A lone shaft of moonlight slipped the cruel mountain’s embrace and splashed onto a forgotten woman’s face. She lay on a slab of stone, cold and callous as a sacrificial altar, that had been her home forever and would be hers forevermore. The woman lapped her meagre light, drank deep of it and quenched her dreams. In its blinding colours, she could see.


    Midnight was alone.


    Everything she had attempted to weave had unravelled, and now memory and meaning hung like useless loops of thread entangling about themselves.


    Each day, she could hear Hops waddling in with a morsel for her. Thìr would follow shortly with a smile and a story. And just as she was on the cusp of tasting their voices and savouring their faces, she blinked and their images were gone.


    All that was left was the aching of her bones, the yearning of her unquiet heart, and the silence of what remained untold, unspoken.


    And whenever she came close to believing that things had always been this way, whenever she was on the verge of forgetting, Midnight touched a finger to her lips. The scar, the perpetual crescent moon etched there, reminded her that it was not so. She was more than her nameless pain. This was her flicker of fire cursing the loathsome dark. Buried, but never allowed to rot.


    As days passed changelessly, murmurs coursed among the Heartless. In the shadows, she heard them. Word came that Shurun’el was not coming back. A man named Darius had killed him in battle.


    Midnight kept this Darius in mind through the long nights and longer days. She dreamt of him and imagined his face. She wished that wherever he was, he could know her gratitude for the sliver of brightness he had brought into her endless, endless dark.


    If she could, she would whisper his name and break the mountain’s bonds.


    If she could, she would speak his name and see the terror settling into the eyes of the Heartless.


    If she could, she would shout his name into the echoing caves and watch them all collapse.


    If she could, she would hear him say her name in return and dance away together with him.


    But there in her cage she remains for now, shedding hope and warmth of dreams, and each night she returns to her lonely, lovely beam of moonlight.


    * * *


    Asphales found himself under the gaze of a day with no sun. Grey mist over water stretched in every direction. He walked on in a shallow ocean with weightless steps, not quite feeling the wetness at his feet and without truly knowing where he was headed.


    It was too quiet. He knew somehow there was a song no longer sung. The last strands of flame which had once belonged to someone faded and passed over beyond the veil. Asphales looked at his hands and squeezed them. He could not hold on to that which was fast vanishing.


    The ocean began to retreat.


    A wave of seething water and foaming dark surrounded him and came towards him. From the horizon it built up, steadily drawing all into itself and hurtling its mass ever onward. A hurricane of dragon’s wings hurried it along, directed it toward Asphales.


    Then out of the shallows a figure rose up in front of Asphales, shadowy and immaterial but with a core of living, livid substance.


    This is what awaits you. This is what shall come.


    The rumbling of the crashing wave grew.


    Asphales summoned his sword. It seemed the only material item in this place. He felt its weight through the languid layers of the dream. The blade was alight and pushed back the dark. The spectral figure shrank back.


    ‘You will no longer take me,’ Asphales said, and his voice was massive. ‘You will no longer taint us.’


    Nadorìl emanated a glow which sent the figure cowering and pierced the curtains of water poised to swallow Asphales. And before the white explosion, the thing in the water spoke once more.


    It is already done.


    When Asphales woke truly, the heaviness of the real world was laid upon him. Bruises and burns rudely made themselves known and there was an overwhelming stiffness seizing him. His bones felt like the dried-out shell of a ruin, full of ache and ready to crumble. Even the remnants of the grass he laid on were sharp and stabbed him incessantly to remind him where he was and what he had done.


    Asphales had taken another life.


    ‘You’re awake, sir,’ someone nearby called out. A soldier rushed over to him and helped him sit up. Others were walking about, and hailed to one other when they noticed his awakening. Not far from them, another group of Fara’ethar’s men were hoisting Guldar out of the ditch. The sub-commander looked battered, but alive.


    The sky came into focus. Grey like his dreams. Featureless and drab. Then he realised no one was cradled in his arms anymore.


    ‘Where is she?’ Asphales asked blandly.


    ‘The girl? She was dead, sir. We took her body with the others before you woke. Forgive me, sir, it’s not good to speak of the dead in wartime. Regulus be blessed, though, we are glad to see you alive. We weren’t sure what was happening, as you had been still as a stone for ages and then just a minute ago started spasming something mad.’


    ‘I’m alright,’ Asphales. ‘Thank you. What’s happened?’


    ‘We’ve won,’ he said, but his tone was not victorious. Asphales looked at him and the soldier’s eyes seemed barely to hang on. ‘We’ve won,’ he said again.


    Asphales tried to stand, and had to fall back on the other man’s support until his legs got used to the effort. His left arm shot fresh pain through him.


    ‘Take it easy, sir. Here you go.’ Something familiar settled into his palms. Asphales looked down and saw Nadorìl’s shape in his hands.


    ‘Where is Lady Adélia?’


    ‘She is securing the barracks by the fortress, I believe. Would you like me to take you to her?’


    ‘Thank you. I can manage it.’ And off he went, limping across the burned-out yard which had been his battlefield toward the fortress. The smoke had mostly cleared. The extent of the damage done to body and infrastructure was evident. Asphales tried not to focus on it. He tried not to think of Frìri?l’s body, unceremoniously burned along with the other unfortunate ones. She had been lost and lonely, and Asphales had killed her.


    Around the place, small groups of soldiers were patrolling, looking through seemingly abandoned buildings, checking for the wounded, and salvaging what could still be used. Some were rounding up bands of the Order’s survivors who had surrendered. He hoped that the Empire’s reputation for mercy would not fail in this moment.


