Author: Valena D'Angelis
Date: 2020-08-23 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: We live brave. We die free. Darkness has fallen upon the golden kingdom of Bravoure. Once the beacon of an alliance uniting four races, Bravoure is now under the oppression of an elven prince from beneath the surface. Not even the prophecy, the one that foretold his demise in the holy fires of the Dragonborn, was able to stop him. Ahna, a runaway mage, rises above the decades of grief and returns to the fight, joining the united soldiers of the Resistance. Despite her origins, she is accepted by these brave heroes who will never let their differences stand in the way of freedom. She and the re
Publisher: fabled ink
Rights: Copyright 2020 Valena D’Angelis. All rights reserved.

Tempest of Bravoure

Kingdom Ascent

Valena D’Angelis

Tempest of Bravoure—Kingdom Ascent by Valena D’Angelis Published by fabled ink.

www.fabled.ink

© 2020 Valena D’Angelis

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form on by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover by 100 Covers.

Maps by Valena D’Angelis.

First Edition August 23, 2020

To the little kid who dreamed of something different

1

Echoes of Rebellion

Legends say that passerine birds sing the melodies of prophecy. That where golden eagles go, death follows, and a flock of swans soaring into the sky is a symbol of renewal.

The Halls of Prophecy reside in a realm between the world of mortals and that of the divine. It is the divide where gods leave fragments of probable futures, and where only the most gifted of creatures may seek insight—humans, elves, any race touched by the holy. Time in the Halls of Prophecy does not flow the same as in the tangible world. What one may perceive as eternity can be contained within the time of a single, deep breath.

Long before you and I were drawn into existence, there was a divided land, scorched by the memories of war. The grasp of the Dwellunder, the subterranean world of dark elves, had risen to the surface. The victorious dokkalfar prince took a seat on the throne and proclaimed himself King of Bravoure. The people were forced to bow before his dark and sinister power.

He was Xandor Kun Sharr, and they called Him the Dark Lord. Perhaps this came from the twilight blue shade of his skin. But they sometimes referred to him as Despot, because of the tyrannous nature of his reign. He believed in his own supremacy, his insatiable thirst for control, and tortured any soul he deemed to be beneath him or inadequate. Bravoure had fallen, and the kingdom was further descending into an abyss of terror.

Yet as Lord Sharr anchored his dominion, a new, serene melody was sung beyond the plains. They heard the whispers, the chants of the gods through the voices of passerine birds. And when the blessed clerics ventured within the prophetic walls, the lyrics of which became clearer:

“There once was a prince on the golden throne,

And it is for his sins that the world may atone.

A dark scourge has risen from the ashes of under,

His reign to be felt in the roars of thunder.

But where there is darkness, only light can vanquish,

And in the radiance, evil will anguish.

A united storm will be born from bloodshed,

Wings bright as gold and the false king will be dead.”

Legends speak of dragons born in the eye of storms, where celestial light shines the brightest. The melodies of prophecy foretell the arrival of a savior, a mortal chosen by the gods, born with dragon essence in their blood.

When Lord Sharr learned of his predetermined death at the hand of this “savior,” he massacred the remaining drakes and wyverns, the descendants of dragons. Those that still roamed the plains. The sacred creatures became history, frozen in time. Only the imprints of this extinct race’s fossils remain. And to prevent his impending demise, they say Lord Sharr killed Thamias, the last Dragonborn.

The Dark Lord reigned over Bravoure with terror and fear. Fifty years of oppression, a failed uprising, and the lost hopes of the innocents. But year after year, the fires of rebellion grew stronger, and the echoes of a hushed resistance sang louder and louder across the land.

* * *

Far from the capital and beyond the Gurdal mounts was a small village withdrawn from the rest of the kingdom. It bore the name of its first people, Miggdra, from the old Miggdral settlement. Located at the northern edge of the forest, the village had been built many years ago, at a crossroad of the four most prolific continental trade routes. Many wealthy shipments from the capital to the neighboring states had frequently found their way through the dwelling of Miggdra.

After the war, the village had become an isolated shire and forgotten by the capital. Safe from the oppression in main Bravoure, Miggdra remained a humble and simple village. It had become a shelter for the few who had made it out of the war in time—for those who sought refuge from the tumults of the past.

Ahna had been one of these wandering souls. This dark elf had once been welcomed in Bravoure as a Dwellunder refugee a lifetime ago. Now, she was a refugee in this secluded village. After the war, Ahna had come to Miggdra, bearing the shame of a lost battle against her own kin. She had found a calm retreat here, out of the tempest that Bravoure had become, in a little stone house close to the grain fields.

“You took me in when I was a girl,” the red-haired woman by the window insisted. “You trained me.”

Kairen Aquil stood leaned against the stone wall. She wore her usual travel attire, a tan leather cuirass over a cotton tunic, with breeches and boots of the same color. A dark brown outfit under a long crimson shawl that drooped from her shoulders.

She stood with her head held high, looking at the woman she was proud to call sister. The woman who had taken her in and raised her, almost like family. That woman was Ahna. She was much, much older than Kairen, yet she did not look to be.

Ahna was the elf who owned this little stone house and sat silently at the table. Next to her was an empty set of chairs. She seemed engrossed in thought, her eyes cloudy with distraction. Her pointy ears heard Kairen without truly listening. Ahna stared at a fixed point on the wall—something preoccupied her mind. She was still, but her gaze betrayed the emotions she attempted to hide.

“You’re the one who told me to join the Resistance!” With that glorious phrase, Kairen brandished her steel sword. “You taught me to fight for my freedom.”

The red-haired woman held her sword firmly, her keen sense of duty radiating from her athletic stance. Her curls danced on her shoulders like hopping red robins as she gestured around. Her face was dusted with faded freckles that she wore with pride. Ahna forced a slight smile, but a faint shadow could be seen in her purple eyes. Kairen interpreted Ahna’s smile as embarrassment or shame for never having joined the cause herself.

“It’s better if I stay away,” Ahna finally retorted, her tone darker than before.

Kairen sheathed her sword and came closer to her sister and friend. She inhaled deeply and searched Ahna’s eyes. “We need soldiers, as many as we can get,” she said calmly but with determination. “It’s time to put this madness to an end. We’ll need someone like you!”

Kairen had been striving to convince Ahna to join the Resistance for years now. A battle was coming. A clash of generations would soon ensue.

“Kairen, look at me. I’m dokkalfar. Do you really think the other rebels will even allow me, my kin, near your base?”

“Some of us may not think so,” she pursued her quest to convince Ahna. “But we need you. And we need someone with”—and there she said it—“magic.”

Ahna scoffed at the mention of magic. She stood from her chair and marched toward the bedroom. Rattling echoed as if the elf was searching for something. When she returned, she held a small token in her hand. A tiny rounded black marble with an encrusted glyph. It looked like a rune from one of the old texts of the Ancients.

“Do you know what this is?” Ahna asked Kairen, insistently.

“That’s the mark of Sharr. His warlocks bear it.” There was no hesitation behind Kairen’s words.

Ahna shook her head. “That’s the symbol of the Magi Academy of Bravoure, the pride of the capital. Wise magi, who were slaughtered, exiled, or turned into warlocks by the One you’re fighting against. If you see this and think of Sharr, it means I will never have a place at the Resistance.” Ahna spoke with genuine passion. The semblance of an old sense of grief seemed to be sewn into her scars. She, herself, had been a part of the lost Academy, destroyed by the Despot, with all its disciples either butchered or enslaved. Lord Sharr had forced the magi into submission, and those who had made it out alive had simply stopped fighting.

Kairen, aware of some of the hard choices Ahna had made, gently cupped Ahna’s hands with her own, as a gesture of compassion. She wished to show her friend that she understood, or at least as best as she could.

“Ahna...” she did not immediately find the appropriate words, so she let the silence flow naturally into the room. After a long pause, her tongue suddenly clicked. “Well, then you can tell them what this symbol means,” she began again. “Make them remember what the Academy was and what it stood for. You taught it to me, you can teach it to them!”

Kairen’s rallying voice sparked a flicker of hope in Ahna’s resolute soul. Still, reality weighed heavier than faith, and Ahna’s shoulders fell. At that moment, Kairen’s patience had faded. Ahna could not remain here, hidden, forever. The time to fight was now. Past was passed, the future had yet to be written.

“How can you still let this happen after all you’ve lost?” the red-haired woman challenged Ahna, as she made urging movements into the air with her hands. “Every year I come here, you tell me how much you wish you could do something. Well, the time to fight is now!”

The elf wanted to retort, but sighed deeply instead and turned away. Kairen took one last chance.

“People are dying, everyday, for Sharr’s own sick game. But everyday, the Resistance grows stronger. Ahna, you have to come back and fight. Even if there is the slightest hope we can win.”

“You want to plan the next uprising based on nothing but the slightest hope?”

Kairen stepped closer to Ahna and lay her hand on her shoulder. Their eyes met, and she smiled with resolve. “Hope is the spark that ignites a rebellion, Ahna.”

* * *

A long-awaited change of heart. Kairen’s last words of a few days ago enkindled a lost flame in Ahna’s spirit. The memories of war rushed through her mind. The cleansing order, the King’s death, the failure of the Opposition, the loss, the false prophecy...Sharr’s horde had taken everything from her. But the Resistance had built a new army. She could not stay in Miggdra forever, perhaps the cause was worth fighting for again. In fifty years, she could have moved on from the war, but something in her always wanted to return. Kairen had spoken again and again of the Resistance’s potential to change the world they knew. This had revived a sense of hope in Ahna’s heart. Her shoulders had grown tired of the guilt and shame. Today was the day to step out of the cycle of grief and do something.

Before she left Miggdra, Ahna had to devise her own safety guard. From her last memory of the war, the Dark Lord had forbidden any form of magic, unless under his authority. Sharr had his warlocks craft magefinders, arcane-powered machines that glowed whenever magic was present in a certain radius. He had used it to hunt down the magi. Therefore, Ahna decided to force a cloak on her magical energy. An old dampening ritual she knew was to wrap her wrists in incensed linen bands, imbued by the scent of crown bellflowers, the indigo bell-shaped flowerets that adorned Gurdal with beautiful fields of blue after winter.

Gurdal was perhaps the largest mountain range of Terra. A row of high summits filled the northern part of the land. The highest peak could touch the Heavens—the Domain of Stars, they said. The folds of the valleys ended to the north in a vast forest of firs and cedars. Further to the south, and closer to the capital, the ridges elongated into hills full of life with green grass and large fields of pink daisies, yellow orchids, and crown bellflowers.

Ahna reached southern Gurdal before the sun’s zenith. She had been on her way to a hidden Resistance barracks Kairen had mentioned a few times in the past. She rode her brown steed, Bark, named after his cedar color. She had never really ventured far with him, he mostly helped her with tending to the fields. But he had turned out to be quite the excellent travel companion. A satchel of simple clothing, bread, and a leather bottle hung on Bark’s saddle.

Ahna’s two iron daggers were sheathed in a double scabbard strapped to her belt. Kairen’s old cloak was draped over Ahna’s shoulders, as green as the coniferous shades girdling Gurdal. A gift from the red-haired stubborn fighter, the first time she had attempted to convince Ahna to join the Resistance. The elf’s skin, blue like the dawn over Bravoure, was covered by a set of traveler’s garments she had put on before leaving. A grey woven vest hugged her tightly over her linen blouse. Her curled silver hair was tied in a knot above her neck, and the bob tapped her neck with every gallop.

Her brown leather boots were tucked nicely into Bark’s stirrups as they rode in unison. Ahna and her horse loped passively toward her end-goal, an abandoned gold quarry that had once been the epicenter of Bravoure’s wealth. Nowadays, the land was known as a nation of arms dealing and slave trades. The false king could not care less about mining gold. He had hoarded enough treasure and money from the Bravan people after the war.

Ahna passed a large clearing of trees, and she knew she was getting closer. As the trots pursued their pace, the crack of a branch made her take pause. She pulled the reins back, and Bark halted. The elf focused in her hearing—alert, analyzing the sounds around her. Her pointy ears vibrated furtively.

Crack.

Ahna should have been able to distinguish what had made the noise. Dark elves were gifted with incredible hearing. But not this time. She signaled Bark to promenade forward, then to pursue his regular trot. However, she still felt as though something was following her. Even though she had a heat on her back, she did not turn around. As Bark picked up his pace, the sudden wind of an arrow whistled past Ahna’s face. Everything happened so quickly. Bark nervously hoofed the ground. His head bobbed up and down, and Ahna ran her hands down either side of his neck to calm him down. Not even a second had passed, but by the time her steed regained his senses, a tall man had slipped through the branches and stood behind Bark.

Now, panic was thick in the air. Bark neighed loudly. Ahna swiftly clacked the reins and sent her steed straight off-path. Through the thick foliage, they galloped away from the next gust of arrows. The man stayed behind, and he shouted words in some kind of elven language. Two other figures seemed to chase her from above. They jumped from tree to tree, as though the forest was their playing field.

Ahna looked back. As she turned around, her eyes met those of a tall and different man. A marksman, whose face was painted with a straight black strip around the eyes, like a thin mask of war-kohl. In his ferocious glare, she saw the light of death—that dark flame one sees in the eyes of assassins. Bark had enough, and he stood on two hooves and reared Ahna off her saddle.

The strike of a sword clashed with her crossed twin daggers. It came out of nowhere, and Ahna was pinned to the ground. She rolled to one side and resumed her escape, this time on foot. The man from the start of the hunt rushed behind her, footfalls approaching fast. She reached another clearing, where the two shadowy woodsmen from above encircled her from left and right. She could now clearly examine them, they were of the infamous vidthralfar kin, the wood elves, and they wore the leathers of rangers. They came to a standstill behind her.

She was surrounded and had nowhere to go.

Ahna turned. The sun shone brightly on the spring field, and she noticed the marksman in the distance again. Bark, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. Only remnants of his footprints were left behind. Before the left wood elf could strike her, she launched her dagger straight at the leg of the ranger behind. This move caused surprise, and she was able to speed toward the tall trees again. She welcomed the thought of a successful escape, but the unexpected stab of an arrow shocked her back to reality.

The piercing iron point lodged itself in the flesh between her shoulder blades, but the pain that came next was beyond anything coherent. A cold howl of torment shrieked through her veins. The sting of a single arrow felt like the blast of a thousand sharp needles. She collapsed and began to convulse. Shrills ran through her blood. Her life flashed before her eyes.

The loss.

The war that had set Bravoure ablaze.

She was wholly submerged in the agonizing dirge of pain. Holding on to her last grip on consciousness, she whispered the words of a minor sleeping cantrip. As her eyelids fell, the blur of the marksman marched toward her. At the cantrip’s final syllable, she plunged into a deep sleep, where she felt no more pain.

* * *

Whispers in the echoing halls reached Ahna’s pointy ears, and she slowly opened her eyes. She lay on a wooden bench, bare skin, her body covered by brown cotton sheets, stripped from her cloak, weapons and clothing.

Her enchanted linen bands were missing.

“I say we get rid of her,” she heard a distant male voice utter.

The room she was in was cold. It had no windows and was dimly lit by a single torch on the wall. The wooden, reinforced door appeared to be locked shut. Ahna wanted to sit up, but the slight stinging sensation between her shoulders hindered her. She gasped. The voices beyond the dark grey walls slowly came closer.

“She’s awake.”

Ahna heard a soft sliding movement from behind her. She realized the door had been barred from outside. A large human entered the room, followed by someone who wore some kind of formal attire. The large man seemed to be waiting for his next orders. Ahna clenched the cotton sheets against her chest.

“You have to explain what you were doing with a Resistance cloak, dokka.”

The official, who turned out to be elven, had pronounced the pejorative name dokka with such disdain. His tone reflected his somber opinion of her kin.

Ahna searched his brown eyes. All she could see were his large pointy ears.

“You can make this hard for yourself, or you can...” Before he could finish his sentence, she interrupted him with one single word.

Kairen.

The man flinched.

“Kairen Aquil, she knows me.”

“A dark elf? With silver hair?” Captain Aquil questioned one of the rangers who came to fetch her.

As he nodded, she continued with her stern tone. “Where?”

He was surprised at best by Kairen’s reaction to his whole capture story. “The forest, close to the mines,” he stuttered.

The red-haired woman turned to Senris, captain of the Fae. “Did she attack your men? Did she even look threatening? Is that what we do at the Resistance?” Kairen’s tone was more severe than before.

The Fae were the wood elves of Bravoure, and those who fought for the Resistance had become the rangers and archers of the Antlers. The two young wood elves next to their captain looked disoriented, first at each other, then down in shame.

“Kairen, she hurt one of our own. We don’t know her, she’s dokkalfar, and she wore a Resistance cloak.” Senris attempted to lower Kairen’s temper.

“That’s my cloak, I gave it to her! And she acted in self-defense, judging by what your men told me!” she scolded. “Where’s Cedric?” she then asked, irritated by the situation.

Senris shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s probably back with the shrikes, I really don’t know.”

Kairen, annoyed and aggravated, shoved Senris to the side and headed toward the left hallway. Passing the different halls, she made her way to the spiral staircase that led down, to the lower levels of the barracks. At the third floor below ground was a series of barricaded cells they called the dungeon. It did not serve many purposes, they rarely even made any use of it. Though they kept it for situations like these, when they would take someone prisoner and for further interrogation.

“Get back, Big Guy,” Kairen ordered the guard to move. She did not even let him greet her.

“Yes, Captain!” the jailor heeded and stepped to the side.

Kairen opened the door, and there she was, her dear sister Ahna, wounded on a crude wooden bench. Kairen ran to her and wrapped her arms around her. Ahna flinched a little from the force of her friend’s embrace.

“I can’t believe you came!” Kairen held the elf’s face gently in her hands. She then turned to the guard. “Get me her belongings, at once.”

“You at least had the decency to get a medic to heal her wounds, I’ll give you that.” Kairen turned to Cedric. “Don’t you think using the bow was a tad bit too much?”

They were meeting in the foyer at the entrance hall by the gates. The place they stood had once been part of the mines, where the miners would collect all the gold together, right before purification. Captain Senris was close to the north wall, adjacent to a secluded chapel the miners would use for prayers. The hallway right of the entrance led to the lower levels. At both sides, there was a collection of rooms of different sizes, one being the Resistance Council’s meeting chamber. There was a grand dining hall, a kitchen, a library, the pantry and larders for storing provisions. By the coiled stairway leading below, there was a large room converted to an infirmary. The upper levels, accessible by the stairs north of the entrance hall, right of the chapel, mostly consisted of dorms and officer quarters. The first floor below the barracks was where the old miners had built the irrigation systems, connected to a series of baths and lavatories underneath the main hall. Various medical supplies were also kept there. The level below there was used to store armor and weapons. Lastly, there was the third floor below ground, where the dungeon was.

Cedric sighed. He looked at Kairen with an intense glare of disapproval. “That you don’t mention the fact that you are close with her, fine. But it is over my dead body that we’ll have a stranger dokkalfar in our territory.”

Kairen, angered by his words, raised her voice. “Don’t be so foolish, Cedric. We have dark elves working for us. Hell, some of your assassins are dark elves! Our web of spies is partially dokkalfar.”

He shook his head. “This is not the same. The dokkalfar on our side have been with us since we started building this mess. This one just barged into our forest”—he pointed at Senris – “and wounded one of his men. The truth is, Kairen, we know nothing about her real intentions.”

Kairen scoffed and dismissed Cedric with a motion of the hand. The door leading to the upper stairs opened and Ahna, guided by one of the caretakers, stepped into the main hall. She wore one of Kairen’s black reinforced leather corsets, one that had always been a little too small for the red-haired woman. As Ahna was slightly shorter than her friend, this one was a perfect fit. She had those mysterious linen bands wrapped around her wrists again. Her silver curls were loose, and she carried no weapon. When Kairen noticed her, she immediately hopped to her.

“Ahna, are you well-rested?”

The elf nodded, and her eyes then explored the large hall, decorated by ancient frescoes of a distant golden age. “This was built by dwarves, wasn’t it?”

A proud smile drew on Kairen’s face. “Yes! Apparently, this used to be where gold was grown, or so to speak.”

Cedric crossed his arms, glaring at the two. When his eyes met Ahna’s, she froze instantly. The warpaint on his face had faded, but she still recognized him.

“The marksman...” the elf murmured silently.

The wood elf that had been standing there all along approached them. He had this serious look on his face, but he was slightly more welcoming than his human peer.

“Kyær’ da,” he greeted Ahna.

“You speak Dokkalfari?” Ahna promptly asked, surprised.

“One has to, these days. And it’s not like it’s much different from my language.” His passive-aggressive tone proved he resented the fact he even knew these words. And who could blame him, really?

A short moment passed and Ahna spent some time examining her surroundings. Different people walked around. Men, women, elves, all seemed to have a well-defined task they had to perform. Some looked like soldiers, some like medics or caretakers, others like humble civilians. A few children graced the hall with their presence. All these people had found refuge within this well-built dwarven structure.

Kairen noticed Ahna’s searching gaze. “Welcome to Orgna!” She smiled as she gushed these warm words. “This is our main base. It’s where we store our main supplies and tend to the refugees.” Kairen signed her friend to follow her. “Don’t mind Cedric. He’s a broken man, after all.”

Kairen took Ahna to the hallway left of them that led to the dining hall, the place where the fighters would gather to feast and celebrate. A few happy soldiers were sitting at the wooden tables, enjoying a jar of old-fashion ale they had illegally shipped from a neighboring county.

“We even have dwarven ale!” Kairen smirked as she boastfully said these words. “We have weapons, armor, food supplies. The squadrons deployed here come to train the new recruits. We’ve built quite an army! This place is the heart of the rebellion.”

After a moment spent watching the happy soldiers, a question jumped into Ahna’s mind. “Isn’t it dangerous to be here, as you are so close to the capital?”

Kairen shook her head, a didactic finger pointed upwards. “Well, the mines are abandoned. Lord Sharr has nothing to seek here. He still believes we’re somewhere high in Gurdal, like during the Uprising, while in reality, we are much, much closer.”

The two women strolled toward the stairway, which led directly down to the training areas. As Ahna took in all this new information, the image of Bark sprang into her mind.

“You didn’t happen to find my horse by any chance?” she asked, worried about her brown steed.

Kairen looked uncertain. “I’m not sure, but the Council will be here soon. I promise you will be accepted here. And we will find your horse.”

Ahna nodded mechanically, unsure of what was to come.

“Come on,” Kairen encouraged. “I’ll show you around while we wait.”

Above the Bravan plains, beyond the green hills, a wide valley narrowed into a short yet beautiful canyon. By a high cliff of solid clay were the old dwarven mines. The tunnels stretched deep underneath the mountains of Gurdal. They extended their reach to the high ridges and peaks. The quarry, directly carved into the gorge’s cliffs, had once been a bustling place of labour.

When Lord Sharr had established his reign, Bravoure had abandoned the mines. The first troops of insurgents from the war that gathered in the city’s underground then built a collection of settlements, mostly in high Gurdal. After the failed Uprising, they had found refuge in this lower, secluded valley and converted the deserted miners’ quarters into the main base of the Resistance. It had become the birthplace of today’s rebellion. The newly restored barracks took the name of the renowned commander who had led the Uprising, the rebel base of Beatrix Orgna. The barracks had become their home, where they recruited and trained soldiers for the next uprising.

The valley itself birthed the life of many different species of flora and fauna. Where a river had once slithered, there was a grass greener than a Resistance cloak. Many species of herbivores, like deers, chamois, steinbocks or other bovidae, often visited the valley during winter, in search of food. At the blooming of spring, the animals retreated to higher in the mountains. Sadly, there were no more emerald wyverns to graze the valley floor.

2

Welcome to Orgna

The Council gathered in their meeting chamber and Ahna stood by her sister and friend, facing the round stone table at the center of the room and the five Resistance leaders.

“As Kairen has told you, I was in Bravoure long before the reign of Sharr. I fled the Dwellunder with my family a lifetime ago in search of a peaceful life. We had arranged our escape and were granted refugee status. When the Dark Lord overtook the city, I fled to the north. I’ve lived in Miggdra ever since.”

The five members of the Council listened attentively, each seated at their assigned place at the large stone table. To her surprise, they did not look at her like the enemy her kin was. Instead, they were humble and calm, and they let her speak freely without prejudice.

“I have nothing to do with Sharr’s horde,” Ahna continued. Her interlocutors remained silent. “I’m sorry I threw a dagger at the ranger. I was under attack, and I didn’t know what to do. I was trained to fight, and I want to help the Resistance.”

The leader, High Commander Joshua Sand, waited patiently for Ahna to complete her introduction. His bright grey eyes that had seen many battles remained fixed on the elf. His black beard stopped at the top of his chest, and his hair was carefully combed and fell behind his shoulders. His mane, originally as black as night, was adorned with the silver filaments of a proud, ageing man.

Seated in the furthest chair, Joshua wore the military garments of Bravan officers from before the war. A dark green tunic crossed at the center of his chest and secured with a black leather belt, with golden epaulettes fixed to his shoulders. Ahna recognized the outfit from distant memories. Attached to his belt was the white scabbard of the royal claymore. The white, leather-strapped hilt of the blade that almost touched the ground surged beside the high commander’s waist. The greatsword had been passed from general to general of the Bravan King. After the war, the first Resistance leader had picked up the sword and pledged her life to serve the blade.

Joshua Sand whispered a few inaudible words to his associates and turned back to Ahna. “There is one thing you must understand. Secrecy is paramount to our survival. Our predecessors have made sure they left a framework for us to operate in the dark, away from Sharr’s prying eye. In these desperate times, unity is our ultimate weapon.”

To Joshua’s right sat Jade Lark, who had infiltrated Sharr’s command a decade ago. She wore a tunic of a color that matched her name. Jade’s short, golden-brown hair gathered at the nape of her neck in a thin knot. Her complexion was pale like white sheets of linen, and her face was very angular for a human. Perhaps there was a drop of elven blood that flowed through her veins.

Jade adopted Commander Sand’s reluctance. “We cannot tolerate error. If we suspect you of being”—Jade carefully chose her next term—“unstable, you will be eliminated.”

Then, to Joshua’s left, Councilor Myria Fel of the high elves of Bravoure, picked up on their words. “You wounded one of our own, Ahna. A respected ranger high in the ranks of the Fae. Now, we understand you were defending yourself, and we see that you are not of Sharr’s army. But you must understand why the doubt in your case could ever be so strong.”

The ljosalfar woman, with her elegant visage and pearl skin, was at least a hundred Sols older than Ahna. She had the amber eyes of high elf nobility, the hazel gems with golden flickers. Her ears pointed gracefully to the council room’s ceiling. She wore a long elven gown made of grey linen, with a white corset to support her slim figure. Her melodic voice had chanted like music in the council room.

The ball was in Ahna’s field now. “I know how dokkalfar think. I can help—”

Joshua interrupted the elf midsentence. “We have dokkalfar who know how dokkalfar operate.” He leaned back in his chair at the stone table before he pursued. “We’ve built an army here. We’re preparing the next uprising as we speak, which is why discovery would pose…a slight problem.” He then inhaled deeply. “Kairen, what guarantee do we have that she won’t be a liability?”

Next to Jade Lark sat Commander David Falco, Kairen’s husband who Ahna was finally able to meet. The commander was a man with rich ebony skin similar to Bravoure’s strongest of oaks. He was very handsome, and his brown eyes shimmered with a righteous light.

To Myria’s left was Luk Ma, a sindur with Ailuran origins, the isle where the men-lynx came from. Ahna had not seen a sindur in a long, long time. He had thick red fur, like most sindurs, in the shades of autumn. There were the faint shapes of a spotted coat on his arms, the dots had faded with age.

The Council was the organ of a joint leadership. Joshua, albeit head of the committee, always relied on the opinion of his peers. Kairen cleared her throat to finally respond to the man with the white scabbard. “She raised me, High Commander. She’s the one who insisted I joined the Resistance.”

Joshua brought his hand to his bearded face. His chin rested between his thumb and index fingers, as a pensive mind would do during a moment of reflection.

“Why didn’t she join the Resistance herself? From her words, she was in Bravoure at the time. She could have done something. Where was she when the Uprising failed?” High Commander Sand pointed out.

Ahna remained silent, hesitant to say anything else that would make her case worse.

Kairen’s determined voice echoed in the council room. “High Commander, I swear. I will take full responsibility for Ahna if she joins the fight,” the red-haired woman promised.

The Council ordered a recess. The members exited to a small antechamber at the back of the meeting chamber, and Ahna was requested to wait in the main hall. She sat on one of the wooden benches in the silent foyer. Kairen joined her shortly after, and she smiled at her friend.

“David sees this through,” Kairen affirmed. “I hope he can convince the others.”

Veering slightly off-subject, Ahna smiled back and winked at Kairen. “He seems like an honorable man. I remember when you used to write about him.”

Kairen blushed and chuckled. “Well, he was able to convince me to marry him!”

They laughed together for a minute and let the stillness embrace the hall again.

“What made you change your mind, Ahna?” Kairen eventually asked, curious of why her friend had finally decided to join the cause.

Ahna remained silent for a long while. She pondered on her reasons. Why, days after Kairen had left back to the south, had she saddled Bark and headed to the barracks of Orgna? The calling that had consumed her heart after her determined friend’s last visit. At this precise moment, she knew what she had to do.

When the Council reconvened, Ahna and Kairen were asked to return. The members of the Council sat back around the stone table, and as Joshua was about to speak, the dark elf took a step forward and a deep breath.

“My true name is Meriel Arkamai, I was an archmage at the Magi Academy of Bravoure.”

The members of the Council fell silent. Their eyes rounded. One of them gasped in surprise. Those who knew a little about the Academy’s history thought they recognized her name, from the wartales their parents had told, or from the books of a prewar time.

“After the cleansing order, Lord Sharr killed everyone I held dear. So I ran. I ran and never looked back. Benevolent souls helped me vanish, and I have been in hiding ever since. No one knows I am still alive, and no one expects me to be. I had renounced every commitment I had to the city long ago. Until you came”—the honest elf turned to Kairen—“Your fiery soul showed me there was hope. I encouraged her to join the Resistance because I felt I couldn’t. My cowardice held me down, and the guilt for abandoning the city, my refuge, tormented me each day. Kairen convinced me I may still have a chance to redeem myself.” Ahna smiled at her sister and friend. “I ran from the past twice in my life. It’s about time I came home.”

The delicate frescoes in the main hall of Orgna told the story of the ancient dwarven civilization that had built the gold mines. They had been preserved to this day, as they were part of the old history of Bravoure. Over the centuries, as tensions had risen in the kingdom, the dwarves retreated to below the ground. They had gone underneath the Terran earth, never to be seen again.

High Commander Sand stood in the middle of the entrance hall, scouting the painted stone walls, as he did every morning. He admired the vibrant tale of his home and desired nothing more than to tell it to the children he had never borne.

Joshua Sand had been born in the Resistance. Every morning, he remembered his deceased family, who had each fallen at the hands of the Dark Lord. He remembered their smiles, and he remembered his lost husband, Erik Thawn, the rebel medic who had sacrificed his life for the rebellion during the Uprising. His death had left Joshua with an even stronger will to fight. Every time Joshua swung that claymore, he did it in the memory of Erik.

As he meditated on an uncertain future, Jade Lark, the rebel leader of the Shrike Wing, came to join him. She folded her hands behind her and lowered her chin to her chest.

“Sharr is getting closer. I don’t know if we can keep Orgna safe for much longer.” High Commander Sand’s grey eyes darkened at her words. “I hear rumors of aggressive weapon shipments. He’s piling.” Jade cast a sudden veil of grief over her face. “People in the streets are being held and executed without trial. He’s growing more paranoid.”

As the two discussed the steps to take, the mention of their new recruit came to the surface.

“The dark elf’s a mage,” Jade said. “You know how that’s going to affect the soldiers! She says her magic is hidden by some kind of protection. Sharr hasn’t had a magefinder made since the war, so I think we’re safe on that side.” The councilor veered back to the main subject. “Our scouts are saying Sharr keeps his stocks at the camps. It’s heavily guarded. But perhaps there’s something else we can do…with her.”

Joshua Sand searched Jade’s silver eyes. “Do you think I was too quick to let her join?” he asked, curious about his peer’s opinion of his late decision.

“She’s dokkalfar—most of us will find you naive,” Jade replied with a slight shrug and chuckle.

“Since when does the Resistance halt at kinship?” As Joshua posed his question, Jade smiled at the truth of his message. He pursued. “She was an archmage. To me, that says everything.” He then returned to the subject at hand. “Have you discussed with the others?”

She confirmed with a nod. “We just need your go, Commander.”

Behind them, their new elven recruit wandered the dwarven halls, until she disappeared into the hallway and headed down the coiled staircase. A guard followed her, who had been tasked with keeping an eye on her for the day. Joshua did not find it necessary, but the rest of the Council had insisted, just to be sure. Some rebels glanced at her as she passed by them, surprised, or perhaps afraid. Ahna just kept her head down.

She reached one of the eastern training rooms, where the soldiers practiced the art of combat together. When she peaked in, she recognized the marksman, who fought alone with his shortsword, against a dummy he had painted with indigo. The blue of dokkalfar soldiers. Despite this, Ahna was not offended by his blatant hatred of her kin. She understood him. Sharr’s horde was of pure evil, a darkness even other Dwellunder provinces avoided. Ahna herself had fled the Dwellunder for the same reasons he clashed his blade on the dokka dummy.

Ahna stood by the entrance, hidden from any possible view angle the marksman could have. He intrigued her, his allure, and especially the powerful bow that had wounded her. She wanted to stand there in silence, but no one ever took Cedric by surprise.

“I guess congratulations are in order,” he gushed with fake enthusiasm. “You’re a Resistance fighter now.”

His sarcasm rang between her pointy ears. He turned to Ahna, sheathing his sword. His blue eyes had turned dark, and his thick, dark brown hair that matched Ahna’s boots was all over the place. He was much taller than her. He marched toward the door and, as he walked past her, stopped to cast the sternest of glares.

“Note that I don’t trust you. And I never will. So if you ever get in my way, I will finish what we started back in the woods.” He was about to leave.

Not so fast.

She caught a grip of his arm. “About that,” she said, almost whispering so no one would hear. “How did the Resistance get their hands on an Item of Power?”

Cedric froze and pulled his arm away. He fixated on her purple gaze, anticipating what she would say next. His bow, the pain, Ahna had damned well recognized it! One of the six Items of Power, created by the Ancients, scattered around Terra.

“You’re playing with a dangerous toy, Cedric.”

He scoffed and pushed her arm away. “Consider yourself warned,” he barked. Then he left the room for good, and strolled into the hallway and back upstairs, where the fighters were gathering in front of the high commander.

The rebels assembled in the foyer for a gathering with the Resistance Council. Fighters, from squadrons of swordsmen and women, medics, spies, to the eyes and ears scattered across the city. Those hidden behind politics, and those who simply worked the fields and kept an eye out for the cause. High Commander Sand stood tall facing this diverse group of devoted rebels, who all listened attentively to him with the utmost respect.

“As we’ve been expecting for a while, Sharr is growing more paranoid. The scouts have acquired intel during a recon mission that the Dark Lord is hoarding massive stocks of weapons. These shipments seem to come from a nearby nation. We think he’s preparing for an attack, we just don’t know on whom.”

A hand raised in the audience. Joshua gave a single nod in the direction of the cadet.

“Were there known tensions between Sharr and other lands?”

The commander shook his head. “Not more than usual. Sharr’s rule has upset others but not to the extent that war would be declared. They fear him. All fear him.”

More questions were asked.

“How many crates are we talking about?” a swordsman queried.

“Why is he killing people on the streets?” a medic shouted.

“Why would he be preparing for battle?” a woman wondered.

“Could it be another conquest?” an elf wanted to know.

“Has he found Orgna?” a worried soul asked.

Joshua held his palms open to the crowd, as an appeasing sign to calm them down. He then left the floor to Jade Lark, the councilor and leader of the Shrike Wing.

“Brave warriors of the Resistance”—she paused while the soldiers regained their calm—“Sharr may be plotting to strike us for once and for all.”

The crowd simmered again. People gasped and looked alarmingly left and right.

“As of now, there are no indications that our location has been made.” A long rest again as she gathered the words to say. “But we must be prepared for the worst. That is why we want to strike. A preemptive measure. We need to intercept these shipments. If we can disable them, we can at least buy ourselves some more time.”

Another fighter raised their hand. “Do we know where the weapons come from?”

Jade replied without hesitation. “East Haven. By ship. Most likely from Rallis.”

The fighter retorted with the question everyone had been waiting for: “So, what’s the plan?”

Jade cleared her throat, they were back in the council room, together with the shrike captain Cedric Rover.

“We send in shrikes to East Haven,” Jade began. “We’re talking about a small fleet here, probably one or two large ships that have been going back and forth with weapon supplies and perhaps other goods. We just need a small unit to destroy the fleet. A strike as such will destabilize Sharr and probably drive him to make a rash decision. He will have lost his weapon supply chain, and maybe we will have gained some swords and shields in the process!”

High Commander Sand turned to Jade. “If East Haven is so important to him, shouldn’t it be heavily guarded?”

“That’s the thing, Josh. Our spies report that it’s not. I think Sharr does not expect us to go for East Haven, as our main focus has always been on the capital. I actually think he expects us to go for the camps instead. He made it such a great bait!”

Cedric laid a few documents on the table. There were intercepted communiqués between Sharr and his ensign at the East Haven outpost. One was a map showing the weapon shipments route. The last letter was about the training camps. What Jade was stating appeared to be correct. Sharr had deployed but a few patrols at the eastern outpost. Joshua scrutinized the documents.

He sifted through them one by one, then raised his head to Jade again. “Good work to the Shrike Wing. Are you absolutely sure of the authenticity of these documents?”

After careful consideration, she nodded.

“Then you have my go. Cedric, assemble two of your men. Get me some swords of David’s fifth squadron, they should do. Ah, and send in our new recruit—I have a feeling. She’ll be at your command.”

Cedric scoffed and crossed his arms. Jade looked confused at Joshua.

“I don’t want to find out what will happen if this mission fails,” she assured. “You really want to send in the dark elf?”

Joshua sat in his chair and leaned back. “I just have a feeling, Jade. That’s all.”

Once outside, the shrike captain confronted the leader of his wing. “Is he serious, Jade? Sending her in, because of a feeling?”

Jade attempted to calm him down. “You heard what Joshua said. She’ll be under your command. Make sure she’s ready. If you suspect something, you have my authorization to terminate her.”

Cedric eventually acknowledged her. “When do we leave?” he asked promptly.

For a short moment, Jade had this calculative look in her eyes. “I give you a few days before the next moon to get ready. Maps of East Haven and docking schedules are in the library. Come up with a strategy in two days and start preparing.” She looked at her subordinate. “We live brave.”

Cedric smiled proudly and joined in. “We die free.”

Kairen led her sister and friend to the dining hall next to the foyer. In the large room, four members of her husband’s fifth squadron were sitting, playing some kind of old dwarven card game before lunchtime. They each stood up at the sight of Kairen and greeted her with the military salute, the tip of their fingers brought to their right temple, almost touching it but not quite.

“Captain,” they said in unison.

“At ease, swordsmen.” They sat back on the benches, and Kairen introduced Ahna to them. “This is our new recruit, Ahna. She’ll be going with you to East Haven.”

The swordsmen nodded. The look in their eyes, although welcoming, had a suspicious glow that Ahna noticed. She did not know what to say, so she just mimicked their nods. They were all human and wore the infamous fir green cloaks over their chainmail. They had just returned from a small mission that was none of Ahna’s concern.

As Kairen made conversation with one of them, a swordswoman and a man, who appeared to be their captain, joined them at the table. They carried iron trays with bits of food they had just selected from the central buffet. Thin rice, accompanied by delicious-looking stuffed dumplings the Bravans called momrogi. And of course, a tiny loaf of fluffy cloud bread.

The captain introduced himself as Diego Levireo. Born in the capital, he had been under Sharr’s command a long time ago. He had joined the Resistance around the same time as David, Kairen’s husband, before the Uprising. He reminded Ahna of the men of the coast—brave sailors with strong fists and a tanned face. Diego and Kairen discussed some details about their squads, while the mysterious woman addressed Ahna directly.

“You can call me Lynn,” she said with a cunning smile.

Ahna took a look at her. She was tall and athletic. The tense muscles of her arms revealed she was a highly trained fighter. Her eyes matched her smile, and they lit with her native wits. She was human, but the earth-brown hue of her skin disclosed her southern origin. She spoke to Ahna with such enthusiasm that the elf felt as if she was warmly welcomed by the swordswoman.

“You’re from Tazman, am I correct?” Ahna asked, intrigued by the beauty of her coal eyes.

“You know your regions, Ahna,” Lynn replied warmly. “My family is Taz, but I was born in main Bravoure. Our commander is also Taz, by the way.” She paused to think for a moment. “They say you didn’t come with Sharr’s horde, but that you’ve been in Bravoure for much longer?”

Ahna nodded. She had actually been in Bravoure for about twice Lynn’s lifetime. Tazman was the province to the southeast of Bravoure, where the sun was warmer, and the forests were lighter green. Taz men and women were known to be fearless warriors and righteous leaders.

“Want to try?” the Taz woman asked, offering Ahna a piece of the cloud bread.

The elf politely refused, then Kairen slid between the two women. “Thanks, Lynn, we’ll get our own tray and join you!”

She grabbed Ahna’s wrist and led her toward the center buffet.

There were all kinds of momrogis, glazed, steamed, fried in nut oil, filled with vegetable stew or a mixture of caramelized chicken. Momrogis were served with more rice and stir-fried vegetables. A few hot pots full of spiced soup were placed in the middle of the buffet. Ahna, who had lived alone for years in the Miggdra village, had not been greeted with such an extensive menu in a long time. The advantage of momrogis is that they were efficient: cheap and very filling for the stomach. Resistance supplies of food were moderate, so momrogis and soups were the best the rebels could make.

“I’ve never asked, Ahna, but what is the food like in the Dwellunder?”

Ahna had to think there. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “That’s too long ago, Kairen. But I have to say,” she paused and looked at Kairen with a playful light in her eyes. “This is amazing, but Dwellunder meals are, despite everything else, most exquisite.”

Kairen had not expected that dreadful place to possibly have a higher cuisine than renowned Bravoure. But then again, the dokkalfar were also known for their gloomy style and high standards of pleasure and satisfaction.

As they sat back at Squadron Five’s table, they enjoyed the warm conversations they had with each other. The swordsmen were obviously jokesters and had genuine joie de vivre. The cunning Lynn definitely had her share of humor. Diego, a quieter soul, still encouraged his men to continue their lively exchange. Another squadron then went to sit at the table behind them. Each greeted each other, there was even a young dokkalfar male among them. The dark elf appeared to be calm. Ahna noticed he was much younger than her, yet they looked roughly the same age in the eyes of humans. He bowed to her, as a junior dokkalfar would do to greet a master. The others had a confused look on their faces but went on with their lunch, like business as usual. When the two women were finished, Kairen rid Ahna of her tray and signed the elf to follow her.

“Come, I’ll show you my quarters.”

They made their way to the upper bed chamber when Ahna belatedly realized something about the soldiers she had met in the dining hall. “The soldiers there were part of David’s garrison, correct?” she proceeded with another question, “So, who are the shrikes?”

As they reached Kairen’s quarters, separate from the collective dorms, the woman told the story of the Resistance’s infamous web of spies. Those who painted their face with war-kohl, like the mask of sentinel shrike birds, which gave them the name of Shrike Wing. This was also related to the way they killed during an assassination. A sword that rose out of the ribcage and was left inside the body to be found.

“Jade Lark is deep within Lord Sharr’s nest. She acts as an advisor to his generals on how to best rule over an overall human kingdom. But she is the greatest lie the Resistance has told. She founded the Shrike Wing a few years before the Uprising, a network of spies and assassins that are highly trained in the art of stealth and secrecy.”

Ahna listened carefully. “I had only heard rumors of the Shrike Wing, back in Miggdra. They sounded like an urban legend.”

Kairen resumed the tale. “Some of them have infiltrated Sharr’s military ranks, others are officials, advisors or viziers. And some are saboteurs or even better, assassins for the rebellion. You will probably meet some of them before the mission.”

Ahna sat by Kairen, on the bed she shared with her husband, David. The stonewall room was modest. A few cupboards, a double bed with layers of wool and woven pillows, and a small silver mirror hanging by the door. Councilors and high-ranking members of the Resistance had the privilege of their own room. Soldiers, cadets and trainees shared their slumber in the dorms. Kairen fiddled with her bejeweled ring, the one that symbolized her alliance with David. She looked at it pensively.

“You know, I told him a lot about you,” she told Ahna. “I’m so glad you’re finally here.”

She closed her eyes as a tear moved along her cheek. Ahna wrapped her arms around her to comfort her, and Kairen brought her hand on the elf’s. She rested her head on her friend’s embrace.

“I know it’s hard for you. But I couldn’t let you sit by any longer and do...” Kairen hesitated.

“And do nothing.” Ahna finished the sentence for her.

The red-haired woman sat back straight and wiped her eyes.

“You are Archmage of Bravoure. Your place has always been here. I don’t exactly know what happened with the magi during the war, most of us don’t.”

“I was Archmage of Bravoure. No one remembers us now. And those who do don’t really have a positive connotation associated with the word...”

“The Council did,” Kairen disagreed.

“It seems like they believe the others don’t, though. But it’s alright, I understand!” Ahna forced a smile to reassure Kairen that, despite the Council’s decision to keep her identity a secret, she knew it was justified.

“The Council preferred your history to remain on a need-to-know basis. They think it might stir more...criticism, with you already being a...”

“A dark elf.” Ahna annunciated every syllable.

Kairen then looked at the woman who had taken her in long ago. “The Resistance does not halt at kinship. If it did, our values, they would mean nothing. I’m proud of you for making a choice to come to the fight. We’re planning the biggest uprising in history. You’re the mage who returned!”

Ahna smiled at the woman she called sister, with sincere affection in her eyes. The two remained together for a moment, remembering some of the adventures of when Kairen was little. She had such a fiery spirit, full of compassion.

Ahna had rescued her from the clutches of slave traders at the foot of north-east Gurdal, close to Dalgon, when Kairen was but a child. Despite her origins, Kairen had not been afraid of her. The little girl looked to her as an older sister, even now. Ahna had taught her to be kind, to always follow her heart, just like the elf had followed hers a lifetime ago. Kairen had grown up and trained with her, under her wing, until one day, after the failed Uprising, she had chosen to return to the capital and join the rebellion.

Seated close to each other on Kairen’s bed, Ahna disclosed a little more about her time as an archmage, about the thousand books about the Arts of Arcanis she had to read, and read again. About her class of a hundred magi students eager to learn from the Dwellunder refugee. It had made her the mage she was today, skilled in all forms of Elementalism as well as in Photomancy, the welding of light. Yet her specialty had always been an older form of magic: Ritualism, the remnant of the Ancients’ powers that could even draw energy from the different planes and create fractures between the Fabric of Realms.

