standing face to face with the giant wolf.

    FRIEND! FRIEND, YOU HAVE COME BACK! Faenrir¡¯s voice was hysterical. It let out a garbled noise, a cross between a choke, a snarl and a bark. WHY? WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME? WHY HAVE YOU COME BACK?

    Garax quietly sheathed his sword.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, friend,¡± he said. The wind vanished, and the mountain fell silent. Ein stumbled to his feet, sword drawn, rushing to Garax¡¯s side. What should he do? What could he do, against a demon whose strength rivalled the gods?

    The storyteller raised his right hand, the one that was missing, calling Ein to a halt.

    ¡°Come on, Faenrir,¡± Garax murmured. ¡°It¡¯s time to go home now.¡±

    He fell to his hands and knees and began to shake. The mountain held its breath, watching.

    The storyteller¡¯s body rippled and expanded, bursting free of the loose-bound clothes he¡¯d been wearing. Garax arched his neck to the sky as it grew longer and longer, his nose extending into a snout, golden scales blossoming across his skin. A tail burst from his behind, a magnificent gold that shone like the sun.

    He continued to grow, no longer a man now but a dragon, as big as a horse, as big as a house, as big as the walls of Uldan Keep. His left arm grew longer and thicker, and from the soft underarm a webbed membrane took form¡ªa wing of shining gold. His right arm grew as well, but no wing accompanied it, and it ended in a stump instead of a clawed hand.

    Garax lifted his neck from the ground. He was Garax, and yet he was not Garax. The old man was gone and in his place was a great dragon of gold with only one wing¡ªbut beneath those scales and the grand, proud visage, the storyteller was still there. It was in the mischievous way that it held its chin, the silent wisdom within its eyes.

    Garax lifted his head to the sky and roared, stretching his lone wing behind him. It was a proud roar, a valiant roar, the roar of a magnificent creature who was finally free. Raginrok bowed in respect. The wind parted before it. Even Faenrir was still, awe flickering inside its eyes, deep beneath the madness.

    Garax roared, sprouting a pillar of flame from its nostrils. His roar was a song; a story filled with sadness, lament, and regret. There was a boy in that song, and a young pup. The boy fed the pup, and little by little, bit by bit, they became friends.

    The boy became a youth, and the pup became a wolf. The youth threw a stick, and the wolf chased it. They pair wandered through the green valleys, chasing flocks of pigeons into the air.

    The youth became a man, and the wolf became a direwolf. The man brought home a woman, and the direwolf faded into the background. But it was always there, chasing away the highwaymen at night, the hunters and the poachers, the wild animals that strayed onto the farm.

    And finally, the night where it had all changed. The night where the armoured men had come for the wolf, and the wolf had fled. More nights, road after road, wood after wood, moon after lonely moon. The wolf fled, drawing hunters from all over the land. It still remembered the days of light it had shared with the boy, and it longed for those days.

    Ein blinked, and the world skipped ahead in time. The wolf was old now, and so large that it was almost a demon. It met the man, and the man fitted the fetters around its feet. And when they tightened, the wolf knew that it had been betrayed, and it was taken by a sadness and an anger so great that its howl shook the world. It clamped its jaws shut, taking the man¡¯s hand off, burning with rage as it was taken away to its cold, lonely prison.

    Ein blinked, and he was back on the mountain. The wind picked up again, the clouds circling above the two behemoths as they faced each other. Faenrir drew a deep, shuddering breath, madness taking over once more from the brief moment of clarity. Garax twisted his head around to look at Ein.

    -It has been a pleasure.-

 53. Godbreaker

    Chapter Fifty-Three: Godbreaker

    ¡°There will be three¡ªa man like a ghost, with both hair and skin of snow white. A man with no hand, old and wise, carrying a bird that does not move. And a young man who wields the storm and a golden sword.

    ¡°They will bring an end to Mandara¡¯s reign of terror. They will break the mountain and bring it to its knees.

    ¡°They are Godbreakers.¡±

    ¡ªMuamed, Prophet of Darmouth

    The dragon lurched forwards, and the wolf met it. They collided in a crash that shook the mountain, grappling each other in a savage embrace. Faenrir thrashed, twisting its head left and right, shaking the ground with each movement. Ein found himself on all fours, struggling to keep himself from being thrown off the summit.

    -Go, Ein. I will hold him here.-

    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Ein cried in return, as the two beasts fought before him. Faenrir sank its teeth into Garax¡¯s neck, and the dragon roared in pain. A column of fire erupted from its throat, setting the wolf¡¯s pelt alight. Each motion was a thunderclap¡ªfeet stomping across the ground, wings crashing into stone, tails sweeping through the air. The wolf and the dragon wrestled back and forth, ripping blood from each other¡¯s throats, howling, roaring, screaming. The wind became red and gold and silver, spraying blood, fur and scales across the horizon. Garax cried out each time he was struck, and Ein felt it. Faenrir shrieked each time its blood was drawn, and Ein felt it.

    -Fool! What are you doing? Run!-

    Garax held the wolf¡¯s jaws back and roared. Crimson fire swept across the air between them and enveloped its head. Faenrir howled in agony, slamming the golden dragon onto the ground in a berserk rage. The two giants tumbled across the snow, clawing and snapping at each other. Flames charred the snowscape black. Steam rose and was swept away by the coming storm.

    It was growing stronger, the wind and the snow both. There were small crystals of ice forming in the air, raking across Ein¡¯s skin as he lay pressed to the ground. The black clouds gathered in in a massive tempest above them, a whirlwind of snow and ice and water. Rain began to fall, and the snow became sleet. It pierced through Ein¡¯s clothing, chilling him to the core.

    Garax cried out in pain as the wolf tackled him into the ground once more, the full weight of its enormous body bearing into him. The snow began to sear as he sank deeper and deeper, his weak arm pinned to the ground, his good wing beating frantically at the air. He opened his maw and let loose another torrent of dragonfire, but Faenrir¡¯s grip held strong.

    The fire spluttered at once and went out. Garax shifted his head towards Ein. Desperation was in his eyes.

    He¡¯s dying.

    Ein finally found his feet, bracing himself against the wind. Garax had wrapped his limbs around Faenrir and pinned it in place, no longer fighting. His movements were weak and sluggish. Like an old man.

    -Run,- he said to Ein. -Don¡¯t be a hero.-

    A hero.

    Ein looked at the scene in front of him. The tempest was in full force, hurling rain and snow relentlessly at the summit. Cracks had opened across the ground, fissures spreading deep into mountain. The sky flickered and hurled a fork of lightning into the distance. It made a sharp crack as it connected with the ground. The sky flickered again, and another thread of lightning appeared. It was roaring; everything was roaring. The tempest, the wind, the mountain, the wolf, the dragon. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    A hero is a person who fights, even when he doesn¡¯t want to.

    They¡¯d saved the third Blood of Kings. But Ein couldn¡¯t just turn around, turn his back on the man who had read stories to him since he¡¯d been a child, the toothless storyteller who¡¯d taught him bawdy songs and secrets that none of the other adults knew. The clumsy drunkard who had taught him the Way of the Wind, the Way that he lived his life by.

    Listen to the wind.

    I don¡¯t want to fight, Ein thought, staring at the gargantuan wolf before him. I don¡¯t want to fight. I don¡¯t want to fight.

    I have to fight.

    He was singing before he knew it, his voice so low that he barely heard it above the wind. It was the faintest ghost of a whisper, the lullaby that Rhea used to sing to him when the summer storms crossed the Felhaven forge.

    ¡°Thunder and lightning, the giants are fighting.

    It¡¯s raining and roaring, isn¡¯t it frightening?¡±

    Garax was fading now, his tail flickering weakly, his golden eyes glazing over. Faenrir dug its jaws into his throat and pulled, but the dragon held on.

    -Ein¡­!-

    The tempest reached a crescendo, lightning cracking across the mountaintop like a whip, waves of sleet drenching the boy and the two giants. Thunderclouds danced around them, blasting the mountains, piercing the clouds. The smell of smoke was thick in the air.

    You¡¯re a Fateweaver.

    Tears streamed down his face as he sang, a fast, frantic arpeggio like the stormclouds that rumbled above. He could no longer tell the difference between his voice and the wind. They were one and the same.

    Your actions will decide the fates of many to come.

    He felt Lady Reyalin by his side, lending him her strength. Energy raced through his veins. His body was hot, so hot that the snow was melting around him. He drew upon his deepest reserves of Spirit, and then some. He found the link to Aeos and latched onto it, taking more still. More Spirit. More. Garax had stopped moving now, still clutching Faenrir in his death-grip.

    No.

    Rage boiled through Ein, threatening to overwhelm him. Sleet evaporated against his skin. The mountain rumbled and shook. The fissures widened.

    I¡¯m a Hero of Faengard.

    Garax gave him one final look, and then the life left his eyes. His scales dulled to a stone grey, hardening, crackling. The golden dragon became still amidst the blizzard. It was no longer a dragon¡ªthe storyteller had returned to the earth from whence he¡¯d come from. He was nothing more a figure of rock now.

    No!

    Ein arched his back and screamed. His throat was aflame, a raw channel of energy that projected his fury to the storm. Lightning struck again, to the left and the right, circling the Summit of the World. Faenrir wrenched a leg from the Garax¡¯s stoney embrace, breaking off his right wing. It fell to the snow with a crash.

    Ein took a step forward, and then another. The tempest whirled around him, wailing, screeching, wrenching at his clothes with cold fingers. Water and ice. Snow and sleet. Wind and rain. The stormclouds rumbled, flickering with threads of light. He felt a hand give him a push from behind.

    Alend¡¯s.

    ¡°On lightning I dance, for the storm sings to none other.¡±

    The sky opened, and a pillar of jagged light impaled the mountain. The last thing Ein saw was a boy and a wolf, and they were embracing each other.

    #

    The sky became white for an instant, brighter than the sun itself. Everywhere, the mountains shook. Ice and stone broke from the cliff sides, tumbling down into the depths. The earth quaked. The wind howled, lashing rain and ice across the land.

    The boy¡¯s cry was so great that even the people of Darmouth heard it. The mountain itself bent beneath the force of his words. A chasm opened from where the lightning had struck at the Summit of the World, above the sea of clouds. It spread, wider and wider, travelling straight down the mountain to the very base. The mountain grumbled and groaned as it broke into two, a steaming crag forming between the halves.

    The storm continued to rage above them, but the worst of it was over. The villagers opened their doors and ran out into the streets, loosing cries of joy and exuberance in the thinning rain. A sparrow darted from the windows of one of the huts, speeding towards spire as quickly as it could. The grey clouds parted and a sliver of light poked through the sky once more.

    ¡°Talam,¡± the villagers cried, pointing at the mountain. ¡°Talam!¡±

    Godbreaker. The boy had broken Mandara. He had broken a god.

 54. For Whom the Bell Tolls

    Chapter Fifty-Four: For Whom the Bell Tolls

    ¡°When the bell tolls for a thirteenth time, you know it¡¯s trouble.¡±

    ¡ªDalan Kelethar, Thirteenth General of the Legion

    Evaine raced through the corridors with her hair flying behind her, the hem of her robe gathered in her hands. The messenger had arrived a few minutes ago, breathless, drenched in sweat. He¡¯d stumbled through the entrance hall, demanding to see the King.

    It was an hour past midnight. Messengers did not demand to see the King an hour past midnight.

    She bolted down the stairs two at a time, her ankles jarring in her sockets. She¡¯d been sleeping for a good few hours before the call had come, and her eyes were still sticky with crust. Kedryn ran behind her, and in front was another trio of healers. People poked their heads out of their chambers, bewildered looks on their faces. What was happening? Why was the tower in such a state of unrest?

    The bell tolled again from the city square, and they heard it all the way in the Keep. It rang ten times, eleven, twelve, more. It didn¡¯t stop.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± one of the Songweavers asked, someone of reasonable rank by the authority in their voice. Evaine didn¡¯t check. That wasn¡¯t important right now.

    ¡°Get everyone up and ready,¡± Kedryn cried, flying past. ¡°Everyone. By order of the Grand Songstress.¡±

    The Songweaver blinked, but by the time he could open his mouth again they¡¯d descended another level.

    The healers burst into the courtyard, Evaine among them. The lights were on in the barracks, the runner boys flitting around, trying to get everything ready. The cavaliers were by their horses, some of them already mounted. Soldiers ran back and forth in half-plate, dashing into the armoury, the forge, readying their weapons. All the while, the bell tolled.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    They sprinted across the grass, the cool dew wetting their feet. Lampposts lit the path, guiding them. There was no moon¡ªonly an impenetrable layer of black clouds, stretching as far as the eye could see. There was a commotion by the gates to the Keep, on the bridge that spanned the moat.

    Evaine staggered to a halt, bending over to catch her breath. She drank the air raggedly and looked around, trying to take in what had happened. King Aedon was there, speaking in hushed tones to a sentry while the Queen stood nearby. The Kingsblades were gathered by the watchtower, making quick exchanges with the guards. On the wall above them, Gilfred stared into the distance with his fists clenched.

    ¡°He¡¯s lost a lot of blood,¡± one of the guards said, drawing Evaine¡¯s attention. She turned her eyes to the floor and gasped.

    It was Bran, with a huge bloody gash in his side and two arrows sticking out from his arm. The healers gathered around him, preparing their medical kits. Gerrard pushed her out of the way and began to sing, his brow furrowing in concentration.

    ¡°Bran!¡± Evaine cried. ¡°Bran! Gods, what happened?¡±

    Kedryn held her back. ¡°Let the healers work on him, girl!¡±

    Evaine struggled to break free, but the big woman was too strong. All the while the bell continued to toll, and the soldiers continued to amass inside the castle walls.

    After what seemed like eternity, Gerrard and the healers finally moved away. Bran sat up, his face gaunt and harrowed. Blood soaked his shirt and his bandages, but he was alive. The healers asked him some questions. Another of the Songweavers took over, while the rest scattered back to the Keep.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± Evaine asked. ¡°What happened to you?¡± Kedryn had pulled her unit awake without so much as an explanation to what the messenger had said, only that there was someone severely injured in need of their help. The High King was calling out orders now, his face a mask of grim determination. A stable hand brought him his horse, and another tottered across the yard with his sword.

    ¡°I¡­ I came here as quickly as I could,¡± Bran managed. Blood, dirt and sweat caked his forehead. Evaine took a handkerchief from her pocket and gently wiped it clean. ¡°They¡¯re gone, Evaine. They¡¯re all gone.¡±

    ¡°Who? Who¡¯s gone?¡± she asked. They were alone now, under the shadow of the gate. Everyone was away doing something else.

    ¡°The war camp. The relicts killed them all.¡± Bran rose to his feet, pulling away from her. He looked towards the city, past its walls to the Blight beyond. ¡°They¡¯re attacking.¡±

    Evaine followed his gaze and felt despair settle into her stomach. A seething mass of black shadows spilled through the trees, a river of Worgals and Celadons flowing up the hill. They moved at a brisk trot, not dawdling but in no hurry either. After all, where could their enemy possibly run?

    The bell tolled, and Evaine suddenly felt very, very small.

 55. Moonfall

    Chapter Fifty-Five: Moonfall

    ¡°Built into the side of a large hill, the City of Twilight is a natural fortress in itself. With three walls and a moat sourced from the Arrien River, it is perhaps the most well-fortified city-keep in all of Faengard. Attacking it unprepared would be the height of folly.¡±

    ¡ªDagus Adem, The Adventurer¡¯s Guide to the Continent

    Aldoran was in a state of chaos.

    Tides of people swept through the streets, pushing and shoving their way to the second wall. The street thieves stuck to the backalleys, trickling through winding shortcuts with sure feet, climbing walls, racing across rooftops where the buildings were tightly packed enough to jump. The lower-classes stuck to the main roads, funneling inch by inch through the gateways. Families dragged small wagons behind them, mothers holding their children¡¯s hands, fathers hugging sacks and crates of belongings to their chests. The middle classes walked next to their horses while the upper classes sat impatiently in their carriages, tempers shortening as the traffic refused to budge.

    Then there were the late risers and the indecisive ones, men and women bumbling frantically through their shops and houses with no idea of what to bring and what to leave behind, turning their rooms upside down for the one trinket they couldn¡¯t do without. Those who¡¯d known what the bell implied were gone already, at the front of the pack filing into Wall Norn.

    Gilfred Leonhart dismounted and waded his way through the crowds to Menkraft, the outermost wall of Aldoran. The guards were already taking post at the watchtowers, rolling ballistas into place. Knights and soldiers gathered by their meeting points, forming ranks and files, standing at attention as their commanders debriefed them. Sentries called out to each other from the parapets, voices laden with alarm. Gilfred couldn¡¯t see the relicts from his position on the ground, but he didn¡¯t need to. He already knew the sight he¡¯d be faced with.

    A seething mass of black creeping up the hill, devouring everything in its wake. That was what awaited them.

    It was finally happening. Aldoran was coming under attack.

    He stopped before the barred gates, watching the Captains and the Sergeants give orders to their men. Wall Menkraft, a stone barrier four paces wide and three stories tall, was the only thing that stood between the city and the servants of Al¡¯Ashar.

    Gilfred had seen the Slazaads. The walls would not stand a chance.

    Silence settled upon the streets¡ªthe majority of people had fled to Wall Norn, where the safety perimeter had been set up. The relicts were not to make it past Menkraft, which held most of the tenements and was home to the lower classes of Aldoran. It would be hard if they lost it, especially when the people who lived within its boundaries were hard done by life in the first place.

    A trumpet blew, followed by the deep pitch of a warhorn. Horses were riding down the main street, saddlebags laden with supplies, wagonfuls of weapons behind them. The spearmen marched in squads of thirty strong. The archers marched in front of them, bows strung and ready to be fired, and then the bannermen flying the spear and shield of the Uldan house. At the very front of the troops were the Kingsblades, and in their midst the High King.

    Aedon halted before Gilfred and dismounted, his armour rattling as he hit the ground. His face was red and he was sweating, but the steadiness to which he held his lance spoke of countless years of experience. He wore a full plate of Rhinegold armour with golden gauntlets, greaves and boots, his plumed helm under the crook of his arm. A scarlet cape draped across his shoulders, flapping down by his feet. Amongst his saddlebags he carried a round Rhinegold shield emblazoned with the Uldan sigil.

    ¡°Kingsblade Gilfred,¡± the King greeted, as the footsoldiers took their posts. Gilfred saluted in response. Even though the King had had his Rhinegold armour reforged to accommodate his size, it seemed that he¡¯d outgrown it yet again. Gilfred couldn¡¯t imagine how much weight the King¡¯s warhorse had to carry, armour and all.

    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± Gilfred said. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be coming out here in person.¡±

    Aedon raised an eyebrow. ¡°And why might that be?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re too important to be out here,¡± the Kingsblade replied smoothly, keeping his eyes averted from the the other¡¯s girth. ¡°The men need someone to lead them.¡±

    Aedon regarded Gilfred for a moment before breaking into a rough laugh, his chins jiggling. ¡°You¡¯re too kind, Gilfred. You don¡¯t have to hide it from me; I know I¡¯ve let myself loose these past few years.¡± He gave a spirited slap to Gilfred¡¯s shoulder. ¡°But you don¡¯t understand. A King must ride in front of his people, show that he is willing to place himself before them. Only then will they follow him.¡± He fixed his helm to his mount and gestured to one of the doors at the watchtower. ¡°Let us go to the battlements. I feel uneasy not having the demons within my sight.¡±

    Gilfred opened the door for Aedon and then followed him inside. They climbed the stairs, keeping to one side as soldiers and guards scrambled everywhere in preparation for war. Tacticians held their last-minute meetings by candlelight, their faces lined with worry. They had the hardest job of all, Gilfred thought. Though they might not lose their lives if they failed, they would wear the burden of their soldiers¡¯ lives until the end of their days.

    He could never see himself doing that. He hated telling people what to do, hated the responsibility that came with being a leader.

    The pair broke out into the cold wind, next to a group of crewmen working a ballista. The giant crossbows were spaced evenly along the wall, about five of them covering the south-western section. The relicts marched through the woods, keeping to the west of the Arrien, one indiscernible mass of tooth and claw in the night¡ªyet there was some order to the anarchy, with Bloodmanes leading individual squadrons and Worgal Riders at the front line, interspersed with crews of ladder-bearers.

    Aedon spat over the side of the wall for good luck, and Gilfred did the same.

    ¡°Demons,¡± the High King hissed. ¡°To hear of them in stories and see them in person are two very different things.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s our plan?¡± Gilfred asked.

    ¡°It comes. Look.¡±

    The door beside them opened and a group of guards spilled out, carrying a large chest between them. Illia was there also, flanked by guards and the balding minister, Dominus. He was twirling his moustache, eyes glinting with excitement.

    ¡°The Celesite bomb,¡± Gilfred muttered.

    Aedon nodded. ¡°I have faith in my Queen. Should this plan succeed, we will have wiped out humanity¡¯s greatest threat in a single blow, securing our place in the annals of this Age.¡±

    The ballista crewmen stepped aside, the siege weapon armed and ready. The front line of relicts had emerged from the trees now, fully exposed as they marched across the fields toward the bulwark. Illia came to Aedon¡¯s side, her silken dress flapping about her heels. Her arms were folded, an expensive sheepskin jacket around her shoulders.

    ¡°They are all gathered in one place,¡± said Aedon, ¡°ready for the pickings.¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡± Illia did not look as certain as she had in the Halls of Judgement, Gilfred noticed. ¡°There are a lot of them, aren¡¯t there?¡±

    ¡°The bomb will work,¡± Dominus interrupted. ¡°On my honour, Your Majesty. Take a good look at our enemy, for very shortly, they will go back to the history books where they belong, never to return again.¡±

    ¡°How many do we have?¡± Gilfred asked. ¡°There will be more emerging from the portals, I think.¡± He couldn¡¯t see the rifts from his vantage point, but they would be scattered all over the Blight, fuelling Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s armies.

    ¡°We have three,¡± Dominus said. ¡°And enough materials to make more. We¡¯ve barely exhausted half of the minerals from the skyrock in our mine, and just the other day we found another. There must have been a comet shower around that area, we believe. It appears that Celesite will be here to stay.¡±

    One of the guards unlocked the chest, revealing three glowing crystals bound in soft leather. They were about the size of a human head each, glimmering with the light of a thousand stars upon each facet, leaking wisps of liquid silver into the air. The crystals had a glass-like quality to them, as if simply dropping them on the ground would cause them to shatter. Gilfred recalled what Dominus had explained in the Halls of Judgement, when he¡¯d first described their properties.

    ¡°A crystal like the one you¡¯ve just seen, when charged to full capacity inside a Spirit Font can be broken to destroy an area the size of this hall. Imagine how much damage we could do if we broke several of the things at once. We could wipe out the entire relict army.¡±

    With a start, Gilfred realized what he was actually looking at. He wasn¡¯t looking at three large crystals; he was looking at hundreds of the things smelted together, each small nodule containing enough power to destroy a large building.

    ¡°Be careful with that,¡± Dominus smirked. ¡°If you drop it on the ground, you might just end up blowing up Aldoran.¡±

    The guards who¡¯d been handling the crystal paled. They loaded it tenderly onto the ballista, as if it were a glass of water filled to the brim and they weren¡¯t to let a single drop hit the ground. Gilfred suddenly felt a sense of foreboding come over him. He¡¯d never seen this ¡®bomb¡¯ work in person. All he had was the minister¡¯s word for it. Who was to say it would do what he said it would do?

    There was a click as the Celesite crystal settled into the back of the weapon, ready to be launched. The crewmen swivelled the ballista along its joints, aiming it dead centre at the relicts, winding it further and further back until the strings grew taut. The other guards were watching, poking their heads out from the parapets. On the ground behind them, the commanders of the footsoldiers had also fallen silent. If the bomb worked, it would save them struggle and pain, allow them to go home alive to their families.

    The pressure, Gilfred thought, looking at the King and Queen. A lot rides on this. He was glad he wasn¡¯t in such a position of authority.

    ¡°Are we ready?¡± the crewman asked, eyes on Illia. Illia looked to Aedon with uncertainty.

    ¡°It¡¯s your plan,¡± he said. ¡°You give the command.¡±

    Illia paused and then nodded. ¡°Do it.¡±

    The man drew a breath and then yanked on the firing trigger. There was a click and the string snapped forward, hurling the bomb into the distance.

    The crystal sphere soared across the field, rising, rising, levelling. It hung for an instant like an artificial moon in the sky before curving towards the ground, a wicked glint along its length. Some of the relicts spotted it and stopped mid-track, barking to each other in confusion. Others trudged onwards, ignoring the missile that was fast approaching.

    ¡°It would be wise to take cover, Your Majesty,¡± Dominus said, calmly lowering himself prone on the ground. ¡°You might still feel the shockwave from here.¡±

    Gilfred threw himself against the stone, hearing Aedon and Illia do the same beside him. The crewmen took cover behind the battlements, calling across the walls to the other teams. Gilfred crawled over to a slot in the parapets that offered a view of the battlefield and watched.

    The bomb fell like a silver meteorite, hurtling into the heart of the army. It struck the ground with an audible thud, scattering a group of close-riding Worgals. Nothing happened for a fraction of the second.

    And then it detonated.

    There was no sound¡ªor maybe there was, but he didn¡¯t hear it. All he saw was a silver ripple spreading across the ground, swallowing everything in its wake. It devoured the trees and grass, reducing them to a fine black dust, kicking the dirt into an angry cloud of grey, scorching the air into a wave of furnace heat. It was a star crashing into the earth, the birth of a sun.

