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Radiant Lights

Eric Schieber

Prologue

“Is everything in place?” Harzish asked, looking up from the massive sword that lay across his Formatted: Indent: First line: 0.5"
lap.
“Yes,” Raix said, “I believe so.” He stood to the left, leaning against the earthen wall. He fastened
a steel gauntlet to his hand that matched the rest of the armor covering his body. A helmet rested at his
feet.
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The streams in this area flowed with black water and the hills and plains were covered in a thick
darkness. It even covered the mountain they had climbed. There was no escaping it in this forlorned place.
Harzish looked down at his weapon. The runes along the center of the blade carried a faint glow.
“What of the transcriptions?” he asked, turning to look at Yekal.
Yekal was the oldest and the wisest of the lot, but it was not age that made someone a leader.
Being a leader was a position appointed by the Almighty. It may not manifest in quite the same way as
healing, strength, or the other giftings, but it was a special quality not everyone possessed.
Many kings across the world sat on thrones, but they lacked the blessing for the position. They
took the positions from their own will, their own power. Their own strength. Such a shame they couldn‟t
see how their ways were rooted in pride.
Yekal turned to face Harzish. A line of cobalt runes ran down his left cheek from the temple to
the jawline. Each of the seven members carried their own set of intricate tattoos that signified their
different abilities granted from the Almighty. Each of their tattoos were placed on a different part of the
body, mostly arms and legs. Like the other six, Yekal considered Harzish their leader.
“Each of our three disciples have started transcribing,” Yekal said as he tied a long sheath to his
belt. “That makes twenty-one people forging copies of our writings. As each copy is completed, it is to be
distributed among the people. They are instructed to continue this process for at least the next few
generations. Hopefully this will allow the divine truth to stretch to the ends of the earth.”
“I assume you instructed each to copy word for word and not insert their own ideas or translations
of passages? And if so, that it be a footnote for reference, not stated as fact?”
“Of course,” Yekal said, sliding his blade lined with runes into its sheath. “The last thing we need
is for people to distort the holy words we heard from the Almighty. The world will be in grave trouble if
they start worshipping us.”
“Indeed,” a gentler voice came from the right. Isabel took a few more steps and stopped beside
Harzish where she swept the rock free of dust and loose dirt before sitting. The blackness didn‟t leave, of
course. It couldn‟t. This entire region had died many years ago. “My disciples have been instructed to
follow true doctrine and to eliminate any false teachings that may arise. They are to teach their disciples
to do the same.”
“Mine too,” Raix said as he fastened the other gauntlet. “They all have.”
Harzish nodded, glancing back to his blade.
“Are you okay?” Isabel asked. She placed a hand on his arm and leaned her head against the
pauldron covering his shoulder.
“Yes.” Harzish said as he ran a steel gauntlet through her blonde curls. It wasn‟t the most
romantic thing, but with how long it took to remove armor, it would have to do. “I‟m just beginning to
feel the weight of our mission, is all.”
Isabel smiled, her grip tightening. They were the only two in the group of seven to be married.
Marriage was not illegal among their Order. In fact, it was considered a blessing. There was a special
blessing for singleness and another for marriage.
“Yes,” Deisai said. “It‟s a surprising amount of weight to be carrying the fate of the entire human
race on your shoulders, isn‟t it?”
Harzish chuckled. “Do you not feel any of it?”
“Of course. We all do. But we are not leading this expedition. You are. Just as the blessings flow
from the leader down, so does the weight and stress of responsibility.”
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Harzish frowned. So much weight, he thought, looking to his faithful companions. They had
followed him nearly to the end of the world to vanquish this evil. Who was he to deserve such loyalty?
“It‟s time,” Isabel said, rising to her feet. She placed a helmet with a long white plume on her
head—completing her outfitting—then grabbed her shield and longsword, the runes glowed faintly.
After running two gauntleted hands through his short, black hair, Harzish rose to his feet, armored
sabatons and greeves clanking. This better work, he thought. He sighed and placed his helmet over his
head. With his hearing muffled, Harzish placed the edge of his blade on one of his pauldrons and stepped
in line behind Raix.
Raix paused at the mouth of the cave. He turned to face Harzish. “If we don‟t make it out of
there, it‟s truly been a pleasure exploring the mysteries of the Almighty with you.”
“We won‟t die, Raix. The Almighty won‟t let us. Justice must win.”
“Yes, yes. And it will. Never once have we been abandoned, which is why we‟re here, right? And
we can‟t abandon humanity when it needs us most.” With that, Raix nodded, raised his sword and shield,
and entered the cave. The light from the runed blade glowed and lit his path. A moment later, he
disappeared around a corner.
Harzish shook his head. He closed the faceplate of his helmet as he stepped into the darkness of
the cave. Even with his giant, runed sword, the cavern remained void of color and life.
He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. Even though it was a deep black, the path they
traveled—every curve of the mountain—could be seen. It was strange how everything was the same
shade of black, yet somehow distinctly visible.
Who would we be if we abandoned those in need?
Harzish turned and rounded the corner, armor clanking loudly as he rushed to catch up to Raix.
He didn‟t even try to move stealthily. There wasn‟t a point. This evil knew they were coming. It had
supernatural eyes that searched everywhere at all times.
That very power could be felt now. Harzish closed his eyes, trying to discern its source. Different
pulses of energy could be seen within his mind‟s eye. “Right,” he said. “I can feel it.”
Raix turned and led the group that direction.
They continued onward for some time, using the glow from their weapons to navigate deeper into
the cavern. After each twist and turn, Harzish could feel the power growing stronger. It was a deep, dark
evil that carried a strange weight. It felt like hatred, anger. Death.
Something shifted. In the distance, tendrils of smoke floated near the edge of their light. Raix
shifted his shield upward, crouching into a defensive stance, swinging his longsword. As his blade sliced
through the tendril, something screamed and the mist flexed backward.
He‟s here, Harzish thought. “Charge in,” he said to Raix.
Raix paused, glancing at Harzish.
“Trust me. Go. Now!”
Raix snapped into motion, rushing deeper into the cavern with the shield raised to cover his face.
The deeper he ran the slower he moved. Something unseen was creating some sort of tension.
An arrow as brilliant as the sun arced across the cavern. It pierced into something made of smoke,
something not entirely material. Whatever it was let loose an earsplitting scream. The sound echoed down
the vast number of tunnels beneath the mountainside. This room was so large in fact, that the ceiling was
not even slightly visible; the walls seemed to go on forever, or at least past the end of the torch-like glow
the weapons produced.
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“You cannot stop the darkness,” a voice said, so ominous and distorted it made hairs stand on
end.
Harzish ran forward, metal sabatons sending chunks of loose dirt into the air. A group of smoky
tendrils gathered before him, forming into a human-like figure. It was rare that one of these creatures
acquired enough power to walk on its own.
Rushing forward, Harzish lifted his blade with two hands and spun. With quick feet placement, he
continued to spin, putting the momentum behind the blade. The Shadow creature raised an arm and a
section of the ground followed, creating a blackened earthen shield.
The greatsword in Harzish‟s hand sliced through the barrier with ease. It crumbled to the ground
as the blade continued onward. The creature, however, had already stepped to the side and used the debris
as a distraction for an attack of its own.
Harzish ducked as an arm with sharp, bony protrusions moved his way. Avoiding the hit, he
continued forward, swinging upward with his sword. The blade only caught the edge of the creature‟s leg,
but that was enough to force a cry of pain. Smoke poured from the wound.
An arrow flew past Harzish, piercing deep into the thing‟s chest. Another scream followed.
Other screams echoed throughout the chamber.
Looking around, Harzish saw his comrades engaged against creatures of their own. There were
six enemies in total. The only person not directly engaged in melee combat was Mordrel who preferred to
pepper enemies at a distance. With his keen eye and swift hands, he was able to weave magic with a bow
in a way that no other could match.
May the Almighty help us, Harzish thought. He turned toward his opponent just in time to see
another attack forming. He stepped to the left and swung his greatsword. The weapon was much lighter
than it appeared, most of the damage came from the magic within the runes along the blade rather than
sharpness or the power of the swing, though those were both still important.
The creature he fought stepped forward, swinging violently. Each swipe of its arms pulled jagged
sections of earth out of the cavern‟s floor. Harzish danced around the attacks, doing his best to keep his
balance as he moved deeper into the cave.
Eventually, the assault stopped as an arrow pierced into the smoke-creature‟s face between its
two smoldering eyes. It screamed, raising two hands to grip the projectile. As its claw-like fingers
wrapped around the glowing shaft, it screamed even louder. The arrow was slowly ripped free. Smoke
poured from the wound. With the arrow removed, the creature faded into a mass of smoke that
disappeared into the openness above.
Harzish smiled, heat from his heavy breathing filling his helmet. He turned to see how everyone
else was holding up, but suddenly something hit the backplate of his armor incredibly hard, sending him
to the ground. The impact from the fall knocked the blade from his hands.
He rolled just in time to avoid being crushed by a mass of smoke. It was far thicker and stronger
than the Shadow creatures were. Arrows dotted its thick scales of skin where Mordrel had tried to keep
this thing at bay, but it was too late. Mul‟Drak was taking its form.
Harzish scrambled to his feet, mumbling beneath his breath. As he did so, the inside of his helmet
reflected the light burning in his eyes as a separate bright light formed in his left hand. It continued to
grow size and potency as the soft spoken chant continued. The brilliancy illuminated the cavern, revealing
a massive creature.
Coils of smoke continued to coalesce as far as the eye could see. The more of the cavern that was
revealed, the farther the creature‟s body appeared to stretch. The whole chamber was filled with its body.
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With black smoldering eyes nearly the size of a two-story tavern, Mul‟Drak raised its head and opened its
mouth, revealing a line of jagged teeth made of smoke. Tendrils wisped behind its every move.
Harzish reached into his pack and pulled out a white, diamond-shaped stone. He lifted it into the
air with both hands. The stone started to glow bright white as a gentle breeze rustled through the cavern,
forcing the smoke to flicker.
Another light stepped up beside Harzish. It was Raix. He had defeated the Shadow he fought and
now stood side by side with Harzish, joining the chanting, holding a stone of his own. Isabel stepped to
the other side of Harzish, stone raised upward and glowing. Mordrel stepped beside her as he joined the
chanting.
Mul‟Drak roared, sending a wave of sound that shook bits of the walls and rocks to the ground. It
lurched its head back like a snake, then snapped forward, mouth open wide. It could easily swallow one
of them, two or three if the angle were right. The maw collided against a barrier, sending sparks of white
light scattering about the room.
Mul‟Drak cocked its head as it stared at what just happened. Then it lurched forward only to slam
into the barrier again. Two gigantic claws swiped forward. They, too, scraped against the barrier, sending
streams of sparks showering to the ground. It was strangely beautiful.
Another roar echoed through the chamber. The ground shook and more rocks fell.
“Hold,” Harzish shouted, then returned to mumbling the incantation. The wind started to pick up.
He could feel it beating against his neck beneath his helmet.
Deisai joined the line a few seconds later. With the last of the seven chanting in unison, their
lights grew brighter and brighter, seemingly fusing together. Had the group of seven not had prior
exposure to magic, they would have gone blind from the light.
The creature continued a series of roars. Each roar sent chunks of earth falling from the walls and
ceiling. Each roar brought the cavern closer to collapsing.
It‟s working, Harzish thought. Despite the dizziness settling into his mind, he couldn‟t help but
smile. It was actually working.
Sparks continued to shower the seven companions as they mumbled in unison. The lights they
held in their hands had grown so large it was difficult to see where one ended and the other began.
“You cannot stop the darkness,” Mul‟Drak shouted, slamming into the barrier again, forcing an
immense amount of sparks to shower the floor. “The darkness has been here since the beginning, long
before your kind stepped into the world. Long before your kind ever took a breath. And it will be here
long after you die.”
Harzish laughed as he swayed from dizziness. He couldn‟t help it• —the effect was
unavoidable—but he forced his body to focus and harness the power the Almighty granted. Air whipped
violently against his chest.
“My darkness, my touch, has spread to all the realms of this world,” Mul‟Drak said. “This petty
show of light will do nothing to stop that. Mankind cannot be restored. Their desires are too strong.
They—”
The cavern exploded with light.
When Harzish opened his eyes, everything was black. He felt pain in his back where he had
slammed against the wall after the explosion, so he knew he wasn‟t dead. At least, he better not be. This
would not be an interesting afterlife.
He leaned over and felt his muscles scream in pain, but he couldn‟t stop from laughing. Laughter
was something that happened when powerful amounts of magic were harnessed.
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Harzish teetered, nearly falling over. And he would have had his back not been resting against the
wall. His mind was in no shape to lift his body. Not that he would know where to go anyway. The entire
chamber was pitch black. Their weapons no longer glowed.
He lifted a hand and mumbled to himself. A small light, no larger than a candle, formed in his
shaking hand. He lifted it and surveyed the area as his body swayed back and forth. No mists filled the
cavern. All smoke had vanished. The stones each knight held had dissolved away.
“It… it... it worked,” Harzish muttered. It took a few moments to form the syllables correctly.
Satisfied, he let the light fade from his hand
“Ye… ye… yes.” Isabel said. Her voice not far to the right. “It d… d… did.” Her voice drew
closer.
Laughter filled the room from the group of seven, each trying to form words but unable to
produce the correct sounds.
After a few moments, something plopped to the ground next to Harzish. He felt the soft, familiar
hand of Isabel grip his own.
“You… were… were… right,” she said. Her speech was becoming more scattered as she
struggled to pronounce words.
Harzish shook his head. Not that Isabel could see it, but she could probably hear the metal armor
scraping. “The Almighty… was… was… right to send… the… the dream.”
“How long… will Mul‟Drak be b… b… bound?”
“As long… as long,” Harzish paused and took a deep breath, trying to fight against the pleasure
that magic brought. “As long as humanity does what‟s right.”

Discipline before honor.

Chapter 1

One thousand nine hundred eighty-seven years later.

Aaron Bardeaux sat on a chair, hands tucked behind the back support, bound by rope. The room was dark,
lit by a single candle resting on a round table to his right. A secretary sat there and recorded his answers
on a piece of parchment with a quill.
“Long time no see, Aaron,” a man said. He had a big, bushy mustache that curled up on the ends
with a tiny patch of hair nestled between the bottom lip and his chin.
“Thomas,” Aaron said, nodding. “I like what you‟ve done with the place. It‟s very dark, daunting
even. Real criminal like.”
“We were just roaming the streets,” Thomas said, ignoring the comment, “and wouldn‟t you
know who we stumbled upon? We‟ve been looking for you for some time. Strange we would find you
during the Festival of Lights.”
“Well, you know, I couldn‟t go very long without seeing your face. It‟s just so… rugged.”
Thomas stared at Aaron flatly. “It‟s time to collect on your debt.”
“Ah. I knew you weren‟t just wanting a visit,” Aaron said, smiling.
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Thomas threw a backhand. The ring on his finger caught Aaron's lip and drew blood.
“What was that for?” Aaron said, spitting, staining the wooden floor with a few red spots.
“You were smiling a little too much. Plus, it was fun.” Thomas grinned creepily. “Reeves has
come to collect.”
Reeves? Aaron thought. Thomas is caught up with Reeves? “That debt was paid,” Aaron said. It
was a lie, of course, but perhaps Thomas wouldn‟t know the difference.
“Really? Because our ledgers record that you still owe at least ten thousand.”
Or maybe he would. “That seems like a bit of an exaggeration.”
“I doubt it,” Thomas said, turning and walking to the table where he rummaged through Aaron‟s
pack. A few moments later, he threw the pack on the floor. Apparently he wasn‟t too interested in what
was inside. He grunted in satisfaction as he lifted a sword from the ground. The sheath was a glossy
brown with gold plates that reflected a beautiful floral pattern in the candlelight. “What have we here?”
“Don‟t—” Aaron flinched forward, held back by the rope.
Thomas cocked his head. Light from the candle cast a shadow over his face as he pulled the blade
free of its casing. He flicked his wrist a few times, slicing the blade through the air. “Well balanced. Hilt
engraved nicely. The blade is dull, indicating it was a novelty rather than an actual weapon. Which noble
family did you steal this from?”
“Where I got it doesn‟t matter.”
“That much is true. You‟re lucky, Bardeaux. Perhaps your luck will continue and Reeves will
take this as a down payment toward your debt.”
“You don‟t want to do this, Thomas. You don‟t want to get involved with Reeves.”
“Oh I don‟t? Tell me, Bardeaux, what gives you the right to persuade me from what‟s right?
You‟re a thief just like me.”
“Ask yourself this: you caught me fairly easily, perhaps that was part of my plan? Think about it,
the Order will be marching through the city soon and I need somewhere to stay low until they leave. So
do you.”
Thomas snorted, arms crossed against his studded leather armor. Who had he stolen that from?
“Thomas, you need to think about this for a second. We are common thieves, equally guilty of
crimes punishable by a life in the stocks or executions—most likely the latter. Reeves doesn‟t care if we
die. Once he is finished with you, you will find yourself dead, just like Matthew and Joseph. Do you
remember them?”
Thomas didn‟t say anything. He didn‟t need to. Aaron had stood next to him when they watched
Matthew and Joseph receive a knife to the neck. Their bloodied bodies were then tossed into the river
with stones tied around their waists, sinking them to the depths.
Aaron struggled against the ropes, doing his best to keep his shoulders flat so as not reveal the
motions. The bondage was, unfortunately, not loosening. “The only way to defeat Reeves—without
killing him of course, which would be impossible as he is basically the god of the underground—is to
escape. You need to stand up to him and flee.”
“Stand up to him and flee?” Thomas asked, eyes narrowing.
“Yes, like any good thief. Gain the courage to run, so you can return again to steal. It‟s only
logical.”
“Yes. So Logical.”
“You can‟t steal if you‟re dead.” Aaron smiled. What he said was true and something lesser
skilled thieves needed to learn.
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Thomas snapped the sword into its sheath then leaned forward, stopping only inches from
Aaron‟s face. His breath smelled rotten, a clear indication he had been neglecting oral hygiene for some
time. “Why would you need to run when you just said yourself that you needed us to capture you to save
you from the Order?”
“The answer is… complicated.”
“Oh is it? Let me tell you what‟s not. I‟m going to go to Reeves on your behalf and try to get him
to give an extension on your loan—but I must tell you, he‟s been growing rather impatient. If he agrees
you‟ll be branded as a criminal, and for every week you are late in making a payment, you‟ll be losing a
finger. When you‟re out of fingers, you‟re out of time. If Reeves disagrees… Well then, you know what
will happen.”
“You tell Reeves I‟ll get him the money,” Aaron said. Another lie. He had no intention of getting
any money. In a few days he planned to be miles away from Tumeric, leaving these thieves to their own
damnations.
“You can tell him yourself. He‟ll be here in the next few hours. I told you I would pitch the idea
to him, but he‟ll still be talking to you.”
Thomas, after punching Aaron in the face one last time, turned and walked out of the room,
sheathed sword in hand. The scriber followed behind carrying a rolled up piece of parchment scribbled
with notes.
Aaron took the moment of solitude to scan the room. The table to the right held a burning candle
on a—what looked to be bronze—candle stand, two arms still vacant. The single flame illuminated
enough of the room to reveal a glimpse of the door knob and the far wall.
Shaking his hands, Aaron realized the rope was tied tightly, but the chair itself was of poor
integrity—possibly made of cedar or white pine. That should break easily when the branding started. But
how to escape?
Having been in this room before, he knew there were no windows to break and no hidden
passages. There was only a single entrance. The room had been stripped of all unnecessary items. Aside
from the chair and table, the walls and floor were void of furnishings, weapons, or decorations.
Light flashed from the hallway as the door swung open, disappearing as it slammed shut. The
candlelight revealed an outline of a man wearing thick leather. He held a red hot dagger in his hand.
“You know why I‟m here,” the man said. His soft, whisper-like voice was disgusting, like a man
coughing up a cold. As he grew closer, Aaron could see a mask was pulled over his face. Who wears a
mask when branding? This man of branding, apparently. Brand-man.
“That didn‟t take very long,” Aaron said.
“Your friends have been screaming for hours. I figured they needed your company.” Brand-man
pressed the dagger dangerously close to Aaron‟s cheek.
“I‟m not friends with anyone here, and they seem to be doing perfectly fine on their own.”
Brand-man pressed the dagger against Aaron‟s hair, singing a few strands. The smoke lingered in
the air, leaving a foul smell. “Doesn‟t matter. You‟re all the same.”
Aaron shook his head. “You are the same as us. A criminal.”
The brander scoffed, stood up straight, and punched Aaron across the cheek.
Aaron grunted.
Looking up, he saw the dagger coming at him quickly, heading directly toward his thigh, point
facing downward. Instinctively—or rather, against all reason and planning—Aaron shoved his weight
upward and to the right, forcing himself to fall over. Wood singed as the dagger dug deep into the chair.
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Did that actually work? Aaron thought. His body shook back and forth as the brander tried to pull
the blade free. Of course it worked.
Aaron kicked his boot into Brand-man‟s shin, forcing a yelp. Then the man growled with rage.
The beast was just provoked.
A moment later, Aaron felt weightless as he was lifted high into the air. Turning his head, he saw
he was now eye level with Brand-man—still in the seated position and tied to the chair—gazing upon a
gnarled mouth through a hole in the mask. “What‟s the point if I can see your features?”
Brand-man grunted and heaved Aaron across the room. He flew past the scribe‟s table and
slammed against the wall, shattering the chair and leaving him moaning against the floor. With the chair
in splinters, the ropes went loose and fell to the ground.
That was good. I‟ll give him that one.
Out of the corner of his eye, Aaron saw his pack on the floor beneath the table. The flap was
open. They better not have taken anything.
He rose to his feet, rushed to the table, and grabbed the candle stand. The burning candle dropped
onto a rug. Who puts a rug in an interrogation room? Heavens, they might as well have set out some wine
and fancy glasses while they were at it. Interrogators sure had changed in the past few years. The rug
wouldn‟t catch fire immediately. Aaron had some time.
Something glowed in the room. Turning, he saw the brander had reclaimed the red hot dagger
from the chair‟s salvage. Aaron frowned and looked at the candlestand he held. Why didn‟t he grab the
weapon?
A red blur crossed through the air, heading directly toward him. He lifted the brass candelabrum
weapon to block the blow. Sparks flashed as the two weapons collided.. The assailant swung again,
sending another splash of sparks into the air. Aaron stepped backward and bumped into the table as he
parried another slice. The table teetered a bit, but didn‟t topple over. That was until Aaron tumbled
through its legs to the other side and kicked it into the torturer.
The motion didn‟t hurt the man. Of course it wouldn‟t. But the furnishing did force the man to
stumble long enough for Aaron to get a solid hit against Brand-man‟s head with the candle stand. After a
clank, the brander stumbled to the ground. Aaron stepped on the man‟s hand, forcing him to drop the
weapon, which Aaron then picked up.
The dagger was an awkward weight. Unevenly shaped, off balance, and the chipped blade had
already started cooling. The weapon would need to be reheated before a brand could be done, unless it
was done through scarring.
Suddenly, a strong, tree-like arm slammed against the back of a knee, sending Aaron to the
ground. He rolled over just in time to see a fist in motion. He moved the dagger to block, sharpened edge
facing out. Metal clanged against metal. How?
Brass knuckles.
Another swing came Aaron‟s way, the brass rings wrapped around Brand-man‟s fingers reflected
the flame burning to the side. Aaron blocked the attack with the candelabrum. The next was blocked with
the dagger. Aaron alternated weapons, parrying as he shimmied across the floor toward the door until his
back hit the wall.
“Do you smell something burning?” he asked.
The attacker paused and looked to the right where a fire burned. Aaron took the moment to throw
the candle stand into the man‟s face. It hit with a clank, forcing the torturer to grunt as he staggered
backward a few steps.
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Aaron pushed with his feet, forcing his back to slide against the wall as he rose. He was next to
the door and could easily escape, but he needed his pack. What he came for was of great value. He
couldn‟t just leave it, so he pressed forward, ducking beneath a powerful swing from the torturer. Aaron
sliced the man‟s thigh as he moved. It wasn‟t a fatal wound, but it would be annoying enough to slow him
down. Brand-man screamed for a moment as he hit the floor, hands pressed against his leg.
With his pack slung over a shoulder, Aaron ran to the door, leaving the man to wallow in his
misery and to decide between a pursuit or stopping the building from burning to the ground. Not a
difficult choice.
The hallway was blinding. Light blazed through the many windows lining the wall across from
the interrogation room. Aaron hurried through the hallway, making his way toward the steps, passing
paintings with popping colors and tremendous detail. Once in the stairwell, he paused. Shadows shuffled
along the floor at the bottom of the steps.
Guards.
Of course there would be guards. Reeves wasn‟t a fool. Well maybe, but he was always prepared
when it came to guarding his operations.
Aaron turned and ran back up the steps. The masked-man continued to shout for help from within
the interrogation room. It wouldn‟t be long before someone heard him. There wasn‟t much time.
He stopped at the second window and cranked it open. The rusty hinges whined as they moved,
forcing Aaron to cringe. Eventually the window was opened enough for him to step onto the tile roof
outside, shutting the window behind. It was important to not leave a trail. He needed as much time as he
could get.
Now outside, Aaron pulled his cloak tight around his neck to block the wind, hunched over to
make spotting him more difficult, and started sneaking across the rooftop.
Reeves‟s thieving house was the only one located in the noble‟s district of town. The buildings
were all the same in this area: peaked roofs covered in clay tiles, at least one chimney, two stories tall,
and so close to each other they nearly touched. It was strange how all nobles wanted to be alike. What
was the point?
Looking over his shoulder, Aaron saw black smoke pouring from the chimney of the thieving
house, coming from the interrogation room, no doubt. In a half-crouched position, Aaron took off across
the roof. When he came to the edge, he stepped onto the next one—the second roof was slightly higher
than the first—and continued onward. Every few steps a loose tile would slide down the roof and crash
against the stone street below.
Aaron continued running across the rooftops until he came upon a gap that was some six feet
across. He could easily leap across, but he had different plans. Aaron dropped his pack and fell from the
rooftop to the alley below. He rolled upon landing, using the tumble to absorb most of the impact. He
landed on his feet, walked to his pack, then switched his cloak with a different one. Throughout the years,
Aaron had collected six of them. Each had torn fabric and patches in different locations.
After taking a moment to ensure his loot was still there, Aaron threw the strap over across his
chest and walked nonchalantly through the streets, resisting the urge to peek over his shoulder. That
would only raise suspicion.
The streets were alive with colors. Multicolored fragments of cloth dangled from ropes that
stretched between buildings, trees, and signposts. The Festival would not begin for another day or two,
yet people had already started gathering in clumps in the street, singing, dancing, and laughing.
Thankfully, the Festival of Lights only happened once a year.
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Silk streamers of red and white brushed against Aaron‟s face as he proceeded toward the
marketplace. He waived to people here and there and nodded to others, doing his best to refrain from
speaking. But, so as not to draw too much attention to himself, he greeted some people with a “Great
morning to you!” or “Blessings, friend.” Not that he believed in blessings. You didn‟t live the life he did
and believe in a god or blessings.
Up ahead, in the near distance, the sound of a blacksmith hammer clanked loudly, creating a
steady beat to which the children danced. With the Festival being the most exciting event to happen all
year, it was strange that a someone would work instead of indulge in the activities, but perhaps the
celebration would bring an increase in customers.
Aaron hopped into a dancing circle, locking arms with a girl on each side. He used the rhythm of
the dance to move counterclockwise around the circle until he was positioned on the other side of the
crowd. With a smile, he bid his farewell then returned to moving through the artisans district toward the
marketplace. As he rounded past the apothecary‟s shop and turned the corner, he stopped in his tracks,
wide eyes staring forward.
Templarites, knights of the Order of the Radiant Light, rode through town on armored steeds. The
men wore steel plates that covered most of their bodies with a white tabard bearing the Order‟s emblem: a
red lion. Some of the tabards had their colors inverted. Whatever the distinction was between the ranks,
Aaron didn‟t know.
What are they doing here already? he thought as he tried to suppress the feeling of anger rising
inside of him—it wasn‟t working. They shouldn‟t be arriving for another day or two.
Some of the Templarites wore lion crested shields on their backs and swords on their hips. Others
had swords of various sizes strapped or sheathed on their backs. One in particular carried a giant axe. Its
size suggested it would need two hands to wield.
At the head of the riders was a Lionheart. Lionhearts were easily distinguishable with their gold-
trimmed black tabards and red lion crest on the chest. Tales had spread far and wide of their skills in
combat, devotion to prayer, understanding of theology, and their ability to harness magic.
Magic didn‟t exist, of course. That was something of fairy tales. If magic existed, why was there
suffering in the world? Why were some people poor? Why didn‟t a wizard or a priest come to save
Aaron‟s friends when they were being tortured and executed?
Aaron Bardeaux released his fist and looked around for a detour. He didn‟t have time to stand
around and watch the knights move through the city, and he definitely didn‟t want to reminisce about
what they had done to him and his family. Now was not the time for that.
To the left was an alleyway that lead behind the apothecary's shop. With a hand gripping the strap
of his pack tight, Aaron turned and made his way through the tunnel, doing his best to avoid stepping on
shattered glass and strange, unknown liquids that had been spilled on the stone street. Surprisingly, there
were no bums or promiscuous teens occupying the passageway, and Aaron soon found himself stepping
into the crowded marketplace.
With the Order making their way toward the central keep, hundreds of civilians had flooded into
the streets, crowding behind. It happened the same way every year: people followed behind the knights,
then crowded into jumbled lines near the cathedral in hopes to receive a blessing or a gift of charity. But
Aaron knew the Order‟s real motives. They needed to check on the government to make sure they still
maintained control over Tumeric. Why else would they visit once a year? The way they rode without
looking around proved how high above the common people they felt.
12

Up ahead, a wooden sign marked with a large tankard rocked in the wind, old chains squeaking.
Aaron tipped his head down and gently his way through the crowd in a zigzag pattern. After a few
minutes of brushing up against people, Aaron found himself walking up the stone steps that lead to
Tusk‟s Distillery.
The heavy, wooden door opened into a small lobby. An oaken counter stood a few feet in, barren
save for a lockbox and a few pieces of parchment scribbled with numbers and names. To the left, air
bubbles popped against steel as liquid boiled in the workroom. There was plenty of liquor cases and beer
barrels lining the walls, but Tusk was nowhere to be seen. He was likely out back completing the last
preparations for their trip tomorrow. After setting his pack into a back bedroom, Aaron tied a heavily
stained brown apron around his waist, poured himself a mug of fresh brandy, then walked out back.
Gentle thuds from a mallet confirmed his suspicions, Tusk was hard at work.
“How‟s it looking?” Aaron asked as he enjoyed the drink on the small set of stairs.
“About time you got here.” Tusk said. His legs stuck out from underneath the wagon. The
covering, wheels, and other various parts had been disassembled for repairs. Tusk continued pounding at
the underbelly.
“I ran into complications with our meal.”
“Did ya now?”
“I got enough meat to last a few days.” Aaron Bardeaux approached the cart. “And it‟s venison at
that.”
“A stag?” Tusk slid out from under the wagon. After standing to his feet, he wiped his hands on
the dark green apron he wore. “Where did you find that?”
“You let me worry about that.” Aaron cracked a dry smile.
“I wish you would quit doing that stuff, Aaron. You‟re gonna get yourself killed one of these
days. You know you‟re always welcome to come work in my shop.”
“I don‟t see you complaining when we eat.”
“Of course not. I‟m not stupid. Anyway, it‟s good to see you, lad. And I see you already helped
yourself to my delicacies.” Tusk wore his brown hair combed over and a thick mustache covered his lips.
He took off his spectacles and began wiping the lenses with a cloth. “The barrels have already been filled,
along with a few casks of the pumpkin rum the locals enjoy. You can go ahead and get them out here. It
won‟t take long for me to finish up the wagon.”
Aaron nodded and turned to enter the shop when Tusk‟s shouted. “And bring some oats for Mae.”
It was then that Aaron noticed the mule standing in the corner between the wagon and a tall, wooden
fence. Mae, no longer a filly, stood alone, staring at an empty troth. The sight pained Aaron‟s heart, so he
made filling her feed the first priority. After the brandy, of course.
“I‟ve missed you, too,” Aaron whispered to Mae as he poured a bag of oats into the troth. She
didn‟t wait for him to stop pouring before eating. Aaron patted her on the neck, then walked into the shop
to start fetching the barrels from the cellar where Tusk hid the specialities he exported.
Tusk was a brewmaster that didn‟t want people to grow bored with his craft, so he changed up the
special flavor every year. Last year Tusk made a hard apple cider, while the year before that was a
pumpkin spiced rum—the same as this year. A few years back he made a sweet blueberry brandy, and the
year before that was an amazing strawberry wine with a secret flavor that Tusk has never revealed. The
variety in flavors lead to rumors spreading during the weeks leading up to the festival as people tried to
guess what the flavor would be. It was almost like a game, and everyone loved it.
13

Aaron stepped into the cellar, lit a lantern that hung on the wall, and took a quick look around.
The cellar was empty save for six small casks—presumably pumpkin spiced rum—resting on top of three
barrels. Cobwebs covered all the nooks and crannys and bits of splintered woods and boards were stacked
against the far wall.
The barrels would need to be loaded into the wagon first, then the casks. After placing the casks
on the floor, Aaron grabbed the edge of a barrel and starting shifting the weight back and forth as he
wobbled to the staircase. Even though he had done this once a year for over half a decade, the barrels
somehow felt larger. Heavier. Aaron stopped when he reached the steps, staring upward. The alcohol
would be much too heavy to carry.
“You‟ve been in the woods too long, lad. You‟ve forgotten how I do things around here,” A voice
echoed from the room above. “Quit trying to muscle it. There is a hoist on the wall. Use the ropes and
levers. Then place it on the cart at the top of the steps.”
Aaron felt all kinds of stupid. How many times had he done this? Heavens, it was his idea to
install the machinery. Before, they would place a wooden ramp and roll the barrels to the top. “I was
getting to it,” he shouted back.
Even with the ropes and pulleys, the barrel was incredibly heavy, and Aaron struggled to hoist it
to the top. Eventually he stood at the top of the staircase, having already placed the barrel on a wooden
cart, panting. He wiped the sweat from his eyes then pushed the cart into the lobby.
Tusk was standing behind the counter, counting money. The customer—a well groomed man in
his mid thirties—stood on the other side. His boy stood to his right, wearing a small vest and a billed,
cloth hat.
Tusk turned and looked at Aaron, smiling. “Ah. Just in time, lad. These two are here for that very
barrel.”
“Oh. Great.” Aaron said, looking at the master brewer in disbelief.
“Come, help them get it to their cart. It‟s just outside.”
Wearing a fake smile, Aaron nodded and pushed the two wheeled cart—it was more like a
trolley—behind the two customers, matching their pace. He paused after a few strides, braced himself,
then bumped the trolley down the steps. Once safely at the bottom, he turned to the left and made his way
to the customer‟s cart. A large, brown horse stood in front of it attached by a harness.
“Have you heard, mister?” the boy asked as Aaron and his father lifted the barrel onto the cart.
“The Radiant Light is here. They are looking for a new recruit.”
“Is that so?” Aaron said, noticing the small wooden sword dangling from the boy‟s belt. “And
where did you hear that?”
“Everyone is saying it, mister. Since before they arrived. Have you not heard?”
Aaron had been too busy dealing with wolves and bears that attacked his home outside of
Tumeric to hear about the Order of the Radiant Light looking for a recruit. “Are you wanting to join the
Order?”
“My pa‟ says maybe one day.”
“Keep practicing and maybe you will.” Aaron smiled, wiped his hands on his apron, then walked
back into the brewery. The boy‟s father thanked Aaron for his service, then left to be on his merry way.
Aaron walked back downstairs to grab the next barrel, but he paused at the bottom of the steps.
He wasn‟t sure if he had the strength to complete another run, much less a third. With a sigh, he walked
up to the barrel, rubbing his arm muscles. He gripped the barrel, waddled it to the base of the staircase,
and fastened it to the lifting mechanism.
14

The wooden barrel creaked as it was hoisted it into the air. It swayed back and forth as it moved
upward, narrowly missing the walls. After a few moments, it was lowered and set nicely on the wooden
trolley at the top of the staircase.
The barrel disappeared from view a moment later. “Come, Aaron. The sooner we finish the
sooner we can drink,” Tusk, the brewmaster, shouted. He started whistling Down to the White River, a
song that all children in the Western Lands had learned for generations.
By the time Aaron was able to catch up, Tusk was already waiting at the wagon with hands on
hips. “The forest has not been well to you,” he said as he watched Aaron Bardeaux descend the few steps
leading to the area behind the brewery.
“What is that suppose to mean?” Aaron said, catching his breath.
“You may have more survival skills than you once did, but years ago you could make these
rounds easier than me.”
“Maybe you got larger barrels and thicker drinks.” Aaron Bardeaux said dryly, helping Tusk
heave the barrel of ale into the cart.
“There are many mysteries in life, Bardeaux, but you know where I get my barrels. And Marian
only makes them in one size.”
“Speaking of Marian, how is she?”
“The same as ever. Beautiful, mean, and hard headed like a goat. Just how I like her.” Tusk
looked back at Aaron and, after a moment of eye contact, they both burst into laughter as they went to
retrieve the last barrel. “Business has not been so kind to her. She‟s been making better barrels, and I
thank the heavens for that, but now fewer are broken these days. Which means less people are finding
their way to her shop in need of new ones.”
Aaron helped Tusk waddle the last barrel to the steps. But the rest of the process was easily
covered by Tusk alone. With great dexterity and grace, he maneuvered the heavy weight up the steps
three times as fast as Aaron did. Tusk then raced up the steps faster than his girth suggested was possible,
and the cartwheels were soon squeaking through the store again.
“What is she going to do?” Aaron shouted from halfway up the staircase.
“Marian?” Tusk echoed back, “She has ideas. She‟s trying to find a carrier to import fabrics and
dyes. She‟s always had a good eye for tailoring, just never the skill. I doubt she will take up the craft
though. She‟d rather just sell the goods.”
“How can you move so fast, Tusk, after all these years?”
Tusk looked almost offended that Aaron would bring up age as he stepped into the backyard.
“Remember those mysteries I spoke of earlier? I don‟t ask, I just accept what is given.”
Aaron cracked a smile. The two strained the last barrel onto the cart, making it nearly full.
“Gather those casks that remain, lad. I‟m going to put the roof on.” Tusk said as he lifted the cart‟s
covering. “Oh, and pull out the venison. I‟ll start cooking after this”
Aaron Bardeaux did just that, and was happy this would be the last round of stair climbing. His
legs were already starting to ache. By the time he approached the wooden cart with the pumpkin spiced
rum casks, the canopy was already secured in place. He shook his head. How does he do it? The casks
were placed and he double checked to make sure everything was secure before saying goodnight to Mae
and heading inside.
A fireplace burned in the room where Aaron had placed his bag, and the venison was already
divided and placed on large skillets that Tusk had set over the flames. The room was well lit, warm, and
15

cozy. A bed with heavy blankets was tucked in the far corner with a small, elegant bookshelf next to it.
Tusk was, once again, nowhere to be found.
Aaron took the time to pull down a table that Tusk had installed onto the wall, specifically
designed to fold down when needed. Two familiar, wooden chairs were placed before the fireplace, so he
moved them next to the table.
“There you are, lad” Tusk said as he placed a chilled mug filled with red liquid on the table.
“Is that…”
Tusk smiled. “Cherry-apple rum. Your favorite.”
“How did you…” The chill touch of the mug settled into Aaron‟s hands as he grabbed the drink,
staring at the liquor in silent disbelief.
“Every year I make a little.” Tusk explained, taking the seat across the table. “Most I sell, but I
always save a little for our meetings.”
Aaron took a drink and sat in a moment of tranquility. “Just as good as I remembered.”
Tusky smiled. “You only get it once a year, so I try to make it good.”
“Are the rumors true?”
“You‟ll have to be more specific, Aaron. There are many rumors these days.”
“The Order, are they really seeking a new member?”
“That‟s what people have been saying. That talk started a few weeks before people started
preparing for the Festival. If it‟s true, I‟m not sure how the information was leaked.” Tusk stood to his
feet, walked over to the fireplace, and flipped the slabs of venison as he added some seasoning. Aaron
always found the sight of such a large man putting such care into the little things of cooking to be
amusing.
“Why would they be looking in Tumeric? They've hardly visited since they freed the city from
Kaiden.”
“I don‟t know, lad. Strange idea, indeed. While some of the guards have decent training—nobles
as well—most of the men are weak.” Tusk shook his head. “In will and in strength.”
“Interesting idea, but it‟s long travel for one recruit. Who would want to join such a corrupt group
anyway?”
“Most people shrug off such ideas of corruption. They only see what they want, a holy order that
defends justice and fights evil. An idea all men enjoy but few have the courage to choose such a life.
People want heroes to be pure, free from the common struggle, and immune to the draw of evil. Great
principles indeed, but we know that not to be true.”
“But at least we will be leaving for Mist Gate tomorrow.” Aaron smiled at the thought. It was not
by chance that the two were leaving Tumeric in the morning. Every year they made the same trip. Neither
of them enjoyed the crowds or the noise that came with festival. They found that if they left early enough,
by the time they were leaving Mist Gate and returning home they would not only miss most of the
Festival, but they would be leaving Mist Gate before the Carnival arrived.
“That we are, and not a moment too soon,” Tusk said. He rose to his feet, grabbed the empty
glasses, and walked into the other room. “ I‟m thinking we leave after sundown tomorrow, after everyone
has retreated to their homes.”
“We need to stop by the glen on the way. I have some things I need to grab. We can stay there for
the night if you want.”
16

“Not to offend you, Aaron, but I don‟t enjoy the thought of staying in the woods longer than
necessary.” Tusk returned to the room and set two glasses full of the cherry-apple rum on the table. “Not
with the rumors of beast attacks how they are. The hunters have reported more than normal as of late.”
“They aren‟t too bad. They have left me alone so far. I think the fire keeps them away.” Aaron
smiled.
The brewmaster laughed, “That may be, lad. But I intend on putting as much distance between us
and the Order as possible. Don‟t need them keeping a close eye on us. We will move through the night
and take turns sleeping. Once we are out of the woods that is. And with some luck, it will be a silent
night.”
Aaron nodded. “This might be the last trip I make.” Both men knew what that statement meant,
and Tusk showed some sadness. “After this run,” Aaron continued, “I should have enough coin saved to
purchase the materials I need to start my home in the mountains.”
“Still planning on heading to the Northern Peaks, are ya?” Tusk asked as he placed a plate of
delicious smelling venison at each end of the table.
“I am. You and Marian are welcome to join me.”
A short laugh, almost a snarl, came from Tusk. “I‟m not sure we are the mountain type. We
enjoy our lives here. Though I could do without this time of year.”
“Me too.”
The rest of the night was spent eating and with the telling of Edmond and the Twin Peaks. A tale
that Aaron had always enjoyed, and one of many that the brewmaster enjoyed telling. After much
laughter, and nearly an empty keg of the red beverage, the two found themselves tucked snugly in their
separate beds. The heat from the fireplace was enough to warm the entire floor of the shop. And they both
fell asleep to the thought of leaving the festival, the crowds, and the Order behind them.

Honor before justice.

Chapter 2

Aaron awoke to a peaceful morning.


The bedroom was silent save for the faint crackle of a nearby fire that should have burnt out long
ago. Tusk must have refilled the logs while Aaron slept. Something sizzled over the fireplace. It was eggs
and tiny strips of venison placed in an iron skillet. Standing to his feet, Aaron wiped the sleep dust from
his eyes.
Knowing Tusk would not be happy if he interfered with the cooking, Aaron Bardeaux worked his
way outside. He, like Tusk, preferred finishing all the preparations well before it was time to depart.
Mae met him at the bottom of the steps, eagerly expecting another helping of Oats. Aaron
grabbed a bag of feed, untied it, and filled the trough. She would be working hard this coming night, so
she received an extra helping.
17

The wagon needed to be inspected next. Beneath the grey canvas covering, the wagon was stuffed
full of hay, hiding its contents completely. Chains dangled to the ground beneath the wooden poles jutting
out the front of the wagon, waiting to be latched to the Mae‟s harness.
Tusk must have gotten up early, Aaron thought. He grabbed the five quivers hidden beneath the
seat and placed them next to the sharpening stone. They would be sharpened later, for now it was time to
eat. Aaron stopped and rubbed Mae‟s mane before walking inside.
Tusk was nowhere to be found, unfortunately, and the food was likely to burn soon. The
brewmaster would be mad if Aaron touched the food, but he would be even more mad if it burned. So
Aaron took the skillet off the fire and placed the eggs and venison on a plate. It was already perfectly
seasoned, and despite the awkward food combination, it tasted pretty good.
It was important to have sharp weapons when adventuring through the wilderness. You never
knew when wolves, bears, or other vicious animals would attack,. So once the meal was done, Aaron sat
before the sharpening stone, placed a dull arrowhead against it, and started moving the pedals. Sparks
showered around him as the steel whined in agony. After a few moments of turning the arrowhead, it was
sharp enough to cut the hairs on Aaron‟s arm. He smiled, dropped it into the quiver, and grabbed the next
one, whistling Boars on the River, The Rising Tide, Field of Grain, and other various songs his mother
had taught him. They were some of the few memories he still carried of her.
A gentle, cool breeze brushed against Aaron‟s face as he finished up. He placed the full quivers
back under the wagon‟s seat and filled the remainder of the area with blankets, hiding his pack that
carried the leftover venison. There wasn‟t much legroom remaining, but it would have to do.
After a final look over, Aaron paused, staring at the wagon, admiring the moment. For years he
had dreamed of this final trip. While he had a fondness for living in the wilderness, something felt off
about living in the forest. The mountains, however distant, seemed to call to his soul every time he looked
their way.
No one ever told stories of living in the Northern Peaks. They were a mystery and likely a good
place to avoid assassins. Aaron wouldn‟t have to hide there. It would be such a perfectly secluded place
that he could live normally and never stumble upon another person. That thought alone was enough to
bring excitement.
When in Tusk‟s shop, a person either rested or worked. And there were always more dishes to
wash, machinery to scrub, barley and hops to clean, spices to prepare, and oats to bag, leaving little time
for standing around. Considering the long night ahead, Aaron walked inside and chose to rest rather than
work. But he had something to do first.
Aaron donned his cloak, stepped into the streets, and started making his way toward the religious
district of Tumeric, hood raised. While the city honored a freedom of religion, the reality was something
far different. Most people, if not all people, followed Orthianism in one way or another.
It was still fairly early in the morning, yet people moved this way and that in the marketplace,
crowding the streets. But they weren‟t focused on what the merchants were selling—the shops hadn‟t
opened yet—instead the flow of traffic suggested most people were making their way to the religious
district.
Of course. With the Order in town and the Festival of Lights only a few days away, people were
flooding to the cathedral to hear a sermon or pay tribute to their god. Aaron shook his head. God. Now
that was a crazy concept.
Aaron forced his way through the crowd and entered the religious district through the welcome
gate. Up ahead, a small, stone church rested just left of the main road. The Church of the Sun as it was
18

called—the smallest of the seven sects of Orthianism—had a line of people at the door. From what Aaron
understood, the Patrons of the Sun believed in worshipping the Almighty with their bodies, and so they
carried less for formalities and wore much more revealing clothing.
Further along the road, a giant crowd congregated outside the largest and most ornate cathedral in
Tumeric. It was home to the largest and most devout sect of Orthianism: the Order of the Radiant Light.
Supposedly, it was the fastest growing sect of Orthianism, despite how many people withdrew during the
strenuous recruitment process.
Aaron continued pressing his way through the crowds—people complained and snorted in
derision as they were touched—and made his way to the right of the Church of the Radiant Light. Once
outside the crowed, he brushed his clothing free of dust, then took a thin, dirt path that led to the
graveyard behind the building. He weaved through the paths and impressions of the graves until he
reached one in particular.
William Bardeaux, the tombstone read. May he rest in peace until the day of the Almighty.
Aaron stood quietly for a moment, staring at the rock engraving. The flowers he planted last year
had survived and were blooming again and a gentle breeze brushed through the graveyard, forcing the
flowers to sway.
“Hey dad,” he said, fighting back the water puddling in his eyes. “It‟s been about another year. I
don't know how busy you‟ve been lately, but I‟ve gotten myself into a real mess. Reeves has been trailing
me these past few months and wants me dead.” Aaron paused and shook his head.
“I don‟t know what to do,” he continued. “I wish you were here with me to help. Anyway, I don‟t
know if you can hear me or not, but, if you can, I want you to know I love you. And I won‟t be able to
visit much anymore.
“I finally saved enough money to retire to the mountains after one final cargo run. I‟ll come visit
when I can, but I don‟t know how often that will be. I won‟t forget the promise I made to you though. I‟ll
find the people who killed you and get revenge. Nothing will stop me.”
Aaron took a deep breath, releasing the fists that had formed unconsciously in his hands.
“Goodbye, dad,” he said. He then fought his way back through the crowds and traveled back to Tusk‟s
shop, resisting the urge to weep.
He spent the rest of the morning lying on the roof of the brewery, watching crowds enjoy the
festivities. With the morning church services over, children ran about with laughter while the adults stood
in long, jagged lines before the various shops. And who didn‟t enjoy fire breathers and people juggling
knives? While Aaron enjoyed dancing, music, and examining exotic goods, he did not enjoy being
pressed against a counter, unable to hear the merchant because people were shouting. He enjoyed order
much more than mayhem.
Even as a thief, he worked with order. He took time to plan for each crime, making sure
everything was accounted for, every outcome was considered, every escape was planned. Unfortunately,
he was not always accurate, but he tried nonetheless.
Back when he was younger, his parents used to take him to the Festival every year. He had
danced and played like the children did these days did. Back then even standing in line, waiting for huge
legs of meat was exciting. But that all changed the day his father went to work then never returned while
his mother was kidnapped. It had been seventeen years since that day happened, and he missed them
dearly. If only the Order had listened when he—
“Are you ready lad?” Tusk shouted as he walked out the back door of the shop.
19

Aaron started. The sun had nearly vanished from the sky. He had apparently spent most of the
day on the roof. Had he fallen asleep? “I am,” he said, yawning. He hopped off the black shingled roof.
“I see you took care of everything. The arrows are sharp. Plenty of food and water. And…” Tusk
smiled when he lifted his head and saw Aaron fully clothed in his leather armor and black hooded cloak
that reached past his knees. “You look sharp, Aaron.”
“Thanks. I tucked a mallet underneath your side of the seat.” Bardeaux pointed to the right side of
the cart.
“That you did, lad. That you did. Your memory is recovering.” A small smile cracked from the
corner of Tusk‟s mouth, and, after a few moments, they both shared a laugh.
“And if I remember correctly, you never dressed quite so nice.”
Tusk looked down at his outfit. He wore a buttoned shirt with a nice, charcoal vest. A thick black
jacket stretched down to the knees of his black slacks. The outfit was topped with black leather boots.
“It‟s a rare sight indeed. I had a meeting with some businessmen.”
“Wealthy businessmen? You look like a noble.”
“Sometimes you must dress uncomfortably to impress potential buyers.”
“I suppose so, but it doesn‟t look like you have much protection.”
Tusk smiled slyly. “That‟s why I have you.”
Aaron laid Mae‟s cotton blanket over her back and fastened her harness to the cart. She was not
happy, but complied anyway. “You think I can defend us both?”
“I have my hatchet if you can‟t.” Tusk patted Mae‟s on the neck. “It‟s time, Aaron Bardeaux, to
embark on our last trip together.”
“Don‟t sound so sad, master brewer.” He smiled. “We will have quite an adventure together.”
“That we will, lad. That we will.” Tusk nodded, encouraged Mae forward by making a clicking
sound.
The single gate leading out of the backyard of the shop creaked loudly as Aaron opened it. Once
the cart was past, he shut the gate then hopped back onto the left side of the seat. Mae‟s hooves clopped
against the cobblestone road as they made their way through the marketplace. The streets were dark and
empty. Exactly what they wanted. To avoid a spot notorious for drunkards, they took a detour through the
noble district.
After a few minutes, the wooden wagon wheels began to slow as they approached the eastern
entrance. Two guards stood waiting, each wearing leather armor with a metal plate over their left
shoulder. Their steel helmets reflected the light from the torches burning on the gate‟s columns. In their
right hand, they each held a spear, their lefts placed on the hilt of their swords tied to their belts.
“Here lad,” Tusk whispered. He handed Aaron a small, black pouch that contained a few coins.
Bardeaux didn‟t know how much money was in the pouch. For all the years they had done this, he had
never known. He always wondered, of course, but never cared to ask. The amount had always worked and
that was enough for him.
The two guards approached the carriage. One said something to Tusk, but Aaron was unable to
overhear the conversation. The two had never encountered trouble with their shipments and spirits
weren‟t considered contraband. But people loved Tusk‟s exotic liquors. If they found out he was shipping
them out of the city… Well, they wouldn‟t be happy.
A guard approached Aaron on his side of the cart. Aaron handed the man the coin purse. The
guard nodded, failed at hiding a smile, then walked back to the gate. Together, the two guards grabbed a
metal chain and hoisted the gate open. Tusk and Aaron nodded as they rolled past.
20

The way was covered in darkness, lit only by what little of the moon pierced through the clouds.
It was hardly enough to illuminate the dirt path beyond. Aaron took to lighting the two lanterns at the
front of the cart. With those flames burning, he moved to the back two. He watched the stone walls of
Tumeric fade behind as he lit those lanterns. With the cart surrounded by as much light as possible, Aaron
scrambled back to his seat. The lanterns may not have illuminated a great distance, but it was enough to
keep Tusk off the rocks. Hopefully.
Aaron pulled the collar of his coat tight. “The wind is colder outside the walls.”
“Yes it is.” Tusk said. “But, don‟t you know that? You live out here after all.”
“Well, yes. I was just making small talk.”
“After all these years, you feel the need to talk idly? Do you fear the silence, lad?”
“No, no. Do you ever do these runs with Marian?
Tusk laughed. “She hardly needs me to pick anything up for her. If anything, she takes the cart
herself. She enjoys the solitude.”
“Yeah. That sounds like her. Are you worried about her business?”
“Not at all. She‟s a strong woman, she‟ll find a way. She always does.” He smiled and looked at
Aaron. “What‟s bothering you?”
“I just don‟t want to leave if you need help is all.” Bardeaux continued looking out his side of the
cart. It was important to keep a lookout for wolves, or anything worse.
“You‟re welcome to come work for me again.” Tusk said. Aaron snorted “I‟m serious, lad. No
other apprentice I‟ve taken has had nearly the same skill as you.”
“You‟ve taken other assistants?”
“Well, I tried to at least, but they all flaked out after a few months. Always seeking the
entertainment of Tumeric, rather than working hard to avoid poverty.”
“I don‟t know…”
“Think about it, lad. We aren‟t the ones forcing you to go. If you ever want a job, you have one.
If you ever need a place to stay, you have one.”
Aaron nodded.
The two rode in silence for the next few hours, only speaking to each other to exclaim movement
they spotted, but it was always just the night playing tricks on them. Up and down the hills they went,
following the path as it twisted left and right. Aaron had his bow with an arrow leaning against the side of
the seat just in case something did happen.
Eventually, Aaron broke the silence. “Turn off the path here.” He pointed to a small clearing in
the woods to the left of the dirt path.
“No offense, Aaron, but I don‟t feel comfortable leaving the beaten path. Oak is strong, sure, but I
don‟t trust the cart to make it in there.”
“Fine. Wait here.” Aaron pushed himself off the cart and bolted into the clearing. It quickly faded
and was filled with trees, bushes, and other woodland items. Over the years Aaron had grown accustomed
to the placement of natural things, making running, leaping over rocks and logs, and sliding down slopes
easy. Upon reaching the glen, he decided it was was smart not bringing the cart into this place.
Aaron retrieved his items from underneath their hiding places: a small sack of clothes from
beneath a log, a satchel that contained cheeses and breads hidden under a hollow rock, a small dagger his
father had given him on his fifth birthday was tucked under a bush, and lastly he checked the fish trap he
placed in the small creek only a dozen yards from where he liked to sleep. Like normal, nothing was
21

caught. Frowning, he lowered the trap back into the water thinking someone in the future may need it,
then maneuvered his way back to the cart.
“Are ya ready lad?” The brewmaster shouted as Aaron exited the treeline. Tusk took a sip of a
drink. Most likely brandy
“Drinking, Tusk?” Aaron smiled, jumping onto the cart. “Already?”
He took another drink then smiled, handing Aaron the reins. “You steer. My hands are occupied.”
“You have one in your pocket and one on a mug.”
Tusk smiled gleefully. “I know.”
Aaron laughed. After a few clicks, Mae was clopping on the dirt road once more. The road was
smoother now than before. While the wheels still creaked, they rolled easier. After a few hundred yards,
Aaron encouraged Mae to the right side of a fork, following the path toward Oakwood. Oakwood was
once the primary trade route from Tumeric to the cities in the Great Plains. Rarely, if at all, was it used for
that purpose now. No one from the Great Plains had been seen in decades. Now all that remained of
Oakwood was an overgrown forest and a small visage of the path it once held.
“Glad you remember the way.” Tusk said as he exhaled a large puff of smoke. It smelled like
cherry tobacco. At some point, he had cleaned his pipe, packed it, and gave it a spark.
“How many times have we made this trip?” Aaron asked defensively.
“At least half a dozen times. Though, to be honest, it hasn‟t been enough.”
I miss you too, Aaron thought to himself. It‟s been too long.
Aaron‟s absence had been intentional. Years ago when he was thieving, Aaron used Tusk‟s shop
as a safe house. As he increased in the underground and stole objects of higher value, his notoriety
brought a great deal of trained assassins. With the danger of death, he chose to leave his apprenticeship to
protect Tusk. If Tusk had died because of Aaron‟s decisions… Well, that was a guilt no one could bear.
With Tusk busy puffing at a pipe, Aaron let go of the reins and began climbing about the cart to
refill the lanterns. Mae knew well enough to continue forward until she was tugged to stop. Refilling the
lanterns took longer than expected. They bobbed back and forth and had to be held at an awkward angle
so as not to spill the expensive oil. This was one of the times he wished magic did exist.
Suddenly, Mae squealed, stiffening the hair on Aaron‟s neck.
“What‟s wrong girl?” Tusk asked, tugging on the reins to try and calm the mule. “What‟s
wrong?”
“I don‟t know.” Aaron said. “She didn‟t slow any, but something sure scared her. I don‟t see any
wolves either. My side is a calm as ever”
“Mine too. But something is off. Mae doesn‟t scare easily.”
Aaron grabbed his bow, notched an arrow, and stood with one foot on the flooring and the one on
the wooden seat. “Still nothing.”
“Keep looking, lad. Something is out there.”
Suddenly, a putrid stench filled the air. It was so strong a dead skunk would be jealous. Tusk
covered his mouth and took deep breaths. Aaron covered his nose with his shirt, resisting the urge to
vomit. “Tusk… Look.” Aaron pointed to a wolf carcass on the side of the road.
Most of the wolf‟s hair had been removed. Large chunks of flesh had been eaten by something
big. It appeared to be missing one leg and an eye.
“What happened to it?” Tusk asked as the group passed.
“Nothing I know of.” Aaron stood shaking his head. “Look, there‟s another. And another.”
“What‟s out here killing wolves?”
22

“And so many… What beast could survive a pack of wolves?” Aaron asked. They shared a
glance, worry in their eyes. Neither of them knew of any legend regarding wolf eating monsters. At least,
not one that could kill an entire pack. And no hunters had reported any strange sightings.
A few moments later, Aaron noticed the creature first. A wolf, twice the normal size, stood
hunched over eating one of its own. Most of its hide was falling off, but what remained was thicker than
normal. Its fading hair was matted with blood. The beast held a muscle dangling from its mouth, watching
with black eyes as the group passed.
“Did you…” Aaron began. “Did you...”
“I did.” Tusk interrupted. With a few clicks and whips from the reins, Mae took off running.

Justice before power.

Chapter 3

Aaron climbed onto the canvas covering of the wagon. It sank until he his foot rested on the top of a
barrel. He stood with the bow at the ready, watching in horror as the decaying wolf met his gaze, the
muscle still dangling from its mouth.
The beast took a few stumbling steps forward, dropping the rotting tissue, the burst into a sprint.
It snarled and snapped its twisted teeth as it closed in on the wagon.
A few yard yet, Aaron thought, drawing an arrow, raising his bow. It was difficult to gauge the
correct distance as the wolf kept moving in and out of the lantern light and the wagon wheels kept finding
bumps and rocks, but Aaron did his best to dial in the sight. Aaron took a deep breath and fired an arrow.
The fletchings wiggled in the wind, forcing the arrow to rotate as it fought against the wind. A
tiny trail of blood sprinkled into the air as the projectile grazed the wolf‟s back. The beast snarled in pain,
but continued running forward, its loose jaw bouncing up and down with each step.
Aaron let another arrow loose. It was aimed too low and shattered against the ground. He notched
another arrow, pulled back the bowstring, and took a deep breath to steady his aim. With the wolf getting
closer, it was becoming more and more difficult to get a solid bearing against the creature. Aaron let the
arrow fly. It flew high above the creature, disappearing into the night.
“I thought you were better than this, lad!” Tusk yelled as he whipped the reins. He didn't need to,
Mae was already pushing as hard as she could. “I thought you hunted bears and wolves.”
“Well if you would avoid the holes,” Aaron said, lifting a leg just in time to avoid having it
snapped in two by the wolf, “then maybe I could land a hit.”
Tusk, the brewmaster, shouted something, but Aaron‟s focus drowned out the sound as he
avoided another of the beast‟s bite. Aaron put his foot down on a barrel, finding a decent footing
considering how much the contents were shifting. He reached for another arrow from his quiver, but was
interrupted as the wolf snapped again and dug two claws into the side paneling of the wagon.
Aaron kicked instinctively. The wolf whimpered as it caught a boot to the face. It fell from the
wagon and rolled behind.
23

Aaron Bardeaux wasn‟t one to waste an opportunity, so he raised his bow, drew another arrow,
and took his sight. He took a deep breath to calm his arms that shook with adrenaline, then let go of the
string, sending the arrow flying. The missile soared with precession and pierced deep into the wolf‟s
neck. Blood trickled from the arrow tip sticking out from the other side of the wolf‟s neck as it let out a
wounded roar.
That severity of such a wound would be enough to kill any normal creature, but the mutated wolf
proved to be far more resilient. It growled as it rose to its feet, then charged the cart with more fury in its
eyes than before.
Aaron stood in amazement, watching as the beast approached far quicker than what should have
been possible. He fired another arrow at the thing and pierced its leg. The beast stumbled, but continued
forward, snarling and yapping its jaw wildly.
Bardeaux sighted another arrow, but lost it as one of the cart wheels suddenly dug into a deep
hole. Aaron twisted and fell against the canopy, his weight landing hard against the barrel beneath. The
impact made him forfeit his grip and the arrow was sent soaring into a nearby pine. Aaron tried to recover
and rise to his feet, but somehow his boot had become tangled in one of the the tie down ropes.
The pale wolf leaped upward and snapped its powerful jaw as Aaron tried to unlodge himself.
The wolf managed to dig its teeth into Aarons arm and it yanked furiously to the left and to the right.
Something ripped.
Aaron‟s mind went all over the place. Blood. Broken bones. Lacerated skin. Death. He was too
young to die. He hadn‟t yet retired to the mountains. That‟s all he wanted. Shaking himself from his own
thoughts, Aaron realized there wasn‟t any pain in his arm. Thankfully, the wolf only managed to rip off a
piece of his sleeve.
Glancing, Aaron saw the wolf attempting to shred the sliver of black coat it had in its mouth, so
he turned and went back to fiddling with the rope.
“You okay, Aaron?” Tusk asked as he navigated around a sharp turn. Aaron‟s body was thrown
backward against the barrels. The rope around his foot was the only thing keeping him from falling off
the wagon.
“It was just the sleeve.” Aaron said, leaning forward. He searched his body frantically for his
dagger to cut the rope, but he couldn‟t find it. It must have fallen free somewhere along the way, and it
would take far too long to untie the tangle of crossed ropes that held down the cargo and his foot.
“Tusk…”
The brewmaster looked over his right shoulder and took notice. He retrieved the small hatchet
from under his seat and slammed it against a section of rope. Unfortunately, it was not the section that
held Aaron‟s foot.
With the wolf running alongside the wagon and snapping at him once again, Aaron unnotched the
hatchet and attempted a slice, but the beast was too far. Aaron reached slightly further and swung two
more times. The wolf wasn‟t exactly dodging the attacks, but it managed to avoid the swings anyway.
Black, bloody, gnarled claws dug into the wooden railing of the cart as the wolf heaved itself
upward. Clawing up the side of the wagon, the beast attempted to growl, but all that came out was a
disturbing gurgling sound. Aaron whipped the hatchet around and dug the blade deep into the creature‟s
neck. Blood shot into the air and the wolf yapped and chomped its mouth violently, severing its own
tongue.
Aaron swung again as the beast snapped in retaliation. This time the axehead cut into the wolf‟s
mouth, slicing it along the edges, breaking the jaw from its hinges. Blood poured from the creature‟s face
24

as its jaw fell off completely. The wolf screeched, fell backward, then whimpered as it rolled along the
ground with the hatchet still buried in its face. Patches of hair littered the path as the wolf disappeared
into the night.
Feeling somewhat relieved, Aaron returned to untying his foot. How did this even happen? He
asked himself. It took a little bit of time, but eventually he was able to stand once again.
“Aaron,” Tusk said, tossing a quiver into the air.
Aaron caught it and nodded a thank you. He picked up his bow and turned to find that the wolf
had started pursuing once more. What is it going to do without a jaw? It can‟t even eat us. All it could
possibly do is maim us to death. Though, death was still death. He sighted down the beast and fired
another arrow.
The missile missed its mark and shattered against the ground. Aaron fired another. Then another.
Then another. Each one missed the wolf by inches. Fortunately, the wolf was injured enough that it more
stumbled than ran. It had just enough strength to continue following the wagon, but it would hardly have
enough to climb on board. At least, that‟s what Aaron hoped.
He fired another arrow. It broke right and shattered against a tree. He knew Mae would run out of
steam soon, so he was working with limited time. After a deep breath, he raised his bow and sighted
another arrow. The wolf growled ferociously, forcing Aaron to flinch and accidentally fire the arrow. It
shattered against a tree.
Aaron Bardeaux took another deep breath to calm his nerves and drew back another arrow,
focusing on aiming the arrowtip. The bowstring hummed as the arrow as fired. Its body warped in the air,
forcing it to fly in an awkward path. It skidded along the ground and into a rock. Somehow—perhaps it
was a miracle—it didn‟t break, but instead popped into the air and pierce the wolf through the cheek and
up into the eye. The beast whimpered for a moment, then fell limp against the ground with an arrow
protruding from its twisted, black face.
With his hands on his knees, Aaron panted, watching as the wolf‟s body disappeared into the
distance. He turned around and stumbled back to his seat, placing the bow and quiver back on the
floorboard. He glanced at Tusk, and Tusk looked back. They sat in silence for a moment, sharing a look.
“Well, lad, did you kill it?” The brewmaster asked
Aaron nodded.
“Are you wounded?” Tusk pulled on Mae‟s reins. After a few seconds, she gave in and started to
slow.
He shook his head. “It only caught my coat.” Aaron raised his right arm, revealing a large
section—a few inches in diameter—had been ripped from the edge of his sleeve near where the forearm
met the elbow. Cold winds were already taking refuge in the opening.
“I‟m glad that‟s the worst of it. You could have been killed.”
Aaron frowned. The statement was true. “What do you think that thing was?”
“Nothing from any legend I have heard.” Tusk brushed his bushy mustache with a knuckle.
“Nothing comes to mind.”
“We should warn the guards. The Council of Tumeric would probably want to know.”
“We can‟t tell anyone.” Tusk said abruptly. “No one will believe us. We aren‟t bards, Aaron; not
tale tellers. Who will believe a story about a plagued wolf so distraught that it attacked its own? And so
large that it could stand toe to toe with a bear? With flesh…” He shook his head. “With flesh rotting off
the bone.”
“So what,”” Aaron said. “We just leave it in the road for some passersby to notice?”
25

“We are too far gone now, lad, and I don‟t plan on returning. There could be more in that forest.”
Aaron wanted to say something—anything—but he knew Tusk was right. There could be more.
Heavens, there probably was more, but at least that one was dead. “I‟m sorry I lost your hatchet.”
“That old thing? Don‟t worry about it. I‟ve got plenty more. I‟d rather lose a hatchet than have
you as a corpse.”
“Still…”
“No no, lad. If anything is going to haunt your dreams, don‟t let it be that. Marian can get
anything at a discount.” Tusk smiled and patted Aaron on the shoulder. “Don‟t ever doubt that woman.”
He laughed.
The next few hours were spent in silent contemplation. The wooden wheels of the wagon creaked
as they bumped along the uneven road, while Mae‟s hooves echoed through the forest. With clearings far
and few between, the stars were hidden by the trees most of the night, making the path only visible by the
lanterns.
Aaron wanted to stop and check on Mae, maybe give her some food or water, but that would have
to wait until after they entered Oakwood. Like the Northern Peaks, no reports ever came from Oakwood.
At least, no reliable ones. For whatever reason, perhaps it was a divine blessing, the dense forest to the
southeast was always free of bandits and beast attacks.
Tusk was normally asleep by now, leaving Aaron to man the wagon alone. But with the strange,
demented, demon-wolf, neither of them slept. They couldn‟t. Not with the sporadic howl of a distant wolf
sending fearful reminders through their souls.
With the wind picking up, Aaron pulled the collar of his cloak tight against his neck and asked
Tusk for a drink. It was going to be a long night.

Forgiveness awaits the Repentant.

Chapter 4

“That‟ll be one,” Sariah said, holding out her hand.


The woman in line smiled, handed over a single coin and walked past.
“Typically, that would be two.” Sariah pointed to a baby the next woman was carrying. “But
today, we will let you in for one.”
A smile ripped across the woman‟s face. She kissed her baby gently on the forehead, then handed
over the coin. “Thank you. Oh, thank you very much.”
The next person in line stepped up.
“One,” Sariah said.
A man handed her a coin and the boy behind him did the same. Sariah stood under a sign that
read ADMISSIONS. It dangled beneath a pink and yellow striped canopy—large enough to keep most of
the line in some type of shade from the sun—that lead into the Carnival, held up by an old rope. This was
the third time Sariah had worked admissions. And today she guessed she would take payments from at
26

least four hundred people. Taking people‟s money and placing it in a coin-purse was a mind numbing job,
but it was one of the few tasks assigned to a recruit.
Over the years, Sariah had worked various jobs that required espionage—often requiring duties
which teetered on the line of disrespectful or profane, yet she went through with them anyway to preserve
her life—so she had become quite decent at the art of acting. While the job of an admissions attendant
didn‟t have the same risk factor, some of those skills were still useful.
“One,” Sariah said. The next person in line paid, then moved along, allowing the next person to
step forward. “One. Two. Three. One.”
This continued on for some time until the monotony was eventually interrupted by a little girl,
maybe five years old. She pointed to the back of Sariah's hand. “What's that?” She asked in a voice full of
excitement.
The furry cuff on Sariah‟s sleeve had been pushed up her arm, revealing a black tattoo in the
shape of a half moon on the back of her hand. It was a symbol that all the carnies possessed; it marked
membership. The number of stars that surrounded the moo, marked your rank: no stars you were new,
five stars you were in charge. Most people fell somewhere in between one and four. It took years to gain a
star, and most people quit worrying about promotions after they received their first. Stressing for years
over where one stood in comparison to others was a waste, after all. At least that is what the Four Stars
and Five Stars would say.
Sariah had no stars.
“Oh, that?” she said, crouching so the girl could get a better look. “This is a tattoo that shows I‟m
part of the Carnival. We all have them.”
“Did it hurt?” the little girl asked as she leaned forward to take a deeper look. The Mark was dark
against Sariah‟s white skin.
Sariah smiled. “Only a little. Pain is an interesting thing: it is there for a short while then fades
away, and what you are left with is glory that lasts forever.”
The girl backed away, wearing a half smile. Clearly she had enjoyed the thought of some sort of
happiness lasting forever, but the idea of pain made her uneasy.
“What‟s your name?” Sariah asked.
“Alisha.”
“You have a beautiful name, Alisha. My name is Sariah. It‟s a pleasure to meet you.”
Alisha smiled, hugging her stuffed bear tightly.
“Tell you what. You and your mother can get in for free today. If you enjoy the show, and try
really hard, maybe one day you can get this tattoo too.”
“Really?”
“Just maybe.”
“Thank you,” Alisha‟s mother said. “Thank you very much. You are kinder than you need to be.”
Sariah smiled. “You‟re welcome. Enjoy the show.”
Alisha moved excitedly through the striped entryway flap and into the entertainment room, her
mother‟s hands on her shoulders as she followed close behind. Sariah watched them go, then turned her
head around to see the queue of people waiting to enter. It was shorter now. Now, only thirty people stood
in line. But in just a few minutes that could easily turn into another hundred.
Sariah put on a fake smile and returned to taking people‟s money. “One. One. One. Two. One.”
The line slowly dwindled, and eventually the final two customer‟s stepped into the array of tents.
Inside, the crowd cheered as the pre-show commenced: jugglers, fire breathers, and other small carnival
27

acts. Since the higher ranking members had trained longer, the pre-show was performed by the One Stars
and Two Stars.
The music slowly intensified, signaling the main show would be starting soon, so Sariah closed
the empty queue line. She put a hand on her coin-purse. It was filled with enough coin for a nobleman to
enjoy an extended vacation on a desolate isle. Just this show alone would be enough for the Carnival to
last a few weeks. This included feeding the people who would enlist after the show, exchanging their old
lives for ones filled with adventures.
If they knew what the nomadic lifestyle brought, they would have chosen differently.
Sariah looked around. Certain no one was watching, she reached into the coin-purse and grabbed
a handful, slipping them into her own pocket. Then she opened the lock box—which was large enough to
hold five bags—and placed the remaining coins inside. She walked away before the four other admissions
workers arrived with bags of their own.
It would not be long until the Ringmaster stepped onto the stage in his sparkly outfit and, almost
magically, projected his voice, subtly forcing the crowd to silence. This meant that Sariah had little time.
She couldn‟t risk someone hearing her leave.
The thing about carnivals is: they take up a ridiculous amount of space. This meant the Lazy
River—the official name of the Carnival—would setup in a large, open field, forcing Sariah to walk a
good distance before entering the town.
She raised her fur-lined hood and walked through what little trees dotted the field, hoping they,
along with some tents, would provide a sufficient amount of cover. Great, she thought, stepping into mud.
She shook her head and continued forward, pressing her way through low hanging branches and small
bushes.
Eventually, she hurried through the entryway of Malia and stepped behind the wall, using it as
cover as she listened for movements. None came. Smiling, she stood straight, placed her hands in her
pockets, and walked casually through the streets, taking a roundabout path to the marketplace, using the
buildings as cover.
The marketplace was nothing but a let down. Fruit vendors only had apples and oranges which
were already beginning to rot. Vegetables consisted of potatoes, potatoes, and more potatoes. And the
livestock was atrocious: only a few sheep, some chickens, ferrets—should they even count—a pig, and a
goat.
How do people survive here, Sariah thought. This is definitely not enough food for a few hundred
people.
Sariah shrugged and walked up to a counter. It was empty. Of course it was, everyone was busy
enjoying the entertainment. It would be the most important thing to happen to this small town, well, ever.
No shop would be open with the Carnival in town. It was so important, apparently, that merchants didn‟t
bother putting their items away before leaving.
With a sigh, she walked around the back of the counter, tucked a strand of straight, black hair
behind her ear, and took a closer look at the livestock options.
The animals began to thrash violently, like a thunderous crash had awoken them from a deep
sleep. But there was nowhere to escape. The animals found themselves locked in a cage, tied to a post, or
stuck inside a pen. As Sariah took a few more steps closer, the animals thrashed even more wildly.
“There, there,” she said, leaning forward for further inspection. “No one is going to eat you.” If
these words were meant to bring comfort, they had little effect.
28

The animals were a sorry lot. The chickens were losing feathers, a half-sheared sheep stumbled
around its tiny pen with a busted leg, and the single ram had had its horns cut off by some type of saw. A
sad sight, really. The pig was missing an ear and its ribs showed due to malnutrition. It was tough to
decide which animals to take, as they were all equally terrible. The chickens, while ugly, were suitable.
There were three, and Sariah would take them all. But the remaining purchase was tough. Sariah put a
hand on her hip as she thought, eventually settling on the hornless ram. There wasn‟t anything she could
do with pig missing an ear.
The chickens were hard to catch. They were placed in a larger pen, giving them plenty of room to
run and avoid being caught. Sariah grabbed one by the throat and slammed it into a cage, and, eventually,
did the same to the remaining two.
The ram, despite being powerful and fairly agile, couldn‟t avoid being tackled to the ground and
tied. With the caged chicken in hand and the ram over her shoulders, Sariah began walking out of town.
She stopped as she passed the counter. Something was wrong. No one was watching, but something
inside her insisted that this was wrong. She felt… off.
Realizing the problem, she smiled. She could not steal these animals. No, that was wrong. After
setting down the chicken cage and letting the ram drop to the ground, she pulled a handful of coin from
her pocket. A purchase like this would normally go for thirteen, maybe fourteen. But in this condition, she
thought eleven was fair. Yes, eleven would work.
Sariah counted out the payment and set it on the counter. Then she picked back up the animals
and walked out of town, heading away from the Carnival. She might have been cruel sometimes—even
considered a thief—but she was not heartless. The Carnival carried enough coins. If a few went missing,
no one would notice, or even care. But for a person to lose most of his animals… Well, that would be a
large blow to their income. It was only fair to leave the coins.
“There, there,” Sariah whispered to the ram jerking on her shoulder. “You won‟t be bound for
very long.”

Pursue righteousness.

Chapter 5

Oakwood was once a lively forest. Even in the winter the leaves survived far longer than they should
have, suggesting the tales of druidic magic may have been true. But things were changing now and Aaron
didn‟t believe in magic.
The oaks were now barren and had started turning white as winter drew near, leaving the pines as
the sole source of green in the vast forest. An assortment of multicolored leaves and overgrown dying
shrubbery littered the dirt path, and the thickness of empty trees created a canopy that the sun had trouble
piercing. With each gust of wind the oaks would moan as they rocked back and forth. The pines, however,
remained deathly silent.
Aaron Bardeaux held the reins with one gloved hand and covered a yawn with the other. It had
been a long night. Not until the troupe was an hour into Oakwood had they stopped to rest, and even then
29

they only slept for a few hours before continuing onward. As dark as the forest was, Aaron was tempted
to light the lanterns again, but he was too tired to move. He yawned instead.
“Would you stop yawning, boy?” said Tusk. “Don‟t you know that‟s contagious?”
Aaron smiled and yawned again.
“I said...” Tusk yawned. “I said stop it.” He looked down and continued scraping his pipe clean.
“Marian is never going to believe the story of that wolf.”
Tusk smiled. “No, lad, she won‟t.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“Perhaps after a few drinks.” They both shared a look, then laughed as a cold wind blew. The
trees moaned loudly. Aaron pulled his collar tighter. “You know, Aaron, the mountains are going to be
colder than this.”
“I imagine so. But if I get there in the summer I should be able to finish a cabin before winter
arrives.”
“You think you can build a cabin in half a year?”
Aaron sat with his thumb on his chin for a few moments then took a sip of tea to stall more time.
“Perhaps a small one—just enough to block the winds—with a small opening at the top for the smoke of a
fire pit. Maybe I‟ll cut down a couple oaks from Oakwood while we pass, then hire a crew from Mist
Gate to haul them up to the Northern Peaks for me.”
“I don‟t think the Terrene would have any of that.” Tusk said, pouring two cups of hot tea. Steam
drifted into the air. “You know how those Elementalists are.”
“I do, you‟ve told me..”
“Always protecting the trees,” Tusk continued as though Aaron had never spoke. “Guarding the
beasts, the deer, the moose, probably even the dirt these days. And their eyes run deep into the forest,
seeing everything. Heavens, they might be watching us right now.” Aaron tried to interrupt multiple
times, but Tusk was lost in his rant. “Hardly any trade can be done through Oakwood now... Now that
these Guardians of the Forest exist. All connections to the southern cities have been choked out. The few
people that do speak of seeing them, well, nothing good can be said of those encounters. Ruthless these
Terrene have become. Vicious. Bringing only death to humanity.”
He sat, wide eyed, staring forward as he took a sip of tea. “You know what people have been
saying about the Terrene as of late? That they can speak to animals.”
Aaron failed to hide his laughter. Tusk remained stone faced serious. “Wait. You don‟t think it‟s
true do you?” asked Aaron.
“I don‟t know,” the brewmaster said, smiling. “The thought of a scrawny man leaning over to
speak to a rabbit is amusing, but the accounts are from some reliable sources.”
“Like what?”
“With a rumor of this magnitude, even the common folk are talking about it. But one of the more
reliable ones comes from the Valions. You know them, right? They run the Hunter‟s Guild in Tumeric.”
“Yeah,” Aaron said hesitantly. “I think I‟ve heard of them.”
It was from the Valions‟s meat shed that Aaron had stolen the hunk of venison. He had waited for
them to leave for the Festival, then snuck onto their property. After breaking the lock on the door, he
walked inside their shed and butchered a deer carcass before sneaking away with the loot. It was during
the getaway that he ran into Reeves‟s goons.
“The Council of Tumeric has also been discussing the situation,” Tusk said. “I‟ve heard Fulton
has been bringing it up in nearly every meeting.”
30

“You, of all people, know that what he says cannot be held to high regards.” Aaron took another
sip of tea as they rolled past some pines and oaks.
“I know he can‟t be trusted, never was worthy of it. But Fulton was right about the dwindling salt
supply and has been fighting hard against increasing taxes. And he is on the Council, lad. He has to have
some credibility.”
“Or connections,” Aaron said abruptly.
“With the Order and the Terrene around, we need be careful.” The brewmaster lifted the hot tea
kettle and filled his cup. “The smoke from our camp last night likely brought their attention. Even as tired
as I was, I hardly slept. I could feel them watching me. We weren‟t safe, lad.”
“No one has spoken of the last Druids in many generations. And this isn‟t the first time we have
discussed the whereabouts of the Terrene. Why are you so worried now?”
“The world is changing, Aaron. And Marian knows people who have seen the Terrene on the
move. Dabbling in deeper magic, they say.”
Ah, Aaron thought. Marian. “You and I both know that is ridiculous. Magic isn‟t real.”
“Yes, yes. Of course we know that. But we are in their realm now. Whether or not they possess
magic is not important. We just need to be careful not to provoke an attack, is all.” He paused, scratching
his mustache.
Aaron watched the naked oaks and the lightly frosted earth slowly pass by. Occasionally a pine or
a maple passed in and out of view. “How‟s Mae doing? You know her better than I do.”
“She‟s in high spirits considering the fright the wolf gave her. She won‟t need to rest for a bit yet.
I gave her new shoes before we left, like I always do.” Tusk nodded, obviously very pleased with himself.
“Do you think… No, that‟s insane.”
“What is it, lad?”
“Do you think the Terrene are trying to bring back the Druids of old?”
“I think so. It took me some time to come to the conclusion, but the evidence seems to point that
direction. Oakwood has gotten darker, full of gloom. The past few trips were not like this. No. Before, the
sun didn‟t struggle to touch this place like it does so now. Oakwood feels tainted.
“I‟ve been looking and even the animals have become scarce. No deer, no porcupines, no
possums, and hardly any birds save for a few hawks or eagles and the occasional raven. There are no
tracks or waste either. Something is going on here.”
“You‟re sounding like a hunter,” said Aaron, smiling slyly.
“I‟ve got a few hidden traits. And judging from last night, I‟ll even offer to teach you how to use
a bow.”
“Whoa.” Aaron stared at Tusk, slightly taken back. Mae began to slow. “No, not you Mae.” She
shrugged off the comment and returned to her speed. “Tusk, you‟re driving is what made all the trouble.
If you could have kept from hitting all the holes and turning abruptly, well then maybe—”
“Calm yourself, lad. It was a joke. Besides, Mae was the one who was spooked.”
“You are right though. I could use some training.”
Tusk smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe one day someone will teach you. Or maybe
you‟ll get yourself a girl to pass the time.”
Aaron laughed. “That‟ll be the day.”
“What, you don‟t think you will love again?”
“Hardly. Love only belongs when it‟s surrounded by magic, swords, and death. And those only
exist together in fairy tales.”
31

Tusk frowned. “We‟ll see, lad. We‟ll see.”


The next few hours of travel were long and boring. The forest stretched for miles to the east and
south, and was strangely quiet for this time of year. Oakwood was home to many winter creatures such as:
snow hares, white birds, and frostspines. So there should have been some noise other than the moaning of
trees—which was getting louder the deeper they traveled.
Wrapped in a blanket, Aaron took a sip of hot tea and fought the urge to fall asleep as fatigue set
in. It was colder than normal this time of year. Winter was coming quickly. Tumeric should schedule the
Festival earlier in the year, Aaron thought as they continued on the dirt path covered in leaves. The path
dipped south toward the Great Plains for some time, but it eventually split. They would take a left to
travel to Mist Gate.
Red cloaks flickered in the treeline. Light reflected off pristine, steel armor.
“Tusk,” Aaron said, “the Order is here.”
Tusk looked up and sighed, cherry scented smoke rising from his pipe. “Grab the papers. They
may do an inspection.”
“What are they doing this far south?” Aaron whispered.
“Maybe just a patrol. Might be looking for the Terrene.”
Two Templarites waited patiently further down the leafy road as Aaron rummaged through
Tusk‟s pack in search of the papers. They were somewhere past his clothing. Feeling the parchment on
the edge of his fingers, Aaron retrieved the document and tucked the pack back under the seat.
“Let me do the talking,” Tusk whispered. He grabbed the rolled up parchment that was securely
bound by a blue ribbon.
Blue? Aaron thought. He used to use a red, why change it to blue?
Aaron shook the questions away, realizing how willing Tusk was to do anything for business to
prosper. If simply changing the color of an item would bring in more profits, there would be no hesitation.
The knights had already dismounted and began walking toward the group when the wagon rolled
to a halt. “Good day,” Tusk said, setting down his pipe.
One Templarite stopped and gave Mae a look over, while the other walked forward and stood
next to Tusk. The next moments felt like an eternity as the man unrolled the document and started
reading. “What are your names?”
“Tormond Caell.” Tusk answered. It had been some time since Aaron heard his real name. The
phrasing rolled smoothly off the tongue, but it seemed awkward nonetheless. “I‟m a brewer from Tumeric
traveling to Mist Gate with my assistant Aaron Bardeaux.”
The Templarite leaned forward, cape rustling in the wind. He mumbled something to Tusk as he
motioned toward their cargo. The man wore his faceplate down, making it impossible to see his facial
expressions. He turned and nodded to his companion, who walked away, hopped on his steed, and
galloped briskly in the direction from which they came.
“Tormond, you may be on your way,” the Templarite said. “But your assistant will stay. We have
a few more questions for him.”
The two adventurers stared at each other for a few moments. They took turns blinking their eyes
in their secret code they had developed over the years. They both knew what it meant. Tusk would lead
the carriage up the path a short ways and wait until Aaron negotiated his way out of the quandry. Then
they would meet up and resume traveling.
Tusk, the brewmaster from Tumeric, nodded toward the knight as Aaron stepped off the wagon.
Tusk clicked his tongue a few times, and Mae pulled the wagon around the bend.
32

Aaron and the knight stood alone, looking at each other, both waiting for the other to speak. The
lapse of time created a thick awkwardness that filled the air. It was Bardeaux who broke first, “What do
you want with me?”
“We just have a few questions.” the Templarite said, his tone short and abrupt.
“What am I being accused of?”
“Is there something you should be accused of?” the knight turned his head slightly, as if he was
waiting for a whisper to pass through his metal helmet.
“I believe you are the one who needs to provide answers to that question.”
The man‟s armor clinked as he laughed. “I hardly think it is against the law to transport alcohol.
And even if it were, we don‟t enforce the laws of Tumeric. They have their own guard for that.”
“So, what is it you want then?”
“The captain will explain when he arrives.”
The captain? Aaron thought, anxiety swelling. His crimes hardly warranted a captain. And this
wasn‟t the captain of the local guard. No, this was an enforcer of the Order, likely a Lionheart. Maybe
Tusk was right and Aaron was over exaggerating. Perhaps the Order was just interested in the
whereabouts of the Terrene.
Hooves clopped in the distance as multiple horses trotted through the forest, slowly growing
closer. Aaron turned and his heart sank. Four knights knights traveled toward him: three Templarites and
one Lionheart, riding steeds donned with fierce, steel armor and tabards specifically designed for their
bodies.
The Lionheart pulled his horse to a halt a few yards away, dismounted, and walked hastily toward
the guard that previously spoke with Aaron. They had an exchange, little of which could Aaron overhear.
“...sure that‟s him?” the Lionheart asked.
“Yes.” the Templarite said.
“We‟ve been all over the countryside, you‟re positive?”
“Without a doubt.”
“Yes, I believe you‟re right.” The Lionheart began walking toward Aaron , hands clasped behind
his back. He strolled back and forth as if performing an inspection. Eventually, his voice sounded. It
sounded deep like thunder. “What‟s your name, lad?”
“Aaron Bardeaux.”
“Tell me, Aaron,” the Lionheart said, removing his helmet. He leaned toward one of the
Templarites, muttered something, then looked back to Aaron. With each movement, his wavy, black hair
rustled. “What is it you‟re doing here?” The Lionheart‟s accent was thick and rugged. He hardly
pronounced the last syllable of the words, if at all.
“I‟m an apprentice to the great brewmaster in Tumeric,” Aaron answered. “We were making a
trip to Mist Gate.”
“Mist Gate, eh? That‟s a bit of a trip for just two. The roads are dangerous these days.” The
Lionheart paused, giving Aaron a chance to respond. None was given. “My name is Tavon Aiell,
Lionheart of the Order of the Radiant Light.” The man raised a hand and signaled for his soldiers to
disperse, leaving he and Aaron alone. He then continued pacing.
"We‟ve been in town seeking a new recruit. There were many that showed interest and many
duels were by people trying to prove their worth. Some seemed worthwhile, others not so much. But we
were sent to find a particular person—a certain recruit—and I believe that's you."
33

Aaron snorted. "I believe you have the wrong person. Now if you don't mind, I have a destination
to reach."
"We won't force your will, lad."
"That's good, for you you won‟t have mine." Aaron replied abruptly, turning to face where Tusk
had escaped. What could they possibly want with me? I‟d be killed here and now if they knew what I‟ve
done.
“You could live a good life, Aaron. Traveling about, trading exotic liquors, making great friends.
Maybe even settle down somewhere. Possibly in the Northern Peaks. Maybe build yourself a cabin or live
in a cave, perhaps? Maybe you could construct a little settlement with a smoker.
“You could grow to be an old man up in those mountains, living a peaceful and happy life with
no visitors to be a bother. If you‟re smart you could store up a large pile of meat for when hunting is
difficult on your joints. No one would blame you choosing that life.”
Aaron stopped. How does he know? He didn‟t turn around, but couldn‟t resist letting the
Lionheart finish.
Tavon continued, "But there is a difference between being happy and living with joy, feeling like
you're doing something with your life. Feeling like you're leaving a mark on history. I'm offering you a
life of adventure, of discipline. A purpose. It won't be easy, it'll actually be quite difficult; sometimes sad
while other times exceedingly exciting. But ultimately the life I offer will bring fulfillment, a mission to
your lifestyle. Victory. If you feel something inside of you screaming that you are worth more, that you
need more out of life, don't resist. We won't force your hand, lad, and you can leave during training if you
wish. The choice is yours.”
What was happening? Of course Aaron wouldn‟t join. He couldn‟t. He‟d be rejected the moment
they discovered who—what—he was. Though there was something ironic about the moment. It was not
everyday a person of his skillset was asked to join a highly honored and holy organization. And it wasn‟t
just any organization, it was the Order of the Radiant Light. Men of that order were rumored to be masters
of self control, discipline, and holiness.
Aaron scanned the area for the distant sight of the wagon. Tusk should be waiting for him just
around the bend. Yet, Aaron couldn‟t see anything. He scanned again. Nothing. He scanned again,
piercing through the trees with eyes like an eagle, but there was no Tusk, no Mae, and no wagon to spot.
No one was waiting. He had been abandoned. Tavon‟s question rustled through his mind.
Of course I won‟t join, he thought. But what choice do I have?

***

Plans are interesting things. Typically, if nothing happens to interfere, they work out to a person‟s
benefit. But a person is more likely to find a pile of hay next to a blacksmith‟s forge than to have nothing
go wrong with their plans. And so it was with Aaron. While his original intent—distancing himself from
Tumeric—was still underway, he now found himself in the company of the very people he despised more
than any. The Order of the Radiant Light.
This was not, however, the first time he had his plans change unexpectedly. Life in the
underground had taught him a few things, one of which was how to use the change of plans to his
advantage. Perhaps he wouldn‟t need to outrun Reeves, maybe he just needed some protection.
34

“A fine decision indeed, lad. One you won‟t regret,” said Tavon, the Lionheart, as he led a horse
along the dirt path of Oakwood. He was nearly a foot taller than Aaron and the handles of two scimitars
stuck up over his shoulders.
Oh, I‟m not joining the Order, Aaron thought. After my discussion with Thomas, this will be the
last place Reeves will look for me. All I have to do is wait it out until he assumes I‟m dead.
Aaron looked over his shoulder. Be safe, Tusk.
Oakwood refused to let silence dwell in its land. The branches appeared to almost move out of the
way to let a strong wind rush through that lifted decaying leaves from the dirt path and carried them
through the air current. Bits of rock and earth crumbled each time the Lionheart took a step. His sabaton
sank slightly, leaving behind a distinct impression.
As if silently called somehow, the Templarites returned, rocking on the backs of horses. They
surrounded the men in a semicircle, red capes flapping as they stopped. Their armor was so pristine it
seemingly carried a white shine and the crimson lion crest popped brilliantly against their immaculate
white tabards. Some of the men carried a bow, some an axe, but the most common weapon was a
shortsword sheathed at the waist with a shield strapped on the back.
Behind the men, a cart carried a mixture of good and tools rolled down the path. It was pulled by
a mule wearing azure leather barding. The group only had one other cart, and it was being hauled by a
war horse.
“This is Rufus,” Tavon explained, using the back of a hand to brush the mule‟s black mane. “He‟s
been faithful for some time now; joined us on many adventures. I trust you will treat him well.”
The Lionheart smiled, set his helmet, and mounted an armored horse. Aaron stared at Rufus for a
few moments in disbelief. It felt unfair that all the knights wore well polished, nicely fit metal armor with
horses wearing their own versions, while Aaron wore leather armor and would be riding a mule with the
same. On second thought, maybe it was perfectly fitting.
What if this is all a ruse? Aaron asked himself while settling onto the mule. Tavon knew about my
plans, somehow. Perhaps this is a ploy to lock me away.
He shuddered as he thought back to the stockade in Tumeric. Those were horrific memories filled
with torture, whippings, and wardens who enjoyed beating the guilty. Aaron rubbed his back, recalling
the many lashings he had received over his three visitations to the stocks, the way the blood poured from
the wounds.
But those days were behind him, and he was not going to let Reeves get what he wanted. If
anyone could protect him, despite how unforeseen or strange it might be, it would be the Order. Even if
Aaron was thrown into their shackles, it would be the last place Reeves would go.
Something didn‟t make sense. If the Templarites were escorting him to prison, why would Tavon
have offered Aaron recruitment? It hardly seemed honorable or righteous to offer recruitment as a trick
for conviction.
Aaron shook himself from the stupor and prodded Rufus with his heels, encouraging the donkey
to fall in line with the horses. After an hour or so of travel, Aaron found himself traveling through the
heart of Oakwood. It was here, where the trees became more dense, that the beaten path faded under a
heavy blanket of leaves and overgrown roots and the wind carried a stronger bite.
The low hanging branches hardly shrugged as the wind forced the trees to moan in unison like
they were singing a mystic dirge, suggesting that the legends of the old Druids might be true. It was said
that when they died they gave up their souls to the earth and became part of the forest itself. And they
waited in that mindless state until the Second Creation where they would be given perfected bodies and
35

command the earth once more. Of course, trees had been moaning and bark had been popping for as long
as time had brought the seasons, so there was hardly any evidence for concern.
And magic didn‟t exist.
Upon moving through a thicket and entering into a clearing, the Templarites removed their
helmets one by one and began laughing as they shared stories with one another. One Templarite in
particular slowed his mount enough for Rufus to catch up, allowing Aaron to ride at his side.
"Glad you decided to come. The name is Gavin," the Templarite said as he tied his hair into a
ponytail to keep it from falling into eyes. "You're in for quite an adventure."
“Aaron.”
"Have you ever been this far from Tumeric?" Gavin asked.
Win their hearts. They will tell you their secrets. "A few times with Tu—Tormond—and once
with my father. When I was about four or five. The memory is very vague.”
"Well this stretch of trees we are in now is known as Oakwood, which, as you may know, follows
the twists in the shorelines of Blackwater Bay—to our right—for a few miles." The brown haired man
pointed as he explained. Aaron knew the geography, of course, but he didn‟t interrupt.
“The land here is far too dense to be inhabitable by humans,” Gavin continued. “Other wildlife
exists, but it would require too much effort to clear the area. And so far, everyone that has tried has failed.
They claim the Terrene interfered with the task.” Gavin paused for a moment and smiled. “The Terrene
didn‟t stop the founder of Tumeric from punching through the land until they found a suitable plot to
construct what we know of today.”
Aaron looked back. Tusk, I hope you‟re faring better than I am.
"Now, Blackwater Bay found it's name from the notoriety of the pirates that would use the waters
as a safe haven,” Gavin said. “Actually, the founders of Tumeric were once hired mercenaries brought to
free Blackwater from the pirates, but during an encounter their boat was taken to the depths. They
survived the bitter night and found their way through the forest to where the city now stands. Blackwater
separates us from the deeps of the ocean on one side and the other large area of land on the other, much of
which has not been inhabited. And no, the water is not actually black."
"What happened to the pirates?" Aaron asked as he pulled out an apple he had stashed in his
pack. He knew the answer, of course. Stories of the old pirates were common in Tumeric, and what child
doesn‟t love a good story of swashbuckling adventures? Parents tried to twist the stories to provide
morals and lessons, but that was something of an impossible task.
"I'm not the best historian regarding the whereabouts of pirates. Others in our Order will be able
to provide a better explanation of things, but, from my understanding, the pirates no longer touch those
waters. I believe the Council of Tumeric pays another kingdom to keep the bay clear of danger. But if you
are looking for more information, you should ask Tavon.”
“Tavon? Has he studied pirates?”
Gavin smiled. “Something like that. He used to be one.”
What? Tavon, Lionheart of the Order of the Radiant Light, used to be a pirate?
“Surprising isn‟t it?” Gavin said as if he were reading Aaron‟s mind.
“What made him leave a life of piracy?”
“There are many things that lure men to the Order, but I would say for him, he found too much
freedom within piracy.”
“Too much freedom?” Does such a thing exist?
36

Gavin paused for a moment. “I suppose we could make this your first lesson. You see, people
need structure. It is within this structure that people find freedom. It has become increasingly common,
due to the influence of individualism, that freedom is having the option to choose whatever a person
wants to do at any given situation. The more options there are, the more freedom. People like the idea of
being in control, the idea of being a god.
”However, we know this to not be true. Take the government of Tumeric, for instance. It has laws
within its establishment and a person can function freely within the city as long as they cohere to the
rules. If a person decides to break the laws, however, they must live with the consequences. You see,
there are laws and basic morals that were placed within the universe upon creation and a person is free
when they operate within those boundaries. But if a person decides—within their own will—to break said
laws, then they must live with the repercussions.
“For instance, humans cannot fly. We were not created with the gift of wings. But most of us
were gifted with the ability to walk, giving us the freedom of travel and the freedom to choose whether
we walk, or run, or jump. But if a person runs and jumps off a cliff in an attempt to fly, they will most
certainly fall to their death.
“You understand?”
Aaron nodded. What Gavin had described was the basic laws of nature. But the information
regarding freedom was something interesting, and seemed to create a paradox within itself. A person is
most free when they constrict their actions to rules?
After a few moments of silence, Aaron decided to change the subject. "So how many members
are there in the Order of the Radiant Light?"
"Knights or in total?"
"Total." Aaron said as he threw his apple core into the woods. Bushes rustled as it landed.
"That is a good question, let me think for a second." The sound of clopping hooves echoed
through the trees as Gavin counted on his fingers, many times over. "Including the farmers I would say
three, maybe four, thousand."
Aaron's eyes widened at the number. "Where do they all stay?"
"Well," Gavin explained, "there is the monastery, where the knights and scholars—whom we call
monks—stay. As you can imagine, that building is quite large. We have a primary meal house where all
of the cooks stay. Many of the farmers have families and friends, and most of them share or own houses
throughout the land we control. And then we have a few craftsman who own their own shops in different
areas, and most of them have taken apprentices. We also have the warcamps. There are some three
hundred thousand soldiers out there, I believe.
“And that is just those in the Order of the Radiant Light. There are other Orders of Orthianism
scattered amongst the world. Some deep in the Northern Peaks, others are farther east, while some are
well past the Great Plains to the south.”
“Far more than I thought,” Aaron said, surprised.
"We aren't all knights, you see. Not all battles are won on the battlefield. We need to eat, after
all."
Aaron Bardeaux looked past Gavin to the mountain peaks in the distance. Fog and clouds had
mixed with the distance, making the mountains blurry and hardly distinguishable.
"Ah, The Northern Mountains," Gavin said. "Known by some as The Frostburn Mountains."
Aaron turned his gaze away, looking straight ahead.
37

"From this side those slopes look pleasant, snowfall is moderate, and trees are abundant, but the
other side tells a different story. You see, the mountains act like a dam and keep the violent storms from
raging through the countryside. You considering turning back?" Gavin asked. The question, though
simple, was strong and penetrated deep. "There is no shame in turning back, Aaron. I'm sure in your
travels with us we will find our way to those peaks. But at least wait until you make it through training
before you make that decision. After all, we wouldn't want Rufus to be lonely on the trip." Gavin smiled
and encouraged his horse back into its position in the lineup.
I can make it through training, Aaron thought.
He didn‟t have much of a choice. For his plan to work, he needed to appear like an interested
recruit. Whatever physical, theological, political, or philosophical training was required to join the Order,
Aaron needed to endure. If he refused—
A deep hum sounded near the front of the troupe. It slowly trickled through each of the
Templarites. A few of them switched notes and entered into a perfect, ear soothing harmony. Altogether,
the members of the Order of the Radiant Light sang a song of victory, love, and peace. As the words were
sang, the air changed, almost like an aura was emanating from the men. The trees stopped moaning and
the leaves hardly rustled. The haunting sounds of Oakwood were replaced with quietness, stillness. Peace.
The feeling lingered for the next few hours, and, once the sun had started to set behind the distant
earth, the group dismounted and prepared their sleeping arrangements before bringing a fire to life. After
gathering a few logs for seating, some of the men sat down and pulled out sharpening stones. They
scraped them along the edges of their blades in perfect, practiced unison.
Aaron took a seat next to the fire, battling the cold with the warmth it emitted. A few of the
armored men walked by and placed a few skillets over the flames. They tossed a few slabs of chicken and
meats into the pans before walking away to begin the long process of removing their armor. Against the
glow of the flames, Aaron looked up into the distant, hidden sky that carried a splash of orange and pink.
Darkness was only a few minutes away.
“Aye, I remember when I first met Michael,” one of the Templarites said in a loud, booming
voice that drew all focus to his conversation. “We were out east, near Shiverwind Cove, I believe. The
wind was cool that night, I believe the frost was just beginning. We had entered a cave looking for a
sorcerer of sorts." Everyone was quiet as they listened to the story. Occasionally someone would nod their
head as if in agreement.
Sorcerer? Aaron thought. Does he mean someone like a wizard? Someone who uses magic?
The man continued, "We explored the cave for some time. It was dark. We didn't want to show
ourselves, but we had no other choice; we lit torches. We explored those damp wet halls until we finally
caught the man near his cauldron."
"That's exactly how I remember it," another man—who Aaron presumed to be Michael—
interrupted. "Smoke was pouring from that cauldron."
"Aye, that it was," the knight confirmed, as he checked the temperature of the evening meal.
"Rahn, how does it look?" asked Tavon. He sat to the right, wiping his scimitars clean. The blade
flashed brilliantly in the firelight, a perfect sheen along the sharpened edge.
"Still needs some time," Rahn, the story teller, confirmed as he rubbed his bald head. He sat down
and continued, "So there we were, watching this sorcerer conjure up something, something we didn't want
to see. We spoke with him for a little while, but then that nasty little thing reared it's face. It was black
and gloomy and so thick you couldn't see through it. It towered over the man, great in form. We knew this
one had been feasting for some time."
38

"Yeah, we knew it was going to be tough." Michael added, as the soldiers all continued to listen,
each one fidgeting with his own belongings, making sure everything was clean and organized.
"And that he was. That sorcerer left his cauldron and charged us. He wasn‟t too bad, though the
Shadow was giving him some sort of powers. But it wasn‟t anything we couldn‟t handle. The Shadow,
well, that bugger proved to be more difficult." The man added hand gestures to build suspense and
intensity.
"That's true, that sorcerer wasn't too bad,” said Michael, “but he kept throwing rocks at me.
Thump after thump. So annoying." All the knights laughed.
Rahn‟s massive figure looked strange as if laughed. Brutes of his stature typically worked as
bodyguards, bouncers, or mercenaries, so it seemed strange for one to be laughing.
"That's true,” he said. “A few of them hit you in the head too, if my memory is correct."
"You are, indeed. Luckily I was wearing my helmet, but some hit my exposed neck. I wasn't
expecting such a tough fight, so he caught me a little off guard. I had to have the dents removed from my
helmet. And thinking about it, I'm not so sure I have the same helmet. I think they swapped it out with a
new one that looks the same."
"That's probably true." Tavon said, smiling. "Beatrice has been known to do that."
"If she wasn't such a fighter, I'd probably confront her about it," Michael said in a sad tone.
The burly man placed a hand on Michael's shoulder. "That's a good choice, lad. She'd lay a
beating on any of us. Back to the fight: we eventually landed a few solid blows on that Shadow as we
fought back. Each one made it angrier and angrier. But by now the sorcerer had spent all of his energy, so
now it was just the Shadow remaining. It couldn't handle the two of us, and we eventually landed enough
strikes to make it fizzle out of existence." The muscular man stood standing proud with hands on hips.
"What a way to make a friend."
The host of Templarites raised their mugs of ale and cheered. Aaron joined in, but his thoughts
ran wild. Surely they aren't serious. Talking about fighting ghosts. And Magic? That stuff is only in
fantasies. Was this some strange initiation ritual? Are they trying to scare me off? But if the Terrene
spoke with animals, maybe this is possible.
No. Magic wasn‟t real.
The food was ready for eating. Rahn and Michael quickly divided the meat—a combination of
buffalo, chicken, and mutton—between everyone sitting around the fire. Nothing stopped a man from
speaking quite like food, and the atmosphere quickly filled with silence as the troupe indulged in the long
awaited meal.
"Let me introduce you to everyone, Aaron," Tavon said, breaking the silence once his share was
spent. "That man there on the left, his name is Titus. Next to him is Tristan. Sitting beside Tristan, that
massive man, his name is Rahn. We found him deep to the south in the Great Plains hunting rhinos. I
thought he would be a good addition to our group, and fortunately he agreed."
Rahn raised his hand in a fist and nodded toward Aaron. "Don't ask me how I lost the hair."
Tavon smiled and continued, "Next to Rahn we have Michael, and you know Gavin. Michael was
with Gavin when we found you. Next to the pair you know, we have Leonias. Next to him, that man with
the short brown hair, that's Dexter. He's been with us almost fourteen years now. He joined shortly after I
did.
"Next to Dexter we have Alexander. He's a Tumerician like you. He joined us after a few
attempts at fighting competitions. And finally, that rather plump man on the end, his name is John. John is
still a Squire, but after a few more runs like this he should have no problem getting promoted. John is also
39

the reason we needed a second cart for food." Tavon smiled and looked directly at John. "Luckily for us,
the Council of Tumeric was nice enough to provide a little extra for the trip home."
John chuckled and reached into the fire for a second helping of food.
"And of course you know me," Tavon concluded. "That's the lot of us."
Aaron nodded and opened his mouth, but paused. Win their trust.
“It‟s a pleasure to meet you all,” he said. “I must say, I never dreamed I would be adventuring
with a group from the Order of the Radiant Light.”
“To the new Recruit!” shouted Tristan. The lot of men raised their mugs and cheered loudly.
Aaron joined in the celebration, finding the thought of joining the Order awkward. But he had to play
along lest he jeopardize his entire plan.
Oakwood was filled with joy that night as the men laughed and enjoyed their merry ways.
Eventually, after a few hours, the fire was built high one final time to help repel the bitter winds, and the
men peacefully fell asleep one by one.