3

The Resistance

Not so far from the Resistance barracks of Orgna, there was a small town built on the eastern coast of Bravoure with the name of East Haven. It was to the east of the valleys, south of Gurdal. An old trade route from before the war was situated nearby and slithered along a river. The town had few inhabitants, and its primary purpose was maritime trade. The harbor welcomed few ships from neighboring lands that mostly came with supplies of spices, gems and jewels, and weapons. Despite the dark fate of Bravoure, the kingdom was still, to this day, thriving in arms commerce with the southern lands.

Lord Sharr’s eastern outpost was located practically in front of the village. He had but two sets of patrols, each exchanging responsibility between the watch of the guard tower and that of the town. The changing of duty would happen when the sun was highest. A subset of the town’s patrol was deployed at the harbor, to oversee the seamen and trader’s every move. At night, only a few guards were posted near the ships, while the others either rested or guarded the outpost.

The Resistance’s collected intelligence revealed a fracture in the deployment of Sharr’s patrols. The distance between the outpost and the harbor was significant. It was possible to cause a disruption at the docks while remaining undetected by the rest outside the town. To be able to achieve this, they first had to take out the signal brazier at the center of the harbor’s square. Guards could use it to alert the outpost and sound the alarm across the village.

Here was the shrike captain’s plan. They would go in at night. The shrikes would disable the brazier and get rid of the docks’ guards one by one. Then, they would covertly smear the ships with odorless inflammable oil, which would be set ablaze by fire grenades. David’s fifth squadron would stand guard outside the village, in the darker shadow of the outpost’s tower. They were the reinforcement, which they hoped would not be necessary. If the shrikes would notice something out of the ordinary, they would silently retreat and abort the mission. Lord Sharr’s trade ships were to dock at the next moon. That was when Cedric and his unit would be ready for the mission.

“Do you approve, Jade?” Captain Rover asked, but he knew the answer already.

“Of course, but what of the dokkalfar?” Jade wondered.

Cedric snickered. “She’ll be with Squadron Five. No need for her to get in the way.”

After the sun had passed overhead, Jade confirmed High Commander Sand’s endorsement of the covert mission and ordered the involved fighters to prepare. Cedric made his way to the training halls.

The hallway was ornate with paintings and dwarven tapestries of the history of the old kingdom. The Resistance had turned the different rooms into training grounds, with swords, axes, daggers, and various types of armor ready for immediate combat. There was a marksman chamber, for archery practice. There was a room full of dummies, for those who needed to free themselves from cold-brewed anger.

A few soldiers were training at the swords. They greeted Cedric with respect and a military salute. “Namaskar. Good day, Captain!”

He waved at them.

Cedric entered the training hall and browsed through the weapon rack. He noticed a pair of daggers resting on the stool to the right. The silence ensued, and he realized that someone else had followed him in. A voice spoke.

“Thanks for letting me join the mission.”

Ahna...

Cedric’s muscles tensed up. He straightened his spine. He turned his head toward her and stared her down. “Trust me, dokka. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be here.”

Cedric expected a reprimand, but Ahna chuckled instead. He turned back to the rack of swords and pulled a long iron cutlass.

Ahna remained still behind him. “Are you going to stare at me forever or will you grab these daggers and follow me?”

These words took the dark elf by surprise. When the shrike faced Ahna again, she had a look of wonder. “Follow you?” she questioned, unsure of what he meant.

“Well, if we’re going on a mission together, I’d like to see what you’ve got.” He stepped away and walked toward the area behind the collection of weapon racks.

There was enough space for a good fight away from the other trainees. Especially since the cadets had been staring at Ahna for the past few moments. Her appearance was particularly intriguing. The silver hair and purple eyes almost looked mystical to most humans. This is why dark elves had this particular kind of power over most races, unlike other elves. The same power that made some resent them from deep within their core. Cedric could not be bothered. He kindly requested the cadets to mind their own business while he trained with Ahna.

The iron razor edge clashed between her two daggers. She pushed both her arms out, forcing Cedric’s cutlass to veer upwards while she dodged the next blow. He was much taller than her, which put her at a distinct disadvantage. As she shifted back to swing one of her blades at him, he slipped through and got a hold of her shoulder. He pressed downwards, slightly toward himself, to drive her off-balance. He was then able to slide his left arm around her throat, pull her and lock her body against his. His blade came to meet the skin of her neck.

“You’re dead, dokka.”

She was out of breath, and he was incredibly fast. The speed of his swings was impressive, almost inhuman. She used her weight to shove him backwards, releasing herself from his clutches. An old rage began to boil inside her.

“You’re a bit rusty on the daggers, I can see that,” he jabbed.

Ahna stepped forward, and her rapid double-cut collided with his sword up in the air. As both his arms were away from his core, she kicked him right in the stomach, pushing herself away from him. He lost his footing for a second but quickly recovered his anchor to the ground. He grinned. He was about to strike her again but missed when she swiftly curled up and got closer to him. She launched a hard blow with the pommel of her dagger straight toward his nose and mouth. The shock jolted his head back, and he waltzed against the near wall. He took a minute to inspect his face and check his bleeding mouth.

His eyes suddenly lit with fury as he wiped the blood off his lips. “So, that’s how we’ll play!”

He let his training sword fall to the ground and punched his fist in the palm of his other hand. Before he could get close to Ahna, she threw one of her daggers straight at him, intentionally missing his face, as a dangerous warning not to come any nearer. She immediately regretted her assault, that marksman had triggered a vile energy in her. She would not let her old dokkalfar rage take over. Her chest heaved as she regained control of herself.

The dirk stuck out of the wall behind and Cedric glanced at it with angered shock. His glare then became more than dangerous, and he paced up toward her. He was able to disarm her with one strike at the arm and overpowered her with his size. Then, with higher speed, he lifted her up and pinned her against the wall. Her head bounced back, and she was, for a few seconds, stunned by the knock.

His burning eyes met hers. “Training is over.”

And he let her fall and stormed out of the room. When she looked up again, Kairen stood by the entrance. The red-haired woman cast an irritated look at a leaving Cedric.

“You’re bleeding,” she said with a disapproving tone. “What kind of stupid game are you playing?”

He shrugged and expressed no emotion. “I’m just doing what the boss said,” he declared as he left the room. “And then your friend went all dokkalfar on me!”

When he left, Kairen sighed and regained her determined smile. “Come on, Ahna, now you train with me!”

* * *

For the next few days, Ahna explored the high halls of Orgna, each day a little more. She found herself skimming through the archives of the library, impressed by how much the Resistance had been able to preserve after the war. There were stories about the dawning of Bravoure, the alliance with the high elves, and the prosperity of the kingdom. How the dwarves had built a myriad of mines in Gurdal, how they had established advanced sites for the excavation of Bravoure’s first riches: the Bravan gold. She found old parchments about the creation of Terra. The Storms of Creation, in which the first dragon-god and the universe had been created.

Most rebels still looked at her with curious eyes as she wandered inside the barracks, but they always nodded and smiled at her when she passed by them. The elf was impressed by the diversity and richness of traits of the Resistance. There were humans like the high commander, elves like Councilor Myria Fel or Captain Senris, sindurs like Councilor Luk Ma, and even some dokkalfar soldiers. There were women, men, all kinds of people who made the Resistance the powerful force it was. All were united against Lord Sharr’s oppressive and tyrannous reign.

Ahna sat one afternoon, after a short sparring session with Kairen, on a bench in the large entrance hall, reading through the rescued records of the Magi Academy. She found a relatively recent silver adorned tome on its history, and members sorted chronologically. It spoke of the Academy’s creation and had the names of honorable archmagi who had taught discipline and wisdom to young Bravan apprentices. Among them was hers. Meriel Ahn Arkamai.

It was known dokkalfar tradition to bear two names. One name of honor, exclusively for family, and one of common use. Despite her origin, the Bravan magi had welcomed Ahna and the little family she had as their own. As such, she was remembered with both her names, Meriel Ahn.

As she scrolled through the Academy’s records, she stumbled upon another name. Her heavy heart suddenly leapt beneath her breast. She whispered the words as she read them, Luthan Hyehn. Her eyes followed the short passage.

Archmage Luthan Hyehn, Enchanter of the Fourth Circle, specialized in the Fine Arts of Arcanis, prime in the school of Elementalism, a devoted master of Pyromancy. Luthan joined the Academy in 1239:AV, Anno Varkadia. He came from the ljosalfar land of Fallvale and excelled at the practice of magic.

Ahna shut the book. She paused for a moment, her lips resting on the silver fore-edge. She closed her eyes and let the images of her past flow through her memory. It was a name she had not thought of in years. His emerald eyes were what she remembered most. His kindness and intelligence, his sense of duty. His long, smooth pure blond hair, almost white, that covered his shoulders perfectly. His smell...

When she opened her eyes again, the beautiful scent of a tender remembrance dissipated. Her heart ached as she faced the emptiness of the room she sat in. There she was, at a table in the dwarven hall of a gold mine, alone. She went to return the book to the library when she crossed paths with Senris, the captain of the Fae. The wood elf had an escort of two others, whom she thought she recognized as her two assailants from the forest. But these were different. She heard the voices of dark elves sneer in her mind. All vidthralfar looked the same anyway. She dismissed these thoughts, this was something these ignorant fools would say about their long distant cousins. Senris tilted his head as a motion of brief greeting, then went on with his stroll. When Ahna placed the book back on one of the shelves, she felt a particular, almost spiritual call. The thought of Luthan had brought back a recollection of painful memories, and she needed some more time alone, away from prying eyes.

At the back of the foyer, there was a small chapel initially built by the dwarves to honor the Forge Idol—the miners that followed had consecrated it to the different deities of Bravoure. When the Resistance had turned the quarry into their primary base, they kept the chapel as is, for souls in need of spiritual guidance. There was a stone circle at the center of the holy room, and a series of small religious statuettes placed on the furthest end of the ring. As Ahna stepped into the candlelit chapel, she noticed an old man rested at the effigy of Varko, the Solar God. He recited the mantras of the Call of Light silently, murmuring each syllable with a careful melody. When he became aware of the presence of Ahna, he turned his head in her direction.

“Ah, you must be the new recruit!” he joyfully exclaimed.

The man stood up and greeted her the old Bravan monk’s way, two joint palms and a tilt of the forehead.

He was bald. He wore an alb, a long white tunic covered by a tabard of the same color. The garments were adorned with golden livery and girded with a red cincture. This outfit gave him the allure of the Gurdal monks, the ones from the ancient tales.

“I’m Gideon. You can probably guess, I come here a lot.”

He smiled at her, there was an honest light shining in his nut-colored eyes that ended in a distinct curve. Ahna somehow found some comfort in them. He seemed to look at her past her appearance, past her blue skin and her dokkalfar traits. A calming energy emanated from his smile.

“You’re a cleric,” she inferred from his clothing.

“Yes. A Varkadian cleric!” he pointed out enthusiastically, with a slight bit of pride. “There are not many of us around here anymore, but we joined the cause nevertheless. I’m also a found student of the old tales. Tell me, Ahna, who do you pray to?”

His question left her thinking. One could say she was not the believer she used to be. She had not even seen a cleric since the war. In general, magi were no fans of religion. Ahna had always been the outlier who sometimes sought guidance under the wings of dragon-gods.

But why was he asking?

Then, as though he had read her thoughts, Gideon clarified his question. “I’m not asking this to bear judgement. I just want to make sure we have a statue here for you.”

He held his hand toward the end of the ring, where the six small effigies of gods stood. Ahna then laid her eyes on the stone figures. They were roughly sculpted, with unintentional imperfections. Yet they were flawless in heartwarming ways.

“I know they’re not as majestic as Bravoure’s pantheonic golden sculptures, but they bring peace to the souls in need,” Gideon said humbly. “So, tell me, do we have your divine here?”

Ahna examined each statuette. Each divine was portrayed as a dragon, as described by the Scriptures of the Old. There was Varko, the great white dragon born in the Storms of Creation. Dracuuria, the Mother, the nine-headed hydra who gave birth to the first civilization. D’hjaak and Bishet, the conjoined twin dragons of unity in diversity. Guan, the victorious horned dragon that symbolised hope and the endurance of hardship, and Sabys, the serpent under the sea and preserver of life. And finally, there was Ghydra, the god-king who lived among mortals, offspring of Varko and Dracuuria.

This small handpicked pantheon was composed of deities of light. Each titan embodied an ideal, something better all mortals must strive for. So, it made sense that Ahna’s divine was not present.

“Morxairen, I guess it would be him,” she finally answered.

Gideon looked concerned. “Morxairen, the once banished now absolved. He never fully was accepted in the Heavens now, was he?” Ahna remained silent and the old man smiled. “I know he was popular among the magi. He created them, after all.”

Gideon seemed unaware of Ahna’s history with magic, and she preferred it to stay that way. “Well, it would only make sense,” the elf began. “Look at me. What do you see?”

The old cleric examined her. He took a moment to analyse her with his eager brown eyes as though he gazed into who she was rather than what. “You’re dokkalfar, but you didn’t come with the horde. You’ve been in Bravoure for much longer, am I correct?” Ahna gave a simple nod. “Bravoure welcomed you, but you didn’t feel truly accepted, did you?” The old man asked rhetorically. He was silent for a minute as if to solve a riddle. “You had to fight your own kin, and you’ve been gone for so long.” Ahna’s eyes met the floor, to shed a semblance of guilt. “You ran from the war, the doomed cause. And now, you came for a second chance, at the gates of the Resistance.” He went on with a distant tone. “But the way you think most look at you now, you will probably never truly feel accepted. So Morxairen’s story can only make more sense to you.”

The elf looked up then smiled. Gideon had it all absolutely correct. He slowly turned to her. And with a soothing voice, he told her the following words, from the bottom of his heart.

“Ahna, without the idea of redemption, there would not be a Resistance. You must free yourself from the guilt you feel. When you become your own jailor, only you possess the key.” The gentle smile on his face shone in the candlelight. “I need to go, there are things I must do. It was nice to meet you, Ahna.” And the wise cleric exited the chapel.

The following day, Ahna began her training with the Shrike Wing, heeding an order called by Cedric Rover. She was to train with the shrikes before their lope to East Haven in a few days. The fact that she had not wielded a dagger or sword in real combat for so long made it a strict necessity. She did wonder, perhaps, if their captain simply enjoyed watching a good fight against something better than a scruffy dokka dummy.

After a new rather intense training session, Ahna headed to the chapel again. Perhaps she had hoped to have yet another pleasant conversation with the Varkadian cleric. She entered an empty room, only lit by the numerous candles. At the humble stone ring, there were not six statuettes, but a seventh one had found itself next to Ghydra’s. The once banished now absolved, silver dragon of Terra’s dawn, Morxairen.

Ahna was fascinated by the grandeur of the barracks of Orgna. Fifty years spent as a recluse at the edge of Bravoure, she would have never imagined such a strong military force had won the hearts of so many. So many different souls who fought for the same cause. So many who refused to bow before a false king. She was so astounded, it almost brought tears to her eyes. She had heard the echoes of a rebellion after the war, but most seemed to have lost hope after the failed Uprising. Only Kairen’s fire and enthusiasm had reached her. Her protegee would visit each Sol before and after the harsh winter, and tell her short stories of their accomplishments. And she would especially speak of David, her commander, whom she had fallen in love with and married.

Commander David Falco was the leader of the garrison of swordsmen and women. Each squadron had its own captain, Diego, from the lunch with the swordsmen, was the captain of the fifth squadron, and Kairen of the eighth. In total, there were many, many soldiers, Ahna could not count them all. She noticed as she walked through the training halls that some of the soldiers preferred to wield spears or lances. Though referring to the squads as a battalion of swords made it easier! David was under Joshua’s command, the high commander of the Resistance, who bore the royal claymore. The greatsword had been passed on to him after the death of the last high commander. The Resistance Guard, the men and women guarding the barracks of Orgna, was personally led by Joshua Sand.

In the next room were members of the Shrike Wing, all under Jade Lark’s command, the Resistance spy. She had been close to Lord Sharr for a very long time. She was no soldier, but a master at the art of deception. To lead the shrikes, she had appointed her best assassin, Captain Cedric Rover. The shrikes did not operate in groups or squads, rather spontaneous units of two or three, all depending on the mission. They were masters of stealth and combat with the blade, always with rather a shortsword than a long one. Some liked to use daggers or other smaller weapons.

Sometimes, a different pack of soldiers trained with the shrikes, and sometimes with David’s garrison of swords. Those were the scouts of Councilor Luk Ma, the man-lynx. Those were the eyes of the rebellion. Most of them sindur, some of them were elves or humans. They had the incredible ability to hide in plain sight and were often sent out on reconnaissance missions, sometimes along with a shrike or two. They worked closely with the Shrike Wing but always remained in the distance. For that, shrike spies were better when it came to collecting close intelligence. The sindurs had the best eyesight of Terra. Therefore, they made excellent scouts!

Most units, when inside Orgna, wore the military tunic of the prewar Bravan army. Officers wore the fir green that had become the emblem color of the Resistance. Swordsmen and women wore an oak brown attire, in the same design as their officers’. The rangers wore forest green leathers, and the scouts wore light brown ones. The guards of the barracks were the only ones in armor. The cadets and new recruits, no matter from which branch they were, wore the white uniform of young soldiers, which symbolised their innocence.

Ahna headed to the main hall. She crossed paths with Councilor Myria Fel, the high elf who led the Antlers through Senris, the captain of the Fae. From what Ahna had heard, the councilor did not live in Orgna. She stayed in a town to the west, Elgon, bordering Fallvale, the land of high elves.

The fires of rivalry between ljosalfar and dokkalfar had burnt for many centuries. Ahna had always managed to stay away from this eternal feud. When Ahna had first seen the councilor, the high elf had reminded her of the ones she had known back in the capital. Most of them held an aristocratic status within the city and were renowned for their elegance. Comparable to their dokkalfar counterpart, ljosalfar had precise preferences and established standards of beauty. Ahna had first found their nearing arrogance similar to the dokkalfar’s she had known long, long ago. However, ljosalfar strived for balance and peace, unlike the chaos of the Dwellunder. High elves were not the friendliest of creatures, but once one got close to them, they were the kindest souls Ahna had known. High elf magi were also incredibly skilled and gifted. Ahna had grown close to some of them at the Magi Academy of Bravoure, especially one of them.

As Myria nodded at Ahna, she noticed a vidthralfar and another ljosalfar accompanied her. They signed at her with a semblance of respect. Ahna, surprised, blushed and headed to the foyer. As she passed the gates of Orgna, she saw the captain of the shrikes stand by the open doors. He seemed to be in a conversation with an unknown soldier. His attire was different from the usual black leathers or the training iron. He wore the same kind of garments as the commanders from the Council, but the shrike’s was as black as night, with no epaulettes. When he noticed her, his eyes changed from soft blue to strict indigo. They remained fixed on her as she made it to the stairway.

Upstairs, Ahna sat alone for a moment, on her assigned bed in the dorm. She wanted to find some peace. She slept there with the many swordswomen of David’s garrison and a few sindur scouts. As far as she knew, there were no shrikes. She walked toward the small window at the edge of the dorm. Outside, she had a view on the stables, but she could not see the horses.

Her thoughts then rushed to the image of Bark, her brown steed. She almost prayed to the gods for him to be safe. In her hand, she held the marble with the encrusted glyph, the one from her small stone house in Miggdra. That was the only thing she had kept from her past. None of them here knew, but the symbol actually did not mean anything in particular. It was the first letter of the alphabet of the Ancients, that was all there was to it.

The sky was grey at the moment, and the sun hid behind the clouds. The weather in Bravoure had never been too warm. A temperate climate with a cold sun, but not much rain, just white fleecy clouds. Winters were harsh but bearable, and summers were not too hot. In the Dwellunder, there was only one kind of weather, the darkness of the caverns underneath Terra. But that time was long ago, and the memories were now distant and blurred.

As the sky grew darker, the sun sought refuge behind the mountains. Ahna could almost see the moon rise. A thin purplish silver, waning crescent that indicated the new moon was soon to come. She still held the small marble that, to her, symbolised Bravoure and what the kingdom stood for. She would soon depart on her first mission. A mission in the name of the cause, the freedom of Bravoure’s people who had suffered far too much.

* * *

Another blunt head fell to the cold ground of the capital. The plaza stones were blooded. Tears of warm and red fluid dripped along the stairs slowly into the streets of the golden city. The dokkalfar grand vizier in his long dark robe marched amidst the blood and addressed the frightened people. His men picked each head from the ground and discarded them one by one into carts pulled by nightmare stallions.

By the foot of the stairs, a dark and sinister guard kneeled with his arm around a frail woman’s neck. The grand vizier approached her. When he was close enough, he bent over to face her. He seized the collar of her gown and ripped it open. Her bare breasts were exposed to the people of Bravoure. He stood up again and cast a glare of disdain over her defiled body. He pointed his sword at the base of her sternum, right below her ribcage.

A malicious scowl drew upon his face. His vile smirk terrorised the poor woman who trembled convulsively at the cold touch of the blade. The grand vizier seized the pommel into his right palm and with the left hand, he gently pushed downwards. The edge of his sword pierced through her soft skin. She let out a faint scream as her voice broke into the aghast crowd’s murmurs. He pushed further. The blade slid smoothly between the rifts of her flesh, and she cried louder. Her shrieks seemed to sound like music to his ears. He hummed a macabre melody as he pushed the sword down further. His head danced from left to right to the symphony of her dying breath.

When the blade pierced through the meat by her spine, she yelled out once more before sealing her eyes and sinking into a deep lifeless sleep. The grand vizier descended his sword further until it reached the ground. Her warm blood dripped smoothly to the side of his blade before it reached the cold plaza stones. The dokkalfar guard let go of the woman’s neck, and her dead corpse slid along the sword and fell sprawled out beside him.

The grand vizier bent over and glanced. “Hvíldu í fridth, rest in peace, human,” he spat with obvious disdain.

As the dark elf pulled his sword out of the stained carcass, his master’s footsteps shook the ground beneath the crowd. Behind him stood a tall, dark figure, the symbol of a half a century old oppression itself. The man wore a long black coat over his boiled leather cuirass, decorated by the ornaments of his province in the Dwellunder. He glanced over the crowd of coerced citizens.

“Kyær’ da, Sodiln,” his deep and husky voice greeted his grand vizier.

Sodiln turned and bowed to his King. Taller than most dark elves, Xandor had the skin of the dim blue twilight and the long silver hair of Dwellunder nobility. His ears pointed to the sky he owned. The crowd glanced at the Dark Lord, each more terrified than the other. Xandor strolled toward one of the carts of fallen heads and laid his hands on the edge.

“Insurgents?” he inquired.

Sodiln came to join him. “Most certainly, Master.”

Xandor smiled. His flaming eyes rested on the bewildered crowd and the dead woman’s dumb body. His breath was calm. A dark and inexplicable power emanated from his malicious allure.

“Dispose of them in the pits. And get these animals away from castle grounds!” he commanded.

The guards acknowledged and began dispersing the crowd. Xandor marched to the middle of the plaza, followed by his grand vizier.

“We are almost ready, Sodiln. A new day will dawn.”

Sodiln bowed again. “The day of your absolute glory, Master,” he said with a submissive tone.

Xandor glanced over his closest associate. “We still have work to do,” he pressed.

Sodiln then smiled. “Well, about that. We have something that may be of interest to you.”

Deep beneath the Bravan castle were the dungeons, a fortified prison where the Dark Lord held the most ruthless opposition captive. Sodiln led his Majesty through the dark hallway to a small cell. Xandor never ventured into the dungeons, but Sodiln had sworn he would be pleased.

“There she is,” the grand vizier said when the guard opened the barred door.

Xandor opened his mouth slightly in surprise. His eyes then darkened, and he glared at the captive soul with anger. The woman kneeled in the shadows. Her hands were bound, her clothes were soiled. There was dried blood on her face and old bruises on her arms.

“Our doubts proved to be correct, she’s a rebel,” Sodiln said.

The Dark Lord remained silent. Instead, he stared at the human female who had stood by him many times.

“Should we execute her, make it a spectacle the protesters will never forget?” The grand vizier asked enthusiastically, his deranged tone echoed in the cell.

Xandor stayed pensive, studying the captive woman. “It’s amusing how their skin turns to this piss-yellow color when their bruises heal,” he commented, intrigued.

The grand vizier chuckled with gloom. He then turned to his master expectantly. Xandor took a deep breath. “Delay the execution. I may have a use for the vermin after all.”

Sodiln acknowledged. He instructed the guards to close the door while Xandor disappeared into the hallway back to the throne room.

4

Sabotage

The new moon was impeding, and the newly formed Resistance unit would depart at dusk. In the meantime, they had to kill time. Ahna picked up a training iron sword and swung it immediately against the blade of her training partner, the shrike lieutenant Jules. For the first time, they had a new audience. Squadron Five, their mission partners from Commander Falco’s garrison, was watching the fight and cheered for either Jules or Ahna to win. Some of them had even placed bets.

“You’ve got a few fans, I see!” Cedric, who leaned against a wall, exclaimed with a grin.

Jules took another swing at Ahna, which she swiftly dodged, but his blade brushed over her forearm. For a second, the elf thought it had cut through the linen around her left wrist. She signaled for a timeout, turned around, and inspected the bands. No cuts, good.

“What are those anyway, fancy dokkalfar fashion?” she heard Cedric snigger from the other side.

Ahna hushed him and came at Jules with her blade. The irons clashed again. Her opponent sneered at her as they both assumed a high guard. She cast a ferocious glare at him. He swayed his blond hair back and winked at her.

“Careful, Ahnny, you might not kill me with your sword, but you will definitely kill me with these eyes!” Jules playfully hissed.

The two opponents dueled in a dance of blades. They moved back and forth, parrying cut after cut, never letting the other slide through. But in this vehement cadence, any of them could error accidentally.

When Ahna’s cuts weakened, Jules did not waste any time. He pressed in, with his blade against hers, and thrust forward to make her lose balance. Before the fierce shrike could declare victory, a natural instinct made her catch a firm grip around his wrist, pulling him in with her. She used the momentum of his fall to raise herself up and tilt her body so to slink behind him. She knocked her hand against his back, and he fell face first. As he raised his head, he clasped his hands behind his neck to declare a forfeiture. Ahna gently swayed the point of her blade and held it above his shoulders.

“You’re dead, Jules,” she softly declared.

As her opponent recovered his stance, she turned around seeking the eyes of the shrike captain. The other spectators had their jaws hanging in awe. Everyone had recognized that last swirl yet no one spoke. The notorious dokkalfar slither: the mork shan. Cedric threw an apprehensive glare at the dark elf. She brought the training sword back to the rack and left the room.

“Ahna, wait!” Jules’ voice called from behind her. She turned around to the lieutenant, who looked way too enthusiastic. “You have to teach me that move!” he insisted.

A burst of gentle laughter came out of the elf’s lips. She wondered for a moment whether Jules was serious, but his eyes showed a genuine interest. They sparkled with youth and eagerness, he always smiled with peace and a little curiosity for the unknown.

“I don’t know many dokkalfar,” the shrike lieutenant began. “But your combat tricks are fascinating.” A light of interest shone in Ahna’s eyes—amusement perhaps—so Jules continued. “You use your opponent’s weight against them! It’s handy for a one-on-one drill, but in a battle, it seems to hinder you. Too many distractions!”

“Maybe later,” Ahna eventually told him. “I need to take a bath!”

Jules chuckled. “I’ll hold you to that! Baths are upstairs.”

Ahna nodded and headed into the hallway. She made her way to the spiral staircase leading to the floor above them.

The lieutenant was right. Dokkalfar excelled in the art of stealth and hand-to-hand combat. But on the battlefield, their smaller size did put them at a distinct disadvantage. Dokkalfar armies were known to select based on height and weight, purely for that reason. However, as humans or taller races had mastered the sword and the art of war, most dark elves did not bother sending an army to the surface. Until Xandor Kun Sharr.

The baths were a collection of pools, heated by the water source from underneath the nearby mountains. The dwarves had built an advanced irrigation system underneath the quarry, that would allow for purifying, heating, and filtering of volcanic water that flowed through the barracks. There were two main chambers for men and women and smaller rooms for those who required privacy. The private rooms were usually used by officers or the few high elves, who valued intimacy more than most. Opposite to the baths was a large hall, split in two by a series of cabinets. They used this installation as a wall to create separate garderobes for men and women.

Ahna stood north of the room. She took off her leather corset and felt some soreness in her arms and shoulders. She stretched out her tense neck and passed her hand along the side of her body, to check for any cuts or bruises. There, she felt the ridge of an old scar that reached deep into her skin—the mark of a moment she had almost forgotten. Or she would rather forget. As she undressed, she heard a faint noise on the other side of the room. It sounded like odd, inaudible whispers.

“Not now,” someone had said. The murmurs were strangely similar to Cedric’s voice.

The elf found a little space between the cabinets that she could peek through. There, she saw the captain of the shrikes. He stood with his back toward her, his training cuirass removed, and he wore but his breeches and leather greaves. When she noticed he was not fully clothed, Ahna blushed and instantly looked away and leaned against the cabinets. There were so many scars on his back…They reminded her of hers, the cuts and bruises she never dared to think about.

Then Cedric whispered again. “Give me some more time,” he stuttered, almost beggingly.

This was too strange.

Ahna still decided to peek once more. The muscle of his back stiffen as he seemed to be speaking to an invisible shadow. By the tone of his voice, he sounded frightened. He turned slightly, so she could see him from the side. He was staring intensely at his hand, which slowly began to disappear, along with his complete arm, then it reappeared again. Ahna blinked a few times. She thought her eyes were playing tricks on her.

I must be delirious, she even thought for a second.

As Cedric drew a fist, his clenched hand faded back into the void. His gaze was troubled, with a shadow of severe concern. Ahna gasped. Could this be…the whispers he heard, she could hear them too. A warning. A very frightening warning.

She put her hand in front of her mouth and turned back. Cedric must have heard something because he immediately packed up his belongings and stormed out of the room. Ahna wanted to call for him, but she was bare, and he was gone in the blink of an eye. She hurried to get ready then headed to the ground floor.

Outside the barracks of Orgna was the large square for loading and unloading supplies and to the left were the stables. To the right were a series of coops full of lively hens pecking around and about. The sun was setting over the mountain, and two shrikes and Squadron Five had already saddled their horses. They were ready to embark on the covert mission.

Ahna met with stabler Jak Ma, another sindur, who showed her the different horses. The man-lynx wore a simple set of clothing, similar to a farmer’s attire. He had a dusty apron decorated with the symbols of Bravoure’s castle. Ahna wondered where he could have gotten such apparel, which was perhaps even older than he.

Jak Ma was covered with beautiful thick fur that kept him warm at all times. His front paws extended into humanoid-like fingers, but they were adorned with razor-sharp claws, which he could draw and retract at will. With these hands, he could grasp objects and even wield a sword. His large feet were furry and closely resembled his feline ancestors’. He needed no shoes because his toes spread as they touched the ground. This made the sindur incredibly gifted at keeping balance when running or in combat. But the best equilibrium tool was his long tail, which wagged smoothly back and forth as he caressed each horse like he cherished them with his whole heart. Jak Ma was black as night, unlike his distant cousin’s auburn fur. And speaking of auburn, there was the lost brown steed!

“Bark!” Ahna exclaimed. She trotted to her horse and went to check his every angle to see if he was all right.

He appeared as healthy as ever. “Ah,” Jak joined her. “He’s your steed. A beautiful brown shire horse.”

Ahna could not contain her excitement. “How long has he been here? Is he alright?”

Jak laughed. “He arrived shortly after you! I guess he was looking for you. We took him in and gave him the care he needed. Not too much to worry about.”

Bark looked like he was in excellent shape. Jak handed Ahna the reins, and she led her horse to the rest of the unit. Cedric joined them later on his grey mountain steed. The elf noticed the ornate bow that sent chills down her spine. She locked eyes with the marksman’s, wary of what would happen next. They left Orgna before sundown.

The group of Resistance fighters loped through the plains of Bravoure. They had a full night and a day to travel to the harbor town, before the new moon. To stay away from the main travelled roads, they followed the southern uplands, at the edge of the Gurdal mounts. They headed east, toward a crossing with the Azul, the river that contoured the land. Once they reached the waterway, they knew they were close to East Haven.

Before the crack of dawn, they set up camp between the hills, above the river. Jules lit a fire and summoned the others. He came to sit close to Ahna, between her and Lynn from Squadron Five. Lynn’s captain, Diego, the warrior with the eyes of Sud and the curled black hair of the sea, sat beside his peer Cedric. The four other swordsmen from Squadron Five were singing old campfire songs and drinking dwarven ale they had smuggled with them in leather canteens. They had their arms around each other’s shoulders and swung left and right to the rhythm of their melody.

“And we sing, and we sing at the fire

And the hells from the ghastly pyre

Fade

Away from us in glorious rain,

Oh, in glorious rain, inglorious pain!”

Ahna smiled at this joyous display. Diego applauded and cheered. “Don’t drink too much of that ale, George, we still need you for the mission!” The swordsmen laughed one after the other.

Cedric was offered a sip of Diego’s cup. After a playful sigh of disapproval, he chugged the whole thing! The others clapped and praised happily.

Lynn then turned to the silent dark elf. “You know, Ahna. It’s really only Cedric who doesn’t like you. We think you’re fine.” A kind smile appeared on her face. At least, she was honest. “Even if you were sithrax, we’d like you,” she then joked. Jules threw his cup at her to hush her. “What? Come on, everyone hates the sithrax! Even dark elves hate the sithrax, am I right?” She laughed, and the rest joined.

After the crowd regained its calm, Lynn employed a more serious tone. “I’m obviously joking.” She searched for Ahna’s eyes and proceeded. “If we ever let race divide us, the Resistance would have lost its meaning.”

Wisest words, Ahna thought. Lynn was so kind. She was cunning, beautiful, and most of all, she accepted Ahna even though she was dokkalfar. Just like her peers of Squadron Five, who seemed to not mind Ahna too much and even offered her a sip of ale!

“How many soldiers are you, actually?” the elf asked Lynn, seeming to want to make conversation.

“We have a couple of thousand fighters in total, all under David’s command,” she replied with pride. “Our recruitment program goes deep in the Bravoure underground, I’m sure Sharr still hasn’t figured it out!” As she took another sip of ale, she continued. “Cedric has about another hundred shrikes under his command. Most of us are human, but many other races have joined too. You have Luk Ma’s sindur scouts, high elf and wood elf rangers, even some of you!” Lynn kept on smiling as she told the tale of the rebellion. “Some even came from other lands, like Galies, to help with the cause.”

Lynn had been with the Resistance for almost a decade. Ahna just noticed the red paintings on her arms, which told the story of her family. It was a Tazman tradition. Lynn’s thick black hair had a thousand coils, like a frizzed leonine mane. Her smile brought a kind of enthusiasm to Ahna’s heart, like a rallying ray of joy. In her life, Lynn had joined arms with other humans, elves, dokkalfar, and sindurs alike. She held no prejudice against any race. She preached the words of the Mother, who created all mortals to be equal.

After a long pause, Ahna chuckled and looked at Lynn. “Maybe you can be Bravoure’s next leader!”

Lynn laughed out loud. “I’m a soldier, not a leader.”

As Ahna laughed with her, she noticed the gaze of her captain, Diego Levireo, rested on the elegant Taz woman. His aquiline nose followed her as she swayed around telling more of her story. A particular, familiar light shone in his eyes, that of a protector, a leader, but also, something more intimate. Ahna recognized this look. She had not seen it in decades, but she could instantly name the one flame as old as Terra.

Diego stood up and signalled Cedric to follow him. They strolled away from the campfire and headed toward a dark poplar still close to the group.

“Uh oh, trouble ahead,” one of the swordsmen said humorously as the two captains walked off.

Once they were alone, Diego took a sip of his cup before speaking. “Some say Lynn is too trusting,” he began. “The Swords don’t mind the dark elf, but you, obviously, have your doubts.” He meant Cedric’s apparent disdain for Ahna.

The shrike sighed. “I just wonder why the Council admitted her so easily, and why they put her on this mission.”

Diego took a moment to respond. “They say David had a feeling?” As Cedric nodded, he resumed. “It’s all peculiar, indeed. But Lynn is right, we mustn’t let race divide us.”

The shrike scoffed and glanced at Diego, perplexed. “You hate dark elves as much as I do! Don’t hide behind this wise and righteous mask.” Cedric assertively shoved him in the shoulder, in the hopes of bringing his friend back to his senses.

“Set your feelings aside, dai,” Diego kindly requested. “Just for this mission. It’s too important.”

The shrike looked into his eyes, then took a deep, slow breath to calm himself down. “I haven’t had a rest in so long, I guess I need more of that ale!”

Together, they headed back toward the campfire.

“Bid sin a ’sein còmhla,

Bid sin ag òl, ag òl, ag òl!

Bid sin a ’dannsa còmhla,

Tha sin a ’toirt ram don cheàrdach!”

“So, we’re singing like dwarves now?” Lynn acclaimed. She joined the swordsmen in their old dwarven chants.

Ahna was now alone with Jules by her side. The man was seemingly younger than Cedric, but he looked strong. His posture had the likeness of a history that weighed heavy on his shoulders. His blond hair reminded Ahna of the hay Bark loved, and the flames of the campfire reflected in his blue eyes. He took a sip of ale and turned to the elf.

“So, do all dokkalfar know the mork shan?” he inquired, curious. “Also, when are you going to teach it to me?”

Ahna chuckled loudly. “I feared you wouldn’t forget! And no”—she then smirked—“only the best of the best know the mork shan. And I’ll teach it to you, maybe another time.” She had said that with a mysterious coy. Jules blushed and looked back at the fire.

As Ahna observed this unit of Resistance fighters, she understood the scars of an endless rebellion. These soldiers had felt the loss of many. They had endured hardship and pain. They had done things they probably regretted, had made choices that kept them awake at night, all in the name of the one cause that united them.

And I was hiding, all this time.

The sudden veil of guilt dropped on her shoulders. She looked at Jules, the handsome blond shrike who had lost his family to the Dark Lord. She glanced over to Diego, who had lost just as much. To the honorable swordsmen who sang by the campfire, who cheered triumphantly despite their wounds. Then, her gaze landed on Cedric, the troubled captain who dragged a past perhaps as obscure as hers. Her mind wandered off as she kept her eyes on the tall shrike.

Lynn, who had noticed her staring, gently bumped her in the waist with her elbow. “Give him a bit of time,” the Taz woman cheered. “He’ll come around!”

Ahna simply smiled. As time passed, the distant memories that roamed through her mind slowly drove her spirit away from the group. She saw the faces of the people with whom she had fought side by side when Lord Sharr and his army had raged through Bravoure. For a brief endearing moment, she relived her time at the Academy. The magi had welcomed her with open arms, back when peace governed over the kingdom, before the war.

Ahna thought of a time long before any of these brave heroes, or maybe even their parents were born. A time further away into the past, when her family had fled from the sins of the Dwellunder. Her mother’s face passed behind her eyes and she exhaled deeply as she remembered her soothing voice.

After a long pause, she finally stood up, waved at the group, and headed toward one of the burlap rolls she would use as a camping cot. She rested on the soft soil and picked one of the cowhides to keep warm. The others were still carousing. The sun would be rising soon, so they had a little time to sleep before resuming the mission. All around them, the hills were awakening with the music of passerine birds and the ringing of morning crickets. A sweet scent of spring flowers reached Ahna’s eager nostrils, and she closed her eyes for a brief moment.

Dusk had fallen upon the hills and another day of travel was behind the rebel unit. The shrikes, as is the tradition at the Resistance spy wing, had painted their face with the kohl of war. Their captain laid in the tall grass above the hill, his eyes fixed on East Haven.

“See, over there,”—Cedric pointed at the watchtower in the distance—“that’s the outpost.” The squad looked in the direction of the tower posted close to the village. “It’s small, only big enough to maintain ten or twelve soldiers. The main patrol is staged here. The others must already be near the docks.” The sun was already seeking refuge behind the mountains to the west. “Shrikes, you come with me.” The two nodded dutifully. With a single glance, Cedric signed his men to join him.

“Squadron Five, we stand guard at the tower,” Diego ordered. “Ahna, you’re with us. Good luck, shrikes!”

The night embraced the harbor town. The docks were surrounded by a small collection of houses, where only seamen and a few local merchants lived. At night, there was never much activity at the harbor.

The squadron was placed at the edge of the forest. They had a direct line of sight with the watchtower and East Haven in the distance. Cedric, followed by Jules and the other shrike, headed out into the village. Jules was tasked with spreading the oil on Sharr’s fleet, while the rest would first take out the brazier, then set the harbor on fire. With the dexterity of the shrikes, they moved undetected between the mud roads and harbor houses.

Once they got closer to the small pier, Cedric ordered Jules to circle around the perimeter, to get to the ships from the waterside. Docked close to the central square, there were two large carrier ships, black galleys, decorated with the red flag of Sharr. Three guards were standing in front of the vessels. They wore chainmail coats over their leathers, and appeared to be in deep conversation when Cedric hid in the darker corner of one of the harbor houses and observed them. From there, he had a clear view of the docks. He spotted Jules’ figure in the distance. His lieutenant was close to the furthest ship. The captain raised his hand in the air, with three fingers up, to signal his lieutenant to commence the attack. Jules acknowledged using the same signal, and he began climbing aboard the unmanned ships from the back. The other shrike silently moved to the alarm brazier. He placed a mask trap between the coal chunks that when lit, would spread inside the container and prevent the flames from rising.

As Jules prepared to move to the second ship, another man walked out of a dark corner near the guards. The man strolled toward the watchers. He wore what appeared to be a long robe, and it was almost as though the others answered to him. His face could not be seen. As he stepped in the middle of the square, Cedric heard him murmur something inaudible. Before any could react, a sudden slight breeze caressed the stones of the harbor ground. The shrikes did not dare to move. When Cedric felt the wind’s soft stroke against his cheek, the robed man turned straight toward him.

“Dryak kri!” he shouted to the guards—a war call.

They unsheathed their swords and prepared for battle. In a flurry, Cedric had drawn his bow, his hand clenched firmly around the riser. He released a crushing arrow that pierced straight through one of the guards. The dokkalfar soldier squealed in torment and collapsed to the ground. Cedric charged his next opponent. Meanwhile, his peer sprung out of the shadows and swung his sword at the other guard.

But the robed man had foreseen his move. He turned to the human assailant and uttered a series of three unknown words, katl a frumur.

A slow dance of blinding bolts spurred from the robed man’s shoulder up until his hand. The serpentine lights flickered around his fingers and formed a shocking wave that cut through the air and travelled straight to the shrike’s heart. The roar of the lightning strike shook the earth beneath them.

Cedric’s comrade was dead. The captain’s jaw dropped, struck by the realization of what had happened. “Warlock!” he yelled.

The robed man turned back to the shrike captain and prepared for the next lightning strike. Cedric swiftly dodged the thunderbolt and took a dive at the second guard, who was pushed to the side by the aggressive blows of his shortsword. The guard then leapt backwards and parried Cedric’s next cut. But the shrike’s cut transformed into a powerful thrust that forced the guard to let go of his weapon. In the swift swing of a blade, Cedric cut off his head clean.

When he heard the third shockwave be launched, the captain pulled the final guard toward him. With a swift flick of the wrist, he plunged his sword through his back. The blade surged instantly out of his ribcage, then the shrike moved him in the path of the lightning. The body was turned to ashes. Cedric’s eyes met the warlock’s as the scorched carcass hit the ground.

“You cannot run, human,” the dark man warned.

Jules had seen his peer die at the hands of the dokkalfar warlock. He had made his way to the second ship and emptied the last flask of oil he carried. He hoped to get off the galley as fast as he could, set the whole place on fire, and run. Cedric was facing the robed man alone. Jules saw the warlock prepare yet another strike.

Between the thunder clashes, the lieutenant jumped off the ship onto the dock. He pulled out his sword and went straight for their opponent’s turned back. Though at that moment, the warlock quickly swerved toward him and held his hand high. He shouted another incantation, a short combination of muffled words and Jules was suddenly immobilized. The shrike rose above the ground, his arms and legs completely paralyzed. His neck felt as though he was being smothered by an invisible force.

“Drop your sword, human, or I will end your pathetic friend,” he commanded Cedric. The latter heard the nearing movement of another patrol in the distance, and he regrettably contemplated the possibility of failure.

“Ahna, get back!” Lynn yelled.

A roar of distant thunder reverberated the space.

“Ahna!” Lynn called again.

Another clash.

“Something is wrong, Lynn,” Ahna shouted. “I can feel it.”

As their glance landed over the outpost, they saw the armed patrol of Sharr marching fast toward the village. Lynn called Diego, and he signed the rest of his men to head out to battle.

Ahna had a head start.

As she hurried toward the docks, she saw the flash of another lightning strike. She picked up the pace, moving between the small houses.

When she reached the harbor, she saw Cedric’s inert body on the pavement. She gasped, afraid they had lost the captain of the shrikes. Ahna ran toward the marksman and kneeled next to him. She focused for a second, she could still hear his heartbeat.

Close to the ships, a tall male dokkalfar was about to strike the wounded shrike lieutenant. He wore a long dark robe and was ready to launch another lightning.

Ahna clenched her fists. “Drya kri hætta!” It was an abrupt order to stop the fight.

The warlock turned around and plunged his glowing red eyes into Ahna’s. As he prepared to unleash his thunder again, the second patrol reached the harbor. Squadron Five charged them not a minute later and Ahna, desperately afraid to see the mission fail, did the next best thing. She had a short moment to act.

She shed herself of the wraps around her wrists. Oh, that release!

The smooth linen bands fell softly to the ground, and she took the riser of Cedric’s bow in her hand. When she gripped the ornate wood against her palm, an intense dirge of pain surged from underneath her fingertips. The dreadful lament echoed inside her veins through the rest of her body. She clenched her jaw and resisted the pain of a thousand sharp needles that pierced inside her skin and organs. As she raised the bow in front of her, trembling, an aura of light surrounded the bow. That’s new. It spread rapidly from the riser until it engulfed it whole. Ahna led one of Cedric’s arrows to the shelf of the rest and pulled the string back with all the strength she had left. The entire bow and arrow were immersed in the distorted light. She aimed toward the ships and shot the arrow, which then muted into a radiant blast that crashed into the first ship.

The burst completely destroyed the hull and rapidly dashed through the second ship. A loud explosion ensued, and fire raindrops of scorched debris plummeted on the harbor grounds. Jules was propelled backwards from the shockwave, and the robed man fell to his knees in front of Ahna. She released the bow, unsheathed her sword, and plunged it into the heart of the warlock. As she recovered her weapon, she glanced at Cedric, who was looking at her from the ground. There was a lot of blood on his face from a grave head wound. He mumbled something, still looking at Ahna, and then lost consciousness.

Ahna turned to the rest of the guards who were battling against Squadron Five. One of the swordsmen had fallen.

“Drya kri hætta! Stop the fight,” she roared again.

She marched toward them, making circling gestures with her hands. A power she had not felt in so long rushed through her veins. As she drew an arch into the air, a burning flame ignited from between her fingers. It grew larger and hotter and blazed along both her arms. When the enemies noticed her aggressive stance, they dropped their weapons, shouted orders in Dokkalfari, and ran for their lives.