    From the path to the barracks, the valley spread out before him. There were mounds of dead, dozens of wounded, and the odd stranded figure milling around lethargically. Tattered banners fluttered weakly in the wind. What did their victory mean? What did the symbol of the Lion hold? He walked on. There was no joy in the songs of robins and the colours of windswept azaleas by the fortress’ base.


    Feeling returned slowly, both in body and mind. His thoughts felt viscous but his eyes wandered, looking for those he recognised.


    Where was Valinos?


    Had he— He could not bring himself to finish the suggestion.


    As he passed other survivors, they raised their arms and saluted or signalled starlight’s guidance. The gestures seemed hollow, insincere mimicry done only to cope with the incomprehensible. Asphales did not acknowledge them.


    When he finally reached the barracks, a shabby imitation of the longhouse back at Fara’ethar, it did not take long to find Adélia. She was sitting idle and unfocused, not at the barracks proper, but by the threshold of another smaller, adjacent building. She spotted him approaching and stood up. The Amarant was covered in blood.


    Asphales quickened his pace.


    ‘Asphales,’ she said. ‘I am glad you are alive.’


    ‘Adélia! Likewise. Are you wounded? You’re…’


    ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, and she hung her head. ‘It’s not mine.’


    ‘I don’t… understand.’


    Adélia did not elaborate. It was then that he noticed something odd about her. Among her rich, scarlet curls, a single lock was changed. It was ashen white like a withered, snow-capped tree in a forest bright with auburn fire.


    Asphales looked to the doorway, the darkness beyond it haunting and ominous. ‘What’s in there?’


    ‘Asphales… don’t. It is better that you do not see.’


    Ignoring her plea, Asphales entered the shack. After his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he followed the stench and trail of blood to a back chamber. And what he saw in there made him wish he had heeded the Amarant’s warning. He rushed out, sickened, and vomited by the wall outside. He leaned against it, retching and choking.


    ‘That… was Umariel,’ Adélia said after Asphales had regained his breath. ‘One of the pirates who attacked my home.’


    Asphales breathed heavily. ‘U-…Umariel?’ Fire. Screams. ‘Umariel?’ A lost girl’s rage. Asphales felt tears welling in his eyes. ‘I killed her…’ he said. ‘I killed her, and you…’


    ‘I’m sorry, Asphales. This is what we are called to sometimes.’


    Asphales flinched. There is a difference between war and battle, he recalled reading in the book on military tactics. One is a vile business, the other a noble necessity.


    ‘There was nothing noble about what we did here,’ Asphales said. And Asphales felt it had been the truest thing he had ever spoken. For there was nothing noble about a mutilated carcass and the loss of a young life.


    Adélia finally looked at him. Her eyes were muted, dim. ‘I know, Asphales. But it had to be done. And Darius—’


    ‘What Darius did was wrong!’ Asphales bellowed. He had not meant to. But his shout cut her off and echoed through the walls of the fortress. In that moment, he did not care if the Kerenani Amarant himself had heard him.


    Adélia said nothing further. Asphales slunk against the walls and cried.


    Father, I do not want this burden.


    Minutes later, he collected himself. Adélia had not moved. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said through a sniffle. ‘I did not intend… I’m sorry.’


    ‘Think no further on it,’ said Adélia. ‘I am culpable for this. I, too, am sorry that I have put you through this. You deserve far better, Asphales.’


    Her hand was outstretched. Asphales took it. For the briefest moment, there was a connection, a rightness as if all the stars were in their proper place. Then it was gone, swallowed by the sorrow all around and within.


    ‘Let’s find our friends,’ Adélia said.


    The walk through the fallen was not a pleasant one. In the aftermath of the battle, bodies were gathered in burning heaps, but signs of scattered carnage remained. Asphales and Adélia passed by many who had been comrades, who had shared drink and song. Occasionally, the Amarant stopped to check on the survivors sitting about blankly. What assurance could she give them, what justification? Nonetheless, they seemed encouraged by her presence, some light and colour returning to their eyes when they beheld her.


    But they stumbled then onto a scene that no words could mend. A group of Fara’ethar’s men were gathered about, heads bowed in sadness or respect. El’enur was among them. His armour was shredded, revealing large swathes of bloody flesh. But something about this moment lent him strength to stand and watch on. When he noticed Asphales, relief washed over his widened eyes and he stepped over to embrace him.


    ‘Asphales, you lived,’ he said as his arms closed in around him.


    ‘You too. Barely, it seems.’


    ‘That’s the Order for you. Have you seen Valinos?’


    The question fell with dread. ‘No, I came here looking for him.’


    ‘Sorry,’ said El’enur as he pulled back. ‘He’s not here. Maybe with Darius?’


    ‘I hope so.’


    Then Adélia burst through the line of onlookers and dropped to her knees by a figure on the ground. Ishak was there, laid down in a pool of blood. His eyes barely lucid, he looked around blearily. Telen was kneeling by his side, holding the sub-commander’s arm. The young soldier seemed injured himself, but was holding on to carry out this kindness.


    Asphales glanced at El’enur. The archer merely shook his head.


    ‘Ishak,’ Adélia cried. ‘I’m here.’


    ‘I’m sorry, my lady,’ Telen said. ‘I could not protect him.’


    Ishak’s eyes found the two kneeling by his side. A smile appeared on his blood-encrusted face.


    ‘Grieve not,’ he wheezed. ‘This is right. It is as I told you. The old should give their lives for the young, not the other way around. Telen… your bravery commends you. And my lady… my lady… you are fair in battle, in beauty, in spirit… Rise, Adélia.’


    Then Ishak Rynell breathed his last. A smile was still stretched upon his lips. Ishak looked at peace. Not even death disturbed his impeccable, trim appearance.


    A wail went up. As those gathered commended his soul to skies beyond, Telen positioned Ishak’s spear in the warrior’s hands and shut his eyes. Ishak was still, nevermore to laugh and jest, nevermore to love and fight.