Despise evil.

Chapter 6

Life contains power and power is gained through sacrifice.


Matram‟s words echoed within Sariah‟s mind as she walked deeper into the cave, passing wolf
claws that hung on strings made of muscle. Power was gained through sacrifice. The ram she carried on
her shoulders shook violently as it tried to escape. Animals being frightened by her presence was proof
the sacrifices had been working. A comforting thought.
Conjuring the Fletchings was easier as well. Before, it took many minutes to cast even a single
spell, and that had a high chance of sending her deep into the effects of Backlash. On many occasions she
was knocked to the floor babbling or waking from unconsciousness covered in sweat with the chills. But
now… Now things were different. Now she had increased her Khasta—a person‟s threshold before the
Backlash begins to take effect—to the point where she could use the weaker Fletchings multiple times
before feeling even slightly light headed. Not too mention the Strands of the Universe had become so easy
to find they were nearly visible.
Sariah smiled. With the flick of the wrist she sent tiny flames of dark violet around the Den. One
would think the darker flames would only provide shadows, but it was not like that at all. These, tiny,
dark purple flames brought with them a brightness equal to a normal sized torch. While the coloration was
different—more of a purple shading rather than a red or orange—they lit the passageways nicely. Such a
simple conjuration was too minor to be considered one of the five Fletchings.
There was a time, early in her training, when she had to strain with intense focus to even summon
one tiny flame which would dissolve after a few seconds. But now with just the flick of a wrist she could
bring an entire cavern to life.
Power is gained through sacrifice.
40

It was working, indeed. And as her power increased, Sariah was unsure how long the flames
would burn, but she assumed an hour or two. More than enough time to do what she came for.
She pass through a makeshift door consisting of wolf and bear pelts, and tiny rocks strung on
wolf tendons acted like beads. Rabbit feet and bear claws swayed as she brushed past. All of the Dens
across the Eastern Lands were decorated in such a way. Rabbit feet and bear claws were said to ward off
intruders, and the most powerful ones could mask the entrances all together. Which might explain why
the Dens were ever uncovered. Wolf pelts and bear skins were to protect their owners, almost like they
were animal companions watching from the afterlife. Various fangs, claws, and teeth were strung on other
tendons around the hallways and rooms to emit a type of magical force to assist in various rituals. At
least, that‟s the way Matram had explained things. Sariah never felt anything from the objects so she
couldn‟t confirm such claims, but she knew it wasn‟t past the realm of possibility.
With the chickens placed next to an oak table and the ram tied to a table leg so it could not flop
away, Sariah—after flicking her wrist to light up the room—made her way over to a type of dresser
carved out of the cave‟s wall to begin preparations. Anyone could perform a sacrifice, but it took a certain
kind of person—a patient and knowing person—to perform a ritual. It was a sacrifice within a proper
ritual that would increase a person's Khasta; that would allow one to see the Universe more clearly. And
Matram had trained her well.
Slowly and methodically, Sariah grabbed the items from the dresser placed each one on the table
in its proper place. The athame—a dagger engraved with dark runes specific for drawing the blood—was
placed at the far left of the table. Next to it were three pins and a hammer to drive the pins, which would
harness the creature's soul and keep it bound to the table. The animal would be placed at the center for
sacrifice. A small groove ran from the center of the table down to the edge where a wooden bowl would
catch the blood. After the bowl was filled, the person performing the ritual would slice their own hand,
allowing exactly six drops to splash into the small pool of blood. Then the bowl would be placed upon an
altar located in the corner of the room. If the ritual was a success: the blood would come to a boil and
evaporate slowly until the bowl was empty. And finally, the animal corpses would turn to ash.
At one time, years ago, the sight of blood and death would have been disturbing, almost
hauntingly terrifying. During her time living in the underground of Tumeric she worked as a thief, a
burglar of sorts. Her main tasks were rather petty when compared to the grand scheme of everything:
picking locks and reclaiming stolen goods, repossession. Lives were considered replaceable in those petty
crimes, so finding someone who could pick a lock or walk quietly was not a difficult task.
There were times where she had been caught and sent to the stockades, then after a short time,
released back into society as a rehabilitated individual. That was the goal of the system, at least. It never
really worked that way. At worst she received a slap on the hard of a minor fine for the punishments.
Never had an execution or a life behind bars been under consideration.
This went on for three years with four trips to the stocks before Sariah was issued a more
complicated missions: espionage. It was during those few months that Reilyth, a master assassin, found
her and began a much more intensive training of specialization. For months she poured all she had into
those training sessions. Blisters began to swell on her hands, but she pressed on until they ripped or
became hard calluses. When a person is sent on many missions to assassinate wealthy and important
individuals, they see a lot of blood. Now, blood did not so much disturb Sariah as it did encourage.
Sariah opened the cage and the chickens flapped their wings wildly, sending loose feathers into
the air as they tried to escape. She gripped one by the neck and slapped it against the table. It squirmed
and and cried as the pins were driven in: one through each wing and one through the torso. Then she took
41

the sacrificial knife—the athame—and carved an intricate pattern across the chest, stretching from the
base of the bird‟s neck down to the start of the legs. The chicken bled out slowly and went limp. Sariah
tossed the dead chicken to the side of the table. It landed with a wet slop. Then she did the same with the
next chicken.
The ram was going to be more difficult. Larger creatures took up more of the table, making
specific motions that were required for the ritual more difficult. Not too mention it could knock the pins
or dagger from the table. Heaven forbid it knock over the bowl of blood and ruin the entire event.
She unleashed the ram, set it in place, and quickly wrapped a rope around it and the table, tying it
tight. It lay on its side, kicking, trying to break its bonds and escape. Sariah used her weight to keep it flat
against the table the best she could. Then, with great care, she drove one pin into its shoulder. It butted
and kicked as it screamed out in pain, but Sariah was able to avoid having her legs damaged. Then other
pin was nailed into the other shoulder. The third and final pin was hammered into the spine. When it was
driven far enough into the vertebrate the ram was hit with paralysis. Sariah lifted the beast's limp head and
slit its throat. Blood dripped until it's eyes lost all signs of life.
“You see?” she whispered. “I told you you wouldn‟t be bound for very long.”
With the animals dead and piled next to the table, she sliced a small incision in her palm and
counted six drops of blood. Now the moment of truth. She lifted the bowl, which was filled to the brim
with blood, and carefully walked her way to the altar, placing it in the center of the stone slab which was
covered in runes similar to those on the athame.
Small bubbles began popping on the surface of the red liquid, and the blood eventually came to a
boil. Sariah watched as the liquid slowly left the cup in streams of steam and dissipated into the air. The
ritual was a success.
She closed her eyes and began focusing on the Universe, searching for the power it brought.
Purple lightning bolts started flashing behind her eyelids. Then, after a few moments, she felt power.
Waves of power. Energy coursed through her veins. She gasped as if she had been drowning and was
finally allowed a breath. She felt… awakened. Sariah opened her eyes and reached out a hand.
She could feel the Strands of the Universe.

Do good.

Chapter 7

Aaron was awakened violently, shaken by a man with long wavy black hair, whom he perceived to be
Tristan once his eyes had adjusted to the light. It had been too dark the night before to make out many
features, but now it was clear enough to see the gentle stubble for a beard on the Templarite‟s face.
"Wake up, my dear Aaron. Breakfast is ready." Tristan smiled as he handed Aaron his portion of
eggs on a giant green leaf delicately crafted into a bowl. "Eat quickly. We‟ve got a lot of ground to cover
today." Tristan walked away while eating from the leaf he carried.
42

Aaron Bardeaux took a seat on a log and stared at the steaming pile of eggs. How did they fold the
leaf so well? He thought. Why are these people practicing folding leaves anyway? And where did they
find such a giant leaf? How long did I sleep?
The grogginess of the night still lingered in his body, and the last thing on his mind was eating a
meal. No matter how good it smelled. Heavens, it did smell good. If what Tristan said was true and they
did have a long day ahead of themselves, Aaron needed nutrition. So he forced the food down.
Despite it being early in the morning—at least, it felt like it was—the camp was already at quite a
roar as everyone prepared for the day. Rahn was singing in a deep voice as he adjusted the girth strap of
his saddle, fastening it around his horse. He was too far away for the words of the song to be understood,
but it was likely something of peace and victory, similar to the song sung the day before. Tristan was busy
cleaning the breakfast skillets and Gavin stood in front of Rufus and Starlight—Gavin‟s horse—fastening
their morning feeding muzzles, likely filled with oats. Leonias sat on the log fully armored, reading a
rather thick book. The others were either fastening their armor or preparing their mounts for the day.
Aaron Bardeaux was the last to be ready. The host of Templarites stood waiting at their mounts as
Aaron approached the path from the treeline, fastening the belt to his leather-padded pants. "Sorry
everyone. I had a bit too much to drink last night and had to relieve myself." Aaron said loudly.
“It‟s fine, lad, but your coat isn‟t long enough.” Tavon said as he walked past.
What? Aaron thought, looking down in concern. Everything looked normal. The coat stretched to
his knees and there weren‟t any apparent tears.
“It won‟t keep your shins or ankles warm.” He smiled and hopped on his horse.
Aaron shook his head and swung a leg over Rufus, settling onto the saddle.
The men all chuckled as they took their places. Tavon prodded his mount with his boots and he
started leading the next day of adventure through Oakwood. Rufus pulled the wagon, and the familiar
feeling of riding an animal settled into Aaron‟s legs as he looked around and tried to enjoy the morning.
The thick canopy of branches created a dim, hidden world as the troupe left the heart of Oakwood
and ventured through a less traveled path. Passing through what little clearings remained in the dense
forest, it was possible to see the edges of the sky fracturing with reds and oranges as the sun continued to
rise. A branch snapped to the right as a large buck bounded through the trees in the distance, a herd of
eleven, maybe twelve, following behind.
That was the first sign of wildlife in all of Oakwood. What happened to this place? It used to be
so full of life. It used to welcome the light.
Past the thickness of the treeline, Blackwater Bay glistened brilliantly as light touched the waves
that moved gracefully along the blue surface. The most wonderful part of the bay was the lack of trees.
Sure oaks, pines, and maples were interesting to look at and brought a certain familiarity with them, but it
was nice to have something else to look at during the miles of constant travel.
This could be worse, Aaron thought. I could be in the open plains with nothing to block the winds.
I could be in Reeves‟s hands. I could be in the stocks… Aaron rubbed his back, remembering all too well
the feeling of a whip lashing against his back.
Was Rahn serious the night before when he spoke of fighting a ghost? Or a demon? Whatever it
was, it couldn‟t possible exist, right? Everyone did some to agree with the story, but maybe they had
heard the tale before. Or perhaps they had all read the same book. They were all members of the same
Order, after all, so they likely shared the same library.
But they did speak of Michael‟s helmet and the damage it took.
43

Smoke billowing above the trees caught Aaron‟s attention. They had, at some point, made a left
turn down a smaller path of which Aaron had never ventured. He prodded rufus to speed up—which was
hardly effective—and slowly approached the Templarite in front of him.
"Leonias, where are we headed?" Aaron asked.
"Sirena," He responded, looking down at Aaron. His blonde hair rustled in the wind. The
Templarite kept it short and neat.
"Sirena?"
"I suppose such a name was never spoken in Tumeric?"
"Not that I‟ve ever heard."
A strange, putrid scent filled the air. It was like the smell of a dead animal, powerful and sudden.
"People closer to the city probably would have no desire to find, or speak of, such a place,"
Leonias said. “During the Battle of Green Hill—the ruins you will likely see tomorrow, depending on
how much ground we cover—between Tumeric and a settlement of local barbarians, the Radiant Lights
were asked for support. We rushed to the scene and fought as valiantly as we could. Unfortunately many
lives were lost both for Tumeric and the Radiant Lights, but the threat of the barbarians was squelched
and victory was won.
“Sirena, who was a saint in and of herself, took it upon her shoulders to help the wounded and to
find the survivors a new home. She worked hard, sent many letters, and eventually found help from the
Council of Tumeric. With their help, the Order of the Radiant Light was able to found a small village for
the refugees to which we are traveling to today. Sirena did not live long enough to see her work‟s end, so
we found it fitting to name the village in her honor." Leonias paused and provided a moment of silence
for the lost. He then looked back at Aaron with a smile, "When we visit Tumeric, we always like to check
in to see how Sirena is holding up."
Aaron coughed as the foul smell grew stronger.
"It‟s bad isn't it?" Leonias asked.
Aaron nodded. "How many people live there?"
"Last time we visited, a few dozen."
"Have they been there long?"
"Ten, maybe fifteen, years now. It's still a recovery process. We can't repay the lives that were
lost, but we are trying to help the ones we still have."
Leonias covered his mouth with a blue scarf that had been tucked beneath his armor. His horse
grew uneasy as the stench worsened. Nausea settled in Aaron‟s stomach like a rock on the floor of a lake.
"Leonias,” Aaron said. “if the Terrene are growing worse, more fearsome, why are they not
attacking?"
The Templarite‟s cheeks perked up. "It would be rather foolish for them to attack ten well trained
and armored knights. We may be overrun eventually, but they would lose too many forces and expel too
much magic for it to be worthwhile."
Again with the magic. Am I the only one that is sane enough to know magic doesn‟t exist? “Ah,”
Aaron said. “Makes sense.”
"Down here!" he heard a voice shout. It sounded like Tavon. Apparently, Aaron had been too
busy with the conversation and hiding from the smell, he hadn‟t realized some of the Templarites had
dismounted and ran toward Blackwater Bay.
As all the other men dismounted and hustled toward the water's edge, Leonias shouted to Aaron.
"Tie the mounts."
44

Aaron stood alone, trying to calm ten horses—and little Rufus—who, without their riders, were
very untame, likely due to the pungent scent. He did everything he could think of to comfort the animals:
he patted their sides, stroked their manes, and whispered words of comfort and peace. It worked, kind of.
He continued fighting the beasts until he had all their reins tied to the trees. After tying the last horse—
Starlight, who was the most trouble—he stood panting, heaving the putrid air into his lungs. Finding his
breath had recovered, Aaron Bardeaux turned and made way for the bank.
The dense vegetation proved to be far more formidable than what was suggested at first glance.
Low hanging branches were thick and uneasy to move and the shrubbery had overgrown the majority of
what little path remained. Some of the bushes carried thorns that dug deep into the flesh, forcing blood to
leak onto the skin.
How could anything live in here? Aaron thought. His next step found mud and sank deep. Not on
my pants...
The earth refused to release its grip, despite how hard Aaron yanked his foot. Eventually it
popped out with a nasty squishing sound, and he wasted no time in setting off toward the water‟s edge.
When the branches and thorn bushes began to dwindle, the path opened into a rocky bank with water
brushing against its edge in a smooth, steady pattern.
Voices sounded to the left, but Aaron was too tired from the fight against nature to bother
walking over. Instead he fell onto the rocks, landing on his back, breathing in the air. He coughed. The
stench had grown fouler, so thick it made eyes water.
With waves of cold, misty air brushing against Aaron‟s face, he lie on the rocks staring at an open
sky. It was nice to see clouds splashed against the blue sky like sheep‟s wool tossed in a clean pail of
water for cleaning.
I just want to sleep.
With a sigh, Aaron struggled to his feet and walked toward the Templarites who stood in a circle
talking amongst themselves. Aaron‟s ripped clothing did little to block the winds of the oncoming winter
from chilling his legs, but there wasn‟t much he could do until he was around a fire with a thread and
needle.
As he got closer to the men, the feeling of vomiting became more of a suggestion. Aaron covered
his mouth with a shirt and continued forward. What are they looking at? He thought. I can kind of see a
foot, it looks like a hoof. Some fur, dark brown. I think I see the lightness of antlers behind Tristan.
Whatever it is has to be dead.
"What are you.." He began to ask as he stepped into the circle next to a brown haired Templarite.
"What... what is that?"
"That, is a moose." Tristan said, tone uneasy.
"What happened to it?"
The beast had grown to nearly twice its normal size and parts of its antlers had changed to
midnight black with spots beginning to hollow. A second pair was forming behind the first with sharper
tips. The moose‟s body had been tainted green and large chunks of flesh were decaying and waiting to fall
off. Bright red muscles, larger than normal, shown through the holes in the flesh. The muscles tightened
as the creature took the occasional, short breath. Giant scratch marks and patches of fur with blood clots
covered what skin had not begun to rot—which was very little. What little hide remained had hardened to
a thickness three times that of normal and had become a darker brown than what could be found in nature.
"I haven't seen this spread to this side of the river" Tavon said as he examined the body more
closely. "Have any of you?"
45

"I haven't heard anything." Tristan said, patting Aaron on the shoulder. He turned and took a few
steps away, staring out across the bay.
"It's been here a few days," Rahn explained. "Three. Maybe four."
"I‟ve seen something similar to this." Aaron‟s said, words muffled from the shirt he used to cover
his nose and mouth.
"What was it? And when?" Tavon immediately demanded.
"A wolf. Not long before we entered Oakwood."
"Was it like this?"
"It was. But it was eating…" Aaron paused, swallowing. "Eating one of its own. It would have
eaten us had we not killed it."
"Were you wounded? Did the beast bite you?"
Bardeaux shook his head.
"Fate smiled upon you, then," Leonias added, breaking a moment of awkward silence.
I hardly think it was fate, Aaron thought to himself. Fate would have been avoiding the beast
altogether.
"It's spreading. Come, we must make haste." Tavon, the Lionheart, ordered as he began running
toward the mounts left in the woods. "Rahn, take it out of its misery."
All the men had left, following the captain, all except Aaron and Rahn. Rahn nodded and pulled
out a small well-sharpened hatchet from his belt. The two stood staring at the rotting, still breathing,
carcass. Rahn leaned forward and whispered something. Whatever it was the muscular man said seemed
to have an effect: the seizing muscles of the moose began to settle, the breathing became more regular,
and the sight of fear left its eyes.
Rahn raised the axe. The sun shimmered along its edge. Aaron tilted his head. It was strange to
the see the sun at work again. It had only been a few days, but he missed it. With one fluid motion, Rahn
slammed the axe into the beast‟s chest, cleaving deep. With one last jerk, the moose breathed its last.
"Come, lad, we better get going," Rahn said as he cleaned his blade in the water. Finished, he
rushed to the treeline.
Aaron took one last look at the creature before turning and running behind the Templarites. The
path they had chosen was far easier to travel, and Aaron soon found himself looking upon the horses and
the knights. All of whom were standing in a circle.
"...stop by Sirena," Michael said. "They won‟t live through the winter if we don‟t."
"I know," Tavon stroked black stubble above lip as he spoke. "I know... And Tirion will have
long since left for the Elders. There is only one solution that I can see. One that will not leave many to
die. We split into two groups: one that goes to the Council to speak with Tirion and the Elders, the other
to Sirena."
"You can‟t be serious." Rahn barked, crossing in his arms with a furious look resting on his face.
"What would you have me do, Rahn? Sacrifice those in Sirena in an attempt to inform Tirion?"
“If only Michael brought a falcon with him,” Tristan said quietly. “We could use it to send a
message.”
"You know the Terrene would never allow an animal to be used for a message," Tavon said,
glancing a fierce look at Tristan. "We do well to ride horses through Oakwood these days." He took a few
moments to slow his breathing as he rustled hands through his hair. With a softer tone the Lionheart
asked, "Any other ideas?"
The silence provided the answer.
46

"Then it is settled. Gavin, Michael, Rahn, Titus, Dexter, Tristan, and John, you will set out and
inform the Council that the Corruption spreads. Gavin, you are in charge. The rest of us: Alexander,
Leonias, Aaron, and myself will head to Sirena. The fastest way to Rainor after we visit Sirena will be
passing through the Shadowlands."
"The Shadowlands!" Rahn shouted. "You will never make it with just the four of you."
"We have no choice, Rahn. The fastest way to the Council is continuing through Oakwood."
"There has been a hawk following for three days," interrupted Michael. "With our group split, the
Terrene are most likely to attack."
Tavon replied short but concerned, "You know their ways better than me, how certain are you of
the attack?"
Michael removed a metal bracer from his right arm and placed it in his saddlebag. Rolling up his
sleeve, he revealed a weeping willow—only a few inches tall, dark black with only a little shading for
detail—etched into the center of the forearm. "Quite. They will already be displeased with Rahn wearing
hides for armor. And then with me riding along his side, there will be little to question."
I‟ve seen that marking somewhere before.
The Lionheart nodded. "Sirena lies thirty, maybe forty, minutes from here on the outer edge of
Oakwood, and the Terrene—the Guardians of the Forest— will not dare enter the Shadowlands, if they
chase further than the trees at all. We still have one remaining Sol Stone. That should give at least one
night in the Shadowlands. Pray we don‟t need more. You however…"
"Wait, you‟re taking the recruit with you to the Shadowlands?" Rahn said, protesting once more.
"I‟d rather Aaron sneak through the Shadowlands than have him fight a force of the Terrene
without proper training. You know as well as I do, and Michael can attest, that they force encounters
differently. And we still have Rufus to care for. He will be too slow to travel with your group. Aaron will
care for him. I know it‟s dangerous, Rahn, but I see no other way. Have faith in him. And if not him, then
me. And if not me, then the Almighty."
It was strange for Aaron to hear them speak of the Almighty. He knew, from the books on
theology he had read, it was their god. And it was for this god that they lived, for each of their deeds were
set up as an offering to this unseen being. And it was from him they received strength and magic. Aaron
had not gone deeper than that. He knew magic didn‟t exist, why would god?
Rahn crossed his arms and stared unhappily at his leader.
Tavon paused, fixing his gaze on Rahn then to Gavin. "You will be traveling another few hours
through the trees to reach the Council. If Michael's beliefs are correct, that is when they are likely to
attack. The seven of you should be able to defend long enough to reach the Archeus Flats, where safety
awaits."
"And if they choose to attack you?" Rahn growled.
"We will hold our best and pray we make it past the treeline."
Rahn grunted and shook his head.
"I have to do what I think is best. And I see no other way." Tavon said.
All the soldiers nodded in agreement, including a reluctant Rahn. The plan had been set. Each
knight began walking to their own steed, covering their faces behind helmets. The horses and mule were
still uneasy from the stench, but were settled after a few moments and prepared for the journey. A few
clicks and foot prods later and the animals began trotting, hooves clopping. The wooden wheels on the
wagon creaked as the group began heading eastward once more.
47

The Shadowlands? Aaron thought as he rocked to the movements of Rufus between already sore
thighs. Of all the stories I‟ve read and tales I‟ve heard, not one was about the Shadowlands. And Rahn,
the man who wrestled rhinos, the one who told the story of fighting a shadow-creature, seemed worried…
If a man like that could be worried... And what powers could be hidden inside a Sol Stone… Listen to me,
thinking about hidden powers and magic. But what if something was in the Sol Stone?
I pray I don‟t need to find out.

***

The feeling of dread lingered as Aaron lifted his hood against the cold winds and light, misty rain.
It was not the weather that caused the feeling, for the weather came and left at its own leisure and there
was nothing that could be done about it. Besides, what was a little light rain compared to a corrupted
moose that lie tortured on the bank of a bay?
The constant threat of the Terrene only heightened the feeling. If it was true that the Terrene were
trying to resurrect the power from the Druids of old, then there was plenty of reason for concern. Fairy
tales and age old legends recorded their abilities to control and manipulate nature. Some records spoke of
a long, tiresome ritual that turned an empty, grassy plane into the luxurious forest of Oakwood. While
others spoke of their supernatural ability to befriend and train wild animals such as bears, tigers, lions,
and hawks.
Tavon, Rahn, and the others spoke of something called Corruption. Perhaps the two were linked
somehow? Did the Druids of old become evil due to this Corruption and need to be exposed of? Was
Oakwood somehow under this Corruption‟s influence? Heavens, what was the Corruption at all?
Aaron shook his head. Magic isn‟t real, he thought, yet he had trouble dismissing the words that
Tusk had spoken about the Terrene having the ability to speak with animals.
Many minutes passed, possibly an hour, and the view never changed. A path covered in
multicolored leaves and overgrown plants stretched far ahead, fading into the distance of the dense cluster
of pines and oaks. Blackwater Bay had vanished behind, taking with it the comfort a change in colors and
scenery it brought.
Just when he was about to fall asleep from boredom, Aaron noticed something out of the corner
of his eye. A black silhouette of a man leaning against a tree. Aaron‟s heart sank. Did Reeves order his
goons to set a trap? No. Even they were not stupid enough to attack a troupe of the Order.
Blinking and focusing his sight, Aaron saw that it was indeed not Reeves but a different man
entirely. He stood a bit taller than most with long locks that fell past his shoulders. He held a wooden staff
in his hands. It was different than a walking staff an elderly man would use, however. This item twisted
near the upper part of the shaft and had a collection of talismans made of bones, rocks, or gnarled
branches dangling from the head of the weapon.
Bardeaux blinked and the man was gone, leaving behind a blank space in the cluster of trees for
the wind to blow through. Which it did, forcing the trees to howl an unsettling song.
Aaron sat for a few moments, staring at the space, contemplating what he just saw. The man was
most likely part of the Terrene, which only made the situation even more unsettling. Looking around,
Aaron saw nothing but trees, bushes, rocks, and other natural things that come with a forest. No other sign
of the Terrene. Yet he could feel eyes watching him from every direction.
The feeling lingered for an incredibly long time, only growing stronger the more distance they
traveled. Eventually, the troupe reached a split in the road, meaning it was time for the eleven to become
48

the seven and the four. The seven would take the left route and speed through Oakwood to reach the
Council of Elders, while the four would head toward Sirena for repairs. Tristan and John unhooked the
cart Eilia was pulling and transferred the harness to the horse of Tavon. Dexter, Titus, and Rahn stuffed
the saddlebags for the seven who were heading north with what food they could spare from the cart.
It was Tavon who broke the silence first. “The Terrene are likely to be close. I know it's rough on
the horses, but ride as swift and as long as you can. It‟s still some distance before you reach the Archeus
Flats.”
“You be wary as well,” Rahn said, turning his horse toward the northern route. “The
Shadowlands are unforgiving. It would be a shame to lose a recruit so quickly.”
“We will see you again in Rainor.”
“Pray the Almighty sees our need.”
In unison, the ten knights placed a closed fist against the their chest, just above the heart. With
heads bowed, they mumbled something then made way for their mounts. They prodded their horses into
motion and galloped to the north, leaving behind a cloud of dirt.
Sadness filled Aaron‟s heart and he couldn‟t help but feel concerned for the men. Even if the
Terrene didn‟t have magic, there was still danger in every fight—no matter how thick the armor. Aaron
hopped back on Rufus and encouraged him to hollow Tavon along the leafy path, turning right at the fork
toward Sirena.
After a few moments, Tavon kicked his mount into motion. Frost—Tavon‟s horse—snapped
forward, somehow knowing the exact speed Rufus would be able to run while pulling a cart full of
supplies. Aaron felt a tug as Rufus accelerated. Dirt and leaves were scattered as the hooves and wheels
moved, casting debris high enough to leave a light dusting on boots, stirrups, and the ends of cloaks.
The scream like a wildcat‟s sounded from the north.
Aaron Bardeaux scanned the area quickly, but no animals could be seen. The voice boomed again
with the same intensity, but it somehow felt farther away. Farther north. It was then he realized what was
happening.
The Terrene had started their pursuit of the seven. Another howl sounded from the north, farther
still, the sound bounced off the trees. Screeches came from above as hawks left their hidden perches high
in the trees, flying northbound. Leaves rustled nearby as an animal hidden beneath took to motion.
Another bush rustled further away from the first, suggesting the creature was moving away from the
adventurer‟s from the Order—and Aaron. Another moved. Then another, and another, and another, until
the entire landscape looked like waves of the ocean.
A wolf called in the distance, followed by another wildcat‟s scream. The earth trembled softly
and the leaves began to shake. The horses lost their neves and reared back, frightened. Rufus, however,
did not react as such, instead choosing to duck his head slightly lower and run forward faster. When the
horses set their front hooves against the ground, the Templarites pulled tightly on their reins to keep the
steeds from galloping out of the forest. The war horses showed their discipline and subsided their natural
instincts to flee.
Aaron looked north, watching as the waves in the shrubbery faded into the distance. He tried to
hear past the grunts and blows from the horses, past the clopping of hooves, and past the shrieking of
wildlife in an attempt to hear the sound of a sword singing as it was unsheathed. Or the yelp of a wolf.
The shout of Orders. Anything that would signify that the group of seven was still alive. But no sound of
comfort was given.
49

Secretly he wished to not hear anything. Considering his group had no way to reinforce the other,
he supposed silence was better than listening to cries of agony as his group retreated from the confines of
Oakwood.
Heaven help them, Aaron Bardeaux thought. Save them from the Terrene. Am I praying?
It was not much longer before the group abandoned the leafy canopy of Oakwood—leaving
behind the uneasiness and dread that came with such a place, as well as the mysterious sound of the
Terrene—and galloped onto the open, grass laden fields. Grass. There was so much grass. The horses
were brought to a trot and eventually a slow, walk-like gate. Rufus, of course, followed suit.
Without the thick roof of leaves, the sun graced the ground with its warming touch. Well, as
warm as the oncoming winter would allow. Eyes closed, Aaron lifted his head upward with outstretched
arms, welcoming the gentle touch of the sun‟s rays on his face. He didn‟t care who watched. It had been
too long. He did, however, restrain from letting loose a howl of enjoyment. That would have been
regarded with judgemental looks he wished to not suffer.
Rufus made a gentle turn to the left, following the horses ahead of him. The group now followed
along the edge of the treeline, a few meters away, far enough to not feel the weight of the forest. The dirt
path continued forward for some time before it disappeared over the hill, where a smoke stream lingered
above the oaks, slowly brushing away into nothingness.
Sirena was just over the next hill.

Pursue holiness.

Chapter 8

As the group rounded over the top of a grassy hill, Aaron saw the small town of Sirena.
Down at the base of the large hill, right where the ground turned into a flat, wood and stone
houses had been settled together some dozen yards apart. Each building had a few windows fixed on each
side and was topped with a peaked roof. One structure—the one most center of the town—was twice as
tall as the others and carried a large, stone bell tower, making it most likely the tavern. And taverns had
beds. A drainage ditched stretched around much of Sirena and disappeared away into the distance where
the flat turned back into a hill and sloped downward.
A few boys were chasing each other around one of the wooden homes and a little girl in a red
dress followed behind, occasionally stopping to retrieve the doll she dropped. The parents stood watching
from the deck, leaning against a wooden railing.
The field to the right was larger and flatter than most. The clumped up bits of grass and curvy
lines suggested it was a wheat field that had been recently harvested. Cattle grazed on the more uneven
fields in the distance, kept in by a large wooden fenced that stretched around the pasture. A few men were
walking in and out of a barn carrying pitchforks, likely moving around bits of hay in preparations for the
coming season.
"Hello!" Tavon shouted when the group was a few hundred yards away. The sound echoed
through the hillside.
50

Some of the adults, the ones standing outside their homes completing miscellaneous tasks, waved
and shouted responses of:
“Hello.”
“Afternoon.”
“It has been too long.”
“They‟re here”
The children scattered about excitedly as the parents set down their tools and walked off their
decks, stopping in their fields and to admire the Templarites.
Two men ran up the hill toward the members of the Order—and Aaron—shouting greetings of
their own. They paused a few feet from Tavon, bowed, then rushed to his side, matching the pace of the
horses. Words were shared between the Lionheart and the two citizens, who each wore tattered brown
clothing with dirt stained white pants. Unfortunately the distance and the clopping of hooves muddled out
the words.
The sweet smell of freshly baked cherry pie lingered from one of the homes as the troupe entered
into what would be the village square. The traveling road ended where the stable, town hall, and one
particularly large cottage which could be the mayor‟s home met. Tavon swung a leg and dismounted
Frost, stretched his legs, then started greeting the local residents—many of which wore garments of the
more earthly colors. The Templarites followed suit, and so did Aaron.
After the exchange of greetings, hand shakes, and a few hugs, Tavon looked toward his group.
“Leonias take some boards and start repairing the houses. Take Aaron with you. Michael and I have
business to attend to in the inn, then we will hopefully have time to help finish the new cattle pen.”
“Yes, sir.” Leonias said. He immediately went to the cart Rufus had tugged to Sirena and began
pulling out boards, nails, hammers, and a hand saw.
A man approached Aaron Bardeaux with purpose. His eye sockets were not quite even—the left
remained in a state of constant squinting—a few lumps had developed along the cheeks and forehead, and
the man‟s tongue pressed hard against the upper left portion of the lips. He unhooked the cart from
Tavon‟s horse and mule. Then, after briefly glancing at Aaron, grabbed the reins and began escorting
them to the stable.
Such a man would be a beggar at best in Tumeric, Aaron thought as he watched the man stumble
on one leg to the stalls. But here…
Here he had a job. He had a purpose, even if it was cleaning and feeding horses. That was better
than begging in the cold while soldiers tried to throw you out of the city walls.
“Here.” Leonias said to Aaron.
Aaron shook away the thoughts of the stable hand and turned to respond. It was then he noticed
the white shirt decorated with gold linings that had been hidden underneath the Leonias‟s armor, which
had already been detached and placed into the wagon. Aaron barely had time to remove his leather jerkin
before boards were handed to him, one after another.
"We are here to fix their homes?" Aaron asked, holding out his arms like a shelf as the Templarite
piled on more boards.
"Of course. We are here to help anyway we can. What is it you thought we did?" Leonias patted
him gently on the shoulder. Then, after grabbing his own pile of boards and pocketing some nails, began
walking toward the first repair site located behind the two-story tavern.
“I…” Aaron paused. I thought you took over kingdoms. You expanded your borders. Overthrew
kings to establish your own councils. You ignore the issues of people as you ride from realm to realm,
51

reminding everyone who truly ruled the lands. Destroy hope. Drive the peasants further into the slums
while exalting the nobles ever higher... were the thoughts that Aaron wanted to say. Instead he simply cut
his sentence short and stumbled behind, trying not to drop the wooden planks which stuck out a few feet
on each end.
The duo walked around the building and stopped in front of the first jobsite. Boards had already
been placed, but—judging from the size of the hole remaining—it was obvious why Sirena needed help.
They had run out of supplies. Aaron measured the gap with his forearm, took it to memory, and cut a
section of a board to the appropriate length. He held it against the wall of the building while Leonias
started tapping nails into place.
“Tell me about your family,” Leonias asked as he waited for the next board to be cut.
“I don‟t remember much. My mother and father left when I was young.” Aaron said.
“How young?”
“Five, maybe six. Not old.”
“Do you know what happened?”
No… Bardeaux thought to say. But as he held the board against the building and looked into
Leonias‟ innocent eyes, he could not force out the lie. Instead, he simply said nothing and watched as the
nails were driven into the wooden structure.
“I was raised in Mulderia, a small town in a forest that lies a few dozen miles east of Mist Gate.
We lived up off the ground: creating canopies, walkways, houses, forts, and watch posts in the trees.
There were only two hundred or so people living there, but we had a lot of fun.” He paused, smiling. “I
left when I was eight to begin training with the Order. Occasionally I visit; I miss my family, but I
wouldn‟t trade what I do for the life I left.”
Aaron lifted the next board and to cover the last bit of the hole remaining, but he hesitated. A
white light glowed from a back room of the inn. Not like that of a fire, not a red, but a more pure white.
Almost like that of the hottest part of a flame, or a distant star. The winds brushed into the inn gently
forcing the wall-torches to flicker, but the white light never wavered. Aaron stared through the hole in
wonder as Leonias loudly reminisced about his childhood.
The light faded from view. Aaron looked over his shoulder. “Leonias?”
The man paused his speech. “Sorry. Sorry.” He tapped the nails were the hammer again. A few
more were needed then they would move to the next building. Then the next, and the next, and then one
more.
What was that light?
Bardeaux watched as the nails were driven deep into the siding. “What‟s Rainor?”
There was a pause before answering. The hammering had ceased. There were no words. Hardly
any breathing. “Rainor is the countryside where the monastery rests. It's the place we call home. I have
traveled far across the Eastern Lands, and it‟s… It still remains the greatest place I have ever seen.”
Aaron nodded. What else was he to do?
When the repairs on the inn were finished, the two gathered their supplies and headed to the next
site: a small stone cottage with small wooden windows. The panels were busted and some stones were
missing. It would take more than wood to patch the holes. But the day was still young and the Order had
brought plenty of wood, so they were going to make do with what they had. And if needed, there were
some trees that could be cut if the group could find the time to stay longer, which was unlikely.
“Was Michael really part of the Terrene?” Aaron asked.
“A tattoo like his only comes one way. Initiation.”
52

“How long?”
“He was left in the forest as a child. They found him and raised him as one of their own, showing
him the ways of the elements.”
“Is it true? Can they speak with animals?”
From what I understand: the Terrene form a bond with the animals through practice, respect, and
honor. Though I imagine some have a natural instinct for what is involved. I‟m not sure if they physically
speak, but some type of communication is possible. As for the magic, they can draw on a power to alter
the natural elements of the world. Initiation is completed only after a person has formed a bond with an
animal and has shown they are proficient with the elements.”
“Can he still… alter the world?”
“He abandoned that type of magic when he became a Templarite. Now he fights differently, using
a sword and shield.”
“What about the animal bond?”
“That I‟m not so sure about,” Leonias said. “I know he works wonders in the falconry roost, but I
don‟t think he carries a bond with a specific animal anymore.”
Bardeaux silently placed the boards and patiently awaited the nails to be driven. Due to the stone
architecture, the patch stretched from the window to a board stuck into the ground. It was ugly and
wasteful, but it would block the winds. A proper fix would happen after the coming winter left and the
snow had melted.
“Do you…” Aaron hesitated.
“Think they are safe?” Leonias said, finishing the thought. “The Elementalists are dangerous
indeed, but no more so than any creature in the Shadowlands or anywhere else in the world. Rahn is
tough, and though he may seem crude, he cares too much for his friends to let them fall without a fight.
And the other men are no pushover either. It is unlikely the Terrene would defeat them, at least not
without losing much of their own.”
“What are the shadowlands?”
“That my friend, is the land from which the Corruption flows. A place darker than the night,
where Shadows live and death is a never quenching desire. But worry not, the Radiant Lights traveled
through it once before and we will do it again.” He smiled and began walking toward the next home. “I‟ll
teach you some sword techniques once we finish. You may need to defend yourself.”
The thought of defending oneself against creatures capable of magic was unsettling to say the
least. Aaron‟s stomach twisted just thinking about it. He had barely survived the encounter with the wolf.
Fighting a Shadow, whatever that was, seemed even more impossible. At least by the way Rahn had
spoken of such a creature.
Aaron shook his head. Magic doesn‟t exist. The stories of the Terrene and Shadows is nothing but
folklore.
He and Leonias worked quickly and soon found themselves making their way to the final house
in need of repairs. And it would be the easiest fix. A drum sounded from the town square. The steady
upbeat rhythm was accompanied by cheers and shouts of thrilled townsfolk, mostly females. A lute
started playing a melody while the wooden soled shoes tapped to the beat of the song.
“The party awaits,” Leonias said with a smile. He knelt down before the final jobsite and reached
into his pocket, pulling out a handful of nails.
Aaron snorted in response. But after a few moments, he couldn‟t resist bobbing his head and
tapping his foot to the beat.
53

Leonias joined in the awkward looking motions. “Do you enjoy dancing?”
“Some,” Aaron said. “I haven‟t much, as of late. I‟m not too skilled either.”
“Ah. Worry not, Aaron. There will be plenty of girls who will be happy to teach you a few
songs.”
Bardeaux looked. He could feel the temperature of his face getting hotter as it turned more and
more red. He hoped Leonias did not see. A hope that was crushed as the young knight patted him on the
shoulder, laughing.
The last few nails were tapped into place, completing the repairs. Winds no longer pierced any
structure in the village, at least the ones that had their windows shut. The locals didn‟t seem too keen on
keeping their homes secure—doors and windows appeared to be open. There was little doubt that this
place was safe, but the winter would still be cold.
Aaron shook his head, stopping as he heard a sword unsheath.
Leonias held a longsword in his hand. The blade glistened in the sunlight—pure, sharpened,
polished, steel with a leather wrapped hilt. Small shards of diamond lined the guard and a lion's head was
forged into the pommel. A line of runes had been inscripted along the blade between the two sharpened
edges.
How did I not notice the weapons he carried?
The Templarite tossed Aaron a shortsword tucked tightly into a sheath that showed an equally
high level of craftsmanship. The weapon sang as it licked the air, flicking around in Bardeaux‟s wrist. The
blade looked the same—intricate, gold runes lined the surface between the sharpened edges.
“The shorter blade is easier to wield.” Leonias pointed the tip of his longsword toward Aaron
with his right hand and began sidestepping in a circle. “It catches less of the wind. You sacrifice reach,
but you make up for it with speed.”
Bardeaux swung the blade a few times at full arm's reach. It cut through the air like a hot knife in
butter. A few shorter swings were had, then some thrusts, jabs, spins, and a few more flicks of the wrist.
The weapon was perfectly balanced and easy to wield. Aaron looked at the weapon with a smile.
Those markings. What language are they in?
Leonias whistled. By the time Aaron met eyes with him, the longsword was already in motion. It
was time for a short training session.

***

Aaron Bardeaux stepped to the side, letting Leonias‟s longsword narrowly miss his arm. Aaron
slapped the longsword out of the way with the flat side of his shortsword. He stepped to the side, ducking
beneath the anticipated follow up swipe.
Keeping his sword flat, he parried a powerful overhead chop. Steel rang as the two swords met.
After the next chop was blocked, Aaron stepped forward, switching from the defensive to the offensive
with a slice of his own. The Templarite casually avoided the strike, but paused.
“That was a nice move,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Thank you,” Aaron said.
“Where did you learn the fundamentals of sword technique?”
Memories flooded Aaron‟s mind of the times his father—William—had given him combat
lessons. Granted, Aaron was hardly five and the bouts were more between a playful father and his child
than between a sergeant and his recruit. But some of the basics stuck nonetheless.
54

There was some training to be had when living in the underground. Albeit most people died in the
underground, making friendships hard to maintain. Even so, Aaron‟s comrades were more than fair
teachers. He considered himself lucky to have known such men, however brief it was.
“I picked up a few things along the way,” Aaron said, stepping forward, sword pointed at his
opponent.
Leonias batted the tip away with his longsword. “You move with too much confidence to be self-
trained.”
Aaron smiled, waited for his sword to be slapped away again, then used the opening to run
forward. He dipped beneath a swipe and sliced his sword vertically as he rose. Leonias sidestepped and
started a counterattack, forcing Aaron to switch to back to the defensive. Aaron placed a foot—stopping
his momentum—and dropped into a safer stance, sword held diagonally to block as much of his body as
possible.
Leonias sent forth a flurry of chops, slices, and swipes that came from all directions. Each one
was parried or avoided, but as the fight continued Aaron was beginning to tire. And so his motions began
to slow, despite how hard he focused.
“You‟re much better than I expected,” Leonias said. “You are quick with your arms, but you lose
power because of your foot placement. We don‟t have time to focus on that now, but keep that in mind.”
Aaron nodded. He looked at the blade. With the amount of parries the sparring contained, it
should have carried multiple chips, but instead the blade remained fully intact. The steel was pure and
flawless, lacking any imperfections.
“Do you have any experience with a shield?”
“I‟ve carried a few, but never any training.”
“Ah. Well, the shields are back at the cart, which has likely been moved for the dancing. The
biggest part about learning to use a shield is having the faith that it will block the attack when it
disappears from view. If we have time later I‟ll have you hold one and I‟ll throw some attacks at it.”
Aaron faked a smile. That sounds like so much fun, he thought, sheathing the sword and reaching
out to return the weapon to its owner.
“You hang on to that one,” Leonias said dismissively. “You may need it tomorrow.”
Aaron looked east, frowning.
“Don‟t worry, Aaron. We have ventured through the Shadowlands before. You will be safe with
us. Just don‟t wander off alone.” Leonias patted him on the shoulder as he walked past, heading toward
the beating drum. “Come, we have a party to attend.”
Music and laughter filled the air as groups of people gathered around some Templarites sitting on
one of the wooden benches scattered about the town square. They looked to be telling stories. Sweet
smelling pies and smaller handheld pastries were placed on a long, wooden table to the right. Slices had
already been cut in the pies, revealing a nice variety of flavors: blueberry, cherry, strawberry, and
raspberry. Two burly men—each holding the end of a large, wooden plank—carried a roasted boar from
the inn and set it down on the largest of tables. They hurried back inside and repeated the process until
there were three boars set outside.
Illiwyn—one of the leaders of Sirena, apparently—stood off to the one of the far tables, placing
her banana bread. Evidently she was running late for the festivities. Once her delicacy was placed, she
lifted the ends of her light blue dress and rushed to join the lines of dancers, braids of hair bobbing
behind.
55

Two small girls—too young to have developed their shyness—ran to greet Aaron and Leonias.
The men barely had time to drop their items before they were pulled into the dancing lines. Aaron
Bardeaux felt out of place as he locked arms and hands with smiling and singing women. With what little
dancing he had learned from his mother and a few parties in Tumeric, he did his best to keep up with the
steps. Leonias clearly did not feel the same as he shouted loudly all the words to every song. Feet kicking
to the beat of the drums forced tiny dust clouds to float a few inches from the ground as the lines grew,
shrank, collapsed, disappeared, and flowed in and out of each other as they twisted into different designs.
Three beautiful girls—Calarel, Selphie and Adelin—took it into their own efforts to teach Aaron
how to dance. When to tap the ground with his heel, when to cross a foot over the knee, when to spin,
how to properly cross lines and switch partners, all the things needed to move to the music. The upbeat
songs at least. Every time Aaron would trip and stumble to the ground, Calarel and Selphie would help
him to his feet and Adelin would hide her smile behind long, amber hair, the three giggling all the while.
The first half of the musical experience was tough for Aaron. He was already tired from the
sword training and repairs, and not knowing the songs did not help either. The latter half was easier once
his dancing legs kicked in and the more familiar songs played. And when Adelin‟s personal favorite tune
hit the playlist, she let out a squeal and excitingly clapped her hands to Rhythm of a Kiss.
She ran, grabbed Aaron's arm, and pulled him a few feet away from all the other dancers. In the
seclusion she taught him the steps and turns to her favorite song. Once he began getting the hang of the
rhythms, she shouted "Once more!" The band answered the call and started the song from the beginning.
Adelin smiled and sang all the words to every verse.
When the song started dwindling, signaling its end, Adelin wrapped her arms around Aaron and
hugged him tightly. She smiled and retreated to the other two girls. The three of them giggled their way to
the food table where Illiwyn sat eating a piece of lemon cake. When they were far enough away for their
conversation to be private, Illiwyn started speaking to the girls, likely sharing motherly instincts and
concern.
Aaron, breathing hard, gathered himself together, walked across the town square, and took a seat
on the bench next to Leonias. He grabbed a large shank of boar and was hit by the aroma of the meal for
the first time. The scent of the darkened pig mixed with the pies, creating a scent that was not only
pleasing but caused even full stomachs to rumble with desire.
“Enjoying yourself?” Leonias asked, smiling slyly. Bits of boar meat were stuck to his cheeks and
juice dripped from his lips.
Bardeaux had to force himself to answer—not out of embarrassment, but because speaking would
take away from eating. Sweat dripped down his forehead, making his skin sticky. “I am. I haven‟t danced
in a long time.”
A cold breeze rustled through and brought a layer of peace with it as it dried Aaron‟s skin.
“Do you not celebrate in Tumeric during the Festival of Lights?” Leonias asked.
“I do,” Aaron said. “But more so when I was a child. I‟ve been too busy the last few years to fully
enjoy the ceremony.” Aaron looked down at his food. It wasn‟t a complete lie. He had been too busy. Yet
a small layer of guilt remained in his gut.
“Ah. Well, don‟t get yourself into trouble.”
Aaron knew all too well what the comment meant. Adelin and the other two girls sat across the
way. They smiled every time they made eye contact with Aaron. Illiwyn also looked, but she appeared far
more concerned and was able to make her presence known even from the distance.
56

“There are no rules within our Order against seeking a wife. But the locals may have other ideas.”
Leonias said, cutting into a slice of blueberry pie.
The Templarite continued speaking, but Aaron was not listening. Daydreams trickled through his
mind of marriage, living with a wife, and being a knight in the Order. All of which he had not considered
as of late, especially the latter. His parents had not been given the opportunity to explain proper courtship.
And the life of living on the streets provided little opportunity to discover the ways himself.
How would he even go about discussing matters with a girl? Was parental consent important even
if the girl was of age? Heavens, why did he care? Love only belonged when it was surrounded by magic,
swords, and death. And those only existed together in fairy tales.
Leonias‟s words shook Aaron from his stupor. "Beautiful isn't it?"
Bardeaux thought he was speaking of the girls. And beautiful they were, each in their own ways.
Selphie was soft and sweet with long blonde hair. Calarel‟s wavy, black hair was accompanied with a
more abrupt personality, clearly a girl who did not enjoy the thought of sitting around the house while her
husband worked. Adelin, however, was the most beautiful of the trio. Her red hair covered the majority of
her face, but freckles could be seen on her cheeks as well as her arms. She was modest until something
tickled her passions: such as dancing, cooking, or tending to baby animals. Then she turned into a ball of
energy. Each of the three girls met the age to pursue courtship.
But it was not the girls Leonias spoke of. Only after turning around did Aaron realize it was the
sky that was the subject of the statement. Purple and pink clouds cascaded to a orange horizon where the
sun lingered, kissing the sky for a moment. It would not be long until the night overtook the day.
Maybe this is why the location had been chosen, Aaron thought to himself. Maybe the first
wanderers saw the sunset and decided this is where we want to stay. Maybe Sirena had something to do
with it. Perhaps this was her way of continuing her love after she died.
The two sat in silence, watching the sky slowly change from the bright colors to darkness. This
continued until nearly all color was lost and some stars poked through holes in the clouds.
It was so wonderful outside that Aaron could have stargazed well into the night had Alexander
not interrupted. "Come you two. We are being offered warm baths."
Leonias wasted little time between placing his food on the table and sprouting to his feet. By the
time Aaron was walking, the youngest of the Templarites had already traveled halfway to the bath house.
Selphie and Calarel skipped past him and gripped Aaron by the arms and escorted him toward the
building saying things like:
"The water will be warm."
"It's such a cool night, this will relax your muscles."
"Aren't the stars pretty?"
"What do you think of my hair?"
"Did you see the sunset? It's like that every night here."
The girls shared glances and laughed between each line.
Adelin followed behind, concealing her smile with strands of hair and a hand. She giggled softly
to herself at the other girls‟ statements. Occasionally she would grab an empty space of arm, but mostly
she quietly played with the tips of her hair.
Small vines grew over the front of the bath house which was constructed from darker stones than
the rest of the village. The front door opened from the town square, but the side door left only a few feet
of an alley before it bumped into the tavern. Lights flickered as they were brought to life behind the
windows. Smoke drifted out of the four chimneys the building possessed.
57

Illiwyn stood at the front door speaking with Tavon, both laughing. Aaron hoped this was a good
sign considering he was being pulled into their presence. Aaron‟s situation brought a paradox of feeling
awkward and enjoying the girls attention. It was still uncertain how Tavon felt about the situation, but
Illiwyn had made her feeling quite clear.
"Come you three," Illiwyn said rather bluntly when Aaron only a few feet from the bath house.
"Let Mister Bardeaux bathe in peace. Besides, I'm sure you have chores to tend to before sleeping.
Come." She shooed them away with her hands. Wearing a smile, she lifted the ends of a dress and
kneeled politely, "Sir Tavon." Illiwyn turned and chased the girls through the night. "Come, come. Before
you get yourselves into trouble."
Tavon looked down at Aaron with a smile. Placing a hand on Aaron‟s shoulder, the Lionheart
opened the door to the bath house and pulled Aaron inside, shutting the door behind.
Six large, copper tubs lined the room, divided into sets of three per aisle. Water was filled a few
inches from the brim, leaving enough breathing room for a person to enter and exit the container without
splashing water everywhere. Steam rising from the water created a thick mist that lingered in the room
and four fireplaces were settled into adjacent walls, metal buckets placed over the flames. No bathing
aides were to be seen, which was unusual. On second thought, the Templarites probably asked them to
leave to remove any sexual temptation.
Leonias and Alexander had already settled into the furthest two tubs when Aaron started walking
around the room. He first stopped at a window, checking to make sure the female trio had not been
hoping to catch a peek. Certain they were gone, Aaron walked over to the tub designated for him and
stripped his clothing.
He tested the temperature of the water by dipping a toe. It was hot—much hotter than expected,
but in a good way. A way that was soothing and desiring to the skin. With a deep breath, Aaron immersed
himself in the water. The heat took to loosening tight muscles almost immediately.
“I remember one time,” Leonias said. “I was inside helping my mother cook and a female—who
was interested in me—walked inside carrying a basket full of apples. As soon as she entered the kitchen a
gust of wind blew through the window and forced her skirt to flap wildly.”
Alex laughed.
“She was so embarrassed that I had seen her undergarments,” Leonias continued, “that she
dropped the basket on the spot and ran outside.” He laughed. “She didn‟t speak to me for nearly two
weeks.”
Aaron smiled and reached for the bar of soap next to his tub. He paused when he saw Tavon. The
Lionheart wasn‟t laughing. He lie silent in his tub, puffing on a pipe.
Aaron settled back into the water and rejoined the conversation, lathering soap on his arms.
Leonias told stories of his childhood, horses, and girls. When Alexander spoke it was about combat
training, forging, and antics he had caused when he was a child. A time before the Order. Aaron smiled
and laughed at all the right places, but his mind was elsewhere.
His mind was focused on Tavon. What is he hiding? A life of piracy that he cannot escape?
No. That didn‟t make sense. If he was unable to escape a life of piracy, he would never have been
promoted to Lionheart. It must have been something else. Something worse. But what?
Perhaps it was something within the Order itself. Yes, that must have been it. He must have
known something that only the higher ranks were aware of. Some dark ritual, perhaps. Or a blood
sacrifice required for demonic influence. There were legends about men that did such things. They were
58

ridiculous, of course, but legends nonetheless. Aaron didn‟t know the reason Tavon was so reserved, but
he was going to find out.
And in doing so, he would hopefully find out what made the Order abandon a child when they
reached out for help. He was going to not only escape Reeves, but find out what the Order truly was.
Outside, the music began to slowly fade and was replaced by the sound of people returning the
furniture to their original places. Conversations died down as people said their goodnights and retreated
into their homes.
Aaron Bardeaux gripped the side of the tub with pruny hands and pulled himself out of the water.
He stepped down the wooden steps next to the container and walked over to the fireplace, grabbing a
towel hanging in the warmth. The hot cotton helped battle the cold air lingering in the room. Looking
around the room, Aaron noticed the other men had run to different fireplaces and were now wrapped in
towels. All except Tavon.
The Lionheart stood alone, methodically wiping the water droplets from his body with a towel.
He didn‟t appear to care that the air was cool to the touch or that people may see his naked body. Perhaps
there was something other than tobacco in his pipe. Or maybe his mind was so busy elsewhere that it
registered no temperature. Whatever the reason, Aaron looked away before Tavon could notice the
glances.
Once dry, Aaron dropped the towel and retrieved his clothing from the floor, wishing he had
placed them on the coat rack next to the fireplace. He slid a leg into his pants and drew a deep breath as
the cold fabric touched his skin. He took deeper breaths the farther up he pulled. The socks were so cold
they felt wet and his shirt forced his body to shiver as it tried to warm itself. Fully clothed, he stood by the
fireplace until he was comfortable.
“Come you three,” Tavon said. He stood next to the doorway, leaning against the wall, legs
crossed. Every few seconds a puff of smoke leaked from his mouth around the edges of the pipe.
Aaron quickly pulled on his boots, gathered the rest of his belongings, then made his way over to
the door. He followed the other Templarites out of the home and into the street, only now beginning to
feel just how tired he was. Pulling his cloak tight against his neck, he followed the men into the inn.
The room was silent and full of darkness.
A small light flickered to life to the right. Tavon smiled and led the group around the counter and
up the stairwell to the second floor. He continued through the hallway, directing each person to their
room. Leonias was given the first door on the right, Alex the second on the left, and Aaron was led to the
final room on the right. Tavon would be sleeping across the hall.
Aaron Bardeaux opened the door to his room. It was decorated with a bed large enough for one,
clothed with a small sheet, one pillow, and a few blankets. A chest rested at the foot of the bed. A small
window revealed the night sky to the right, but the clouds had already overtaken much of the celestial
bodies, leaving only darkness to be seen.
Like he did with all the other men, Tavon waited until Aaron had placed his belongings where he
wanted and sat on the bed. “We leave at sunrise,” Tavon whispered. The door creaked. “You did well
fixing those houses. The locals are quite pleased.” With that, the door thudded shut.
Pleased? Aaron thought, fluffing the pillows before crawling under the blankets. With me?
That was a thought and a feeling that had been numbed for an unknown amount of years. Words
of affirmation didn‟t exist since his childhood, and those memories were vague at best. Belonging to
something worthwhile was a foreign concept in the underground.
Aaron‟s mind became more still and the thoughts grew further and further apart.
59

***

He awoke the next morning to the sound of closing doors and the gentle tapping of footsteps in
the hallway. No dreams were had last night. At least, none that Aaron remembered. He leaned forward,
stretching out his arms, yawning.
Twilight still lingered outside as the light began its subtle piercing of the horizon, casting the
morning shadows into room, tinting it a light-blue. The wind blew and rustled the leaves, pressing the
trees into a gentle sway. It was still too early for the winter birds to have risen for the day, so the
atmosphere remained peacefully quiet.
After wiping the sleep dust from his eyes, Aaron rose to his feet, threw on his clothing, wrapped
himself in a cloak, and worked his way downstairs. A plate of eggs and bacon waited for him at the bar. It
had been too dark to notice the furniture the night before, but now with lanterns burning it was easy to see
the three legged stools that lined the wooden counter. Ten round tables, each with four chairs, had been
scattered among the open room, not in any particular pattern. A few paintings hung on the walls and two
elephant tusks were mounted above the fireplace.
“Good morning, lad.” a voice boomed from behind the bar. “How did you sleep?”
Aaron rolled a shoulder, feeling the knots slowly returning. “Well,” he said. “Better than I
expected, honestly.”
“You were mighty tired last night, what with all the repairs,” the innkeeper paused. The round
man cocked an eyebrow as his cheeks broadened to form a sly smile. “And the dancing.”
Aaron ignored the statement. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”
“I‟ve seen my share of tired adventurers and workers in my life before Sirena.” The innkeeper‟s
belly jiggled as he laughed. “Why, back in Waterkeep—before the Corruption called together men with
its power and raged forth the Battle of Green Hill—the Wolf‟s Den rustled every night, full of people. I
even had to import ales every week from Tumeric to keep the people happy. Heavens, I likely imported
more than any other tavern in the area. And with the business booming the way it was, I was forced to
hire personal guards into the tavern. The last thing I wanted was an uproar. And I can gladly say, none
were had under my watch.”
He paused his story and placed a wooden cup filled with a hot, black liquid in front of Aaron.
“Now, eat up, lad. The food should still have some warmth to it.”
Aaron nodded and lifted the cup and took a sip from the steamy beverage. It was a good
temperature, not so hot that it burned the tongue. But it was bitter. So bitter it made Aaron‟s face cringe.
“What is this?”
“It‟s called coffee,” the innkeeper said. “It‟s a delicacy only very few know how to brew. And
don‟t even ask me, cause I‟m not giving out my secrets.”
Aaron frowned and took another sip. His face cringed. Why was it so bitter? Someone needed to
discover a way to make it smoother and sweeter.
“I don‟t see any markings on your clothing,” the innkeeper said. “You must be new.”
“I am,” Aaron said softly, mustering the courage to continue drinking the coffee. Considering it
was the only beverage offered with his breakfast, he did not exactly have a choice.
“The name‟s Kelvin Pip Mirri. Though most just call me Mirri. I was the sixth generation owner
of the Wolf‟s Den. Now, I work my craft in Sirena.”
“Aaron Bardeaux.”
60

Mirri pressed a finger and thumb against his chin and turned away. “Bardeaux you say...” he
whispered.
“From Tumeric. I apprenticed with Tusk for a few years. You likely encountered him. He brought
many spirits to Waterkeep.”
“Tusk… Tusk…” The creases around the innkeeper‟s eyes, the kind earned with age, tightened as
he tried to pinpoint the man in his mind.
“A big bushy mustache. Larger man. Has a supernatural gift of speed for a man of his size.”
“Ah. Tusk. I remember. How‟s life been treating him?”
If only I knew, Aaron thought. “Well he stays busy, that‟s for sure. Business has not slowed in
Tumeric at all. Though, he does travel far less now than he once did. I think the journeys are harder on his
bones these days.”
“Age will do that. Savor your days, lad. They come and go like the wind. Soon you will look like
me.” Mirri gripped the edges of his belly and chuckled.
Aaron smiled. “I‟m not so sure how I would look without hair.”
“Oh, I have hair, lad. It‟s just all on my chest!” He laughed again then grabbed some wet dishes
and started drying. “What made you want to join the Order?”
Join the Order? “It wasn‟t anything I ever considered, to be honest. They came to me.”
Again Kelvin Mirri was silent. He looked intently at the dish he was drying, like he knew
something—some sort of secret—that he wanted to reveal but chose otherwise. He remained in this state
as he dried plates, mugs, bowls, and wiped off spills on the counter.
Aaron cleaned his plate. “It was very delicious. Thank you, Kelvin, er Mirri.”
“Anytime, lad. There will be another next time you visit Sirena. I believe Tavon is outside
waiting for you.”
Aaron nodded and hopped off the bar stool and began swerving between circular, wooden tables,
making his way toward the door.
“Master Bardeaux…”
Master? Aaron thought, stopping to look at Mirri.
“Master Bardeaux, be careful.”
Aaron nodded, raised the hood of his cloak, and opened the door. The winds had become brutal
during the night and they rushed against Aaron‟s face, almost instantly bringing numbness to his nose.
Small, fluffy clouds lingered in the morning sky. But deeper to the east black rain clouds lingered on the
horizon, keeping the world in shadows.
“He will be missed,” Tavon said to the right. He stood next to Rufus, stroking the mule‟s mane.
“But you are right.”
A few moments passed as Aaron looked around, putting the pieces together. Three war horses
wore thick, plate armor bearing the markings of the Order. A smaller, brown horse stood next to them
wearing armor made of leather. Rufus had been stripped of his armor and Tavon wore a sad fade—one of
the rarest sights of the adventure. There seemed to have been an exchange where the Order gave up Rufus
and the carts and gained the horse in return.
“We will take care of him,” Paul sad. He was the mayor of Sirena and apparently an old friend of
Tavon.
“I know you will. It isn‟t that I‟m concerned with,” The Lionheart said. “It‟s just been some time
since I have journeyed without him. And even those days were few in number.”
61

“He will be here next time you visit. But Elynore will aid you well on your journey until you
return.”
Tavon nodded, pursing his lips. He spent a few more moments with Rufus, whispering goodbyes.
Leonias approached Aaron carrying the shortsword he had trained with the day before in one
hand and a shield in the other. “You will need these.” When did Aaron misplace them?
The Templarite helped tie the sword belt around Aaron‟s waist. After tightening it, he explained
how to move in a way so as to keep the handle within reach. Then explained how to ride without having
the sheath flop around.
He threw the carrying strap of the shield around Aaron‟s shoulder and tightened it as far as it
would go. The item was heavy and required a good amount of force to keep from leaning forward and
letting the back take the weight. Getting used to equipment like this would take some time.
“You are starting to look like one of us,” Leonias said, smiling. He finished the required
preparations before setting off then hopped onto his horse.
Bardeaux gripped the horn of the saddle to his horse, contemplating the best way to get onto the
thing. He wasn't entirely sure if he had the strength to pull himself up, if he should take a few steps then
jump, or if he should ask for assistance.
“Master Aaron,” a soft, familiar voice said, interrupting his planning. “Master Aaron.”
What‟s with everyone calling me master? Aaron turned around to see Adelin standing with a
saddened face hidden behind long strands of red hair. She had a raccoon pelt wrapped around her neck
like a scarf. It looked warm.
“Adelin,” Aaron said, nodding.
“My mother taught me how to knit. I made this a few years ago.” She lifted a ruby red scarf
which was about three feet in length. Her eyes drifted toward the ground. “I know it‟s silly, but would you
take it with you? Maybe remember me on your travels?”
“Of course.” Aaron smiled and wrapped the scarf one and a half times around his neck. Already it
brought warmth and blocked some wind.
She leaped with excitement, so much excitement that Aaron was not entirely certain how to
respond. Not that he would know anyway. Adelin leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Then she
turned swiftly and ran back to the tavern, disappearing from view.
Aaron rubbed his cheek for a second, eyes wide. He shook himself from the thoughts—he
couldn‟t let anyone see him in such a daze—and returned to the saddle. He grabbed the horn, put a foot in
a stirrup, and pulled with all his might. His arms tensed and burned as he hoisted himself up, but
eventually he found himself snuggled onto the saddle. Heat radiated in his face. He wasn‟t sure if it was
from the effort or the kiss, but he used the red scarf to hide it regardless.
The Templarites made clicking noises and the horses began moving to the east, making their way
toward the dark clouds in the sky, into the Shadowlands.

Protect the weak.

Chapter 9
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The Lazy River—more commonly known as the Carnival—continued down an old, dusty road, heading
southbound. The life of constant travel and adventure attracted all sorts of want to be minstrels, jugglers,
actors, and other types of entertainers from all over the Eastern Lands.
It was not uncommon for the Carnival to visit all the major cities of the Eastern Lands—Tumeric,
Mist Gate, Yrall, and Hurre—in a single year. They also stopped at many small villages and hovels along
the way, doing anything they could for coin, food, baths, or bedding for a night. Not that sleeping in a
wagon under the stars wasn‟t great. It‟s just sometimes a mattress was nice.
Sariah sat on the back of a wagon, watching the one behind bump down the road. She was one of
the lucky recruits allowed to ride rather than walk. Pain from sleep deprivation had settled behind her
eyes and gnawed at her patience. She pulled the edges of her full-lined jacket closer to protect her from
the unrelenting winds.
Benjamin, the recruit sitting next to Sariah, was speaking to his newfound friend Cerl. They went
back and forth telling stories about their childhood—throwing rocks at pigeons and crows, sneaking
cookies from the kitchen, helping bath the house dog, milking the cows and branding the calves, watching
a parent attempt to break a horse, milking goats and feeding the kids, fixing fence posts from when
animals had escaped. Apparently Benjamin‟s family owned a dairy farm and Cerl‟s owned goats. Thus,
their stories were often similar and each knew the ending before it came, which brought more laughter in
the middle than the story than the escalation called for.
Cerl pulled out a wooden lute coated with dents gathered from age and use. He started playing
Lively Rainbow. Well, at least he tried. He was rather terrible at the lute and his singing was equally
horrific.
Sariah sat irritated, staring at the mark on her hand, attempting to ignore the conversations and
tune out the music. She could only take so many hours of nonstop talking about nothing before she grew
annoyed. And ear scraping sounds could only be endured so long before she wanted to kill someone.
And killing someone would be easy. She could strangle or snap a neck. And it would be hard to
play a lute with a dagger in the chest. It would not be the first time she was needed to kill. During her life
in the Underground, Sariah had assassinated twenty-six people. This did not include the numbers of
guards and soldiers she had to force her way through to get to her target or escape. Blood on her hands
was a common occurrence. In fact, it was welcomed.
But to kill someone for lacking musical skill seemed immoral. No one is skilled at everything.
Though, Sariah was beginning to wonder if Cerl was skilled at anything. He couldn‟t count well, wasn‟t
strong, didn‟t know his way around instruments, couldn‟t sing, couldn‟t find things, and was far too
curious for his own good. Why he was allowed to join the Carnival was a mystery in itself.
Sariah resisted the urge to end Cerl‟s life and did her best to focus on the black half moon tattoo.
What would they do if they knew? Would they turn me in? She chuckled inside her mind. The Carnival
Guard couldn‟t stop me.
No, they would die just as easily as the others. No one in the Carnival was a trained fighter. While
the Carnival Guard held weapons, they hardly knew how to use them. Their combat technique consisted
strictly of a thrust, and maybe a possible kick from a horse. While these could do significant, life
threatening damage, they were predictable, and thus, easily avoidable. They focused on entertainment and
spreading happiness, not war.
“Did it hurt?” Benjamin asked, looking at Sariah‟s hand.
63

She stared at him blankly. “Of course it did. It‟s the back of the hand. There isn‟t meat there to
absorb any pain, just bones. Didn‟t yours hurt?”
“Well… Yeah.”
“Then, why would you think mine would have been any different?”
“I don‟t know. Maybe you‟re special.”
“Special in what way?” Sariah retorted.
“I don‟t know… I… Uhh…”
“He was just trying to make conversation,” Cerl interjected. He held his hand around the neck of
the lute, covering the string to stop the sounds. If she knew snapping at someone was all it took for him to
stop playing that wretched thing, Sariah would have done this days ago. “He was just trying to be nice.”
“I… Uhh… I‟m sorry.. I just…”
Kill him, Sariah thought.
And she could have, quite easily. She could take out one of her daggers hidden inside her boots,
and with a little bit of magic and a quick stab, the boy would be on the ground gagging on froth. Or
should could tug on the Strands of the Universe and compile it into a ball of energy which would fling
Benjamin a dozen yards away, deep into the treeline. But she could not waste magic on him, not when
there was a job to do.
While magic came in an unlimited supply, the Backlash could become quite severe. So managing
her Khasta was of the utmost importance. If she wasted magic because of irritation then she may not
possess enough sanity to kill Jarith like Matram had ordered.
Rumors of Jarith‟s cowardice and self departation traveled quickly through The Family. When
Matram found out he had fled to the Carnival, she was furious and ordered Sariah to seek him out and kill
him. So far there was no trace of the man, but how much could a One Star learn in just a few weeks?
Unfortunately, it would take a little while longer to do what she came for.
She decided to let Benjamin live and turned her head away, staring into the distance. Benjamin
and Cerl started up the conversations again while Cerl plucked at some strings, playing awful sounding
notes. Somehow Sariah always ended up sitting next to them.
Kill him.
It would be so easy. She had killed more people than he played wrong notes. And she would be
lying if she said she didn‟t enjoy killing. She loved everything about assassinations: the sneaking, the
stealing, the disguises. Most importantly, the killing. Something felt right about it. Some people are called
to be poets, some philosophers, others masons, she was called to be an assassin. And she walked proudly
in the position.
“Yes, these trees are beautiful,” Benjamin said.
“I haven‟t seen many like these,” Cerl said. “These have big flowers like rose petals. Shouldn‟t
they have faded this time of year? Where do you think we are?”
“I don‟t know. We passed a sign pointing to Yrall, and we left there a few days ago.”
“So halfway to Walwell?”
“Look. There are flowers next to the road too.”
Finally hearing something useful, Sariah closed her eyes and mentally tried to pinpoint their
geographical location on a map. Yrall was so far north it almost touched the Frostburn Mountains, while
Walwell was said to be very far south near the Great Plains. There was no way they had traveled such a
distance in a few days. With all the stops required for sleep, performances at various villages, time for the
horses to recover, and stopping to care for the sick, the trip would take at least a few weeks.
64

They were still heading south. Sariah didn‟t have to use the sky for confirmation, she could feel
it. Something inside of her told her the direction they traveled. That was one of the benefits of being part
of The Family.
“I haven‟t seen any birds on this journey,” Benjamin said.
“Me neither. I think they‟ve all traveled for the winter,” Cerl said.
“Do you think there will be any in Walwell.”
“I don‟t know. This one time when I was little—”
Kill them.
Sariah opened her eyes and stared forward, hands clinched. She couldn‟t make it through another
set of stories. She just couldn‟t. It took everything inside of her to resist the urge to release a flurry of
magic against the two boys. Sariah had to do something to keep her mind busy. She really didn‟t want
to—
Kill them.
Sariah leaned forward, groaning as she stretched. She placed a hand on her boot and gripped the
handle of her dagger. It would be so easy. In one fluid motion she could slice Benjamin‟s throat. While
she moved to kill Cerl she could push Benjamin‟s bleeding body off the cart. Sariah paused, looked up,
and removed her hand from the weapon.
Focus, she told herself. They are not the reason you are here. And there would be too many
witnesses.
The wagon Sariah rode on was covered with a large tent-like fabric which stretched into the sky
and formed into a peak. It was yellow with pink stripes. The wind smacked the entrance flap against what
would be considered the wall. The wagon behind was pink with white polka dots. It, too, stretched into
the air and formed a peak. The next wagon was covered in a purple fabric detailed with a pink, patch-like
pattern. There were other coverings she couldn‟t see, but she knew their designs would clash with one
another just as badly as all the others, making the Carnival something fierce to look at.
To the side of the wagon behind Sariah‟s, a Carnival Guard rode on a horse. He wore leather
armor and carried a spear. Sariah shook her head as she considered their uselessness. Fighting in numbers
was hardly as good as fighting with skill.
Sariah stared at the ground, watching as the dirt and small pebbles were tossed about by the
rolling wheels. Something shifted. It wasn‟t any of the cargo or Benjamin or Cerl falling off the wagon—
as nice as that would have been. This was something different. Sariah could feel it internally. The
Carnival was no longer heading south, but east.
The dirt change to wood as the caravan bumped over a bridge. After a minute or so of bouncing
to the rickety motion of planks, Sariah‟s wagon dipped down and rolled along a dry, dirt ground. The path
had vanished, and the group appeared to be traveling across a vast, empty wasteland. The occasional
starving bush or a barren tree would drift in and out of view. Wherever they were traveling was foreign to
Sariah, and she had traveled much of the Eastern Lands.
She leaned over and pulled a sliver of bread from her bag. It was beginning to stale, but some
food might ease her stomach and bring a distraction from Cerl and Benjamin‟s nonstop storytelling. She
tore off a small piece and raised it to her mouth—
Everything went black.
The sky was void of light and the same, empty darkness covered the entire landscape from trees
to shrubbery. Even the ground was deprived of color. A panic fell upon the Carnival people, forcing the
65

Carnival Guard into action. They trotted next to each wagon and assured the passengers everything was
okay.
Sariah, however, felt strangely comfortable. It was still a tiny bit worrisome to consider what may
be in the near future, but something felt right about this place. She had read about it before and Matram
had explained things to her about this place. This place where the darkness originates. A place where no
life can live.
A place known as the Shadowlands.

Give to the poor.

Chapter 10

Lightning flashed.
Aaron Bardeaux‟s chest tightened as he awaited the boom that followed. It sounded after a few
seconds, forcing a flinch. The thunder was becoming more frequent and less distant. If it was any
indication of what was waiting in the Shadowlands, then such a place held little to be desired.
Water dropped from the brim of Aaron‟s hood, falling past his face and colliding with his bare
hands. He gripped the reins tightly as another bolt of lightning flashed from the dark clouds on the
horizon. Aaron tightened his scarf to help protect against the winds. It wasn‟t working.
Rain fell from the clouds in a thick downpour. Cold winds blew the droplets around in different
directions. With the earth dampened, every step the horses took sent chunks of mud and slops of water
into the air when a puddle was found.
What a crummy day this was turning out to be.
The weather, as bad as it was, seemed to have little effect on the knights of the Order. Which only
made things more frustrating. The three Templarites and the Lionheart hummed deep, age-old hymns as
the horses trotted toward the oncoming darkness. Leonias had the highest voice of the three and often
times hummed a high harmony to all the songs. Occasionally he stopped and, with his jovial spirit, made
conversations with Aaron.
Aaron tried to pay attention and engage in the discussion about the weather, rain, horses, clouds,
or whatever else Leonias happened to know useless facts about, but he was having a very difficult time
remaining focused. It didn‟t help that every time lightning flashed he glanced at the horizon.
The group continued forward in the same fashion until midday. At least, it felt like midday. It was
under a gathering of spruce and fir trees that the horses were slowed to an eventual halt.
Tavon dismounted first. After stretching the back of his legs, he found a location where the leaves
blocked the majority of the rainfall and pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment. Leonias and Alex both
followed, moving forward in an awkward dance as they stretched their legs.
Aaron leaned sideways until his weight carried him off the horse. He tried to slide his foot out of
the stirrup and swing his leg under him, but it got caught briefly. When it finally popped free, he fell hard
on his back. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the large steel shield on his back cushioned his fall—as well as
steel can cushion.
66

Trying to catch his breath, he lie on his back nearly motionless. After a few excruciatingly painful
moments, he wiggled his arms like an upside down turtle, trying to rise to his feet. He eventually found
enough momentum to roll over and he get a strong footing. Shaking his head in a mixture of frustration
and embarrassment, he walked over to the group, pants and boots coated in mud.
The Order members were sharing words and the occasional finger moved along the parchment
which appeared to be a map of the Eastern Lands. But it was far different from the one‟s Aaron had seen
before, perhaps it was a much older version.
“What about the city of Yan?” Leonias asked. His finger rested on a small illustration of a hut and
a guard tower.
“Too deep,” Tavon said. “Besides, it's likely nothing but ruins now.”
“Are ruins out of the question?”
Tavon tilted his head slightly. “No, not out of the question. Just not preferred.”
“The banks of the Karoll River.” Alex said. “Not quite as far as Yan, but still far enough in that
we would be past the guards.”
The Lionheart shook his head. “You are on the right track. The waterway would be the safest, but
there would be barricades of sorts near the bridges.”
“You think they are covering them? Are they smart enough to follow instructions?”
“I can‟t be certain.” Tavon said as he looked up from the map at Alex with tired eyes. “But I
don‟t want to risk it. We need to look more north, closer to Rainor.”
“How far north do you think it has spread?” Leonias asked.
“The last reports say it is still on this side of the Sea of Tears.”
The Sea of Tears? Aaron thought. That wasn‟t exactly a warming name.
“Don‟t worry, Aaron.” Alex said. “The sea was named long ago when pirates roamed the waters.
It is calm now, just fisherman and barges.”
“Is this a map of the Shadowlands?” Aaron asked.
“Not exactly.” Alex explained. “We have a map of the area before the Corruption consumed it.
We owe much of what we have to an explorer of the Radiant Lights, Clive Taigan.”
“Are you planning on crossing the sea?” Leonias said, running a hand through his hair.
“If we were forced to walk, we would need to head east,” Tavon said. “Through Miglian, past
Yan, over the Karoll River. Then we would head north, passing through the Voiceless Forest. Then, we
would need to find a way over the Mourning Mountains, which leads to the Miasmian Plains, where the
Borghek live. It‟s unlikely they still exist. But if they do, I would hate to see how the Corruption has
changed them. Then finally, we would need to pass the Singing River, which would take us to the
Southern Gardens. This would take weeks possibly even a month or two.
“But if instead we head straight north through Miglian and into Slist, we may only need to stay
two nights in the Shadowlands. Then we leave through Slist to the Sea of Tears, we may be lucky enough
to find a fishing ship that could take us directly to the other side, into the Southern Gardens.”
The Borghek? Aaron thought. He had read about them before. Large humanoid creatures with
long arms and big bellies. Strong enough to throw boulders and fierce enough to eat men. At least, that is
how the fairy tales always described them.
Alex took a deep breath. “That is a big if.”
“I know, I know.” Tavon shook his head. “But we only have one Sol Stone. We would survive
one, maybe two, nights without another.”
No one said anything. Each person stood in their own postures, thinking and staring at the map.
67

“Anyone have any ideas?” Tavon asked.


“I don‟t like any of them,” Leonias said.
“Me neither. But with so much at risk, we don‟t have time to wait around.”
“Do you think Yan would have any water worthy vessels?” Alex asked.
“I like the idea, lad.” Tavon said. “But Yan was one of the early cities taken by the Hollows. It is
unlikely there would be anything salvageable. And if there was indeed not, then it would put us days
behind. But good thinking. Anyone else?”
Alex shook his head. As did Leonias.
I have nothing. Aaron thought. He had played a few strategic games in his life, so he understood
basic combat strategies. But this situation involved real men and a region of the world which he was
unfamiliar with, so he shook his head in silence.
“Then it is settled,” Tavon said. “We will walk northward to Slist. But once we are in those lands
we will need to find a place to rest. I know of a town—hopefully it still stands—Ghara. It was no larger
than Sirena back in it‟s prime. Even if it still remains with one building we will be safe.”
“Ghara…” Leonias looked upward deep in thought. “I‟ve heard the name before.”
“Likely you have. The Order imported many different goods from the town. Mainly wood and
vegetables.”
“Ah.” Leonias nodded.
“The biggest concern,” the Lionheart paused, looking at each of the men, “will be traveling
without being noticed. Once we have been spotted, the whole area will be swarming on us like maggots
on a dead opossum. If you need to speak you need to whisper. We won‟t be able to do anything about the
horses, but hopefully that will not be a problem.
“Aaron, I understand Leonias trained you some yesterday?”
Aaron nodded.
“Good. Stay ready with the shield. You will need it.” Tavon paused for a moment. “Say your
prayers, lads. It‟s time we leave.” With that, he rolled up the map and began walking back to his horse.
Aaron grabbed the shield from the mud, and, after placing it onto his back, began mounting his
own horse. With little time to waste, and without asking, Alex grabbed him by the waist and hoisted him
enough so Aaron could easily reach the stirrup and swing a leg over the saddle. “Thank you.”
Alex nodded and smiled.
“Leonias, ride behind me.” Tavon said, loud enough to overcome the winds. “Alex, ride in the
back. We need you guarding the rear. And keep an eye on Aaron.”
One by one each knight whistled—starting from the front of the line and ending in the back—and
the horses started into a trot. A few distant thunders echoed as rain continued to batter the men, harder
now. The shelter of trees was fading further and further behind, until the blurring of rain washed it from
view. Aaron, once again, found himself taking shelter under the hood of his cloak.
The landscape had a few hills, not like the ones surrounding Sirena, but instead smaller more
gradual slopes that would hardly force water to flow in different directions. There was no beaten path to
follow in the open landscape. There was hardly any vegetation at all save for a few clusters of trees, but
even they were growing further apart.
This continued until a creek was crossed. The water was not deep—only brushing up to the knees
of the shorter horses—and only stretched a few yards between the two banks. They reached the other side
and continued forward, pressing into a land that was void of vegetation.
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That‟s strange. Aaron thought. The rain is lighter, but the storm rolled through here. The ground
isn‟t muddy and there are no trees.
An overcast still hung over their heads, blocking the sun, but the darker clouds which came with
storms were long behind them. Yet on this side of the creek, it was darker somehow. When Aaron would
look behind from where they came, he could see the grass, and mud, and trees. But when he looked ahead
to where they rode, it was just a flat, dry wasteland layered with cracks. No trees, no grass, no sun.
Despite the continued rainfall, the earth seemed to cry out for moisture.
The horses started acting differently. They seemed reluctant to continue forward and would resist
until encouraged hard enough. The horses would frequently take twists and turns like they were following
some path, yet there were no rocks, a stream, or anything else obstructing their movements.
No one is speaking. Aaron thought. And it looks like Leonias and Tavon are both keeping a hand
on their blades. Are we in the Shadowlands? This doesn‟t seem so bad.
Over the next bit of land they crossed, Aaron began to feel slightly off. Sometimes it felt like he
was being pushed backward on the saddle and he had to force himself to sit upright. Almost like the horse
was walking up a hill. Other times it was the complete opposite and he had to lean backwards lest he
tumble head first out of the saddle. Once or twice he found himself bobbing up and down violently, like
the horse was trying to climb a staircase. But when he would look around the land revealed itself to be the
same as it had been: flat, dry, and desolate.
Were the horses always like this in the Shadowlands? I now understand why Tavon was so eager
to begin traveling, this is going to take forever.
Leonias turned around and looked at Aaron. “How are you holding up?” he whispered. It sounded
considerate, but his voice had the tone of caring more for himself than the recipient.
Apparently, not all the Order members were calm.
“I‟m fine, I think,” Aaron answered, trying to keep his voice down. “Are the horses acting strange
to you?”
Leonias placed a finger in front of his mouth and motioned to keep the volume down. “Strange
indeed,” he whispered. “I keep feeling like we are traveling on a mountain path. I‟ve never traveled across
this specific location. I understand once there were cliffs and hills in the area, but now...” He paused,
taking the time to look around. With a slight frown partially hid behind the metal helmet, he continued,
“Now, it is nothing but a wasteland. It seems our map may be outdated.”
“Hush you two,” came a whisper from behind Aaron. “The last thing we need is for a Shadow to
catch wind of us.”
“I don‟t think whispers carry a scent.” Leonias replied.
Alexander said nothing in response as he glared at Leonias. Eventually Leonias nodded and
turned around to face forward again.
Shivers creeped slowly down Aaron‟s back. Not like a cold chill one may get on a misty night,
but more like an egg had been cracked on the neck and trickled down the spine. Someone, or something,
was watching him. He could sense it. And whoever it was was close. Close enough to where he thought
he could feel breathing.
Aaron jerked his head around in an attempt to catch the creature. His hand was on the grip of his
sword, ready to be drawn. He was not sure exactly what he would do if he did spot something, but he was
ready nonetheless.
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Nothing was there. Just empty air, and Alex who was too busy looking off to the left to notice
Aaron‟s motions. His horse may have noticed the creature since it‟s eyes looking directly at him, but it
sneezed and continued forward as if nothing had ever happened.
I‟m going crazy. Aaron thought. Nothing is there. This is nothing but a wasteland.
Leonias spun around and looked behind himself. He gripped the handle of his sword tightly,
ready to strike. But he, too, found nothing. He and Aaron made shared a look. We both felt the same
breathing, the look said.
Then it happened again. Heavy breathing against the neck. Aaron squirmed uncomfortably.
Nothing is there, he thought, not bothering to take a glance. Nothing is there. This is all in my mind.
The wind howled. He felt the cool breeze brush against his cheeks and gently rustle the hair
beneath the hood of his cloak. The feeling was almost calming, it had been hours since he felt the effects
of the wind. Light headedness settled in and he rocked back and forth, watching as the wind blew the
manes of the horses.
Aaron snapped back to reality.
The wind howled with ferocity but seemed to have no other effect. Rain fell directly downward
and the hairs on the horses stood straight up, like they were forcing themselves forward despite an
element of fear.
“Stay strong,” Alex said, his voice still a strong whisper. “Stay strong in the will, Aaron. The
battle is in the mind. Evil thrives on fear.”
Aaron nodded. Though, he made no promises that he would not be afraid. That was an
uncontrollable feeling creeping up his chest.
Heavy breathing started again. It almost felt like the wind, but it was different. It was more
consistent and to a steady rhythm. Aaron did his best to resist snapping and screaming. Between moments
of tension and feeling as though his mind were turning to water, Aaron could see Leonias was caught in
the same battle.
Tavon, however, seemed unmoved. The Lionheart stared forward as his horse walked across the
wasteland.
Let go… a voice whispered in Aaron‟s mind. Let go and be free. Eternal life awaits…
Waits with who? Aaron thought to himself.
With us… the voice answered.
Deep within himself, past his bones, past the emotions, Aaron felt a hand slowly grasp what could
only be describes as a soul. His soul. The force pulled and a pain rushed through his entire body. Aaron‟s
mind screamed for relief, and he wanted to make a sound but found himself unable.
No! Aaron thought to himself. No. Release me.
The hand let go and he felt his soul bounce back to its original place. If you will not release
yourself willingly… the voice whispered into the corners of his mind. Then it will be taken by force.
In an instant, the entire landscape turned a deep dark. Darker than the night itself. Though
somehow even through the pitch blackness shapes could be distinguished. Trees popped into view and the
landscape turned into a mountainous terrain, all colored a deep black. The sky was void of stars as if
hidden by a thick veil of clouds.
Aaron spun around and tried to spot what had been breathing down his neck. Against only Alex
was to be seen. He stared into the darkness, most likely looking for threats. Nothing could be seen except
darkened trees and a desolate wasteland.
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The troupe continued across the mountain they had apparently been traversing. Now that it was
visible, it was clear when their bodies were pressed forward it was because they were descending a hill.
And reversed when they ascended. Splits in the path because of the mountain of earthen cracks forced the
horses to twist and turn as they created their own path through this forsaken land. Without a sun it was
hard to tell how much time had passed, but Aaron guessed it had been a few hours at least.
Movement. Aaron spotted movement in the distance. Either it had been there all along or the
group had traveled deep enough to reveal its form, but there was movement. Aaron squinted to focus his
eyes.
A distant blackened object shaped like a human stumbled forward, dragging one leg behind as it
stepped with the other. It didn't move in such a way as if it had a destination, but like it was simply
wandering in search for something, anything. Long black hair made Aaron assume it must be, or had been
at one time, a female.
“Leonias, ” Aaron said, pointing at the woman.
“She‟s a Hollow,” Alex said.
Aaron tilted his head, trying to remember any mention of the word Hollow from books or
legends. Nothing came to mind. Maybe it was something hidden deep in theology books.
Apparently the long pause warranted an explanation for Alex provided one. “A Hollow is a
person whose soul has been tainted by a Shadow, or some sort magic. Or the Corruption has touched
them another way. And from what we have seen, they are beyond saving. They stumble around like they
are in a living coma. But when they spot something that tickles their appetite, they horde with a frenzy of
a thousand hornets.”
He said magic so casually. Like the way they spoke of sorcerers or the Terrene. Aaron thought.
“Can they see in the dark?”
Alex snorted a quiet laugh. “Can you? They are still human. They see, smell, hear, and feel at
least. Beyond that, we do not know what they are capable of sensing, other than a desire for death.”
“When they fight, what is it like?”
“Ah, mostly wild swings. Their nails are long and sharp like claws. If they can penetrate armor or
catch open flesh, the lacerations are almost always deadly.”
Aaron frowned and continued to watch the creature struggle to walk even just a few feet. What a
sad existence. Are they even aware of what state they are in?
Another Hollow stumbled into view. Then another further in the distance. And another. And
another. Whether the small army was just now being revealed, Aaron couldn‟t be certain, but he did know
they were slowly surrounding the troupe. No Shadows were seen, not that he knew what they looked like.
And with a name like “Shadowlands” he was certain some were lurking within the darkness.
The group rode so close to a Hollow at one point, that Aaron was certain if he drew his blade he
will be able to make a cut without needing to leave his saddle. Too close in his mind. It seemed strange,
possibly even a miracle, that a Hollow only a few feet away would not be moved by the loud sound of
clopping hooves.
The breathing happened again, heavy on Aaron‟s neck. Uneasiness and fear swelled in his chest
as a wind howled and pierced through the stillness. Not knowing what to do, Aaron looked around in
hopes that the others may provide some sort of comfort.
Leonias was in the same useless state as Aaron, so he would be no help. Tavon rode unmoved by
anything. The last hope was Alex. Aaron started to turn—
71

He paused, matching the gaze of a Hollow. Such empty eyes, he thought. No pupils. Just
darkness. Emptiness.
The creature lunged forward. The Hollow‟s shoulder slammed hard against Aaron‟s side, forcing
him off the saddle. He collided hard against the ground. With Aaron no longer easing the horse, Selphie—
the horse Aaron rode—took to her own power and bolted away from the action.
Aaron looked up. The Hollow stood leaning over him with dark drool dripping from its mouth
full of razor-sharp teeth. Its skin was pale and weak, revealing the bone structures beneath. Long black
hair fell over much of its face. The Hollow growled an uncomfortable sound, like it was trying to speak
with a broken voice box. It lifted both arms above its head and clinched two hands together to make a
giant fist.
Aaron fought through the pain from the fall and rolled onto his stomach. The powerful blow from
the Hollow collided against the steel shield on his back. Steel rang. Aaron gasped for the air he lost. He
reached for his sword. Feeling the tip within his grasp, another blow pounded on the shield.
He continued laying on the ground, gasping for air. Is this how it ends? Aaron thought to himself.
Is this where I die? Surrounded by a Order I didn‟t want to join? His body tensed in anticipation of
another strike, but none came.
No. I won‟t die like this. Aaron tightened his muscles and forced himself to his knees. I have to
stand up. I have to live.
Leonias sliced his longsword at the Hollow that once attacked Aaron. The blade narrowly missed
the creature as it stepped out of the way. The Hollow retaliated with a slice with its claw. Leonias was
able to place his reinforced sheath in its way, parrying the attack with practiced finesse.
Alexander possessed a different fighting style completely. He held a colossal blade with two
hands, mixing strength with the already heavy weapon to create a reckoning force. A Hollow—the one
formerly dragging its leg and looked void of mental activity—charged forward, screaming in fury,
bloodthirst in its eyes. Alexander swung his giant sword but the Hollow sidestepped and continued
forward.
Aaron had to do something, but what could he do? He drew the blade Leonias had loaned him
and held it in his left hand, shield strap in the right. I can do this. It‟s time to be a hero. He ran into the
fight.
Leonias ducked beneath a wild, furious swipe, narrowly avoiding catching a claw to the face.
With his blade out of position, the young Templarite jammed the steel sheath into the Hollow‟s chest. The
creature let out a muffled growl as it staggered backwards. Leonias did not waste the opportunity and
charged forward, using the momentum to build upon his already swinging blade. The Hollow sidestepped
the blow and kicked with a face far too strong for such a scrawny creature. The Templarite blocked
another attack as he fell to the ground.
Hollows did not waste time in killing people apparently. It raised a sharpened claw like hand and
raked at Leonias. It was blocked by the sheath. The other arm repeated the motion. A creepy growl was
released as the attack was stopped by a blade being pierced through the hand. The Hollow closed its grip
and pulled. Black blood dripped onto Leonias‟ armor as his long sword was ripped from his grasp.
Aaron watched as Leonias tried to block blow attacks and maneuver out of the way of others. It
was a losing battle, and Aaron was not sure how long Leonias would survive. Bardeaux pressed forward
with all his might, straining his legs. I won‟t let you die, Leonias.
He swung the short sword, but the Hollow raised its forearm forward catching the weapon at the
hilt, stopping any splicing of flesh. The impact forced the creature‟s downward, and Aaron saw his
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opening. Using the continuing momentum, he raised the shield ahead of him and thrust his arm with all
the strength he could muster. Steel rang as it collided against the Hollow‟s skull, sending it to the ground.
“Thank you,” Leonias said as Aaron stumbled to a halt.
“You alright, lads?” Tavon asked as he worked his way over to a Hollow who lie prone. It
attempted to struggle to its feet, but whatever concussion it was feeling did not allow its limbs to obey.
Tavon jammed the curved blade of his scimitar deep into the creature's skull. All movement stopped.
“And thank you,” Leonias said, nodding his head. He gripped his own blade and pulled it from
the Hollow‟s hand. “Now, let‟s help Alex.”
Alexander dug the sole of his boot deep into the ground, pivoting, building momentum for his
attack. The scrawny creature ducked underneath and lunged forward, with claw-like hands stretched forth.
It raked intently, seeking blood, but Alexander‟s armor proved to be too resilient to be sliced open.
Instead, boney claws screeched as they scraped against steel.
Alex smiled, taunting the creature. He stood unharmed, covered head to toe with the thick plating.
Only a few gaps would be dangerous: under the arms, the neckline, and the groin. But, his movements
suggested he had enough years of battle training to have the reflexes required to guard such areas, or
sidestep an attack.
With two hands gripping tightly, Alexander lifted the blade high into the air and sliced vertically.
The Hollow stepped back with the right foot, shifting its weight out of the way. The force of the blow was
not released, instead Alex twisted his body slightly and spun, allowing the blade to continue the
revolution through the air. Blood shot into the air as the weapon caught a Hollow that was sneaking
behind the man. Sliced diagonally across the torso, the creature fell to the ground with a motionless body.
The greatsword continued arcing through the open air coated in black blood.
Aaron had just watched Alexander accidentally cleave an opponent in two—an opponent he did
not even know about. Bardeaux shook his head in disbelief as the blade continued on a collision course
against its target. The surprised humanoid creature raised its arm in an attempt to block the blade. A
natural reaction.The blade soared through the air and sliced completely through the hand, digging into the
Hollow‟s chest. The creature crumbled to the ground.
Two more Hollows came sprinting from the darkened horizon and collided hard against
Alexander. He fell to the ground with two of the gaunt, non-living humans clawing at his back.
Aaron charged behind Tavon. Two scimitars made quick work of one of the Hollows, piercing
through the heart with one and the throat with the other. The captain spun, his two blades biting the flesh
of the second attacker. A Hollow screamed as it leapt off Alexander‟s shoulders, landing a few feet away.
Tavon stood with his two blades crossed before him. He looked disinterested in fighting the
creature. Leonias pointed a longsword at the Hollow. Aaron stood behind a shield with the shortsword
lowered to his left side, gripped tightly in case it needed to be used. He hoped it didn‟t.
The Hollow stood panting, staring at the three. It was outnumbered, but hatred blocked logic—if
it even still possessed such a thing. It stared with empty eyes, growls rumbling from its throat in quick,
short bursts. A second later, it sprinted forward.
Aaron hadn‟t moved; he stood standing behind his shield, anticipating a commanding impact
from the creature. It never happened.
He lowered the steel shield to inspect the battlefield. The charging Hollow lay dead with the
others, throat slit, black blood pooling on the ground. The fight had been a massacre. What once
resembled humans now remained an unrecognizable mass of eight mangled, distorted corpses.
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Alex killed two, Aaron thought. Leonias, Well, Tavon killed one. I didn't take down any. Leonias
has no blood on his blade, so he didn‟t kill one either. Alex killed two. That means Tavon killed six of the
creatures. Six…
Aaron looked down at the blade he held. The runes along its surface carried a faint glow. Why? It
didn‟t appear sharper than any other sword he had seen. Did the runes grant some type of power?
And what to do with Tavon? He swung his scimitars with mystical finesse. He fought with such
grace, almost looking as though he were dancing about the battlefield as he fought. There were words for
men who carried such an ability, but typically they did not wear heavy armor. And they were usually
supported by music of sorts.
“Are you alright, lad?” Tavon asked Alexander.
The Templarite stood to his feet, wiping the darkened dirt from his once clean armor. “I think so.”
“Your armor seems to have taken a beating. But I see no blood.”
Alex smiled and shook his head. “I‟m okay I think it only managed to scratch the steel.”
“I‟m glad you're okay. We need to hurry,” Tavon said. “Grab the horses. More are likely heading
our way. We need to find shelter; We need to hide.”
The war horses had been trained well. With all the screams of battle they hadn‟t moved an inch.
They soon found themselves with armored members of the Order sitting in the saddles. Aaron‟s horse had
fled and was probably dead by now, so he was forced to share a mount with Alex. Clicks sounded and
heels dug into their sides. The steeds entered into a gallop.
Tavon, the pirate, Aaron thought to himself as he stabilized himself with the back portion of
Alexander‟s saddle. The Lionheart seemed to fight with such grace. How many men had he killed to gain
such a feat? What other secrets did he carry?