The swordsmen checked each other for wounds, then Lynn went to her fallen comrade. She gently closed his eyes and recited a silent Taz prayer. Diego kept on staring at the flaming shipwreck that had formed a large pyre by the docks. There were terrified civilians slowly ambling on the square. Jules rejoined the rebel squad, helping Cedric walk by supporting his captain’s arm on his shoulder. He carried the bow in his other hand. Ahna recovered her bands and hooked them onto her belt. Diego looked at her, a thousand questions in his eyes.

“I’ll explain,” she reassured. “But we must leave immediately.”

Diego acknowledged and signaled for the rest to retreat.

5

The Magi Situation

“He’s losing a lot of blood,” Lynn said through shallow pants to the captain of Squadron Five.

Ahna could not help but hear Lynn’s cry. The rebel unit had withdrawn back to the woods, to a small clearing, where they laid Cedric on a burlap roll. The distant village of East Haven was no longer in sight.

The elf stood in front of the Taz woman. “I can help,” she assured, as Diego reluctantly let her come closer to Cedric.

“What happened out there, Ahna?” Lynn asked, awed by the events at the harbor.

The elf instructed the others to wait and went to tend to Cedric. She stood by him and was about to perform a spell of minor healing. She was no divine, she could not do better than speed the coagulation process so she could stop the bleeding.

Ahna brought her hand above his chest, but he suddenly snatched her wrist. “Don’t you dare touch me, warlock!” he warned.

She laid her palm on the one that had grabbed her arm, in an attempt to appease him. She hushed him to sleep with a softer voice like a mother would do to a child in distress. She paid keen attention to his heart, which calmed its pace, as she whispered to him in Dokkalfari. Cedric eventually closed his eyes, and his breathing slowed down.

“You have to teach me that!” Lynn exclaimed as she observed Ahna.

The elf’s hands placed on the shrike’s chest, she muttered a few words, a kind of soft ritual in old elven. “My heart to your heart. Harta mi til harta thfiins.”

She closed her eyes, monitoring Cedric’s calmed breathing. She analysed the rhythm of his heartbeat, listened to the flow of the blood through his veins. Ahna let her magic converge to her fingertips. She then brought her left hand to rest above his head wound.

“Liif mi til liif thfiins. My life to your life.”

As she focused the flow of her spell, she exhaled deeply, and a soothing light shone above Cedric’s injury. The torn tissue began to repair slightly, and the blood dried around the wound. It protected it from worsening, or from becoming inflamed. When the shrike’s heartbeat had returned to a normal rhythm, Ahna stood again. She strolled away from the rebels and wrapped the black linen bands around her wrists again.

“He’s stable,” she stated when Lynn came closer. “He wasn’t going to die, but this way we can move faster.” The lively Taz woman looked into her eyes but remained silent. “I’m no cleric, so this is the best I could do,” Ahna continued.

Lynn stared at her. A slight smile was drawn on her face. “I guess High Commander Sand’s feeling proved to be correct. Something definitely went wrong here. I’m glad you were there to save the day!” She laid her hand on the elf’s shoulder.

Ahna chuckled.

Diego later joined the two women. “Ladies, we need to move. The sun will be rising soon, and I don’t want to be here when Sharr’s reinforcements arrive.”

Lynn went to get her horse. She walked past Cedric who was now awake, retrieving his belongings and ambling to his grey steed. Before Ahna could follow, Diego blocked her path with his arm.

“I am not letting you out of my sight, mage. You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I understand.”

The two marched toward their horses. The squad looped back toward the barracks of Orgna, keeping Cedric under close watch.

The entrance gates of the Resistance base were rammed open by the swordsmen. They let in Jules and Lynn who helped Cedric stagger into the hall.

“Get me the Elder, and Brother Ylwen too!” Diego shouted to one of the novice guards.

The young cadet sped toward the left hallway. As they rushed Cedric to the infirmary, Ahna crossed path with Kairen, who had noticed the commotion from her seat in the foyer. She rushed to her friend.

“Ahna, what happened? Did the mission succeed?” Kairen asked, in an urgent tone.

Ahna raised her hand as a signal for her to wait. She wanted to walk with the rest to the infirmary but was stopped by Diego.

“No,” he barked. “You stay here while I talk to the Council.” He had a furious spark in his eyes as he rushed to the council room.

Ahna retreated with Kairen to the foyer. As she waited there, she spotted a small elf wearing a white alb as he rushed out of the stone walls. He was followed by a tall figure with her head held high, who wore a ceremonial gown. A large white and gold cornette elegantly rested on the woman’s head. It had a prismatic shape, like a marquise diamond, and was decorated with vertical ruby red strips. Her face had the valleys of an ageing soul carved in old wisdom. Ahna only caught a glimpse of the woman, but she immediately knew that she was looking at the Elder.

“This is the Mother Divine, Astea,” Kairen began. “She’s what’s left of the Congregation.”

Ahna observed the woman rush into the hallway with the human-elf that could only be Brother Ylwen. She turned to Kairen and pushed a long and tired sigh with her lips before she collapsed on the bench next to them. She rested her elbows on her knees and plunged her eyes against the heels of her hands.

“Something went wrong, Kairen. They had a warlock…” she said gravely.

Kairen’s mouth slightly opened in surprise.

“…But we don’t have to worry about Sharr’s trade fleet anymore!”

“Diego went to the council room, he seemed agitated,” Kairen passively inquired.

Ahna responded immediately, “He’s going to tell them I’m a mage.”

Kairen awkwardly chuckled. “I genuinely wonder what he’ll say when he finds out the Council knew.”

The red-haired woman looked at the hallway, uncertain of what would come next. She knew what some rebels thought of the magi. Ahna being dokkalfar was one thing, her being a mage was yet another! But she trusted her peers and their ability to set their differences aside for the cause.

Ahna stared at the same arbitrary point in the distance. Her mind wandered to the state the shrike captain was in. As the images of the East Haven battle passed through her mind, she remembered what she had felt when she held Cedric’s bow. That symphony of pain. Something of such tremendous power. An Item of Power. She wondered how the shrike could have gotten his hands on such an artefact…

“Do you know why the shrikes paint their faces?” Kairen asked out of the silence. As Ahna shook her head, Kairen proceeded with an explanation. “They think it looks good.”

A loud giggle sprung from Ahna’s throat, and she put her palm in front of her face. She felt overly shaken and euphoric from the commotion of the recent events. She had to repress laughter after Kairen’s silly words. The latter shrugged and grinned with the heart of a playful child. An impish smile spread across her face and her copper eyes sparkled with amusement.

“No, I actually don’t even know,” Kairen said in a more serious tone. “It’s a tradition! Probably not much older than this kid, right there,” she pointed at a boy, not older than when Ahna had found her.

The child looked determined as he swung a wooden sword at the ferocious air. The elf smiled, remembering the first time Kairen wielded a sword similar to this one.

The red-haired woman she called sister rose to her feet. “I’m going to talk to David and get this figured out. Don’t worry too much about Diego, he’s a good man.”

She kissed Ahna on the cheek in farewell and disappeared into the hallway.

Diego stood behind the council room’s door. He overheard High Commander Sand speak before it opened.

“Sharr is amassing his troops. Word of East Haven spread fast and it struck him hard. He’s letting corpses rot on the streets as a warning to whoever may rebel against him.”

The captain waited patiently for his briefing with his own commander, and the chance to speak about the Ahna situation. When Sand headed into the hallway, Commander David Falco joined him outside, and he listened attentively.

After Diego expressed his concerns about the mage, David proceeded with an explanation. “The Council found it best to keep her identity hidden for now, on a need-to-know basis. Obviously, sending her on this mission had a risk of exposing her, but we had hoped it wouldn’t come to that.”

Diego strolled by the entrance of the council room. His commander revealed the true identity of Ahna, the archmage, whose real name was Meriel Arkamai. Diego was first slightly offended by this belated disclosure, but he understood David’s point when it came to the potential unrest it could have caused. He then proceeded to report the details of how the mission had gone. How the shrikes had gone into the dark, but the entire village had awoken after a tearing thunder. How the patrol at the outpost had immediately assembled after the first flash of light. How Ahna had rushed to the harbor and how, even though he could not explain it himself, she had destroyed the fleet with a single, devastating arrow from Cedric’s bow. Ahna had then driven the rest of the patrol away, and they were able to flee with the wounded Cedric. They had lost a swordsman and a shrike, and their peers were mourning as the two officers spoke.

Commander Falco listened calmly then thanked Diego for his report. He made a few notes in his mind for the rest of the Council.

Diego was about to leave but he turned hesitantly to his commander. “May I speak freely, Commander?” he asked, hesitant. David granted his request. “Our intel did not show the presence of a warlock. You know as well as I that this is not possible.”

David’s shoulders dropped. “And how do you think that is?” he asked as he frowned, intrigued.

Diego thought for a moment, then he shared his theory. “Maybe we were made to think East Haven was poorly guarded so we would go for it.”

The commander remained pensive. “A double bluff?” he asked, referring to the fact that Sharr’s battle camps, where the Dark Lord stocked his military supplies, had been presented as such a great bait. Perhaps the Dark Lord expected the Resistance to see through this obvious deception and go for East Haven.

“Perhaps. Maybe it was supposed to be a trap,” Diego pursued. “But nonetheless, they didn’t expect Ahna.”

The captain fell silent. He realized something that he had not yet admitted. Without her, the mission would have failed.

After Diego finished his conversation with his commander, he headed straight to the infirmary. When he entered the bright stonewall room, Cedric lay on one of the stretchers. The Mother Divine stood behind him, her hands relaxed on both sides of his face. She chanted a series of words in a divine language only the clerics of the Congregation were known to speak. The light from the outside beamed through the large panes on the south wall.

Brother Ylwen came to Diego and led him to the side. “Mother Divine says he will be fine. He’s shaken, that’s all. You see, it’s not his physique, no, that is perfectly fine. They did something to his spirit. It’s a sort of...mind melt, or so to say.” The young human-elf had spoken with careful hesitation, not to alarm the captain.

As Mother Divine finished her clerical incantation, she looked at Diego and signed for him to get closer.

“What’s a mind melt?” Diego asked her for clarification.

Astea took a deep breath. “He must have been struck by a cerebral charm. His thoughts were forced to fold onto themselves and cage his consciousness. I’ve unclutched his mind. He should rest for a few days.”

The Mother Divine then strolled out of the room, and Diego was alone with Brother Ylwen. The human-elf sat beside Cedric and was tasked to keep him under observation in case something went wrong.

“Diego,” a voice suddenly murmured. Cedric was awake. “Why do I feel like I have the most atrocious hangover of all time?” he joked.

It seemed like he had recovered all his senses. Diego rose to his feet with enthusiasm. Cedric sat up and stretched his arms and torso. He pressed his hands against his head as if to expel a lousy headache. “So, what did I miss?” he asked, a little bit bushed by all that had happened.

“We made it back to Orgna!” Diego exclaimed.

Before he could continue, Cedric asked a burning question. “Did we succeed?”

His peer paused. “The ships are destroyed,” he first reported. Then he hesitated. “What is the last thing you remember, dai?”

Cedric fixed the wall facing him. He squinted, deep in thoughts, trying to piece together the fractured images in his memory.

“They had a warlock,” the shrike captain stated, still absorbed. “Guan be damned!” he blurted out carelessly. “Ahna...”

He jumped off the bed and took off instantly, passing a startled Brother Ylwen without seeing him, storming out of the infirmary. Diego called for him, multiple times, but the shrike was determined in his march.

“Cedric, you need to rest!” he shouted, yet only the silence responded. Cedric raced toward the foyer.

When Cedric came face to face with Jules, who stood by the entrance of the barracks, the latter stepped in his path to greet him. “I’m glad you’re well, Captain!” he said respectfully to his superior and friend.

The sight of his lieutenant brought a certain calm to the shrike. He was suddenly swamped by an overwhelming feeling of vertigo. He grabbed onto Jules’ shoulder and collapsed to his knees.

Diego caught up with the two shrikes. “Alright, brother,” he said as he grabbed Cedric. “Back to the infirmary you go!”

Ahna quietly sat on the bench in the entrance hall. She saw Cedric join Jules and instantly drop to the ground. The captain of the shrikes still seemed to suffer from post-surgical pain. In all this distress, he did not see her.

After Cedric was hauled back to the infirmary by Diego, Ahna remained seated, waiting for the next events to unfold. She had already heard echoes of the discovery of her identity by the other members of the Resistance. Some people looked at her with rounded eyes. They passed her, whispering, either curious, or perhaps slightly afraid. Kairen had rushed to her husband after his briefing, to push him to make an official announcement. David had finally heeded her call and gone to the high commander. Joshua Sand had then briefed the rest of the captains, and as water flowed through a torrent, so did the news through Orgna.

When Jules returned to the foyer, the shrike lieutenant came to sit next to Ahna. He took a glance at her with careful eyes.

“You should wash up and rest, Ahna,” he gently advised.

The dark elf, still apprehensive of anything that would come next, remained silent, and furiously bit her lip as she waited.

Deep down, Ahna was afraid of the judgement some would bear upon learning what she really was. She knew very well what most people thought of the magi today. The deserters, who had abandoned the fight when things got too tricky for them! Not many remembered what Sharr had actually done to the Academy, the cleansing order, the persecution of magic-users...Those who believed the magi had let themselves be vanquished by the Despot could ever be so wrong. They resented the magi for supposedly abandoning Bravoure. Some in the capital even believed the magi had chosen to join Sharr and his wave of warlocks.

“What you did,” the shrike lieutenant began to break the silence. “It saved us back there.” He then hesitated. “But despite the Council already knowing who you are, the rest of us don’t like secrets so much.” The shrike put on a grimmer tone. “They just delayed the bustle that was eventually going to happen anyway.”

It was after a warm bath and long-needed rest that Ahna sauntered down the stairway to the foyer. The sun had long disappeared into the night. The elf made her way to the grand dining hall, where the Resistance soldiers gathered for an evening delight. The fires of the hearths along the north wall were lit, and a few rebels rested on the benches. Some played that card game again, others had quiet conversations around a wooden pitcher of dwarven brew. At the center, where the buffet would stand at lunchtime, there were wooden tables with large kegs of ale and other beverages, with cups and goblets for people to pick. A few attendants moved back and forth between the barrels and the soldiers.

Ahna attempted to remain unseen, but some had already spotted her as she walked in. To her surprise, none of them seemed to be too troubled by her presence. Perhaps the news of her identity had not fallen as heavy on the rebels as she had thought it would. She walked to a free table at the back, against the western wall. There, she sat alone for a moment, until a kind young woman attendant came to pour her a silver chalice of red wine. Ahna, impressed by this pretty piece of silverware, first politely wanted to refuse, but the woman’s smile was too generous.

“There’s a saying, lassie. It’s bad luck to refuse a drink from another lass!” she said with a suggestive smile. Her head was tilted slightly to the right as to indicate where the goblet had come from.

Ahna looked in the direction the attendant had motioned.

A few tables away sat a sly, darker figure. One who had observed Ahna undetected for quite a while. The mysterious woman was dokkalfar, and much older than the one Ahna had first seen in Orgna. She held her own cup and raised it to her. Ahna held back for a second and observed her newfound companion. The unknown dark elf had long, smooth black hair running down her shoulders, swaying by the arch of her lithe back. She wore a long gown finished with embroidered trims. A silver belt rested around her hips. The shades of her dark blue skin glowed in the light of the fireplace near her. Ahna grew more intrigued the more the woman held her gaze. After this soft, teasing staring contest, Ahna signed for the dark elf to join her at her table.

“Kyær’ natta,” the woman greeted, in Dokkalfari. “So you are the dryaa everybody keeps talking about.”

As she moved, her long gown swirled around her legs. She slid delicately between the bench and table and took a seat in front of Ahna. Her dulcet voice sang like beguiling music to her ears.

“The silver hair gave it away. Are you royalty?” the dark elf facetiously asked. She had referred to the rarity of lighter-haired dokkalfar.

Ahna shushed her joyous laugh with a wave, as others had thrown a few looks at the two women.

The stranger finally introduced herself. “I’m Lilth, a shrike spy.”

Ahna looked surprised. A dokkalfar shrike, under Cedric’s command? Her eyes rounded.

“I know that look,” Lilth teased. “You’ve met my captain. What a charm, that drya’htari!”

Dokkalfar hater. That was the term she used to refer to the captain of the shrikes, a regular insult used by dark elves to mock humans who feared them.

The two conversed around cups of pouring red wine.

“How long have you been with the Resistance?” Ahna asked.

“I ran away from the Dwellunder, then I landed in Galies. I was rescued by lovely humans who gave me a home. When I heard about what was happening in Bravoure, I felt compelled to help.” She drank from her silver cup, still smiling at Ahna.

“So, dryaa,” she began again. “Where are you really from? And I don’t mean that whole Magi Academy thing everyone gossips about.”

Ahna took a deep breath. Something in her mind refused to linger on that wretched place, but Lilth’s eyes inspired a genuine sense of trust, which made her feel more at ease.

“The province of Mal,” she replied.

Lilth gasped and responded with a burst of surprised laughter. “My, my, so you must be military?” Her long pointy ears flickered. Lilth was referring to what Mal was known for: its extensive military power.

Ahna shook her head. Though her assumptions were correct, Ahna did not wish to reveal more. This was ancient history, lifetimes ago. But there was something worse, and it did not take long before Lilth mentioned it.

“That’s where Sharr and his horde are from.” Ahna’s mouth opened slightly, then she nodded as she forced her lips to close. “Did you know him?” Lilth asked.

Ahna dismissed that idea and veered back to more recent events. “I ran from Bravoure because of him.”

“You escaped your kin once, and you had to do it all over again,” Lilth inferred. “It must have been hard!”

“You have no idea...”

After a long pause and another glass of red wine, Lilth spoke on a more teasing note. “My province is Talmuur. Terrible, but not as horrid as Mal! It was known to be quite the welcoming place for dryaae like us, if you know what I mean.” She then slithered closer to Ahna. “Were your younger days also filled with...adventures?”

She said this last part as she bit her lip, suggesting something more sensual than mere military service. She plunged her eyes as red as the wine they drank into Ahna’s. Her seductive but challenging stare carried Ahna to a distant memory, a forgotten image of her days as she trained in Mal, among dryaae as young as she was. How many of these adventures Lilth suggested she had experienced, by the hearths of private houses that embraced a woman’s sensual expertise. Ahna blushed as she remembered some of her escapades with her long lost female peers, some she had even met in Bravoure!

“Do you miss it?” Lilth inquired with a smile Ahna could not resist. “Do you miss the Dwellunder?”

Ahna looked at her companion with somber eyes. The few good things she had experienced in the Dwellunder were nothing compared to the evil that gloomed there, beneath the earth.

“There’s nothing to miss about that place, Lilth.”

The captivating woman held her gaze. She brought her cup to her mouth, maintaining her stance, her eyes deep into Ahna’s. She drank her wine dry and placed the empty goblet gently in front of her.

“There are a few things I miss, dryaa,” Lilth revealed. “I think we should go somewhere quieter...”

As old as the dark elf world itself were the sensual libertine traditions of women and the journey through their most profound pleasure with other dryaae. The female dokkalfar would freely explore their deepest desires with others, and union with a male was solely to sire new generations. Of course, they would carefully pick a male companion to consort with, but other dryaae would always remain close to their hearths. It was common for dryaae of high rank to have many concubines in their dwelling, in a private house for the worship of their femininity.

Lilth guided Ahna to a darker, more private room: the unlit pantry close to the kitchen. She cast a tantalizing look on Ahna, eager to see what the elf’s rumored luscious lips had to offer.

“How long has it been?” she asked, innocently.

Ahna chuckled and looked at the floor. “At least a lifetime. How about you?”

“Not as long. Swordswomen make the best of companions.” Lilth’s magnetic laugh echoed in the small room.

She came closer to Ahna and took her hands in hers. Then, she pulled Ahna closer and tasted her lips. As she kissed her vigorously, the two dryaae found their way against the pantry wall.

Ahna passed her fingers in Lilth’s long silky hair. She held a firm grip above her neck and locked lips again with her evening confidante. Lilth’s ardent touch recalled an old dokkalfar fire Ahna had not felt in a lifetime. Lilth released Ahna’s lips and slowly ventured down her neck to the cleavage of her corset, eagerly kissing the surface of her skin. Ahna moaned softly so that no passing soul could hear the two women hidden in the pantry. She lightly pushed Lilth toward the table behind her. Their lips met again, and their tongues melted to the rhythm of a pleasurable cadence.

When Lilth’s rear bumped against the table, she knocked over an unidentified object. A sharp clang pierced the air in the dark pantry. The two women stopped abruptly and remained alert. Nothing else moved, and no other sound was heard outside.

The dryaae resumed their dance. Lilth met Ahna’s mouth again and softly bit her lower lip. But at that moment, an arbitrary someone pounded on the pantry’s door.

“Who’s in there?” a man shouted, twice.

Lilth quickly rose to her feet and straightened her dress. Ahna rearranged her corset and swayed her silver curls behind her. The door opened, and a sloppy, unaware man stepped into the room.

“Get out, d'rith!” Lilth ordered severely. “We’re in the middle of an important conversation here!”

She waved her hand to shoo him away. The man, confused, had no choice but to execute. He apologized a thousand times and closed the door behind him. The two women giggled together once he was gone. Lilth playfully spoke of the gullibility of humans. After they gathered their thoughts, Lilth went to give Ahna a soft kiss on the cheek.

“It was nice meeting you, Ahna. But we’d better leave.”

Lilth stepped outside the room and waved goodbye.

As the night grew colder, Ahna sat on a stool in the stables lit by a simple oil lantern hanging off a nail in the wood frame. She needed some air. The inebriation of her late-night adventure was getting to her. The world spun faster than it already had been. Lilth, interesting woman. Very dokkalfar, but in a…good way. Ahna figured she would never her again, at least not in that way. Lilth had seemed in need of a gentle, ephemerial reminder of the good parts of the Dwellunder—nothing more. And Ahna did not mind.

She tended to Bark, softly whispering to him. He appeared relaxed and breathed calmly. His heart beat slowly, and she could feel a semblance of innocence emanate from him. She caressed him slowly along his long neck.

“I’m not sure what’s going to happen, Bark,” she murmured. “You can blame me for dragging you here.”

At that moment, Bark snorted.

Ahna interpreted this as a dismissal of her insecurities. “Alright, alright. You don’t mind it here too much.”

She then tilted her head toward the sky—to the stars that sparkled above her. They reminded her of the peace she had felt, before the war, after she had joined the Academy. How, one night, she had laid in the grass and had looked up to the same faraway suns. Her hand had been clasped in his...

The sudden footsteps she heard behind her pulled her back. “Good evening, Ahna,” the man-lynx Jak Ma kindly said. He carried a broom with which he swept the floor to clear the hay. He then grabbed his lantern from the wooden beam.

“Good evening, I didn’t hear you!”

Jak Ma chuckled softly. “I’m a sindur—master of stealth!”

He swept the final bits of hay, placed the broom back against the wall, and looked at her again. “You should sleep, you’ve had a long day.”

Ahna nodded, Jak Ma was right. Terra was spinning! She bid him goodnight and headed back into the barracks. She made her way to the dorm that had been assigned to her, the same one as where Lynn slept. Most of the women there were already sleeping, and Ahna had to be as stealthy as a sindur in order not to wake them.

6

Solstice of Spring

Dryaae had a particular flare that reddened Ahna’s cheeks when she remembered her little escapade from the night before. She seated herself in the dining hall adjacent to the foyer at breakfast time, where a few young recruits finished their scrambled eggs and brazed cloud bread.

Ahna had slept longer than usual. The dorm had already been emptied when she had awoken. She sipped on a cup of Gurdal mountain tea, processing the inebriation from the night prior. When the young recruits left their table, she noticed Jules sitting at the table behind them. The shrike lieutenant, who had been a regular training partner a few days ago, went to join her shortly after. Speaking of training.

“You missed practice this morning,” Jules said, nonchalantly.

Ahna cast a glance of slight uncertainty on him. “I didn’t think I was expected.”

Jules chuckled. “The mission is done, it doesn’t mean we are!”

The last time they had spoken, Ahna felt as though they would never do so again.

But Jules held this amicable look on his face. “So, you’re a mage and you wield a sword?”

“And I can shoot a bow!” she added, and Jules chuckled again. “I was trained to fight before I trained my magic. I was an archmage, but not the best one!” As Ahna took another sip of tea, she let the silence settle in.

“Ahnny, I have a question,” Jules spoke again. “How old are you?”

The elf laughed amused. “I’m over a hundred Sols.”

Jules dropped his jaw and she kept on laughing.

“Well, you look good!” he exclaimed with a lively tone.

“I should live about six of your lifetimes, so I cannot yet call myself old and wise.” Jules was about to ask another question when a familiar face passed by them.

“Am I interrupting you two doves?” the Taz woman teased.

“Lynn!” Ahna exclaimed.

She waved at them and went to get hold of a tray. “I’m also late for breakfast!” she said when she turned around.

“You hear what they say?” Lynn asked her companions when she returned. “Sharr is rallying his troops to the capital.” Jules was too preoccupied to respond and the elf had no words she could immediately say. Lynn took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. “Let’s rejoice! Today’s a special day, Ahna,” she said with her recovered enthusiasm. Her coal eyes sparkled with ardor.

She had a piece of that lovely brazed bread, along with a small ramekin of yellowberry jam. Yellowberry only grew in Gurdal, some people called it the fruity gold. After all, everything had been about gold in Bravoure.

Lynn glanced at Jules. “Too bad your captain will miss the fun!” The shrike did not smile. She took on a more serious tone when she noticed the lieutenant’s hidden worry in his gaze. “How is he?”

He breathed in deeply and pushed out a long sigh. “He’ll be fine. He needs to recover from this...mind melt thing.” He shrugged.

Ahna raised her eyebrows. “Mind melt? That’s not good.”

Jules curved his lip in concern. “Mother Divine healed him. She said he’ll probably wake again later today.”

Lynn nodded to show reassurance. A short moment of silence then passed.

“You said today was special?” Ahna inquired, interested in what this was about.

“On the day of the Solstice of Spring, we pay our respects to the fallen souls of the rebellion. It’s a tradition that began shortly after the war. It’s when we tell stories of the great heroes to inspire our cadets and new recruits.” Ahna was deeply moved by Lynn’s words. She observed her as the woman continued her description of this custom. “High Commander Sand will give a speech outside when the sun is highest. He will light a hundred candles, and we will all sing the words of the Resistance. They say our chants echo through Gurdal, all across Bravoure, and that the young souls who hear them will be spurred to join the cause.”

That is a beautiful idea.

Jules then raised his cup of tea in the air. “And then we feast and drink until sundown!” he exclaimed.

The two rebels laughed triumphantly. Ahna spotted Diego who passed through the hallway. He waved at their table.

“Peaceful Solstice, bai’hru!” The captain of Squadron Five had just greeted them as sisters and brothers.

Ahna, who for so long had not had a feeling of home, had just caught a glimpse of what it meant to be part of this family.

* * *

Joshua Sand stood proud in the middle of the square at the entrance of the barracks. The rebels had raised a small platform made of stacks of wooden crates as a humble stage for the high commander. He had just finished his vigorous and endearing speech. He lit the hundred candles in front of him, and as he did so, the crowd remained silent, bearing thoughts for the heroes of the Resistance.

Ahna observed the people around her. All brave and united soldiers scarred by a battle that had lasted for far too long. They had all gathered for the honoration. There were humans, elves, wood, half, high, even dokkalfar, sindurs, men and women who stood in the crowd. All were people who had been through hell and back and beyond. And these humble souls rested eyes closed as Joshua lit a hundred candles. Some warriors smiled, some let the tears flow freely. Those who had lost so much embraced each other. It was the comfort of love in a time of war that united them on the square of Orgna, each of them more determined than they had ever been.

“There once was lost

A band of heroes born

From lands scorched, burned, and torn.

The band carried

The hopes of thousands more

And their strength is now reborn.”

Joshua had started the chants alone. As the crowd took a deep breath, they joined in perfect harmony. Each verse was sung with more life and candor than the previous one.

“Generations arise

And the land’s lost in cries,

Fires and flames we must burn through.

Warriors and knights,

The Resistance unites!

Solstice of Spring now burns in you.

And the band of heroes born

Still rests upon the shores

In the dark of Bravoure’s dawn

By the light of Heavens’ doors

Open the gates!

A new world awaits!

Oh, Bravoure! Hear our echoes!

Open your gates!

This new world awaits!

Brandish your sword, banish the horde!

Fire and flames we must burn through.

Stand up and fight!

Resist and bite!

Souls of heroes now burn in you.”

Ahna hummed silently to this rally of hope and freedom. Her hand joined Lynn’s, and beside her, Jules rested his arm around her shoulders. The band swung left to right to the rhythm of the chants. The people smiled, held their fists or swords high. As the song ended, Joshua left the stage, and the candles remained. They would flicker until dawn the next day, as a symbol of the endurance of the Resistance.

The crowd slowly dissipated, and they would meet in a few hours for a feast with pouring wine and a myriad of glazed momrogis. Kairen, who stood close to the stage with David, her husband, came to find Ahna after the honoration. She gave her another one of her warm and welcoming hugs. She shared the happiness of her reunion with her sister, and the two set out to distract themselves before the festive evening.

The captain of the shrikes opened his eyes again—it was late afternoon. At his side was his dear friend Jules, who rejoiced when he noticed Cedric was awake. The lieutenant went to pour a glass of water.

“You should hydrate,” he insisted. “Mother Divine says it’ll help with the soreness.”

Cedric cleared his throat and chugged the entire glass. “Where is Ahna?” he did not even take a break and asked straightaway.

Jules gave him a perplexed look. “She’s not here. And you missed the solstice, dai!”

Kairen, who stood at the corner of the room, had stepped out of the shadows. “You’re feeling alright, Cedric?” she asked, focused on her peer’s wellbeing.

The shrike captain sat up. He had a thin woolen blanket that covered his bare body, and because Kairen did not move, he looked at her expectantly. “I’m fine bahi. Can I please get dressed now?” the captain requested.

The woman rolled her eyes and opened her hands as a sign of capitulation, then she left the two shrikes alone. Cedric stood up, dived in the first set of clothes, and paced from the infirmary to the council room. He hoped to have a good conversation with any of the Council’s members, as long as he could make them aware of the Ahna situation. He certainly did not expect what followed next.

The shrike knocked on the wooden door and was greeted by the cadet guard who opened. In the room, David and Joshua were in a briefing. The high commander was seated in his chair while David showed him some indistinct documents. They seemed to be about Sharr and the withdrawal of his troops to the capital. They mentioned something about the Dark Lord rashly preparing for the final strike. Bodies laid piled in the streets of the capital and Sharr was gutting the Resistance’s web of spies as they spoke. Cedric addressed the two commanders with the military salute and proceeded with his mission.

“High Commander Sand, Commander Falco,” before he could speak, the two commanders greeted him.

“Peaceful Solstice, Captain Rover,” they said in unison.

Cedric nodded. “Peaceful Solstice”—he did not even wait for them to breathe—“you need to know about the dokka!”

Joshua motioned for Cedric to stop talking. The anxious shrike passed his hand in his thick brown hair. “Cedric, you must remain calm. We have something we should tell you.”

They explained how the Council had known about Ahna’s identity from the start and justified why they had taken the decision not to disclose it to the rest. “We did not want too many people to know. We tried to avoid a situation like yours at a larger scale. Obviously, we made an error in judgement, and we apologize for the trouble caused.”

Cedric was left aghast. He shook his head in aberration. “I’m lost for words, Commanders.” He wished to storm out of the room but instead turned around and prepared to rebuke. “Hide this from the cadets, I could have understood. But from Levireo and I? We were on the same mission, for Guan’s sake!” He attempted to regain his nerve, passing his hand in his dark mane again. “Where is Jade?”

Joshua stood up from his chair and cleared his throat. “Jade is back in the capital. We understand your frustration, and once again, we apologize.”

Cedric felt the anger rise, and he could no longer control it. He snapped. “Keep the fucking formalities for your cadets, Joshua.”

David threw his fist on the table. “Cedric!” he shouted, appalled by the shrike’s behavior.

“It’s fine,” Cedric remarked. “I’m leaving already.”

One gauche cut after another, Cedric repeatedly struck at the training dummy in crossed slashes. The loudness of the clangs resonated across the empty training room. In his mind, he replayed the events of East Haven at an accelerated speed. Especially the part when Ahna had taken his bow. He could now remember the scene clearly: how this arcane light had swallowed his weapon whole at the touch of the magic-user. He could not explain it. The arrow had ripped the two large galleys to shreds!

He swung the iron sword at the dummy again. Too focused on slicing through the metal, he had not heard Ahna’s footsteps behind him. She remained by the entrance, silent, looking at him. She was disinclined to say anything as she glanced at an obviously upset Cedric. He wore his leather breeches and boots, but nothing else. She observed the muscles of his back tense to the cadence of his cuts. A few drops of sweat swirled along his scars and the curve of his back. So many scars… He was furious. When he let go of his blade, he was panting, completely out of breath. The iron sword clashed onto the floor, and he leaned against the training dummy. He rested his head on his arm, still panting from the aggressive series of desperate cuts.

The silence spoke.

“It was a beautiful honoration, it’s sad you missed it. But I’m glad you’re better.” A tender voice sounded in the space.

Cedric then let out a long exasperated sigh. “I am seriously not in the mood, dokka,” he declared with a menacing pitch.

Yet she came closer to him. “I’m sorry if I kept this hidden from you,” Ahna began her apology. “I would have told you, but the Council...”

Cedric veered to her and immediately stopped her with his roar. “It’s easy to blame this on the Council, now, isn’t it? When the one who started this mess is standing right in front of me.” She took another step closer to him as he yelled. “You know, Ahna,” he began in a suspicious tone. “They knew we were coming.”

Ahna held his flaming gaze. “What are you implying?” she cautiously inquired.

In turn, he then took a step toward her. The closer he got to her, the more she could smell his reek of alcohol, something definitely much more potent than dwarven ale. She leaned back as he got too close.

“I’m saying you tipped them off,” he challenged her. Shocked by his accusation, Ahna shoved him in the middle of his chest. She jostled him away from her, and he let out a taunting laugh. “Get the fuck out of my face, dokka, before I tear off that pretty one of yours.”

He put his hand on her shoulder and jerked her out of his way. He headed for the exit when he turned to her one last time. “You can’t hide your secrets, not from me,” he sternly warned. He was about to pass the hall’s threshold.

“Oh,” Ahna scoffed. “Because you can?” Cedric paused, anticipating what the dark elf had to say next. That old rage emerged, Ahna’s purple eyes lit. Secrets? She thought of his own hypocracy, of what she had caught a glimpse of at the baths before the mission. “You dare distrust me because of my secrets,” Ahna expressed with a condescending tone. Then she pursued, incensed. “But Cedric, you lay deep in bed with the Shadows, that’s your secret. And it will kill you!”

Cedric’s jaw dropped. He thought he had misheard. What did she know? How could she know? He wanted to mask the distress the dark elf had just put him in. He convincingly relaxed his stance and recovered his rigid tone.

“You act like you have this all figured out, don’t you? But where were you when this mess started?” he asked, his timbre burning with resentment. “I’ve been with the Resistance for over a decade. I’ve fought for my life since I was born. You only heard the echoes of war, but most of us here lived it.”

Ahna would not have any of this. This man had no idea what she had been through and the choices she had been forced to make and why. The echoes of war? She had lived it too.

“I fought the war!” she shouted at him, the anger burning in her throat.

Cedric silenced her. “You deserted. You let your own, twisted kin bring the city to its knees.”

His last words tore through the walls of her mind. He threw one last scowl at her and disappeared into the hallway. But she was not going to let him get away.

She ran after him and shouted again. “I fought my own kin, and it cost me everything! I was there when the King fell. I was there when the Academy was burned to the ground! I was there when Xandor and his horde killed my family.”

The marksman turned to her, his eyes betrayed no emotion. He shrugged and sighed deeply. “Welcome to the Resistance. We all lost everything.”

Ahna’s body stiffened. Her mouth was left open, and she stared at him with furious eyes. She had no words left she could say.

* * *

One more good old signature goldrain rum! Goldrain—the type of sugar that grew in the Bravan fields. Goldrain rum was luckily still brewed in the capital, even after the war. Dokkalfar troops had a peculiar liking for sweet liquor.

Cedric was by his fourth chug by now. He sat in the dining hall, alone. He had waited for the festivities to end before he combed the pantry for more rum. The last cardplayers and dice rollers had run off to their dorms, and Cedric had sauntered downstairs. The night had long embraced the Bravan sky, and Cedric sat there, alone, with a bottle of goldrain rum.

The dark elf’s voice resounded in his thoughts. The Shadows. The image of her accusatory eyes flashed in his mind. These two amethyst gems flickering with the embers of a dark truth.

Deep in bed with the Shadows.

That phrase went round and round in his head.

It will kill you.

Nothing could ever be closer to the truth, and that is what truly frightened him. His thoughts lingered over the memories of a different time. Visions of his life as an outlaw mercenary. He had been a notorious assassin in the Bravan underground, one who played on all sides of the field. Back in the day, he had never thought he would become a captain in the Resistance. That is when the rebel shrike spies had captured him and led him to the rebellion’s secret base at the time. A series of tunnels underneath the Bravan capital where contraband merchants, dissidents, and rebels would each meet. The black market, full of corrupted souls, or honest people who had been plotting against the Despot. Cedric had found a noble purpose on that day, and he had joined the cause.

Set on his new journey, he became one of the rebel spies and assassins of the Shrike Wing. He had done glorious deeds for the Resistance, but also terrible things. He had used his mercenary skills to fight, which he still used to this day. He had butchered many of Sharr’s men in the past, had stolen valuable intelligence for the rebellion, had fallen in love...

The last thought brought deep, repressed pain to his heart. He did not dare remember her name. But who was he kidding?

Naiel...and her mischievous yellow eyes.

Cedric covered his face. How could a man recover from the deadly sin that betrayal was? She had used him, his infatuation, to get to the Resistance’s hardest core. She had been part of the reason the Uprising had failed. As his treacherous past flashed before his eyes, a familiar figure walked up to him.

“Diego...” he murmured as he stood upright.

“Peaceful Solstice. I had so much soup and momrogis, I will burst open soon! Can I join you for a gold rum?” his comrade and friend politely asked. The shrike smiled and shrugged. Diego sat down and poured himself a small cup of rum. “I hear it didn’t go so well with the commanders,” he began.

Cedric chuckled awkwardly. “I cursed at the man,” he said, pushing his face against his hands in embarrassment.

The two men ambled in the dark foyer. Diego helped Cedric stagger to the staircase leading to the dorms. There was one torch that hung from the wall, so the two men could slightly see in the dark. Cedric signed to stop for a second. He needed to take a short break.

“I’ll kill Ahna myself if I get the chance,” he threatened, out of the blue.

Diego cast a confused and perplexed look at his friend. “Ahna saved you, dai. You were bleeding out all over your saddle, and she healed you.”

Cedric continued as though he had not heard what his peer had said. “She’s dokkalfar. She’s the scourge that we fight against. That we’ve fought against for decades.”

“She’s not Naiel.”

Cedric gasped. Naiel again... Had Diego seen right through him? The shrike raised his voice. “It sure feels like it. She’s dokkalfar!”

The Squadron Five captain had enough. “Cedric, you need to get a grip,” he stiffly declared. “She is nothing like Sharr’s horde. She was an archmage. Those were wise and respectable people, teachers! Since when does kinship come in the way of the cause?”

The shrike retorted immediately. “There is nothing wise and respectable about magic-users. They abandoned Bravoure!”

Diego, dazed by Cedric’s word, continued the argument. “So you’re angry because she’s dokkalfar or because she’s a mage? Whatever it is, Cedric, you need to get a hold of yourself. That woman saved your life. She saved my life. Without her, Sharr’s warlock would have melted all our minds! I say Joshua was right to send her in.” Cedric just remained silent. “You need to search your feelings, Cedric. What is this really about?”

The shrike captain snapped, yet again. “Don’t you condescend to me!” he hissed. “Don’t patronise me, Levireo!”

Diego’s shoulders dropped. He sought quietude in the broken eyes of his peer. He suddenly looked at the man he called his friend and only saw a sorry soul. “What happened to you, Cedric? What happened to the brave and righteous rebel?”

Cedric looked away in seeming regret. “That man died on the battlefield,” he confessed. “But I can ask the same of you! As we both know, once again, that you also hate the dokkalfar. What happened to that murderous rage of yours? The one that made you, what is it they called it? The Butcher? Back when you were still with the shrikes! Did it die there too?”

Diego heard the accusatory tone of his friend, yet he could only feel pity for this tormented soul. “Cedric, you’re a sad drunk who’s angry at the wrong people.”

The shrike sighed deeply and looked away again, with shame in his eyes. Diego went to walk up the stairs, leaving his friend alone again in the dark hallway.

7

Prophecy

Mother Divine and her loyal clerics were all that was left of the Congregation. This order had been created at the apotheosis of the Bravan kingdom. The Ternary Alliance that united all Bravan races under equal values had been declared, and a guild of clerics of different orders had erected the Congregation. The first Mother Divine had been appointed as their herald, and this religious body had inspired Bravoure’s citizens to strive for peace.

When the war had broken out at the heart of Bravoure, the Congregation had conscripted the clerics. Those who could fight against the horde had been called to arms. These clerics had become known as the Knights Templar. The templars had beseeched the Magi Academy to support the conscription. However, Sharr’s cleansing order, his rash persecution of magic-users, had set the city ablaze. Many magi had perished or simply abandoned the fight. The Academy was lost and the templars were forsaken by the arcane.

Ahna sat quietly atop the cliff above the quarry. She had left for a stroll outside Orgna early this morning. With Bark, her brown steed, they had trotted up the tall hill wherein the mines had been built. She gazed over the cliff, pensive, listening to the melody of morning crickets. She felt a pinch in her stomach, and the truth of Cedric’s words shouted in her mind. You deserted. Ahna was torn by her reasons to flee the war and the fact that she had acted upon them.

Behind her were the lower lands, covered in a wide variety of trees, from dark firs to emerald poplars. To the east shone the sun bright over the Bravan planes and in the far south, she could see the subtle contours of the City of Gold.

As Bark grazed the thick grass beneath him, Ahna noticed an old man in a white tunic who walked up the path. She examined the figure and recognized the old monk from days earlier, Brother Gideon. He seemed absent in his thoughts and smiled at the grass. As he got closer, she heard his joyful voice.

“There’s nothing more delightful than a jolly brisk morning hike!” he exclaimed.

He came to sit next to her, on a larger stone away from the edge of the cliff. He stayed there still, observing the movements of the rebels below, who seemed to be busy with the horses and supplies. Ahna wondered whether he had heard the news about her situation. It gave her a slight feeling of guilt as her thoughts lingered on the history of the Congregation. The harsh truth was that the magi had abandoned the clerics, and the templars had been massacred.

As the elf sat at the edge of the cliff with a melancholic silence, Gideon finally spoke. “You wear the shackles of guilt like you wear these woven bands.”

Ahna looked at the black linen around her wrists. She still wore them, mechanically, but as it turned out, they were not so useful anymore.

“Sharr hasn’t crafted a magefinder in decades, you know,” Gideon said as he looked over the cliff. The wise man on the rock held his enigmatic quietude.

“So, you know I’m a mage too?” Ahna finally asked, gazing upon the rebel figures in the distance.

“I knew from the start!” Gideon exclaimed with a child’s pride. His eyes lit up, and his lips curled with an innocent rascal’s smile.

Ahna turned to him and gave him a surprised look. “You knew?” she asked, just to be sure.

“The dragons tell me things,” he replied, mysteriously. “They also tell me you feel a great deal of pain. They tell me you won’t see Mother Divine because of it.”

That was true. The Mother Divine had summoned Ahna the day before, but the dark elf had not yet mustered up the courage to respond.

“I will go,” she assured and reinforced.

“The Congregation forgives, Ahna. But you must forgive yourself.”

Ahna, slightly irritated by Gideon’s virtue, scoffed at the cleric’s words. “Gideon, with all due respect, could you please let me be? I said I will go.”

But the old man in the alb did not comply. Instead, he rose to his feet and came to sit beside her. “The war divided all of us. People made choices they thought were best for them. No one can be blamed for something beyond their control.”

The walls in Ahna’s mind collapsed one by one. “I left Bravoure behind. I left the city behind! I left them to die!” Her voice broke. She was too close to tears and she sought to hide her face. The cleric stayed and listened. “I was an archmage, Gideon. The city relied on us for protection. People relied on me. I had a responsibility.” The tears she wanted to hold in began to flow. She covered her eyes with her hands. “And I ran away.”

She tried to regain her calm and dry her tears. Gideon remained quiet by her side, letting the elf say the things she needed to say. She looked back at the people below them, and the cleric spoke softly. “All you’ve lost, the fight against your own. You had the best of reasons. Plus, if it consoles you, the choices you made then do not define the choices you make now.”

“No, Gideon, you don’t understand. I cannot bear to look at the Congregation in the eyes and promise to fight gloriously like I’m some kind of hero returned from the dead. It would sound like the most outrageous lie!”

The wise cleric then searched her eyes. “Why?” he simply asked. As she gave him a silent response, he continued. “No one would ask you to be a hero. Every little effort counts. One act of kindness, one child saved, one battle won, can inspire a generation. The Resistance was not built in a day. It began with just a few dissidents hidden in the capital’s sewers! It was faith that united them in this fight. Faith is all we have, and faith is all we really need.”

Ahna looked into Gideon’s protuding eyes.

Faith, that dim light of hope she had lost at the hands of Sharr. The wise cleric’s words inspired something in her mind, there, in the moment of their conversation. Whatever demons she had, what mattered, all along, was the present. Them, the Resistance, in the here and now.

A warm smile was drawn upon her face. “Did the dragons tell you that?” she asked this jocular question.

“No, my master did. I was just a boy when the war began, and my master was conscripted.” Ahna felt a painful memory had been raised in Gideon’s mind. “I was too young to understand, but now I do.” He paused for a moment. “You fled Bravoure because you lost hope. And because you’ve lost hope, you don’t believe you have a place in this fight. Your guilt and regret have become your ball and chain. You are frozen. But I will tell you what my master once told me.”

As he paused again, Ahna grew curious. “And that is?” she asked.

The cleric glanced in the direction of Ahna’s horse. He smiled again as he recalled the words of his dear master. “When you are frozen on the battlefield, look at your horse. The animal doesn’t care who wins or loses, just whether it’ll have hay in its belly before the night. So at least make sure you will be the one who feeds him.”

A battle was coming, and where and how were the only questions left to be answered. Ahna thought of Bark, and how, in the end, she had to be the one that fed him. Gideon had made her realize something important. He had encouraged her to move forward. No matter her choices, despite what had happened fifty years ago, today was a different day. The choices she made today had the power to change the future. There was no time to linger on the past, there was a cause, a cause that could finally result in a revolution. With this new resolve, Ahna headed to the Mother Divine.

The door to Astea’s quarters was opened by two guards who stood at both sides of the entry. The place was illuminated by the sunlight that rained into the room. Ahna entered hesitantly.

The Elder sat on a large seat in the middle of the room, her back toward the elf. She faced the windowpane, contemplated the outside as she spent most of her days. Her eyes had seen many years pass. She was a tad older than Gideon, the two must have known each other for quite a long time.