    Asphales could bear to watch no longer. He stepped back. But everywhere he looked, soldiers were mourning friends, holding them close as they crossed the veil. This was the reality as the Dragon’s Eye closed.


    There were no winners after that battle. There were those who had lost, and those who had died.


    * * *


    The power Valinos had drunk from seemed a fading dream.  In its place were left the aches and questions that no wind could drive away. He hobbled along the fortress’ courtyard now with Darius under his arm. Even seeing him injured, Valinos refused to believe the Amarant’s constitution was anything other than unbreakable, and had, in truth, expected their situation reversed. But it was he who had found a collapsed Darius on the rooftop of the fortress’ other tower and he who now supported the Amarant as they made their way toward survivors and assessed their victory.


    ‘What happened up there?’ Darius asked.


    Valinos counted a few uneven steps along the cobblestone before he answered. ‘Answers just out of my grasp. Mockery. So, nothing out of the ordinary.’


    ‘That’s not what I saw.’


    ‘Then you were mistaken.’


    Darius grunted. ‘What was that you said about damning secrecy?’


    ‘I believe that in my case, I wished to remain mysterious a while longer.’


    ‘Have it your way.’ Darius did not press the matter further, evidently far too exhausted for a lecture. No more conversation came from either of them and none was to be found in the rusting courtyard statues.


    With a neigh, Masìlminur rolled in over a rise, galloping toward his master as if the beast had sensed him. The horse came up to Darius and nuzzled him gently, bidding him to mount.


    ‘Thank you, Masì,’ Darius said. ‘I’m fine. And I’m sure you were gallant.’ With Valinos’ help, the Amarant hopped on to his mount. He turned to Valinos and thanked him, before making off for what remained of Fara’ethar’s camps.


    Valinos continued pacing the remnants of the battlefield. Though he had sustained only negligible injuries compared to the others—and indeed considered himself lucky to be alive—the battle still left him drained, and his blades dragged.


    The question persisted, churning like stubborn, inclement weather that would not let up.


    What am I?


    ‘Valinos!’ A voice was calling his name.


    ‘Valinos!’ He knew its cadence, soft and summer-sweet.


    From between the mounds of fallen bodies and equipment sprinkled about like little mountain ranges, Asphales appeared. The last breaths of colourless smoke grasped at his friend’s crimson cloak. His left arm was in a sling and his hair matted with sweat and blood, but for all this, Asphales seemed radiant. If Valinos had believed in hero stories, perhaps he would have admitted then this is what they were supposed to look like.


    But as it was, more pertinent matters impressed themselves upon him. Like how a fisherman and an armorer, called to handle things beyond their imagination or desire, were now connected by battle. Like how both of them had discovered more about themselves than they thought was possible. Valinos wondered now how Asphales had felt on the day his heritage and nature were revealed.


    The two friends met amidst that grey, grieving battlefield and clasped hands.


    ‘Am I ever glad to see you, Valinos,’ said Asphales and leaned in for a hug, as well as he could manage, considering his bandaged arm.


    ‘Likewise,’ Valinos said, mindful of his friend’s wounds.


    As they embraced, Rubi?l’s words hung over him like a cloud.


    You are the key to the Dragonking’s return.


    He feared what that would mean for Asphales’ quest. He feared what it would mean for himself.


    Asphales pulled away and looked at him with his keen, jasper eyes. ‘So, what happened to you?’


    Valinos’ glance fell away. ‘I’ll… tell you later.’


    Asphales nodded. ‘Alright. I am ready to go back.’


    In the end, going back to Fara’ethar had to wait another day. The Imperial army accounted for their losses and camped out the night at the Dragon’s Eye while a few divisions secured and occupied the fortress. Requisite provisions and shelter were appropriated from the Order’s resources within the stronghold. It seemed to Valinos that the Empire would attempt to retain at least a small foothold in this area and not cede the ground gained within the Order’s territory.


    The Order’s survivors were treated well enough, but attempts to squeeze further information out of them proved futile, as they were loath to speak of their former employment. They were kept under watch, but granted food, rest, and company. They, along with the Empire’s soldiers, kept close to the fire as the cold night passed.


    At dawn, the only songs came from eager carrion crows. Darius and Adélia selected the men who would stay behind to guard the fortress while the others returned. The preparations were brisk and joyless. A messenger was sent home before the rest began their slow march so a supply caravan could be mustered to meet them partway through the trip. A thousand soldiers had set out for the Dragon’s Eye a mere two tides before. Now, at the start of the month of Kenthis, three hundred were on their way back.


    The journey home was hampered by sharp winds at first, but every step put between them and the Eye lightened moods for all. For all, that is, except Valinos, whose mind never renounced the frustration and humiliation he had faced, even when the companies entered warmer climates away from the mountains. There was little talk, but Asphales insisted on asking about what Valinos had seen on his way to the Dragon’s Eye. Valinos took some comfort from the fact that this route was at least more comfortable, and shared the events that had befallen himself and the Amarant.


    But he said nothing of what occurred on the fortress peak, nothing of what he had become up there.


    Fickle weather hindered any memorable activity for the rest of the return journey and made the days bleed into one another like mixed paints. When light finally broke through the overcast skies, Fara’ethar came into view at the end of now-familiar plains. Weary of feet and heavy in spirit, the soldiers sighed in relief when they spotted the castle. And yet, for Valinos, it did not feel like coming home.


    It was sometime in the middle of Kenthis when Valinos braved a trip to Birdswatch. The army had returned a couple of days earlier but he had not made his arrival known to Fen’asel. In fact, even his departure was kept a secret from her in order to establish the veracity of Darius’ defection. And now he had to face her. It was madness.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Valinos hesitated on the bridge spanning the chasm between castle grounds, his hand on the latch to Birdwatch’s gate. He plucked up courage, and pushed through.