    The light swept across the sky, tinting it silver. It touched the city gently with a featherlight caress, and then the shockwave came.

    Wall Menkraft rocked beneath them, bearing the full brunt of the explosion. Hot wind and dust howled over their heads. The air shimmered. Gilfred pressed himself as flat to the ground as he could, feeling his body grow uncomfortably warm inside his armour, his organs rock within his chest as the wave passed through him. He opened his mouth and clamped his hands over his ears as the pain mounted within them, like daggers sinking into his skull. He clenched his jaw tight, closing his eyes from the dust and dirt.

    The ripple rolled through Menkraft and up the city, fading into obscurity. The after-echoes of the explosion continued, ebbing and flowing like the tide. At last, Gilfred dared to open his eyes.

    Smoke clouded the air, black and billowing across the battlefield. His eyes stung with tears. He bumbled into Illia, who was holding onto Aedon as a support.

    ¡°Amazing,¡± the King said, waving the smoke from his face. The guards and crewmen emerged from cover, faces alight in wonder. ¡°If that didn¡¯t kill them, then nothing will.¡±

    Gilfred shook his head. To think that a crystal of such size had done this. He shuddered to imagine how long they¡¯d kept it for, waiting dormant inside the Keep. The slightest quiver could have set it off and blown the City of Twilight sky high.

    Dominus suddenly let out a laugh. The minister had an odd glint to his eye, one that unnerved Gilfred.

    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± the Kingsblade asked, squinting through the dust.

    The minister only smiled. Gilfred looked out towards the field and his heart sank.

    Where there had been grass before, green and lucious, evergreen trees marking the start of the woods, there was now black. It wasn¡¯t the rotting black of the Blight, where the trees sagged and the grass gathered in derelict clumps, but a black just as horrible. The black of soot, of crisp wood scorched so violently it was but dust given form. A crater surrounded the point of impact, a scar on the surface of the earth lined with burning rock. There was nothing here, not even death. Just a void, one that would never again be filled.

    Dark shapes began to rise in the dust, moving violently, erratically. The wind picked up and swept away the last of the dirt clouds. The murk cleared, giving way to a velvet night.

    The relicts were still there.

    They were unscathed, eyes glowing red like rubies, continuing their staunch march. If anything, they were moving faster. Dominus let out a hysterical laugh, cackling like a man gone mad. As the guards broke into cries of panic, shouting at the commanders in the city below, Aedon grabbed the minister by the collar and slammed him into the ground.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± he roared. He glanced at Illia, who had taken a step back and was holding to the parapet for support. Her face was ashen. ¡°Illia! Explain yourself!¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I¡­¡± she stared at the crater, the bewilderment written all over her face. The Worgals barked and howled and and began to lope across the remains of the field on all fours, voices warped with bloodlust, running alongside the Celadons and their riders.

    ¡°She was a fool,¡± Dominus hissed, as his face began to rot. His ears fell off first, and then his eyes rolled out of his sockets, withering on their stalks, followed by his nose and mouth. ¡°A trusting fool, blind to her own desires. You never even thought about it, did you? That this ¡®Celesite¡¯ of yours might not be everything you thought it be?¡±

    Illia shook her head in denial, staring back and forth between the craterful of swarming relicts and the demonic figure in front of her. Gilfred didn¡¯t need to be told what had happened. Dominus was a Faceless, a human fallen to Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s temptation, who¡¯d given away his flesh for the body of a relict. He must have planned it all along, guiding Illia along her self-centred path, taking advantage of her desire to bury Alend.

    The Celesite bomb had been a ploy. There was no alternate way to stop the relicts. There was no replacement for the Ward Tree.

    Alend¡¯s blood had been the only thing saving him from execution, and Illia had tried to make it redundant, even going as far as to turn the King against him¡ªbut why? There were a multitude of plausible reasons, but one stood out among the others.

    He knew something he wasn¡¯t supposed to.

    Had Alend been telling the truth, then? That Illia had been conspiring against the King? That his father had been part of those plans? That she¡¯d tried to silence him and failed, and that was the reason why he ¡®deserted?¡¯

    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± Gilfred cried, whipping his sword out. He would think about that later, if he got the chance. ¡°Stand back¡ª¡±

    ¡°You will explain yourself,¡± Aedon said harshly, beginning to sink his weight into the Faceless. The city was strewn with discord. The crewmen were loading the ballistas with ordinary bolts now, the runner boys bringing torches and kegs of oil. Archers climbed to their positions along the ramparts while spearmen gathered by the gates in formation.

    The Worgal riders howled, picking up speed as they crested the hill. The Slazaads scuttled at full speed across the burning earth, forked tongues tasting the air.

    ¡°All she cared about was her little feud with Thoren,¡± Dominus continued. His skin smoked, withering into a shade of dull black, his nails extending to brittle claws of yellow. ¡°Who was I to stop her? She made our job infinitely easier. To dismiss the wisdom of ancient prophets is the height of idiocy. The damn Tree, that is the only thing we fear! The only thing that can stop us! Not your worthless technology, your weak formations, your frail heroes. Our Lord knew of Celesite long before you did, and of our immunity to it.¡± He smiled wickedly at the Queen. ¡°You have doomed your race, Your Majesty.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know¡­¡± Illia was on her knees, wavering. Her eyes remained clear, but she suddenly looked as fragile as a cut flower. ¡°Aedon¡­ I¡¯m so sorry¡­¡±

    ¡°Damnit,¡± the King roared, slamming Dominus against the ground. ¡°Why? Why not just set the bomb off inside the city? Why go to all this trouble?¡±

    The Faceless smiled. ¡°The Tree, my King. It protects your city from more than just the relicts. When it is withered and gone, we will finish that which we started so long ago. We will take back the land that is rightfully ours and exact vengeance in the name of our Lord!¡±

    Aedon cried out in rage and slammed the creature¡¯s head against the stone. There was a bone-crunching crack as it lolled to one side and fell still.

    Someone screamed. The sounds of battle and confusion broke out from the streets below them. Gilfred rushed to the edge and looked down.

    The Faceless had revealed themselves as one, suddenly turning to strike their comrades amidst the tumult. Guards and soldiers, citizens, crewmen, runner boys. They attacked their companions in a frenzy, using everything they had at their disposal from tools and weapons to their own teeth and claws. The soldiers fought back, dogpiling the offenders, stabbing them several times over as their faces dissolved to reveal their true nature. They fell with twisted shrieks and spouts of blood, but the damage was done. People were fighting amongst themselves, wild paranoia in their eyes. Trust was dead. There was no trusting the man you fought beside, not when he could be a servant of Al¡¯Ashar.

    ¡°They¡¯re everywhere,¡± Gilfred whispered. It was falling apart; everything was falling apart. ¡°They¡¯ve infiltrated our every post!¡±

    ¡°You,¡± Aedon said, pointing at a stricken crewman by the ballista. ¡°Find the Captain and tell him to get the archers up here. And make sure you take those bombs with you!¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir!¡± The man grabbed the chest with shaking hands and hurried into the watchtower. Aedon moved to Illia¡¯s side, lifting her gently to her feet.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she murmured. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± Her eyes were vacant, staring at a place far away. Aedon studied her face for a moment and then waved to another crewman. ¡°Take the Queen downstairs and arrange for her to be escorted back to the Keep.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir!¡±

    The air filled with the sound of footsteps as archers charged up the stairs and broke out of the watchtowers, streaming along the perimeter, taking their places by the arrowslots. The Worgals were almost upon them.

    It would not be long now. Gilfred spotted teams of the creatures carrying crude ladders between them, ranged units, mounted ones, all frothing at the eyes and lips. The Celesite bomb had sent them into a berserk rage.

    ¡°What are we going to do?¡± Gilfred asked. ¡°We¡¯ve lost our only weapon.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll fight them just like we would any other enemy,¡± Aedon growled. ¡°But with fire. And lots of it.¡±

    Despite everything that had gone wrong, Gilfred was relieved to see some trace of the old Aedon beneath those folds of skin. Strength and resilience was important in a leader, but the most important things he was glad Aedon had not lost were his mind and spirit.

    The Sergeants called across the ramparts, readying the archers. Soldiers dipped arrows in oil and set them alight, passing them forwards before picking up their shields. The squadrons were still shaken from the sudden in-fighting that had occurred, but they¡¯d left those thoughts behind in the face of the oncoming threat. Aedon rested his hands atop the parapets, staring into the wind.

    ¡°So this is what the face of death looks like,¡± he muttered.

    ¡°It won¡¯t end here,¡± Gilfred said. ¡°We have the high ground and the city on our side.¡±

    ¡°But they have the numbers,¡± the King said grimly.

    The Worgal riders arrived first, a howling shadow of death along the dirt. They brought back their bows and fired, disarrayed, their arrows falling like the rain. The shield-bearers raised their barriers along the parapets, protecting the archers. Gilfred and Aedon ducked behind cover as arrows thudded into wood. Around them people cried out in pain, shafts sticking out of their limbs where the projectiles had slid through.

    ¡°Return fire!¡± the Captain called. ¡°Like we practised! Draw¡­ and release!¡±

    The air cracked in a chorus of vibrant thrums. Gilfred watched as the flaming volley soared through the air, past the front line and into the centre of mass. Worgals screeched as they were hit, fire spreading across their bodies, catching onto the relicts beside them.

    ¡°Again! Before they can return our fire!¡±

    They loosed another volley, further back this time, covering the sky with a wave of fire. The Worgals and Celadons howled in pain, falling down in tangles of fur and limb.

    They¡¯d felled several hundred in the last attack, but already there were more relicts coming to take their place. The army stretched all the way to the horizon where the Blight lay beside the Arrien, a horde of snapping, barking wolfmen. One of the ladder teams had reached the walls and set it in place. Worgals and Bloodmanes streamed up it, blades in hands, fangs bared.

    ¡°Hold them!¡± Aedon cried, rushing to where the ladder was. ¡°They do not pass!¡± He met the first Worgal up the ladder and swung his lance in a wide arc, sending it flying back. Chaos erupted along the wall as more ladders attached themselves, streams of Worgals already racing upwards.

    Gilfred drew his sword and rushed to Aedon¡¯s side. They¡¯d broken the ladder, but not before a Bloodmane had made its way onto the rampart, mane glistening with fresh blood, punching a hole in their front line. The archers continued to fire, the shield-bearers covering, the lesser Sergeants desperately fighting to maintain some semblance of order, but their defence was crumbling. The volleys came out thinner and thinner each time, sometimes staggered, and the Worgals continued to come. The night was aglow with fire and the smell of burning hair.

    Gilfred reached the Bloodmane just as the King took a blow to his armour. The blade struck so hard that it left a dent in the Rhinegold. Aedon roared and lashed out with his lance, but he was slow and the Bloodmane ducked it easily.

    ¡°Your Majesty!¡± the Kingsblade cried. ¡°Leave this one to me!¡± He darted in front of Aedon and caught the blade on his guard, coming face to face with the relict. Its brows raised, and a smile spread across its lips.

    ¡°Ah¡­ a challenge.¡±

    ¡°Kalador give me strength!¡± Gilfred cried, twisting the blade to one side, creating an opening. The Bloodmane matched his move, and they danced across the rampart as arrows and soldiers fell around them. It was skilled, Gilfred thought, almost as skilled as himself. Were it not for the additional strength and speed granted to him by the Vow, he would have been outmatched.

    Their exchange took them to one of the ballistas, and the crewmen scattered to make way. Gilfred cursed himself for not wearing his helm; though it restricted his vision, it provided much-needed protection. The Bloodmane, in the meantime, was almost completely naked save a cloth around its waist.

    ¡°Gilfred!¡± The Bloodmane whirled around, just as another Kingsblade landed and struck it a glancing blow off the chin. Gilfred launched himself forward and severed the relict¡¯s head from its neck, sending its body toppling off the wall.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± he shouted. Before him was Vanin, one of the older Kingsblades from the time of Alend and Edric. Vanin nodded an acknowledgement before dashing off to the next breach.

    The assault was well underway now, the Worgals having loosed all their arrows, focusing entirely on their ladders. The ballistas cracked every few minutes, sending fireballs into the heart of the army. The last of the archers were firing off their rounds before turning to melee combat, meeting those who had successfully scaled the walls.

    Gilfred took a moment to take in the enemy¡¯s formation. The Worgals were gathered in a teeming mass, working together to set up ladders where the breaches were biggest. There were a handful of Bloodmanes left, waiting beside the Celadons. Just as well, he thought. Without fire, each Bloodmane was the equal to a Kingsblade. They were squadrons in themselves.

    ¡°The oil!¡± someone cried out. ¡°Pour the oil!¡±

    It was Aedon, surrounded by two Kingsblades and a band of guards. They took down another Bloodmane, the King¡¯s lance impaling its throat, but not before it knocked three guards and a the Kingsblade off the wall. Gilfred rushed to the edge in horror as they landed on the sea of relicts, drawing feverish howls and barks from their lips. The Celadons jumped them, gnashing and tearing, making short work even through steel armour. The Kingsblade tried to jump, to climb back up, but they were so packed he could barely swing his sword. He grappled with one of the Celadons before a pack of Worgals piled atop him, a wriggling mass of black in the night. Gilfred was glad there was no moon. He didn¡¯t want to see his comrade ripped to pieces, screaming for his mother. He could think of no worse way to die.

    Someone finally tipped the first vat of oil over, and it went splashing across the base of the walls in a slick sheen. The smell of rank animal fat filled the air as more vats followed it. They had run out of arrows, so there was no more point to keeping the oil.

    They covered the base of the walls with, and then someone set it alight with a torch. The night burned with a hellish glow as Worgal screams filled the air. Fire rushed down the walls and across the battlefield, scorching everything in sight.

    ¡°The Songweavers!¡± a Captain called out, holding back three Worgals. ¡°Clear the watchtower doors so they can get out!¡±

    Up until now, they¡¯d only managed to hold their ground by pushing the relicts off the walls and destroying their ladders. Ordinary metal was ineffective against a relict; they would continue to fight when an ordinary man would have bled out long ago.

    But now there was fire, fire everywhere, searing hot, raging and smoking across the front lines. Gilfred raced to the nearest watchtower door, the ballistas still going off around him. Several of them had been destroyed by now, not that they¡¯d been of much use. There were simply too many of the demons.

    He reached the watchtower, regrouping with Aedon. They were the heroes, the generals who dictated the flow of battle. Only the Kingsblades and the King held weapons capable of hurting the Worgals. Rhinegold could shear through the relicts like a hot knife through butter.

    Aedon impaled two of the wolfmen into the ground, letting out a fierce battlecry. Though the King was big and unwieldy, he packed the strength of several hundred pounds behind his lance.

    ¡°Clear!¡± he roared. The door shattered, and the robed Songweavers of the Legion spilled onto the rampart. The flame-wielders set to work at once, banding together in choirs of two and three, reining the fire in to their command. They steered the flames away from allies and back into the relicts, where the wind-wielders took over and gusted them far and wide. There were other Songweavers as well, those who could heal others, disorient the enemy, strengthen their allies¡¯ blows, many more. Gilfred joined in where he could, backing the singers with the shieldbearers, taking his Rhinegold blade wherever it was needed. They could hold Menkraft. With fire on their side and the Soulsong, they could hold it. They would hold it, or the relicts would break through, and then they¡¯d ravage Norn as well, and Adem after that, and then, finally, Uldan Keep.

    Celianna, Gilfred thought. I can¡¯t let them reach her.

    The night echoed with the scream of fire and death. The Legion had rebuffed countless attacks, stopping the assault teams short, and finally, there looked to be an end in sight. Gilfred saw empty land behind the army for the first time, stirring only with the movement of the odd straggler or two.

    The soldiers¡¯ cries became brighter, more hopeful. Order took hold as they forced back the Worgals, slowly and systematically, the shieldbearers protecting the Songweavers, the Songweavers splashing the relicts with fire, the spearmen finishing the job. They began to fix the breaches along the wall, covering the angles, the gaps, destroying the scaling ladders. With their ladders gone, the Worgals could do nothing but bark as soldiers hurled flaming rocks and debris from above, and the Songweavers drove fire through their ranks.

    It was then, nearly an hour into the battle, that the wall gave a great shudder.

    Gilfred stumbled and righted himself, looking around for what had caused it. Sweat dripped into his eyes, the stench of blood and smoke thick in his nostrils, his body battered bruised where he¡¯d been hit beneath his armour, but otherwise uncut.

    The wall shook again. It was the gate, that was where it was coming from. He raced along the edge, jumping over the bodies of Worgals, the occasional Bloodmane, the wounded soldiers who awaited the cold embrace of death. He bolted across the gate, meeting up with the High King once more.

    Directly below them, standing in a pool of fire, was a Slazaad.

    Worgals waited on either side of it, growling and snapping their jaws. A Bloodmane gave directions in a series of barks and snarls, urging the lizard-like beast forward. The Slazaad screeched in pain as the fire burned across its scales, but it obeyed. It took a few steps back from the gate and then lowered its head.

    Ker-THUD.

    Gilfred stumbled again. He realized with a growing sense of despair what was happening.

    They all have their own roles, he thought. The Bloodmanes as commanders, the Worgals as infantry, the Celadons as mounts. Just like we do.

    And the Slazaads were the battering rams. The siege weapons.

    The gate cracked below them. Somewhere to the right, along the western side was another Slazaad. Wreathed in hellfire under the moonless night, they were like wingless dragons. The Worgals had stopped trying to scale the walls and were waiting. They would get their chance soon enough. Atop the ramparts, the fighting had died down. The soldiers were watching with increasing dread.

    Then, one of the Captains shouted out.

    ¡°Retreat!¡± he cried. ¡°Retreat! Off the wall, everyone! To Norn!¡±

    Ker-THUD.

    At once everyone began to move, filing into the watchtowers. Gilfred waited outside with Vanin and another Kingsblade, his heart in his mouth.

    ¡°We can¡¯t hold them,¡± Vanin whispered.

    Oh gods¡­ Wyd, Cenedria, Kalador¡­

    Ker-THUD.

    The Slazaad¡¯s head broke through the gate, sending splinters out the other side. The Captains and Sergeants were calling frantically now, sounding the horns for withdrawal. Without height or the walls to aid them, they would be demolished. Menkraft was lost.

    As the last of the soldiers filed into the watchtower, the Kingsblades followed them. Very soon, the first of Aldoran¡¯s three walls would be lost. Very soon, the first and largest of Aldoran¡¯s three districts would fall.

    They emerged onto the ground, the individual squadrons already falling back at a quick march. There was a gaping scar in the gate, offering a view of what awaited outside. Worgals, Celadons, a handful of Bloodmanes. A berzerk Slazaad, covered in fire.

    They weren¡¯t going to make it in time. They were too clustered, too disorderly. Someone would have to take the rear guard, and the commanders had realized that.

    Two squads of men waited by the gates, their faces surprisingly calm given the non-stop confusion that had swept through the night. It was the calmness of men who had resigned themselves to their fate.

    King Aedon stood in front of them, mounted atop his warhorse beside his Kingsblade escorts. Gilfred untied his own horse from the lamppost where he¡¯d left it and mounted it.

    Ker-THUD.

    ¡°Your sacrifices will not be forgotten, my men,¡± Aedon said, and at that moment, even though sixteen years had passed, he was the noble King who¡¯d sat atop the throne when Gilfred had first joined the Kingsblades. ¡°Hold them here, and hold them proudly knowing that you will be dining with the finest heroes of Faengard come sunrise.¡±

    The two squad Sergeants saluted. ¡°We will hold them, my King. For Aldoran, and the glory of Faengard.¡±

    ¡°Wyd watch over you. Kalador give you strength.¡±

    Aedon lowered his gauntlet and the Sergeants did the same. The men resumed their conversations, speaking of the weather and their wives¡¯ cooking, the most mundane things Gilfred could think of. They were the conversations of proud, brave men, those who looked at death as but another adventure. But he heard also the underlying fear in their voices, and that was what made him angry the most.

    Ker-THUD.

    ¡°To Norn,¡± Aedon said, and his escorts obeyed. Gilfred was last to ride, as the gates behind him shattered and the relicts came pouring out in a hellish blaze.

 56. Nephilheim

    Chapter Fifty-Six: Nephilheim

    ¡°Little is known of Nephilheim, the home of the relicts. Only that it is a blank, desolate mirror of our own, one where the sky is dark and the earth is light. A mirror of what our world may have been like in the past, or what it may be like in the future. Not even Wyd knows the extent of its mysteries.¡±

    ¡ªDagus Adem, The Adventurer¡¯s Guide to the Continent

    Ein drifted along the Spirit Garden like a blade of grass on the breeze. In front of him was the Heart of the World, a shimmering pool of silver feeding sustenance to the wildflowers and the trees, its surface hazy like smoke. Motes of light floated from its depths.

    Aedrasil awaited him upon the islet in the centre of the pool, a magnificent tree the colour of autumn. The wilt was more noticeable now, splotches of grey spreading along its roots and limbs. There was a dreamlike quality to everything, a lilac veil across his eyes that warped and distorted all sense of noise and depth.

    -Fateweaver.-

    The voice touched him like the frond of a leaf upon his head, deep and worldly, the patient drawl of an entity that lived in a realm where time flowed differently. Ein flew past the garden and into the centre of the spring, rising up to meet the Ward Tree.

    ¡°Mother Aedrasil,¡± he returned. ¡°Why have you brought me here?¡±

    The tree seemed to sigh, its branches creaking. Why was she talking to him? He wasn¡¯t an Uldan or a Lachess, or even a Thoren. Historically, the Protector rarely ever spoke to those without the blood of the Three Kings. That was why the Head of the Grove Tenders was usually an Uldan.

    -You must hurry, Fateweaver. I am dying.-

    He saw a barren, broken plain, and a field of trees withered to husks. A deer sprinted across the landscape, fleeing from something. The images disappeared as quickly as they¡¯d appeared, as did the words associated with them. All Ein was left with was a sense of urgency and encroaching death.

    -The dragon stirs. It gnaws upon my roots, struggling to break free. You must not allow Trad¡¯Atar to escape, or the world will burn.-

    The words dissipated, and more images flashed through his mind. A black dragon the size of a mountain, seething with fire and shadow. Teeth like blades, gnashing against roots deep below the ground. Pain, red and throbbing, and a city in flames. Ein struggled to comprehend the tree¡¯s message. It was a bombardment to his senses, two steps faster than the speed of thought.

    ¡°The dragons have all gone into hiding,¡± Ein said. ¡°They can no longer take on their true forms.¡± Except Garax and the elders. But Garax is dead now, and who knows how many of the elders are left?

    -The demons march,- Aedrasil continued. -They ravish the city. Steel and stone will not hold them for long, for they are led by the Urudain.-

    More images. He saw the outer walls of Aldoran in flames, smoke fuming into the sky. Worgals and Celadons, Bloodmanes, Slazaads¡­ and two masked Apocalypse Knights, hanging back behind the front lines. The chained giant who they¡¯d spotted along the Blight between Caerlon and Aldoran, and a dog-eared swordsman whom he¡¯d never seen before. The night was heavy with the stench of death.

    ¡°What are you showing me?¡± he demanded. He would have pounded the tree if he could, if he was big enough and close enough. ¡°Has this come to pass?¡± If it was a vision of the future, then there might still be time to¡ª

    -It is. You must hurry, Fateweaver, before they reach the Heart. If I die, the city is lost, and Trad¡¯Atar will be unleashed. Make haste!-

    He saw the dragon again, grinding against the roots, hatred in its eyes.

    ¡°How?¡± he asked. ¡°I won¡¯t make it back in time.¡± He was still on Raginrok as far as he knew, and he had to bring the girl with him as well.

    -Hurry, Fateweaver. Hurry¡­-

    Another image, of relicts running rampant through the streets. He recognized Menkraft, the district enclosed by the first wall of Aldoran. Buildings were aflame, Worgals pillaging whatever they wanted from within.

    -Hurry¡­-

    Ein sat up, gasping, and nearly collided heads with the Lachess girl. She lurched backwards as Rhinne and Aeos came running to his side.

    ¡°Ein,¡± Rhinne exclaimed. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    He whirled around, looking at where Aedrasil and the Heart of the World had been just moments ago. They were gone, replaced by the cave atop the mountain where they¡¯d spent their last night with Tushar. A small fire simmered beside him, fighting back the frigid cold. Their belongings lay bundled in a neat pile beside the wall.

    ¡°I heard her,¡± he murmured. ¡°She was crying out for help.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡± Rhinne asked.

    ¡°Aedrasil. She showed me a vision of Aldoran.¡± He stared at his hands for a moment, the images still fresh in his mind. The shades of red, the cracking of burning house beams, the ominous gnashing of teeth. ¡°It was in flames, and there were relicts everywhere. It was like Felhaven¡ª¡± Ein broke off, realizing the name meant nothing to them.

    ¡°We have to head back,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯ll raze the entire city to the ground. The Legion is holding them, but they won¡¯t hold for long. We have to bring the girl back to the Ward Tree.¡±

    The Sylvan girl looked frightened at Ein¡¯s escalating tone, shrinking back towards Rhinne. Aeos drew his lips into a thin line and looked past Ein.

    He turned around and found Talberon there, his forest-green cloak around his shoulders. The last Ein had seen of the Druid had been in the mines of Mor¡¯Gravar, before the mysterious ¡®Master¡¯ had assailed him. Talberon had lost weight since then, his cheeks grown more gaunt and sallow. Streaks of white lined his beard where there was only grey before.

    ¡°I see you are well,¡± he said slowly.