When the doors closed behind Ahna, the Mother Divine looked at her kindly. “Arkamai,” she uttered. “I remember that name.” She motioned for Ahna to come closer.

“Mother Divine, you asked for me.”

The Elder nodded. She gazed deep into the elf’s eyes. Astea had bright eyes that, in the light, appeared translucent. Her skin had aged, but her smile still shone full of youth. She had the hues that reminded Ahna of Lynn’s, revealing a distant Tazman origin. Her hair could not be seen under her white cornette.

“I was a young nun when the war broke out. After moons in the dark, the Congregation finally sided with the Resistance. We had been under Sharr’s rule for too long, so we revolted. Many of us didn’t make it.” Ahna frowned a little as she wondered why Mother Divine had begun to tell this story. “Most of us alive today were just children or even unborn at the time. But there are legends, Ahna.” The elf listened carefully. “You were there. You must know about the prophecy.” Ahna’s heart had skipped a beat. “The one that doomed Sharr to fail,” the Elder finally said.

“The one that spoke of a Dragonborn.”

Astea’s eyes opened wide. Her voice had a sudden enthusiasm in its timbre. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “The Congregation named the chosen hero. I remember. But there was something I recall, something with the Academy...” She had to think for a minute, then the memory popped into her mind. “There was a mage involved!”

“The Dragonborn is dead. The prophecy was wrong!”

Ahna had suddenly spoken with a graver tone. Mother Divine’s eyes rounded in intrigued surprise. She reclined in her seat. She looked at Ahna, unsure of what had caused this distress.

The elf exhaled deeply and closed her eyes. “The Dragonborn was named...by me.” Ahna had just confessed another truth she had not faced in years. “But we failed, and Sharr killed him.”

“Arkamai, that’s why I remembered that name. You and your mother! Arkamai...” Mother Divine glanced outside. After she took a deep breath, she turned back to Ahna. “Prophecies are never wrong, Ahna, but interpretations may be. The ineffable design set in motion may not be complete just yet.”

The Elder’s hopeful words muted into a soft silence that flowed into the room. Ahna looked through the windowpane and saw a group of younglings playing near the coops. There were three children, two boys and a girl, who could have been brothers and sister. The sight of the three human cubs brought a peculiar familiar pinch to her heart. This feeling settled in what seemed to be a deep hole that had been dug long ago. The Elder caught a glimpse of Ahna’s sudden wistfulness, and she rose to her feet.

She came to stand in front of the elf and laid her brittle hands on her shoulders, as a gentle mother would do to comfort her child. “There is much work to be done, Ahna. The Resistance welcomes you to the family.” Her soft voice drenched the room with a genuine feeling of compassion. Ahna smiled and nodded to acknowledge Mother Divine’s faith in her.

The naming of a Dragonborn was an ancient ritual from the old world. The tales of the dragon-gods foretold the birth of mortals with dragon essence at the darkest times of war. When a chosen one was to come forth, the most devoted clerics would receive prophetic visions of the one they must name. One of each of the three axes of the Fabric of Realms must bear witness to the ritual. The arcane, the sacred, and the natural. The natural prepared the chosen. The sacred bound the body to the divine. The arcane opened a rift between the world of mortals and the Domain of Stars, where dragons came from.

They said a piece of Ghydra’s soul, the first dragon to live among mortals, then descended from the Heavens into its tangible vessel and fused with the mortal’s soul. The chosen, now named Dragonborn, carried the power of all dragonborns before them. They said the ritual was glorious, majestic, the most beautiful spectacle to see.

The last Dragonborn had been named by the Congregation’s Mother Divine at the time, the fallen King, and Meriel Arkamai. But Sharr, aware of the prophecy through his own clerics, hunted the Dragonborn. The divine plan had soon failed, the chosen had been vanquished, and the magi had soon followed. This loss had been the last toll Ahna could take, and she had regrettably fled soon after without looking back. This loss had taken her hopes and her faith along with it.

Kairen showed Ahna around the armory. The elf had volunteered to help sort out a few crates of weapons and armor to distribute them among the new recruits. As captain, Kairen was given the task to train the cadets and catalogue some of the new supplies that had just arrived in Orgna. While the red-haired woman wrote down a few numbers, Ahna counted the swords.

“Sixteen cutlasses, twenty shortswords, twenty longswords, and...one dagger!” Ahna’s sentence ended in a silent chuckle. As she held the single dirk in her hand, she looked at the rest of the boxes. “Where do these crates come from?”

Kairen lifted a large box of chainmail armor. She dropped it on top of another crate then exhaled deeply. “You’re going to like this—it’s from East Haven. It’s all there’s left from those ships you toasted.” Ahna rounded her eyes in surprise. “Yes! A few squadrons raided the abandoned village a few days ago and came back with all this. Apparently, some were stored in a small warehouse close to the harbor, and a few crates were underwater.”

Ahna could not help but wonder. “Why didn’t they raid the village in the first place? It would have saved us some trouble...”

“Well, for one, they had a warlock, so even a full battalion would have been useless. And the Council wanted it to be a covert mission, a get-in-get-out order.”

Ahna dropped the small weapon in the dedicated dagger crate.

“Can’t you use one of your cantrips to sort all this metal?” Kairen asked humorously. “Or do your bands even disable your cantrips?”

“These?”—she lifted her wrists in the air and showed her bands—“Well, I can still use cantrips, but there are no cantrips to get weapons magically sorted.”

Kairen jocularly expressed her disappointment, her lips pouted. “Well, we’re almost done here anyway.”

The two finished inventorying the crates and lunchtime was about.

Ahna was invited to join Kairen and her husband, Commander David Falco. She just realized that she had actually never talked to the man directly. He greeted her, and she came to sit between him and the man-lynx Councilor Luk Ma.

“It’s nice to finally get to speak to you, Ahna. Kairen told me so much about you,” David said with a kind and gentle tone.

Ahna had heard from Squadron Five and other rebels that David was a great commander. He was righteous, much like his Tazman ancestors were known to be. His eyes were as black as the coal of Orgna’s torches. He wore the same fir green garment as the High Commander’s, but with epaulettes of a silver color. He had short, thick black hair, and his beard was almost always cropped close to the chin. Unlike Lynn, he did not have the red paintings of Tazman traditions, but his skin was as beautifully dark as the swordswoman’s.

“Kairen told me so much about you too!” Ahna smiled. David chuckled at her words, a little embarrassed. “Only but good things!”

And they quietly laughed together.

Luk Ma remained calm. His yellow eyes had a tint of constant happiness, as though he always seemed content with everything. His ears were dark-tipped and pointed, with short, black tufts. His nose had a bit of a heart shape, and long feline whiskers sprung from both sides of his muzzle. Ahna grew very curious about the Ailuran tom.

“Far from home, sir?”

Luk Ma cast an emotionless glance at her. “Can I call a place I’ve never lived a home?” he retorted in a gravelly voice, with a slightly condescending tone. Sindurs always liked to respond with rhetorical questions when offended. But Luk Ma quickly recovered his contentment and smiled. “We’re not many here indeed. My kin came to Bravoure after the raids of Ailura, about two centuries ago. Bravoure welcomed us as refugees. So, as you can see, I am a proud Bravan!”

Ahna then understood. Luk Ma had been born and raised in Bravoure—Ailura was no home to him. Just like the Dwellunder was no home to her.

“Luk Ma had his third rebirth with us!” David said proudly.

The man-lynx had nodded with a smile. Sindurs were a particular race of catlike beings. They had the same regenerative abilities as their feline ancestors. They lived a cycle of eight rebirths, a total of nine lives. Their life expectancy was shorter than that of a human, but when approaching old age, they plunged deep into a Koth’enok trance. The Koth’enok was the sindur ritual of regeneration. After the Koth’enok, they returned to the infant state of a man-lynx cub. Their memories would be erased. They would have to be cared for and raised again by their own children, as was sindur tradition. Their children would tell them about their previous lives, and the tales were like ideals they would have to excel in the next one.

Ahna drank her cup of barley milk as she finished the last momrogi on her tray. These dumplings were leftovers from yesterday’s honoration. She noticed Luk Ma only had a bowl of vegetable broth.

“No meat?” she asked.

Luk Ma giggled. “No, I am trying something new.”

David grinned at his friend. “And how is that working out for you, Luk?”

The man-lynx smiled. “I am always hungry, but I am healthier than ever!”

Ahna’s gaze combed around the dining hall, and she spotted the captain of the shrikes in the distance. Their eyes met, and he held somewhat of a contrite look. Ahna was puzzled by his concerned stare. When he finished his plate, he gave her a nod and went off into the hallway.

Ahna stood outside by the stables and tended to Bark. She brushed him softly, then a sudden, deep male voice startled her.

“I was wrong,” he said.

She turned to Cedric, tensed due to what he might say next.

“I let my anger take over my judgement,” he added with a dark tone.

What’s happening? Where is all this coming from? Ahna relaxed her shoulders and gazed into his cerulean eyes, searching for something that could explain. The hostile veil that covered the marksman in hatred had faded. Ahna was faced with an honest man who expressed a sincere apology.

“I’ve done terrible things in my life, some of it in the name of the cause. After the Uprising failed, something died inside me. I lost a piece of my humanity. I began to sink in a dark pit of hatred and self-blame.” He was unexpectedly so sincere, almost virtuous. “In the end, Diego had to slap me awake!” He chuckled hesitantly and raised his hand toward her, as an invitation for her to shake it. “I’d like to start this over.” He cleared his throat. “My name is Cedric Rover, I lead the shrikes, and my superior is Jade Lark.”

He smiled and waited patiently. Ahna, speechless, mechanically clasped her hand around his. “I’m Ahna,” she candidly said.

“Nice to meet you, Ahna.”

This was the first time she had heard him call her something else than the regular dokka name. As she collected her thoughts, she added more to her introduction. “Actually, it’s Meriel Ahn Arkamai, and I’m a magic-user. But people call me Ahna nowadays.”

An honest smile drew on Cedric’s face, and he let go of her hand. His stance had turned from his usual aggressive and resentful self to something almost welcoming. His blue eyes lit up as she smiled back.

He cleared his throat. “And I’m in bed with the Shadows.” His last words seemed so serious. He had a dim note of hesitation behind his voice. “Can you help?” he finally asked, stuttering, as though he had just come clean, in front of her, by the stables.

8

Bane

Ahna and the captain of the shrikes sat alone on the stone circle at the center of the chapel. There, they had complete privacy to talk about something Cedric should have shared from the start. His heart pounded in his chest. He was still cautious to lower his walls. Ahna laid a gentle hand on his arms as a sign he was safe to be honest. He looked at her and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“Start from the beginning,” Ahna requested.

His blue eyes darkened, and his tone was grave. “I was betrayed, and we failed. The battle was lost.” He closed his eyes and said the words unsaid. “I died on the battlefield.”

Ahna noticed the torment in his voice, something that had laid beneath and eaten him inside over the years.

“I don’t remember what I saw, just a feeling.” He plunged his troubled gaze into Ahna’s. “I didn’t go to the Underworld, where I should have gone.”

The dark elf understood little by little what had happened. “You took a sharp turn to the Shadow Realm,” she concluded.

He became silent for a cold moment. “I heard a voice tempt me with a second chance. It said I could keep fighting.” Ahna sighed deeply. She began to grasp the big picture of what Cedric had endured. “I had to give them my soul and become a voidwalker. When I woke up, she...” He paused again. “Naiel, the traitor, she was dead.”

Naiel… That name was Dokkalfari.

Ahna wondered, just for a minute, what Cedric’s tormented past could have been, and who Naiel had been to him. The shrike had fought during the Uprising and, in the end, he blamed himself for its failure. He blamed his foolishness for letting the Resistance be betrayed. Ahna understood his pain. Guilt was a sentiment that shackled even the bravest of soldiers. Cedric’s guilt had made him the troubled man he was today. Despite his heroic acts, this man could not look at himself in the mirror without seeing the shadow of guilt.

The silence resounded in the chapel. Cedric took another deep breath. “Lately I’ve heard the whispers again.” He passed his hand in his hair.

“They’ve come to claim your soul,” Ahna inferred, and Cedric gave her a distant nod.

He kept nodding pensively. “I guess it’s finally my time to die.”

“Cedric...” Ahna did not have any words.

“When I die, that’s it for me.” He stared at his feet. “I consorted with darkness, and I will die in darkness.”

He kept his gaze on the ground. He brought his hand above his knee, then turned it around. Ahna observed his motion, and his hand began to fade. Cedric clenched a fist. His hand slowly returned to flesh.

“You made the greatest sacrifice to keep living for the cause. That is not unholy, that is heroic!” As Ahna spoke, Cedric shook his head, dismissing the words she had said.

The glimpse of a crazy idea then passed between her thoughts. Maybe she could do something. The idea sparked an impulse in her mind. She had to go make a deal. She rose to her feet and told him to wait. He searched for her eyes, but she had already left the room. He wanted to run after her, but he was more confused than anything else. Ahna then rushed toward the lowest level of the barracks, the dungeon. At the end of the hallway of the third level below ground, there was a small secluded chamber, a room probably designed to store items.

Perfect.

The chamber was empty and in total darkness. Ahna raced inside and locked the door behind her.

The threads of fate were sewn into the tapestry of the tangible world, the world of mortals. Each mortal followed their own thread woven by ethereal beings called fateweavers, older than the dragon-gods themselves. Dark fateweavers were banished to the shadows long ago, as they had begun to strike unholy deals with the unknowing mortals, most of the time in exchange for their souls. These beings had the power to manipulate the threads of fate, shorten or elongate them, or exchange one for another. Cedric must have had his fate exchanged with Naiel’s and the claim was now due. The Shadow Realm existed because of the soul of mortals the Shadows consumed.

Absolute darkness. No lights, no windows, just complete shadows and Ahna. The elf undid her linen wraps. She held the soft pieces of cloth in one hand as she rubbed her wrists together. She closed her eyes, focused on the silence of the room. Where light did not ray, one could always find dark creatures in the corners, lurking. One just needed to focus their voice and speak to the Shadows, something Ahna had not done in many, many years.

“Gadir Nos’ Trugū Nos’ Trugū Douëh”

She repeated the incantation twice. “Born of shadows, of shadows you are. Reveal yourself!” she called.

Then came the whispers. Indistinguishable voices fluttered near Ahna’s pointy ears. The darkness suddenly seemed to move in front of her. It dashed, danced, swirled around. Twirled around her and faded in and out of her reach.

“Born of shadows, of shadows you are!” she called once more.

The whispers became clearer. It called to the elf. It implored her to vanish with them. One last mantra in Shadow Speech and a chill breezed in front of Ahna. She could not see it, but it was definitely there. She felt the cold wind of a short breath brush her face.

“Oh, my my, a magic-user,” a dark and sinister voice had spoken.

Ahna froze. An incomprehensible sense of fear crawled down her spine. The being whirled around her, she could feel the cold of its silent movements.

She gathered enough courage to finally speak. “I’m here to make a deal.”

The dark figure laughed hysterically. “Your soul, for the voidwalker’s?” The shadow seemed to chortle at its own words. Ahna felt a sudden brisk touch on her shoulder. “Your soul is tempting.” It inhaled intensely, close to her neck as if to take in her whole scent. “But wouldn’t that be too easy?” The uncontrollable laughter resounded in the room again. “His soul must be worth a lot to you that you’d trade it so quickly for your own. We could ask for so much more… We want more!” And it laughed again, a loud, coarse, twisted sound that pierced through Ahna’s eardrums. “You don’t have a soul worthy of the shrike’s, Archmage.”

“Not my soul,” she declared, unmoved by the shadow’s tirade. The figure stood in front of her again, expectantly, waiting for her to make the ultimate proposal. She looked at it, in the darkness, knowing this would be the deal to be sealed. “Xandor Kun Sharr’s.”

Three words she pronounced that rung like music to the shadow’s ears. Its tone grew more intrigued. “The Despot’s soul? For the shrike’s? How fascinating...How do you plan on killing the unkillable? Remember, Archmage, the shrike must be the one to serve the killing blow.”

Ahna held her stance. “He will.”

“We have a deal, mortal.”

The shadow laughed maniacally again. It laughed some more as Ahna turned around to leave the chamber. She suddenly felt a grip around her arm. The obscure claws invisibly cut through her skin.

The dark voice finally spoke its last words. “If you fail, the shrike is ours.” The shape disappeared into absolute darkness.

Ahna dashed out of the chamber and headed back to the coiled stairway. As she picked up the pace, she discarded her black linen bands in the pouch attached to her belt. Xandor Kun Sharr. She had struck an abominable deal with the Shadows: the Dark Lord’s soul and Cedric would be free. But how could Cedric kill Sharr? They would need to get to the capital, into the fortified castle armed to the teeth.

And not get killed.

She was about to reach the stairs when Cedric rejoined her. “Follow me,” she urged. “We need to talk to the Council.”

The shrike shook his head in confusion. “Ahna, what were you doing here?” She raced back upstairs, and he followed her. “Ahna, tell me what’s going on!” he had almost shouted.

They were already back to the ground floor. Ahna swiftly turned around and laid her hands on his arms. “I made a deal: your soul for Sharr’s.”

She almost chuckled at the foolishness of her words, but Cedric remained stern. His eyes had suddenly changed to the dark indigo of resolution.

“We’d have to get to Sharr,” the shrike inferred. “How in Hell do we do that?” Ahna had to think for a moment, and with her determination, the semblance of an idea was born.

Cedric interrupted her boiling thoughts. “As much as I appreciate this, I’m fine with my soul as is.”

“Well, I’m not. We’re going to save your soul.”

She had said these words as though she had declared this foolish task her personal mission. As they headed to the council room, Ahna divulged the outline of the plan she had been concocting for the past moments.

When they reached the chamber, the door was already opened, and High Commander Sand sat there with Jade Lark by his side. The Shrike Wing leader had a grim look over her face, something was not right with her.

“Ahna, Rover” the commander greeted them as they entered. “What’s this about?”

Ahna let Cedric in, and she closed the door behind him. The shrike took a step forward. “I request permission to speak freely, High Commander.” After Joshua granted his request, Cedric proceeded. “Sharr has an army at least ten times the size of ours. He’s planning a battle to annihilate us.” As he spoke, Jade’s look became even darker. Cedric noticed it and turned to her briefly. “Are you alright there, Jade?” he asked, concerned for her, but she motioned for him to continue. “I don’t think we have a choice but to act, with another preemptive strike.”

Joshua looked perplexed. “Sharr is consuming our envoys in Bravoure like blood-red meat,” he began with a grave tone. “He’s killing citizens, some who have nothing to do with the Resistance. We’re losing souls every day, innocent souls.” Jade looked to the ground as the commander spoke. Lord Sharr had recently begun to purge the underground markets, the ones below the city, where many Resistance fighters were based. “I fear we don’t have much longer.” Joshua leaned back in his chair and covered his face.

He passed both his hands in his black mane. The proud man seemed too concerned, as though he had begun to lose hope. The leader of the Shrike Wing sat by him, silent. She tried to wear a false mask of courage, but her captain noticed her distress.

She stood up and looked to Cedric with pleading eyes. “I’m not feeling so well,” she said with a faint voice. Her skin was too pallid, almost unhealthily. “I’ll be in the guest quarters.” She waved to the high commander and left the council room.

After she was gone, Joshua exhaled slowly and spoke again. “We’ve been fighting this war for half a century. If the false king finds Orgna, it’s over. Ten years of building an army to fight him just go up in smoke, like that.” The high commander mimed the movements of smoke vanishing into the air with his hand.

“Well, maybe that’s exactly it,” Cedric retorted. “Our position is made, and Sharr’s just making us quiver and wait for his own sick game!”

After another distant sigh, Joshua looked at Cedric, his lips folded in concern. “What do you suggest, Rover?”

“We kill Sharr,” Cedric declared.

Joshua scoffed. “An assassination?” he asked unbelievingly. “Forgive my cynicism, Rover, but we’ve tried that a dozen times! His castle is armed to the teeth. None of our assassins ever made it close to him, not even within a sixty-feet radius.”

Cedric signed to Ahna, as an invitation to explain the details of her crazy idea. The elf stepped forward and prepared to speak to the high commander. She pursed her lips in hesitation. She looked at Joshua Sand and discerned a doubtful shadow for the very first time. The virtuous task of leading a doomed rebellion had now weighed just too much on his shoulders. Ahna understood the pain the Resistance leaders were in. She still felt some sense of responsibility for the failures of the war. The Dark Lord may be this close to eradicating the rebellion, and she could not let that happen. They had to do something, no matter how dangerous, even if it were a crazy idea.

“I can get close to Sharr,” she declared with the certainty most needed right now. The silence settled in the room. Both Joshua and Cedric waited for Ahna to continue. Where was she getting at? How could she get close to him? “Sharr will let me get close. I have something he wants.” Joshua raised his eyebrows. Cedric waited for more. In order to explain, Ahna had to reveal a detail about her forgotten past. “A long time ago, I wasn’t just a Dwellunder citizen, I was military. I know how to talk to a dokkalfar man when it comes to soldiers and weapons.” Joshua looked at the dark elf, uncertain of the intricate plan that was unfolding. “Sharr wants a battle? I’ll give him an army, my army. I will pose as a Dwellunder duchess, one who wants to ally with Sharr.”

The high commander remained still, attentive to Ahna’s elaborate plan. Cedric, on the other hand, scoffed at her words. He had not expected this, and he would not let Ahna resort to such dangerous measures to get close to Sharr. This would be a silly farce the Dark Lord would definitely see through. The moment he doubts her, she would be killed instantly. Joshua most certainly shared his concern.

“Alright, you get close to him, and then what?” Cedric questioned, referring back to the assassination plan. The shrike captain looked to Ahna expectantly. Joshua’s eyes joined.

“We use the oldest trick in the magi history,” she announced with a smirk. “The sleight of hand.”

The dark elf then spoke of the complex idea of a two-spell ritual, which could create a state of abstract entanglement, as she called it, and allow Cedric to switch places with her. As soon as she would step into the castle, Sharr would have all his marksmen’s weapons aimed at her. She would be dead the moment she made a sudden move. But not if Cedric intervened.

“I will bind Cedric to me, then to the Abstract Plane. When the time is right, Cedric will physically switch places with me with the strike of a sword.”

“I’m not sure I follow, Ahna. What do you mean you switch places?” Joshua asked, puzzled by this talk of magic tricks.

Ahna took a deep breath. “The Abstract Plane is what lies beyond the Fabric of Realms. The clerics call it the Chaos Dimension. It resides outside time and space as we know it. If I bind Cedric to me, we will be entangled as one. He will see everything I see. And if I create a bond with the Abstract Plane, it will also enable him to swap positions with me freely.”

Cedric was at a loss for words. He seemed hesitant and majorly concerned about the risk Ahna would take. “How will you even do this?” he eventually asked.

“A binding spell, and a planar ritual. It takes a bit of work, and we need to remain in proximity to each other. Cedric will see Sharr’s exact position through my eyes and will be able to deliver the final blow. Sharr and his marksmen will not even see him. They will only realize what happened after the kill.”

Joshua, although intrigued by the plan, still had strong concerns. “What’s your extraction plan?”

“As we will be bound to the Abstract Plane, Cedric will fade back to me as soon as the deed is done. One strike of the sword, and he will be back to safety.”

Joshua’s eyes lightened and he spoke softly. “If that works, the Resistance wins. Do you realize what you’re saying, Ahna?” The elf nodded determinedly. “If you fail, we lose you both,” the commander stated, concerned for them. “At best, he kills you,” he sternly declared.

Cedric’s shoulders fell. He pondered for a short moment on the idea, then adopted a more secure stance. “I am willing to take that risk, Commander. We don’t have much of a choice anyway.”

“I can’t send you to your deaths,” the high commander said with sad honesty.

Joshua remained uncertain, but a dim light of aspiration shone in his eyes. He called for a recess. He needed some time to discuss with the rest of the Council, especially with Commander Falco.

While Ahna and Cedric waited, they saw David be fetched by one of the guards and enter the council room, then Luk Ma, then Jade returned. The leader of the Shrike Wing looked a little better. The door remained closed for a very long time. Ahna and Cedric stayed silent, anxious of what would come next.

“The Shadows said you have to be the one to kill Sharr,” Ahna said with a distant voice.

Cedric listened distantly. He could not exactly figure out what to say. He wanted to thank her, but he had to admit that, for the first time, he was dead afraid.

Three members of the Council joined the high commander and seated themselves at their assigned place. Joshua took a deep breath and laid out Ahna and Cedric’s proposed mission, as best as he could.

“This is a stupid idea!” Luk Ma exclaimed.

David joined him. “Hang on, switch places? How will she even get close to Sharr?”

“She wants to pose as a Dwellunder duchess and offer him an army.” Joshua proceeded to explain. He shrugged as he deemed the idea to be way beyond reason.

Luk Ma scoffed. “She’s going to get killed.”

Jade stayed silent as the three others debated the idea and attempted to untangle Ahna’s magical plan. A shadow of hesitation rested over her face, but she cleared her throat to speak out. “This might actually work. Sharr spent the last years trying to rally Dwellunder forces to the surface. He wanted support from his peers to crush us deep into the ground, and perhaps expand his domain.” As the other members of the Council remained silent, Jade continued. “None of them ever actually responded to his request.”

“I don’t approve,” Luk Ma retorted. “She might put us all in jeopardy—”

“What choice do we have, Luk Ma?” Jade interrupted him. “Sharr is assembling all his soldiers scattered across the kingdom as we speak. He pulled his troops to the capital and is preparing for a massive assault. All points to him having found Orgna. If that is the case, it’s over for us.”

After a long moment of silence, David finally divulged what he thought of the whole situation. “I agree with Jade. All points to our position being compromised. We must do something before it’s too late. The archmage’s plan might be the best we’ve got at this point.”

Luk Ma leaned back into his chair. The truth of Jade’s words rang in his head and, no matter how much he disagreed with the plan, he agreed with their desperation. The rebels may be on the brink of extinction. Joshua fiddled with his beard as he meditated on what to do.

“Joshua,” Jade began again. “Start the evacuation, slowly. Let them go on the mission and hope it succeeds in time.”

The high commander still remained pensive.

“I will have my scouts figure out exactly where these troops are going,” Luk Ma declared. “Jade’s spies are being executed one by one, perhaps we can conclude something from a distance.”

After a long pause, Joshua started to nod distantly. “The best we’ve got?” he murmured rhetorically, looking at a fixed point on the table. He then took another deep breath and signaled the guard to fetch the two rebels outside. “Gods be with them.”

When the guard led Ahna and Cedric back in the council room, Joshua had a determined look on his face.

“You have our go. If something goes wrong, if he doesn’t let you get close somehow, you come back immediately” the high commander ordered. “Then we’ll brace for whatever comes next. We can get you an escort of our own dokkalfar soldiers.”

“Got it, and no,” Ahna immediately retorted. “If I walk in there with guards, Sharr will never let me get close. Alone, I have more chances.” Joshua acknowledged Ahna’s reasoning.

Jade, who had stood up, addressed the shrike captain. “I will go near the city and get a safehouse ready. It’ll be right by the coast, behind the castle walls.” The leader of the Shrike Wing then turned to Ahna. “Will this be close enough?” The dark elf confirmed with a single nod. “When you’re near, just follow the crows,” Jade instructed, and Cedric acknowledged. “You leave at zenith tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you’re alright, Jade?” the captain asked his superior, but Jade was already strolling away.

“Ahna, this idea is extremely dangerous,” Kairen told her sister and friend. “Are you up for this?” They stood outside in the stables, Ahna was finishing to groom Bark. “That mission is suicide.”

“I know Kairen. But I think dangerous is all we’ve got at this point. If Sharr has found Orgna, we’re doomed.” Ahna awkwardly grimaced. An extra weight now rested on her shoulders, but she was ready to take it head-on. “Don’t worry, if I’m not able to even get near the castle, I will immediately come back. High Commander’s orders.”

“What if you can’t even get into the city?”

“Kairen, I’m dokkalfar. Of course I’ll get into the city.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Ahna looked down to the stables floor. “I have to be.”

The red-haired woman sighed. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess. Joshua is the bravest I know, but with all that’s happening, he’s become gripped by fear. Too much to hide it.” Kairen went to give a pat on Bark’s neck. “You’ll be going back there, to the capital...”

Ahna stopped the strokes of the swine bristle. Her thoughts lingered on the idea of her inevitable return to the golden city, and she remained silent.

“Cedric will be taking Jules too.” Kairen said again. She paused for a minute. “What do you need for the spell?”

Ahna stepped back. “This”—she showed her banded wrists—“salt, and crown bellflowers.”

* * *

Cedric cast the twenty-sided dice on the table. Fourteen! The shrike had rolled lower than Lynn, which meant he could move his pawn two steps further than her, and he could go again!

“Eight. I’m on a roll today!” the shrike laughed victoriously.

His thoughts were set on the game, but the back of his mind seemed to wander elsewhere. As hard as he tried to cover it beneath a moment of ephemeral joy, Ahna could dimly hear the irregular cadence of his heart.

Lynn shook her head in false disapproval while Diego went to request another cup of ale. “Make it two!” the captain of Squadron Five signed to the attendant.

“Alright, my turn, shrike,” Lynn said determinedly.

Twenty. The Taz woman dropped her face in her hands. Cedric laughed with pride at Lynn’s discontentment.

“Don’t embarrass her too much, Captain, or she’ll rip your eyes out,” Jules played.

Lynn shoved the jokester gently to express her disapproval. “Cedric, I swear, you rigged the dice!”

The gang kept the music of their harmonic laughter going.

The hearths of the dining hall were lit again. Ahna sat at the edge of a table, close to Lynn and Jules, observing this set game of Chance of Knights. Next to Cedric was his friend Diego. Lynn and the shrike captain faced each other in this fierce dice battle. Cedric had obviously won long ago, as fate had not exactly been on Lynn’s side today.

Ahna’s gaze bounced furtively between the two players, and her eyes finally met the marksman’s. His smile remained on his face as he kept his gaze fixed on her. His cerulean gems shimmered with a genuine lightness, as though a certain weight had been lifted from his heart. But there in the blue, she saw a masked apprehension for the mission tomorrow.

While she studied the dice rollers, she pondered on her recent decision to finally set foot in the capital again. She was going to face the enemy she had run from decades ago. Xandor Kun Sharr. For the many past years, she had never imagined she would sit here, amidst the rebels, as they prepared for the final round of this fifty-year-old match. And there was Cedric, the tormented soul she had decided to save in the process. The man raised his cup to a defeated Lynn, who groaned exaggeratedly to emulate desperate cries.

Two cups full of ale topped by frothy foam landed on the table between Lynn and Diego. The two cheered and gulped a few large sips.

“You’re sure you don’t want a drink?” Diego asked enthusiastically.

Cedric and Jules shook their heads. “No, big day tomorrow,” they said in unison.

Their friends at the table did not know what tomorrow would bring, and such a crucial mission this meant for the Resistance. The Council deemed it necessary to send the shrikes and Ahna covertly, while the rest of the troops focused on preparing for a possible evacuation.

Lynn slowly came closer to Ahna. “You know,” she whispered to her. “Jules is unmarried.” She giggled with a girl’s voice.

Of course, Jules had heard her innocent remark. He blushed like a ripening tomato, while Lynn sneakily shoved her elbow against Ahna’s waist, to push her closer to her target. Ahna chuckled, and to join Lynn in her amusement, she slowly turned to Jules with enamored eyes and slyly winked at him. Jules awkwardly smiled and blushed some more.

Cedric then went to rest his arm around his shrike’s shoulders. “You have no chance, Ahna, he’s mine.”

The two laughed comically. Jules raised his hands and tapped the air to signal for this goof to stop. “Well, Cedric is not wrong, ladies!” he charmingly said. “I’m sorry, Ahna, I play for the other team.”

Lynn sighed in seeming admiration. “That’s why you’re so handsome, shrike-boy. You’re blessed by Bishet himself!” Ahna tilted her head to the Taz woman, intrigued by her words. “It’s what we say in Tazman,” she proceeded to explain. “Bishet blesses those who strive for the unity of all.”

Jules blushed again. He too tried to enjoy this lovely evening as much as he could, but he remained preoccupied with the big day tomorrow.

The night had settled for a few hours. Lynn and Jules left the table and headed to the dorms, and Diego remained with Cedric and Ahna. The elf stood up to bring the cups back to the kitchen area. She passed by a few tables where lone rebels stayed to enjoy a smooth mug of ale.

When she returned, she overheard Diego speak a few words before he rose to his feet. “I’m glad you’re back, Captain Cedric Rover. It took you long enough!” The shrike smiled back at his friend. “Ten years, dai. Ten years!” Diego exclaimed again as he headed upstairs. He waved at the two and headed toward the stairway.

After a few moments of silence, Cedric searched for Ahna’s purple eyes. She looked back, hesitant.

“See, I can also be a nice person!” he said with a whimsical tone.

Ahna felt she could be honest with him. “Well, you had me fooled. I thought you were going to kill me.”

Cedric bent slightly closer to her. “I could have,” he said, with a more serious tone.

His hands were clasped in front of him on the wooden table. In the burst of comfort Ahna wanted to give him, she mechanically laid her hands on his.

“We will succeed,” she assured.

As he plunged his gaze deeper into her eyes, she saw something more than the dim light of hope. She saw confidence, determination, but perhaps a tint of dread. She suddenly felt drawn to his honest and bare allure. Their breaths slowly synced, and he gently turned his wrists so her hands would fall in his.

“Why put yourself at risk for me, dokkalfar?” he asked, not patronising but more uncertain.

Ahna withdrew her hands away, and she pursed her lips, thinking. “I can’t imagine a soul, no matter how evil or how unholy, be deprived of an afterlife.” Her voice dissolved in the silence of the room.

“What about Sharr?”

Ahna sighed. “I don’t think we can call that a soul.”

Cedric leaned back. He kept his gaze fixed at the dark elf, hesitant but resolute. “Let’s get some sleep,” he suggested as he clapped the table.

“I probably won’t be able to,” Ahna honestly said.

Cedric breathed in slowly and peered at the elf. Ahna began to stiffen the deeper he looked. She cleared her throat and stood up while he remained seated. His eyes followed her movements.

“Where do you sleep?” he curiously asked.

“In the squadron dorm, the same as Lynn’s,” she replied with a cautious tone.

“Well, good night then,” he calmly bid.

Ahna gave him a final nod and found her way upstairs.

9

The Golden City

Ahna latched her large satchel full of gunny sacks of salt and flowers onto Bark’s saddle. She then placed her foot in the stirrup, shifted her body and used the saddle to pull herself up. As she mounted her brown steed, Jules trotted toward her on a new black, tamed free-roaming horse. The capital was but a day away. If they left now, they would reach by nightfall. Cedric stepped outside, accompanied by a woman. When Ahna noticed his interlocutor, her mouth slightly opened in surprise. He was followed by Lilth, and the two seemed to be in a heated dialogue.

Jules, seeing Ahna’s confusion, explained what this all was about. “She was supposed to go to the capital on a recon mission in Sharr’s camps. With what’s going over there, the captain ordered her to stay, but she still wants to go.”

When Lilth laid eyes on Ahna, she waved at her with a beguiling smile. Her hand slithered in the air with a lithe movement. Jules watched this, and he looked at Ahna with fascinating eyes and snickered awkwardly.

Cedric went to fetch his grey horse. He carried two large satchels that he strapped to the stallion. As he came nearer to Ahna and Jules, she saw he was equipped with a perfect steel shortsword and the notorious bow.

The band of three rebels galloped down the hills, into the plains and straight toward the golden city of Bravoure. Dusk fell fast. The far figure of gold had now become a massive edifice that stood ahead of their course. Ahna’s heart pounded in her chest. She was close to the place she had once called home.

They circled the city to remain undetected while they headed for the coast. Between the heart of Bravoure and the ocean cliffs was the grand royal palace, Sharr’s hive. The castle of Bravoure was surrounded by a tall battlement with stainless crenels, with bricks of sand marble. It was deliberately made only accessible from the city by a golden drawbridge. The high towers’ conical roofs were plated gold. The castle appeared to shine with the light of the sunset, like a holy beacon for the divine.

The horses loped to the south side behind the city walls. As they drew close to the shore, Cedric signaled for them to come to a halt. He glanced left and right, looking for Jade Lark’s sign of a safehouse. “Look out for the crows!” he directed.

The horses whirled round as the three rebels scanned the area.

“There!” Jules called and pointed. A murder of crows flew south.

They followed the birds to a group of silos scattered around a field. At the edge of the terrain, further toward the sea, there was an abandoned granary.

Ahna turned her head to the city of Bravoure. She could see the castle so close, she could almost feel the presence of the Dark Lord, the man who had driven her to flee. In her short moment of solitude, Cedric and Jules had already parked their horses. They then stepped into the granary. The small barn had been converted to a basic camp house. There were four lofts, a table, a few seats, and a huge can that could do well as a bath.

Ahna, who still stood outside, noticed the place where the barley had once been grown had been razed bare, but the well by the field had recently been refreshed. When she entered the old granary, she spotted the two shrikes, who had this deeply concerned look on their face.

“Where’s Jade?” Jules asked.

Cedric answered with a frown. “She should have been here,” he emphasized. He then paused for a second and recentered his thoughts. “Night is near, we must get prepared.”

He went to fetch the satchels from his horse and unwrapped a loaf of cloud bread and potted nutspread on the table. The two shrikes began to gobble their meal.

Ahna did not feel hunger, her mind was too preoccupied with tomorrow’s mission to even think about nutspread. She gazed to the outside through the small window, at the castle of Bravoure. Her heart weighed heavy. All her memories of this place raced one by one, in a flash before her eyes.

“Ahnny, I have a question,” Jules said. He finished chewing his bread and swallowed before he pursued. Ahna remained all pointy ears. She came to sit at the wooden table with the shrikes. “Are you absolutely sure you can get this close to Sharr?” The corner of her lip sank down with a slight bit of concern. She was not absolutely sure, but she was sure enough. “And”—he finished munching—“I’m no mage, so I’m just saying things, but why can’t you simply disguise Cedric as a duchess?”

Ahna laughed. Cedric cast an unconvinced glance at Jules. Of course, the lieutenant meant a disguising spell, not an actual costume. He was not wrong, this could have been a good plan. But Sharr would immediately see through this farce, even if it were a magical one.

“I’m no illusionist, and Xandor was the perspicacious one,” she murmured as a dull response.

Jules raised an eyebrow. So did Cedric. Ahna realized what her words could have meant, like she and Xandor had been more than just enemies in the distant past—like she knew him.

She took a deep breath and tore a piece of cloud bread with her fingers. As she chewed on the day-old bread, Cedric rose to his feet and marched toward the door. His look remained fixed to the outside for a few moments.

When he turned back to the band of rebels, he still had a concerned look on his face. “Jade is still not here.” He remained there for a bit longer and retorted to himself. “She’s probably still in the city. Maybe she’ll be here tomorrow.”

Then he shook his head to hush his worry away.

As the night grew darker, Jules had already sunk into his bed. He was packed underneath a warm cow pelt they had found in a wooden box in the corner of the barn. Cedric stood outside, leaned against the wall by the ajar door. He waited for Jade and could not bring himself to sleep. Ahna, who noticed the shrike’s enduring concern, went to join him in the cool of the night. She stood silent next to him.

“I have a bad feeling, Ahna,” he declared after a moment of stillness.

She wanted to reassure him. However, as hard as she wished to ignore it, she definitely shared his misgiving. “We have to do this at dawn, at first light. The longer we wait, the higher the risk,” she asserted calmly.

Cedric reclined his head on the stone wall. His eyes closed, he let the sounds of the night reach his ears. Ahna came a little closer. She felt him breathe in her scent as she leaned against the wall, next to him.

“Is it a difficult spell?” he wondered, distant.

“Well, yes, but I’ve done it multiple times.”

Cedric opened his eyes. He looked in the distance at the shadow of the castle. There were but faint lights, the rest was dead as the night.

“We might actually end it all tomorrow,” he pensively said. Ahna searched his eyes. His gaze had become dark, like the midnight blue of crown bellflowers. “A clash of fifty years ends with a simple magic trick,” he said again, with an awkward chuckle.

Ahna straightened her posture. She stretched her arms and turned around. “Good night, Cedric.”

The man looked to the ground and hid a smile. He remained silent while Ahna stepped back into the granary. He stayed awake for a few moments longer before sinking into a disturbed sleep.

* * *

Dawn rose above the city of Bravoure. The golden light reflected off the castle towers, and the scent of the southern sea was carried in the gentle wind. By the coast, in the abandoned granary that had become a rebel safehouse, Ahna stood with two shrikes and sacks of salt. With the thin white grains, she drew a circle on the cold ground in the middle of the room. The two shrikes observed the elf perform her binding ritual.

She chanted an incantation quietly in old elven. Her words did not make much sense to her companions, but her voice resonated like music to their charmed ears. They were a succession of complex phrases spoken one after the other with a low, monophonic tone.

She paused for a moment and motioned for Cedric to step into the circle. “You must remain here. This circle will be fixed between this realm and the Abstract Plane.”

As she proceeded, she held her two newly imbued bands in her hands. Crown bellflowers provided magic-users with the ability to enchant items. Their dark blue tint covered the linen.

Cedric was instructed to kneel in the middle of the circle, then Ahna kneeled in front of him. She held his left arm in her hands and encircled it in the black linen wrap.

“This will entangle your body with mine,” she explained as she wrapped the cloth around his wrist. “Now, hold your sword.”

The shrike heeded her order. The elf then rose to her feet and continued the ritual. She wrapped her own right forearm tight in the linen band. As she stood in front of Cedric, she murmured the next words of the binding spell.

“Now that we both stand here, I will bind this circle to the Abstract Plane. And remember, Cedric, when the time is right, to fade to me, you just need to will it.”

She held her hands high in the air. Her head raised to the ceiling, she uttered the next elven words. Her eyes turned black, and a sudden massive force made her arms drop toward the earth. She clenched both hands in a fist, as the gravity pull of the encircled ground intensified. She uttered the final words, and her hands were set free.

Ahna recollected her thoughts and tilted her head to Cedric. “Are you alright?”

Then she saw the shrike in a deep trance. Cedric sat, voiceless and motionless, on his knees, his sword in his right hand. His eyes were as dark as the absence of matter and were forced wide open.

Jules examined his captain in concern. “What’s happening to him?” he urged.

Ahna smiled reassuringly. “He is bound to me.” She raised her banded wrist at Jules. “Everything I see, he will see. Everything I feel, he will feel. He won’t be able to respond to you, and he must not be moved. He is fully conscious.”

Jules acknowledged. Ahna stepped outside the circle and headed toward the entrance. She turned to the shrike lieutenant before reaching the threshold. “Both bindings will only last until dark. Jules, you must make sure he is kept safe. And I must move quickly!”

She disappeared through the door. She swiftly untied Bark’s reins, led him toward the path, and mounted her horse to race toward the gates of Bravoure.

The city used to be a land known for its principles of solidarity. The vow the serene Bravan people had pledged was that no race, no sex, no identity, no being shall walk Terra alone. The materialization of this vow had been the old treaty of unity between human and elves. The two races had then welcomed a new dwarven dynasty, and it had not taken too long before the forests of Bravoure were populated by nomadic wood elves.

The capital stood tall near the southern cliffs of the kingdom. They said the castle of Bravoure rested on the ashes of the humble Ghydra, the god dragon who had chosen to live among the mortals and guide them to eternal peace. Later in history, Bravoure had even opened its gates to the outcast elves from the Dwellunder. It became their refuge, a great symbol of the possibility of redemption.

Yet what had once been an era of harmony had become tormented by the cumulated sins of its people. There had been fear, envy, resentment. The trinity of destructive emotions that could only lead down to a path of darkness. A caste system. The shadow of an aristocratic regime. A great divide between the people and the wealthier bourgeoisie.

Bravoure had fallen gravely ill, ill of its past failures and ill of the hardship the innocents had to endure. The golden gates had closed. The city had begun to simmer from the embers of near civil war.

On the verge of the city collapsing, the Dwellunder emerged from below. The war had raged on until Bravoure had been forced to surrender to a new and sinister regime. Lord Xandor Kun Sharr had taken the golden throne, and Bravoure had sunk further into a corrupt and somber bottomless pit.

Ahna led Bark right outside, adjacent the city gates. She whispered instructions to him for him to roam back to the granary. She softly tapped his rump, and the steed headed straight back into the fields.

When the elf scanned her surroundings, a crowd of commoners were going through the corroded gold gates. There was no emotion in their lifeless eyes, just the color of sad routine. Ahna blended among the crowd, and she stepped into the city with a cold feeling of dread.

People walked the mudded ground of the Main Pass. Most of them were cowled, curled upon themselves. They hurried past each other as though they wished to remain unseen. The paved road further into the city led to a gloom market. This place had once flourished with riches from all corners of Terra. Nowadays, it was filled with scraps of scavenged goods and rotting fruits and meat. There was a putrid odor coming from below the market. Ahna could not help but hold her hand in front of her mouth and nose, to prevent herself from breathing in the horrible stench.

She marched into the city, cowled, with a long black cloak above her leathers. Beyond the market, to the east region, there was a bridge with plated gold railing. Any preservation effort of the bridge had been abandoned after Sharr’s ascension to the throne. The gold had been scratched off by time, and the rusted copper underneath had given it a greenish tinge. Ahna strolled on the bridge and looked over the railing. There was no trace left of the pure water that had once run through the Bravan canals.

Ahna’s heart weighed heavy in her chest as she observed the capital. She raised her eyes to the southeastern quadrant of the city. Over the myriad of tainted roofs spreading to the edge stood a tall edifice. It was not the castle. It was not the cathedral’s beacon of the old Congregation. Ahna’s heart stopped. She was looking at the arcane spire that sat atop the scorched Academy’s highest tower. The building had been darkened by the ashes of its fallen disciples.

A few trepid passersby who walked over the bridge glanced at Ahna. They looked terrified of her, of what she might do to them. She wanted to assure them she was no threat, but what would that have served anyway?

Ahna pursued her mission to the south of the city, to the castle walls. Her eyes stayed fixed on the spire for as long as it was in sight. She walked the main road as a vagabond in search of a distant home. Passersby still stared. Even the guards had begun to notice her. But she was dokkalfar, with silver hair, and none would dare apprehend her. They probably inspected her for other reasons.

She caught a glimpse of a group of robed men marching by the castle road. Each wore a long black tunic branded with the notorious Mark of Sharr. Only she seemed to know the symbol was of the Magi Academy, the glyph of the Ancients. Their faces were covered by the infamous warlock’s mask, a white cast of plaster, the reason why people referred to Sharr’s magi as the Defaced.

As she stepped onto the castle road, she was suddenly stopped by an alert guard.

“State your purpose, dryaa.”

She gazed at him, breathed in slowly, and took a confident stance. “I’ve come to see the Prince of Mal.”

The guard raised an eyebrow in perplexity. She plunged her poised glare into his, and he seemed to shiver beneath her eyes. Confused by exactly why he was compelled to heed her request, he stepped aside and let Ahna walk the castle road.