    His heart seemed to be beating in his throat as he made his way up the creaky tower steps. Something about this made the walk more terrifying than any encounter with the Order. But eventually, he stepped through to the platform flooded with afternoon light. Fara’ethar may not have been home, but the smells and sounds and sights of Birdswatch told him this was perhaps the closest thing to it.


    And she was there.


    She was crowned by dark blonde hair and garbed in gentle green and red like a sprig of holly. She twirled to face him when he entered and the wind danced along the flowing hem of her dress.


    ‘Valinos…?’ Distress and delight were in her startled voice. She dropped the bundle of food she was holding. The eagle she had been feeding squawked in complaint.


    ‘Fen’asel,’ said Valinos as he dared to step closer. ‘I’m…’


    Before he could commence his apology, Fen’asel bounded to him. She slapped him, and then embraced him. Valinos stood stunned as Fen’asel wrapped her arms around him. Her hair smelled of pinecones and honey.


    ‘I am so glad to see you,’ she said, ‘and I am so angry at you!’


    ‘I’m sorry, Fen. The plan happened so quickly, and I could not have told you even if I’d had the chance.’


    She pulled away and stared him down. ‘Don’t. Don’t try to excuse what you did. But I will accept your apology.’


    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.


    Fen’asel looked ready to laugh, and cry. ‘I was truly ready to hate him.’


    ‘Who?’


    ‘Darius. For taking you away. People were saying he’d gone mad and stolen someone away from the castle. And then you didn’t show up anymore…’ She slapped him once more. ‘Don’t do that to me again.’


    Valinos brought her close. ‘I can hardly imagine you bearing hatred, Fen.’


    She laughed into his chest. ‘Don’t think a few nice words are going to make me forget this easily!’


    ‘I know.’


    Something about the tone of his voice made her pull back and look at him seriously. ‘What’s wrong, Valinos?’


    Valinos sighed and moved away, toward the edge of the platform. He sat down, legs dangling over the sheer drop, and leaned on the railing. ‘I am… not what I thought I was, Fen.’


    ‘What do you mean?’


    ‘I haven’t spoken of this to anyone else yet. But when I was at the Dragon’s Eye, something happened to me. Something awakened.’ He looked at his hands and to the land falling away beyond them. ‘I don’t know what I am.’


    ‘Have you not even told Asphales?’ she asked.


    ‘No. Not yet. I will, I think.’


    ‘You better!’ She stepped over and lowered herself to her knees next to him. ‘He’s your closest friend. You can help each other. But thank you for telling me. And for what it’s worth, no matter what you may be, I know what you are to me.’


    She laid a hand on his arm for a moment, and then sat up suddenly, pulling Valinos to his feet as well.


    ‘I know what will make you feel better, Val. Come! Up you get!’


    Valinos had grown accustomed to being dragged away by this woman into something adventurous, so he complied, even with the struggling thoughts still raging on. She took him over to the cradle where Nagìn waited, somewhat impatiently.


    ‘Oh! I forgot!’ said Fen’asel, and quickly collected the foodstuffs she had dropped to resume feeding the eagle.


    Valinos chuckled. Fen’asel’s light-heartedness was infectious.


    ‘I have a message here for the contingent left behind at the Dragon’s Eye,’ she said as she fed the creature. ‘I’ve been granted permission by father to send this one out.’ She could hardly contain the excitement in her voice. ‘But I want you to get it ready for delivery. Over on your left is a handler’s glove. Go ahead and put it on.’


    Valinos rummaged through some items on a crate and found a lengthy leather glove laced with metal rings. He picked it up and tested it on his right forearm. He pulled the straps through the steel loops and affixed it so the thicker material faced the top.


    ‘Good!’ Fen’asel said as she turned to him after finishing up with the eagle. ‘Here you go.’ She produced a small, clay tube which had a rolled-up scroll within it. ‘Get ready.’


    Valinos braced himself and put his right arm into position as Fen’asel opened the brown eagle’s cage. She whistled. ‘Nagìn! To Valinos.’ The creature launched out of its cage and flew toward him on command. Valinos jumped back, but the eagle only latched onto the glove and stared at him.


    Fen’asel laughed. ‘Now, give him the message.’


    Valinos brought up the tube and hooked it on to a small contraption tied to the eagle’s wiry legs. Nagìn did not object during the procedure.


    ‘Well done. Now, bring him to the edge of the platform and set him off.’


    Valinos did so. Once he had reached the end of the platform, he extended his right arm. Nagìn launched off immediately. Within moments, he was high in the air and he let out a caw which echoed to the distant trees.


    As he watched the eagle soar into the sky, the clouds parted like curtains unfolding for the next act. The Sundered hung there between those curtains, beckoning. Look to the sky.


    ‘The only thing left to do now,’ Fen’asel said, voice turning official, ‘is to record this in the ledger.’


    * * *


    Morning’s first rays fell upon rows of lilacs, lilies, and lavenders. As colour washed over the world, the gardens of Fara’ethar matched the sunrise with their own brilliance. Fragility encircled by a fortress. And here, tending to the flowers as they tended to her grief, Adélia walked among the colours.


    Once again, the dove had gone to war and returned. Why was it that she lived on when others did not? Why was it that her life continued, and not that of Ro?thia, or Ishak? She thought of the old Amarant’s fierce and loyal face, and of Ishak’s kind and fatherly composure, as their names passed her lips and her fingers traced a path through smooth and sleepless petals. She hoped their light burned bright now in the World Departed.