    Ein frowned. ¡°Yes,¡± he said. He felt tired, but there was no sign of the Soulsickness he¡¯d experienced the first time he¡¯d called upon the storm. In fact, Songweaving was becoming easier the more he did it.

    He peeked out the entrance of the cave. It was pitch dark. ¡°How long have I been out for?¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Talberon asked, ignoring his question. ¡°You don¡¯t feel anything at all?¡±

    Ein shook his head. Rhinne and Aeos looked away, while the girl watched him with fear.

    ¡°Come with me, then,¡± the Druid said, walking towards the entrance of the cave. ¡°And to answer your question, you¡¯ve only been sleeping for a few hours. It¡¯s early in the morning now¡ªthough there¡¯s literally no way to tell any more.¡±

    Scratching his head at the last exchange, Ein climbed to his feet and followed Talberon to the mouth of the cave, hugging his shoulders against the wind. Aeos and Rhinne stayed inside, keeping quiet.

    They broke out onto the mountaintop. It was just as he¡¯d remembered, though the sky was starless and as black as night. Talberon stepped a short way up the path and stopped. Ein followed him.

    ¡°Have a look,¡± he said.

    Ein blinked. He couldn¡¯t see anything except for the void, an inky darkness that formed a stolid wall in front of him. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he realized what he was looking at.

    Opposite him was an enormous cliff face, stretching up as high as he could see. It continued downwards, past his feet, into a chasm that had no end. It was as if the entire mountain had been cleaved in two, and he was standing on one edge of those two halves.

    ¡°Where are we?¡± he asked. There were no signs of the stormclouds from the day before, the raging tempest of snow and sleet that had come to his aid. Were they still on Raginrok?

    ¡°We are exactly where you think we are,¡± Talberon said. ¡°Raginrok, shortly before the Summit of the World. But, you see,¡± and he gave Ein a puzzled look, ¡°you¡¯ve broken the mountain in half.¡±

    Ein looked at the chasm below his feet. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve broken the mountain in half.¡± He looked back to where Aeos, Rhinne and the girl were watching him. ¡°The storyteller is dead, and the World-Eater trapped in the depths of the mountain. I didn¡¯t see what happened; nor did the Prince or the Dragon, but everyone for miles around saw the lightning and heard its roar.¡± He fixed Ein with an uncertain look. ¡°You nearly killed Aeos with all the Spirit you drew from him. Judging from the extent of damage the mountain has sustained, it looks like you Siphoned it to fuel your Soulsong. I don¡¯t think Raginrok will ever live again.¡±

    Ein stared at the bluff before him, dumbfounded. Me? Break the mountain?

    You are Talam. Godbreaker.

    ¡°Wyd almighty,¡± he murmured.

    ¡°I¡¯ll ask you again,¡± Talberon said. ¡°Do you feel anything? Pain? Nausea?¡±

    Ein searched deep within himself. He was tired and sore, but his head was clear. ¡°I feel fine. I don¡¯t feel at all like I¡¯ve cast a spell to kill a god and break a mountain.¡±

    Talberon shook his head. ¡°You are an enigma, Ein Thoren. Though you haven¡¯t broken any of the Laws of Songweaving, it¡¯s a mystery how you managed to Siphon the entire mountain and not die in the process.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t know what I did, I just did it.¡± Ein shook his head and looked to the sky. ¡°Why is it still dark? Shouldn¡¯t the sun have risen by now?¡±

    The edges of Talberon¡¯s lips curled, and he called back to the entrance of the cave. ¡°Aeos. Rhinne. Pack up, and take Yselin with you. We¡¯re returning to the Summit.¡±

    The two didn¡¯t respond, but Ein saw the twitch in their shoulders. They were afraid.

    #

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    They reached the pass a short while later, though it was no longer a pass. The entire Summit was gone, collapsed in a pile of earth and ice before them, the highest mountain in Faengard now a shadow of its former glory. Though the snow was still the same colour, the exposed rock was darker and duller, and the patches of moss and weed that had braved the gelid conditions had shrunken to blackened scrags. The Blight had taken over the mountain, and it was Ein¡¯s doing.

    However, his thoughts didn¡¯t remain on the damage for long. There was a more immediate, pressing concern before them, one that stretched down from the sky like a yawning drape of black silk, narrowing to a point that stabbed into the ground. A rift.

    ¡°Is this¡­?¡±

    Talberon nodded. ¡°A portal to Nephilheim, Ein. The biggest one I¡¯ve ever seen, spanning almost the entire length of the sky. A portal that covers the sun itself. I daresay it came as a result of all the Spirit you siphoned to fuel your Soulsong.¡±

    ¡°When twilight draws near, the demon wolf will swallow the sun and plunge the world into darkness. How long this darkness will last, I cannot say.¡± Aeos shook his head. ¡°To think that the Prophet Morene had foreseen this in the First Age.¡±

    Ein approached the enormous rift, peering into its depths. It was a mirror; a gate to a world eerily similar to theirs. Through the mirror he could see a white plain; cold and barren like a wasteland, marked with craters and mountains against a sky as black as tar.

    ¡°This dream of yours,¡± Talberon said. ¡°You¡¯re sure it¡¯s real?¡±

    ¡°It felt real enough,¡± he replied, still looking at the rift in awe. ¡°I was at the Heart of the World, and it felt exactly as I¡¯d remembered it. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d be able to forget Mother Aedrasil¡¯s presence any time soon.¡±

    ¡°Are we really going to assume Aldoran¡¯s under attack just because of a simple dream?¡± Aeos interjected. ¡°I don¡¯t think the relicts are that foolish. The city is one of the most well-fortified in all of Faengard; it would be folly for them to try to take it with anything less than an entire army.¡±

    ¡°They have an entire army,¡± Ein said. ¡°And more. They have Slazaads¡­ and they have Apocalypse Knights.¡±

    ¡°Dreams are seldom things to be dismissed,¡± Talberon said. ¡°Often they hold an underlying meaning, whether it be a message from your inner psyche or a telepathic transmission from someone else. But what makes me worry is that Ein has been to Astreal before. That just means we should take his visions with an extra bit of consideration. Aedrasil sending a plea for help is not out of the question. And besides¡­¡±

    ¡°Besides?¡±

    Talberon glanced at the girl.

    ¡°I daresay getting Yselin back to civilisation as soon as possible should be a priority. How long have you been chained up here for?¡±

    The girl stared wide-eyed at the Druid. ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t remember.¡± She hadn¡¯t left Rhinne¡¯s side for the entire duration of their trek.

    ¡°Sylvans siphon energy off the land to live,¡± Talberon explained, ¡°but she¡¯s a half, so she still needs food and water to survive¡ªalbeit very little. Is that right?¡±

    Yselin nodded, but didn¡¯t add anything further.

    ¡°In any case, this portal may be a blessing in disguise.¡± At this, Ein, Aeos and Rhinne frowned. ¡°We might be able to use it to our advantage.¡±

    ¡°Surely you don¡¯t mean for us to go through the portal? To Nephilheim?¡± Rhinne¡¯s voice was incredulous.

    ¡°Distance is skewed in Nephilheim,¡± Talberon continued. ¡°One step in Nephilheim is the equivalent of several in Faengard. If we go through and feel our way westwards, we might just stumble upon one of the portals that lead to the Blight. Then we¡¯d be right outside Aldoran, and we would have saved days of travel.¡±

    ¡°But we¡¯ll be travelling through enemy territory,¡± Ein said. ¡°If the relicts find us, it¡¯s all over.¡±

    ¡°If your vision is to be believed, then most of the relicts will be gathered outside Aldoran, readying themselves to attack. We might just get through unnoticed.¡±

    ¡°The Oathbreaker is imprisoned in Hellheim,¡± Aeos murmured. ¡°It won¡¯t make a difference if we¡¯re here or in Nephilheim. Talberon, your plan might just work.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the only plan we have,¡± Talberon said. ¡°If you want to make it back to Aldoran without wasting a week travelling, we have to risk going through Nephilheim and getting lost. It¡¯s the only way.¡±

    ¡°If we go back the long way, Aldoran and Aedrasil might already have fallen,¡± Aeos added, nodding. ¡°As much as I hate the idea of setting foot inside their world, this may be our only chance.¡±

    The Prince and the Druid looked at Ein, and he realized they were waiting for him to come to a decision.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take whatever path you follow,¡± Rhinne said. She too stared at him, waiting.

    Gods, they¡¯re all relying on me. Since when had he become the leader of the group?

    As much as he hated to admit it, he knew what the correct decision was. There was only one decision, one way to proceed. Aldoran was under attack, and he held the key to its salvation. The key to saving Evaine, Alend and all those who lived inside the city.

    ¡°Okay then,¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s do it.¡±

    He approached the shimmering rift with hesitant steps, his heart hammering in his chest. A chill wind touched his face, carrying with it a coldness that tasted different to the cold of Faengard. He couldn¡¯t describe how. It was simply different, like the way water tasted different depending on which river you drank it from.

    He took one last look around him and stepped forward. Abruptly, he felt the urge to turn back. Everything seemed distorted around him, as if he were viewing the world through warped lenses. His hair stood on end, his instincts screaming at him not to go any further. It was like the times in his childhood when he¡¯d wandered into the woods at night out of curiosity, the deep, dark thickets of trees where not even moonlight dared to penetrate. Every step into the darkness set his heart thumping, his spine tingling, his mouth drying. Every step he took, he wanted nothing more than to turn around and flee the way he¡¯d come.

    He bit back that primal urge and continued walking. Behind him, he heard the others do the same.

    Nephilheim was white, but it wasn¡¯t white with snow. The rock itself was a pale colour like chalk, cracked and uneven, dusty beneath their feet. Sand dunes shifted in the wind against a backdrop of great mountains in the horizon and deep craters that sank into the darkness. The sky was perpetually black; there were stars, but they were in different places than the ones in the Faengard sky. The moon was also a different colour; a deep marbled blue swirling with whites and brown-greens.

    They walked forward in silence, leaving the portal behind them in the distance. They were each tense, watching the planescape, searching for any signs of movement. The land of the relicts was dead quiet and devoid of life. Each time a rock moved, someone would jerk.

    They remained that way for what seemed like a world¡¯s worth of mountains and valleys, ridges and bluffs, stone channels where rivers once would have flowed. They passed ruins here and there, pillars and buildings carved into the stone from some race that had inhabited the realm before the relicts had. Talberon kept them moving in the same direction, even when the rises and crests threatened to throw them off track, using the stars as guidance. They were still the same stars, he said. Just dark mirrors of them, located in different places. Ein didn¡¯t try to understand; he just accepted the Druid¡¯s word.

    After what felt like an entire day of travelling¡ªthey¡¯d eaten on the go, unanimously deciding they wanted to be away from the place as soon as possible¡ªthey finally came across life.

    It was a large camp of Worgals located in a deep crater in the ground. Dome-like huts of rock spanned its base, filled with Worgals wrestling with each other, mating, tending to Celadons. A female Worgal gave birth to several cubs, even as another was killed in the ring beside her. At once the onlookers pounced, tearing apart the carcass, taking chunks back to their own offspring. They were the most bloodthirsty of beasts, and left alone in this harsh wasteland with no other races for company but themselves, they could only feed upon their own.

    ¡°If we keep going, they¡¯ll catch our scent,¡± Ein murmured. The wind was behind them, and it looked like they had female Celadons as well¡ªthe ones with the acute senses of smell. He didn¡¯t know if they knew the scent of humans in this world, and he wasn¡¯t willing to take the risk.

    ¡°It¡¯ll take us forever to go around,¡± Rhinne said. ¡°There has to be another way.¡± She looked from side to side at the rim of the crater and cursed.

    ¡°No,¡± Talberon said. ¡°We must go straight ahead, through the relicts.¡±

    ¡°Are you serious?¡± Ein exclaimed. ¡°It¡¯s one thing to walk into their world, but something quite different to literally walk under their noses.¡±

    ¡°We have to. Look over there.¡± Ein followed the Druid¡¯s gnarled finger to the heart of the camp, and his heart sank.

    Strewn across the middle of the site, within a stone¡¯s throw of the central hut were a scattering of portals.

    ¡°I¡¯m willing to bet those are the portals we¡¯re looking for,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ve walked for long enough.¡±

    Ein grimaced. Could they just make a run for it and hope to reach them without being stopped? No, that won¡¯t work. We¡¯re not fast enough. What about a diversion? But that would be hard to pull off as well. The Worgals weren¡¯t stupid; they had some measure of intelligence. Another group of armed Worgals marched through the portal, disappearing from the camp.

    ¡°There aren¡¯t as many relicts as I would have expected,¡± Aeos remarked. ¡°Most of the huts look empty.¡±

    A feeling of dread settled over Ein¡¯s chest. ¡°They¡¯re in Faengard,¡± he whispered. ¡°That must be where they¡¯ve all gone.¡± The dream was real. Wyd help me, the dream was real.

    ¡°I might be able to get us back,¡± Yselin said in a small voice.

    Immediately, all eyes turned to her. The girl started and looked down, but held her ground.

    ¡°You might be able to get us to the portals?¡± Talberon asked patiently. ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°I can sing,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ve done it before. I¡¯ve sneaked into shops and stolen things from under the shopkeeper¡¯s nose. I can make people see things that aren¡¯t there, hear things and feel things that aren¡¯t real.¡±

    ¡°Illusion,¡± the Druid nodded. ¡°That must be your Wyrd. That was how you kept Faenrir asleep, wasn¡¯t it? By controlling what it saw in its dreams?¡±

    Yselin nodded, her dark locks falling in front of her face. ¡°I don¡¯t know how long I¡¯d be able to keep it up for, though. I was singing for a long time on the mountain, and my voice has grown hoarse.¡±

    ¡°Do your best,¡± Talberon said. ¡°If you need it, you can draw Spirit from us.¡±

    She swallowed and nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll do it, then.¡±

    She licked her lips and began to hum. It was quiet, barely tickling Ein¡¯s ears, but he could feel it building up around them, layer by layer, like the cocoon of a spider. It was nothing like Ein had ever heard before, not like Talberon¡¯s Soulsong or Evaine¡¯s. The chords were closer to sounds of nature than human words; hums, clicks and hisses. The rustle of leaves in a canopy, the sound of a cloud moving across the sun, the quiet padding of a feral alleycat. The air shimmered around them and all noises outside their little bubble became warped and distant, as if the party were at the bottom of the ocean. Yselin nodded at Ein, still singing, and he led them onward.

    They edged closer and closer to the huts, sliding down the edge of the crater, leaving behind a cloud of dust in their wake. They drew so close that if they reached out, they could have touched the stone structures. They kept to a small group, huddled together around the Sylvan girl as she continued to weave their web of invisibility. Worgals walked right past them, completely oblivious.

    ¡°Amazing,¡± Ein heard Talberon say. ¡°She doesn¡¯t leave a single gap in her magic. Sight, sound, smell, touch and taste. To the relicts, it¡¯s as if our existence itself has been erased. I¡¯ve never seen such raw talent in my life.¡±

    ¡°She sings even better than my sister,¡± Aeos agreed.

    The conversation stopped after that as they drew close to the heart of the camp. It was no longer a matter of simply making straight for the portals; they had to duck and weave around the relicts, sometimes even backtrack when there was no way forward. It was like trying to navigate a crowded marketplace without bumping into a single pedestrian. According to Talberon, a single touch would break the spell Yselin had so carefully woven.

    As they reached the final stretch, Ein caught sight of a familiar figure. The cloaked Apocalypse Knight stood beside his black mount, supervising a pack of Worgals. Talberon stiffened at the sight of him.

    ¡°He¡¯s still alive,¡± Ein murmured. ¡°I thought you¡¯d taken care of him in Caerlon.¡±

    ¡°I wish I had,¡± Talberon growled. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t have survived if the full moon wasn¡¯t out.¡±

    ¡°The full moon?¡±

    ¡°Al¡¯Ashar was the god of the moon,¡± the Druid explained. ¡°It¡¯s only logical that his subordinates grow stronger when it¡¯s full. Much stronger. You might even say that I was lucky to escape with as few injuries as I did.¡±

    The Knight stared through them as they passed, the mask of the Watching Moon swivelling a full half-circle. The party froze half-way, all except Aeos and Yselin, until the Knight continued its vigil. Ein breathed a sigh of relief and they closed the last few paces between them and the rift back to their world.

    ¡°It won¡¯t win a second time,¡± Talberon muttered. ¡°The moon is gone now, as is the sun. The next time we cross paths, only I will emerge victorious.¡±

    They stepped through the portal and back into Faengard. The sky flickered, the stars changing positions, the white rock giving way to Blighted soil. There were still Worgals around them, loping off towards the smouldering walls of Aldoran. Yselin kept her song up until they¡¯d left the portals well behind and were nearing the edge of the Blight. Only when the green was in sight did she dare pause her singing, and even then they didn¡¯t stop or speak for a good while.

    ¡°We actually did it,¡± Aeos muttered, as they took the first steps onto living grass. ¡°We made it back. I¡¯ll be damned, we made it back.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not there yet,¡± Rhinne said, noting the black pillars of smoke in the distance. ¡°By the looks of it, getting back here was the least of our troubles.¡± He glanced sideways at Aeos. ¡°And it seems your mother¡¯s Celesite technology was useless, after all.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me when you say that, old man. I¡¯m not the one who suggested the idea.¡±

    ¡°The vision was real,¡± Ein said, shaking his head in disbelief. He¡¯d known it to be true, but it surprised him all the same. He quickened his pace to a trot. ¡°The vision was real. Merciful Cenedria, the vision was real. Aldoran is under attack, and we¡¯re the only ones who can stop it.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s hope we¡¯re not too late,¡± Talberon growled. ¡°I won¡¯t be happy if we went through all that only for Aedrasil to die before we can save it.¡±

 57. Sins of the Mother

    Chapter Fifty-Seven: Sins of the Mother

    ¡°Of the Uldans, there are currently five. There is the father, the Shining Spear of Aldoran, Aedon Uldan. There is the mother, Illia of Oster, fairest of the land. There is the eldest son who is now deceased, the Shining Prince, Willard Uldan. There is the daughter, youngest of the family, the blooming wildflower of Faengard, Celianna Uldan, and finally, the middle son, the dark horse, with ash-white hair and violet eyes¡ªAeos Uldan.

    ¡°A bright future awaits the family. I will be looking forward to how things progress in a few years¡¯ time.¡±

    ¡ªTurnis Hibernon, Royal Bloodlines of Faengard

    It saddened Celianna to see what state the people of Aldoran had been reduced to. The air was rife with dissonance; screaming and shouting, children crying out for their mothers, all while the guards tried to control and direct the entire population of the first two walls. Their responses had quicky gone from incredulous to frenetic once Menkraft had fallen; their false beliefs in the indestructible city fast fading. That had been when the chaos had truly set in.

    If someone had told her a few days ago that people could be capable of this, of pushing and shoving, scuffling against each other in a bid to race ahead, hair-pulling and scratching and biting each other like animals, she would have laughed and questioned their sanity. The merchants who tended the stalls during the day, the labourers who worked the bellows in the Soulforge, the wives who went about their daily housework while the children played in the yards, they were not animals. They were people, bound by the rules of society, bound by laws of respect and empathy for their fellow man.

    But the people she saw before her now, they were without a doubt animals.

    Celianna closed her eyes and waited against the shadow of the wall, trying her hardest to block out the swearing and the cries of pain as the frantic mob jostled past. It wasn¡¯t as if she couldn¡¯t understand them. She, too, would never have expected Aldoran¡¯s outer wall to fall so quickly. But it had, and spiralling into degeneracy was not the answer.

    Once the last of the discord had faded into the distance, she emerged under the moonless sky. It was not a natural sky. It was too dark, darker than black. Without the lampposts on either side of the road, she would have been blind.

    Celianna was tired. She¡¯d been roused by the guards shortly past midnight and hadn¡¯t slept since, working with the servants to alert the other inhabitants of the Keep. On any ordinary day it should have been dawn by now, and she would be returning to her chambers to sleep once more. But tonight¡ªor today?¡ªwas different. Even if she allowed herself to, she wouldn¡¯t be able to fall asleep. Her blood was pumping too quickly. Things were mounting, escalating, building towards a peak. Tonight would define the future of Aldoran, and perhaps Faengard itself.

    Besides, Gilfred was out on the front lines, fighting, possibly hurt. She couldn¡¯t sleep without knowing he was safe.

    She threaded her way through the shreds of torn clothing and sandals left behind in the dirt, to where the Legion¡¯s garrison was positioned by the walls. They paid her no heed as she passed, and nor did she expect them to. It wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d snuck out of the castle, and hopefully it wouldn¡¯t be the last. The soldiers were too occupied to pay attention to a lower-class woman in a plain robe, even on a normal day.

    She managed to reach the watchtower without being stopped. The door was wide open, the interior in a state of ordered chaos. She kept her head lowered and climbed up the stairs, calmly yet quickly. She didn¡¯t use her Soulsong.

    Coming out onto the ramparts of Wall Norn, Celianna stopped at the edge and surveyed the chaos. She¡¯d already gleaned a look from Uldan Keep, so she wasn¡¯t surprised by what she saw. The majority of Menkraft¡ªboth the district and the wall itself¡ªwas intact, though the gates had been broken wide open. The houses and buildings were empty, some of them aflame from broken lampposts and untended fireplaces. The smoke was acrid and eye-watering, its smell seeping into her clothes.

    Worgals streamed through the streets of the abandoned district with a crude method to their madness, clearing out houses in packs of four or five, starting with the smaller ones and leaving the large complexes to last. Occasionally they would find people within, only to slaughter them and take them back to the camp. Celianna watched as a young couple was dragged out of one of the buildings and thrown across the ground. The man placed himself before his lover, pressing his face to the pavement, begging. The Worgals killed him and took his wife too, and carried them back to where they¡¯d begun to occupy the city, one bloodied corpse over each shoulder. They took the soldiers too, lying limp like lifeless dolls, and the cityfolk unfortunate enough to have been trampled to death during the evacuation. Celianna felt a pain in her hand and looked down, only to find that her nails had left marks in her palms. She forced herself to unclench her fists, taking deep breaths to steady herself.

    Can¡¯t they leave our dead? the Princess thought in despair. Why must they be taken?

    She already knew the answer. The Worgals didn¡¯t see humans as sentient beings¡ªthey saw them as livestock, like the way humans saw sheep. Sickened, she turned her back to the sight and continued to wander along the walls, passing the Captains and the Sergeants as they surveyed the damage, the tacticians as they formulated their plans. There were no ballistas except on Wall Menkraft, and the Legion had used up almost all their arrows and oil. The majority of the fighting would be happening on the ground from now on, the commanders said. The best they could do was have the Songweavers weave a mist of brine across the battlefield to weaken the relicts.

    ¡°We can¡¯t win this fight,¡± a familiar voice said, a short way ahead. ¡°Not with those two on their side. They haven¡¯t even taken part yet, and we¡¯re already losing.¡±

    It was a voice Celianna knew well, the voice of a man who was all-too serious sometimes, one who didn¡¯t know how much people looked up to him. She identified where it was coming from and made her way closer, leaning with her back against the parapet so he would only see the side of her cowl if he looked her way.

    Gilfred Leonhart was speaking to Aedon and Illia, frustration plainly written across his face. Aedon himself was calm, though his eyes betrayed the fury within. Illia meanwhile looked distraught, her eyes downcast, shoulders hunched as if she were bearing a great weight. Celianna rarely ever saw her mother like this¡ªthe only time she could remember Illia being depressed was when Willard had passed away.

    ¡°We can¡¯t back down,¡± Aedon was saying. ¡°They¡¯re like wolves, Gilfred. If we run, they¡¯ll chase us. But if we fight, they might just retreat.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not like wolves.¡± Gilfred was struggling to keep himself from raising his voice. Celianna could tell from the way he kept his jaw clenched. ¡°They¡¯re demons, Your Majesty. They¡¯ve already broken through our greatest defenses, and the Apocalypse Knights haven¡¯t even stepped in yet. If we try and hold this wall, we¡¯ll do nothing but feed them. We should be evacuating, like the rest of the city.¡±

    The King slammed a mailed fist into his free hand. ¡°We will not retreat,¡± he growled. ¡°We are the jewel of Faengard, the greatest of its standing fortresses. We are the custodians of the Heart of the World and the Protector. If we run, then we give up two of humanity¡¯s greatest treasures. We cannot run, damn it!¡±

    ¡°They will take them anyway, whether or not we fight back,¡± Gilfred said with a shake of his head. ¡°It¡¯s only a matter of time. The Heart of the World cannot protect us by itself, and the only hope we held of Aedrasil¡¯s recovery is now dead.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know that for sure.¡±

    ¡°Do you seriously think they¡¯re still alive? Ein was just a boy, and Aeos not much older. As powerful as Talberon is, he is but the last member of a dying organisation. You sent them to the Summit of the World, where not even Edric and his company returned.¡±

    ¡°I have faith in my son. He will succeed.¡±

    Gilfred narrowed his eyes. ¡°So you¡¯re acknowledging you have a son, now?.¡±

    Celianna drew a sharp breath. The topic of Willard was taboo among her parents. It was no secret that the public knew how Aeos was treated among his own family, shunned for his appearance and character. There wasn¡¯t a day that passed without Aedon or Illia berating Aeos for not ¡®growing up¡¯ and acting like a Prince.