And there she stood. She faced the tall structure of sand marble, by the outer gate of the bright golden bridge, barred by four guards. This bridge was the only entrance to the castle, and it had been maintained and polished, even by Sharr’s men. She came closer to the guards, who adopted a military stance. They stood upright, chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in, ready to receive her. Ahna was prepared. Her dark cloak gave the formal allure of someone of a higher rank. But what indeed reinforced her appearance was her hair, uncommon for most dokkalfar. It made her look like an even higher authority, almost royalty.

“Good day,” they said, anxiously.

Ahna gave them a single, confident nod. “I am here to see Lord Sharr.”

The guards eyed each other, uncertain of what to do. She roared her orders in Higher-Dokkalfari, a Dwellunder dialect of monarchs. After their heads bounced left and right, they stepped to the side and let her pass.

Ahna walked upon the golden bridge, past the gatehouse, and stepped into the inner ward of the castle. There, the enclosed gardens were of stupefying beauty. The well-maintained courtyard grew flowers of a thousand colors, trees with bright red fruits, and golden statues were sprinkled around the yard. The stables stood to her left, with different stalls, populated by a team of nightmare stallions.

As she strolled in admiration toward the archway that led to the castle’s main entrance, she was stopped by an additional set of two guards. The tall men looked stern and motioned that they would, under no circumstances, let her through.

“I’ve come to speak with Lord Sharr,” Ahna stammered, but with a hint of pride.

The guards shook their heads. One of them scowled at her with his red eyes. “Lord Sharr does not accept visitors. Withdraw or suffer the consequences, dryaa.”

“Tell him it’s important. Tell him the Duchess...of Talmuur is here.”

Talmuur...Lilth’s province. Let’s pray this works.

A pearl of sweat dripped down the nape of Ahna’s neck. She painfully ignored it and did her best to turn her fear into severity.

“I will not repeat myself,” she firmly warned. “Tell him the Duchess of Talmuur wants to see him.”

The two guards remained still, and a few moments passed by. By the garden, there was a tiny wood elf, who wore soiled clothes and a black apron, tending to the flowers. The elf looked curiously in their direction.

The door to the castle hall opened, and a third guard came to them. “What is this about?”

“This dryaa wants an audience with his Majesty. She says she’s the Duchess of Talmuur!” The two others laughed together with grating voices.

The guard by the door looked at her with a twisted grin. “Duchess of Talmuur? We kill those from Talmuur.”

Ahna wanted to blast them out of existence, but the risk of using any other magic was too significant, as it could break her bond with Cedric. So, she did the next best thing. The Duchess of Talmuur cover was not getting her anywhere with these guards. Though they seemed to believe her, they would not let her in. She needed Lord Sharr to hear it directly, to hear her. But what could she say that would immediately grant her the audience she had been waiting for? What was the only thing she could say to get Lord Sharr’s undivided attention?

“I am Meriel Arkamai,” she shouted with all her energy. “Archmage of the Magi Academy of Bravoure. Go to Lord Sharr and tell him who I am.”

The guards laughed again. Their laughter overtook her voice.

“Are we supposed to applaud?” the left one asked nonchalantly.

“So what is it lady? Are you a duchess or an…archmage?” the right one inquired. He examined her from head to feet. A vile and lewd smile stretched upon his face as he seemed to devour her with his squinted eyes. Ahna hated that smile. One too familiar. One she had desperately spent the last decades scratching off her memory.

The third guard headed back inside, and the two others kept on smiling. Ahna held her stance, unsure of what to do next.

The one with the ugly smile went to grab her by her left arm. “Alright, you’ve tested our patience enough!”

She struggled against his firm grip, fiercely threatened him with a punch to the jaw. His head was knocked back. When he recovered his senses, he growled and seized her shoulders. Before he could do anything else, the third guard stepped outside again and ordered for him to stop. The third guard glanced at Ahna with rounded eyes. His mouth was open, as though he could no longer speak.

“You may enter,” he finally stuttered, bushed by his own words. The two others looked at each other with mouths agape. “Lord Sharr will see you now.”

The gates clicked behind her, and Ahna took a deep breath.

Lord Sharr will see you now.

The astonished guard escorted her past the antechamber, to the entrance of the throne room. She sauntered hesitantly, her heart pounded loud in her chest. She could feel her painful heartbeat as though the organ would burst out of her ribcage. Once the guard let her in the large hall, he left her there and headed back into the antechamber.

The Great Hall stood high in bricks of sand marble. There were four large, inanimate tables placed symmetrically in the hall. Nobody sat on the massive marble chairs. Six guards at each side of the room were posted with spears, their faces covered by silversteel helmets from the Dwellunder. Beyond the tables and guards were a small set of stairs that led to the platform upon which rested the golden throne.

The throne stood underneath an alcove adorned with a large windowpane, facing the wealthiest part of the city. The southwest was still polished in wealth, it is where the Dwellunder dokkalfar now mostly lived. This part of Bravoure city was highly maintained. There was a glaring contrast between the prosperity of the district and the filth and poverty of the rest. On the walls of the Great Hall were tapestries embroidered in gold of the previous kings and queens of Bravoure. Sharr had chosen to preserve them in the castle walls, mostly for their beauty and value.

The moment Ahna stepped into the throne room, she felt the glares of a dozen marksmen ready to shoot. She did not see them, but she knew they were there, watching her. One false move, and she would be dead.

By the golden throne, on top of the platform, stood a dark yet majestic figure. Ahna’s heart stopped. The man stared pensively outside the window, his hands clasped behind his back. She could only see his long black coat made of boiled stallion leather. Ahna walked toward him and paused as she reached the staircase. She opened her mouth, however a lump in her throat prevented her from speaking. The dokkalfar prince turned to her. He deeply penetrated her with his glowing amber eyes. The daylight touched the alcove’s floor, and the twilight blue of his skin shone like early dawn. He strolled slowly toward her until he stood right above her, on high of the steps.

“Meriel...it’s been too long.”

Ahna looked up to the dark figure of the man she had once known. His thick silver hair, too much like hers, tucked delicately behind his pointed ears, smoothly fell on his shoulders. His nose aligned perfectly in the middle of his angled face, and the malicious smile on his face haunted her.

“When they told me the Resistance had a mage, I hoped it was you. But when my spy confirmed it, oh, you have no idea...” His voice…husky and infected by gloom. “Still go by Mother’s name, now, do you?”

Xandor looked at Ahna silently, the two remained still for a moment. He inhaled deeply before speaking his next words. “Was Meriel Ahn Sharr too much of a burden to you, dear sister?”

Ahna’s body stiffened. Her eyes fixed on Xandor, she was torn between her sense of duty and a long lost feeling as she looked at her brother. She cleared her throat to finally speak.

“You have no right to call me sister,” she stated, her lips trembling.

The confrontation she had long avoided finally crashed before her eyes. She had so much to say yet so much she wished to keep silent. The resentment she wanted to share, the sick affection she tried to repress, emotions that clawed through the walls of her mind right at this moment. Her brother. The curse she had run away from, twice. He, who had taken everything from her.

“I’ve brought our empire to the surface, Meriel. Something far bigger than Father could ever have imagined. This land was filled with animals. I restored peace to this putrid chaos. They were turning on each other, these fools! Now, only order reigns thanks to me.”

Ahna slowly shook her head in disapproval. “Father was mad!” Her voice echoed in the silence of the Great Hall. “You are evil, which is much worse.”

“Have you come to finally lecture me, dear sister? It took you, what? Fifty years? Spare me the reprimands, Meriel, you’re half a century late.”

Ahna wanted to rebuke, to blame her brother for the insanities of a lifetime. But she had to keep her feet in the ground and stick to the mission.

“You and Mother with your magi arrogance,” Xandor continued. “You never approved of anything Father or I was doing. All the glory we brought to Mal, and all the good I brought here.”

Ahna could not hold it in anymore. “Mother saw what you were becoming!”

“Mother abandoned me! When she fled with you and Thamias, it broke my heart. She made me this way.” His voice had ended in a desperate cry.

Ahna scoffed. “Don’t you dare blame her for your madness. And don’t you dare blame her now, after what you did to her.”

Xandor regained his stance. A thin smile drew slowly on his face. His eyes darkened with a known evil, and his teeth showed. “She got less than what she deserved.”

Ahna remained in shock. Shocked by her brother’s words and by the darkest of turns this conversation had taken. Xandor kept his spiteful gaze on her.

“Did Thamias deserve what you did to him?” Ahna finally asked, her voice breaking.

Xandor chuckled and motioned for her to come closer to him. “The one destined to kill me? Yes, he got what he deserved too. Not even a glorious prophecy can destroy me, Meriel.”

Ahna pursed her lips to silence her wrath. The thought of Thamias, the Dragonborn she had named, their brother, had brought up the old rage she could repress no more. “Thamias couldn’t even kill you! Why execute him, your own brother? How could you?”

Xandor instantly let out a hysterical laugh. As he waved his hand slowly again, Ahna gave in and marched up the stairs. When she came close to him, he wiped off her cowl with his hand and caressed the side of her face.

“Oh, Meriel, you mention it yourself, we made a deal with demons. I couldn’t kill Thamias, even if I wanted to. Just like I cannot kill you, and you cannot kill me. As such is the fate of bloodbound children.”

He seized a silver lock of her hair between his two fingers and affectionately descended to the tips. Ahna was left with her mouth agape. She had to process what Xandor had just admitted. The fact that he did not kill Thamias, that could only mean one thing...

Thamias still lives.

“What did you do to our brother?” Ahna asked the Prince of Mal.

“Meriel, Thamias never left the city! He’s been right here, all along.” Her brother pointed to below him with a sardonic smile.

Ahna realized what he had implied. Before she could ask anything more, he leaned closer to her. This was their chance. But while Ahna focused on her mission, the dokkalfar prince had seized an unidentified object from the back of his belt.

Ahna called for Cedric with the full force of her mind. She knew very well Cedric had been here with her the whole time. She knew he could feel all she felt, could hear all the things she heard. Xandor, her brother. Thamias, the Dragonborn, their brother. The fall of Bravoure at the hands of the curse of the House of Sharr from the province of Mal. But she felt it, she felt Cedric’s devotion and his eagerness to strike—this mission was too critical. Hold…

Xandor dived deep into Ahna’s eyes. “So, tell me, Meriel. I am the unkillable. So what are you really doing here?”

Ahna gasped as Xandor firmly gripped her shoulder with his right hand. With a sudden move, he shoved Ahna backwards and slowly pushed a rhodium needle through the middle of her throat. Ahna’s eyes snapped wide open as she screamed in pain. The needle seemed to pierce through her trachea and prevent her from gasping for air. She felt she could no longer breathe. She struggled to push her brother away.

Once the pain finally lessened, the needle locked itself at the edge of her vocal cords. Her arcane energy slipped through her fingers. She felt the reach of Cedric slowly evanesce as her bond had abruptly been ruptured. A wave of dizziness overtook her, and she clung to Xandor as so not to fall. She was severely weakened. Her sight diminished.

“I’m not a fool, Meriel, I take precautions.”

Ahna was engulfed in a prism vision of her brother, who had just lodged a quūora fang into her throat.

A magic suppressor. She could no longer use her magic, and she could not pull the needle out.

“How?” she murmured, her hand clenched her brother’s shoulder.

“I own this kingdom, Ahna. I know everything.”

He shoved her away so she would fall to the ground. He then motioned for his guard to fetch her. “Take her to the tomb. Let my brethren rip each other apart!” He came to kneel one last time next to his sister who writhed on the cold floor. “I gave you a chance, Meriel. Give my regards to Thamias.”

And Xandor let the guards take his sister’s inert body away.

10

Dragonborn

The guards were to throw her into a pit deep below the castle of Bravoure. They carried her down the unending spiral stairs. They raised the portcullis at the end of a dark tunnel and left her on the other side. They then headed back to the surface.

Ahna opened her eyes.

She laid sprawled out, her face in the ground, her stiff neck as cold as ice. She pushed herself up slightly and felt around her throat. The adorned and bejeweled head of the quūora fang stuck out of her windpipe. The pain when she attempted to remove it was eviscerating, like the edge of a sword had pierced through her lungs, and she could not stir it. If she did not touch it, she just felt as though a smothering force was cast on her neck. There was no blood, just a sense of absolute powerlessness. She had to cough. The more she coughed, the more the pain returned. She stood up but fell again. She crawled until she reached the tunnel’s wall and pulled herself back up.

Ahna turned around to dissect her surroundings. No light but the torch’s glimmer behind the portcullis. The tunnel seemed to veer left. She held herself to the wall while she limped her way as far as she could see. It was damp. She had trouble breathing, also because of the heaviness of the air. The wall felt cold, but the air felt…warm. As she followed the curve, she looked beyond and saw the tunnel mute into a large unlit cavern.

As she staggered to the edge of the tunnel, she saw a faint glow in the distance. A cerulean blue shimmer that, for a minute, reminded her of the light in Cedric’s eyes. Cedric…Their bond was gone. She wanted to call for him, but was left with a sole feeling of loneliness. She ambled toward the glow, slowly moving in the absolute darkness.

Suddenly, her foot slid off the soil, and she collapsed to her knees. Beside her, she heard a few detached rocks plunge into the emptiness. She could not hear the second these rocks hit the ground. She did not dare to move further, afraid of sinking into the void herself. Though she could see the shimmer draw closer. She felt for the ground in front of her with a hesitant hand. She tapped on the cold and muddy surface. When she felt ground, she crawled in that direction. She crawled further until she reached the foot of a stone pedestal upon which the shimmer rested. She shifted her weight up and was able to stand over the blue light. The glow came from engraved writings upon what turned out to be a tombstone, which she examined closely.

“Here rests Ghydra, the Protector of Peace.”

Next to the inscription was the single imprint of the mortal dragon’s symbol. As Ahna softly pronounced the written words, she heard a screech from below.

A shriek straight out of a legend.

The ground shook beneath her. She held the pedestal so tight, afraid to fall. The shriek turned into a loud, devastating roar. The sound of slashes through the wind echoed in the dark cavern. As they grew closer, Ahna braced for what would come next.

The bright halo of golden wings blinded her. She had to hold her hand in front of her eyes. A loud roar almost tore through the walls of the cavern once again. Scales as bright as an endless flame flickered in the darkness as the winged creature sunk its talons into the dirt. He laid his glowing and intense ember eyes on the elf, who trembled in fear as any would in the presence of a reborn dragon.

He stretched his neck high and let out the most crushing roar. Ahna could now see the entire cavern lit in the blaze of his teeth. She stood on a small platform rested above the emptiness. A bridge dug into the soil stretched from the tunnel to the tombstone. And below was an endless pit where the dragon had slept all these years.

He beat his wings majestically as to keep his balance. He was aggressive. His wild stare and roar were fueled with an old fury that had been buried all these years.

“Thamias,” Ahna called desperately. “Thamias, stop!”

The dragon did not heed her plea. Instead, he folded his serpentine neck backwards. His eyes reddened from the heat that propagated from his heart to his nostrils. In a tilt of the head forward, a gust of fire burst out of his mouth and raged onward. Ahna rolled to the side and curled up behind the pedestal. She pressed herself as thin as she could. She felt the burning sensation of the flames brush against her shoulders. When the infinite scorch ended, she carefully turned to the golden dragon.

The beautiful beast howled at her.

In the darkness lit, she saw the large shackles around his feet, and she noticed the encrusted scars of decades of captivity. The dragon roared fiercely again.

“Thamias, stop!”

Her voice had ended in a loud cough. The quūora fang pierced further through her throat. She was forced to bend forward in pain. She toppled and landed on all fours in the ground. As the dragon prepared its next destructive fire, Ahna slowly crawled to him. She called again, multiple times, and hoped to spark some appeasement in the mind of her crazed brother.

But Thamias only roared again.

His claws crashed into the ground before her. She thought the soil bridge would collapse. She closed her eyes in terror, afraid of what would come next.

“Thamias,” she cried. “It’s me, Meriel...”

She raised her eyes to his smoldering gaze. The embers in his eyes flickered with wrath.

For a brief moment, she focused on her brother’s beating heart. She did not hear the rapid beating of rage, but the arrhythmic pace of pain. She contemplated what her brother may have endured, trapped in the Tomb of Ghydra in his draconic form, for half a century. Thamias had lost more than she had. His freedom. But most of all, he had lost the memory of himself.

She slowly brought herself up and faced her long lost brother. “Thamias, it’s you,” she softly murmured. Her broken voice shredded to whispers.

The dragon stretched his neck back.

“You’re Thamias!” she shouted with all she had. “Thamias, my brother!” She collapsed to the ground.

To her surprise, the dragon had fallen silent to the mention of the word brother. She suddenly had a glimmer of hope. “You’re my brother!” she cried as her tears crashed around her.

Thamias’ eyes dimmed. His roar became a deep, long growl.

“Remember Mother? Her voice...the way she sang the songs of Mal.”

The dragon tilted his head and serpented closer to Ahna. She looked at him and plunged her clouded gaze into his amber eyes. Her voice, the voice of his sister, it soothed the lost dragon.

“Yes!” she said with a soft smile. “You’re Thamias, and you’re my brother. Remember? Do you remember Bravoure?” She smiled some more as Thamias became calmer. “Do you remember the brave soldiers you fought with,” she asked calmly in silence. “Think of them, Thamias, the honest Bravan soldiers. Think of their bravery, Thamias.”

She stretched her arm toward the muzzle of the calmed dragon. She could almost reach it. She could almost touch her long lost brother.

Thamias opened his eyes wide as a sudden beam pierced through the scales of his chest. Another ray pierced through his back, then through his wings, bursts of light engulfed the dragon whole. He raised his head to the sky and howled a dying note.

The radiance dimmed. The dragon disappeared. Ahna saw the figure of her brother curled up on the cold ground. He shivered, cried, and trembled from the shock of his long-awaited transformation. Ahna crawled slowly to him and covered him under her cloak. She came closer to him, plunged her face in his thick, untrimmed silver hair, and she wrapped her arms around him and finally closed her eyes.

The shrike captain stood ready to plunge his blade in the Despot’s heart. Jules had seen the tranced captain stand up and brandish his shortsword as he prepared to strike. But in the blink of an eye, Cedric suddenly dropped his weapon and collapsed to his knees. He called for Ahna, multiple times. Jules wanted to calm him down but did not dare step into the circle of salt.

“Ahna!” Cedric shouted once again. He quickly turned to Jules. “One minute I’m there, one minute I’m back here.”

Jules, confused, spoke softly to appease him. “What’s going on, Cedric? You were so far gone. What happened?”

Cedric took a long deep breath, trying to recollect his thoughts. Sharr’s words, Ahna’s words, everything spiralled in his head. He picked up his sword, stood up and focused quietly. Something had happened to Ahna.

Lord Sharr, her brother? The Dragonborn, still alive?

It did not matter what he had seen or heard, he was way beyond that by now. He had felt what Ahna had felt. He had seen what Ahna had seen. He had been in her head and right now, only the idea of saving her was in his.

Their connection had abruptly been broken. The elf could be in terrible danger. Cedric had heard Xandor speak of a tomb. Could it be the tomb of Ghydra, the one from the legends?

In any case, he needed to get to Ahna as fast as he could. Something in his heart rallied him to.

He paused for a moment then stared at the salt circle. “She said there were two spells, right?”

“Yes,” Jules stuttered hesitantly. “Something binding you together, and something binding this circle to...”

“The Abstract Plane, yes,” Cedric completed the lieutenant’s sentence.

The shrike captain thought for a second. Ahna was somewhere in Sharr’s grasp. He could feel a faint glimmer as though she was just out of reach. His next best guess was the dungeon underneath the castle.

“By the entrance, to the left,” Cedric thought out loud. “Down the stairway, and down and down, through the hallway, right...”

“What are you doing, Captain?”

Cedric signaled for him to stop. “I was a mercenary then a spy. I’ve been in this castle a dozen times. I’m picturing where the dungeons are.” He frowned as he focused. “She said I just needed to...will it, right?”

“To fade? Yes.”

Cedric clenched a fist and looked up apprehensively. “Well, here we go!”

The shrike captain closed his eyes.

Ahna held her little brother close. She smelled the scent of his hair, kissed his cold skin. He shivered as he sat up straight. She was crying, and so was he. Thamias looked to his sister in the darkness.

“Meriel...” he murmured. “Meriel, I’m so sorry. I failed.” Ahna kept him close. She softly shushed him to soothe his cries. “How long has it been?”

His sister sighed. “Too long.”

The chains that had shackled his feet had fallen at the bottom of the cavern. They were engulfed by the deep, glooming darkness. Thamias dried his tears with his sister’s cloak.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Ahna promised him. “Xandor took you from me once, I won’t let him take you again.”

Thamias still shivered. His sister held him close.

“There are so many things I want to say,” Ahna cried as she hugged her brother tight.

“Ahna, I had something to tell you. I can’t remember...”

They heard the portcullis suddenly be raised.

Two dark figures surged out of the darkness with torches in their hands. Behind them marched the Dark Lord, Xandor Kun Sharr. He scowled at them with a glare filled with disdain.

“Good to see you as your old self, little brother, now you’re easier to move!” Lord Sharr held a long pause. “Meriel, I had a presentiment that things would go this way. Thank you, sister, you’ve played your part.”

He motioned for his guards to take Ahna. The two sturdy men seized her by the arms and dragged her away.

“Meriel!” Thamias cried.

“Thamias!” she called in response. “I’m going to get you out of here, I promise!”

Thamias tried to hold on to her arms, but the guards hauled her away by force. He yelled out again, begged for Xandor to let her go.

As Ahna was dragged into the tunnel, Lord Sharr finally turned to Thamias. “You’d better transform at my command. I’m going to need you very soon.”

The guards locked the gate of her cell in front of her. Behind the hatch, Ahna heard Xandor speak to the guards. He instructed them not to talk to her, not to let her near the gate, and not to let her pull that needle from her throat. Before leaving, he looked at her through the hatch.

“I’ll keep you here so you can watch me crush the Resistance,” he declared.

Ahna, weakened by the previous tumultuous events, spoke softly. “You’ll never succeed, Xandor. You may strike the Resistance now, but more will rise up to destroy you and eventually, they will prevail.”

Lord Sharr chuckled uncontrollably. His laughter reverberated like a strident howl against the dungeon walls. “It’s all over Meriel, the Resistance is dead.” Ahna looked in the eyes of her tormented brother. He pursued his twisted laughter. “I am coming to Orgna, Meriel!” he screeched as he marched away. “It’s all over!”

Down and down, through the hallway, right and further down.

Cedric opened his eyes.

He stood between two walls in a dark corridor lit by a series of torches. He looked around. Prison cells. He was in the right place.

He shook his head to recollect his thought. He was positively surprised by the little effect the whole teleportation thing had on him. He brushed his messy hair with his hand.

He needed to find Ahna.

The shrike walked on the very edge of the aisle, listening carefully to any sound. He passed an intersection. That is when he saw Him, the Dark Lord, and three of his guards, walking up the stairway to the throne room.

Cedric then took a gamble. He veered in the direction they had come from.

Shit!

The guard at the edge of the hallway had seen him. The silversteel armored man charged without hesitation and Cedric held his sword firmly. Before the guard could swing his weapon at him, the shrike bent forward and swiped his blade horizontally. He cut through the dokkalfar’s flesh like a steel knife through fresh meat. The wounded guard fell to the ground, and Cedric jerked his sword down his throat, severing his windpipe. A set of keys hung from the dead guard’s belt. Cedric grabbed them quickly and moved further down the hallway.

As he almost reached the next staircase down, the glimpse of a human shadow in a nearby cell dragged his gaze away. He came closer to the barred door and looked inside.

“Jade...”

The frail woman laid on a rug on the cold ground. Cedric opened his mouth agape. He seized the keys and tried all of them, almost at once, to open the door.

By the fourth one, he had it.

Cedric rushed inside to tend to Jade. He dropped his sword and knelt beside her. Her body appeared mangled. She was in critical shape. There were cuts along her arms and legs, bruises around her neck, on her cheeks, blood around her mouth. She could barely breathe.

“Jade, what happened?” Cedric asked, stroking her head rested on his thighs.

She exhaled a few inaudible words. Her tunic was spoiled, and there was blood between her legs. Her soiled feet appeared to have been crushed, and not much of her toes remained. Cedric was utterly horrified.

“By the gods, Jade,” he murmured. “What did they do to you?”

The councilor gripped onto his collar with the little strength she had left.

“Cedric,” she whispered with difficulty.

He came closer to her.

“I betrayed the Resistance.” Her voice faded away. Cedric shook his head, holding her closer. “I told him of Orgna, Cedric. I told him of Ahna. He had my father, please forgive me.”

She pleaded desperately, begged him several times. The shrike would not hear any of it. He wanted to lift her up and get her out of here, but she stopped him.

“You need to kill me, Cedric,” she begged. “And you need to run. He’s coming to Orgna. He has an army ready, and he’s coming to Orgna!”

A tear ran along her cheek. In her eyes, Cedric distinguished the most profound remorse. He had no words, only anguish.

“Please kill me, Cedric,” she begged again.

The shrike pursed his lips and closed his eyes. He clenched his jaw and seized the pommel of his sword. After a painful minute, he brought the edge of the steel beneath Jade’s chest. He cast a grave look over her, and she nodded slowly in regretful approbation.

“This is my absolution,” she whispered as Cedric sunk his blade through her heart.

Her trembling voice died with her. The leader of the Shrike Wing closed her eyes, and her subordinate rested a moment by her side.

The angered marksman descended lower into the dungeon. He came across more guards, which he cut through like tall grass in a wild field. There was so much fury in his heart. His mind was focused on but one thing: find Ahna.

The next guard attempted to swing a warhammer at him. Cedric sliced through his arm and ripped it off with his sheer strength. While the guard bled out on the cold stone floor, Cedric seized the additional set of keys that hung from his belt.

On his path, he saw other prisoners, some dead in their cells, some rotting away. Some did not even beg for their freedom, and some just stared distantly at the shrike.

When he came to a final turn, he saw a reinforced door guarded by two of Sharr’s men. The first one charged him and ended with pieces of his brain dripping off Cedric’s sword. The other fled.

By the second rusted iron key attempt, the door opened. The shrike marched into the room and came face to face with Ahna. He walked toward her. He seized her face in his hands and took one step closer to wrap his arms around her. She let out a silent, unexpectant moan as he pulled her in. The warm sensation of her body against his pulled him away from reality. Cedric inhaled deeply as he passed his hands around her waist. He caught her scent, filling his lungs with the sweet smell of bellflowers.

“Cedric,” she softly said. “What are you doing here?”

Her voice startled him, and he let go. The shrike noticed the strange item that was lodged into her neck. He wanted to pinch it between his fingers and pull, but she stopped him.

“If you try to pull it out, it will hurt you,” she warned.

He smiled and dismissed her. “I wield the Cursed Bow, Ahna, I can handle this.” He sat tall and pulled the quūora fang out of her throat, simply, without even a flinch, and let it drop to the floor.

Ahna gasped in a deep breath of air, as though she had suddenly regained the ability to function. Relief flooded her senses. She cleared her throat as Cedric prepared for their escape.

“How did you get here?” Ahna asked, baffled by the events.

“I thought I’d lost you, then I used the salt circle. It worked! Now, we need to get out of here.”

Of course! Their bond may have been severed, but the circle of salt back at the granary was still active, still bound to the Abstract Plane!

They heard the march of at least five different guards coming toward them. They hurried outside the cell, and Cedric brandished his sword.

Ahna politely pushed him aside. “Leave that to me.” She looked back at the shrike with an old flame in her eyes. “I just got my magic back, and it needs to roar!”

The five men approached them. Ahna began to twirl her wrists slowly. A curved flickering circle of light appeared around both her hands. As the guards encircled her, she raised her hands to the height of her head. The flickering halos converged in multiple rings of radiance. The blinding hoops spun around her and grew larger and larger until the guards had to cover their eyes not to be blinded.

Ahna suddenly clapped her hands together, and the circles of light burst into a shockwave. The flashes turned the men to shreds instantly.

Cedric looked at the scene, flabbergasted. He turned to Ahna. “Please, never do that to me!”

The elf staggered to Cedric and clasped her hands around his. They could hear the march of ten guards more in the distance.

“I want to kill that son of a...” Cedric began with a determined voice, prepared to march to the hallway, but Ahna gripped his arm.

“Cedric, I don’t know if I can hold on much longer,” she confessed.

He looked at her and acknowledged, as he understood that his wish to end the Dark Lord could not be fulfilled. They could try, but would soon be eradicated by his army of guards, marksmen, and warlocks. And Ahna was obviously not in good shape.

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

“I don’t know if trust is relevant at this point.”

As Ahna looked up to the hidden sky, her eyes turned black. She pulled Cedric closer to her. A sudden chill sensation enveloped them, and the ground appeared to fluctuate. It felt as though the world warped around them, and reality had bent to Ahna’s will.

When the sway of the fade had dissipated, Cedric freed his hands and scanned his surroundings. As he turned around, his eyes met with Jules’. A rejoiced smile drew on his friend’s face. When Cedric turned back, Ahna had collapsed to the ground.

* * *

As she regained consciousness, the elf slowly became aware that she was back in the barn. She opened her eyes. She was on the ground, her back leaned against Jules’ body. Cedric kneeled in front of her with his hands on her shoulders. She heard her name be called repeatedly by the two shrikes. Once her thoughts were sorted, she sat up straight and looked around.

“It worked,” she said with honest surprise.

Cedric went to gather their things but accidentally stepped on the circle of salt. Afraid of the potential result, he checked with Ahna for damage.

“Well, there goes our portal to the Abstract Plane!” She chuckled awkwardly.

Jules helped her stand up. As his captain fiddled around with the satchels, the man cast a troubled glance over them. “We need to move quickly,” Cedric declared.

The lieutenant, despite being dazed and confused by the events, felt the same sense of urgency as Cedric. They picked up their swords, bow, satchels, and further equipment, and latched everything to themselves or the saddles.

Ahna was happy to see Bark by the fields outside the granary. She dashed to him and began to prepare him. She then looked at Cedric as he mounted his grey horse. She felt his rush and the anxious way he moved.

And she knew why.

She wanted to ease the situation, to perhaps get a chance to explain herself, to apologize. Because this mission had not only revealed her darkest truth, but the mission had failed, Xandor was coming to Orgna, and Cedric’s soul had slowly slipped away from their reach.

She slouched her shoulders and hesitated. “I want to explain it all.”

The shrike looked at her with an apprehensive glare. He was angry, but his anger was not directed at Ahna. He remembered when he had found her in the prison cell, and he remembered the last thing she had felt. When they were bound, he had felt everything. The guilt and remorse. The pain of facing the curse of her family, the anger that had brooded inside for fifty years. And mostly, the loss, and the reason why she had fled Bravoure. Somehow, it reached him deeper, beneath his own consciousness. Something in his soul had untied, and Ahna was now an answer to many of his questions.

“We can talk in Orgna,” he declared before pulling the reins back and leading his horse to the path.

The jailor was quivering at the Dark Lord’s enervated glare. “He just appeared. He killed them one by one and went straight for the cell.”

The frightened man looked to his feet as Xandor inspected his sister’s cell. On the stone floor, the King saw the shimmer of a pointed, rhodium object.

The quūora fang.

He picked it up and examined it pensively. “He just appeared?” Xandor hissed, offended.

He closed his eyes and smelled the needle as if to absorb its essence. One of his warlocks stood by him, a young human male born in the Bravan squalor. Xandor plunged his amber eyes in his and demanded explanations.

“It’s powerful magic, my Lord. A rift was opened.”

“One doesn’t just pull out an active quūora fang,” he inquisitively declared. “The pain, it’s unimaginable.” He stared absently at the object. “Unless it’s you again, marksman.” He remained silent for a minute, his gaze more scornful than ever. “You and your blasted Cursed Bow!”

The warlock remained behind him. He did not dare to move a muscle nor to speak a word. Xandor stepped out of the cell and passed him without looking.

“My Lord, what would you have us do?” the warlock carefully asked.

“Nothing. My army’s ready.”

* * *

Beyond the plains, through the hills and valleys, was a place of enduring hope. At the end of a narrow canyon, stood the Resistance base of Orgna. Inside the barracks that had once been a place filled with gold, there was a tiny cloistered room, where an old man sat to meditate. But the old man, despite being as devoted as he could be, was exhausted, and he had fallen asleep in front of his handmade statuette of the god Varko.

The old man stood in the middle of an endless spring field. The tall grass swayed to the rhythm of the warm breeze. He was alone, and the spring field spread past the horizon.

He suddenly heard the music of a goldfinch. The small passerine bird chirped and chanted a sweet melody that reminded him of his joyous youth. The bird flew closer to him, and the man opened his hand to welcome it. The small finch landed in the middle of his palm, and delicately looked at him.

“Hello, Gideon!” it tweeted.

The old man gasped in pleasant surprise. “Oh, hello, little one. You speak?” Gideon asked and giggled innocently.

The little bird hopped enthusiastically. “Of course, I am a bird.”

Gideon was slightly puzzled. He kept smiling at the bird who spread its wings and flew again. “Come, follow me,” it requested. “We don’t have much time.”

And so Gideon heeded the call and followed the bird through the infinite field. As he came closer to the horizon, he finally distinguished the figure of an old temple in the distance. A humble edifice made of the stones of Gurdal. The little bird led him inside.

“Quick, they want to speak to you,” the finch tweeted furtively.

The wise cleric walked between the two columns at the entrance and stepped into a room lit by a single brazier. When he looked around for the bird, the passerine had flown out of the temple.

“Hello, Gideon,” a man whom he had not yet seen appeared and greeted him.

The man wore a long gold and burgundy robe. He had the eyes of the old monks of Gurdal from the legends of centuries ago. They were the eyes of Gideon’s ancestors, those who lived in the mountains.

The stranger approached him slowly. He walked around the brazier and came close to him.

“Follow me, Gideon,” he told the cleric. “The world you know is ending, and we don’t have much time.”

He held a welcoming hand before him, to invite the old man to follow. Gideon walked behind him, past the brazier and to the stone wall at the opposite side. The monk then stayed behind and motioned for Gideon to come and stand before the wall. The cleric, hesitant, turned his head to the stones. He noticed encrusted inscriptions he had not seen before.

And as he approached the writings, he could finally decipher them.

Once sired but cannot be tamed,

A new dragon must now be named.

To shadows sworn, in shadows may die,

High in Gurdal, where the sentinels fly.

His eyes opened wide, and so did his mouth in astonished surprise. He turned to the monk, the latter had vanished. The temple then collapsed around him, and he found himself in the grass fields again. He could hear the song of the passerine bird fade into the horizon.

“A new dragon must now be named! A new dragon must now be named!” it chirped and chanted.

When the cleric looked to his feet, the grass had turned to void, and Gideon opened his eyes.

11

The Battle of Orgna

Deep underneath Terra was a world known for the chaos and treachery that reigned. It was an empire of power-hungry monarchs, illicit trade, slavery, torture, and preachers of the demon-god Khor. Beneath the lesser tunnels, lay the vast caverns of Mal, one of the largest provinces of the Dwellunder.

1199:AV, in the beginning, there were three siblings. Xandor Kun, Meriel Ahn, and Thamias Son, from the dark elf House of Sharr. The Sharrs reigned over Mal and led the most potent military force of the Dwellunder. Karlus Sharr, the Duke of Mal, wedded Skaiel Arkamai, ranked Sorceress Prime at the Circle, and borned the three siblings.

1284:AV, apprentice Meriel, after her military service, began to climb the Circle’s ranks, just as her mother had done in her younger years. When madness drove Karlus and Xandor to seek more power at the feet of Hollow demons, Skaiel fled with her daughter and second son, Meriel and Thamias, to the surface. She arranged her escape with the benevolent people of Bravoure. When they reached the surface, the Twin Priestesses of the Congregation welcomed them and gave them a new home. In the meantime, left with a seeming feeling of rejection and abandonment, Xandor followed in his father’s footsteps.

Meriel, accepted by the surface’s human kin, joined the Magi Academy of Bravoure. A decade later, she, more gifted than most, received the title of Archmage of Bravoure. At the Academy, she met the man who moved her in ways she had never imagined were possible, Luthan Hyehn. The members of the Academy also discovered something revolutionary, Thamias could speak to wyverns and dragonets. He became known as Dragonborn, a mortal with dragon essence in his veins.

1312:AV, unrest caused Bravoure to implode from the errors of the past. The tensions became too intense, and the Dwellunder seized the opportunity to conquer the divided kingdom. Xandor was unaware the rest of his family had sought refuge in Bravoure. He rose to the surface for his own selfish gain, to prove to his father that he was better than him. He sired himself and began the destruction of everything Bravoure stood for.

However, in a glimmer of hope, a new prophecy echoed through the plains. The prophecy that foretold of the Dark Lord’s demise at the hands of dragon-blood. Or as so the people interpreted it to be. Xandor’s men massacred every last dragon descendant they could find across the land. But Meriel, the fallen King, and the Congregation’s Mother Divine named Thamias, Bravoure’s last hope to defeat the horde.

Thamias’ naming was the most majestic sighting of all. He was engulfed in divine light and transformed into a glorious golden dragon. The Opposition movement began, a military force of united soldiers, magi, and the Knights Templar ready to fight for their freedom.

But Bravoure was slowly crumbling on itself. Fear had taken over. Xandor ordered a cleansing, a magi genocide, banishing or killing the opposing magic-users and enslaving the remainder. Many of the Academy’s disciples surrendered or fled after the order’s execution. The Opposition failed. Thamias was vanquished. The King of Bravoure was executed.

Xandor, unable to kill his bloodbound brother, imprisoned the Dragonborn in his primal form within the Tomb of Ghydra, underneath the fortified castle. He sent for Skaiel’s execution and proceeded with the oppression of the rest of Bravoure’s Populi.

Meriel, who believed Thamias to be dead, who had just seen her mother be hanged, who lost her husband and her fellow magi, made the most difficult choice of all: flee to Miggdra. Xandor and his horde had taken everything from her, and she could no longer bear the shame of the House of Sharr. Meriel Ahn Arkamai became just Ahna, and Bravoure became a deep chasm of darkness.

1314:AV, in the squalor and misery, the defeated Opposition sparked a new hope. On the ashes of the failed movement, the Resistance rose, and the Resistance survived ever since.

* * *

Ahna recalled the pages of history as she rode her brown steed through the Bravan planes 1362:AV today. Cedric led in front, Jules galloped behind. Dusk was upon them when they reached the valleys below the gold mines. The horses trotted uphill. Ahna gazed over the rose landscape in the light of the ending sunset. Her mind wandered back to Thamias’ majestic first flight, to the smile on her mother’s face, to the green eyes of her long lost lover. They arrived at Orgna after nightfall, and as Ahna brought Bark to the stables, Cedric rushed inside the barracks.

Ahna and Jules soon followed the captain of the shrikes past the gates. When they entered the Resistance base, there was a group of rebels piling up a set of multiple large crates. People were moving around and about between rooms, inventorying or searching for something. Some carried heavy barrels of what seemed to be fire medicine, explosives.

Cedric, puzzled but determined, raced toward the council room. David stood by the entrance and gave a few inaudible orders to a group of swordsmen.

“Commander, what’s going on?” Cedric asked as he got close to him.

David sighed deeply, and his shoulders dropped.

“Thank the gods, you’re safe!” His eyes darkened with a grim veil. “Cedric, we’ve been made. Luk Ma’s scouts just came back with the news, Sharr gave the order.” He was stern with his words—exact.

They were made. Sharr’s army was to depart the next morning and march to Orgna, with cannons and trebuchets ready to send a stampede on Resistance grounds. The rebels were alerted but a few hours ago and had begun speeding their evacuation.

Cedric breathed in and adopted a ready stance. “What’s the plan, David?”

The commander signaled a group of cadets to join him. He gave them orders to carry the crates to the nearest tunnel. Concerned, he pulled his lip down as he looked at the shrike. “We move to Fort Gal. The elders and children are already on their way through the tunnels. We’re moving supplies, armor, horses...We move as much as we can!”

He motioned for more soldiers to get moving.

High Commander Joshua Sand stepped out of the council room and greeted Cedric.

“Rover, I take it the mission was unsuccessful,” Joshua inferred from the unrest.

Cedric shook his head, his eyes were dark with the shadow of failure. The image of Jade, beaten and bruised, on the cold floor of an abandoned cell, flashed in his mind. He shared everything with his commanders and apologized.

Joshua quickly dismissed him. “You did your best, Rover. We knew our chances,” he said with compassion.

As much as he wanted to keep the memory of his superior untainted by betrayal, Cedric had to report the truth. “He held her father captive. Gods know what they did to him...” Cedric glanced down at the ground again. “I can’t imagine what she went through.”

Joshua laid a comforting hand on the shrike’s shoulder. He noticed the man’s grief and his difficulty to deal with Jade’s forced act of treason.

“I don’t think any of us would have done better, Rover,” Joshua assured his subordinate. “Jade was a hero, let’s remember her that way.”

Cedric crumbled at the high commander’s words. He hid his face in his hands as David embraced him to comfort him. When the shrike regained his calm, he swiftly wiped away his tears and looked to David and Joshua.

“What would you have us do?” he asked his commanders.

Joshua took a deep breath. “We evacuate as many refugees as we can, and then we stay and fight. Sharr’s army will reach tomorrow. The more we kill, the less will get to Fort Gal, and maybe we can save what’s left of a fifty-year rebellion.”

Cedric nodded and marched into the foyer to assemble his men.

David searched Joshua’s distant gaze, who had adopted a stern look on his face.

“Falco,” the high commander addressed his comrade. “I fear we will be overrun. There won’t be an uprising after this.” He searched in the distance at all his soldiers. He thought of their uncertain future and all these years of strife against a tyranny bigger than them. “When the time is right, we bring this whole place down. We collapse the tunnels. That way, it will take them days to reach Fort Gal.” He turned to his friend again. “We live brave, we die free.”

David smiled and gave a nod of acknowledgement. Joshua turned the corner into the hallway to help with moving the crates.

David, who shared Joshua’s disconcertment, remained still for a few minutes. Ten years of effort to build an army after the failed Uprising. Ten years...lost? He pondered on tomorrow’s battle and what could be the final breaths of the rebellion.

* * *

Lord Sharr’s army ascended the hills in search of the mines. There were tens of thousands of dokkalfar soldiers ready to strike. They marched in the valley, and their steps drummed as hooves of tens of thousands of enraged bulls. There were horsemen at the head, large units of swordsmen behind, archers and a few warlocks at the waist. The troops at the tail of the infernal battalion beast dragged trebuchets and cannons that ripped off the grass beneath their wheels. Sharr had prepared for a battle of annihilation to destroy the last of the Resistance. They were to leave no survivors, accept no surrender. An application of overwhelming force to an outnumbered opposition. The thunders of war would roar today, and the rebellion was to be obliterated for once and for all.

Rebel sindur and human scouts had lain in the grass atop the valley to observe Sharr’s advancing army. A group of golden eagles flew high into the sky. The symbol of death. They rushed to the gates of Orgna to alert the Resistance troops ready to fight.

Two thousand rebel soldiers of all races and traits stood before the square, swords and spears brandished. Captain Diego Levireo was among these men and women with the brave heroes of Squadron Five. Lynn stood by him. Captain Kairen Aquil’s squadron joined them. And before the troops of swordsmen and warriors, Commander David Falco faced them on his white horse.

David looked over his precious and faithful army of brave souls and saw the light of infinite devotion and courage to die for an immortal cause. He wished to tell each and every one of them of his fondness for them, for their loyalty. That his entire life had been devoted to leading them and training them. That he would gladly die for them in battle.

Next to him, on a black mountain horse, was High Commander Joshua Sand, the man who had trained him and made him the soldier he was now. Both commanders bore the bronzesteel plate armor of Bravoure’s long lost generals, adorned with their golden coat of arms.

David’s wife, Kairen, captain of the eighth squadron, stood by her peers with a sword and shield. He cast a gaze at her with his enamored eyes. He wanted his last moment to be this one. The unending second he looked at her red hair flowing in the wind and admired her beauty. She blew a kiss at him, and he blushed and smiled.

“The time has come for us to fight what could be our final battle,” Joshua Sand began. He took a deep breath and continued. “This war is one we’ve been fighting all our lives. The war our mothers and fathers fought all theirs. Our war is coming to an end. I see in you a band of brave heroes, who rose up against the oppression, who refused to bow before a false king. We fought for freedom, united as brothers and sisters, and we never let our differences divide us. This is what made us strong. This is what made us resilient to an age of tyranny. So brandish your sword and banish the horde!” He raised his fist in the air and the two thousand soldiers cheered with him. “We’ve been preparing for this battle for fifty years. So stand up and fight, brave heroes, don’t let these fifty years be in vain! Maybe this is the end of our era, but generations will rise again. The Resistance will live on. Our memory will persist in the minds of new heroes, and our song will echo in the valleys of Gurdal for eternity! If Sharr kills us tonight, we will be immortalized in the history of Bravoure.”

Joshua then brandished the royal claymore into the sky, above his army of dissidents. The gold-adorned blade lit with the light of the sun. They all joined him one by one with their steel swords and spears, with the fearless light of triumph in their eyes.

“We live brave,” Joshua called.

“We die free!” the rebellion responded in unison.

“Tell the artificers to prepare more explosives!” David ordered his men inside the barracks.

Joshua marched close to him. They heard the crash of a cannonball against the ground above Orgna. They rushed to the gates to oversee the retreat of more civilians and cadets through the mines’ tunnels.

“They’re shaking the whole place to the ground,” Kairen reported to David. “Warlocks were spotted performing a ritual. Ahna says we should brace for a quake soon.”

David acknowledged and helped a wounded swordsman on a stretcher.

The battle outside raged.

They had been able to slow down Sharr’s army by blowing up a piece of the canyon. The triggered rockslide had engulfed a large part of the front troops. But the rest of the battalion beast had soon overcome this slight setback.

Joshua suddenly brandished his sword and headed outside, David had no time to dissuade him. The high commander had tended to his own wounds but was now ready to fight again.

“David, Sharr’s cannons will destroy this place,” Kairen warned with a grave look in her eyes.

David ran his hands through his hair multiple times. He looked around and saw the wounded soldiers dying in the middle of the foyer.

There were too many of them, but he spotted Cedric in the distance—his stride noticeable from even the farthest of distances—who rushed to the battlefield with the Cursed Bow.

“David!” Kairen snatched his attention. “We need to evacuate the rest of the troops.”

He nodded and sent a few of his men down the tunnels. They reluctantly executed his orders, most of them wanted to stay and fight. As his wife turned toward the entrance gate, he caught her arm.

“Kairen, you’re going too, now.”

She gawked at him. “I have to fight.”

“I’m not asking this as your commander, but as your husband.” He wanted her to save herself. His voice begged her to leave.

Amid the chaos, she embraced him and kissed him gently. She scanned his face with a flame of determination in her eyes. “If you’re staying, so am I,” she declared as she smiled and brandished her sword.

Four tunnels had just been blown to rubble. The artificers had lit up the barrels of explosives, and there were no traces of the slithers beneath the mountains.

The ground shook at the burst of the fifth barrel.

Ahna had to hold on to a wooden beam to keep herself from falling. As the battle raged on, she took a sharp turn to a path uphill. She rushed to the top of the mines, where the warlocks had been spotted by the rebel scouts.