***

The group of four stood on the edge of a mountain path, peaking over jagged crags to the ravine
below. Darkness covered the landscape, yet somehow figures could be spotted on the surface. Hollows
had gathered. Their silhouettes matched the color of the landscape but their figures were unmistakeable,
even to Aaron‟s unaccustomed eyes.
There must be almost a hundred of them. Aaron thought, squinting. No, thousands.
Something new was seen. Further in the distance, high up on a plateau overlooking the valley, a
figure stood, like it was inspecting its army. It wore a type of tunic, like a monk would wear, but it was
black. Was that smoke lingering from his arms?
“An army is gathering,” Tavon said in his sea gained accent.
“Where is the war going to rage?” Leonias asked.
No answer was given, but there were only a few locations near the Shadowlands yet to be
consumed. At least any kingdoms containing power or influence. The first being Tumeric, but it lie far
enough away that it was the least likely to encounter a war. The second was Baw, a desert city south of
the Great Plains. And the last, though not technically a city, Rainor—home to the Order of the Radiant
light. The latter was the closest, making it the most likely to face an encounter.
“I hate to say it, lads,” Tavon said. “But we can‟t be fighting that many; we will be needing to
walk around.”
“What a sad sight,” Alexander said. “This land was occupied with servants—the hills covered in
farms—before the Corruption. Can you imagine? A flat green land with a sea of crops growing? Bright
74

yellow corn, maybe even some flowers? But sadly without the people to cultivate, this country has been
dissolved into this: darkness upon darkness.
“That is assuming,” Leonias said, “the Corruption is only bound to people. By the looks of this
place, it has an effect on the landscape. Even in the desert, where people hardly live, the land is not black.
This place is tainted.”
“You never can just look and imagine can you? You always just go by what is visible.”
“That‟s because what‟s visible is reality. Sure one can dream and try to imagine what the future
may hold, but that person also needs to look at what is right before them. And that for us is the
Shadowlands.”
“Are you saying I‟m not doing that? A person can see their situation and imagine a grander a
future. If you don‟t, then how will a situation ever change?”
“By working hard. Overcoming the challenge in front of them. When a person is on the other
side, they are stronger.”
“Working hard? And what do you know of that, Leonias? Your whole life has practically been
spent in Rainor as a Radiant Light.”
“Lads,” Tavon interrupted, putting a hand on Leonias‟s shoulder. “Now is not that time to be
arguing. We wouldn‟t want to alert our enemies now, would we?
Leonias nodded. “How far is Ghara?”
“A few hours yet.”
“Heavens,” Leonias cursed under his breath.
Alexander shook his head. “Do you think we can make it another few hours without rest? And
what of the horses? They have to be tired.”
Tavon moved his eyes from the ravine toward the men. “Are any of you tired?”
Until now, Aaron Bardeaux had not even considered the notion of fatigue. His eyes were getting a
little heavy, but his mind was wide awake. What with such a new place with so much information to take
in. Not too mention the constant fear of a lurking Hollow.
“I‟m not.” Aaron said.
Tavon smiled. The first emotion Aaron saw him show all day. It was… a strange sight. “Good,
lad. What about you, Leonias?”
Leonias stretched his legs. “I could go another while. Just my legs are sore is all.”
“As could I,” Alex said. “But in what shape are the horses? I‟m not familiar with yours, but Trib
here is tired. His face hasn‟t dragged this long in a while. He had plenty of rest last night, perhaps the
Shadowlands has an affect on animals as well.”
“We know from the moose in Oakwood this is true.” Leonias said. “Now that we are deep in the
Corruption‟s territory, its touch has to be more potent.”
“Is it safe to sleep?” Aaron asked.
“I‟ve never had any problem,” Tavon said.
How many times has he been forced to sleep in the Shadowlands?
“You don‟t think you can make it to Ghara?” Tavon asked Alexander.
“It‟s not me,” he answered. “I just don‟t think it‟s wise to venture through fatigue in such a land.
And what would we do if the horses were lost? How long would the trip to the Southern Gardens take
then?”
“Too long.”
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“I say we continue on this mountain pass. Maybe we will find a different town, perhaps one we
did not know of. Or a cave. Somewhere safe where we can rest for the night, then continue on tomorrow.
It is of no use taxing ourselves with weariness if it leads to death.”
I‟d hate to see what lives in caves of the Shadowlands.
“That be true, lad,” Tavon said. “That be true. I‟ve seen many of men—my men—die from the
effects of fatigue just so we could push on a little further. A mistake I won‟t let happen again. Keep your
eyes open, lads. We need some sort of structure to stay in, something that can block the sight of the agents
of Corruption.”
The group continued on foot, walking slowly, leading the horses along the darkened, rocky path.
Alexander was right, they did need rest. Tavon had pushed them hard when they left the previous battle.
For good reason, too. The Hollows did seek each other like flies swarm a carcass.
“Alex,” Aaron said, his voice a powerful whisper.
“Yes, Aaron?”
“I have a question…”
“Yes, Aaron?”
“Don‟t feel like you have to answer. It‟s just…”
Alexander smiled, “What is it Aaron?”
“Tavon,” Bardeaux said, looking down at the ground. “Is he a good leader?”
The knight chuckled quietly. “You wait until now to question the direction Tavon is leading?”
“He just seem so stern.”
“Ah. He can be. But he is also aware of the responsibility he carries. Not only for us three, but for
the others—the ones that rode north through Oakwood to meet with the Elders. And he knows that where
he decides to lead, we will follow. If we are to die, he feels he will be partially responsible. Our blood
would be on his hands.”
“That seems slightly exaggerated. No one carries responsibility for another man‟s choices.”
Alexander looked down at Aaron with a slight smirk. “No? Tell me, Aaron. If say, a tyrant, is
leading a nation and he commands his army to attack another nation, knowing that they will lose the
battle. His men believe he and his advisors have a good sense for militaristic strategy, so they follow the
orders and are all slaughtered. Who is responsible for their deaths?”
“Each man. They make their own decision to follow the king.”
“Do they? What if not following results in death as well?”
Aaron paused for a moment, raising a finger to his mouth as he contemplated the scenario.
Alex smiled. “You see, when a king—or any leader of men—loses the sense of responsibility that
comes with their position, they begin to take lives for granted. And I don‟t need to tell you the result of
this; I‟m sure you are quite aware of the history of Tumeric.
“But to answer your question, there is a reason Tirion promoted him to captain: he is a good man
and a good leader. I have only ever doubted his decisions a few times, and each time I was the one
mistaken, not Tavon.”
Aaron nodded.
“You will see,” Alex said. “He‟s not the man he once was. Thankfully, neither am I.”
Up ahead, movement. Something similar to a show forged by the sun shifted across the rocky
hillside. No one moved. Aaron wondered if perhaps he was the only one to see it. But, Leonias turned
around making eye contact. His eyes showed the same fear Aaron felt. They were not alone on the
mountain ridge.
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“Did you—”
Alexander silenced Aaron by motioning with his hands.
The men crept forward. The only sound was that of hooves. Each person looked around
frantically, trying to see the subtle movement again. Howling winds with no breeze began to blow. They
felt the same as earlier. Shortly after, heavy breathing brushed down Aaron‟s neck. It slowly brushed
down their backs like a slow crawling spider.
Aaron fought every urge to scratch at his neck, to turn around. Nothing is there. He told himself.
The Corruption… Shadows… Alex said not to fear.
Did he now? a voice whispered in his mind. What makes you think the Order knows all the
secrets? Why, look at Leonias…
Aaron looked at the young knight. He walked more carefully than anyone else. His head turned
frantically.
You think he has been here before?
It was hard for Bardeaux to believe the answer to the question was “yes.” Leonias reacted the
same way to the breathing as he did. And while more courageous in the fighting, he was still withdrawn,
like he was held by fear. Fear of death perhaps.
No. Aaron told himself. Leonias is a Templarite of the Order. Even with the little sparring we
had, he showed himself a confident, skilled fighter.
And look at Tavon, the voice continued to whisper. The fearless captain. The former pirate. Do
you think he is cleansed of all the wrongs, of all the blood caused by his hands? No amount of of good
works could remove the evil that bringer of death carries with him.
“You alright Aaron?” Alexander asked.
“Oh, Yes. I was just—”
A Hollow screamed and leapt from the ridge overhead. Three more followed suit.
Before the first creature managed to land on the mountain ridge, a scimitar was impaled through
its torso. It was then flipped onto its back with the blade dug into the ground beneath. The Hollow
twitched violently but was unable to pull the blade free due to the awkward angle. Blood poured from the
wound; the monster would not live much longer.
The second Hollow landed before Leonias, claws already in motion. The tips of its talon-like
hands sliced inches from the man‟s face. It growled and slashed again, but the Templarite ducked
underneath. The Hollow snapped its face forward in an attempt to bite with its razor-sharp teeth. The
attack ended shortly when a longsword dug through the creature‟s throat.
One Hollows landed in front of Aaron. It forced a smile onto its face as it threw its lanky legs one
in front of the other. With a fist held tight, the Hollows swung it's attack forward. It met metal.
Bardeaux stepped backward from the attack, feeling the resonation in the shield. Hollows were
far stronger than their frames suggested. Another blow collided against the shield, and Aaron took another
step backward. He looked behind, there was only a few more feet before the edge of the ridge. And Aaron
did not want to fall onto the jagged rocks that littered the way down.
Aaron gripped the handle of his blade tightly. I can do this. I have to do this. The shortsword
sliced easily through the air, but it found no resistance. The Hollow ducked under the swing, and side
stepped the next. Apparently these creatures were agile as well.
Another blow collided against the shield, and another step backward.
Aaron Bardeaux ducked and narrowly avoided having his throat lacerated. He retaliated with
aggression of his own: a swing that caught the creature‟s arm, forcing a bit of blood into the rage. The
77

Hollow screamed, but the sound was interrupted a shield slammed against its face, forcing it to stagger
backwards.
The Hollows roared with anger. Clinching two hands together to create a maul, it swung with
fury. The blow collided hard against the steel shield Aaron was hiding behind. He was forced further
backwards as the assault continued. Blow after blow. Only this time, there was no where for Aaron to
step.
His foot slip.
Aaron cringed, bracing himself for the pain to come. He slammed hard against the ground and
was immediately thrown into a tumble. Loose, black dirt was unsettled and thrown into clouds of dust as
Aaron rolled past rock after rock, somehow managing to miss—
One caught him in the rib. He was tossed upward for a moment then slammed back down against
the ground. The momentum was not lost and he continued to roll. Down to the bottom he went until he
eventually stopped, sprawled out. He stared up at the black sky in anguish.
After a few moments of heavy breathing, he put a hand on his side and winced. The rib didn‟t feel
broken. He was lucky. Sighing in relief, he forced himself to his feet and stumbled as he went to retrieve
the weaponry he had lost during the fall.
He stopped.
A black, condemned church stood before him. The southernmost wall had crumbled some age
ago and the stone sides that remained carried markings common of weathering. Other structures once
stood around the church, likely a stable, warehouse, and a few homes. They, too, were a pile of rubble.
The scene suggested a war once took place and the lone survivor was the church.
Perhaps we could stay here for the night.
Aaron took a step forward, but hesitated and looked over his shoulder. The faint glow of the
runed blades were easily distinguishable against the darkness of the Shadowlands, like tiny fireflies on a
summer‟s eve. Limbs and blood were tossed through the air as the Radiant Lights continued their
onslaught against the Hollows. Despite nearly a dozen of the things being killed, more and more of the
scrawny creatures crawled over the ledges above and leaped into the battle.
What was Aaron to do? He couldn‟t possibly climb up and rejoin the battle. Not in this condition.
He turned and walked toward the church. Shards of black glass littered the path. Not all had
jagged, uneven sides. Some appeared to have a craftsman's touch. Perhaps the shards belonged to a
stained glass window of sorts? It would make sense. Most churches possessed fancy widows.
The wooden door lay on the ground, unhinged. Its surface carried levels of decay, which seemed
to be common in this place. The entryway opened into a large room. Pillars—mostly broken—lined the
large chamber. Much of the peaked roof had fallen to the floor, leaving plenty of space for rain to fall
inside. Enough of the wall and roof remained over the stage to create a act as a canopy.
Aaron shimmied his way through piles of debris and started removing the stone and clay chunks
from the stage to provide enough space for four bedrolls. After picking up and tossing the final stone, he
paused as something caught his eye. A small obsidian stone. Light shimmered across its surface, as if it
were moved in torchlight. Aaron picked up the stone. It was small enough to be completely concealed in
the palm of a hand.
A gentle, cool breeze coursed through the room as Aaron look at the stone. It was a strange
feeling. He had not felt the soft touch of wind since they entered the Shadowlands. It howled in the
distance. And again, closer. It continued to do so until it felt as though it were right behind Aaron‟s ear.
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Sure the winds earlier had a sound, but this one was different. This one had a feeling to it. It was lighter,
less haunting.
Desperate.
Mustering the courage, Aaron Bardeaux pocketed the stone and whipped around, sword and
shield posed for battle. But nothing was there. The howling was distant now, seemingly coming from the
other side of the room. Aaron stood staring at the emptiness, waiting for something to happen. He had felt
something. It was real. It had to be. Something, or someone, was watching him.
A man slowly stepping out of the dark nothingness, forming into view. The figure was
completely translucent and stood only a few inches taller than Aaron. The man‟s flesh had rotted away
aeons ago, leaving only bones and long, white hair to be seen. He wore nobleman garbs: nice slacks, a
fancy shirt, and a buttoned up vest adorned with a fine pocket watch. Green, translucent tendrils followed
behind his every movement.
“Save us…” the man said in a ghastly whisper. It sounded as though multiple people were
speaking at once and the pacing was incredibly slow.
Aaron stood dumbfounded. He gripped his shield tighter.
“Save us…”
“Who..” Is that a Shadow? Aaron thought. “What are you?”
“I am… What was it men once called me…” The ghostly man rubbed his chin with a finger. “My
name seems to have been lost over the years. But perhaps it will return to me.”
Aaron peeked over the top of the shield. “What do you want with me?”
“I already told you.” The man lazily drifted forward through the air toward Aaron, tendrils
whipping behind. “Save us…”
“What makes you believe I can do that?”
“Why because... Wait. Do you hear that?” He stopped and lifted his eyes toward the entrance.
“They are coming.”
“Who is they?” Aaron asked. He turned around just in time to see the man disappear as strangely
as he had appeared.
Clanking metal and mumbling sounded from outside. The voices seemed familiar. Tavon‟s
familiar red plume popped into view. The Lionheart rushed through the door carrying Alex in his arms.
Blood dripped from the Templarites side through a large hole in his armor. The skin around the hole had
black cracks forming around it in a spiderwe-like pattern.
“There you are, lad.” Tavon said as he walked into the chamber. “We feared the Hollows may
have found you. But it looks like nothing of the sort is living in this rotten area.”
“Are you hurt? You took quite a fall,” Leonias said. He approached Aaron and started inspecting
the damages.
Aaron winced with each touch. “I‟m alright. Just a little bruised. What happened to Alex?”
“A Shadow,” Tavon said rather off-the-cuff. He rushed toward the center of the church and
placed the man on the ground near the stage platform. “Leonias, start a fire. Hollows will be storming in
any moment.”
The young Templarite nodded and rushed outside, returning a few moments latter pulling the
horses. He gathered a few of the legs tied to the horse‟s saddle and rushed over to Alex where he began
stacking the logs. After a few flicks of flint against steel, flames began licking the bottom of the logs.
Wind blew gently in a circle around the men. It brought with it a sense of peace, something
mystical that calmed the nerves. Tavon‟s hands began to glow a bright white. The aura extended a few
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inches from each hand. He was chanting something with his eyes closed. Suddenly, he opened them. His
pupils had changed in color to match the light.
Tavon placed his hands against Alexander‟s side. The blackened skin slowly retreated into the
wound. Blood dripped at a slower pace as the wound was sealed shut, like it had been stitched by a skilled
cleric but without the thread. A bruise remained, but the wound was no longer lethal. The Lionheart stood
to his feet, stumbling slightly.
A screech echoed from the distance. A wail that came from only one type of creature. A Hollow.
Another screech echoed, deeper than the first. Then another. It sounded like a great multitude of Hollows
were coming their way.
“Here.” Leonias said, handing Tavon an object wrapped in burlap.
Tavon unraveled the item. It was a small figurine only a few inches tall, carved into the shape of
an eagle. The bird was made of solid ivory and more pristine than the armor the Order wore. Tavon knelt
down before the fire, eyes glowing bright, mumbling. Rays of light erupted from the figurine in all
directions.
Three heartbeats later a giant dome made from brilliant light short forth from the object, phasing
through the men, the horses, and the buildings as it expanded to nearly sixty feet in diameter. Rain pelted
the surface and trickled down the outside and winds were no longer felt.
What. Just. Happened.
Tavon stumbled to his feet, his legs weak and wobbling, as if he had spent hours in a tavern
competing in drinking contests. His eyes reverted back to their normal color.
Alex coughed. “I thought you were saving that for tomorrow.”
“I would have liked to, lad.” Tavon said, his words slurring slightly more than usual. He stumbled
to the wooden stage, sat down, and started packing his pipe. “But had we waited… Well, I don't think we
would‟ve got another night. You took a beating, lad, and the Hollows relented only long enough for us to
stumble into this blessing of a building.”
“How many did we kill before I blacked out?”
“How many did we kill?” Tavon smiled slightly. “Or how many did you kill?”
Alexander chuckled then winced in pain. “How many did we kill?”
“Before you took your hit, the bodies were really piling up. My guess… Fifteen.”
“Not bad for only four of us.” Alex smiled, then winced again as he tried to lean forward. The
pain pushed him back down.
“What…” Aaron said, pointing toward the light barrier that arced overhead. “What is this?”
“The Sol Stone, lad. It aides in the use of magic. With it, magic can be harnessed to greater
effects than a person could do without.” He paused as he took a few puffs from his pipe. The smoke
trickled upward and lazily floated through the dome. “This wall here will keep Hollows out.”
“How long?” Leonias asked.
“About twelve hours.”
“An army of Hollows will have gathered outside while we sleep. How do you plan on escaping?”
“That, my dear Leonias, is what I‟m trying to figure out.”
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Feed the hungry.

Chapter 11

Carnival Guards wearing leather armor trotted next to the wagons, forcing the people to remain seated.
The Shadowlands was dark and void of all vegetation. Sariah had heard about this place, and
longed to visit. During her time as a thief she had spent extensive amounts of time in Tumeric and Mist
Gate. Then her life as an assassin had broadened her adventures to include Yrall, Sira‟delin, and the
infamous Marnek, but none of those cities ever brought the wonder she had in this moment.
Matram had spoken of this place, about how magic dwelled within its surface. Sariah closed her
eyes and searched for the Strands of the Universe, which were found amazingly easily. She had felt power
before—especially after sacrificing blameless animals• —but none compared to the power she felt now.
More power than she knew what to do with, more power than she had been trained to handle.
She sat on the back of a wagon smiling as people screamed for help. Some were forced outside to
walk, escorted at the tips of spears by the Carnival Guard. While some sat inside rocking back and forth
uncomfortably as The Lazy River creeped forward slower than ever. Somehow, Sariah knew she was
safe. She couldn‟t explain it. It was just a natural feeling, an instinct.
“What‟s going to happen to us?” asked Benjamin, the boy sitting next to Sariah.
“I don't know,” Cerl said. They were both One Stars, just like Sariah, but they seemed to be
taking this encounter much differently than she.
“I‟m scared,” Benjamin said, wiping a tear from his cheek.
“Me too. I want to go home.”
“Maybe it‟s just a severe storm.”
“Do you see any rain?” Sariah intruded. “What about lightning? Thunder, do you hear any of
that?”
They both shook their heads. “Where are we?” Cerl asked.
Sariah stared at them, looking at the Strands floating next to their heads. In an instant she could
throw them both off this cart with magic, leaving them to whatever may happen to a disobedient Carnival
member.
Kill them, she thought.
It would be too easy and unsatisfying to kill them like this. She held too much power and didn‟t
want to waste it on someone unable to fight back. It would be like a sacrifice without the proper rituals to
make it worthwhile. What was the point?
Besides, she needed to save her power for Jarith. Since he had also been trained by Matram, he
would prove to be a worthy adversary. It was important for Sariah to keep her Khasta maintained.
One of the Guards trotted over as The Lazy River slowed to a halt. “Everyone out!” he shouted.
Slowly, people began getting off of the multicolored wagons and lined up side by side, facing the
Carnival Guard that slowly trotted by on uneasy looking horses. Benjamin and Cerl resisted the order.
Only after a solid thump of a spear shaft were they prodded into position. The line of people was over
three hundred long. On one end stood a Guard, at the other a building that was somewhat illuminated.
Even though it lacked torches or fires, it somehow still maintained a glow.
Benjamin wiped a tear from his cheek as a man wearing extravagant Carnival clothing casually
approached him. The man smiled, pointed a finger, then moved to the next person. One by one he
examined each member and deciding who stayed in this line and who moved to an adjacent group.
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Women screamed as loved ones and newfound friends were taken away, men shouted insults and idle
threats, and children cried for help.
Sariah stood not knowing how to react. She was not uncomfortable. The screams from the
building did not worry her, but she wasn‟t certain what that even meant. Children scream for various
reasons, rarely were they ever in harm‟s way. She had no reason to believe this was any different. A life
as an assassin trained her to never allow emotion to influence actions except under extreme
circumstances.
“Stay,” the man said, pointing to Cerl. His hand was marked with a half moon surrounded by four
stars, he was one of the highest ranking members of the Carnival. He pointed at Benjamin. “Stay.”
Upon reaching Sariah, he paused for a moment, examining her closer. After a few seconds, which
seemed to stretch for an eternity, he smiled and ushered her toward the group outside of the line. Only
five of the first hundred people had been removed, and only three more were removed after her.
With the separations complete, the people in line turned and began to methodically enter the
building ahead. Whatever was happening on the inside took some time, forcing the people to wait
nervously outside. Every few minutes one more person would enter and everyone would take a step
forward.
Sariah‟s group was free to do whatever they wanted, no Guard watched them. Most of them stood
crying, though Sariah did not understand why. No one knew what was happening except the high ranking
Carnival members and the people at the front of the line.
Maybe nothing bad was happening at all.
With no one to stop her, Sariah worked her way toward the building. It was gigantic and people
screamed on the inside. Looking around one of the corners, she saw another line of people. Apparently,
there were multiple entrances.
This must be where all the troupes bring the new recruits. A headquarters of type. She smiled.
Jarith should be here.
The wall stretched high into the air and was layered like steps. A chain-linked fence surrounded
the compound at the top. Sariah began to climb. The higher she climbed, the more light she could see
glowing from inside of the structure. There must be a source. With screams growing louder, she gripped
two metal bars of the fence and pulled herself upward, stopping in a standing position. Her eyes widened.
The compound was stretched like an oval, stretching a hundred yards in each direction. Four
platforms were placed together at the center to create a large stage. The lines from outside the building
continued inside and ended near the stage.
Sariah watched as one of the recruits stepped forward. He paused once on the stage, shaking
nervously. A strange, smoke-like creature floated next to him and latched onto him with a claw-like hand.
The boy screamed as he tried to resist. Another creature latched on, and another. After a few minutes, the
recruit quit screaming and stumbled toward a fifth door located at the far end of the building.
There were dozens of the creatures taking part in this action, like it was a feast and the people
were the food.
At the center of the massive stage stood a man wearing an intricate set of black robes. An emblem
was placed over the heart, but he was too far away to make out what it was. Occasionally he would turn to
examine a different portion of the feeding.
I have to see the other side, Sariah thought to herself as she descended the wall. She ran around a
corner and forced her way through another line of people waiting to enter. They screamed for help, but
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she ignored them. And for whatever reason, the Guard ignored her, too. Sariah stopped as she rounded the
final corner.
A line of people exited the building. They walked forward without purpose, stumbling like it took
all their effort just to move. Their faces were empty, slightly pale, and lacked any focus. Whatever they
had become was emotionless.
I have to escape, Sariah thought, stumbling backwards, hands against the wall. She turned around
and took off. When she passed the Guard this time he snapped his horse into motion. Sariah couldn‟t
outrun a horse. She would need to use magic.
She retrieved her daggers from her boots and turned around, a weapon ready in each hand. Two
Carnival Guards approached with spear tips pointed at her. They charged forward with no signs of
stopping.
I‟ve seen them deal with the disgruntled, their armor is weak and they lack fighting technique.
Take out the horses and they will be easy prey. But if I can keep one horse alive, I could ride out of here.
Sariah narrowed her eyes, fixating on the Strands of the Universe. Like earlier, it was easy to find
them in the Shadowlands. It was difficult to focus on two horses at once. Deciding she would need to take
them down one at a time, she chose the one on the right.
Stepping forward with her left foot, she twisted her hips and flung the dagger in her right hand. It
flipped gracefully through the air and pierced deep into the horse‟s head. It plunged to the ground as the
rider leaped and tumbled himself a few feet away. By the time the rider climbed to his feet, the other
horse was upon Sariah.
She turned, ducking under the thrust of a spear. As the rotated, she reached out with her empty
hand and pulled upon the Strands of the Universe, harnessing the First Fletching Matram had taught her.
She pulled the Strands together and created a ball of black energy in her free hand. With the power ready,
she finished the rotation and slammed it into the side of the remaining horse, releasing the compressed
energy. The animal flew backwards a few dozen yards, it and the rider flipped once through the air before
slamming against the ground. After the impact, both slid a few extra feet along the blackened earth.
The horse struggled to its feet a few seconds afterward. It staggered away with a busted leg as it
regained its wits. The rider, however, remained on the ground, motionless.
Sariah smiled. The First Fletching was much more potent than normal. Being in the Shadowlands
had apparently increased Sariah‟s magic greatly. She turned to face the first rider—the one who had
tumbled from his horse.
The Guard stepped toward her, spear in hand. He thrust the tip toward her face, but she casually
stepped to the side. As she continued to sidestep the attacks—which hardly needed much attention—she
looked ahead and saw two more Guards heading her way. A few more of the Guard were scattered about
in the distance, but the lines of people had become uncooperative and needed to be prodded into place.
I‟ll need to finish this quickly.
When the next attack of the spear came, She leaned forward, pushing her left arm in an outward
arc. The shaft of the spear was caught between the blade of her dagger and the back of her forearm. She
pushed it away. The attacker attempted to swing the back end of the spear around like a quarterstaff, but
Sariah was already ducking in anticipation of such a move.
With one swift motion, she stood straight and sliced upward. The dagger cut across the man‟s
chest. Unfortunately his leather provided some resistance, making the cut uneven. The man stumbled
backward. Sariah stabbed a dagger into his chest and finished taking him to the ground.
She removed the weapon and focused on the oncoming attackers.
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The horses the next to Guards rode were uneasy. They seemed unfamiliar with attacking. Not too
mention Sariah‟s powerful presence. Somehow animals knew the power she held, and the most basic
instinct for any creature was to live. She didn‟t blame them for that. It would just be nice if sometimes she
could ride a horse. But other times, like this, it helped to deter potential attacks. And judging from the
way they looked at the dead, these horses had not seen much death.
The two Guards attempted to force their mounts forward, but the closer they got the more they
fought until they eventually reared up and galloped the direction from which they came. One rider
continued on his horse, while the other leaped off, holding a spear at the ready. Behind, the rest of the
Guard was busy trying to tame the crowd.
Perhaps there was time to find some answers.
“If you let me grab my dagger from that dead horse,” Sariah said, pointing at the horse she killed
moments earlier. “I‟ll let you live.
“I can‟t do that,” the Guard said as he took a few steps closer.
“And why is that? It seems like you are a man that values his life.” The answer was obvious.
Sariah had seen too much. Should the secrets of their sacrificing of recruits come out, the Carnival would
be ruined and so would the operation.
“Shush, wretch. You earned yourself a spot at the front of the line. Lower your weapons and let
me take you peacefully.”
“Now why would I do that?” Sariah cocked her head to the side.
“Because it will be less painful than me breaking your legs and dragging you.”
Try as she may, Sariah could not keep from laughing. “I hardly think you want to end up like
your friends here. What happened to the gentleness a few days ago?”
“You think we care about you One Stars? Hardly. We are working under specific orders. Now
lower your weapon.”
“Look behind yourself,” Sariah said, pointing with her empty hand. “The lines have turned into a
panic. The Guard—your friends—have been forced to attack the recruits. Don‟t you think your time
would be better spent corralling those people, rather than fighting a fight you are destined to lose?”
The Guard paused for a moment as if considering the proposal, then narrowed his eyes and
strengthen the grip of his spear. “You caused this uproar. Everything worked fine before you tried to
escape.”
Sariah was ready to kill the man, but decided to try and gather some sort of information first. “I
couldn‟t have been the first person to try to escape. Surely not everyone simply stands in line waiting to
have their souls devoured.”
“Which is why we exist, to keep the line in order and flowing forward.”
“Which is why you should be back there, and not wasting time with me. Tell me, handsome, how
do you keep the people in line?”
The Guard frowned. “The spears are enough for most.”
Sariah laughed. “There is no possible way that you keep a few hundred people in line with a
horse and a spear. Something else must be at play.”
“There are greater powers at work,” the man eventually confessed.
“See, now we are getting somewhere. Was that so hard? So, what kind of powers?”
“Shush, wretch. I‟ve already said too much. Lower your weapon or I‟ll be forced to attack.”
Sariah sighed. I suppose this has gone on long enough. But at least I learned something.
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She rushed forward, rolling beneath the thrust of a spear. As her tumble completed, she stabbed
her dagger into the man‟s leg. He staggered backward, screaming. She reached her left hand behind her
back, channeling the First Fletching. Once a sufficient amount of energy was harnessed, she grabbed her
dagger with her right hand and slammed the ball of power into the man‟s side. He was sent sliding dozens
of yards across the rocky ground of the Shadowlands and Sariah stood holding a bloodied dagger.
She shook her head, walked over to the dead horse, and pulled her dagger from its head. Men, she
thought. Always thinking they are stronger than they are.
By now, the crowds were beginning to become tame, but there were too many guards for Sariah
to kill if she wanted to save everyone. Instead, she turned to the west and took off running, leaving the
screams behind her. She had a long way to run, but no one seemed to be chasing her. After she had
covered a few hundred yards, she slowed her pace and began contemplating the events she just saw.
People, mostly children, were being brought to the Shadowlands to be sacrificed to demons.
These demons ate their souls, likely to gain power. Well, Sariah thought, at least I won‟t need to kill
Jarith anymore. No way could he have lived through that.

Heal the sick.

Chapter 12

The room was filled with black smoke. Aaron stood to his feet, covering his face, coughing. A small light
from the opposite end of the room enticed him, and he found himself walking forward. Multiple pillars
barring scratch-like scars and empty fetters lined the large chamber. Cold shivers shot through Aaron‟s
body as he imagined what they may be used for. He continued toward the light.
The room grew less grey and became more of a dark red as the he stumbled closer to the
illuminated doorway. A strange scent he had not encountered before filled the air. Something strong,
bitter, and faintly sweet. Fear and anxiety grabbed at his soul. He wanted to stop. His mind screamed for
comfort. But something inside him drew him onward. The mysterious light at the end of the hallway
carried with it an unquenchable desire for discovery.
Large amounts of smoke flooded Aaron‟s nostrils, filling his lungs with hot pain. His abdomen
muscles already tensed and tired from nonstop coughing. With his body screaming for relief, he passed
through the barrier of light.
It took many moments for his eyes to adjust to the well lit area. The stones in this room matched
the ones before, dark red, deeper than the stain of blood. In the center of the room, a man hung in the air,
arms chained to separate pillars. He wore a solid white tunic, which seemed to glow in contrast to the
darkened stone floor. Long, wavy, matted grey—almost white—hair hung low into his chest and the
man‟s head lie heavy.
Something inside Aaron wanted to know who this person was. What he had done to be imprisoned
like so. He pressed onward, each step echoing through the empty halls. As he got closer, Aaron noticed
the man‟s muscles had all but lost their strength. With no fat to provide a covering, the man‟s ribs showed
85

against the skin. As Aaron continued to examine the man from a safe distance, the prisoner raised his
head. His bright blue eyes pierced deep into Aaron‟s soul as the two made eye contact.

***

Aaron awoke violently, breathing heavily, gasping in a desperate attempt fill his lungs with air.
He leaned forward, coughing. Eventually his body recovered from the vivid dream, relaxing as it found its
place in reality. It felt so real, he thought, rubbing his chest. It still burned. Never had he experienced a
nightmare so intense. Sweating was sometimes normal, but they never brought pain like this.
Looking around, Aaron noticed Leonias lie sleeping next to Alexander, but Tavon‟s bedroll lay
empty. Aaron rose to his feet and took to searching for the man. He found him sitting on the steps leading
to the stage now used as an impromptu sleeping quarter. Smoke trailed into the sky from the Lionheart‟s
pipe. Had he slept? Did he stay awake all night planning the escape?
Aaron crept forward with care.
Tavon sat mumbling to himself between puffs of the cherry flavored tobacco, rocking back and
forth like one would to a beat of a song, staring at the white domed prism that guarded the men. No music
played though, perhaps the drums thudded in his mind.
What was he saying? Maybe it was a clue that would reveal his own corruption. Or a tale of his
pirating life. He never spoke of those times, and the life of a pirate raised many questions. How did a man
kill for sport? How did he train others to do the same? How many lives were unjustly taken?
Aaron crept further forward. he wanted to hear what the man was saying to himself. Stepping
silently was not an issue for Aaron. During any of the lot of jobs he had worked in Tumeric, he was given
plenty of opportunities to practice placing the correct part of the foot down first with just the right amount
of pressure, before moving his body weight forward. And since this dark, desolate land had no twigs or
leaves to crunch on and the wood was too old to creak, Aaron moved through the shattered church with
ease.
Eventually, Aaron found himself close enough to hear the words. They were in some language he
had never heard. Aaron was only fluent in the common tongue, but these words were from an unknown,
unheard language all together. The words were lengthy on the vowels, providing long resonances, and
what few consonants were said were pronounced thick and hard.
Finding overhearing Tavon‟s personal conversation worthless, Aaron took to different
adventures. Religions held monks, and many monks were scholars who wrote books upon books
regarding their studies. If there were any writings regarding the Shadowlands, they would be buried
underneath where the group slept. Aaron began searching for a library or a cellar door.
It was found under a heap of rubble and debris that would make too much noise to move by one‟s
self. Aaron frowned and took the notion as a sign from fate, perhaps he should not be sneaking around
under the nose of the Order. Or maybe just needed to try harder.
Aaron sat, his back against a large stone, and retrieved one of the fictional stories from his bag.
The book contained many tales from all over the world. But he was seeking one in particular, one
containing the Borghek. He had read of them before, but the Templarites spoke of them as if they were a
real civilization. Aaron searched for the story, reading with a new possibility, reading as if the myths were
real.
And what of the dream? Who was the man in white? The one chained to the pillars? Perhaps there
was a legend Aaron had never read before, hidden among the pages next to the others. He was not prone
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to believe dreams carried visions of prophecy. The most likely explanation was his mind needed to
process all the changes he had encountered, how reality seemed to be different. Perhaps a dream was the
easiest way for his subconscious to cope.
An hour passed before the research was interrupted. Turning, Aaron noticed the Templarites were
rising to their feet, shaking awake their tired muscles. Aaron sighed and closed the stories. More later, I
suppose.
“So, how are we going to get out?” Aaron heard Leonias ask as he walked toward the group.
“What are your ideas, lad?” Tavon said.
A nice way to avoid the question. Aaron thought to himself.
Well…” Leonias began strolling back and forth as he thought. “What about drawing upon magic
to force the Hollows away? Or maybe an explosion to kill enough to rush past?”
Tavon raised an eye at Leonias and took a long puff of his pipe, sending rings of smoke into the
air. “We have no Sol Stone remaining. The amount of magic required to perform such a power would
leave me motionless for the rest of the day, possibly eternity. With Alex hurt, we are down to only two
able bodies, hardly enough to make it far enough for safety.”
“I take it you ruled out charging through the crowds.” Alex said, hand on his injured side.
“The crowds that are pounding against the barrier have been there most of the night, unmoved by
fatigue, if the dreaded things even feel such a thing. We‟d be able to charge through, but the steeds would
be probably die in the process. Likely us as well. And you know as well as I do that a wounded horse
would not make it the distance we need.”
Both Leonias and Alex frowned.
“What if we made a distraction?” Leonias said.
“Such as?” Tavon asked, sounding rather reluctant about the idea already.
“Well, we could send a horse out ahead of everyone. The Hollows would likely chase it down,
giving us the opportunity to ride past with minimal amount of conflict.”
“And whose horse would we be using? Yours?”
“Well, no. Not mine.” Leonias looked down, avoiding eye contact.
“You won‟t be having mine either, lad. We already lost one yesterday. Now I owe Sirena a well
trained horse. We can‟t afford to lose another. And besides, we aren‟t the type of savages to sacrifice such
a worthy and respected animal in an effort to maybe break out. Too many uncertainties to make such a
move.”
Hollows pounded against the white barrier, but it was too thick for the sounds to be heard. But
just the sight of the hundred or more creatures was enough to worry Aaron. And from the apprehension in
his voice, Tavon as well.
“What if…” Aaron said. “No, never mind.”
“What is it, lad?” Tavon said, pointing the stem of his pipe toward Aaron.
“What if we don‟t escape?”
The Lionheart tilted his head.
“Churches of this size are prone to have libraries. I‟ve looked around and found no books or
pages, or even any shelves of sorts. Now that means either it has all been destroyed over years and during
collapses, or it still stands in a different space.” He paused, pointing at the door he found earlier. “There‟s
a door there. It probably lead to a cellar or an underground library.”
Tavon looked at the circular handle underneath the pile of stones and broken wood, then looked
back to Aaron and nodded.
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“What if instead of escaping,” Aaron continued, “we hide under the church for a few days until
the Hollows leave. We have enough food, right?”
“I believe we do,” Leonias said excitingly.
“That‟s not a bad idea.” Tavon said. “Not bad at all.”
Aaron looked away, tightening the collar of his jacket.
“How long do we have?” Alex asked.
“Two hours, I‟d say, before the dome starts collapsing in on itself. It will be slow at first. But it
will increase in speed until the final absorbing.” The Lionheart looked toward the peak of the bright
barrier. “Leonias and Aaron start clearing the door.”
Both men nodded and began moving the broken splinters of wood. Many of the pieces lacked the
integrity needed to remain intact, but some of the larger pieces of rubbled required two people to move.
As each section of debris was tossed to the side, it sent a noise echoing through the dome. Apparently the
barrier not only kept sounds from entering, but it also kept sounds from escaping.
Pausing before the large, final stone, Aaron and Leonias both shook their arms to help ease their
muscles. Leonias nodded and the two of them heaved the rock off the ground. They took a few steps to
the side, checked to make sure had moved far enough, then set the rock down.
“Not bad, lads.” Tavon said. He walked past them both, grabbed the handle, and yanked the door open.
Dust flew through the opening, leaving a musty smell to linger in the air. “Grab the horses. Little time
remains.”
The barrier that was once more than fifteen feet outside the old religious building was now a few
feet inside the doorway, quickly approaching the fire pit where the Sol Stone was consumed.
Leonias rushed to the horses, grabbed their reins, and pulled them to the top of the staircase
leading into the cellar. Apparently with enough training, a horse will descend a stairwell. Aaron watched
a Leonias lead the mounts down the steps one by one.
“Go, go,” Leonias shouted at Aaron as he came to the surface. The light was drawing nearer, now
only ten feet away from the campsite. Leonias ran and helped Alexander down the staircase, slowly
guiding the man down. Each step forced a wince and a moan from the injured Templarite. Aaron walked
down last.
“Aaron. The door,” Leonias shouted again.
Bardeaux quickly strode up the steps, two by two, until he could grab the cellar door. He paused.
The barrier drew nearer, now only five feet away. If Hollows slept, the movement likely awoke
their senses, for now they were in a rage. They chased the wall as it moved inward, pounding against it.
Each hit caused a small ripple of light to pulse on the barrier.
Aaron grabbed the handle and pulled the door shut.
A small hiss and a sizzle later, the dark room was brought to life as Tavon lit a torch. “Found
these in the corner. Barely noticed them before you got to the door.” He handed out a few remaining
torches. Each Templarite and Aaron received one and Tavon kept another for himself. “Each should burn
for a few hours. So use them sparingly.”
The cellar appeared to be a library at one time. Multiple bookcases had been carven into the wall
between the wooden support posts holding the ceiling in place. A few tables stood in the center of the
room, not far from the stairwell, carrying stacks of books that matched those in the cases: old, tattered,
and stale. If a person touched them or tried to move them, it was likely the books would crumble into
dust. Barrels storing some type liquid were stacked in racks along the far wall.
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The various colorings were a pleasant relief from the darkened wasteland above, even though
they themselves were depressing tones: decaying books, withering tables, and various colors of darkened
stone were not the sight that would typically make a heart glad.
So much for the research. Aaron thought to himself, looking at the nearly destroyed books. He
walked down the stairwell and joined the others in the room.
In the back right corner a figure could be made out. As the light slowly flickered, Aaron began to
see what it was. A man, ancient and decayed, left with only the skeletal shell of the form he once
possessed, sat against the wall, slightly hunched over. In his lap lay a book, opened nearly halfway. The
words had long since faded and the binding and pages were falling apart.
“What happened to you?” Tavon said, leaning over the corpse for further inspection. Aaron heard
the captain mumbling, likely a quiet prayer.
The horses were cramped. Three horses in a small cellar, small library, small brewery, or
whatever the room was, brought its own complications. Leonias flipped over one of the tables. He
removed a leg with ease and used it to create a type of troth for the animals. He poured some grain then
began brushing their manes.
Footsteps sounded above as Hollows walked across the cellar door. It would only take one to
discover the entrance before the horde flooded into their location. Sure Tavon, Leonias, Alexander, and
Aaron could defend the location for a while using the staircase, but they would eventually be overrun.
The men stared at the entrance in silence. The single torch provided enough vision to vaguely see
the door handle at the top of the steps. It shook every time a Hollow walked across the wooden hatch.
Leonias grabbed some type of cloth from his bag and cleaned the circular table the men all sat
around. Dust flew into the air. Tavon gave him a glare. The young knight, after clearing the table, tossed
his satchel against the surface and pulled out a few loaves of bread, some apples, cheeses, and a small
burlap bag containing a type of grain prepared for humans rather than animals. Alex thanked him and tore
off a piece then handed the loaf to Aaron.
“So,” Leonias said between bites of an apple. “How long do you think we have to stay down
here?”
“A day or two.” Tavon said.
“What are we going to do to pass the time?” Alex asked.
“We could sit in silence.”
Aaron smiled.
“Or…” Leonias said with a smile. “I have some dice and a few figurines and markers, we could
play Heroes and Knights.”
Heroes and Knights was a common game among the eastern kingdoms. Often called “Warlands”
or “Kill the King,” the game involved moving tokens around a board and taking over various mining
locations. Each time a player took their turn, they would receive an income based upon how many mines
they controlled, the income was often shown by markers, typically small beads or rocks. A person could
spend their markers to buy more armaments and military. Each attack was made by rolling a die to see
how much damage was done, the defender would also roll a die. The amount of damage inflicted varied
upon the type of token attacking. The object was to destroy the opponent's hero figurine, which was
marked as a king.
“Heavens, no.” Tavon said abruptly. “The game takes too long for me.”
“I haven‟t played that in years.” Aaron said. “Not since… Well, just in years.”
“It‟ll be fun,” Leonias said, his voice cracking.
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“Sure, I‟ll play.” Alex said He rubbed the bandaging on his side. “Not like I can go anywhere.”
“Don‟t sound so reluctant.” Leonias said, grabbing the grid covered map he kept tucked in his
bag.
“It‟s just, the same thing happens every time.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I win, then you complain for days.”
Aaron smiled.
“That‟s not true.”
Alexander turned to Aaron. “See? He‟s starting already.”
“I‟ve just been going easy on you,” Leonias pulled out a small box containing a few hundred
figurines ranging from knights, peasants, archers, and a few kings.
Alex laughed. The chuckle was cut short by a wince. “Quit, Leonias. I‟m too hurt for you to say
ridiculous things like that.”
“Are you good, Aaron?”
“I‟m alright. It‟s been a while. At one time I could play fairly well. Never competitively, of
course.” Aaron said, setting up his section of the board.
“Good. You can be on my team. Together, we can beat Alex.”
Alex laughed. “You would seek help. Politics involve a type of diplomacy and trade. I believe
Aaron will be smart enough to wait until we see what you can offer him for his allegiance.”
Aaron smiled and kept quiet.
“What a great use of our torchlight.” Tavon said, stone faced.
“We're the tournaments large in Tumeric?” Alex asked, ignoring the statement. He leaned
forward to gather his colored tokens.
“There were small matches once a month.” Aaron said. “They had some prizes, often a few dozen
coins. Then once a year there were larger games. The entire event would last about a week. Whoever won
generally received enough money to live a few months comfortably. Then, of course, people played
regularly in the taverns. Often wagering a few coins to not grow bored of the game.”
“Ah. I‟ve never found the opportunity to attend a major event. Always been in Rainor training, or
traveling about the world with the Radiant Lights.”
“When there is that much money on the line, there is a certain level of excitement to be felt.
Similar to a jousting match, but with a much calmer, less violent form of tension. I know some people
who did well enough to make a living playing the game. They weren‟t quite noble status, but they were
by no means poor.”
Alex nodded. “Interesting.”
“Are we all ready?” Leonias asked, leaning over the table in excitement.
“I believe we are.” Alex said.
“Good. Then let‟s each roll a die. Whoever rolls the highest will start the match.”

Help those in need.


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Chapter 13

“You cheated!” Leonias said.


Alex looked at Aaron. “I told you he would complain.”
“You cheated, Alex.”
Alexander shook his head. “You did well though, Aaron. Very well for someone who has not
played in such a long time.”
He then looked over to Leonias. “What happened to living in the moment, Leonias?”
“I am. And this moment is built upon the one before, where you cheated!”
“Now, you know that isn‟t true. If you could just imagine a little further into the future…”
Tavon shushed the group. “Did you feel that?”
The three men looked amongst themselves. I didn‟t, did you? the look said.
“There was a small breeze, a cooler air. It flickered the torch.”
Aaron looked at Alex. He looked back, equally confused.
“I don‟t think so,” Alex said in a soft voice. “The flame has been flickering since you lit it. You
remember lighting it, Tavon?”
Aaron Bardeaux‟s eyes widened. While he wasn‟t accustomed to their relationship, Aaron was
fairly certain such a tone would not be accepted. Tavon was, afterall, the highest ranking person here—
from the Order, at least.
“The effects of magic have worn away, Alex. I‟m not mad. There is a passage down here. A cool
wind came from somewhere.”
Leonias stood to his feet. “That would make sense. There would need to be another exit of sorts
for air incase the entrance caved in.”
“Clean up the game. We need to find where it came from.”
The men did just that. It only took a few minutes to clean the game, nearly a tenth of the time it
took to set up. They then began thoroughly searching the room. Much, much, more deeply than when they
first descended the steps. Aaron went directly to a bookcase carved into the western wall. He did not,
however, begin moving the books. In their condition even the slightly tinkering would cause countless
pages of recorded thoughts to be destroyed, history wiped from existence. It was not something he wanted
resting on his conscious. Perhaps scholars would be able to recover the words without destroying the
books. And if not, at least they would be the ones bearing the guilt.
Leonias walked along the stonework underneath the staircase. He pressed firmly against each
stone, seeking any subtle movements that may lead to a passage. This would take time, however. The
stairwell descended twenty feet underground, the steps rested upon a massive amount of stone blocks.
Alexander was too wounded to stand and help. Instead, he sat watching the other people search
the room. Looking to see if he saw anything out of the normal. An extra set of eyes was always helpful.
Tavon walked slowly around the room, moving the light of the torch in support of the others.
Something shifted. “Here,” Leonias said. The stonewall was illuminated as the Lionheart
approached. A small block had been pushed slightly inward, Leonias‟s hand still pressed against it. Cold
air creeped around the edges where the mortar was unsealed. Leonias pressed it in slightly further. A click
sounded.
Earth shifted on the surface, it could be heard even underground. Metal clanked against metal,
followed by ear-screeching screams. Hollows.
“I think you found a trap, lad.” Tavon said. They both shared a sly smile.
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“Why didn‟t they trigger them when the church was attacked?” Leonias asked.
“How do we know it was attacked?”
“Well, if it was?”
Tavon smiled. “This building is likely a millennia old. The secrets built into its walls were
probably lost over the years. It‟s a shame. What mysteries are hidden in these stones…” Tavon‟s words
drifted off as he walked around the room alone.
Leonias kept walking along the stone stairwell, pressing his hand against its surface, looking for
more triggers. Perhaps one would reveal a secret door, a hidden escape. Two more stones moved. Each
triggered another trap on the surface.
So many pages. Aaron thought he continued scanning the bookcases, cringing as Hollows
screamed in agony. So many pages of mystery. Some likely hold answers to the Shadowlands. Answers to
what happened, to what caused the lush area to become desolate. To become a deathly wasteland.
Something strange appeared in his peripherals. Aaron looked closer. Cracks along the edges of
the bookcase where the shelves met the walls. The other ones had not been that way. They were solid. But
this one was different. it seemed like the panels could be removed. Creating… a doorway.
“I think I found it,” Aaron said. But that would mean we would need to destroy books that might
help in destroying whatever evil corrupted the countryside, and perhaps the world. Maybe deep writings
revealing secrets of these “Shadows” the Order speaks of. “Listen to me,” he whispered to himself,
“talking about evil taking over the world. If I didn‟t know better, I‟d say I‟m starting to believe what the
Order teaches.”
Tavon placed a hand on Aaron‟s shoulder. “I know it‟s tough, lad. I don‟t like it anymore than
you. However, if it means our only escape… Well, we be thankful the makers made a way.”
Aaron frowned. Tavon was right. The knowledge would be worthless if all it did was reveal a
tomb of people dying to protect it. The information contained in the pages was not so valuable that those
escaping found it a necessity to bring it with them. Though, those who did survive probably knew the
answers already. Answers Aaron wanted.
Leonias walked in front of Aaron and began clearing the stone shelves. Books crumbled into dust
and blew into nothingness as Leonias‟s arms swept from one side to the next. Aaron stood, deeply
saddened, watching as history evaporated before his very eyes. He wished there was a better way, but he
had to shrug off the feeling. He had to keep reminding himself this was right. Certain situations required a
certain level of sacrifice. But in the back of his mind, he could not shake the feeling of answers to age
forgotten questions had vanished forever.
What if this was part of the plan? Tavon did lead the group directly toward this crumbled
cathedral. Had he known of the records the entire time? Of the Archives? Maybe he wanted to destroy the
pages; wipe away any trace that remained of the Corruption‟s origin. If the entire landscape was not safe
from it, what would make the Order any different? If he removed the birth of the “plague”, then it would
be hard for the next generation to rise up and defeat it.
No, Aaron thought. No. There was a level of sincerity in Tavon‟s voice as he spoke. He was
saddened that so much knowledge was lost. Or was he?
“You alright, lad?” Tavon asked, looking at Aaron.
Aaron Bardeaux avoided eye contact, watching instead as Leonias finished clearing what little
debris remained. “Yes” was the answer he wanted to say.
“I will be,” Aaron said. There was something strange being near the captain. Maybe it was the
authority he carried over the other Templarites that demanded a certain level of respect. Or maybe respect
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had been gained when Tavon easily handled the Hollow the day before. Whatever the reason, Aaron
could not find it in himself to lie to the man. At least, not yet.
A second hand rested on Aaron‟s other shoulder. It was Alex‟s. The man had hobbled beside the
others, using a broken table leg as a walking cane. “Soon,” he said, “we will see the rolling hills of
Rainor. We will eat hot, fresh meals inside the great cathedral, surrounded by men who support our cause.
We will introduce you to our monks and scholars. But most importantly, we will see the sun shine again.”
“We‟ve only been here one day,” Leonias said, wiping the dust from his now brown stained white
tabard.
“Yes,” Alex said, raising a finger into the air. “But a motivational speech regarding the greatness
the future holds is never a bad thing.”
“You‟re such a bard. A grand minstrel.”
Alex nodded. Accepting the sarcastic compliment. “Perhaps you could learn a few things of the
elegant tongue.”
“Elegance?” Leonias laughed.
“What are you implying?” Alexander asked, cocking his head to the side, awaiting the answer.
“An elegant man of the courts does not find himself stuttering when in the presence of a woman,”
Leonias said. He smiled and started searching for a way to move the stone shelf.
Tavon motioned for Aaron to assist. Aaron grabbed one side of the stone slab while Leonias
grabbed the other. The weight would be nearly too much for a single person to carry. But together, the
weight was spread apart, allowing for easier movements.
“What you see as stuttering, others see as considering the right words for the flirtatious game,”
Alex said.
“Stop saying these things Alex. It‟s hard to carry this weight while laughing,” Leonias said, his
face turning red from carrying the weight.
“It‟s true If I were less of a man, and not of the Order, why I..”
“You would what?” Tavon interrupted.
“I‟d… Nothing. I would wish to be as honorable as I am now.”
Tavon said nothing about the comment. But Aaron could see a small smile cracking at the edges
of his mouth.
Leonias stood with hands on hips, breathing heavily. “Now that... Now that the bookcase is
disassembled, let‟s see if there‟s a door.” He looked down at the pile of stone slabs. “I hope you‟re right,
Aaron.”
Leonias pressed a hand against the stone wall behind the bookshelf and slid it along the somewhat
smooth surface. “I don‟t feel— Wait. Here‟s something.”
Rocks grinded beneath the floor as the stone slab was rolled away from the wall, revealing an
opening to a cool, damp, musty chamber beyond. Finished rolling the stone into place, Leonias turned and
smiled.
“Great work, lads,” the Lionheart said. He walked through the opening into the cool air behind.
“Yes, good work indeed.” Alex said, using his makeshift crutch to follow Tavon. Leonias went
next.
Aaron stood alone in the cellar, watching as the torchlight fading into the tunnel. Sighing, he
grabbed the reins of the horses and forced them through the opening. The frame was barely large enough
for a horse to squeeze, so only one could exit at a time. A short while later, Aaron stood in the tunnel
alongside the knights.
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As he caught his breath, Aaron realized what had happened to the man who died in the cellar. The
door would have been able to shut from this side, a task Leonias was currently in the process of
completing. However, the bookshelf itself could only be rebuilt from inside the cellar. The man—
whoever he was—had stayed behind to hide the passageway from whatever was following the group. He
died so his friends would live.
Would I do the same? Aaron asked himself. A noble sacrifice. But, his corpse still remained and
the room had not been ransacked. Whatever had been chasing the fleeing people did not find the cellar.
Was it a noble sacrifice or a wasted end?
The two Templarites and the Lionheart stood motionless, staring into the darkness at the end of
the torchlight. Aaron wanted to ask what they were looking at, but he had learned from the incident with
the moose. To the left, not too far, was an alcove carved into the stone architecture. A stone coffin rested
there, lid shifted sideways. The grave was not sealed.
“Grave robbers,” Tavon said, like it was a-matter-of-fact. He began walking down the hallway,
leaving the others in darkness if they did not follow. The three men took the hint and followed in the
torchlight. Aaron tugged for the horses to join.
The corridor remained mostly dark. Light from the torch barely licked the walls as they traveled.
What walls were touched revealed cobwebs with spiders running from the radiance. More sarcophaguses
lined the chamber every dozen feet. The first few had been crushed under rocks and ceiling stones that
had fallen, likely from deterioration of age. But the walls still stood mostly straight, so that may not have
been the case. Other stone worked graves remained like the first one, intact with the lid slight removed.
A sizzle was heard from behind, followed by the sound of Leonias‟ voice. “Um, Tavon?”
Aaron turned and looked at the man. Leonias stood behind the group, holding a torch, peering
into one of the opened sarcophaguses.
“I told you, lad, grave robbers,” “Tavon said, not slowing his step.
“Do grave robbers take skeletons, too?”
Tavon stopped in his tracks. “What do you mean?”
“Crypt thieves. I know they take jewels, and gold, and precious swords, or other various
heirlooms. But skeletons? Have you seen that?”
The Lionheart turned and approached the stone grave. It was the first time Aaron saw such a look
on the man‟s face. Worry.
“No, lad,” Tavon said. “They don‟t.”
“Well,” Leonias said. “Something did. The grave is empty.”
Aaron leaned over, checking for himself. It was hollow save for a few insects and cobwebs, just
like the corridor.
“This one, too,” Alex said, leaning over a sarcophagus along the opposite wall, burning a torch in
hand.
“Are there any legends mentioning creatures that eat corpses?” Leonias asked.
Tavon looked at the man, face emotionless. He said nothing.
Are there? Aaron thought to himself. I can‟t recall any. Not that I have read every legend ever
written.
“I thought not,” Loenias said. He looked into the grave again. “If not a creature, then what?”
“A power of different sorts,” Tavon said. He returned to walking down the passageway. “Come
you three. That entrance we found, the one leading here, to this burial hall, was likely a secondary
passage. If there were many deaths, it would seem foolish to carry corpses down steps and through that
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small entrance. There must be another exit; a more convenient door the clergy would have used for larger
burials. They would have needed an easier way than disassembling a bookcase everytime.”
Aaron grabbed the reins of the horses and followed behind the men, carrying Alex‟s torch to help
the man focus on stumbling along.
So cold. Aaron thought as he and the others walked past grave after grave. How many deaths does
it take for a man to become so numb? So heartless. All the kings in tales, even after all the conquering,
they still felt something. Still cared for people. Still mourned death. But Tavon, he looks into empty graves
and feels nothing.
But his face did show concern, and he did seem to say a prayer over the skeleton in the cellar.
Perhaps Aaron was wrong about the man. Alex had said he was a good man. And you don‟t move up in
ranks without some sort of dignity.
Unless he knew something about a dark ritual in a hidden room A secret power and forbidden
magic. If a sect of a holy religion were to become corrupt, it would happen in secret, hidden from the
majority. A hidden promotion involving selling a soul to an invisible darkness, and the lower ranking
members would never be the wiser.
I‟ll find out what you are hiding, Tavon, Aaron thought, glancing at another empty grave as they
passed. Then Tusk and I will figure out how to end your ways.
Save us.
Aaron looked down and shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the thought. It would take time
to find the answers he sought. Unfortunately.
It was impossible to keep track of how many sarcophaguses had been passed, but it had to be at
least twenty or thirty. Even with three torches burning the vast catacomb was dark and silent, making
every clank from a footstep, clop of a hoof, and thud of a cane sound multiple times before disappearing
into the distance. A thick layer of depressed lingered and brought with it an aura of uneasiness.
Tavon stood at the end of a hall, looking left then right, then back to left. The path had split.
“Perhaps,” Leonias said, his voice a uneasy whisper, “we should split up. Two go left, the other
two go right.”
Is he serious? Aaron thought to himself. Alex is wounded. I‟m trying to keep three horses calm as
we move through these catacombs, and we are surrounded by empty graves.
“Don't look at me like that,” Leonias said. “I was obviously joking. Splitting up would be a stupid
idea.”
Aaron caught himself staring at Leonias and looked away, back to the horses, anywhere but at
Leonias.
Flames flickered. A breeze, or something that could be called a breeze since no wind blew, came
from the right. If there were an opening, it would be that direction.
The group continued on for some time. Several more turns were had as hallways ended and new
ones began. They kept following the direction of the wind-like gusts.
The Lionheart stopped at the end of a passage, his back against the wall, peeking around the
corner. A growl was heard. A deep, throaty, unearthly growl. The horses whipped their heads and tried to
back away, but Aaron was able to keep them in place.
Leonias looked at Aaron and whispered. “Hollow.”
“Down here?” Alex asked.
“Yes, lad,” Tavon whispered. “Keep your voices low, it‟s not far.”
“Is it alone?”
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Tavon looked at the three. Then, in a quiet voice, “They are never alone.”
Aaron shivered.
“What are we going to do?” Leonias asked, nervously trying to peer around the corner, but he
was too far. “We can‟t sneak past them with torches in our hands. But we can‟t see in the dark like them.
Tavon, what are we going to do?”
I thought they couldn‟t see in the dark.
“Calm yourself, lad.” Tavon looked directly into Leonias‟s eyes. The Templarite took a breath
and seemed less nervous. “Nothing can sneak up behind us from the cellar. If any Hollow were chasing us
they would have attacked. They don‟t carry the intelligence to be spies. There is an exit up this way, the
change in temperature proves this to be true.
“Aaron, are you a good shot with the bow?”
“We only have three arrows,” Alex said. “If you are to take a shot, Aaron, you cannot miss.”
“I—” Aaron hesitated. “I would feel safer watching our backs.”
“Ah. I see,” Tavon said. “Leonias, what about you?”
“Alex is a better shot than me,” Leonias said, looking at the injured man. “Are you up for it?”
Alexander nodded, taking the bow the captain held toward him. He gripped two arrows in his
hand and notched one, keeping the other at the ready. Crouching, he began inching his way around the
corner.
Alex raised the bow, drew back the string, and took aim. He took a deep breath then let the arrow
fly. A thud followed.
“Great job, lad.” Tavon said.
Alexander stood to straight, obviously proud of himself. “Let‟s hope I don‟t need to do it again.
“Let‟s keep moving.” Tavon said, seaborne accent showing. He rounded the corner and
proceeded carefully, scimitar in hand. The runes glowed faintly. “We may be able to sneak our way
through these halls.”
Alexander nodded, notched an arrow, and began creeping behind the man. Aaron followed,
carefully placing each step. Tavon ripped the arrow from the Hollow‟s corpse as they passed. Black blood
dripped from its projectile‟s tip. He handed the arrow to Alex. Enough had been saved for another shot.
Up ahead, just along the edge of the torchlight, another Hollow stumbled forward. It showed no
sign of attack, or any cognitive reasoning for that matter. Alex raised the bow, pulled it to tension, and
fired. The arrow whizzed through the air past the creature‟s face and collided against a distant wall.
The Hollow looked up, fury in its eyes, but it did not charge. It should have been able to see the
men. Just the torchlight alone should have provoked an attack. Instead it wandered forward, legs
struggling to work.
Alex quickly notched another arrow and took sight. The arrow tip wavered from nervousness, and
he winced a few times from the pain of his wound, no doubt. The Hollow stumbled closer. One howl, one
screech, was all it took before these walls were flooded with more of these abominations.
Alexander let the arrow loose.
The missile pierced deep into the creature‟s neck, tip poking out from the other end, covered in
blood. The Hollow collapsed against the stone floor, flopping wildly as it held it‟s now bleeding throat. It
gripped the arrow and yanked intensely, but the arrow head was getting caught on the back of its neck. It
could not be pulled out. Instead, the shaft snapped in half.
Gasping for air, the Hollow lie trying to screech, but only a faint, blood immersed growl could be
heard. Nothing loud enough to sound an alarm. The Hollow fell still.
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Two arrows remained.


Alex sighed in relief, holding his side.
The group continued forward, following Tavon‟s lead. They dipped around corner after corner,
chasing the “wind” that blew. The temperature change was noticeable as they drew closer to the source. It
was warmer. Another twist in the corridor revealed another Hollow, creeping about like the last.
Another arrow was notched and pulled back for release. Just before the string was let go, a second
Hollow stumbled into view. He looked at Tavon. I won‟t be able to shoot them both at once, the look
said.
Tavon handed Leonias his torch. Then, gripping his two scimitars tightly, walked down the
hallway toward the creatures, his back to the wall. The runes along his blades were hardly visible in the
darkness, and the torchlight was barely able to kiss his steel armor, leaving the Lionheart nearly invisible.
And somehow he moved with enough grace to keep his sabatons from clanking too loud.
Alexander held an arrow near his face, taking aim. He watched, ready, as the Lionheart steadily
crept closer to the edge of the light, closer to the creatures.
Tavon paused, nodded, then lunged forward. He moved violently but with complete control, the
length of his blades revealed only by a glimpse of the torchlight. But by then it was too late. The scimitars
cleaved deep into one of the Hollows, slicing directly above the shoulders. Blood shot through the air and
the Hollow fell to the ground, motionless.
The second Hollow—the one further away—stood slightly startled, staring at his fallen friend. A
growl began to swell in its throat. An arrow flew past Tavon‟s head and dug deep into the creature‟s
shoulder. The Hollow let loose a screech before it found its body with two curved blades sticking through
it.
The sound echoed through distant, dark, unexplored passageways.
When one Hollow knows, all the Hollows know. But where was the horde? The cry echoed
through the chambers, but nothing returned the call. Shouldn‟t they be swarming their location?
Tavon stood in the midst of two dead bodies, blades at his sides. Dark blood dripped from the tips
of his blades. Using the tattered loincloths the Hollows wore, he wiped them clean and waited for the
others.
Together, the four men stood at a crossroads. One path continued forward while another jolted to
the left. Tavon took his torch from Leonias and lead the men through the path pointing forward, following
the barely noticeable breeze. Fortunately, the halls were quiet. Besides the few Hollows they had killed,
nothing of importance was seen aside from the stone architecture, which was basic at best.
They continued for some time until the group turned a corner and paused. The hallway opened
into a large room with three sarcophaguses lining the eastern and western walls. The tombs were
unsealed, lids completed removed and placed to the side of the containers. Located at the center of the
room was a podium holding a book, but the pages were wilted and the words were smudged together.
Similar to those found in the library, the slightly touch would break the book to dust.
Aaron counted, at least, fifteen mangled Hollows bodies on the ground. Judging from the pools of
blood, most had bled to death, but some had their limbs ripped off.
Alexander grunted, holding a hand over his mouth. “What happened here?”
“None of us know, Alex. “ Leonias said, stepping over a few bodies as he made his way to the
opened tombs. He looked back. “We all know the same information as you.”
Alex shot Leonias a glance. Then he, too, began walking through the room. Slower though, using
the cane for balance. “It‟s clear why they didn‟t come when that one screeched.”
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“Just as I thought,” Leonias said, leaning over and peering into the stone grave. “Empty.”
Aaron looked at the Templarite. You didn‟t need to look to come to such a conclusion. But, he
held his tongue. He took a few steps into the room, looking at the corpses as he moved closer to the
podium.
“What does it say?” Alexander asked, looking at Tavon.
“The language is one I do not know. One I‟ve never seen.”
“Do you think—” Leonias started to say.
“Oh, here we go,” Alex said under his breath. He braced his body against the wooden crutch,
tilting his head downward at the floor.
Leonias continued. “The skeletons raised and slaughtered these men? They would have had the
weapons and armor.”
“That seems, unlikely. That would involve a certain power of magic, one that I‟ve never seen or
read of.”
“But, could it be possible?”
“Well, I suppose it would be, “Alex said, leaning against the crutch. “But to use magic to raise
this many—assuming it was possible—would require one to draw a massive amount of energy from the
source. No person would be able to survive such a task.”
“No? Not even if a person had a high enough tolerance against the effects of magic?”
“I suppose so. But, I‟m not certain such a person exists.”
“What happened to imagining, Alex?”
Alexander gritted his teeth. “One must imagine within the realms of possibility. For someone to
draw upon enough magic to raise to life this many skeletons, well it would be impossible.”
“You are assuming, Alex, that it would take a lot of power to do so. What if it doesn't?”
“You‟ve seen magic, Leonias. You‟ve seen what happens to people when extreme amounts of
power courses through them. Be honest, do you truly believe anyone could have done this?”
“Well, I don‟t see why not. What do you think, Tavon?”
The Lionheart stared at the book. “Such a foul power has not been seen upon this world in some
time, lads.”
“Wait…” Alex said, looking toward the podium. “Are you saying this has been done before?”
“Once, long ago. But it ended when the last of the Sha‟Dari assaulted the Shadowlands; during
the Binding.”
“Is it possible it has returned?” Alex said.
“Not likely, lad. That would mean the Binding was not sufficient, that the seals have been
broken.”
“Then… What?” Leonias asked.
“I‟m not entirely sure.” Tavon paused for a moment, rubbing his chin as he stared at the book.
Aaron looked at the bodies scattered across the floor. Something was odd about them. The entire
room was old, musty, and covered in dust and cobwebs, yet the blood was still wet. These bodies were
not rotted like the catacombs, they were not buried. They were killed recently.
“Look,” Aaron said, leaning over one of the corpses. “The blood, it hasn‟t dried yet.”
“Indeed, it seems you are right,” Alex said, examining a corpse near him.
“That means,” Leonias said, almost thinking out loud. “They weren‟t slaughtered by the skeletons
rising from their graves, as the tombs are still covered in dust. Something else killed them… Something
else is in the tombs with us.”
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“Don‟t spook yourself,” Tavon said. “We can‟t be certain what happened down here.”
“But, we know we didn‟t kill these things.”
“That is true.”
“We didn‟t hear these things scream. I doubt a great number like this would have died in silence.
We must have still been in the cellar when they were killed. But, why would they only come into this
room and not go further?”
“We didn‟t explore every passage,” Aaron said.
“I doubt anything would be stupid enough to attack us. And, if it is, well I‟m not afraid.” Alex
said, hobbling over to the book.
“Can you read it, Alex?” Leonias asked.
Alexander raised a finger and gently rubbed his forehead. “I‟m not as familiar with languages as
Tavon, but I can take a look.” He stood studying the pages for a few moments. “The words are slightly
running together. It doesn‟t look like a language I‟m familiar with. I‟ve read some manuscripts in Rainor
regarding ancient civilizations and their religious works with witches, and this doesn‟t resemble anything
like that.”
“Nor anything I‟ve read,” Tavon added. “If it is something religious, I believe it may have been
for the priest to bless the dead before burial.”
“That would make sense,” Alex said, leaning slightly closer to the pages. “The scripts do look
similar to a ceremony. Though without knowing the language, I can‟t be too certain. This would be a lot
easier if I could turn the pages.”
“You could try,” Leonias said.
Alexander laughed. “Do you think I‟m going to touch a book, on an altar, in the middle of a room
filled with empty sarcophaguses and a pile of bloody bodies?”
“So you do think it is magic!”
“Hardly.”
“Then touch it.”
“Why don‟t you turn the page, Leonias?”
“What makes you think I would turn the page? We are a team. I looked in the sarcophagus, you
turn the page on the book.”
“You know, I looked in one too.”
“Yes. But I looked in the one in this room.”
Alex squinted and rubbed his eyes.
“If the book were used for a burial ceremony then there is likely another entrance nearby.” Tavon
said. “Come, we‟ve wasted too much time in this room.”

Overcome darkness with light.

Chapter 14

Sariah sat on a barstool, covered in filth, eating a warm biscuit.


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The Firebrand was a cozy tavern, made of solid maple and well-cut stone. Two warm fireplaces
were tucked against each end of the building. The floor was lined with tables occupied with a variety of
people. The larger men‟s clothes were stained just as badly as Sariah‟s—coal dust from the looks of it—
while most of the women wore neat and colorful tunics and robes.
Sariah‟s Carnival cloak was once such color, but she was forced to toss it upon leaving the
Shadowlands. It was ripped anyway. She didn‟t want to raise suspicions that she may be a recruit, nor did
she want to draw the crowds that followed the Carnival‟s notoriety. It had taken her three long days to
reach the small village of Aerel‟drell. The first night was she stopped just outside the Shadowlands and
slept under her blue Carnival cloak to keep warm. It was wool and double layered.
The second day was spent running through the forest to further distance herself as much as
possible from the demon-things. On more than one occasion she was forced to hide and avoid bandits. It
was during one of those times when she tossed the cloak. A few other times she was able to stalk
campsites in hope that they would leave so she could eat, but she was never so fortunate. That night was a
cold one. Her tunic was ripped in various places and she lacked any bedding or the cloak. It was during
the second night she remembered she had left all her belongings on the wagon of The Lazy River, back in
the Shadowlands.
The third day she traveled as fast as possible. But at this point, she was beginning to feel the
fatigue. Not from the magic like one would expect. No, somehow the Shadowlands boosted her abilities
enough so her Fletchings didn‟t cause any Backlash. This fatigue was from hunger and thirst. Luckily she
had seen the smokestacks from The Firebrand and had pressed onward. By the time she reached the
tavern, a light rain began to fall, sending chills deeper into her bones.
Now, Sariah sat on a barstool, filthy, eating a warm biscuit. It was one of the best biscuits she had
ever tasted. It was delicate, fluffy, buttery, and warm. “May I have another, please?” She asked the
innkeeper, pointing to her empty mug that once held hot tea.
“Of course, my dear,” he said. “As long as you have the coin, we can keep them coming all day.”
“Thank you. I still feel the chills.”
“If I may be so bold,” the innkeeper said as he topped of the tea. Steam erupted from the mug.
“You look like hell. You‟re filthy, your hair is wet, and your clothes are torn. Do you need me to direct
you to contact someone from the local weaver‟s guild or draw you a bath?”
Sariah‟s eyes narrowed, but she caught herself and tried to act friendly. “I‟ve had a few rough
days, I suppose. Perhaps a bath would be nice. I assume it‟s secluded.”
The innkeeper nodded. “In a room in the back. It may be your lucky day.” He pointed toward a
couple guests taking a seat at a nearby table. They wore elegant, fashionable robes. The stitches were
hardly visible to an untrained eye, showing the skill of a master. “Weavers,” the innkeep said.
“How long until the ham is finished?” Sariah asked as she forked some egg into her mouth. She
had paid for a meal consisting of biscuits, eggs, and the ham that was currently cooking.
“A few hours still, if you want all the flavors.” Which she did.
“Perhaps a bath would be nice, then. Let me finish my meal then I‟ll let you know.”
The innkeeper nodded and worked his way to some other guests.
Sariah felt out of place. While she was experienced with sitting in a room full of strangers,
typically she was outfitted to blend in. The stains on her clothing were not from coal, they were from
running through a forest. It was obvious everyone was whispering about her, considering she was the only
woman who wore stained clothing. The only woman with ripped clothing.
She tried to ignore the conversations floating around the room, save for one. The Weavers.
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“Trel tu kire,” one said. The language was unknown to Sariah. It flowed lazily off the tongue and
sounded like the mouth was hardly moving at all, yet the words were crisp with precision.
“Trel mi,” the other responded.
“Iliak bru iliaki.”
“Crel ou iliaki.”
Sariah wanted to continue listening, but not being able to comprehend the language made her
grow bored. It would take days to learn even the most basics of translations. The Weavers were leaving
anyway.
Sariah turned back to her meal and tried to let the conversations fade into murmurs as she focused
on the food. It was delicious. Every bite watered her mouth even more and her stomach began to feel
satisfied. What happened a few days ago, in the Shadowlands? Sariah thought. Images of hundreds of
children being guided to their deaths were still fresh in her mind. It was strange the thoughts haunted her,
she had seen many people of various ages—from young to old—killed and even brutally tortured. But for
some reason, the idea of people being sacrificed to demons was hard to accept.
And why? For what reason were they consuming souls? And what of their remains? They
stumbled around as if they had no desires, no mind, no thought. For what purpose could there be to keep a
being alive after it lost its ability to think? So many questions without answers, perhaps Matram could
help.
Was it any different being sacrificed to a demon rather than to the Universe for power?
“Well, well, well.” a voice said. “What do we have here?”
Sariah looked to her right and saw a man leaning against the counter, inspecting her with lustful
eyes beneath narrow eyebrows. A mangled goatee covered his chin. “You‟re all dirty, my little girl,” the
man continued. “It looks like you‟ve been traveling for a while. Let me draw you a bath. Clean you up
real good.”
A gang of smaller men stood behind goatee-man, probably for emotional rather than physical
support. Sariah wasn‟t really concerned about any of them. She knew without a doubt she could kill them,
but that would unfortunately draw too much unneeded attention. And really, she just wanted to eat.
She would need to negotiate her way out of this.
“My dear,” Sariah said, sipping her tea. “I don't want any trouble. I‟m just passing through and
decided I would stop to eat.”
“And a fine place to eat, indeed. People from all around come to The Firebrand for its legendary
biscuits.” The groupies behind all nodded in agreement. “What‟s your name, girl?”
“Sariah.”
“Beautiful, indeed. I am Myriak, but my friends all call me Myr.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Myriak.” Sariah lied. She didn‟t really care. It was obvious where this
conversation was heading, and she really didn‟t want to be forced kill anyone today.
“You can call me Myr.”
“I‟d prefer not.”
“Fair enough. Tell me,” Myriak said as he reached forward and pushed some of her black hair
from in front of her face, revealing her chest through her ripped tunic. He paused, shocked. “Where, uh..
What did we decide about that bath?”
Sariah looked down. She had noticed the breezes during the night, but never took the time to
inspect the damages to her leather tunic. Typically it was loosely fit to cover her curves, but now it and
the shirt beneath were both ripped and torn into a deeper “V” shape than she preferred, revealing much of
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her full chest. Had she wanted to, it would not have been the first time she had used her figure to gain
information from a man. But she was tired and really didn‟t want to amuse him.
“I don‟t think I can today,” Sariah said, looking at the innkeeper. He made eye contact then
looked away, reverting his attention to a glass that needed cleaning. “I really must be going. I only have
the time for this meal I‟m afraid.”
“I‟m sorry to hear that, my dear. But I think your travels would be much more enjoyable if you
were clean and in new clothing.”
“Perhaps next time,” said Sariah, biting into a biscuit. Fluffy, buttery flakes melted in her mouth.
“Don‟t miss a good opportunity. I‟ll even pay for it. Innkeep! Draw a bath.”
Kill him, she thought. “I said, no.”
“I‟m sorry, my dear. I don‟t think you know where you are.” Myriak leaned forward, his breath
was hot and smelled of fish. “In Aerel‟drell women do not refuse courtesy from a man.”
Sariah turned to the man. He was only inches from her lips. She smiled and took another bite of a
biscuit. “Luckily for me, I‟m not from Aerel‟drell.”
“Innkeep, I‟ll take the back room for an hour.” Myriak‟s groupies all “Ooo‟ed” at his comment.
The Innkeeper set down a clean mug and walked to a back room.
Sariah cocked her head.
“Let me tell you how this is going to work, my dear” said Myriak, placing a hand on Sariah‟s
shoulder.
“Please do,” she said. “I‟m so terribly interested.” Sariah looked him in the eyes, but her attention
was drawn elsewhere. She was seeking for the feeling of her boot-sheathes where her daggers were
hidden. They were both intact. She slowly reached down and silently drew a blade with her left hand,
keeping it hidden beneath the barstool.
Myriak continued, slightly tightening his grip on her shoulder and gesturing with his empty hand.
“I work hard, as do my friends here. And all we want on our days off is a little fun. That isn‟t a lot to ask.
I think it‟s fair. So when I see a pretty thing like you sitting at the bar, I consider myself lucky. Now, I
was going to keep you all to myself, but now I think my friends should share in the fun.” He whistled and
two of his friends began walking over to seize her.
Sariah glanced at her shoulder. She knew his friends would never make it to her, they would die
before then. Sighing, she looked up at Myriak, watching his eyes inspect her chest. He was really
enjoying the sight. I really didn‟t want to kill anyone today. I just wanted to eat. “Let go, Myriak, if you
want to live.”
He chuckled. “No need for threats my dear. We are just having some fun with you. Besides, a
charming little thing like yourself would cause nothing but a scratch.”
That will be the last thing he will ever say.
She lunged forward, black hair whipping around the back of her neck as she drew upon the
Strands of the Universe and conjured the Third Fletching. Matram had taught Sariah how to wield magic.
Wizards of old called them spells. Matram and The Family called them Fletchings. Sariah knew five in
total, the higher the number the more power it took. More power resulted in greater levels of Backlash.
The Strands were gathered and placed along the dagger blade, leaving it coated in black smoke.
Small tendrils intertwined with purple streaks lingered briefly behind the blade. As she stabbed the dagger
into Myriak‟s neck, the smoke filled the length of the blade in its entirety and dissolved into his skin. A
few seconds later, he fell to the ground shaking, choking as froth spewed from his mouth. Then he went
still.
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Sariah stood, her other dagger in hand, eyes wide as she glanced around the room. All eyes were
on her. It was then she realized her mistake. She had just used illegal magic in a packed inn. She sighed.
I just wanted to eat. But now, I must kill them all.

The Almighty does not revoke his gifts.

Chapter 15

It took some amount of time to leave the catacombs, but eventually Aaron found himself sharing a saddle
with Leonias. Together, they followed Alexander and Tavon across the open, desolate plains of the
Shadowlands.
After a few miles the horses were pulled from a gallop and entered a brisk, walk-like gait. For
hours the group traveled in this state, battling the fatigue wearing at their minds. How long had it been
since they slept? Hours? Days?
No. Aaron had only rested one night in this place. They couldn‟t have spent days here, right?
Aaron could feel his mind teetering through light headedness as it battled against the
Shadowlands. Thankfully, he did not feel any heavy breathing on his neck of whispers in his mind, but
the thought that they could happen at anytime was unnerving.
Up ahead, dark spots moved along the dark terrain. They looked like scraggly, lanky people,
stumbling about with no intention of doing anything. Hollows.
Wait. Hollows.
Aaron snapped his mind to attention. Tavon kicked Frost into a gallop and the other horses
followed. The Hollows were growing closer at an incredible rate. Aaron felt his nerves racing and body
tensing as they grew closer. He didn‟t want another fight. He was far too tired to—
They rode directly past a group of Hollows and the forsaken creatures didn‟t seem to take notice.
It was as though the group of four were invisible on their horses that thundered across the region. Aaron
sighed.
A short while later, a black mountain appeared in the distance. The path they were traveling
would be going right through a ravine. As Aaron got closer he noticed it wasn‟t a natural ravine. Instead it
appeared as though the mountain had been corroded. No, erased. The cliffsides were completely vertical,
completely smooth. Whatever happened here was not done so with natural means. Water would not have
done such a thing.
He stared at the walls in disbelief as the horses were reined in and brought to a halt. Leonias
hopped off the horse and started attaching feeding muzzles to all the mounts. They heaved for air, clearly
exhausted, but eventually relaxed enough to eat. Once all the horses were nibbling on oats, the Templarite
hopped back on his horse and they started forward again in a slow, muscle-relaxing gait.
Behind the cover of the ravine, a large city had been almost completely dissolved to rubble.
Ghara. The group entered the remnants and trotted toward the docks.
What once stood as a great and prominent trade city, now remained nothing but a shattered shell
of its former self. Very few buildings still stood, and those that did had been forsaken some time ago. Dry
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wells and debris littered the vast, abandoned streets. And, of course, everything was black. The
Templarites and Tavon placed a hand on their weapons, just in case.
The docks were in no better condition. The boardwalks had long since decayed and remained
only as a pile of washed up planks on the blackened shore. A few boats had survived the years of battle in
the Shadowlands, but they were not without damage in their time washed upon the shore. They were
littered with holes and had missing planks, hardly floatable.
Once the horses were settled into position, the four travelers all took to their feet and stretched
their legs. They had been riding for a very long time. It was a wonder there legs worked at all.
“I‟m going to look for a boat,” Tavon said. “Leonias, make sure nothing followed us. Alexander
and Aaron, setup a camp and take care of the horses.”
Leonias nodded, drew his weapon—the runes along his longsword carried the same, faint glow—
and entered back into the mainland of Ghara.
Aaron looked Alexander. The Templarite shrugged and started untying his pack from his horse.
Not knowing exactly what to do, Aaron started with some chores. He brushed the horses, which
took a decent amount of time. Most of their horse shoes were still in good condition, not that he had the
materials to replace them if he needed to. After filling a few buckets with water and refilling the feeding
muzzles, Aaron sat on a log and watched as the blackened sea washed against the blackened shore.
“Ah, the Almighty looks upon us,” Tavon shouted. He was some distance down the beach
inspecting a boat.
“You find one?” Alexander asked.
“She definitely isn‟t pretty, but with a little work she should float.”
“I‟ll help how I can.” The Templarite, using his impromptu cane, stumbled down the shoreline
toward the Lionheart.
Aaron smiled. Soon he would be leaving this god forsaken land. Soon he would see colors again.
What was it like to be awake and not light headed? What was it like to not have the constant fear of a
Hollow wandering, ready to rip your head off in a single instant.
Aaron frowned. I hope you are faring better and me, Tusk. Heavens, you have to be.
Some time later, footsteps crunched to the right. Turning, Aaron saw Leonias climbing over a
mound of dirt dividing the city from the coast. The Templarite had been gone for a while—the others had
been working on the boat the entire time.
“Looks clear,” he said. While stepping over the mound, Leonias tripped and tumbled to the
bottom.
Aaron cracked a smiled. It felt strange to smile. How long had it been since he had last felt a little
happiness? A day? Maybe two? In the grand scheme of things that wasn‟t too long, but it felt like an
eternity when adventuring through the Shadowlands.
“Good,” Aaron said. “The horses eating now and will probably take a nap soon. They‟ve also
been brushed.”
“Great,” Leonias replied. “I‟m glad we picked you up along the way. How‟s the boat?”
“Still needs some work.”
“Fortunately, nothing is waiting to kill us. Patience is a virtue, right?” The Templarite laughed
and made his way toward the boat.
“I‟m going to look around; clear my head.”
“Take a sword with you,” Tavon shouted. How did he hear him? “You may not need it, but better
to be safe. Hurry back if you see a fire.”
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Aaron nodded, grabbed a sword and a piece of bread, and turned away from the coast, making his
way into the city.
He walked an empty street. Shattered buildings passed on either side. He imagined what it once
looked like, what the city was once like. Was this street busy? Full of people? It seemed to be laid out like
a marketplace. Which would make sense being so close to the docks.
That large building up ahead, what was it used for? It was wider than it was tall, suggesting it was
used for storage, perhaps? The one next to it, a fishery? Maybe a shop for a carpenter or weaver?
A two-story building with many empty windows stood bit further down the street. Decay had
taken a toll on the foundation and support beams, making it sag slightly to the right—away from the
coast. Being so close to the ocean and as tall as it was, it likely had a great number of patrons. It made
sense for it to be an inn or tavern of sorts.
Aaron frowned, continuing down the street with hands in pockets. It was hard not to be upset
when walking through a burial site. There were no graves, though. No, the entire city was a grave—a
distant memory of a land forgotten.
He continued walking until he came upon an intersection. To the right there was nothing but
indistinguishable ruins, but the left was something different. An anvil stood next to a column of stones
placed together like a tiny well, signalling the fallen building was once used for smithing.The blackened
buildings next to it were still intact.
One of which, Aaron entered and investigated. A large fireplace rested along the far wall and a
few tables were scattered about. To the right, a small bar overlooked the room. There were two other
openings in the room: one at the back and one to the left. The one to the left opened into a larger room
with rows and rows of empty shelves.
A library? Aaron thought, entering the room.
He felt something in his pocket. Something smooth and cold. The black stone he found earlier. Its
surface was enticing and forced you to gaze at it. After a moment, Aaron closed his hand around it and
placed placed the other on the hilt of the sword strapped to his belt.
This next chamber was small and empty. A few pieces of mangled wood lie about, suggesting
there was once furniture lining the walls. But it could not have been much. A bed and maybe a table at
most. Maybe an end table that folded into a table over the bed, but did Ghara have such carpentry
advances?
A wind blew. Gentle and cold. The first signs of life in the barren place. It disappeared just as
quickly and mysteriously as it came.
Aaron withdrew from the room and entered another that connected to the library-like chamber.
This one was slightly smaller than the last. This room contained a table sitting alone in the center. There
were, however, no chairs accompanying it. The table was black, of course. Everything in Ghara was
black. Heavens, everything in the Shadowlands was black, like the scolded remained of a house fire.
Aaron Bardeaux closed his eyes and enjoyed the wind brushing through the chamber. Upon
opening his eyes, he started.
A translucent green figure sat on an equally translucent chair before the desk. He was hunched
over, wiggling an arm like he was writing something. Tendrils trailed behind his movements and others
floated off his back.
Curious, Aaron stepped forward, sword ready to be drawn. As he got closer, he heard murmuring.
The man was speaking to himself. Aaron was now close enough to look over his shoulder. Close enough
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to see what he was writing. Unfortunately, the words were in some long lost language, but the words he
spoke were understandable.
“They came at midday, thought it felt like night,” the man said quietly to himself.
Aaron walked around the other side of the table. “Hello?”
“Like clouds covering the sky, the world darkened as they drew near. Fear gripped our hearts and
the citizens tried to flee, but we were surrounded and they were far too fast.”
“Who are they?”
The writer continued as if Aaron never spoke. “Great beasts with massive horns charged through
the gates like battering rams. Then proceeded to kill our people. Through the opening in our fortifications,
ran a host of emotionless people that cared only for fury and death. They ripped apart our people, my
people, with their muscles and claw like fingernails. So skinny they were, adorned only in a loincloth.
“Then stormed in the greatest of assailants, creatures I have given the name Death Wardens. With
midnight black skin and smoldering eyes, these foes stood eight feet tall and walked through the streets,
slaying many with a great black sword which easily sliced through flesh and bone. So many died, in fact,
that blood ran through the streets like a violent river.
“Their agenda seems but a mystery. I can‟t decipher why they wished to simply destroy a city.
What would be the profit? They did not plunder, at least from my recollection. They did not take hostages
or create acolytes. Destruction was all they brought, and death was what they left.
“I fear that they are not done. How many cities fell before Ghara, and how many will fall after?
History will record the fate of all people—how many destroy, how many resist, how many stand for
justice, how many succumb to passions, all those murders, the liars, the thieves, all those who strive to
make society better, those who wish to bring only chaos. All will be recorded. My greatest fear is that the
righteous have withered away; that we are alone in this fight.”
The words became fuzzy as the scribe set down the quill and closed the book. He stood to his
feet—the chair faded—walked a few feet away, and placed the book upon a shelf. A moment later, the
book dissolved from reality, and scribe followed soon after.
Aaron stood alone in the silent room, staring at the walls. Death Wardens? I‟ve never heard of
such a thing. Clearly that name has not gone down in history. The apparition seemed to be writing from
his afterlife, not during the battle. He spoke of the event as if it already happened, like he was recounting
the tale. Who would read it? No one except…
Me. I‟m the only one who will ever read it.
How did this burden of history fall upon Aaron? Who was he to tell people of this event? Who
would he even speak to regarding the Death Wardens? Like Tusk had said, he wasn‟t a bard. No story
teller. No one would believe him.
Aaron shook his head and left the building. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something flicker.
A light near the coast. It was a fire burning bright against the darkness, though not as bright as a normal
flame—the Shadowlands apparently dimmed manmade fires, too.
How long was I gone? Aaron thought as he reluctantly turned and made his way back.
The Templarites stood near the fire and the horses were not far either. While it did not feel like
winter, it was still chilly with no sun to warm the lands.
Aaron climbed over the sand mound and took a seat on a leg next to the open flames. The tents
had been pitched close enough to keep them warm for the night. Off to the right, Tavon hammered away
at the boat. “How‟s it looking?” Aaron asked.
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“It‟s coming along,” Alex said as he stirred a pot that boiled over the fire. “Should be ready to eat
here soon.”
“I meant the boat.”
“Ah. that‟s coming along too.”
“Thank the heavens.”
“Tired of this place already?” Leonias asked. He sat on a log reading a thick book, probably the
holy text of the Order. Templarites had to read it every day, right?
“And you aren‟t?” Aaron said. He stared into the flames, thinking about what the apparition said.
“Oh, I didn‟t say that. I was ready to leave before we arrived.”
“Sounds normal.” Alex interjected.
“What is that suppose to mean?”
“How long was I gone?” Aaron interrupted.
Alex hummed to himself as he tasted the stew. “A few hours.”
It sure didn‟t feel like a few hours.
Fatigue hit Aaron out of nowhere. His eyes suddenly became heavy and the world blurry. He felt
like he could fall asleep now, on this log, and rest for the entire night.
“Five more minutes,” Alex shouted to Tavon.
“I can hardly wait,” Leonias said. His voice carried a level of sarcasm, but it was evident he
meant what he said as he sat up and reached for an empty bowl.
A few moments later, Tavon appeared, washed his hands with a waterskin, sat down next to
Aaron and took a large swig of water. He then offered the drink to Aaron. Bardeaux took a drink and
continued the waterskin to Alexander. Tavon said a quiet prayer and the stew was distributed.
It smelled delicious and tasted even better. Alexander had a way of cooking when he needed to.
Said his father had taught him how. A gift, some would call it. Either way, Aaron ate a few bowls until
his stomach was more than satisfied. The others conversed about religious topics, art, and spoke of
fighting techniques, but Aaron was far too tired to pay attention. He did, however, listen to one speech in
particular, thanks to help of Tavon‟s shove.
“Let me tell you about honor,” the Lionheart said, addressing all three of them. “Aaron, this will
be your second lesson. Honor is not earned, it‟s given. The words you speak, how you regard people,
shows volumes of your character. How you respect them shows the weight of how you see them—It
shows them their value. Should you disrespect someone, ignore them, or wish them ill, you are
proclaiming that you don‟t see their importance. Through your words and actions you can make peasants
feel like kings. Honor is given. Remember this, lads.”
Aaron nodded.
“Despite what people say, the world can change.”
“When?” Leonias asked. “When will it change?”
“When people realize who they are and what they are meant for. When they stop pushing the
Order and discipline from their lives.”
“Do you think such a thing is possible?”
Tavon looked at the Templarite, his eyes serious. “I do. Maybe not in my lifetime, but it will
happen.”
“I‟m sorry,” Aaron said as he whipped his head upward just before falling asleep. “I‟m afraid I
must bid you all good night, lest I wake up with stew on my face.”
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“Ah. Not yet, lad,” Tavon said, washing out his empty bowl with a waterskin. “We are setting sail
tonight.”
“What?” Leonis and Alexander asked.
“The boat is ready. We set sail tonight and head for the Southern Gardens.”
“You can‟t be serious,” Leonias said. “Why not rest and set off in the morning?”
“Why would we spend another night in this forsaken land if we don‟t have to? Come, wash off
your dishes and let‟s get going.”
Aaron did just that. After a few minutes of preparations, he sat on the boat and stared at the black
horizon with heavy eyes, watching as the Shadowlands faded into the distance.

Everything hidden in darkness will one day touch the light.

Chapter 16

Screams of agony. Whispers of chaos


Aaron found himself within a room made of blood red stones with fetters attached to various
pillars supporting the ceiling. It was familiar, uncomfortably familiar. He stood alone, thinking of what
happened last time he was in this place, coughing from the thick smoke billowing out of… Out of what?
There were no flames, just solid stone walls. Upon closer inspection, the stones were not just
colored deep red, but had actually been stained with blood splatter. Blood was common in the
underground and torture chambers within the stockades, but never had a room been left in this state. No,
this blood was darker. Redder. Thicker.
He left the stone wall and inspected the fetters. Shackles on the end of chains dangled from inch-
thick rings buried into the stone pillars. The stone surrounded half the ring, an indication that the rings
had been placed during the forging of the room. Aaron reached for one of the clamps to test the integrity
of the chain, but his hand snapped away as it touched the metal. It was hot. Unbearably hot, like it had
been sitting inside a furnace.
Screams sounded in the distance. Screams of children. Aaron ran toward the sound. The screams
grew louder. He continued through room after room containing the same layout: a large chamber, blood
stained stone walls, and empty fetters that dangled from pillars. The screams grew louder.
Aaron coughed as he breathed in smoke, but he moved forward as fast he could. The screams
grew louder still. So loud it was s if they were coming from all around him, like he was inside the heart of
the torture.
He wanted to pause and look around, but couldn‟t. Something pressed him onward and into a
hallway. Immediately the screams vanished. The air grew silent. The only thing to be heard was Aaron
struggling for breath. He coughed, gasped, but couldn‟t ease the burning in his lungs. With nowhere to
go, the smoke lingered in the small hallway, taunting Aaron with every second—not that the larger
chambers provided escape for the smoke. It lingered there too.
Aaron dropped to the floor and began crawling back into the room from which he came.
Suddenly, a chill came over him. A deep, bone gnawing chill. So cold that Aaron shivered as he lie
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struggling for breath. A whip cracked, sending thunderous echoes throughout the chamber. Aaron turned
toward the hallway. A creature stood staring at him. A hideous, terrifying creature.