    Her father reacted as she expected him to, falling deathly silent. An angry flush coloured his neck as he regarded Gilfred with a murderous look. ¡°You will not teach me how to parent my children, Kingsblade. Might I remind you, your life dances upon the palm of my hand. I could crush you at any time.¡±

    ¡°You judged them guilty before they¡¯d even left,¡± Gilfred continued. ¡°As far as you were concerned, you¡¯d sent your son, along with Ein Thoren and his companions to their death. You didn¡¯t think at all that their quest might be legitimate, that they might be needed alive to prevent the world¡¯s destruction.¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°It¡¯s all my fault.¡±  Illia¡¯s voice was the faintest of whispers. She wrung her hands, shutting her eyes against the screams coming from the city. ¡°I was so sure the bomb would work. If only I hadn¡¯t listened to him¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault,¡± Aedon said, gently placing a hand on her back. ¡°No one had any idea about Dominus¡¯ true nature.¡± He glared at Gilfred. ¡°I¡¯ll admit I was a bit hasty in sending Edric and his party to Raginrok. But Edric is dead now, and Aeos¡¯ party is several days¡¯ gone. There is nothing left we can do but pray, and buy as much time as we can. Protect Aedrasil until our dying breath.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m saying that it¡¯s futile. I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll make it back in time, if they make it back at all.¡± Gilfred sighed. ¡°Well, at least Alend is still alive. Even if he escaped execution by the skin of his teeth.¡±

    ¡°He deserves it. He¡¯s a disgrace to his name and a traitor of the highest degree. The only¡ª¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand,¡± Illia interrupted. ¡°I¡­ I started this all. I turned Alend against you, Aedon.¡±

    Aedon paused. ¡°What are you talking about, Illia?¡±

    Gilfred too had frozen. ¡°Surely you¡¯re not serious, Your Majesty?¡±

    Illia kept her eyes down. ¡°Alend is innocent. I am the real traitor.¡±

    Mother¡­ what are you saying?¡±

    Celianna felt weak at the knees, and when the wind came and pressed against her, she nearly fell off the wall. She grabbed onto the stone edge with both hands and struggled to gather her thoughts.

    Her mother? A traitor? Surely it wasn¡¯t true. Surely not. She didn¡¯t know Dominus had been a servant of the enemy. She¡¯d said so herself.

    But why then did she look so guilty?

    #

    Gilfred was so stunned he nearly tripped over his feet and toppled off the wall.

    Merciful Cenedria, I can¡¯t believe it.

    It must have been the smoke or the cold, or just fatigue. He had to be hearing things. Had the Queen just made a confession? Had she just admitted that Alend had been telling the truth, that she¡ªand his his father¡ªhad been traitors to the King?

    ¡°There¡¯s more to it than that,¡± Illia continued, while Aedon¡¯s mouth hung open like a goldfish. ¡°You would have done the same in my place. Please don¡¯t condemn me just yet.¡± She reached out for him, but he stepped away.

    ¡°What?¡± he said numbly. ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡±

    ¡°It started long ago, shortly after Willard¡¯s birth, when I was pregnant with Aeos,¡± she began. She spoke quickly, her eyes darting frantically around her. No one had caught on yet, the Legionnaires still making their preparations. ¡°I had a dream, and in that dream, something spoke to me. An entity beyond my comprehension, something from the realm of the gods. It told me to do things, bad things, and if I didn¡¯t listen to it, my next child would be cursed. He would be weak and cowardly, and he would be tainted like a demon. I dismissed it, of course. I thought I¡¯d gone mad, so I ignored it. And then I gave birth to Aeos.¡±

    ¡°Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s eyes and ears,¡± Gilfred murmured. ¡°What the hell¡­?¡±

    ¡°Illia¡­¡± Aedon stared at her with a blank look.

    ¡°I had never seen anything like it. A child with stark white hair, violet eyes like a crimson night, as pale as a sheet. But he had come from my own flesh and blood, and I refused to believe he was cursed.

    ¡°However, As Aeos and Willard grew, I realized the extent of my mistake. Aeos was not strong or brave like Willard, but a reclusive child who loved to keep to himself and his books. He also talked about dreams he would have, strange dreams where he would see things that had been misplaced. Dreams where he would see things happen, and they would happen. Dreams where he would see people die¡­ and they would die. We kept it a secret, of course. It was hardly an image fitting for a future King, and they stopped early in his childhood.

    ¡°We didn¡¯t think of it anymore after that. It wouldn¡¯t matter, because Willard would become the King, and Aeos would simply remain a Lord. I never thought otherwise, that Willard¡­¡± she broke off for a moment and cleared her throat. ¡°That he might not live to see that day.

    ¡°It was a few years later, when Willard was entering the prime of his youth, that we tried to have another child. That was when I became heavy with Celianna, and the voice came to me again. I was frightened; I didn¡¯t want another demonspawn like Aeos.¡±

    He¡¯s not a demonspawn, Gilfred thought angrily. Aside from his appearance, he¡¯s just the same as any of us.

    ¡°This time, I listened.

    ¡°The voice told me to kill Aedon. It told me of Rainier Leonhart¡¯s plans to take the throne, and it told me to help him. Fearing for my unborn child, I did just that.¡± She kept her eyes downward, ignoring Aedon¡¯s crumbling gaze. ¡°We plotted to kill the King. I would poison him, and then Rainier would take the throne. In exchange, the voice told me it would spare my unborn child, and it would ensure Willard and Aeos held an important place in the age that was to come.¡±

    Gods. My father was a traitor. Gilfred shook his head in despair. His father had always been adverse to the Uldan rule, but he never would have expected Rainier to plot against the King.

    Two lions cannot rule alongside each other.

    The words his father had always loved to say. They finally made sense.

    ¡°This voice,¡± Aedon said. ¡°Why did you never tell me about it?¡± The King was struggling with what to make of his wife¡¯s confession. Gilfred¡¯s own head was hurting as all the facts came crashing together.

    ¡°Alend came across the letters I was writing to Rainier,¡± Illia continued. ¡°And then I panicked. I had to get rid of him, or else the entire plan would fail and Celianna would suffer the same fate as Aeos. I tried to kill him, Aedon. And when I failed and he ran away, I took full advantage of it and turned you against him, in the hopes that you could find him and finish the job. I¡¯m sorry, Aedon. I¡¯m so sorry.¡±

    Aedon knitted his brows. ¡°So he was not a traitor.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said again.

    ¡°Alend was not a traitor,¡± the King repeated, tasting the words on his lips. He looked at his wife. ¡°You owe him an apology.¡±

    ¡°I asked the voice what to do next,¡± Illia continued. ¡°Alend was out of the way, and everything else was in place. But then, Rainier died¡­ he died, and after that, the voice told me that I had failed. It said I was a disappointment, and that I would come to regret this day. I apologized to it, asked it how I could right my wrongs. I was a thread away from madness, Aedon. I was not born to become a backstabber, a scheming witch in the dark.¡±

    ¡°What happened next?¡± Gilfred demanded. He didn¡¯t want to hear about his father anymore.

    ¡°Celianna was born, as beautiful as the sun, and I didn¡¯t hear the voice for a long time. For a few years, I forgot about it¡ªuntil the accident with Willard. I had forgotten the voice, but it had not forgotten me. I was so grief-stricken, so resentful of myself. If only I¡¯d listened to it, carried out its instructions without fail. Then, Willard might have lived. He might still be alive today, tall and strong, like his father was before him.¡± She shook her head. ¡°But it was over. He was dead, and he wasn¡¯t coming back. Or so I thought.¡±

    ¡°You heard it again¡­?¡± Aedon asked.

    ¡°I did,¡± the Queen whispered. ¡°Recently, when Aedrasil told Celianna that she was dying, and that she needed the blood of the Three Kings. I heard it again in my dreams, and it made me afraid. I was so afraid, dear, that it would take away Celianna. We lost two children already. I would go mad if we lost all three.¡±

    ¡°It seems like you¡¯ve gone mad already,¡± Aedon said sadly.

    ¡°No!¡± Illia shook her head. ¡°You don¡¯t understand. It was the voice. It was the voice! It was like a snake, whispering promises into my ear. It said it could restore life, bring Willard back, just as it had cursed Aeos. All I had to do was listen to it. It didn¡¯t ask for much; in fact, it wanted to help me. It told me there was another way to defeat the relicts, a way that didn¡¯t involve the precarious trip to Raginrok to find the Lachess heir. All I had to do was sponsor Dominus in his research.¡±

    ¡°Sponsor a Faceless,¡± Aedon said in a low voice. ¡°This voice of yours¡­ I think I can guess who it belongs to.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know,¡± Illia said. ¡°I didn¡¯t know the minister was evil. I couldn¡¯t see any harm in the demonstrations he showed me. I thought I was helping to mitigate the relict threat, creating a miracle solution to an ancient problem. I never could have imagined that this would happen, that the bomb would fail to work and even aggravate the Worgals.¡±

    ¡°There is no way to bring back people from the dead,¡± Gilfred said. ¡°Not unless you are Sonata the Speechless. Your Majesty¡­ I think the Oathbreaker has played you like a fiddle.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± A shrill voice cried out. Aedon and Gilfred turned to the watchtower, where a hooded girl was running towards them. ¡°Mother, this can¡¯t be true. Please tell me it¡¯s a lie, please!¡± The hood fell back. Gilfred stiffened.

    It was Celianna.

    Damn it. Why now, of all times? ¡°Celianna,¡± he said, moving to cut her off. ¡°Don¡¯t come any closer¡ª¡±

    ¡°Mother!¡± the Princess cried again. ¡°It¡¯s a lie, isn¡¯t it? You¡¯re lying!¡±

    ¡°I had no idea,¡± Illia said. ¡°If I¡¯d suspected that the voice belonged to Al¡¯Ashar, all the way back before Aeos was born, I would not have risked a third child. I just wanted Willard back, darling. I just wanted my son back.¡±

    ¡°Willard is dead,¡± Celianna cried, tears welling in her eyes as she struggled against Gilfred¡¯s grip. ¡°Not even the Oathbreaker can bring him back. And there¡¯s nothing wrong with Aeos, he¡¯s perfectly fine the way he is! Whether or not it was Al¡¯Ashar who made him look different, he¡¯s still your son and my brother inside!¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want you to hear this,¡± the Queen said. ¡°Anyone but you or Aedon. I didn¡¯t intend for things to turn out this way.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not over,¡± Aedon said. ¡°The battle isn¡¯t over yet. The Oathbreaker has made my wife insane, and caused me to turn against one of my closest friends. I will make him pay.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s over,¡± Illia shook her head. ¡°Aeos¡­ my son will not be returning. Without a Lachess, we cannot save the Protector. You haven¡¯t seen the things he¡¯s shown me, Aedon. Things so horrible it pains me to even think of them. He can do things no one else can, the voice. He will crush us, like insects.¡±

    ¡°Mother,¡± Celianna said. ¡°What are you saying?¡±

    ¡°I am not worthy to be called your mother anymore.¡± Illia suddenly turned around, taking a step towards the wall. ¡°I am sorry. Aedon, I have brought shame upon your name.¡±

    ¡°Illia. What are you doing?¡± Aedon moved towards her. ¡°Illia. Don¡¯t take another step!¡±

    Gilfred darted at the same time as the King, tossing Celianna to one side. He lunged across the battlement to where the Queen had been standing, but she was already on the parapet, swaying in the wind. Soldiers everywhere began to shout; Captains nearby were calling for her to step down, to back away from the wall.

    ¡°I have sinned,¡± she said. ¡°I have caused Aldoran¡¯s fall.¡±

    She leaned forward and allowed the wind to pull her over the edge.

 58. The Shining Spear of Aldoran

    Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Shining Spear of Aldoran

    ¡°Fear the Shining Spear. When the High King rides into battle with his lance of Rhinegold like a ray of sunlight bursting from the sky, the enemy will know true despair.¡±

    ¡ªTurnus Hibernon, Royal Bloodlines of Faengard

    Time tended to slow to a standstill inside the prison cells. Without daylight or any idea of what was going on outside, the only method Alend had of telling the time was when the prison guard handed him his gruel through the bars. Even then, it had taken him what felt like a week before he¡¯d finally begun to eat the filth. Since then he¡¯d counted sixty meals. Twenty days. On one hand, the fact that he hadn¡¯t been executed meant that the one month time period wasn¡¯t up yet. On the other, he didn¡¯t know how long it took to get to Raginrok and back, but if Ein and the party hadn¡¯t returned in three weeks, things weren¡¯t looking good.

    Alend spooned the lumpy substance down his throat, feeling his insides reject it. They were still lacing his food with inhibitor drugs to prevent him from regaining his Kingsblade strength. The other option would be to sever the bond entirely, which would free Alend and prevent anyone of the Uldan bloodline from ever bonding with him again. It was a smart move on Aedon¡¯s behalf, maintaining his massive leverage. At any time, all the King had to do was command Alend to kill himself, and he would have to obey. The Vow was the very definition of a double-edged sword.

    Once Alend had finished his meal, he left it by the door and sat back down to the wall. The dungeons had given him time to think about things¡ªtoo much of it, in fact. Aside from brooding, there was nothing else to do but eat, sleep and piss. He suspected that was the main reason why all the criminals went mad. He himself had almost gone insane, especially that night when Ein had come to visit him. Wearing the Thoren pauldron on his shoulder and the Rhinegold blade strapped to his waist, he had reminded Alend of Edric in his prime. Edric had always been the idealistic one, the optimistic brother who saw the good in everything. Alend had been his opposite, cynical, grounded in reality.

    He¡¯d worked so hard to escape his fate, to give the son of his sister-in-law a fighting chance at life. When he¡¯d first taken baby Ein into his arms, he¡¯d had doubts as to how things would progress between the two. After all, he was in love with Rhea, not her sister. Ein was not related to him in any way.

    But those doubts had disappeared soon enough. Ein had been just what he needed in his jaded life, a bright-eyed child to mentor and set on the right path as he had done with young Gilfred all those years ago. Ein was a good boy, one who listened and thought logically.

    That was why it pained him even more to see the boy return to his old ways, to his ideals of becoming a Hero of Faengard. Edric¡¯s idealism had been his undoing. He did not want Ein to go down the same path.

    Those thoughts had cycled around in his mind for several days, several meals which he¡¯d skipped. It had only been through sheer strength of will that he forced himself to eat again, to move around his cell and try to maintain his fitness, to think of brighter things. After all, when Ein returned¡ªAlend would never consider the alternative¡ªhe wanted to greet his son with a smile.

    A light flickered at the end of the hallway, and steel boots began making their way towards his cell. The prison guard no doubt, come to collect his dirty plates. Alend carved a mark into the wall with the back of his spoon. That marked the sixty-first bowl of gruel since he¡¯d began counting. It had to be night; the time between night and morning was always longer than between morning and noon or noon and night.

    Alend squinted and then shut his eyes as the torchlight grew brighter. Sitting in the dark all day had made his vision oversensitive and honed his remaining senses. In the silence of his cell, he could hear a pin drop¡ªor the mumblings of a man five doors down the hallway.

    It was quiet tonight, so there was no mistaking the jangle of keys being moved on a keyring.

    That¡¯s odd. The guard only ever opened his door to clean his living space, though more often than not he was handed the implements through the bars to use himself. The keys continued to clatter against each other as they slid into the lock, activating the tumblers and turning.

    Alend opened his eyes a fraction and then a fraction more, waiting to adjust to the soft light. The door fully swung open and a man stepped inside, wrinkling his nose. He wore full Rhinegold armour without a helm, and his golden mane was fiery in the torchlight

    ¡°Gilfred?¡± Alend rasped, flinching at how weak he sounded.

    ¡°I owe you an apology,¡± the Kingsblade said. ¡°And the King as well. He wishes to see you, after we¡¯ve had the medics do a checkup on your condition.¡±

    The door was open. A fresh breeze trickled in, one that he hadn¡¯t felt for a long time. It sang of one word, a word that was music to his ears.

    Freedom.

    Alend crawled towards the light in wonder.

    #

    He was taken to a makeshift medical station set up in the entrance hall of Uldan Keep, allowed to shave and clean himself, given a fresh set of second-hand clothes. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he was shocked at what he saw. He was so much thinner than he¡¯d remembered, his skin sickly white from lack of sunlight, great big shadows beneath his eyes. He felt light, though not in the good way. In the way that a twig might as the wind blew it away.

    Gilfred had left him after explaining what had happened, glossing over the details of Illia¡¯s suicide. The servants worked in front of him, manning the desk, hauling crates of supplies and precious items, leading reluctant horses across the carpet. The entire population of Aldoran was gathered in single file with their belongings, signed off one by one and subsequently led to the escape tunnel in the castle cellar. Guards watched the line intently, breaking up disputes and attempts to jump the queue before they could escalate.

    It was over. At last, he was no longer a wanted man. Though he was still bound to Aedon, the King had supposedly withdrawn his hostility and was welcoming Alend back with open arms. He frowned. It was strange to think of Aedon as non-hostile again, after spending so long living in fear of his former friend. He didn¡¯t think it would be that easy to mend their relationship, even after Aedon had apologized. This was not something that could be done via a middle man. This was something that needed to be settled face to face.

    And Illia was dead, too. He kept opening his eyes and expecting it to be a dream. The woman who had started it all, who had set Aedon against him and fed his paranoia, she was gone. Broken at the bottom of Wall Norn. Dead.

    Alend stood up and strolled around the edge of the hall. The iron sword Gilfred had given him felt unwieldy by his waist, unusually heavy. He didn¡¯t think he could use a sword now, not after spending almost a month doing nothing with his body. He would struggle to even lift a blacksmith¡¯s hammer.

    ¡°Master Alend! By the Pantheon, you¡¯re alright!¡±

    It was a voice Alend had not expected to find here of all places. He turned around and saw Bran running towards him, the tall, lanky boy carrying a sack of supplies over his shoulder.

    ¡°Bran,¡± he said. ¡°What a pleasant surprise.¡± He was taller, Alend realized. Bran had always been tall, but he stood straighter now, stronger. They were almost the same height. There was something in the boy¡¯s eyes that hadn¡¯t been there before, a hint of confidence perhaps, a hint of strength. Pride swelled inside Alend.

    If only you could see your son now, he thought to Sanson, when he¡¯d been a butcher and not a Faceless. He has become a fine young man.

    ¡°Have they released you?¡± Bran continued, hopeful. ¡°Has Ein returned with Garax and Rhinne? Did they succeed on their quest?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not,¡± Alend sighed. ¡°Aedon, it seems, has finally seen the error of his ways and revoked my Deserter status. All it took was a failed attempt to stop the relicts and a confession from his wife.¡±

    ¡°I heard about that,¡± Bran said darkly. ¡°Illia threw herself off the wall in guilt, apparently. As she well deserves. Many good men have died because of her naivety.¡±

    Alend sighed. ¡°It could have been worse. The bomb could have done a lot more than send the relicts into a berserk rage.¡± He peered at the station where all the medics were, noting the dark-coloured robes of the Songweavers. ¡°Is Evaine here? How is she doing?¡±

    ¡°She was with the healers,¡± Bran said, ¡°But I think she¡¯s gone to help the perimeter unit now. She¡¯s been up to her neck in work since the attack on Wall Menkraft.¡±

    ¡°Well she¡¯s got what she wished for,¡± he said. ¡°I doubt she¡¯ll ever be caught up again in an adventure as big as this one.¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡± Bran had a faraway look now. Alend smiled inwardly. It seemed that things were progressing well between them. He¡¯d secretly hoped Ein and Evaine would end up with each other, but after everything that had happened, he somehow doubted that would be the case. The two were simply too different.

    It was at that moment that a horn sounded from the distance, long and wailing. Alend snapped his head to one side as the guards broke into urgent whispers.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Bran asked, following his gaze.

    It was a sound that every guard, every member of the Legion knew. A sound that Alend had never heard before in his time as a Kingsblade, outside of when he¡¯d been taught it.

    ¡°Another attack,¡± he muttered. ¡°The second wall, I¡¯d say.¡±

    Bran¡¯s face paled. ¡°Are you going?¡±

    ¡°I suppose I should. Just to see what¡¯s happening, at the very least.¡± He could stay here and evacuate with everyone else, but there would be no point. Two out of three of the remaining Uldans were out there, and if both of them died, their chances of survival would drop from infinitesimal to basically nil.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to armour up?¡± Bran asked. ¡°I can ask some of my seniors if they¡ª¡±

    ¡°No time,¡± Alend shook his head. ¡°At this rate, armour would only slow me down.¡± He had half a mind to throw away his sword as well¡ªanything short of Rhinegold was useless against a relict¡ªbut he decided to keep it, just in case.

    Just in case he needed a quick way to end himself.

    Alend bolted through the double-doors to the courtyard, racing past the enormous line of people. Panic had started anew. The guards had their hands full simply controlling the citizens and stopping them from running amok.

    ¡°Come this way,¡± he heard Bran say behind him. ¡°It¡¯s faster.¡±

    Alend turned around and chased after the boy. He¡¯s definitely changed, he thought. The Bran he knew would have remained inside the Keep, cowering.

    They flew across the pavement, cutting through lawns and low hedges until they reached the moat. A choir of Songweavers stood at its edge, chanting a mystical hymn towards the waters, infusing it with salt. The two fled past without a second glance, following the other soldiers as they streamed down the hill to the second slope.

    ¡°Wyd almighty, it¡¯s dark,¡± Bran panted.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    And indeed it was. The sun, it seemed, was not going to rise any time soon, and the street lamps had all but burned out. Had Alend not been so familiar with the roads, they would have lost themselves in the darkness.

    The pair followed the clamour to the gate of Norn, which had been blown into smithereens. Fire flickered along its length, lighting up the savage faces of the Worgals behind them. Soldiers held the immediate area in a phalanx, forcing the horde back. Three mounted Kingsblades in Rhinegold armour mowed through the ranks, swinging greatswords the size of men.

    ¡°Evaine!¡± he heard Bran cry. They rushed to a corner of the street where a circle of Songweavers stood singing in concentration, the young woman among them. A salty breeze gusted over the area.

    ¡°Bran!¡± she exclaimed, lifting her head up from concentration. ¡°Alend! What are you two doing here?¡± She looked older somehow. It was her eyes; they were darker, dimmer.

    ¡°Aedon,¡± Alend said. ¡°Where is he? And is the Princess secure?¡± She¡¯d been taken somewhere secluded along the wall after her mother¡¯s death, according to Gilfred. Alend hoped she was safe. If they lost her, their already slim chances of survival would halve.

    ¡°The King went to the east gate,¡± another Songweaver said, a tall, squarish woman who looked like a man. ¡°He took two of his Kingsblades with him.¡±

    Alend cursed. Aedon was not in any shape to be fighting. ¡°Bran. Head back and tell the guards in the Keep what¡¯s happening. Have them send reinforcements to the east gate so we can safely retreat.¡±

    Bran shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m coming with you, Alend. I won¡¯t sit back and watch anymore, not when everyone¡¯s fighting but me.¡±

    Alend blinked. Before he could answer, Evaine jumped in as well. ¡°Minstrel Kedryn, is it alright if I go with them to the east gate? I think we have enough numbers here.¡±

    The female Songweaver nodded. ¡°Go, Journeyman. May the Winds blow favourably upon you.¡±

    Alend shook his head. A lot had happened in the month he¡¯d been gone. The boy and the girl on either side of him now, they were not the same boy and girl who had left Felhaven all those weeks ago.

    #

    ¡°Your Majesty!¡± Gilfred cried. ¡°Watch out!¡±

    The Slazaad barrelled across the road, its flat head ramming into an empty tavern. The windows exploded into glass fragments as it broke the wall and the front counter. Wood snapped and splintered, crumpling beneath the giant relict, bottles of unsealed liquor shattering over its back. It roared and then began to backpedal, heaving its body from the wreckage.

    Celianna hugged Gilfred¡¯s waist harder, burying her face between his shoulder blades. The Princess was clearly shaken by her mother¡¯s confession and subsequent death. Gilfred couldn¡¯t see her face, but he knew it would be chalk white with shock and fear¡ªyet he couldn¡¯t just take her and flee back to the castle, not when the High King himself was in danger. His honour prevented that.

    Aedon and Vanin circled around on their mounts, Rhinegold weapons raised.  Behind them, the Worgals fought small skirmishes with the scattered footsoldiers. Claw and steel rang through the air.

    ¡°We can¡¯t hold,¡± Vanin said. ¡°As much as I hate to admit it, Your Majesty, we must fall back to Adem.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not going back, damnit,¡± Aedon growled. He lowered his golden lance and urged his horse onwards. It let out a fearless cry as it rounded the relict¡¯s side, building up momentum. The King roared and thrust deep into its flank, splattering black blood across the stones.

    The Slazaad screeched and swung its morning-star tail, cracking a streetlamp in half. It snapped like a twig and crashed into the ground where Gilfred and and Celianna had been. Gilfred guided his mount around the fallen pole and back to Aedon¡¯s side, his heart pounding.

    ¡°Celianna,¡± he called out. ¡°Are you hurt?¡±

    He felt her shake her head.

    Lauriel above, he thought. If the Slazaad somehow caught the Princess, she would not last a second.

    A pack of Worgals bounded across the road to join the fight, but Vanin dispatched them easily with his greatsword. Aedon continued to circle the Slazaad, roaring obscenities at it. He was huffing and puffing, clearly out of shape¡ªGilfred couldn¡¯t remember the last time the King had been in a fight¡ªbut some sort of battle rage had taken over and he refused to back down. The Slazaad slammed its tail into the ground, cracking it to pieces. Gilfred darted in and landed a deep blow, slashing open its side.