When she almost reached the top, she saw a group of three warlocks in long black robes leaning over the cliff above the quarry. They stood next to each other with their back toward her. Their hands were clasped, and they chanted an incantation in old elven.

“Katl a shaolfta, katl a shaolfta, katl a shaolfta.” Three words repeated over and over again with a deep guttural voice.

Ahna recognized the call for tremor immediately.

There was no time to waste. The ground had already begun to simmer beneath the canyon. Ahna seized her two daggers in each hand and with the flick of her wrists, she launched them straight at the warlocks. But before they could reach, the knives flashed against an invisible wall and were disintegrated entirely. Ahna’s chest heaved.

A protective barrier.

One of the warlocks slowly turned their head back at her, and she only saw the mask of the Defaced glare. She had to think of something to stop them before they ripped the canyon apart.

The tremor became stronger.

She could hear the roar of the ground, and the gasps and shouts of panicked soldiers to her left below.

She cast a glance over the valley behind her, in the distance, and saw a platoon of armored soldiers marching around a golden chariot pulled by four nightmare stallions.

Xandor.

They were still a long way from Orgna, but they were advancing deeper and deeper toward the narrow canyon. In front of the golden chariot, a single warhorse hauled a reinforced cage. Ahna could not see what creature was inside, only that it seemed inert.

With the three warlocks still chorusing, her eyes landed on the battlefield. The fierce clash of blades resounded in the gorge. The screams and war cries could be heard from miles away.

As she looked back to the masked warlocks, an idea began to form in her mind. They stood so close to the edge of the cliff. Their call for tremor had just given her an opportunity.

Ahna raised her hands in the air, and to their surprise, she began chanting with them. However, instead of focusing on the canyon, she targeted the top of the cliff. The surge of power that emanated from Ahna’s words caused the tremor to veer to the hill upon which they stood. The warlocks began to lose balance and focus. Their clasps became clutches to stay standing. One of them toppled forward and had to be saved from a fatal fall down the cliff by the other. At that precise point, Ahna stopped the incantation and began her own.

“Katl a frumur,” she murmured these words, the call for lightning.

The flickering light danced from her shoulder to her hand and sprung in a roar toward the fallen warlock. The lightning force hit the Defaced in the chest and pierced through the blazed ribcage. The burned carcass toppled over the cliff and descended down to the battlefield. Some soldiers below raised their heads at the thunder.

The two other warlocks, frightened by the power of the archmage, attempted to cast the same spell against her. But Ahna had rapidly summoned another bolt that struck the second magi in a savage howl. The last one wanted to flee. The earthquake had stopped, and the warlock was now alone and hopeless, with no exit.

Ahna wanted to kill him, to burn him to the ground. Her hand shone with another flicker. Her eyes lit with the fires of the Dwellunder, the old rage she repressed. But her heart spoke louder. Ahna signed with a nod for the warlock to run. The scared soul took off and ran into the trees ahead, never to be seen again.

“Fallback!” Diego yelled. He seized Lynn’s arm and gave her his sternest look. “That’s an order, Lynn. Go!”

She had blood on her armor, pieces of flesh and dirt on her boots. Her shield had been torn in two. The Squadron Five swordswoman nodded at her captain. She headed straight for the Orgna gates as he wiped the blood off his mouth and struck yet another dokkalfar soldier at heart.

But another one stood behind him.

He turned around to swing his sword but was shoved to the ground. The dokkalfar held his sword above him, and Diego closed his eyes to brace for impact.

The whistle of an arrow awoke him.

The silversteel soldier collapsed to the ground convulsing, panting and retching as he struggled to stay alive. Diego looked back—there was Cedric with his infamous bow and his kohl-mask! The marksman stood proud, his hand on the bow’s riser, unmoved by the excruciating pain he felt as he had shot the killing arrow.

“Cedric!” Diego exclaimed with relief. “You saved my ass!”

The shrike helped him up, and they sprinted toward the gates.

They were among the last rebels on the battlefield. The rest had either fallen or begun total evacuation. As three more enemy soldiers ran in the distance toward them, Cedric held his bow firmly. The soldiers came at a fighting stance facing him, and the shrike had to think fast. Before they could strike, a sudden taunting whistle by Captain Diego Levireo made them turn their heads. Cedric immediately took advantage of the distraction. He dashed away and rolled to the right. He rose to his feet behind a perfect row of three dokkalfar soldiers. He clenched his Cursed Bow and raised it in the air again. He bit his lower lip to focus his pain, and he squinted slightly when he stretched the bowstring.

He exhaled and let go.

The arrow found its way through the first soldier’s neck, then through the second’s, to pierce through the back of the third one. The last soldier fell to the ground and bleated like a tortured animal. Diego had slipped through the ajar door, and Cedric made his way to him. He let in a few rebels before stepping into the barracks himself.

When they were inside, there were wounded men and women sprawled out on Resistance grounds. Bleeding and yelling cadets leaned against the walls. Bodies of dead Resistance soldiers that had sought refuge inside the barracks before their final breaths. The ones who could still move carried those who could still breathe into the chapel. In the secluded room, the ground where the ring of stones had stood had been dug open. Underneath the soil was a large trapdoor to access another tunnel through the mountain.

As the shrike captain was about to enter the chapel, he turned back, and his eyes met Ahna’s in the foyer. She was about to head back outside with a squadron of more soldiers. Cedric shouted her name and ran to her.

“We’re evacuating the rest of the troops, don’t go back out there!” he called.

“We’ll stay and hold them off while you escape. Make sure you make it to Fort Gal.”

He stayed with his mouth agape, lost for words, while she turned around to join the other soldiers. Before she could slip away, he gripped onto her arm. She veered to him quickly, and their eyes met.

But he remained stoic and silent.

She looked expectantly at the hand clenched around her arm. “Cedric...”

“Ahna,” he interrupted. He kept on holding her firmly but could not speak more words. So, he sighed and let her go. “Be safe.”

She nodded and hurried to the battlefield. Cedric looked at her haste away. He then headed into the chapel with a pinch in his heart.

David and Kairen rushed with a dozen of rebel soldiers to the hallway, where the wall that protected another tunnel entrance had been opened. The high commander rushed behind them. When all the soldiers had slid through the tunnel’s entrance, David led his wife inside and turned to Joshua. Yet the proud man stood still and signaled for David to move on.

“Joshua, we need to move,” David stated urgently.

The high commander shook his head. “You go ahead without me, Falco,” he solemnly declared. “I’ll stay here and hold them off.”

David’s heart stopped. He seized his commander’s arm to pull him with him. But Joshua refused to be moved. “Go, David!” he ordered.

Commander Falco’s eyes darkened. He wanted to approve his superior’s decision, but he also knew what staying here to fight meant for his fate.

So he regained his calm instead and let go of Joshua’s arm. He smiled at his commander and gave one acknowledging nod. The proud man straightened up and honored David with an earnest military salute, his final words were spoken with dignity and a fist raised to his heart. “Falco, I pledged my life to the cause, and I promised to fight to the end. So if I die, I die free!”

The thunder of trebuchets positioned in the canyon shook the Resistance base. The stone walls were collapsing, and the entrance gates were about to be ripped open. The golden chariot stood behind the sea of cannons all pointed at the quarry’s cliff, and the last fighters of the Resistance were battling at the square.

Joshua cut through dokkalfar soldiers with the royal claymore. By his side, Luk Ma and squadron soldiers fought bravely. Amidst the rebels stood Jules and Ahna, back to back, each with a brandished sword in their hand. They were outnumbered but fought fearlessly.

A sudden enemy champion charged at them. He was much taller than the others and carried two heavy axes. His eyes burned with rage. He butchered through the swordsmen that faced him. Behind him, a troop of at least a dozen soldiers rushed toward the last rebel heroes.

Ahna swiftly turned around and slashed her hand through the air. A strong gust of wind emerged and thrust back the charging soldiers. They were thrown backwards and crashed on the rest of the horde, but the champion remained standing. Ahna dashed toward him with a stronger gust of wind. He had to keep his balance but was pushed back by the force of the draft.

While he struggled to keep on moving, Joshua jumped from the side and swung the claymore at the champion’s stomach. The blade cut through the exposed space between his plate cuirass and greaves. The enemy was forced to collapse on his knees.

Joshua held his blade pointed at him in the air and sunk it in the nape of his neck. The edge ripped through the flesh, and in a slight cutting movement, the champion’s head fell blunt to the ground, and his body joined.

The high commander signaled for his soldiers to fall back. He rushed with them toward the gates of Orgna. As they were close, the cannons were being loaded to blow up the gates. Some brave soldiers refused to withdraw, they wanted to fight until the end. Few of them marched inside the barracks with haste, but as Ahna ignored Joshua’s retreat call, he walked to her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Fall back, mage. That’s an order.”

Ahna shook her head and prepared to strike at the enemy again.

“Gods damn this!” Joshua exclaimed in desperation. “Get the rest off the battlefield!”

Their eyes then met. Ahna looked deep into his proud gaze that shone with the light of bravery. She discerned what he had pledged to be his resolve. He would stay here, until the end.

He kept his eyes fixed on her. “Get as many as you can through the last tunnel. Then blow it up.”

“What will you do?”

He gave one single nod and frowned with determination. “I’ll hold them off just a little longer.” He did not let Ahna retort. “To the tunnels, rebels!” Most stayed by his side, none wanted to leave. But he gave the order again with the loudest roar. “That’s an order!”

Ahna and a few fighters heeded the order, and they hurried past the gates of Orgna. When the elf looked back at Joshua, she saw him brandish the royal claymore at the horde.

“I’ll be with you soon, Erik,” the high commander whispered as he swung his blade.

Jules hurried Ahna into the Resistance base, and they ran together toward the end of the hallway. They stepped through the tunnel’s entrance and led the rest of the rebels past them. Luk Ma joined them shortly after. When all were through, they tailed the squad. The Ailuran tom and Jules plucked sticks of oiled wood from a crate placed by the entrance. The elf turned them into bright torches with a snap of her fingers.

They sped into the tunnel.

A wave of dokkalfar soldiers followed behind in the distance. There were barrels of fire medicine scattered along the serpenting walls, and Luk Ma and Jules lit each of them one by one. The further they moved, the more barrels exploded.

The grounds were shaking as the slithering tunnels were slowly collapsing behind them. They ran and ran until the entirety of the construction was blown to rubble.

Ahna’s final vision of the battlefield raced through her mind. High Commander Joshua, proud and glorious, with the claymore raised to the sky.

When they reached the tunnel’s exit, they found themselves at the other side of the highlands, close to a rocky path leading further up the mountain. If they took this trail, they would reach Fort Gal before sundown.

The more they climbed, the harsher the air became. The weather dropped below freezing temperatures. The sun shone bright, but the wind felt as cold as ice. The rocky road soon became powdered with snow. Some wounded soldiers fell to the ground, incapable of moving further. The rebels had no choice but to leave them behind and continue their march.

In the distance ahead, Jules spotted what appeared to be another wandering group of rebels. They had two horses with them that each pulled a cart of warm clothes and blankets. When they joined the group, they rejoiced and immediately wrapped themselves in the comfort of furs. They kept on climbing slowly on the snowy path that edged along the lower cliff. The trail brought them at the foot of one of Gurdal’s highest mounts: the Peak of Gal. It was remembered for its reclined shape over the lower mountains, like a claw that grew from the icy ground.

There, by the base, stood a small but robust stonewall structure, untouched by the hardship of winters in high Gurdal. The structure appeared to be protected underneath the cliff that leaned over it. The squad rejoiced once again, Fort Gal was in hand’s reach.

12

Fort Gal

The fort under the Peak of Gal had been built by the ancient monks of Gurdal. It had been a claustral monastery for the clerics in meditation retreat, away from the bustle of Bravoure. Centuries later, the monastery had been abandoned. After the war came to Bravoure, the Resistance had converted the structure to a fortified base. The stonewalls, roof, and gates had been reinforced. They had equipped the fort with armed cannons and used it as a massive arms stock.

The main church stood by the edge of the path above the lower valleys. And by the church was the cloister under Gal’s cliff, as though it were protected by its particular curvature. The cloister’s gallery was an open arcade, with a frosted garden at the center. There were unidentified statues carved into the ice by the monks that to this day, still adorned the cloister’s ancient open atrium. A large tree of ice stood at the center.

When Cedric stepped into the fort, he helped the refugees assemble the supply crates in the large church’s hall, the nave. To the left of the antechamber, he saw a few soldiers check on the horses they had rescued. He spotted his own, and a brown steed he had undoubtedly seen before.

In the nave, wounded rebels were laid on burlap rugs, and a few healers tended to them. More crates were amassed in the small hall right of the antechamber. Diego, who had travelled with him, immediately went to help out one of his Squadron Five swordsmen. Some clerics made sure the torches and braziers that warmed up the place were kept lit.

When Cedric arrived in the nave, Kairen went straight to him. They embraced, joyous to have both made it out alive. Commander Falco came to join them.

“David,” Cedric said with a lighter voice. “You made it.”

The two embraced as well. They were alive! After this emotional reunion, Kairen turned to Cedric.

“Where’s Ahna?” she questioned with a worried timbre.

Cedric shook his head and shrugged—he did not know. He had no idea if Ahna was even still alive. The thought of losing her had suddenly brought that pinch back in his heart. He could not bring himself to face Kairen with Ahna’s decision to stay at Orgna. He headed to one of his shrikes who had caught his attention.

Kairen stepped in his way. “Please, Cedric,” she implored. “Where is my sister?”

The shrike captain looked down and sighed. “She stayed behind. I don’t know if she ever...if she ever made it to the tunnels.” Cedric spoke with a pitch of grief.

As Kairen remained silent, he wiped the faded war-kohl off his face, turned around and went to his subordinate. The woman pursed her lips in worry, and tears began to drown her eyes. David wrapped his arms around her.

“Ahna will be here soon,” he gently reassured to comfort her. “She’s resourceful. She’ll make it.”

Lynn collapsed on the bench in the nave, the one closest to the chancel. She gazed upon the bare stone altar and held her hands together, her chin rested on her clasped fingers. She closed her eyes and attempted to come to serene relief in her mind. More of the Resistance’s scattered soldiers had arrived little by little at the fort, and she waited here.

She sat in silence, praying. “Oh victorious Guan, now would be a good time for your blessing,” she murmured.

As she held her eyes shut for a minute, Diego came to join her. He draped his arm around her shoulders, and she rested her head against him. His calm breathing brought her a sentiment of peace. He noticed traces of dried blood on her arms underneath her fur cloak and wiped it away with his fingers. The small movements became a caress that he swayed back and forth on her arm and shoulder. She smiled and opened her eyes to search for his.

“We could have been something, you know,” she said, hesitantly. “You and me.”

“Indeed, yet we had bigger things to do.” He smiled back and waited silently for a moment. “But I don’t think much of it matters anymore.”

As he lost himself in her serene brown eyes. They remained here, together, by the centuries-old altar that still stood there to this day.

Behind them, the Resistance fighters had opened a crate of food supplies. The critical mood had settled down, and some were praying silently by the braziers. A few clerics were gathered by the entrance of the cloister. They were on their way to prepare the rest of the dorms. Some people sat quietly on the benches of the nave, some people just stared in the emptiness and chill of Fort Gal. All attempted to recover from the tremor of the battle of Orgna, all in their own ways.

Diego and Lynn had briefly paused time and the rest of the world with their embrace, but a familiar voice suddenly addressed them.

“Good to see you two doves made it!” Jules exclaimed joyously.

Lynn immediately turned around to her dear friend. She jumped to her feet with enthusiasm and wrapped her arms around him, rubbing his shoulders furiously to express her glee.

“My favorite shrike!” she laughed. “You made it!”

Diego then joined in on the hug. The three swayed from left to right in consolation and comfort. When they regained their quietude, Jules pointed at the entrance.

“We came with a few extra coats and supplies,” the shrike lieutenant announced. “Ahna made it too.”

The three rebels saw the elf wrapped in fur as she embraced Captain Aquil by the antechamber. Kairen had her face in Ahna’s coat, to hide the flowing tears of relief. But when Ahna turned to David, she said a few inaudible words. Words that ripped the commander apart. David collapsed to his knees, and Kairen rushed next to him to console him. She gave some orders to the soldiers around them, and everyone bustled away. When Lynn and Diego turned to the shrike lieutenant for an explanation, the latter took a deep breath.

The weight of grief rested on his shoulders. “The high commander...he didn’t make it.”

Lynn gasped at his words. A shocked and horrified look appeared on Diego’s face. Both of them looked to each other, speechless and voiceless, mouths agape.

The people in the nave came closer to the entrance of the fort. As the news of Joshua Sand’s final act of heroism spread, a dark mist of mourning descended upon Fort Gal.

Ahna walked into the cloister, into the enclosed gallery underneath the cliff. She followed the covered way until she reached the entrance to the frosted garden. There, in the middle of the open atrium, stood a beautiful tree made of ice. Its branches coiled and spread almost to touch the gallery roofs. The robust and translucent trunk reflected the light of the sun with a thousand shimmers. It almost looked real, as if an ancient oak had transformed into an eternal ice statue.

Around it, a few Gurdal stone benches had symmetrically been placed, for the old monks to meditate under the frosted oak tree. And scattered around the garden were the ice sculptures of centuries ago. Most saw these forms and shapes as a mere manifestation of the monks’ unending imagination. Others saw the movements of suns and moons around stellar systems much vaster than Terra, Luna, and Sol. But when she glanced at the statues, Ahna perhaps saw the phases of the Storms of Creation.

These ice sculptures were so much older than she was. They had witnessed so many moons, had heard so many stories. They had lived through so many eras, always protected by the reclined Peak of Gal.

By the tree, in the middle of the ice decorations, the shrike captain stood with his back toward Ahna. He wore a long brown Gurdal yak fur coat and seemed to absently study the sculpted details of the statue in front of him. When he heard Ahna’s footsteps behind him, he immediately turned around and rushed toward her. They both embraced, and the shrike plunged his gaze deep into her purple eyes. His arms behind her waist pressed her closer to him. His hands then came to find her face in soothed affection, and he smiled gently at her.

“Ahna! You made it,” he softly said with relief. “I thought I’d lost you again.”

He drew her face closer to his, his lips were just in her reach. She could feel his warm breath brush smoothly against her cold cheeks. She placed her gloved hands on his chest and remained here, close to him. This fraction of a second almost felt like it could last forever, and his cerulean eyes would never leave hers. But after this sweet bit of comfort, the grave reality pulled them back to where they stood.

“Joshua stayed behind,” Ahna said.

The shrike released his embrace and turned around. He let out a deep sigh and looked up, as though he had to beg his tears away. “The high commander always said he would fight to the death if it meant the survival of the Resistance.”

He turned back to Ahna and prepared to head into the fort. The night was near, and they had to brace for what would come next. They headed back inside together and received a few tasks from the clerics to help with the sorting of more food supplies.

Ahna met Kairen again, who requested her assistance to prepare some bread, jam, and nutspread for the evening meal. Mother Divine had joined David and Luk Ma in the nave. They discussed the near future of the Resistance, how they were to protect Fort Gal and preserve as many civilians and young recruits as possible. They had no idea whether Sharr’s troops would advance up the mountain. But if his army did, they surely planned to raid the fort.

The fort was blanketed in silence while what was left of the Resistance ate their evening meal together. A simple assortment of bread and spreads they had been able to move to Fort Gal. It would not be long, though, before their supplies would diminish.

The elders recomforted soldiers who had lost their comrades in battle, children who had lost a parent. Some toddlers, too young to understand, grumbled about the cold and curled up to their mother or father.

A group of swordsmen sat around a bonfire and smiled and laughed together. They shared memories of the fallen heroes, some of them cheerful, some of them moving. The fires of the braziers seemed to bring some warmth to the ground’s cold stones. They all rested underneath layers of cowhides and fur shawls.

David, who sat by his wife, had lost his thoughts in the near brazier’s flames. He could not eat his bread or drink, just sit there by the fire and ponder.

“He could still be out there, Kairen,” he assured desperately.

His wife passed her hand in his back and caressed him. Her eyes wanted to express a thousand words of comfort, but she could not give David false hopes.

“Ahna and Luk Ma were the last ones to leave,” she said with honest sorrow. “They blew up the tunnels behind them. Joshua stayed behind.”

David kept his coal eyes on the crackling flames. His thoughts lingered on the memory of his dear and proud high commander. He had to accept his death to move forward, but he could not bring himself to do so.

“I can’t do this without him,” he silently admitted to his wife.

Mother Divine, who had noticed the commander’s grief, stood up and attracted the attention of the soldiers in the nave. She raised her left hand open next to her face, which was a sign of honesty of words during a ceremonial service. Everyone laid eyes on her and waited for her to speak.

“My dear children,” she slowly began. She cleared her throat and continued. “Tonight, we mourn. We mourn the loss of our comrades, of our protectors, of our friends. But we also recognise them. We remember the heroes who gave their lives for the cause that is the rebellion.” Astea paused and looked at David with a warm smile. “High Commander Joshua Sand.”

The man understood what was expected of him, and he rose to his feet. As he slowly marched to the brazier, he pinched a few crumbs off of his bread, which he then threw into the flames. A symbolic act of setting a share of his meal aflame for the soul of the dead to depart satiated.

Astea then continued.

She named each of the fallen rebels. Whether it was a captain, soldier, cadet, medic, attendant, cleric, or humble refugee, she called each and every one of them by name until she reached a hundred. Each mention was followed by a close relative or friend, who came to the brazier and followed David’s actions.

“Jade Lark,” Astea finally said as she looked to Cedric.

The shrike, whose heart ached at the call of his superior’s name, stood up and joined in on the ceremonial ritual.

When he came to sit back next to Diego, his dear friend handed him a small canteen of goldrain rum. He joked that it was all he had saved. And to honor all the remaining heroes, Astea herself walked to the brazier. At the end of the memorial, she chanted a short prayer. A benediction in hopes to guide the fallen souls through the river, from Underworld to the Heavens.

* * *

It was dark, and the fort’s nave was only lit by a lone brazier at the center. Most of the remaining rebels gathered in the dorms to rest for the night. Only a few stayed in the main hall, unable to sleep or seeking the company of other restless spirits.

Ahna sat on the bench facing the center brazier. She had been alone for a moment until Cedric joined her by the fire. He remained silent, as though he waited for her to say the first words. His long fur coat drooped from his broad shoulders and his breathing and slow heartbeat was all Ahna could hear.

She wanted him to say something.

They had spent weeks running. East Haven and back, the capital, Xandor, the castle where she had been locked up, the Battle of Orgna, and they had ended up here. For a minute, she had wished to go back in time and do things differently, but even if she could, this was something she could not fix.

“Do you despise me?” she finally asked, emerging from the silence.

The shrike chuckled in surprise. “Why would I hate you? We’re long past that.”

Ahna sighed. She thought of the high commander’s decision to stay, and how she could have dragged him off that battlefield! The Resistance could still have its leader. The idea of a simple persuasion cantrip even popped into her mind. But that wouldn’t be just, would it? The high commander’s life had been about honor and pride, and he had pledged his life to the Resistance.

Ahna’s thoughts then lingered on darker corners, from back to the capital and when she had faced Xandor to Thamias still living, to her failure to save Cedric’s soul. The Dark Lord, her brother, the evil inside, the curse of the House of Sharr.

“When I was young,” she emerged from the silence again. “More than a lifetime ago,” she chuckled distantly. “My mother saw what Xandor was becoming. My...brother admired our father to the point of idolation. Father was mad. My mother decided to flee with her second son and me. She gave Xandor a choice to follow, but he refused.”

Cedric stayed and listened. Ahna was shivering as she opened up to him, and he moved closer to her.

“Have you heard of the Dragonborn?” she asked.

“The hero from the legends? There was a prophecy of Sharr’s demise,” Cedric recalled. “But Sharr killed the Dragonborn, didn’t he?”

“He couldn’t kill him,” she declared as she shook her head. She then turned to him and inhaled deeply, as though she was about to elaborate on something obscure. “When I was very young, even younger than you, my brothers and I were inseparable. We had just begun our military service. Xandor and I were so fierce with youth. Thamias simply followed us everywhere. We made a vow, a pact to never ever harm each other. We...” she had difficulty saying the next part—“We consorted with one of Father’s demons, who offered to baptise us in demonic blood. Xandor, Thamias, and I are therefore bloodbound. We are incapable of killing each other.” She exhaled deeply after this. “We never thought we’d come so far.”

The shrike simply nodded. Not much of what Ahna told him made sense to him. But he understood her pain, and her difficulty to deal with the curse of her family.

He cleared his throat. “Thamias was the Dragonborn, and he is your brother too, and he is trapped in the Tomb of Ghydra,” Cedric inferred from what he remembered of the happenings in the castle of Bravoure.

“Thamias was...different,” Ahna said with difficulty. “He was smaller, reserved, always in his head. His mind worked in other ways. I had to protect him from Xandor.” Ahna then took a deep breath, remembering the tremors of war. “Xandor came to Bravoure, and he didn’t even know we were there. I tried to fix it. I tried to fight him, but I failed. The prophecy...” She looked away, growing even more distant. “I named my brother Dragonborn. Look at how that turned out! The Academy was lost, the King died, my mother was executed...Everything I tried to save simply just withered away.”

Fifty years ago, when Ahna had heard of a man who called himself Prince of Mal had rammed the gates of Bravoure open, she had felt responsible. Her mother, Thamias, and she had committed to fight against the known evil, at all cost. But one by one, everything Ahna had held dear had crumbled before her eyes.

The elf pursed her lips in regret. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save your soul, Cedric.” she murmured. “And I should have told you about my link to Xandor.”

“I lost my soul long ago, Ahna. And yes, there are a couple of things you should have told us,” he said with a slight, honest smile. “Ahna,” he began with a more serious tone. “I felt what you felt when you faced your brother. Remember, I was there. I think I can understand part of what you went through and the hard choices you had to make. And I’m sincerely sorry for being the asshole I am.”

As he uttered these words, she looked away to hide her face, perhaps in shame. “The curse of Sharr consumed my brother entirely. The same darkness that I sometimes feel...”

But Cedric softly brought his finger to her chin and gently pulled it to make her look back. He searched for the amethyst gems of her eyes, and for a minute that could have lasted all night, he held her gaze and delved deep into her soul.

“That man is not your brother,” he firmly declared. “You are Arkamai, the brave archmage who fights for Bravoure, and that is how you will be remembered.”

Ahna looked into the shrike’s eyes and saw something different than usual, something more serene than before. His smile brought her the kind of peace she had not felt in a long time. These passing seconds, close to him, could have lasted an eternity.

His hand slipped past her cheek, through her silver hair, until his fingertips reached the nape of her neck. He then gently pulled her face toward him, and as he closed his eyes, he whispered his final words to her. “Come here, just once.”

He took her lips.

She could hear the sound of his heart pound in his chest as he touched her. The tender sensation of the kiss spread through Ahna’s body in a discharge of emotional relief. His other arm wrapped itself around her shoulder, and he pressed her closer to him. A small sound escaped her lips and he took them again. He tasted her furtively, capturing her in his arms. She held his face in her hands as his soft touch became an ardent cadence to a rhythm of passion. His curious hands searched along her body and reached beneath her breast. He never slid further.

When he let go of her lips ablaze, he smiled gently and rose to his feet, effortlessly. He gave her a single nod to bid her farewell and headed toward the dorms. He did not look back. Ahna remained here, by the sole brazier in the nave, swayed by the shrike’s kiss.

13

Prophecy Be Damned!

In the early morning, the sunlight rayed through the cloister’s arcs and entered the dorms where the rebels slept. A few were already roaming the fort to bring peace to their minds. Some of them had been tormented by nightmares of the battle of Orgna. Some had dreamed that it had never happened but were hauled back to reality upon waking.

Brother Gideon was already scouting the main hall to complete his quest and find Ahna. He found the elf by what had become the stables, reunited with her brown horse.

“Ahna, Varko be praised, you made it!” he exclaimed. She smiled when she saw him, and they embraced. “They made me leave before the battle, but I brought your horse!”

Ahna felt an intense pulse of joy spread in her heart. The sight of Gideon had spurred a warm sentiment. The sweet cleric had taken good care of her horse for her, she had not even asked for such charity.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Gideon,” she told him with honest eyes.

The wise man did not wait longer. He came bearing news, and he had to share. He needed to tell the elf about his vision. “Ahna, there’s something I must tell you,” Gideon urged. “I had a dream...I mean, a vision, in the Halls of Prophecy!”

Ahna’s eyes rounded in odd surprise. She took Gideon to the side of the room and requested more explanation. “Are you sure? Why are you telling me?”

“I couldn’t find you in Orgna, then I had to leave with the other clerics. I think it concerns you, Archmage, and the shrike captain.”

The two made their way to Mother Divine, who stood by the altar in the nave. Gideon had told her about his vision back in Orgna. She had instructed him to wait until they had reached Fort Gal.

“Astea,” he greeted her with a bow. “Ahna is here.”

The aged woman turned to them. “The ineffable design was incomplete, Ahna. A second prophecy was heard!” The mage gasped at her words, and Astea continued. “A new dragon must now be named.”

Gideon nodded assertively. Ahna, confused, studied the cleric for more information. He cleared his throat. “To shadows sworn, in shadows may die. High in Gurdal, where the sentinels fly. Something tells me you might know what it means.”

Ahna opened her eyes wide. “A second Dragonborn, are you sure?” she asked with haste. “I mean…it’s possible. Dragon blood flows through a few of us, after all. But...”

As Gideon nodded some more, she turned around to think alone for a moment. No, this could not be. In shadows may die. Where the sentinels fly. There was no way it was this obvious. And, a new prophecy? Now, of all times? Ahna could not bear the thought of going back there, to dealing with the gods’ grand design. She had done it once, and it had cost her everything.

Gideon noticed her trouble and came beside her. Before he could speak, she turned to him. “I’m not a puppet for the gods to play with,” she sternly declared.

But both clerics looked to her, expectantly, and most of all, hopeful. She saw a glimmer in their eyes. The light that proved that, despite everything, the fallen soldiers, the battle of Orgna, everything, their faith had survived.

Gideon smiled at her. “Prophecies are hard to avoid, Ahna.” The elf sighed. Gideon was right. Prophecies were inevitable, even the old monks knew that. “We should summon Captain Rover,” the wise man suggested.

Ahna acknowledged and went to find Cedric.

She searched through the dorms but no sign of the shrike. She went to the frosted garden, then the small rooms of the fort’s church—nothing.

She had already begun to have serious concerns when, an hour later, the marksman stepped through the gates. He went straight to Commander Falco, passed Ahna without seeing her, and shared with David what he had been up to all morning.

“I went on recon,” he reported. “Sharr’s troops are on the move. They’re advancing fast, and they go by the hundreds.”

The commander sighed in concern. He paused for a minute, unsure of what the shrike expected of him, then turned to his interlocutor. “What would you do, Cedric?”

“I’m asking you,” the shrike retorted. “You’re the highest in command now.”

David sighed again. This time, it was more about a repressed fear of failure, a fear of failing his soldiers and all the souls that now relied on Fort Gal to protect them.

Ahna emerged from behind them. “Hi David,” she greeted the commander then turned to the shrike captain. “Cedric...” she hesitated. “Astea is asking for you.”

Cedric nodded and followed Ahna to the Mother Divine.

“A second Dragonborn?” the captain of the shrikes asked, flabbergasted. “And that should be...me?”

Brother Gideon had to explain, “The prophecy referred to the sentinels. Sentinel shrikes! You are all that’s left.”

“What about Jules and the rest?” Cedric refuted. “There are still others who made it to Fort Gal!”

Ahna intervened, “The prophecy mentioned the Shadows...” Cedric immediately veered to her after these words. His flaming eyes ordered her to hush now.

But Gideon remained serene. “Dear shrike, I’m a special kind of cleric,” the old man declared. “I can feel the dead. Even when they still walk among us.”

“I am very much alive.”

“Oh, I certainly don’t doubt it,” the cleric responded with another smile.

Hence, Gideon had known all along. Once again, there was not much one could hide from the wise man in the white alb. After Cedric regained his calm, he looked at them, still perplexed but determined to act.

“Still, how can you prove it’s me?” he inquired.

“There is one way to be sure,” Ahna disclosed. The shrike looked at her inquisitively. “Being Dragonborn is in the blood,” she pursued. “There is a way to test your blood for dragon essence. It’s a form of blood magic, but non-intrusive.”

The shrike took another minute to think. “What do I need to do?”

Ahna motioned for him to follow her, and Cedric heeded the elf’s order. Brother Gideon walked behind them while Astea still needed to discuss things with David.

Ahna instructed Cedric to lie on his back on the altar in the chancel. The shrike cast a puzzled glance over him, some people had begun to observe this curious display. Word of the new prophecy had already spread around the fort, and the thought of Captain Rover possibly being the new Dragonborn had brought a new sentiment of hope to the rebels that remained. To them, it was the promise of the return of a long lost savior, and evil would be subject to a holy reckoning.

Cedric sat on the altar and waited for Ahna’s instructions. The mage held a dagger in her hands. She stood by his side while Diego, who had joined in, and Brother Gideon, observed the practice.

“I’ll need some blood, and it has to be close to your heart,” she stated. “And it will hurt,” she then warned.

Cedric shrugged and rid himself of his fur shawl and undid the buckles that kept his leather jerkin tight around his chest. He swiftly took off his white cloth shirt and shivered from the frost. His muscles tensed up, almost to become stone.

Ahna tilted her head as a sign for him to lie down. He then prepared mentally for the ice-cold stone before he went to rest on the altar. The elf placed two of her fingers below his sternum, at the base of his ribcage. Her soft touch on his rigid chest made him shiver silently, but the bumps on his skin betrayed him. Upon touching his skin, her fingers burned with something else than mere magic.

“I’m going to cut here slightly,” she said, distracted.

“Please be gentle,” he humorously requested with a pout.

She chuckled the distractions away. She made a small cut through Cedric’s skin, and he repressed a groan in a sigh. A small pool of blood formed in the crook of his broad chest. She dipped her fingers in the blood and drew a thick line down to his pelvis, right above his belt. She then held her hands above his chest and began the incantation.

She paused for a minute to explain. “Your blood will show us if draconic essence flows in you.”

As she murmured obscure words, Cedric felt a burning sensation on his skin underneath the drawn line of blood. He clenched a fist to suppress the pain. Diego checked if he was all right, and the shrike nodded assertively to reassure him.

“You really know every spell in the book, mage!” he said with clenched teeth to distract himself from the severe discomfort.

Ahna chuckled and responded quickly, in order not to lose focus. “An archmage has to!”

As she dropped her hands down to both Cedric’s sides, the burning feeling turned to a stinging sensation on his skin. Part of the blood pierced through his chest and abdomen and disappeared back into his veins.

What was left were strange symbols printed on his bare torso from the dried blood, like an occult sentence that extended all along his vertical axis. Ahna explained that it was in old elven, one of the languages of magic.

Brother Ylwen appeared and attempted to decipher the words. He read with hesitation: “Child of…Guan.”

When Ylwen was finished reading, Cedric sat up straight and immediately wrapped himself into the warm shawl. He wanted to wipe the dried blood off his body, so he looked expectantly to Ahna for approval.

The elf’s mouth had slightly opened. “Guan...” she murmured in surprise.

The crowd around them gasped.

Guan, the god of endurance, hope, and victory. Guan, the horned dragon who lived among the stars. The god whom thousands praised but never witnessed.

Ahna realized how many spectators had been standing here, in awe. They were eager to hear what the obtained result had been. They each felt incredibly blessed by the possibility of Guan the triumphant to descend from the Heavens to save the Resistance.

Brother Gideon turned to them and raised his arms in the air. “He is chosen by Hope! He is Dragonborn!” he cheered and the crowd joined him. “The Resistance will be saved!”

More people had gathered around the altar. Cedric, perplexed by the burden that had just dropped on his shoulders, wiped the blood off himself and quickly dived into his clothes. He remained seated for a moment as the crowd asked him questions he could not answer. They wished to know what he would do, what his grand plan would be. They wanted to know how they could assist him.

The rebels had come to Fort Gal, vanquished and without hope. They were here with the idea that this place would be their tomb, and that they would draw their last breaths. When some heard the clerics talking about the new heard prophecy, the spark of rebirth had begun to grow in their hearts. Their faith had been restored.

Cedric, who still sat there, silent, felt more overwhelmed than ever. He just wanted to flee. When Ahna turned to check on him, the shrike had slipped through the shadows and vanished into the cloister.

He headed to the garden and let his body crash on the bench underneath the ice tree. He rested his elbows on his knees and plunged his face between his hands. Guan…Child of Guan, Dragonborn…Why me? He sat there undisturbed until the wise figure of a woman in white came to sit next to him. She stayed hushed and still until the silence became too awkward for the shrike.

“Mother Divine,” he turned to her and spoke. “I can’t be this vessel of faith for the rebellion!”

He had spoken with a grim tone, but a gentle smile drew on the aged woman’s face. She turned to him and took his hands in hers. “Predictions, you can run from. Prophecies, that is a monumental challenge!” Astea exclaimed.

Cedric scoffed and crossed his arms. “Have you come to convince me once again?” he asked. She remained silent, so he continued. “Ten years ago, you sent me on a quest for an Item of Power. Look at how that turned out.”

She smiled again. Cedric felt as though he had progressively lost his ability to breathe. He stayed silent for a few minutes.

“How can a voidwalker even be Dragonborn?” he distantly wondered.

Mother Divine looked to the ground a minute then raised her head to the open sky.

“So, that is your true concern, shrike. You don’t deem yourself worthy of the godchild title.”

Cedric had closed his eyes. The failure of the Uprising was his greatest shame. His dealings with the Shadows were a symbol of this failure. He had taken a hundred lives, and had done terrible things in the name of the cause. But the deal he had made was an abomination. No mortal should be allowed to fiddle with the threads of destiny. Mother Divine rose to her feet and waved the shrike goodbye. She headed back into the church part of the fort and disappeared beneath the covered walkway. Cedric stayed underneath the ice tree for the next hour, alone, pondering on the last words Mother Divine had said to him.

Ahna and Brother Gideon spent the afternoon tending to the wounded and helping with sorting the few crates of weapons and armor they had managed to carry up the mountain. Kairen and Lynn were with them, so were Jules, and Diego. All had received a specific task from the new highest in command, Commander David Falco. They were to verify all they had left and to prepare the rest of the survivors for Sharr’s final strike. The Dark Lord’s soldiers were coming, and they would reach Fort Gal soon.

As Ahna went outside for a stroll, Brother Gideon followed her. Outside the fort was a small path. The thin snowy trail stretched along the lower cliff, safely close to the edge, from the main road to the back of the fort.

Ahna walked with Gideon as she stared to her left over the eastern highlands of Gurdal. The old cleric cleared some of the snow under his feet with his fur boots. His bald head was wrapped in a thick, warm shawl. He was silent and seemed to enjoy the calm breeze. The wise man searched Ahna 's eyes as they passed through the back corner of the church.

“You look more tranquil than when I met you, Ahna,” he complimented.

She smiled meditatively. “I made peace with some of my demons. Not all of them, though.”

The cleric chuckled softly. He paused his march for a moment, to look at the stunning rocky landscape. Behind them, the sun had already hidden under the tall Peak of Gal. The radiant light over the lower mountain tops had become this peaceful blue veil of quietude. Gideon folded his hands behind his back.

“When I told the clerics of my vision, most of them didn’t believe it,” he said with a child’s grin. “Some think I’m a bit of an old coot. But Mother Divine had no doubts, so she entered the prophetic halls immediately. It took a toll on her. She won’t let it show, but I worry.” His concern turned into something hopeful again. “When we win this war, I’ll wish for her to lead Bravoure, to restore the peace and begin rebuilding the kingdom.”

When we win this war...

Ahna admired Gideon for his blind faith. Though, for a brief moment, the old coot saying made more sense to her. She wanted to remain hopeful and positive, but as she looked at the modest fort under the reclined cliff of Gal, her mind could not fathom a victory. Yet Gideon still had the light of hope that shone in his oval eyes.

“The gods took their time to reveal their plan,” Ahna said. “A new prophecy, now, of all times?”

Gideon first answered with a soft chuckle as he looked over the cliff. “It only makes sense,” he warmly noted. “We have an archmage in our midst, one who can name the Dragonborn because she has already done it once. The Resistance had a Dragonborn all along, the gods just needed to point us to him, at the right time.”

Ahna simply nodded. For just a moment, she wondered how many other Dragonborns were out there, how many who carried the gods’ essence in their blood. How many were destined to save a land, like her brother, or now, like Cedric Rover. When Gideon and the elf reached the end of the path, they returned to the fort to finish their task.

Cedric found a damaged training dummy in one of the crates in the antechamber. He brought it to the last empty room of the cloister, and began to cut through it unceasingly until nightfall. The shrike took another strike against the innocent wooden doll. He even managed to get so warm that he had to rid himself of the yak coat.

As Cedric struck one more time, the dummy fell to the cold ground and broke in two. He sighed deeply and sheathed his sword. Behind him, Ahna stood leaned against the wooden doorframe.

“Déjà vu,” he softly whispered.

He turned to her and raised his open hands slightly in the air, expecting her to say something. Instead, she smiled gently at him.

“That’s how you deal with something difficult,” she said. “You swing your sword.”

Cedric chuckled and shrugged. “I guess, and look”—he pointed at the broken dummy—“they brought my favourite toy.”

The shrike captain stepped outside the room and went to sit on the base of the facing arch. Ahna came to rest close to him. He had a grim, concerned look on his face, as if he bore a secret too heavy for him.

But it was not a secret. It was the responsibility of an entire movement.

“I haven’t had a rest in gods know how long!” he exclaimed. “We’ve been running and running since East Haven. We’ve gone to Bravoure city. Hell, I even ran with one single sword into a fortified castle to save you!” He laughed at the aberrance of his words. He looked to Ahna with an imploring glance, almost begging for some time to doze off for a full night. “And now, I’m supposed to turn into a dragon...” he said, unbelieving of his words. “The horde is coming here. Yesterday, people were silent and praying for a peaceful death and today, they are rejoicing. I can’t help but think they’re fools.”

“They have hope again,” Ahna declared with a simper. “This new prophecy restored their faith.”

“Prophecy be damned!” the restless shrike howled. “We’re freezing cold, half the soldiers are wounded, and we survive on cloud bread and nutspread! At this point, hope is meaningless.”

But Ahna dived into his eyes and bore the bravest smile on her face. “Hope is the spark that ignites a rebellion,” she proudly said.

Cedric chuckled again and gazed upon her dearly. “You got that one from Joshua, didn’t you?”

Ahna gave him a quiet nod. She had heard it from Kairen, who probably had heard it from David, who then had heard it from the high commander himself. That small detail did not matter anyway. Those words had brought a light of confidence in the shrike’s eyes, and he rose to his feet furtively with an enduring smile.

“No time for self-doubt, then,” he said. He stood in front of Ahna with his arms gloriously raised in the air. “So, Archmage, name me.”

Ahna laughed silently. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never seems to be.”

She smiled at the truth of his words. “The naming needs to happen in a place of draconic worship,” she pursued. “Gideon says there is an old temple north from here, at the lower side of the mountain. The Temple of the Four Winds, it’s within less than a day’s reach.”

“And we’re on the run again.”

Cedric glanced at her expectantly. The look on her face had suddenly become somber, as though a dark thought had passed through her mind.

“Cedric,” she began again with a concerned tone. “Your body will become a divine vessel. Your own soul will unite with a draconic soulling, an infant soul, or so to speak. That is how it’s supposed to go. Although in your case, I am honestly not sure what will happen.” He remained silent and attentive. “The shadows could somehow interfere,” she warned.

The shrike took a step back and leaned against the wall behind him. He sighed deeply and kept his gaze on Ahna as he pressed his lips together in uncertainty. At best, he would turn into a dragon, the majestic beast everyone kept talking about. At worst, he would die and lose his soul. What could possibly be worse than losing his soul?

After a minute of thinking, he straightened his body and came close to the elf.

“I pledged my soul to the cause. Whatever happens, let it happen.”

He smiled as she delved deeper in his eyes. The flicker of the torch next to them was reflected in his cerulean gaze. Ahna ached again for the taste of his lips, for a brief moment of comfort. In the ocean of his irises, she saw the determination, the urge that he was prepared to do whatever it takes to put an end to this bloody war and to lead the Resistance to victory.

14

Dragonborn II

Boots marched in the soiled grass that had turned to mud in the valley where Orgna had stood, steps that shook the ground beneath them. Sharr’s army had installed itself. They stretched tents, lit fires, sharpened their swords, patched their wounds and trained against each other. They cast their dead into the trenches dug that served as mass graves.

By the collapsed cliff that formed a slump, where the barracks had been crushed by a mudslide, Xandor Kun Sharr walked, proud, in the royal gold armor that was never his to wear. His gaze rested on the broken beams that peaked from underneath the rocks, crumbles of the gates that stood no more.

The body of the fallen Resistance leader reposed by the ruble, cold and lifeless, slouched on a dried sand rock, his dead hand open above his heart. Xandor looked at him with a dark grin on his face. The body had begun to decompose. His eyes were pale, his tongue dry, and his skin was cracked with green yellowish pus.

The Dark Lord kneeled by him and gorged himself with the putrid smell of decay. He exhaled lively as though he relished it. He picked up the royal claymore that lay beside him and plunged it through the dead man’s body. The sword remained erect, lodged between his broken ribs and the mud underneath.

Xandor was soon joined by his grand vizier, Sodiln, who came bearing gifts. He marched with his silversteel armor rattling to the rhythm of his steps. The dokkalfar officer carried rebel swords and spears he had picked up on his way to his master.

Xandor, unimpressed, turned to Sodiln. “Any sign of my sister?” he asked, pensive.

“A few dryak traitors but no sign of Lady Sharr.”

His master stepped away from the high commander’s corpse and headed back to his army’s encampment. He signaled for Sodiln to get rid of the carcass while he returned to his troops.

When he reached the tents, he was greeted by two of his soldiers who had caught a wounded dissident who hid below the valley, a young dark elf, who struggled against his capturers. They held him down with a two-handed flail, with the chain around his throat. The metal slowly clawed through his skin, and his neck bled.

Xandor leaned toward the young prisoner. He spoke to him with a low and calm voice. “You’re too young to fight, dryaini.”

The rebel dark elf spat at the Dark Lord. He addressed Xandor in Dokkalfari, condemned him to burn in Hell’s fifth circle, warning him of his impending demise. The flail’s wielder pulled the weapon to his side, and the prisoner fell face first, in the mud, silenced by the oppressive force. Xandor signed his men to take him away.

The grand vizier emerged from behind him. “Bind his hands and feet and throw him in the trenches!” Sodiln commanded.

The Dark Lord then walked toward the middle of the encampment. There, attached to a single black stallion of the Dwellunder, was an iron cage where one dokkalfar wrapped in a dark cloak lay still. He slept disturbed, agitated by nightmares, screams and cries he heard in his mind.

Xandor walked to the door and clasped his hand around one of the bars. He looked upon his frightened brother, who cried and yelled in his sleep. With a blunt thrust of his palm against the cage, he awoke Thamias, who screamed and turned his head left and right in a panic.