***

Aaron Bardeaux‟s eyes snapped open. He lie face down on a boat, staring at the wooden flooring,
drenched in sweat. He leaned upward, hand against his throbbing head.
“About time you woke up,” Alexander said.
“How long was I asleep?” Aaron asked.
“Most of the trip. A few hours, I‟d say. You passed out shortly after we left shore.”
Aaron groaned, covering his eyes against the sun. Wait, the sun?
“Bad dream?” Alexander asked. The Templarite stood not for to the right tying his pack to his
horse‟s saddle.
“Something like that,” Aaron said. He took a deep breath, the cool air satisfying his lungs.
“Yes. I‟ve remember intense nightmares. Though they haven‟t happened since I became a
Squire.”
“What changed?”
Alexander hesitated and looked down at the ground, then returned to tying his pack. “If you wake
up with the chills and the sweats, it‟s because your body is attempting to purge itself from something that
ought not be. You know: poisons, disease, ailments, infection, things of that sort. Well, the same is true
about magic. When certain types of magic is harnessed the body will attempt to purge it in the same
ways.”
Magic? Aaron thought as he stepped off the boat. His legs still carried a soreness that forced him
to waver in his movements. I haven‟t been using magic. Heavens, even if I believe it existed I wouldn‟t
know how.
Yet he had seen magic at work when Tavon burned the Sol Stone. It was hard to deny something
was existed in that moment. And he was visited by a ghost. That was all too real to have been a dream,
unless the Shadowlands was playing a trick on him. But wouldn‟t that also involve magic?
No. Magic didn‟t exist.
The sword Leonias had loaned Aaron was still tied around his waist. Aaron pulled it free from the
sheath and the blade sang as it kissed the air. But the runes along the weapon‟s steel surface no longer
glowed. The gold etchings only shimmered when reflecting the sun‟s light.
What changed?
“You seem to be moving better,” Aaron said to Alex, resheathing the sword.
“Yes. I feel much better, but it still hurts when I walk. I‟ll need the crutch for a few more days.”
“What was it like?”
“What, the wound? It hurt like hell. Shadows are fierce creatures and their appendages are
something big. You saw the gap in my side.”
“No, not that.” When it was healed. How did it feel?
“What, then?”
“When you were placed down, before the Sol Stone was burned, I saw something. A bright light.”
“Yes. Tavon was using magic. What about it?”
“You about ready, lads?” Tavon asked.
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Aaron finished tying the knot that would hold his pack onto the horse‟s saddle. “Yes,” he said.
Alexander and Leonias nodded in agreement.
Aaron Bardeaux hopped on the back of Leonias‟s saddle, gripped the back for stability, and
tucked away the unanswered question as the group made their way through the Southern Gardens toward
Rainor.
Past the sandy shoreline, the hillside ran deep with grass, lushful despite the lateness of the
autumn season. However, the trees had lost all color and remained a barren figure of what would one day
refill into an abundance of leaves, a gentle reminder that seasons only lasted so long before changing.
Though, those who are too distracted from the busyness of the city might be unfamiliar with the ways of
nature. What a shame.
Flowers wilted along the beaten path as their time for the year ended. Their once yellow, red,
blue, and purple petals only carried a fragment of their brightness, signaling winter was coming and soon
it would be in full force. No one knew exactly when, of course. Such a thing was impossible to track, but
the natural cycle of the world suggested it would not be many more weeks before the first snowfall
commenced.
The sun burned in the sky, bringing a warmth—even if just a little—to battle the chilly winds.
Aaron tightened his cloak, glad he decided to wear the thick one while crossing the Sea of Tears. Snot
tricked from his nose, forcing Aaron to sniff as he enjoyed the scenery. Even with the bitterness of the
winds rushing against his face, the colors of the world were something pleasing. Heavens, even a frozen
waste would be a pleasing sight compared to the darkness of the Shadowlands.
It was crazy. Aaron‟s body felt like it had been running for a week with only a few hours of sleep,
but he remembered sleeping at least one night in the Shadowlands. How long was he there? However
long, it felt like an eternity. And for traveling through a land known as the Shadowlands, you would
expect to see a Shadow. But he didn‟t. Aaron had only heard descriptions of the creatures from the
Templarites.
Apparently, Corruption, whatever it was, ran deep in the Shadowlands, affecting even the ground
itself. How much easier would it be to destroy a group of people?
It had happened before, in Tumeric, although Aaron was unsure this Corruption was involved. It
could have been the simple lust for power all nobleman possessed which destroyed the kingdom. Aaron
had read enough books and had enough discussions with Tusk—who was on good report with many
council members—to take historical writings with a grain of salt.
Supposedly, shortly after Tyrant Kaiden‟s rein, the Order of the Radiant Light brought their own
men to reform the council. This reformed council was to be made up of five Templarites, five nobleman,
and three peasants with the intent of giving Tumeric back to the people and having the Order build upon it
with their virtues.
A grand gesture indeed. If a city could embody the aspects of holiness, righteousness, and
generosity the Order suggested, why the entire world would be different. But Aaron saw through the
guise.
If the Order was righteous, why was there so much lawlessness in the city? If the Order was holy,
why did Tumeric resemble all the other cities of the world. If people were taught to be generous, why did
people starve in the street and need to take up a live of thieving just to survive?
If the Order cared for people, why did they turn away children needing help finding their parents?
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Aaron shook his head. It didn‟t add up, but there wasn‟t anything he could do until he found some
answers in Rainor. Then he would be able to expose their corruption and teach all the kingdoms of the
world they didn‟t need religion to run the world.
Smoke lingered over the next rolling hill. Aaron gripped his chest and took in a deep breath. The
air was cool and his lungs felt fine. This was not a flashback to the dream but reality. He was not in
dungeon choking on smoke.
Tavon lead his mount to the side, next to a gathering of evergreens, and let the troupe ride past
him. The smoke grew thicker and could be seen much more clearly as the group rounded the top of the
grassy hill.
Smoke grew thicker and could be seen much clearer as the group approached the top of the grassy
hill. Aaron stopped next to Tavon, taking in the view.
At the bottom of the hill stood a large, stone monastery, like a great fortress hidden deep within
the countryside. Large, circular windows stained in vibrant purples, reds, yellows, and blues had been
placed near the steeple‟s peak. Other windows echoed the high level of craftsmanship as they followed
along the base and bulk of the buildings before turning into regular non-colored windows near the back. A
smokestack puffed out from a chimney located near the center of the perfectly symmetrical roof. Slowly,
a few more smoke trails began sputtering out until nearly ten rose into the wind.
Aaron was truly speechless.
"Welcome to our home," Tavon added in a rather happy tone, a strange sound coming from the
man. "Welcome to Rainor."
The two sat in silence for many moments both enjoying the scenery. Aaron was awestruck by the
beauty of the architecture and the countryside. Not too mention this would be an incredible place to hide
from Reeves. Also, he was happy the traveling was ending. Aaron just wanted to sleep.
Eventually Tavon broke the silence. "Do you smell that? Smells like they got a boar on the roast.
Come, dinner will be ready soon."
As the two began to make progress down the countryside toward the citadel, Tavon began a story.
"It took two generations to finish the construction. The sandstones were carved within a cave system a
few miles from here by masons from Ur, which now remains only but ruins in the Shadowlands. It was a
city a few days east of Ghara. They created some sort of water system to carve the stone. The Urian
mason's used this technique to create stone blocks nearly equal in size and shape. The ancients of our
Order paid caravan troupes to carry the blocks to where you see it today.
“The stained glass you see was done by master glass-smiths from Culantria. If you haven't heard
the legends regarding that city, I would be glad to inform you at a later. But what you should know now is
the Culantrians worked hard for many years to create the perfected windows you see today.
"The wonderful woodwork used on the roof was done by the lumbering people of Tarf. They
hauled the great pines across much of the continent. The base frame the rocks are built around was also
created by the same men. We owe much thanks to Tarf, though we have not heard from them as of late. It
was the great culmination of many master craftsmen, along with a great crew of dedicated workers, that
helped create our citadel. And if it were not for them, it would not have lasted the sixty-six generations
that it has." Tavon bowed his head in silence as he ended his speech.
Aaron stared in awe as they walked by the fifty foot high building. He placed a hand on the wall
and grazed the perfectly cut stone as they passed. Not one stone was out of place. "This is the living
quarters," Tavon explained as they continued on their way toward the colored windows. "It holds many of
rooms on many of levels. Up ahead is the heartbeat of Rainor, the great cathedral."
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Aaron Bardeaux stood at the base of a three hundred foot steeple. The sandstones effortlessly
curved into the peak and no cracks could be seen along the incline or the base of the structure. Light sent
forth an array of colors from the stained windows lining the top.
He would have stood there all day had Leonias, wearing a white linen shirt and brown pants, not
come through a door shouting. "Come on you two. Food is ready."
"I'll head to the stable," said Tavon as he grabbed the reigns of the two horses. "Show Aaron
around, Leonias. I need to send word to Tirion. Don't wait for me to eat."
Leonias nodded. "Come, Aaron. Let me show you to the kitchen and the great hall, where the
food is being prepared as we speak.”
Aaron was lead down a hall lit only with what little was able to pierce through the windows. The
walkway went only a short distance before opening into a larger room with an array of candles burning on
the walls. Multiple passages exited from the room.
"To your left is the housing area. The door farthest door leads to the stairwell," Leonias explained
as they rushed through the area. "The paths on the right lead to a storage chamber."
The two rushed through many other rooms and hallways before arriving in a passage that held a
kitchen tucked into the right side. They continued only a few yards before the path opened into a massive
room some hundred feet long, a few dozen yards wide, and at least fifteen feet high. A colossal table
stretched the entire length of the room, it‟s surface somehow made of a single piece of wood. Plates of
food had been set up elegantly along the center with fancier plates placed before each seat. Elaborate gold
etchings had been carved into the walls that glowed brilliantly at the smallest touch of light. Beautiful
paintings covered other areas of walls. A few sections were left open for the candelabras.
There must be over a hundred people here, Aaron thought as he was lead to his chair.
"Come, come," Leonias said quietly as he urged Aaron along.
Aaron felt awkward sitting between Leonias and the other familiar face of Tristan. It‟s good to
see they made it safely. The room was alive with excitement. Stories were being told, glass pitchers of
water had started to be shuffled around the room, and unsurprisingly, Rahn's voice could be heard over all
the others as he told a story about wrestling a wounded deer to the ground.
"Good evening, everyone!" a tender voice shouted. The room slowly fell silent. “We have all
spent a great deal of effort this week. Some of us stayed at home and cultivate the land and prepared for
the coming season, while others traveled to Tumeric and returned this very day. It was in the great
kingdom of Tumeric‟s region where we met our newest recruit, Aaron.”
Everyone except Aaron echoed the announcement with a unified shout, banging on the table with
both hands to the beat of the syllables. “Hoo-rah!”
It felt strange to be acknowledged as a member of the Order, especially considering he had no
intention of joining. In truth, being the center of attention made him want to run to a corner and hide. But
doing so would only raise suspicions. Instead, he sat uncomfortably quiet.
John continued, "We have been blessed greatly with the breath of life and the abundance of food
from the Almighty. Let us celebrate the graces bestowed upon us, that we may enjoy our time now and
see the light of tomorrow. May our days continue to be brighter, even joyful, as we continue to push the
Corruption back to where it came. And remember, just as a candle makes the night brighter, so are we
unto the world."
The great echo of "Hoo-rah!" filled the large chamber once more as John took his seat at the
table. Plates of food began circulating as the slow crescendo of stories began to unfold. Aaron remained
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quiet, catching bits and pieces of conversations as he focused on eating the food and took in the beauty of
the feasting hall. Glistening walls alluded him into a trance until he took his eyes to the ceiling.
It was painted as a waterfall that cascaded across the entirety of the room, disappearing into a
cliffside painted above the kitchen‟s entrance. Higher up, past the waterfall, the peek resembled the night
sky, complete with constellations.
Aaron wanted to continue examining but found himself exhausted from the trip. His body desired
sleep, and desired it desperately. But, though pressured, he could not pass up a great meal. Especially one
carrying such distinct, succulent flavors. It was like he was eating for the first time. Each bite sent a wave
of flavors that left you desiring the next.
Aaron snapped his head upward. He had been falling asleep and nearly got a plate full of food to
the face.
Tristan chuckles. “Come, Aaron. Let‟s get you to bed. Don't worry about your plate. We will take
care of it."
"You will be sleeping on the third floor," He explained, while leading the tired Aaron through
some twists and turns. "It's a bit of a hike up the steps, but the view is worth it."
Eventually the two made it up the dozens of spiraling stone steps that lead to the third level. The
stairwell opened into a long common room with multiple entrances to living quarters.
"Your's is the second on the left. As you can tell," Tristan said as he opened the door and helped
Aaron into the room, "we already have everything setup for you. You will find summer and winter clothes
in the dresser. There are extra blankets in the chest at the foot of your bed. And on your study table in the
corner, you will find the first set of books to begin your studies. We will show you a more in depth tour
tomorrow. Until then."
"Thank you, Tristan," Aaron said.
"You're very welcome." Tristan concluded, pausing to peak through the doorway.. "Sleep well."
As the door clamped shut, Aaron had already began to change into more comfortable sleeping
attire. Aside from Sirena, it had been a long time since he had slept in a bed. He pressed on the mattress.
It held a decent amount of strength and sank to a desired depth.
What have I done to deserve such blessings?
While leaning over to blow out the candle he noticed his backpack placed in the corner next to the
wooden dresser. A small smile came across his face. It was only a few more moments before he found
himself tucked under the thick blankets and passing into a deep, well needed, sleep.

***

Bang. Bang. Bang. Aaron awoke with a moderate headache, likely from sleeping too long. The
banging on the door moved the pain from moderate to worse. When he removed the blankets, light rushed
into his eyes. At least I didn‟t have any terrible dreams, he thought. Covering his eyes with a hand to
avoid squinting, he worked his way across the room and opened the door.
Gavin stood on the other side. "Good morning, Aaron," he said.
"Good morning, Gavin," Aaron responded, rubbing his eyes. It was nice to see the man survived
the trip through Oakwood and the meeting with the Elders. Assuming, of course, they actually had done
that. Aaron turned and walked back into the room and put on a shirt.
"How did you sleep? Fairly well I imagine. It's nearly noon now."
"I guess I was was slightly more tired than I thought."
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Gavin laughed. “How tired did you think you were? You nearly fell asleep while eating last
night.”
Aaron frowned.
"It's quite alright, Aaron. Just don't sleep the whole day away. Here,” Gavon tossed a small sack.
"Breakfast. After you eat, meet me out back on the balcony. I‟ll show you around the monastery. Let‟s
say, thirty minutes?” Gavin smiled and closed the door behind him.
Thirty minutes? Aaron thought scurrying to his feet. He picked up the sack that Gavin had tossed.
Inside were a few apples and some slices of bread. That'll work.
Aaron sat at his desk, taking his time to fully awaken and to put some fruit into his stomach. What
books do we have here? “Battle Tactics” by Edgar Wight, sounds interesting. “The Art of Survival” by
L.J. Beaks, useful. “Understanding Shadows” by Clive Taigan, I can‟t wait to begin reading that. And
lastly “The Mission of Charity” by B. Hunt. Those should all be interesting reads. I want to start now, but
I better get going. It may take some time to navigate these halls.
The last time Aaron had ventured these halls he was half asleep. He now wandered the dimly lit
passageways with no rhyme or reason to whether or not he headed the right direction. At one point, he
found himself standing in the Great Hall.It took him well longer to find a door leading to the balcony than
he expected. But, he found it. And that was an accomplishment of its own.
Aaron stepped onto the balcony and looked out over the training field. Men yelled. Metal
clanged. Wood smacked together. A wide variety of weapons were at play ranging from spears, to
swords, to axes. Some were made of metal—most likely unsharpened steel—but most were wooden
replicas. Some men were standing, resting it looked like, while others were walking and coaching
different combatants. Deep in the back, some people were constructing a sort of barrier with branches.
"Aaron!” Tristan shouted from below. He leaned against a cane with two hands, the same one
Alex made from the catacombs. He motioned with a hand. “Come. Come.”
Aaron nodded and descended the steps. Why does he have Alex‟s cane?
“How was your night?” Tristan asked as Aaron approached.
“It was well.”
Tristan smiled. “Your training will start tomorrow. Today, you should take the time to rest and
explore Rainor.”
“Tomorrow?” Aaron‟s eyes widened as he placed a hand against his middle back. The knots and
pains from travel were returning. He would need another bath before a long sleep tonight. And hopefully,
there would be no dreams involving smoke, screaming, or the man-in-white chained to the pillars.
“Of course, Aaron,” voice came from behind. Turning, he saw Gavin approaching. Typically, he
wore a half garb of armor, known as a breastplate, with matching metal greaves. The armor was inclusive,
leaving openings only around the underarms and shoulders which was covered chainmail. Something
about needing the extra arm movements that full plate restricted. But today, Gavin just wore the chain
shirt with the white following tabard bearing the Order‟s markings.
Aaron rubbed his head. It still ached. He thought fruit and water would help, but if it was going
to, it had not yet taken effect.
“Don‟t worry yourself, Aaron.” Tristan said. “I felt the same way before I started training. But we
have some of the best trainers in the Eastern Lands. It will be tough, but I imagine you will learn quickly.
And with surviving the Shadowlands… Well, this should seem easy.”
Gavin smiled. “Don‟t let it intimidate you.”
“There are so many weapons,” Aaron said, looking at the practicing combatants.
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“It seems like a lot. You'll need to learn basic fighting techniques with all the weapons—as you
never know where combat will take you—but we want you to find what best suits your strengths. Where
you think you have the most talent and potential. We want to make you amazing at your style, not adapt
you too someone else's. We will start you with what most of our people use. A style that adapts a balance
of defense and offense. The sword and shield. We will also address how heavy of armor you prefer, but
that will not be until later.
“Typically, we train in segments of forty days, then you take a test to see where you stand and if
you are combat ready. However, due to the urgent matters at hand, and depending on the arrangements of
the Council, we may need to squeeze as much of the few months of training into a week or two. At most a
month.”
“Two weeks…” Aaron said quietly to himself.
Gavin put a chain mailed glove on Aaron‟s shoulder. “You may have a month. Try not to worry.
You will be fine. Let me show you around.”
“I thought Tavon was coming.”
“Well, he was. But he had a meeting to attend to. It was sudden; he did not have time to explain
much.”
The Elders.
The two took their time heading back to the grand cathedral from the training grounds. The sun
was still high in the sky but the temperature was growing colder as the season deepened. Leaves no longer
covered the ground and the trees stood naked and alone.
“How was your sleeping quarters? Were you comfortable?” Gavin asked as he led Aaron inside.
“It was nice to sleep in a bed again,” Aaron said. He followed Gavin down some corridors that
ran adjacent to his room. “And I enjoy having my own table with books to read. Though, I‟m not much of
a scholar.”
“How long has it been?”
“Since I slept in a bed? Aside from a few nights here and there, a few years.”
“That long? Aaron, I don‟t know how you do it.”
“With enough grass you can create a type of bedding, and I have my own bedroll. You get used to
it.”
The passage ended at a wooden door. As Gavin pulled the handle, he looked at Aaron and
whispered in a mystical tone. “Behold. The great library.”
Aaron, once again, was at a loss for words. Thousands of books were arrayed on ornate
bookshelves, enough books that it would take lifetimes to read them all. Chandeliers holding dozens of
candles lined ceiling, providing more than enough vision for reading. As he stepped inside, Aaron saw
that he was only peering at the first floor. There was glass in sections of the ceiling where he could gaze
to the second chamber. At least a hundred people were sorting through books, reading, or placing books
on shelves. Some men were dressed in the same wardrobe as the knights, others wore long, elegant, white
or red robes, others dark brown robes, and the rest wore much simpler clothing.
“We have gathered books from many generations,” Gavin explained as he escorted Aaron
through channels of shelves. “History books can be found here. On the opposite end over there you will
find a large collection regarding training with various weapons and techniques from civilizations that
have come and gone. We base a lot of our training on a collaboration of the information found in that
corner.
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“The second floor holds what the monks value as their treasury of books. The topic that, through
many generations, has supported our efforts today. It is a collected work of all the information regarding
Myrkurism, Shadows, and the Corruption.”
Aaron Interrupted, “What is this Corruption I keep hearing about?”
“Ah, has no one told you lad? Gavin asked as he took to a seat at a round table.
“No.”
“We fight against a group of people following Myrkurism. They are the ones spreading the
Corruption.”
A man, not much younger than Aaron, wearing a brown robe approached the table. “Would either
of you care for a warm cup of tea?”
“Ah, thank you, Wain. Bring one for us both.” Gavin answered with a brightness in his voice.
“Let me introduce you to Aaron. Aaron, this is Wain.”
Wain reached out and grabbed Aaron‟s arm with a military grip, which was done by placing the
hand around the person‟s forearm. Aaron was quite aware of the technique, it was common in the
underground to make sure the man you met with did not have a dagger hidden under his sleeve. “It is a
pleasure to have you here. Where are you from?”
“I‟m from Tumeric,” Aaron said.
“Ah, Tumeric. That is a good town, though a bit of a travel. Let me grab you both a warm cup of
tea.” With that, Wain took his leave.
“That‟s Wain. He has been a librarian for over five decades. Now where was I?” Gavin asked,
glancing at the table..
“You were explaining the forces of Myrkurism.” Aaron said.
“Ah yes. Myrkurism teaches only about pain, evil, self indulgence, death. The religion
disappeared for some time after the Binding, but has resurfaced as of late.”
“The Binding?”
Gavins sighed. “Has no one told you anything? Ages ago the founders of the Order of the Radiant
Light, known as the Sha‟dari, fought back the armies of Corruption to the place we now know as the
Shadowlands. These men were unable to defeat the creatures that lead the forces, and instead were forced
to bind their supreme leader deep in the Shadowlands. This event we call the Binding.
“At one time, the Shadowlands was a much smaller area. But through the course of millennia, the
Corruption has slowly spread its grip over the world, even though the leader was bound. The Corruption
is a force, similar to the way a beautiful woman tempts a man at a brothel. The armies the Corruption
creates we call Mattur. This includes Shadows and the Hollows, which I hear you have encountered. But
there are also sorcerers, witches, shamans, anything of that sort, included in the Mattur as they draw their
magic from the Corruption.”
“Here we are,” came a voice off to the right. It was Wain, carrying a tray holding two clay mugs.
“I brought you both some tea. Now, I made one special for you, Aaron. Since you are new, I made it not
as strong.” Wain winked at Aaron. Aaron nodded in appreciation. “However, I forgot which one it is.”
Both looked at each other in awkward silence. The moment was broken when Wain placed the wooden
cups on the table
“Gavin,” Wain said. “Two Squires were looking for you earlier. They said there was a man trying
to arrange a meeting?”
“Unfortunately, I will be busy the rest of the day today and the next few after. Have Alexander
setup a time for me. If the matter is too pressing, have him bypass me and speak with Tavon.”
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Wain nodded and took his leave.


Gavin gently blew on the steaming tea before taking a sip. A second later his face grew tight.
“This one is definitely mine.”
Aaron smiled and allowed the mug to warm his hands before taking a sip. Win their friendships
and they will tell you secrets. “So, magic... It‟s real then?”
“Very much so,” Gavin said, nodding. “I‟m sure you saw Tavon tap into some magic. He told me
he was forced to burn the Sol Stone and stabilize Alex.”
“And the babbling?”
“Ah, the aftermath of magic. When reality is altered the mind is forced to catch up and process
what has happened. Depending on the intensity of the spell being cast determines how lost the mind
becomes.”
“Is it possible to conjure a spell that a person cannot recover from?”
“Some people tested different ideas regarding magic during the first generation of the Order.
They found that certain people have different levels of thresholds their bodies can withstand. Thus, two
people could manifest the same spell with the same intensity and have different effects of their minds.
One would be more stable, while the other would be more insane. And to answer your question, it is
possible to draw enough power at once to not recover. A person is not torn in two or disintegrated, but
instead left a babbling madman for the rest of their life.”
“I see. And do you have magic?”
Gavin smiled placed his hand palm up on the table. He closed his eyes and began mumbling
something to himself. Suddenly, a small white flame flickered in his hand. After a few moments, it
vanished. No visible marks remained on his hand. Had a person not seen the flame they would have never
known it was there. “When a person is promoted to a Templarite they are taught how to use magic.”
Both men sat in silence for a few moments. Magic is real, Aaron thought. He had just seen it
used, plain as day. It was impossible to deny at this point. But he mentioned that it stems from the power
of Corruption. If they drew from the same source, what made them different from witches or sorcerers?
No. Magic can‟t be real. If it was, why was there so much pain? Why did people starve?
Yet, Aaron just watched an unexplainable flame flicker in Gavin‟s hand.
“Let me show you the basement of the library,” Gavin said, interrupting the silence. “You can
bring your tea.”
Gavin led the way down a tight, stone, spiral staircase. A few torches on the wall provided
sufficient light for the decent and revealed the coloration of the steps had begun to change over time,
however no chips or cracks were visible. Eventually, the two men found their way to the bottom of the
staircase and stood before a wooden door with an iron handle in the shape of a loop. Gavin grabbed the
handle and the door creaked open.
The path opened to a rather small room, at least small in comparison to the library above. A few
aged maps were posted on the walls with black pins. Multiple racked lined the walls, filled with tightly
rolled scrolls. There were only two other men in the room, both wore brown robes. One sat at a table
closely studying one of the scrolls, while the other stood to greet Gavin and Aaron.
“This is the cartography room,” Gavin explained after greeting the monk. “Generations of work
can be found here. Mostly of the scrolls are maps, however some do hold information regarding rock
formations, ancient civilizations, and historical information of the Radiant Light‟s ancestors. This is
where Tavon got the map of the countryside the Corruption now covers.”
“We owe much of the work of mapping to Clive Taigan,” the white bearded monk mentioned.
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“Clive Taigan? I recognize that name,” Aaron said before taking a sip of tea. It still carried
warmth. “I think he wrote one of the books in my room.”
“He wrote many articles and books. Most of which are nonsense. However, his mapping skills
were the greatest we have seen. He was always chasing legends, which are recorded on the scrolls in that
corner. When Clive would depart seeking these myths, he would always return having mapped a new
area. But, I fear these treasure hunts may have gotten the better of him. He departed on one a few
centuries ago and never returned. No body or death was ever reported.” He stood shaking his head for a
moment. “A sad way for one to go. Lost in history like that.”
“With the amount of maps here,” Aaron said while walking around the room and looking at the
different stacks of scrolls. “He must have gone on many trips; traveled half of the world.”
“That he did. A few dozen trips crossing much of the Eastern Lands. He never found any of the
artifacts or cities he had set out to find, though. Read his works with caution.”
“Where does that door lead?” Aaron asked, pointing to a door at the opposite end of the room
from which they entered.
“Through that door is the Hall of Mysteries. The door has been locked for some time now. There
are only two keys that can open it. Sadly, we do not know who holds them.”
“Thank you for your time,” Gavin interrupted. “We need to get going.”
With his hands covered by the large sleeves of his robe, the monk took a half bow and went back
to his friend at the table.
Gavin took a sip of tea as he lead Aaron back upstairs. “Feel free to read any book in the library.
We just ask that you fill out the card so we know where the book is incase we need it for research. But
books are not intended to be a display, they are meant to be read.”
“Where do we put the empty cups?”
“You can leave them on the table and someone will snag them or there is a tray in the back.”
Gavin pointed to a tray next to a few barrels across the room. “You have a large regiment of training to
mentally prepare yourself for, Aaron. It will not all by physical, there is a lot of reading to be done. The
books in your room are the basics, after that feel free to pursue the subjects that interest you. Tomorrow,
you will practice dual wielding. It will help build muscle strength. Then in the following: sword and
shield, axes, maces, and archery. Then you will practice with the larger two-handed weapons. Then
polearm training, daggers, then lastly back to the sword and shield. There is a large variety of weapons
that go into each group, but you will learn that as you go.”
“That is... a lot,” Aaron said, already feeling defeated.
“It may seem so, but we need you to be proficient with every weapon. You never know where
combat will lead you. Once you go through a few weeks of this, you will be able to specialize in the style
you prefer.”
“That should be interesting,” Aaron said. I have no idea what I am proficient with, much less
what I prefer. I‟ve only ever seen petty thieves fight, never real combat. I‟m not sure I can to do this.
Aaron shook off the thoughts. He had to do this.
“You will have training in different styles of armor as well, Gavin said. “The heavier full plate,
lighter chainmail, the leather armor that you have been wearing, and then just regular clothing are the
different types. I have a feeling you will be choosing the leather, especially with how you like to move in
combat, but we like you to experience all of them.”
“More options…” Aaron exhaled quietly under his breath.
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“It may seem overwhelming, but I assure you this will be over the course of about forty days…
Well, a few weeks. It should seem very easy once you get going. Now, go find some relaxation. I‟ll see
you tomorrow.”
Heavens, Aaron thought as he traveled through the stone passageways back to his room. What
have I gotten myself into?
Ghosts? Specters? Were the legends told around campfires true? Could Rahn‟s ridiculous story
about fighting a magician and a ghost true? What was hidden in the Hall of Mysteries?
The Hall of Mysteries. That must be where the evil artifacts were hidden. That would explain
why the monks didn‟t know what was in it—they weren‟t high enough rank.
Aaron sat at a wooden desk not far from the entrance to his room with a single candle burning. He
cracked open a book, not just to study, but seeking answers. The book he chose was the one written by
Clive Taigan. Understanding Shadows.

The forgiven become the redeemed.

Chapter 17

Taverns attract a certain type of clientele. Everyone knows the types: local drunkards, hard working men
who want to relax after a hard day‟s work, mercenaries, thugs, and other local patrons and sojourns.
Travelers sometimes cause trouble, but more often than not, it is the local prouds that instigate the trouble.
The Firebrand was one such inn. It was packed full of locals from various jobs and social
statuses, even if it was placed in a small, nearly outdated village in the woods. Because it was the only
tavern within a few days walking radius, it gathered more foot travel than most.
Silence filled the room, so quiet you could hear people breathing and the logs being split outside.
Everyone in the room stared at one person in particular: a petite woman with luscious curves and black
hair that stretched to her shoulders. She had just murdered a man in cold blood, harnessing the power of a
forbidden magic. Her name was Sariah.
Sariah stared at Myriak‟s dead body, his gang did the same. It had all happened so quickly,
almost mysteriously fast. In one moment he was forcing her hand, trying to get her naked in the back
room, and the next he was dead.
“Grab her!” one of the gang members shouted. Suddenly, The Firebrand burst to life as people
attempted to escape, seize the murderer, or draw their weapons for worse.
“She‟s a witch!” some of the patrons yelled. Others shouted:
“Kill her!”
“Strap her to the table!”
“Burn the witch!”
“Call the Order!”
Sariah‟s senses heightened as her adrenaline kicked in. She focused on the oncoming thugs,
attempting to discern the best way to kill them while stopping the other witnesses from escaping—all the
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while avoiding attacks from local guards and vigilantes. It was a daunting task, but she was up for the
challenge.
Gripping her dagger tightly, she rushed forward, ducking under the arm of a thug. She spun and
dug her weapon deep into his side. As she continued forward, she withdrew her blade and stabbed it into
the next. Both men screamed and fell to the ground, hands on their sides. Sariah continued forward,
slashing her next opponent diagonally across his chest.
Her movement was stopped abruptly as one of Myriak‟s gang members—the largest of the
group—charged into her, lifted her off the ground, and slammed her hard against the bar counter. Plates
and mugs shattered, sending shrapnel and parts of food across the room.
My food! Sariah thought as she stabbed the man in the shoulder blade to force him off. He didn‟t
budge. He just grunted and pressed more of his weight against her. “I didn‟t have a chance to pay for
that,” she grunted as his shoulder dug into her stomach.
Fury raging inside, Sariah lifted her hand and conjured the First Fletching. A moment later
Myriak‟s thug was sent flying across the room, but he still held a tight grip on Sariah. She flew with him.
Civilians, mostly female, screamed as Sariah and Myriak‟s thug slammed into the stone wall near the
entrance. The impact knocked the assailant unconscious, but Sariah stumbled to her feet, peeling her
dagger from his shoulder. It dripped of blood.
A short woman wearing a slightly faded violet dress flipped a table to block her path and reached
for the exit. Her hand pressed against it, a fragment of light glowing through the crack between the double
wooden doors. The woman fell limp and dropped to the ground with a dagger in the skull.
The door creaked shut as Sariah stepped in front of the exit, pulling her bloody weapon from the
peasant‟s corpse. She turned and looked out over the crowd. They were horrified. Since The Firebrand
only contained one entrance, most distanced themselves from her as far as possible. Some thugs still
remained and the two she had stabbed earlier were still breathing—and screaming—but the real threat
were two armored guards approaching Sariah with shortswords poised for attack.
They slowly approached her, using caution. Sariah threw her dagger and followed behind.. The
projectile was blocked to the side by a well timed swing of the sword. While this was impressive, it
bought her the precious moments needed to conjure the First Fletching again. The Strands of the Universe
were conjured into a single, black ball of pure energy. Sariah slammed it into the guard‟s chest. He went
flying across the room, crushing a table along the way. Tiny tokens of Kill the King were tossed into the
air.
Table: fifty coins, Sariah thought, watching the carnage take place.
Kill the King was a popular game within the Eastern Lands, but she didn‟t know how much each
token could have cost. There was a variety of materials and molds each could be made from, there was no
good way to calculate the value.
The second guard sliced his weapon at Sariah as she passed. His blade grazed her shoulder,
tearing the leather tunic. He swung a second time, it was sidestepped. A third time, also avoided. The
fourth strike‟s motion was predicted. As his arm reached forward, Sariah stepped in and punched his
elbow. It was forced back awkwardly. She followed this attack with a punch to the face and a jab to the
throat. The guard fell to the ground, gasping for breath.
My meal, two coins, Sariah thought as she rolled beneath a punch.
While in motion, she reached out with an empty hand and felt for the small bubbles of energy
surrounding her hand and the few dangling around the hilt of her dagger across the room. Taking a deep
breath, she released the Second Fletching.
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Thick black smoke materialized from her hands and shot toward the weapon. Tiny lines of purple
arced and weaved throughout, like bolts of electricity. Less than a second passed before the smoke
covered the distance between the two bubbles of energy, connecting Sariah‟s hand with her dagger. The
next moment, everything reversed and the dagger was pulled across the room until it was gripped
comfortably in her hand.
While finishing her tumble and rising to her feet, Sariah grabbed the coin purse from the guard
gasping for air. It carried the weight of about seventy coins—a lot of money for a guard. He must have
been saving for some time or had a second source of income. She put the momentum of the roll into the
purse and tossed it across the room. It blanked on top of the bar next to where her plate once was.
That should be enough to cover the damages of a table and some lost game tokens.
Sariah whipped around and kicked the man who tried to bunch her only a few heartbeats ago in
the knee. He fell to the ground, wincing in pain. Sariah finished his misery with a dagger in the chest,
smiling.
Killing would be much easier if she had her second blade—the one that Myriak held in his
neck—but it was across the room. She felt for the Strands of the Universe, they existed just as prevalent
as ever. The Backlash had yet to set in, but it would begin after a few more Fletchings. Sariah set her
mind, pulled on the Strands, and released the Second fletching, retrieving her dagger from Myriak‟s
corpse.
The weapon felt right in her hand. Perfectly balanced and just the right length to be dangerous but
concealed with ease. She moved forcefully through the peasants, spinning and slashing wildly, watching
as the bodies fell to the floor. As she skidded along the edge of the bar, she placed two coin next to the
money pouch she tossed earlier. That would cover the cost of her meal. She was still upset she didn‟t get
to finish. Those were some of the best biscuits she had ever tasted.
Sariah turned and flicked her dagger at a person approaching the door. It‟s trip was cut short as an
elderly man stepped in the way. He fell to the ground without a sound, but the door was now being rushed
by three people. It would soon be open and more people would be come in to help.
The Second Fletching was used once again, but with much more power than the first. Harnessing
this much energy would cause serious amounts of Backlash, but it was something she had to do. She
could not risk anyone leaving.
Black smoke covered the distance of the inn, gripped the door, and whipped it shut. So much
force was exhorted that the three escapees were flung into the air and soared across the room at about eye
level. Sariah lunged forward, spinning underneath them, slicing the strings of one‟s coin purse. It fell
nicely into her hands. The trio flew halfway across the room and slammed into some tables, bones
snapping on impact.
Three tables: one hundred-fifty coins. Sariah gripped the coin purse. It wasn‟t quite enough, she
would need to snag a few more.
She continued to spin and slash people to the ground, picking up coin purses along the way to
cover the costs of the tables. As she thrust toward one of the hurt thugs from earlier—that now hid in the
corner—something flashed along the edge of her vision, something red. After jabbing her blade into the
man‟s chest, she looked outside the window to see five Templarites from the Order of the Radiant Light
riding into town. From the speed they moved, it was apparent they were not yet aware of the destruction
inside The Firebrand.
That could all change in an instant. People were screaming now. People were trying to escape.
All it took was for one of the Templarites to hear the chaos, or to look into the window, and everything
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would change. Then, the Order would be rushing in and Sariah would be taken and sentenced to death by
trial.
She couldn‟t have that. This fight would need to end quickly. Turning, she began counting how
many were left to kill. It looked to be about seven, which was fairly impressive when compared to the
amount of time she had been fighting and the few dozen bodies scattered about the room. She rushed
forward, throwing her dagger. Two more dropped.
Her head began to spin ever so slightly, like she had been hit by a board. It was the subtle
beginnings of Backlash.

Continuing to use spells would cause her mind to become even more distant. Eventually, she
would begin to mumble to herself. If she continued after that, she would babble incoherently. Pushing
beyond that limit would result in passing out, if she were still somehow fighting, of course.
With each hand pulsing with energy, she slammed the First Fletching into a nearby peasant,
sending his body into a group of others. There was so much power emitted in the blast that the whole
group of people were thrown backward into a wall. Bones snapped and they fell to the ground,
motionless.
After tumbling over a broken table she hadn‟t noticed before, she slammed her other hand
against another person. The victim was thrown the force of the First Fletching and died against the far
wall.
Broken table, fifty more.
Sariah reached down and picked up another coin purse from a nearby body. She frowned, how
could she have missed another table being broken? That made four in total, two hundred coin. A hefty
amount. She walked forward—staggering from dizziness—and tossed the three coin purses she had
collected onto the counter. She was still short a few coin, so she walked around the room and started
searching the corpses.
Men shouted outside. The Order had heard the commotion. She only had a bit longer before they
would be upon her. Quickly, she searched for bodies until she had enough coin. Doing so, she noticed one
person still alive, curled and shaking in a corner. Sariah conjured the Second Fletching, one with both
hands, and whipped her two daggers into her hands. She threw one at the final peasant, killing her nearly
instantly. The other dagger would be used for the final phase of her plan, but not until she found a final
coin purse.
Logs cracked from the hearth as she made her way to the corpse of a dead man. His fancy
clothing and brought colors labeled him a nobleman. A moment later, Sariah found a hefty coin purse
containing, what she guessed to be, one hundred coin. An insane amount of money for someone to have,
especially so far from a major city. Perhaps he was a merchant passing through. Nevertheless, he
wouldn‟t be needing the money now.
She tossed the final pouch onto the table. It landed next to the others with a loud clank. Placing
her hand on her head, she slid down to a sitting position, resting her back against the counter.
“My meal: two coin,” she mumbled. “Four broken tables: two hundred coin. The cost of
destroyed tokens: unknown, but couldn‟t be much more than a dozen. The other destroyed meals: I‟ll be
generous and say forty. Total: two hundred sixty-six. I got about three hundred, the rest should suffice for
the troubles of fixing everything.”
She smiled.
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Gripping her dagger, Sariah stared at her leg, shouts from Templarites growing closer. She didn‟t
want to fight, she just wanted to eat. “I‟m sorry for the trouble, innkeep.” She stabbed her dagger deep
into her thigh. Falling against the stone floor, Sariah looked toward the entrance just in time to see
Templarites rushing through the now open door, hands on swords.
Her vision grew dark as she passed out to the sound of her own screaming.

Let the lips not taste what is evil.

Chapter 18

A wolf howled deep in the distance, the kind of howl that brings a paradox of comfort and chills. A gentle
reminder that you are not alone. Another howl echoed the call. Then another. A full family had moved
into the forest behind the forgery, just across the river. At least, that was what Michael had said.
Michael wasn‟t around much. He took frequent trips to the woods. Nearly everyday, actually.
Always returning with something new happening in the area —a new nest of eagles, the story of the
wolves, a newly discovered bear‟s den, things of that sort. It was strangely comforting to know the
Corruption was going unnoticed on this side of the Sea of Tears. Life seemed to continue on, unaware of
the death spreading across the lands.
Aaron didn‟t like the fact that Michael wasn‟t around. He wanted to speak with him about magic.
Ask him questions about the Terrene. What was it like living with them? Can they really speak to
animals? Are there souls buried deep inside the trees like some legends claim? What is the extent to
which they can draw upon the powers of nature? Can they create? Destroy? Call down lightning?
Answers Aaron wished he had but, unfortunately, did not.
Instead, he sat alone at a table on a balcony, flipping through a book about fighting techniques.
This one was called Knowing the Point by C.L.K. It was a book about the art of fighting with polearms—
spears, halberds, tridents, things of that nature. Aaron had already read other books explaining fighting
styles with other weapon types, and—after a week and a half of training—had spent at least a day training
with each as well. Sometimes more.
He had already trained with a weapon in each hand. He found it to be slightly too difficult to
coordinate his offhand with power or precision. It ended up being a clumsy attempt at Tavon‟s dance-like
fighting.
A day and a half had been spent training with a sword and shield. This, he enjoyed. After having
been staged at a location with multiple knights swinging weapons against the shield, he grew used to the
protection it brought. While he had spent time in the Shadowlands being attacked by a Hollow, this
helped grow a greater appreciation for what could truly be blocked. Adapting to the longsword was
difficult. He found the weapon to be slightly too heavy and prohibited movement. The reach it provided
did not make up for the fact Aaron had trouble swinging it. Thus, he decided it safer to stick to the
shortsword, the same size blade Leonias had loaned him while in the Shadowlands. The other half of that
day was spent practicing archery.
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It was while shooting a bow that he had met Kaylie. With auburn hair stretching to her shoulders
and a delicate voice that could ease even the fiercest of animals, she was something to be desired. As the
lead archer of the Order, she was placed in charge of improving Aaron‟s precision. Well, rather, helping
him gain any precision at all. He was by far the worst shot in all of Rainor. While he was currently the
only „recruit,‟ others were honing in their skills as well. As Gavin said, „One will never become a master
without practice. And even a master has things he can learn.‟
Kaylie did her best to explain the basics of archery: how to hold the bow, the proper way to notch
an arrow, how to draw the string to full tension. These things Aaron knew, of course. It was during the
release where he struggled, or perhaps when lining up the shot, or possibly gauging the distance to
determine the proper arc. But it was not how to put an arrow on a string and pull.
Kaylie was patient when Aaron grew frustrated, ever so patient. More patient than any person
should be. It was a trait Aaron held dear. She tried to explain to Aaron the more complex ideas of lining
up shots—how to look down the shaft of an arrow and line up the target to the arrowhead while properly
calculating the distance. And how to do all this without having weak and wavering arms. But when
explanations didn‟t work, she took to helping him physically by propping his arms in the correct
positions. Those touches made him happily uncomfortable as it interfered with his aim. By the end of the
first few sessions, his aim had not improved. Not that that bothered him. Part of him wondered if,
subconsciously, he was missing intentionally to spend more time with her.
Aaron had, on a different day, attempted the greater weapon fighting—large weapons requiring
two hands to swing properly known as greatswords, the same type of blade Alexander proffered to fight
with. But with the longsword being too large and awkward of a weapon, the greatsword quickly proved to
be much too heavy to swing with any attempt to kill, let alone strike an opponent.
And what would have he done with the heavier gigantic axes some people preferred? Those
people had to be incredibly strong.
And lastly, this very day, he had practiced with spears. Aaron rubbed the bruises on his arms as
he remembered how the combat went. Blocking with a spear was difficult. It was not like a shield that had
a large surface area. No, instead a blow was blocked by placing a stick in front of your opponent's
weapon. But their weapon would collided and then sometimes slide down the shaft directly toward one of
your hands.
Knowing the Point made the suggestion that once a block was made, the spearman would need to
push with another part of the body or swing quicker than the opponent, usually done by whipping the butt
of the spear around like some sort of club or walking staff.
But, Aaron saw the problem with this. The first being that your opponent would also be attacking
again. The only real solution to this, was to not let your opponent come close enough for the need of
blocking. Use the length of the spear to your advantage. But, of course, this was much easier said, or
written, than done.
“This is a waste,” Aaron said quietly to himself. He closed the book, walked a few feet and
leaned against the wooden railing overlooking the training field, the cool wind rustling his hair. He pulled
out the small, black gem and looked at it‟s reflective surface. “I won‟t be tested on theories of combat.
I‟m not going to be asked to write a dissertation regarding the specifications of becoming a weapon
master. No, I‟m going to be tested in combat. I‟ll have to prove myself with all the weapons. While I
understand the reasoning, it seems like a waste of time. I already know I want to use a sword and shield.”
Aaron sighed.
What an impossible task.
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Aaron started. Something moved in the distance. Within the trees swaying with the wind and the
permanent shadows the darkness cast upon the land, something moved. Had Reeves followed Aaron all
this way to collect the debt? Squinting, Aaron focused his eyes but found no more movement in the
treeline. It was just his mind playing tricks on him.
Shaking his head, he pocketed the gem, picked up the book and the candle he was using for
reading light, and began working his way to the library. After a few twists and turns through dark
corridors lit only by lanterns on the walls, he entered a small vestibule outside the main chamber. Lights
burned on the wall, held in place by candle stands mounted into the stone architecture. Strangely enough,
Aaron had never seen anyone relight the candles or pour oil into a basin.
As he reached for the handle, he paused. The door was cracked, revealing a vague flicker of light
on the other side. While Aaron had only been in Rainor just over one week, these doors either open or
sealed shut, never cracked.. Something about not allowing breezes to brush the pages.
He pressed the door open and took a peek. A lone flame moved in the distance. Aaron had spent
many nights, after hours, in the library studying various topics. While he did have assigned—or rather,
recommended—books to read, Gavin had told him all the books were open for reading. But it was strange
to see someone else walking through the library.
After taking a deep breath, Aaron decided to blow out his own candle and enter the room. He
snuck forward, placing each step down with care—heel first, rolling the foot forward to the toes. Moving
like this muffled the majority of the sound from his leather boots. While he, himself, was quiet, he could
not control the squeaks coming from the floorboards. After a particularly loud one, he found himself
tucked behind a box, eavesdropping on the silent wanderer across the large, book filled chamber.
The candle was set down on a table and the light reflected against a man‟s face. He wore dark
brown robes.. And, after taking a seat, he flipped open a book and started to read, occasionally taking a
sip from a mug.
With the sun having gone down, much of the library remained in darkness. What was to be seen
was illuminated by the candle stands of gold attached to the wall or the matching chandeliers lining the
center of the room. Like the ones in the antechamber, the flames burned day and night and never seemed
to be refilled.
Aaron Bardeaux crept closer, using the various furnishing and crates stuffed with books as cover.
After the distance to the man was halved, his facial markings were distinguishable: wrinkled that came
with age, a small nose on a freshly shaven face, and white hair as short as stubble. It was Wain. Aaron
shook his head and approached the table, book under one arm and unlit candle in hand.
“Aaron,” Wain said, looking up from his book. “What are you doing up so late?”
“I feel I could ask you the same thing,“ Aaron said as he took the seat across from Wain.
“Fair question. However, since I have been here longer, why don‟t you tell me first?”
Aaron placed his book on the table. “Studying for my polearms training.”
“Ah, I remember training with the spear. Not something I enjoyed, if my memory is correct. The
spear was one of the many weapons I never wanted to use.”
“Something we have in common, then.”
“Ah. You don‟t need to worry yourself, Aaron. Tavon will just be looking to ensure you can
handle each weapon. You aren‟t expected to be a master with any of them.” Wain paused, looking at the
bruises on Aaron‟s hands and arms. “You are likely being taught the Eastern style of using the spear—
holding a spear tightly, thrusting hard, trying to keep the opponents at bay; if the opponent comes close,
fight them like you are using a quarterstaff.
125

“But, let me teach you the more Western technique. You see, on their end of the world, they hold
the bottom of the spear tightly in their palm and use their other hand as a stabilizer. You keep the forward
hand loose, only using it to guide the spear while you thrust with the backhand. This will allow you to
thrust powerfully and pull back for another very quickly. Now, if your opponent gets close, you will still
need to fight them how they are showing you, but the Western style of fighting should allow you to keep
them at your spear‟s end for a while.”
“Thank you, Wain.” Aaron said. “That should help a lot.”
“You are very welcome, Aaron. Let me know if there is anything else I may be able to help with.”
“Actually, I do have a question.”
Wain nodded, expectantly waiting.
Aaron hesitated. “What are you reading?”
Stupid. Why didn‟t I ask what I wanted to?
“Oh this?” Wain said, glancing at the book. “This is an evaluation regarding the implication of
new discoveries within the human psyche to various cultures around the world.”
“That sounds fascinating.”
“Yes, yes. Most people would find the concept to be quite a bore. However, it is one of the most
important subjects one can research.”
Win their friendship. “How so?”
“Many people attempt to press their views of the world on other people in an attempt to better
perfect the recipient's lifestyle. However, very few take into consideration what the person actually needs.
A person is much more receptive to ideas and changes in their life if there is a bond formed first. This is
done easiest through meeting a need.
“The trick comes when attempting to evaluate what each culture sees as a need. Some people
need water or food, while others are very prosperous and need no materialistic things. You may have the
greatest discovery of a lifetime, but if you are unable to connect with a person and share the information,
it is worthless. This book helps to expand the creative mind so it can unearth ways to connect with people
and make a worthwhile change.”
“If you were to help say, a farm, how would you go about that?”
Wain paused for a moment and took a drink of tea. It was apparent from his motionless gaze he
was deep in thought. “Assuming the farm has an ample amount of water and food supply, I would help
care for the animals or help cultivate unused lands. There is always room for expansion when raising
animals or planting crops, so that is where I would start.”
Aaron leaned back in his chair. “Okay. What about a city? Say, Tumeric?”
“Well that depends on whether or not my mission was to reach those in the slums or the nobles,
for each one would require a different mindset. If I were to help improve the lives of those in poverty,
particularly the slums, I would make frequent visitations with food and water. The poor tend to have
issues with health, and what enters the body is the easiest place to start. After that I would help them find
a steady income and find a safer place to live.
“If I were to reach out to the nobles, well, that would be more difficult. People with wealth tend
to carry with them a level of superiority and pride. Those walls can be difficult to pierce. If I were to be
assigned to such a location, I would reach past their materials and dwell on the issue of desire and joy.
People can buy all the possessions they want and work as hard as they can, but still be unhappy at the end
of the day; still be in despair. This comes from a yearning for the Almighty within the soul. Until that is
satiated, a person can never find happiness.”
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Ah. I should have known it would be a theological reason.


“I could stay up all night speaking about this topic, but I fear if I do I will never finish my
proposal for the Elders. I don‟t mean for you to leave, but I do have a lot of work to complete, you see.”
“Yes, yes. I understand,” Aaron said.
“Besides, you probably need to get some rest. You have another busy day of training tomorrow,
I‟m sure.”
“Undeniably.” Aaron stood to his feet and pushed his seat in, but paused as he grabbed his book.
Ask him. “What can you tell me about ghosts?” he blurted out.
“Are you being haunted?” Wain smiled.
Aaron snorted. “Not quite.”
“That is an interesting question. What prompted consideration of such a topic?”
“I was reading one of Clive Taigan‟s books and he mentioned apparitions.”
Wain took a sip from his cup. “That is interesting, indeed. I‟ve read a great many of his works
and I‟ve never come across any mention of apparitions of any kind.”
He‟s caught my bluff, Aaron thought. What a stupid lie.
“Though I suppose,” Wain continued, “that it would not be beyond consideration for that man to
delve into such an area of contemplation.”
Aaron let out an inner sigh. “Do you know of anything that could shed a light the topic?”
“I‟m afraid I don‟t. Spirits are not an area I‟m given much study. But you know who could help
you, Master Brealithixal. Most people call him Bre. He‟s the leading scholar of the Order, if not the
world, on the aspects of necromancy. If anyone here would know anything regarding spirits, it would be
him.”
Aaron thanked him for the information. Wain smiled and nodded his head. As Aaron turned to
take his leave, he paused. “You never did tell me what the other book was you are reading.”
“Ah, yes of course.” He held up the unopened book. Herbology and Potions: a thorough study on
the effects of plants in regards to correct application to the human body the title read.
“I see. What made you interested in that?”
“There is an alchemist we know that lives far to the north and east, high up on the mountains. He
often visits and provides tonics of very sorts. They help in our healing processes.”
“I thought you only worked in the library.”
Wain smiled. “I‟ve been alive for some time. There are many topics I have learned about.
Organizing and maintaining volumes is one, but another is regarding proper care of the body. When I can,
I like to help in the infirmary as well.”
Aaron nodded. “Fair enough. I‟ll leave you to your studies. And like you said, I should probably
get some sleep. Good night, Wain.”
“Good night, Aaron. Sleep well.”

Compassion overcomes strife.

Chapter 19
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Kaylie‟s red hair brushed behind her as she laughed. “If I didn‟t know better, I‟d say you are intentionally
not learning so you can spend time with me.”
Aaron laughed. “I hardly think that is the case. I‟m just not very good at shooting a bow.”
Kaylie raised an eyebrow. “No one is this bad. Now come on, let me show you how to hold the
bow so your arms don‟t shake.”
After many straight days of training, Aaron finally had one off. A day to do whatever he wanted.
He decided he would spend the day with some additional archery training, at least that is what he had told
Kaylie. The truth was, he did want to spend time with her.
And what a day it was. Even though they had to wear heavier clothing to combat the cold, the sun
was shining bright. Brighter than it had in some time. Had it been warmer, Aaron thought Kaylie may
possibly get a tan to her pale skin and additional freckles around the eyes. The two were tucked into a
clearing, using the pines, oaks, and maples to block some of the winds. It wasn‟t working all too well.
Over the past few weeks, Aaron had had multiple sessions with Kaylie. Each ended about the
same, he never got any better. In fact, the bow was the worst type of weapon for him to fight with. He had
lost count of how many times she had shown him how to hold the bow, how to keep his arms from
shaking, how to stare down the arrow, how to loose the string without flinching. All were useful
techniques and things he had learned many years ago, but still needed work for perfection.
Intentionality was key. He didn‟t want to get any better. He enjoyed the feeling of her brushing
against him when she taught him these skills. Had she known he had killed a mutated wolf, maybe things
would be different. But she didn‟t, and he didn‟t plan to tell her.
Aaron stared down the shaft of an arrow, watching as Kaylie pointed out the flaws in his stature.
After a moment of correction, he fired. The arrow fell to the bottom left of the target they had set up
earlier. The projectile disappeared into some grass still carrying the frost from the morning. He sighed and
fired another. This one flew high and to the right, vanishing into the treeline.
“What am I doing wrong?” he asked. He knew what the problem was, of course. When she got
around him he became uneasy. It was hard to aim with a beating heart and sweaty palms.
“I think your strong arm—the one that holds the bow firm —is wavering slightly when you fire.
Try to keep it firm. I think it is buckling right here.” She leaned over his shoulder and touched his elbow.
She smells nice, Aaron thought, pretending to pay attention. He nodded, drew another arrow, and
took aim.
“Extend your arm but don‟t tense your muscles,” Kaylie said. “You want to stay firm but not
exhaust yourself too quickly.”
Aaron nodded, focused, and fired. This arrow hit the target, but it was still a ways off center.
“Better,” Kaylie said, her voice gentle and compassionate like always.
“I think I need to take a break. I have been shooting nonstop for about an hour.”
Kaylie nodded. “I think that is a good decision. I‟ll pick up all the arrows.” After a few strides she
paused and looked over her shoulder. “All the ones I can find, at least.”
Aaron smiled at the comment and took a seat on a nearby log. “Very funny.”
She didn‟t answer, but he could tell by her posture that she was smiling.
“Kaylie, how long have you been in the Order?” Aaron yelled, watching as her hips swayed with
each step. His eyes widened when she bent over to snag an arrow. He was being taught the path to purity,
but his eyes had yet to be tamed.
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“Just over four years now,” she responded, her voice distant as she passed through the treeline
behind the target.
“And you are already training archery?”
“Oh, I started that my first month after becoming a Templarite.”
“How long did it take you to go from Squire to Templarite?” Aaron asked, spinning the bow with
one end against the ground.
“About six months.”
“That seems really fast.”
“It is and it isn‟t.” Her voice grew louder as she approached the log. She sat down next to Aaron.
“I only found twelve.”
She didn‟t wear her tabard or armor. Today, like every other time Aaron had seen her, she wore a
tightly fit—but still loose—white shirt with brown pants and black riding boots that stretched to her shins.
Due to the season, the outfit was topped with a thick fur-lined coat. She seemed to live a rather relaxed
lifestyle, something Aaron liked. Surprisingly, despite being the archery instructor, she never carried a
bow.
Bardeaux didn‟t wear any armor either. Since arriving in Rainor didn‟t have the need for it.
Reeves wasn‟t stupid enough to lead an assault on a monastery full of expert fighters. Because of safety
the Order brought, Aaron left almost all of his belongings in his room. As Kaylie drew closer, Aaron
pulled an apple from his pack and took a bite. He always carried his pack.
Kaylie smiled then set the arrows in a quiver. “Are you always eating?”
“I went for so long without that I always try to keep some with me.”
“Oh, I didn‟t know. I‟m sorry.”
“No need to be.” He smiled, and she did too. “Now that I‟m in a place with plenty of food, I try
not to be without.”
“And you are welcome to as much as you want.”
He nodded, but she didn‟t need to tell him that. His pack was stuffed so full of bread and apples
that he could only carry a single book.
“To answer your question,” Kaylie said. “It doesn‟t take that long for the first promotion if you
are dedicated and focused. There is a lot to learn, but you shouldn‟t be disheartened because of it. You
should be motivated.”
“Motivated? How so?” Aaron looked up as he asked the questions, looking into Kaylie‟s green
eyes. They were beautiful. A pain of guilt struck his chest. What if she knew I had no intention of joining?
“Think of it like this,” she explained. “Would you want to join an organization, a holy order, that
allows anyone to join then teaches them the basics of their beliefs? Then builds upon those basics with
deeper truth.
“Or would you rather an organization to be founded on certain beliefs and only allow those who
believe to join? The first would accept anyone, then teach them how to live. The second explains that
there are basics that must be learned, and agreed upon, before a person can join.”
Aaron thought for a moment. “I suppose the one which teaches first to make sure their members
agree.”
“Exactly. So, while you are learning a lot now, it is vital to make sure you understand and agree
before you are initiated as a Squire.”
“I see.” And she is wise too…
129

Kaylie giggled. “Don‟t look so worried. It‟s easy to learn if you want to live this way of life. I
know it seems like a lot, but if it is important, you will easily put it to memory.”
“So, you learned it all and became a Templarite in six months, then began teaching archery?”
“That‟s correct.” She took a sip from her waterskin and handed it to Aaron.
After taking a sip he asked, “They let you teach so early?”
“Of course,” Kaylie said, nodding her head. “There are a few reasons that lead up to the decision.
The first being: I already became a Templarite, so they already knew I agreed with their codes and
requirements. The second was that they needed an archery teacher. Dexter was teaching some, but he is
more of a swordsman than an archer.
“The final, and most important, reason I believe, is I had a skill—a gift—which I wanted to bring
and contribute to the greater well being of the Radiant Lights. It may seem silly that something as small as
archer could help, but we all have gifts. How we choose to use them and support each other is what makes
us who we are. When I consider the blessing I have of understanding the ins and outs of shooting a bow,
to keep it all to myself seems worthless.”
Aaron nodded. Fair enough.
“We all have skills we have been gifted with, yours just may not be archery.”
“Very funny.”
“I thought so too,” Kaylie said, smiling. “Now come on, let‟s take a few more shots.”
Rising to his feet, Aaron grabbed an arrow from the quiver and walked in line with the target.
“What did you do before the Order?”
Kaylie frowned. “I did a lot of... traveling.”
There was something deeper she wasn‟t telling him. Something much darker. Something corrupt.
It‟s the only reason to keep something secret.
“Were you a merchant?” Aaron asked.
“Not quite. My family wasn‟t exactly nobility.”
“Then what?”
Kaylie smiled. “I know what you are trying to do. Quit stalling.” Nodding her head, she indicated
it was time for him to practice again.
Aaron frowned and raised the bow. He wasn‟t trying to stall. He just wanted to know her better.
Something about her was attractive. She had an air about her. She carried herself with such grace and
purpose. There was something about the combination of beauty, smarts, and discipline that was enticing.
Sighing, Aaron notched an arrow, raised the bow, and took aim. Maybe I can impress her if I hit
the center. He took a deep sigh and intensed his focus. The wind blew. It was cold, but Aaron did his best
to shrug off the feeling and ignore the rustling of the pines. He took a deep breath, feeling the string
between the index and middle finger.
Suddenly, the ringing of a giant bell echoed through the landscaped, throwing off his aim. He
released the arrow. it soared deep into the treeline, lost forever.
I‟ve been here a few weeks, and I‟ve never heard the bell ring.
“What‟s happening?” Aaron asked, looking at Kaylie.
Worryingly, she whipped her head around toward the cathedral. “That bell only rings for two
reason. The start of a service or someone is in trouble. And there hasn‟t been a service in many years.”
She dropped the quiver and bolted. “We will clean this up later,” She shouted as she ran through a
grouping of evergreens.
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Aaron hesitated for a moment, staring at the wooden shortbow he held in his hands. Then he
dropped it and began following Kaylie toward the monastery.
Methodically, the bell continued to ring through the countryside.

***

Three wagons rested at the top of the hill, next to the monastery. They were uncovered but their
horses still attached. Whoever had arrived was in a hurry. Even from this distance, it was apparent blood
had trickled over the siding, staining the wood.
Kaylie reached the top of the hill first. She continued forward, opening and running through the
closest door of the monastery. Aaron had quite a ways to go yet. He watched as she disappeared as the
door shut. He knew where she was headed: the infirmary.
The medical ward, or the infirmary as most people called it, was a covered balcony overlooking
the farming hillside that dipped downward toward a river. The blacksmith was a distance upstream, and
almost always had smoke billowing from its chimney.
From Aaron‟s location, the infirmary was directly above the entrance Kaylie entered. Looking up,
he could see a multitude of people bustling about. Most wore the Templarite tabards, some in the lower
ranking Squire tabard, and a single Lionheart strode through the group. They were all running around—
what Aaron knew to be beds—where the sick and wounded would lie. Judging from the size of the crowd,
something bad must have happened. Something very bad.
The bell rang loud as Bardeaux walked through the door. It took him some time to work his way
through the twists and turns leading to the stairwell. It didn‟t help he was short of breath from the run.
Only when climbing the stone steps did he realize there were steps outside he could have taken and been a
faster route. Shaking his head, he continued upward as fast as he could.
Reaching the top, he pushed through the final hallway and out onto the wooden balcony. Blood
stained the floor. Looking through the crowds, Aaron noticed nearly a dozen wounded being treated. He
pressed in, trying to take a closer look, trying to overhear any conversations with useful information.
The infirmary had enough beds to hold nearly sixty people at a time. With only a handful of
injured people, most of the beds remained vacant. The first bed on the left carried a wounded woman. She
was pale and wore blood stained clothing. A Squire was taking care of her, giving her medicines and
trying to help her eat. Though, from the looks of it, she wasn‟t able to keep anything down as she heaved
for breath.
“....near Arel‟drell we saw Hollows,” a man said. Aaron didn‟t recognize the voice. “They were
closing in fast, storming toward the village. We couldn‟t let them all die. There were far too many for us
to defend against, so we decided to evacuate the village and bring everyone here. When we arrived in
Arel‟drell, we heard a lot of commotion in the inn. By the time we got inside, everyone was dead. All
except her.”
All except who, Aaron wondered and began to press through the crowd.
“She‟s been shaking all night,” a female voice said, also unknown.
“She‟s been in this state since we found her,” the first man said.
“We‟ve been keeping an eye on her. Sometimes she looks alright, then other times she is covered
in chills. None of our magic of medicine has worked on her. It doesn‟t look good.”
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“We‟ve used most of our supplies from Oben on this group,” a second woman said. She wore a
fairly worn out Squire‟s tabard. “With the way they are recovering… Well, we will only have enough for
a few more days.”
“”We can go sometime without,” Tavon said. The whole multitude turned to look at him like he
spoke heresy. “We can‟t let them die. Not if we don‟t have to. We need to save as many as we can, for
their own sakes. Not to mention, we need to interrogate each one to find out what happened. I know it
isn‟t ideal, but we can tap into magic ourselves if need be. Use the supplies on the wounded.” With that,
he turned and left the balcony, nodding to Aaron as he strode past.
Aaron pressed into the crowd in an attempt to see who they were talking about before the room
went back to work and the path Tavon created closed. This took some time as people walked by, looking
like bees in a hive. They gathered ointments and vials of different colored liquids and rushed to the
wounded. He didn‟t know what they contained but he guessed it was some sort of medicine. From his
experience in Tumeric, it likely tasted bad.
Eventually, he was able to break past the layer of people to see the person of whom everyone
spoke. The woman was covered in blood, her skin looking like it was on the brink of death. Sweat
covered her body. Torn leather armor revealed wet and bloody clothing. Some sort of patch had been
placed on her leg and bumps from the stitches underneath could be seen.
Aaron eyes widened. He recognized her.
He took a step forward, mind in disbelief.
Sariah?

Mercy pierces the heart and reveals its iniquities.

Chapter 20

Like tiny stars in the night sky, the candled along the walls of the library defended against the darkness
threatening to consume the light. The same battle raged every night, and had done so since the dawn of
time. Or, rather, since the dawn of the flame. The smell of old books—generations of knowledge—filled
the air.
Aaron sat at one of the round tables trying to study, trying to find some type of evil within the
pages of a book. Trying to find a single errancy or contradiction that would prove the Order‟s entire
religion was worthless. So far, he had only found theories that clashed with each other, nothing within the
doctrine itself. This was not unexpected, of course. He knew through the course of history people had
ideas that often rustled other people‟s ideas. The fact this happened within the Order was not only
expected, but also proved it to be even more true. For, through the course of trying to find truth, people
have often conflicted one another until someone arrives at an epiphany.
If the Almighty did exist, like they said, how could pages possibly contain all there was to know
about an infinite being?
Of all the words he had read, none of them clashed with the Rhetoria—the canonized holy
scriptures the Order of the Radiant Light based all of their faith and codes upon. For something to be
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considered heresy, it must go against this book. And so far, he had found nothing. Of course, he had not
read the entire tome. Such a task would take over a year with regular duties. If a person found some time
off to just read, it would take at least a month, possibly two.
He kept telling himself the discovery was only a page away. And such a discovery, if found,
would change everything. Such a revelation would change the world. It would destroy the Order.
Tonight, the reading material selected was Valor and it‟s importance in regards to the scriptures.
It wasn‟t so much selected, as it was chosen from as a list from required materials Gavin had given him
his second day in Rainor. The list was required to be read by all Recruits before becoming a Squire was
even considered.
The book, like the previous one he had read about virtue, was quite interesting. Aaron found the
philosophy to be worthless, but it was interesting nonetheless. He had accompanied the book with a text
listing all those who had fallen at the Battle of Greenhill. He had stumbled upon a section of the library
containing various books listing all those who died at specific battles and dates. This one was rather
fitting considering how the soldiers stormed into a town, risking their lives to save unknown citizens was
a great display of valor. Much like some did the day before last in Arel‟drell.
Next to the book on valor, a small, less ornate copy of the Rhetoria was opened to corresponding
texts. Strange as it may be, Aaron the feeling of comparing different books to different texts. It made him
feel like a scholar. It made him consider pursuing the life of a monk after becoming a Templarite. But that
would require joining the Order, and he had no intention of doing that.
Studying was important, Aaron knew this, but tonight he lacked the focus. His mind was
processing the fact that Sariah was now in Rainor. Wood scraped against wood as he pushed his chair
back and stood to his feet, stretching.
I need to think. Clear my head with some fresh air.
Aaron walked toward the small stone corridor that lead to a small balcony overlooking the
western forest. There was no need to pack up the books. Like most nights, he had been in the library
alone. Silence helped with thinking, he had discovered.
The wooden door thudded and latched into place. Aaron leaned against the oak railing and stared
out over the pine forest. The trees were tall and wide, showing a strength gained only from surviving
many storms and years of life. Tiny snow flurries trickled through the air, brushing against Aaron‟s face.
They melted away at the touch of skin.
Throughout many of the years in the Underground, Sariah was Aaron‟s dearest friends and
greatest team member. They were sent on my jobs together, many of which were successful. On the
lonely nights when Aaron was lacking food, it was Sariah who shared her meal with him. Or sometimes
forfeited eating altogether so he wouldn‟t starve.
Aaron had seen on more than one occasion the deep care for others Sariah possessed. Multiple
times she ran into already compromised situations to rescue a fellow thief—or, at least discovered their ill
fate.
That‟s who Sariah was. She was someone who would sacrifice herself for another. Heavens, the
last time Aaron had seen Sariah was proof of this. He was twelve and she was thirteen. They had been
sent to steal an artifact from a local cathedral. Unfortunately, things did not go smoothly and there were
guards waiting for them to break into the upper story. The two of them found themselves in the hands of
the Order and thrown into the stockades deep within Tumeric.
It was there that Aaron saw the greatest devotion of friendship in all his life. Aaron rubbed his
back as he remembered the pain. How many more whippings should he have received?
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What happened in Arel‟drell, Aaron asked himself, shaking his head. Even during that horrific
night in the stockades, Sariah was still one of the best fighters Aaron had known. And now, after all these
years… Well, something bad must have happened for her to be as wounded as she was. She didn‟t even
look that bad after the wardens got a hold of her.
Aaron shook his head. He desperately wanted to speak to her, to catch up. Tell her all about his
life and hear about her's. Tell her all about his new plan to sell evil information about the Order and retire
to the mountains. He wanted to invite her along for the journey after the exposed the Order, of course. It
would be nice to have her company, she was more than capable of surviving in the wilderness with or
without him. He was still hashing out all the details of his plan, but she could help with that, too.
Wood creaked to his right follow by clamping metal. Someone was with him. Looking, Aaron
saw Gavin pace back and forth a few times before leaning against the rail a dozen yards away. He was
muttering something to himself.
Win their friendships. Aaron strode up to him. “Good evening, Gavin.”
“Good evening, Aaron,” said Gavin, nodding his head then looking back into the distance. “I
hope everything is well with you.”
“It is.” Aaron leaned against the rail and watched the leaves rustle with the wind. “And you?”
“I‟m well. Thank you for asking.”
Formalities always take so long.
“What would you do,” Gavin began, “if you thought the world was ending?”
Well, that‟s rather grim. “I‟m not sure,” Aaron said. “What makes you think it is ending?”
“Some read the holy texts and think it is, or must. It is against what the Order teaches. I haven‟t
really given it much thought, but recently things seem to be changing. The Corruption is spreading.
Oakwood is proof enough for this to be true. So I‟m considering it as a means to an end. The ideology
still seems ludicrous, but it deserves some thought.”
Aaron hummed as he thought to himself. “I‟d probably try to find a way to stop it from ending.”
Aaron‟s eyes went wide, the answer surprising even him. Such a thing would have never come from his
mouth a few years, or even a few weeks, ago.
A smile cracked along Gavin‟s mouth. “Spoken like a true Squire. Keep that up and you will pass
the test and become a member yet. Get yourself that red Squire tabard. What if you couldn‟t stop it? What
if the world was destined to be destroyed before it could be redeemed?”
“How can you redeem something after it's destroyed?”
“In the afterlife we are given perfect bodies; ones destined to remain free from decay or
affliction.”
“But, doesn't it seem foolish to create something only to watch it suffer until it is destroyed, just
to recreate it?”
Gavin nodded. “That‟s what makes it a mystery.”
“Doesn‟t make sense to me.” Aaron said, shaking his head.
“Me neither, which is why it is not the ideals I see to be true. But some will see it that way.”
“What would you do, Gavin?”
The Templarite paused for a moment and stared out across the moonlit field. “I think I would
spend time with loved ones, and try to teach as many people as I could that there is hope at the end of the
suffering; hope for a better, newer life.”
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Aaron didn‟t know how to process the answer. On one hand, he didn‟t hold to the same religious
views as the Order. But on the other, he understood how hope could change the way people die, could
give them peace in the end. So he chose to say nothing and simply looked out over the forest to the west.
Eventually, Gavin broke the silence. “So, what brings you out tonight?”
“Just getting some fresh air, like you.”
“Fair enough. I‟d figured you‟d be sleeping, what with your training regiment and all.”
Aaron smiled. “It‟s not too bad.”
“I slept as much as I could when I was training, but I pushed myself a lot harder than you are, I
think. Not that you aren‟t fighting hard, you are. I just wanted my focus to be on combat so I pushed
myself to learn as much as I could. I wanted to be the best swordsman I could be. And, I was always
stronger than most, even though my arms don‟t show it. Because of that, the bastard sword just felt right.
It gave the right amount of length and I was able to use a shield with it, unlike most.”
“Makes sense.”
“What combat style are you finding suits you?”
Pausing for a moment, Aaron raised a head to his mouth as he thought. “I think a shortsword and
shield.”
“Solid choice. Have you played with the armor yet?”
“Not yet. Soon, I think. Maybe tomorrow.”
“You‟ll probably choose the lighter stuff from what I‟ve seen of you, but it‟s always good to try a
bit of everything.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Aaron said, lifting fur-lined hood from the cloak the Order had given
him.
Gavin raised a fur-lined collar of his own to battle the snowflakes a breeze was sending in wide
arcing gusts. “Of course.”
Bardeaux paused briefly, preparing himself to ask the question. It was something that was
troubling him for some time. He rubbed the black stone in his pocket, trying to urge himself to ask the
question. He desperately wanted to ask about magic. To have Gavin explain it to him. To teach him how
to wield it. But, he couldn‟t build himself to do it. Eventually, he mustered out a different but equally
concerning question, “What happened in Oakwood?”
“When we separated?”
“Yes. I‟ve been wondering what happened to you. The Terrene seemed so… violent.”
“Ah,” Gavin said, leaning his weight against the railing. “Well after we split, Michael taunted the
Terrene and we rode with all the speed our horses could push. They chased us for a while, using spells
and making animals snip at us. All in all, it wasn‟t too bad. None of us fell of our horses or anything. We
never had to stop to fight them. No matter how many times they pulled the earth at us, we were able to
evade them. Luckily it wasn‟t storming, otherwise we would have been in serious trouble.
“Once we reached the border and entered the Archeus Flats, everything was calm. The Flats are
an easier terrain to cross. The weather was good for traveling, too, making the trip all the easier. And after
that, we eventually made it to Bel Daire where we met with the Council and explained everything going
on. Then we rushed back to Rainor. It was a fairly uneventful trip after we left Oakwood.”
“From the way Tavon was talking, it just seemed like it would have taken longer,” Aaron said.
“It took a good while. Well over a week, nearly two.” He paused, turning to Aaron with a smile.
“How long do you think you were in the Shadowlands?”
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Aaron thought for a few seconds then shrugged. “A few days. I know it took some time to fix the
boat, and I remember sleeping at least one night.”
“Just as I thought. That place is quite strange. You see, time isn‟t exactly different in there, but
your mind processes everything differently from normal. Did you feel exhausted?”
“Yes.”
“But you kept pushing, through?”
“Of course. We didn‟t stop until we had to.”
“Makes sense, Tavon wouldn‟t want to stop at all if he could have it his way, but he knows his
troops need rest. Anyway, the point is, without the sun it is hard to tell how long you have traveled. And
the Shadowlands messes with your mind, making it even more difficult for your body to gauge time
effectively. What might have felt like only three days was actually over a week.
“You may be thinking that sounds ridiculous. You didn‟t have the food to survive that long, and
of course your body couldn‟t function going three days without sleeping. The Corruption does strange
things, though. And what I tell you is true.
“We didn‟t beat you back to Rainor but by a few days. And from what I hear, you had a few
hiccups in the Shadowlands. What with the Hollows and all.”
As strange as that sounds, it does make sense.
“Can you teach me how to use magic?” Aaron asked.
“Ah,‟ Gavin said. “Such a thing is not taught until a person becomes a Templarites and shows
they have the discipline and mental fortitude to withstand its effects. You see, wielding magic can be very
dangerous to others and yourself. Work on your character, focus on the codes of conduct. Once you are a
Templarite you will meet with various teachers who will explain the ins and outs of magic. Then once
you have proven yourself dedicated and receive your membership, you will learn to tap magic.”
Aaron frowned.
“I know,” Gavin said, looking at Aaron. “It‟s tough when you see it used for the first time. Your
mind can‟t hardly believe it. Then after nights of struggling until you finally accept it, you can‟t even
learn how to use it. But trust me, it‟s better this way.”
“What can you tell me about it? Where does it come from?”
Feet clopped against wood a little ways away. The sounds were coming closer. “Good evening,
Elizabeth,” Gavin said as a feminine figure approached from around a corner.
Of course we would get interrupted.
Elizabeth looked familiar. Yes, she was one of the Squires tending the wounded when Aaron had
seen Sariah. Typically a Squire‟s tabard was dyed brown with no emblems. Her tabard, however, was
covered with blood stains and vomit. Her tabard may need to be retired for a new one.
“Gavin,” she said, nodding. “Aaron.”
“How is everything up there?” Gavin asked.
“The wounded are asleep. They are starting to show signs of recovery. We were able to stop all
the bleeding and most were able to keep down their medicines.”
“And what of the girl?”
Elizabeth hesitated a moment before answering. “She‟s awake. Mumbling to herself, but awake.
She‟s still very weak. She lost a lot of blood, but she will live. It‟s strange, she seems to be in the best
condition out of all the wounded.”
They must be speaking about Sariah.
“Strange,” Gavin said.
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“Indeed it is. Tavon said he is going to question all of them over the next three days to find out
exactly what happened. Until then, they are to remain in isolation within private rooms.”
“Does he have any ideas about what could have happened?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “He didn‟t say.”
Gavin nodded. “Aaron, let us finish our conversation another night. I‟m going to help Elizabeth
clean the infirmary and find herself a new tabard.”
Aaron took a half bow. “Pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth. Gavin, until next time.”
Both Gavin and Elizabeth smiled before Gavin ushered her along the balcony toward the cleaning
closet.
Focus on your character, Aaron thought as he walked back toward the table. Now that Sariah was
known to be alive he found himself relaxing. He was sure that after talking to her he would find even
more relief. It would only take three days.
With a sigh, he picked up the book about valor and returned to the studies.

Follow not the ways of the fool, lest you awaken like one.

Chapter 21

“Come on back, will ya?” Beatrice said, motioning Aaron toward the fitting room.
Aaron walked behind the counter, following her lead. Suits of chain linked armor lined the walls
beneath suits of plate armor. It was the thickest metal he had ever seen. A daunting sight. Sometimes
leather armor proved to be too restrictive, what would he do wearing that heavy stuff? Metal clanked in
the distance as new armor was forged and old armor had their dents removed.
“Now stand up here,” Beatrice said. As Aaron rounded the corner, he saw her pointing at a
platform raised a foot off the ground. It was located in the middle of various sized mannequins covered
with fragments of armor, the steel surfaces reflecting the candles that burned on the walls and corner
tables.
Bardeaux stepped up on the platform and stared down at black cloth that covered its surface. He
made eye contact with Beatrice as she pulled out a measuring line.
“I‟m going to take your measurements,” she said. “Don‟t get too excited.”
He smiled, trying to shake the awkwardness.
“You laugh, but it‟s happened more times than I care to mention. Especially with knights that
have not taken vows of chastity. Some of them should hurry up and get married.”
Aaron opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but shut it and tried to remain calm. He looked up at the
ceiling, away from Beatrice‟s shirt that needed to be buttoned a few more times before leaning over to
measure people. It wasn‟t too hard to resist, she was not what Aaron would call attractive. Judging from
the empty ring finger, not many men did. He tried not to think about what she was talking about as she
went into more details about some of the knights who had been fitted for armor. She filtered less words
than most. With a mouth like hers, she probably scared off men.
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“So what type of armor are ya looking for?” asked Beatrice. She had a thick accent. Maybe from
the Great Plains? Aaron had never spoken to someone from there, but he imagined this was what they
sounded like. “Chain? No? Are they putting you in plate today? What are they thinking? A scrawny little
thing like yourself won‟t be able to move in all that weight. Sure I make it light, lighter than anyone in the
world, but it ain‟t that light.”
“Wait here,” she huffed and rushed out of the room only to return a few moments later with a
couple chest plates made of solid steel, each in different sizes of small..
I‟m not that small, Aaron thought, pursing his lips.
Beatrice began sliding the armor on over his head, trying to find the perfect fit. Too tight, and he
wouldn‟t be able to breathe. Too loose, and it would tossle around as he walked, making it even more
difficult to move efficiently. Three of the sets she brought were too large and one was drastically too
small, which she thought was highly strange as she assumed that one would be the fit. And, of course, she
let him know exactly what she was thinking the entire time. He wasn‟t sure if she was talking to him, or
just talking.
Eventually, she found a full, fitting set of armor. It was pieced together from various parts she had
laying around. The sabatons and greaves to cover the foot and shin were taken from a nearby mannequin,
as was the helmet. The chestplate was taken from a nearby room, she had to rush out to grab it. The steel
tasset that covered the waist and cuisse for the thighs needed to be hammered a little tighter before they
were snug enough for battle.
“I amaze myself everyday,” Beatrice said to herself, not exactly quietly. “I didn‟t think it
possible, but you are starting to look like a knight.”
Thank you? Was that a compliment?
“Here,” she said, handing him a shield. “Now if only you had a sword you would look perfect.
The armor has a nice sheen to it and covering your body with no real openings that I can see—other than
under the arm and around the neck, which is to be expected without specialized attachments.
“You know, this would have gone a lot quicker, and probably would have been able to fit it a
little better, if you hadn‟t been so adamant about keeping your thick clothing on. At the least, you coulda
taken off the coat. But, I did it.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. For once, Aaron was happy
he was wearing a helmet covering his head. He used the faceplate to hide his disgust. “Well, give it a
whirl.”
The armor was heavier than it looked, if that was at all possible. Aaron stepped off the platform,
stumbling and nearly falling to the ground. After catching himself, he strode around the room. It was
difficult to move. The plate armor was much, much more restrictive than it looked. He had to strain to
move his arms about, and his right arm was already beginning to ache from carrying the large shield on
top of the steel gauntlet. Rolling a shoulder, he discovered there was more room for motion than he once
believed. Perhaps if he got used to the stuff he could move about with ease. But probably not.
He took a few steps forward and stopped in front of a mirror. The faceplate on the helmet limits
his view, but he looked anyway.
Aaron was at a loss for words. Even as misfit as his armor was, he looked like a knight. The kind
from the stories he used to read as a child. Pride filled his chest causing him to puff up a little straighter.
Honor. Justice. Power. Mercy.
“Well, what do you think?” Beatrice asked.
Aaron couldn‟t say anything. He just stared at the mirror, at his reflection. Never once in his life
did he imagined he would wear a full suit of armor. His father worked with soldiers everyday of his life. It
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was his job. He had met with the Order on multiple occasions. What would his father think if he saw his
son like this?
“Come on now.” Beatrice urged. “You won‟t hurt my feelings. What do ya think?”
“It‟s.. It‟s.. Amazing.” From the corner of the mirror, Aaron saw Beatrice puff up her chest a little
bit.
“Wait until those Templarites see you. They will be astonished. See if they ever doubt me again.”
I‟m not sure why everyone thinks I‟m so weak, Aaron thought. “Thank you, Beatrice.”
“Well, you‟re very welcome. They are probably waiting for you. Let‟s get going. Come on, I‟ll
give you a ride on my cart. I need to have a chat with Rahn about denting my helmets.”
Aaron smiled behind his helmet, followed her out the door, and hopped onto her wooden cart—
with her help, of course. A cold wind brushed into the caps in the armor—underneath the arms and where
the helmet rested against the chest plate. The clothing underneath was far too resilient for the winds to
bring chills, but the gusts could still be felt.
As Beatrice connected a mule with its hardness, Aaron couldn‟t help but think of Mae. It was
hard not to miss her and Tusk. Only a few weeks had passed, but to him it felt like years. Never in three
lifetimes would he have considered he would be putting on knight‟s armor and going to train with the
Order of the Radiant Light. He laughed through his nose. What would Tusk say in this moment?
“Beatrice, what are you going to do with those barrels?” Aaron asked, pointing to a few wooden
containers stacked along the outside wall of the shop. A light dusting of snow remained on them.
“Oh, those old things?” She said. “Those haven‟t been used in a few months, and I don't exactly
see myself using them anymore. If you want, you can have a few.”
“Thanks. I might be able to find a use for them.”
“Come back another day and we will get them to ya.” With that, Beatrice whipped her donkey
into movement.
The weight of the steel armor pulled on Aaron. He did his best to resist falling off the wagon and
plopping onto the ground. He knew if that happened he would be stuck, unable to roll over, turtling.
Resting a hand on the side railing helped in stabilizing each bump as the wagon rolled down a rough path
toward the monastery.
How do people fight in armor like this? Aaron thought to himself as he watched frost covered
grass move through his view. Tavon, while in the Shadowlands, fought with graceful movements, looking
more freely than Aaron fought in leather. The Lionheart didn‟t seem to struggle with the weight or
restrictions. He even walked rather silently compared to how the others clanked with their steps. There
must be a few tricks to wearing this stuff properly.
Bardeaux had no trouble understanding why people wore such armor. It was much more
protective. And, even though you lost some ability to move, a person could be a little more reckless
knowing they would not be hurt by most attacks. Plus there was an added benefit of looking awesome.
And looking like a knight made a person swell with pride. Wearing this type of armor made Aaron feel
like he had a purpose. What the purpose was, he didn‟t know. For all he cared, he was ready to find their
dark secrets and reveal them to the world, then retire to the mountains.
“You okay back there?” Beatrice shouted. “You haven‟t said anything in awhile.”
“Fine,” Aaron replied. Had she been speaking to him this entire time?
“But like I was saying,” she continued, “you should be fine. And that is practice armor, so do
your best to avoid leaving dents. But if some happen it‟s okay. I‟ll just have Rahn fix it later.” She
laughed.
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Aaron smiled.
She started talking again, but Aaron ignored her. He knew it wasn‟t the polite thing to do, but he
was tired and really had no interest about anything in which she spoke. Besides, he had no intention of
wearing this heavy armor after today.
Eventually, the cart rolled up behind the monastery, near the training field. Aaron hopped off the
back, stumbling to gain his balance. After a moment, he thanked Beatrice for the ride and headed toward
the sparring men. She was polite in her farewell and mentioned something about finding Rahn, who had
seen her pull up and was now running away in the distance.
“Oh no you don‟t,” Beatrice said, hopping off the cart and running after Rahn.
Aaron smiled.
Leonias was the first to take notice of Aaron as he walked past some snow topped trees. “Aaron!”
he shouted. “Down here.”
Aaron nodded. He was already walking that direction, so he continued as he was. Leonias‟s
shouting didn‟t change much. All it did was cause the practicing men to stop and stare toward Bardeaux,
making him feel uncomfortable. Though, it was not the first time they had taken notice of him, but this
time it was different.
They stood in silent salutes as he drew nearer. Leonias ran up to him and patted him on the back.
“You look great.”
“Thanks,” Aaron said quietly.
“How does it feel?”
“A little too cumbersome for my taste.”
Leonias smiled. “That is exactly how I felt when I trained in it. That‟s why I chose to do a hybrid
of medium and heavier armor. The breastplate provides the chest and back with thicker protection, but it
is more like a super thick vest. It leaves the arms and legs open for movement. Covering them with the
chainmail allows for more freedom I find. A nice mixture of movement and protection.”
“Makes sense.”
“You should try it sometime.”
“Perhaps,” Aaron said. “How long do I have to wear this?” In truth, he was already getting tired
of wearing it, but something inside him enjoyed feeling like a knight, like a Templarite.
“Not long. Today won‟t take too long. And if you end up not liking the armor, never again.”
“Is this what people wear in the war camps, Leonias?”
“Ah, life is different in the war camps,” Leonias said as he led Aaron through rows of people
toward the center of the training compound, metal clanked with each step. Everyone stepped out of his
way like he was a long awaited king.
“Only about a fifth of the soldiers wear plated armor, and most aren‟t in full plate,” Leonias
continued. “The rest wear tattered scraps of leather. It‟s a strange sight when you compare their lives to
ours.
“Fighting in an army is different than fighting in a small group. You segment yourselfs into
massive groups, layering the army by weapon type. In the front you place your heavier armored men with
shields and usually spears. Behind them you have another row of spearmen, sometimes a third. The rest
are generally archers or crossbowmen. Every soldier in our army is required to carry a short sword as a
side arm, just in case.
“Then, you have cavalry troops. These are divided into mounted archers and mounted soldiers—
most kingdoms call them knights—and are forced to wait until the general declares their attacks.
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Typically, this isn‟t until the enemy armies have split themselves, allowing passages toward the enemy
archers or behind the soldiers.
“If you are a mounted archer, you spend most of the combat riding just out of the range of the
melee opponents, launching arrows, picking off what you can. Sometimes you will send volleys against
the enemy archers. If you find yourself as a knight, you wait for the signal then charge into their front
lines using a spear in one hand and a shield in the other. Typically, the knights wear heavier armor and
ride heavily armored horses, as they are larger and more important targets.”
Aaron nodded. “You know a lot about war.”
“It‟s my area of study,” Leonias smiled. “I haven‟t experienced it, but I have visited the camps
and spent many hours reading texts. And we haven‟t even touched the economics required to feed and
clothe such a number of men and women.”
“Let me ask you something. If there are these massive armies preparing to fight, why are we
training in a different style of fighting?”
“That is a very good question.” Leonias said, pointing a finger for emphasis. “We are more of a
specialized group of fighters. In a war group, you rely on numbers on some skill. In a smaller group like
we fight with, you rely on the skill of yourself and each other. If one person falls it has a much larger
impact.
“We are sent in when situations require more specialized assaults rather than a full on army
invasion. Think of the difference between storming of a nation and investigating a corrupted mine or an
abandoned wizard tower.”
“I guess,” Aaron said. “But, wouldn‟t someone who has been in a war troop for years and years
be better than someone who just finished training a few months ago?”
“Not necessarily. Hardly anyone in our army has proven themselves to be a Templarite. Those are
few and far between, typically just the sergeants and generals. Even fewer are Lionhearts. You have
already progressed further than most of the Squires sent to war. Soon, you will pass even those.”
“Really? I don‟t feel like I am very skilled.”
“You may not, but you are. I‟ve watched you fight. And it doesn‟t take much skill to stand in a
formation and hold a weapon in front of you. I‟m not saying they aren‟t good fighters, because they are.
I‟m just stating that their training is not as in depth as ours. The Council and the trainers in Bel Daire do
not have the intensive training regimen we have at the monastery. That is one of the main reasons Tavon
has stayed so long.”
“Tavon, he is a very interesting man.”
Leonias smiled. “You don‟t even know, my friend. You haven‟t but scratched the surface of any
person here. Now, your biggest concern when wearing armor like you are, is piercing attacks like sword
thrusts, spears, and crossbows. Most bows don‟t have the strength to pierce through the armor. The
weapons we will be using for practice won‟t be able to hurt you, but you should keep that in mind for the
future.”
Aaron nodded.
“Now, go on in there and start your training.” He handed Aaron a blunt shortsword and a steel
shield.
Gripping the items, Aaron stepped into the center of the training circle. His opponent was a
Squire, holding a sword and shield of his own. Aaron did not know his name. Gavin paced between the
two combatants and laid down the rules of the right. They were pretty basic, no killing your opponent,
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avoid hitting the groin or the eyes, and if you are pushed out of the circle you lose. He nodded his head,
waved his arm, and rushed out of the circle. The fight had begun.
Aaron took a few steps forward holding the shield up, blocking his right side. His steps were
slow, the armor weighed him down. Typically, he would start a fight by rushing inward, pressing his
shield against the opponent's weapon to push it out of the way, and storm in with his weapon on their
unguarded side. However, he couldn‟t do that in heavy armor. He felt as if he were forced to play
defensively, forced to try and not fall over.
He inched forward, trying to figure out what maneuvers he could use. Tumbling was definitely
out of the question. Fancy swordplay could still be used, but nothing requiring full body movements of
rapid weight distribution. He was forced to do what he was worst at, fighting straight up.
His opponent—the unknown man—approached with much more intentionality, flicking his sword
about his in wrist as he shortened the distance between the two. He wore the red tabard of a Squire and
full plate, but his gait seemed to indicate he was not encumbered by the weight. In fact, he seemed to be
moving with ease.
Aaron stepped forward, reaching out with his left hand, tipping the edge of his sword toward his
opponent‟s in an attempt to gauge the man‟s skill. In one swift motion he found his blade knocked to the
side and The-Unknown-Man rushing toward him, turning, and swinging his own sword. Aaron
sidestepped the attack—just barely—and managed to duck underneath the follow up swing. He tried to
make a swing of his own but it was easily blocked by a shield.
Aaron dug his heel into the dirt—the snow had been brushed away from the fighting circle —and
spun in a wicked motion, slamming his shield against the opponent. To Aaron‟s surprise, The-Unknown-
Man was much sturdier than expected and responded with a push of his own, sending Aaron stumbling
backward. After a few steps, he caught his balance.
But, his opponent did not let him raise his guard. A powerful swing hit Aaron in the back,
sending him stepping closer to the edge. He tried to spin around, but couldn‟t do anything after his
opponent slammed his shield against his back, shoving him out of the ring.
Bardeaux stood outside the barrier with hands on hips, breathing heavily. His weapon lay on the
ground next to him. The bout had happened so quickly. He barely had time to blink once his opponent
had started forcing his hand. It was not a strategic fight, it was pure muscle. Some may not even call it a
fight. Aaron‟s muscles were aching like he assumed they would, but there wasn‟t any damage done. The
extra cushioning from his coat underneath his armor proved valuable. A happy coincidence.
Gavin motioned in the distance, beckoning another round. Aaron reluctantly listened, scampered
across some snow, and stepped into the ring.
Another round began and Aaron intended to win this one. He rushed forward, forcing metal to
clank violently. He ran as fast as he could. The goal was to jump at the last second, forcing himself as
high as he could despite the weight, and flail over the opponent‟s shield to knock them both on the
ground. Once on top, he would assault his opponent until he gave up. A decent plan in his own mind, and
he was far too committed to change now.
It did not, however, work out as intended. When the time came to leap, his foot slid in the mud
and he fell flat on his face. He didn‟t move. He just lie there, soaking in shame. The tip of his opponent's
sword pressed against the back of his breastplate. The round was over.
The ground was very much cold. Aaron gripped a handful of icy mud, the feeling of coolness
could barely be felt through his gauntlet. Looking up at the snow circling the battlefield, he was sent back
into a dream—a vision—of his childhood. Back to when he once sat in anticipation for the first snows of
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the year. Back to when he would help clear the fields with his father. Clear them much like this fighting
ring was crafted, except it would be an entire field. It had to be done otherwise crops wouldn‟t grow. His
father was a soldier by training and a royal advisor by request, but he always had a hobby for farming,
and owned the extra land outside of town for this purpose.
Aaron took a deep breath, focusing back on reality, bracing himself to stand. He had lost that
round but perhaps the next would go differently. Or maybe he would at least last long enough to land a
single blow against his opponent, who was now standing in the center of the ring waiting for the next
fight.
Aaron entered the ring once again. Gavin motioned and the next round went underway. The
training continued on for some time in the same manner. Aaron lost each round until he couldn‟t find the
strength to continue. Eventually, the group decided he had enough and let the exercise finish.
“You did well,” Leonias said as he and Gavin helped Aaron over to a bench where some
bystanders stood.
“I hardly think so,” Aaron said. “I lost every round.”
“That may be, but you should see how most people perform their first time full plate.”
“I can hardly walk in this stuff. I highly doubt I fought with any decency.”
“You did well, Aaron,” Gavin said, patting him on the shoulder. Aaron fell over. Not because the
weight dragged him, but because he just wanted to lie down. He wanted the sun to go down and sleep. He
wanted this day to be over.
Horses galloped in the distance. It sounded like a decent amount of the beasts. A stampede
coming from the north western hillside. Aaron stretched out his arms, silently asking for help leaning up.
With Leonias‟s help, he leaned forward in an upright position. After taking off his helmet, he looked into
the distance toward the echoing hooves, feeling the snow fall on his face. It was gentle and cooling.
Deep in the hillside, flags wiggled back and forth as they tore through the wind, raised high on
poles carried by armored soldiers. The emblem matched that on the twenty soldier‟s tabards, the blazing
red lion symbolic of the Order of the Radiant Light. Most of the mounted soldiers were Templarites, all
save three. Those three were split between two Lionhearts—apparent by their black colored tabards—and
the final man wore a color that Aaron had not seen on a tabard before. It was silver with gold trim,
reflecting beautifully in the sun. The tabard was kept from flapping in the wind by a gold-lined belt
wrapped around the waist. He wore a suit of full plate underneath.
As the line of knights grew closer, all the members of the Order stood a little straighter or
retreated back to their activities. They trained more intensely. Cheered more intensely. Barked orders
more intensely. Whoever this man approaching was, he carried a weight with him. A weight that
demanded excellence.
Tavon rushed out of a monastery door accompanied with two other members that Aaron did not
know. He ran forward and stood next to Gavin, who was waiting along the dirt path where the horses
rapidly approaching. The oncoming knights dismounted with one swift motion, the horses slowed to a
halt by instinct. The leader—the man wearing the silver tabard—upon landing, he rushed forward and
embraced Tavon in a military handshake.
“Tavon,” the leader said, his voice deep and raspy, “take Gavin and some others and start
preparing a place for the Ar‟Kire to meet.”
Tavon nodded and pointed to a group of men. “You six, come with us.” The group began running
toward the storage shelter where the wooden planks were kept. It was a ways away, past the blacksmith
and the next field.
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“How was Bel Daire, Tirion?” Alexander asked as he opened the door Tirion.
“The same as it always is,” he answered, “crowded and loud. Much too loud to focus or make
important decisions. I don‟t see how anyone can get any work done.”
Templarites tensed as Tirion walked past, armor clanking. His entourage had already disappeared
inside the cathedral by the time he made it to the door.
Aaron leaned over to Leonias. “Who‟s Tirion?”
Leonias looked at Aaron, eyes wide. “Tirion is the leader of the Order of the Radiant Light.”
So that‟s the one everyone has been talking about. The infamous Tirion. “And the Ar‟Kire?”
“What have you been studying, Aaron? I suppose books on combat techniques wouldn‟t have this
information. The Ar‟Kire is a council consisting of the leaders from all the different sects of our religion.
At one time it met much more consistently, but now only forms when the world is in dire need. There
hasn‟t been a Gathering in over eight hundred years.”
“So why now?”
The young Templarite shrugged. “Probably won‟t know until the meeting.” With that, Leonias
walked away, following the others through a wooden door and into the cathedral.
What is with all this sudden talk of doom and gloom? Aaron thought to himself as he started back
to Beatrice‟s shop. He had to get this armor off. The way they speak makes it seem like the world is
ending. But that seems rather silly. I mean, it hasn‟t ended yet. Why would it now?
But then again, I never considered magic to be real either, and now I see that it could, and most
likely does, exist. Something I never thought I would consider. Is it possible?
Was the world be ending?

Blessed are those who seek the ways of the Almighty.