    ¡°Come on, men! We¡¯re almost there!¡± Aedon kicked his steed into a charge, lowering his lance. ¡°Kalador give us strength!¡±

    Something flashed before them. Celianna cried out as a bronze blur rammed into the King, killing his steed and knocking him off it. Aedon fell heavily to the ground, wrestling with a Bloodmane. The creature was slashed with a thousand wounds and half its body had been burnt, but it was still a match for the King. It had lost its Boneblade somewhere and was snapping with its teeth, eyes red with furor.

    ¡°Celianna,¡± Gilfred ordered. ¡°Take Dawn back to the Keep. Go!¡±

    He handed her the reins to his steed and leapt off, racing towards Aedon. Vanin had dismounted as well. The two Kingsblades tackled the Bloodmane, grabbing an arm each and pulling, slamming it into the ground as it snarled and kicked. Aedon rolled back onto his feet and stood, blood running down his forehead where he¡¯d been struck.

    ¡°The Fire take you,¡± he hissed, and plunged his lance through its chest. The Bloodmane arched its back in pain and then went still, its eyes fading.

    ¡°Father!¡± Celianna shrieked. ¡°Behind you!¡±

    The stubborn girl! Gilfred thought, even as he turned around. Why is she still here?

    A great roar shook the earth as the Slazaad¡¯s tail came from nowhere, sweeping across the three of them. Aedon and Vanin ducked to the ground, but Gilfred was a heartbeat too late. White-hot pain exploded in his ribs as the spiked ball smashed into him, flinging him several feet into the wall. The city whirled, the night sky and the flames blurring into a single veil of red agony. He hit his head hard and slid down onto his knees, coughing.

    ¡°Wyd almighty,¡± he spat, gasping for air, and then swore violently. The noises around him became deafening, the roar of fire, the distant barking and snapping of Worgals, the ringing of steel against steel as the Legion fought for the glory of Aldoran. He blinked back the tears and raised his head, only to see Aedon grab a burning plank of wood from one of the destroyed houses and shatter it on the Slazaad¡¯s shoulder. Fire caught onto the relict and splashed down its back, igniting the spilt liquor.

    The Slazaad¡¯s eyes rolled back into its head and it thrashed with pain. Vanin stepped in with his sword and landed a finishing blow, impaling the lizard through the neck. It writhed and then sprawled onto the ground, twitching as the flames ate it away.

    ¡°Gilfred!¡± Celianna cried, bringing Dawn towards him. ¡°Gilfred, are you okay?¡± She dismounted and ran to his side. Aedon came limping over, while Vanin pulled his sword from the corpse.

    ¡°I¡¯ll live,¡± he groaned, breath shuddering in his lips. He felt blood soak his shirt, but the armour had thankfully protected him from the worst of the attack. The more pressing concern was the dent in his armour, which was causing his broken ribs to grind painfully against his organs, impeding his breathing. ¡°Help me get this thing off.¡±

    ¡°A real piece of work that creature was,¡± the King said, feeling for Gilfred¡¯s straps. ¡°No wonder the gates fell. And a Bloodmane, too.¡±

    There was a click, and Gilfred gently removed the breastplate from his torso. He placed it on the ground and gingerly flexed his chest. Pain blossomed inside his lungs.

    There was no way he was fighting again. Even with the magic of the Vow running through him, it would take at least two days for a wound of such calibre heal.

    ¡°Are you happy now?¡± he asked. ¡°You¡¯ve killed a Bloodmane and a Slazaad. We should quit while we¡¯re still ahead¡ª¡±

    Gilfred¡¯s voice caught in his throat. It had been quiet for a while¡ªhe¡¯d assumed the Worgals and the Legionnaires had taken their fight elsewhere. But as he looked into the burning distance, he realized that wasn¡¯t the case.

    The Worgals had moved on, because all the soldiers were dead.

    It stood atop a mattress of blood-stained black and silver, the remains of the valiant soldiers who¡¯d given their lives for the city. The Apocalypse Knight looked even taller than Gilfred had remembered, the mask of the Watching Moon upon its face, the pattern of scars vivid against its body.

    ¡°Hrongar Urudain,¡± he whispered its name.

    The half-man, half-giant had been sealed in Nephilheim along with the rest of the Apocalypse Knights, bound with cursed chains which now dangled brokenly from his wrists. He was the strongest of the seven, so powerful that even his fellow giants feared him, said to have wrestled many a dragon to death during the Great War.

    Hrongar approached the group with deep, shuddering steps, expressionless behind its mask.

    ¡°Aedon,¡± Gilfred said, throwing away all formalities. ¡°We have to go. Now.¡±

    He tried to get up, but Aedon was already heading off to meet the giant. Vanin gave Gilfred an apologetic look and went to join him.

    ¡°Celianna,¡± he said, turning to the Princess this time. ¡°Your father is a stubborn fool. That¡­ that thing will kill us all if we try to fight it. We can¡¯t stay here.¡± He dug his heels into the ground and forced himself up, holding onto the wall for support. Dawn whinnied, staring at the Knight in fear.

    Aedon stepped over the corpse of his horse and slammed the butt of his lance onto the ground. Vanin stood a short distance beside him, greatsword resting on his shoulder.

    ¡°No,¡± Gilfred moaned. He would have gone to aid his King, but with the state he was in now, he would only be a burden.

    ¡°Gilfred told me there were two of you,¡± the King said. ¡°Where is the other?¡±

    Hrongar regarded him calmly. Dried blood lined his chest and hands, where many men had found their deaths. Sweat gleamed along the half-giant¡¯s skin, mixing with dirt and soot. He made a muffled noise from behind his mask, something incomprehensible.

    ¡°Speak words, Urudain. I don¡¯t understand gibberish.¡±

    The half-giant laughed and grunted again, pointing along the trail of destruction it had left.

    ¡°The west gate, I think he¡¯s trying to say,¡± Vanin murmured.

    Aedon nodded. ¡°And I suppose your army is marching towards the innermost wall now?¡±

    Hrongar nodded. Aedon lifted his lance off the ground.

    ¡°I see. Well Hrongar, I¡¯d like to say I¡¯m seeking vengeance for the destruction of my city, but that would be a lie.¡± He lowered the lance until it was pointing directly at the Knight¡¯s chest. ¡°You see, this has now become a personal matter. Though you had no part to play in it, I am holding you directly accountable for the death of my beloved wife. And for that, I cannot allow you to live.¡±

    He lowered his knees into the Coiled Viper. Vanin took a battle stance of his own. Hrongar looked at them both, and then charged.

    Gilfred felt the tremors through the ground as he stumbled towards Dawn, struggling to place his foot in the stirrup. Hrongar let out a berserk roar as he reached the two Rhinegold-clad warriors, sending a flying punch towards Aedon. Aedon, to his credit, avoided it and stabbed his lance straight through the Knight¡¯s stomach. Hrongar bellowed and clamped its free hand around Aedon, holding him close.

    ¡°Father!¡± Celianna screamed. ¡°Gilfred, we have to do something!¡±

    ¡°Mother Anturia,¡± Gilfred swore, digging his heels into Dawn. ¡°Aedon, you fool!¡±

    Vanin loosed a battlecry and swung his sword down onto the half-giant¡¯s neck. It cut several inches deep but no further. Hrongar stepped rearwards and slammed his back against the wall, crushing the Kingsblade. He cried out in pain as he slumped onto the ground, a mess of blood and gold.

    Aedon was still struggling, trying to push the Knight off him. Gilfred drew his sword, feeling the pain flare near his sternum. Even if he were to die, he would at least land a few blows upon the Apocalypse Knight. It was the least he could do.

    The King¡¯s face was purple now, his eyeballs bulging in their sockets. He twisted his head sideways, facing Gilfred as he approached, sword in hand.

    ¡°Take Celianna and go,¡± he managed, before Hrongar¡¯s second arm came down and locked him into a deathgrip. ¡°Protect¡­ her.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Gilfred howled. He felt the command take over his body, felt his hands steer himself in a curve away from his King. Celianna was crying now, rushing towards her father, her face a mess of tears.

    ¡°Father!¡± she screamed, as Gilfred grabbed her by the waist and threw her onto the saddle. ¡°Father!¡±

    Poor girl. To lose both her parents in one night. Gilfred shook his head. He planned for this, didn¡¯t he? He wanted to die. The stubborn bastard!

    Aedon was still struggling against the half-giant when two arrows struck it in the back. Gilfred jerked his head sideways to the opposite end of the road. Three figures raced towards them¡ªthe young Songweaver Evaine, the runner boy Bran, and¡­

    ¡°Alend!¡± he exclaimed. ¡°Lauriel above¡­ what the blazes are you doing here?¡± It was the former Kingsblade, dressed in a patchy long-sleeved shirt and pants, with a shoddy sword by his waist. He wouldn¡¯t last a second if Hrongar hit him.

    ¡°Aedon,¡± Alend roared. ¡°You bastard. You owe me more than a damn apology!¡±

    He sprinted over to Vanin¡¯s dead body and prised the Rhinegold greatsword from his hands. The arrows on Hrongar¡¯s back began to steam, melting holes in his skin. Hrongar released his hold on the King and tried to pull them out, writhing like a fly with its wings cut off, but they¡¯d buried themselves in a place he couldn¡¯t reach. A haunting song echoed from far off, the song of a siren leading sailors to their death, a song that smelled of brine and the sea. Gilfred looked towards Evaine and realized she was singing, weaving some sort of magic into the arrows to increase their effectiveness. Another voice joined in, one he knew well. It was Celianna, her frantic melody twining with Evaine¡¯s. The arrows sank deeper into the giant man¡¯s flesh. The runner boy, Bran, loosed another arrow and struck Hrongar square in his exposed eye.

    ¡°Bran,¡± Alend cried out. ¡°Evaine! Get Aedon and go!¡± He pointed to Vanin¡¯s horse, which had fled to a corner and was waiting. Bran nodded and ran towards it, placing his hand against the animal¡¯s head and whispering to it. The beast seemed to understand what was going on.

    Hrongar finally managed to wrench the arrow from the eyehole in its mask. Blood streamed from the hole, thick and lumpy. The Knight bellowed, swinging its arms blindly, smashing windows and brick walls. Alend ducked under its arms, the greatsword in his hands, moving as lightly as if he were dancing.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Aedon spluttered, as Evaine and Bran helped lift him onto the saddle. ¡°Alend, you madman!¡±

    ¡°Saving you,¡± Alend called back. ¡°Old habits die hard.¡± He lifted the sword and stabbed it through Hrongar¡¯s foot, pinning it to the ground against a section of packed earth. As the Knight swept the air for the hilt, Alend rolled out from its reach and bolted for Gilfred¡¯s horse. Gilfred extended a hand and hauled his former mentor onto the saddle.

    ¡°Run, Dawn,¡± he shouted. ¡°Run!¡±

    Bran urged Vanin¡¯s horse as well, with Evaine keeping Aedon strapped in place, and they raced away from Wall Norn and to safety.

 59. Long Live the King

    Chapter Fifty-Nine: Long Live the King

    ¡°How can the men believe in their King if he does not even believe in himself?¡±

    ¡ªDalan Kelethar, Thirteenth General of the Legion

    The guards wound open the gates as quickly as they could once they saw the injured King, and closed them just as fast. They lifted him onto a stretcher and rushed him to an inn which had been refurbished into a medical station, pushing past the injured soldiers in the queue, shouting for the healers and medics. Aedon stared upwards the whole time, breathing with deep, shuddering breaths. Sweat continued to form on his forehead, mixing with blood and grime, trickling down the side of his face.

    Alend found himself waiting outside with Gilfred while the soldiers continued to set up defenses for the first wall. There weren¡¯t many left by now; most of them had died when the Apocalypse Knights had torn through Wall Norn. Almost half the city was gone now, deep into the tunnels beneath Uldan Keep to the western wilderlands.

    ¡°How is the Princess?¡± Alend asked.

    Gilfred sighed. He looked haggard, drawing shallow breaths, wincing each time he did. The Slazaad must have cracked more ribs than Alend had originally thought.

    ¡°She¡¯s not doing well,¡± the Kingsblade replied. ¡°Bran and Evaine are looking after her. She¡¯s definitely gone into shock; she won¡¯t eat anything, and she refuses to evacuate until she knows her father is okay.¡±

    News of Aedon¡¯s injury had spread like wildfire, and everywhere around them, people waited to hear of the outcome. Would there be a new High King of Faengard? Perhaps a new royal family, even? After all, there were no male heirs to the throne left.

    But there were no male heirs from any of the families. The Lachesses were down to their last member, a girl, and of the Thorens, Cinnamin was also a girl. Alend¡¯s name, although cleared, would be tainted for a long time to come, and Ein was not a true Thoren.

    Gilfred is the most suitable candidate for the throne now, Alend realized.

    ¡°I told him we should have retreated,¡± Gilfred continued. ¡°I told him. He¡¯s a stubborn fool.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s just what he is,¡± Alend sighed. ¡°I can¡¯t say I feel too sorry for him, considering everything he¡¯s done to me.¡±

    ¡°About that,¡± the Kingsblade said, averting his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for doubting you. I was the reason you were captured and thrown into the dungeons.¡±

    ¡°Even if I¡¯d managed to speak to the King alone, I¡¯m sure the same thing would have happened. Ein would have ended up on that journey anyway, and I would have been locked up. You¡¯re forgiven, Gilfred. I wouldn¡¯t have expected you to know better.¡±

    The fires had died down a little. The houses in Norn were of greater quality in general, made from stone bricks rather than wood, holding less fuel to burn. The clouds remained thick and heavy across the sky, smothering the land. Sitting with their backs to the side of the building, staring into the night, he remembered when he¡¯d first taken on Gilfred as his apprentice, teaching him the way of the Kingsblade. Now here he was, sixteen years later, a man in his own right.

    The door opened beside them and one of the medics emerged. She fixed Alend with a disdainful look.

    ¡°The High King wishes to see you,¡± she said.

    Alend stood up and followed her into the inn. A group of high-ranking Captains and Sergeants were gathered outside the door to one of the rooms, alongside the three remaining Kingsblades. Of all the faces, he didn¡¯t recognize a single one. A lot had changed since he¡¯d been one of the King¡¯s knights.

    ¡°Through this door,¡± she continued, opening it for him. Alend nodded and entered, Gilfred not far behind.

    Aedon lay as pale as the sheets he slept upon, eyes vacant and staring. His breath was ragged like an old man, his chins wobbling in time with the rise and fall of his chest. He shifted slightly as Alend entered the room.

    ¡°How¡¯s he doing?¡± Alend asked.

    ¡°Not well,¡± the medic replied. ¡°Most of the bones in his chest have been crushed, and several of his ribs have punctured vital organs. We¡¯ve done what we can, but most of it is internal bleeding, and even then it was a challenge for the Songweavers to repair him. We fear he¡¯s lost too much blood already¡ª¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± the King suddenly said, gesturing to the medic. ¡°Please leave us now.¡±

    She shook her head as she backed out of the room and closed the door, leaving the three alone. Aedon exhaled.

    ¡°A waste of time,¡± he spoke faintly, eyeing the door. ¡°Everyone knows I won¡¯t live. Even myself.¡±

    ¡°Why did you do it?¡± Gilfred asked. ¡°Why did you try to fight Hrongar? He would be more than a match for even a Kingsblade, let alone a man with no special powers.¡±

    ¡°Gilfred, Gilfred,¡± Aedon said. He closed his eyes, and for a moment Alend thought he would not be opening them again. ¡°Illia¡¯s death opened my eyes, Gilfred. I¡¯m not too proud of what I¡¯ve become, the things I¡¯ve done, the decisions I¡¯ve made. I¡¯ve grown too steeped in my own fears, kept my mind too closed to be a good King, and now this has happened.¡± He gave a shuddering sigh. ¡°Faengard needs a better King. My son and daughter are too young and inexperienced, and Alend¡¯s reputation has been soiled through my own doing. I think you are the best man for the job.¡±

    Gilfred blinked. Alend studied the Kingsblade¡¯s expression, his own thoughts spinning.

    Aedon came to the same conclusion that I did.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous,¡± Gilfred said. ¡°I¡¯m not a person who can take charge of an entire nation.¡±

    ¡°You can take charge of an army,¡± Aedon continued. ¡°I¡¯ve seen you do it. You will learn, Gilfred. There will be people to help you along the way.¡±

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand.¡± Gilfred shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t want to become King, Aedon. I¡¯m a Kingsblade. I protect Kings, and I failed to do my job. By all rights, I should be executed.¡±

    Aedon chuckled, an action that seemed to bring him great pain. ¡°You are the King Faengard deserves,¡± he continued, ¡°and I am in the way. My time is over. When I pass, you will take on the mantle of the High King.¡±

    Gilfred smiled wryly. ¡°You know commands hold no power after you die. You¡¯ll need Celianna to give them.¡±

    Aedon ignored him and looked to Alend. ¡°And you, my dear friend. I am so sorry. Even after everything I¡¯ve done to you, you still came to me in my time of need. You truly are something else.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t come to save you,¡± Alend said. ¡°I just don¡¯t want you getting off the hook too easily by killing yourself. You had me hiding for sixteen years, Aedon. That¡¯s almost half my life. I found a wife, raised a family with her, always with the fear that I would be discovered. Not a day passed when someone knocked on my door that I would prepare to flee, in case it was you.¡±

    ¡°And I am sorry for that,¡± Aedon murmured. ¡°I would like to blame Illia or the Forsaken One, but that would be running away from the truth. I allowed my position to blind me, Alend. I fell into the age-old trap of paranoia. But if it means anything to you, please accept my apology.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll acknowledge it, Aedon. But I¡¯m not accepting it.¡±

    Aedon smiled dimly. ¡°Ah. Harsh as usual. But I¡¯ll settle for that.¡± He reached out his hand. ¡°That was a great battle back there, with the Slazaad and the Apocalypse Knight. For a moment, I almost felt like I was young again. Almost.¡±

    ¡°It was a battle that could have been avoided,¡± Gilfred said.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°It was a good battle,¡± Aedon said again. ¡°Gilfred, pass me my spear, please. I think the White Women are here for me.¡±

    Gilfred picked up the King¡¯s lance from his bedside and placed it into his outstretched hand. Alend looked around. The room had grown colder, and he could see faint silvery wisps out of the corners of his eyes.

    So this was how it would end. Out of Edric and Aedon, he would be the only one who still lived to remember those golden days.

    ¡°You fool,¡± he murmured.

    Aedon held the lance tight. ¡°Take care of Celianna,¡± he said to Gilfred, and Alend felt the power of the command displace the air. ¡°Remember what I said. You are already a man of the people, Gilfred. Take the final step and lead them.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Gilfred closed his eyes. ¡°I can¡¯t, Aedon. I don¡¯t want to, and I don¡¯t think I can.¡±

    ¡°You can. You must show strength, and lead the other city-states against Al¡¯Ashar.¡± Aedon¡¯s gaze became blank as he stared at a spot far away in the distance. ¡°They are beckoning to me now, Cenedria¡¯s Women¡­ and Willard, so tall and strong. Illia as well¡­ oh, Illia, how beautiful you are¡­¡±

    He didn¡¯t say anything more. Alend and Gilfred waited for a long time in the silence of the room before they finally accepted that the King was dead.

    #

    Gilfred, Alend, Bran and Evaine were halfway through the estates when the horn blew again. Alend stopped and looked back across the city to where the innermost wall was, the soldiers already lined up and ready to fight. The Captains had accepted the fact that they were going to lose Adem, so they¡¯d only stationed units at the key choke points along the district. The remainder of the forces had fallen back to the keep.

    There was only one Slazaad left and it was at the gates now, ramming its head again and again into fractured wood. The Celadons were all but dead, as were the Bloodmanes. The biggest threats that remained were the two Apocalypse Knights, Hrongar and Saidon, and they¡¯d left all the Kingsblades but Gilfred to hold them.

    ¡°We¡¯ve lost,¡± Alend said.

    ¡°Of course we¡¯ve lost,¡± Gilfred muttered. ¡°There¡¯s no way we can win this battle. They outnumber us five to one, even if we have fire and salt.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I mean,¡± the former Kingsblade said, ¡°though that¡¯s also true. I¡¯m talking about the men, Gilfred. Look at them.¡±

    Gilfred turned around and squinted into the distance, studying the positions where the soldiers had been placed. The Captains had them hiding in the houses, around the corners of streets, at bridges and other natural chokepoints in the district. They stood still in clusters of a dozen or so, silent and forlorn, heads lowered in dejection.

    ¡°The fight hasn¡¯t even begun, and they¡¯ve been defeated. Look at them and tell me they have the drive to win.¡±

    Gilfred couldn¡¯t do it. Even the mere sight of them made him depressed. ¡°They can¡¯t be blamed,¡± he said. ¡°Who would dream of victory in the face of such odds?¡±

    ¡°If you don¡¯t dream of victory, how can you achieve it?¡± Alend asked. ¡°Word has spread, Gilfred. The King is dead, and though he was not the best ruler, he made the city function. Without him, the soldiers no longer know who they fight for.¡±

    An image of Celianna flashed through Gilfred¡¯s mind. Her gaze had been dull and lifeless, like the gazes of the men he saw now. They¡¯d tried to keep his death secret, tried in vain. All it had taken was one pair of loose lips for the word to spread. There couldn¡¯t have been a worse time.

    Take on the mantle of the High King.

    Gilfred shook his head. It wouldn¡¯t make a difference either way; those men were as good as gone.

    But even as he thought that, he wanted to go back and join them. He should not be alive as a Kingsblade, not if the King was dead.

    Protect her.

    As tightly as the Vow bound him, Celianna was also of the Uldan blood. Gilfred was hers as much as he was the King¡¯s. He had to protect her doubly so, now that she was the last of the Uldans.

    The gate shattered as the final Slazaad broke through, unleashing a flood of Worgals. Gilfred turned his back to the city and ran.

    #

    The soldiers rushed into the Keep with a newfound sense of urgency, taking their posts along the walls. They were no longer focused on fighting back and winning; at this stage in the battle, their mission was to buy as much time as possible for the remainder of the city¡¯s populace to escape. The majority of them had entered the tunnels by now and would be deep below the ground under the Royal Road.

    Celianna stood in the entrance hall, absentmindedly staring at the room Aedon lay in. Most of the lords had either evacuated already, or were stealing as much treasure from the Vault as they could. Vultures, she thought. That¡¯s what they are. They were probably fighting for his property now, over his dead body.

    She wished she were older and wiser. Without Aeos, the general consensus would be that a new family was needed to take over the throne. That family would rise from the Silent Council, and she would probably be forced to marry them¡ªto enter a loveless bond with a man who wanted nothing more than Aedon¡¯s wealth and the Uldan prestige.

    Come back quickly, brother.

    She found herself outside by the moat, watching the Songweavers weave their magic. They¡¯d been working for several days now, lacing the water with all the salt they¡¯d amassed over the last few weeks. To the relicts, it may as well have been a pool of acid. Celianna should have been helping them, but she didn¡¯t have the spirit to sing. She felt dark and terrible, like the pitch skies above.

    Mother and father are gone.

    She still couldn¡¯t bring herself to believe it. All she could see was the madness in Illia¡¯s eyes as she fell over the edge of the wall, crunching hideously against the ground, the half-scream escaping her lips. The red and white mess on the pavement, the tangle of broken bones and oozing blood. The overwhelming silence, even as Celianna had screamed at the top of her lungs. Any moment now, she expected wake up to the darkness of her room, her body drenched in sweat. Gilfred or one of the servants would tend to her, and she¡¯d go back to sleep again knowing everything was well.

    But no matter how hard she pinched herself, she didn¡¯t wake up. No matter how hard she wanted to cry, no tears came to her eyes. No matter how much time passed, the night did not end.

    Voices rang by the outer wall of the Keep. It was almost time to shut the gates; anyone who didn¡¯t make it inside would be locked out. Soldiers and stragglers raced across the bridge to the other side of the moat. Celianna waited beside the guards, watching. Waiting. Any time now. Any time now, Gilfred would come. She wouldn¡¯t be able to live anymore if she lost him too. She¡¯d already lost her entire family. Surely the gods wouldn¡¯t be so cruel as to take her best friend as well.

    A glimmer of gold flashed in the night.

    Celianna rushed towards him, unable to stop herself. He gave a cry of surprise as she tackled his chest, seeking warmth in the gap where the breastplate had been removed. His cry turned into a pained yowl as something shifted beneath his skin. Horrified, the Princess broke away.

    ¡°I-I¡¯m so sorry,¡± she stammered, but Gilfred returned her apology with a pained smile.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re okay, Your Highness,¡± he said, gingerly touching his ribs. Alend, Bran and Evaine tumbled through the portcullis after him, scattering around the other side of the bridge. ¡°Unfortunately, I bring ill tidings.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s happened?¡±

    ¡°Wall Adem has fallen, and the Worgals will be here shortly. We must finish evacuating the people.¡±

    Gods, already? ¡°We can¡¯t,¡± Celianna said. ¡°We have to protect Mother Aedrasil. She¡¯s our final hope.¡±

    Gilfred sighed. ¡°We¡¯re doing our best, Your Highness. But we cannot hold the relicts back forever.¡±

    We have to let Aedrasil die. That was what he was saying. Aeos, Ein and the rest of the company that had left for Raginrok¡­ they won¡¯t be returning.

    The city was all but vacant. Preparations had already been made.

    ¡°Why are you asking me for?¡± she said suddenly. ¡°You¡¯re in a better position to make that decision than I am.¡±

    A look of what might have been fear crossed Gilfred¡¯s face. He swallowed and nodded.