    And here, Adélia remained. What was different? Even without spear in hand and dressed in a simple grass-green gown, the same heartache shuddered through her, the same questioning in the wake of a bitter fight. Those around her insisted that she rise, whereas she felt she could only sink and fall deeper into her darkness. No guidance was given by the starlight promised in ballads sung by the dead. Even with her attention occupied by the reparations needing to be made after the battle, and the relief needing to be offered to the hurting, matters seemed to be the same. Adélia was still all too aware of having to stand under her own waning strength.


    A cascade of light spilled over the castle wall. Adélia shielded her eyes, touching a hand to her whitened lock of hair.


    No, perhaps some things had indeed changed. Beneath the horror of what she had done to Umariel, Adélia sensed a quiet settling, like something had finally been laid to rest. And beyond it, a hatred that had been dormant was stirred by the assassin’s confession. She had once stood in this garden, aimless and confused as an uprooted tree. No longer. She would rise. For her hatred now had a name.


    Despreaux.


    Perhaps that was guidance enough.


    * * *


    Darius sat in the Commons as a man without rank or title, among others who were likewise numbing their sorrow with drink and pondering the questionable fortune of survival in the ruins. All around him, commiserations were shared as mugs of ale filled, emptied, and filled again. The air was different. Darius could sense it settled in the creaking rafters, laid heavy upon the brows of those who, on this night, swigged mead not for pleasure but for cold and pungent comfort.


    The former Amarant retreated to his own small table in an unlit corner of the tavern. Even though he was no longer their commander, many of the other men seemed wary of him still and kept a reverent distance. Confused reports circulating over events leading up to the Dragon’s Eye and his own lingering reputation as a ruthless Kerenani surely contributed to this. Darius was fine with that, if it meant moments of uninterrupted bliss.


    He rubbed at his shoulder between mouthfuls of ale. There was a dull, persistent ache beneath his bandages, the last vestiges of a gift granted by the Order’s own blade. If not for the ministrations of the field medics at the Eye, and further attention on his return to the castle, Darius figured he would have died. That woman, Sanah, had intended to kill. Another enemy added to the list of whose who wished to eliminate him, another name to be devoured by the fire. For Shurun’el had been only the beginning.


    But now, having been officially stripped of Amarantship, there were more important, more honourable, matters to consider. Although his legacy might be tarnished by deeds many would question, the future was in good hands. There was confidence, at least, that those who would pick up his mantle would do better.


    Yes, of that he was sure.


    A tankard clacked across from him and someone shuffled into a seat. For a moment, Darius thought it was Filarin and he was ready to growl at the persistent master of banquet. But it was not him. It was Leara.


    ‘You’re making yourself scarce these days, Darius.’ Her jade eyes, lively as spring in bloom, were trained on him. Darius was glad to see her blisters and bruises were fading.


    ‘Good evening, Lady Arandel,’ he said.


    She scoffed. ‘You still sound so formal.’


    ‘Old habits, though you now outrank me, so the respect is all the more appropriate.’


    ‘The way I see it, respect is in loyalty and in the ability to smash heads together. You’ve shown both, so you get to call me by my name, damn it.’


    Darius smiled through a sip of mead.


    Leara signalled to a nearby attendant and grabbed a goblet off a serving tray. Darius did not mind the interruption, but he was all too aware that Leara saw more in him, perhaps too much.


    She leaned in. Her raven curls were wild and free again. ‘So, you’re not changing your mind? You’re keeping clear of leadership for good?’


    Darius nodded.


    ‘Pity. I still think you did the right thing. But I think you’re doing the right thing again, giving those two a chance. You’ve got a mind for the future.’


    ‘Thank you. I do.’


    ‘Speaking of…’ she began, fingering the edges of her cup.


    ‘Leara, I know what it is you want,’ Darius said carefully.


    ‘Do you?’ She sat back.


    ‘And I’m sorry, but I don’t think I could ever give you what you’re after.’


    Leara sighed, resigned but perhaps also relieved. ‘I know. I needed to hear it. And I wanted to say that I’m done pining. I’ve been like a little girl waiting for the eagle to pick her up and take her to the sky. But a girl could shrivel up in wait…’


    ‘You deserve better.’ Someone who could truly care, someone who won’t burn you.


    ‘Listen to yourself,’ Leara said. ‘You’re still a damn good friend, Darius. Don’t drive yourself so hard.’


    ‘Thank you for your honesty, Leara. I think you’re doing the right thing, too.’


    ‘Alright. Well, like I said, you’re not getting rid of me so easily. I’ll be around. You just let me know what you need.’


    ‘Right now, I need a drinking partner.’


    Leara smiled and raised her goblet. ‘To life. To the Empire.’


    Darius accepted her toast and then downed the remainder of his mug.


    ‘Here comes trouble,’ Leara said, craning her neck toward the entrance. At the door, Amarant Nadros walked in. He wore his finest navy-blue jacket on this night, with crisp and clean golden linings all the way to the cuffs. Atop his head was a plumed hat, jet black in colour, which Darius had rarely seen him wear. The sea captain spotted them and made his way over. He seemed to have become accustomed to the irregular pattern of his walk. He ambled over to their table, brows furrowed and arms folded.


    ‘Good evening, Amarant Nadros,’ said Darius.


    ‘Join us,’ Leara said.


    ‘Where’s Guldar?’ Nadros asked.


    ‘Probably at home putting on his best,’ Leara said. ‘El’enur, too. I see you spared no expense doing the same.’


    ‘It’s what you two should be doing as well.’


    ‘Indeed. After one more round, and perhaps a stint of cards as well?’ Leara whisked a set from her tunic.


    Nadros looked at Darius. ‘My dear man, are you sure this is not Guldar in a wig?’


    ‘You would know,’ is all Darius said.


    Leara burst into laughter, prompting a smile from Darius. Nadros himself joined in the jest and sat down. ‘Alright, yer scupperin’ lubs,’ he huffed. ‘One round. The night is younger than I.’