Chapter 22

Sariah‟s eyes snapped open. She was not alone. She could feel it. Someone else was in the room with her.
She tried to feel her daggers, but they were not on her. No, she had lost one of them and the other was
taken for investigation by the Order.
She rolled over on her side, looking across the room. Sitting next to the door was one of the room
maidens. She was a little shorter than most girls her age and she wore a long gown decorated with various
symbols commonly found among the Order. She stood to her feet, carrying a bowl in her hands.
“How are you feeling today?” the maiden asked, her voice soft and high pitched.
Sariah moaned as she sat up. Her leg still hurt incredibly bad. Unsurprisingly, three days of
interrogation and some bandages were not enough to heal a severe dagger wound in the thigh. The
Templarites had offered their healings as a negotiation tool for more information about what had
happened in Arel‟drell, but Sariah refused, of course.
“I‟m fine,” Sariah said, wincing.
“I hardly doubt that, dear. Why not let me clean you off? It‟s awfully cold outside and this cloth
is warm.”
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“I said I‟m fine.” Sariah winced, forcing out the words. She knew she wasn‟t okay. She had to be
carried to the interrogations each day. Placing any amount of pressure on the leg sent her to the ground
screaming in pain.
“You are filthy, dear. Whatever happened in that inn must have been terrible.” The maiden
moved the sheet and blanket, revealing Sariah‟s leg. Then she pulled open the bandage. It was still
bleeding some around the small scab. “It‟s starting to look better.”
“You say that every day,” Sariah said.
The maiden smiled. “And everyday it looks better.”
“I don‟t see why you don‟t just use magic and fix it.”
“It‟s not that simple, my dear. And only the Templarites can use magic, and they are working
under specific instructions from Tirion himself.”
“Oh! The great Tirion!” Sariah gestured wildly with her hands, scoffing. “I‟m growing quite tired
of hearing—”
Sariah flinched, gritted her teeth, and gripped her blanket so tight her knuckles turned white. The
maiden had pressed a warm cloth against the wound.
“I know it hurts,” the maiden said as she pressed deeper into the wound.
“What is your name?” Sariah asked.
“My name? I guess you have never asked. My name is Leriel.”
Sariah took a deep breath, fighting the pain. “Leriel, I hate you.”
Leriel smiled and removed the blood stained cloth from her patient‟s leg. She gripped Sariah‟s
leg. Sariah squirmed in a futile effort to escape. She knew what was coming. The antiseptic.
Sariah screamed as the liquid flowed along her flesh, forming tiny white bubbles that stung and
cleaned the wound. This was the fourth time this had been done, and every time she screamed. If the
wound was healing, her nerves did not share in the same pleasure. Apparently her daggers, wherever they
were, were quite potent and left the flesh trying to heal for some time. It was no wonder no one had ever
survived her attacks.
Leriel put a new bandage on the leg and rose to her feet. “It is time for me to go,” she said,
curtseying with the edges of her dress. “I‟ll be back later to change your sheets.”
If I‟m here, Sariah thought. “Very well.”
After the door had been closed and the maiden had left, Sariah sat completely up, back against the
stone wall. I need to find Matram. It had been some time since she last met with Matram—Sariah‟s
teacher. She desperately needed to. She knew Matram could not be far. Something insider pointed the
direction to the nearest den, and that same something expressed that that is where Matram would be.
North and west, not far. Only a few hours on foot.
But Sariah couldn‟t travel. Not like this. The wound was indeed healing, she knew that. But she
still couldn‟t even stand to look out the window in her room. Not too mention her leather armor had been
removed during her first interrogation to be cleaned and patched. And how could she defend herself
without a dagger? Rely on the Fletchings? That could only last so long before Backlash consumed the
mind. Sariah would rather die being awake than in an unconscious, babbling state.
Apparently the Order considered Sariah‟s health to be improving. The maidens had said Sariah no
longer needed to stay in the infirmary, and was instead given her own room on the third floor of the
monastery, surrounded by Templarites and Recruits. Not only could she not walk, she was surrounded by
holy, battle-trained men. A prison of the worst kind.
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The shades covering the window glowed from the sun‟s touch. Sariah stared at them for a few
moments, pulling her blankets over herself.. Though a fire burned in the hearth, she still found it difficult
to stay warm. The chills were part of the backlash, rare as they were. The nightmares had vanished, but
the chills refused to flee.
They were not a sickly kind of chill. She did not sweat every time she went to sleep and her body
was not attempting to expel a sickness. Her body was attempting to process the alterations to the universe,
the changes in reality that should not have been possible. And the more it changed, the harder it was for
her body to understand. The mind attempted to process the information while the body felt the physical
aftershocks of fighting. It was a strange combination, a struggle that would cause most to abandon their
training and the Family. Matram had lost many patrons. „Only the strongest survived‟ she would say.
„Only those meant to wield magic.‟
Sariah missed her dagger. Even should she never need to use it, which was unlikely, she still
missed it; missed having it hidden in her boots, or under her pillow. She desperately needed to feel the
leather grip in her hand and the way light would reflect from the blade. While she had been formerly
trained in nearly every type of weapon, she preferred the dagger. And she preferred her own. It was
unlikely she would ever see the weapon again. Sariah frowned as she realized the truth. Her weapon was
gone, confiscated by the Order.
What would Matram say if she found her in such a position, bound to a bed due to a self inflicted
injury? Now that she was looking back on the events that had unfolded in Arel‟drell, stabbing herself
seemed foolish. What was she thinking? How could stabbing herself and being taken to the Order help her
in any way? She looked around her stone chamber.
Foolish, indeed.
Someone knocked on the door. Sariah‟s brow straightened as she tried to figure out who it was.
Normally, a maiden would knock then crack the door open, but the door didn‟t move after this set of
tapping. Templarites asked if she were dressed before opening the door, but no one shouted anything of
the sorts. Even Tirion himself asked her questions before barging in. This person—whoever was there—
said nothing, only knocked again.
“Come in,” Sariah said, loud enough so the person could hear but not so loud as to indicate she
was feeling better, which she wasn‟t. If anything, she felt worse.
The door creaked open and in walked a younger man wearing clothing provided by the Order. A
black cloak was wrapped around the fur lined jacket and the hood was up. No weapon was fastened to his
belt, which was not uncommon in the monastery. No one seemed to think that they would be attacked
within their safe haven. The man carried with him Sariah‟s armor.
“I believe this is yours,” he said. His voice was smooth and soft spoken, yet his words carried
confidence. The tone was strangely familiar.
“It is,” Sariah said, hiding a smile.
“The leatherworker patched all the holes and tightened the chest where it was beginning to frill.
Said it should last another year or two until needing any touch up. That is unless it sees combat.”
Sariah watched as the man knelt beside the bed, leaning the armor against her nightstand. “And of
who do I owe the pleasure?”
“The leatherworker‟s name was Timothy.”
“No, what is your name?”
The man paused and stood to his feet. Slowly, he reached toward his cowl and pulled it back,
revealing his face. He had a strong face, a warrior‟s face, with firm cheek bones. Beard stubble lined his
146

cheeks, lips, and chin. His brown eyes were slightly covered by strands of dark brown hair. His shoulders
and chest were puffed in ways that suggested he had muscles underneath his clothing. He was really quite
attractive.
Sariah recognized the man. She couldn‟t pinpoint where in her memory exactly, but she knew
him. There was something strangely familiar about him. Maybe it was the way he stood, or the innocence
in his eyes. But something was familiar.
“Well?” she asked.
The man hesitated for a moment. “Aaron Bardeaux.”
“Aaron?”
The man nodded, then smiled.
“It‟s been so long,” Sariah said, accepting his embrace. “You look… well. You grew up well.”
Aaron smiled. “Thank you, I think? What happened to you?” He pointed to her leg.
“Just a combat wound. Nothing we haven‟t seen before.” She smiled, still shocked to see him.
“Yes, but normally when we got ourselves into trouble, we did not find daggers dug inches into
our legs.”
“I believe there was that time where you found yourself with an arrow lodged in your chest. Do
you remember that?” Sariah poked him where the wound was, just underneath the collarbone. His
muscles were hard as rock. Her finger lingered on his white shirt a few moments longer than intended.
“What was his name? Councilman Herald?”
“Ah, yes.” Aaron said with a wry smile. “Councilman Herald. What were we were stealing from
him? A hammer? A bag of gems? It‟s been so long I can‟t remember.”
“A painting, I think.”
Aaron frowned. “A painting? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I believe so, because I used it to block a few arrows. And as I remember, it didn‟t work
very well. The arrows flew right through the painting and one landed in your chest.”
“Oh, is that how that happened?”
Sariah laughed. “Yes. Yes, I think it is.”
Aaron laughed. “I don‟t remember that. I must have passed out shortly after.”
“You did.”
There was silence for a few seconds, then Aaron spoke. “I can‟t believe you are here, in Rainor.”
“Me neither,” Sariah said. “To be honest, you were the last person I expected to walk through that
door; the last person I expected to join the Order.”
“Well, I haven‟t exactly joined.”
“No?” Sariah asked, raising her eyebrows.
“No. I‟m one of, actually the only, Recruit. I haven‟t been initiated in. I haven‟t taken my tests.”
“I see. What made you want to join?”
“I.. uh..” Aaron leaned close to whisper. “I‟m not joining. I‟m here hiding and investigating.”
“Investigating?” She whispered back.
“Yes. I‟m here hiding from Reeves and I‟m trying to find the corruption the Order hides. I plan to
reveal their evil ways and take them down.”
Sariah started, leaning back with eyes wide. “Aaron,” she whispered. “I never took you the type
to do such a thing. We used to steal things, but that is petty compared to destroying an entire Order.
Unmasking an entire religion.”
“I know. But, I‟ve got to do it.”
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What happened to the little boy I used to know? The one so worried about getting caught that he
made me do all the work? The boy who just wanted food. Now look at him. So strong. So courageous.
“So what happened with Reeves?” Sariah asked.
Aaron snorted. “The same thing that happens to anyone caught up with Reeves. I was struggling
to find food, struggling to gather any bits of money. He came along and offered a deal that I couldn‟t
refuse. Well, I didn‟t realize the strings attached and now I owe him a large sum of money, and he is
trying to collect.”
“How much?”
“An unpayable amount.”
“I see. Well, have you found anything?”
Aaron cocked his head.
“You said you were investigating here.”
“Oh. I haven‟t found anything. Artifacts line the walls on pedestals all over the monastery and
cathedral. They don‟t even try to hide them. They may be priceless, I assume they are, but they aren‟t
keeping them to sell. No, it‟s more like the Order is holding onto what once was, remembering what they
once had and were capable of. They are on display as history, like a museum keeping the artifacts in tact.
I considered taking them to settle the debt, but such a thing wouldn‟t go unnoticed.
“I‟ve looked and looked and couldn‟t find any vault full of money, which would indicate greed
and withholding from those in need. But, I haven‟t found such a thing. The only door I haven‟t been able
to enter is the one in the cartography room. It required two keys and I have neither. The monks and
Templarites don‟t even know what is behind that door.
“I‟ve searched the scriptures and teachings trying to find any errors or discrepancies which may
point to false doctrines. Unfortunately, nothing has been found along those lines either. There are some
theories that may hold something, but nothing solid from which I could build an argument upon. It‟s quite
strange, they keep all of their books in the library and open for reading. It‟s like they aren‟t even worried
that I may read them.”
Sariah looked at him, smiling.
“What?” he asked.
“For someone who just said he was trying to overthrow an evil religion, you seem to be
considering their teachings.”
“I am not.”
“No?”
“No,” Aaron said. “They just… Sure, the Order has a rather convincing argument for the
existence of the Almighty. And I am a much better fighter than I once was, thanks to their training
regiment. And they proved that magic does exist. I saw them use it. But—”
“Magic?” Sariah asked. “What happened to you, Aaron Bardeaux? The Aaron I knew balked at
the thought of magic. Now you say it‟s real?”
Aaron nodded. “It took me many long nights to settle on the thought. Do you think it exists?”
Sariah smiled. “A lot has happened to me since we last met.”
I need another sacrifice, She thought. My Khasta needs it. I fought well in the tavern, but I need
my threshold increased. I need more power.
Sariah looked at Aaron. He was quiet, obviously taking in the moment of being reunited. It was a
sweet moment, one to be cherished. Smiling, Sariah asked, “Do you like it here?”
“Do I like living here?” Aaron asked, clarifying the question.
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Sariah nodded.
“I suppose,” he said. “It isn‟t as bad as other places I‟ve lived, and I never lack for food. In
fact…” Aaron reached into his sack, pulled out an apple, and offered it to Sariah. She gladly took it and
immediately bit into the juicy, red fruit.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Have they been feeding you?”
“Yes, quite a lot of food actually. Though, I don‟t have a pantry or the ability to walk to the
kitchen. I can only eat what they bring me when they bring it to me. Sometimes the maidens ask what I
want, but I rarely know.” This is the most in depth conversation I‟ve had with anyone in some time. I miss
this.
“I heard your leg is healing.”
Sariah nodded. “It is, but I still can‟t walk.”
“What happened?”
“I was sitting in the tavern in Arel‟drell—The Firebrand I believe it was called—minding my
own business. I had been traveling for some time and just wanted a warm meal. Well, some thugs walked
up to the bar and started trying to get me into the back room. The next thing I knew, people were
screaming and dying. Black tendrils and magic were spreading through the room. Somehow a witch had
entered the bar and started killing.
“By the time the Order showed up for the rescue, everyone was dead except for myself and the
innkeep who was in the backroom. It was horrible, Aaron. I never want to experience something like that
again. I‟ve told my story to Tirion three times now, and I‟m still not sure if he believes me.”
But maybe if you tell the story... Sariah thought as she forced tears into her eyes. Maybe he will
believe you and take me for a wounded patron, not the suspect.
Aaron grabbed her hand. His hands were surprisingly soft, despite the firm grip and callouses.
“I‟m sorry,” he said, looking deep into her eyes.
“It‟s okay,” Sariah said, turning her head toward the window. “We‟ve seen people killed before,
together. Remember those days?”
“Of course I do. Everyday was a greater struggle than the day before. We were always on the run,
always looking over our shoulders. Always trying to find food. And for what purpose?” Aaron paused,
stood to his feet, and walked over to the window. He stood in silence for a moment, looking out over the
landscape. “We were pawns, Sariah. Pawns to a larger game that we never could have expected.”
“And you think you have it figured out now?”
Aaron shook his head. “Hardly. I haven‟t learned much since arriving in Rainor. But I know I
will. The answers are just another day away, they have to be close.”
“You think the Order has answers regarding the thieving and assassin guilds in Tumeric? Aaron,
that seems unlikely.”
“Do you know what secrets they hold?” Aaron asked, turning his glance back toward Sariah. His
face was intense, far more serious and dedicated than she had seen before. What happened to the happy,
easy-going Aaron? “There is something here, I know it. I will find what I‟m looking for. I will find
something.”
Sariah nodded. “You will find something. But, I think you are looking in all the wrong places.”
“What do you mean?” Aaron asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, should the Order hold a dark secret, do you think they would leave that information lying
around in a library?” Aaron shook his head. Sariah continued, “And these friends of yours—these
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Templarites—you seem to be getting close to them. At least, when you speak of them your words are not
covered in disgust. I suspect you are growing closer in an attempt to have them reveal the information to
you, perhaps even take you on a secret ritual.
“No, that seems foolish as well. They would never reveal that information until you possess a
high enough rank. You are looking in the wrong places. Where is it people hide information? Where is it
people hide items of great value they want no one to find? In their personal rooms inside coffers.”
Aaron paused for a moment as if he were considering the statement. “That‟s brilliant,” he
whispered to himself, loud enough for Sariah to hear.
“You know, Aaron, for a man that used to be a thief you sure don‟t think about previous jobs
you‟ve had to do.”
Aaron started. “That‟s not true. We‟ve just… We‟ve done a lot over our lives. It‟s hard to
remember everything exactly. Anyway, I think you may be right. I‟ll have to search their rooms.”
Sariah smiled. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Steel on wood from the sounds of it. Aaron,
apparently did not hear it as he continued to stand in silence rubbing his chin, likely plotting out his next
few points of a plan.
“Good,” Sariah whispered loudly. “But you may want to keep your voice down, someone is
coming.”
“I should be going,” Aaron said. He nodded and made his way to the door.
“Aaron,” Sariah said. He stopped just before the entryway. “It was good to see you.”
He looked over his shoulder wearing a smile. “It was good to see you as well. It always is.”
Sariah smiled and watched his long lost friend retreat from her room, black cloak trailing behind,
fluttering in the wind as he made his way down the hall before disappearing around a corner.

Love flows from the Throne of Heaven.

Chapter 23

Tavon stood along the edge of a large wooden table, staring at the map laid across its surface, humming a
tune. The map depicted all the regions of the surrounding areas with different sketches marking forests
and mountain ranges. The lower sections of the continent slowly faded into empty space where explorers
had yet to travel. The Eastern Lands were vast and many scholars and archaeologists had noted that it is
likely only sixty percent of the continent had been charted.
The chamber was the largest in the sleeping quarter, almost the size of two rooms combined it felt
like. A candelabra was placed on each of the four walls, and a final one burned on the table with the map.
At the far end of the room a fireplace burned. Tirion sat next to it, legs crossed, a copy of the Rhetoria on
his lap.
Kibal, one of the monks, stood with hands clasped behind his back. The long arms of his sleeves
puffed outward and away from the arms as they fell behind his hips. His brown robe bore the emblems of
the Order and, much like the tabards, a rope was tied around the waist to keep the cloth from looking like
a dress.
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The monk pointed to one of the tokens on the map—a small circle almost resembling a town—the
edges of his large cuffs skimming along the parchment. There were twelve of these tokens lining the
border where Yrall‟s kingdom ended to the east. “Warcamps one through five all report good conditions,”
Kibal said. “Six, however, has reported a large number of casualties.”
“How many?” Tavon asked.
Kibal hesitated for a moment. “Nearly half.”
Tavon gritted his teeth, gripping the edges of the desk tightly with both hands.
“Troops are being moved from camps one through five,” Kibal said. “They will replace those in
camp six.”
“What of seven through twelve?”
“Seven and eight are in similar situations as six, though their losses are not nearly as severe. Nine
through twelve are reporting healthy numbers.”
“And what of the enemy forces?”
“The warcamps are killing Hollows by the thousands. Apparently Hollows will attack in a large
force, then remain calm for three days. But the strangest thing is that the next force holds just as many
people. Wherever the army is being created, or trained, or however they exist, they are growing at an
alarming rate.”
Tavon stood firm, taking a few deep breaths as he rubbed his beard. “That means we are slowly
losing this battle.”
Kibal frowned, nodding.
How long must my men die in vain? Tavon thought.
“How long do we have?” he asked.
“At the current rate,” the monk paused. His voice was higher than Tavon‟s, but just as firm. He
spoke as someone who was certain each statement was correct. He stood quietly for a moment with a
hand on his chin, calculating numbers. “If things continue as they are, and we receive no reinforcements
from the other Orders, well then… six months. A year at the most.”
“And that is assuming the alliance between the Order and Yrall strengthens,” Tirion said. “Which
doesn‟t appear to be the case. Our alliance is weaker now than it has ever been.”
Tavon walked over across the room,sat in the chair across from Tirion, and took a sip from a
glass of water placed on the table now between them. Kibal walked and stood next to the two, hands
cupped together beneath his sleeves.
“What do you suppose we do, sir?” Kibal asked, looking at Tirion.
“I‟m not yet certain,” Tirion said, leaning his head against his hand propped up by the arm of the
chair. The sleeve of his shirt fell down, slightly revealing his wrist. He wore a vest buttoned up over a
white shirt and black trousers. Even dressed casually he still wore nice, higher classed clothing. Flames
flickered in the hearth a few feet away from where he sat, removing the need of wearing a coat. “King
Aldridge of Yrall has repeatedly ignored my invitations for negotiations. I fear the Corruption may have
tainted his mind. If this is indeed the case, we have much greater struggles to face.”
“If the alliance is shattered,” said Tavon, “our warcamps will be wedged between the Hollows
and the forces of Yrall, leaving us destroyed in months.”
“If they even resort to combat. They would have enough troops to completely surround our
western and southern flank, ceasing any attempt of sending supplies. The war of attrition would continue
until we are far too weak to fight. Then if the Hollows attack...”
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Tirion paused for a moment before continuing, “Let us see what happens at the Gathering. With
the help from the Ar‟Kire we may come to more conclusions. Tell me, Tavon, what of the new Recruit?”
“Aaron?” the Lionheart asked. “He‟s progressing far quicker than I imagined he would. We put a
lot of stress on him; said he only had a few weeks to do months worth of training.”
Tirion smiled, revealing white teeth behind a slowly graying, short beard.
“And on top of that,” Tavon continued, “he hasn‟t missed anything with his studies. The boy is
sharp, been even asking about magic.”
“I would expect nothing less from a Bardeaux.”
“We weren‟t sure what the Elders would say or where you would want to lead. But it seems that
the lad will have much longer to train than expected. Gavin says he is nearly done with weapon training
and has finished his armor proficiencies. The lad has already accustomed himself to his specialization
from what it seems. He hasn‟t resisted requests, but he knows what he wants to do.”
Tirion raised an eyebrow.
“Sword and shield with leather armor. He fights rather scrappy, but now that he‟s mixing in
proper technique and footwork, it works surprisingly well.”
“Three days. I want to see.”
Tavon nodded. “We have a new group of recruits coming in later today. Should line up perfectly.
I‟ll have Gavin prepare the arrangements.”
“Good. Now, what of the girl?”
“Her story,” Kibal said, “doesn‟t seem to be accurate.”
Tirion raised an eyebrow.
“She says,” Kibal continued, “she was sitting at the bar when the witch attacked. And while we
do have ample evidence to believe there was indeed a witch, what doesn‟t make sense is why would only
one person survive with only a dagger wound to the leg. Why not use magic against her? Why not use a
lethal attack?”
“Fair question,” Tirion said. “But she was the only eye witness account. The only other survivor
was the innkeep who has admitted to hiding in the back room during the incident.”
“Yes, but don‟t you find it a little coincidental that the only other survivor was in the back
room?”
“What is it you‟re implying?”
“Well,” Kibal said,” only two people survived, and the Templarites stated they never saw anyone
leave the inn. They entered the only entrance to the building. So, either they didn‟t see the witch escape,
or the woman never left.
“Now, there were only two survivors as mentioned, the innkeep and Sariah. The innkeep couldn‟t
have been responsible for the carnage because he was in the backroom. Sariah, however, has no alibi.
Therefore it is reasonable to conclude she‟s the witch.”
“Unless,” Tirion said, his voice deep and raspy, “the innkeep is responsible and fled to the back
once the Order arrived. He could have seen them through the window.”
I hadn‟t considered that, Tavon thought as he began cleaning his pipe. The scraping broke the
silence.
“Still at the old pipe, are ya?” Tirion asked, smiling at the corners of his mouth.
“Helps calm the nerves,” Tavon said. “And I like the taste.”
“What flavor today?”
“Cherry, the same as always.”
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“There‟s something off about her,” Kibal said, bringing the conversation back to the matters at
hand.”
“Explain,” Tirion said.
“She carries with her a presence. A dark presence. It makes me cringe on the inside and traps my
mind and mouth shut. Not physically of course, but I find myself not wanting to speak around her. When
she walks into a room, I immediately become suspicious of whom she is and what her intentions are.
“From my experience, such a situation only comes through one thing. A Shadow. Since her
presence is so strong, I suspect she has been using magic for quite some time. And powerful magic at
that.”
Tirion rubbed his hands together as he considered the notion, spectrals of light from the fireplace
casting an orange glow across his skin. “I have noticed something similar when I‟m around her, though
not nearly as intense as you say.”
“I‟m telling the truth. Something is off with that one.”
“I don‟t disagree, Kibal. Your gift of discernment is far greater than mine, which is precisely why
I chose you to be one of my advisors and why I asked for your input regarding this matter.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Unfortunately, we cannot incarcerate someone solely on feelings. We must have hard evidence. I
will not have the blood of an innocent on my hands. Our ancestors committed such mistakes, and I will
not lead the Order back to those times. We have learned and changed since then.”
“Understood. But I cannot ignore this feeling.”
Tirion stood to his feet. Leather boots tapped along the stone floor as he walked over and placed a
hand on the monk‟s shoulder. “And I don‟t want you to. That feeling is something that will lead us
toward truth. We just need to find more evidence before we can begin a trial.”
Kibal nodded.
Tirion smiled and walked across the room to a cabinet in the corner containing a wide variety of
wine.
“What do you propose we do?” Tavon asked.
“We wait,” Tirion said. He popped the cork of a bottle of wine and filled three glasses. “Keep
asking questions. Eventually, if the story is a fabrication, there will be segments that clash with others,
leading us to the lie. Then we ask deeper questions, ones that must use the information before to be
answered. If we find the story to be false, we begin a trial.”
“And if we see her using magic?” Kibal asked.
“Then she is a known witch and receives the proper justice.” Tirion said as he sat back down and
took a glass of wine.
Tavon took his glass and felt the pain of the consequence. “Death by trial.”
“Though it pains me to do so, it does seem like the correct course of action.”
They sat in silence for some time, sipping on the wine. Kibal declined his drink, instead choosing
to step back to the table and analyze the map.
He seems greatly troubled.
Should he have been more worried than he was? Tavon was the general over the warcamps after
all, not Kibal. Yet the monk seemed far more perplexed with the issues at hand than he was. If war did
break out, they wouldn‟t be forsaken would they? The Almighty wouldn‟t revoke his blessings, would
he?
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No, he couldn‟t. He couldn‟t forsake his own people. Not those who worshipped Him so
diligently. Not those who worked to spread the divine truth. Not those who sought to bring the world to
redemption rather than destruction. Not those who loved Him.
Did they still love Him?
The people needed a leader. Someone they could meet with. Someone who cared about their
souls. Tirion was a worthy man for the position, and he did his best to pursue the best possible options for
his people. But he was too far set apart. It wasn‟t that people didn‟t like him—they loved him—but he
wasn‟t relatable. Tirion was busy meeting with the Elders and discussing larger things. He rarely had time
for the day to day life.
“Have you considered appointing a priest?” Tavon asked after taking another sip of wine. He was
on his second glass now—the one Kibal refused.
“That is something has been constantly in my thoughts as of late,” Tirion replied. “There are a
few people under consideration, but the rules and regulations make it difficult to appoint someone to the
position. It would make them a member of the magistrate, and the Elders would be keeping a close eye on
whoever took the offer. After all, they would be the only priest the Order has.”
“Yes, but they would be merciful, no?”
“They would. But having mercy on mistakes and keeping a blind eye to the Corruption are two
different things. It would be the job of the Elders to ensure that whoever becomes the priest remained
unstained from evil. The priest would not just be accountable to me.”
Tavon smiled. “I highly doubt someone you choose would be delving into matters of evil.”
“Yes, but we cannot be too safe.”
“You have doubts?”
Tirion nodded. “If Sariah is indeed a witch and found a way into Rainor, what would stop
someone else from doing the same? What if she is not the first?”
Tavon paused to consider, As he took a sip of the wine, something thudded against the stone
hallway outside.
Someone is listening, Tavon thought, rising to his feet.
He walked toward the door, placws his glass on the table a few inches from the edge of the map,
and grasped the sword that hung over the doorway. The blade was ornate in nature, a decoration. Its edge
was dull and useless. But the sight of a Lionheart swinging a door open and pointing a blade at you would
still bring enough of a startle to anyone in an act of trouble to admit their guilt.
He would never attack a member of the Order, of course, and there would be little need for a
weapon this deep into the monastery. Were there to be an attack on Rainor, the look outs would spot them
and send notice to the cathedral, the bell would ring, and Templarites would flood to the entrances and
balconies, defending the monastery against the assailants.
The blade sang as it came to life, leaving its sheath of a grave. Tavon could feel Tirion‟s eyes
staring at him as he gripped the hilt and swung open the door, immediately following the motion by
pointing the blade at the would be eavesdropper.
No one was there.
The hallway was empty save for a few candles burning endlessly on the walls. Tavon leaned
forward and peeked around the corner. Along the ground, a few inches from the doorway, an apple, a
piece of bread, and a small empty glass lie scattered.
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Tavon smiled and shook his head, picking up the discarded items. Aaron, you are a sly one. All
you need to do is ask and we will answer your questions. He shut the door and walked back into the
chamber to discuss battle plans with the others.
I hope you find the answers you seek., Aaron Bardeaux.

Whispers of truth destroy chaotic speech.

Chapter 24

Sariah ran—well, stumbled—forward as fast as she could, her foot occasionally sinking into snow.
The forest outside of the monastery was layered with barren trees, leaving plenty of room for the
winter winds to push snowflakes with decent force. The weather had not been severe enough to cause
snow to pile up, but the forest was layered with holes and uneven terrain, making it difficult to traverse.
Placing her hand on a log, Sariah twisted as she leaped over, doing his best to keep the momentum.
Keep going, she thought to herself, glancing up to the moon and stars to gauge direction. She
didn‟t really need to, something inside urged her in the right direction. North and west. How long had she
been running? It felt like a few hours, but she couldn‟t be sure. Her leg throbbed and buckled every few
steps, forcing her to move much slower than desired.
Something inside her screamed to reach the Den. The entrance should be seen any moment. She
needed to see Matram. She had been cooped up in that chamber—that prison—for far too long. Sariah
paused for a moment, leaning against the a log, breathing in the fresh air. It felt good to be free. Free from
the Carnival. Free from the Order. Free from the demon-like creatures in the Shadowlands.
The memory still haunted her. She had seen death before, on many occasions actually. Most of
the time she was the one to cause it. Between the assassinations and the sacrifices, she had shed a lot of
blood in her lifetime. But that moment in the Shadowlands—the children and teens being killed, their
souls being devoured—was something far more brutal than any deed she had committed. Far more brutal
than anything she imagined possible. Did anyone deserve such a fate?
Sariah shook off the thoughts, pulled her fur lined jacket close, and continued forward, eyes
scanning for the edge of the Den. A wolf howled in the distance. Its pack returned the call. Sariah reached
for her blade, but of course it was nowhere to be found. Her weapon was not returned. No, she was
weaponless.
Snow began to lightly fall as she worked her way through a few pines. In the distance, a figure
could be seen. It was staring directly at her. A deer. A stag with great horns stretching high into the air.
Sariah smiled, brushing black bangs from her eyes. She picked up a frost covered stone and threw it at the
deer and forced it to flee.
Glad it was only a deer, she thought, returning to movement. Had it been something more
hostile, well… I‟d be forced to use magic. Without a weapon, I would grow dangerously close to my
Khasta. Should I fall unconscious out here, I‟d freeze to death before morning.
Off to the right, she noticed a black circle underneath a snow laden canopy. A cave entrance. The
Den. She was sure of it. Something inside, her instincts, told her this was the place. A fallen tree and
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some lightly dusted brush blocked her path. The log was massive. She stepped forward, bracing her leg
muscles to leap over. Just before she launched upward, her foot slid downward into a hole. She sunk knee
deep into snow.
Pain shot through her leg. Far worse than when the maiden had cleaned the wound. Sariah
gripped the edge of the log and a root and pulled herself out of the hole into a sitting position, her back
getting wet as it rested against the wooden barrier. Pulling up the leg of her pants, she inspected the
wound on her shin. It wasn‟t too bad, a few small scrapes along the skin from an underground barbed
vine.
Her pants were made of too tight of material to raise the cloth above her thigh where her dagger
wound throbbed. No, instead she was forced to lower her pants. Before she did this, she looked around to
make sure no one was watching, to make sure no bandits or other cruel men were watching. Certain no
one was, she lowered her black pants. Cold winds rushed against her undergarments, chilling her skin.
The stitches on her leg had begun to peel apart, reopening the wound and sending blood down her
leg. She took a deep breath and tried not to scream as she stood to her feet and readjusted her clothing.
With wolves howling so close, Sariah didn‟t want to draw any attention to her location.
Can wolves smell blood? she asked herself as she rolled over the log, wetting her coat in the light
layer of frost that rested on its surface. Will they start chasing me down? No, no. They will sense my
presence. I haven‟t done a sacrifice in so long, will I still have that presence?
Sariah stumbled forward, gripping her coat tight against her body, hair flicking behind her head
as the winter winds blew with ferocity. Snow pelted her face, forcing her to squint. Eventually she was
able to pierce through the threshold and enter the Den. Within a few feet she was able to tell a difference
in temperature. As she continued onward, her body adjusted to the warmer cave system.
She rounded the first twist, removed her wet coat and leaning it against the cave wall, and
continued underneath a few wards found in a Den—wolf bones strung on tendons. She took a deep breath
and continued stumbling deeper into the cave. Sariah flicked her hand, forming a small, purple flame that
floated around her head and acted like a torch.
Despite the pain, she was already beginning to feel peace. The hunger of her instincts were slowly
satisfied. This place felt right to her. The outside world was too bright sometimes. It made her head fuzzy.
The world needed balance. It needed darkness. It needed people living in caves. And she desperately
wished her next assignment would allow her to be one that did so. With a bummed leg, it may be a
possibility.
Sariah weaved through the corridors of the cave, pressing her hand against the smooth earthen
walls for balance. The deeper she went the more animal decorations she encountered, and the stronger the
pull of magic became. Eventually it became so thick that she felt as though she could reach out and touch
it, like it was a foggy shroud or a thick wall of rain. She turned a corner and walked through an entryway
of rocks strung on wolf intestines.
A dozen yards away, a woman stood looking at a table, her skin glowed orange from two candles
burning on each end. She wore a violet robe that stretched to the floor in the back but stopped at the waist
in the front, tucked underneath a belt just above leather pants. She worked vigorously—but precisely—
with different vials on the table.
“Matram,” Sariah said as she entered the room.
“Yes, child?” Matram said. She stood straight after she turned her head and saw who had spoken.
“Sariah, my child. I‟m glad you finally made it.”
“Thank you, Matram. I wanted to come earlier, but I ran into a few complications.”
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Matram walked up to Sariah and placed her hands on her shoulders, inspecting her student.
“What happened to your leg?” she asked as Sariah gritted her teeth and tried to step forward.
“I told you, complications.”
“Come now, child, what happened?”
“I stabbed myself.”
“Oh? Why would you do such a thing?”
“I was in Arel‟drell—”
“What happened with the Carnival?” Matram interrupted.
Sariah sat down in a chair next to the table where Matram stood moments ago. Why was she
interrupting? It is unlike her to do so. “They entered the Shadowlands and I was in danger. I had to
escape with my life, so I ran through a forest. I eventually ended up in Arel‟drell. It was there I
encountered the complications.”
“So you‟ve said,” Matram said, sitting in a chair of her own. A flame flickered nearby, revealing
more gray in her once black hair. “People don‟t stab themselves in their legs for no reason. What
happened, child?” Matram grabbed a vial of dark red liquid from the table and motioned for Sariah to
lower her pants.
Sariah did so. “I used magic.”
Matram nodded and applied some of the liquid against the wound with a wad of cotton. Magic
was not as uncommon as most people would think, and she fully expected her students to use it. Being
taught a skill and it not be used was nothing short of a waste. At least, that was what Matram said.
Sariah flinched. “In a room full of people.”
Matram looked up, eyes wide. “I see…”
“I had to kill them all. I had almost finished and escaped when the Order showed up.”
“The Order, you say?”
“Yes,” Sariah said, flinching as the liquid was applied again.
“Did they see you?” Matram asked, placing the vial back on the table and grabbing a needle and
thread.
“Had they seen me, I would not be here. You know the punishment for using magic the way we
do.”
“Yes, so I do.” Matram said as she stitched Sariah‟s leg shut. “But that still doesn‟t explain this
leg wound.”
Sariah flinched, gripping the legs of her chair as the needle was pushed through her skin time and
time again. “I stabbed myself in the leg so I would appear to be one of the wounded, to make myself look
like I had been attacked.”
“And did it work?”
“Yes. I‟ve spent the past few days in one of their chambers with their medical treatments and
interrogations.” She spat the last few words with disgust. Being interrogated was not something that
bothered her, in fact she had been through the ordeal multiple times. Being bedridden due to a leg injury,
however, was something on the opposite end of the scale. Lacking the ability to walk was driving her
insane. Had it not been for Aaron‟s visit, she may have snapped.
Matram looked up at her, smiling. She had cracks along her cheeks and eyes. She snipped the
thread, stood back to her feet, and fetched a piece of parchment, dabbing a pen in some ink.
“What are you doing?” Sariah asked.
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“Sending a letter to The Master. Letting him know you have infiltrated the Order, that we can
proceed as planned.”
“You knew…”
“Of course I knew, child. Did you really think I intended for you to join the Carnival?”
Sariah looked down at the Mark on her hand. It was fading. It was not a tattoo but simply an
engraving of charcoal on her hand. Part of her disguise. She applied it every morning to keep up
appearances.
“No,” she lied. “But what about Jarith?”
“Jarith was dead the moment he left and joined that group of people. He was dead the moment he
left the Family. You wouldn‟t think I‟d let him live knowing our secrets, did you?”
Of course, Sariah thought, feeling stupid. That would be too dangerous. He would need to die,
which is why I was sent to assassinate him. “Then why? If you knew he was as good as dead, why send
me after him?”
“The Order is growing more annoying as of late. Interfering with plans and such. They are
attempting to push back our touch on these lands.” Matram handed the letter to an assistant who was
about the same age as Sariah. She wore a dark colored robe with the cowl over her face. The letter would
be attached to the leg of a raven in the next room over and send to deliver the message to The Master.
“You were to be with the Carnival,” Matram continued, “and await an opportunity to infiltrate the
ranks of the Order. Which, as you can see, you have done.”
“But how? How could you have known this would work?”
“I didn‟t.” Matram said, turning to look at Sariah. She was wearing a smile, clearly pleased things
had worked out well.
Sariah opened her mouth to say something, to fight back, but found no words. She risked my life
in an attempt for a possibility? I was with the Carnival for months, all for some scheme that was never
going to be explained to me?
“Child,” Matram said, “you are very resilient. A very skilled fighter. I never feared for your
livelihood. The Carnival travels to the Shadowlands frequently. Eventually, you would have traveled
through an area the Order guards. A time would come when you would be given the opportunity to find
yourself among them. I was never concerned about how you would infiltrate, the only question was
when.”
But you didn‟t know how. Neither did I. It just happened to work out. What other secrets do you
have planned for my future? The demons in the Shadowlands, what about those?
“Would it not have been easier to tell me of the plan?” asked Sariah. “To tell me my part in
finding the Order?”
“I could have.” Matram said, cocking her head. “But would you have gone?”
Sariah hesitated. She would have resisted such a notion. Laughed at the ridiculousness of such an
idea. Why would a person willingly using outlawed magic go spy on the people who enforced the ban?
“You said continue as planned, what did you mean? What‟s the next part of the plan?”
“Ah, that is very important. You are to use your skills in espionage to gather information
regarding the Order‟s weaknesses. Follow their requests, even train with them if they ask. Gain their
trust.”
“You expect me to go back?” Sariah asked. Her words of disbelief echoed through the cavern.
“Lower your voice, child.”
“Sorry, Matram.”
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Matram nodded. She took to measuring and mixing liquids again.


“Won‟t that be rather difficult to accomplish alone?” Sariah asked.
“Yes, I suppose it would. Would you rather I sent someone with you? I‟m sure you could explain
to those Templarites why you snuck away and came back with more people, of whom they‟ve never seen
and were not in Arel‟drell when they found you. Explain to them how you knew where to go, where to
meet them, and why.”
Valid point. “I suppose I‟ll go alone,” Sariah said quietly to herself.
Just like all my espionage missions in the past.
“There are greater powers at play than you know. One of those powers is placed inside of you and
is at combat with the Order of the Radiant Light, and all other sects of their religion. Without you doing
what is requested, the Family will find themselves greatly troubled and on its way to extinction.”
Sariah nodded.
“You will need to find someone whom you can confide in, whom you can train in our ways. It is
important our abilities are spread within the Order. We must weaken their defenses.”
“There may be one.”
“Good, child,” Matram said, smiling. “You must ensure this person strays from the path of the
Order.” Her eyes met Sariah‟s, they brought with them the weight of a teacher. The weight of someone
who was an artisan in magic. Her presence was much thicker than Sariah‟s, much more tangible. Much
more powerful.
Sariah had only seen Matram angry one time. And what a terrifying sight that was. Many people
had died by her will. She hadn‟t used a weapon. No, she used Fletchings Sariah could only dream of
learning someday. Spells way beyond her capability. Spells that would cause too great a Backlash for her
Khasta to contain.
I can‟t bare the weight of the Family crumbling due to my insubordinance, Sariah thought. I can
do this. I can infiltrate the Order. She took a deep breath and rose to her feet. The cave system was vast
and the light slowly faded behind her as she left the main room and entered one in the back. Matram
followed behind.
“When I was in the Shadowlands,” Sariah said as she pushed through a barrier made of animal
tendons, walking upon deer and bear skin rugs. “I saw some creatures. They looked to be consuming
souls.”
“Ah, yes. Shadows.” Matram said like it was a-matter-of-fact, following behind Sariah slowly.
She pressed the tip of her staff against the ground to carry most of her weight. Each time it tapped against
the cave floor it sent a subtle echo.
“You know of them?”
“Of cour—” Matram hesitated. “I‟ve heard stories, child. Rumors and legends of ancient
creatures have traveled much of the Eastern Lands. Come now, let‟s setup a sacrifice, shall we?”
Sariah didn‟t look back as she continued toward the back chamber. She couldn‟t let Matram know
of her suspicion.
What was she hiding?
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Seek good character before a high position.

Chapter 25

Aaron Bardeaux held a cup of hot tea in his hands as he walked through the snow, a thick fur lined jacket
buttoned tightly around his chest. He had woken early today and the fatigue still lingered. Sleep did not
come easy last night. Too much swirled around his mind. So many questions.
Was Sariah a witch? Could she have been the one to use magic? He knew she was a quality level
thief and killing never bothered her, but could she have the ability to slaughter an entire village worth of
people? And what of the warcamps? What would happen if they continued forward the way they did?
Would the Order fall? Would Aaron need to do anything to contribute to it? Did he even retain the desire?
Sariah had slipped a letter into Aaron‟s room this morning requesting they meet tonight. So
perhaps he would have some answers soon.
Holding his black leather hat tight against the wind, Aaron entered the large double doors to the
Cathedral, coming from the East. The doors had been carved of great wood and were decorated to
resemble Solaars welcoming the faithful into the Heavens. They were heavy and so large a single person
could only open one at a time. The door closed leisurely behind as Aaron entered into the antechamber.
Golden lampstands hung on either wall of the entryway into the main chamber of the church. A
bowl hung from the doorframe about shoulder‟s height.. It carried water supposedly blessed from the
Almighty Himself—holy water. The monks would dip their fingers in it and make motions with their
hands as they entered the large auditorium-like room. Some sort of cleansing ritual they said.
Superstitions. If indeed the water was holy and held the capability of cleansing one's body or soul, why
wouldn‟t a person bathe in such substance? The fact that no one did proved their minds were filled with
far greater ideas than their actions showed they believed.
Statues depicting various saints lined the outter walls. Upon the stage stood the greatest of
architectural achievements within the entire cathedral. A massive, gold arc stretched across the entirety of
the standing platform. Above it the wall depicted an image of celestial beings flying around the cosmos in
a great battle. Some of the grooves were engraved with metal. A podium stood below the arc, alone,
unused.
Aaron took a sip of his tea as he walked into the room. It was still hot, steam still rising. No one
else entered the Cathedral with drinks of any sorts. But since Aaron wasn‟t a Squire, he didn‟t quite care.
The quietness of this building was alluring for peaceful activities like reading or contemplating life
events. Perfect for today. Humming could be heard in the distance, the kind capable of causing anyone to
become awestruck in the moment. There were no words, just a solid tone moving through pitches. But it
brought a person to another place entirely, even if for a few brief, passing moments.
Over the past few weeks Aaron had learned the perfect timing of things. Every morning the
Squires, Templarites, and monks would all rise early for the morning prayers. Most people went outside,
but as it grew colder this became less common. The more people stayed inside, the more the pews filled.
On a day like today, where snow was falling thick against the already frosted ground, a great crowd had
already gathered. They prayed quietly to themselves, staring at the stage like they were waiting for some
great speaker begin a lecture.
Aaron Bardeaux walked forward, straight down the aisle between the rows of pews. Order
members never opened their eyes, never shifted their glances toward him. It was strange. He was walking
through room full of people but it felt empty, like a hollow, beautiful shell.
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Vibrant rays of purple, yellow, blue, and some red poured from the cascading, stained-glass
windows in the ceiling to the stone floor. Walking across them almost felt sacrilegious. Of course, for this
to make sense, you would have to have some sort of reverence for things.
Up ahead, a figure knelt before the stage. He wore casual attire with a silver tabard bearing gold
trim, Tirion. So many people crowded the pews, yet only one was before the stage itself. And his
shoulders were shaking, heaving up and down. Getting closer, Aaron could hear soft, subtle sobbing.
Why was Tirion crying?
No one else appeared to be crying. No, they all seemed to be staring into nothing or on the verge
of drifting to sleep. But Tirion, the leader of the Order of the Radiant Light, kneeled before the stage and
wept.
To the right, a large door opened and in walked three Lionhearts. The southern entrance from
which they came would lead to the monastery itself. Aaron preferred entering from outside. Something
about it felt more mystical, like he was entering an ancient structure filled with wondrous treasures.
The Lionhearts walked forward with purpose, steel sabatons clanking against the stone floor. The
three men kept hands on the hilts on their longswords as they continued forward, staring at Tirion,
concern in their eyes.
They stopped a few feet away, turned, and sat down in the front row of pews. After removing
their weapons and placing them on the ground, they lowered their heads and mumbled to themselves,
hands clasped together.
Strange, Aaron thought as he took another sip of tea. Warmth entered his stomach. Why walk in
with such purpose? Such, determination?
Glancing, he noticed Tavon was sitting in the same position, though no weapon lay at his feet.
More Lionhearts sat behind him on the front row in the same posture. So precise. Did it come with the
rank? Heavens, was it required by the rank?
Aaron shrugged and continued forward, turned left at the front row, and headed toward a staircase
inlaid within the wall. It led to one of the four turrets extending above the Cathedral where archers or
crossbowmen would fire at opponents should Rainor ever be attacked. During times of peace, such as
now, monks would visit the place to pray at various times throughout the day. Early in the morning the
timeframe was predictable, and Aaron had plotted to climb the steps for when no monks would be
occupying the space.
Up he went. One by one the steps passed behind his leather boots. Every ten steps or so a candle
burned on the wall, revealing the ever continuous flight of stairs. It took some time to reach the top of the
thirty foot climb, but eventually he stepped onto a flat surface.
Standing underneath a peaked roof, he looked out over the countryside through large, rectangular
gaps between the columns holding the roof in place. This left ample room for arrows and bolts to be fired
should a defender ever find the need, but for now the openings were used by the frigid, winter winds.
Aaron removed his hat and placed it upon the floor near the stairs, took a sip from his warm tea,
and walked toward the edge of the turret, stopping a few feet from the edge with a hand over his eyes to
block the sun‟s glare. Snow fell to the ground in thick flakes, making visibility more difficult than
normal. People still walked along the snow laiden rolling hills toward the Cathedral for morning prayers.
If everyone in sight entered the chamber, people would need to sit on the floor. For a building that wasn‟t
used for its intended purpose, it sure did fill up in anticipation of a preacher.
Sariah‟s question yesterday pierced deep into his heart. He felt it. It wouldn‟t leave. Was he
happy here? Did he enjoy living here?
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If he dug down deep enough, he found the truth to be that he did, in fact, enjoy living within the
monastery surrounded by people trying to perfect their faith. And from the way the Rhetoria and other
various books described the religion, the faith should be one of honor, virtue, and love. It should be able
to change the world through peaceful means. This put the religion in an interesting paradox of spreading
peace and arms training.
But, he did enjoy it. He never lacked food, bedding, shelter, or enough clothing to stay warm. He
never had to worry about being attacked or having everything stolen from him. And there didn‟t seem to
be any reports regarding beast attacks. Heavens, if all the lookouts had similar vantage points to this one,
Reeves or his goons would never be able to sneak into Rainor.
Could I stay here forever? Aaron thought as he watched the snow trickle to the ground. Could he
stay here forever? That question was difficult. He did find himself enjoying studying books and
comparing scripts to the Rhetoria. But something deep inside still screamed that this place, these people,
the entire Order was corrupt. He knew it. He just hadn‟t found the evidence yet.
If magic were real and worked the way Leonias and Gavin had explained, then the whole world
needed the Order. They all needed to feel the touch of healing, restoration. Needed the light of the
Almighty to rush into them and bring them back to their original, intended state.
But that hinged on the element of the existence of the Almighty. If Aaron could prove that He—
the being in which the Order‟s faith rested upon—was in fact unreal, then the entire organization would
come crumbling down.
Aaron turned, looking down the stairwell. They seem so certain. They pray every morning to their
god. Do they hear anything back? Or is it all in vain?
It was then, in the quiet turret above a cathedral of great beauty, that Aaron decided to do
something he had never done. He closed his eyes, his eyelids glowed red from the sun‟s touch as he faced
the fields again. “Almighty,” he whispered, “reveal yourself to me. Speak to me. Tell me, are you real?”
The room was silent. No monks hummed below. The Order member‟s prayers were too quiet to
be heard from this distance. No music echoed. The only noise was the occasional, quiet howl from a gust
of wind that brushed snowflakes into the stone tower. Aaron stood quietly for a while, but no voice ever
came.
Aaron opened his eyes, staring into the distance. “Of course not,” he said as something began to
swell inside him. Annoyance. Hatred. Fury. It was then that he noticed he was gripping his hands so tight
they turned white. “All these people, good people, have be conned into believing you are real. Well I‟m
going to find the truth. I will find the corruption and I will prove you do not exist. I‟m taking you down,
Almighty.” He spat the last word and hurried down the stairwell.

***

Aaron Bardeaux walked down a hallway that lead to a number of bedrooms within the sleeping
quarters. He was on the second floor of the monastery. He carried his back slung over one shoulder, void
of contents. This was the first time since arriving in Rainor he had completely emptied his backpack. It
was strange to not carry food, a gentle reminder of how hungry he had once been only a few years ago.
He stepped forward, pushed a door open, and slowly entered the room. Leonias would not be
returning to his room anytime soon. The Templarites, Squires, and Lionhearts would still be praying for a
while yet. Aaron shut the door behind and walked toward the foot of the bed where a coffer lay. Each step
he took was precise, the impact of the floor was softly absorbed by the heel of his boot, then his weight
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was effortlessly pressed forward to the sole. Walking in such a way removed almost all the sound of
movement, and Aaron moved with the speed gained only through years of practice.
The coffer was unlocked. A knife in a sheath bearing the markings of trees and bows, a sweater, a
gold chain, a copy of the Rhetoria, a pair of boots, and a personal journal rested inside. Typical items.
Nothing incriminating.
Aaron shook his head, then did his quiet stroll over to the dresser—the top of which was used as a
study table. Nothing but clothes filled the drawers. A few books were open on the study portion, Into the
Night, Sword Techniques, and Tempering Blades. Common books found in numerous copies within the
library.
The underneath of the bed was empty and swept clean of dust. No other places of interest
remained in the room, so Aaron left and headed into the next one. Again, nothing found could be used for
incrimination. Aaron looked in another, and another, and another, until most of the morning had been
spent.
He would only have time to search one more room. He opened Kaylie‟s door and snuck inside.
Her room was by far the neatest and most immaculate of the rooms he had infiltrated. The white
comforter covering her bed was wrinkle free, and the clothing hanging over the arms of chairs were in the
same condition. An empty glass rested next to an open book on her desk. And everything had been dusted
and remained stain free.
It was strange investigating a female‟s room. It felt as though one wrong step would leave an
impression on the room. Aaron shook off the feeling, talked to the food of the bed, and opened the coffer.
It contained much of the same items as the others: a copy of the Rhetoria, a small necklace attached with
an angel pendant —likely a family memento—two small daggers, and a journal. Aaron had to resist
reading the journal.
They had spent a few days together and he desperately wanted to see what she thought, but there
was little time for that. Her feelings for him would need to be revealed at a later time, perhaps by Kaylie
herself. Or maybe on another day when everyone gathered to pray, Aaron would sneak in and read.
Underneath the bed was a large, elongated, black case. Aaron pulled out the container. It was of
great value, highly ornate—depicting a scene of Solaars fighting a horde of demons with bows—and
would sell for a few thousand coin probably. He undid two gold latches and lifted the lid, revealing a
white shortbow inside. The weapon was made of a solid piece of white metal, one resembling the material
of a Sol Stone. Could this be a Sol Stone turned into a weapon? What kind of damage would that cause?
Nothing else could be found inside the case. No other weapons were inside the room. No quiver.
No arrows. Either she stored them elsewhere or she would take them from the armory.
Strange to store a ranged weapon without ammunition, Aaron thought as he slid the case beneath
the bed. He walked over to the dresser and continued searching for something incriminating. Nothing was
hidden beneath the garments. He sighed and looked at the tabletop of the piece of furniture. On it, only a
single book: The Battle for Tumeric: A Dissertation Regarding the Destruction of Kaiden and the Freeing
of the People.
It was the fourteenth Dawn when I awoke, surrounded by the Shadows. They covered the
city like a plague. Up until this point the citizens refused any aid, and the resistance was unrelenting.
Not while those demons possessed their souls.
The first battle, the one on the thirteenth Dawn, was brutal. Many soldiers lost their lives
and Tumeric lost many great men. Men that were merely following orders. Men that, by performing
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the duties of their stations well, had given their souls to the forces of evil. It brought my heart to
despair as I watched them fight to the death with emptiness, sadness, and regret in their eyes.
Templarites fell, even Lionhearts, as we fought deeper to the core of the evil that clinged to
the region: Kaiden, Lord of Tumeric. He had been tainted by the Corruption. For months we tried to
reason with him, even offered to rid him of such affliction, but he resisted any communication or
redemption. At last, we have been forced to play the hand such as this, destroying the kingdom he
spent years to build.
The initial siege took place during the negotiation attempts. We wanted peace, not war. Let
history record out attempts for the preservation of life. Kaiden forced the war. Our siege took place
in multiple stages.
Stage One: surround the city and cut off the supply chains. Without reinforcements of food,
the city would begin to struggle for life. The citizens would want relief, and they did. But it did not
come. Their king would not allow such cowardice.
Stage two: we sent in spies. We scouted the area, found where the advisors and the Lord
lived during the stressful times. We planted one of our own to form a meeting to discuss the future, a
meeting to gather the Lord and his council into one room. A meeting to gather the harshest of
Shadows together.
Stage three: begin the assault. With Lord Kaiden, the councilmen, and the high ranking
defenders in one location, the rest of the city would be mostly unprotected. Those who would remain
to defend the streets would be weakened from famine and thirst. At least, this was the theory. It did
not work out such a way.
As the sun began to rise on the Thirteenth of Dawn, our Templarites stormed the gates. It
was only a few moments before our rams burst through the entryway and the streets ran red with our
tabards. We did our best not to kill the innocents, should they actually exist in such a place, but our
attempts were futile. Even among the young peasants, the Shadows were strong, far stronger than
they should have been. Those creatures were hard to hit, and most could not be defeated unless the
host was destroyed, not that much of the person remained.
Though despair filled our souls and our minds took in images which would later haunt our
dreams, we continued forward with blood spilling from our blades and onto the streets. Eventually,
we made our way up what remained of the steps leading toward the keep. It was there we
encountered the fiercest of enemies: Kaiden and his Shadow.
When we burst through the doors the room immediately ignited into a violent blaze as the
Lord conjured a violent spell. A few of our Templarites countered the spell by creating barriers of
protection. With such a spell surrounding us, we stormed into the firestorm. Rushing forward I
parried multiple attacks with my sword, a few blows with my shield, and more spells collided against
the magical barrier.
The guards began to fall. As did the advisors. They were still of good health. The nobles
must have had a hidden cache of supplies. Kaiden fought on for some time, thanks to the power of
his Shadow, he was able to negate much of the effects of magic. He soon found himself with a
Lionheart‟s blade in his neck. WIth the host dead, the great Shadow stepped through the room,
assaulting on its own. But it, too, soon fell to its death.
The battle had ended. With Kaiden dead, and with our assistance, evil‟s grip on the city
would soon begin to fade. Far too many had died for our cause. Far too many Tumericians and
members of the Order of the Radiant Light.
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For a greater description of the events leading up to the attack on Tumeric, see Section Two.
For a more in depth account of the events that took place during the siege, see Section
Three.
For an account regarding the taking of the streets, see Section Four.
For a walkthrough of the final battle against the late King Kaiden, see Section Five.
For a theological description of the gradual change Shadows have on humans, specifically
people in positions of power, see Section Six.

I was tasked to provide a list of those fallen in battle. For the remainder of Section One I
will be providing said list. Please take a moment after reading to pray that the Almighty may find
mercy on them and their souls may rest in peace until the day they live again.

Of those found to be Templarites:


Trevor Bartilia
Keli Mixil
Frederick Raskin
Lilly Raskin
Ulsef Van Bulcheck
Balth Yugar
Andrew the Just
Isaac Mushel
Lucas Smith

Of those found to be Lionhearts:


Kibalx Kemption
Rexis Bon Drell

Of those found dead at the Battle of the King:


Lord Kaiden
Advisor Profel Reff
Advisor Michael Trell
Advisor Paul Drandar
Advisor William Bardeaux
Advisor Trek Garr
Advisor Joshua Kelcht

Aaron paused and stared at the page. He reread the name quietly out loud. “William Bardeaux.”
He couldn‟t believe it. William Bardeaux died at the Battle of the King. Not only did the Order of the
Radiant Light pray to a non-existent god, they had killed his father.
I‟ve been so foolish, Aaron thought, stepped away from the book, shaking his head. I‟ve become
too close to them. Let my emotions guide my decisions rather than logic. I should have known better.
No bother. He had finally found something tangible. Not only had he proven the Almighty was
nothing but a fantasy, He had discovered something solid to prove the Order was corrupt. He finally
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discovered who killed his father—an innocent man trying to protect a kingdom. If Aaron could find a way
to solidify the claim, it could bring disgust against Orthianism from every kingdom in the Eastern Lands,
if not the world. It would finally mean revenge for his father.
Voices echoed in the hallway. Sure everyone was placed exactly as it was when he entered the
room, Aaron rushed underneath the bed just before the door creaked open. A woman entered, chatting
with another. Her voice was familiar. Kaylie. Of course, it was her room after all.
What am I going to do if she finds me? How would I justify hiding under her bed?
Kaylie walked over to the closed, pulled out a thick, winter jacket, and paused before a mirror.
Looking down at her shirt, she mumbled something under her breath. Then she pulled the garment off,
revealing a bare back covered only with an undergarment.
Aaron looked away, hiding his face in his arm. But he glanced up. She was so beautiful. He
couldn‟t see any of her “personal” parts in the mirror, those were blocked by her flawless body or what
little clothing remained.
Kaylie pulled a new shirt on, took a moment to make sure it wasn‟t wrinkled and her hair was
nice, then grabbed her coat and walked out of the room, continuing the conversation with the other
woman.
After a few minutes had passed and Aaron was certain Kayle was not returning, he crawled out
from under the bed and stood to his feet. Everything was exactly how he had left it. He desperately
wanted to take the book, but that would be too obvious when Kaylie returned to read it. Maybe he could
write it off as a monk needing it for research. Was it the only copy? Probably not, right? Aaron cracked
the door and peeked into the hall. It was empty. He slid out of the room and began walking back to his
own. He couldn‟t believe it.
William Bardeaux died at the Battle of the King at the hands of the Order. Their hands dripped of
his father‟s blood.

Ponder the aspects of eternity.

Chapter 26

Darkness loomed over the lands. It was a beautiful, eye pleasing darkness. The kind that blocked the sun
from breaking through and bringing its rays of warmth, Its rays of light. Its rays of hope. Most people
found such a thing disgusting or disturbing. And for good reason, not many pleasing things happen in the
darkness.
The Master‟s tower stretched high into the air, ominously overlooking the lands—his lands. He
stepped forward and gripped the railing of a balcony located only a few feet from the peak of the massive
structure, smiling as the took in the view.
Hollows stumbled about like drunken fools. Somehow they were able to be corralled by elite
soldiers that worked under the Master‟s command. Hundreds of Hollows were packed into battalions, and
dozens of the large square formations stretched as far as the eye could see. It was hard not to smile at such
a sight. An army was gathering. An army that would soon find itself storming the lands of men.
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Shadows wisped through the air, occasionally checking on the Hollows and meeting with
Acolytes to make sure everything was in order. Once certain, they would return to floating and check on
another section.
The air changed behind the Master as he watched the spectacle. He didn‟t turn around to see what
was happening. He already knew. Tendrils of smoke would spiral behind before forming into a human-
like figure—a Shade.
“What is the update?” The Master asked as the Shade stopped next to him on the balcony.
“Nothing in the Northern Forest.”
The Master slammed a closed fist against the railing. “Did you search everywhere?”
“No.”
“Keep looking.”
The Shade nodded. Tendrils drifted its shoulders and smoke poured from its eye sockets, leaking
into the air before dissipating. A black bone-like hand gripped the edge of the balcony. “Do you think it
will be enough?”
“Hardly.”
“Then why attack? Why now?”
The Master paused for a moment, then hung his head low. “I grow restless if you must know. I‟ve
been searching for so long.”
“You have been searching for a few decades, what‟s a few more years?”
“You don‟t know what it‟s like. All these years, trying to find a single item lost over the course of
centuries, placed somewhere in the world. It‟s ever frustrating.”
“You are right. I do not know what that‟s like.”
“Being immortal is something grand indeed, but sometimes I wish I had the ability to sleep, to
numb such a feeling until the day comes when this searching comes to an end. Perhaps you have a point.
What is another few years.” The Master turned toward the Shade. It looked back at him through those
ever smoky, emotionless eyes. “Continue to search the forest until every inch, every leaf, is accounted for.
As always, if anyone should live there, haunt them, search them for information. And if they have none,
consume their souls.”
The Shade nodded and, in a moment, faded into a wisp of smoke and took flight. Tendrils of its
essence trailed behind as the creature disappeared into the nothingness.

Let not evil speech flow from the lips.

Chapter 27

Sariah sat on a bench near the eastern entrance to the monastery, waiting for Aaron to arrive.
Earlier this morning, after her interrogations were deemed inconclusive, Sariah had slipt a note
into Aaron‟s room. In it she requested he escort her to the Order‟s bath-house. She didn‟t know where it
was, but she had heard rumors of the place. And everyone seemed clean most of the time, so she knew a
bath-house must exist somewhere.
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Even with winter leggings, the bench was cool to the touch and the hallway was dark. The only
light came from stars shining in the distance through the window in which she peered. Over the years of
training her eyes had grown accustomed to looking into the night. At one time it was difficult to make out
anything in the darkness, especially deep dark nights. But now, under the low moonlight, Sariah could see
trees, even distinguish particular types such as: pines, spruces, and other evergreens.
During her younger years, under the guidance of her assassin trainer, Sariah spent many nights
staring out windows into the darkness. Those days it was common to see coyotes, deer, or even rabbits
roaming through the forest. But it was far too late into winter for any of that now. She would be lucky to
see a snow owl or even a winter hare.
Nevertheless, she continued staring into the distance. She enjoyed the nightlife. It brought back
pleasant memories.
Memories of killing specific targets: peasants, nobles, rich, poor, weak, powerful, whatever the
mission called for. A simple lifestyle. Back then, her handler would hand her a piece of parchment
containing a name and a brief description of the person‟s physical features and occupation. Below would
be the timeframe she had to complete the kill. It was up to her to use her investigation, stealth, and
assassination skills to complete the task.
Sariah smiled. Those were good times. Times she missed. Times before the witchcraft.
Life became far more complicated once she met Matram. True she did find Sariah brutally
wounded after a failed assassination attempt, the only failed assassination attempt. And she did take it
upon herself to nurse Sariah back to health.
But life would be far simpler had Sariah never met the mother witch. Some days she wished she
didn‟t, and that she were back in Tumeric. She wished she could tell her younger self the people to avoid
and how to life a different lifestyle. A way to discover a different destiny, if such a thing were even
possible.
Footsteps tapped in the dark hallway. “Sariah?” the person whispered. His voice was still strange
to her. It had changed so much over the years.
“I‟m glad you could make it,” Sariah said, still looking out the window.
“Why so ominous?”
Sariah turned to Aaron and smiled.
Aaron walked toward the door. He wore a winter coat with thick pants tucked into leather boots.
The hood on the coat was raised above his head, fur touched the edges of his face. A black cloak was
wrapped around the winter wear. “Are you coming?” he asked as he propped open the door.
Sariah paused for a moment, taken back at the confidence the man produced. Smiling, she
grabbed her cloak and threw it over her shoulder as she ran outside. Immediately she was struck by the
cold, winter winds that blew a dusting of snow into the air. With the collar of her cloak pulled tight
against her neck, she followed Aaron a few feet through the shin deep snow before rounding the far
corner of the monastery.
A horse waited there, hitched to a wooden cart which was already gathering a thin layer of frost.
Sariah froze at the sight of the creature. I can‟t, she thought.
“What‟s wrong?” Aaron asked, looking down at her. His eyes carried a weight of concern
beneath the hood covering the upper portion of his face. He genuinely cared.
“Nothing.”
“It can‟t be nothing. I‟ve never seen you stop like that. What‟s wrong?”
“I said nothing.” She took a step forward, very slowly, like she was sneaking up on a deer.
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Aaron chuckled, walked up to the horse, and gently rubbed the bridge of its nose. “Come on.
Even with a horse, the hotsprings are an hour away, at least.”
I can do this.
Sariah took a deep breath and forced herself forward, but after a few steps she was forced to stop.
She could see the change in the horse‟s attitude. The ears flipped backward and the hair stood a little
straighter. It could feel her presence. Sariah shook her head and continued forward, but again, after a few
steps, was forced to stop.
As she froze for the third time, the horse jerked upward and breighed, forcing Aaron to calm it
lest it breigh louder and wake some of the sleepers.
I have to do this, Sariah thought. I can‟t let him know I‟m a witch. It would be too conspicuous if I
don‟t get on the wagon, but if I get any closer the horse will be even more spooked—possibly frightened
to the point of running.
“There, there,” Aaron whispered. The horse seemed to calm itself, but it continued to stare at
Sariah with wary eyes. Aaron turned to sariah. “He‟s just a little spooked at the night, is all. I gave him
new shoes early, so maybe he is still getting used to them.” Aaron smiled.
“Yes, of course,” Sariah said.
“Are you sure you are alright?”
“Yes, yes. I‟m fine. Do you think it may be better to walk to the springs?”
“No. It would take far too long. Besides, after we are clean, it would be a waste for us to get dirty
by trudging through snow and covering ourselves in sweat.”
Yes, of course. That makes sense. He‟s grown clever.
Aaron took the horse by the bridle and walked toward Sariah. The horse began to sway wide to
the left. Despite Aaron‟s attempt at prodding the beast along the correct path, it made a large arc around
Sariah.
“Some horses take time to adjust to new people,” he said, looking at the animal with a rather
quizzical look.
“Yes, of course.” Sariah said. She stepped up onto the cart designed to carry two, maybe three,
passengers. There was no extra storage space. This was merely a transportation vessel, much like the kind
young lovers would rent in Tumeric to spend a romantic evening together.
A moment of silence passed after the cart finished adjusting to the new weight. Then Aaron
stepped on board and it rocked, slightly digging a wheel into the snow as old springs creaked. He clicked
his tongue and the horse started forward, hooves digging into the snow.
The cart bounced to the bottom a large, snow covered hill and started up the next, heading north
and east. Snow continued to fall in large flakes and the trees they passed carried a thick canopy of snow.
Occasionally, when the wind blew extra hard, the gatherings on the trees would fall to the ground with a
hard thump.
Sariah looked up at the moonlit sky, enjoying the freedom of being outside. Since her hearing and
the declaration of her innocence, she was given the privilege of leaving her room and going anywhere
within Rainor. In fact, she was allowed an indefinite stay within the chamber she had used for recovery.
The maiden even continued to check on her throughout the day.
It was strange returning to a room to find clean sheets, a full decanter of water, reading materials,
and clothing all given to her without needing to ask. Thought, it somehow made sense if she was still
semi-bedridden due to her leg.
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Sariah placed her hand on her thigh where a bandage was wrapped around the breadth of her
thigh. She grimaced as she remember the initial pain and the cleaning process. That still, even days after
the initial cut, was a recurring process.
“How‟s the leg?” Aaron asked, breaking the log silence.
“It‟s fine,” Sariah responded, her voice short. She continued looking off to the right, staring into
the distance. The snowflakes had begun falling harder and much thicker. So much so that the now not-so-
distant pines were beginning to be clouded from view. No lanterns hung from the cart, but enough of the
moon still pierced the snow clouds to provide sufficient lighting.
Sariah sat uncomfortable for a few seconds. Someone was staring at her, she could feel it. It felt
like spiders slowly crawling up her body. Turning, she saw Aaron look at her with a cocked eyebrow.
“What?” she asked.
He reached forward to poke her leg, but she started when he was a few inches away.
“Okay, fine,” Sariah said, readjusting herself on the seat. “It hurts. But the maiden‟s say its
healing well.”
“Maybe a bath will help.”
“Perhaps,” she said, placing her hands on her lap. They rested upon the wound. A safeguard
against potential poking.
“Is that…” Aaron began, but he stopped and pointed at her hand. At the Mark, the tattoo of the
Carnival. The one she had freshly rubbed to her hand this morning in order keep the guise she wore the
day the Templarites found her in Arel‟drell. “Were you…”
“Yes,” Sariah interrupted.
“When… How…”
Sariah smiled as she watched Aaron try to process the fact that she had, supposedly, joined the
Carnival. Behind him, not far from the road, the faint image of the blacksmith‟s shop passed in and out of
view. Even further, past the thick veil of snowfall, a waterfall crashed into a river.
“Tell me how it happened,” Aaron said excitingly. “Where all did you travel?”
“I was to the north in Hulvia, a small town near Yrall, when the Carnival arrived. After the show,
I approached and decided to join. After a few more shows, I began to learn more about their ways and
lifestyle. It‟s… strange to say the least. But you know me, I‟ve always been on the move. Even in
Tumeric I barely stayed in one place for long, so the nomadic lifestyle came quick and easily.
“It was not long before I found myself recruited and given this Mark. I, along with many others,
were given various duties. That was months ago. I‟d say all in all I‟ve been traveling with the Carnival for
half a year now, if not more.” Sariah stopped. It felt strange lying to Aaron. In all her years of actions
deemed as less than honorable, she had never lied to a friend as close as he was. But then again, she never
told him when she was leaving. Not that it was a choice of her own.
“That‟s fascinating,” Aaron said. “Where all did you travel?”
“Many places. Yrall, as I previously mentioned. Deep to the south, past the Great Plains, near the
Wastelands.” Aaron‟s eyes widened as Sariah mentioned the Wastelands. Such a place was rather
notorious in a way which no place should desire to be. It was famous for people getting lost and dying
when sand dunes blew to new locations, burying people alive. Some legends record the dead do not
necessarily rest there but instead roamed the place in search of food.
“From there,” Sariah continued, “we traveled to the east where I saw the flowing falls of Perin
Tan. That city was marvelous and the falls breathtaking, for lack of a better word. From there we headed
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north then west until we eventually ended near Arel‟Drell. And of course, we stopped along many small
towns and villages along the way performing our acts.”
“That is so exciting!” Aaron said. “Such a great span of land to cover in only six months.”
“Yes, it is. We spent a lot of time sleeping inside covered wagons as we travelled. Only rarely
would we actually stop at a location to rest. It was important we were always on the move.”
“Did you see anyone you knew? Morris? Trevor? Lucas? Brandon? They all left when we were
young, remember? We were what, thirteen?”
Sariah was immediately taken back to the Shadowlands where she witnessed people—mostly kids
and young teenagers—having their souls ripped out and devoured. The screams still haunted her at night.
“No,” she shook her head and looked off to the right. “I doubt you will ever see them again.”
“No? What do you mean?”
“The Carnival has many caravans that wander through this world, and the world is a large place. I
doubt you will ever bump into them.”
“Ah,” Aaron said, his voice was soft and carried a hint of sadness. “I don‟t suppose I would.” He
paused for a moment before speaking again. “Aren‟t you concerned for your troupe? Has anyone tried to
contact you?”
“No,” She said. “But they will. I‟m sure they are just busy. Once I‟ve recovered, I‟ll find them
eventually. There are locations frequently visited, a Nesting Flat they are called. We are instructed to stop
anytime we pass such a place, unless we are in a hurry, which is rare. So, I‟ll be able to find them easy
enough.”
“Of course,” Aaron said, nodding as he steered the horse along the bumpy, snowy path. “You said
you were north near Yrall, did you ever visit the mountains?”
“Once or twice. The leader‟s said the safest route was traveling briefly through the Northern
Peaks. I hardly agreed, but we went through the mountain passes anyway.”
“What was it like?”
Sariah snorted in derision. “Hardly safe. On more than once occasion I saw bear tracks, larger
than any I‟ve ever seen. With nothing but a canopy to protect us from the elements, the sun beat down in
a brutal way. Other times the snowfall was twice as thick as it is here. Somehow we were never attacked
by anything, but even the vegetation was menacing.”
“Did you see any settlements?”
“A sign for one or two, though I'm not sure how large a town could be built in those peaks.
Living there would be extremely difficult. Not too mention a person would need to hunt such large beasts
for food.”
Aaron nodded.
Sariah felt guilty lying to him. Of course, not everything she said had been a lie. She really did
travel to most of those places.
“What about you?” she asked. “You still plan on moving up there?”
“Now, see, that question is difficult,” he said, pointing toward something in the distance, straight
ahead. He stopped speaking as Sariah glanced that direction.
Past the thick snowfall, through the bombarding winds, a structure of wood stood upon a knoll.
As they drew nearer, Sariah made out a peaked roof with a large chimney. Even closer they drew and she
could see a column of steam erupting from the peak. The horse slowed its walk to a stop and Sariah made
her way toward the bath house as fast as her bummed leg would allow. Snow fell from the top of the door
as it creaked open.
171

Inside, a large deck had been constructed around six hot springs which had naturally formed so
close there was hardly an earthen wall dividing them. Handcrafted benches with ornate engravings lined
the walls. A few tables of equal worth had been placed neatly next to the benches and carried a variety of
soaps and perfumes. Towels hung on racks in each of the four corners of the bath-house.
Sariah paused a few steps inside and looked back at Aaron. He was fidgeting with his weapon
which was sheathed to the side of the saddle. The shield was attached on the other side.
The sight made her miss her dagger, but Sariah hid her frustration. “Do you honestly think we
will need a blade?”
“You never know,” Aaron said. He never looked up from the task at hand, his back to her.
Sariah looked around the room. “No one else is here.”
“Of course not,” Aaron said, laughing. “This late into the night, we will be the only one. Wasn‟t
that the plan? Anyway, go on in. I‟ll be in in a second.”
She did just that. The room was very warm and the steam quickly forced sweat to form on her
forehead. Sariah quickly removed her winter clothing and sat on a bench in her undergarments, waiting
for Aaron. A minute or two later, he walked in. When he spotted her, even though she was still mostly
covered, his eyes widened and he stood dumbfounded.
Sariah smiled to herself and picked up a towel. It was white, fluffy, and clean. Men, even old
friends it seemed, always looked at her in such a way. As seen in Arel‟drell, she had grown more than a
little tired of such a thing. But sometimes it was nice to be desired.
Lower their defences. Stray from the path of the Order.
The wood was smooth beneath Sariah‟s feet, but as she stepped toward the water‟s edge, she
found it quite gripping and never once found herself near falling. Footsteps echoed behind as Aaron
retrieved a towel. He stood near the edge of a pool adjacent to hers in nothing but his undergarments. His
body was chiseled and veins on his arms showed against the skin. He was strong, very strong, like a man
who had lived in the wilderness his entire life and had needed to chop wood to stay warm. For the first
time, Sariah found herself wanting to move forward with the plan.
Sariah gently placed the towel along the side of the hot spring and began removing her remaining
clothing. With no spare set to change into, it was important these stayed dry. She would freeze before
making it back to the monastery. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Aaron looking the opposite
direction.
So respectful, Sariah thought. Where did he learn that? Before turning back to look at the pool
she caught a glimpse of Aaron taking off his clothing. She bit her lip to hide a smile then fixed her gaze at
the water before her.
It was hot as she dipped her toe in. It was not an unbearable hot but instead a soothing,
comforting hot. And, with a deep breath, it soon washed over her entire body as she lowered herself down
into the source of the steam. She placed her head against the edge and closed her eyes, taking deep
breaths, allowing the steam to enter her lungs and the water to massage her body. For the first time in a
while, she felt peace.
“You never did answer my question,” Sariah asked after many minutes had passed.
“No?” Aaron asked, his voice behind Sariah‟s head. They were sharing opposite sides of a natural
edge between their two pools. “What question?”
“How long will you be here?”
“I did answer. I said it was a difficult question.”
“Aaron, haven‟t we been through enough in our lives together for you to trust me?”
172

“It‟s not that. It‟s—”


“It‟s what?” Sariah interrupted.
“I honestly don‟t know. I found some evidence that was troubling and may lead prove some
corruption, but it‟s merely circumstantial. I need to find a way to turn it into something tangible.”
“What did you find?”
There was a long pause before Aaron spoke again. “The Order… they… they killed my father.”
Sariah started. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. I read it in a book which listed him as one of the fallen among many.”
“Aaron, I‟m… I‟m so sorry.”
„It‟s fine.”
“No, no it‟s not.”
“You‟re right. It‟s not fine. But I‟ll have my revenge.”
He‟s changed so much. The little Aaron I once knew would never act on revenge. Killing someone
was far beyond his abilities. But now, I don‟t know who he is.
“How can I help?” asked Sariah.
“What?”
“You won‟t be able to do this alone. Be realistic. You will need help.”
After a moment of silence, where it seemed Aaron was contemplating the notion, he spoke. “Yes,
I suppose I will.”
“Let me help you. We will be a team, just like old times.”
“Okay, yeah. Just like old times.”
“So, what do you need me to do?”
“I‟m not really sure. We need to find tangible, physical evidence to prove Order is doing
something evil.”
“I‟ll start looking.”
He‟s already carrying hatred. Let‟s see how far off the path we can go.
She popped her head up and searched the hot spring with her arm, trying to bump into a bar of
soap. Of course, she never found one. She had intentionally left it on the shelf near the bench across the
room. “Aaron, I seemed for have forgotten soap. Do you have any?”
“No, I forgot some as well.”
“Could you be a doll and grab some? I think I saw a few bars near the bench.” Sariah pointed
with a finger.
Water rustled behind and a moment later Sariah saw Aaron‟s bare body walking across the room.
He walked with one hand covering his frontside like a loincloth. He‟s rather cute, Sariah thought as she
watched him grab some soap and walk back toward the water. It felt strange to find him so attractive.
After all, They were childhood friends. No, more than that. Working in the same thieving crew,
performing the same jobs, forms a certain bond between people.
Aaron handed over a bar then settled back into his pool. Sariah didn‟t move but she could hear
the water rustling around, making it clear that he was washing himself. Reluctantly, she leaned forward
and began soaping her skin. As the dirt and grime began to fade from her skin, a new wave of freshness
washed over her. It was rejuvenating. The feeling lingered as thick as the steam in the room as she
continued washing her body. Well, all which she could reach.
173

“Aaron,” Sariah said, trying to sound enticing. She turned and leaned against the opposite edge of
her pool, revealing her back to him. It was easy to keep this pose. The water was only naval deep, making
it easy to retain the position. “Could you come wash my back?”
“I… I don‟t know if I should.”
Sariah laughed playfully. “Don‟t be silly. I can‟t reach parts of my back is all. I need some help.
I‟d ask a maiden, but there are none here.”
Water droplets bounced against the deck as Aaron worked his way into her pool.

***

What am I doing? Aaron asked himself as he lowered himself into the naturally hot water, slowly
approaching Sariah. I shouldn‟t be doing this. But, she is beautiful. Very beautiful.
Rubbing a bar of soap in his hand, he slowly stepped forward and began lathering her back. It was
then he noticed the scars lining her skin. Some had been gained from whippings during imprisonments.
He was sure of that. Heavens, he had seen it happen. But others were new and didn‟t look quite like
whippings but resembled burn marks instead. Almost like a tattoo made with hot iron. Above some of the
streaks were precise marks in the form of clustered dots, like freckles, similar to constellations you would
find in the night sky.
“What happened?” Aaron asked as he rubbed a finger along the ridges of a scar that stretched
across her entire back.
“Things have changed, Aaron. Live has been difficult.”
“I can see that. What happened after you left the stocks? After the punishment you took for us
both.”
“I was sold into slavery, into the hands of a ruthless master who forced me to learn fighting
techniques. If I disobeyed I was tortured with hot iron rods being pressed against my skin. It was strange,
I didn‟t know why I was being trained. It didn‟t make sense. Why would a slave master teach someone
perfect fighting techniques, wouldn‟t such a person be able to overthrow them?
“I continued to learn everything I could with that goal in mind. I even followed his requests and
became an adequate assassin.” Sariah paused her story. With her back now clean, she turned around and
looked at him. He started when he saw her bare body. To say he desired it would be a colossal
understatement. Realizing he was staring with wide eyes, he adjusted his gaze into hers. It was then he
noticed the despair in her eyes. How many years had this memory been haunting her?
“I killed for him,” she said. “Killed many people. I‟m not sure if they deserved it or not, but they
are dead now.
“On one job I found myself gravely injured and was rescued by an elderly woman. She offered
me a way out of that lifestyle with only one requirement: I would have to kill the evil master that once
ruled me.”
“What did you do?” Aaron asked, watching a tear roll down Sariah‟s cheek.
“What I had to do. I killed him and escaped with the lady who rescued me.”
Aaron started. He was speechless. “I‟m sorry. I didn‟t... I didn‟t know. How did you—”
“It‟s okay,” Sariah interrupted. She reached forward and placed a hand on his chest. “Life hands
us what it wills and we react. Then we watch as it plays out.”
I can‟t believe what she has endured, Aaron thought as Sariah inched closer and wrapped an arm
around him, placing a hand on his back. She is so beautiful.
174

Honor. Virtue. Discipline.


Aaron shook his head as Sariah pressed hers against his chest and let out soft sobs. He wrapped
his arms wound her in an attempt to bring comfort. He would do such a thing for any broken person. To
avoid doing so would make you a monster.
“I‟m sorry you have to see me like this,” she said after a moment.
“It‟s okay.”
“Life has just been so hard.”
“I know. When we are children we dream of being adults, of being heroes. We think life will be
grand. But as the years pass, we realize the responsibility it required, and the weight is far too heavy,
oftentimes too much to bear.”
She looked up at him with a smile. “I‟m glad I sta… I‟m glad I found you here, Aaron Bardeaux.”
He smiled. “Me too.”
“I‟ve missed you. There were times where I thought of you, thought of the days where we were
together. Those were grand times.”
“Yes they were,” Aaron said, looking down at her. She was only inches from kissing him, and he
found himself giving into the desire.
Honor. Discipline. Kaylie.
Kaylie? No one is around. She will never find out.
But Kaylie deserved better than a man lusting after another woman.
She will never find out, though. I‟m not going to tell anyone, and neither would Sariah.
Suddenly, Sarish moved forward and pressed her lips against his. He found himself wanting to
resist for half a second, but gave into the desire. They backed away from each other and looked into
eachother‟s eyes. Pain throbbed inside Aaron‟s chest. He had never felt such a thing before. Something
like guilt screamed inside for relief.
Honor is not earned, it is given. You give honor because you are honorable.
“I…” Aaron said as he backed away. He felt light headed. “I… We…”
“What‟s wrong, Aaron?” Sariah asked. “Don‟t you miss the touch of a woman?”
Aaron hesitated. One must discipline themselves to pursue justice.
She‟s beautiful and desires my touch. What would one night do? No one will ever find out.
Kaylie is just as beautiful, and she seeks righteousness and justice with all her heart.
“I…” Aaron began. Sariah pressed again and they found themselves kissing once more. “We…
We can‟t.” He grabbed her hand from his chest and gently lifted it away.
“Things are different now.”
Yes, things are very different. Aaron thought. He looked at her hand and paused. Half of the tattoo
was smeared and fading. “What‟s this? I thought you said you were part of the Carnival.”
Sariah retreated her arms and backed away, pressing her back against the edge of the pool. “Like
I said, things are different now.”
“Sariah, what‟s going—”
Wood snapped in the treeline behind the building. It was far too loud to be a simple twig. No,
something large was in those woods. Another snap. This one closer. Aaron and Sariah looked at each
other. They both heard the sound. Something was out there.
“Come on,” Aaron said.
175

They both hurried out of the water, dried themselves off, and rushed to put their clothe
themselves. Aaron unsheathed his shortsword and walked toward the door. The sound of a horse
screaming echoed in the night.

By their words, the hearts of men are revealed.

Chapter 28

The sound like the scream of a wildcat echoed through the night. It was deeper than a normal feline, more
ferocious. It sounded like thunder.
Aaron felt his stomach crawl as he continued toward the door, sword at the ready.
“What are you doing?” Sariah whispered.
Bardeaux paused and looked down at his blade. The runes along its surface carried a distant, faint
glow. They were hardly noticeable. What am I doing? he thought.
Honor. Virtue. Valor.
“Whatever is out there, I have to kill it,” he said, surprising even himself. “I can‟t let a dangerous
beast roam through Rainor and kill innocent people.”
Heavens, what am I about to do?
Sariah hesitated. “Be careful.”
He turned around to give her a nod and saw her pulling her shirt down over her chest. “I‟ll do my
best.”
Turning the knob, Aaron slowly pushed open the door. Snow rushed in through the opening.
Holding a hand to his face to avoid becoming snowblind, Aaron walked outside, weapon at the ready. To
his right, the horse they had rode here bellowed, then fell silent as bones crunched.
Lumbering over the fallen steed, was a lynx of gigantic proportions. The black spots on orange
fur and white hair on the neck—which made the cat look like it had a beard—was where the feline‟s
normalities ended. Large sections of flesh were rotting off, leaving behind gaps where muscles could be
seen. A horrendous stench filled the air as the beast continued to rip apart the horse carcass with oversized
limbs and mutated paws. Bones snapped as the horse‟s head was devoured. The lynx paused and looked
at Aaron with unsettling, wrath-filled eyes, bits of muscle dangling from its mouth.
That stench is familiar. It‟s like… like the wolf I encountered with Tusk. Like the Moose in
Oakwood. This creature must tainted by the Corruption. Heavens, listen—
Aaron gripped his sword tightly as the cat hunkered down and prepared to pounce. The lynx
snapped into motion and leaped forward, roaring as it flew through the air. Aaron leaped out of the way,
but the ground shook as the cat landed and Aaron was forced into a tumble.
As he rolled, he tried swinging his blade, but it was a futile attempt. He knew it wouldn‟t hit the
beast, of course, but he had to try something.
Aaron landed on his feet and turned to see the cat was pivoting as well. The beast sneered, blood
dripping down its thick beard-like whiskers. In a moment, the lynx‟s movements shifted and it rushed
forward, hatred in its eyes.
176

Aaron ducked beneath another swipe of a claw and retaliating by slashing the side of the beast. It
released a deafening roar that echoed wildly through the countryside, forcing Aaron to take a step
backward
I wish I had my shield, he thought, dodging another attack. He couldn‟t parry such blow. A beast
of this size would have more than enough strength to shatter his weapon or his arm. His only option of
blocking an attack would be to thrust his sword into the creature‟s paw as it swiped. But doing so would
leave his blade infused with the Lynx‟s paw, a failing option. At least with a shield he would be able to
block a few attacks, even if they were likely to send him flying.
The cat, now a decent distance away, took a few steps in a wide circle, staring down its prey. The
beast snapped into a charge. When it was a few dozen feet away, it leaped into the air, attempting to land
on Aaron and catch him in its grasp.
Aaron predicted the attack and leaped forward, landed on his left shoulder, and rolled. Upon
coming out of the somersault, Aaron lifted his blade and sliced the beast‟s underbelly as he ran. Once
fully behind the cat, Aaron turned to see a trail of blood staining the snow a mahogany red.
For the first time, he found himself glad he had went through such vigorous training.
The lynx was somehow unphased by the wound and charged forward, slashing with an uncaring
rage, blood pouring from its abdomen. Aaron tried to move, but his foot slid in the snow, The edge of the
cat‟s claw slashed his unarmored chest. Blood immediately came to the surface of Aaron‟s skin. It was
not a fatal wound, but the pain could not go unnoticed.
Stumbling backward onto the snow, Aaron gripped his chest. He watched as the lynx raised its
mutated paw for a killing blow..
It was like he was staring into his own death. With the claw rushing toward him, Aaron found the
desire to pray. As words crossed through his mind—words addressed to the Almighty—a sudden spark of
purple flashed to his left and he found himself flying through the air. He landed hard against the snow a
few dozen feet away, rolling to a stop. Lifting his head, he saw Sariah standing where he once did,
breathing heavily.
A glowing purple line, like a magical arm, stretched forth from her hand, gripped Aaron‟s sword
that lay a few feet away, and pulled it into her hand. She gripped it a second later and thrust it at the Lynx.
It roared and swiped its paw, forcing Sariah to roll underneath the attack.
What just happened?
Aaron watched with wide eyes as Sariah battled the corrupted lynx. She stepped and dodged like
someone who had years of training, and she thrusted and sliced the shortsword with precision. She looked
like someone who had spent years and years learning how to fight correctly, like a swordmaster. An
assassin.
Sariah ran forward and her skin was engulfed in a thick, smoky veil. She stepped to the side of a
swipe and sliced into the lynx‟s paw. Tendrils of smoke lingered behind the black shortsword as it cut
into the skin, drawing blood from the beast‟s thick, augmented hide.
The cat retaliated and swiped wildly multiple times. The third swing caught Sariah completely,
and she dissipated into a puff of smoke. Dumbfounded, the lynx searched frantically, trying to find where
Sariah had gone.
Suddenly, she appeared above the beast in full color, falling through the air, sword pointed
downward. A moment later, the blade dug deep into the lynx‟s skull. It went limp and fell to the ground,
black tainted blood pooling on the snow.
177

Aaron laid a dozen yards away with snow pelting his face. He watched as Sariah drew the blade
free and fell to the ground. She landed on her feet and stumbled as she tried to walk his direction,
breathing heavily.
What. Just. Happened?
Great god Almighty, if you are real, please tell me how I‟m alive. Tell me how Sariah moved as
she did.
“Are you okay?” asked Sariah, stumbling over to him.
Aaron slowly, with her help, climbed to his feet. “I think so.” He held his side. it was bruised, like
it had been hit by a strong, blunt force.
She smiled. “Good. For a second I wasn‟t sure if you had lived or not.”
“What happened, Sariah? One moment I was standing over there, and the next I‟m over here. And
did I imagine this or did you grab my sword from twenty feet away?”
“Aaron, I…”
“Tell me what happened, Sariah. Tell me the truth.”
Sariah paused and took a deep breath. “Remember when you asked me about magic and I told
you a lot had happened since we last met? That‟s because it has. I‟m not the same girl that you left in the
stockades so many years ago.”
“I don‟t understand.”
“I do believe in magic. And I believe so, because I can use magic.”
“But, how? How is that possible? I mean, where did you learn such a power?”
“The woman who rescued me—the one that nursed me back to health—she also taught me how to
harness magic.”
“No, no. This can‟t be real.”
“It is,” Sariah said. Her words seemed slightly slurred. “You just watched me use it.
“This is just.. too much.
“I know,” Sariah said, wrapping an arm around him. Aaron pushed it away.
“Back in Arel‟drell… You. You killed them.”
Sariah nodded.
“Why? Why would you do such a thing? Heavens, how could you do such a thing?”
After a deep breath, and a moment of silence broken only by the howling winds, Sariah answered.
“Because I‟m the witch.”

***

A few minutes later, Aaron sat on what remained of the broken cart, staring into the starless night
sky. Sariah sat next to him. The stench from the dead lynx was nearly unbearable. It took everything
inside of Aaron to resist vomiting. He wasn‟t exactly used to dead, mutated animals. And the wind
continued to blow snow into his face, which didn‟t help matters.
“Aaron, are you okay?” Sariah asked.
“I don‟t know, Sariah,” he said. “I need to think. I need to process what has happened today.”
“What happened back there?” Aaron asked.
“What do you mean?” Sariah answered.
Aaron stared at her with a blank face. She winced. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“I had to use magic to save you.”
178

“Okay, I can understand that. But how could you kill an entire inn full of people?”
“That is complicated.” Sariah paused. Aaron continued staring. “A man was trying to take
advantage of me—”
“Okay?” Aaron interrupted. Such a thing was common with a figure like hers.
“He was getting really aggressive and I was tired. I was just trying to eat.”
“Just trying to eat normally doesn‟t end with a room full of dead people, Sariah.”
“I know, I know. It all happened so quickly. I snapped around and hit him with magic. He
dropped dead a moment later. Then I realized, I had just broken national law. I murdered a man and used
magic considered to be illegal.”
“So you killed all the witnesses.”
Sariah nodded.
Aaron took a deep breath. Okay. I cannot hold that entirely against her. Forgiveness, right? The
Order has not incriminated me even though I‟ve broken countless codes they hold as righteous.
“How long?” he asked her.
“How long what?”
“You‟ve been killing, how long?”
“I don‟t know…”
“How. Long.” By now his voice had gotten so loud it echoed, if but one time.
“Seven, maybe eight, years.”
If everyone was killed for their crimes no one would remain.
It was then, in that moment of frustration and fury, Aaron had a theological breakthrough. One
which may lead to discovery evil within the Order, or at least an errancy.
The core theological law stated the Heavens were only open to the righteous. Yet, the Rhetoria
was littered with codes and requirements to living a holy lifestyle. Should one, even just one, be broken,
the person found themselves disconnected from the Almighty completely; their link severed.
Not a single person alive could follow all those codes flawlessly. Was there a way for the bond to
be repaired? Could a person find themselves righteous, holy, before the Almighty? Could a person with
evil on their hands escape the wrath of a God?
Aaron shook his head. Now was not the time to worry about theology. Heavens, he didn‟t believe
the Rhetoria anyway.
“Aaron, are you okay?” Sariah asked. She placed a hand on his arm. It was surprisingly soft for
the hand of a killer.
“And what about us?”
“Like I said, things are different now.”
“Yes, they are.” He cupped her hand in his. “But does that mean you can just show up here and
we will be together?”
“I don‟t…”
“That‟s right.” He pushed her hand away and stood up, facing the cathedral, back to her. “You
don‟t know.”
“I‟m sorry, Aaron.”
Looking over his shoulder, he smiled at her. “It‟s okay. We will talk about this later. You said
you knew how to use magic. Can you teach me?”
“Are you serious? You seem completely against it.”
“Don‟t worry about that. Can you teach me?”
179

“I don‟t know. Maybe. I‟ve never tried to teach anyone before.”


“Can you teach me?”
“I‟ll try.”
Aaron smiled. “Good.”
Something flickered in the distance. Something bright orange past the snowfall. A moment later it
flickered again. Then another appeared. And another. Aaron squinted, making out the objects. Flames
burning inside lanterns. And they were approaching with haste.
Templarites on horses. They must have heard the lynx.
“Oh no,” Sariah said, obviously noticing the oncoming lanterns. “Okay, Aaron, you killed the
beast and I‟m still too injured to help.”
“I don‟t know.” Aaron said. The thought of lying to the Order was still strange to him. Multiple
situations arose where he could have, and even wanted to, but he couldn‟t force himself to do so.
Although, his entire con of being a Recruit could be considered a lie, so maybe he could do it again.
“You have to. If you don‟t I‟ll be imprisoned, possibly executed.”
“Fine.”
She handed him the bloody short sword and took a seat on the cart. Well, what remained of the
cart. Aaron stood alone a few feet away, staring at the blade. The runes no longer glowed.
I can do this, he thought. I can defend Sariah, get her out of this mess. I‟ve done it before, and I
can do it again. But do I want to?
Cold air pierced his chest through the three claw rips in his shirt. It was only then he realized he
had left his armor back in his bedroom, hanging on a rack. The fight had happened so quickly that he
didn‟t even notice. It was foolish to leave your armor behind like so. Why had he brought a weapon and a
shield, but no armor? And why didn‟t he grab the shield?
A few minutes later, after Aaron had began to feel his core temperature drop, two Templarites
arrived on horses, lead by a Lionheart whose heavy armor was easily recognizable—Tavon. The horses
suddenly became frightened and reared on their hind legs in an attempt to escape. The riders forced their
mounts into submission, and the horses eventually were coerced into not escaping. They continued to
look at Aaron and Sariah with unsettled eyes, however.
“It‟s the smell.” Tavon said, stepping off his steed. “They aren‟t used to such creatures. Decay is
one thing, but tainted creatures have a much more unique stench.” The Lionheart walked to the dead lynx
and began to investigate the beast.
“Tell me, lad,” he said as he lifted a giant paw. “What were you doing out here?”
“Sariah has been asking to take a bath and none of the maidens have been able to bring her, so I
brought her out tonight” Aaron said.
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I took her out late so as not to disturb anyone.”
“And this beast, you killed it?”
Aaron took a breath. “Yes, sir.”
Tavon turned, revealing a smile beneath his steel helmet. “It seems the training has served you
well, huh?”
Aaron nodded.
“Let us check on the girl. Kaylie.” The Lionheart pointed to Sariah.
Kaylie? She‟s here?
180

One of the Templarites removed their helmet, unleashing a long mane of red hair. Even in the
darkness it carried a shimmer. Aaron paused, eyes wide. He couldn‟t believe she was here. He couldn‟t
believe how beautiful she was.
They shared a look and she frowned, obviously not happy to see him. He shared in the discomfort
Kaylie walked toward the bath house, leather helmet under her arm and a white bow—the one hidden
underneath her bed—on her back. Still she wore never quiver. How could she fire the weapon without
ammunition?
“She‟s well,” Kaylie said as she gave Sariah a once over. “Doesn‟t seem to be hurt. The leg is
healing well. You should be able to walk without any hinderance in a few more days. Though is is
teetering a little bit, perhaps the stench has made her lightheaded.”
“That‟s probably true,” Tavon said. “I fear if we stay too long we may pass out. “He stood still,
arms crossed, staring at the beast.
“Tavon?” Kaylie said.
“Yes?”
“This isn‟t good.”
“No, no it isn‟t. There hasn‟t been a beast this close to Rainor yet. It seems even our borders are
not safe.” He turned toward the rest of the group. “Kaylie, take Aaron and go wake Tirion. Tell him
everything that happened.”
Kaylie glared at Aaron.
“Take Francis with you,” Tavon pointed at the other Templarite who was still cladded with
armor.
Kaylie nodded and began walking toward the horses. They stood a ways off, still uncomfortable.
Their ears perked forward as she approached, and, after some caressing, calmed themselves enough to be
mounted.
Aaron hopped on Tavon‟s horse—Frost—and followed the Templarites into the night. With the
horses moving at a decent gait, it took the group of three roughly forty minutes before the grand cathedral
could be seen through the thick snowfall. Even in the dead of night with the entire night sky covered with
clouds, the cathedral was something marvelous to look at. It looked like a beacon, a lighthouse, too all
those traveling near it. A sign of hope.
Watching Kaylie‟s cloak flap in the wind, Aaron gripped Frost‟s reins, bouncing as the steed
ascended the hill to the monastery. After parking the horses outside beneath a covering, the three rushed
inside. Only the everburning candles on the walls provided light through the twist and turns of the dark
corridors within the monastery.
No one spoke a word as they moved. At times, Aaron wanted to clear the tension between Kaylie
and himself, but what would he say? Would she even listen? Or did she even suspect anything?
Of course she did. She had heard what was happening, how Aaron took Sariah to bathe. He felt
like such an idiot. From an outside perspective it seemed all too obvious what was happening inside the
bath-house. She had every right to presume the place had been desecrated.
Aaron started to say something, anything, but stopped as Kaylie knocked on a door. Footsteps
padded against the floor on the other side. Then it opened, revealing groggy faced, red eyed Tirion
wearing white cloth shirt with a gold trim.
Even his casual shirt is fancy.
“Kaylie?” Tirion asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Francis? Aaron? What‟s going on?”
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“There was trouble,” Kaylie answered. Her voice carried a level of seriousness and confidence. It
lacked the normal playful, bubbly tone. “Out near the hot springs.” She nodded. “Sorry to wake you.”
“No bother. I‟ve been awake. Please, come in.” Tirion walked to a table across his room—which
was far larger than normal chambers—and picked up a tea kettle. After shaking it, he frowned. It was
empty. “Tell me what happened,” he said. He poured his waterskin into the decanter and set the kettle
over the flames in the hearth. The fire sent orange and red flashes of light through the room.
Kaylie took a seat at a long wooden table. There were three other chairs placed around it. Aaron
took one and Francis the other, leaving the one in the corner for Tirion. IT had been pulled out already,
showing he had already been sitting there.
A candle was placed on the table next to an opened book. A sketchpad lie next to it, littered with
writings. The logs in the hearth popped, sending the sweet smell of burning birch into the room.
“There was a beast,” Kaylie explained. “A lynx to be specific. It was... mutated, twisted beyond
normal proportions.”
“I see,” Tirion said, taking his seat. A book lay on the table before his location with a sketchpad
next to it, littered in writings. He stroked his aging beard.
“What is this?” Kaylie asked, pointing to the book.
Aaron started, surprised she would pry so far.
Tirion, leader of the Radiant Light, leaned backward, stretching with hands behind his head. “I‟m
working on my speech for the Ar‟Kire. A Gathering has not been summoned in two hundred thirty years,
I cannot waste such a notion. Should I do so, there may not be another opportunity in some lifetimes.”
“Why has it been so long?”
He smiled. “Have you ever met anyone from the other Orders?”
There were seven sects, or Orders, of Orthianism. Each one held vastly different views than the
others. Though, they supposedly agreed on the same core concepts of the religion. Aaron had not met any
leaders from the other Orders. And judging from Kaylie‟s face, neither had she.
“I assumed not,” Tirion continued. “Unfortunately, due to various circumstances, the other Orders
tend to focus on the things that make us different rather than the common faith which unites us. They tend
to sacrifice discipline for revelations or emotional power. While those are not bad, it is discipline which
makes us unique and provides the ability to correctly decipher the feelings and visions we receive.
“The last Gathering lasted a month and no agreements were formed. At least, that is what the
records recount. Without being present, it is hard to determine the exact reason, but I assume it was
because people let their emotions cloud their logic. Doing so, and focusing on the errors and
disagreements, is doing nothing but dividing us during the times which we must unite.”
“Were the Orders ever united?” Aaron asked, feeling that Tirion was in a rather generous mood.
“Once,” Tirion said as he checked the tea kettle. “For nearly a millennia after the Binding there
was but one group, one Order. But then differences began to settle in as the Sha‟Dari‟s works were up for
interpretation. Some found themselves disagreeing with the founders‟ writing explaining how to correctly
read the Rhetoria. Those who disagreed separated and founded their own Orders, basing their beliefs on
what they deemed accurate, claiming they were revelations from the Almighty himself. Unfortunately,
others followed suit.”
“Can they be reunited?”
Tirion sat down and poured himself a mug of the fresh tea. Steam floated off the liquid. Tirion
nodded forward, silently offering the tea to the others. Everyone politely declined.
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Tirion leaned forward, elbows against the table, stroking his beard. “I‟m not sure. Many have
tried in the past. In fact, attempting to reunite the Orders is generally the purpose of calling a Gathering in
the first place.”
This all seems less about religion or theology and more about politics.
“Tell me about the beast,” Tirion said. “The lynx. You said it was mutated?”
“Yes,” Kaylie said, nodding. “When I arrived it had already been killed by none other than Aaron
Bardeaux.” She looked at him. Judgement was behind her beautiful green eyes.
“Is this true?”
Aaron nodded. “It is.”
“What were you doing out so late?”
After a deep breath, Aaron began telling Tirion the story. From preparing the trip, the horse
acting strange, to the cry the beast made after being stabbed, he went on at length, leaving out no detail
save regarding the events at the bath house. The battle ended with him slaying the beast and not Sariah.
He did not, however, mention anything that happened inside the hot springs. He did his best to save
Sariah‟s image and trust in him. Not to mention, it seemed unbecoming to speak to Tirion regarding her
naked body.
“I see,” Tirion said. “This makes things vastly more complicated. It appears our borders are no
longer safe.”
Does he believe the story is true? What if he doesn‟t? Will this silly little lie be the straw that
breaks the camel‟s back?
“What do we do?” asked Kaylie.
“We research the Corruption, follow the codes of the Sha‟Dari, and pray the Almighty grants
wisdom to reunite the Orders; pray my—no, our—words and efforts are not wasted.”
The room fell silent as the gravity of the situation struck everyone. Aaron, of course, balked at
such an idea. He had tried praying, the Almighty didn‟t answer. He never would. God didn‟t exist.
“You are welcome to stay and study, otherwise you are free to go,” Tirion said.
Aaron nodded and rose to his feet, leaving the others at the table.. Tirion spoke as Aaron reached
the doorway. “You did well tonight, Aaron.”
“Thank you,” he said. Then walked out of the room.

All decisions have consequences.