    ¡°Let us leave, then. Men! Lower the gates!¡±

    The soldiers obeyed and began winding in the bridge, closing the portcullis at the same time. It felt like a lifetime before it finally slid shut, closing them off from the burning city forever. The city that had been her home. Aldoran and its proud trees of twilight, the trees she would never see again.

    ¡°I suppose they didn¡¯t make it after all,¡± she murmured. They weren¡¯t dead. They just hadn¡¯t made it back in time. Aeos would be coming back. He had to be coming back.

    ¡°The relicts will be here soon,¡± Gilfred said. ¡°You should get going.¡±

    ¡°What about you?¡±

    Gilfred looked back at the men stationed on the walls. ¡°I must stay, at least for a while. I am the last Kingsblade left, and everyone will be looking to me for guidance.¡± The last Kingsblade. That makes him the highest ranking general in the Legion.

    ¡°If you¡¯re staying, then I¡¯m staying too.¡±

    ¡°Fool!¡± Gilfred snapped. ¡°Don¡¯t be like your father! Can¡¯t you do as you¡¯re told, for once?¡±

    Celianna stepped back, shocked. Gilfred shook his head almost immediately. ¡°Celianna, I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡±

    ¡°Is that really what you think of me?¡± she asked. ¡°A stubborn child?¡±

    ¡°No! That¡¯s¡ª¡±

    A guard suddenly appeared beside them, panting. ¡°Lord Leonhart! Another party has just arrived outside the moat, and they¡¯re requesting to be let in.¡±

    Lord Leonhart. I¡¯ve never heard him addressed like that before. Celianna gave Gilfred an uncertain look as he fixed his eyes upon the sky.

    The Leonharts were Kings as well, once.

    ¡°If we lower the gates now, we might not raise them in time,¡± he said.

    ¡°Let them in,¡± she replied. ¡°We can¡¯t shut our walls on people in need. We simply can¡¯t.¡±

    Gilfred bit his lip. Someone on the ramparts shouted. There were multiple people crying out, pointing outside the keep. Celianna heard bits and pieces of it and held her breath.

    It can¡¯t be. She didn¡¯t dare trust her ears.

    ¡°My Lord,¡± the guard continued, looking to where the soldiers were yelling. ¡°I think we should let them in. Apparently, one of those people is the Prince.¡±

 60. Enemy at the Gates

    Chapter Sixty: Enemy at the Gates

    ¡°Where Aedrasil¡¯s feet touched the ground, her toes burst from her shoes and splayed into a mass of tangled roots. Her body and waist lengthened as she grew taller, longer, thicker, shooting towards the sky. Where her hands had reached upwards during the casting of the Sealing, her fingers branched outwards and opened into a grand canopy of leaves, the same molten gold and emerald as her eyes and hair.¡±

    ¡ªAedrasil and the Three Kings

    Indescribable feelings mounted within Ein as he hurried past the bridge towards Bran and Evaine. After they¡¯d emerged from Nephilheim, Talberon had led them straight through Aldoran¡¯s gates, sneaking them past the trail of fire and destruction with Yselin¡¯s aid, all the way to Uldan Keep.

    It felt like he¡¯d been away for months rather than weeks, and seeing their familiar faces brought a smile to his lips despite everything that had happened. They both looked different; older somehow and a touch wiser, Evaine with her black and silver Songweaver¡¯s robes and Bran with his patched working gear.

    He stopped a few feet short of the two, panting, the reason he¡¯d returned to the city entirely forgotten. Bran in particular surprised him; though he hated to admit it, he hadn¡¯t expected him to pull through as strongly as he had. His childhood friend looked leaner and more weathered, and there was a hint of resolve in his eyes that hadn¡¯t been there before. He itched to learn of what they¡¯d been doing while he¡¯d been gone.

    But the city was burning around them, and the enemy was at the gate. There were things to be done.

    ¡°Gilfred,¡± Talberon said. ¡°Where is the King? We have returned, and with us we bring Yselin, last of the House Lachess.¡± He gestured to where the girl stood behind Rhinne. Yselin stared like a frightened deer at the Kingsblade and the city guard, her strange eyes a reflective silver.

    Before Gilfred could reply, a stifled sob drew their attention. Celianna had thrown herself into Aeos¡¯ arms and was crying uncontrollably, speaking muffled words into his chest. Aeos had his sister by the shoulders and was quietly listening, a slow mask of disbelief forming across his features. Around them everyone shifted uncomfortably, giving the two Uldans what little privacy they could offer.

    ¡°Aedon is dead,¡± explained Alend, appearing next to Gilfred. ¡°The Queen as well.¡±

    Relief whirled inside Ein as he saw his father. Alend¡¯s skin was pale from lack of sunlight and he had the gauntness of a starved animal, but some of the spirit had returned to his eyes. There were a thousand words spoken in that gaze; acceptance, remorse, relief, even pride. But his father had been a Kingsblade, and Ein was a Kingsblade now, and their duties bound them across time and generations. Their reunion could wait.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe it,¡± Gilfred said, shaking his head in disbelief. ¡°You actually did it. You brought her back.¡±

    ¡°We have the Blood of the Three Kings now,¡± Alend said, gesturing to Yselin and the Uldan siblings. ¡°There is no time to waste.¡± Celianna looked up at them, her eyes blurred, and she pulled herself away from her brother.

    ¡°I will take you to Mother Aedrasil,¡± she said. ¡°Let us make haste.¡±

    ¡°You two stay here,¡± Gilfred instructed to Bran and Evaine. ¡°Help the soldiers buy us time. Everyone else, with the Princess.¡±

    With a nod from Gilfred, Celianna wiped her eyes and began to lead the way. Alend and Talberon followed with Rhinne and Yselin behind them, Aeos bringing up the rear. As Ein turned to leave, Evaine tugged him on the arm.

    ¡°What happened to Garax?¡± she whispered.

    ¡°He didn¡¯t make it,¡± Ein said, shaking his head sadly. A look of understanding flashed through her eyes, and she let him go.

    The group ran across the courtyard and into the Keep, through the empty halls to the door of the Spirit Garden. The corridors reminded Ein of the city streets¡ªalone, abandoned, rife with the after-echoes of shouts and screams.

    ¡°Are the people of the city safe?¡± Ein heard Aeos ask.

    ¡°They¡¯ve been evacuated along the emergency exit, Your Majesty,¡± Gilfred replied.

    Aeos scowled. ¡°We¡¯ll talk about this later.¡±

    The stone-bricked walls past the door quickly gave way to a dark tunnel winding into the ground. The group ran along that tunnel, following Celianna¡¯s lead, emerging into the familiar grove of flowers and trees beneath the earth. Mystical motes of silver light danced in the air around them, casting a luminous glow.

    ¡°This way,¡± Celianna urged. She took them through the trees to where a large source of light shone around the corner. The canopies parted to reveal Aedrasil towering into the air, the Heart of the World glowing around her roots. Rhinne¡¯s breath caught in her throat. Yselin wandered dazedly to the edge.

    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± she murmured.

    The Ward Tree had deteriorated even further since Ein had last seen it. Brown leaves scattered its roots, withered and dry. They fell from its finger-bare branches like dark snowflakes, signalling the end of Aedrasil¡¯s autumn and the beginning of her winter. The season of cold and sleep, and death.

    ¡°Yselin,¡± Ein said. ¡°Don¡¯t touch it.¡±

    The girl snapped to attention and stepped away from the Spirit Font, but continued to look longingly at it. Celianna regained her breath and stood up straight.

    ¡°Alend Thoren,¡± she said. ¡°Yselin Lachess. Let us go.¡±

    Alend strode across the grass to join the Princess by the edge of the pool, but Yselin remained next to Rhinne.

    ¡°Go on,¡± Rhinne said. ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± She gave the girl a nudge, but Yselin still refused to move.

    ¡°Go with her,¡± Gilfred said. ¡°It¡¯s all right.¡± He looked at Aeos and Ein as well. ¡°You two also; make sure you look after the Princess. Talberon and I will wait here.¡±

    Aeos nodded at Ein. ¡°Come on then.¡±

    They walked in three pairs across the bar of raised earth in the middle of the pool, slowing their pace down to a brisk walk. Aeos and Celianna, Ein and Alend, and Rhinne and Yselin. The Heart of the World seemed to flicker around them, the slow pulse of a great heart.

    It¡¯s almost over, thought Ein. Everything we¡¯ve done, from the moment we found those dead wolves in the Sleeping Twins to now. Once they revived Aedrasil and resealed the relicts, it would be over. Faengard would be saved.

    I¡¯ll be back in Felhaven before long, with Father.

    It was a strange thought, returning to a life of normality after seeing and experiencing so much¡ªafter becoming a hero. He didn¡¯t think he¡¯d be back for long; after all, he¡¯d promised Rhinne he would help her find the Dragonstone, and there was still the mystery of the black box in his pocket. He had to at least try to find out how to open it, whether it be asking Talberon or some of the other Songweavers in the Legion.

    Before long they reached the end of the path, setting foot onto the islet in the middle of the pool. Gilfred and Talberon waited at the shore on the far side, watching. Aedrasil was even bigger in real life, her threadbare fronds hanging over them amongst a carpet of crinkling leaves. Her trunk was the size of a small house, thick and knotted, and each root was like a step in a staircase, a tangled mattress of uneven footing beneath them. Celianna approached the trunk and placed a hand on it, closing her eyes.

    ¡°Amazing.¡± Rhinne came around next to Ein and bent down to touch one of the roots. ¡°I¡¯ve never felt so much magic in one place before. She is old, Aedrasil. Very old.¡±

    Ein studied the ground with a sense of apprehension. He remembered the dream he¡¯d had of a dragon beneath Aedrasil, chewing at her roots. Trad¡¯Atar. What was that?

    ¡°Alend. Yselin.¡± Celianna called over to the two. ¡°Come here.¡± She drew a small knife from her waist, a sliver of silver that looked more ceremonial than practical in nature. ¡°I¡¯m going to need to draw some blood from you.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Blood?¡± Yselin paled at the sight of the blade.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be okay,¡± Rhinne assured her. ¡°Come on, Yselin. Just a few drops and that¡¯ll be the end. You don¡¯t want Faengard to be destroyed by the relicts, do you?¡±

    Yselin gave her an uncertain look, but allowed Celianna to take her hand. Alend had already slashed his palm and left his imprint in the side of the tree.

    ¡°Will this really revive her?¡± Ein asked dubiously, staring at the red mark.

    Celianna was quiet as she took Yselin¡¯s palm and dug the knife into it. Yselin let out a gasp, but the Princess held on with a firm grip and pressed it atop Alend¡¯s print, holding it for several heartbeats.

    Once it was done, the girl snatched her hand back and began to lick at her wound.

    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± Rhinne said, patting her hair. ¡°That¡¯s all you have to do now.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s finished now?¡± Yselin asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s finished.¡±

    Celianna approached the tree with Aeos then, staring at the slick streaks before them. The Princess drew a deep breath and pressed the knife into her own palm. Ein winced as blood oozed from her wound, bright and red.

    ¡°Wyd watch over me,¡± she said, and pushed it into the trunk.

    She left her hand atop the hardened bark for several moments before taking it back. The three bloody handprints gleamed silver in the light of the Heart of the World.

    Then, Aedrasil shivered.

    Withered leaves spilled down from above as she shook, the ground shifting and shaking, ancient roots slithering like snakes. The knots on her trunk groaned and shifted and moved apart. A fissure appeared along the three handprints, one that widened with the sound of wood cracking until it was a door-sized opening in her side. The shaking stopped, and the Spirit Garden fell silent again.

    They stood around Aedrasil as they had before, only there was a dark cavity in her side. Alend climbed over the roots and gestured to the others. Ein followed him, and then Celianna and Rhinne and Yselin, and finally Aeos.

    The inside of the tree was hollow, streaks of violet and fiery scarlet colouring the walls. At the far end was a wall of vines, thick, green-brown stranglers weaving a pattern from the ground to the ceiling.

    Submerged in those vines was a woman.

    -Ah. My children.-

    The woman¡¯s skin was smooth and ageless, though her hair shone as white as snow. She was completely naked, vines coiled across her limbs and torso, leaving only her face uncovered.

    ¡°Mother¡­ Aedrasil?¡± Celianna whispered.

    It was her. There was no mistaking it, the sound of her voice and its venerability, all of it as potent as the voice he¡¯d heard in his dream. By the sounds of it, he was not the only one who could hear her.

    -You have come, my children, my descendents many times removed. I am happy that my blood still lives.- As she spoke, Ein saw three girls inside his mind¡¯s eye, running through a grassy field under a beautiful crimson tree. The three daughters of Aedrasil, who would go on to carry their mother¡¯s blood down generations of Kings.

    ¡°Mother Aedrasil,¡± Aeos said. ¡°The demons are upon our doorstep. We have need of your protection now, more than ever. Your descendants, the descendants of the Three Kings are here now, and they await your order. What would you have us do?¡±

    Silence filled the room. The sounds of war and strife didn¡¯t exist inside the chamber. There was only them, and the great Ward Tree who protected them from Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s creations.

    ¡°Mother Aedrasil,¡± Ein said. ¡°How do we save you?¡±

    The tree suddenly creaked, as if it were sighing. A strand of silver-white hair fell across the forehead of the woman in the wall.

    -It is too late,- she said at last. -Death has already claimed me.-

    #

    The horde of Worgals stopped before the moat, barking uneasily among themselves as they caught the scent of salt. Evaine watched with Bran from their vantage point on the walls, next to the remaining soldiers who¡¯d gathered to defend the Keep. She spotted Kedryn and Gerrard nearby, their faces stiff as stones as they stared past the mass of Worgals and into the blackened sky. It was like looking at a moving sea of brown and grey, one littered with ugly faces pulled into twisted snarls and sneers.

    Several minutes passed without the Worgals making a move. They simply watched and waited, prowling about the outskirts of Uldan Keep, barking at each other as the city burned. The soldiers were silent as well, fingering their swords and spears restlessly, waiting to see what would happen.

    The front line of Worgals parted and two figures emerged. Hrongar and Saidon appeared, the two Apocalypse Knights who had single-handedly ripped through the second wall. They were joined by a third, the rider cloaked in black who¡¯d pursued them from the Sleeping Twins. Evaine glanced at Bran, noting his clenched jaw.

    ¡°Do you remember if Apocalypse Knights share the same weaknesses as relicts?¡± Evaine whispered.

    Bran nodded. ¡°I think so. In the end, they¡¯re just Faceless hand-picked by the Oathbreaker.¡±

    She felt a tinge of relief, but it was short-lived. After all, nothing but a strip of water separated them from the relicts. They wouldn¡¯t be stopped for long.

    The three Apocalypse Knights spoke calmly to each other, their pale masks bright under the false night. Their conversation lasted a few minutes, a conversation as casual as if they were discussing the weather. Finally, they parted and went to stand facing the moat directly opposite the raised drawbridge. Hrongar gave commands in a series of low grunts to a group of Worgals. They barked affirmation and then marched into the moat without so much as a falter in their step.

    The first Worgal fell into the water with a splash and immediately howled, thrashing its limbs about involuntarily. The moat ate away at its skin, tearing the fur off its body and burning its flesh a charred black. Matted clumps of hair drifted to the surface as the corpse sank to the bottom, still jerking.

    The next one followed suit, jumping into the moat, killing itself, and then the one after that. The guards on the walls whispered among themselves, perplexed. Had the relicts given up and decided to kill themselves?

    Somehow, Evaine didn¡¯t think that was the case.

    The suicides continued for a while, the Worgals throwing themselves into the water one after another, spending their last moments in an array of flailing limbs and strangled howls. It wasn¡¯t until nearly two dozen of the creatures had died that Evaine realized what they were doing.

    ¡°They¡¯re making a bridge,¡± she breathed.

    She wasn¡¯t the only one who¡¯d come to that conclusion. The Captains began shouting orders, yelling at the soldiers to get back from the wall and fall into formation. They needed to be ready for when the gates were broken down. All the while, the Worgals continued to kill themselves. Several of the bodies were already poking out above the surface, forming a path for their brethren to cross.

    Evaine and Bran remained watching until finally, enough bodies had been sacrificed to the moat to form a path rising out of the water. The relicts then parted as the final Slazaad was led to the front line, its forked tongue tasting the fear in the air. It crawled across the bridge of corpses, claws sinking into flesh, until it was directly in front of the wall.

    ¡°We¡¯d better go back down,¡± Bran said, as the Slazaad began to ram the gate.

    #

    ¡°Do you hear something?¡± Talberon asked.

    He and Gilfred had been waiting at the edge of the Heart of the World for several minutes now, watching the cavity in Aedrasil¡¯s trunk intently for any sign of movement. Curiosity itched inside the Druid; he wished nothing more than to fly to the tree-hollow now and look inside. He could still remember the very first time he¡¯d been here, when the Skyward Circle had still been young, and Morene still alive. When Aedrasil had been a woman and not a tree.

    However, duty took precedence over all. He had passed on the torch now to the Fateweavers of this era. The least he could do was support them.

    The cavern shook, the flowerbeds rippling. Leaves rained down from Aedrasil, some of them landing gently onto the ground, some of them falling into the Heart of the World only to fade into nothingness. Gilfred snapped his head to the trees, watching.

    ¡°Do you think it¡¯s Aedrasil?¡± the Kingsblade asked.

    Talberon shook his head. ¡°It sounds like it came from above ground.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll go and check it out. Will you be alright here?¡±

    Talberon¡¯s lip curled. ¡°Of course. Who do you think I am?¡±

    He returned his gaze to the Protector as Gilfred jogged back through the trees, his armour clanking with each step. He was a good man, Gilfred. Humble and just, a completely different vein to his father, Rainier. Gilfred shared many attributes with the late King Aedon in his younger days, though much like young Ein from Felhaven, he seemed adverse to the idea of becoming a leader. Talberon didn¡¯t blame him, either. He himself was in those exact same shoes, taking on the mantle of the last Druid of the Skyward Circle since Keldan and Elspeth had left him.

    Talberon walked up to the edge of the pool and gazed into its depths. So much Spirit, raw and untamed. Truly, this was the only place Aedrasil could have chosen to take root, to fight the final battle. He did not know of any other place in Faengard with so much untapped energy. The fact that it kept Aldoran fresh and green in the Great Winter was a testament to its power. Aedon had had a point¡ªwithout the Ward Tree to sustain, the energy could be used for so much more.

    But without the Ward Tree, there would be no one alive to use the energy¡­ except the relicts.

    Talberon¡¯s face blinked back at him from the pool of silver, lined with age. He¡¯d been alive for a long time¡ªthe amount of entries he had in his Codex was proof enough. Druids tended to age hundreds of times slower than ordinary people. He wondered what would become of the Skyward Circle once he finally died. Would the halls of Morene¡¯s Perch remain empty until the end of time, the countless pages of the Archive lost forever?

    He peeled himself away from the edge and looked back to Aedrasil. Still no sign of the Princess and her company. He peered over his shoulder at the trees. No sign of Gilfred either. It was quiet. Almost too quiet¡ªhe could hear his own breathing, his heartbeat as it began to pick up in anticipation.

    Grass shifted as the figure emerged from the trees. Its black cloak made no noise as it wavered around its feet, shrouding its entire body. Emptiness stared at him from the singular eye-hole in the half-moon mask.

    ¡°You again,¡± Talberon said, thrusting his hand into his seed pouch.

    The Apocalypse Knight flicked its arm and a hand of shadowy tendrils emerged, like elongated fingertips linked at the base. One of them had been cut short, a result of their last meeting in Caerlon.

    ¡°Talberon,¡± it hissed. ¡°Step aside.¡±

    ¡°Never.¡±

    He scattered a line of seeds between them and sang.

 61. The Protector

    Chapter Sixty-One: The Protector

    ¡°A hero is a person who fights, even when he doesn¡¯t want to.¡±

    ¡ªGarax of Felhaven

    The relicts came streaming through the gates, following in the wake of the rampaging Slazaad. Three guards died immediately, their bones shattering inside their bodies as the spiked tail batted them aside. The rest of the soldiers parted around the creature, closing up by the broken gate where the Worgals were funnelling in.

    Evaine found herself in a tightly-knit group of Songweavers led by Gerrard, taking cover behind a row of heavily armoured soldiers. The Adept took charge and sang, reaching out to the moat. Evaine did the same, as did several others around her, urgency leaking into their voices.

    The water responded to their call, rising like a liquid serpent, thrashing across the front line of relicts. Howls pierced the night as Worgals were swept off their feet and into ranks behind, their assault disrupted. As the water drained into the soil, Gerrard¡¯s voice continued to rise above the mix, calling the serpent back. It lashed in reverse, pulling its head out of the dirt and returning to the moat. Several of the bodies in the bridge of corpses shifted, rendering it useless for a few moments.

    Gerrard bent down on one knee, shivering uncontrollably as two soldiers helped drag him to safety. Of the dozen or so Songweavers in their band, three more had collapsed from the effort of moving the entire moat. Worgals had begun to throw themselves into the water again, repairing their path of corpses.

    There¡¯s no end to them, she thought.

    The Slazaad roared behind her, assailed by several bands of men at once. Spears stuck out of its flank like a pincushion, black blood spraying everywhere as more and more wounds criss-crossed its body. An arrow sprung from one eye, and then the other. Evaine looked up and saw Bran standing on a stack of crates, bow in hand.

    The Slazaad finally fell, collapsing into the dust in a bloody heap. It had taken out almost an entire squadron, carving a huge chunk in the Legion¡¯s defense. Captains and Sergeants called for retreat, pulling away from the walls, covering the Songweavers. The Worgals followed, having repaired their bridge of corpses, eyes red in frenzy.

    A Bloodmane appeared, white as snow, dashing into the rear guard. Evaine screamed as two men beside her were cut down. She gave it a mighty push with her voice, dazing it, feeling a wave of fatigue sweep over her.

    Water, she thought. Any form of Songweaving she used that wasn¡¯t linked to water tired her immensely. She wouldn¡¯t last long if she did something like that again.

    Another Worgal jumped in front of her. She closed her eyes to the impending blow, but nothing happened. She opened them and saw Bran, his back facing her, the spear of a fallen soldier in his hands.

    ¡°Go!¡± he cried, forcing the Worgal back. ¡°Go, Evaine!¡±

    Before she could reply, someone grabbed her from behind and dragged her away by the heels. ¡°Bran!¡± she screamed.

    She could only watch as he continued to fight feebly against the relicts, swinging with unpracticed hands. The crowd of Worgals swallowed him and he was gone.

    ¡°Bran!¡±

    She continued to scream, thrashing against the strong arms that held her, tears blurring her eyes as she was dragged away to the Keep and to safety.

    #

    Gilfred dashed into the courtyard, cursing. Skirmishes had broken out as far as he could see¡ªamong the hedges in the garden, near the barracks and the stables, at the base of the clock tower. Swords clashing, spears slashing, barks and howls, shouts and cries, the glint of fire against steel. He stood still for a moment, rooted to the ground, unable to decide where to look first, where to run. Soldiers were falling everywhere, swamped by Worgals and their crude swords and sneers, losing ground inch by inch. He stopped a Worgal in its tracks, taking its head off with a vicious sweep of his blade, found another, stabbed it through the chest. His Rhinegold sword was a pillar of living flame, leaving behind a path of smoking remains. His vision narrowed, his breathing harsh and laboured as he danced through the remains of the courtyard like a demon of fiery gold. He was the last Kingsblade. The last remnant of the seven who had served the King proudly unto his death, the last remains of Aedon Uldan¡¯s reign.

    Yet, no matter how many he killed, more took their places. The footsoldiers had retreated from the broken gates, opening the way for the rest of the relict army to flood inside. There were but a fraction compared to how many there had been at the start of the assault, but still more than enough to break through their last defenses and take the city. They had killed all the Slazaads, the final lizard¡¯s corpse lying in a bleeding heap in the centre of the path, and there was but a single Bloodmane left¡ªa lion-man of pure white, stained with the blood of its enemies.

    They would not win tonight. He¡¯d already known it to be true, but secretly he¡¯d held onto the hope that something would happen, some sort of miracle that could turn things around. He¡¯d thought that miracle had arrived in the form of Ein and his party, but nothing had happened yet, so he had to assume the worst. They needed to cut their losses; get everyone into the evacuation tunnels before they lost completely.

    Gilfred staggered to a halt next to the barracks as pain flared everywhere inside him. The thrill of battle was fading and in its place was a cold, tired feeling seeping into his bones. Sharp pain pulsed where his ribs were; he shouldn¡¯t have fought in his current condition. But ribs could become well again; dead people couldn¡¯t.

    A trio of soldiers fled past him, chased by Worgals. The relicts didn¡¯t give him so much as a passing glance. Perhaps he simply posed no threat as he was now, exhausted and beaten and broken. He leaned against the door, drawing shallow breaths, cursing the Slazaad that had wounded him so.

    Something flew into the wall beside him with the sound of crunching metal and bones. The body of a soldier slid down onto the ground, gagging briefly before falling silent. Gilfred looked to the distance, suddenly alert again, scanning for the threat. He didn¡¯t have to look far to find it.

    The Apocalypse Knight Hrongar was there, blood streaked across the white half of its mask. It looked like a creature of nightmare under the dark sky, sweat and blood slick across its scared chest, hot puffs of breath escaping its lips. It had a soldier by the neck in one hand, a dead one by the likes of it. The soldier hadn¡¯t been dead for long.