    It was more than one round later when the urgency of a rising moon finally drove them out of Commons. Leara rushed off with the old Amarant, leaving Darius to make his way to the Hall of Residence and prepare himself for the ceremony.


    As he dressed, he watched his reflection in the mirror with unease. Clothing that seemed too fine for a warrior did not suit him. He almost felt alarmed without a weapon in reach or hidden in a belt, and the scars clashed with the velvet finery he now put on. It reminded him too much of a life he could never earn.


    Darius would give his blessings to his successors. Supporting them in their endeavours was foremost. But he had a mind for a future beyond that. Valinos had asked him about settling down. No, men like Darius were not afforded such niceties. His flame would drag him down to a bitter end in spent and scattered ashes.


    Of that he was also sure.


    Yet here, he was thankful for the fellowship, for those who made the journey worthwhile.


    * * *


    On the eve of his promotion, El’enur idled on an overturned barrel planted in the sand of the Barracks’ waterfront. An aggressive wind drove a cadre of formless clouds across the keen gaze of a golden moon. It bit through the archer’s fancy burgundy-washed doublet.


    But the cold was not his worry. El’enur’s hands were rubbing at his face, as if he could massage out the apprehension and the doubt. Before his eyes, faint and fading images played out. A young El’enur, clumsily handling real weapons for the first time on this very beach. An older brother, looking on and laughing at the untried youth’s awkward but passionate attempts.


    A beautiful woman with black and blue hair, standing before him with compassion in her eyes. It took a moment for El’enur to realise this last image was real. How long had Nelesa been standing there? She had her hands folded before her, in that same reserved and formal posture. Her long, ruby dress was radiant even in the moonlight and her shoulders were covered with a shawl of dark fur.


    She spoke first. ‘I’m here for your big night, El’enur, but something tells me this isn’t where we ought to be.’


    El’enur raised his head and gave a weak, thin-lipped smile. ‘How did you know to find me here?’


    ‘I’ve got a better question. How did you get out of the Hall of Recovery so quickly? You looked awful after the battle.’


    ‘Well, you know my flattering tongue.’


    ‘The tongue that so oft lands you into trouble?’


    The archer shrugged his shoulders. Nelesa smiled.


    ‘I am glad to see you’re feeling better, regardless,’ she said.


    ‘You too. I… I was worried.’ Nelesa raised an eyebrow. ‘Not because of your ability,’ El’enur added quickly, stammering. ‘Nothing like that… just… I really hoped you’d be safe. And I’m glad you are.’


    Nelesa stepped over to him and put up a hand to silence his foolish blabbering. ‘El, I’m fine,’ she said, beaming. ‘Now, what’s the matter?’


    El’enur’s face sunk further into his hands. ‘He’s named me successor to Amarantship,’ he said, as if voicing it would summon some confidence and bury his shortcomings. That damned Darius. Why did he have to trust him so much? Why did he expect so much?


    ‘Yes, and you’ve accepted, right?’


    ‘I have, but I’m still unsure. I don’t want to do it out of pride, and I don’t even know if I deserve it. I can’t say I’m right for it.’


    ‘El’enur,’ she said seriously. ‘You may be a lot of things: arrogant, rash, inelegant, tactless…’


    ‘Thank you?’ he interrupted.


    ‘…but I know your heart. You’re the most determined and courageous man I know. That’s why I… I earnestly wish you the best, El. You can do this.’


    The archer stood up. ‘The truth is… it’s always been you behind all that. You make me want to be better. Nelesa, you’re remarkable, you always have been. And I would be a fool not to—’


    ‘El,’ she said suddenly. Her obsidian eyes were filled with mingled longing and reticence. ‘The time is not right for that. We need to get over this, first. We need to grieve, to move on.’


    El’enur swallowed hard. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’


    A silence descended, in which the gentle lapping of the waves was loud and boisterous. His thoughts were as unformed and fragile as the foam of the sea.


    When El’enur’s face sank, Nelesa placed a hand on his shoulder. Her touch startled him and he looked at her again. ‘Besides,’ she said, ‘I will be busier as well. Guldar has offered me his former position after he takes on his new role.’ She pulled back briskly and waved her hands in frantic circles. ‘N-not that I can be too excited about it, just yet. I mean, he’s not officially Amarant yet and there’s still time to reconsider his choice.’


    ‘Nel, that’s great! Nelesa Véthelon, second-in-command of the cavalry of Anardes.’


    She blushed.


    ‘You will be splendid,’ El’enur said. Nelesa’s face was now only a few shades off her dress colour.


    ‘I hope that we can both make a difference for good in the world,’ she said.


    El’enur nodded. ‘We have a chance to do that, Nel. I think your instincts were right. About the Order’s leaders. About those who are truly setting events into motion. And if we don’t find them soon, we’ll lose more than we can hope to regain.’


    ‘Hold that conviction, El,’ she said. ‘You will make a great Amarant.’


    ‘Thank you. Now, shall we?’ He offered her a hand.


    ‘Yes, let’s go.’


    ‘It wouldn’t do to miss two important events.’


    A look of confusion crossed her features, and then she perked up. ‘Your birthday! It would have just passed when we…’


    ‘When we were coming back to Fara’ethar, yes. Miserable days, those were. I’m half-glad I didn’t remember.’


    ‘All the more reason to celebrate tonight.’


    She took his hand, and the two made off towards the landing, and up the pathway climbing Fara’ethar’s cliff. Rows of hanging lights like rivers of stars guided their way.


