Epheria is a land divided by war and mistrust. The High Lords of the south squabble and fight, only kept in check by the Dragonguard, traitors of a time long past, who serve the empire of the North. In the remote villages of southern Epheria, still reeling from the tragic loss of his brother, Calen Bryer prepares for The Proving—a test of courage and skill that not all survive.
Grand Consul Karsen Craine stared silently out the iron slatted window, his bony, liver-spotted hands clasped together at his back, pulling at the fabric of his green robes. Karsen Craine was a dangerous man. A man of unshakable conviction. He had been there, at The Fall, and had lived many centuries before that. He was old blood, even then.
But as Farda stood, awaiting Karsen Craine's reply, he felt something that had not stirred in him for as long as he could remember: fear. A deep, tangible fear. It was not fear for his own life; death would have been a welcome relief. It was fear for Ella.
"She is here?" The words left the Grand Consul's throat like rusty nails dragged across iron. The man's eyes narrowed as he turned. "In this keep?"
"She is." Farda could have lied, and it would have given Ella some time. But he had sent letters, so the Grand Consul knew Farda had been chasing her, and he knew that she had arrived in Antiquar only a few weeks earlier. The empire would not willingly let go of the sister of the Draleid. She was too valuable a tool.
But most of all, Karsen Craine would not have believed him. The Grand Consul was not a trusting man. And he was well known for torturing those who lied to him. Farda didn't fear torture. It was a difficult thing to fear when he hadn't felt the sting of pain in centuries. But Craine knew of the things Farda had lost when he became Broken. The Grand Consul would not bother to flay him or burn him. He would leave Farda to rot in a cell, chained so he could not take his own life, where the centuries would eat away at his mind. That was the kind of man Karsen Craine was.
"Where, precisely?"
Farda hesitated, only for a moment, but it was enough for Craine's expression to change. "She is with Tanner Fjorn."
"The High Captain of the Beronan guard? Interesting indeed. We will take her tonight while she sleeps. There is no reason to make a scene in daylight."
"It will be done, Grand Consul."
The old man laughed, a deep cackling laugh, phlegm catching in his throat. "Not at all, Farda. You cannot be trusted."
"I have served this empire since the—"
"I know damn well how long," Craine roared, threads of Spirit and Air amplifying his voice. The old man was powerful. It was a wonder he was not chosen to be a Battlemage, though the bloodlines were stronger in his time. "I was there when you were selected to train with The Order. I was there when your dragon hatched. And I was there when Aeson Virandr drove a sword through that beast's skull. I know every inch of your broken little mind."
Farda did everything he could to force back a snarl. The old man had intended to anger him, and Farda would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he succeeded. There were very few things that elicited any true emotions from him anymore, but Shinyara was his heart. She had been everything that was good in him.
Farda dipped his hand into his pocket, running his fingers around the edge of the gold coin, feeling the embossed symbols on each side. Keeping his eyes fixed on Craine, Farda removed the coin from his pocket, immediately flicking it into the air.
"That infernal coin," Craine snarled.
Farda ignored the old man as the coin thumped into the hardened skin on the palm of his hand. He glanced down. Crowns. Not today, then.
"You are to leave with the Fourth Army."
The old man's words grabbed Farda's attention. If the Fourth army was mobilising, then the situation was far worse than he had anticipated. "The Fourth Army? To where?"
"You march for Fort Harken before sundown."
"Through the night? Can it not wait until we have the light of the sun at our backs?"
"No." Craine turned back towards his desk, snatching a piece of folded parchment that he then stuffed into Farda's hand. "It seems it cannot."
Farda peeled open the worn parchment.
Grand Consul Karsen Craine,
We require urgent reinforcements. One night past, the Uraks burned all the land that surrounded the fort, slaughtering all who inhabited it. Since then, they have held a blockade of sorts. Each night, they assault the walls, testing our strength. I fear it will not be long before they throw their full might against us. The scouts have reported the Uraks number near twenty thousand strong, and there have been sightings of larger beasts that glow with a red light – monsters, is how they've been described. Though I'm not sure I believe them, I have seen stranger things of late.
No matter, we will hold. For the people.
Battalion Commander Furst Urnell, Fort Harken
"Bloodmarked," Farda hissed, folding the paper back up and handing it to Craine, who was watching him with calculating eyes.
