“Save it for Veltai, all right?” I wheezed. “I’m pretty tired after today.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I saw you against Xilarion. You should’ve been ashes after that. But you got up and kept fighting on, like you always do. And that Ash Cloud? It was the damned biggest one I’ve ever seen. You’ve gotten a whole lot stronger.”
“You shattered Master Rutmonlir’s Flame Shield,” I said. “That would have taken some serious strength.”
“We’ve all grown stronger,” Kegohr said with a nod. “What do you think our next mission will be?”
I shrugged. “Xilarion left quickly. I figure he’s been sent word of more cultists.”
“Cultists.” Kegohr clenched his fist as he said the words. “We’ll crush them like we did all the others.” My friend hated cultists with a passion, and for good reason. His entire family had been slain because of their influence over a tainted guild.
Kegohr tipped his basin out of the window, tossed it onto his bed, and pulled on his robes for the feast ahead.
“I’m going to find Veltai,” Kegohr said. “I’ll see you at the feast, yeah?”
I nodded. “I’ll meet up with you in a bit.”
Kegohr stomped outside, and I settled down to meditate. Vigor channels could be replenished through rest and food, but meditation was the best method of recovering from the heavy use of techniques. I had raised an eyebrow at the practice at first, but after months of doing it, I knew that it fortified my internal pathways and made casting techniques easier.
“Center Disciple Lo Pashat?” a timid voice called from the door.
I put on my robes, slid into my sandals, stepped off my bed, and buckled the Sundered Heart to my belt.
“I’m here,” I called. “What is it?”
I slid the door open to see a spindly man in pale gray robes, the Radiant Dragon flame on one breast and a scribe’s quill on the other.
“Guildmaster Xilarion needs to see you in his office,” the scribe stammered. “Said that it’s for your ears only, and it’s incredibly important. He urges you to come at your earliest convenience.”
Unless I missed my guess, I was about to find myself on the road again.
The scribe led the way through the halls of the guild house. I knew them by heart after months of living and training with Radiant Dragon. Tapestries lined the stone walls and showed the long history of initiates; outer, center, and inner disciples; and masters, while elegant torches of cast iron warmed the air.
The scribe didn’t speak when we arrived outside Xilarion’s office. Instead, he bowed to me, pulled the door open, and ushered me inside.
The office was just as I remembered it. A low desk of ancient wood took up the center of the room, and the guildmaster stood at the window to survey the courtyard.
“Guildmaster Xilarion, the Swordslinger has arrived,” the scribe announced.
“Thank you. You may leave.” Xilarion turned, nodded to me, and gestured for me to take a seat. “You have my appreciation for coming on such short notice, Ethan. I understand the feast is about to begin, but your punctuality is still a credit to your character.”
I sat across from him. “I’m sure my friends will forgive me for being late. How can I help, Guildmaster?”
Xilarion didn’t answer. He merely continued staring into the courtyard. I had never seen him rattled before, and he did his best not to show it. But whitened knuckles and the tightness in his jaw betrayed the fact that something was gnawing at him. Years of experience had taught me that people like Xilarion didn’t open up until they were ready to. I respected the man too much to pry until an opportunity arose.
Xilarion sat behind his desk and considered me. “I apologize for not staying longer for your graduation ceremony. You’ve become quite the figure among our younger students. Did you know?”
I recalled the last few months I had spent knocking new Augmenters into shape. “I do what I can to help the guild.”
“Faryn tells me you’re a natural teacher,” Xilarion said. “You’ve taken to training the initiates as readily as a fire to new kindling.”
“I’m only relaying what you taught me. And experience, as you’ve said, is a great equalizer. Horix showed me the lowest point that a guild could fall to. And I had some practice with the initiates of Steadfast Horn.” I inclined my head. “But I couldn’t have done it without your leadership of Radiant Dragon, Guildmaster.”
Xilarion seemed pleased at my words. “It grows stronger than ever with the support of the reformed members of Wysaro Clan. We’ve seen a surge in new students, our stadium has been rebuilt, and even those from the other communities have seen fit to send their students to study with us.”
“Is that why you left in such a hurry, Guildmaster? Organization for other students? Or is something else playing at your mind?”
Xilarion’s eyes hardened a little as our gazes met. “There is another matter, yes.”
A long moment of tense silence passed between us. I respected Xilarion, and he knew that, but he was typically one to cut straight to the heart of the matter.
A cool smile crossed his face, and he nodded. He had reached a decision. “The monks of the Dying Sun Monastery have re-emerged in Flametongue Valley. Furthermore, they’ve opened the doors to highly talented guild members once again. They have heard of your exploits and have asked about you and your friends.”
Questions flooded my mind, but I kept my mouth closed and waited for him to continue. I had never heard of any kind of monk in the Seven Realms. My own experiences on Earth with religion had been brief at best, and I had never taken any of it too seriously. But in this world? Religion, history, legends, and Augmentation all went hand-in-hand.
“I’m honored,” I said finally. “Do you know them well, Guildmaster?”
“I trained with them,