    The Hall of the Elders was crowded, as it had been two years ago during Adélia’s ceremony. El’enur found it hard to believe that he now stood where she had, about to swear the same vows. The Amarant was there now, on the dais before the throne with Darius and Nadros. They all wore formal attire; she a black dress patterned with emerald flame, Darius all in black and silver, and Nadros an outfit worthy of the navy’s master. They stood neat and still, almost like the statues encircling the chamber. El’enur felt dwarfed by their marble gazes.


    Looking around, the Hall was brighter and livelier than El’enur had expected, given its ancient trappings. Bright torchlight filled and warmed every available space and El’enur thought he could make out light-bearing crystals of some sort in the chandeliers above. Perhaps some feat of starlight engineered by the steward. These radiant gems threw spidery beams along the tiled floor, giving it the appearance of gleaming glass. El’enur appreciated the spectacle for his momentous occasion.


    If there was a downside, however, it would be that he shared this auspicious night with Guldar. The burly man was next to El’enur, hands clasped behind his back and eyes closed as he faced the throne. For the first time ever, he seemed nervous. Among the faces arrayed around them, Guldar’s family was there, too. His wife Innareth had found a seat on the east wing and she held her two little ones close.


    The steward himself was not yet present, but it seemed as if the entire castle and half the city had been invited. Seats had been procured and set up across the length of the Hall, and many more people were standing around the pillars, filling the space to the brim and spilling out into the antechamber. El’enur spotted many from his own mane among the guests, looking far more dignified out of their combat gear.


    Near the front of the crowd, the archer noticed Asphales and Valinos. How dear those two had become in the short span of knowing them. There they stood now side by side in swathing velvet, seeming more confident and yet more broken than before, supporting one they barely knew. He caught their eye and smiled. How much would be asked of them as their potential grew?


    Beside them was Nelesa, with a proud smile on her face. She waved at him as El’enur scanned the room. She had always been there, from their days in the Academy to the horrors faced together. How blind he had been.


    Thank you, Nel.


    El’enur’s breath caught when he saw a pair of older folk sitting a few rows behind Nelesa. A woman with drapes of golden hair like fields of wheat, and a tall man who looked sturdy despite waves of greying hair. Their sky-blue eyes found his. Mother and father. El’enur hadn’t seen them since before— He found he had to turn away and face elsewhere. They had heard the news, but seeing them now made him truly realise their family was no longer whole.


    ‘You alright?’ Guldar asked quietly as El’enur snapped to the front.


    El’enur gave a perfunctory nod and tried to think of something else. Anything else.


    ‘How could I not be?’ he said, cracking a smile. ‘Amarant at half your age, Guldar.’ He winked.


    Guldar let out a soft chuckle. ‘And half the skill, so I’m not too bothered. I fear for the poor sods who will have to suffer your leadership. And now we have to stick together and coordinate even more.’


    ‘Like butter on bread, my friend.’


    Guldar didn’t respond, but nudged him. El’enur looked over, and then for a moment, there was a flash of genuine admiration and friendship in the older man’s eyes. ‘Well done, lad,’ he said.


    A quiet fell over the Hall. The steward had emerged from between two statues and was making his way over to the raised platform. The clack of his glowing staff resounded over the remnant whispers and murmurs. Amaleron walked to the front, a few paces in front of El’enur and Guldar and raised his hand. The audience took their seats. El’enur’s nerves made him acutely aware of the faces watching him and the sweat beading on his brow. What if he fumbled through his vow?


    ‘Friends of starlight,’ the steward began, ‘we gather today in the wake of a costly victory. None here are to be faulted if this does not feel like a victory at all. The losses we bear, the absences we are choked by, the brokenness yet to be mended – these all speak and shout out of our hearts and this pain should not be ignored. And yet this very pain also tells us that something is not aright. It reminds us of our fractured world, of the shadow hanging over all of us.


    ‘We are called to face darkness, indeed often a darkness which we find within ourselves. The men and women you see standing before you have taken on this responsibility, in a way that we perhaps may never truly grasp. Such is the burden of an Amarant, of a commander, and, no less worthily, of all who take the mantle to defend Anardes. Light, love, and life. All that we value is threatened by the legacy of the Dragonking.


    ‘And so, we cannot abandon our conviction that such light should keep shining, that such love deserves to continue, that such life is worth defending. Amarantship is no mere title, but an oath. A commitment to that which ought not to fade or perish. It is a decision to rise against the tide of corruption, and, against the deafening music of the dark to sing a different song.


    ‘Today we acknowledge and celebrate just such a commitment from those who are stepping forth to bind themselves to Amarantship. The two men before you have given much, suffered much, devoted much. And they are ready to give yet much more to halt the spread of shadow and facilitate for others to do the same.


    ‘Step forward now, El’enur Tharadin.’ Amaleron’s voice strengthened his will and bolstered his imperfect conviction. He stepped up to the dais and knelt. Darius came up beside the Elder as a ceremonial banner was laid on the archer’s shoulder. Darius looked at him warmly, more than El’enur thought possible out of such a stern man. As the steward spoke, El’enur thought it strange that he was about to outrank the man who, in many ways, made him who he was.


    ‘You are thus called into the service of light’s song, elected for the mandate of love’s obedience, and chosen for Amarantship. In allegiance to Anardes, your blood and starlight are to be given for this world’s protection. For three hundred years and two, this duty has been upheld. Do you, the thirty-first Amarant of the Bow, swear to do the same?’


    El’enur Tharadin spoke his oath.


    ‘By the grace of Regulus and Carinae, I do.’


    As the solemnity of Amaleron’s address passed and the cheers and applause erupted behind him, El’enur’s mind and heart settled on a feeling that no title or task would erase, a desire that would not come undone. It was a yearning that rang true to the steward’s words and would perhaps feed the commitment he was making on this very day.


    I wish Serìn were here to see me.