"Indeed. Do you not wish to extract a blood debt for what the creatures did to the dragon eggs at Ilnaen?"
"That debt has been paid," Farda snarled.
"Has it?"
"No." Anger peeled through Farda at the mention of the dragon eggs. Fane and Eltoar had said the dragon eggs would not be harmed in the sacking of Ilnaen. That it was part of the alliance with the Uraks. But the beasts broke that alliance, and so Fane had burned them with the city. But the debt those creatures owed was not something that could ever be erased. "I thought I could not be trusted?"
"With the girl," Craine croaked, the corner of his lip pulling upward. "Being a Justicar grants you certain liberties to do things your own way. But that does not include traipsing around like a lovesick puppy. The girl should have been hauled here in shackles, screaming for relief. What were you thinking? You cannot be trusted."
Farda gritted his teeth. The Grand Consul was right. There was more to it than that, but at the heart of it, he was right. Ella was a weakness, and weakness was something he could not afford. Weakness needed to be burned out like an infection before it could take hold. "The Fourth Army will be outside the city walls within the hour."
Faenir shifted at Ella's feet, the fur on his back prickling against her leg. Ella barely noticed, her raw red eyes lost in the flames of Tanner's fireplace. She tugged at the heavy blanket that hung around her shoulders, pulling it in to her chest. She wasn't cold, but the weight of it comforted her.
When Tanner had said Rhett's name out loud, something in her just gave way, like a rotten beam holding up a house. Nobody had said Rhett's name out loud since he had died. Again, tears burned at the corner of Ella's eyes, accompanied by the dull, throbbing headache that always accompanied tears.
"Drink this," Tanner said with a soft sigh, handing Ella a small crystal glass that held a mellow brown liquid. "It's brandy, the best Berona has to offer."
Ella held the glass to her nose. It didn't smell as potent as the spirits Lasch Havel sold at The Gilded Dragon.
"It won't bite you." Tanner laughed, sitting in a padded leather chair across from her, beside the fire. He pulled his own glass to his lips, inhaling deeply, a smile spreading across his face, then took a sip of the brandy. "Aged for twenty years in oak barrels. Any longer is just a waste in my opinion."
Ella lifted the glass to her lips; they were chapped, as though she had weathered the harshest of winds. The brown liquid soothed her senses as it hit her tongue. It burned a little, but mostly it tasted of dried fruits and of how cherry blossoms smelled. She wasn't sure if that made sense, but it did in her head. Either way, it was a far cry from the Wyrm's Blood she had bought from the sailors in Antiquar.
"You like it then?"
"I do, thank you."
An easy silence hung in the room as they sipped at the brandy, letting the crackling fire warm their skin.
"How did my nephew die?"
The sudden question caught Ella off guard, and she could see that even Tanner himself was a little surprised by his bluntness.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean it to upset you."
"It's all right," Ella replied, wiping away a budding tear with her index finger. "He was killed… on the road to Gisa, by empire soldiers."
"He was what?" Tanner's eyes widened in shock. "Why would Lorian soldiers want to kill Rhett? Was he in some kind of trouble? He should have told me – I could have done something."
"No, he was not in any kind of trouble. Rhett was not that kind of man. He was sweet and kind, and he helped anyone who needed it…"
"That does sound like him." Tanner smiled, gazing into the fire. "But then, what happened?"
Ella's throat felt as though it were about to close, and an aching pain thrummed in her head. She held the glass of brandy in both hands, attempting to still the tremble that shook through her.
Tanner's expression turned from a look of sadness into a narrowed gaze, his eyes fixing on Ella. "Ella, my dear, what are you not telling me?"
"They wanted me. Not him. They knew me by name. They… they…" Ella's shoulders convulsed as tears burned her eyes. She wanted them to stop, she wanted to talk to Tanner, but she had no control.
Tanner lifted himself out of his chair, his hands coming to rest on Ella's shoulders. "It's all right. You're safe. It's all right." Leaning in, he wrapped his arms around her, his voice calm and level in her ear. "Ella, I need you to tell me what happened exactly as it happened. I need to know what we are dealing with."