Chapter 29

The next morning, Aaron and Sariah sat on a log deep into the forest west of the monastery. The thick
density of pines, oaks, maples, and evergreens blocked the majority of the winter winds, yet some still
seemed the pierce through and they brought with them the bitter bite of an unpleasant season.
“Reach out and touch the universe,” Sariah said. “Feel for the smallest particles that make up its
existence. Feel the Strands.”
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With closed eyes, Aaron reached forward, feeling for the Strands as Sariah called them. She
spoke as if these things were true. As if there was something from the beginning which could be
harnessed and manipulated. And so, he reached forward, imagining such a thing existed, trying to feel for
these Strands. But really, he was feeling for anything. The only thing he felt was cold. A chill wind
interrupted his concentration, forcing him to raise his hood.
“Did you feel anything?” Sariah asked.
Aaron shook his head.
“It‟s okay, Aaron. Many have trouble their first time with magic. It takes time to learn.”
Sariah walked over to Aaron, sat down on the log next to him, and offered him a waterskin. He
gladly took a drink.
“Did you have this much trouble?” he asked. Sariah didn‟t answer. “That‟s what I thought. I can‟t
do this.”
“Let‟s try again,” Sariah said. “Close your eyes. Focus. What do you see?”
“Nothing.”
“No, nothing is the absence of sight. What do you see? Use your eyes. Use your mind. What is
the Universe telling you?”
“Nothing. I don‟t see anything.” Aaron squinted his closed eyes in an attempt to focus. But no
matter how hard he tried, he couldn‟t find an image. All he saw was the back of his eyelids, blackness.
“Wait… I felt something something. No, that was just the wind creeping into my glove.”
“We‟ve been here a few hours, maybe we should take a break.” Sariah pulled out her bag and
retrieved a loaf of bread and a small stick of butter. After lathering a piece of bread, she handed Aaron a
slice. He gladly accepted the late breakfast.
“Those scars on your back,” Aaron said between bites, “they weren‟t all from the stockades, were
they?”
Sariah paused. Then frowned and shook her head.
“The story about becoming an assassin, was it true?”
“Yes.”
“Those marks then, most are from that?”
“When I was recruited, my back carried some from the stocks, but my teacher added many, many
more.”
“I‟m sorry.”
“I bled and I wept,” Sariah said, staring at the knife she was using for spreading butter. “I tried to
fight those emotions. I had to. He said they were for the weak; that a true assassin can‟t be lead by such
feelings but by what must be done. No bother, he‟s dead now.”
Trees shuffled as snow fell in large clumps from the branches. “What‟s it like to kill someone?”
Sariah looked at Aaron with surprised eyes. Immediately, Aaron regretted the question.
“Aaron,” she said, “that is not a question I expected from you. Are you seriously considering
murder? Taking a life seems beyond you.”
“I‟ve killed a few hares.”
Sariah laughed. “That‟s hardly the same. Taking someone‟s life is… difficult.”
“Difficult? Didn‟t you just kill an entire village?”
“Well, yes. And it was more of, well, I guess it was nearly the entire village.”
“You say that so casually.”
“I‟m just, used to it I guess.”
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Used to it? Does one grow numb to taking a life? Aaron felt sick just thinking about having
someone‟s blood on his hands.
“It used to be strange,” Sariah said. “Many years ago. I used to have to force myself to slit a throat,
but that was before I was being hunted. When my life changed to kill or be killed, my emotions got in the
way. I was forced to rid myself of them. Eventually, the stomach grows accustomed to the action.”
She sounded like a monster. Could someone really grow numb to death? Not just death, but being
the one administering the end of life. Such an idea was far colder than even the harshest of winters. The
thought of Tavon killing the Hollows came to mind. He killed with finesse. Practiced death. Aaron
imagined Sariah moving with the same fluidity.
“Do you regret the decision?” asked Aaron.
“Which?” Sariah asked.
“Becoming an assassin, do you regret it?”
“I didn‟t really have a choice. It was that or die.”
“So you did have a choice.”
“Well, yes. But staring down death made the decision simple.”
“Do you regret it?”
“I…” Sariah paused, packing up what food remained. Her black hair fell before her face as she
looked down. “We should be going.”
“Why? It‟s still early. The sun is hardly in the sky.”
“Won‟t they start looking for you?”
Aaron shook his head. “I‟m allowed to do as I please today. No training sessions are scheduled. I
just need to mentally prepare myself for the boute tomorrow.”
“Yes, the fight. How are you feeling about it?”
“Eh. I‟m not sure.”
“Doubting yourself?”
“No, it‟s not that.” Aaron rose to his feet and started making his way back toward the Cathedral.
Each step crunched against snow, leaving prints for Sariah to follow. For a girl of such strength and
power; a girl that carelessly killed, she avoided dirtying her clothes whenever possible. “It‟s just going to
be difficult.”
“What are your concerns?”
“Answer my question first.”
Sariah pouted, then spoke. “There are many things in life I regret. But had I not done those things,
I wouldn‟t be here today helping you overthrow a religion.”
I suppose that‟s helpful. It doesn‟t make what she did okay, but still helpful. “How much of your
killing is connected to you being a witch?”
“No, no. You answer my question.”
“Is that how we are doing this?” Like we are twelve years old again?
“Yes.”
“Fine. I‟m not completely comfortable with the forms yet. Defensive form comes fairly easily with
a shield, but when I switch to aggression it becomes more complicated. And on top of this, I have to
determine what is possible wearing the different types of armor. Though Gavin says I will be able to
choose leather from here on out, I still have my doubts.”
“So it‟s unfamiliarity bringing the concern?”
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Aaron brushed a branch away from his face. Snow fell on his back, slowly soaking into his cloak.
Today was an anomaly. For the first time in over a week snow was not falling. Despite the rarity, he still
found a way to get covered with the stuff. “The others, my opponents, they have much more training.”
“So you are intimidated?”
“No. I‟m just… I‟m uncertain.”
“Aaron…”
“I don‟t want to become like them. I can‟t. They killed my father. Who would take a parent away
from a kid, and then ignore him when he asks for help? It isn‟t right, Sariah. I can‟t be like them. I will
fight, and prove myself, but I will not join the Order. Now, how much of your killing is related to being a
witch.”
“Things became more complicated when I converted,” Sariah said. Up in the distance, the
cathedral towered over the snow covered hills of Rainor. “Have you found anything which could lead to
overthrowing the Order?”
Aaron shook his head. “It‟s only been two days. Also, we should consider giving our plan a
nickname. If anyone overheard, all would be lost.”
“Good idea. I haven‟t found anything either. I‟ve been searching the Rhetoria. It seems to be a
collection of ideas from the early people. What were they called?”
“The Sha‟Dari.” Heavens, why do I know that?
“Yes, them. It seems they were trying to discern the will of the Almighty as they created their
writings.”
“Makes sense. It is a collection of documents the Council agreed were accurate and profitable for
spiritual growth within Orthianism. The Council met a few hundred years after the Sha‟Dari passed to the
afterlife and put the collection together, calling it the Rhetoria. I‟ve searched it—not all of it in great
detail, of course—and found nothing of use. The theology described by the founders seems sound—from
what I can understand, at least—and I‟ve yet to see the Orders actions stray toward heresy.”
“What of the lack of priests?”
Shaking his head, Aaron noticed something in the distance. A man wearing hide armor and a grey
wool cloak walked into the treeline with a satchel on his back. “They have specific requirements. Should
one not exist, then they continue with prayers but cannot perform a complete religious ceremony. You go
on ahead, I‟m going to check something out.”
Sariah nodded as she walked past. “You will do great tomorrow.”
Aaron smiled, then turned and began trailing the man through the woods. It was fairly easy to
follow the bootprints in the snow. The trees were more spread out than the ones back at Aaron‟s glen, and
since they lacked leaves, it was easy to maneuver among them.
I‟m starting to sound like a scholar, Aaron thought as he walked past a hunting trap. There were
many placed sporadically through this section of woods. Unfortunately, no snow hares had been caught.
I can‟t become like them.
He was surprised by the way he spoke of the Order. While he still found their ideals ridiculous, his
words no longer carried as much hatred. What was happening to him?
Something moved up ahead. Not far, maybe two hundred yards. Slowly, and as quietly as shift
snow allowed, Aaron moved forward with eyes focused on the area where the sound came. A few steps
later,something grey moved. It was the figure he was following. The man shifted from view a few
minutes later, disappearing behind a few trees.
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What was he doing out here so far from the cathedral? What could possibly be tucked away? Was
he placing more hare traps? That would make sense if the others had caught something, but they didn‟t. It
was far too cold to use a section of the woods for studying, though that kind of contradicted what Aaron
and Sariah just did.
Aaron did his best to clear his mind and continue at the task at hand. He pressed his back against a
tree and peeked around the corner, searching for his target. Not far away, the man walked through a
wooden door and into some type of domed structure. It was difficult from Aaron‟s current position to see
just how large the structure was, so, of course, he moved forward to investigate.
Upon reaching the edge of the structure, Aaron looked over the hillside. The massive domed
building had been constructed into the hillside itself, allowing much of the building to extend downward
rather than up. Looking around, Aaron saw he was alone. He quietly opened up the wooden door and
walked inside, silently shutting it behind.
He stood in a small antechamber of sorts, only half a dozen feet long. Nothing hung on the wooden
walls. The small room was bare of anything except the exit door and the one leading deeper into the
building. Aaron opened the next door and continued onward.
Bardeaux froze, eyes wide. He stood on top of a balcony overlooking a massive, domed falconry
roost. Multiple hawks and owls flew about the room, landing on various sections of wood that acted like
perches. Some dozen feet below, a few people stood with a leather glove over one hand, helping some
birds fly. The people some type of leash.
Aaron had been wanting to visit this place for some time—ever since he heard Leonias speak
about it while in the Shadowlands—but never found the opportunity with all the various activities he had
been forced into. Excitedly, Aaron turned to the right and descended the long staircase constructed along
the wall of the circular building.
The ground of the roost was not made of wood, instead it carried some type of dirt or sand to it.
Feathers of various sizes littered the floor. Aaron removed his cloak, set it at the bottom of the stairs, and
walked into the center of the room.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the grey cloaked figure step out of a side room, an owl
standing on the leather glove he wore. The face was familiar. Michael.
Finally. Not only had Aaron been waiting to visit the roost, but, after finding out magic did exist,
desperately wanted to speak to Michael. The templarite used to be part of the Terrene, after all.
“Michael?” Aaron asked.”
“Aaron Bardeaux,” Michael said. He released his fingers as he lifted his hand, and the owl took
flight. “After Gavin mentioned you were interested in learning magic, why, I‟d thought you would have
found me sooner.
“That was definitely something I wanted, but I‟ve been busy with training and studying.”
“Yes, yes. There is a lot of things to learn when a Recruit. Especially if one is intending to become
a Squire quickly.” Michael cocked an eye, almost using the statement as a question for Aaron to reveal
more information.
“What are you doing out here?” Aaron asked, taking a step closer to Michael. Just then, the owl
landed back on Michael‟s hand. The bird snagged a small piece of meat with its beak, adjusted its wings,
and looked around with wide, dilated eyes.
“Training birds, of course. They are important to our food supply and for the entire eco structure of
Rainor.”
“But, don‟t they prepare for winter on their own?”
187

“Typically, yes they do,” Michael said. “But the winter came far faster than normal this year.
Ideally we would have had much more time to train the birds before releasing them into the wild. Some of
them are still quite small, you see. Or recovering from injuries. We nurse them back to health. With our
help we keep the species from going extinct.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Aaron asked.
“I thought you have been,” Michael responded as he let the bird fly away again. It flew high into
the air and landed on a perch-like protrusion near the roof.
Funny. “The druids of legends, could they really use magic?”
“Very much so.”
“That magic, does it still exist?”
Michael nodded his head.
So the legends are true. Are all of them? “In the Shadowlands, I saw Tavon use magic.
Afterwards he was mumbling incoherently, what was that?”
“The effects of magic are dangerous. Some call what you saw the aftermath, a backlash, magic
fatigue, there are many words for it with many different schools of thought.”
Sariah mentioned something of backlash when we were walking into the forest this morning.
“How does it work?”
“The powers of magic are all around us and have been since the beginning. When we manipulate
them—and I know what you are going to ask, you cannot begin training to use magic until you are at least
a Squire, most of the time not until you are a Templarite. When we manipulate them our bodies and
minds experience things that require time for recovery.”
Aaron watched as Michael placed another sliver of meat—it looked like chicken—on his glove.
A moment later the owl landed and snagged the food. “What are these experiences like?”
“That depends on how one is harnessing the magic. Sometimes it‟s mumbling, like you saw with
Tavon. Other times you shake and have chills at night, much like how the body reacts when it catches a
disease. Sometimes it‟s harsh nightmares. It depends on where a person is drawing the magic from.”
Chills? Was that Sariah‟s backlash she was experiencing when I first saw her? It would make
sense. She had just killed an entire village of people. She likely would have needed to use magic.
There are other ways of harnessing magic than how Sariah is teaching? Aaron wanted to ask
more, but knew that the vagueness of Michael‟s answers was due to him not being a part of the Order.
Before he could learn more, he would need to become a Squire, probably a Templarite. Something he had
no desire of doing. But if he did join, he may have an easier time gaining the more secretive information.
Were all the legends true? Some say all legends began with some kernel of truth. “The trees in
Oakwood, they moan. Are the druids‟ souls captivated within the trees? Is that part of their aftermath?”
“What do you believe?” Michael asked as he stroked the owl‟s neck, careful to not have his finger
bitten.
“I dont…” At one time Aaron would have thought the entire notion ridiculous, but now he was
unsure. He knew magic existed, this much was evident. He had seen it too many times to doubt now. But
for a soul to be trapped within a tree, that seemed like a bit of a stretch. Unless. Were there limits to
magic?
Something caught his eye. Michael‟s hand looked strange. He had seen him raise the sleeve of
one arm—the arm that bore the tattoo of the Terrene, but the other arm remained covered at that time.
Now, it was uncovered and bore a strange color: dark brown and crusted. It looked like… bark. Tree bark.
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“Unfortunately,” Michael said, nudging the owl to take flight again. “It‟s true. The druids of old
haunt those woods.”
Aaron was taken back and tried to speak— to say anything—but he couldn‟t. He was too
dumbfounded. Then, a horn blew, echoing off the hillside. It was not a distress call, they would use the
bell for that. This was something different.
“Looks like they are arriving,” Michael said as he placed another sliver of chicken on his glove.
“Who are they?” Aaron asked, following behind.
“The other members of the Council, of course. The Gathering has begun.”
The horn sounded again. Aaron took in a deep breath.
“I‟m sure they will want a warm welcome,” Michael said, looking up at where his owl had
landed. “You should probably head that way.”
“Aren‟t you coming?” Aaron said.
“Yes. We all will. But we have to finish feeding and caring for the birds first. We can continue
our discussion at another time.”
Aaron nodded. Then he grabbed his cloak, ran up the steps, and out the double doors. The brutal
winter winds bit at his face as he moved through the snowy forest, making his way to the cathedral.
Ahead, just beyond the clearing, massive beasts were roaming through the open fields of Rainor,
kicking up snow. A giant of a man rode a giant grizzly bear, twice the size of the ones Aaron had once
seen. Behind the leader, a troupe of six men rode giant rams of white fur, each had thick, spiraling horns.
The man in front was hulking in stature and wore leather armor with thick fur sticking through
every seam. What little sun pierced through the veil of clouds caused something silver to shimmer along
his back. They looked like wings.
The soldiers who followed behind the leader were adorned in leather armor—more like simple
harnesses—placed over thick, hide, winter clothing. Battle axes hung on loops to their sides. The two
riders in the back carried spears with the tips pointed up at the sky. Flags—black in color bearing an
emblem of a white wolf head—tethered to the spear shafts waved in the wind as the group continued
toward the cathedral.
The leader blew the horn once again, signaling their arrival.
Aaron was astonished at the sight, particular the size of the grizzly bear. By the time Aaron
reached the cathedral, the visitors were already dismounting and sharing stories, laughs, and warm felt
greetings with Templarites, Lionhearts, and Tirion himself.
“Aaron,” Tirion shouted as Bardeaux approached the grizzly. “Come meet Raigar.”
The giant of a man—the troupe‟s leader—turned and looked at Aaron. Water gleamed on his bald
head where the gathered snow had begun to melt. “Aaron,” Raigar said, his voice deep and short, like a
grunt.
“Raigar,” Aaron said.
“Where are you from, boy?”
“Tumeric.”
“Ah, that great city.”
Aaron expected the man to say more, but the conversation ended there. Rahn came out the door
and Raigar rushed forward and gave him a giant bear hug.
“Rahn!” Raigar shouted, his voice echoing like thunder through the quiet hillside. “It‟s been
years. How did you manage to find yourself here?”
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“That, Raigar, is a long story,” Rahn said, gripping Raigar with intensity, trying to match his
strength. It looked like he did. “One I‟ll tell you over food.”
“Good, good.”
Aaron turned and looked at the grizzly. The beast, even standing on all fours, towered over him.
Snowflakes fell against the beast‟s thick, matted fur and instantly melted.
“Careful, boy,” Raigar said, walking over to Aaron. He was larger and bulkier than Rahn, if such
a thing was imaginable. “Brutis here can be fierce.”
“Brutis? How did you tame such a beast?” asked Aaron.
“Tame? Hah. I hardly tamed it. We have a mutual bond.”
A bond? Like the Terrene? Heavens, why do I remember that.
At closer inspection, Raigar did not have wings like it appeared. No, what was coming from his
back was a series of axe blades attached to a harness. The blades flared out over his shoulders,
shimmering in the sun and carrying the appearance of wings. From the curvature of the weapon, the axes
looked to be used as throwing weapons.
“Raigar is from Hrathgar,” Tirion said, joining the conversation. “Deep to the north, past the
Northern Peaks.”
“Hrathgar is tundra land,” Raigar said, patting Brutis‟s face, rubbing the fur. The bear seemed to
enjoy it. “Brutis and I have a bond. We protect each other. God knows we need it.” He paused, turning
toward Tirion. “Rahn mentioned food.”
Tirion smiled. “Yes, right this way.”
He led Rahn, Raigar, and his entire escort guard into the cathedral. As they disappeared into the
building, Aaron noticed a cart to the right with many Templarites coming in and out of a back entrance to
the building. They were carrying goods. As Bardeaux got closer he saw a scrawny man in light clothing
handing crates to various Order members.
“If you‟re here to help, get in line,” the man said, his voice sounding weak and shrill.
“I, uh…” Aaron responded.
“I‟m freezing out here. Make your decision. I don‟t have time to wait. You can mumble to me
once we get inside.” The man turned. His long white beard blew in the breeze as he lifted another box
which looked far too heavy for what he should be able to lift.
Aaron reached forward and grabbed a crate. “The infirmary,” the man said.
After a nod, Aaron turned and walked across the yard and up to the balcony where he placed the
crate on top of the others. After everyone left to grab the next set, and none of the nurses were looking,
Aaron peeked into the box. Vials of red liquid were packed neatly inside. And there was quite a lot of the
stuff. The same liquid the maidens gave to the wounded. They said it had the power to heal wounds.
Doubtful. What liquid could do such a thing? Unless…
No. Not everything had to do with magic.
Aaron made his way back outside, walked past the donkey, and stood in line for a minute or two
while the next load of boxes were distributed. When it came time for him to grab his, he was surprised to
find none were left.
“That‟s the lot of it,” the man said, looking at Aaron. His face carried a good amount of wrinkles,
especially around the cheeks, eyes, and lips. He squinted, making the wrinkles even more profound. “I‟ve
been around for some time…”
That is apparent.
“...and I haven‟t seen you before. You new?”
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“Yes.”
“What‟s your name?”
“Aaron Bardeaux.”
The man paused, cocked his head, and stared at Aaron for a few seconds. “You‟re Aaron
Bardeaux?”
Aaron nodded.
“So you‟re the Recruit everyone has been talking about.”
“Um… I guess.” People are talking about me?
“I expected you to be taller.”
“Thanks?”
“Oben,” the man said, stroking his long white beard. “I make alchemical items in the mountains
nearby.” He paused to laugh. It was a high pitched cackle kind of laugh. “Most of my wares are used to
treat poisons, ailments, and minor wounds. Unfortunately, due to the events that took place in Arel‟drell,
I‟ve had to make this special delivery. While I love using my goods to heal people, under these
circumstances it is nothing less than saddening.” He paused to lower his head in a moment of silence.
“Come now,” Oben said, stepping off the wagon, mumbling to himself. His legs shook as he
landed, but he eventually caught his balance, laughing—cackling—again. “I may only be here for the
night, but I smell food cooking.”

Pray fervently.

Chapter 30

Aaron opened a large metal door and walked into the armory.
It smelled of old wood and steel polish. Rows of weapons hung on racks on each side of the
walkway. A long series of wooden benches stretched down the center of the room, ending at the back wall
where the bows and crossbows hung. Two workers—Squires from the looks of their clothing—sat on a
bench cleaning the blades of two practice swords, evident by the lack of ruins lining their surfaces.
Some of the other combatants taking place in today‟s trial were standing about halfway in the
room. They were donning their chain mail armor and a few were checking to make sure the straps on the
shields were tight. Aaron had not seen these men before.
New recruits?
Aaron walked along the left hand side, looking at the various weaponry. Today he was not issues
a specific set of armor or required to use a certain weapon. Instead, he was allowed free selection from the
armory. For the first time in all his training, Aaron found himself having to decide how to fight. Did he
choose heavy armor and restrict movement? Or did he go for the lighter leather? And what of the
weapon? Did he go for reach, power, or finesse?
Bardeaux casually walked past the rack holding maces and morningstars, using the opportunity to
better investigate his future opponents. Their choice in weaponry was interesting. A few of them had
chosen spears and shields, a nice mixture of reach and defense. But wielding the shield with one hand
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would significantly reduce the speed and power of their thrusts. If Aaron could get close, all the opponent
would have to attack with was their shields.
And there was one or two of the men who had chosen just a spear as their weapon. They hoped to
rely on weapon blocks rather than a shield. It allowed for more movement and much more finesse while
fighting, but it also left the wielder rather fragile.
The other combatants—the ones who chosen a sword and shield—would be far more difficult.
They would be fighting up close and personal. And since Aaron was a=barely able to disarm an opponent,
these fighters would be the most difficult to encounter• —assuming Aaron did not go for reach himself.
Not too mention it was all too possible they were well trained, technical fighters.
Aaron ran his fingers along the hilt of a sword, trying to make his decision. Choosing armor
would be far easier. Training sessions were determined by who scored the most attacks against their
opponent. While the judge did take armor into consideration when determining damage, most of the time
it still came down to who scored more hits. Because of this, Aaron would be going with the mobility and
thickness leather armor provided. Honestly other than how awesome it made him look, Aaron cared little
of plate and he didn‟t plan on getting hit.
But what would he attack with? He looked over the polearms. Tirion enjoyed using the halberd. It
seemed like a weapon that had promise, but Aaron struggled when wielding the awkwardly weighted
weapon. It swung hard and heavy, like an executioner's axe, but it was difficult to recover from missed
swings.
To the left, slightly farther down the aisle, hung the axes—violent and effective weapons that
simply didn‟t fit Aaron‟s fighting style. Or maybe he just hadn‟t learned how to properly adjust his form.
What form. Regardless of what weapon he chose, he knew he needed a shield. He enjoyed throwing the
weight of protection between swings, and he would need it to close in on the spearmen.
Aaron sighed. He then turned and walked back to the sword selection, grabbed a shortsword, and
fastened it to his belt. Since he had gotten used to donning leather armor, it only took a few minutes
before he was wearing the stuff. The shield was a quick finish to the armor, all it took was grabbing the
straps. With the armor in place, the weapon at his side, and the shield in hand, he was ready for battle.
The battlefield was a few minutes walk from the armory; just down a few corridors and out a rear
exit that lead beneath a viewing balcony. The same balcony where he first stood to take in the view of the
training grounds some days ago.
Snow fell thick today than it had been, if such a thing were even possible. It collected on the
ground, creating an never ending view of white, shin deep. Soon people would need to travel by sled and
horse. But for now, Aaron walked in warmth thanks for the thick winter clothing he wore beneath his
armor.
Beatrice would not approve.
In the distance people cheered. They were not cheering for one individual, but for fighters as a
whole. The Order wanted everyone to fight well; for everyone to succeed. A strange thought. Despite the
philosophy, each battle contained favorites and underdogs, predicted victories and upsets. It was the way
every battle has ever been since the dawn of warfare.
As Aaron got closer he could make out logs stacked a dozen feet high. The cheering crowds sat
on these makeshift stands. A giant circle had been shoveled out of the snow, creating the battle arena.
Another set of stands stood on the other side of the battle. The Judges‟ seats.
The brute from Hrathgar—Raigar—sat there clothed in thick leather armor with a bear pelt for an
overcoat. His size still shocked Aaron everytime he set eyes on the beast of a man. He was, by far, the
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largest man he had ever seen, and that included the Templarite Rahn. Next to Raigar, Tirion sat with
Gavin just above a row of colored flags, mostly yellow with some red.
If he wants a fight, Aaron thought as he neared the battle circles. I‟ll show him a fight.
Aaron‟s leather boots sunk into the snow as he stopped near the edge of the ring. He stood next to
the other fighters awaiting their turn. The lot of the circled the border, watching the fights. The current
bout was between two templarites. One carried a spear and shield while the other wielded a mace. A
shield lay on the ground near the edge of the allowed fighting area. Apparently the shieldless man had
been disarmed of the protection.
Tavon leaned over and said something to Tirion, who then looked directly at Aaron. He stared
back, locking eyes with the leader. I‟ll give you something to see; make you think I defeated the lynx.
Not far to the left, Sariah sat surprisingly close to the leaders. One wrong word or misstep could
cause instant incrimination. I have to show them I could have defeated the lynx, Aaron thought as he
watched Sariah‟s hair rustle in the chilling winds.
The current fight came to a close. The winner was the gentleman using the mace, a surprising
result. Maces were interesting weapons, thick and heavy, hard to recover from missed strokes. Even
successful strokes, for that matter. But if you managed to land a hit, it had devastating results, much like
an axe, except it did not cleave as much as it crushed.
As the crowd began to simmer, a man stepped upon a podium before the judges, looking out over
the watchers. “Let us give a cheer for the two fighters once more,” the man said. The voice was familiar
and he stood with a crutch. Alexander. Of course it‟s Alex.The crowd burst into cheering, then slowly
died down as the announcer raised his hand.
“The next battle comes from a specific request from Tirion himself,” Alex continued. The crowd
clapped at Tirion‟s name. Aaron fought back a smile as he watched Alex bob back and forth, waving his
hands as gave the introduction.
“I‟m sure everyone has have heard of our first contender‟s accomplishments. Not only has he
had the most limited amount of training in Radiant Light history, but he is also an accomplished beast
slayer. A giant beast slayer, to be exact; one of mythical proportions.”
Aaron's lips straightened to a line and he set his jaw, gripping the hilt of his sword. He stood firm,
listening to the description, watching the crowd‟s reactions. Beside him, a Templarite was coating
Aaron‟s blunt shortsword with a red berry juice used to determine how many blows he landed. After the
sword was coated, a tabard of pure white would be donned over his armor, which allowed the juice to
appear like blood.
“I am witness to his earlier skills in combat,” Alex continued. “I was present in the Shadowlands
when he first fought. He was far less muscular and skilled then, barely able to hold a shield for more than
a few minutes. But he survived multiple attacks from Hollows, and that changes a man.
“Now, he stands straighter; holds a blade more firm. Once he fought to survive, but now he fights
to prove himself worthy to be one of our own; to be inducted into the Order of the Radiant Light.” The
crowd cheered.
Wait… what? I‟m not joining. This was just a test to prove I‟m a capable fighter, that my combat
training can be complete.
“I present to you now,” Alex paused, stretching an arm toward the far side of the makeshift arena.
“Aaron Bardeaux.”
Those in the stands roared with excitement. Aaron had sat there once, he knew how this worked.
They cheered loudly for every contestant, no matter who they were. An act of encouragement.
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The Templarite who had coated Aaron‟s blade patted him on the back, a signal for Aaron to
encounter the ring. Gripping the shield tightly, Bardeaux took a deep breath and stepped forward. He
stared at the announcer the entire time he walked to the center so as to avoid eye contact with Tirion.
I‟ll show you what I‟m capable of. Remember your footing. Remember the techniques.
“Amazing!” Alex shouted, his voice sounded past the treeline. “Let me now introduce you to the
other competitors. These three...”
Wait. Three?
“...are fresh Recruits making their first appearance. This fight will be as much for them as it is
Bardeaux. It is their moment to show off their technique and knowledge of the battlefield. Coming from
Yrall, let me introduce you to Isaac Minchrel. Coming from the port city of Mynth, Olaf Treth. And
finally, one of the few survivors of those that befell death in Arel‟drell, Herald Finsk.”
Each Recruit stepped forward as their name was called.
Aaron‟s eyes went wide as the crowd cheered wildly, fighting the urge to glance at Sariah. She
shared in the astonishment, no doubt. Glancing her direction would cause too much suspicion. Tirion or
Tavon would certainly notice.
But a survivor of the attack could mean her undoing.
Aaron continue to stare forward, listening as the three combatants set their helmets and entered
the arena. Turning, Aaron saw two carried spears and the other a shortsword. All but one opponent had a
shield.
The crowd went silent. A moment later, steel rang, signaling the start of combat.
Placing his shield before his chest, Aaron stepped forward, peeking over the top. He wore his
leather cap to guard his exposed head. It wouldn‟t do much to stop an arrow in a serious fight, but it
would be enough to avoid injury in a training fight. Plus, he didn‟t like the way steel constricted visibility.
His opponents gripped their weapons tightly as they slowly crept toward him.Apparently it was
all three of them verses Aaron. Fun.
Starting off with aggression would be too reckless for success. He may be able to take one or two
down, but it would likely end with him losing to the third opponent. For this fight, he needed to be
defensive and precise. So Aaron was going to let them come to him.
Aaron dipped his head behind the shield and braced his arm. Clank. A spear thrust collided
against it. Then another. The spearmen had stepped within range. Peeking, Aaron saw the third opponent
remained further away. Another thrust hit the shield.
With each shield block, Aaron took a step to the left, one foot over the other, forcing the fight to
rotate in a circle like the hands on a clock.
Unfortunately, Aaron‟s plan was not working out. With spears, the opponents could poke at him
all day until they were tired, but his shield arm would tire faster. Their tactic was forcing him to be the
aggressor. After the next speartip hit his shield, he broke out of the phalanx, moving quickly—speed
made it easier to avoid attacks.
To the right, another spear was closing in quickly. Aaron blocked it with his sword and pushed it
away as he continued forward. The second spearman was taken back from the sudden charged and
hesitantly thrust with his spear, but Aaron punched with his shield, catching the spear with the edge of the
shield and pushing it away.
The Recruit raised a shield, trying to block, but was too slow. Bardeaux was already in motion
with his sword. It collided against steel—not the shield, but armor—sending a red stripe across the man‟s
chest.
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Air rushed overhead as Aaron ducked and avoided a spear. The thrust continued and hit the
Recruit, sending another stripe of red against the white cloth. He stepped backward, trying to stop the
momentum, but was unable. For all intensive purposes, he was out of the fight and was escorted out of the
ring by a Templarite who acted as a referee.
Spinning, Aaron crouched back into a defensive stance, blocking a spear with the shield and
slapping aside a sword with his own. He moved with precision, stepping sideways, feeling the ground
beneath his boots. His weight shifted smoothly as he moved. Each attack against him easily defended. He
was like a snake waiting to strike. And the next sound of spear against shield signaled the snap.
Rushing forward, Aaron slapped his shield against the opponent‟s polearm. It was knocked to the
side. Aaron continued the pressure with his shield arm, forcing the weapon away. In this position the
weapon was essentially useless. Aaron swung, his sword blocked by the opponent‟s shield. Twice steel
rang as it collided together. Berry juice slid down the shield as his opponent took cover.
Continuing such attacks would be pointless. They wouldn‟t score Aaron any points, nor would it
be effective in actual combat save to force someone into fatigue. Which was currently not an option.
Aaron spun, forcing his shield against the spear. The opponent lost his grip and the spear fell to
the mud a few feet away.
Continuing the momentum, Bardeaux dropped back into defensive stance, blocking the sword
from the third opponent—who appeared to be using the spearman as bait. Smart. If the swordsman were
taken out first, then the man wielding the spear—the man who dropped the spear—would be far easier.
But disarming the spearman prove to be the tactic that swayed combat in Aaron‟s favor.
Aaron Bardeaux pressed forward, lowering his shield and parrying a sword strike as he closed the
distance. Startled, the swordsman stepped back and blocked a few oncoming strokes with his shield.
Soon the other recruit would pick up the spear and close in with an assault. He had to defeat this
opponent quickly, but the way he moved showed he had decent training. Unfortunate. With each attack,
the swordsman casually took a step backward, blocking it with his shield. After another hit, he thrusted
with his blade, trying to stab between Aaron‟s shield and side. Fortunately for Aaron, he was able to
avoid the attack by spinning.
With his momentum building, he spun beneath his opponent‟s shield and swiped at the man‟s legs
with his sword. He made contact, sending berry juice on the man‟s greaves. But was unable to perform
the intended trip. Loosening his wrist allowed Aaron to continue the spin and slam his shield against his
opponent‟s. The force sent the swordsman stepping backward, but he recovered, unfortunately.
But now Aaron had that man displaced from the spearman. Turning, he saw the speartip coming
toward his skull. He ducked and stepped forward, raising his shield to block the inevitable next thrust.
When it hit, Aaron took off running toward the spearman like a raging bull, using the shield as a wall.
Steel sounded against steel as the spearman tried to attack, to do anything, but Aaron was closing the gap
too fast.
Sure he was close enough and that the timing of thrusts were consistent, Bardeaux swung his
shield to the right, forcing his opponent‟s polearm across his chest, opening his guard. The spearman lost
his footing and tumbled to the ground. By the time the spearman landed he had two red stripes across his
back, rendering him dead and in need of an escort.
The announcer shouted something as Aaron dipped back into defensive stance, but he was unable
to make out the words. Adrenaline from the battle clouded his vision. All he did now was stare down the
remaining opponent, trying to plan the next tactic; the one that would make quick work of this duel.
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With his decoy defeated, the swordsman changed tactics and charged wildly at Aaron. When he
drew close enough to attack, Aaron stepped to the side and blocked the attacked with his shield. Since
Bardeaux was left handed and the shield was in the right, when the sword glanced off the shield the
opponent was left open for a counter attack. The swordsman soon found himself with a streak against his
back and under his right arm—his strong arm.
Too reckless, Aaron thought, looking at the defeated man. Left yourself open. Should have been
more technical. You could have easily outperformed me.
Something shuffled to Aaron‟s right.
Turning, he saw a new opponent had stepped into the field. A Templarite.

***

“He‟s fighting well,” Tirion said as he watched Aaron drop into defensive stance once more.
“I told you he would,” Tavon replied.
“Yes, yes you did. But you understand my skepticism when you told me he had just over a month
of training. I like what he does with the shield; the way he uses it almost like a weapon. He‟s quite
aggressive with it.”
“Once he got used to the weight, he started doing that early on in his training. No matter how
much we showed him, he never got rid of such movement. To him, that way seems natural.”
“It‟s proving to be effective. Perhaps we should consider adding that to our training regiment.”
Tavon laughed then took a sip from a waterskin.
“Something I said?” Tirion asked.
“No, not at all. Seems amusing that the lad with the least amount of experience could be
pioneering a new technique, one that will be taught for many of generations.”
Tirion smiled. “Yes, that does bring a smile to one‟s face. He is, after all, the great beast slayer.”
“Hah!” came the deep voice of Raigar. “That boy, a beast slayer? Hardly.”
Tirion looked to the battlefield with closed deerskin covered hands pressed closed in front of his
face Aaron continued in his defensive stance, doing his best to deflect each attack Leonias threw at him.
So far, he was doing surprisingly well. Occasionally, he tried to switch to offensive, but each attack was
easily parried. The Templarite was controlling the fight, and until Aaron changed this, he wouldn‟t win.
“Explain,” Tirion said, watching as Aaron performed a spinning maneuver in an attempt to get
past Leonias‟s guard. It didn‟t work.
“The boy, he moves well,” Raigar said. “His footing is strong, better than his sword play. I
assume it‟s what he‟s been focusing on. But, I‟ve seen those beasts before. Many of times in Hrathgar.
Unfortunately, the Corruption is strong. We do our best to fight it off, but it‟s proving resilient.
“Regardless, fighting such beasts with a sword is a fool‟s game. Especially one so small. It would
hardly scratch the skin. What you need is an axe.”
“Maybe he used an axe,” Tirion said.
“I didn‟t see one,” said Tavon. “And I can‟t find a reason why he would need to hide such a
weapon. All I saw was a sword, the one he had when he entered your chamber.”
“I see.”
Aaron dipped beneath a sword swipe and came up swinging, making a solid connection against
Leonias‟s offhand weapon. The Templarite had barely raised it in time.
“Close.” Tavon said.
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“Yes, but Leonias is holding back,” Tirion said, watching as Aaron blocked more attacks. “We‟ve
seen him fight multiple times. He‟s playing with Aaron. Raigar, please go on.”
“For what little training you claim the boy has, he‟s strong. Very strong. I‟d gladly arm him with
my men. But, you showed me the beast. It had cuts on it‟s claws, indicating it was countered with a blade.
Which makes sense. But it was killed by a thrust through the brain. Now tell me, how could he have done
that?”
“How do you normally kill those creatures?”
“We use the axe. Cleave it into the underbelly normally, slicing the heart. We avoid the thick
outer hide. Piercing something so large and fierce through the skull seems but a wild imagination. They
fight too quick and savage to accurately stab the thing in the skull.”
“You saw the corpse,” Tavon added. “It had a shallow slice down it‟s underbelly. The only fatal
attack with the stab through the brain..”
“Yes, which is what makes this so strange.”
Tirion was quiet for some time, watching the fight. Aaron‟s tabard carried a single red stripe
across his back. Another would consider him dead. Leonias rushed forward and swung with chaotic
precision, using the two blades to his advantage. Neither were blocked. Instead, Aaron lept forward and
rolled beneath the slices. While rising, he landed a stripe against the Templarites back, sending the crowd
into an uproar.
Leonias turned and stared at Aaron, gaping.
“Unbelievable,” Tavon said. “Please tell me…”
“Yes,” said Tirion, shaking his head in disbelief. “I saw.”
Aaron charged forward with a mud stained tabard. He swung his short sword wildly, forcing the
Templarite to block with each blade lest he be eliminated. What few counter attacks Leonias attempted
were easily blocked by Aaron‟s shield. Bardeaux continued forward, clashing steel against steel, forcing
his opponent to work around the arena lest he step outside the bounds and be disqualified. He had Leonias
on the backfoot.
Eventually, the Templarite was able to land a strong parry which forced Aaron to topple over.
Rolling, Aaron stood back to his feet and, without a break to breathe or prepare defenses, assaulted once
more. His attacks were a whirlwind of steel, occasionally swinging the shield to force Leonias‟s weapons
into different positions.
“Look at how he moves,” Raigar said. “He‟s feeling the rage. Hah! I figured you would have
quenched such a desire.”
Tirion set his jaw. Why would we quench a natural emotion that can be harnessed for good? One
that can lead to victories. A gift from the Almighty should never be stopped.
“Interesting,” Tavon said. After all these years, Tirion still found it fascinating that the Lionheart
had not lost his seafarer‟s accent. “He hasn‟t done that before. But he fights well. It appears the Bardeaux
bloodline continues.”
“Maybe so. What do you think happened, Raigar?” Tirion asked.
“I told you, he‟s feeling the rage,” he responded.
“With the lynx.”
“Ah, the snowcat? The boy couldn‟t have been alone. Doesn‟t make sense. The only way that
beast was slain in such a way was with help.”
Unfortunately, I was thinking the same thing. Which means Aaron lied to me.
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Something scraped to his left. Turning, Tirion saw Tavon cleaning his pipe. They shared a look
which indicated they both had an assumption on who could have assisted Aaron. From the Lionheart‟s
sighting and Aaron‟s story, Sariah was the only other person present for the attack.
The crowd roared. Looking up, the battle had ended. Aaron rose to his feet covered with three
berry juice marks. He had lost, but had proven himself an able fighter. Leonias took off his helmet and
helped him to his feet. The Templarite was smiling wide, showing off the stripe he wore, promoting the
skills of Aaron Bardeaux.
Tirion rose to congratulate the victor and Aaron. He had displayed an impressive level of skill
and improvement. He passed empty seats—seats which had been carved into the logs themselves—as he
walked toward the stairs. Turning his head, he paused for a moment when he noticed Sariah‟s seat was
empty.
Now where did she go?

The fear of death sways men to pursue evil.

Chapter 31

Black tendrils swirled in the sky like mist. They came closer to the ground, spiraled for a second, then
puffed upward and took the form of a human. But instead of flesh, the creature had thick, black, bonelike
skin. Smoke flowed from its eye sockets behind a featureless face.
“Tell me,” The Master said as he stepped forward.
“They don‟t know anything,” the Shade said, matching the Master‟s stride.
“How many months did we spend on this pathetic town, only to gain nothing?”
“Seven.”
The Master set his jaw and clenched his fists as he continued to walk the street. Sometimes he
wished the Shades understood rhetorical questions. That would make his life less frustrating. On each side
of the stone laid path, buildings were filled with screaming people as Shadows flew in and out of open
windows.
Once, a few hours ago, the stars could be seen in the sky. But now it was covered with darkness.
It looked like a great thunderstorm was about to begin, but it wouldn‟t break. It was beautiful.
The Master looked up and saw faint lightning bolts flicker throughout and around the cloud. With
one motion he could call them down, command them to do his will; command them to destroy this town.
What would that accomplish? A fading sense of pleasure? Pleasure was hardly something he
desired anymore. Nothing would satisfy him. Not until that damned key was found and he held the power
of death in his hands.
“Bring me a civilian,” The Master said, stopping in the middle of the street.
The Shadow walked into a nearby building and returned dragging a screaming person across the
ground. A quick glance revealed it to be a woman in her mid thirties. She screamed for help as she kicked
a shoe off her feet during her attempt of escape. Screaming would not help. Struggling would not help.
Nothing would help.
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“Stop screaming,” The Master said as he walked to the woman. She had brown curly hair
stretching to her lower back. Men in this region of the world found this attractive. The Master, of course,
didn‟t care. A gust of wind blew the hair to the side. How The Master longed to feel the coldness the
winter winds brought, but he forfeited such a sense long ago.
“What…” the woman said, pausing to sniff and wipe a tear from her cheek. “What do you want?”
“What do I want?” The Master yelled in frustration. He took a second to calm himself, walking
around her in a circle. Around him, three more sets of swirling smoke gathered and formed into Shades.
They stood perfectly still, watching through their smokey eyes. “I want to find what I‟ve been looking for.
I want this burning desire within me to be ceased.”
“And you think this will help?”
He looked at her. It had been some time since he last spoke with another person. It was terrible.
He hated the way they questioned his plans. The way they told him his emotions and desires were wrong.
Who were they to determine his destiny? He was in control of his future, not the restrictions of someone
else‟s ideas.
“Are you afraid of death?” The Master asked, looking down at the woman.
She forced herself to regain her composure. “No.”
“Liar.”
“I‟m not.”
“Then why did you scream as we pulled you into the street? Why does your family scream inside
the building? Are you not afraid?”
“Yes.” she admitted. “Aren‟t you?”
“Tell me, why are you afraid to die? Is it because of the uncertainty regarding the afterlife? Are
you afraid you will suffer for eternity?”
“We in Utian,” the woman said, “don‟t believe in the afterlife, nor in a god that takes attendance
as a divine requirement. Nor do we believe the opposite is true, that those who reject the statutes will
suffer forever.”
The Master smiled as she spoke. “Then you are foolish. Eternal suffering is very much real.”
“Are you not afraid then?”
“To escape this life is but a dream” The Master said, raising a hand. The flesh slowly faded away,
revealing the bones beneath. He wiggled his fingers to show it was still real. “I lost my soul long, long
ago.”
“Who… What are you?”
“I am death.”
The Master raised both hands above his head where black, silky strands began swirling. A second
later, through a buff of black smoke, a scythe appeared in his hands. It had a shaft made of bone and a
blade as black as night. He forced his arms forward, slamming the blade into the woman‟s chest as hard
as he could. It pierced straight through her torso and into the stone street on which she lay. She breathed a
final time, then went still.
“Tell the Shadows to consume the souls in this town,” The Master said. When he released his grip
on his weapon it vanished, leaving behind a swirl of smoke that faded away a few seconds later. Flesh
returned to his bones, giving him the appearance of a younger man once again. “Have the Hollows
destroy what remains. I want nothing to be standing when the sun rises.”
The Shades turned and took a few steps down the street toward different buildings before
vanishing into coils of smoke and taking flight. Utian would fall in the next few hours.
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Wings fluttered nearby. Turning, The Master watched as a raven landed on his shoulder. It carried
a letter tied to its leg. The Master grabbed the tiny piece of parchment, unrolled it, and began reading the
letter from Matram.
After a few moments, he formed a cane from the nothingness and leaned against it, smoke rising
and vanishing into the air. He laughed. Perhaps a new opportunity had just arisen for taking down
Rainor‟s defenses.

In all circumstances, seek wisdom.

Chapter 32

The dining room was buzzing with excitement as Aaron entered the room. Some people cheered and
others clapped to commemorate his amazing display in the fighting ring against Leonias. Rumors had
already begun to spread regarding his upbringing, all false, of course. He hadn‟t told anyone what his life
had really been like.
How could he? The Order stood against nearly everything he had done when coming of age. The
only thing he managed to avoid was killing a person, and that was just barely. If he mentioned his life, all
the things he had done, incrimination would shortly follow. There would be nothing he could do to escape
when he was the one admitting the guilt.
Besides, why would he do it anyway? They had killed his father. What purpose would entering a
self proclaimed death sentence bring? It would only further the plan of overthrowing the Order of the
Radiant Light. Besides, if he wanted to die, he could have just met with Reeves.
Friendly and welcoming as the Templarites were, he knew they held secrets. Secrets which would
lead to their own fall. As their holy texts said, Everything hidden in darkness will one day touch the light.
Internally, Aaron smiled as he remembered the words. Not because he had somehow memorized
them and was able to replicate them precisely, but because the Order‟s own statutes would lead to their
fall. And Aaron would be the one exposing their darkness. A pleasing thought.
Aaron walked to a table and took a seat across from Alexander. He was reading a book as
Leonias placed Kill the King tokens on a blank board. While the boards did come in various types, the
most common one was divided into sixteen countries which would be divided by the number of players.
Some of the countries were separated by vast forests, dangerous deserts, or unforgiving seas.
“Good morning, Aaron,” Alex said, glancing from the book. He then jumped right back into
reading. “It‟s strange to see you here this early.”
“Is it?” Leonis asked, placing the kings in their locations. „He eats more than any of us. I think it
makes perfect sense he would be in the kitchen.”
How are they friends? Aaron thought as he bit into an apple.
“True,” Alex said, sounding like he wanted the conversation to end.
“Up for a game?” Leonias asked Aaron. “By the way, you did incredible yesterday. You really
surprised us all.”
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“Thank you,” Aaron said, looking around. There was no sign of Kaylie. She had not spoken to
him since the event at the bath house. He was hoping she would be in the kitchen so he could explain
himself. “Yeah, I‟ll play.”
Leonias smiled, pulled out another set of tokens, and began distributing the lands.
“What are you reading?” Aaron asked Alex.
“An explanation on the various aspects of the Almighty.” He said, not looking up from the pages.
A quill and a jar of ink sat next to his right elbow. Occasionally, he dipped the quill and underlined a
section of words.
“Can the aspects of the infinite be explained?”
“Good question.” Alex sat up and took a sip of his tea. Steam lingered above the mug. “One
cannot explain the Almighty in His entirety—definitely not with our limited minds and vocabularies.
However, we can learn things about His existence and the ways in which He chooses to display His
power. And in doing so, we discover more about ourselves. This is what our books record: the ways in
which the Almighty interacts with His human creation.”
Good answer. “Is the Almighty male?”
Alex cocked his head.
“You refer to the Almighty as a he, actually most of you do,” Aaron explained. “What warrants
the male pronouns?” Aaron did his best to keep a straight face while he played the part of a scholar.
Speaking in such a way—the way to match Alex‟s wording and rhythm—was interesting, but foreign to
Aaron. And since he was acting in such a way to mainly mess with the man, it was hard not to laugh.
Alexander paused, pressing a finger against a freshly shaven chin. “That brings up a topic
involving great deal of debate, but I will do my best to touch on the subject, even if it is just my own
theories. The Almighty contains aspects of both the male and female. This can be seen in the creation of
mankind. He did not create all people just male, but instead He also made female. This was how it was
from the beginning. To each gender he departed different aspects of Himself, making them unique. In
doing so, mankind is an image of the Almighty, meaning he contain both genders.”
“Why then, do we refer to the Almighty as male?”
Holding up a finger, Alex pressed the point, “The founders of the Order—the Sha‟dari—were the
ones that were closest to the Almighty. Through means of prayer and discipline, they experienced more in
their lives than most of us today could ever dream or imagine. The Almighty moved with greatness
during their time, granting our founders powers. Enough power, in fact, to perform the Binding.
“During the times the Sha‟Dari lived, males were predominant over females in society. Because
of this, in most of their writings they referred to the Almighty as male so their works would not be
shunned by the society they were attempting to convert. During those times, kings reigned. And since the
Almighty is the highest of kings, it is easiest for our limited minds to think of Him as a male. Now, we
have since removed such restrictions on the divine God, but we refer to Him in the male pronoun so as
not to confuse oneself when reading ancient texts.”
Makes sense. Perhaps continuing the ruse of a scholar will gain me more information. At least,
theological answers. “And you pray so that God may bring blessings upon you?” Aaron asked, moving
one of his settler tokens toward a mountain range on the map.
“No, no, “Alex said, moving a token of his own. “Prayer is not for the Almighty, for He needs
nothing from us. He is, in Himself, all things and everything. We pray then, so that we may align
ourselves with the Creator. In doing so, our desires, actions, and thoughts become His. If we are careful in
doing this, and live in discipline, we will become more like the Almighty.”
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“So you pray to become like God?”


“Yes. We pray so that our lives will resemble the statutes in which He has declared as right living
since the beginning. Our desire is not to become gods ourselves, but to become more like the Almighty
Himself.”
“And do you believe such a thing is possible?” Aaron asked as he moved a Kill the King token
onto a mining square. Doing this would double his income each turn. This would be useful in building an
empire or purchasing more military and economic tokens.
“Holiness is achieved slowly everyday in each action we take,” Alex said. “We cannot take our
lives for granted, nor the breath of each day. Instead, we must be intentional in all things that we do. I am
not the same man I once was, thank the Almighty. Because of my own experiences, I know prayer and
discipline can make a massive impact on one‟s life.”
“Are these things not explained in the books you are reading?” Leonias asked, spending his
mineral pieces to purchase a swordsman token. The swordsman was the weakest of all military tokens.
“I‟ve been reading a lot of books,” Aaron said. He looked to Leonias‟ side of the board and
noticed he had been spending an ample amount of his mineral income on his military, indicating he was
looking to end at least one of his enemies quickly. This aggression could work, but if the opponent could
defend it while increasing an economy, then the aggressor would not be able to outlast the opponent.
“Most of the books have been about fighting techniques or different views of theology.” Aaron
said, moving some tokens to secure a mine next turn. “Not many, at least from what I‟ve read, have gone
into detail like you have.”
“Ah,” Alex said. “History can still teach many things about the Almighty. Especially if you are
reading Sha‟Darian events.”
Something caught Aaron‟s attention out of the corner of his eye. A flowing white cloak with
auburn hair moving down the hallway toward the kitchen. Kaylie. Standing to his feet, Aaron excused
himself for a moment and went to greet her. She looked less than excited.
Aaron followed Kaylie into the pantry. Multiple shelves lined the walls of this oversized closet.
Wooden cases containing a variety of fruits, nuts, spices, and vegetables rested on the shelves, each
labeled for their particular content. Everburning candles hung on the wall, tinting everything orange.
There was a door further back which opened into a secondary pantry. It was just as big and just as stuffed.
“I‟ve been meaning to speak with you,” Aaron said.
“What is it, Aaron?” Kaylie asked. She grabbed a few apples and nuts, stuffed them into her back,
and turned toward the exit.
“What you saw at the bath house, I didn‟t—”
“You didn‟t what? You didn‟t enjoy yourself?”
“No, I—”
“Aaron, I‟m very busy. I have to go teach the new recruits to shoot a bow. We will talk about this
later.” Kaylie walked out of the pantry and made her way back down the hallway, disappearing around a
corner.
Aaron sighed, took his seat at the table, and rejoined the game.
“Girl trouble, eh?” Alex asked.
“She just doesn‟t understand. She assumes events happened that didn‟t.”
“A great lecture, one which cannot be found in the Rhetoria, stands true. One should abstain from
the appearance of evil. You may not have done anything wrong—and I believe you—but you must
understand it is difficult for others to see the truth when the event looks like something entirely different.”
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“That sure sounds like something the Sha‟Dari would have written,” Aaron said, claiming another
mine in Kill the King, increasing his mineral income.
“There are many interpretations of the texts,” Leonias said. It was a strange comment coming
from him. While his rank claimed he knew theology, the Templarite never seemed to speak about it. Most
of his discussions involved war or games. He joked a lot as well. He was rarely serious, except when it
came to defeating the Corruption.
“There he is!” a voice shouted from the entryway. Turning, Aaron saw Gavin. The Templarite
walked briskly across the dining room and gripped Aaron by the shoulders, giving him a gentle shake.
“You put up quite a display yesterday. Wouldn‟t you say, Leonias?”
Leonias nodded, quietly thinking about his next move. Did he move his military to the west and
interrupt Aaron‟s mines, or did he move to the right and stop Alex from setting up a sea trading empire?
Aaron tensed as the shaking continued. “I knew during your training you would be good,” Gavin
said, “but landing blows against a seasoned fighter was something else. Tirion was quite impressed. Great
job, Aaron. Tremendous, actually. ” He laughed. “Those Hollows wouldn‟t know what to do against you
now.”
But how could Aaron take a life? Even just the thought of such a thing caused his stomach to
turn.
Gavin released his grip and walked to a window which opened to the kitchen. He spoke to some
of the girls working the stove. Not long after, Rahn and his larger version, Raigar, joined the
conversation.
Leonias leaned forward to inspect the board. His loosely fitting white shirt brushed against the
edge of the table, near his cup of tea. It was cold by now. He hadn‟t taken a sip in some time. Leonias
finally took his turn in Kill the King, moving his military to the east to interrupt Alex‟s plans.
“I must say,” Alexander said as he moved a swordsman token across his side of the board. “You
did fight well. Far greater than I expected. You will be a great addition to the Order, Aaron Bardeaux.”
“Thank you,” Aaron said, capturing another mine on his turn.
Aaron looked at Leonias. What wrongs had he committed?
The Templarite was the youngest of the rank, but showed tremendous skill. But Aaron wasn‟t
exactly close to the man. Not as close as he needed to be. He could ask him questions, delve a little deeper
into his life, but something made him resist. Maybe it was the fear of trusting someone. Maybe it was the
fact he didn‟t quite care. Whatever the reason, Aaron remained quiet and continued playing the game.
Kill the King went on for some time. After Leonias attacked Alex, he moved his military toward
the center of the board where Fire Mountain was located. On top of Fire Mountain, a giant dragon slept.
Should a player have the military to defeat the creature, they were rewarded with the Dragon Blade,
which converted a swordsman token into a Dragon Warrior. The Dragon Warrior was nearly unstoppable
in combat.
By the time Aaron noticed what was happening and bought enough swordsman and archer tokens
to stop Leonias, it was too late. All Aaron was able to do was pick off some tokens as Leonias defeated
the dragon. Once he had the Dragon Warrior, he easily moved across the board and defeated Aaron.
Alexander was still recovering from the previous attack to defend Aaron. The game ended with Leonias
defeated both players, becoming the victor.
“You got lucky,” Alex said as he opened his book and returned to studying.
“Lucky?” Leonias asked, packing away the tokens. “How do you figure? I took you out of the
game before you were able to build a military with your sea built economy.”
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“Like I said, lucky. Had I gotten the forces needed to defend, you would have quickly lost.”
“But that was my strategy.”
“Luck, Leonias. Luck.”
“I don‟t believe in luck.”
Alex looked up from the book. “What do you want to call it then?”
“A strategic victory.”
“Fine. A strategic victory.”
Aaron smiled. They fought this way after every game, no matter who won. Why did they
continue to play? Rising from his seat, Aaron walked over to a table where Gavin was speaking with
Wain. Raigar was also sitting at the table, chewing on a turkey leg.
“I believe congratulations are in order,” Wain said, looking up from his conversation.
Aaron nodded.
“Unfortunately I was unable to watch the display due to my studies. I have been researching a
mystery for some time and just recently discovered a breakthrough. I was up all night, but I hear you
fought well, far beyond what anyone expected.”
“Thank you.” Aaron said as he nodded to accept the compliment. “But I‟m hardly here to gloat. I
was curious, the man who arrived yesterday—the man with the cart—who is he?”
“You mean Oben?” Gavin asked. He was dressed down today, wearing a white shirt with shiny
silver edges and brown trousers. A rare sight.
“Yes, I believe that was his name.”
“Without Oben,” Wain said, “we would be in great need. He provides far more supplies than we
give him credit for. Sometimes he even travels with crates of food, helping us survive the harsh winters—
like this one.”
“How is he related to the Order?”
“Oh, that is quite a long story. But the short answer, he is among the rank of Templarites.”
Aaron‟s eyes widened. “He‟s... a member of the Order?”
“Quite so. Nearing four decades now. We keep expecting him to pass on to the Heavens. But
everytime he makes one of his trips, he surpasses our expectations. Believe me when I tell you it‟s a
heartfelt moment when we see him trudging along on that cart—it‟s nearly as old as he is. We don‟t know
how, but he still finds a way to stay nimble.
“He sought self exile after… an event occurred. Tirion granted it, even helped fund and build his
home in the mountains to the north and east. Heilois, Oben he calls it.”
“Not what you expected?” Wain asked.
“No, not at all,” Aaron said, regaining his wits. “He just seems so…”
“Strange?”
“Yes. Very strange.”
Gavin smiled. “It‟s part of the exile. Two decades ago, he was one of the few who decided to
push the limits of magic. That night… messed with his brain you might say. He‟s been teetering on the
edge of insanity ever since, staying up in the mountains creating concoctions. Some say he‟s snapped.
That seems unlikely, however, since he is able to make the trip alone from the mountains to Rainor a few
times a year.”
“Why was he pushing the limits of magic?” Aaron asked. And why are you now so open to
explaining magic to me? Was it because of a simple bout against a Templarite? Could the Order really be
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so simplistic that a display of combat earned someone‟s respect? Wouldn‟t a religious organization care
more about correct beliefs? Why do I want their approval anyway?
“You may not be eligible for training in magic yet, but I can explain one of the most basic
formulas,” Gavin said, pausing to take a sip of his tea. He puckered his lips as he drank. Wain smiled,
apparently he had made it extra potent. “I assume you know about the effects magic can cause on a
person? I‟ve heard you experienced it with Tavon. Well, the more magic a person harnesses, the more of
an aftershock effects their body. The only limit in what can be done is determined by the limit in which
our bodies can withstand.
“For example: it takes far more power to create a wave of energy than it does to heal a cut from a
thornbush. The wave of energy would cause a greater amount of magical Backlash which may linger for
some time. So, a person may be able to move a mountain, but they would be left as a babbling corpse of a
person.
“This is the reason we use Sol Stones. The Sol Stone will take the Backlash of magic instead of
the conjurer, if the magic is cast through the object. This was how Tavon was able to create the protective
barrier in the Shadowlands and not go insane. ”
“So, the mind needs to process what happened?” Aaron asked, remembering the explanation Alex
had once given.
“Something like that,” Gavin said. He and Wain shared a look, but said nothing more.
“Where do the Sol Stones come from?” asked Aaron.
Gavin smiled, pausing to look at Bardeaux. “Oben brings them.” His smile broadened as he saw
Aaron‟s eyes widen. “We don‟t know where he finds them—or where the Sha‟Dari first found them,
though some guess the Almighty may have given them Himself—but occasionally, Oben will have one or
two when he visits.”
“There are many mysteries in life,” Wain added. “Some are not worth seeking; some are meant to
be accepted.”
Aaron nodded and walked away as they continued in their conversation. He made his way past
Leonias and Alex—who were still sitting at the same table reading books—and entered the pantry to
gather a few supplies.
Hopefully Aaron had stalled long enough for Sariah to search their rooms.

The fear of the Almighty is the path to righteousness.

Chapter 33

“What are you doing?” Sariah asked, watching as Aaron pulled jars out of his bag.
“I‟m growing more and more frustrated,” Aaron said as he opened one filled to the brim with
liquified sugar. “I‟m finding it difficult to keep up my appearance. The fact that they killed my father is
wearing on me. I want revenge.”
“I understand that, Aaron, and we will get it.” Sariah held a dagger in her hands. Like expected, a
dagger forged by the Order was highly ornate with gold runes lining the blade and gold embroideries in
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the hilt—the markings were specific, but she didn‟t know their meanings. It felt… right. It wasn‟t like the
ones she had before, but it would be hard, if not impossible, to find a weapon which matched her old, lost
daggers. The new weapon was balanced and decently sharp. It would easily slit a throat or pierce a gut.
“So what are you making?”
“I enjoy the wine of the Order. It doesn‟t taste bad. But I need something a little stronger, and
sweeter if I can manage. I‟m recreating a drink the man who taught me how to hate the Order taught me
how to make.”
Sariah sat on the bed and watched as Aaron removed the lids on the barrels located in the
opposite corner of his bedroom. He said he got them from Beatrice, whoever she was. Aaron then did his
best to divide the sweetener evenly into each barrel. Gauging with the eye was not precise, but it would be
close enough. At least, Sariah assumed. She had never dabbled in alchemy or brewing before, but she
imagined it was fairly similar to cooking.
“So, what did you find?” Aaron asked, still pouring the liquid.
“That‟s it? Straight to the action?” Sariah asked, shaking her head. “Just like a man to never want
small talk.”
“After the other night, I thought we were past small talk.”
“Aaron Bardeaux, are you suggesting we move our relationship forward.?”
“What? No. I—”
Sariah laughed as Aaron‟s face went red. He‟s cute when he‟s embarrassed. “The rooms were all
well organized and nearly identical. A few of the Lionhearts had some tables and a bookshelf, but even
they were tidey. It was hard to find anything helpful. The coffers all contained personal mementos, each
of little value.
“That was, until, I entered Michael‟s room. Inside his coffer was a small metal figurine in the
shape of a weeping willow—a religious symbol of the Terrene.”
Aaron turned and looked at her, excitement on his face. “I didn‟t have time to search his room
during my first investigations. But what you found could be very useful. If he is dabbling in the druidic
arts, then he is breaking one of the highest of rules within the Order. This could lead to him being rejected
as a heretic.”
“Can a Templarite be excommunicated from the Order?” Sariah wasn‟t as familiar with the rules
as Aaron. He had been studying under their rules far longer than she, and what she learned was hardly
useful. It was doubtful that Aaron needed help finding the kitchen, the bath house, or the stable like she
did.
The books she had read were far from helpful. She didn‟t yet have the basics of the theology, the
tomes containing deeper insight into the mysteries of the Almighty would be of little use. Not to mention
she had barely touched the Rhetoria.
“Surely one can,” Aaron said, as he unscrewed the lid to a jar containing yeast, which he then
began dividing evenly into the barrels. “If a person can declare self banishment, surely a person can be
excommunicated. Especially under the grounds of heresy and idolatry.”
“Then that symbol may lead to something. There was also something interesting in Tavon‟s
room.” At the mention of the Lionheart‟s name, Aaron lifted his head. “I thought that might interest you.
He was studying the Brakkal.”
Aaron stopped pouring the yeast and looked out the window into the night sky. A few stars shown
in the distance barely covered by clouds.. “The book of Myrkurism .”
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“Yes. It appears he may be delving into the occult. Acolytes of Myrkurism, as you know, gain
their power through sacrificing humans. Typically, the first borns. The more pure the blood, the greater
the power they attain. At least, so they say.”
“That could be something, Sariah. That could be something, indeed. If Tavon is sacrificing new
recruits, this could crumble the entire organization.”
Sariah smiled. It was nice to be recognized for something other than killing. It had been a long
time since such a thing occurred. Heavens, it had been a long time since she had seen Aaron. Looking at
him still brought an element of surprise and wonder. He was far different now than he once was.
The last time she saw him years ago, he was but a kid. A street rat just trying to live. She was like
an older sister to him, helping him find food and complete his jobs for his handler. She was his protector.
But now, things were different. She found herself being secured by his protection. He knew her secret. He
knew she was a witch. With one conversation he could have her killed. Yet, he said nothing.
Sariah watched as Aaron began adding slices of chopped apples into each barrel. He‟s so
determined now. She looked down at the dagger in her hands, watching as the light reflected off the blade
as she rotated it in her hand. He really thinks he can overthrow the Order. Curses, I believe he can do it.
She smiled and watched him add ingredients. After the apple slices he added cherries which had
been cut in half. It was then she realized she was blushing. He‟s not even looking at me! What is
happening? Do I really want to be with him?
All her life Sariah wanted to be alone, even when acting as the bigger sister for Aaron. But now
she felt different. A companion would be nice. Maybe even settle down and stop this mindless killing.
What was this killing achieving anyway?
Life contains power and power is gained through sacrifice.
The words of Matram echoed in her mind. Matram. She would want to know what was
happening. Sariah had not had the chance to check back in with her. That would need to happen soon.
Life contains power and power is gained through sacrifice.
Sariah felt a desire deep within her to kill. A desire for power. A desire to sacrifice. It had been a
week since she last found the opportunity. She lusted for blood. No, she needed it. Her magic was strong
when fighting the lynx, but not strong enough. She fell too quickly into the backlash, proving that her
Khasta needed to be fed. Needed to be increased.
Rising to her feet, Sariah slid the dagger into its sheath and walked next to Aaron, tying the
sheath to her waist. It wasn‟t the best place for a dagger, but it could be hidden beneath her cloak well
enough. “When do I get to try it?” she asked, rubbing the back of her neck. Why did she feel hot?
“It will need to ferment for two or three weeks, at least,” Aaron explained, placing the empty jars
on his dresser—the top also functioned as a table, study, or bookshelf. “But you will be the first to try it.
We will celebrate tonight‟s discovery over a drink.” He joined her in front of the barrels, smiling
Sariah embraced him. What am I doing? Sariah thought, eyes widening behind his head. After a
moment, Aaron placed his arms around her. She felt safe. A sense of belonging. Like this is what she
always wanted. Closing her eyes, she enjoyed the moment.
Aaron patted her back. She understood the signal to mean the hug was over. She backed away,
turning to gaze out the window, brushing her hair away from her face.
“Where did you get that dagger anyway?” Aaron asked.
“I found it in Tavon‟s room,” said Sariah, touching the hilt of the sheathed weapon. “It was
tucked deep in his coffer. It was a little nicer than the others.”
“So you took it?”
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“There was dust on all the items in his chest. I doubt he will ever notice it's gone.”
“You are playing a dangerous game, Sariah. If they found out that you took it…”
“More dangerous than you? You‟re trying to overthrow an entire religion. You‟ve been sneaking
around this place for over a month, and you‟re worried about a little dagger?”
“Fair enough. What‟s that?” Aaron asked, pointing to an orange light near the base of the
window. They both leaned forward to get a better look.
Down below, on the ground, a fire was starting. It was small, but the man next to it was adding
things to the glow, forcing it to grow larger. Judging by the stacks of logs, it would soon be a blazing
inferno.
“We should check it out,” Sariah said, turning to grab her cloak hanging above the hearth. It
carried a small flame, enough to keep the chill away and warm her garment.
“I‟ll go,” Aaron said, grabbing his coat, not bothering with his cloak. “You‟ve been more than
enough help tonight.” He nodded and left the room.
Sariah followed behind, shutting the door as she left. She watched him walk down the hallway
until he traveled to far for the light to shine, then she turned and headed toward the back entrance of the
cathedral. She wouldn‟t be going back to her room. Not tonight.
Tonight she would be venturing across the snowfields and into the forest, heading north and west.
Tonight, a Den was calling.

***

By the time Aaron reached the bottom of the stairwell, exited the door, and turned right, the
bonfire was already stretching high into the sky. Sparks danced off the logs and danced in the air before
fading away. It was a pleasing sight.
Aaron stepped closer to investigate. The figure was still adding stuff to the fire, though it
definitely didn‟t need to grow any larger. No seating arrangement had been setup for the night. He
wouldn‟t be conducting a class or doing a nighttime study.
Something rustled in his pocket, heavy like a rock. Reaching inside, Aaron felt the smoothness of
a stone—the black one he found in the Shadowlands. Most days he forgot he carried it.
A gust of wind blew, forcing the fire to the side and the man‟s hood off his head, revealing a
balding scalp and a long, white beard. The beard was clean and free of tangles, unlike Oben‟s.
Aaron recognized the man. He looked familiar. Somewhere, maybe just in passing, he had seen
this man. But the name slipped from his tongue.
Bardeaux continued forward, foot crunching deep into the snow. He didn‟t try to walk stealthily,
there was no need. Not to mention it would be difficult to sneak up on someone standing in front of a
bonfire, not that he hadn‟t done so before. There were many things he had done before he wished to leave
in the past.
One day.
The man placed the hood back on and began tossing the logs back into the fire. No, they weren‟t
logs. They didn‟t have the right shape—they weren‟t long so much as they were square—and the firelight
reflected strangely off the cover, like it was made of leather. Books.
The man was burning books.
Who was he?
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Close enough to feel waves of heat flowing from the flames, Aaron could hear the man
mumbling. What was said could not be made out, but words were definitely heard. They sounded
somewhat foreign, like a different language completely. The tones of the syllables were strangely
beautiful. It seemed crazy to think the mouth could produce such sounds, yet it was.
“Hello?” Aaron said, walking closer still. He was close enough now that he was forced to walk
around the edge of the bonfire. Sweat was already beading on his forehead.
“What is it, what is it?” the man said. The way he spoke the common language was elegant and
fluffy, yet he sounded annoyed, as if Aaron was interrupting something of vital importance. Could
burning books be so important? They weren‟t going anywhere.
Why would he want to destroy such a plethora of information anyway?
“What are you doing?” Aaron asked.
“What does it look like? I‟m burning books.”
That‟s apparent, Aaron thought. “Yes, I can see this, but why?”
“That is an entirely different question with an entirely different answer. Next time you want
information, ask the right question.” The man didn‟t look up, but instead kept grabbing a few books off
the top of the stacks and tossing them into the flames one at a time.
“Are you going to answer?”
“Yes, yes,” the man said. Occasionally his beard swayed dangerously close to the fire. “I suppose
I will, if it will make you go away. I‟m burning writings I‟ve found to be incorrect.”
“Writings? Wait… are these all your books?”
“Yes, yes. I wrote them all.”
“And you are burning them?” It seems crazy to burn all those books. It looks to be his entire life‟s
work. And judging from his age, he may not have many more years left.
“Yes, yes. You can see that. Each of these books contains a different theory, idea, thesis,
philosophy, investigation, whatever you want to call it. After years and years of filtering information, I‟ve
found these to be incorrect and flawed. Therefore, they must be destroyed so a future generation does not
delve into heresy.”
So he‟s burning his life‟s work to protect future generations? That almost sounded noble. Almost.
“The amount of books, this must have taken your entire life,” Aaron said.
“It did, nearly all of it. I‟ve been in Rainor writing for the last four decades. But the world could
use a little refining, especially when it comes to written accounts of the Almighty. What is wrong should
be destroyed.”
“That seems a little extreme.”
“Is it though? How would you feel if you spent your entire life studying something, even
becoming the leading expert on the topic, only to find out, near the end of your life, you were wrong
about nearly everything. And, perhaps, the entire subject is but a lie. Wouldn‟t you feel as though you
wasted the time?”
It was hard to argue with that.
“What I‟m trying to do is prevent such a thing from happening,” the man said, tossing another
book into the flame. The leather binding warped on the edges and bubbled in the middle before eventually
catching fire.
It seemed strange to think, but this old, bearded man tossing books into a fire may be the most
level minded person Aaron had met in the Order. At least his actions made sense and he wasn‟t simply
studying and going through motions without thought. Ideas were great, even beliefs. But if the beliefs
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didn‟t change someone‟s behaviour, what were they good for? It was then, in that moment of thought,
Aaron realized who this man was. This was Master Bre, the leading expert on necromancy.
“Do you have more writings than these?” Aaron asked. “Maybe ones you have found to be true?”
“Of course I do,” Bre said. “Not everything I did was a waste. Why, I would suppose even these
failed ideas were not a waste. Through these words I was able to delve deeper into what is true.”
“I have a few questions for you, if you don‟t mind.”
“Of course you do. Always questions. Everyone always has questions. The never ending life of a
scholar. Questions upon questions, answers always to be given. Make it quick. I want to finish these
stacks before more people arrive to this meeting.”
Well, isn‟t he delightful. “What can you tell me about hauntings?”
“Someone you know seeing ghosts?” Bre snorted in derision. “Apparitions are unable to enter the
material world on their own. Therefore, someone can not be haunted under the traditional sense. Ghosts,
spirits, apparitions, whatever you want to call them, can only interact with humans and the material plane
when summoned. And such a thing only happens with magic. And I assure you, communing with the
dead is very dark magic.”
Dark magic? I haven‟t been using magic. I don‟t even know how. “What do you know about
skeletons leaving their graves?”
Again, Bre snorted. He apparently found the questions rather ridiculous and useless. “Like
apparitions, skeletons can only move when necromancy is involved. And such a level of power has not
been seen in at least a millennium, possibly two.”
“Have you ever used dark magic?”
“By the Almighty…” Bre said, pausing to stare at Aaron. This was the first time he looked away
from the books. “Of course not. I would never risk my soul by doing such a thing. Heavens, no one
should.” He shook his head and returned to the burning of information and knowledge.
“What do you know of Death Wardens?”
“In all my research, I‟ve never encountered the name.”
“Thank you, Bre. Do you need any help?”
“No, no. I‟ll be fine on my own. If you have no further questions, please leave me to my work—
or my unwork.” Bre smiled briefly after his statement, finding his own joke funny. At least someone did.
Aaron bowed in respect to Bre, though the scholar didn‟t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn‟t
care. Then, Aaron turned and walked away, leaving the man to the book burnings in peace.
Have I been using magic? How?
He had trained with Sariah, but was unable to feel anything. The ghosts were real, though. He
knew it. The memory of the hauntings were still vivid. The first in the Shadowlands and the second in
Ghara. They were distinct. Doing something. Needing something. Why were they reaching out to him?
Heavens, how were they reaching out to him?
Shaking his head, Aaron walked away, waves of heat slowly fading behind as he moved toward
the distant candles of the cathedral. This had been a long night. He had a lot to think about and needed
some rest.
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The student is not above the teacher.

Chapter 34

The lights of the cathedral had long since faded into the distance as Sariah continued forward through the
starless night, retracting her path toward the Den. It was so cold her thick, winter clothing felt as thin as
silk.
The wound on her leg had healed nicely which made traveling far easier than last time. And out
here in the woods, far from the others, Sariah did not need to keep the rouse of needing to hobble. Here,
she walked normally—Well, as normally as one can when sinking shin deep in snow.
North and west, Sariah thought to herself. North and west.
She continued onward, looking down at the snow as she heaved each step forward. Just to the left
of her boot, another hole was made. It was was far deeper than her step and the print was wider, holding
five circles with claws. A bear. And from the size of the print and the distance of each step, the beast was
massive. Larger, possibly, than even the lynx at the bath-house. Could another creature be Corrupted?
Heavens, why was she using words like Corrupted? She didn‟t believe in that divine jargon. Why
not, though? She used magic, and at one time she didn‟t think that was true. She killed people with the
flick of a blade, and at one time she thought that to be wrong. Could the thought of an evil force mutating
nature be so wrong?
I did see the lynx. It was mutated by something.
Forcing her foot from its hold and flinging snow into the air, Sariah stepped forward. Next to
her—a few feet from another bear print—blood stained the ground. Lots of blood. Blood and lines in the
snow, like the sweep of a massive claw..
Sariah squinted, following the lines to a carcass crushed against a tree. It was a grey furred wolf.
Most of its skin and muscles had been ripped away and its spine was snapped, wrapping the corpse
around the tree trunk.
The sight forced Sariah to move faster. That was, until she saw another mangled corpse staining
the snow and froze. And another corpse. Then another. There were four wolves dead in total, each
mangled and ripped apart, hardly recognizable. Each had broken bones and claw lines leading to their
dead bodies, blood staining massive sections of the snow with crimson.
Something growled in the distance to the east. It was a loud growl, followed by a howl, then a
whimper. A wolf that had not died yet was fighting something. From the sound of the growls, something
large and ferocious. Sariah continued forward, trying to distance herself the best she could, but the
whimpering was drawing closer. The fight was heading her way.
North and west, she told herself, forcing her feet to go faster. But the depth of the snow was
slowing her stride. Each step was a struggle, and all she had for defense was a single dagger. That and
magic, but her Khasta desperately needed feeding.
The wolf whined behind, louder than last time, then went silent as something snapped against a
tree. The spine. The wolf was dead. Grunts indicating whatever killed it was devouring its corpse, giving
Sariah time to flee.
As she struggled to ran forward, she closed her eyes and focused on the Universe, searching for
the Strands. They were distant, hardly noticeable. She continued searching, not bothering to open her
eyes, whatever killed the wolf was currently occupied. And there was nothing else in these woods.
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Nothing but trees, and she wasn‟t worried about brushing against one of those. She wasn‟t moving fast
enough for it to hurt.
The Strands were elusive, fading out of her mind seconds after they appeared, like they were
trying to escape her touch. Then one stayed. It was bright yellow and off to the corner of her left eye. She
touched it—not physically of course, but with her mind— and forced it to remain. Instantly, she felt
power rushing into her body, and even more as she grabbed another. Eventually her entire vision was lit
with power and she opened her eyes. The strength remained and her muscles felt invigorated, making
moving through the snow much easier.
This was not a Fletching, of course. Empowerment was something that happened when magic
was used at all.
It still took some effort, however, but Sariah could double her speed. Which was good, because
the beast behind—likely a bear—wasn‟t grunting anymore. It had finished eating. Sariah leaned to the
right as the went around a tree. It‟s trunk was wide, blocking a lot of space. She swerved around it as she
moved, placing it between her and the beast.
The ground shook behind as the beast drew nearer, releasing a horrific roar. Of course. It had
smelled her.
It was common knowledge to anyone surviving in the wilderness—which Sariah had done on
more than one occasion—that bear‟s had an excellent sense of smell and could track its prey for over a
mile. She was far closer than that.
“Keep moving,” Sariah told herself as she leaned her back against the tree and tried to catch her
breath. Making her way up a hill using twice as much effort as normal due to the thickness of the snow
left her fatigued. The Strands may have provided power, but they didn‟t make her immune to the basics of
humanity. Her lungs still needed air.
“Keep moving.”
Pushing herself off the tree, Sarah continued forward, moving toward the den. It should be
appearing any moment. It couldn‟t be far.
A gust of wind blew through the area, forcing a few tree limbs to send snow crashing to the
ground. With it, the wind brought a layer of disgust, forcing Sariah to instantly become nauseated. It
smelled like the lynx at the bath-house.
The bear was drawing closer, close enough to be smelled. Judging from the scent, it had been
dying for some time. But judging from the carcasses it ate, it may be leaving far longer than it should
have been able to. Sariah was determined to not be the next meal.
She forced herself through a thicket of bushes—wetting her clothing from the layers of snow
covering them—and made her way around some trees. North and west, she thought as she focused on the
energy the Strands provided. Her muscles were still empowered, making it easy to jump over a fallen tree.
Wood snapped behind. The log she had just leaped over shattered to pieces as the bear crushed it.
The beast was getting closer. So close now, Sariah could hear it gasping for air as it moved. She needed to
do something.
She couldn‟t fight it. The lynx was a decent opponent. Though she killed it quickly, she
considered herself lucky to have beaten it as fast as she did. The bear, however, would not die as easily.
Bears were quite a bit more deadly than lynxes, and she didn‟t want to encounter another set of injuries. It
would be hard to explain she stumbled upon a broken leg or arm.
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Pulling on the Strands of the Universe, she gathered within herself the power to unleash the
Fourth Fletching. Starting from the tips of her arms, her skin began to tingle to her torso, down her legs,
and to the top of her head. It was like the Strands themselves were making a clone of her. And they were.
As her vision became narrow, Sariah looked ahead, focusing on where she wanted to land. While
doing this, something caught her eye. A large, dark circle on the snowy hillside. The entryway to the den.
She forced just past that darkness of the mouth, trying to establish her landing. Suddenly, her vision went
black.
She felt herself being torn apart, then instantly placed back together as she stretched and twirled.
The world flew by, though she couldn‟t see it. She felt it twist, felt movement, even if just for an instant.
Vision returning, she was now standing inside the cave, feet against a smooth, dirt floor. She ran forward,
escaping the sounds of the bear.
It wouldn‟t be chasing her. The beast was distracted. The Fourth Fletching left a shadowy version
of Sariah outside where she originally stood. It moved and dodged like her, even fighting the same way—
it would be wielding a shadow aspect of the very same dagger she carried on her hip.
With a sigh, Sariah pressed into the cave, passing the wolf tendon wards hanging from the
ceiling. As she followed the twists of the walkway, she felt a wave of power press against her. So strong it
forced her to slow her stride. Getting closer, she stumbled from the force being exerted. She didn‟t know
what it was. It felt familiar, but different.
Matram had a presence about her, an aura—similar to the kind Sariah had with animals, but far
stronger. Sariah felt it when she drew near. It felt heavy and dark, like this wave but not as thick. Not as
potent.
Placing her hand against the smooth, earthen wall, Sariah stumbled forward, searching for
Matram. She knew she was here. Past the thick, unknown aura, she could distinguish Matram‟s presence.
That feeling eased something inside her. Her soul, maybe?
She rounded a corner and entered into a large cavern, nearly falling to the ground from the weight
of this unknown power. She looked up and saw a young man. He looked to be in late twenties. He wore
his hair short with a freshly shaven face. Who was this surprisingly good looking man?
He smiled as he noticed Sariah. His conversation with Matram ended as she, too, turned way.
“Are you alright, child?” Matram asked, walking across the open room to help Sariah to her feet.
She ushered her over to a chair placed in a corner—the same chair Sariah watched Matram mix liquids
during her last visit.
“Yes, I think so,” Sariah said, catching her breath. Her body still ached and she found it difficult
to stand. This man had immense power and carried an aura that proved it. What had he sacrificed to gain
such levels? Heavens, what could his Khasta be like?
“What happened? You look exhausted.”
“There was a bear.” Sariah said, her words beginning to slur. “I had to use the Fourth Fletching to
escape.”
Matram raised an eyebrow. “The Fourth Fletching? Against a bear?”
“It was a big bear.”
“I‟d hope so.” Matram grabbed a tin cup, filled it with water, and gave it to Sariah. “What has
been happening with the Order? Were you able to influence the person you spoke of last time we met?”
Sariah shook her head, gripping the cup. “He resisted.”
Matram cursed and pounded her hand against the table. Glass vials containing various
concoctions shook from the impact.
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“But,” Sariah continued, “he saw me use magic and wants to learn. I‟ve started teaching him.”
“Oh?” Matram turned from the table, contemplating the situation. “Interesting, indeed. It appears
you have taken a protege. That could be useful.” She walked next to the man who stood motionless,
watching the conversation.
“How has the training been?” Matram asked.
“It‟s been… rough. He‟s not doing so well.”
“But the hatred is deep within him,” the man said.
How did he know that?
Matram turned toward him, then back to Sariah. “Let me introduce you to our guest. This is The
Master.”
Sariah‟s eyes went wide. The Master? Here? Why? What was she suppose to do? Did she bow?
Formalities for such an event had never been discussed. How was she to act? Suddenly, Sariah felt as if
all her training had vanished. She sat dumbfounded, motionless.
“It‟s… a pleasure?” she eventually said. Stupid. What a stupid thing to say.
He nodded before speaking. “Rumors of your skill have stretched many kingdoms.” His voice
was smooth and youthful.
“Hopefully good ones.”
“That depends on perspective, I believe. Assassins are rarely regarded as good unless you are
speaking to someone who values their importance. You, my dear, have created a good bit of mess in this
world and should be commended for it.”
“Thank you?” Sariah took a sip from her cup, trying to avoid eye contact. She couldn‟t place it
exactly, but something wasn‟t right with him. The man not only had a thick presence, but he made her
uncomfortable. And she rarely felt uncomfortable.
“As you know, the Master rarely visits,” Matram said, making way way over to the man. She
carried something sharp in her hand, a dagger or a athame. “This makes tonight a particularly spectacular
occasion. And above his presence, he comes with a proposition for you.” She looked over his shoulder,
smiling at Sariah.
“Yes, what she says is true,” The Master said.
“He wants you to consider the notion of becoming an Acolyte of Myrkurism and training under
him.”
Sariah‟s eyes went wide as she took another sip, using the tin cup to hide her expression. “I don‟t
know…”
“It pains me to lose you,” Matram said, rushing back to a seat and placing her hands on Sariah‟s
lap. It wasn‟t much of a comfort. Not now. Not with him in the room. “You are one of my most talented
and promising students. The Family will suffer a great loss if you choose to take the offer. But, it would
be foolish to deny such a request. Under The Master‟s hand you will learn powers far beyond the
Fletchings I could teach you. Your powers would be far beyond even myself.” She grimaced as she spoke
the last line.
“I don‟t know…”
An Acolyte? Me? Such a thing was never under consideration. Sariah was far too busy trying to
live, trying to learn magic, and trying to complete assassinations to worry about the cult of Myrkurism.
And now she was being offered a chance to leave everything she knew to gain more power? Such a thing
was a hard to resist.
But what if she didn‟t want power anymore?
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Sariah thought back to the last time she visited the Den. Matram held back information regarding
the shadow-demon-things in the Shadowlands.
Where did the Strands of the Universe come from? Sariah always assumed the Universe existed
in such a way from the beginning where it could be tapped into. That the Strands were always there,
waiting to be harnessed. But what if this wasn‟t true? Could there be demons dwelling among people
granting them power? She watched first hand as those Shadows, those demons, ate people‟s souls. Was
that how they gained power?
But how did power get turned into magic?
“Sariah?” Matram asked.
Snapping back from her thoughts, Sariah looked up her elderly teacher. Despite the many
wrinkles on her cheeks and around her eyes, Matram looked surprisingly young for her age.
“Sariah,” Matram asked again,” are you okay?”
“Yes, I think so. I just need time to think.”
“Of course, child. Of course. There is no rush. Take all the time you need.” She handed Sariah the
dagger she held in her hands. It had a hilt and blade as black as the night sky. Red runes along the blade
carried a faint glow, turning the edges of Matram‟s hands ruby red as she handed over the weapon.
“This,” Matram explained, “ is part of the initiation.”
The Master took a step forward, causing Sariah a slight startle. Then he spoke. “For you to join
the lineage of Acolytes, you must sacrifice a person of particular interest. Take the athame and shove it
into the person‟s heart. You will absorb their soul and gain their essence, which your body will turn into
power.”
“Life contains power and power is gained through sacrifice,” Matram whispered.
Sariah took the weapon. Holding it in her hand, she felt its strength. It had an aura about it,
similar to the kind The Master bore. For the first time in a long time• —as she stared at the dagger,
watching the runes pulse with power—she felt scared.
“Who‟s the target?” she asked. She was beginning to feel light headed, like she would be passing
out in the near future.
“A man who has become quite a nuisance to my plans over the years,” The Master said. “And
given your newfound situation, you have the proper abilities to get close to the man. I believe you have
met him, Tavon Aiell—Lionheart of the Order of the Radiant Light.”
Sariah‟s heart stopped. A Lionheart? Their abilities in combat were legendary. And not just any
Lionheart, but Tavon? He defended her honor during the interrogations with Tirion. If it were not for his
words, she may have been found guilty. How could she kill him?
If she paused long enough to seek deep within, she grew tired of killing. She had killed most of
her life and now just wanted it to end. Aaron‟s dream of retiring to the mountains was one of intrigue. He
spoke as if he had enough savings to leave this coming spring. And with her skills, Sariah would be able
to stumble upon enough coin to join the retirement and end this life of slaughter. Stop the bloodshed upon
her hands. She felt like her hands were placed under an ever running fountain of crimson, and it needed to
end.
“If I do this,” Sariah said, shaking her head, “then I‟ll be out of the Family. The entire plan of
infiltrating the Order will be over.”
Matram smiled. “Child, do you really think me so foolish to put all my eggs in one basket?
Should you become an Acolyte the plan will continue with someone else. And with your newfound
power, you may be of greater use to destroying the Order and all the sects who fight for the same ideas.”
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“I‟ll need to think about it,” Sariah said, the words of her sentences began to feel drug out. She
was teetering on the edge of babbling.
“Come, child.” Matram took her by the arm, grabbed a few pins from the table and a more rustic
athame, and lead her past The Master to the back chamber. “Your Khasta is terribly low. Let us perform a
sacrifice. Give you some power.”
Sariah followed along, glancing over her shoulder at the entrance. She found herself desperately
wanting to leave as she held the glowing red dagger in her hand.

A man is remembered by his love.

Chapter 35

Kaylie walked down a dirt path, passing a few new recruits who were hard at work shoveling snow to
keep the path clear. Snow continued to fall in thick flakes, making the chore of shoveling snow
neverending.
After a few dozen feet, Kaylie stopped, picked up a bow, and tested its structural integrity. She
pulled back the string and fired an arrow at one of the three targets twenty yards away. As always, the
arrow struck near the center of the target. It seemed solid enough.
“I want to believe you, Aaron,” she said, notching another arrow. “I really do. It just seems so…
foolish, what you did.”
“I know, I know,” Aaron said. Tightening the red scarf around his neck to keep warm, he another
arrow hit the target. It struck next to the other.
“I mean, what were you thinking sneaking out in the middle of the night to take a girl to bathe?
Or taking a girl to bathe at all, especially alone. Even just mentioning what happened seems foolish. I
want to believe nothing happened—that what you say is true—but how can I?”
Well it sounds bad when she says it like that, Aaron thought. It had been nearly two weeks since
the incident and this this was the first time she agreed to speak of it, and he didn‟t want to leave with her
feeling the same afterwards. He couldn‟t.
“So what is going on between you two? Some people have suspicions,” Kaylie said, placing the
bow back on its rack and walking to the next one a little further down. Once there, she picked up another
bow and fired a few test shots.
“What are people saying?” Aaron asked.
Kaylie whipped her head around and glared at him, her red hair rustling in the breeze. Nearby, a
few of the shoveling recruits looked up. But once they saw the look she gave, they instantly went back to
moving snow.
“Does it matter?” she asked.
“I suppose not. Nothing is happening between Sariah and me,” Aaron explained, though as he
said it he wondered if it were true. They had kissed. And they were naked. And she was beautiful, but so
was Kaylie.
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Is that how he saw them? Just beautiful play things he could manipulate for information or for a
quick sense of pleasure. Guilt struck him. He read about honor and justice, but he treated people
differently. Far different than those who prayed every morning treated him; they were always nice, warm,
and welcoming.
If he had to compare the two, Aaron found himself desiring Kaylie‟s approval and presence more
than Sariah‟s, but the two were so very different. Sariah was a murderer, an assassin. She was teaching
him magic and seemed to be numb to the guilt and shame her actions should have brought.
But Kaylie was something different. She was a well trained archer. But on top of this, she was
innocent. The way she regarded herself seemed to come from her beliefs rather than her combat abilities.
Which, since she was a Templarite, made sense. This very thing was something that intrigued Aaron and
drew him closer. He wanted to be near her. Train with her. Learn what was different. Be with her. And, he
found the auburn hair alluring.
Kaylie shot another three arrows from different bows before speaking again. “It just seems so
stupid. What in the Heavens… I just don‟t even know what to say.”
“I know, Kaylie. I have nothing to—”
“I know you have nothing to say, Aaron,” Kaylie said, whipping her head around again. “There‟s
nothing you can say.” She was quiet for a moment as she took a few deep breaths. “I shouldn‟t have
prayed for patience these past few weeks.”
She turned and returned to testing the bow. “Look, you have my forgiveness. If I didn‟t do as
such I would be a hypocrite and my dogmas worthless. But know this, Aaron Bardeaux, if you wish to
pursue me with the same gusto, I need to be the only woman who gainst your heart. I will not be another
notch on your belt.”
Aaron nodded.
“I cannot forbid you to see her,” Kaylie continued, racking a bow and walking down the path
toward the building being constructed for the Gathering. It was nearly complete. Apparently sixty men
can build a structure very quickly, even during the harshness of an early winter. “I don‟t want to forbid
you. I‟m not the type. I just need to be able to trust you. However, if anything happens between you two
then anything between us is over. Understood?”
“Yes,” Aaron said.
She smiled. A pleasing sight. It had been some time since he had seen the way the freckles on her
cheeks wrinkled together as such. “Walk with me.”
Up ahead, Tirion led a group of Templarites through a simple wooden door into the council
chamber, indicating the meeting would soon take place. Aaron was invited, which meant Kaylie would
also have been invited. Judging from their path, the next stop was the meeting. Aaron didn‟t quite care
what happened, but he was curious to interact with the various leaders. Perhaps their different theologies
would help in uncovering the lies the religion was based upon.
The Almighty didn‟t exist, after all.
“This meeting,” Aaron said, joining Kaylie‟s stride. She didn‟t seem to be walking in a hurry as
the winter winds moved her hair like a flickering flame. “What will it be like?”
“I‟m not sure,” she said, raising a hand before her face to block the glare the sun made on the
snow. It didn‟t help much. A hand couldn‟t block the view of an entire field, not if she wanted to see
where she was going. “It‟s been so long since one has been called. But what what I‟ve read, not a lot is
accomplished. For anything to pass as cannon or a new movement, it must have unanimous votes from
the leaders of the various sects, and such a thing has rarely happened. If ever.”
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It felt good to be talking to her again. “Why did Tirion call the Gathering? If it has only been
done a few times in history, it must be about something important.”
She looked at him with a smile shadowed by her hand. “To stop the end of the world.”
“Is the world really ending?”
“Some say it is. Others, like most of the Templarites here, say it isn‟t. It‟s really hard to tell, but
the spreading of the Corruption and the way the Shadowlands is extending does not put out a good
omen.”
True. It did seem bad. Aaron‟s venture through the Shadowlands was not something he wanted to
relive, though he had a strange feeling his time there was not over.
“Tell me about your life before the Order,” Aaron said as they continued down the path, passing a
few Squires shoveling snow. He considered himself lucky to have not been asked to perform such a
chore. He mostly cleaned up the dining hall and the library, which meant he washed dishes and tables. A
rather simple job compared to others.
Leonias had the worst of the chores. He was in charge of cleaning the horse stalls and repairing
the wagons. Sometimes others would help, but Michael was typically busy tending the forests and
Alexander would clean and cook with other Templarites. There were others that could help, but when
people weren‟t doing their own chores they were normally studying or writing. Such was the life in
Rainor. And everyone trained for combat. Judging from recent events, it may become useful.
At times, Aaron found himself thankful for the training. He was far more muscular now than he
had once, or ever, been. And the skills he learned would not only help enact vengeance, but also help him
survive within the Northern Peaks once this was all over.
“My life was very different years ago,” Kaylie explained. “I grew up in Elria.”
“Elria? I‟ve heard of the place,” Aaron said. “Across the seas, near the Western Lands, no?”
Kaylie smiled. “That‟s right. Not many people have heard of my home. Well, my childhood was a
little rough. My father was a drunkard, a lust my brother was unable to shake. My mother would hide me
at night when the beatings happened. She wouldn‟t ever give him up though, always defended him. It
seems stupid now, but then that was how life was.
“When I was of age and could begin courtship, I would attend many balls and events in hope that
one of the nobles of a large house would take notice. If I could marry one of them, my mother and I
would be safe. But our house had a reputation of sorts, and most everyone shyed away. I spent most of
those evenings at a table by myself, reading books to pass the time.”
“I‟m sorry,” Aaron said. What else was there to say? “I can‟t imagine.” Though, he assumed he
had somewhat of an inkling on what it may feel like to be alone, considering the amount of nights he slept
in the streets with no one to keep him warm.
“It‟s quite alright. Such a life is not mine anymore, thank the Almighty. At times I wonder if my
mother is proud of me, but I know she is. Deep down, I know it.”
“Your mother then…”
“Yes, after my father—”
Kaylie was cut off as something loud flapped in the air above the structure. Looking up, Aaron
saw a giant, white eagle flying their direction. With each flap of its wings, air thundered, silencing the
crowd of people walking to the meeting. Strangely, the wings did not bear feathers that bent with the
winds. Instead the wings were solid, like they were carved out of stone. It grew closer and closer, and as it
did so it got bigger and bigger. Two passengers sat upon the thing, each wearing goggles. They were
shouting something, what and to whom was unknown.
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They glided lower, kicking snow up from the fields as the wings brushed by. Suddenly, the bird
turned upward and soared high into the sky. The two passengers jumped off and landed in the snow with
a thud. The eagle flew higher and warped to a thin streak of white before disappearing into the blue sky.
The two riders rose to their feet, dusted the snow off their jackets, and walked toward Aaron and
Kaylie. They didn‟t struggle with their steps, indicating they were used to such terrain.
“Sorry we‟re late!” The one on the left shouted as he removed his goggles and placed them upon
his winter hat, revealing white circles where the wind didn‟t burn his face.
“Late we are!,” the other shouted.
“Come on in,” Tavon shouted. He stood propping the door open at the Council Chamber.” We
haven‟t started just yet.”
Aaron looked at Kaylie. Who are they? the look asked.
She shrugged.
Together, they walked into the building. It wasn‟t as lavish as a typical building by the Order,
which was to be expected for a chamber built in less than a month. But even so, it was still decorated
nicely. The chamber opened into a hallway which wrapped around the square shaped main room.
Multiple tables had been pressed together to create a giant conference table down the center of the
room. Chairs lined the edges of the table and plates of delicious smelling meats and steamy vegetables
had already been placed. Squires and Templarites—mostly female—walked around the tables filling
water pitchers and preparing bottles of wine. Behind them, a few maidens followed with empty glasses.
Some of the seats were already taken with many people Aaron had not seen. When did they
arrive? The two goggled men rushed around the table and took two empty seats, eyes staring at the food
with delight. With the seats around the table only available for the leaders of the various sects of
Orthianism, Aaron walked toward a seat along the far wall.
Not far in front of him, Raigar reclined in a chair, drinking a glass of wine. Before anyone else
touched the liquid, he had already emptied half a bottle. Fortunately, the Order was in no short supply of
the stuff.
The room buzzed with idle conversations as maidens continued to set the table. Due to the fast
construction, there wasn‟t a lot of insulation within the walls. So to help compensate, the hearths on each
end of the room were build extra large. Fires burned in them, keeping the chill at bay.
Leonias walked into the room with a handful of Recruits, carrying firewood. They would need to
take at least another seven trips to fill the wood closet. Leonias paused to take a drink and brush his
blonde hair as he flirted with a foreigner. She was thin and wore a long dress that brushed the ground as
she walked with bare feet. Her hair was worn in a bun, allowing her hooped earrings to be seen.
She blushed, bowed, and took to her seat where she sat with good posture, waiting for the
meeting to start.
Aaron was excited to see the variety of cultures being displayed. Some people wore dresses, fur
clothing, tight leather or cloth, and some even more chainmail armor. There were seven different groups
of people, not including the Order of the Radiant Light. The leader of which, Tirion, just walked into the
room wearing his signature silver tabard. While most Radiant Lights were dressed down, he was fully
dressed in everything but armor.
Setting a thick tome on the table, Tirion filled a glass with wine and another with water. After
wetting his throat, he spoke and raised a hand. A minute or two later, the room fell to silence.
Kaylie rushed in and, as quietly as possible, took the seat next to Aaron. They shared a smile.
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“Thank you all for coming,” Tirion‟s voice rang through the chamber, deep and rich. “As you
know, there hasn‟t been a Gathering in a great number of years. Let us take a moment to enjoy the history
that is being recorded today and to thank all those who built the building in which we meet. And to thank
all those who are working diligently to provide the meals.”
He fell silent for a moment before continuing. “The goal of this meeting, the reason we are all
here, is to come to a decision to ensure the future of the human race. The entire globe is suffering from
the spread of the Corruption and it must be stopped.”
“Hah!” Raigar shouted. All eyes turned to him. “What proof do you have for this?”
Tirion pulled a small chest out from underneath the table and dropped it on top of the surface.
Opening it, he pulled out some pieces parchment and rolled the documents across the table. Raigar
opened it and began reading, stroking his beard.
“This,” Tirion explained, “is a letter from a trusted informant from the Western Lands. He writes
of how kingdoms are becoming more violent and kings are resisting council. The same happens here with
Tumeric and Yrall. Both kingdoms have resisted our attempts for meetings for some months now.”
“This is interesting,” Raigar said. “But kingdoms resist council all the time. Unfortunately, people
are idiots. This is little proof of the Corruption.”
“That much is true. Recent events have revealed the Shadowlands are extending, claiming more
of the region. Should we continue to ignore this, then the world will one day be completely consumed.
Raigar, did you, yourself, not say that you are fighting many of the Corrupted Beasts in the Great North?”
“Well, yes.”
“How fast is it spreading?” a foreigner asked. He had a thick accent and a mustache which
lingered past his chin.
Tirion hesitated. “Not particularly fast. A few feet each year, maybe.”
“That hardly seems substantial, you know that,” Raigar said as he handed the note to the leader
sitting next to him—an old man wearing nobleman‟s clothing and a round hat with a feather stuck to the
rim. The old man shrugged and continued passing the letter around the table.
“Yes, but we cannot ignore it,” the foreigner said.
“Thank you, Mendril,” Tirion said, nodding to the mustached man.
“Armies attack all the time,” Raigar said. “Hardly anything strange.”
“True, but isn‟t our goal to end the fighting? To bring the world to a peaceful state?”
“Hah! Do you still hold to that belief? Such a thing is not possible! How many times must we tell
you that? That is the same problem the Order had a hundred years ago; always living a fantasy.”
Tirion leaned forward, pressing his fingers wide against the table. “Such a thing is possible. It‟s
what the Sha‟Dari foretold.”
“The Sha‟Dari are dead!” Raigar yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls. “And so are those
foolish beliefs! It‟s time for the Radiant Lights to come to terms with the fact that the Sha‟Dari were
wrong in some of their writings. The Almighty was not trying to spread global peace.”
“What, then, do we fight for? Why do we fight at all, if it is all pointless?”
“We fight to live,” a voice said. It was one of the men who flew in on the eagle.
“We live to fight,” his companion said.
“When we die.”
“We continue the fight.”
“What?” Mendril said, asking the question everyone was thinking.
“Hue is right,” the first man said.
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“Right is Kue,” said Hue, nodding to his companion.