    * * *


    Moving on from the battle was not as easy as turning the pages of a book. In a story, how easily did one turn from the sweeping bloodshed to the glorious outcome without repercussions of conscience and character. As Asphales sat in the shadowed hall, devoid of flame and lit only by the strange stones which had illuminated the ceremony earlier, he wondered whether the effects of such battles were glossed over intentionally in books, or simply lost to time and the larger concerns of rising and falling empires.


    For Asphales, the stress and depression came in waves. It sometimes came as a tremor in his hands, particularly if he tried to handle his blade. Sometimes it washed over as a blankness of mind and thought. And occasionally, he would hear that girl’s dying words and see the fading colour of her eyes. To escape such a flash, Asphales looked up at Hadar’s statue. Father, did you ever feel like this?


    She had been so young, so lost. Asphales fought back the sickening feeling of what was gone, and hung on to the determination to protect, to never let another be so deceived by the pull of shadow.


    ‘Asphales,’ said Valinos. His friend’s voice echoed through the Hall and startled him. Asphales hadn’t realised anyone was still here. He rose from his pew and turned. Valinos was there, nearly blended in the dark. A sword was at his side. ‘There is something I need to talk to you about,’ he said. ‘Something I need to show you.’


    He walked over and they met beneath the unwavering starlight captured above them.


    ‘There’s more to what happened at the Dragon’s Eye than I have told you,’ Valinos said.


    ‘Valinos, is everything alright?’


    ‘I… I don’t know. Asphales, if I repeat those stupid words you mutter… watch this.’


    He unsheathed Gulren and held it level before him.


    ‘Astera endunemai,’ he chanted. Asphales gasped. A sharp light, an angry light, flared out of the blade. As Valinos focused, tiny bolts of lightning sparked along the sword, leaping and dancing across the metal. Then Valinos relented and put down his weapon. Its glint faded, leaving the chamber lit only by the gentle stones overhead once more. There was a lingering storm in his winter-blue eyes.


    ‘Valinos… how did you…?’


    ‘I’ve been listening, my friend. I’ve picked up a few of the things you said as you were practicing.’


    ‘No, but how… so all this time…’


    ‘Something happened to me up there, in my battle with the Order. I thought you should know.’


    ‘Valinos, I think you might be of Elder blood.’


    Valinos frowned, turned away, and roared. He brandished his sword and swung towards one of the statues. Light burst out once more, and the blade sent forth a wave which lit the walls and struck the marble with the boom of a thunderclap.


    Asphales recoiled at the outburst, and was shocked at the brazen ease with which Valinos lashed out at such a relic. His head was awash with implications, with confusion. Valinos had been deposited in their town as an infant. Might one of these unknown parents have been an Elder? Why had they done this? Asphales realised the sickness churning in the pit of his stomach would pale in comparison to what Valinos must surely be feeling.


    ‘Master Valinos,’ a voice broke out, ‘if you would be so kind as to leave the image of Seginus in peace.’ It was the steward. Amaleron strode in and stepped across the darkened tiles towards them. His robes were billowing as in a fierce wind. Behind him, Adélia kept pace.


    ‘I had hoped to find you, Asphales,’ he said as he reached them, ‘but I did not expect to be the one surprised tonight.’ He frowned and turned to Valinos. ‘I will not ask you to repeat your earlier feat, but unless I am mistaken, Valinos, we witnessed a demonstration of imbuement.’


    Valinos had cooled, composed himself, and sheathed his sword. ‘Yes. I don’t know how it is that I can do this now.’


    ‘What do we make of this?’ Adélia asked. Asphales noticed her whitened lock of hair again. There was more than one mystery this night, it seemed.


    Amaleron did not speak for a moment. He looked from Valinos to the statue. Despite the dim light, a blackened stripe was visible, defacing Seginus’ depiction.


    ‘Mortals have varying access to starlight,’ he began, more to himself, ‘so it is possible for this to be nothing more than natural endowment. And yet… this colour and intensity I sense…’ His musings became a low groan.


    When the steward’s voice picked up again, its intensity lessened, like a weakening flame. ‘Here I must confess ignorance, Valinos. I am sorry, but I simply do not know.’


    ‘Could there be more of us?’ Asphales wondered.


    ‘It is true we are not aware of the movements of many of the Nodirìm as we have remained hidden for many years. But the unveiling of this new song has brought many surprising things to light. The fact that two children of starlight have been sired is astounding enough. For there to be a third… It is not out of the question.’


    ‘How can we find out for sure?’ Valinos asked.


    ‘Well, in this respect, allow me to suggest a course of action and return to the purpose I sought you out tonight.’ Amaleron took a seat and ran a hand through his beard before going on. Asphales, Adélia, and Valinos gathered around him.


    ‘The Order of Seven lies decimated,’ he continued. ‘They have lost their entire operation at the Dragon’s Eye. Four of the Seven are confirmed dead. The survival of one is questionable, leaving only two active members, who fled during the fighting. For this result and for all that you have bravely withstood, I am grateful to all three of you.


    ‘We have weakened the Order and perhaps it is best to keep pressing ere they have a chance to recuperate. I believe we are now faced with the daunting prospect of pursuing these so-called Lords of the Seven. We need to find out by what means they are determining the location of the Nodirìm. And perhaps in doing so, we will not only halt their devious plans, but also find out more about your nature.


    ‘Asphales, I have not been entirely honest with you. I asked to have a look at the volume you carried with you, but my intentions were not entirely benign. I guard calamitous secrets that would crush and embitter lesser men. But you, at least, deserve to know some of it. For I have sent you off into danger, and am about to do so again, without revealing all I should have.’


    Amaleron lifted his eyes and looked at Adélia and Valinos, too, his ancient gaze reserved and urgent. ‘It is time you all know the truth about the Nodirìm, and about the Dragonking.’