It took a few minutes before Ella was able to regain any sort of composure. But eventually her shoulders stopped shaking, and she was able to stem the flow of tears, though her eyes continued to sting, and the pounding headache redoubled its efforts to bore a hole through her skull. Taking her time, stopping whenever agony or sorrow threatened to overcome her, Ella told Tanner everything that had happened on the road to Gisa and how she had marked Rhett's grave.
Tanner didn't interrupt her; he simply stayed silent and listened. When she was finished, he let out a long breath. "Ella, I must ask you a question." The sombre tone in the man's voice set a knot in Ella's stomach. "Why were you travelling with Farda Kyrana?"
"He is the only reason I am here. They wouldn't let Faenir onto the ship from Gisa—" A sudden realisation swept across Ella's mind. "Gisa, the tickets! I promise I will pay you back. I can't right now, but I will find a way, I'll—"
Tanner held his hand up in the air. "The money is not important anymore. Farda Kyrana is one of the most dangerous men you will ever have the misfortune of knowing, and he cares about nothing but his own whims. I need to know what he said to you, Ella."
"I… Why?"
"Because if that man has taken an interest in you, it is for a reason. And I have never seen a person come out on the good side of things once Farda has taken an interest in them. I believe he knows precisely who you are. I'm just not sure why he would care or why anyone would be looking for a girl from the villages in the South. It doesn't make any sense."
"He saved my life."
Tanner raised an eyebrow at that, leaning backward.
"In a town southwest of here, Farrenmill. It was overrun. The Uraks… if Farda had not been there, we would not have gotten out alive." Ella's hand fell to Faenir, who shook his head, a low rumble emanating from his chest.
"I see." The look of concern on Tanner's face was clear as he rose to his feet. "All right. For now, I will show you to a room. You try and get some rest. I'll ask around. I have a few friends who might be able to shed some light on why the soldiers were looking for you in the first place."
Tanner let out a sigh of exhaustion as he leaned back in his chair, the leather squeaking as it accommodated his frame. Reaching for the crystal flask of brandy, he poured himself another glass, then drained it in one mouthful before pouring another.
The girl had been through a lot. His heart bled for her, but ached at the same time. His nephew was dead. Rhett was dead. The last time he had seen Rhett, the boy was no more than fifteen summers. He had been a strong lad, even then. He had a tender sweetness to him. What was Tanner going to tell his brother? It was he who had given Rhett those tickets. He took another mouthful of brandy, running his free hand through his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp.
As much as it pained him, he could deal with his guilt later; the girl needed him now.
He could think of a handful of people off the top of his head who might know why the soldiers had been looking for Ella by name. But if Farda was involved, that narrowed the list quite a bit – there were few who held sway over the Justicars. Lifting the glass of brandy to his lips, Tanner closed his eyes, letting the sweet flavours sit on his tongue for a moment before swallowing.
With a sigh, he set the glass on his desk and stuffed his hand into his pocket, feeling the rough surface of the parchment he had been looking for. Removing the letter from his pocket, Tanner held it out in front of him, pausing for a moment before unfolding it.
T,
I trust you are well. It has been some time since we last spoke, but I hold fast that your convictions remain the same. There is a new dawn on the horizon, and mountains must be moved so that we may see its light. And with the dawn comes the birth of a new sun. One that was hoped for, but not expected. Should you wish to see this new sun, then burn the candle and let the birds sing.
A
Tanner ran his tongue across the front of his teeth as he read the letter over three times. With particular care, he folded the letter and slipped it back into his pocket – he didn't trust leaving it anywhere else, and he couldn't burn it there. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the table and held his face in his hands, cupping his fingers over his nose, then pressing them into his skin as he dragged them down to his chin.
He drained the last of the brandy in his glass, then poured another, larger this time.
Part of him had never expected to receive that letter. But if he was honest with himself, he always knew it would come. Tanner remembered the night he first met Aeson Virandr. The man had stood before him, surrounded by the bodies of imperial soldiers, wreathed in spirals of flame.
On that night, Tanner had been sent to a village just north of Copperstille, along with about thirty men. He'd been given orders to burn the village to the ground for refusing to pay its tithes. When he got there and refused to comply with his orders, his commander had chained him to a post, to watch 'what real soldiers did'.
That was the night he decided he did not want to be a 'real soldier'.