“The Heavens need warriors.”
“An afterlife of war.”
The room fell silent for a moment. Aaron stared at the two in disbelief, then shared a look with
Kaylie. She, too, was dumbfounded. Finally, Tirion spoke. “Okay… That didn‟t even remotely answer
the question.”
“What is the purpose of this meeting?” a woman asked—the very one who flirted with Leonias
before the meeting.
“Good question, Avalon,” Tirion said, taking a sip of wine. “Our warcamps are dwindling in
numbers, and I suppose most of you are running into the same problem, which makes everyone coming
an even greater testimony. If we continue fall at the current rate, the Radiant Lights will soon find
ourselves—like many of the other sects have become throughout time—extinct. I refuse to let this
happen, not while we still stand. Not when we can still fight. If we can come together, we can assault the
Corruption at its core and stop this filth. Together, we can end this war.”
The leaders from all seven sects all sat silent for a moment, considering the notion. They looked
about at each other, as if to see how the others felt.
“So, you gathered us here together,” Raigar said, “to ask that we send our men into the
Shadowlands?”
Tirion nodded.
“That‟s ridiculous. Why not just write a letter for us to respond with our denials?”
“What would that resolve?”
“Nothing. The same as this meeting. I can‟t believe I traveled such a distance for this. But at least
the food is good.” Raigar took a turkey leg from his plate and took a deep bite. Juice flowed down his
chin. A maiden came from the side hallway, replacing the meal and setting down another bottle of wine.
“Letters send words,” Kue said.
“Words send messages,” Hue said.
“The Rhetoria claims words.”
“Words of messages.”
“The right eye can discern prophecy.”
“The words of messages.”
“The Almighty reaches out.” As Kue finished his statement, both he and Hue lifted their arms and
loweredp their hands slowly before their faces with wiggling fingers. At once, they both looked straight
forward, staring at Tirion.
“The world must end,” Kue said.
“Indeed, it must,” Hue said.
“But how it burns.”
“Is up to us.”
Again, the room went silent, all eyes focused on them. Aaron leaned over to Kaylie. “I see what
you meant by nothing gets done,” he whispered.
“What will this bickering solve?” she whispered back.
She smelled like lavender. It was nice.
Tirion sat back and took a drink, sighing as he set the wine back on the table. His face was
covered with frustration. Raigar smiled as he continued indulging himself with food. Across the table,
Avalon waived for more food. When the male Squire placed the meal down, she took the opportunity to
221

flirt and reveal more skin than necessary. Aaron noticed, but quickly turned his gaze to someone else. Out
of the corner of his eye, he couldn‟t help but watch Avalon.
“How were the new recruits at archery?” Aaron asked Kaylie.
“Far better than you,” she said, smiling.
“I‟m not that bad.”
“At first, I thought you were just messing around to spend time with me. But now, I‟m fairly
certain archery is just not one of your giftings.”
Aaron started to respond, but realized what she said was true. He wasn‟t good with the bow, and
he never claimed to be. He couldn‟t. Not with how he shot. Rarely did he kill any game when he went
hunting. He had more success fishing. If he were ever attacked, his first weapon he would reach for would
not be a bow.
“What made you join the Order?” he asked, looking down at a plate of food sitting on his lap. He
picked up a freshly baked roll. It was buttery and fluffy.
“I needed to escape my past,” Kaylie said, staring forward, looking at nothing in particular. “My
father may have been a brutal man at home, but he was also a general for the state. And a well respected
one, too. Because of this, my family traveled to warcamps fairly often. There, I saw thousands of people
die over my lifetime. Some were my friends or house maidens.
“When I was nearly fourteen—maybe fifteen, old enough to hold a shovel—he sent me onto a
battlefield with a group of soldiers to collect the fallen during the battle. We dug a giant grave and tossed
all the bodies into a mound. No matter how many times I did this, the grave never seemed deep enough.
The corpses always filled over the top. Anyway, after the mound was made, we lit the bodies on fire,
ushering their souls to the afterlife.
“A year or two later, father mandated I learn archery to help take part in the expanding of the
nation and the destruction of our foes. I tried to refuse, but couldn‟t. It wasn‟t an option. Turns out, I was
quite gifted at it and after a few years became a sergeant over my own squad.”
She paused and looked at Aaron, tears forming in her eyes. She continued, “So much at such a
young age changes a person. I lost the value of life. People became numbers, even those I trained I didn‟t
care for. I couldn‟t, not knowing the chances of them dieing in the next attack.
“One day, my squad found themselves secluded and unprotected by the foot soldiers. The enemy
soldiers and cavalry were slowly cornering us against the end of a plateau. We were—”
“That prophecy is not about the end of the world!” Tirion shouted, interrupting all other
conversations. Apparently tensions had risen while Aaron and Kaylie had their side conversation. “That
prophecy has already been fulfilled!”
“Hah!” Raigar shouted. “How can that be? Is the world not falling into chaos? Did you yourself
not say earlier that the world was ending? Wasn‟t that the entire purpose for this meeting?‟
“You misunderstood what I said. The kingdoms are fighting and growing more hostile and
Shadows are becoming more seductive in their ways, but the world is not ending. We can prevent that.”
“One will come,” Hue said.
“Who looks like the sun,” Kue said. Each of them had a particularly shrill voice. Together, they
made hairs stand on end.
“He will look grand.”
“Great miracles be done.”
“But they are false.”
“A taste to come.”
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“Destruction he brings.”
“The end has begun.”
They rose together then slowly sat back down, wiggling fingers before their faces.
“Their sect is very, very strange,” Aaron whispered to Kaylie, who nodded in agreement.
“That prophecy was fulfilled!” Tirion shouted.
“While I don‟t believe in your view of Shadows—which I frankly find ridiculous and
impossible,” Raigar said. “I find it difficult to believe these Shadows, these demons, would not be linked
to something greater. What purpose would they have to fight on their own?”
“I never said they weren‟t part of a larger plan.”
“Who is their master then? Mul‟Drak? Are you saying the Binding is being undone?” As Raigar
finished the last word, the entire room gasped. To say such a thing went against one of the very core
beliefs all the sects held true. The Binding was one of the few things keeping them united. That and the
works of the Almighty, which they tended to argue about.
“The Binding cannot be broken,” Tirion said. The assortment of leaders nodded as they regained
their composure. “We know this is true.”
“The Order of the Radiant Light has something above us,” Mendril said, stroking the strands of
his mustache. “You have the luxury of staying in quiet cathedrals performing scholarly works while we
fight for our lands.”
“Do not imply that we, too, do not fight for what we have.”
“Do not interrupt or misunderstand me, Tirion Braveheart.” All eyes went to Mendril as he
silenced Tirion. “What I‟m simply suggesting is your Order has had ample amount of time to study such
an issue. Which brings us to the heart of the situation you have proposed. If these Shadows exist like you
suggest, who then are they working for?”
The entire room shifted their gaze to Tirion, awaiting the response. He didn‟t answer right away,
instead choosing to take a large drink of wine while his face lost some of its heat.
“That answer,” he eventually said, “is one of great contemplation. If Mul‟Drak is indeed still
bound—which it seems if he possessed the ability to break free of the prison then he would have done so
by now—then he must have drawn a person to do his bidding. He must have a pawn, a surrogate. It has
happened before, but never with this intensity.”
“So you are suggesting he has someone gained control over a person?” Jericho asked. She had
brown hair and was one of the few people in the room wearing heavier armor.
Raigar shook his head and the room erupted into a roar of questions and complaints. Each talking
about their own view of the Binding, the Corruption, and prophecies. Some argued the difference between
foretelling and forthtelling, while the twins who finished each other's sentences chanted some rhythmic
poem about the founding of the world and all the various Orders. It would have likely been interesting, if
Aaron could have heard over the ruckus.
After an hour of trying to answer questions above the roar, Tirion raised a hand and requested
silence. “Let us take a recess and resume tomorrow. You will find sleeping arrangements in the hall
surrounding this room. Each room has a hearth and is already stocked with plenty of wood. Please, make
yourselves comfortable for the night and we will meet back here after breakfast.”
With that, the leader of the Order of the Radiant Light turned and left the room, his silver tabard
disappearing as the entryway door shut.
“Well,” Aaron said to Kaylie. “That did not go well.”
“No. No it didn‟t.”
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Poverty awaits a slothful man.

Chapter 36

The kitchen was filled with a variety of aromas as Sariah shook a skillet, forcing the chopped onions to
roll onto their non-brazened sides. She shifted quickly, turning her focus to whisking the eggs and stirring
a pot of cream to avoid it being burned.
“How‟s the next round of onions coming?” Sariah asked.
“Chopping them now. Two minutes,” Tera—one of the kitchen maidens—responded. She wasn‟t
yet a Squire, but held the aspiration dearly. Her work in the kitchen interfered with her reading regiment,
but she was content with joining eventually.
Sariah brushed a tear from her cheek as she realized the onions were indeed being cut. Lifting the
lid off a pot, she took in a deep breath, enjoying the aromas of steaming potatoes—soon they would be
hard enough to slice and panfry. Quickly, she reached for two wooden spoons and stirred two pots of
cream. The excitement and the craziness of a well running kitchen was enjoyable. The hecticness was
invigorating. It made her feel alive.
“You cook well,” Heather said—another maiden—as she dropped a handful of potatoes into
boiling water. Her hair, like Sariah‟s, was tied back in the front but left long in the back. “Where did you
learn to cook with such… finesse?”
Sariah smiled. “I picked up a few things along the way.”
The eggs were almost ready to be poured, so she scooped a few scraps of wood beneath the stove
to heat multiple burners. The seven skillets would soon be hot enough to start frying. Knives sliced across
a surface behind as Heather began cutting the strips of bacon which would accompany the omelets and
fried potatoes.
“Tera, can you get four more skillets of onions ready?” Sariah asked, shifting her position to a
cutting board on the counter next to her particular section of stove. She began slicing peppers into small,
thin slivers.
“Yes. Two minutes,” Tera responded as she continued chopping the onions.
“You said two minutes one minute ago.”
“I know! I‟m hurrying!”
Next to Sariah—who was shaking her head as moved slid onions around on pans to keep them
from burning—Melissa placed a stack of freshly cleaned plates and utensils next to the oven. She nodded
before turning to walk away.
Sariah stopped her. “Could you grab us more oil? We are running low and have a long way to go
before breakfast will be ready.”
Melissa nodded then hurried off to the pantry.
“How long on those onions, Tera?” Sariah asked, lifting a pot of potatoes and pouring the hot
water into a sink.
“Thirty seconds.”
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“I need you to hurry.”


“Coming,” Tera shouted. Lining some pans onto a table, she began filling them with onions.
“That bottle there,” Sariah said, pointing to a container of red wine sitting near the edge of an
adjacent stove. “I‟m going to move these four pans of onions to that stove. When I do, I want you to take
the wine and start deglazing while I caramelize the next patch.”
Tera nodded, preparing herself for the shift in positions. She would need to walk around Sariah
and place the new skillets of onions on that section of the stove before shifting across the kitchen to
deglaze the ones already made. It was going to be a tricky, dangerous maneuver.
“Ready?” Sariah asked, wiping some sweat from her brow. She placed the pot full of potatoes on
a counter for Heather to begin slicing.
“Yes,” Tera said, grabbing two pot holders.
They shifted around, hot pans dangerously close to heads and arms. Sariah felt strange being in
charge. It had been some time since she was last given the chance to experience life within a kitchen. Not
since she was required to draw close to House Jarix in Yrall was she given the chance. And that
opportunity was for assassination, not an attempt of culinary leisure.
Preparing for such an assassination took a good amount of training. She was required to learn the
correct terminology and cooking skills a noblewoman in Yrall would acquire when growing up, which
was a lot. Noblewomen in that kingdom had a list of priorities men found intriguing. The first was the
ability to cook well, despite the fact most meals were provided by the House kitchen rather than personal,
home cooking. But, it was still a desired ability among women. The next quality was the ability to bear
children, of course. After months of training in the kitchen, Sariah was desirable for both reasons.
After she killed the leader of House Jarix, Yrall found itself in shambles as the merchants refused
to import goods due to lack of pay. A short while later, the textile industry crumbled—the two industries
the hands of House Jarix gripped.
That was what Sariah did back then. She killed for pay. She was a blade. A weapon used by
someone else. But not now, not here.
Here in Rainor—through the help of the Radiant Lights—she could become someone else. She
could be helpful and change lives for the better rather than kill.
While her culinary skills were still rusty, she felt like she was getting into the swing of things. At
least, until a hot pan touched her arm, burning a decent streak across it. The pain was fierce but would
eventually fade. It was not the first time she was burned, and the worst ones were not by accident.
But such a life could be left behind. If she wished to join the Order, which was being seriously
considered, she could forget all the immoral things she used to do. The killing would be for good. No
longer would she need to steal. No more secrets, no more hiding.
Behind, a pan sizzled violently as red wine was poured on top of the onions, sending a pleasing
fragrance into the air. Sariah took a deep breath, enjoying the rush of the kitchen and the smells it
brought. With her left, hand she stirred the cream while the right was flicking onions and peppers in a
pan. They popped in the oil lining the skillet. While the breakfast was for everyone—and she wanted to
see how they all enjoyed her hard work—she specifically was putting forth the effort for Aaron. She
wanted to show him how she changed, that she was capable of more than a stabbing dagger or a
Fletching.
The first few days in the kitchen Sariah was on pantry duty, like Melissa was today. She
restocked all the supplies and did prep work. The main idea with that particular position, aside from being
incredibly useful to the chefs, was to gain an understanding for where the ingredients and kitchen wares
225

were placed. Two days of that, and Sariah found herself assisting in cooking when someone needed to
step out of the kitchen.
The moment she placed her hand on a skillet, her passion began to rise. It was not long before she
became a spinning tempest of culinary dexterity. While it took some time to get back to juggling multiple
pans at once, she eventually caught her stride and started producing some well crafted meals. The next
day she was placed as a meal chef from the start. That was two days ago.
Melissa returned from the pantry and placed some bottles of oil on the counter that contained an
assortment of breads, fruits, and various herbs for garnishes.
Melissa walked over and began spreading out the skillets on Sariah‟s oven, preparing them for the
omelettes.
“Sariah?” a voice came from the left where the open windowed counter rested.
Turning, Sariah saw it was Aaron. “Good morning, Mr. Bardeaux,” she said, smiling.
Aaron gave her a puzzled look. Never had she regarded him with such formalities. She found it
amusing to mess with him.
“You can cook?” he asked, leaning over the counter. “And it actually smells good.”
“Well I‟d hope so,” Sariah responded, adding some vanilla to the pots of cream. “I‟ve had some
of the best training this land can offer.”
“What? Why haven‟t I heard of this?”
“Did I not tell you?” Sariah asked, doing her best to sound surprised. She turned to Melissa.
“Mind taking over for me? All you need to do is keep these four pans of onions moving so they don‟t
burn, stir the cream for the puff pastries—I just added the vanilla so you just need to keep it moving—and
begin the omelets. There are seven pans ready for the eggs to be poured. They are already beat and placed
on the counter. Also, another few pans of vegetables should be cut and ready in about two minutes, so
those cooking now will need to be finished and given to Heather so she can deglaze.” She pointed where
she meant then walked over to the counter, leaning in to speak with Aaron.
“How long have you been…” he asked, trying to form words.
He was cute when he was surprised.
“A few years now,” Sariah said. “Shortly after leaving Tumeric. I needed to train for one of the
jobs.”
“You move like a professional.”
“Well, it was a busy few years. I spent some time in Yrall cooking everyday, and I wouldn‟t say
the training was easy either. Actually, it was. I am somewhat of a natural, but I think it was supposed to
be difficult.”
“It smells really good,” Aaron said, still sounding surprised. “When did you get here?”
“Well before the sun rose. With so many visitors here, we had a lot of prep to do. But it‟s worth
it.” She smiled. He‟s going to love it.
“Well it looks like you are doing amazing. People are already grabbing drinks and sitting at the
tables, waiting for the meal.”
“Thank you. The first plates should be ready in the next ten minutes or so. I‟ll make sure you get
the first one.”
“Oh,” Aaron said, gripping the strap of his bag. “I won‟t be staying to eat. I was only here to grab
a few apples and bread before running some errands with Kaylie. There are a few things to be done before
the next meeting.”
226

It felt like a dagger was just stabbed into Sariah‟s heard. And she knew how those could hurt. Too
many times had she been stabbed, but it was rarely emotional.
“Oh, okay,” Sariah said.
“I‟m sorry.”
“No. No, don‟t be. It‟s okay. There is a lot to do.”
“Yes. Are we still up for training tomorrow?”
Sariah nodded, forcing a smile. “Of course. Oh, you‟ll want to try and catch a few hares for our
next part of training.”
He nodded, turned, and walked away, leaving Sariah alone with her thoughts. Hiding a frown, she
turned and dismissed Melissa from the skillets, taking over sauteing the onions and peppers. They were
already turning a nice brown and carried a bit of a gloss. After a few dashes of pepper and salt, they just
needed a little more time before moving to the other oven for deglazing.
There‟s always another woman, Sariah thought, stirring the cream with far less gusto. I might be
the one everyone turns to first, but it never lasts. But wasn‟t this the plan? Seduce Aaron so he wouldn‟t
join the Order?
It seemed like a profitable mission at the beginning, saving him from hypocrites and all. But she
wasn‟t sure that was true anymore. A lot could change in a few weeks, after all. Especially when you live
with a holy Order and you have discovered the person who taught you witchcraft has been withholding
information and sending you out on missions based on luck.
Heavens, how could I be so stupid? She thought as she looked at the omelets, checking to make
sure they were cooking correctly. They were. Though, truth be told, she began to not care how the
breakfast finished.
The Order spoke of new beginnings—of changing a life around—but it was a lie. She could see it
so clearly now. As she placed a tray of dough into a slot beneath the stove where they would rise, Sariah
remembered the way she felt in Aaron‟s arms the night they kissed. It was wonderful. A beautiful sense of
peace and belonging. She felt important, cared for. Needed.
He doesn‟t care.
Of course not. He, like all men, only wanted Sariah for her body; for what she could give.
Pleasure. Satisfaction. A story. She knew the rumors people spoke of her—well, the aliases she used in
different regions of the continent. They were loathsome words, to say the least. Not to mention the
offensive things she had done in the bedroom. But that was all behind her now, right?
Lifting a pot of potatoes to see if they were soft enough, Sariah fought back a tear. Stupid
emotions, always getting in the way. Rajek was right. She needed to fight them back, press them down.
Ignore them until they faded, just like before. Just like the way he had taught her.
I don‟t belong here, Sariah thought, stirring the cream to keep it from burning. She reset her focus
on the meal. It needed to be finished so she could leave. Her seduction had failed, but Aaron was still
interested in magic. If she could draw him deeper into that, then Matram would be pleased.
After all, What had all this effort—this caring—given her? Betrayal? Heartbreak? Hardly seemed
worth it. That‟s what she got for trusting someone. This happened every time. But it wouldn‟t again. She
wouldn't let it. Rajek was right in what he taught. She could defeat these emotions.
“Are you alright?” Melissa asked as she set down a tray of butters and spreads.
Sariah snapped out of her stupor, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Yes, I think so. Take over for
me. There‟s something I need to do.”
227

She removed her apron, handed it to Melissa, and made her way into the pantry where her cloak
and dagger hung. The dagger pressed against her lower back as the cloak was thrown over her shoulders.
She turned and walked out of the pantry, making her way down the hallway.
Lights passed by as she made her way down the twists of the corridors. She passed through a
door, through the antechamber outside the sleeping quarter, and out onto a balcony. Some maidens were
there chatting and cleaning bed sheets. From the way they were flapping and hanging them on a line, the
sheets were still wet.
“Good morning, Sariah,” one of them said. She wore her hair back in a ponytail and a dress
which stretched to the floor. Her feet were bare against the balcony‟s wooden floor. “I hope this day is
treating you well.” She smiled as she began hanging the next sheet with the help of another maiden.
“It‟s fine, thank you,” Sariah replied. “Can you tell me where Tavon is?”
“He‟s upstairs in the infirmary. There was an incident last night. He‟s been helping with the
wounded.”
An incident? Why wasn‟t anyone informed? “Thank you,” Sariah turned and made her way up
the stairwell.
As she opened a wooden door and stepped onto the infirmary‟s balcony, a gust of wind awakened
her senses. A bright light brought a sense of tranquility as it brushed against her skin. The light extended
for some amount of distance across the platform—how far exactly, she was uncertain. But some part of
her wanted to delve deeper and find out.
She pressed forward, hesitant at first, foot slowly stepping ahead in her sneaking fashion—
pressing the front down first, not letting her weight thump to the heel. Another wave of peace washed
over her, followed by a wave of love. She couldn‟t explain it, but it felt right. Something took over her
thoughts, her actions, washing away all doubt.
Sariah started twirling, like a little girl would to make the edges of her dress frill out. Had this
been her at one time?
The world faded away. Nothing remained but light. Glorious, white light. She spun and spun,
laughing a few times, a small giggle. A gust of wind joined the spiral. It was cold, but not chilling like the
winter wounds brought. No, this was a peaceful touch. An invigorating touch.
The blinding light slowly began to fade, the edges of the white, cloud-like light slowly drawing
collapsing in on itself. It passed through Sariah and continued fading. She wanted to tell it to stop as she
reached her hand out to grab the edges to slow it just a bit, to experience just a little more of the moment.
But she couldn‟t. It was fleeing.
Someone coughed. It was the violent kind. The kind that indicated blood was in the throat and
possibly the lungs. Not a good sign. As the light faded and became translucent, colors began to appear.
Through the now fog-like cloud, Sariah saw a man kneeling before a bed with blood on his hands.
Again there was a cough.
When the light had completely vanished and the room was only lit by the candles resting on
tables and the walls, Sariah found herself standing still, unsure if the dancing in the light had actually
happened.
Glancing, Sariah saw an injured man in a bed coughing up blood. The bed sheet and his clothes
were coated in the stuff. Spots of crimson dotten the wooden flooring. Another man coughed in a nearby
bed, sending a spray of blood onto the floor. So much blood. It looked like a capable fighter slashed this
lot. It looked like… the aftermath in Arel‟drell after Sariah had fought.
228

The kneeling man turned and sat in a chair, head bowed and hands pressed together, assuming a
prayer-like position. He looked at the man on the bed, sweat dripping down a black beard.
Sariah placed a hand on the hilt of the dagger sheathed along her back. Immediately, she felt its
power creeping through her body. That blade illuminated dark, powerful magic. It made her want to kill.
No, it enhanced her already insatiable desire to kill. The bearded man turned and faced her. Her target
was right before her. Tavon needed to die.
Stepping forward, she gripped the handle of the runed dagger, preparing to strike. But she stopped
abruptly. Something was wrong.
Tavon‟s eyes glowed white with irises of gold. He looked directly at her then back to the floor. It
was like he was in a daze, completely oblivious to her existence.
He‟s mumbling. The onset of Backlash.
Sariah‟s long, silk dress commonly worn by maidens grazed the ground as she stepped closer.
Despite the presence of dying people, Tavon looked full of content. He looked blissful. How?
“Sariah,” Tavon quietly whispered between mumbled syllables. “What brings you here this
morning?”
“What happened?” she asked. Up ahead, maidens were distributing glasses and vials of a red
liquid to the wounded. Wine, maybe? Alcohol did have a way of warming the soul. Sometimes.
Tavon‟s head rolled to a shoulder as he tried to look at her, eyes a glossy glow.
Heavens, he‟s passing the mumbling stage and is no teetering on the onslaught of
unconsciousness. Once he went there, he would be useless until his body recovered. Heavens. He might
end up in a bed himself, fighting the chills.
“There was a bear,” Tavon eventually said after spatting a few words. His mumbling was getting
worse. “It attacked a nearby village last night. I took four Templarites with me and we killed the beast,
but…” he trailed off, speaking in some foreign language. It was beautiful yet frustrating.
“But what?” Sariah asked, stepping forward. He was weak, so very weak. With a simple
Fletching she could kill him. It would be hardly any effort at all. The maidens wouldn‟t put up a fight. A
flick of the wrist and she could steal their souls, too. Then use the Fourth Fletching to jump to the woods,
vanishing from the scene.
“The beast was strong,” Tavon said. His words were mostly slurred. “Large. Was rotting, like
stories of old. Back in the days of the Sha‟Dari, they spoke of a magic that could do such things. Things
of dark proportions. A magic that could change the world. But no, not now. Those stories are gone now.”
Were they?
“Tavon, focus. What happened?” Sariah said, stepping closer, hand still gripping the dagger.
Power continued flowing through her arm.
He laughed, then became fearful as he looked to the bleeding man on the bed. “It attacked, lass.
Most died, some lived. Those we could we brought here. All night we tried, most we saved.”
Letting go of the weapon hidden by her cloak, Sariah hurried to a maiden feeding the red liquid to
an injured. “That liquid, what does it do?”
“This?” she asked. Blood stained the edges of her gown. It was beyond washing and would need
to be replaced, like the ruined tabards piled in the corner. “It‟s a healing tonic. Oben brings them a few
times a year. Good thing he did, too, otherwise these people might be be seeing the Almighty.”
“Why, then, did Tavon use magic?”
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“These potions only work to a certain degree. If a person is in vital condition, they first need the
touch of magic to save them from death. Once they are stable, or at least conscious, the potion can take
effect.”
Sariah shook her head. The only way that made sense was if the liquid needed to be ingested
orally. In which case, it was nearly worthless except for mending light wounds. Looking around, she saw
four Templarites—likely the ones Tavon took with him—sitting in chairs wobbling on the edge of
consciousness. They, too, had been using magic to keep people alive.
“Tavon, how long have you been here?” she asked.
He grunted and fell to the floor.
Kill him.
He was so helpless, so easy to kill. In an instant she could steal his powers and become an
Acolyte under The Master. Immense power was one motion, one life, away.
“Tavon, how long have you been here healing the wounded?” Sariah asked again, pushing back
the thought of murder. Even so, it rested on the front of her mind and gnawed at her thoughts.
“What‟s that, lass?” he said, leaning up and focusing his sight. “Most of the night.”
Heavens, how was he still conscious? His Khasta must be incredible. Everyone had one, she
assumed. They must. He‟s encountering the same symptoms as she did when using magic, but he had
conjured all night. Such a thing would drain the body and mind of energy.
Sariah‟s eyes went wide as she came to a realization. “Where did this attack happen?”
“In a village.”
“Yes, but which direction.”
Tavon teetered, then whipped his head back up. “Northwest, I believe.”
Oh no. That bear was the same one that had chased her when she ran to the den. The one she
decided to run from instead of kill. This was her fault. She could have stopped this.
Looking around the room, her stomach sank like a rock. So much blood. Blood she caused. Blood
she spilled. These people were just trying to live, but the Corruption wouldn‟t let them. This was the
aftermath of the Corruption. This, is what it wanted.
Death.
She let go of the dagger, leaving it to rest in its sheath. When had she grabbed it? No longer did
she want to be the one bringing death. In a way, with her actions, she felt like she was serving the
Corruption; that her magic supported its efforts. The mind knew this wasn‟t possible, but her emotions—
now that they were building inside her, which still felt strange—told her that‟s how it was.
Tavon took in a loud, deep breath, lifted his teetering head, and stared her in the eyes. They still
glowed white, but he looked focused, as if the backlash was fading. “We can change.”
She started. “What?”
“We can change, Sariah. I was once like you.”
Like me? You hardly know me.
“The great thing about life is the opportunity to change who we are,” Tavon said, words still
slurred. “Our transgressions cannot hold us down. No, the Almighty will not allow such a thing. Should
one come into correct standing with him, we can change.”
A tear fell down Sariah‟s cheek.
“In his infinite wisdom, the Almighty provided a way to grow in holiness. Nay, to reach the state.
Through the means of forgiveness, we can be free; free to be who we were meant to be.”
He knew.
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He knew why she was here. The words he spoke made it seem like he knew who she was, what
she was. Could he sense it? Did he have a way of discerning her presence? Heavens, did Tirion know?
“No,” Sariah said, shaking her head. “I can‟t.”
“Yes, my dear, you can,” Tavon said. “There were times where I felt the same—that such a thing
was impossible—but then I discovered how merciful the Almighty can be. No matter what coats our
hands, we can never be too far away.”
Tavon‟s eyes lost their focus and returned to a glossed white. He quietly mumbled to himself.
Could it be true? Was the Almighty waiting for this moment? Waiting for her to repent?
She didn‟t care. What did it matter? Had Tavon known, he would have issued her death by now.
They all would have. The Order were the ones who issued the law: the use of witchcraft was a crime
punishable by death. By their accounts, she was guilty. Not to mention the strict laws regarding murder,
thievery, lying, and prostitution—though the last was not exactly relevant, it was more like a paid
courtship.
But as she watched Tavon‟s body lax and fall unconscious—he continued mumbling in his
sleep—she wondered if his words were true. Could she change? Or did destiny declare her a murderer
forever?
With thoughts running through her mind, Sariah turned and left the infirmary, leaving Tavon to
sleep. She went to eat breakfast.

The heart knows its own guilt.

Chapter 37

Nearly two hours after speaking with Sariah in the kitchen, Aaron walked walked between the two
snowbanks of the dirt path. Kaylie was to his side, smiling.
Kaylie had a way about her. Aaron couldn‟t quite explain it, but something about her made the
atmosphere change. It made the days more beautiful. She seemed so full of enjoyment—the way she
smelled the snow blossoms, the way the wind rustled her hair, the way she giggled. She seemed to love
the way the sun glistened off the snowy hills and the flakes falling all around them. It was like a child
experiencing their first winter.
She was an anomaly for sure. Maybe that was what was so enticing to Aaron. Whatever the
reason, he did his best to feel the same, but couldn‟t seem to muster the enjoyment. For him, the winter
came too early this year and was lasting too long. It wasn‟t even halfway through the season and it
seemed to continue getting worse. But, he did have to give some credit to Kaylie, snow blossoms were
beautiful. A simple splash of purple or orange against the whiteness of snow was nice.
“It‟s just so beautiful,” Kaylie said, stopping to smell a flower. It was orange, so it would be a
little sweeter and more subtle than a purple.
“I‟m doing my best to agree, but I can‟t get the sight of Raigar out of my mind,” Aaron said as he
rubbed his eyes. Secretly, he wanted to pry them out and crush them.
Kaylie laughed. “It was rather disturbing how open he was about his body.”
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“He could have waited until after we dropped of the clean towels and left before getting out of the
hotspring.”
“Maybe he was trying to impress you.”
Aaron stared at her. She, of course, smiled and stepped a few feet into the snow to smell another
grouping of snow blossom. She really did love them.
“I doubt that,” he said dryly. He continued down the path toward the building the council would
be meeting again.
Today marked their seventh meeting. Which meant they had been meeting for nearly a week now,
and still nothing had been agreed upon. No wonder a Gathering was rarely called. No wonder the records
of history report they took months before coming to any resolutions. All they did was bicker.
“You should have seen your face when he stood up,” Kayle said. “The only face better in the
entire room was Avalon‟s. To be fair, she was right in front of him.”
“I can‟t believe he stood up before everyone.”
“It was a little raunchy. No towell of anything, just bare waste. But, his sect is like that; not really
caring what anyone thinks or holding to disciplines, just going with what feels right in the moment. It‟s
saddening how they distort the Rhetoria as such.”
“Is that what separates the sects?” Aaron asked. “The differences in interpretation? How can
anyone know who is right when reading a document so old? Isn‟t it all about personal deciphering and
living to what you find to be true?”
Kaylie glanced at him, saying nothing. The look held words to it. Is that really what you believe?
it said.
“There are many things wrong with such a point of view,” she said, stepping back in line with
Aaron. “I wish I had enough time to thoroughly explain it. When reading the Rhetoria we must do our
best to read through the perspective of the Sha‟Dari. If we stray to far from their views, then we will be
discovering a different god entirely. And sense we worship what we believe, we delve into idolatry.
“The struggle with reading the texts is deciphering what the parables and lectionaries meant to the
original audience—those being alive at the time of the Sha‟Dari. If it is true that the Almighty dispensed a
level of understanding to our founders, then reading the notes from their personal disciples will help in
understanding the Rhetoria.”
That made sense. “Are you suggesting the other sects are not cohering to what was passed from
the Sha‟Dari to the next generation?”
“That much is evident. Some of the various sects reject any teaching from the second generation
completely. Others pick and choose teachings best suited for their understanding of the Almighty, and
disregard the rest. Correct scholarship takes effort. We cannot simply take whatever we read as truth
without delving deeper. As a Templarite, I‟ve had extensive training on the early teachings of the
Sha‟Dari and how to read their language.”
Aaron nodded. She made sense. “Do you think Avalon would ever… you know… with someone
here?”
Kaylie cocked an eye. “Would she ever…”
“You know… sleep with someone.
She smiled. “I don‟t think so. Though she may be a little… flirtatious, she still holds to the basic
theologies of sexual purity. It appears she uses her body for attention and conversation, rather than actual
seduction. I don‟t think there is anything to worry about.”
I wonder if that is how most women feel.
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“Are you coming to the meeting?” Kaylie asked.


The meeting? Was it that time already. Looking up at the sky, Aaron noticed the sun was already
a full handspan into the sky. The meeting would be starting soon. What a shame. He would have greatly
enjoyed spending more time with her.
“Not today,” he said. “After almost a week of arguing, I need a break. Plus, there are some things
I need to do.”
She nodded then ran off toward the building, stopping to smell the flowers at the entryway before
moving through the door. She was, Aaron thought, the most interesting girl he had met. Not only was she
a brilliant and well studied individual, but she was also carefree, patient, and an amazing archer. Not to
mention her beauty, which was jaw dropping. At times—most of the time—Aaron considered himself
lucky that she was even considering him as a potential spouse.
How will I get her killed? something whispered to Aaron. It sounded like his own voice, his own
thoughts. Everyone you have ever loved has died. How will this one go?
He almost laughed at the thought, but considered it a little longer. Kaylie was a far more capable
combatant than he. Should a fight ever break out—one serious enough to threaten his life—Kaylie was
the one more likely to live, more likely to kill whatever is attacking. Heavens, her archery skills may kill
anything before it was close enough to fight.
She will die. Everything dies. It is the way of life. All that matters is power. Power makes one a
legend to be remembered forever.
Aaron bumped into someone, shaking him from his thoughts. “I‟m sorry,” Bardeaux said, turning
to see who it was.
“My apologies as well,” Herald said. “I should have been more careful.”
Herald Finsk. One of the few survivors of Arel‟drell. One of the few who may have survived the
wit… Sariah‟s massacre. He was smaller than Aaron remembered. A darker complexion indicated this
man was likely from a region south of the Great Plains. He looked like a smaller, stockier version of
Rahn. It was actually strange how Rahn was as light skinned as he was.
“Aaron Bardeaux?” the man asked. “I haven‟t seen you since our skirmish. At first I thought it
unfair to match you up against three people, but you proved everyone wrong. Quite a surprise, it was.”
“Thank you. I must say you were quite capable as well. I got lucky,” Aaron said.
“Lucky? I hardly find that to be true. You fought like someone who had a great amount of
training. From what I hear, you haven‟t been training long, actually. Perhaps it runs in your bloodline.
Were your ancestors warriors?”
How will he die? “I… I don‟t know.”
“Ah, that look,” Herald said. “It appears we have both lost someone dear to us. Who was it for
you?”
“My parents.” Aaron said. The moment the words left his lips he felt surprised. He hardly knew
this man, yet found himself revealing things hardly anyone knew. “When I was young, they were both
taken. Haven‟t seen them since.”
Normally, hatred would begin to swell inside at the mere thought of what the Order did. But now,
talking to this man, he found only sadness. It has been nearly sixteen years since he saw his father and
mother. In this moment, he didn‟t want revenge. All Aaron wanted was to see his parents again. To hear
their voices.
“Ah, the pain of those lost runs deep,” Herald said, snowflakes falling on the brim of his hat. “I,
too, suffered loss. While I never knew my biological parents, those who took me in died in Arel‟drell
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during the recent attack. That town was so tightly knit, everybody knew everybody. Everybody felt like
family.” He paused, lowering his head. “It feels like I lost so many,” he said in a small, quiet voice.
“Were you there?”
Herald shook his head. “I was out with a hunting party, tracking down some deer. We found a
pack and got a few kills. By the time we got back, everything was in shambles and the Order was carrying
out the wounded and burying them. The Hollows attacked soon after, forcing the Templarites to bring the
wounded here, to Rainor. I signed up to be a Recruit shortly after.”
He grabbed Aaron by the shoulder. “May the Almighty bless you. And me. May His eyes always
be upon our paths and guide our steps. With an open hand let him guide us to His will.” Herald nodded,
then left toward the meeting hall, leaving Aaron alone in his somber state.
If only the Almighty were real.
Shaking his head, Aaron watched the man walk away, turned toward the cathedral, and start
making his way inside. Snow continued to fall, thicker than before. It made the walk back inside even
more tiresome than normal.
Up ahead, some Squires shoveling snow set down their tools and ran inside, returning a few
moments later pushing carts of food toward the meeting hall. The meeting would be starting any minute
and would last a few hours, so restocking the food supply was very important. Especially considering
how much Raigar tended to consume.
A small family of adsmis flittered in a tree nearby. Their yellow feathers were a nice sight among
the barren treescape, mixing with the purple and oranges of snow blossoms to make the landscape pop to
life. They would stay for most of the winter, eating some ice nuts and pick at hares that didn‟t quite make
the cut. The chirping they brought helped make the winter survivable. If only the entire world carried
such creatures.
Aaron opened the door leading to the antechamber just outside the sleeping quarter. Immediately
the warm air struck him in the face, like a wave of the ocean—at least, that is what the stories described.
He had never been to such a place. Sure, he had been to the edge of the bay, even felt the sandy coast
within the Shadowlands, but those experiences hardly touched what the bards would describe from the
fountain in Tumeric.
Making his way through the cathedral, Aaron considered the notions of the Order, trying to find
something sustainable in which he could hold them accountable. Something to lead to their downfall.
Unfortunately, as he passed everburning torches along the hallways, nothing seemed to piece together.
They had killed his father, he knew this. But how and why were still an enigma. Before anything could be
done, he needed an explanation.
The various sects provided some light on the varying degrees of theology around the world.
Avalon‟s group, the Order of the Sun, seemed to hold certain aspects with a rather fist. The way she
acted, how she walked, how she spoke, everything seemed to indicate that she believed in the Almighty
and the forgiveness of transgressions—however that worked—but that looked to be about as deep as it
went. The sect members she brought with her were as careless as she, often spending their free time
eating or at the hotsprings naked and laughing.
The Hammerfists, the sect from Hrathgar led by Raigar, were an entire different problem
altogether. They, too, carried the carelessness Avalon found dear, but they were a little more
rambunctious and flat out rude. Oftentimes, Raigar would interrupt anyone to prove his point, or add
something crude to end a conversation. He was a massive man. Aaron‟s… earlier sight still burned in his
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mind—he feared it would never leave. Muscles bulged all over Raigar‟s body. So did a large belly. The
amount of food he ate at the meetings hardly did anything to help the situation.
And what to do with Hue and Kue? For days they had been speaking in riddles and finishing each
other‟s sentences. God above, they were strange. Not too mention Bytier, the leader of the Order of
Fortitude, and Jericho, leader of the Order of the Blazing Sword. Bytier seemed to not really care what
was happening, while Jericho was filled with a righteous gusto. Of all the people, she seemed the most
interested in what Tirion was proposing.
“What am I missing?” Aaron whispered, rounding a corner leading to the kitchen. Something
smelled delicious. A meat of sorts. Carts lined with a variety of desserts rushed by being pushed by
Recruits. They didn‟t wear their formal clothing. Most people didn‟t.
How could he connect all the Orders‟ actions to contradict the Rhetoria. Such a thing would
hardly crumble the religion, but it would at least stall their plans with an internal war.
Their plans…
Their plan seemed noble, which was the most confusing issue. Stopping the world from ending
hardly seemed unjust or evil. In fact, it seemed right. Who wouldn‟t want to be the hero of the world? Or
at least take part in such a task.
But there was no supporting evidence to support the claim. There were no earthquakes or violent
storms. No reported hurricanes. Though word traveled slowly from the ocean coasts, so that could be a
possibility. If the world was ending, and nature decided it was time to attack, how could a person even
stop such a thing? How does a person fight the universe itself?
Unless. What if they could manipulate its motions the way Sariah described. Could that be
something?
Looking around the dining hall, Aaron found no one. A fresh decanter of tea sat on the
windowsill. After pouring a drink, Aaron turned around and started heading toward the library. A short
walk later, he found himself surrounded by old, leather bound books inside the library. A welcoming
sight. It still felt strange to be reading so many books at once. He had read more books in the past month
and a half, than nearly his entire life combined.
Up ahead, Sariah sat at a round table with open books scattered about its surface. Next to one
carrying a good amount of underlining and notes in the margins, a cup of tea remained half sipped. She
wasn‟t reading, instead she stared straight, clearly contemplating something. Perhaps something she read.
“Sariah?” Aaron said, stepping closer and taking a seat on a wooden chair. It creaked.
“Yes, Aaron?” she said, not changing her gaze.
Strange. “I‟ve been thinking. Is there anyway revealing heresy could lead to the downfall of the
Order?”
“Perhaps.”
“The Radiant Lights have done some known crimes in the past. Killing of innocents. Death by
trial, knowing the trials were unjust. But would revealing such errors do anything? Or do you think they
would simply cover them up with a simple publicity announcement?”
“I don‟t know,” Sariah said, still not changing her focus.
“Is everything alright, Sariah?”
“Fine, Aaron.”
Why was she being so strange?
“What if what the Order holds is truth?” Sariah asked.
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Then we are in the wrong. “The thought has crossed my mind. But they killed my father. I can‟t
ignore that.”
She nodded, still staring at nothing.
After a moment of silence, Aaron looked around to make sure no one was listening then spoke in
a whisper. “Herald was not in Arel‟drell when you attacked. He won‟t be a witness against you. You
should be safe. I don‟t think anyone suspects anything.”
Sariah did not react. He thought she would at least smile, but no. She did nothing. She said no
more. The conversation was over. Frowning, Aaron stood and took his leave. He had a lot of things he
wanted to read anyway. The effects of magic and Shadows were just some of the topics.
What he was going to read tonight—after spending much of the afternoon changing the horses‟
shoes—was an explanation on righteousness and how it related to the Almighty.

A scoffer seems wise among his friends; he has received his reward.

Chapter 38

The next morning, Aaron left before the sun brought the false expectation of warming the fields—in
winter, it never did—and made his way half an hour into the woods. Along the way, he checked to see if
his hare traps had been triggered. The ones he found had not, but there was a lot of foot traffic recorded in
the snow.
Certain he was deep enough for noone to catch a glimpse of his clothing through the treeline, he
brushed some snow off a log, sat down, reached out his arms, and tried to feel the Universe.
Like last time, he felt nothing. Again he tried. Nothing. He tried to picture particles of light in his
mind and forge them into different shapes. Nothing. His imagination turned to what he thought the
particles would look like if they were inside of an element and moving, like the wind or a flame. With that
rushing in his mind, he reached out with his arm and tried to force the air to obey.
Nothing.
Maybe it wasn‟t particles he was looking for, but a feeling. People had feelings, so did animals,
why wouldn‟t the Universe itself? Aaron reached forward, straining to feel something—anything. A
gentle wind rushed against his arm. He focused his mind, eyes still closed, and tried to push the wind a
different direction. It refused to obey. The wind was just a coincidence.
Sighing, Aaron stood to his feet, walked about ten steps away, and stacked a bundle of sticks.
Then he back on the log. Maybe his gifting wasn‟t about controlling the winds, but instead had to do with
fire—a gift he would gladly accept. What man doesn‟t enjoy fire?
He set his eyes and stared down the bundle of sticks. It would burn. He would make it burn. And
if he could do so with cold, wet wood, then dry wood in the other seasons would be simple. Aaron
reached out a hand and forced with all he had within him to ignite the sticks. He strained, body twisting
slightly with the effort.
Nothing happened.
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Closing his eyes, Bardeaux regained his focus and imagined the bundle bursting in flames inside
his mind‟s eye. Perhaps he could project that image into reality. After a moment, he peaked one eye open.
Still nothing, so he tried focusing again, feeling the energy of the universe within his body—air and
blood. Then he focused on pushing it—somehow—to the tips of his fingers.
With his fingertips feeling warm, he pushed forward and tried to force the energy to pass the
distance and ignite the wood. Nothing happened.
Aaron sighed and decided to take a break. The sun was now halfway above the horizon, making
the sky a vibrant red and orange.
Why was Sariah being so strange yesterday? Surely she wasn‟t jealous of Kaylie. That thought
seemed ridiculous. Sariah joked about being in a relationship, thinking the notion rather silly and
worthless. At least, that is the most recent thing she said regarding the matter.
Maybe she was concerned Herald did say something. Did she suspect someone was after her?
Perhaps she was concerned someone might be investigating the attack more closely? If they found her to
be a witch, would they come after Aaron as well?
I need to focus on the task at hand. The Order was not going to overthrow itself, after all.
The paradox of forgiveness and righteousness Aaron had been exploring was something of an
issue. The Rhteoria, and various theologians over history, recorded that the penalty for any transgression
against the Almighty was death. The first problem, at least in Aaron‟s mind, was comparing such a
requirement to texts explaining how every person has done something against the Almighty‟s standards,
positioning each person into a death sentence.
If this was true, then why were the Templarites and other Radiant Lights so content? Why
weren‟t they trembling in their boots? If an infinite being could bring swift justice at any time, how could
a person find happiness? Would they not instead be in a constant state of fear?
The second, and the larger of the issues, was how one could gain recompense with the supreme
being. There were certain passages mentioning animal sacrifices as a way to please, or satiate, the
Almighty. Almost like the blood of his creations could postpone the wrath to come. That seemed
ridiculous.
The only way a sacrifice could pay a penalty declared by the divine Himself, would be if the
sacrifice was divine in its own nature. And since none could be divine except for the Almighty, the blood
paid must be in itself, the Almighty. This posed an even larger issue. While there were texts indicating the
Almighty had, indeed, once walked this earth, those were all written by the Sha‟Dari. Of course they
would have declared their god had done what was needed. Any cult would do such a thing. What person
wouldn‟t make the claims of their god having completed the prerequisites to make their religion true?
An outside source, or a variety of sources, would be able to confirm if such a thing had truly
happened. But until then, Aaron found it difficult to force himself to believe such a thing, at least on the
writings of the Sha‟Dari alone.
Aaron Bardeaux stood to his feet to stretch his legs. He had been sitting for too long and they
were starting to cramp. Something thudded in the snow a short distance away. It was the black stone
falling from his pocket. He reached down and picked it up, wiping away the chunks of frost from its
surface before putting it away. As he did so, a stripe of light shimmered from one edge of its obsidian
surface to the other.
Suddenly, he was surrounded with a cacophony of echoing noises—horse hooves, creaking
wheels, and the shouts of angry, scared men. Looking around, Aaron saw translucent green lines moving
through the air like mist vapors. The lines slowly formed together to create the image of a horse drawn
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carriage bobbing through the countryside. The way the horse‟s hooves snapped against the ground
indicated they were not inhibited by snow at all, instead they trotted along a countryside void of the stuff.
While the color was all but missing from these beasts—save for the green tent everything had while in
this ghostly form—their large size indicated they were from Rainor. Steeds of the Order perhaps.
The carriage behind the spectral steeds was uncovered, further verifying the event—the vision—
was not taking place in the winter. A full troupe of men sat in the open carriage. Each of them wore plate
armor covering much of their chest and legs, the vambraces removed from their arms.
They mouthed something. Some sort of conversation was taking place, but the words carried no
volume. The only sounds from this image were from the hooves and wheels moving along rocks and tree
roots.
Aaron tilted his head as the ghosts continued through the woods. This particular path was not
clear like a road would be. No, it was a dense forest. The edges of the cart, wagon, carriage, whatever it
was, barely fit between the trees at some points along its path.
As the image went further away, the misty lines began to disappear, taking any color and vision
with them. After a moment, Aaron took off running and chased the ghosts. The closer he got the more the
translucent greens reappeared, misty wisps trailing the image‟s movements. With his muscles straining to
fight against the elements, Aaron eventually found himself running right behind the image. Close enough
to begin unraveling the conversation.
One man—the one on the right—seemed to be very passionate, possibly angry, about whatever
was happening. He motioned with his arms and pointed a finger toward the man he spoke to. This man—
the one sitting on the left—looked equally passionate, but seemed to be carrying a level of sadness. He,
too, was motioning with his arms, trying to prove his point.
Reading their lips would have been a lot easier if Aaron wasn‟t forced to run, and if they weren't
ghosts. Heavens. What was Aaron thinking? After only a few encounters he was already beginning to
believe in, possibly even trust, ghosts?
The image continued. Two figures sat in the back. They bobbed and teetered side to side like they
were riding a dingy in the shallows. Aaron watched the man on the left retort something as he pointed.
Following his finger and a trail of blood toward an image along the floorboard, Aaron saw a man lying on
his back with a coat covered in blood. His beard was stained with clumps of the liquid. He, too, rocked
back and forth, mumbling something, occasionally shaking like he was battling some type of illness.
That beard looked familiar. So did the clothing and armor.
The man sitting on the right motioned with his hands, standing for a brief moment as he yelled.
Then, after the wagon hit a bump, he sat back down, gripping the railing for balance. The man on the
left—who also looked vaguely familiar—pointed toward the figure on the floor. A knife rested on the
floorboard next to him in a blood pool.
How Aaron wished he could jump into the wagon for a better look. Instead, he was forced to keep
running through ankle deep snow. Not exactly something people found enjoyable. Every once in a while,
he was able to catch his breath and jump high enough to get a glimpse inside.
Eventually, he was able to get a good look at the wounded man. He stopped, panting, mouth
opened in disbelief. The man lying on the floorboard with a hand on his side as he bled out was his father.
They killed him.
With the carriage rolling further away and slowly disappearing, Aaron took off running. He
needed more answers. Heavens. He needed something. If nothing else, at least he could see his father one
more time.
238

Aaron leaped, peaking over the tailgate. William looked exactly as Aaron remembered, save for
all the blood. Aaron took a deep breath, the kind that feels like blood is entering the throat from the cold
air. “Help him!” he shouted.
The figures didn‟t respond, instead they continued their argument. Judging from the previous
visitations, Aaron was still unsure whether or not the ghosts could hear him, but by the great god
Almighty he was going to try.
“Help him!,” Aaron shouted again, this time sounding more desperate.
The man on the left finally threw his hands up in the air, leaned before the man, and pressed his
hands against William‟s chest. A strange spiral of mist appeared, slowly turning into a ball of light. It
became so bright that Aaron had to look away or be blinded.
Hesitantly, he gave in and removed his eyes from the image. He focused on the ground and
looked for roots or rocks. He had come too far to trip now.
The light faded and Aaron looked up as he hurtled over a log. He hit the snow with a crunch,
stumbled, but managed to roll back onto his feet. The tumble crushed his loaf of bread inside his pack
undoubtedly.
They killed him.
As Aaron looked inside the wagon, he recognized the man that had ministered the healing magic.
It was a much younger Tirion. Tirion frowned, wiped a tear from his eye, and stumbled backward to
where he sat before. William‟s body jerked as he coughed up blood.
Tirion threw up his hands to the other riders, mouthing something.
Aaron tripped and fell face first into the snow, his pack flying off his shoulder. The carriage
thundered away and became distant. He tried to get up, tried to run after it, tried to make the vision linger,
but his exhausted muscles wouldn‟t comply. Instead, he rolled over on his back, breathing heavy as sweat
dripped down his brow. The coldness of the snow battled the heat in Aaron‟s body. It was strangely
pleasant.
They killed him.
Had Aaron not seen it with his own eyes he wouldn‟t have believed it. Tirion, leader of the Order
of the Radiant Light, had killed his father.
After a while, Aaron stood to his feet, gathered his spilled belongings—some bread, an apple, a
few books, and a sketchpad—and made his way toward the cathedral. Once there, he slammed open the
main doors, stormed through the vestibule, and started down the center aisle.
“Tirion!” he shouted, voice echoing through the chamber. “Tell me what happened to my father!”
No one sat in the pews, which was strange for the early morning prayer time. Normally it was
packed to the brim. Perhaps the Gathering had forced people elsewhere. Not that Aaron cared. He didn‟t
look anywhere other than directly at Tirion, who sat hunched over before the altar.
“Tirion! Answer me.” Aaron demanded, marching down the aisle. He was now only ten feet
away. “What happened to my father?”
Tirion stood to his feet and whipped his head around as if he had been startled from his sleep. His
eyes were glowing and had irises of gold. “Aaron.” His voice was calm, like he had been expecting this
conversation.
“I know you killed him. Tell me what happened.”
“Aaron, we didn‟t kill your father. He was a good man.”
239

Aaron stepped backward as Tirion stepped forward. Bardeaux reached for his blade, but of course
today would be the day he ventured out into the harsh, frozen countryside and didn‟t bring a weapon.
Foolish.
“Don‟t speak about my father. I know he was a good man. I was a boy when you took him away
from me.”
“We didn‟t—”
“I read the book, Tirion. I read the account about how he died in Tumeric when the Order
stormed Kaiden and won the city back. But now, I find out that he died here. And you were with him.
Don‟t lie to me, Tirion. Tell me what happened.” Aaron‟s voice echoed widely through the ornate
chamber.
Tirion eyes returned to their normal brown as he took a deep breath. “The battle for Tumeric was
treacherous. I didn‟t want to go. None of us did. I fought the Elders on the decision, but couldn‟t change
their mind. During those times, the Elders ran the order—all political actions belonged to them. Heavens,
most still do. But division never brings anything good.” Tirion shook his head.
“Regardless,” Tirion continued, “many died in that battle. Many more than needed. We were out
of tonics. William, your father, was taken back to Rainor to receive healing, but he didn‟t survive the
trip.”
“Why didn‟t you use magic? I know you have the ability to do so.”
“We tried. It wasn‟t that simple. The magic we were fighting was too strong and we couldn‟t get
it out of his body. His lung had been pierced by a dagger coated with a strange poison. There wasn‟t
anything we could do, unless we all became mad men, but that wasn‟t a serious option.”
A serious option? “So you decided to let my father die so you all could avoid becoming babbling
fools?”
“It wasn‟t that simple.”
Lies. “It sounds like you made it a simple decision.”
Tirion stepped forward. Aaron didn‟t move back. Not this time. He continued staring at the man,
fists clenched to his side. If anything did happen, he would fight with all he had. Not that he presumed he
had a chance, but he was willing to try nonetheless.
“Aaron, your father was a dear friend of mine. The closest I‟ve ever had. There are days where I
still mourn his death and he‟s still ever in my prayers. Never would I wish this upon him. Heavens, he
was to where this silver tabard over me. He was to lead the Order. His death was not only a great loss to
myself, but also the world.”
“No. I don‟t believe you did all you could. You killed him so you could take control of the
Order.”
“Take control?” Tirion laughed as he reached into his pocket. Aaron reacted by stepping back
with one foot, preparing himself to try and disarm the man—not that he knew how to do such a thing with
any reasonable speed.
“I hardly have control now,” Tirion said. “You‟ve seen the way I‟m treated within the meetings.
Sure, I manage this Order, but among the others I‟m hardly anything. Just another person. The Elders
have their ways, and say they respect and honor my decision—the ancient code itself validates myself as
the final word—but such a thing is actually true. The Elders run the Radiant Lights, not me.”
Aaron flinched as Tirion withdrew his hand. But he didn‟t carry a weapon, instead he held a
rolled up piece of a parchment tied together with a string and branded with a candle wax seal. How did
someone manage to place a seal on a round surface?
240

“While your father was bleeding out on the trip to Rainor, he knew he was going to die. His last
request before the blood filled his throat or the disease took control, was that we record a letter for you.”
Tirion held out his arm, offering Aaron the scroll. “Your father was an honorable man. He died fighting
for the country he loved and the world he imagined.”
“And you expect me just to believe you?”
“This letter has been sealed for sixteen years. Ever since I found out who you were, I‟ve carried it
on my person until this day.”
This should be good.
Bardeaux strode forward and took the letter. After breaking the seal, he unrolled the document
and began to read. Tears filled his eyes and his face flushed. He couldn‟t believe it. These were the last
words his father ever intended for him. And now, after all this time, he finally got to read them.
“Your father,” Tirion said, placing a hand on Aaron‟s shoulder as he continued to read, “was one
of the greatest Templarites this Order has ever known. I dream of being such a man as he.”
Tirion kept speaking of the greatness of William Bardeaux, but Aaron quit listening. He was too
busy rereading the letter, still in disbelief.
“How did you know?” Aaron eventually asked, rolling the letter and sliding it into his pack. “I
mean, what made you find me? How did you even know where to find me?” So many more questions
flooded his mind.
“It is true that when we set departed for Tumeric for our yearly visit that we were looking for a
new recruit,” Tirion said, a smile forming on the edge of his lips. “But we didn‟t quite know who things
would happen. Tavon began to think I had misheard the Almighty, but then on the last day a man
approached us with a request. That person brought information about you and came up with a plan for us
to meet. A plan for you to join the Order, to follow in the footsteps of your father.”
Tusk.
That was why he was so dressed up the day that we left. That‟s why we departed later than
intended. He was arranging the arrest in Oakwood.
“Wait,” Aaron said. “Did you say the Almighty told you?”
“Yes. The Almighty speaks to all of us, if we are quiet enough to listen.”
Was that true? Had the Almighty spoken to Aaron in the past?
Aaron shook his head. “If my father died here, why does he have a marked grave in Tumeric?”
“Your father loved that city deeply,” Tirion said. “We found it fitting he should be buried there
rather than Rainor. There are many things I would like to discuss—and perhaps we will at a later date—
but unfortunately I must make my way to the next meeting. It will be starting soon. You are welcome to
join, though I assume you, like many others, know how it will end.”
Aaron nodded. “I think I‟ll pass.”
Tirion smiled, patted him on the shoulder one last time, and walked out onto a snow laden path.
Sitting on an oak bench engraved with the finest etchings of Solaars imaginable, Aaron buried his
face into his hands as the tears dripped from his cheeks to the stone floor. It was surreal. After all this
time, he finally find out what happened to his father. The Order didn‟t kill him. No, he was a Templarite.
Apparently, the best there ever was.
241

Find the ray of Truth in all things.

Chapter 39

“How can they argue so much?” Tavon asked as he followed Tirion into the back room which acted as the
kitchen.
The door opened up to a small room, most of which was taken up by a maple table in the center
of the stone floor. A variety of steamy foods awaited there on skillets. A little further away, in the corner,
a nice, mahogany cabinet carried a nice selection of liquors, enticing anyone who looked upon its goods.
“I wish I knew,” Tirion said. He stopped in front of the table, grabbed a glass of water, and
downed it in one swig.
To Tavon‟s left, pots clanked as a maiden removed them from the hearth and replaced them with
ones that had cooled to room temperature. Other female maidens performed the same actions in the other
two hearths. Without them, the food would grow cold, then Raigar would complain more than they
already did. These maidens had the most important job out of anyone.
The Lionheart walked to a side table where he poured himself a glass of wine. They kept the good
wine hidden in the kitchen, and used the more watery stuff for the meetings. He took a deep breath after
taking a sip. By the storming seas, that stuff was strong. Far stronger than any wine he had ever had.
“Ten meetings and they are still squabbling like children,” Tirion said, shaking his head. “How
are the warcamps?”
“No new report,” Tavon responded, taking another drink. He was, again, forced to take a deep
breath as the tonic burned down his throat. “But it‟s safe to assume: not well.”
Tirion frowned. He had been doing that more and more recently, especially when tucked away in
private chambers.
“How did the Order fathers do it?” he asked, looking at Tavon. The look in his eye indicated this
was not a rhetorical question but a serious one.
“I don‟t know. Getting even just two of these leaders to agree with us seems impossible.” Tavon
snorted. “How do they even manage their own Orders?”
That brought a much needed smile to Tirion‟s face. “I wish the Almighty would explain such a
thing. A little divine intervention would be nice right about now.”
“Raigar,” Tavon said after coughing up some liquor. “He‟s an interesting one.” Some of the
maidens laughed at the comment.
“Rude,” one said.
“And, well, not attractive,” another said.
“Manners like a fungus.”
“No, no. That‟s not fair to the fungus.” They both shared a laugh as they moved pots around on
flames.
“Alright you two,” Tirion said, fighting back a smile. “While your words carry a level of truth,
we should respect our guests. They traveled a great distance for this Gathering, it would be a shame to
scare them off.”
“Would it though?” Tavon asked, refilling his drink with the red drink.
“Yes. Unfortunately, we need them or we are all doomed. Come, this recess will be ending soon.”
242

Tirion motioned and walked past the few furnishing in the kitchen and into the hallway leading
toward the meeting chamber. Various members of the other six Orders all stood in tiny groups talking,
some were even laughing. Tavon wished he felt the same enthusiasm, but he was growing quiet tired of
the whole ordeal.
The first time the Gathering was mentioned by Tirion, it seemed like such a grand request. Have
all the members together from around the world to discuss the spread of the Corruption and plot a way to
destroy the enemy. Unfortunately, that is not how they all viewed the scriptures regarding the end times,
nor was it how they viewed realty at all. They all, especially the Hammerfists, seemed to carry a victim
persona and were simply trying to survive the spreading chaos. Pitty. Nothing would ever change that
way.
Ahead, where the hallway met the corner and turned, Rahn stood with Raigar—leader of the
Order of the Hammerfists. Deep, belly-filled laughter from each of the men echoed through the hallways.
The sound brought more than a little of irritation. Tavon was growing tired of hearing it. For once, he just
wanted them to take this meeting seriously. Instead, they appeared to be using this time to reunite.
They did look similar. Could they be related?
Squires walked along the edges of the hallway, corralling people back into the meeting hall or to
the back rooms for meal preparations. Tavon followed, stepping up beside Tirion. The room was a buzz
of noise as everyone entered and took to their locations.
Eventually, Tirion raised a hand and silenced the room.
“As much as I‟ve enjoyed staying here,” Raigar said. His voice silenced the room. “How long do
you expect this meeting to go on?”
“Until we come to a unanimous decision, just like the Gatherings before,” Tirion said.
Many in the room rolled their eyes, others shared looks.
“You can‟t be serious,” Raigar said. “Tirion, you are the only one in disagreement.”
“Jericho seems to be considering my plan,” he responded, glancing at the brown haired woman.
“Okay. You and Jericho are the only ones in disagreement”
“And that means we continue until either we are persuaded, or all of you are.”
“How long can you keep this up? I know your food stocks cannot last an entire winter of feeding
all of us. This is a war of resources. We will continue to eat and burn firewood until you collapse.”
Tavon looked at Tirion, sharing a look. He‟s right, it said. The food supply was dwindling like a
leaky roof. Sure, the droplets don‟t start as an issue, but over time the bucket fills with water. The way
they all ate—not to mention the pounds and pounds of meat Brutis ate each day—in a month‟s time the
supply shed would be void of food.
“Are we all not diminishing our food supplies?” Mendril asked. He sat quietly, hands pressed
together with the indexes at a point resting against his chin.
“Hah!” Raigar shouted.
“Tell me, great leader of the Hammerfists, Champion of Hrathgar, how much meat of those
corrupted beasts is actually edible?”
The brute was silent.
“So I thought. Famine will slowly stretch the continent and up into Hrathgar. It is only a matter of
time before the entire world finds itself in trouble. Many will die of starvation. But can we attribute this to
Corruption?”
Was Mendril coming around?
243

“You may not know this,” Avalon said, leaning forward, letting the male recruit filling her glass
see more of her body than needed. “But in Aennes—where we in the Order of the Sun originate—the
winter season is the time for plant growth. Much like the spring is elsewhere in the world. We live in
somewhat of an eco dome where our seasons are different from the surrounding regions. Anyway, our
„winter‟ was a rough time. The soil was not very well fertilized. We expect this „spring‟ of ours to yield
less crops than ever before.”
“There are many things that can be done to help crops grow,” Raigar said.
“Are you suggesting I do not know how to farm? That in my fifteen years of leading an Order I
have not discovered how to properly grow vegetables?”
“I‟m simply saying that men and women have different roles. You should gather a group of
scholars and have them teach your men how to properly cultivate a field.”
Avalon started.
“In my Order,” Jericho interjected, “we believe men and women are equal and should be treated
as such.”
“Oh, I agree,” Raigar said. “Which is why you see my male guards walking around in dresses.
Don‟t be a fool.”
“So now I‟m a fool?”
“When you reason like one, yes.”
“Regardless,” Mendril interrupted, stroking his mustache, seemingly ignoring the squabbling,
“Avalon, you did mention your food supplies are running low.”
She nodded.
“As are mine,” he continued. “The Radiant Lights seem to be well stocked, but we will be
running through their supply rather quickly. Perhaps famine is striking our world.”
“Famines come and go,” Raigar said. “The Almighty gives and takes away, it is a law. This does
not fulfill some prophecy.”
The room went silent as everyone turned toward Hue and Kue, who sat silently in their chairs.
“What?” they said together, rocking side to side in unison.
“Nothing we just…” Tirion began. “We just kind of assumed you would quote the prophetic
texts.”
“We speak the words of the Almighty,” Hue said.
“They come and go,” Kue said.
“Like an uncorked bottle.”
“The words must flow.”
“Right…” Tirion said. “Our harvest this year was also smaller than average. The Corruption can
taint the lands, rejecting the nourishment required for proper growth. Over time, I fear much of our
continent will look like the Shadowlands: dark and barren.”
“Look, Tirion,” Raigar said. “I know you want to storm the Shadowlands and kill this „surrogate‟
of yours, but I can‟t simply remove my entire army from defending my lands on some whimsy. There
needs to be some evidence before I sacrifice Hrathgar. Find some evidence, then we will speak.
Otherwise, I‟ll be taking my Hammerfists and heading home.”
Mendril, Avalon, and all the others looked to Tirion, who pursed his lips and stroked his beard.
“Alright then,” Tirion said, pressing his hands upon the table. “In three hours meet at the training
grounds. Meeting dismissed.”
244

Everyone nodded and rose from their seats, conversations starting immediately. Tirion sat quietly,
sipping on wine. He looked peaceful, almost happy, with the way the meeting ended. After everyone had
left, he looked to Tavon. “Gather three dozen archers, a dozen footmen, and as many Lionhearts as you
can. Have them prepare for combat and meet me at the training grounds in two hours.”
“Sir?” Tavon responded as Tirion rose from his seat. “Where are you going?”
“To get the evidence.”

***

The forest north and west of the cathedral was dark and gold. Despite the thickness of trees, the
frigid winds of winter still managed to wiggle its way between the pines, oaks, and maples.
Aaron Bardeaux pulled the red scarf around his neck tight before crawling into snow covered
brush to check a hare trap. It had been triggered, but only a sliver of the hare remained in the twisted
twine. The majority of its corpse had been eaten by some type of animal, probably a wolf, coyote, or
snow owl.
After a sigh, Aaron rose to his feet, whipped the snow off his pants, and grabbed the strand of
rope holding the three hares he had previously caught. With the animals kicking against his back in an
attempt to escape, Aaron made way for the next trap, scanning the ground for tracks.
There were plenty of prints lining the snowy landscape, moving this way and that around bushes
and trees. Unfortunately, these snow hares proved to be a little more wise than expected. Of the nearly
two dozen traps sent, only a few contained enough of a hare to eat. Less would be considered worthy of a
sacrifice. Apparently, they needed to be alive for that.
Life contained power and power was gained through sacrifice. At least, that was how Sariah
explained it.
She had speculated the reason Aaron was unable to harness the powers of magic was due to how
low his Khasta levels must have been. A few sacrifices would increase it enough to, hopefully, attract the
Strands of the Universe. At least, that was the plan, but catching hares was proving more and more
difficult as he walked past another set of triggered snares containing mangled remains or nothing at all.
Aaron felt for the black stone in his pocket. Bre had explained ghosts can only appear when
summoned, and doing so was powerful dark magic. Could this stone be some type of gateway to
commune with the afterlife?
Those visions couldn‟t be evil, right? It was through those that he discovered what truly happened
to his father. Truly happened? Aaron thought. Am I now trusting these visitations? After a moment, he
pressed the stone back into his pocket before anything could happen.
He didn‟t believe the stone was a magical relic, of course. That seemed rather silly. But he wasn‟t
one to push the thought any further.
The letter Tirion had given rustled in his pocket. Aaron was still unsure how he felt about the
whole ordeal. The letterings did appear to match the way his father wrote, but how could he trust a sixteen
year old memory? And that was just a wild assumption, anyway. What child at the age of five studied the
way their father wrote? Aaron certainly didn‟t.
Up ahead something rustled among some bushes. Aaron‟s heart stopped.
You cannot escape me, Reeves‟s voice whispered in Aaron‟s mind.
Was he here? Had he been waiting all this time to catch Aaron alone and collect on the debt?
Aaron only had a dagger with him. Hardly enough to defend himself against Reeves and his goons—
245

which were without a doubt tagging along. They loved killing and wouldn‟t miss an opportunity to get
back at Aaron.
On closer inspection, two brown-spotted snow hares had found themselves snagged. Aaron
smiled as he shook himself from his thoughts. Reeves wasn‟t dumb enough to come here.
Aaron bound bound the struggling creatures with the oethers and threw them over his shoulder.
That made five hares, which should be enough for what he needed to do.
Satisfied, he turned and began heading back toward the cathedral. The sight of the church‟s peaks
stretching high into the sky like a beacon forced feelings to begin to swell. Anger and vengeance. But
also, curiosity and questioning. Something within Aaron still wanted the place destroyed. Heavens, he
almost prayed for it.
But another part of him was conflicted. If the letter was indeed from his father, and William was
one of the greats like Tirion had said, then this changed everything. Aaron‟s wrath would be unwarranted.
Instead, he should consider joining the organization and following his father‟s footsteps; walk in honor
and justice.
Justice.
How could an organization claim to uphold justice when they turned Aaron away when he sought
their help? Who could turn away a child who just lost both their parents and sought help from the Order?
Monsters, that‟s who.
People were riding donkeys and horses across the hillside, making their way toward the training
grounds. Lines of people walked on snow shoveled paths. Some slipped when they stepped on icy
patches, flinching as they recovered their balance.
What was happening? There wasn‟t a boute or any training regiments scheduled for today. It was
too cold and the ground was too slick for such a thing.
When Aaron got closer, he could make out white tabards of Templarites—this was the first sight
of tabards since the Gathering commenced, except for Tirion, of course—making their way toward the
training grounds, wearing heavy armor and carrying large shields. Archers were mixed into the march.
They wore lighter armor. Steel plate could interfere with aiming and the draw of the bowstring.
Some type of wooden fence had been put up. When did this happen? It wasn‟t there this morning.
People of various shapes and sizes crowded along the edge of the fence as the Templarites continued the
procession toward the center, disappearing over the top of the hill.
The subtle buzz of conversations lingered through the air as Aaron got closer. Too many people
were speaking to be able to make out anything specific. But as he pushed his way through the crowd and
made it to the wooden barrier, he found himself not needing an explanation.
Sariah was tied to some type of pole at the center of the training ground, ropes wrapped around
her feet, legs, chest, and shoulders. Surprisingly, she wasn‟t struggling. In fact, she was hardly moving at
all. She just hung there with her head dropped low as the footmen and archers took to their locations and
formed a small battalion not far from her. Were they so afraid of her power that they brought a small
army?
Aaron‟s eyes went wide as he realized what was happening.
It‟s a trial. They‟re going to kill her. Death by trial, and the people congregated around were the
jury. The soldiers were the executioners.
The silver tabard of Tirion reflected brilliantly as he nonchalantly strolled onto the battlefield,
halberd in one hand. His shield was held by one of the footmen in the front ranks.
246

Wait. This could be good. Perhaps Aaron had been going about overthrowing the Order of the
Radiant Light—now all the other Orders as well—the wrong way. He had been trying to find
contradictions in their theology or some type of hidden evil relic within their chambers. While he was
able to find some questionable things—well, Sariah was able to—nothing was solid enough to overthrow
an entire religion. The petty things that had been found would merely result in a slap on the wrist. Or at
most, exile.
But this, this could be something. Sariah had put herself into a position where Tirion, leader of
the Order of the Radiant Light, would be forced to make a decision. Sariah would plead innocent of the
crimes brought against her, forcing Tirion to either burn her in an attempt to prove she was a witch—
which would show the Order had not abandoned their old ways, exposing cracks within their standards—
or put an innocent person into the stocks until they confessed their crimes.
A procession of seven Lionhearts, one being Tavon, marched onto the field. They stopped behind
Tirion, standing in a perfectly straight row perpendicular to their leader. Tirion stared quietly at Sariah,
her head hung low in defeat. No bruises revealed a struggle of any kind. At least, none could be seen.
“Sariah!” Tirion shouted. The crowds went silent and the soldiers snapped to attention, gripping
their weapons tightly. “We come before you now with a crowd of witnesses. History will record our
decisions and actions today. You know why you are here. The charges brought against you today are as
follows: twenty four accounts of murder taking place in Arel‟drell, one count of theft, two counts of
witchcraft, one count of lying under oath, one count of conspiring to overthrow all the Orders of
Orthianism, one count of possessing a weapon of dark magic, and one count for plotting an assassination
of a Radiant Light official. How do you plead?”
The crowds went silent. Everyone leaned forward in anticipation.
This was the moment. Aaron felt a great level of excitement. Sariah was about to plead her
innocence and force the Order to reveal their corruption. So much effort had been put forth to get to this
moment. Albeit, it wasn‟t all his efforts, but still. They were a team and that meant sharing in each other‟s
victories.
Bardeaux looked around at the speechless crowd. Rahn stood next to Raigar along the southern
edge of the fence. Both stood with arms crossed and stern expressions on their faces. To their left,
standing on boxes, were the short twins: Hue and Kue. They both wore goggles on their faces.
Considering clouds covered the majority of the sun today, the reason why they wore the things was
unanswerable.
Kaylie stood next to them, unhappy. Not surprising, considering on the other side of her stood
Avalon, who even in the winter was showing more skin than necessary. How was she not freezing?
“Sariah,” Tirion shouted. His voice echoed through the countryside. “How do you plead?”
Not guilty. Say it.
Sariah raised her head and matched his gaze, tears trickling down her cheeks. “Guilty.”

***

Guilty? Aaron thought, standing with wide eyes and mouth gaping. There hadn‟t been a witch trial in
nearly a decade. Like everyone else watching, Aaron was leaning forward, yearning for Tirion‟s
declaration of her sentence: death.
The gold trim on Tirion‟s silver tabard gleamed as he strolled toward the footman holding his
shield. After gripping the stirrup, Tirion raised the halberd to his shoulder, and went before Sariah.
247

“Everything you said is true,” she said, sobbing. “I‟m guilty of it all.”
No. No, no, no. This can‟t be happening. There must be something I can do.
But what could Aaron do? He was surrounded by an entire congregation who shared a common
belief of what was right. And unfortunately, that meant they agreed in verdict and decree. Witchcraft was
punishable by death, and Aaron couldn‟t find an entire battalion of well trained footmen and archers to
stop the execution.
All he could do was watch as his childhood friend died before his very eyes.
“Your honesty is commendable,” Tirion said loud enough for all to hear. “By your own words
you have convicted yourself of crimes our ancestors declared are punishable by death. However, we know
something now that they did not. There is a way to be pardoned. Sariah, do regret your actions? Do you
feel remorse?”
She nodded her head, black hair rustling in the wind. Tears dripped off her cheeks and fell to the
snowy ground at the base of the wooden post against which she was bound.
Tirion smiled faintly and began mumbling to himself. A few seconds later, his eyes glowed of
bright white. “Soldiers! Ready yourselves!” he shouted, snapping the vizor of his helmet shut.
The Templarites all positioned themselves for battle—the footman marched up behind Tirion,
forming a wall of shields. The archers notched arrows and pulled the strings tight.
Suddenly, Sariah‟s head snapped back against the post, eyes turning a pitch black. Her muscles
revealed veins as she strained against the ropes. Black wisps started drifting above her shoulders, twisting
about in tiny spirals.
These tendrils began to solidify, creating some type of boney, translucent, black flesh rising up
from Sariah‟s body. Translucency faded and turned into arms that stretched forth at a great length. A head
formed even higher in the air. The face was featureless save for eyes of smoke.
Is that… A Shadow? Aaron could hardly believe he was finally seeing one. It was much… larger
than he had expected.
“You do not scare me, Tirion Braveheart,” a voice said. Sariah mouthed the words, but the voice
consisted of seven octaves, each more distorted than the last.
“It is not me you should fear,” Tirion shouted, “but the Almighty.”
At the mention of the Almighty, the creature snapped backwards. After a moment, it slowly
floated to its original place, the lower half of its body still immersed in Sariah. “Your god holds no
weight,” the voice said, laughing. “Your weapons cannot hurt me.”
Tirion cocked his head. “No?”
“Weapons of mortal men were not designed for creatures of my power.”
It was then that Aaron noticed the runes on Tirion‟s weapon were glowing as bright as a torch. It
wasn‟t just Tirion‟s, but all of the weapons the Order members held were glowing. The battlefield looked
like a starry night. It was strangely beautiful.
Tirion swiped his halberd through the air, a faint trail of light lingered behind the blade. The
Shadow hissed. Then it reached down with its long, black, boney hands and ripped the ropes off of
Sariah. She fell on her knees, sinking deep into the snow, the creature still protruding from her back.
“Fire!” Tirion shouted.
A wave of arrows followed the call, sending streaks of glowing white stripes across the training
grounds. The Shadow screamed as the projectiles pierced deep into its body, the sound so loud it broke
snow from the trees. The creature shouted a ferocious roar as Sariah rose to her feet and dashed forward
to attack.
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The footmen responded by stepping forward, falling in line with Tirion, creating a wall with their
shields as the archers reloaded. The Shadow slammed its two hands against the barrier like giant
hammers, forcing the men to take a step back and dents into their shields.
Another wave of arrows shot across the sky. They dotted the Shadow‟s smokey body with
glowing puncture wounds. Smoke poured out of the wounds and drifted into the air. It screamed and
flailed against the front line, tossing a few of them out of the way. Tirion stepped into place, swinging his
halberd, the axehead slashed the Shadow‟s arm.
As it backed away, a line of soot-like tendrils stretched forth in a line from Sariah‟s hand. Purple
bolts of electricity bounced along the strand. A moment later, one of the fallen footmen‟s swords snapped
into Sariah‟s hand as she and the Shadow rushed forward.
“Move!” Tavon shouted. As the Lionhearts went in for the surround, the line of footmen arced,
creating a full enclosure. “Hold there!” With Sariah and the demon-creature surrounded, they had little
chance to defend against the variety of weapons thrusting and slashing at their location. Each hit against
the Shadow forced a high pitched, ear scratching scream from the creature.
Sariah rushed forward—moving the Shadow‟s body with her own—and stepped sideways,
dodging a thrust from a sword. With the attack dodged, she pressed her hand against the Templarite‟s
chest, sending him flying backwards with a powerful blast of force. The Shadow took advantage of the
new position and swiped with two powerful arms. The defenders tried to use shields, but even blocking
the attack sent them tumbling to the ground.
Despite being vastly outnumbered and dozens of swords and spears piercing its smoky flesh, the
Shadow continued to rampage through the ranks, flinging armored men backward onto their backs. Sariah
continued forward, slashing with her sword. But she was unable to pierce the thick steel plate covering
the footmen‟s bodies. Another volley of arrows soared across the sky.
With one final shout, a bright light shot forth from inside the creature insides, glowing from the
puncture wounds and eviscerations. It grew bright and brighter until the creature popped in a violent surge
of energy.
As Aaron‟s eyes adjusted he saw Sariah sitting on her knees, tiny tendrils of smoke evaporating
into the air. Thick snow flurries beat against her hands covering her face as she wept.
Aaron rose to his feet. When did he get knocked down? Everything inside of him wanted to rush
to Sariah‟s side. To help the maidens nurse her back to health. He cocked his head to the side as he took
notice of her damage. There was none.
No slashes lined her body and every arrow had missed her and hit the Shadow. Her clothing
wasn‟t stained red and the sword she had acquired lay a few feet away. The runes along the blade went
dim.
Pressing his weight against the railing, Aaron watched as maidens and female Squires rushed in
and lifted Sariah onto a stretcher. Then they carried her to the infirmary for a look over of her body, no
doubt. Some others lifted the Templarites that were flung by the shadow-demon-thing.
As Aaron tried to wrap his mind over everything that just happened, Sariah was carried past him.
He wanted to say something, anything, but she was weeping bitterly and the nurses were discussing
loudly what needed to be done. The jargon was unfamiliar to Aaron, but even this close, he couldn‟t see
any wounds.
Tirion looked his way, eyes slowly losing their glow. He nodded, then turned and walked toward
Raigar and the other members of the Gathering.
Aaron wasn‟t sure exactly what had just happened, but he knew one thing. He needed a drink.
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The Almighty makes order out of chaos.

Chapter 40

Blood stained the stone floor and walls. Smoke filled the air, thick like molasses.
Try as he may, Aaron could not stop from coughing. The kind of cough that burned your lungs
and throat. The kind of cough that makes you want to give up on life, but your body refuses to surrender.
Aaron struggled to his feet. With a hand keeping his cloak over his mouth, he stumbled forward.
Past the pillars with empty fetters and a wall of smoke, a light glowed against the far wall. Why did
Aaron keep ending up in this place? What was the point?
As he moved forward, something shrieked to the left. Aaron Bardeaux froze and glanced that
direction. The noise came from a blackened room beyond a barren door frame. He wanted to resist
moving forward. He wanted to to turn and run. But he found himself doing the stupidest thing he could
fathom, investigating the source of the sound.
Without lanterns or candles burning on the walls, the room was completely dark. Though smoke
still lingered, forcing more coughing. You couldn‟t escape it in this place, apparently.
Aaron stumbled around in this vast, empty chamber for some time before deciding it was time to
exit. Well, he had decided that some time ago, but he didn‟t exactly appear in control of his actions. As
Aaron turned to leave, he gasped—the inhale of air immediately forced coughing. A line of fire stretched
through the air. It wiggled and twisted, moving in an unnerving pattern.
Then it got brighter and revealed the horrific creature holding the flame. It stood nearly eight feet
tall and had horns sticking from its tormented head. Fur lined its body, but it ended at the neck. The torso
was hairless and wrapped with a leather vest. The legs on the creature were mutated, and hooves existed
where feet should.
A twisted smile appeared on the mutated face. The creature flicked a hand, forcing the line of fire
to crack like a whip. Damnation, it was a whip. The creature then let loose a maniacal laugh and stepped
forward, snapping the whip again.
Aaron found himself charging the beast, hands clenched in fists. Wait, what was he doing?
“Stop,” he told himself. “Run the other way.” But he refused to listen to his own words.
When he was a foot away from the creature, and the whip was pulled back and beginning its snap
toward his body, Aaron jumped forward, landed on a shoulder, and rolled between the creature‟s two
hair legs.
Aaron stood in the smoky hallway looking for a place to run. To the right, blood stained
stonework. Straight ahead, the same. To the left, the same. The only thing abnormal in this place was the
light glowing at the end of the chamber.
Setting his mind, he took off running toward the far wall. The whip snapped behind him, followed
by the sounds of clopping hooves. The horned-hoofed-demon-thing was chasing after him.
Light flashed behind Aaron as the whip cracked again.
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With smoke filling his lungs, Aaron was forced to cough and run at a lower speed. In this
staggered state, there was no way he would be able to outrun his assailant. So Aaron took to weaving in
between the stone pillars.
I want to get out, Aaron thought as his leg brushed against a set of fetters. Instantly his mind was
flooded with depictions of children being tormented, their bodies burned and their flesh scarred by
indescribable abominations. Older men and women shackled to pillars tried to help those being tortured,
but they were unable to break free. Unfathomable amounts of screams sounded through Aaron‟s mind. He
could never forget those sounds.
As the touch of the mandible left Aaron‟s leg, he returned to normal—coughing and staggering
between the pillars. The beast chasing him was probably the one who connected the things to their
victims. Aaron couldn‟t allow that to happen to him.
The screams echoed in his mind.
As he moved around another pillar, the whip collided against the stone, revealing a horrific
amount of blood on the column. Aaron fought the urge to throw up, and ran continued forward, coughing.
Aaron was almost there. The light wasn‟t much further away.
The beast was so close every breath it took could be heard. Did it need to breath? It wasn‟t
coughing, did it live on smoke? The demon-thing inhaled deeply. Aaron knew what this meant. Another
lashing from the flaming whip was headed his direction.
Instinctively, Aaron dove forward. The whip snapped in the air above him—where his head once
was. Had he not tumbled he would have died. Landing on his feet, Aaron found himself in the room where
the light originated. He looked back at the entrance and saw the beast leaving, snapping the whip in the
air as his hooves clopped on the stone floor.
Aaron Bardeaux looked back into the room. It took many moments for his eyes to adjust to the
well lit area. In the center of the room, the man-in-white hung in the air, arms chained to separate, blood-
stained pillars. He looked exactly the same as last time: long, matted, grey—almost white—hair hung low
into his chest, his head lie heavy, and his ribs showed against his chest.
Who was this person?
Aaron stepped forward.
The man‟s head suddenly snapped upward. His bright blue eyes pierced deep into Aaron‟s soul
as the two made eye contact. There was something more lingering behind the look. Something sorrowful,
mournful. Aaron looked deeper.Behind the blueness of the prisoner‟s eyes, a message lingered.
It said, set me free.

***

Aaron Bardeaux snapped up, gasping for air, lungs burning. He struggled out of his bed, grabbed
a glass of water from his desk, and forced it down his searing throat.
Not since arriving in Rainor did he experience the nightmare. And even so, why he experienced it
was still something of a mystery. He didn‟t have a history of night terrors while he was a kid. No,
growing up in the streets of Tumeric provided their own terrors. And he was fully awake for those.
With his breath returning and his throat alleviated, Aaron sat at the char in front of his desk. He
considered going back to sleep, but his mind was far too awake to do so. And he really did not want to
experience the nightmare again. Instead he filled a metal pot with water, set it over the flames to prepare
for tea, and flipped open a book.
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He would be spending the entire night reading under the light of an everburning candle.

Wisdom does not elude those who seek it.

Chapter 41

Their strength, the book read, appears to be based on the amount of time the creatures have had to
devour a person‟s soul. However, they cannot do this freely, instead the host must be pressed into doing
willfully evil acts to empower the Shadow to feast as it desires. The Shadow interacts with the host by
whispering into his or her mind, tempting them toward evil. It is in the moments of human failure that
these creature‟s gain power.
The unfortunate reality is that even when humanity succeeds in resisting these demons, they are
still held captive. No act of human courage, respect, honor, or power can rid these beings from their
hosts. Only a weapon inscribed with the words and truth of the Almighty can vanquish these Shadows.
The difficulty arrives in that the host must be willing to rid themselves of such possession.
Must be willing? Aaron reread that line multiple times. He had been studying the book for three
days—ever since he watched one of these Shadows die—and still struggled to piece everything together.
But this particular text indicated that Sariah must have been a willing to change. That proved to be a
problem as she was his companion in overthrowing this religion. What could have caused the change?
Aaron wrote the paragraph and page number down on a loose piece of paper.
The library was nearly abandoned and as dark as the everburning chandeliers and wall mounted
lanterns would allow. Aaron sat a table by himself, sipping warm tea and comparing various texts in a few
different books. Mainly, comparing written accounts of Shadows to the scriptures of the Rhetoria.
They consumed the soul. That much he had gathered. It was fairly obvious once the words were
read. Creatures must feed somehow. But how they were acquired was another thing entirely, and a
concept which came with a great deal of debate.
Despite contradicting theories, one idea prevailed in each account. Shadows can only possess a
creature that has sinned against the Almighty.
Clive Taigan‟s book, Understanding Shadows, was proving to be a vital resource. While Aaron
had begun reading it when he first arrived at the monastery, he was now digging into it with a deeper
understanding. Seeing one of those things personally was a great testament to the recorded words. Aaron
continued reading,
Should a Shadow remain attached to a suspect for an extended amount of time, and given the
opportunity to consume the person‟s soul, that person is left as nothing but a stumbling buffoon known as
a Hollow. The Shadow will then abandon the host to wander in this state as it seeks a new soul to
consume.
On rare occasions, in which the writings of history are extremely difficult to acquire, a rare event
known as a Feasting Frenzy occurs. In such rare occasions, Shadows gather into a single location and
work together to devour as many souls as possible. Typically, the suspects are guided in by an external
force and thrown into a situation where there is no escape, save for that of stumbling away as a Hollow.
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The effects involved with a Shadow growing in power is, unfortunately, an unfamiliar and rarely
researched territory. But from the information that has been gathered, Shadows „evolve‟ in a sense.
Through the course of vanquishing these creatures from the lives of humans, priests and scholars have
discovered that not all Shadows appear the same: some are lanky and fairly easy to defeat, while others
have a thickened, bony hide and attack with an unrivaled strength. It has been speculated that if one of
these demons gains enough power, consumes enough souls, it could change into a state which no longer
requires a host, but can instead roam the world on its own accord with no restrictions.
Aaron paused to take a sip of tea. Well, he would have had the mug not been empty. He turned to
his mug of rum, but it, too, was empty. With a sigh, he stood to his feat. As he did so, something creaked
through the entryway on the eastern end of the library. Wain appeared pushing a cart stacked with books
on the lower portion and a tea set on top.
“Do you sleep?” Aaron asked, smiling.
“Why yes. I suppose I need as much sleep as anyone has ever needed since, well, forever.” Wain
continued forward, pushing the cart past the aisles of ancient tomes before stopping next to the table. “But
I‟d suppose the same cannot be said about you.”
“What do you mean?”
Wain smiled. “It‟s already nearing mid-morning, Aaron.”
Had he spent the entire night studying?
“What is the topic of study?” Wain asked as he took a pitcher of hot tea and refilled Aaron‟s cup.
Once satisfied with the amount of steam flowing from the mug, he flared the edges of his robe, took a seat
at the table, and sipped on a drink of his own.
“In light of recent events, I‟ve decided to read about these Shadow creatures,” Aaron said. He
reclined and rubbed his tired eyes.
“Ah, one of the most important subjects we could discuss.”
“If that‟s the case, then why wasn‟t I taught about it before?”
“It is important for you to learn correct theology before venturing into evangelism or exorcisms.
For you see, when a person is rid of such things, if they do not refill the chasm of their souls with the
presence of the Almighty, then they are destined to acquire another Shadow. In which case, the
evangelism and the freeing of their souls was meaningless, except to show them the freedom they could
have had. Which puts the person in a worst state than before, I think.”
Aaron frowned.
“Sariah is alright,” Wain said, sipping from his mug. “There is no need to worry, I believe. She‟s
been locked away in her room for two, now three, days, only allowing Tirion in—and a single maiden.
But he will be able to speak truth and help her through the reconciliation.”
Good. “I just felt so… helpless.”
Wain nodded, smiling, forcing age lines to appear on the edges of his cheeks. “We‟ve all been in
that position. The first time one discovers Shadows do, in fact, exist, and how powerful they are, it is hard
to have any actions at all. Our minds are in disbelief while our spirits scream of truth. But now that
you‟ve seen one, you understand what I mean.”
“These creatures are what the Order fights then?”
“That‟s correct, Aaron. We, like most religions, take creating proselytes very seriously. There are
many ways in which this is done: reason, debates, carefully crafted essays, poems, songs, great works of
art, anything which could touch a culture and bring a person‟s thoughts to the Almighty. For it is only
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within the contemplation of life and an infinite being, could a person ever truly consider seeking the
divine truth.
“These Shadows whisper lies to humanity, distracting them from this process. It just so happens,
the Sha‟Dari were gifted from the Almighty to fight these creatures. It is our duty, handed down from
generation to generation, to vanquish these Shadows from the world.”
“If what Orthianism is true, why then are there so little followers?” Aaron asked.
“That is a very complicated question. But the simplest answer, I think, is that we have made some
grave mistakes throughout history. People look at these errors and claim the entire religion is incorrect,
that everything we believe is wrong. This makes people turn away, I think. Our numbers have been
dwindling for some time. People want entertainment, not contemplation.
“But do not think our numbers are small. There are many Orders of Orthianism which stretch
across much of the world. The Gathering has shown that the Eastern Lands have a quite diverse group of
leadership. The Western Lands would be similar, I imagine.”
“So, these different Orders spread out across the world are all fighting the same evil and ridding
the world of Shadows?”
“Partly so,” Wain said. “It is true that we are all fighting the same evil. However, most people
have swayed to thinking Shadows no longer exist and have no influence over humanity. We, of course, do
not believe such a thing. You have seen for yourself they exist and the power they can possess.”
“The Sha‟Dari died over a millenia ago,” Aaron said. He paused to take a sip of tea. “If they
handed down the power to defeat evil, why then has it not been defeated?”
“Because in many ways, the Order of the Radiant Light, and all the Orders of Orthianism, have
failed. We spend far too much time squabbling about our differences instead of standing united against
the enemy. In some ways, I think these divisions were planned by Mul‟Drak. These Shadows are minions
of his. They whisper into the minds of men, separating our thoughts from the Almighty, forcing us away
from who we were meant to be.”
Aaron sat quietly, looking around the room. There wasn‟t anyone else here. Not that he cared if
someone was listening in. The silence was just awkward, was all. Finally, he spoke. “Is the world really
ending?”
“The only way such a thing will happen is if we let it,” Wain said.
“That sounds like what Tirion believes.”
“It‟s what the Sha‟Dari believed. It‟s what their disciples believed. Our theology has not changed
since the Almighty first revealed His ways.”
“Tirion truly believes he can reunite the Orders doesn‟t he? That‟s why he called the Gathering.
He‟s trying to defeat this „surrogate‟ and stop Mul‟Drak‟s grip on the world, vanquishing evil forever.”
Wain nodded. “He and Tavon are waiting for you near the stables.”
Aaron tilted his head. “Why?”
“Your first assignment.” Wain smiled, rose to his feet, took Aaron‟s empty glass, then returned to
pushing his cart through the aisles to restock the bookshelves. “Grab your leather. You‟re going to need
it.”
Still confused, Aaron rose from the table and headed out the entrance toward the sleeping quarter.
“Don‟t worry,” Wain‟s voice echoed as Aaron moved through the doorway. “I‟ll clean up your dishes and
books.”
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Aaron smiled. He walked into his room and, after placing the letter from his father into the coffer
at the food of the bed, began donning the armor. It took a bit longer than expected, nerves were getting to
him. It wasn‟t everyday a Lionheart and a leader of an Order were waiting for him.
With the armor on, cloak around his back, and hood up, Aaron made his way outside. As he left
the cathedral, a wave of cold air brushed against his body, forcing his face to flush and nose to go red.
Before him, not far from the stable, and entire troupe was preparing for a departure.
Tirion stood at the front, covered with plate armor—the pauldrons were layered with smooth
engraved sheets of steel, intricately decorated. His familiar silver tabard tied snug against his waist by a
thick rope. The tabard flowed gracefully around the knees. His steed, Stormwind, stood next to him with
maidens tightening plates of armor over his face. The horse tabard would be thrown over top, completing
the ensemble.
Next to him, Raigar was sitting on Brutis, axe blades layering the man‟s back like wings. No
saddle rested on top of the great grizzly. Of course not. Why wouldn‟t Raigar ride bareback? It only made
sense. Surely, someone had tried to put a harness on the creature and the brute of a man ripped it apart
with his bare hands.
He and Tirion were having a discussion.
A brown mare with white spots trotted past, kicking clumps of powdery snow into the air. But
there was enough falling to fill the newly made hole rather quickly. The rider‟s cloak flapped violently in
the wind, revealing a female wearing leather armor, fur sticking up along the neckline. The outfit made
the rider easily recognizable. Sariah.
This was the first time Aaron had seen her since the exorcism—for lack of a better word. This
might have been the first time she had been outside. Aaron stood watching as Sariah trotted next to Tirion
and interrupted his current conversation. She motioned with a hand into the distance. Raigar shouted
something in a booming voice. Then the three of them nodded and Sariah moved into line beside them.
Bardeaux walked forward across the snowy field toward the stables. Kaylie walked out from the
main stall—the largest of stalls where animals were allowed to roam about, stretch their legs, and enjoy a
meal—holding a leash, pulling a mule.
“What‟s this?” Aaron asked when they were closer.
“I was told you don‟t care much for riding horses, instead preferring a donkey,” Kaylie said,
rubbing the little thing‟s mane. “Something about them being less scary.”
Aaron set his eyes. “Who told you that?”
“One of the men you travelled with through the Shadowlands. They said you did well on the
donkey, made it all the way to Sirena. But when you had to ride the horse through the Shadowlands, you
lost it.”
“That‟s not entirely true. I—”
“We can‟t keep losing animals every time you ride one, Aaron. Horses are expensive.”
“What? I didn‟t lose the horse. Look, there was a fight and it got spooked and ran away. It wasn‟t
anything I did. Who told you this? Alex or Leonias?”
“We can‟t all be great at riding horses. It‟s okay, Aaron.”
“No,” Aaron said, face feeling hot. “I can ride a horse. Why does everyone think I can‟t?”
“Aaron, it‟s okay.”
“No. No it‟s not. How could I possibly represent the Order by riding on a donkey while everyone
else is on an armored steed? I‟d look foolish.”
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“Very good,” a voice shouted inside the stable, then laughter. A moment later, Alex stepped
outside, pulling horse equipped with battle barding. The horse was an off shade of brown, almost maroon.
“Very good, Kaylie.”
Kaylie smiled, then turned and took the donkey back inside.
“So, this was all a joke?” Aaron asked, arms crossed.
“Yes,” Alex said between laughs. “You should have seen your face.”
“I‟m sorry, Aaron,” Kaylie said, returning to the field. “The idea was too enticing to let pass.”
“Yeah. Real funny,” Aaron Bardeaux said.
“I thought so too,” said Alex, pulling the horse closer. It was nice to see him walking without the
cane again. “This here is Rosebud. She‟s been a faithful steed for many years.”
“She?”
“Yes. Rosebud is one of the older mares,” Kaylie said. “She‟s still plenty of fast, though, able to
keep up with some of the bigger steeds. Why, I‟ve seen her keep up with Stormwind before. It didn‟t last
very long, but it was still a sight.”
“There is no shame in riding a female horse,” Alex said. “Besides, you wouldn‟t want to be riding
a stallion when he decides to mount a mare. Makes it very difficult to stay seated. This way, if your riding
Rosebud, you‟ll just catch of a front hoof to the back.” Alex punched the air a few times to prove his
point.
Aaron stared at him, unamused. Kaylie, however, was smiling, even blushing slightly. What has
gotten into him? Aaron thought, walking around the beast, inspecting the armor. It looked strong enough.
He‟s never like this.
“You‟ll see here,” Alex said, walking around the horse. Rosebud didn‟t run away when the reins
were dropped. She was a trained horse. A few hairs on the face were turning white with patches of grey,
indicating she was well of age, just as Alex had explained. “We placed a shield on the right side of the
saddle for you. On the left you will find a shortsword strapped. Once you become a Squire you can place
an Order and have some weapons crafted specifically for you. But until then, these are on loan.”
“You may also notice, there is no bow,” Kaylie added with a smile.
“Very funny,” Aaron said. “You know, I am getting better.”
“Eh…”
Aaron frowned, ignoring Kaylie‟s smile. “So, where are we going?” he asked.
“You will find out,” she said.
Aaron frowned again.
Rosebud was armored beautifully. It was, of course, the only horse not wearing an intricate
tabard. This wouldn‟t come until Aaron became a Squire. If he became a Squire. Placing a foot in the
stirrup, he grabbed the horn and pulled himself onto the saddle. It went much easier than the first time he
tried it in Sirena.
Sirena. What a wonderful experience that was. Aaron tightened the red scarf around his neck as
he remembered the dancing and food there. Adelin. She had given him the scarf. Heavens, how did he
forget?
Ahead, Kaylie mounted her horse. She was the only other person, aside from Raigar, who wore
leather armor. Everyone else wore chainmail, a half plate, or was armored in steel from head to toe. On
her back rested the white bow. It was mystical to look at, almost enticing, like a foreign painting of a
beautiful landscape. Aaron wanted to know how she could shoot the thing without any arrows.
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Someone at the front of the line of horses whistled, sending the troupe of fifteen into motion. As
they trotted forward, Aaron watched as Kaylie‟s red hair bounced up and down.
“Be careful,” Alex said. He stood to the right, watching as everyone left.
“Not coming?” Aaron asked.
Alexander shook his head. “Not this time, Aaron. Someone has to stay back and make sure the
visitors don‟t burn the entire place down.”
Smiling, Aaron nodded. That much was true. Their squabbling was getting worse. At times it felt
like full blown arguments, while other times the atmosphere of the meetings was a quiet anger. This was
the main reason he had chosen not to go to the past few discussions. If he wanted to hear people do
nothing but complain about the world and force their opinions on others, Aaron would go to a tavern. At
least there he could drink away the annoyance.
The long line of horses galloped across the snow laden fields. The sun lingered in the sky over the
right shoulder. It was a clear day, which meant the fields were glowing bright white like they were a
foretaste of the farmlands in the Heavens. While this may be beautiful in the afterlife, it made for a
challenging ride full of squinting eyes.
It was not long before the group of fifteen found themselves within the covering of the trees—
great evergreens stretching high into the air. Unfortunately, they did little in regards to protection. Sure,
they blocked the sun at times, forcing the eye strain away. But they hardly did anything to keep gusts of
wind from blowing unpacked snow into the air. Needless to say, Aaron did not enjoy the ride.
The forest grew denser and darker still, the wind howling even more profusely. After about an
hour‟s worth of riding, signs of life began to appear. Blood streaked across the snow and half eaten
corpses of hares and coyotes littered the path. How pleasant. Some time later, the troupe began to slow as
they approached a cave entrance tucked into the side of a hill.
Tirion dismounted. The Lionhearts and Templarites followed his lead. They divided the mounts
into two groups and separated the people alike, determining who would remain outside on guard and who
was going inside, most likely. Aaron hopped off Rosebud, who turned out to be easy to ride, and joined
the group for their discussion. Raigar approached a moment later, leaving Brutis to the side. The bear left
the horses anxious.
“Let me talk to her first,” Sariah said. She was fidgeting uncomfortably with her hands.
Tirion nodded. “We will not be far. If she resists, we will come to help.”
“The passage isn‟t very large. We won‟t all fit.”
Tavon frowned. “I was hoping to only leave a few people outside, but if we must,” he said in his
seaborn accent.
“How many can we take?” Tirion asked.
“Six, maybe?” Sariah said.
“May the Almighty help us,” Tavon said. He walked off to tend the horses, black tabard flapping
in the wind.
Tirion nodded. “Sariah, you will be going, but I doubt you will be much help in the fight—should
this come to that. In fact, I‟d rather you avoid fighting if at all possible.”
She nodded, frowning as she wiped a tear from her eye.
“It‟s okay,” Tirion said, placing a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. “Things have changed for
you. I‟ll be going in, so will Tavon. Aaron, you are coming too.”
“Wait… what?” Aaron asked.
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“Don‟t sound so surprised. You are more than a capable fighter, and you need to gain combat
experience. This will be good for you.”
“Yes, but—”
“Raigar and Kaylie are coming too,” Tirion interrupted. After nodding, he motioned for everyone
to enter the cave. They all grabbed their assortment of weapons, grouped together, and stepped into the
darkness.
The earthen floor was layered with footprints and many handholds covered segments of the walls.
Through twists and turns they went. Aaron stared upward when they passed under the many religious
symbols—if one should call a bundle of dead animal parts such.
“What are those?” Aaron asked Sariah, who was moving stealthily in front of him. Those were
the first words he got to speak to her in a while. It felt nice.
“Wards. To protect The Family from the Light,” she said.
“Do they work?”
Sariah turned, staring into Aaron‟s eyes from underneath a fur lined cowl—even hidden within a
cave the cold wouldn‟t leave, nothing would fix that except a fire or spring. She looked concerned. “Let‟s
hope we don‟t have to find out.”
Aaron bit his lip, looking down at his shortsword. The runes were glowing a faint gold. Oh no.
What have I gotten myself into?
After a few moments of travel, Sariah rushed to the front and stopped the group. “Wait here. I‟ll
go in by myself.”
“If things get dicey, we will rush in,” Tavon said.
Sariah nodded, turned, and pressed through the darkness.