    Gilfred watched in horror as the Knight clenched its fist. Blood spurted from the corpse¡¯s eyes and lips, followed by a hideous cracking noise. The soldier¡¯s head lolled to one side, the bones inside completely broken. Hrongar tossed it aside like a ragdoll and wiped his hand against his pants.

    ¡°You bastard,¡± Gilfred spat through his teeth, pain forgotten.

    The creature that had slain his King stood before him now, the blood of a hundred more men on its hands. If he left it to run rampant, it would kill a hundred more. Maybe it would kill Aeos. Maybe it would kill Celianna.

    Forgive me, Princess.

    He didn¡¯t think he would be emerging from this battle alive. But he wore Rhinegold armour, and he carried a Rhinegold blade. He bore the ring of the sword and crown on his finger. If he didn¡¯t stand against it, then who would?

    ¡°Kalador, give me strength.¡±

    #

    -Death has already claimed me-

    Bones and dust, barren snowfields and an icy wind carrying with it browned leaves. Her words made Ein feel empty inside, melancholic.

    Dead. She¡¯s dead.

    ¡°What are you talking about, Mother?¡± Celianna asked. ¡°Surely not? I¡¯ve brought the Blood of Three Kings here like you asked¡ª¡±

    Aeos pulled her back, his voice rising. ¡°Listen here, you damn tree. You can¡¯t just say it¡¯s too late when we¡¯ve gone to all this trouble to get your descendents here. We climbed the highest mountain in the world and killed a god to get to this point. You¡¯re going to do whatever you need to do to re-seal the relicts.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    There was a pause, and then a deep creaking as if Aedrasil were sighing.

    -I am sorry, my children. I do not have the strength to cast the Sealing again, not even with the Heart of the World to draw upon.- A frail woman, a withered tree struggling against the winter. That was what Ein saw.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Alend was growing frustrated as well. He approached the comatose woman beneath the vines. ¡°I can see you right there. I¡¯m assuming you¡¯re still alive; why can¡¯t you just do what you did back then and close the portals?¡±

    -It is not so simple, child. My death is set in stone; the Winds have already cast my fate. But Al¡¯Ashar can be stopped. Not by my hand, but by yours.-

    The woman¡¯s eyes suddenly opened. They were a dull orange, like the embers of a fire. Alend gave a start and stepped back.

    -There is a secret I hold that even the Druids do not know save, Morene, greatest of them all. You see, my strength is not my own. I am not the only one who can cast the Sealing.-

    The vines groaned and began to slither away, revealing the woman¡¯s naked bust. A light burst to life where her heart would be, red and orange like a bonfire.

    -I stole my strength, and now I have used it all up. If you can submerge it in the Heart of the World again, then you will be able to use it for yourself. But before you do, I want you to fully understand what becoming the Protector entails.-

    Ein suddenly fell to the ground as a torrent of images flooded him, sounds and sensations, a thousand shards of a mirror piercing into his mind. A rising sun and a setting sun, rising and setting, light and night, stars blurring into concentric lines. Stalks springing from the ground, petals opening to the sky and then bowing to the earth. Petals falling, crumbling into dust. Dust to ashes, caught by the wind, scattered seeds sowed. Children growing, budding, blooming, waning, withering. A crescent moon eating its fill across the sky each month, hanging full and silver for three nights, then fading inch by inch. The river of time, unrelenting, two hands desperately trying to push it backwards, reverse the current. A lonely girl falling to her knees by the riverbank in despair, looking at the heavens as they continued to blink, sun and moon, day and night, stars spinning. Sobbing as her golden hair grew down to her waist, turning into a dull silver and then a wispy white by the time it reached the water.

    The mirror shattered and Ein was back, tears streaking his eyes. He looked around and saw more of the same¡ªAeos and Celianna visibly shaken, Alend with his jaw clenched, Rhinne and Yselin a deathly white.

    -Take my Heart, children, and remember what lies ahead of you.-

    The light grew in her chest, hot and bright, until Ein was forced to close his eyes. By the time it had faded, the stone had fully broken into the air. It was ruby red, about the size of a human heart, rough and faceted like an uncut gem. A fire whorled inside, coiling in upon itself in wreathes of red and orange.

    ¡°The Dragonstone,¡± Rhinne gasped.

    It dropped out of Aedrasil¡¯s chest and fell onto the ground with a dull thud. Alend bent down and picked it up. As he did so, the ground gave a violent lurch.

    -Before I fade, there is one thing more I must tell you.-

    Dust and dirt rained down from the ceiling. The streaks in the sides of the wall were fading in colour, returning to a deathly grey.

    -As you know, I have been taking vigil at the Heart of the World since the First Age, an era spanning millennia. -

    The ground continued to shake. A deep, grating sound filled the cavity¡ªas if some great creature was grinding its jaw beneath them.

    -My roots stretch deep beneath the ground¡ªso deep that they even reach Hellheim, the land of the Damned, where Al¡¯Ashar and other enemies of mankind were imprisoned.-

    Cracks spread along the vines, sapping them to a dull colour. One of them crumbled, releasing half of Aedrasil¡¯s body from the wall. Branches splintered and snapped outside, falling into the Heart of the World with audible splashes.

    -Wyrdhaugg, one of the three Great Relicts, gnaws at my roots from below. One of the children of Al¡¯Ashar, the Fatekiller, Trad-Atar in the old tongue. When I pass away, the ground will open and the Dragon will emerge. You must re-seal him as soon as possible, or the world will burn beneath his breath.-

    ¡°Wyrdhaugg,¡± Aeos choked. ¡°Wyd almighty¡ª¡±

    ¡°We have to go,¡± Alend snapped, pushing the Prince forcefully from behind. ¡°Everyone, out! Now! Else the whole tree will collapse on us!¡±

    -Luck to you all, my children. And may the Winds of Fate blow in your favour.-

    They piled out of the hollow in single file, racing along the patch of raised land across the Heart of the World. Ein turned around, staring at the Ward Tree in shock. It continued to wither, its branches growing so brittle they could no longer bear their own weight, breaking and slamming down onto the ground. It was as if a thousand years had gone by in a blink; age after age, aeon after aeon finally catching up to the tree. The leaves became paper-thin slivers of black, shattering at the slightest touch. A great seam cleaved the once-noble trunk in half. The Spirit Garden shook as Aedrasil toppled over on its side and plunged into the Heart of the World, spouting geysers of silver into the air. As the ripples continued to reverberate across the surface of the pool, what remained of Aedrasil¡¯s crown slowly sank beneath the surface, until the only thing that remained of the Protector was a jagged stump protruding from the ground.

    They stumbled off the path and onto the other side of the pool where they found Talberon, his cloak tattered to bloodied shreds, leaning on a wooden staff. Blood trickled down his temple and across several burns on his arms and legs.

    ¡°Talberon!¡± Alend cried. ¡°What happened to you?¡±

    Before he could reply, Celianna gave a shriek. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±

    All eyes turned to where she pointed, and Ein felt a chill run up his spine. A figure lay torn to shreds on the ground, its cloak ripped where thorns and brambles had pierced it. He would have recognized it from anywhere; the tall, wraithlike frame, the ominous hood pulled over its face.

    ¡°The Apocalypse Knight from the Sleeping Twins,¡± he whispered.

    Alend snapped his head toward Talberon. ¡°Where¡¯s Gilfred?¡±

    The Druid took a few tottering steps forward, blinking the blood out of his eye. ¡°He went back to the Keep to check on our defense,¡± he said. ¡°And next thing I knew, he was here.¡± Talberon spat a globule of blood to one side.

    ¡°Is he dead?¡± Rhinne asked.

    ¡°Aye. I made sure to finish the job this time.¡± Talberon prodded the body with his staff. It didn¡¯t move.

    Ein bent down on one knee and touched the dead figure. Looking at Talberon for approval, he rolled it over onto its back. The hood fell away, revealing the mask with the open eye, dead and staring. One half white, like the moon. One half black like the night, like the scorched half of the Oathbreaker¡¯s face.

    ¡°Take off the mask,¡± the Druid instructed. ¡°I want to see this bastard¡¯s face.¡±

    Ein gripped the edge of the mask with both hands and undid the straps that held it in place, slowly easing it off. The face of an old man greeted him¡ªor rather, the remains of his face. He was grey-haired, a beard tied up and folded neatly against his chin, but all his other features were sunken and ruined as if a mud sculpture had been left under the rain to dissolve. A hooked nose fell from the mask with a plop, gnarled like a tree trunk.

    Ein didn¡¯t recognize the person, but judging from the way Talberon and the Uldan siblings stiffened, they did.

    ¡°How¡­?¡± Aeos whispered.

    ¡°This explains a lot,¡± Talberon growled. ¡°I¡¯d always wondered how Keldan managed to die when he survived the initial encounter with Faenrir. It would make sense if he were a Faceless under the command of Al¡¯Ashar himself.¡±

    ¡°Keldan?¡± Ein asked.

    ¡°Keldan. One of my fellow Druids of the Skyward Circle, even older than myself. I¡¯d recognize that nose from anywhere.¡± He stared at the open eye sockets in disgust. ¡°Put that mask back over his face.¡±

    The ground suddenly lurched, sending everyone to their hands and knees. The Dragonstone went tumbling out of Alend¡¯s hand and in front of Ein¡¯s face.

    ¡°It¡¯s coming,¡± Aeos said. ¡°Gods above, Aedrasil wasn¡¯t lying.¡±

    A fissure had opened where the stump of the grand tree stood, running from one side of the cavern to the other, parting the Heart of the World in two. A taloned claw the size of a two-storey house burst from its depths, spraying liquid Spirit everywhere in a silver shower, sending waves sloshing violently against the edges. The rift widened, revealing the deep, dark depths of the underground, and a head followed through, so large it almost stretched the entire height of the cavern. It forced itself out into the open as if it were hatching from an egg, black scales gleaming, a single golden eye staring.

    ¡°Al¡¯Ashar¡¯s eyes and ears,¡± Talberon said, taking a step back.

    ¡°Talberon,¡± Aeos yelled. ¡°Is there anything we can do to stop it?¡±

    The cavern itself was shaking now, the roof cracking as the dragon continued to crawl inch by inch out of its prison. A chunk of rock fell down and crushed two trees, snapping them like twigs. At this rate, it would destroy half the Keep by the time it fully emerged.

    Ein reached out for the Dragonstone, but someone else picked it up before he did.

    ¡°Rhinne,¡± he said with a breath of relief. ¡°Pass me the Dragonstone. We have to do what Aedrasil said; if we can charge it in the Heart of the World and give it to someone to use¡ª¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    She had a pained look on her face as she stared at the stone. Dread clamped its hand around Ein¡¯s spine.

    ¡°Rhinne,¡± he said again. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    She locked eyes with him, and Wyrdhaugg became unimportant. All he saw was an apology in her eyes, and a burning determination.

    ¡°If we do what she says, history will only repeat itself,¡± she said. ¡°Aedrasil has fallen once already. I must return the stone to my people, the way it was meant to be used.¡±

    ¡°Rhinne. Wait!¡± Ein lunged at her ankle and grabbed it, but she pulled back and it slid from his grip.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Ein,¡± she said, and ran.

    ¡°Rhinne!¡± Ein scrambled to his feet as the earth quaked again.

    ¡°Ein!¡± someone else cried. Was it Alend? Aeos? Celianna? ¡°Ein! Watch out!¡±

    He could only see her small figure racing into the trees, red hair pluming behind her. Then an enormous scaled arm fell into the ground between them, and leathery membrane opened up into a vast, spanning wing the colour of night.

 62. The Age of Heroes

    Chapter Sixty-Two: The Age of Heroes

    ¡°The Wolf will howl, the Dragon will roar and the Serpent will thrash in the wake of His coming.¡±

    ¡ªMorene Gylfaginor, The Codex Gylfaginor

    ¡°Wyrdhaugg,¡± Talberon hissed the dragon¡¯s name as its head touched the ceiling and continued to rise, more than half of its body now exposed. The cavern was collapsing now, chunks of the ceiling caving in on the Spirit Garden, the Heart of the World vaporizing anything that landed inside it.

    ¡°Talberon,¡± Alend called out. ¡°Are you coming with us?¡±

    Talberon regarded the former Kingsblade, eye stinging with his own blood. ¡°I will stay behind and deal with him.¡±

    Alend drew his lips shut and nodded. ¡°Thank you.¡± He called out to the others, urging them to leave. Celianna was already racing around the dragon¡¯s foot to the other side of the garden, Ein and Aeos behind her, the former dragging Yselin with him.

    ¡°Wait, Alend.¡± A thought suddenly struck Talberon. ¡°There is one more thing I would have you do.¡±

    Alend looked back. ¡°What is it?¡±

    The Druid thrust his hand into his robe and brought out the book with the sparrow-shaped lock on it. He whispered a word, and the lock fell away into a silver dust that scattered in the wind.

    ¡°You know who to give this to,¡± he said. ¡°Take care of it.¡±

    Alend took it and nodded, and Talberon watched him go.

    The Druid didn¡¯t know what had happened inside the Ward Tree, but he could guess. Aedrasil had clearly died and released Wyrdhaugg from her depths. Whatever she¡¯d told them to do would be pointless if he didn¡¯t stop the Fatekiller right here and now.

    So this is how it ends, he thought. I suppose it could have been worse. At least he¡¯d taken care of the bastard Keldan.

    Once he himself was gone, the Skyward Circle would likely crumble. There was a small chance the recipient of his Codex would be able to revive the order, but it was a pipe dream at best.

    Half of the cavern collapsed, revealing the night sky above. Dead soldiers and Worgals crashed into Spirit Garden, upheaving clouds of dirt and dust. He could imagine the looks on the faces of those fighting in the courtyard when the ground suddenly gave way to a titanic dragon below.

    Wyrdhaugg¡¯s other wing was out now, and his combined wingspan stretched the entire length of the cave. Talberon had not had the pleasure of fighting the dragon himself during the Great War, but plenty of his comrades had. He was said to be as large as an entire city, a force of nature rivaling Faenrir and the third Great Relict, Eotumsorm. Each step he took left a crater in the ground, each beat of his wings sent hurricanes sprawling across the reach. When he breathed fire, it was said to be ten times as destructive as the fire mountain of the dragons, Freortahn.

    By all accounts, Talberon should have been quaking in his boots and threatening to loose his bladder, yet he felt strangely calm. Perhaps it was just his experience shining through. Three and a half ages was a long time to live. He only regretted not being able to see the Fourth Age through to the end.

    Wyrdhaugg finally spotted Talberon and reached out towards him. Talberon thrust his hand into his pouch instinctively before remembering there were no seeds left to sow. He¡¯d used them all in his battle against Keldan.

    ¡°Mother Anturia protect me,¡± he sang. The Spirit Garden rustled as the trees stretched and elongated, their branches rushing along the ground to form a protective cocoon around him. He felt a dip in his Spirit, but his defenses held fast as the dragon wrapped its claws around him and lifted him up to its face. It breathed slow and steady, each breath sending gusts of wind through the stout trees.

    He couldn¡¯t kill it. He doubted even a god could kill Wyrdhaugg; after all, its very name spelled their death. Wyrd-haugg¡ªfate killer, devourer of souls. Even the relicts feared it. Only Al¡¯Ashar could place a leash on his son.

    He couldn¡¯t kill it, but maybe he could send it back to where it came from.

    Hellheim was said to lie deep beneath the earth, far away from where mortals could descend. A realm of fire and ice consisting of nine concentric layers, each representing a sin more dire than the last. The Warden Sigruhn watched over the deepest level where Al¡¯Ashar himself was bound in a frozen wasteland, a place reserved for the greatest and most evil of demons.

    Wyrdhaugg had clawed his way up to Aedrasil¡¯s roots, chewed his way until the mortal realm was within his reach. He could not be allowed to travel any further.

    Enveloped by the casing of wood and branches, Talberon began to sing.

    ¡°Nine circles of fire and ice,

    A prison unyielding, a seal undying.¡±

    His voice rang true and clear across the crumbling cavern, rippling across the trees like a wave in a pond. The fiery sky shed its light upon the Heart of the World, dying it a deep orange. Wyrdhaugg¡¯s head was well above the surface now and he was still rising. Talberon watched as treetops of the Spirit Garden became little more than green splotches beneath him.

    He emerged in the courtyard, looming over the disarray of human-Worgal skirmishes. Barks and cries of surprise erupted as everywhere around them, people stopped to watch.

    ¡°Fair Lady of the Underworld;

    Open the gates to Hell,¡±

    Wyrdhaugg finished climbing out of the chasm and roared. It was an exuberant roar, one that expressed his elation at being freed from his dark prison at last. Talberon paid it no mind, lashing into the fabric between their worlds. His Soulsong was as straight as an arrow, piercing through the realms to where the Warden watched over Hellheim. It was a lighthouse beacon sending for help, a rope cast into the darkness. He felt the strength drain from his limbs, his fingertips becoming numb and ice-cold as his body struggled to search for more Spirit.

    ¡°So I may smite the foe that threatens the world¡ª

    The demon dragon of Al¡¯Ashar.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t enough. The tangle of wood around him cracked and threatened to crumple as Wyrdhaugg¡¯s grip tightened. He needed more.

    Drawing a deep breath, Talberon tapped into the Heart of the World.

    ¡°His name is Wyrdhaugg.¡±

    The Druid¡¯s body stiffened, scorching heat shooting to the tips of his fingers and toes, his nose and ears, every tip of his body. The pool of Spirit beneath him brightened to an unbearable shine, as if giving birth to a new sun. His throat caught, words refusing to budge.

    The air below him rippled, and it was as if  Wyrdhaugg¡¯s weight had suddenly doubled¡ªno, tripled, quadrupled. The dragon¡¯s neck lurched towards the ground, its wings dropping downward, its scaly hide tensing as it struggled to remain standing. Something was pulling on it, an otherworldly force summoned by Talberon and the Heart of the World.

    Slowly, inch by inch, Wyrdhaugg sank back beneath the courtyard, under the cover of the cavern. It howled in frustration, batting its free wing violently against the Garden floor, unearthing dirt, ripping through copses of trees, but still it continued to sink. Amidst the burning pain, Talberon looked down and gave a start.

    The Heart of the World was gone and in its place was a dead, blackened crater. Tendrils of fire licked hungrily from the chasm that Wyrdhaugg had emerged from, loosing low moans and the wailing of the Damned.

    He had done it. Hellheim was taking the dragon back. He¡¯d successfully sealed the Devourer of Souls as Aedrasil had before him¡ªthough not without cost, for the Heart of the World was now gone, and he could feel the heat charring the meat off his bones.

    Wyrdhaugg began to pick up momentum. The chasm widened, the fire closer now, the voices louder. He swung his wings and legs in a final effort to free himself, but the invisible hands that were dragging him down were too strong. Wyrdhaugg gave a last cry of fury before he plunged through the chasm, back to where he¡¯d come from, taking Talberon with him.

    The last thing Talberon saw as he fell was the top of the chasm above him, like a slash in the black sky. Then, both sides of the earth clicked shut, and he was alone with the Fatekiller.

    #

    Ein, Alend and Yselin followed the Uldan siblings through the castle. Steel echoed across its halls, mixed with the barking and snapping of Worgal jaws. The ground still shook, groaning from the aftermath of Wyrdhaugg¡¯s passing, fragments of stone and mortar raining down from the ceiling. A large hole in the ground now marked the courtyard, through which lay the Spirit Garden and what remained of Aedrasil and the Heart of the World.

    ¡°Your Highness!¡± Two guards standing by the mouth of the corridor met them, their faces tense with worry. ¡°We thought you were both long gone. You must hurry, before we seal shut the exit!¡±

    ¡°Have all the people of the city been evacuated already?¡± Celianna asked.

    ¡°A while ago, Your Highness,¡± one guard said. ¡°They are about to close the gates, I think.¡±

    ¡°What about the other guards in the castle?¡± Aeos asked. ¡°Aren¡¯t they going to escape as well?¡±

    The soldier shook his head. ¡°We will stay behind and hold them for as long as we can. Even as we speak, Worgals break into our halls.¡±

    The Prince gave a firm nod. ¡°Very well, then. Wyd watch over you.¡±

    ¡°Wyd watch over us all.¡±

    They left the guards behind, sprinting down the corridor as screams continued to filter through the windows around them. Celianna took them through the kitchens and the dining hall to a library of some sort. The shelves and tables in the middle of the hall had been pushed to one side to open a straight pathway to the far wall, where a large shelf swung open on two hinges. Behind it was the entrance to a tunnel, flickering torches lighting the path on either side.

    They followed the boot-prints on the carpet, jumping over scattered piles of books and strewn papers. By the time Ein saw the dead guards lying on either side of the library and called out, it was too late.

    The figure slammed into Aeos and Celianna, a blur of black and grey. Celianna shrieked, rolling across upturned books while Aeos wrestled it, jaw clenched tightly. Ein leapt into the fray, grabbing something long and furry with his hands and pulling on it.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Their assailant hissed and leapt backwards, opening the distance between them. He was a small man, perhaps only as tall as Ein¡¯s chest, with wolf-like ears and a bushy tail. He held a sheathed sword in his hands, a long, curved scabbard almost as tall as himself¡ªbut perhaps his most prominent feature was the mask that covered his face, half white and half black.

    ¡°An Apocalypse Knight,¡± Alend growled. ¡°Are you alright, Your Highness?¡±

    Celianna nodded. Her hair was mussed, but she looked otherwise fine.

    ¡°Take everyone and keep going,¡± Alend continued. ¡°Ein and I will catch up.¡±

    The Princess paused for only a moment before grabbing hold of Yselin¡¯s hand.

    ¡°We¡¯ll be waiting on the other side,¡± Aeos nodded, before he too vanished into the tunnel. Once he could no longer hear their footsteps, Ein drew his Rhinegold blade.

    ¡°I thought you were going to send me off as well,¡± he said to Alend.

    ¡°I was considering it. But you wouldn¡¯t have listened, would you?¡±

    Ein smiled grimly. ¡°You know me well, Father.¡±

    He studied the swordsman, from his oversized sword to the strange robes he wore. He¡¯d never seen clothing like it before, not in Felhaven or even Aldoran. It was either very old or from a distant land¡ªor both.

    Alend dashed in without warning, brandishing his iron blade. The swordsman moved fluidly, only raising his weapon the bare minimum to deflect his blows. Not once did he draw his sword.

    They exchanged lightning-fast blows, their blades rattling like a weathervane in a storm before disengaging. Alend returned to Ein¡¯s side, panting.

    ¡°There¡¯s no mistaking who he is,¡± he said. ¡°Saidon Urudain, a demon swordsman said to have left behind mountains of corpses where he fought. He dyed the waters red with blood along the Arrien during the Great War.¡±

    ¡°Those ears,¡± Ein said. ¡°And the tail. Don¡¯t tell me he¡¯s a¡­?¡±

    ¡°He is a felen. He will outmatch you in speed, even as a Kingsblade.¡±

    Ein nodded. The felen, much like the Worgals were also half man and beast, though closer to man than not. They were small and lithe, possessing the agility of a woodland fox.

    ¡°I¡¯ll stay here then,¡± he said. ¡°You go on ahead.¡±

    Alend frowned. ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re still recovering from the inhibitor drugs,¡± Ein said, ¡°and you don¡¯t have a proper sword. I¡¯ll be able to use my Soulsong to aid me.¡±

    ¡°Ein, you¡¯re too inexperienced. It would be better if we faced him two against one¡ª¡±

    ¡°I slew Faenrir, Father. I¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    Alend stared at him, and he could see his father turning over the options in his head.

    ¡°Very well then,¡± he finally said. ¡°I¡¯ll leave it to you.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Saidon didn¡¯t move until Alend too had run through the tunnel behind the hinged bookshelf. Ein noted the bloodstains along his hem and the scabbard of his sword, and the wounds in the dead soldiers by his feet.

    They hadn¡¯t been slashed to death. They¡¯d been beaten.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you go through the tunnels?¡± Ein asked. ¡°Why did you choose to wait for us instead?¡±

    ¡°The people are weak. They are not worth killing.¡± The felen¡¯s voice was deep and hoarse, and surprisingly clear. ¡°The Lord has promised me a challenge, and I thirst for it. What say you?¡±

    ¡°I will defeat you,¡± Ein replied. ¡°And I will find a way to defeat Al¡¯Ashar. The Oathbreaker has no place in this world.¡±

    Saidon¡¯s visible eye glimmered. ¡°I¡¯ll hold you to your word.¡±

    Ein blinked, and the felen disappeared. Saidon was before him in an instant, before he even had time to register what had happened, sheathed sword raised to strike. Ein ducked, feeling the wind of the thin blade pass above his head. He thrust a clumsy counterattack, but the swordsman batted it aside.

    ¡°Slow,¡± he said, and swept Ein¡¯s feet out from underneath him. Ein broke his fall instinctively with his wrist and felt jarring pain shoot up his arm.

    The wind, he thought. Remember what Garax taught you¡ª

    But the felen swordsman was too fast, refusing him time to gather his thoughts. Ein was forced backwards, moving only as fast as he could see, barely keeping up with the other¡¯s assault. Frustration mounted within him.

    He¡¯s so fast, he thought. Alend was right; there was no way he could match the felen¡¯s speed, even with the power of the Vow.

    ¡°Weak,¡± the swordsman said, parrying each attack Ein threw his way. ¡°Your strikes are not even weak enough to chip my scabbard. I do not even need to draw my sword for this.¡±

    And he was right. To Ein¡¯s dismay, whatever material the scabbard was made of, he wasn¡¯t even making a scratch. At that moment, he felt a sense of despair he hadn¡¯t experienced since sparring with Alend as a child.