Xandor snickered at his brother. “My soldiers are ascending,” he declared. “Soon, they will reach the peaks and will draw the Resistance out of their hiding den. I’m going to need you soon, little brother.”

Thamias, panting, his chest heaving, regained his calm and scowled at his older brother. “I will not be fighting for you, Xandor!”

But the Dark Lord howled a maniacal laugh. He had seized a small-sized object in his hand, an iron key that fitted in the lock of Thamias’ cage. “As long as I have you here, your will is mine to dominate!” He waved the object as he spoke to mock him.

Thamias was severely weakened. A transformation to his draconic form would force him into a state of pure rage. He would blast anything in his path, even if it were Resistance fighters.

“When the rebels come crawling to me, you will burn them to ashes!” the Dark Lord violently announced. His face then came close to the cage’s door, and his tone darkened more. “And there will be no Meriel to rescue you!”

* * *

One entity of each of the three axes of the Fabric of Realms must bear witness to the draconic ritual that is the naming of a Dragonborn.

Outside Fort Gal, there was a path on the right, to the east, that contoured the peaks. The trail slinked along the crest of Gurdal and led to the lower summits to the north.

And so, Jules, Brother Gideon, Ahna, and Cedric walked north toward the Temple of the Four Winds, in the cold breeze of the morning. They wore their snow boots packed with wool, warm yak fur coats, and had secured themselves with a sturdy rope that bound them together.

The golden light of dawn rested on the high mountains to the east. High white peaks that could nearly reach the stars. Some said that the gods often came to these peaks to watch over the mortals in confidence. To the west, the lower mountains were below the snow line.

The crest led them to another trail, among the few hardy pine trees that had made it above the snow. As they reached the upper edge of a distant forest, they saw, further above the snowy ridge, figures of large ancient columns that supported a larger dome roof with an open top. The columns rested on a circular crepidoma, built on the flat top of the hill, by the high cliff to the north. The wind had become harsher and sprinkled around some snow it had carried off the mounts.

Brother Gideon, at the sight of the open temple, accelerated the pace, undid the rope and rushed upward. The three others followed him, and they made it to the top.

The ancient stone structure had stood solid for centuries. It preceded the era of the old monks of Gurdal and had probably witnessed the first Varkadian rites of prehistoric nomads. None knew who had built the draconic temples. Some, like a few magi, believed them to be remnants of ancient constructions, from a time before the world they knew.

The grand open temple in the middle had but one single altar, which was covered with snow. Gideon went up the few stairs, marching on the platform for stylobate. He was removing the snow altar and gazing towards the horizon. The mountains, high above the cliffs and untouched by ice and snow, became lower hills. Much of the countryside was covered by the dense coniferous trees.

Ahna saw the inscriptions as she hit the altar.

It was Draconis.

She could not read it, and neither could Gideon. The two went to Cedric as he walked down the steps. When the shrike came to the altar, Gideon welcomed him into reading, they stood aside. Cedric rested his hands on both sides of the stone as he gazed upon the markings. Jules remained behind him and the three waited expectantly.

Cedric shook his head and turned to Ahna.

“I don’t exactly make sense of this,” he confessed. “But it gives me a strange sense of refuge.”

She looked at him with curiosity. “Can you read what’s written?”

The shrike took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

“Drakos ena ola. Tesserys anemoi. Anemos naos. Kalos ilthate sto iero mas.”

He had pronounced these words with hesitation, but also with a sentiment of dignity. When he finished reading, he turned to his peers.

“I have no idea what it means!” he admitted as he passed his gloved hands in his hair to shake off some snow. “I just know what I feel when I read it.”

Brother Gideon smiled. The language of the gods may not be something mortals understood, but mortals could connect with the gods as they read the old markings. To speak the tongue of Draconis was the utmost privilege. That of the children of the gods, the dragonborns.

The sound of the wind whistled against the bare columns of the open temple. As they focused on its music, they noticed four different harmonics that chanted to the temple’s visitors.

Cedric stood by the altar and attempted to make sense of the words he had just read. Ahna and Gideon prepared for the coming ritual, and Jules observed them and wondered what his task could be.

“Tell me, Captain Rover, were you baptised?” Brother Gideon inquired.

Cedric turned to him and shrugged. “I was born an orphan. I didn’t have the luxury of religion.”

“Yet you pray to Guan?” the cleric retorted. “Interesting how pieces of the eternal puzzle join together,” he distantly said. “Were you initiated?”

Cedric remembered his long-forgotten reasons for joining the Guan Order. Before the Uprising, more than a decade ago, when the young outlaw had met the shrikes of the rebellion. The Resistance had given him hope, a righteous reason to fight. And with that hope came endurance, then the feeling of purpose. Joining the clerics of Guan had occurred naturally, as he was led to new honorable ways.

As a response to Gideon’s last question, Cedric gave him a nod. He had passed the initiation to the order and was blessed in the symbolic tears of the horned dragon.

“Good—it will make my task easier,” the wise man declared.

Jules, who still observed the cleric and the elf, had many questions he kept to himself. He did not want to disturb them as they prepared for the ritual, yet he grew more and more curious.

“Ahna, I have a question,” he finally uttered as he turned to her and gave her a puzzled look. He cleared his throat. “What’s happening?”

“Brother Gideon is going to bind Cedric’s body to the divine,” she replied instructively. “Cedric has been initiated in the past. His connection to the gods is clearer.”

“What about you?”

“Simple answer? I will be opening a portal,” she announced with a smile.

As Gideon instructed Cedric to stand by the altar, he took a few steps back and placed himself at the edge of the stylobate. He signed something to Ahna, and she nodded and headed to the opposite side, behind the altar.

As she passed Cedric, she stood for a short minute by him and searched his cerulean eyes. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. She wanted to say many unsaid things to him, but this was not the place nor the time. The flame of resolution burned in his eyes. Something in her heart longed for that flame. She desired to stay here, in this moment, lost at sea in the ocean of the shrike’s gaze. She laid her hand on his arm with affection before she walked further to the back of the altar.

From inside his fur coat, Gideon pulled a large hand-sized pendant attached to a simple rope in a knot. The object hung in his hand. It was a circle made of silver, with an inner ring that contoured a flat mirror surface and seemed loose. The mirror was adorned with white engravings, in a similar style to the writings on the old man’s clerical alb.

Gideon gently put the symbol around his neck and held his hands open on both sides of the pendant. He closed his eyes and uttered the holy words of the Divine Fervour.

Through the hands of the cleric, a bright light started shining. The pendant moved further ahead of him, and the inner ring slowly rotated. He guided the levitating body with his hands to the length of an arm of his face. The ring rotated faster and faster, and the pendant suddenly stopped midair as the halo obscured the mirror, and faced Cedric. Instead, the golden light exploded in a sphere of limitless rays, and the shrike plunged into divine radiance. Cedric, overcome by an overwhelming sense of ecstasy, dropped to his knees when the light was gone. Gideon's pendant came back to hang from his neck, and Cedric, panting from the blessing’s impact, lifted his head up to the old cleric.

The winds had become stronger. The whistles had turned to a soft, muttered wail. Ahna’s eyes met Jules, and she addressed him quickly.

“It’s time.”

He looked at her, unsure. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You are the natural witness, you are to prepare Cedric for a divine arrival.”

Jules, still unsure, glanced at his captain in search for more explanations. Cedric, recovering from the holy vehemence, chuckled and looked back at his dear friend.

“She says you have to kill me!” he exclaimed.

Jules gasped in unwilling surprise. He studied Gideon for different orders, but the cleric remained serene. He looked to Ahna, she tilted her head in a nod of confirmation.

“You won’t be exactly killing him, but you will open his body to soul transmutation,” she reassured. “His body will then be engulfed in divine light, and he will transform.”

She motioned for Jules to approach the altar. The man walked to his captain, who had stood up again. They faced each other gracefully, and Jules greeted Cedric with a military salute to honor his years of service to him.

“Too bad I never got to kiss you,” he said with a playful smile. “Now I have to kill you.”

Cedric laughed cheerfully to his friend’s jest. “Only in your dreams, soldier!” The two laughed together.

Jules unsheathed his shortsword and looked to his peers, first back to Gideon, then to Ahna behind the altar. He brandished his sword, and the blade came in Cedric’s reach.

“Where do I strike?” Jules asked with a shrug.

His captain gently put his hand on the blade and led it to beneath his chest. “Here will be the easiest,” he declared with a noble smile.

Jules laid his hand on Cedric’s shoulder as he pressed the sharp edge of his weapon against him. The captain gently led the blade inside his body and emitted a suppressed sigh from the slight pain he felt.

With a short thrust of the wrist, Jules pierced through the fur, and the blade went through Cedric’s skin. When he pulled the sword out, Cedric toppled backwards and hung on the edge of the altar. He covered his wound, and the warm blood began to flow between his fingers. Jules took a few steps back to Gideon, looking upon Cedric in unsure concern.

The wind howled through the temple columns. As Cedric felt his lifeforce be drained, he slid to the stylobate floor and leaned against the altar. He looked to Jules and Gideon and inhaled deeply.

Ahna, who now stood behind the temple, raised her hands in a semicircle that faced the sky. She looked to the dark clouds that had gathered in the atmosphere and commenced the incantation.

As she uttered the arcane words, the clouds began to whirl and to amass above the temple. The swirling mass birthed more clouds that revolved round and round, forming the dark body of a newborn storm.

Ahna’s words became shouts in the old language of the elves and right over the temple’s cupola, a bright ray of celestial light surged from the eye of the turmoil. It slid into the opening of the dome and lit the shrine in radiance. The column of light stretched from the sky to the temple grounds.

Cedric, who noticed the shimmer behind him, pulled himself up. He now stood in the ray of light. From the eye of the storm, a flash of something unknown descended through the beam toward them, like a bright falling star. As it was about to crash into the open temple, a loud roar was heard. Cedric raised his head to the comet.

“There we go,” and he drew his final breath before it struck him with full force.

Jules and Gideon were thrust back to the ground. Ahna felt the wave of the shock just slightly but was forced to lower her arms to stabilise herself. The column of light faded into the air, and the dark clouds began to dissipate.

When the three rebels regained their senses, they looked to Cedric, who panted and kneeled on all fours on the temple grounds. Ahna hastened to him to check what had happened. When she almost reached the altar, she heard a muffled roar lash out of the shrike.

Cedric writhed and shuddered and crawled difficultly to the two others, his hand raised at them, as though he begged for their assistance. His fingers broke and bled as he scratched into the stone platform with his nails.

Something was wrong.

Jules wished to rush to his help, but Gideon held his arm in the way. Cedric screamed and turned on his back, stretching his body in agony. His eyes suddenly darkened, his pupils dilated, and he was able to twirl back on all fours. The groans ceased, and the dying shrike was no longer in pain.

His chest heaved as he recollected his thoughts, then he looked into the eyes of Brother Gideon. Cedric’s gaze was pitch black and remained fixed on him before a bright light surged out of his back. Another ray pierced through his skin, then another, and another. He wanted to claw through the floor, to tear the ground beneath him. When his hand was engulfed in light, he felt an immense power rush through his veins.

He hit the stylobate that fissured in two underneath his force. He grew larger, taller, bigger. A long wing sprung from his back and stretched between the temple’s columns. The other clashed against the cupola.

His neck felt as though it was being pulled from his spine. The bones of his face were shattered one by one and moulded into something new.

He let out another hammering roar.

Jules had to pull Gideon back so the cleric would not be hit by the giant growth of a dragon’s head. They both fell to the ground.

But something was definitely wrong.

The radiance that had submersed the shrike captain had faded into something darker. The swirls of a shadowy veil emerged from the dragon’s body and countered the light. The creature was not golden, but more of a pale and livid color. Its eyes were dead. Wounds from the flesh transformed bled along its scaleless skin. It growled like an enervated beast who had risen from a realm of nightmares.

Ahna, voiceless and struck by this horrid display, rushed to the failed dragon to attempt to soothe it, or at least bring it to calm.

When the monster heard her footsteps coming from behind, it slithered on itself and crept toward her. As it stared her down, its eyes suddenly lit up with a ghastly flame and its throat burned with spectral fire.

Before she could react, the blast of a furious flare expelled her off the temple grounds. She crashed near the edge of the cliff, and the failed dragon turned back and headed for Gideon and Jules. It marched with massive claws to the two frightened heroes, but before it could strike, Ahna crawled back up.

“Cedric!” she shouted. “Cedric, stop!”

The dragon, confused after hearing the shrike’s name, looked to her. It growled deeply in a moment of hesitation, but it quickly turned back to its target preys.

When it was about to strike with fire again, a lightning bolt surged from Ahna’s hand and clashed against the failed dragon’s skin. In a burst of rage, the beast swirled back to Ahna in a stampede. As it moved toward her, she could feel its cold breath and see a lost light in its eyes.

Its heart did not beat. Too frightened and petrified by this realisation, Ahna fell to her knees and raised her head to the lifeless slither.

In the darkness of its torn wings, the elf saw nothing but the failed dragon’s cold dead eyes. It was about to blast her off the cliff. She closed her eyes and exhaled as she braced herself for the impact of the funeral pyre.

But in the midst of the shadows, a humble figure slipped between the dragon and her and raised, in his hand, the holy symbol of Varko. The pendant fixed itself to the air, and the inner ring began to spin rapidly. Before the beast growled again, Brother Gideon uttered the holiest of words.

“Be humble under their mighty wings; tremble and flee when we call the god-kings,” his speech then became a holy shout. “Deliver us from the snares of the undying, oh, mighty Gods returned, in your divine light, the dead will be turned!”

The pendant stopped. The glow contained at the center of the mirror burst into a barrier of brilliance too bright to stare.

The dragon, blinded by the holy light, crawled backwards in unsurmountable fear. The beast toppled to the ground on its own weight and shrieked and squealed, terrified. A dark veil came to cover its body. As its wings slowly dissipated into the shadows, its long neck withdrew, and its head became a familiar face again.

Cedric laid on the ground by the steps of the temple, quivering in fear. Ahna immediately rushed toward him. She came close to him, to hold him, but he thrust her away in terror.

“What have you done to me?” Cedric screeched in horror. His voice broke.

Ahna tried to come close to him again. But he cowered back against the temple’s stairs.

“What have you done to me?” he wailed again.

When Gideon and Jules approached him, he crawled away from them.

“You sick monsters!” he shouted. “What have you done to me?” he roared again and again.

As the panic became too intense to bear, his eyes darkened again. The dark shadow began to slide along his limbs, and he shouted a series of uncontrolled words that did not make sense.

Gideon, too fearful of what would come next, signaled for Jules to get away as fast as possible. The cleric led the march back to the path. Ahna, who did not want to leave Cedric alone, refused to move. But Jules seized her by the shoulders and hauled her away by force.

Ahna cried for Cedric.

She cried for the terrified man at the foot of the altar. For the man who was about to transform again, into something even darker.

15

Brace

When the reality pulled Ahna back on track, she realized they had better run. As she reached the path with Jules, Gideon led the escape down the hill, and they ran and ran until the Temple of the Four Winds was no longer in sight.

When they arrived at the trail by the mountain ridge, they took a short break to catch their breaths. Behind them, they heard the loud roar of a smoldering storm echo in Gurdal.

Ahna collapsed to the ground.

She leaned on Jules, who attempted to help her back up. Gideon, severely weakened by the banishing oath he had just sworn, sat on a large stone for a break. Jules veered to him.

“What in Hell happened, old man? What in the ninth circle was that?” Jules demanded answers from the cleric as he held Ahna.

Gideon had to regain his senses to be able to speak. He remained silent for a moment.

The elf looked at him with dread in her eyes. “How could this happen, Gideon?”

The old man took a deep, staggering breath and shook his head. He wanted to speak but was incapable of doing so.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Jules shouted again.

“We go back to Fort Gal,” Gideon declared.

Jules helped Ahna up who was beyond desperation. “What kind of sick prophetic mess was that?” he asked again in a furious tone.

Ahna put her hands on his shoulders to calm him down. Gideon looked at her in hope for answers. She had named a dragon before, had a similar fright happened to Thamias during his transformation?

Though Ahna seemed so dazed that she could not provide sensical explanations. “Thamias’ naming was...glorious,” she murmured. “This was...this was...”

Jules interrupted her. “This was madness.”

As the lieutenant stepped back on the path, he motioned for the two others to follow him. They would head back to Fort Gal and reach by nightfall. They had no idea what would happen next. Jules did everything to hold his composure. He was absolutely clueless. Had he lost his captain? Would Cedric come back to Fort Gal, eventually? What was that horrible beast they had just faced?

Ahna could no longer speak and Gideon, the wise cleric, for the first time, felt betrayed by his own beliefs. He questioned the gods’ will. But as he pondered on the question, something in his heart called to him. He gazed east through the high peaks. The final battle was just beginning, and the prophecy had yet to grow more, with a quiet voice, a long murmur.

* * *

One of the sindur scouts stormed into the fort. She made her way to Councilor Luk Ma, who stood by the stables with the rescued horses. She greeted him with a gesture of respect and a humble meow.

“Councilor, they’re here,” she announced.

Luk Ma nodded and reported straight to Commander Falco.

In the nave, the last remaining soldiers of the rebellion were assembled. They each carried swords, spears, weapons they had been able to move to Fort Gal, and they were more determined than ever.

Sharr’s batallion had just advanced further up the mountain below the peak, and his battalion was within an arrow’s reach. David, who now stood with Luk Ma in front of the company, held his helmet close to his heart. He remained silent for a moment. Then he signaled for the gates to open.

The massive reinforced wooden doors slowly spread open, and the sunlight entered the fort. The soldiers saw, in the far distance, the dark shadow of the army of Sharr, below the hill. The horde marched ferociously in the snow toward the Peak of Gal, spears raised, weapons brandished.

David stepped outside the fort and looked to the parapeted roof of the cloister, where two dozens of Antlers archers stood with bows stretched, led by his old friend Senris, the vidthralfar captain. His own soldiers followed him past the threshold. David was ready for the battle’s closure, the final fight. Among his troops, Kairen stood determined. He looked to her, but she gazed ahead, resolute.

To the back of the company, Lynn marched among the swordsmen and women. They now all came at a standstill before the gates of Fort Gal. But Diego was nowhere to be found. In surprise, Lynn looked around for her captain, but he was not among the other rebel soldiers.

When she stepped outside with the rest, she noticed a familiar shape in the distance, marching close to the cliff’s edge to her left. The figure seemed to be dragging a heavy cart of some sort. Sharr’s army approached from lower down the mountain, but Lynn was too preoccupied with the shape at the cliff’s ledge. David was about to rally the soldiers, but the swordswoman discreetly paced to the side, toward the figure dragging the cart. She hastened, and as she got closer, the Taz woman recognized the outline of Diego, who pulled some sort of heavy cannon in the snow behind him.

The archers behind her were getting ready to launch a rain of arrows. As Lynn reached the edge of the cliff, she called for Diego’s attention.

“Captain!” she shouted. “What are you doing, Captain?”

She rushed to him. He had stopped by the ledge, away from the path but still very close to the fort. He turned his cannon around with difficulty, facing the fort and the Peak of Gal.

There, he spotted Lynn who ran toward him. “Lynn, get back!” he ordered.

When she reached him, she heard a loud battle cry up the path. She turned to the fort and saw, in the distance, David with a fist in the air.

“Diego, by the gods, what are you doing with this cannon?” she asked, completely confused.

The captain did not reply. He was too focused on moving the barrel to the right position.

Straight at Fort Gal!

“Have you lost your mind?” she asked urgently. “Aim this thing at Sharr’s army! Where did you get it anyway? What did you even load it with?”

Diego searched his coat pockets for a chunk of flint. As he kneeled to light up the cannon, Lynn shoved him out of the way. “Answer me!”

He gently put his arms on her shoulders to reassure her. “This is an old model. I just found it in the fort. And I loaded it full with a heavy bag of shock grenades!”

Lynn, perplexed, relaxed her stance and stepped aside. At that exact moment, she chose to trust her captain.

Diego kneeled back by the cannon fuse and pulled out his sword. He struck the flint downwards across the steel blade. After a few scrapes, the fuse lit. He then slowly pushed down the barrel to aim right above the fort.

“Shock grenades?” Lynn finally asked. “They don’t do anything but make a loud”—she then looked at the direction he was aiming the old cannon—“noise…”

She slowly began to grasp Diego’s plan.

Diego had aimed the cannon, not at Sharr’s army, not at the fort, but at the top of the Peak of Gal! The high mount that was covered with thick, fresh, everlasting snow.

“Now you get back, that’s an order!” he commanded.

Lynn stood still and looked at the fuse aflame. “You’re going to blow up the mountain...” she inferred silently.

“Yes, Fort Gal was built to withstand a snowslide. Now go back to the fort! Please...”

When the fuse was consumed entirely, a blast from the cannon was heard across Gurdal. Lynn and Diego had to cover their ears because of the deafening sound. A pack of shock grenades was propelled into the air and headed straight for the peak. Upon the crash against its white mantle, the shock grenades exploded in a loud, hammering roar. The mountain began to quiver.

Lynn looked back at Fort Gal.

David, who was about to send in the last of the rebel army, halted his troops. On the horde’s side, the explosion incited the dokkalfar to charge. Each of Sharr’s soldiers ran up the final hill, weapons brandished, howling like a pack of crazed wolves.

When they nearly made it to the foot of the peak, the earsplitting sound of thunder resounded in the distance. They abruptly stopped and looked up. The heavy mantle of the summit had been torn in two.

The ground suddenly shook beneath them, and a white ravaging wave of ice and snow detached from the mountain and descended upon them. The seismic snowslide accelerated rapidly and grew larger and larger as it entrained more snow. Heavy rocks and mud were taken into the flow that raced downhill toward Sharr’s batallion.

Soldiers who had realized what had happened dashed backwards and began to run away. Panicked, they pushed each other, crushed each other underneath their stampede. Some fell off the cliff, some were trampled to death. The destructive white stream of snow engulfed them one by one, like a wave of savage horses that galloped down the slope.

As the torrent became too large, Lynn seized the arm of her resolute captain and dragged him back toward the fort.

“No time for heroics, let’s go before it takes us too!”

Diego finally heeded her call, and the two ran along the edge of the cliff. They made it back to the fort right before the avalanche’s tremor caused the cannon to fall over the ledge.

When they made it back to Fort Gal, David’s troops had already retreated inside. The two were let in, and the rebels closed the gates behind them. The reclined cliff protected the fort from the white tempest, and the Resistance fighters were safe.

The sound of the turmoil lasted for even longer, and they stayed silent as they waited for it to pass. Gods knew how many of Sharr’s soldiers had just been annihilated, perhaps even the entire battalion.

As Diego rested leaned against the gate, David marched to him with honor. The commander laid his hand on his shoulder as a gesture of recognition.

“What kind of crazy idea went into your head, Levireo,” he said rhetorically as he chuckled and shook his head, flabbergasted.

Diego smiled and looked at his superior. “Crazy is all we’ve got, Commander!”

The two embraced. The soldiers in the fort gathered around them and applauded gloriously. When David turned back to his men, Lynn came beside Diego and wrapped her arms around him. The captain held her and pressed her close to him. While the two remained enlaced, the rest of the Resistance soldiers sheathed their weapons and rejoiced. They were to fight yet another day!

* * *

Brother Gideon, Ahna, and Jules had made it to the final turn before dusk. When they reached the other side of the peak, they were faced with a large ice wall that blocked the path. The summit to their right was no longer the same as they remembered. They realized an avalanche had occurred.

Worried about the fate of the fort, Jules began hopelessly climbing the robust ice wall. But seeing Brother Gideon’s declining state, he knew the cleric would not be able to follow. So the shrike lieutenant turned to Ahna in search of the solution.

“We have to climb along the edge of the peak”—she pointed higher up, where the high surface seemed to flatten—“there. We’ll get on top of the snow this way.”

The group started to climb up again. They reached the flatter surface and walked atop the ice wall. They descended again, following the meanders of the snow, until they finally reached the opposite ledge.

There, under the clawed cliff, they could see Fort Gal. Ahna looked to the snow turmoil beyond the fort that had ravaged the route downhill and everything in its way. The silence of the dead mountain rang in her head, as she pondered on what could possibly have happened here.

When Brother Gideon gazed over the precipice, a heavy sense of dizziness overtook him, and he had to hold on to Ahna when he fell. Jules and the elf rushed down the ice wall and rejoined a familiar path, carrying Gideon with his arms supported by their shoulders.

Dozens—no, hundreds of Sharr’s soldiers had just been taken by the avalanche caused by the rebels. Maybe only a few thousand remained in the lowlands, as so Luk Ma’s scouts had reported.

At sunset, Ahna and Jules carried an unconscious Gideon into the fort. The other medics and clerics hurried to his help with Brother Ylwen. They brought him to a secluded room in the cloister that appeared to be a small infirmary from the long-forgotten past. Mother Divine rushed to them after she was made aware of Gideon’s critical state. She requested the others to leave so she could tend to the old man herself, undisturbed. Ahna, unwilling, unfortunately had to comply and leave the room.

Back in the church part of the fort, the elf joined Jules who had sat on one of the benches. He looked distant, detached from the joyous sentiment that prevailed over Fort Gal. David came to them as they sat in silence.

“What happened out there?” he asked, concerned for his companions. “Where is Rover?”

Jules inhaled deeply. The look on his face was grim, and it held a likeness of anger. “I’m as clueless as you are, Commander,” he declared as he rose to his feet. The shrike lieutenant headed toward the cloister without looking back.

Ahna felt his pain and state of shock. David observed Jules as he went, then turned to the elf, expecting some kind of answer from the archmage.

“It’s a lot to explain!” she exclaimed with an awkward chuckle.

“Try me,” David challenged. He had grown inquisitive.

“I’m not so sure. Cedric was named, but...” she employed a dark tone. “He stayed behind.”

As she uttered these last words, David had begun to notice the hidden distress she was in. He came to sit next to her and smiled at her politely, to show sympathy and comfort.

“We had a victory,” he announced. “We get to live another day.”

The night had fallen upon the fort, and the rebels were gathered in the nave for a humble meal. The announcement of the defeat of Sharr’s soldiers who had climbed the mountain had echoed within the walls. Commander Falco, despite being gravely concerned by the yet uncertain future, had nonetheless instructed the Resistance fighters to rejoice. He sat by Kairen with a group of swordsmen and women, and Diego, who had the complete attention of the company, rested by the brazier with his friends. A couple of artificers left from the Battle of Orgna had joined them. They were embracing him and Lynn, called them heroes, sang glorious songs for them around the fire.

Jules sat in the back, with the last few remaining soldiers of the Shrike Wing. He told them of the obscure events that had happened at the temple. He spared them most of the details, but it was his duty to at least inform them of the inexplicable fate of their captain.

Ahna, unable to eat and too anxious, stormed out of the hall and headed straight into the cloister. She walked toward the last room at the edge of the furthest corridor and shut the door behind her.

She extinguished the single torch in a wave of the hand and collapsed to the floor. She gasped as tears fell out of her eyes and crashed on the cold ground. Her thoughts lingered on the image of Cedric. She let out a furious scream, and more tears flowed.

Then, her mind took her to the Temple of the Four Winds, to the failed, bleeding dragon with dilated eyes and unholy fire. How Cedric had looked at her when he had recovered his human form. She curled on herself as her cries had become too painful.

In the absolute darkness of the room, Ahna wiped off her tears and regained her composure. She kneeled straight and rested her hands on her thighs. She slowly closed her eyes and uttered a series of words desperately, in Shadow Speech.

“Gadir Nos’ Trugū Nos’ Trugū Douëh”

She did not need to repeat herself.

A clawed hand emerged from the total darkness and snatched her right shoulder. The sharp edges almost pierced through her coat to reach her skin. The dark figure then came to stand behind her and stared her down. She could feel its gloom eyes scowl at her, and in the silence, she heard a soft chuckle in the shadows.

The cringe sound muted into a burst of loud laughter. She felt a horrible chill down her spine. She could no longer move, not even turn her head to the hysteric shout.

“The voidwalker must be so dear to you,” the shadow expressed with a shrill voice.

Ahna, infuriated, rose to her feet and turned to the ghostly shape. In the palm of her hand, she summoned a beam of light that flashed its invisible skin to cinders.

The shadow shrieked exaggeratedly through the room. It hopped against the wall and crawled to the corner untouched by the ray. It shrunk on itself as it laughed and yelped. She could hear it beg and bleat maniacally, like the crazy fool of a mad king. The whimpers quickly turned to laughter again.

“What did you do to him?” Ahna cried with brooding anger in her voice.

The shadow kept on snickering and laughing, so the elf opened her radiant palm again.

“You failed to deliver. He died. We claimed what was due,” it declared with a strident and cynical tone. “The better question is,” it could not finish its sentence without laughing. “The better question is...what did you do?”

It howled and laughed and guffawed hysterically and continuously.

In a loud outcry, Ahna flashed the room entirely in bright light and collapsed to her knees. The torch was set aflame again, and she remained on the cold ground, alone. She was bewildered by the latest events, completely confused, unable to think clearly, unable to make sense of what had happened. She felt as though she had lost all grasp of her existence. Her greatest fears had become a reality. Something had gone wrong. The naming of the Dragonborn had gone wrong. A failed dragon. Whatever descended from the Heavens found its way to a dead corpse and created the unholiest of creatures.

A void dragon. A dark fiend. Something even nightmares would banish. Something of pure horror. The anguish of her loss and what had become of Cedric stabbed through her heart.

Prophecy be damned!

The ache was too much for her to bear.

The door behind her suddenly opened, and Kairen rushed into the room. She came to tend to her desperate sister on the cold ground and wrapped her hands around her. The two remained there, enlaced, as Ahna emptied her eyes of her endless tears.

In the dark and chill of the night, Ahna sat on a wooden chair in the room where Gideon rested. She stared into the nothingness, her elbows on her thighs, her chin on her clasped hands. Just Cedric’s soft voice played in her head, over and over.

You are Arkamai, and that is how you will be remembered. The last thing he had said before he...

She plunged her face between her hands and wept softly. Beside her, Brother Gideon seemed to sleep silently. He lay calmly, almost peaceful. She remained by him for a few moments. Until he awoke.

“Whatever you may think, Ahna, what happened is not your fault.”

The elf heard him speak and immediately rushed closer to him.

“Gideon, how are you feeling?” she asked tenderly with a forced smile.

The old man cleared his throat. “I am better than I’ve ever been,” he assured with a serene look on his face.

Ahna, a bit perplexed by his words, wondered what the cleric had meant. As though he had read her thoughts, he turned his head to her to explain. “My time is near.”

She gasped, she wanted to silence her tears.

“Don’t weep, Ahna. Hope is not lost. Sometimes the gods work in mysterious ways,” he said as he smiled.

Ahna let out a sad chuckle. She pursed her lips and pressed her eyelids shut.

“What kind of damned prophecy is this?” she whimpered.

Gideon sighed deeply. He, himself, was unsure. But he was sure of one thing. “As Mother Divine once said, the ineffable design may not yet be complete.”

“Are the gods toying with us? Is this some kind of game to them?” Ahna wondered out loud, her voice broke at the final word. “Cedric sacrificed himself twice for the greater cause. He most certainly did not deserve this!”

The cleric had no answers to give her. He remained silent for an aching moment. The soft wind whispered in the cold dark night outside the plain window.

“What you did, the banishing oath,” Ahna began again. “With it, you banish...”

Brother Gideon closed his eyes. She knew what horror should come next, but she needed the cleric to confirm it. It took him more strength to speak those unholy words.

“The Undead,” he said. Ahna compulsively gasped again, and Gideon proceeded with his explanation. “The transformation destroyed him. He was enraged and afraid, about to kill us. The oath, the Stossgebet, it put him in a deeper state of terror, that is why he changed back.”

The old man coughed. Ahna came closer to Brother Gideon to assist him. She handed him a small piece of cloth to cover his mouth as he coughed some more.

“Varkadian Clerics my age should not speak banishing oaths!” he exclaimed with a genuine laugh. He had to cough again.

Ahna looked to him, pained and regretful. He dismissed her sad expression with a motion of his hand. “Don’t look at me like this, Archmage. This is just the beginning of my journey!” Gideon told Ahna to rejoice.

He dropped the tissue on the near bedside table and rested his head on the pillow again. He brought his hands clasped above his stomach and sighed deeply.

“When I finally join Varko in the Domain of Stars, I’m sure I will understand.” He paused for a moment. “Remember, Ahna, never lose faith, that’s the only way we win. If we don’t have faith, then we have not much left.” He had spoken softly. His voice had turned to faint murmurs.

Ahna put her hand on Gideon’s. The wise old man then let out a hopeful gasp and looked to the ceiling. When he exhaled for the last time, a solemn smile was drawn on his face. He took his final breath and closed his eyes, never to open them again. Ahna remained by his side, and she cried as she had never cried—deep from within her chest, as if losing part of her soul through her tears.

16

We Die Free

At the next dawn, the clerics mourned and burned Gideon’s body outside the fort. Around the pyre, many Resistance soldiers gathered to honor the wise old man. Mother Divine gave her ceremonial blessing and said her prayers.

Ahna, who stood alone by the gates, looked over the snow at the fire. She remained still, even after the others had gone back into the fort. When Astea passed her, she greeted her with two hands joined and a bow.

“The most wonderful thing about Brother Gideon was his spirit,” the Mother Divine told Ahna with kindness. “But most of all, his childlike innocence. All of us can learn from it.”

The elf smiled and nodded distantly. She recognized the words Astea had said, in her memory of Gideon. The cleric who, despite everything, always held his faith high.

A few moments later, Kairen came to join her solitude by the entrance. “I never really spoke to him,” she admitted. “But I know he was quite fond of you.”

Ahna breathed in slowly and let out a sad sigh. Kairen wrapped her arms around her friend to console her, even though she would not let her grief show.

“I’m not sure what happened to Cedric, but I hope he’ll be fine,” Kairen finally said, before leaving Ahna to her thoughts.

When Ahna passed by the clerics’ dorm, a few humble souls were packing Gideon’s belongings in a small chest by his bed. She caught a glimpse of his holy pendant. She saw the little statuettes she recognized from Orgna’s chapel. Among them was the tiny figurine of Morxairen, the god of the magi. When Brother Ylwen noticed Ahna outside the room, he came to her with the statuette. He handed it to her, closing her hand around the small stone sculpture.

“They were Gideon’s refuge,” he kindly said. “This one should go to you.”

Ahna thanked him and strolled to the garden of ice.

There, she went to sit on the bench with the figurine in her hands. In the light of the sun that sparkled against the ice sculptures, the dark elf mourned. She stayed there quietly, while the rest of the Resistance gathered in the hall.

Commander David Falco stood by the altar with grim eyes, while the rebels assembled on the benches and around the nave. To his side, Councilor Luk Ma and Captain Kairen Aquil remained stern. When everyone had reached their spot of choice, David turned to the crowd.

“Brothers and sisters of the rebellion, my friends, we’re all that’s left!” He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. “The battle of Orgna led us here, castaway. We’re alone in the cold of Gal. Our supplies are depleting, and I honestly don’t know how long we have. So I come to you, rebels, for advice.”

His coal gaze rested expectantly upon his peers, who initially stayed silent. They looked to each other, unsure, until one of them raised her hand in the air.

“Do we know how many of Sharr’s soldiers are left down the valley?” she asked.

“About four thousand,” Luk Ma immediately answered. His sindur scouts had informed him before the gathering.

The rebels looked to each other again, desperate, there were only a few dozens of them who could fight. Some children looked scared. The elders in the back prayed silently. Another soldier in the crowd raised his hand.

“Is there anywhere else we can go?” he asked, hesitant.

But no one replied. David sadly shook his head. There was nowhere else they could go where they could all be safe. Following the heavy silence, Lynn suddenly raised her hand.

“So, I guess our only option is to fight, right? Or else we die of the cold or hunger, or we start killing each other because we go insane!” She spoke with an evident tone, as though fighting was the only logical answer.

“We’d need another ten of these Diego moves if we’d wish to fight!” a Resistance fighter retorted with a disagreeing laugh.

Yet these words had given the commander an idea. The agitated crowd started debating the option of a hopeless fight. Some wanted to follow Lynn, some deemed it the worst possible form of suicide.

But David pondered on what the soldier had said, about ten of these Diego moves. Before the next rebel could speak, the commander cleared his throat.

“How many of these old cannons did you see, Diego?” he asked with haste.

“There’s a hidden room full of them behind the horses.” Captain Levireo replied. “At least six or seven. Well, there’s one less now. They need a bit of oiling, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.” As David frowned and tapped his finger on his chin, Diego inquired about his intentions. “What are you thinking, Commander?”

“Well, we have the high ground,” David pursued. “The encampment is in the valley. This gives us the advantage of a possible pincer ambush.”

The crowd fell silent.

“You want to encircle them from above?” Lynn inferred out loud, just to make sure.

David nodded furtively. “We place the cannons on both sides of the valley, and we blast them with shock grenades from all over. We shake his entire army like Diego shook that mountain!”

“A mass diversion, and then what?” one of Senris’ Antlers asked.

“We set them ablaze,” the commander declared, with a certain kind of fire in his eyes. “Then, we do our best to kill Sharr.”

Senris intervened. “Kill Sharr? How in Hell would you do that, Falco?”

“We send in the shrikes,” Jules interrupted the wood elf. “The encampment will be in chaos. They will be rushing uphill or running for cover. Then would be the perfect time for us to move in and find Sharr.”

“Sharr’s at the central tent—it’s not difficult to find him,” another soldier in the hall retorted. “The hard part is to get to him.”

“We’ll be fighting at least fourty-to-one, if not more. The odds are completely against us!” the swordsman next to him joined.

“And what if that is the case?” Kairen intervened. “Should we just give up? When did the odds ever stop us? We shake that valley, we blast them with fire arrows from all sides. We make them quiver in chaos and surprise!”

She gazed upon the crowd and saw Ahna to the side who raised her hand.

“Sharr has the Dragonborn, the one from the war,” the elf declared, and the crowd fell silent again. “We didn’t get the chance to warn you before,” Ahna revealed. “We found out back in Bravoure.” She looked to the shrike lieutenant, who nodded passively. “He’s been locked up for fifty years.”

As she spoke, the confidence of the crowd dimmed again. Soldiers gasped.

“What happened to our Dragonborn?” one soldier asked.

Ahna took a deep breath. “We’re not sure.” The crowd became more agitated, and the elf intervened quickly. “But we shouldn’t lose faith! The second prophecy came for a reason. Brother Gideon instructed us to trust in the gods.” Ahna, resolute, crossed her arms and looked at David. “I’ll find Sharr’s Dragonborn. And I’ll find a way to tame him, to hold him back,” she said with great conviction.

As the commander looked back to the crowd, Lynn then raised a fist in the air.

“We live brave,” the Taz woman called. “We die free. If we take down as many of Sharr’s men as possible, we make it easier for the next rebellion! If we kill Sharr, the Resistance wins!”

Captain Senris finally gave a nod of approval. He was convinced enough to fight again. The others in the nave followed Lynn in unison with their fists held high. They all faced Commander Falco, who then joined them.

“We live brave!” David shouted.

“We die free!” all shouted with him.

David collapsed on the bench by the nave’s altar, his face covered in his hands.

“I have to lead a few dozen soldiers into a battle against an army!” he exclaimed.

Kairen, the most determined of them, came to sit next to him. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder and held his hand. “The chaos we’ll cause will be a massive diversion. It will give us the advantage of surprise and distress.”

His wife attempted to reassure him, but the commander was more concerned than he had ever been.

“Joshua had this glorious flame that rallied the Resistance together. Now that he’s dead, I’m not sure what to do,” he confessed.

“Then improvise,” Kairen said with the humblest of tones. “We blow the cannons, set their tents on fire, and then we see what happens.”

“Improvise? I can’t tell the last of the Resistance to just be creative.”

“You don’t have to,” Kairen retorted. “They already are.” She smiled as she remembered all the crazy plans, the desperate ideas, the insane things they did to save themselves, like blowing up a mountain. “David, I married you, not only for your Taz righteousness but also for your heart. The heart of a born leader. Joshua saw it too. You will lead these rebel heroes to battle, and who knows, maybe we’ll win. Let’s just hope so!”

The commander chuckled awkwardly at the words of his dear wife.

“This will be suicide,” he declared, grim and convinced.

“I’ll ask again, David, do we have a choice?”

Her husband fell silent. He was at a loss for words. During the gathering, the idea had seemed revolutionary. Now, after a few thoughts, only doubts remained in his heart. “We’re going to die there,” he murmured, distant.

“No, David, I will have none of this!” She clenched her husband’s hand and forced him to stand up.

She dragged him to the center of the nave, where the other soldiers waited patiently for their orders to come. She then waved to get their attention. The last swordswoman of her own squad was there. Diego and the remainder of Squadron Five. Lynn. Jules. Luk Ma and the last of his scouts. Her dear sister and friend, Ahna. Once they were all looking at her, Kairen cleared her throat and stepped on a bench.

“Rebels! This man here”—she pointed to David with a grin—“doesn’t think he can be a good commander!” Her husband, embarrassed, smiled awkwardly. “He thinks our next mission is suicide, and he cannot bring himself to lead you into battle because of it.” A few rebels giggled at Kairen’s humorous but stubborn tone. “But my friends, what is our motto again?” They remained silent. “Come on, what is our motto?” she insisted.

“We live brave, we die free,” a soldier answered gloriously.

“Exactly. So what do we say to my husband when he thinks he’s sending us to our deaths?”

Diego cleared his throat. “That even if that is the case, we’re ready to fight to the death, and if we die, then we die free.”

Kairen nodded and invited David to join her on the bench. David, after her few convincing motions, finally stood up above the crowd next to his wife.

She looked to him with her fiery gaze and spoke to the small crowd. “This may be the last of this rebellion, but it is certainly not the last of the Resistance.”

And the soldiers around them applauded and cheered in unison.

Ahna joined the shrike lieutenant who sat in his dorm on Cedric’s bed. Jules was pensive, staring at the opposite stone wall. When the elf walked in, she noticed he held his captain’s infamous bow. Cedric had left it there before their departure to the Temple of the Four Winds. Ahna came to sit next to him.

She looked at the curious bow, such a simple yet beautiful piece with tremendous power.

“When you held it, you set an entire harbor on fire,” Jules suddenly murmured in contemplation.

Ahna chuckled and touched the ornate wood as she remembered the faraway events of East Haven. “It’s the Cursed Bow,” she said, looking at the ornate object. “How did he even get his hands on that?”

Jules smiled and turned to her. “That’s a long story. Maybe another time.”

Ahna, interested in the adventure that happened more than a decade ago, took a mental note that Jules would one day tell the story of the Cursed Bow. She was aware of the upcoming war that could also be the end of the Resistance. Her wounded and maybe optimistic heart still thought that one day, she might sit around a fire again, together with Jules, Lynn and Diego, and sing songs about this Item of Power and what a journey it must have been. She thought of Cedric, who, maybe, would join them in this fantasy.

“You take it,” Jules said as he handed her Cedric’s bow. “It took the captain many full moons to master the pain. With you, the curse became a whole different story.”

Ahna smiled at the man she could call friend. “The Cursed Bow was crafted by the Ancients,” she finally explained. “It is supposed to be wielded by a magic-user.”

Jules now understood a little more. He stayed silent next to Ahna for a while. “I’m not sure what I should do,” he confessed after the long pause. “I’m not sure he’s even gone.”

“Neither am I, but Gideon,” Ahna still found it difficult to speak of the wise cleric so soon. “Gideon said to have faith.”

“Faith...” Jules scoffed. “We haven’t had rest since East Haven! I’m so tired, I don’t even know what faith is anymore.”

Ahna passed her hand behind the lieutenant’s shoulders. They both sat there for a longer moment. After a deep sigh, Jules stood up and left the room with his shortsword, prepared to join the company of soldiers waiting outside the gates of Fort Gal.

Ahna remained seated on what had been Cedric’s bed for but a few nights. As she held the bow, she could feel its power calling to her. She clenched it close to her before leaving the room in turn.

Luk Ma nodded at Kairen, his scouts were ready. Diego and the last of his peers were amassed around David Falco. They were receiving their commander’s instructions. Captain Senris and his rangers latched their bows on their quivers—the rags of cloth for the fire arrows were ready. When Ahna came closer to Kairen, the red-haired woman turned to her.

“This is it, Ahna,” she began. “It all ends tomorrow morning, one way or another.”

The elf placed her hands on Kairen’s shoulders.

“I couldn’t be prouder of you,” she said with love. “I remember you as a child. I remember when we trained with wooden sticks. I remember the first time you told me of David, the Tazman soldier who had won your heart.”

Kairen blushed, and the emotions came rushing through her veins. “I remember when you said you’d never leave Miggdra!” she joked and the two laughed together.

“We’ve come so far,” the elf retorted.

“The battle of Orgna was one thing,” Kairen said. “This is closure.”

As the two sisters embraced, David marched to them. He gave a tender kiss to his wife and looked at Ahna. “Maybe after this, we can have a family dinner at a table in a house in Bravoure city!” he suggested, with faraway hope.

“I will hold you to that, David.”

As Kairen headed to the soldiers, David remained alone with Ahna for a moment. She noticed the shadow of doubt in his eyes, the faint veil that still remained. He stared at the dozens of soldiers ready to embark on their final mission.

“David,” she called to get his attention. “I know I should have joined the cause way earlier. I was a coward...”

The commander motioned for her to hush. “Ahna, I don’t know what it was like during the war. From what I’ve gathered so far, Sharr killed your family. He sent out his cleansing order, and all you knew, all you had, was lost. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t have run from that.” He smiled at her. “I’m not going to accept any of your excuses, because you don’t owe any.”

At the last of his words, he straightened his body. He brought his hand to the side of his right temple. He then honored Ahna with the military salute of Resistance soldiers.

“You’re a great leader, David,” Ahna told him with gentle kindness.

“Your sister is a better one!”

“Most certainly!” They both laughed together.

When they regained their quietude, the commander went to Mother Divine, who stood outside and blessed the soldiers one by one. He instructed her to care for the refugees and the wounded soldiers who could not fight while the battle raged. He advised her that, should Lord Sharr win, they were to retreat as far away as possible. Perhaps Miggdra could be an appropriate place. There was a path going east that would rejoin the road above the Azul, toward the north. It was a long way, and David apologised for not being able to do more. But Mother Divine amusedly threatened David that, should he apologise again, she would hit him on the forehead with her holy pendant.

As he worried for the refugees, Astea assured him she would take care of them. She promised him she would keep the spirit of the Resistance alive for as long as she could. She would do everything in her power to let the songs of brave heroes echo through the valleys of Gurdal for the rest of her days. David bowed to her in respect and gave her space to bless the rest of the company.

When the sun passed its zenith, sindur scouts spotted Sharr’s troops far in the distance, still at the encampment, as though they waited for the next orders. When they returned uphill, a squad of ten men and women helped drag the old cannons toward the valley. They took the trail covered by the avalanche. No one knew the mountains as best as the rebels. They slithered down a path unwatched by Sharr.

The cannons slid smoothly on top of the thick snow. At their speed, they would be on the road for at least a full day before reaching the edge of the canyon of Orgna early the next morning. They prayed with their soul that Sharr’s army would stay put, exposed at the center of the valley.

