was worth it, every time.
Land appeared below him, and his flight slowed. Travel was always quicker over sea, with the light of the sun reflected from below by the shimmering water.
Slowed, he took in the sights. This was Lianthre, a thousand miles of sea separating this continent from his body in Sturma. It was vast beyond imagining. Sturma could be travelled in a few months on horse back. Drun did not know how long it would take to travel shore to shore on Lianthre. A year, perhaps longer. He was thankful in this time of urgency that he could achieve such distances in mere hours.
The pull was stronger now, and he let himself be drawn toward the circle.
Within moments he was before his brothers. A circle of nine paladins, resplendent in shimmering armour, aglow in the slowly setting sun, were seated upon their heels. Nine swords rested beside them, plain but well kept. As he sank lower, the yellow light of their eyes could be seen. Those eyes twinkled in welcome, but Drun sensed the sadness that ruled them, the weight of their duty bearing heavily on their broad shoulders. He had a fleeting moment when he found himself wishing that they could be together once again, to lend each other strength and light before the darkness could close in all around them. But time was short. Dow was already sinking, and a darkness blacker than mere night was closing with each passing day.
The leader of the nine, Quintal, bowed his head at the ethereal form of their priest, and smiled his greeting.
“Brothers, the sun sets and yet there is so much more to do. Time is closing in. I must be brief.
“Soon, the Saviour will lead us to Teryithyr where we must all meet again. The journey will be long, but I fear that yours will be longer. I see the blooded path before us, but we must not waver. Be guided by the Sacrifice — she will bring you to me. If we beat the Protectorate to our goal or not, I cannot foresee. But our future is decided. We will meet on far shores, but we will not be whole again. Before I leave, understand that I cannot know which of us will fall. By Carious’ grace, if the sun still shines on Rythe, we will meet again. Follow her, my brothers, for there is no other way. Trust in her, and we will be together again. It has been too long since we were last whole. I would embrace you all again, but for those that go into the light, I love you all as I love the sun. We will prevail, even as we fall.”
The light faded, but not before Drun saw what he had hoped for in his brother’s eyes.
Not fear, but resolution.
And as suddenly as he had come, Drun was snapped back on the last of the suns light, to tumble across the wide sea, to where his body waited. With a cry he slammed into his recumbent body, and felt all his aches in every limb, felt the pain in his stomach that had plagued him for months now. Lastly, before he wept, he felt the crushing sadness at the deaths to come. He said his goodbyes to his brothers.
Wiping his eyes and cursing himself for a fool, Drun rose to his feet shakily and made his way down the stairs to his friends. He could use a drink.
Chapter Ten
j’ark was the first to break the circle. As always, he rose before taking his sword. Silently, Quintal, the leader and the oldest member of the Sard, laughed at his companion. j’ark strove so hard to be an outsider, and yet he would gladly die for his friends and brothers.
Sadly, Quintal thought, our number will soon become smaller. Who would it be? He took the time to look into each of his brothers faces. Carth, the silent warrior, mighty as an Oak, and just as immovable. Briskle, whose face was hidden behind the helm he always wore, or his translator Yuthran, the two of whom were inseparable. Cenphalph, perhaps, or Disper, with his sad moustache, Typraille, with his quick wit and fearless soul. Would it be Unthor, a solid warrior, but would his troubled soul fail him at the last? Quintal would miss his council, should it be so.
It could even be him. His years were drawing to a close anyway. Maybe it would be a kindness, before his strength of arm and speed of eye failed him. He would not be sad to go, but he had his duty, as did they all. They would see it through, until the end, or their end.
He pushed himself up easily, taking sword as he rose. The remaining Sard rose with him, and as one they sheathed their swords and donned their cloaks.
Quintal followed j’ark to the shore of the lake.
“It seems there is little time.”
“No, it draws to a close,” replied j’ark, sighing wistfully. “It has been a long road already.”
“We must be steady. How is your resolve, my friend?”
“You question my heart?”
“Not your bravery, j’ark, never that. But, yes, it is your heart that seems to be in question.”
j’ark turned and caught sight of Tirielle. Quintal saw the sadness in his friend’s eyes and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“It is difficult sometimes, this life. We leave so much behind.”
“But,” j’ark sighed, “there are rewards, too.”
“Not many,” Quintal admitted. “We kill in the name of good. We leave love behind, and bodies in our wake. All in the name of Carious and Dow. But we must be strong. Most men don’t need killing, but there’s no other answer for some. Most evil, some insane. Occasionally comes along a good man with a bad blade. Through no fault of his own, death will spring. His goods works might outweigh the bad but then it’s down to you to make that choice — the greater good. Do you believe there is such a thing j’ark?”
j’ark looked around their camp, taking in the small fire, with the evening’s catch roasting, the warriors, all fine and staunch companions. He knew he would die for them. Worse, he knew he would kill for them, too.
“I believe in the greater good. Sometimes, though, I just don’t know what it is.”
“This world is protected by the twin sentinels of light and hope — Carious and Dow. It is from them that we get our strength. You know their will.”
“Once I knew,” said j’ark, nodding to the sky. “But it is dark now.”
Quintal nodded sadly. “And darkness yet to come.”
Chapter Eleven
Reih sobbed into her sleeves. Great, hacking coughs accompanied her tears, her chest heaving with exertion as she desperately tried to stop. Her ally had been murdered within her halls — and she had no choice but to watch it.
Reih’s friend and fellow councillor had been talking to one of the Protectorate. The Protocrat’s face was covered by the cowl of his hood but that did not matter. Reih could see who it was easily enough despite that. The oversized hands, pale and stark against the black robe. There was no doubt in her mind that it was Tun, head of their Search Division — a not so secret police force within the obscene mass of the Protectorate’s forces.
But still, with the Kuh’taenium’s sickness…some of the memories were already fading, imperfect. It could so easily have forgotten, but it had held onto this memory and forced it upon its sister, Reih. She wished she had remained ignorant, but it was too late for that.
Through a clearing mist that enveloped her mind, as it always did when the Kuh’taenium communicated with her, she heard Guy say, “You’ve got spies all over the place, it is not good enough! This must stop if the human council is to function.”
She saw that the Protocrat had smiled under his hood, the light of the halls illuminating only his lips — his teeth did not show. There was no mirth in that smile. “It does not matter,” Tun told Guy. “The Kuh’taenium is finished anyway. It is just a matter of time — it is sickening because the Protectorate are weakening it by taking away the living beings inside — all the councillors.”
Guy had known he would die. He had signed his own death warrant within council chambers when the Interpellate had petitioned for Tirielle’s disbarment. Still, she had not expected that such a barbaric act would, or