    It wasn¡¯t just speed. Their differences in skill were too great. Like a bladesmith could tell at a glance the quality of a sword, Ein knew at a glance that this man had spent his entire life honing his technique. He stood as much chance as a bale of hay in a fire.

    ¡°You are good,¡± the felen said, as Ein ducked another swing. The scabbard splintered a corner of a bookshelf, causing books to rain down from above. ¡°One of the best men I¡¯ve fought. But you are nothing in the grand scheme of things.¡±

    An idea suddenly came to Ein. He had the Soulsong. Dark memories surfaced in his mind, memories of the Worgal camp and what he¡¯d done to them on the night of the thunderstorm. If he could just replicate that¡­

    He didn¡¯t wish to be trapped in that abyss again, an out-of-body experience as he watched himself from afar lay wreckage to everything in sight, but he had no choice. In order to defeat a demon swordsman, he had to become a demon himself.

    Remember the Eye of the Storm. If he heeded Lady Reyalin¡¯s words, perhaps he would have greater control of himself this time.

    Ein set his mind in stone and opened his mouth, but before the first note could leave his lips, a terrible searing filled his throat and he fell to the ground. Saidon cracked his sword hard upon Ein¡¯s knee, breaking something. Ein stumbled away towards a bookcase, howling in pain.

    What¡¯s happening?

    He couldn¡¯t make a sound. It was as if someone had rammed a red-hot poker down his throat, blocking it. He tried again, just a fraction of a word, a quarter of a note, but nothing came out. Only pain, raw and red.

    He couldn¡¯t sing.

    Just like Sonata the Speechless.

    A terrible thought struck him, nearly as hard as Saidon¡¯s next blow across his knuckles. He dropped his blade, clutching at his fingers in pain.

    I can¡¯t sing. I can¡¯t sing.

    Is this the price I paid for breaking Raginrok?

    Saidon bent down and picked up Ein¡¯s sword, staring at it in disgust.

    ¡°You are a disappointment,¡± he said. ¡°To have your sword taken away from you is worse than losing your life. You are not even worth killing, Fateweaver. The next time we meet, if you still do not grant me the thrill I so desire, I will kill you.¡±

    The Apocalypse Knight turned and walked away. As the door closed behind him, Ein limped painfully towards the evacuation tunnel, hugging his hand to his chest.

    #

    Gilfred slammed into the wall, his brain rattling in his skull. Hrongar towered above him, giant hand pressing into his throat, rank breath drawing tears from his eyes.

    God¡­ damn¡­

    He clutched at the hand with a mailed gauntlet, but the Knight had his entire weight bearing down upon him. His lungs were on fire, his vision dimming¡­

    No. Not here. Not now.

    With strength he didn¡¯t know he had, Gilfred stabbed his sword into the giant¡¯s neck, piercing the hollow below the throat. Hrongar jerked backwards, loosening his hold for a second, and Gilfred broke free, coughing and spluttering.

    Their battle had been ongoing for several minutes now, even while Wyrdhaugg and risen and fallen and left behind the giant hole in the ground. The Worgals had all but taken Aldoran. Though their numbers were dwindling, they had more on the way coming from the outer regions of the district. In the meantime, the brave soldiers who¡¯d held the wall were all dead.

    Gilfred threw himself to the side as Hrongar levelled the wall to the forge, sending brick and dust everywhere. Gilfred clutched at his ribs and bolted for the Keep, where the last survivors of the assault had banded together and were retreating. They saw him, bloodied and bruised, Rhinegold armour dented everywhere, the hulking giant chasing after him.

    ¡°Go,¡± Gilfred rasped. ¡°I¡¯ll be behind you. Get out of here, before it¡¯s too late!¡±

    He turned around and slammed the gates shut, throwing the iron bar down a microsecond before Hrongar rammed into it. There was no way he could beat the Knight; it simply wasn¡¯t possible. The most he could do was maybe distract it, sacrifice himself and buy enough time for the survivors to escape.

    The door shuddered again, and then a third time, splintering open. Planks flew past Gilfred¡¯s face, clattering across the floor. He rushed through the entrance hall, scrabbling over the bodies of dead soldiers, into the mess hall. Hrongar gripped the long, rectangular dining table with both hands and heaved, blood spurting everywhere from his wounds. Silver plates and cutlery flew at Gilfred, catching him in the back of the head and across the back. Fruit peelings and remains of pies and bones spewed across the carpet as Hrongar hurled the table towards Gilfred.

    Gilfred whipped his sword around and cleaved it through the centre, sending both halves flying in opposite directions. He continued through the door to the kitchen, never breaking stride.

    Stone shattered behind him as Hrongar burst through the too-small doorway, an unstoppable juggernaut. He swept his arms along the implements and utensils hanging on the walls, batting them towards Gilfred¡¯s exposed back. Gilfred eyed the glints of silver coming towards him, parrying the kitchen knives and pots and pans. More pain flared across his ribs, and he coughed blood onto the floor. But he kept running.

    The next section of the castle was a narrow walkway between two wings, spanning across the razed courtyard. Gilfred broke into the corridor, ramping up to a full sprint. All he could hear was the pumping of blood in his heart and the rhythmic thump of Hrongar¡¯s feet against the ground. He dared a glance behind and saw the giant taking up almost the entire width and height of the passageway, breaking vases and glass displays on either side. He never showed any signs of pain, even though his body was red with blood.

    Something cracked in the ground as they passed the halfway point, and the walls shifted. The ground sloped backwards, pulling Gilfred towards the rampaging giant. He looked back and saw that the walkway had broken in the middle; Hrongar was too heavy for it to support. Stone bricks rained down from the ceiling, pieces of the path ahead crumbling. Gilfred¡¯s sprint became a series of jumps and scampers as he raced to make it to the other side before the walkway hit the ground.

    He landed on all fours, more blood flooding his lungs. The centre of the corridor had crashed into the courtyard. Hrongar was standing at the bottom looking at him, impassive behind his mask. He waved the dust cloud away and then made a running jump, landing halfway up the slanted hall. He dug his fingers into the marble floor and began to climb.

    Gilfred swore and forced himself onward, to the library.

    The soldiers were waiting by the entrance to the tunnel for him. Their eyes widened in shock as they saw the state he was in, blood matting his hair, trickling from his lips, powdery dust soaking the wounds across his chest and side.

    ¡°What are you still doing here?¡± he cried. ¡°Go!¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t leave you behind,¡± one of them started. He was young, too young to be able to grow a full beard. ¡°We either leave together, or not at all.¡±

    ¡°Are you insane?¡± Gilfred punched the wall and immediately regretted it. ¡°Throw away your stupid ideals, boy. Don¡¯t wait for me, save yourselves!¡±

    A roar echoed down the hallway, and the group of guards flinched. Gilfred turned around and shouldered one of the bookshelves. It teetered on the edge, books and ledgers falling down, before thudding down in front of the door. He circled around to another bookshelf and pushed it too, just as the top half of Hrongar¡¯s body broke into the room. The shelf slammed atop his back, half-shattering, pinning the half-giant in place. He shifted and struggled against the two shelves and the mountain of books like a chained wolfhound.

    ¡°What are you doing!?¡± Gilfred screamed. ¡°Get out of here!¡±

    He didn¡¯t care anymore. He¡¯d been thrashed within an inch of his life, his eyes thick with dust and tears and blood, half of the bones in his body broken. The guards still stood, rooted in fear at the sight of the Apocalypse Knight.

    The shelves atop Hrongar began to crack as he strained, veins popping in his neck and shoulders. Blood gushed out of its throat, forming a red river along the ground.

    It can¡¯t move, Gilfred realized in a moment of clarity.

    The moment wouldn¡¯t last for long.

    He lowered his sword and, with a breath that tasted of rust and daggers, charged at the Apocalypse Knight.

    Hrongar broke free of his prison at the last instant, sending bloodied books and shards of wood flying everywhere. Gilfred met him at that moment in time, the tip of his Rhinegold blade marking the centre of the mask.

    For Aldoran. For Aedon.

    For Celianna.

    ¡°For Faengard!¡± he roared, and pushed.

    The sword slid through Hrongar¡¯s flesh as easily as a hot knife through butter. It hit something hard, scraped it, but Gilfred shifted his entire weight upon his thrust and pushed harder. The hardness gave way to softness once more, and then hardness again. The blade slid in all the way to the hilt, sprouting from the back of Hrongar¡¯s head, dripping with blood.

    Hrongar gave a small cough and didn¡¯t move. The two halves of the mask fell away, revealing a horribly disfigured face without eyes or ears. Gilfred stamped a boot upon the face and drew his sword from his skull, staggering backwards. A geyser of blood erupted from the half-giant¡¯s forehead. Hrongar¡¯s body slackened.

    Gilfred threw his head back and roared.

    He¡¯d done it. He¡¯d beaten an Apocalypse Knight, one of the Oathbreaker¡¯s generals, a being of myth and legend who¡¯d come from the depths of Hell itself. He roared, tossing the blood from his mane, announcing his victory. The soldiers clapped from the entrance of the tunnel, their eyes brimming with admiration.

    ¡°The Lion of Faengard,¡± a soldier said. ¡°The Lion of Faengard has saved us.¡±

    ¡°The Lion of Faengard,¡± another murmured, and soon they were all joining in. ¡°The Lion of Faengard.¡±

    Gilfred was too dazed to respond. The castle was not safe, far from it. There would be more relicts arriving soon, perhaps even Bloodmanes and Apocalypse Knights. They had to escape before it was too late.

    ¡°Through the tunnel,¡± he commanded, fire blooming in his lungs and chest. ¡°Now.¡±

    They obeyed, still singing words of praise, even after he¡¯d swung the bookshelf shut over the passageway and began descending into the darkness that awaited.

 63. The Beginning of the End

    Chapter Sixty-Three: The Beginning of the End

    ¡°All I can say is that it will be a great darkness, a deep darkness, and a long darkness. In this eternal night, friendships will be destroyed, lovers will be parted, families forever shattered. This will be the first and last of its kind, for when the sun rises, if it rises, Faengard will be no more, and in its place the New World.

    ¡°And should the night not end, then everything we know will be swallowed, never to be seen again.¡±

    ¡ªMorene Gylfaginor, The Codex Gylfaginor

    The entire night should have passed since they¡¯d emerged from the tunnel into the wilderness, halfway between Aldoran and Caerlon, but it was still dark. Mothers walked alongside wagons with their children, pointing to the stars above, telling them stories. Horses and donkeys trotted tiredly, hauling behind them wagons and carriages filled with supplies and the injured.

    Ein and Aeos walked a fair distance behind the main body, heads lowered, feet dragging in the ground. Ein limped along with a staff in one hand, the fingers of his other bound in white. An unwieldy iron sword swung by his waist.

    ¡°I still can¡¯t believe she took it,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°I thought we¡¯d earned her trust. Especially considering all we¡¯ve been through.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no use pondering it,¡± Aeos said. ¡°We have to get the Dragonstone back.¡±

    ¡°But how are we supposed to track her?¡± he asked. ¡°She would be long gone by now, even for a wolf to pick up her scent.¡±

    Aeos bit his lip. ¡°I can do it. There¡¯s something I¡¯ve been keeping from you, and I suppose now would be the best time to reveal it.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°I can find things, Ein.¡±

    Ein came to a halt, leaning on his staff. The wind whistled around them, carrying with it the distant smell of smoke from Aldoran. ¡°What do you mean by that?¡±

    ¡°It started in Mor¡¯Gravar,¡± Aeos explained, ¡°when we became lost. I began seeing a strange light that guided me to whatever I wished to find, which happened to be the exit at that time. Then, once we¡¯d left Mor¡¯Gravar and were searching for you, the light guided us to Darmouth. I call it the Guidelight, and it leads me to whatever I want to find.¡±

    ¡°What direction does the Guidelight think Rhinne is?¡±

    Aeos stuck a finger at the horizon. ¡°North-east. Towards the Whitewood.¡±

    Ein sighed and began to walk again. ¡°Wyd almighty, what a mess we¡¯ve gotten ourselves in.¡±

    #

    Celianna stayed with Gilfred for the entire night as the Songweavers cleansed his wounds and the medics bound them. Her face was haggard and drawn, but she didn¡¯t complain, and she didn¡¯t let him out of her sight for an instant. The poor girl had cried out all the tears she could manage when she thought he¡¯d been asleep, mourning for the loss of her mother and father. It was no wonder she was so concerned about him; he and her brother were the last links she had to her childhood.

    Once his wounds had been treated and stabilized, he emerged to where they¡¯d set up camp along the side of the Royal Road. Celianna came with him, as did Alend and his brother, Gerrard. The soldiers saluted him as he walked by¡ªthey¡¯d always done so before, but there seemed to be a driving force behind it this time, an unspoken reverence to his person. He heard whispers out of the corners of his ear, whispers of the ¡°Lion of Faengard¡± and the ¡°Demonslayer.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡± Gerrard asked him, nursing a bandaged arm. A few of the surviving Captains and Sergeants had gathered, looking to him for direction. After all, he was now the highest ranked soldier in the Legion.

    ¡°We¡¯ll go to Caerlon, I think,¡± Gilfred said. ¡°There¡¯s someone I need to visit, and we¡¯ll need to warn the surrounding cities of the relicts. Now that Aldoran has been taken, it will be hard to cross over back to eastern highlands.¡±

    ¡°We can sail to Oster from Tarinthe,¡± Alend said. ¡°I daresay we¡¯ll need their help in order to take back Aldoran.¡±

    ¡°Look at you,¡± Gerrard smirked. ¡°Acting like a King already.¡±

    Gilfred shook his head. ¡°No. Prince Aeos will be King when he returns. I am simply taking charge in his absence.¡±

    ¡°Whatever you say, brother. You have already won the hearts of the people.¡±

    Gilfred looked around at the Captains and Sergeants, at the guards keeping watch around the campfires and numerous faces of curiosity that stared at him in the night, and he realized Gerrard was right.

    In their eyes, he was already King.

    #

    Alend found Evaine with the runner boys, sharing a large pot of stew. She greeted him as he sat down on the log beside her.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    ¡°Everyone¡¯s going their own separate ways,¡± he said. ¡°What are you going to do?¡±

    ¡°Me?¡± she asked, swallowing hastily. ¡°I know Ein is heading to the Whitewood with the Prince. But what about you? Aren¡¯t you going with him?¡±

    Alend shook his head sadly. ¡°The way I am now, I¡¯d only hold him back. He¡¯s changed, Evaine, since we all left the Sleeping Twins so long ago. He¡¯s going somewhere far away, somewhere we won¡¯t be able to reach.¡±

    Evaine looked at her hands. ¡°I suppose you¡¯re right, though I¡¯m loathe to admit it. He¡¯s been different ever since he took the Vow and became a Kingsblade.¡±

    Alend pulled the sack from his back and opened the drawstrings. ¡°So, what are you going to do?¡±

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll stay here for now,¡± Evaine said, looking at the runner boys as they silently ate. ¡°They need me here, the Songweavers and the healers. It¡¯s a long road to Caerlon, and the future is uncertain. I want to help as many people as I can with my gift.¡±

    Alend nodded. How you¡¯ve changed, he thought. He remembered a time when she would have jumped at the opportunity to travel.

    ¡°Besides,¡± Evaine added, suddenly serious. ¡°I¡­ I want to wait for Bran. In case he comes back.¡± She stared at the fire. No doubt she still blamed herself for the death of the young Sutherland.

    ¡°He will be back. I¡¯m sure of it.¡± Alend squeezed her shoulder gently. ¡°In the meantime, Evaine, I have something for you.¡± He reached into the sack.

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°Something Talberon wanted you to have. Perhaps you¡¯ll find some meaning in it.¡±

    He pulled out the weathered tome and placed it in her hands. Evaine¡¯s eyes widened as she hefted it, flipping through the crinkled pages.

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t this book locked?¡± she asked.

    ¡°It was. But no longer¡ªI fear our wizened friend is gone.¡±

    Evaine peered at the open pages for a moment before closing it. ¡°Are you sure I should take this? There must be other people who would be suited to safeguarding such knowledge¡ª¡±

    ¡°It is yours, Evaine. Talberon himself said so. There must be something inside you he sees.¡±

    Evaine continued to stare at the cover in wonder, even after Alend had left.

    #

    The white Bloodmane forced Bran to his knees before taking a knee himself. All the torches and chandeliers in Uldan Keep¡¯s once grand hall had been extinguished, and the room now lay in total darkness. Several figures knelt on either side of the central aisle, hidden under the shadow of the pillars. Apocalypse Knights, five of them, the remaining five who¡¯d emerged from Nephilheim and Hellheim upon the taking of the capitol.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you just kill me already?¡± Bran asked. His heart thumped like a hammer, so great was his fear. There was something sitting upon that throne, some invisible presence that scared him so much he wanted to wet his pants.

    ¡°Do not speak unless you are spoken to,¡± the Bloodmane snapped, smacking the back of his head. Bran hated the creature¡ªVandrhind, his name was,¡ªmore than anything else in the world at the moment. It would have been so much better if he¡¯d just been left to die, ripped apart at the frothing jaws of the Worgals.

    But no. The Bloodmane had taken him alive, shackled him and dragged him into the castle. Aldoran had been revamped in the space of a single night, its buildings burned and derelict, its trees withered to husks, the great walls left battered and broken among piles of debris. It was a city of relicts now, a city of darkness, and Uldan Keep was a citadel of shadows.

    YOU HAVE DONE WELL TO BRING HIM HERE, VANDRHIND.

    The voice rattled inside the minds of everyone present, causing them to flinch. Bran eyed the throne, expecting something to appear, but nothing ever did. All it was was a voice, and a presence.

    ¡°Al¡¯Ashar,¡± Bran seethed.

    THAT IS MY NAME, FATEWEAVER.

    ¡°What do you want with me?¡± Bran demanded. He didn¡¯t care if he was killed anymore; if anything, he wanted to die. He would rather face death than return to Evaine or Ein having turned onto the Oathbreaker¡¯s side.

    YOU ALREADY KNOW WHAT I WANT. I WANT THE LAND YOU KNOW AS FAENGARD, THE RIGHTFUL LAND OF MY PEOPLE. AND I WANT YOUR HELP TO DO THAT.

    ¡°I won¡¯t join you.¡± He looked around, half-expecting Vandrhind to cuff him over the head, or one of the Apocalypse Knights to draw their sword and teach him a lesson.

    But none did.

    THAT IS WHAT THEY ALL SAID AT FIRST, BRANDON. BUT THEY BENT TO MY WILL EVENTUALLY. EVEN YOUR FATHER.

    Bran blinked. Had he misheard? ¡°My father would never join you,¡± he cried, his voice quavering. ¡°You¡¯re the reason he¡¯s dead. Your Worgals killed him!¡±

    AND DID YOU SEE HIS CORPSE?

    Bran fell silent.

    SANSON SUTHERLAND WAS A FACELESS, BRAN, SLAIN BY THE HAND OF NONE OTHER THAN ALEND THOREN. HE WAS ONE OF MY SERVANTS, AS YOU SHALL BE TOO.

    ¡°No!¡± He clamped his hands over his ears, but it was too late. ¡°You¡¯re a liar! My father was a good man!¡±

    JOIN ME, BRANDON. The throne seemed to ooze darkness, thick and oily. JOIN ME, AS YOUR FATHER DID. I WILL SHOW YOU THE LIGHT. I WILL GIVE YOU EVERYTHING YOU EVER WANTED, AND MUCH MORE. IT IS FUTILE TO RESIST ME.

    ¡°No!¡± Bran cried again, but his voice was weaker this time. ¡°I won¡¯t do it. I won¡¯t!¡±

    YOU WILL, BECAUSE THE WINDS OF FATE HAVE DICTATED IT.

    #

    Yselin came to Ein and Aeos as they prepared to ride, their horses already saddled and strapped down with supplies. It was in the early hours of the morning, though there was no real way for Ein to tell under the unchanging night.

    ¡°Are you leaving?¡± she asked them timidly. Aeos was already straddled across his mare, spear tied across his back.

    ¡°We¡¯re going after Rhinne and the Dragonstone,¡± Ein replied. ¡°We don¡¯t have a moment to spare.¡±

    ¡°Where will you recharge it?¡± the girl asked. ¡°Now that the Heart of the World is gone¡­¡±

    ¡°We can cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, what¡¯s important is that we get the stone back.¡± He made to mount his horse, his foot already in the stirrup, but Yselin stopped him.

    ¡°Can I come with you?¡± she asked.

    Ein exchanged looked with Aeos.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think it would be safe¡ª¡±

    ¡°I might know a place we can charge the stone, once we get it back. It¡¯s far to the north, past the Whitewood.¡± Yselin bit her lip. ¡°I¡¯ve been there before, when I was very young.¡±

    ¡°Past the Whitewood,¡± Aeos murmured. ¡°Surely you can¡¯t mean¡­¡±

    ¡°Past the Whitewood,¡± Ein echoed. ¡°To the land of the felen and the fae.¡±

    The girl nodded. ¡°I¡­ I want to go home. And I¡¯ll be able to help us, while we¡¯re at it. There are many foreign dangers on the road, things you would never have heard of in legend and folklore. I can help you.¡±

    Ein looked over his shoulder. A light had flickered to life in one of the camps.

    ¡°Hop aboard, then,¡± Aeos said. ¡°The sooner we leave, the better. I don¡¯t want people sticking their noses into our business. Especially if some of them might be Faceless.¡±

    Yselin grabbed Ein¡¯s hand, and he hoisted her onto the saddle in front of him.

    ¡°Let¡¯s ride, then,¡± he said, digging his heels into the side of his horse. ¡°Let¡¯s ride like the wind.¡±

 Epilogue: The Blood of Kings + Final Authors Notes

    Epilogue: The Blood of Kings

    ¡°The Heroes of Faengard will ride again. Let the sun rise, and the world be reborn through the ashes of war.¡±

    ¡ªMorene Gylfaginor, The Codex Gylfaginor

    Cinnamin woke with a start, gasping for air. Sweat soaked her nightdress, stinging her eyes. She reached for her bedside table and found her waterskin, taking a deep swig of cool water.

    It seemed so real, she thought, recalling the dreams that were already fading. All she could remember was a crescent moon shining down from above, a bloodshot eye, a serpent thrashing in the depths of the ocean. Stormclouds gathering in the distance, chains of lightning flickering back and forth between the sky and the sea.

    She¡¯d had the same dream night after night now, ever since her brother had left Felhaven. Not a day passed that she didn¡¯t worry about Ein. She¡¯d seen him sitting in a carriage at times, other times sleeping in a foreign bed. She¡¯d seen him fighting, swinging his sword through Worgals. She¡¯d seen him lying battered and broken in the snow, blood leaking from his forehead.

    But this dream, it was the worst. The dream of a great, evil serpent, so long that its tail stretched from one end of the earth to the other, and his brother fighting it atop the high seas. It always ended the same way, with Ein sinking beneath the waters, never to appear again.

    It worried her. After all, many of the dreams she had turned out to be true.

    Cinnamin climbed out of her bed and approached her window. A crescent moon shone down upon Felhaven, lighting it silver. It had been quiet lately, not just in the forge but the village itself. It might have just been the absence of Ein, Bran and Evaine, but Cinnamin doubted it.

    It felt like a different type of quiet. The quiet before a storm.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    A cloud drifted in front of the moon, and Cinnamin went back to sleep.

    #

    As they stopped to rest several hours after braving the unmarked roads, Ein found himself playing with the ebony box again. Aeos was tending to the horses, feeding them the winter turnips they¡¯d managed to scrounge from the camp.

    They¡¯d ridden hard for a few hours before slowing down a more manageable pace. Although Aeos could tell which direction Rhinne had gone, he had no idea how far away she was. The one thing they knew was that she was on horseback. There was no other way she could have amassed such a lead on them.

    Ein turned the box over in his hands, testing his voice again. His lips formed the beginnings of a note, but the burning feeling took over his throat again and he quickly stopped.

    I¡¯ll be damned if I can never sing again, he thought. How will I ever use Lady Reyalin¡¯s power?

    Yselin appeared next to him, the silent, sudden way she always did. She¡¯d grown more talkative along the way, slowly opening up to both he and the Prince. Being a half-fae who¡¯d grown up with her people, she held a wealth of information the legends never touched on.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Some sort of box,¡± Ein said, handing it to her. ¡°My biological father gave it to my mother before he left her. Be careful with it, it¡¯s lockless.¡±

    She held it to her ear and shook it gently. ¡°Did you know your father?¡±

    Ein shook his head. ¡°Whatever¡¯s inside the box is a hint to my ancestry,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯s why I really want to open it.¡±

    Yselin held it in front of her face and sang. ¡°Ein Thoren.¡±

    There was a click, and the cube unfolded. Ein¡¯s jaw dropped open.

    ¡°How did you do that?¡± he asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s a fae puzzlebox,¡± she said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. ¡°I used to play with them all the time. They open with a certain passcode or passphrase. Usually the elders put riddles on them, and the boxes can only be opened by singing the answers. If you try to force it open, the contents will be destroyed.¡± She lifted up the open panels and folded them back together with a click. ¡°This one doesn¡¯t have anything inscribed on it, though, but since it was intended to be handed to you, I guessed that your name was the answer. And it was.¡±

    Ein picked up the object that had been inside, a plain golden ring with an insignia fixed to it. Turning it over in his hands, he felt his world turn upside down.

    It was an insignia of a sword and a tree.

    Here ends The Blood of Kings, Book One of The Winds of Fate.

    The journey will continue in Book Two, The Well of Eternity.