Behind the cannons dragged by the artificers, Senris’ Antlers marched, and behind them, Commander Falco and what was left of his garrison. A few civilian refugees accompanied the soldiers, those who wished to bear arms and fight with them.

Ahna, who followed alongside Kairen, could hear the pounding hearts of all the fighters around her. But it was not the beating of fear, it was that of resolve and purpose. She looked at the woman she was proud to call little sister, who smiled at her with the copper eyes of her youth. On her shoulders, she wore her favorite crimson shawl. The last company of the rebellion moved down the high mountains of Gurdal, together, ready to finish the final fight.

17

Beast of War

The nearing dawn covered the valley of the lowlands of Gurdal with a dim veil of light. The morning breeze swayed the grass with a peaceful caress. The birds far ahead in the forests had begun their daybreak ritual of chants and songs, and a flock of swans soared into the morning sky.

A few artificers walked discretely along each side of the cliffs of the valley where Orgna had once stood, and they dragged the old cannons of Fort Gal with them. They moved silently and remained undetected. They placed the barrels one by one in sets of three, symmetrically along the valley edges. Then, they glutted them with shock grenades.

David signaled for Captain Senris to rally his men silently, and the vidthralfar waved to the last of the Antlers. They placed themselves between the cannons with their bows ready. They each carried a bag of oil-soaked rags. Once in position, they carefully picked each piece of cloth and swiftly wound it tight around each arrow. They were to shoot three arrows at the same time and aim accurately at the tents below.

The commander gazed over the encampment. In the dim light, he saw the figures of the shrikes moving in the shadow by the edges. They spotted Sharr’s tent and laid low, for now.

“We have the advantage of surprise. Once we set this place ablaze, all Hell will break loose,” David whispered to Kairen. “My love,”—he turned to her and plunged his gaze into her eyes—“when the shrikes head for Sharr, we charge down the hill, swords high, and fight with all we have.”

His wife nodded firmly. Luk Ma, who stood beside the commander, turned to his sindur scouts. “Pick up your daggers, sharpen your claws, and charge with David,” he ordered quietly.

“Ahna,” David called as he turned to the archmage. “Find the Dragonborn.”

Commander Falco raised his fist in the air. He made eye contact with the rebel artificers at the cannons. The barrels were all aimed at the encampment.

David lowered his arm toward the ground. The artificers set each fuse aflame. A short moment passed in what, to them, felt like a lifetime.

The blast of each cannon that simultaneously shot resounded across the valley. The sudden clash of shock grenades against the grounds beneath Sharr’s army, awoke the encampment. Bursts from all corners, a loud thunder of bright flashes of lightning in all directions. Sharr’s men ran out of the tents, seized their weapons, and stood dazed and disoriented, in a fighting stance. They looked up, down, left, right, no assailant to be seen.

The rebels had already reloaded the cannons with more shock grenades.

The heavy drops of destructive rain shattered against the valley floor. They had to cover their ears, some soldiers had already collapsed to the ground. Others had looked up.

“Above the cliff!” a few shouted in panic.

A horde of howling dokkalfar plunged their hands and feet into the ground to climb the cliff.

With their steel daggers and a piece of flint, Senris and his archers above set their cloth bags on fire and dipped each arrow one by one into the flames. They first held their bows straight and waited for the heads to catch fire properly. Then, in a swift and gracious move, they rotated their bows horizontally together and stretched the strings.

They aimed at the tents, behind the horde that attempted to climb up. When they released their pull, they unleashed a hellish downpour. Many tents below were set on fire. Some crazed soldiers ran between the flames, lost, like headless hens. The archers each reloaded three arrows onto their bows. A moment later, they launched another infernal torrent upon the encampment.

More of Sharr’s soldiers amassed beneath the rebels and became more organised. After the second wave of fire arrows, they had begun raising shields and arming themselves properly. A dozen of them had encircled Sharr’s tent, to keep him protected while he prepared for battle. The archers who still had arrows and fire left shot their last blazing embers at the troops below.

There were no more shock grenades.

When Senris signaled to David, the commander raised his fist in the air again. “Charge!” he shouted in a long and triumphant warcry.

The company of Resistance fighters charged down the mudslide, where Orgna had stood, toward the horde of dokkalfar soldiers. They ran with the fire of glory in their eyes. As they almost reached the valley floor, they began the fight against the first of Sharr’s troops.

The shrikes emerged out of the darkness and struck the few soldiers from behind. Those quickly fell to the ground as blades pierced through their chainmail, through their ribcage. One of the guards by Sharr’s tent swung his sword at Jules, who parried swiftly and pushed him back. As the guard toppled backwards, Jules kicked him in the stomach, and when he was about to fall, the shrike lieutenant slid behind him and plunged his sword in his back. The other shrike next to him had just made the same move and stabbed the next guard through his armor. The dead dark elf fell down.

The furthest shrike raced toward the last guard. She passed the entrance of the tent when a tall, lithe man found his way past her. He pushed his dark blade into her stomach. As he pushed further, she held on to his golden armor. Blood began to drip out of her mouth, and he pulled out his sword. He scowled at her lifeless body and growled.

Before Lord Sharr moved again, Jules clashed his blade against his. The shrike fought against him, urging him back cut after cut. But when he pushed Xandor almost to the ground, the false king hauled Jules’ arm in and used the momentum of the pull to raise himself back up and slink behind the shrike.

Jules fell face first in the mud.

He swiftly turned and crawled backwards as Xandor pointed his sword at him. Another shrike charged the dokkalfar prince but was greeted with the edge of his blade blackened with blood.

Xandor stood above Jules, his feet to the side of his body, his sword raised vertically above his chest. Jules closed his eyes and braced for impact.

“No, Xandor!” a faint murmur called.

From behind him, caged in an iron cell on a cart, a smaller elven man stood, his hands on the bars. Xandor, annoyed by his brother’s whimper, kicked the shrike in the head and left him unconscious.

In the distance, he saw his panicked soldiers try to escape the flames of the encampment set ablaze. Further away, at the edge of the canyon, he spotted the rebel troops charge to overpower his unprepared soldiers at the frontline. He sighed deeply as he turned and walked to his brother in the cage.

He squeezed the heavy iron key in his hand and led it to the lock. “Time to play your part, Thamias,” he grimly declared.

He grabbed his brother by his long white hair and threw him to the ground. Thamias, terrified, attempted to crawl his way out of Xandor’s grasp. But Xandor seized him by the hair again and brought his sword to his neck. He forcibly made him rise to his feet. He led him past the dead shrikes, through the burning tents, toward the edge of the canyon, where Orgna had stood but a few days prior. The rebels charged down the mudslide, toward Xandor’s army. They fought relentlessly, killing his men one by one.

The dokkalfar prince threw his brother to the ground at the back of his battalion. Thamias attempted to crawl away again, but Xandor crushed his back with his foot. He held his brother on the ground when his grand vizier appeared from the battlefield. Sodiln, who marched in the silversteel armor of the Dwellunder, dragged a long sword that scraped the mud as he walked.

Xandor lifted his brother and held him in place close to him. He blocked his head between his hands and forced him to face Sodiln. When the King nodded, Sodiln clenched a fist and struck Thamias in the jaw.

The Dragonborn’s head snapped back from the thwack of the grand vizier’s fist. Xandor let his brother loose, who fell to the floor, bleeding out of his mouth. Thamias panted as he frantically tried to wipe the blood off his face.

The King signed to Sodiln again. The grand vizier readied his fist, prepared to strike Thamias one more time.

“Xandor! Hætta!” the voice of his sister shouted from behind them. There, by the burning tents, Ahna stood with a bow in her left hand. Xandor turned to her.

She seized the riser in her palm, clenched her fingers around the ornate wood as the dirge of pain began to sing through her veins. But before she could raise the bow, she had to dodge a cone of fire.

A pyromantic warlock had stepped out of a burning tent, leading a cloud of flames behind him that slithered as his hands moved. He wore the faceless white mask of the Defaced. Two cowled warlocks joined him, each armed with staffs marked by the Magi Academy’s seal. They aimed their weapons at Ahna. The elf saw the warlock about to hurl his cone of flames toward her. She swiftly dodged again and pulled an arrow out of her quiver.

As she planted a foot in the ground to anchor herself, she stretched her body and the bowstring. She could not be moved by the sting of a thousand sharp needles that pierced through her skin as the Cursed Bow flashed with arcane light. When she released the glowing arrow toward the pyromancer, he threw himself at the ground to avoid the blast, but the devastating burst turned the other two warlocks to ashes.

Ahna lowered her arms again, the painful symphony rang no more. The masked warlock stood back up and led more flames from the burning tents into his scorching mist creature. He finished the summoning incantation with a final murmur. Ahna raised her head to the infernal creature that developed above the pyromancer. He summoned an avatar of flame, a fiery serpent that growled and scowled at her.

To her left, on the slope by the end of the valley, the battle raged on. Thamias, who had been struck another time by Sodiln, now thrust his fists into the muddy ground. He growled in anger and rage as he spat more blood out of his mouth. When Sodiln dashed to strike him again, Thamias arched his back and snapped his arms open in a bright shockwave. Sodiln was thrown back, and his spine shattered when he crashed far away from the Dragonborn.

Thamias’ bruises were healed and, kneeled on the ground, he looked at his hands that shimmered with a golden light. When Ahna saw what was about to happen, she gripped the bow’s riser again and aimed at the flame serpent. With an arrow that transformed into a destructive projectile, the avatar was split in two. The flames were propelled in all directions.

A few seconds passed, and what was left of the fire avatar merged back together into a new slithering body. It fiercely charged in Ahna’s direction. The elf latched the bow onto her quiver and quickly raised her arms in the air. She drew a cross with her hands opened wide. She pushed forth a protective barrier of energy. The fire blasted against the magic wall.

As the heat became too intense to bear, she rotated her hands and pulled her arms back in, forcing the flames to sink within the fold of the barrier. She brought the fire closer to her, to overpower it and win control. She pivoted in the direction of the warlock, who struggled to keep his focus on the heat serpent.

In wild shriek, Ahna thrust her arms forward and released the column of fire toward him. The man screamed and was burned alive.

When she recollected her thoughts, Ahna quickly hasted back to the tail of the battlefield, to her brother. Xandor had left the premise and was nowhere to be found. Thamias, swaying back and forth on the ground to control himself, glowed in divine light. She collapsed to her knees beside him and seized his hands in hers.

“Thamias, focus with me,” she tried to appease him. “Don’t let the rage take over.”

She wanted to take his face in her hands, to soothe him. His amber eyes were lit with the rage of a thousand dragonborns before him. He suddenly rose to his feet and, in a loud roar, submerged in a veil of light from inside his skin.

Ahna was pushed back against the ravine’s wall at the opposite side. Thamias, drenched in radiance, stood up and faced the battlefield. He began to mutate into the contours of a holy beast. Bright golden wings that spanned over the canyon’s width spread wide, and the long neck of the dragon stretched into the air. His amber eyes burned with the redness of induced rage. Glaring upon the soldiers who fought on the slope at the edge of the canyon, Thamias beat his wings downwards and took flight.

The rebels were losing soldiers.

More of the dokkalfar horde had risen from the destroyed encampment and rushed to battle. They pierced through the rebels one by one, as though it was too easy for them. The Resistance fighters had the advantage of the higher ground on the slope, but on the valley floor, they were quickly overrun, despite most of Sharr’s men having been blown away by the cannons or burned by the arrows.

Kairen held her blade fiercely and slashed through another one of Sharr’s men. In her blind fury, she suddenly felt a blow to her rear that knocked her forward. Kairen staggered, but she could quickly anchor her feet in the mud to retrieve her balance. When she turned around, another rebel had been killed. On the battlefield, more rebel soldiers fell, there were but a few remaining. With a ferocious kick, Kairen flanked the nearest dokkalfar soldier and hit him in his side. He fell backwards and smashed his head against one of the rocks. The red-haired warrior marched to the dead dark elf’s face and crushed it with her boot.

As she searched for David, she saw Luk Ma had fallen in combat. She raced to him. The sindur had been struck by a blade to his shoulder. A dead dokkalfar laid beside him. Kairen pulled the man-lynx away from the field, dragging him back up the slope. Luk Ma yelped. As she struggled to get him uphill, he laid his paw gently on her shoulder.

“Leave me, Aquil! I will be fine,” he declared.

Kairen pulled him behind a large rock surging from the slope. She handed him one of her daggers she kept attached to her boot. “You’d better stay alive, Councilor. One of us has to.”

And she raced back down the slope to find David.

In a sudden gust of harsh wind, an explosion of light blinded the battling troops. Down the hill, the roar of a godlike creature echoed across the canyon walls. She saw a golden beast soar into the sky.

At the foot of the slump, she spotted David who laid on his back among other of Sharr’s soldiers. He had been thrown off by the pulse of mighty wings. When the dragon reached the height of the valley’s top, he cast a loud roar that shook the ground beneath them. All soldiers began to run. The rebels raced uphill, some of Sharr’s men pursued them, and the rest retreated to where the encampment had burned to ashes.

All that was left of the Resistance fighters swirled uphill, looking for cover among large rocks or fallen tree trunks from the rockslide. Some pushed Sharr’s soldiers back as hard as they could before the dragon soared into the sky. The enraged beast scowled at them with the most terrifying growl.

As he beat his wings vigorously, he raced toward the slope where the rebels sped. Diego caught Lynn’s hand and dragged her with him to the side of the slump. They heard the furious roar of the dragon behind them. Upon their trail, they ran into a female dokkalfar who rushed to the bottom of the slope. The silversteel soldier did not even look at them. They fell to the ground and sought protection in a lower area adjacent to the slump.

“I don’t think we’re going to make it!” Diego conceded as he panted next to Lynn.

“I put my faith in Ahna now,” the Taz woman responded as she looked back to the dragon in the distance. “Once Ahna gets this dragon out of the way, we charge back down!”

“What makes you so sure she’ll manage?” Diego asked, flabbergasted by the events and Lynn’s resolve.

“She has to. Otherwise, I don’t know what to do!” The Taz woman admitted.

The majestic beast had almost made it to the edge of the canyon where they stood. Diego turned to Lynn, urgently.

“If these are my last words, I have something to say, Lynn!” he exclaimed.

Lynn laughed awkwardly. “Save it for after we win!” She turned quickly to the cliff to see how far the dragon was.

Diego grabbed onto her arm. “I love you, Lynn,” he said with a grave and honest voice. “I’ve loved you ever since you joined my squadron.”

The woman plunged her gaze into his. She wished so sincerely for this moment to last forever, but the dragon’s next roar pulled her back to reality.

“Take cover, Diego,” she finally directed.

Her captain nodded, and the two rushed toward a large boulder in the distance.

Kairen waited halfway up the hill for David. She swung her sword at one of the dark elf soldiers, while another one rushed behind her. She swung the blade behind her back, under her belt, with a dexterous wrist whirl. The other hand she placed on the pommel and pushed it backwards, violently in the other assailant's chest. She called for David when the dead dokkalfar dropped to the ground.

Her husband climbed the hill and rejoined her. They raced to the top of the slump together. Behind them, the dragon roared again. They looked around them for their peers. Many Resistance fighters had fallen, the rest attempted to get out of the dragon’s path. Their cannons and fire arrows had taken out a large portion of Sharr’s army, but dozens of soldiers remained amassed in the canyon.

Kairen and David looked to each other, with a grave light in their eyes. At this precise moment, they felt there was no way they would win this battle. They felt as though this was to be the end of the movement. But a slight smile drew on David’s face. He thought of what Kairen had said, back at Fort Gal. Should this be their final moments, it would be the end of this rebellion. People would rise up again. This generation of survivors would gather and find a way to survive some more, as they had done after the failed Uprising, as they had done after the loss of Bravoure.

Amidst their final thoughts, the Dragonborn roared again. They turned to him and braced for what would come next. But the whistle of a heavy arrow caught Kairen’s attention, and they heard the shattering sound of a projectile crash on the dragon’s scales.

Ahna, who stood on the canyon grounds behind Thamias, had launched a crushing arrow at his flank. The dragon howled from the shock of the Cursed Bow. But the blow had barely shaken him. Irritated, Thamias tilted his wing to turn gracefully and raze the ground beneath him with heavenly fire.

Ahna ran for cover under the cliff, and she was greeted by Xandor’s palm. The dokkalfar prince emerged out of the darkness and smashed his hand against Ahna’s chest. She let go of the bow and fell to the ground.

She rolled to the side to dodge the edge of her brother’s sword. Once she stood back up, he scowled at her and marched in a circle around her. She followed his movements, and they both stared at each other relentlessly.

“We meet again, dear sister,” Xandor said with his hoarse voice. “There’s that dokkalfar flame in your eyes again, that rage.”

Ahna unsheathed her sword and swung it in a cross as a martial salute. Xandor clenched his hand around the pommel of his rapier.

“We don’t have to fight, Xandor, we can end this peacefully. No more souls have to die!” his sister implored.

The Prince of Mal marched toward her rapidly and clashed his sword into hers. The hammering sound of the colliding blades almost deafened them. He shifted his weight toward her, forcing her to bend backwards. She was locked underneath him.

“You swing your blade at your own kin, you doom yourself. Call off the vermin, and I will have your life spared,” Xandor sternly declared.

Ahna seized her brother’s shoulder. She pulled herself up, close to his face, and as she plunged her gaze into his, she uttered the arcane words in old elven.

“Katl a frumur.”

Xandor, nervous, pushed her in anticipation and she fell on her back on the valley floor. A twisting slink of flickering lights coiled around her arm and reached her hand aimed at the false king. A bright lightning bolt surged out her fingers and crashed into her brother’s shoulder. Despite his protection of gold alloys, the shock thrust him backwards. Ahna stood up again and called another lightning around her arm. But before she could aim it at Xandor, Thamias glided over them and headed back toward the ravine at the edge of the canyon.

When he flew above them, the gust of wind from his wings destabilized Ahna, and she lost focus. Xandor, who seized the opportunity, grabbed his sword from the ground, then rushed to his sister. He attempted to overpower her once again, his heavy blade against hers, crushing her under his weight. Because she would not budge, he released his sword in a feigned surrender. As she straightened herself, he immediately smashed his palm into her chest again. She fell to the ground, disarmed, with no escape.

The false king came to stand over her, his weapon erected above her breast. As he stretched his back for more momentum, he wanted to dive in, to plunge his blade in her, but a sudden burst of distress overtook him. His blood slowly began to congeal inside him as he was about to execute her.

He was petrified.

He had to throw his sword at the ground to be able to move again. When Ahna dashed to the side to bring herself up, she saw, by the hill, their brother shine with might in the light of the sun.

The Dragonborn’s eyes lit with the holy fires of the Domain of Stars, and as he stretched his neck back, he held his talons forth toward the hill. He beat his wings horizontally to keep himself static in the air. He was about to blow, to unleash the flames of the divine. The rebels who still stood in the open prepared for a baptism by fire. Diego, Lynn, Kairen, David, Ahna, all looked to the majestic creature that was about to eradicate an entire movement of half a century.

Yet in the wild echoes of war, a loud, ghastly screech pierced through the air and reached the rebels’ ears. The cry was followed by a profound silence of distress. From behind the higher mountains, the monstrous shadow of an ungodly beast appeared and dived toward Thamias, claws first. A void dragon, black as night, with torn wings made of dark flesh filaments, that descended from the sky. It charged the golden dragon and hit it with full force. Its sharp fangs pierced through the Dragonborn’s neck and the two bodies of darkness and light crashlanded in the hills away from the valley.

The roars of a clash of titans then shattered the walls of the canyon. Thamias, who was able to escape from the black dragon’s grasp, soared into the sky again and faced the scaleless monster with a holy blast. The obsidian fiend followed him, and a burst of funeral flames met Thamias’ divine firestorm.

18

Beast of War II

Ahna, who witnessed the arrival of the dark beast from the canyon, grabbed her sword from the mud and charged at Xandor. The dokkalfar prince dodged the blow.

Could it be…

Her thoughts shortly lingered on the shrike captain’s dark fate, but right now, she had more pressing matters. Xandor rolled to the floor and seized his sword again. He was about to cut through her parry.

Above them, Thamias was driven further into the air by the black fiend and its razor-sharp claws. The two dragons cast a long shadow over the valley, above the rest of Sharr’s horde. His soldiers had no choice but to compulsively stare at the ferocious duel in the sky.

Ahna quickly veered to the right. She stretched her left arm at the void and glanced at the ornate bow that sprung from the ground. As she exhaled, she focused on the weapon. The Cursed Bow unlodged itself from the soil and shot like a boomerang back in her hand. Ahna took an arrow, pulled on the bowstring and aimed straight at Xandor.

“Stop, Xandor, or I’ll blast you into the air,” she uttered as she stared at him with the flame of resolve in her eyes.

But Xandor laughed. He noticed Ahna’s struggle to hold on to the weapon.

Spasms upon spasms overtook her arm as the pain of the Cursed Bow sang too loud in her blood. Yet she gripped the riser with her head held high. The light of retribution radiated from the curved wood. The distortion caused by the bright mantle made it seem like the bow stood in the air on its own.

“You can’t even hold that bow,” Xandor yelled. “You’re weak. You’re trembling!”

Ahna, forced to let go of the string, aimed it at the ground beneath her brother’s boots. The missile arrow burst at his feet in a loud blare. The blow threw Xandor into the air, who crashed further away, closer to his soldiers. When they spotted their King, they rushed to him, swords held high. As they were about to charge the archmage, they heard the warcry of the Resistance descending into the canyon.

Dark clouds of a breeding hurricane amassed above the valley. The fires of light and gloom disrupted the air, and the winds carried the haze of storms. Thamias pushed his wings to rise above the clouds as the black, scaleless dragon followed him enraged. They slashed through the air, collided claws and talons enlaced.

The soldiers in the valley looked to the sky. They saw the flashes of a battle of giants, like bolts of lightning breaching through the clouds. At an unexpected moment, the fiend hooked on Thamias’ neck and began a dive, dragging the golden dragon with it. The titans thrust through the clouds again and descended into the valley.

In a dash of full force, the void dragon opened the sails of its torn wings and curved its tail forward. Its body straightened in the air as Thamias was launched to the ground. The dive became a toss, and the golden dragon crashed into the soil below the claws of the beast. The fiend then roared victoriously. It coiled its neck backwards, and the livid light of a funeral pyre gushed from its gut to the bottom of its jaw. From the heat of the fire, its scaleless pitch-black skin oozed on the valley floor. Thamias, in a vain attempt to defend himself from the upcoming blast, tried to push the abnormity away with his talons.

But the fiend held him pinned to the mud.

As its eyes ignited with the light of a black halo, it opened its maw and disgorged a hurl of undying flames. The Dragonborn’s skin burned under the inferno. He let out a loud and painful cry. When the fire burst dissipated, the void dragon shut its jaw and soared into the sky again.

Thamias’ wings folded on themselves. The dim light of defeat pierced through his scales and once the shimmers faded, the small dokkalfar laid on the burned mud, his knees bent close to his chest. He shivered and bleated, like a man who had just stared Death in the eyes for much too long.

The Resistance fighters clashed swords with Sharr’s soldiers in the valley. They fought heroically, perilously, like they had nothing left to lose. Diego fought side by side with his comrade, Captain Aquil, the wife of his commander. They moved to a harmonic cadence of swings and slashes, and they cut through the horde like a fury of blades.

One of the rebel soldiers looked far ahead. The shattering roar of the dark fiend at the other side of the valley echoed within its walls. He then saw the void dragon rise. Before he could warn the rest of the company, the blade of Xandor Kun Sharr surprised him from the back, and tore out of his chest. The false king let the dead rebel fall to the ground and marched toward his next opponent, Commander David Falco.

The two glared at each other in the center of the battlefield.

“What kind of horror have you summoned, Commander?” Xandor asked with a thin smile.

David showed his teeth. “We’re ready to fight to the death, Sharr,” he ferociously warned. “And we will take as many of you as we can!”

“You’re outnumbered,” Xandor roared with a grin. “You have a pack of hopeless worms. I have an army!”

David charged him. “This is for Joshua!” he shouted as he swung his blade at the false king.

The two hacked back and forth as the clashes of their swords resounded in the valley. Xandor remained stern and unmoved by what David threw at him. The commander, exhausted from the hopeless battle, fell to his knees with one last slash. Xandor struck him again, and David parried desperately.

“The Resistance dies with you,” the dokkalfar prince grimly declared.

From behind the commander, Kairen saw Xandor raise his darkened blade one more time while her husband kneeled before him. She shouted. She pushed through the horde to get to them.

The rapier swung. She raced with all she had. She pierced through the flesh of another soldier to save her husband. But when Xandor’s blade disappeared behind the mass of more soldiers, Kairen collapsed to the ground.

She was pinned down by three or five dokkalfar silversteel swordsmen. They dragged her in the mud. One of them was about to strike her when the lion roar of a man-lynx warrior caught his attention. The sindur jumped the soldier, claws first, and shredded his face beyond recognition. As the other dark elves swarmed around him, Kairen stood back up.

“Luk Ma!” she exhaled as her chest heaved.

The man-lynx nodded, and Kairen turned back to run to David. She finally reached the duelling grounds when she saw Ahna. Her blade was brandished at Xandor, she stood between him and David. She had jumped to her husband’s rescue before Sharr could slice him.

When Xandor rushed to take a strike at Ahna, the loud, ghastly screech pierced through the air above them. The shadow of the undying fiend passed over them toward the edge of the canyon. When Ahna realized what was to ensue, she signaled to Kairen.

“Fallback!” the elf shouted. “Call the soldiers to retreat!” Her voice broke.

As the scaleless dragon veered toward them, Kairen understood. She ran to David, helped him up, and raised her fist. She folded her arms toward her back, urgently and repeatedly, as a signal for the troops to withdraw. David joined her and called for his men. The rebel company began to tear itself away from the horde’s grip.

Xandor shouted at his men in Dokkalfari. His silversteel soldiers rushed after the rebels toward the canyon.

Ahna stretched her arms to her sides above the ground. She focused her power on the trampled mud of the valley floor, which began to detach itself. She raised her head to pull the flare of her magic from her fingertips to her center. With all the strength she had left, Ahna hauled a mass of dirt before her. The chunks of slush merged into a massive wave in front of her, and it surged beneath Sharr’s horde. It rose upwards and spiked out of the earth, creating a soil barrier between the rebels and the dokkalfar soldiers, blocking the way of the swarm.

Ahna, weakened by this pulse of her last arcane force, collapsed to her knees. She looked up to the sky and saw the dark shadow of the fiend heading toward the rest of Sharr’s army. As she followed the bane with her eyes, she fell to her side and lost consciousness.

The slow-motion horror screeched in the sky again before its throat began to blaze once more. As it glided over Sharr’s soldiers, it projected a long stream of purplish fire onto the crowd of souls who attempted to flee.

The oozing liquid from its torn wings dripped onto the soldiers like acid rain that peeled off their armor and burned through their skin. Sharr’s soldiers fell one by one, either turned to cinders by the funeral pyre or molten into a boiled goo of flesh and bones.

Those who tried to escape away from the valley were soon overtaken by the void dragon’s fire. Those who sought cover by the cliffs were crushed under the rockslides caused by the beast’s desolating roar. At the end of the valley, the fiend turned again and grazed the bottom with unholy fire.

Only a few of Sharr’s men then remained, the rest had fallen and laid dead on the burned ground. The valley that had once been a flourishing, green veil of life had become a dark wasteland of ashes in a thick cloud of smoke. The unrecognizable carcasses of dead dokkalfar sprung from each side. The few soldiers left cried, yelled, and moaned in fear. Some, barely alive, crawled in the mud, their bodies split into different pieces, in a foolish attempt to find the rest of their limbs. In the distance, the unholy beast disappeared into the smoke.

Ahna felt the scent of burned, rotten meat around her and opened her eyes. She had to swallow in, to prevent herself from succumbing to the retching odor. As she slowly rose to her feet, she picked up a stray sword and cast a glance over the scorched battlefield. The smoke so thick covered the valley. She could not see further than the next carcass to her right.

As she ambled aimlessly, a lost dokkalfar man passed her. He ran in terror away from the tumults of the battlefield. She accidentally stepped on the torn arm of a dead silversteel soldier. The crack of the bone startled someone up ahead.

She made her way to where the tents had stood and looked around her.

Desolation.

The entire valley had been set ablaze. All that was left were corpses aflame and a slow rain of ashes. Among the debris of what had once been a golden chariot, Ahna saw the dead bodies of Xandor’s guards. And there, by the center of the encampment destroyed, she saw the figure of the Dark Lord, severely wounded, who panted on the valley floor.

When he saw her, he gasped for air. He rolled onto his knees and crawled miserably toward her. “Meriel, please...” he moaned. “Forgive me.”

As he latched onto her boot, she kicked him away ruthlessly, as if he were a stray dog who begged for meat. Xandor looked around him and began to laugh awkwardly, almost uncontrollably.

“I really wonder,” he coughed. “I really wonder where you got that horror to help your cause.” Ahna remained silent and glared at him. He continued to cough and address her at the same time. “What kind of deal did you make, and with whom?” he shouted. He laughed again as she stepped closer to him. “If you consort with the dead, then you’re no better than I am, sister!” he scowled.

“It’s over, Xandor,” she declared with a resolute, yet almost soothing voice. “Call off what’s left of your men, and we can end this peacefully,” she almost beseeched him. She gazed upon the Despot, a man of countless atrocities, but deep down, he was still her brother, and she wished to end this without more fight.

Xandor scoffed.

He struggled to rise to his feet as he stared her down. “You know as well as I how this ends, sister,” he said as he shook his head. “Peace is not an option anymore.” He then grinned with his dark, amber eyes. “But you can’t bring yourself to do it.” He looked at the blade in her hand. “Rejoice that your pathetic prophecy was right after all! But look at how much it cost you!” he exclaimed in a howl.

As they heard the footsteps of rebel soldiers up the valley, Xandor’s amber eyes turned to this dark, crimson color.

“You’re right,” Ahna began as she dropped her sword. “As much as I want you dead, I can’t bring myself to kill you. I can’t kill you.”

The false king looked ahead, to the band of rebels that marched toward them from behind the smoke. He saw his near fate before his eyes, he could almost grasp it. He was about to die at the unworthy hands of the Resistance. The rebel scourge that had tormented for half a century.

The dokkalfar Prince of Mal would not have it. He refused to bow.

From the back of his belt, he seized a small, sharp rhodium object, and clenched it within his fist. He took a long deep breath, cast one last look at his dear sister and uttered his final words.

“But I can.”

He quickly brought the needle to his neck and slit his own throat.

Ahna screamed.

The false king collapsed to the floor. The warm pool of blood flowed on the grey, scorched ground. She ran to her brother and fell to her knees by his side. As he maintained her gaze into hers, she supported his head with her hand. He coughed some blood that splattered against her black leathers. The rattles turned into a soft gurgling sound, and as she held her brother’s hand, Xandor sighed, and his head dropped to the side. Ahna gasped when her brother’s life slipped away.

She stayed a moment beside him, quiet, as the victorious rebels in the distance were coming closer to her. She looked at her brother’s face, scarred by the evil that had overtaken him long ago. In a motherlike caress, she gently closed his eyes, and she murmured, in the silence, a soft prayer.

“May the light guide you and protect you. May you find your way through the river of stars. May the Divine Justice have mercy on you, and may you find peace and absolution for the torments you’ve caused and the wounds that ached your soul. Hvíldu í fridth, brother.”

Up ahead in the thick smoke of the scorched valley, Kairen noticed an ambling figure. She called to it. The shadow emitted a soft and longing yowl.

She rejoiced, it was Luk Ma!

She rushed to him and wrapped her arms around the man-lynx. He had to protect his shoulder wound from her newfound enthusiasm.

Behind her marched David, victorious, in search of his companions. He saw Diego help Lynn get back up to his left. To his right, a band of glorious swordsmen and women embraced each other. As he marched down the valley, he saw the corpses of Sharr’s dead army. But he also saw the bodies of many brave heroes who had perished in battle.

As he strolled toward a fallen soldier, he recognized Captain Senris, the leader of the Fae. Around the vidthralfar ranger, the survivors of the Antlers mourned him. David went to the body of his old friend and honored him with a hand to his chest.

Lynn walked past many of the wounded soldiers, whom the less wounded rebels hasted to tend to. When they approached what was left of the encampment, the Taz woman spotted another rebel in the distance.

“Jules!” she shouted as she ran toward him.

By an act of divine chance, Jules had been spared from the fires of the beast. He sped toward Lynn and Diego and embraced them. He then motioned for the rest to follow him, and he led them to the dead body of Xandor Kun Sharr. The vanquished dokkalfar prince laid sprawled out on the ground, with a puddle of dried blood around his neck. Clenched in his cold hand was a small ornate needle covered in red.

David examined the lifeless body of the false king they had fought for half a century and pondered on what his death meant for the fifty-year-old movement. Survivor dokkalfar soldiers had begun to surrender to the rebels. They kneeled with their hands behind their heads, as the few Resistance fighters left came to restrain them.

David rose to his feet again. He turned around. Behind him were but two dozen rebels who carried swords and looked to him. Some of them had wounds, yet they could still stand. They expectantly looked at the commander. Kairen, who noticed David’s hesitation, came to him and clasped his hand in hers.

“We won,” she declared with a smile.

David nodded and turned to his men. With a triumphant warcry, he raised his hand in his wife’s to the sky, as a joint fist of victory. The rebels followed with their weapons brandished in the air.

Ahna walked further down the valley, where the golden dragon had last been seen descending from the sky. The cloud of smoke slowly dissipated into the air. She strolled down, calling Thamias, looking for him, hoping he was still alive. Suddenly, she spotted a frail and shivering blue elf further ahead. She ran toward him. Thamias laid on the untouched grass, recovering from his battle wounds. She called his name. She fell next to him and held him in her arms. She held him so close to her. She pressed him with all her strength against her chest.

“Thamias, you’re alive, you’re free!” she exclaimed as she placed her hands on his face.

Her little brother smiled. Tears were in his amber eyes from the emotions of their reunion. As they stayed there for a long moment, enlaced, only the calm breeze of spring whistling through the grass could be heard. The clouds in the sky grew thinner, and the rays of the sun immersed the valley in radiance again.

The Resistance had won. Xandor was defeated, and Ahna was reunited with Thamias, at last.

Behind her, she heard the voice of Kairen speak to her, “Ahna...” the red-haired woman called. “Ahna, we won.”

The archmage rose to her feet and ran to her dearest friend. The two embraced, and Jules and Diego and Lynn joined them. A few more rebels hugged each other. David remained serene and looked to Thamias. The young dokkalfar stood up and greeted the commander.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said as he bowed. “You can call me Sonny.” An innocent smile gleamed on his face.

David honored him with a military salute. “It’s a great honor, Dragonborn.”

Thamias chuckled awkwardly. His bent pointy ears reddened with a blush. He had just been set free after half a century. The idea of people praising his name had not even passed through his mind, ever once.

“David,” Ahna interrupted. “This is my brother.”

Kairen raised an eyebrow. Something she did not know about Ahna. The Dragonborn of the legends was her brother! The young dokkalfar waved at the band of rebels. David then marched to him and invited him to shake hands. When Thamias accepted the invitation, David rested his other hand on the Dragonborn’s shoulder.

“If you’re family of Ahna’s, then you are our family too,” Commander David Falco welcomed him.

Behind Ahna, a dark veil sank silently onto the bottom of the valley. The rebels looked to it, startled, fearful of what would come next.

But the shadows had begun to fade, and in its place, a tall man in black shrike’s leathers stood. He marched calmly toward Ahna as she looked to him in turn. She opened her mouth in surprise.

Cedric…

When the marksman got close to her, she gazed upon him with sincere regret in her eyes. “Cedric...” she murmured. “You...” She was lost for words.

Cedric smiled at her, but something was wrong. His eyes no longer had the cerulean light that used to shine. His skin was pale, almost livid, and what struck her at heart was that his beat no more. Yet he came close to her and dived into her gaze. His presence bore some kind of warmth she could still feel.

“You came,” she finally said, her voice broken by the tears she hid behind her eyes.

He noticed her distress and gently brought his hand to her cheek. His cold touch made her realize what this man had lost. She wanted to kneel and apologise. To beg for forgiveness. But his honest smile kept her there, with the darkness of his stare into her purple eyes.

“Whatever you’re thinking, Ahna,” he began with the most tender voice. “None of this is your fault, so don’t blame yourself.”

“I should have known!” she interrupted him.

“It was my choice,” he retorted, his cold hand now slid to her neck.

She brought her hands to his chest. She still searched for his heartbeat, but he clutched her wrist.

“I can fix this, Cedric,” she assured. “Just give me some time.”

He shook his head in disagreement. “This one, I don’t think you can fix.” He paused for a solemn moment. “Whatever this is, whatever I’m feeling, I can’t explain.” He looked deeper into her eyes, almost reaching her soul. “I am calm and serene, but a thousand voices are screaming in my head. They’re clawing through the walls of my mind, and I don’t know how long I can hold them back.”

Ahna remained silent. A tear ran along her cheek, which Cedric immediately removed.

“There’s a darkness, Ahna,” he pursued. “And when I look at you, it makes me want to suck the life out of your tempting lips.” He looked away for a second as he said these words. “But right now, Ahna, I can control the urge...” He pulled her face closer to him, and his cold lips locked with hers in a soft and tender kiss. He inhaled deeply as it took him all his willpower to pull himself back.

He pushed her back carefully, to protect her from what he had become.

“Where will you go?” Ahna finally asked, trembling.

Cedric looked to the mountain behind her and behind the rebels, above the valley of Orgna.

“Somewhere far from here,” he declared. “Somewhere as far from the city as possible.”

He then looked over Ahna at Commander Falco, who stared at him in fearful awe. His eyes met Kairen’s, Diego’s, and Lynn’s, and finally, Jules’. He nodded to the people who had once been his brothers and sisters in arms. He smiled at his lieutenant.

“You take care of them for me, handsome!” he called.

Jules did not know what to say.

Cedric then looked at Thamias. He gave him a simple nod, perhaps as a recognition of the battle of titans they had fought. The young dokkalfar just stared back at him with dismay.

The captain of the Shrike Wing, no longer the same, eventually looked back to David and greeted him with a military salute.

“To your victory, Commander.”

Cedric then took a few steps back. He gazed into Ahna’s purple gemstones one more time and cherished the moment for a little while.

The marksman then looked into the sky, and the skin of his face began to crackle into dust. His body was covered with a dark veil of shadows to which he succumbed entirely. The gloom ashes of his faded body then merged into the majestic horror of a black scaleless dragon. The beast soared into the sky and ascended toward the high mountains of Gurdal. Ahna looked back and fixed the void dragon until he was no longer in sight. Her eyes then laid over Kairen and David and her dear friends. She smiled at them, with regretful grief, but also with the light of a new victory. Commander David Falco and Captain Kairen Aquil smiled back.

Later, after a long rest above the valley near a little brook, those who could still travel would make their way back to Fort Gal, to alert the rest of the Resistance that the fight had been won. The elders and children, civilians and other refugees, would then march down the mountain to rejoin the brave rebel warriors.

The band of heroes walked the Bravan fields together with the people of an entire movement. They were exhausted from the final fight, and all were scarred by the many years of rebellion. But as they marched with pride, with the triumphant endurance of a new dawn, they made their way to the capital. The time called for a new age. An era of freedom. A revolution to be engraved in the history of Bravoure until the end of time.

* * *

1363:AV, Anno Varkadia, the Resistance has won.

After the Final Battle the spring before, the rebels seized the city. They threw Lord Sharr’s body on the footsteps of Bravoure’s central plaza. The few dokkalfar guards left to patrol the capital surrendered when the rebels rallied the freed people.

A full moon later, Mother Divine was appointed as interim leader of Bravoure. Her task was to restore the order, help rebuild the city, and heal the spirit of its humble citizens.

After her duty, Bravoure would set out to adopt a new administration: a democracy. No more kings and queens. No more castes, no more nobility, and no more aristocracy that divided Bravoure in the past. No more discrimination based on difference, but a regime that unites people as one.

The scorched Magi Academy of Bravoure was restored by Archmage Meriel Ahn Arkamai, whom most referred to only as Ahna. She rebuilt the Academy together with the people. She sought to absolve the magi who had joined the Dark Lord and give them a second chance.

The Congregation, home of the Five Orders of Light, was in the hands of five different clerics from each order, who became known as the Red Cardinals, for their long scarlet alb embroidered with gold.

The dokkalfar civilians in the city were given a chance to return to the Dwellunder, or to accept Bravoure’s revolution. Most retreated, but the prosperous south-west was taken as an example to rebuild the rest of the city.

Trade with the neighboring land of Galies recommenced, and with a bit of their benevolent help, the capital became the city of gold it had once been again. Devoted artisans who had lived oppressed for so long even volunteered to help rebuild the mines of Orgna! Nature by the mines quickly reconquered the valley floor and the grass was now greener than it had ever been.

For now, the throne of Bravoure remained untouched, until the elections of a new leader.

Ahna sat by the window of her temporary quarters in the Bravan castle. She had a view on the stables in the courtyard, on Bark, her jolly brown horse who munched on some hay. The sun was setting, and its golden light shone over the plains in the distance.

After the Resistance’s victory, she had gone to Miggdra, to a family of locals she knew. She had gifted them her little stone house, which they now used as an extension to their farm. Her new home was here, in Bravoure city, alongside her brother and her sister and friend Kairen.

As she pondered on the Magi Academy’s possible futures, she heard a knock on her door. When she invited the visitor to enter, Thamias stepped into her room.

“Kyær’ natta, dear brother!” she greeted him as she hugged him.

He told her of his day as they sat together by the window ledge. They talked, they laughed together, they remembered their mother. She disclosed some of her plans for the Academy, and how she would go on a quest to search for more magi. Some must still be out there! As she spoke of her plans, Thamias remembered something from the distant past.

“Meriel, I had to tell you something before...” he hesitated. “Before Xandor captured me.” Ahna, intrigued by what Thamias had just said, leaned closer to him. She searched his amber eyes for a hint of the story he wanted to tell. “It’s about Luthan.” Ahna’s heart stopped, and she rounded her eyes. She motioned for Thamias to continue. “I was supposed to tell you, but I never made it back to you. I’m so sorry!”

Thamias’ distress was hushed by Ahna’s gentle caress. “Thamias, just tell me.”

“Luthan may be alive, Meriel.”

Ahna gasped. How could this be...

Thamias proceeded to explain. “Before the cleansing order, the Dean ordered Luthan to take as many magi as he could to Antaris.”

“Antaris? That city was destroyed by Xandor. There’s nothing left, only ruins. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Thamias shook his head. He pursed his lips to think. “Luthan was going to take you with him. He searched for you. Everywhere. But you were gone, so he told me.” Ahna turned to the nothingness and stared silently. “When I found out Xandor had captured you, it was too late.”

“What were you supposed to tell me?” Ahna inquired.

“Luthan wanted you to meet him outside the city,” her brother replied. “So you’d go to Antaris together. I’m not sure what he meant to do, but he said something...”

“Something what?” Ahna urgently interrupted.

“Something about...making the city disappear?”

Ahna gasped again.

For the past fifty years, she believed the man of her life to be dead. She was sure he had been killed by Xandor himself during the cleansing of magi. Now, after what Thamias had just said, her whole history took a different turn.

She thanked Thamias for his revelation. When her brother left the room, she stared outside the window, at the moon that looked upon her in the dark of the night. Despite the peace and quiet that finally rested over the city, her heart raced. She had no idea what she would do next, but she was sure of one thing. She needed to find Luthan, and she would certainly start at the ruins of Antaris.

* * *

Far beyond the Bravan fields and valleys, above the lowlands and deep into the high mountains of Gurdal, there was an ancient temple destined to welcome dragonborns. They say the four winds of Bravoure hummed and sang between the columns, and at night, the altar’s Draconis words were lit by the shimmer of the stars.

By the ledge, close to the temple, over the cliff facing north, stood a dark, cold figure of Death herself. He was quiet, still, almost as silent as the ice that surrounded him. The flesh of his face had begun to decay, yet he felt no pain. The rotting of the meat around his arms had been forestalled. It had transformed into rigid tissue, unchanged by time that had passed in Gurdal. Only his pale dead eyes remained alive in their hollow orbit.

Behind him, he suddenly heard the ambling footsteps of a lost soul, or more of a lost vessel. He turned to face a dead figure of a decomposing corpse that strolled toward him. Behind the horror, a dozen more walked the path to the Temple of the Four Winds. Some wore armor, some bore swords, and some, despite their ability to crawl, missed some of their limbs. They groaned silently as they made their way at his feet.

To his pleasant surprise, he felt no fear. Actually, he felt little to nothing anymore. When a pack of more dozens of these wanderers amassed, to their knees, before him, Cedric gazed upon them as a master would his disciples. The smell could have been unbearable, yet he was unmoved. As he turned back to the northern mounts, the void dragon spread his torn wings wide, and his army of the dead walking screeched in contagious awe.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank some precious people who were part of this wonderful journey:

My dear friend Yuliya, who not only was my first reader, but also my logic-check, my plot hole finder, and most of all, who read and reread my story multiple times and stayed all the way from Day One until the end.

My mind-twin Janina, who dreamed with me of stories, and who inspired and motivated me to finally start writing.

Vincent, who read me my story before going to bed.

Chantal, my business partner in cybercrime, who decided to take on the task of supporting my writing aspirations.

My editor Elizabeth Hess. It was an interesting ride, but we did it, and I learned so much!

My Dungeons and Dragons party, the Murder Hobos, with whom I could share adventures like but not quite as crucial as Ahna and the Resistance.

Bipin, my favourite storyteller, who even with a ton of work on his hands, took some time to support me and my writing.

Shen and Elise, who bought me a typewriter for my birthday because "I cannot be a writer without a typewriter."

Chaïma, who has known me since I first wanted to write this book.

And finally, all RPG game designers out there, power and symphonic metal bands, artists like Audiomachine, Thomas Bergersen, Les Friction, Immediate, Hidden Citizens, and more, whose creations and music carried me to different worlds where my imagination could rise to its full potential.

About the Author

Valena is a computer scientist from Amsterdam, The Netherlands, but programming is not her only passion. She started writing short stories at a young age, first in French, then she quickly switched to English in her teenage years. Her dream has always been to publish an epic fantasy novel, so she kicked off with Kingdom Ascent, the first book of the Tempest of Bravoure series. By doing so, she fulfils the promise she made to her child-self. As an avid gamer, Dungeon and Dragons player, Star Trek/Wars/Gate fan, and metalhead, she has had all the sources she needed to invent alternate realms that derive from all we know about life, the universe, and everything.

Table of Contents

- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Map of Terra
- Map of Bravoure
- 1. Echoes of Rebellion
- 2. Welcome to Orgna
- 3. The Resistance
- 4. Sabotage
- 5. The Magi Situation
- 6. Solstice of Spring
- 7. Prophecy
- 8. Bane
- 9. The Golden City
- 10. Dragonborn
- 11. The Battle of Orgna
- 12. Fort Gal
- 13. Prophecy Be Damned!
- 14. Dragonborn II
- 15. Brace
- 16. We Die Free
- 17. Beast of War
- 18. Beast of War II
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author