Teach yourself to be slow to speak but quick to listen.

Chapter 42

Sariah stood in a vast chamber tinted purple from the magical flames suspended in the air. It was fairly
impressive how much light the simple spell provided.
Matram stood across the way fidgeting with something on her alchemy table. Probably working
on some type of potion. Maybe that was how she kept The Family convinced. Two assistants helped
prepare the liquid concoctions—a rare sight. Sarah was never allowed to mix the chemicals. No, she had
been too busy learning the Fletchings.
Like Matram, the assistants wore black robes with loose sleeves. The fabric was tight around the
shoulders and waist so as not to interfere with movements. Nothing was worn underneath. The robe itself
was surprisingly comfortable and warm, and stitched stitched in a way for it to be warm in the winter, but
airy in the summer.
Sariah did not wear one anymore. She had not done so since she left to infiltrate the Carnival and
assassinate Jarith. Though, now she know all that was a lie, a ploy to get her into the Order. How foolish
Matram had been.
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“Matram,” Sariah said.


Her voice startled Matram, forcing her attention from the table.
“Sariah?” Matram said, vanquishing a tiny purple flame against her chest. “I didn‟t feel you enter,
child.”
“Of course you didn‟t,” Sariah said dryly.
“Did the Universe draw you here?” Matram asked. “I didn‟t feel its tug.”
Sariah felt the urge to look away. “No,” she said, forcing herself to stare flatly at her teacher.
“Well, come, come. Come take a seat,” Matram motioned to a chair at the side of the table. “Tell
me why you‟ve come. You seem to be recovering nicely. Not wobbling—”
“No,” Sariah interrupted. Speaking in such a manner felt strange. For years Matram had used
power to discipline her disciples, often in the forms of beatings. Quietness and respect was branded into
Sariah‟s flesh. Her training echoed in her mind, telling her what was right, how to stand, how to speak,
and what was worth speaking about. She resisted every one of those whispers, fighting for her freedom,
fists clinched white.
Matram started. After gaining her composure, she matched Sariah‟s gaze. “Why have you come,
child?”
“I know.”
“Oh? What is it you think you know? I‟m sure you are mistaken.” Matram took a step forward,
hands clasped before her stomach. The assistants looked at Sariah, eyes wide in disbelief. No one ever
spoke to Matram in such a way.
“I know the Universe didn‟t draw me here. It never has. The Universe can‟t, it doesn‟t possess
such a power.” Matram didn‟t move. She stood staring, hands still. “I know,” Sariah continued, “our
magic came from demons, and that you lied to us, telling us the magic dwelled from the Universe. That it
was always so.
“I'm not mistaken. I can see it in your eyes. No, I saw the creatures for myself, watched as I
attacked without control as the Order freed me from its bonds. All you told me to fear, all you taught me
to hate, was a lie. You turned me against the very thing that made me free.”
“The very thing that made you free?” Matram shook her head, clicking her tongue. “I feared this
would happen. The Order got to you. They pulled you in with their theology, with this crazy idea of how
the world can be pure, holy, and peaceful. That‟s not the truth. You know that. Think about your life, was
there ever a moment where the world felt such a way?”
Sariah didn‟t say anything.
“Do you think kings are sitting with their advisors planning on how to make the world better? Of
course not. All men care about is one thing. Power. Kings feel this through authority or greed. Thieves
feel this through torture. Warlords feel this through death and destruction. We gained it through sacrifice,
through raising the Khasta, through the Universe. The world revolves around power.”
“It doesn‟t have to. Humans can change.”
Matram laughed. “That foolishness has gotten to you. Come, child, let us raise your Khasta to a
level where you can survive a cleansing ritual.”
Sariah shook her head. “No. I‟ve changed, Matram. I‟ve reconciled with my wrongs and now I‟m
paying the penance. I‟m free from my Shadow-demon, and you can be too. I‟ve come offering you a way
out of this life.”
“What did you do?” Matram yelled. Her voice echoed through the chamber, startling the
assistants.
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“I—”
“You what, child? You forsake all my teachings?”
“Teachings? You lied. Everything you said was a lie.”
“Did you not feel the power?”
“Does power matter when it‟s gained through deceitful, wicked ways?”
“You hold your tongue, child.”
“Matram, listen. I‟ve come offering a way out—”
“A way out?” Matram yelled. “And how do you plan on doing such a thing?
Sariah was silent.
“You brought them here, didn‟t you?” Matram cursed, turned around, and walked back to the
table. She slammed her fists against the wood, rattling jars and vials of strange colored liquids.
In that moment, Sariah had to make a decision. Everything inside of her urged to back down, to
let Matram win. But she couldn‟t, not now. Not after seeing the truth. Not after experiencing the Light.
“Yes.”
Matram looked over her shoulder, fury in her eyes. “You dare forsake The Family?” she
screamed, stepping toward Sariah. “All I ever did was care for you.”
“Care for me? You lied about everything.”
“And now you care about lied? Your entire life is covered in lies.”
The statement stung. It stung because it was true. But things could be different now. Before,
Sariah was plagued by a Shadow, bending to its will, enticed by the whispers. Now, now she was free.
Though, if she was being honest, Matram still frightened her. Never had she seen the extent of her
powers.
“I‟ve changed,” Sariah said.
“How can you forsake The Family? After all we‟ve done, how can you do this? You are undoing
centuries of work. I can‟t let you do this. I‟m sorry, Sariah.”
She called me by name, Sariah thought. She hasn‟t done so since she first rescued me. Not since
she first adopted me. “So you‟ve made your decision then? You don‟t want to be rescued?”
Matram laughed, stepping forward. Only ten feet separated the two now.“Your life is mine.
You‟re sacrifice will make me nearly immortal. The Family will live on.”
The next moment, Matram was floating inches off the floor, screaming. The sound was deafening
and echoing wildly, making it all the worse. Purple sparks of electricity bounced violently in her eyes,
hair and rope flapping from the wind accompanying the Fletching. Black tendrils of smoke flittered above
her shoulders, flashing of darkness, like a muffled thunderstorm was struggling to breakfree.
The sound wave broke.
It forced Sariah across the room, slamming her against the wall near the entryway. Broken bits of
earth and shards from glass vials pelted the wall and floor.

***

An ear piercing scream flooded the corridors of the dark, musty cavern.
“Let‟s go,” Tirion said. He turned a corner—or what would be called a corner in a cave. It was
more like like a slight twist along a damp mound of earth with stalagmites on either side of the beaten
walkway.
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Raigar pulled two axes from his back, the blades glimmering of sharpness as they passed a purple
flamed torch burning on the wall. In front of Aaron, Kaylie walked in a crouched posture, holding the
white stone-like bow.
Aaron, full of nerves, pressed forward, holding the shield before his face, arm shaking. The
walkway opened into a large chamber, the sound of fighting commenced immediately. Despite the flames
that lit the walls and illuminated the room, it somehow felt darker, colder, still. The ceiling had been
swallowed by darkness.
Peaking over the round edge of the shield, Aaron saw Tirion fighting vigorously against a woman
in a black robe, long white hair blowing in an unseen wind. Was she levitating? Was that even possible?
Tavon—the Lionheart—stormed in, two scimitars drawn, deep voice resonating off the walls as
he hummed. The sound was surprisingly pleasing, even calming. He ducked beneath a wide sweep of
Tirion‟s halberd and joined in with two slices of his own. Both attacks were defended by some strange
black strand being pulled from the ground by the woman. The way the sword bounced, the strands were
thick like steel.
With the soothing melody subsiding all fear, Aaron stepped forward, shield raised to protect
Kaylie. She raised her bow and drew back on the bowstring. As the weapon creaked with tension,
something glowed of whiteness over Aaron‟s shoulder. A moment later, an arrow made of pure white,
heavenly energy shot across the room, piercing a small Shadow stretching from one of the witch‟s
assistants.
The creature screamed. Smoke erupted from the wound.
Aaron stepped forward again, using the defensive stance to press further into combat. Something
solid slammed into the shield. Wisps of black smoke curled around the edges of the safeguard, fading a
few seconds later. Aaron turned to make sure Kaylie was safe. She stood unscathed, unmoved, in a
perfect archery stance. She reached forward, grabbed the bowstring, and drew it to tension. An arrow of
pure white energy formed at the sight of the weapon and stretched to length as the bowstring was drawn
to tension.
The magical projectile soared past Aaron, piercing the giant Shadow being battled at the center of
the room—the one tethered to presumably Matram. The Shadow screamed with rage and the woman‟s
voice echoed loudly as she continued casting spells. Aaron didn‟t look. He couldn‟t. He was too shocked
as he watched Kaylie fire another arrow, then another. Each forcing another scream.
A long stretch of purple, shadowy tendrils shot across the room, barely missing Aaron‟s shield.
Kaylie ducked beneath the attack, sidestepped, and fired another arrow.
“Up!” she said. Aaron instinctively obeyed and raised his shield. Half a second later, something
impacted it—he assumed it to be another black streak of magic considering tendrils wrapping around the
sides of the shield.
I need to pay attention, Aaron thought as he turned back around. He peaked over the shield to try
and get a better scope of how the battle was forming.
Tirion was keeping the mother-witch at bay by swinging his halberd in wide sweeps. She was
forced to dip or side step to avoid the attack. Occasionally she raised a veil of black magic as a shield to
block the attack, but it shattered after a single impact.
Tavon fought next to him, humming, sending out an aura of peace. With immaculate grace, he
dipped beneath swiped from the massive Shadow at the center of the room. Due to the difference in
fighting styles, the Lionheart battled much closer to the opponent than Tirion. So he sidestepped and
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move closer, dodging another attack. The runes along his two scimitars he held in each hand burned with
energy, glowing so bright only the sharpened edge of the weapons could be seen.
Arrow after arrow barraged mother-witch‟s Shadow. Each successful hit—rather from glowing
sword or arrow—forced the demon-thing to scream in pain. Or frustration, it was hard to tell which.
At the far end of the cavern, one of the assistants was battling against Raigar. The brute was
slowly stepping backward as he hurled axe after axe at the person‟s Shadow, somehow missing the person
altogether. He was running low on weaponry as they flew through the demon-thing. Soon, he would have
to engage in melee.
Something slammed against Aaron‟s shield, grabbing his attention. It was another streak of magic
from the assistant witch before him. I can do this, he thought. He pressed forward, using the shield as a
barrier against the steaks which were coming more steadily now. They weren‟t very powerful. The impact
was easy to withstand, but he needed to be helpful in the fight. He was brought here for a reason afterall,
whatever it was.
After the next streak sent smoke around the edges of the shield, Aaron switched to an aggressive
stance and rushed forward, ducking beneath the next magical attack. It rushed over his head. The power
radiating in the air was frightening.
The assistant‟s Shadow creature—smaller in size than the one the others were battling—swung at
Aaron with a black, bone-like claw. He raised a shield against it. The impact forced him to sidestep a few
times and pivot, lest he fall to the ground. If he fell he would be as good as dead against the thing.
Aaron tried to use the pivot to his advantage, continuing the spinning motion, raising his glowing
blade for an attack. The Shadow raised a forearm, blocking the the blow with bones protruding from its
skin. They acted like a shield. How frustrating.
Raising a shield, Aaron blocked another attack from the Shadow. Then something else slid
against the shield, sounding like metal. During Aaron‟s counterattack, he saw that the witch assistant had
drawn a long dagger—nearly long enough to be considered a sword—that glowed of black magic. She
sliced with the weapon as the Shadow blocked Aaron‟s attack.
How was he to beat two opponents, especially when one was a demon-Shadow-thing? He dipped
beneath an attack, parried a dagger swing, and pivoted around the two combatants, positioning himself to
allow Kaylie free shots against the Shadow. Hopefully she would see the motion.
Screams bounced around the chamber as the fight continued. Aaron stood crouched behind the
shield, blocking blow after blow, waiting for a time to switch to the offensive stance again. He tried
swinging a couple of times between the rhythm of attacks, but was unable to land anything substantial.
The Shadow was waiting for the predictable swing and blocked it with ease.
What am I going to do? Aaron thought, anxiety swelling.
This wasn‟t a training session. The Shadows were out to kill not just him, but the entire world. If
he remained complacent, this thing could grow in power and change the future for all people. The world
would not become a better place if he chose to be a coward. No, he had to act. Heavens. Why did he even
care if the world got better? He—
The room grew dark—save for the light of the Order‟s weapons and the sigils on shields, which
projected a strange pattern of illumination—as the purple flames left their locations along the wall and
gathered in the center of the room. They spiraled above the head of mother-witch. The next moment, she
screamed, releasing an intense wave of sound. The circular shockwave picked up debris and loose chunks
of earth, hurling them outward in all directions.
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Aaron was thrown against the wall. Pain screamed through his entire body. He hit the floor in a
lump, muscles aching, gasping for breath that refused to return. The Shadow and the assistant were
unscathed. They stood above him and prepared for their next attack. Aaron raised his shield, curling his
body beneath. He lie helpless on the ground, air slowly returning, back screaming in pain. It was a miracle
bones didn‟t break.
Aaron tried to hear the rhythm of the humming, tried to hear Tavon‟s song, but the noise of the
battle drowned it out. Turning, he saw the center of the battle, where mother-witch conjured spells like a
tempest. The purple flames drawn earlier spiraled around her as the her gigantic Shadow broke into a veil
of smoke and formed around her like a shroud. The two become one, it‟s skin guarding hers. The only
way to wound the Shadow-demon was to strike her. It‟s death would be her death.
“Get yourself up!” a voice yelled over the clashing of metal and screams of demons. Fletchings
shot across the room, streaks of black magic drilling holes into the earthen walls. “You‟re as good as dead
down there.” the voice yelled again. It sounded like Raigar.
Yes. He‟s right.
An arrow sparked through the air and dug deep into the smoky flesh of the Shadow before Aaron.
He took that moment—the moment of the creature's scream, it's struggling pulling the assistant away—to
rise to his feet and drop into a defensive stance just in time to block a swipe of a dagger. Mother-witch‟s
assistant didn‟t seem very capable with the dagger, but the weapon dripped of magic. Black, unholy,
death magic.
“Feel the heart of battle!” Raigar yelled again. “It pulses, draws, enrages. Use the fury.”
What is he talking about?
The Shadow before him—the smallest of the three in the room—swung hard, both hands clasped
together to form a bludgeon. Aaron blocked, but the blow forced him against the wall. He struggled to
block swipes of daggers and powerful slams from the Shadow. He was slowly losing the position. White
arrows of magical energy slammed into the creature, causing vapors of smoke to leak from it‟s skin like
blood. Despite the wounds, despite the screams of pain, it continued in a rage, slamming arm after arm
against Aaron‟s shield. It reverberated wildly, slowly numbing his arm.
Feel the heart of battle.
With his back to the curved wall of the cavern and the alchemist work table to his left, Aaron
found himself locked in a corner. The two assailants continued their onslaught, never allowing for a
chance to counter. All Aaron could do was grip the stirrup of his shield tightly and defend each blow. But
with his arm tiring and his back aching, it would be a losing battle unless Kaylie could kill the beast
before it broke through his defense. Which, seemed to not be the case.
The fear of death crept upon him. This wasn‟t how he imagined his life ending. Who considers
the end of their days to be trapped in a corner fighting a demon and a witch? Actually, that seemed like a
rather awesome way to die, if you got rid of the corner and instead had the defender dying in combat.
Aaron shook his head, ridding himself of the thought. Now was not the time. He would need to
switch to the offensive. He rocked his head to the rhythm of the attacks slamming against his denting
shield—with the integrity compromised, it would not be long before it shattered. After a few more blows,
and the rhythm mapped out, Aaron triggered his swap, converting his adrenaline from survival to assault.
He lunged forward, thrusting, eyes closed, point of the sword pointed forward. Something tugged
against the blade. Then it broke free, allowing the blade move with ease. The creature screamed. Aaron
could feel it‟s power draining, could feel as it left the atmosphere.
Relief washed over his body. He had killed the shadow.
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As Aaron opened his eyes, he found himself in dread. He hadn‟t hit the Shadow. He killed the
assistant. Aaron let go of the blade and fell to the damp ground, hands shaking.
What had he just done? He had never taken a life before, at least not a human‟s. The thought of
doing such a thing made him sick.
Aaron Bardeaux covered himself with his battle-battered shield and watched the battle unfold in
the center of the cave. His stomach didn‟t allow him to continue fighting. Heavens, he couldn‟t. Not after
killing someone. He was doing his best not to vomit.
The mother-witch reached forward—a powerful Fletching in hand—and touched Tavon. A blast
of purple light erupted, sending the Lionheart across the room and slamming against the wall, shattering
stalagmites. The Fletching looked familiar. Had Sariah used it? It brought with it a sense of dizziness. Or
maybe that was Aaron‟s refusing to accept what had just happened.
The room grew dark as Tirion landed a slash against the witch. She screamed. Her Shadow
screamed. An arrow flew and pierced her side, forcing more screams. Aaron tried to continue watching.
He wanted to. But his eyes were too heavy. His mind too jarred, body aching too bad. Something thick
and dark pressed against his stomach, some type of presence.
Everything went black.

A man is not defined by his circumstances.

Chapter 43

Tavon sat on a bed inside the infirmary, looking out the large glass windows. It was strange how well
insulated the room was, considering the only barrier between him and the outside world was some wood,
bricks, and the glass. Outside, trees swayed and large chunks of snow collapsed to the ground.
Inside, things were different. Multiple maidens were scattered across the wooden balcony as they
mended some wounded Radiant Lights and cleaned blood stains from the flooring. A few of the women
sorted the tonics on the corner table.
Tavon leaned forward, rolling his shoulder. It still hurt, though not nearly as much.
“Stop that,” a maiden said. She sat on a stool before the bed, hair pulled back in a bun, trying to
wrap the Lionheart‟s forearm in a thick bandage. “This would be far easier if you quit moving.”
“How‟s it looking?” Tavon asked, watching the lass work.
“Surprisingly well. The bone was splintered pretty bad, but it seems to be healing well; doesn‟t
even need a cast anymore.” The maiden tapered off the end of the bandage, then pulled out a vial of red
liquid, poured a small glass, and handed it to her patient. “Drink. Shouldn't need much more than this. A
few more days and it should be as good as new.”
Tavon nodded and sipped the liquid. It tasted surprisingly well. While it was not the first time he
tasted it, every time he was surprised how it retained the flavor of a nice red wine. Immediately he felt the
surge of healing power enter his body. It was warm, soothing, like a hot chocolate on a cold winter‟s eve.
The maiden patted his arm, forcing a wince. She smiled and rose to her feet. “That was for
squirming earlier,” she said. Then she turning and left the room.
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Tavon watched her leave, a smile forming on his lips. Most maidens wore a robe void of bright
colors—typically grey, dark blue, brown, tan—with slits up the sides and a lower neckline for their
various activities: nursing, cleaning, weapon training, scholarly works, cooking, pretty much anything the
males would do and more. The robe acted like an apron or a tabard until the maiden attained a promotion,
then they would receive one of the acquired rank.
Piola, however, was a strange one. She didn‟t wear trousers beneath her robe like most. She
preferred to let her legs show. At least, that is how she dressed around Tavon. He never saw anything
otherwise. Perhaps once this was all over, once the world was saved and evil was vanquished—if such a
thing was even possible—he would pursue her.
He pressed a hand against the bed, supporting his body as he rose to his feet, bandaged hand
resting against his back. The pain faded slowly as the tonic took. Soon, all the soreness in his body would
leave as the wounds sealed shut, inflammation subsiding. Whatever wasn‟t healed by the potion would
ache again in a few hours.
After grabbing his pipe and scraper, Tavon turned and walked outside onto the balcony
overlooking the training grounds. No one was sparring today. It was far too cold for that. A few Squires
took it upon themselves to clean sections of snow for future bouts, but they were not required to do so.
Tavon leaned against the railing, scraping tobacco residue from his pipe, watching the bundled figures
work.
It seemed crazy how much snow had already fallen this year. It wasn‟t even the severe month yet.
By the great storms, was it nearly that time again? Where had the year gone? Time seemed to move
differently the older you got. It moved faster. Years flashed by. Before he knows it, Tavon might have as
much grey in his beard as Tirion.
The issue with growing older—aside from the aching bones, memory issues, and hair loss—was
the ever-heightening sense of mortality. Soon, in however not-so-many years, Tavon would breathe his
last. Such a notion always seemed to bring to mind a single question: would the Almighty be proud of his
life?
Being granted an entrance to the Heavens was something assured by Orthianism. But living a life
worthy of the Almighty was something different entirely. Such a thing most people never pondered. But
to Tavon, it was one of the most important thoughts. For how one thought of their legacy determined how
they lived today. Would he go down as a saint of Orthianism? An icon of something everyone strived to
be? Or would he be just another passing memory? A name in a book.
The truth was, he desired to be a saint, like the ones who had lived before. Not because he wanted
his name to echo through history. No, such an ideal was rooted in pride, something he rid himself of long,
long ago. He desired to be a saint because that was the holiest title a person could receive. A title greater
than Lionheart, or even being the leader of the Order of the Radiant Light itself. Becoming a saint meant
he had lived a life worth living. That he had attained—even if just a sliver—holiness. It meant he hadn‟t
wasted his breaths.
“How long you going to scrape that thing?” a voice asked to the right. It was Raigar.
Tavon looked up from his thoughts. A smile broke on the edges of his lips. “I suppose it‟s
probably clean by now.”
“I‟d be surprised if it even held its contents anymore, the way you been scraping it.”
Tavon didn‟t respond. Instead he chose to start loading the pipe with cherry flavored tobacco—
his favorite flavor, of course.
“You surprise me,” Raigar said.
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“Why‟s that?”
“You just didn‟t seem to me like someone who enjoyed the smoke.”
“Helps calm the nerves.”
“I didn‟t say it didn‟t have a benefit. Many things do. I‟m just rather surprised that someone so…
disciplined as yourself takes part in such an activity.”
Tavon was quiet for a time, taking large puffs of the pipe, allowing the smoke to slowly fill the
air before the wind took it away. “Is this why you came? To insult me?”
“Hah.” Raigar shouted. His laugh echoed a few times off the treeline and rolling hills of Rainor.
“Don‟t flatter yourself. We all have our poisons. If that‟s the one you pick, why should I care?”
“Then why are you here?”
“Same reason as you, I imagine. To clear my head and enjoy this lovely view.”
Right. Enjoy the view.
“Strange things happening lately,” Raigar said.
Small talk. Really? “Yes. When something happens that is contradictory to what one believes, it
can be a little shocking. I could understand how it would be difficult to wrap one‟s mind around such a
change in perspective. After all, you did just experience the reality of Shadows.”
Raigar snorted. “Well, aren‟t you a bold one?”
Tavon simply smiled and took another puff of his pipe. “So tell me, Raigar. With all due respect,
why are you here?”
“What do you mean?”
Ah, should have been a little more precise. “In Rainor.”
“I was summoned for the Gathering, of course.”
“Yes, but that hasn‟t stopped people from declining in the past,” Tavon said. “You seem
uninterested in the discussions. In fact, you hardly engage in any theological conversations at all. Unless,
of course, you are pointing out the flaws in others. If I weren‟t the smarter, I‟d suspect you were only here
for the food.”
“While the food has been ravishing, it seems rather foolish to travel for a month—consuming my
own supplies—just to get a fancy supper.”
So there was something more to his reasoning.
Raigar, the brute from Hrathgar, hesitated. “Things are… getting worse.”
Tavon turned, cocking an eyebrow. He took another long puff of the pipe.
Raigar sighed, a gust of wind blowing the smoke past his face and ruffling the fur lining his
armor. Actually, the armor looked to have an entire layer of fur beneath the leather covering the outside,
making it exceptionally warm.
“Hrathgar is in trouble,” he said, brushing a hand over his bald head. “The attacks are becoming
less predictable and are happening more often. My men are slowly dying off. It used to be one by one, but
now entire groups are dropping at a time. Since I‟ve been gone, I‟d reckon nearly two dozen have gone to
meet with the Almighty.
“It isn‟t just Corrupted beasts we fight either. The dead walk again. Fleshless, rambling bones.
They carry weapons, though they are hardly competent fighters. Our axes barely touch their frames. We
have been forced to use more blunt weapons. I prefer the maul.”
Raigar smiled, swinging his hands together like he was moving a giant club. “These skeletons
have a way of reforming themselves,” he continued. “Their bones crawl across the landscape until they
266

rejoin together and form a new creature to fight. While I must say nothing quite brings me the same joy as
shattering an army of bones, we are slowly losing our lands.”
“So it‟s true then,” Tavon said quietly to himself. “The Dark Magic has returned.”
“What‟s that?”
Tavon shook his head. “Nothing. Why didn‟t you mention anything at any of the meetings?”
“And let Tirion know I needed help? Hah. That‟ll be the day.”
So it‟s all a matter of pride?
“Look,” Raigar said, “I asked for help nearly a decade ago, and the Order was nice enough to
supply enough food and lumber to help rebuild our settlement in Hrathgar. But no one bothered to stay,
not with our theological differences. Those divisions are something fierce.”
Wasn‟t he the one focusing on the divisions?
Tavon didn‟t respond, instead choosing to take a long drag of the pipe. The warm smoke filled his
lungs, heating his body. He felt his nerves subside, if only slightly, as the vapor exited his mouth in a
large cloud.
The Dark Magic was only accessible through Mul‟Drak. He found a way—somehow during his
long reign of the world before the Sha‟Dari rose in power and formed the Radiant Light—to harness
powers capable of bringing the dead back to life. Soulless, of course, but animated nonetheless.
Could the power have returned? The Binding had not been undone. There were no indicators of
such a thing ever happening. No earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, tsunamis. No, nothing in nature
indicated Mul‟Drak had returned from his prison, if such a thing were even possible.
That only left one reason—the same idea that Tirion had been speaking of—Mul‟Drak must have
a puppet, a surrogate, through which his power flows. It had to be the only loophole within the Binding‟s
restraints.
“The boy‟s struggling with what he‟s done,” Raigar said, interrupting Tavon‟s thoughts.
Tavon leaned forward to look over the railing. A figure stood on the lower section of the balcony,
clothed in a thick winter cloak, hood up, staring out into the wilderness. He did not move. He stood
motionless as a young woman with black hair that lingered to her shoulders stood to his side. She was
saying something, but he didn‟t respond.
“How long?” Tavon asked.
“He‟s been standing there all day and night since the incident. Nearly three days.”
Talk to him.
“Prepare to speak at the next meeting,” Tavon said. He walked back into the infirmary, leaving
Raigar mumbling.
A few of the wounded complained as the open balcony door allowed of a gust of cold air to
sweep across the room. Some sat up, pulling the blankets closer. It was indeed cold. The winter‟s bitter
grasp was only tightening as the year continued to pass.
“Grab me a large mug of tea,” Tavon said to one of the maidens who closed the door after he
entered. She nodded and walked away, after making certain the door was sealed shut. Frost had a way of
interfering with entryway seals. It could be rather frustrating.
Tavon walked to his bedding area and changed into the warmer, winter clothing. The upper
balcony had a few vents to allow warm air to exit from the hearth. Such a design allowed the infirmary to
remain relatively warm. It was still cold, but it was bearable. The lower section, however, was not as well
suited. Down below, one would feel the full force of the winds and everything nature could throw.
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Tavon thanked the maiden as he grabbed the mug. It‟s surface was already beginning to warm
nicely. He smiled to her. She grabbed the edges of her robe and curtsied, then walked away to grab
another pile of blankets, which she then distributed among the room to those in need.
How long? Tavon wondered as he looked about the infirmary. How long until they would all die?
Until the world itself ended? If Mul‟Drak had indeed found a puppet of sorts, then he could very well be
on his way to discovering how to break the Binding. The thought sent shivers down Tavon‟s spine.
Shaking his head, he walked down the steps to the lower balcony.

***

By the time Tavon reached the bottom of the stairwell, the tonic had already began to fade. Much
of the pain had left as the wounds were healed, but some still remained. Mainly in his joints, particularly
the knees. The tonic wouldn‟t heal that pain. No, it came from age.
He walked through the opening at the bottom of the stairwell, passed through the small
antechamber filled with bookshelves containing copies from copies from copies of books, and opened a
door leading out onto the balcony.
“How is he?” Tavon asked.
“Not well,” Sariah said as she walked away from the hooded man toward the stairwell. “Hasn‟t
eaten or drank in three days. Hasn‟t responded to any of my conversations. He just stares out into the
distance. Whatever is haunting his mind is strong.” She frowned then continued on her way.
Tavon sighed. Then he stepped onto the wooden balcony. The sun had almost peaked into the
sky, which caused the countryside to beam of brightness. It took some time for his eyes to adjust, but
eventually Tavon continued on his way, walking next to the figure. His black cloak flapped in the bitter
wind.
“I brought you some hot tea, Aaron,” Tavon said, placing the mug on the railing. Aaron, as
expected, did not move. “Should take away some of the chills.”
Tavon was silent for some time, watching as the countryside danced with the winds. It was
incredible how all the aspects of nature harmonized together to create something beautiful. Much like
how all the colors in the world could be mixed in a precise way to create a painting.
“Death is hard to accept,” Tavon said as he placed his hands on the railing of the balcony and
leaned forward. “But it comes for us all. Eventually, our times will come and we will pass from this life to
the next and stand before the Almighty.
“Early on, when we first found you, I know you were asking about me. Most people do when
they discover my past. A life of piracy tends to have a bad effect on people, which is understandable.
“Through those times, I saw a lot of death. Heavens, I caused a lot of those deaths. The first one
haunted my dreams for some time. I was merely a deckhand at the time, a simple man trying to live. But
as I continued on my journey and gained notoriety, the death toll began to add up.
“Each kill caused a pit in my stomach. Each death haunted my dreams. I had bags under my eyes
the size of islands. Heavens, we all did. Some men loved to kill. Strange, strange men they were.
Nonetheless, I wasn‟t like them. I tried to be, but I couldn‟t kill for pleasure. Something was different
within me. Something screamed that that was wrong.”
Tavon paused to look to Aaron. He was staring off into the distance, the wind rustling the edges
of his hood, rustling his hair. He didn‟t move or say anything.
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“Eventually I found myself in charge of a crew,” Tavon continued. “As a newfound captain, I felt
obligated to prove myself. So we pillaged and plundered, all that stuff. But the more we did, the worse I
felt. Not during the acts, of course. No, then it was all great fun. But at night, when I was alone, I found
myself unable to sleep. Unable to rid myself of my actions. The pain of death haunted me something
fierce.
“So I did what any man would do. I tried to cover up the feeling with more wreckage. Over the
years I gained enough power to command a fleet of my own. I was an admiral of the seas. All rival pirates
and nations feared my name, and our colors were feared among the vastness of the waters. I tried to cover
up the pain by getting a larger crew. By gaining more loot. By stealing more boats. By justifying my
actions because I was killing evil men. But the pain never left.
“No amount of killing brought any of my fallen crew from the depths. No amount of killing
removed the haunting faces that kept me awake. No, killing couldn‟t do that, and it didn‟t.
“I spent many years searching for answers, reading texts of a variety of religions. I even tried out
some of those blasted spiritual exercises. Nothing worked. They didn‟t work because they weren't true.
Sure, occasionally I felt a sense of something greater, but the pain never left.
“After years of searching, I found the Order of the Radiant Light. Through many discussions with
Templarites and Squires and reading the texts, I discovered something true. No amount of actions, no
amount of treasure, no amount of followers can ever take away the iniquities that cover our hands. No
amount of things are able to remove our pain, to fill the void inside ourselves that tells us what we‟ve
done is wrong. The only thing which is able to bring healing is forgiveness.
“Aaron, the only thing that will remove the pain from taking a life is forgiveness. And you must
learn to forgive yourself.”
“How does one do that?” Aaron asked. The sound of his voice startled Tavon.
He hasn‟t said anything in days. Why now? Why to me?
Tavon smiled. “Through the grace of the Almighty, of course.”
“How do you do it?”
“Through prayer and contemplation.”
“Not that. Kill. You killed so many Hollows back in the Shadowlands with ease. How do you do
it and not feel remorse?”
“Ah,” Tavon said. “Hollows are mindless and have no souls. They are hardly humans anymore. I
feel no regret killing them, because they are no longer a person. But instead, a mindless shell of what a
human once was.”
The Lionheart took the silence to indicate the conversation was over. If there was anything more
Aaron wanted to ask regarding the matter, it wouldn‟t be happening now. After patting Aaron on the
back, Tavon turned and retreated from the balcony, leaving Aaron alone with the Almighty.

Death comes for us all, so live today.

Chapter 44
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The streets of Kouga were empty. Not many citizens roamed the streets at night. Which was unfortunate.
The Master had come to this city in search of answers.
Smoky vapors twirled in the air behind him. He didn‟t need to turn. He felt them. They were
always there, haunting him. Taunting him.
The powers of darkness never left his presence. No matter how badly he tried, nothing seemed to
press them away. He was suppose to have power of these creatures, these Shadows. The Shades. But it
appeared to be the other way around.
Sure, they listened to his requests and obeyed his commands, but that was the extent of his
control. How they fought, what they fought, when they ate, those things were all up to them. Sometimes,
The Master felt helpless. He had been promised immortality, and such a thing—he know knew—should
never be desired by any.
Immortality in thought seemed to be something grand, something everyone should want. Who
didn‟t want to live forever? Who didn‟t want to avoid death? The thought of passing from this world to
the next was nothing but scary, no matter what religion you held dear. At times, when he was much, much
younger, The Master had received visions of future realms. Spiritual realms which were not simply spirit
in nature, but very, very real. So real he could feel their touch and walk on their planes. Yet, every time he
awoke from those divine visitations he was covered in a sweaty shake and his body was distraught with
fear.
If such visions of destruction and pain were from the Almighty, then the records of many
religions regarding the Heavens were far from accurate. They were not a place of tranquility and pleasure.
Not from the dreams he encountered. The realms he had experienced were of ever torment. It was the fear
of death that drove him to immortality, and it was a decision he was coming to regret.
The deal he made had no indications of the toll it would take upon his body. He had imagined a
faulty image of living in bliss forever as a perfectly functioning man remaining the same age for eons.
However, this was not what actually happened. Through the years he slowly lost touch of his senses as his
body grew numb to nearly everything. Now, only his hearing and sight remained. Conveniently, they
worked as if in their prime, but The Master often wished he could taste any of his meals—not that he had
the need to eat or drink in his state.
The Master strolled down the street, tapping the bottom of a cane against the street with each
step. The black tendrils in the air twisted together sporadically as they slowly formed together a humanoid
creature—from the bottom up—that followed behind, matching his step.
“Tell me of this place,” The Master said.
“You want to know of this place?” Rancor, one of the Shades, said. “It is not like you to be
interested in such things.”
“Call me curious.”
“Okay. Curious, it is not like you to be interested in such things.”
“I didn‟t actually mean call me curious,” The Master said.
“But you said—”
“It was a figure of speech. Just tell me about this bloody town. And stop calling me curious.”
“Yes, Master. Kouga was one of the last cities to mingle with the earthen spirits. These cities
were once blessed by Mul‟Drak for their faithfulness. Of course, they didn‟t know it was he who provided
their power. Humans are rather unintelligent when it comes to magic. They simply memorize a variety of
rituals, each for their specific results.”
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“I see,” The Master said, stopping to look at a building. It was a well made building, possibly an
inn or sorts. No, just a multilayered home. It didn‟t have the correct floor layout to be an inn, but it did
have a steep peaked roof with nice shingles of dark grey. The walls were made of stones. This would have
taken a long time to construct. Most of the buildings in this town looked to be made roughly the same.
“And what of their loyalty now?”
“It is just as strong. The laws of the Radiant Light do not stretch this far south—their control
stops at the Great Plains. Practicing such magics are not against any local laws. The servants here are
worshipping and sacrificing quite diligently.”
“Good, good. Tell me, how does their religion differ from witchcraft?”
“Witches believe their power is gained through sacrifices. However, the people of the Kouga
region are shamans. They believe their power comes from the spirits of the elements themselves. Through
their rituals, they believe they tap into the spirits and allow them to take control of their bodies, spewing
magic how they please.”
“I see.” The Master said as he continued to stare at the building. He knew there wasn‟t elemental
spirits. Though there was a variety of spell casters spanning the world that carried different names and
conjured spells in a variety of ways, all magic originated from one of two wells. The shamans, in casting
spells, were allowing Shadows to gain control of their bodies.
The Master stood in silence for a few minutes, admiring the craftsmanship of the small town.
Flakes of snow lazily fell into the streets. This far south, winter was only just beginning.
“The key is not here,” Rancor eventually said.
The Master cursed under his breath, snapping his cane in two against his thigh. It fizzled away in
a puff of smoke. A moment later, he conjured another one—which appeared as extraordinary as the first
vanished. After regaining his composure, he leaned forward against the item.
“Feast on their souls,” he said.
“Master?” Rancor said. His voice carried a level of rasp only known to Shadows and Shades. It
was particularly unnerving, at least to anyone who was a threat. The Master hardly noticed it anymore
He turned to face the creature, to look into its smoldering eyes. “They are useless for me. Feast on
their souls.”
“Master, would it not be wise to let them live?” the second Shade said.
“Lech, tell me how keeping them alive would be profitable.”
“The are growing in power but we still have control over their minds. We are the ones influencing
their entire way of life. If we let them live, they will continue to spread like a disease. Allowing this will
only enhance our grasp on the nations.”
“That much is true,” The Master said, leaning against his cane. He didn‟t need to. His muscles
didn‟t ache. They couldn‟t. “But I‟m trying to grow an army, and I cannot have soldiers who question our
motives—that includes you. Humans have a way of contemplating such notions. When it comes time to
attack, there is the possibility they may resist and all our efforts would be wasted.”
The Shades said nothing.
“Gather your Shadows,” The Master said, gesturing with a hand, “and feast on their souls. You,
Shades, need to become as powerful as possible for the war coming in the near future. These hollow
humans are but fodder for a grander scheme.”
The Shades nodded and evaporated into the wind. Shortly after, a host of tendrils streaked across
the night sky and disappeared into homes. Screams followed. They were beautiful. Something about
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hearing people lose their lives, lose their souls, made The Master happy. Perhaps it was the ever coming
reality that soon he would find that blasted key. Then this would all be over.
He felt a formation of power lingering overhead. Looking up, The Master saw a Shadow floating
above him. It‟s upper body was strong and muscular, like a well made human. But it‟s lower half
disappeared at the waist, fading into a vapor trail flickering with the wind.
“What is it?” The Master said.
“Matram has fallen.”
“What?” The Master shouted. “How could this happen?”
“The Order stormed her cave, Led by one who was once ours.”
The Master cursed. “How many did we lose?”
“Four, including Matram and two of her children.”
The Master cursed again, louder, and broke the cane against his thigh. He conjured another one
immediately.
“We still have one,” the Shadow said.
“Make sure that one is not lost!”
“The Order negotiates for war.”
The words brought a smile to The Master‟s face. “War, you say?” he chuckled. “Good, good.
That should work out nicely. Keep me informed.”
The Shadow turned and soared across the sky to the north, slowly evaporating into the air.
The Master turned and surveyed the city. Lanterns were starting to glow within windows. No
worry, they wouldn‟t burn all night. He spent the rest of the evening leaning against his cane, listening to
the screams of men. He listened as his army grew stronger.

The time of life passes in the blink of an eye.

Chapter 45

Aaron sat in a chair in the corner of the room. Negotiations were escalating to arguments over the best
course of action for assaulting the Shadowlands. This had been going on for days now, each meeting the
same. Aaron wanted them to be interesting, but they just weren‟t.
The past few days he decided to move inside for a change of scenery. It wasn‟t because he was
tired of looking at the frozen mountain peaks, for this was something he enjoyed. Deep down, though
fading, Aaron still held to the notion of retiring in the mountains. As life went on, he realized it was
unlikely he would be able to do so alone, especially with giant, mutated animals roaming the world.
Perhaps Kaylie would be the one to venture with him to the peaks. She was growing increasingly
nice to him, even starting to play jokes. They would have been amusing had his mind not been haunted by
the fact he was now a killer. Blood, even if not innocent, was on his hands. Even so, she never stopped
speaking to him. Everyday she had visited him and tried to cheer him up.
Sariah had attempted comforting, too. She had been acting very strange lately. She‟s been... nice.
And not just to Aaron—which was normal—but to everyone. The way she spoke of the entire religion of
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Orthianism was different. She seemed to be taking things seriously. She said she had read the entire
Rhetoria in seven days. Seven days. Nearly two thousand pages.
During her visits she would recite scriptures to try and lift Aaron‟s spirits. She spoke of how she
frequently questioned various Templarites and monks regarding various sections of scripture. Like most
things in her life, Sariah was engulfed in the multitude of activities surrounding her current topic of
interest, and she engaged with intense focus, soaking up as much information as she could. The answers
she found seemed to satisfy her thoughts. For now, anyway.
Aaron stared at the plate of food on his lap. His stomach ached and he had noticed his frame was
slightly more slim than normal. The lack of nutrition forced his body to consume some muscle mass and
fat—not that much fat remained on his body. Eating seemed like the intelligent thing to do, but as he
lifted a grape from the plate his stomach churned.
The fruit was juicy and almost popped when Aaron bit into it. Unfortunately it tasted bland and
left little to be desired. The next grape tasted the same, like slimy, bland, nothingness. Aaron picked up a
sliver of turkey, but it put it back on the plate before taking a bite. He just couldn‟t stand to eat.
“I think we should hear Tirion out,” Raigar said. His voice almost commanded silence and
attention.
Aaron looked up from under his hood.
“Th… Thank you, Raigar,” Tirion said. He sounded nearly as astonished as the others looked.
“Don't you all act so bloody surprised,” the bald brute from Hrathgar said. “You all saw the
blasted thing just as well as I did. If there is one there is bound to be more. Let‟s quit wasting our time
and hear what Tirion has to say.”
Tirion waited a few moments for the shock to ware off. “Firstly, I would like to state I do not, in
fact, believe the world is ending. For I believe the prophecies which are often interpreted as such are
taken vastly out of context.” He paused, locking eyes with Avalon.
She smiled as she leaned forward to grab a glass of wine, revealing an ample amount of cleavage.
The dress she wore today was of bright blue with white rose embroidering. It was tight around the bust,
pushing her breasts together. The layered skirt flowed freely beneath the waist. Her followers—or rather,
the followers of the Order of the Sun, sometimes it was difficult to determine who they were following—
wore dresses of similar make and a variety of colors, but they were always bright.
The way all the members of the Order of the Sun moved made it questionable if they had any
discipline at all. All of them flaunted their curvaceous figures.Their sect was so sexual. It was a wonder if
they even carried the same views of sexual immorality as the other Orders. It was a wonder if they even
followed the same god.
“Yes, yes. I know,” Avalon said. She took a sip of the red wine. It was particularly sweet today.
“We hold a difference in certain theologies regarding the end of the world and specific passages.
However, like Raigar,” she nearly choked as she said the name, “I am willing to listen to your proposal.”
“Reports have been gathering from around the country,” Tirion said. “Our falconers have been
hard at work with some monks translating the incoming messages. Cities are falling. In the past month
nearly a dozen cities have been abolished, and I suspect one will fall tonight. And another tomorrow. And
another the next day, and so forth. All our reports share one thing in common. In each attack there are
creatures which seem to come from the night itself, enwrapped in smoke with long bone-like arms and
smoldering eyes.”
Aaron perked up. Death Wardens? Are they real?
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“We have reason to believe The Dark Magic has returned,” Tirion said. Immediately the room
erupted with side conversations and squabbling.
“And just what exactly is this reason in which you base your claim?” Mendril asked.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the court,” Tavon said, rising to his feet as Tirion reclined from the
table. “As many of you know, I recently led a small troop through the Shadowlands. During one of the
attacks we were forced to relinquish one of our Sol Stones for protection. The Hollows took the
opportunity to surround us. We were forced to find another means of escape.
“After some searching, we discovered an old cellar beneath a church. Within those walls there
remained a secret passage leading to some catacombs. It was within the hallway of tombs where we
discovered evidence which indicates The Dark Magic may have returned. The tombs were all empty, void
of all jewels, relics, and even the skeletons themselves.”
“That is hardly enough reason to believe the dead rise again,” Mendril said. “It could easily have
been grave robbers.”
“Our first thought as well,” Tavon said. “Then we found a book containing an old, long lost
script. Alexander, one of our greatest in linguistics, was with us and even he could not translate the letters.
The book looked to be used for some sort of ritual. We let the matter rest until recent evidence was
uncovered.” Tavon stood straight and looked at Raigar.
Raigar cleared his throat. “What Tirion says is true: the dead are walking again. We‟ve been
fighting hoards of the things. They are a resilient lot, never accepting death even when it's given to them
the third, or fourth, time.”
Tirion stood to his feet as the Lionheart sat back down. “We know the power to control the dead
only comes from one source. And this source is bound inside a prison, and has been for nearly two
millennia. It is for that reason we return to my original explanation, Mul‟Drak must be using a surrogate
in which to release his power upon the world.
“If we continue to neglect the situation at hand, nature will continue to be mutated, our friends
and families will die as they turn to Hollows, and humanity will eventually find itself extinct.”
“How is that not about the end of the world?” Mendril asked. He sat reclined in his chair, hands
pressed together, fingers against his chin.
“This world will not be destroyed,” Tirion said. “It will remain. What we know as reality is
coming is passing, but what the future brings has yet to be determined. From what I can see, there are two
options. Either the Corruption continues to spread and the world becomes coated in darkness as Mul‟Drak
wins. Or we rise up and set aside our differences. Re-form the Radiant Light. Together, we can storm the
Shadowlands and push back the the Corruption with it‟s darkness. If we can defeat the Surrogate, then
Mul‟Drak will no longer have a grip on this world.”
The room was silent for some time. Each leader and their members contemplated the proposal.
Maidens took the opportunity to go about the room and collect used plates and refill dishes of food and
empty glasses.
Re-form the Radiant Lights? Aaron thought, watching everyone speak. He leaned forward,
wobbling slightly. He was beginning to feel light headed from the amount of wine he had been drinking.
That, however, wouldn‟t stop him from refilling a glass and drinking more. Anything to remove the rock
of guilt in his stomach.
What did Tirion mean by reforming the Radiant Lights? Kaylie was sitting next to him. Aaron
could ask her, but she, too, looked engaged in the moment. The last time someone proposed unity on this
274

scale was centuries ago during the last Gathering. At least, that was accordingly to the stories Aaron had
heard.
She won‟t understand how I feel, Aaron thought, turning back to the wine. No one does. They will
all just tell me to suck it up. To move on. That everything will be okay. How can everything be okay when
someone was dead because of his rashness?
Eventually, Raigar broke the silence. “I‟m not so sure about all that reformation nonsense, but
I‟m in.”
What?
“Don‟t everybody look so bloody surprised,” Raigar said. “Everytime I say something the lot of
you look at me like a dead stag. Look, I hate the idea of storming into that blasted land more than anyone.
I know that it is unlikely that I‟ll live through this thing. But everyone has to die sometime. And I bloody
hell don‟t want to be remembered as coward.
“Quit staring at me like a madman. I‟m not having those fits of magic. We in Hrathgar don‟t
dabble in such nonsense. The only power we feel is the Rage of Battle. And that, we embrace.”
Rage of Battle? Aaron thought.
This Rage was the very thing encouraged Aaron to attack in the first place, that and the stress of
the situation. But it was mainly Raigar‟s advice. He should be the one feeling guilty. He should be the one
who is angry. He should be the one suffering.
But Aaron did feel the Rage. It built inside of him like the steam from a tea kettle, building up,
waiting to topple out. A deep pressure within his body. He felt as though he could have harnessed it,
manipulated it, wielded it as a weapon. Or rather, a power to enhance the skills the already possessed.
“I will not abandon the world when they need us the most,” Avalon said. “What kind of a leader
would I be if I did? My armies shall fight alongside yours, even unto death.”
“Mine too,” Mendril said, wiping some wine from his mustache.
Jericho stood to her feet and pressed her metal gauntleted hands on the table. “Mine as well.”
“Let the records record,” Kue said.
“That on this day,” Hue said.
“With differences aside.”
“Before all light fades.”
“We fight as one.”
“Charging into the fray.”
“Together, we will shine bright.”
“And bring life another day.” In unison, the twins rose from their feet and pressed a closed fists
against their hearts, then sat back down.
“Yes,” Mendril said. “What they said, I think. We may not fight under the same flag—or agree on
every point of theology—but we can fight a common enemy.”
“I can‟t believe it,” Kaylie said under her breath. “The Almighty is real. Only by His grace would
we ever find ourselves unified again. Prayers really are answered.”
Aaron snorted at the comment. The thought of prayers being answered was ridiculous. They can‟t
be answered. The Almighty doesn‟t exist. He can‟t exist. For if he did, my parents would have been
brought back. My life would have been easier. How many long nights had he spent crying in the
alleyways, water dripping from the gutters, praying for help.
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Help never came, of course. Unless he counted the forced opportunity to join a thieving crew.
With all the beatings, whippings, and time spent held prisoner in the stockades, such a lifestyle hardly
seemed like something a good God would provide to help a child.
You‟re nothing more than a pathetic, useless coward, Reeves‟s voice whispered in Aaron‟s mind.
It had only been over a month since he last heard it, but it felt like so long. Living with the Order had
proven to be a great safe haven from Reeves and his thugs.
Tirion leaned forward, a smile on his face. Fires crackled in the four hearths lining the room, but
even with those it was still only enough to take the chill away. Coats were still needed. Once everyone
had vowed their allegiance to the cause, the room fell silent save for the wind beating against the outside
of the building.
“What do we do now?” Raigar asked. He then downed a glass of wine. A Squire refilled the
contents almost instantly.
“Before we can discuss any plans regarding attacking and movements of our soldiers,” Tirion
said. “We will need to figure out from where the Surrogate is operating.” He leaned over and whispered
something to a maiden who sat next to him. She rose to her feet and exited the room, returning with a few
others and unrolled a map across the table. Male Squires entered shortly after, laying trays of food before
each person.
A few Templarites entered a short time later, carrying a few boxes. Slowly, they removed
different colored tokens—they appeared to be used for Kill the King—and placed them at different
regions of the map. Each region‟s figure was marked with a distinct color, making it very easy to
determine where each sect‟s army was located.
Tirion pointed to a black section of the map. “This is the Shadowlands. It comes as common
sense that the Surrogate will be operating there, for the Corruption radiates from this place.”
“What is this Surrogate seeking?” Raigar asked.
Tirion cocked his head.
“He has to be seeking more than just destroying the world. We know Mul‟Drak seeks the end—
for he always has, even from the beginning. But the Surrogate, if he originated from humanity, must have
a more reasonable goal.”
“Mul‟Drak‟s influence in the world is limited,” Mendril said. “That was the entire purpose of the
Binding.”
“What if Mul‟Drak is using the Surrogate to search for a way to release him from the prison?”
Avalon asked. She gave one of the male Squires a wink as he handed her a glass of wine.
“Hah.” Raigar shouted. “Then he is even more foolish than a man seeking an engagement within
a brothel.”
“But what if it‟s possible? What would happen if Mul‟Drak was released?”
“Mul‟Drak is a creature of pure destruction,” Tirion said. “He has been jealous of mankind since
the formation of the worlds. He has but one agenda: to corrupt and rule over man, cultivating an army to
overthrow the Almighty and take control of the Heavens.”
“Hah.” Raigar shouted again. His voice boomed throughout the chamber. “Then he is chasing a
fool‟s game.”
“No one ever disagreed, but that is his goal.”
“How would he even go about releasing the Binding?” Mendril asked.
Aaron watched as the room broke into conversations discussing the many different ideas around
the topic. He had read essays on the topic, though no one knew exactly how the Sha‟Dari bound
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Mul‟Drak in the first place. The most common theory stated that after the Binding was completed, the
Sha‟Dari were given two keys to the locks of the imprisonment. One of the keys was lost throughout
history, while the other is said to still be within the hands of the Order. Though, such a thing opens up an
entirely different debate.
Something inside of Aaron urged him to leave the room. He didn‟t know what it was, but the
feeling was too strong to be ignored. He rose to his feet and wobbled his way out of the room, but not
before grabbing another two bottles of wine. Kaylie and Sariah both tried to say something to him, but
their voices were muffled by the noise of the room and the apathy he felt.
Two Squires wearing blue tabards opened the entryway doors, and Aaron stepped out into the
cold, winter air.

***

A few hours later, once it had gone dark, Aaron Bardeaux stumbled into his room lit by a single
candle on a nightstand. The candles on the walls had their snuffers on—they still burned underneath but
the light was hidden. Aaron placed the two bottles of wine upon his dresser. One was nearly empty
already, but he didn‟t care. He had not taken any vows yet. He was free to do as he pleased. The actions
would be frowned upon, of course, but he would deal with that later.
Right now it just felt good to feel nothing at all.
His head would throb in the morning. The aftermath of intoxication was always the same, but he
would deal with it in the morning. That was where the cherry-apple rum would come in handy. The best
way to negate a headache was to remove any feelings at all.
Aaron sat on his bed and undressed. Something clanged against the floor. The black stone from
the Shadowlands had fallen from a pocket. He picked it up, reclined against the headboard, got beneath
the weight of the blankets, and stared into the glossy black surface of the stone. It was strangely beautiful.
He half expected ghosts to appear. They seemed to every time he looked at the thing—like it
carried some sort of curse. But nothing happened.
Magic is a lie, he thought. And he wanted to believe it, but could not accept the answer anymore.
Not after what he had seen. Not just from the Templarites, but from the visions themselves. They were far
to vivid to be hallucinations. And it was through those visitations, or whatever he was going to call them,
he had discovered what exactly happened to his father.
As he continued to stare at the stone, eyes growing heavy, something else sparked his mind. The
dreams. The nightmares. Instantly he was taken back to the terrifying images of the demons, flames,
empty fetters, and screams. Of the man-in-white bound by chains asking for help. How could Aaron help,
anyway?
He placed a hand on his chest, remembering how the smoke burned his insides. How the many
times he had awoken covered in sweat, coughing as he struggled for breath. It was obvious those images
were not about something in reality. They could not have been. No one else was reporting the issues, and
a sighting of horned monsters with hooves would be something which would travel to every country
nearly overnight.
Aaron shook himself from the thoughts, the pain fading. This stone could not be a source of
magic. It just simply could not. Magic came from the Universe, just like Sariah had explained.
Why couldn‟t these things just make sense? Why couldn‟t Aaron go back to the time before he
had blood on his hands?
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The last sight he saw before an intoxicated sleep took over was his reflection against the surface
of the stone. The reflection of a killer.

Like a master potter, the Almighty shapes his vessels.

Chapter 46

The next morning, Aaron awoke with a splitting headache. It wasn‟t surprising, of course, but he had
forgotten how intense hangovers could be. It had been some amount of years since he was last drunk.
Something bubbled and hissed near the hearth. Turning over, Aaron saw a tea kettle through
strained eyes. Sometime during the night it had been placed over the flames and the logs in the fireplace
had been refilled. Or maybe it was done in the early morning. What time was it? How long had he slept?
The candle was still burning on the dresser. Of course, it always burned—day and night—and never went
out. It didn‟t produce heat either. Like the chandeliers in the library, It was simply a magical light.
Aaron Bardeaux leaned forward, groaning, hand to head. Each pulse of his brain sent another
wave of pain. After removing the blankets, Aaron set his feet against the cold, stone floor. It was getting
colder as the season went on. Unsurprising.
He stood to his feet, wobbling slightly. Then he walked over to the dresser and put on a nicely
made white shirt, trousers, and a thick cloak. Bundled up, he sat down on a chair before the hearth,
warming his body as he poured himself a mug of tea.
Steam poured from the mug in a great cloud then faded, leaving behind a single stream. After
letting the drink cool for a short time, Aaron took a sip. The tea was of the green variety, strong and bitter,
indicating it was the makings of Wain. Sometime during the night, Wain must have snuck into the room
and placed the kettle over the fire—and somehow tidied things up—without waking Aaron.
Aaron shook his head, the movement making the headache all the worse. After another sip, he
placed the mug on the ground, turned, and grabbed a book from the small bookshelf on top of the dresser.
Monsters of Legends the book was titled. It was compilation of fictional stories regarding a variety of
monsters said to once roam the world.
A bookmark was placed near the beginning fifth of the book. Aaron slid a finger along the pages
crest and opened to the marked page. It was the section regarding the Borghek. With everything that was
happening lately—the training, fighting Shadows, the intense study of Orhtianism—Aaron had
completely forgotten about studying these creatures.
The book was arranged alphabetically. He flipped the pages until he landed on the section of
creatures which names started with the letter “D”. Death Wardens were not found within the pages.
Demons, however, were, and they were described at great length—most of which involved various
religious views from around the world. The information from the Order, or the Sha‟Dari, was not found
within these pages. Apparently most of the world discarded their claims.
He flipped farther into the book, searching for Shadows. Wood cracked in the hearth as the pages
turned. After a short time, Aaron discovered Shadows were also not mentioned within the collection of
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information. Why were they left out? He had seen them and knew the creatures existed, yet history—or at
least, the various authors of this book—ignored the entire idea.
Why? What prejudice was causing the disconnect?
Aaron felt far too nauseous for contemplation, instead he chose to take another drink of tea and
place the book back on the dresser. Something caught his eye. A folded piece of parchment lie near the
center of the surface board. How had he not noticed this before? He took the paper and unfolded it,
reading the note.
Tips for recovering from a hangover, the note read. Drink plenty of water. Drink caffeine. Place
some ginger root in some tea (which you can find in a bag in the top dresser drawer). Avoid exposure to
bright lights. Wear a hat with ear flaps to help muffle loud noises. Avoid discussions with Raigar. The
bottom the of the note was signed Wain.
Aaron was speechless. He couldn‟t believe it. He was blatantly ignoring the disciplines the Order
taught, yet they did not chastise him. Instead, they chose to show him mercy and help in the recovery of
his ill-thought decision.
Was it possible to be too merciful? Was that a thing? If it were, the Order was living proof of it.
For once, he wanted to see the Lionhearts snap. He wanted to see Tirion fuming with rage. He wanted to
see justice.
Justice? Is that was he really wanted? Did the world need such a thing?
Heavens, why am I thinking about the world?
Aaron set the note back down on the desk and refilled his cup with hot tea. No matter how hard
he tried, he couldn‟t shake the thought. Justice. By the standards of Orthianism, specifically the Order of
the Radiant Light the entire world‟s population was at risk. Judgement meant wrath would be dispensed
upon those that transgressed.
Which was every human from the dawn of time, at least according to the Rhetoria.
Aaron came to a sudden realization. After putting some stockings on his feet, he slipped on his
leather boots, walked out of his room, and turned left down the hallway of the sleeping quarter.
This morning was a quiet one. Not too many people still wandered the dimly lit halls. And with
no windows and thick stone architecture, it was impossible to hear any noise from the outside world. Only
a few sleeping chambers‟ doors were open, revealing groggy Templarites or Squires making their beds. It
was rare to see a Recruit at work in their rooms during the morning hours. Most of them did not live on
this floor of the monastery.
Aaron Bardeaux was an anomaly. At least, he felt like it sometimes. He was given a room
between two Templarites. Training with various weapons, aside from the bow, came quickly and easily.
Reading the Rhetoria, while difficult in its own right, was something he enjoyed. It still felt strange to
acknowledge such a thing.
Leonias had once told him most people struggled with understanding the theology. It took most
people months before they were ready to take the initiation test, or to even be willing. The Templarite was
often impressed with Aaron‟s understanding of the various viewpoints of scripture and their times
discussing the deeper points of theology.
Why was Aaron so strange? So able to learn with little effort? Surely that wasn‟t a gift from the
Almighty.
Not everything came easily. Finding a way to leave the underground of Tumeric was something
very difficult. Most people who attempted such a thing were found out and assassinated—not that Aaron
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had not escaped assassination attempts before. He had, on too many occasions, but they weren‟t for
escaping the lifestyle. Reeves was after him for the money he owed.
Aaron had no way of acquiring such an amount of money. Well, that wasn‟t entirely true. Aaron
didn‟t care enough to give away such an amount of money. He needed every bit he could salvage for
buying lumber and construction supplies. Of course, Reeves didn‟t care about that, nor had he been
informed of such plans. Bardeaux had enough coin saved to pay off a quarter of his debt, but doing so
would hardly be considered satisfactory. It was a miracle he had yet to come banging on the front door of
the cathedral demanding Aaron‟s head.
Kill him.
The thought lingered in Aaron‟s mind. He desperately wanted to kill Reeves. The crime lord was
so evil it would only be a benefit to humanity. Though, doing such a thing would hardly provide any
escape from the debt. Some other slug would take Reeves‟s place and extort starving children just the
same. What a pathetic existence.
He couldn‟t have him killed anyway. Something inside twinged at the thought. Murder, or paying
someone to murder for you, felt wrong. Immoral. Heavens, why did he care about morality when dealing
with someone so blatantly evil?
“He must be incredibly powerful,” A voice said. It came from further down the hall and sounded
like Tavon.
“Yes, I fear so.” Tirion said. His deep voice was easily recognizable.
“How do we defeat him?”
“If Mul‟Drak is involved, then the Surrogate will be filled with evil magic.” Aaron stopped in the
hallway just outside the room to listen to the conversation. “The power of which the world has not seen in
millennia, and it is but a foretaste of what this evil is capable of. I asked Wain about a week ago to start
researching to see what the dark arts teach regarding living forever and growing in power. As far as I
know, he‟s been preparing a speech for some time.”
“Is it possible to live forever?”
“I‟d imagine with enough magic,” Tirion said. “We know the soul lives forever. It always has and
always will, which is what makes life so valuable. The issue arises, then, about what to do with the body?
One either has to stop it from aging, which seems impossible. Or negate the effects of age, which also
seems impossible. Unless, magic is involved.
“How do we know the Surrogate has immortality?”
“We don‟t. It is just a feeling I have.”
“Tirion,” Tavon said, his strange seaborn accent showing. “You know I would follow you to the
end of the worlds if that‟s what must be done, but we will need something more than a feeling to convince
the others.”
“Yes. Yes, I know. Go to the falconry and send word to your generals informing them to begin
moving their troops to the eastern border. Ask Raigar to do the same with his men. Maybe if we can get
them in motion the others will begin to become more decisive with their actions.”
Aaron stepped into the doorway of Tirion‟s large bedchamber. Both Tavon and Tirion were silent
for a moment, then Tirion spoke. “Aaron. A welcoming surprise. Come in.”
“May we speak alone?” Aaron asked.
Tavon nodded then rose and patted Aaron on the shoulder as he took his leave.
“Of what do I owe the pleasure?” Tirion asked, taking a sip of tea.
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Aaron walked over to the hearth and leaned against the upper portion of the stonework. He
carried a weight of anxiety in his chest. He had been pondering a question and desperately wanted an
answer.
You won‟t ask what you need to. You‟re too scared.
“Why was I rushed into training?” Aaron asked. That wasn‟t it.
“Training starts as quickly as possible for all Recruits.”
“That may be, but why was so much pressure put on me? Why was I told about a short timeline to
learn these skills, only to sit around and wait for this meeting to take place?”
“Ah, that,” Tirion said. “When we first found you, I was already on my way to meet with the
Elders. I was trying to plead the case for the Gathering to be called. You were to be trained quickly for the
instance in which the request was denied.”
So I was to train quickly in case we stormed the Shadowlands without the other Orders? Aaron
thought. But he didn‟t say anything.
“Is that why you came? To discuss your training? You are a fine warrior. One I would be happy
to ride alongside into combat.”
“I‟ve been thinking,” Aaron said, not looking away from the hearth. The flames burned bright as
the wood crackled and popped.
You won‟t ask.
Aaron took a deep breath. “Is it possible I have a Shadow?” He instantly felt regret. Why did he
ask the question? Heavens, did he really want to know the answer?”
Tirion was silent for a moment. “There is only one way to find out,” he said. “Let me gather the
men. Meet us in the training grounds.”
Aaron turned in time to watch Tirion walk out of the room. After a deep breath, he followed.

A sword is forged through many beatings.

Chapter 47

Sariah walked down the hallway of the first floor of the sleeping quarters. Even though she knew the
torches never changed in intensity, it somehow felt brighter. She used both hands to balance a plate of
food on top of three books as she made her way up the circular stone stairwell.
He‟s going to love this, she thought, passing a few torches along the curved walls. It was
wonderful always having light. What was the monastery made of? Cobblestone? Maybe limestone?
Whatever the stones were, they had been cut perfectly and placed with precision.
She stepped out of the stairwell, turned, and began walking down the hallway of the second floor.
A brief gust of heat rushed from an open door to her left. It felt strange to feel the heat against her
exposed arms—typically she favored long sleeves to cover her scars and hide her past. For the first time
in… Sariah didn‟t know how long it had been since she last wore short sleeves. But she wore them now,
and it felt nice.
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Glows pulsated from underneath doors and in open doorways as hearths burned within the rooms.
The heat was only enough to brush away the chill—most people wore coats even when walking indoors
for this reason—but the way the rooms glowed was something magical. Sariah could have stayed and
watched the flames flicker, the entryways pulse with energy, all day had she not things to do.
How have I not noticed these before? She thought as she looked at the handles on the doors. They
were made of brass and were the exact curvature to fit perfectly in the hand.
A door opened at the far end of the hall. A maiden stepped out of the illumination carrying a
basket full of dirty Squire and Templarite tabards—the black tabards of the Lionhearts rarely needed
washing, apparently they were far easier to keep clean—and various bits of clothing. She paused for a
moment to ensure the door shut tight, then she walked down the stairwell to her left. Each floor had a
separate room at one of the the hallway used for hoarding dirty clothing. Once a week the maidens would
come gather the fabrics for washing.
Sariah continued forward, counting the rooms she passed. Upon reaching the third room she
stopped and knocked on the door. No motion could be heard from the other side. No voice called out, so
she knocked again. After a few moments, she pressed against the door and peaked through the opening.
No one was home.
Frowning, she shut the door and made her way back down stairs. Where could he be? She
thought, looking at the plate, hoping it had not gone cold. There was a metal dome covering it to keep in
some heat, but the cold could only be prevented for so long.
She made her way down the halls lined with elegant tapestries of knights, nature, and the
brilliance of the Almighty—not that any painting could come close to encapsulating such infinity. Nor
could a poem, or song, or anything made by the hands of man, for most of mankind lived with polluted
souls.
Only sacrifices from someone who held the essence of the Almighty could be pleasing before His
eyes.
Sacrifices. Sariah shuttered. It was hard to believe she used to spill the blood of innocent lives in
an effort to gain power. And what was the power used for but to gain even more. A vicious circle of death
which offered no way out. Unless, of course, one was graced with the opportunity to stumble upon the
truth of Orthianism.
It was hard to believe it had only been a few days since her Shadow was defeated, and yet she felt
like it was an eternity. She was surprised at how different she felt, like she had been given new life. Like a
veil was lifted from her eyes. And in some ways, both these thoughts were accurate.
The kitchen was alive in color. Paintings hung on the walls. Gold was inlaid into the wall in
fascinating floral and religious designs. Snow blossoms were on the surface of the table scattered among a
dozen vases. They really were as beautiful as Kaylie claimed.
Kaylie, now that was an interesting woman. She carried herself with finesse, a perfected gait,
walking gracefully with head held high. Her perfect figure nearly flided across the floor as she moved.
Today she sat at the table next to Raigar and Alex wearing a green dress of silk which flowed to her
ankles. It was bunched up now, of course—it‟s difficult to sit and not have that happen. A thick scarf of
animal fur covered her neckline and shoulders.
Sariah looked down at the plate that was somehow still warm. He‟s going to love it, she thought,
glancing back to the room. She scanned, but he wasn‟t here. Sariah frowned as she turned to head back
down the hall from which she came.
She started.
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Templarites rushed down the hallway in a line. They wore thick, full plate with a white tabard
draped over the steel swords strapped to their sides. Each person had a shield slung over their back.
Sariah stepped to the side—careful to not drop the food—and watched as the group ran past.
Their armor clanked with each step as they moved past the entryway, into the kitchen, and disappeared
around the corner. One of them spoke something in a loud voice, but unfortunately the sound was too
muffled to understand.
Plates and mugs slammed against the table as people sprang into motion. A group rounded the
corner and rushed down the hallway a few moments later. Some of the maidens cleaning some dishes
peaked out of the kitchen window.
“What‟s going on?” Sariah asked one of the men, a Squire named Brandon.
“Shadow.” he said, not slowing the speed of his stride.
Sariah matched his momentum, holding the books with both hands, using her stomach to keep the
plate of food balanced. “Where? Who?”
“Out back,” another man shouted. The black beard indicated it was Armath. “In the Training
Grounds.”
“Aaron Bardeaux,” Brandon said.
Aaron? Sariah thought, looking down at the plate. She turned around, ran and put the contents on
the windowsill of the kitchen, and rushed to her room and grabbed her coat. It was going to be cold
outside.

The wise will dine with kings.

Chapter 48

“That should be tight enough,” Tavon said.


“Is this really necessary?” Aaron asked, looking down at the ropes fastening him to the large pole
near the center of the Training Grounds. Cold, frigid winds blew through the open field, but the weather
had calmed enough to no longer carry snow. At least, for now.
The rope holding Aaron was made of three smaller strands woven together to create a thicker,
more solid, strand. On multiple occasions Aaron had seen just how strong this particular braiding of rope
could be. It was so strong, in fact, that it carried many uses around Rainor from keeping heavy barrels and
boxes from falling of carts to hoisting massive amounts of steel in the armory.
Testing the integrity of the rope, Aaron was assured he was not moving anywhere. He simply
hung in the air, feet dangling. “The Shadow I watched before broke through its bindings like they were
nothing,” he said.
“Yes. You see, lad, Shadows range in power. The weakest ones will not have the strength to
break the rope. While the stronger ones will rush forward only to face a bulwark of shields.”
“How strong do you think mine will be?”
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Tavon raised an eyebrow. “I can‟t say for certain, but if you have one, it‟s better to be safe than
dead. I‟m not concerned on where I‟ll end up, but I don‟t want to die today. If it's weak, this rope will
make the fight easy.”
“Have you ever done this?”
“Yes, lad. In fact, we all have. Besides, I assume you watched as we fought Sariah‟s.”
“What can I expect?” Aaron asked, doing his best to rub the itch on his back against the pole.
“Pain. And lots of it.”
Aaron frowned. “Do you have any tips for what‟s about to happen?”
Tavon looked up at Aaron and smiled. “Try to make it through. And remember that when this
comes to an end, you will be alive.” Tavon nodded then walked to stand in formation next to the other
Lionhearts. He drew his two scimitars and held them casually to his side, waiting for the event to begin.
The runes on his blades were lightless.
Great, Aaron thought as he looked out over the sea of men. So very helpful.
The battalion of soldiers were spotted in reds, whites, and blacks as the various ranks of the Order
took to their positions. Just like before, most of the fighters at the front carried shields and some sort of
one handed weapon, while the archers formed a line along the back.
A tinge of fear poked at Aaron. Who wouldn‟t be scared staring at a wall of death? Aaron was
scared, anxious, and ready for this to be done all at the same time. If he did have a Shadow, that could be
the excuse for why he felt so depressed and haunted all the time. However, the reality of being haunted by
a demon was more unsettling than a simple depression.
It meant the hand of Mul‟Drak stretched further than he previously considered. It meant facing
one‟s past. It meant admitting he was wrong. But worst of all, it meant that he was not completely in
control of his actions his entire life. If this turned out to be true, would the Almighty still hold him
responsible?
Surely a gracious God wouldn‟t, would He?
Was this how Sariah felt when she hung up here with all these people watching? All those
weapons and nothing for defense. All those people about to attack and all you could do is stand and
watch? An entire lifetime of sins and temptation brought to a single point.
I can stop this. The subject must be willing. If I resist then this will all end. I‟m fine, anyway. I
don‟t need this.
No. This needed to happen. Too many moments in Aaron‟s life had passed by and ended badly
due to cowardness. The incredible debt he owed to Reeve‟s had been built up due to a lack of courage.
Sariah nearly vanished from his life—Aaron thought she dead for many of the years—because he was too
much a coward to take the beating owed to him.
By happenstance, he had stumbled upon the Order, and even that was due to a cowardly decision:
running from his debtors. Running from his life. Conveniently, life was working out for him because of
this decision, but it was still a moment of fear nonetheless. He should have been able to speak his mind.
Should have been able to refuse the offer.
Should have been able to save his parents.
Aaron watched the soldiers shuffle with conversations. Some moved to different locations as they
tried to find the best spot for their particular skill. What skill did each have? Was it true Aaron‟s
training—and everyone who lined up now—was better than the soldiers in the warcamps?
The way Leonias spoke suggested most fighters were only competent with spears and shields.
Very few had taken the time to learn to fight with swords. Something about a sword being a more well
284

rounded weapon while a spear was mostly defensive, which was what the majority of the fighting
consisted of along the eastern border of the Shadowlands.
These fighters, the Radiant Lights, honed skills with a variety of weapons likely surpassing even
what Aaron was capable of using. Such a thought brought an emotion, and it was not peace.
“Thank you to everyone for coming!, Tirion‟s voice rang. The Squires, Templarites, and
Lionhearts all snapped to attention, weapons at the ready. “We are here to celebrate a monumental
moment that comes only once to every believer.”
Celebrate? Swords and spears were a strange way to celebrate. It seemed more like something the
barbarians to the north would do. They were known as vikings, right? Heavens, why was Aaron
considering vikings at a moment like this?
I can make it through.
“There comes a time in every person‟s life,” Tirion continued, “where the individual must make a
decision regarding the ways of the Almighty. Orthianism demands a response. One can either neglect the
message of what the Almighty has done—that he paid a debt no man could pay out of his own efforts—or
a person can reject the offering.
“Certain decisions and beliefs lead to other ideas. Sir Aaron Bardeaux has come to a conclusion
that almost every person in this field has, yet it still remains a topic that tugs at my heart everytime. He
questions whether or not he is harboring a Shadow.”
Tirion paused, lowered the helmet over his face, and grabbed his halberd. The wind rustled the
edges of the silver tabard draped over his plate armor “There is but one way to find out. One way, at least,
which is irrefutable.” Tirion dropped into a combat stance, shield raised before him, halberd tipped
forward like a spear.
Then, his irises shifted to a shimmering gold before fading into the bright whiteness that overtook
them. The runes along the axe blade of the weapon began to faintly pulse with light.
Aaron‟s widened as he watched vapors of smoke rose from his forearms. This can‟t be
happening. But it was.
Pain gripped Aaron heart. It was a pain he had not felt in so long. It was so strong. A feeling he
had pressed deep within himself, locking it away from the world. A feeling he never intended to confront.
The vapors became thick tendrils and began dancing and twirling in the air. The battalion of
Order members became dim, as if under an overcast. Looking up, Aaron saw the sun was still shining
bright in the sky. Something else was happening.
Something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Turning, Aaron saw the tendrils of
smoke coalesce into a single form. An image of an upper body of a human. Muscular, boney, and pitch
black. A head broke forth from the smoke, eyes smoldering.
Something urged his head to snap forward as his muscled tingled with a newfound strength.
There was power in the air. Aaron could feel it. He glared at Tirion, the man who killed his father, with
his hands in fists.
I can break free. I can harness this power.
Something inside of him, Aaron‟s instincts maybe, pressed him to move forward. With a single
motion, the rope ripped and he fell to the ground. He landed in a crounced position, right hand against the
dirt beneath the snow.
Rising, he met Tirion‟s glowing eyes and stepped forward. He should have been hurt from the
distance of the fall, yet he moved as if he no longer needed muscles at all. Aaron reached forward and felt
small bubbles of energy. The Strands of the Universe, he thought, a smile racing across his face.
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He had seen what it was capable of and Sariah had taught him what to do. He focused on the
energy surrounding his arm, forming it together into a type of string. The energy combined with itself,
forming into a single, immense power. Aaron flicked his hand, sending a strand of black energy toward
the handle of a sword. A moment later, the blade was pulled through the air and landed perfectly in his
grip.
Aaron smiled and dropped into an aggressive stance, glaring at Tirion who snapped into motion.
The Lionhearts followed behind, weapons burning a bright white. With the intense training Aaron had
experienced, he could react defensively almost by instinct. He didn‟t need to focus on the entire battle,
instead he sighted down a single target. The man who killed his father.
Aaron Bardeaux charged forward with the enhanced power from the Shadow, sword in hand,
screaming at the top of his lungs. Sweat beaded down his face and gathered together on the eyelids. Aaron
blinked it away, and when he opened his eyes he was somewhere else entirely.

***

The landscape of snowy hills and evergreens was replaced with the stone stacked buildings and
clay tiled roofs of Tumeric. Everything was tinted grey or black.
Aaron walked down a cobblestone street, left arm stretched upward as his hand gripped
something. It was much larger than his own hand, but felt familiar.
He looked up to see he was holding his father‟s hand. Aaron‟s hand was so small it was
completely engulfed by the larger man‟s. As they walked down the street Aaron‟s father—William—was
pointing in different directions, explaining the importance of each separate building and shop.
This can‟t be, Aaron thought, trying to listen to what his father said, but the words were too
distorted to understand. Is this a memory?
The answer was obvious.
William led Aaron around a corner toward the metalworking section of town. Each step felt
strange. Aaron‟s legs were so short and feet so small. The movements sent his body wobbling forward.
In the distance, metal clanked to a steady rhythm as a blacksmith worked. A steady stream of
smoke floated into the sky from the direction of the shop. A second thumping of work joined in, creating
another steady clanking.
“Papa!” Aaron shouted. It was startling how high pitched and childlike his voice was. How old
was he? Three? Maybe four?
“Yes, son?” William responded.
Son? Aaron nearly melted at the word. He tried to say something, tried to explain how much he
missed him, but was unable to speak. Instead, he reached forward with tiny arms. His dad smiled and
hoisted him up on his shoulders.
“You see that?” William said, pointing toward the blacksmith. The blacksmith slammed a heavy
mallet against a red hot piece of steel—the only thing not black or grey in this entire vision.
“What‟s he making?” Aaron asked.
“It looks like a speartip.”
“Who‟s it for?”
“Soldiers, probably. Spears are much cheaper to make than swords, so most soldiers are issued
them instead. Sergeants and higher commanding officers will be issued specially ordered swords.”
“Oh.”
286

William moved closer to the blacksmith, stopping next to the fence which kept bystanders safe.
They were the only ones watching.
After a few minutes, Aaron‟s father spoke. “We should probably get home to Mama. She will be
expecting us.”
“Okay,” Aaron said.
The edges of Aaron‟s vision flickered in waves of distortion. No! I don‟t want to leave! He
blinked, and he was somewhere else.

***

Tavon ran forward, trying to find the rhythm in the fighting. All moments, all activities, all things
carried a tempo. He used the tempo, the rhythm, in his fighting.
He raised a scimitar—the runes glowed brightly—parried an attack from Aaron, and ducked
beneath a powerful arm sweep from the Shadow. Tavon hummed a note, trying to find the right tone. This
one was not right. It sounded out of tune, half a step flat perhaps.
After raising the pitch of his humming, he stepped to the side of an attack, letting another
Lionheart block Aaron‟s sword swing. The sound of Tavon‟s song resonated powerfully from within his
throat and in his head. It brought a waves of peace to course through his body. The only other time he felt
so at peace was when he got lost in prayer.
Others claimed they could feel the peace as well, that his songs made combat easier.
Tavon didn‟t know if this were true or not. He sang because he enjoyed it. He sang because when
he did he felt connected universally to all peoples. He sang because the Almighty was worthy to be
worshipped. And if Tavon was to die today, he would do so doing what he loved.
“Move,” Tavon shouted.
Metal sabatons thundered against the ground as Squires, Templarites, and Lionhearts shuffled
around the battlefield, flinging clumps of snow. Their thundering, though chaotic and unpredictable, still
carried a type of rhythm and a tone within themselves, and Tavon tried to harmonize with it while his
soldiers surrounded Aaron and his Shadow.
Steel rang as the Shadow slammed its massive arms against some shields. The sound clashed like
symbols. Men shouted, each a verse of their own accord. Combining all the motifs together, the entire
battlefield sounded like an improvised tune.
Seeing the troops had created a circle around Aaron, Tavon shouted. “Hold.” His voice rang
through the countryside.
Humming a harmonized melody, Tavon stepped forward to the cadence of the battle, ducking
beneath a sweep from the Shadow. It wasn‟t attacking him directly. It was just swinging wildly in the
general direction of some Lionhearts and failing to make contact.
The Shadow turned its attention and rose its arms. A massive section of the earth followed the
motion, rising to create a barrier. A moment later, a volley of arrows slammed into the rock wall. The
damaged caused it to crumble to the ground, but the Shadow raised its arms and created another.
Tavon ran forward, each step of his stride in correlation with the tempo of the battle. After a few
strides he leaped upward, twisting his body. As he spun, he slashed with one scimitar then followed with
the other. By the time he landed, the Shadow had two long gashes along its back. The creature screamed
and smoke poured from its wounds.
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Tavon bent his knees and stepped to the side, moving to the rhythm of the music he hummed. He
ducked beneath the Shadow‟s counterattack. After the bony, black arm had moved by, Tavon leaped and
did another pair of slices.
As he landed, two other Lionhearts landed a few strikes, causing more smoke to pour from the
Shadow. It was being defeated.
Tavon switched his gaze to Aaron, who was busy attacking Tirion. They were in a one on one
skirmish, locked in by the barriers of earth the Shadow lifted to block arrows. The barriers shattered to
pieces after blocking a single volley of arrows. Though, to be fair, it was a lot of arrows.
Occasionally, Aaron would turn and swipe with his blade to parry attacks aimed at the Shadow,
then he would return to fighting Tirion. As the battle continued, Aaron was becoming more reckless and
blocked less. A ball of black and purple energy formed in Aaron‟s hand. He spun and pressed it against a
Templarite. Tavon ducked as the man was launched over his head. Looking over his shoulder, Tavon saw
the Templarite tumble in the snow a few dozen yards away.
After a few more moments of Aaron fighting Tirion, another ball formed in Bardeaux‟s hand. He
spun and aimed it for Tavon, but the Lionheart moved too quickly for the spell to land. He slapped the
hand out of the way with the flat side of his sword, following the motion with a swipe against the Shadow
with his other.
Aaron‟s spell fizzled into purple sparks and dissipated into the sky like loose ash floating from a
fire.
Tavon hummed his song and did his best to duck beneath attacks from the Shadow and spell
empowered punches from Aaron. He moved his feet quickly as he tried to dance around the battlefield to
the rhythm of the battle. Each parry made a tone. Each spell made a tone. Each slice against the Shadow
made a tone—well, more of a screech. He tried to harmonize with it all. He tried to become a song worthy
of justice and light.
The music of battle continued to rage.

***

Aaron found himself inside of a room with boxes and barrels along the walls. A large table
carrying an assortment of fruits stood next to him. This was a familiar room. One he had been in several
times.
He turned. A lady wearing a floral dress—though the vision only allowed the colors of black,
grey, and white—that came down to her knees stood before a counter chopping some type of vegetable.
Her hair fell to her shoulders in a jumble of curls. Was she singing?
She turned and smiled. Aaron was astonished. It was Aaron‟s mother. The sadness which only
comes with homesickness pained his heart.
Aaron took a step forward. The movements came easier than the last vision. He must be older.
His mother smiled and handed him a sliver of carrot.
“Your father will be home soon,” she said. It was good to hear her voice. It had been so long
Aaron had nearly forgotten how it sounded. “The city is in trouble, but he will make it. Don‟t listen to any
rumors you hear from your friends.”
Was the city being attacked? Was he alive during that time? Aaron couldn‟t remember. He
nodded and bit into the carrot. It made a loud snap.
288

Someone knocked at the front door. Mother rustled Aaron‟s hair and smiled one more time, then
left the kitchen and went into the living room. Aaron watched from the doorway.
The living was a large with a high ceiling and comfortable, leather furniture. A hearth large
enough to heat the whole home was built into the eastern wall, a bookcase placed on each side. A chair
was placed before the fire for reading. An end table next to it carried a few books his father was reading
in his free time. With his father being an advisor to the king himself, Aaron‟s family was well off and
lived a comfortable life.
“Aaron,” Mother shouted in a hushed tone. “Go into the pantry and hide behind some boxes.
Don‟t come out until your father or I come to get you.”
“Mama?” Aaron said, gripping what remained of the carrot.
“Go,” she said, signaling with her hands.
Aaron hopped off the couch—when did he sit down?—and ran into the kitchen. He stopped to the
left of the entryway and peaked around the door jam as his mother opened the front door.
A man wearing a strange suit of armor, mostly made of linked hoops of metal, stood in the
opening. He and his mother were having a conversation. Another figured passed by the window, barely
visible through the curtains. Another figure passed the other. There were three men.
I remember now…. I remember what happened.
Aaron felt a pain in his stomach. A fear. He wanted to say something, to warn Mother what was
to come, but he couldn‟t produce the words. The vision wouldn‟t let him.
The man in the doorway grabbed Mother by the arms and yanked her outside. She screamed and
jerked for freedom, but he was far too strong. The man to the left grabbed her by the legs and stopped her
attempt of escape.
Aaron turned and ran into the pantry. After shutting the door, he stumbled through the darkness—
vegetables fell off shelves as he bumped into them—and ducked behind a box far in the back. It smelled
of potatoes and onions.
He could hear the screams of Mother from outside as she was taken away. Eventually, after what
felt like an eternity of long moments, the screams stopped and Aaron was left alone in the dark, crying.
He waited for her to return. For hours he sat in the dark, long after the tears quit flowing. But she
never came home.

***

Tavon continued to hum as he ducked beneath a sweep from the Shadow. He parried the next
blow, side stepping to prepare for the next attack. The dance of battle was one that never ended, not until
the opponent was defeated. Then the dirge was sung in honor of the dead.
Hopefully, that wouldn‟t need to happen this time. The Lionhearts were working very hard to not
injure Aaron, and so far he was unscathed. He was not, however, being as gentle with his attacks.
Aaron had switched to his aggressive stance and was laying an onslaught against Tirion, but
Tirion just raised his shield and blocked all the damage. Regardless, Aaron had his opponent on the
defensive, and that seemed to be the way he preferred to fight. He seemed to enjoy controlling combat.
Aaron‟s Shadow raised an arm, creating another earthen barrier to block a volley of arrows.
Despite their multiple attempts, the archers were unable to land any hits. They really needed to. Tavon
had done a decent amount of damage himself—and his fellow Lionhearts had landed attacks as well—but
they really needed at least one volley of arrows to hit the creature.
289

Smoke continued to pour from its wounds, but the Shadow didn‟t seem damaged enough to slow
its attacks.
“Darkness is coming,” the Shadow and Aaron said. They spoke in unison, sounding in six
different tones, only one of which was Aaron‟s voice. The rest were composed of different octaves and
notes, creating a strange minor chord. The exact tone required to make Tavon‟s skin crawl.
“You cannot stop it,” they said again. “We know all. We see all. We hear all. Darkness will be
released.”
Tavon bent his knees to the cadence of the fight, dipping beneath the sweep of a smoke formed
arm. As it passed, he rose and sliced his scimitar. It created a gash along the Shadow‟s arm, forcing
another geyser of smoke. But it did not slow the attack. The arm continued onward and slammed
slammed into a few Lionhearts, tossing them a few dozen feet away.
The Shadow raised its other arm, creating another barrier to block a round of arrows.
All things have rhythm, Tavon thought as he slashed at the thing‟s back. Its attack was dodged as
Aaron moved to the left as he tried to find a better position to attack Tirion. Tirion, of course, sidestepped
as well, using the shield to block the attack.
He didn‟t need to kill Aaron. No one here wanted to. Tirion just needed to keep defending until
everyone else could destroy the Shadow.
If the Order switched from defensive fighting to an aggressive approach, perhaps that would
throw the Shadow off enough for a volley to land. They had enough archers that only one or two volleys
should defeat the creature.
Tavon switched from humming a slower, calming song to an upbeat battle rally. Almost
immediately the others changed how they fought. The other Lionhearts and Templarites became more
bold with their motions. They sliced before the creature had time to attack. No longer was the Order on
the defensive.
Apparently his songs did have an effect on others.
Aaron kept stepping to the left, rotating the battle in a circle around Tirion.
Of course, Tavon thought, dipping beneath another sweep and sneaking in a few more slashes
with his scimitars. The runes along the blades were glowing, allowing the weapons to slice through the
Shadow‟s smoky skin with ease. The creature can‟t walk on its own. It must use Aaron as its feet.
All things had rhythm, and rhythm had laws. These laws were predictable and could not be
broken. Creation was evidence of this in and of itself. The sun rose at a certain time, and when it left the
moon took its place. The year had its seasons. The heart beat at certain intervals, and the body aged at a
certain speed. All things had rhythm.
Tavon began counting the beats to the tempo of the song he sang. After thirteen thumps, the
Shadow attacked again with a long sweep of its arm. Tavon ducked beneath it, using his fluid movements
to dodge the attack. Unfortunately, a few Templarites found themselves flung from combat. Fourteen
beats later, another attack. Then twelve. Then thirteen.
After twelve beats of the ancient hymn had passed, Tavon prepared for the next attack. As the
Shadow reached out its arm, Tavon ran forward and slammed a shoulder into Aaron, pushing him past the
newly made earthen barrier.
As hoped for, Aaron took the Shadow with him, exposing them both.

***
290

“Where are they?” a voice shouted. It echoed through the chamber.


Aaron opened his eyes. He was somewhere dark. A stone room lit only be a lantern on the wall.
Someone mumbled down the hallway to the left.
“Take me to them,” the first voice shouted again.
The second person mumbled again then metal boots started against stones. Keys jingled as they
drew closer. Chains scraped against the floor from somewhere across from Aaron‟s location.
A man stepped into the torchlight. He wore leather armor and carried a spear—everything was a
various shade of grey, of course. The man unlatched a keyring from his belt, pushed it into a lock and
twisted.
The second man—the warden—kicked the door open, the bars ringing loud as they slammed into
the stone wall. Aaron tried to flinch, but his restraints were too tight. His muscles ached and he suddenly
found himself very thirsty. How long had he been bound to the wall?
“You think you can simply walk into a church and steal a relic without any consequences?” the
warden said. “You think the priests wouldn‟t find out? Did you think the Council would allow such a
thing?”
“It wasn‟t the priests,” a voice came from Aaron‟s left. He would recognize that voice anywhere.
Sariah.
Turning, he saw a girl hanging in the air, bound to the wall with metal fetters. Her hair hung over
her face and she had been stripped nearly naked. The light from the torch revealed scars covering her
torso and arms.
The woman flinched and the chains shook as a whip cracked against her chest, drawing a line of
crimson. Blood splashed against the stone floor, a thick contrast to the grey the rest of the vision carried.
She looked up, matted hair covering her face. “It wasn‟t the priests. It was the Order.”
The warden laughed as he snapped the whip again. “You blame the Order for your conduct?”
“You listen to their judgement of the local law? They have no authority in this realm.”
Another lashing.
Aaron tried to turn, tried to yell at the warden, but found himself unable to react. All he could do
was watch as Sariah bowed her head and quietly took lashing after lashing. Blood continued to spray
along the ground as her body was flogged.
She was beat to the point of heaving for air, but never once did she yell for help. Never did she
yell to stop. She quietly took the beating.
“Your turn, maggot,” the warden said, turning to face Aaron, cracking his neck.
“No,” Sariah said.
The warden cocked his head. “You care about him?”
“He wasn‟t a part of this.”
“Don‟t lie to me, wench. You two were caught in the act together.”
“I‟ll take his lashings.”
“No,” Aaron said.
The warden lifted his hand. “That is an interesting proposal, but I‟m afraid he must take what is
due.”
“Double. I‟ll take double what he owes.”
The warden smiled. “Take him away,” he said, cracking his knuckles.
“No,” Aaron said. The jailed walked over to him and removed the shackles. He was far too fight.
He was far too weak to even hold himself up. He collapsed to the floor.
291

“Sariah,” Aaron shouted. “Don‟t do this.”


The jailer grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him out of the room.
“Sariah. Please. Listen.”
She looked up at him, locking eyes. She nodded then bowed her head. The warden laughed as he
cracked the whip against her torso. Blood splashed against the floor.
“Sariah!” Aaron shouted one last time as he was pulled from his cell. He tried to break free as he
was moved into the hallway, but he found himself unable to move due to the lack of nutrition. Sariah
vanished from sight.
The whip cracked again, echoing through the stockades.

***

Aaron stumbled and fell to his knees, snow up to his waist. The Shadow screamed as a glowing
spearhead bit into its skin, drawing smoke.
Tavon ran forward, glowing scimitars at the ready. He mumbled to himself, forming a chant to
harmonize with the song of battle. His eyes sparked with light, the world becoming brighter, colors more
distinct. The song he sang forced magic into his legs. His sabatons began to leak light from where the
metal was fused together and where the top of the boots met with his greaves.
Performing magic in such a way would cause a severe amount of Backlash, but it had to be done.
With the magical empowerment, Tavon leaped over Aaron, jumping so high he was nearly eye
level with the Shadow. He swung in an attempt to distract. It and Aaron were well past the earthen barrier
to his right. They had been exposed to the archers. Any moment arrows would be sailing through the sky
and finishing this fight.
The Shadow reached forward and grabbed Tavon in the air. Its grip was incredibly tight, but the
metal armor didn‟t bend. Tavon‟s arms were pinned to his side. His grip failed and his curved blades
dropped to the snow. Smoke poured from the Shadow and lingered before the Lionheart‟s face.
Arrows pierced into the Shadow, dotting it with lights like stars in the night sky. It screamed. the
sound bounced off multiple hills in the distance.
A few glowing weapons moved beneath Tavon. The Templarites were attacking. The Shadow
shifted back and forth, swaying Tavon in the air as Aaron rose to his feet.
The smoky creature twisted, raising its free hand into the air. A wave of earth followed to block
the Templarites from engaging. The creature‟s backside would be exposed.
Come on, Tavon thought, waiting for another volley of arrows.
With as many wounds as it had, the first should have killed the creature. But, it somehow still
fought. It must have been feasting on Aaron for quite some time. Or maybe Aaron was not the first host
this thing had.
Anytime now.
Tavon started humming a relaxing ballad. Sonnet de Dieu, it was called. It was a song created in
six stanzas, two were repeated in alternations as the chorus. His mother had taught him it at a young age.
Not that any of that mattered now. He hummed it because it brought him peace in difficult situations, such
as this one.
Tirion‟s halberd dug deep into the creature, the spearhead piercing through the entire torso. So
deep, in fact, the weapon was lodged into the creature‟s shadowy form, leaving Tirion unarmed. Smoke
bellowed from the wound like a barn was on fire.
292

The Shadow screamed in pain, sweeping its freehand toward Tirion. With Tavon‟s vantage
point—he was still being held in the air by the Shadow—he watched as his leader rolled to the side.
Tirion landed in a crouched position, shield raised in time to block two quick swings from Aaron.
In its rage, the Shadow screamed and launched Tavon toward the back line of soldiers. The
Lionheart flipped and spun as he flew through the air. Archers scrambled to escape his landing, but not all
were able to avoid being hit.
Tavon slammed directly into a female archer. Bones snapped as Tavon and the archer tumbled
backward into the treeline, stopping with a hard thud against a great oak. Tavon rolled over—his back
screamed in pain—and tried to inspect the archer.
Years of training had taught him to care for others over himself, even if he were on the edge of
death. He placed a hand against the snow. Blood splashed against the ground from a wound somewhere as
he tried to rise to his feet, but the toss had broken his legs. The magical enhancement he used earlier did
nothing for integrity, it was merely for strength. And even that consumed a lot of his mental capacity.
He gripped the snow with his gauntlet and dragged his body against the the ground, mumbling an
incantation beneath his breath. His hands started to glow. By the Almighty, he thought, she better be alive.
A few moments of excruciating pain later, he was in reach of the mangled corpse of the archer.
Blood poured from the holes her bones made when they snapped. The red Recruit tabard was stained a
deeper red from the puddle of blood she lay on, snow from where she rolled spotted a deep crimson.
Tavon shook his head. So new to the Order, he thought. Her body struggled for air, but she was
still breathing. She was still alive. Unconscious, but alive.
Too young to die.
Allantha—the archer—couldn‟t have been past her early twenties. She came from some town out
east. It pained Tavon that he had not taken more time getting to know this girl. She still carried so much
potential. She still had so much to learn. The world needed her.
He pressed the light in his hand against her leg. He could feel the bone. The ends were sharp
where it had splintered. Slowly, the energy pulsed from his hand and into the bone, fusing it back into its
original form. Dizziness began to settle into the back of his mind.
Tavon continued the incantation, forcing all his efforts into mending the bones. They moved back
into place and slowly fused together. With the bones reconnected, the muscles regenerated and moved to
their spots in the body. Then the skin grew shut.
With Allantha‟s legs intact, Tavon forced her into an upright position so she wouldn‟t choke on
the blood she occasionally coughed up—hopefully gravity would be enough to keep the stuff down—then
he pressed the healing magic against her torso. Waves of peace flowed from his body and entered the girl.
After a moment, her breathing became more regular, and his vision became fuzzy.
Allantha coughed, her body teetering to the right. Tavon rushed a steel gauntlet to catch her and
pushed her upright.
Don‟t give up on me, he thought, still chanting.
He was chanting the very same words the Sha‟Dari used nearly two thousand years ago. That was
part of the beauty of Orthianism. Nearly two millennia had passed and most of the prayers remained the
same as when the founders first said them. And they still carried the power to heal the brokenness of
mankind. Though familiar, nearly instinctive, the words became harder to pronounce the longer he used
them. The words grew thick and muddled, like they were stumbling out of his mouth. His mind wanted—
no, needed—to rest, but he couldn‟t let it.
Not yet.
293

With Allantha‟s body balanced against the tree and his mind under control—for now, at least—
Tavon ripped off a piece of his tabard and wiped her face clean of blood. Then he tied it around her arm
as a bandage. Tavon reached into a belt pocket and retrieved a decently sized vial of the healing tonic.
Somehow, it remained unbroken from the battle.
He popped the cork and poured the entirety of the contents into Allantha‟s mouth. There wasn‟t
enough for the both of them. Tavon would have to go without. Though still wavering on the edge of
consciousness, Allantha managed to gulp the down the red liquid. Sometimes, if wounds were too severe,
it was difficult to tell where blood ended and the tonic began, but it seemed to be working.
After tossing the vial to the side, Tavon continued manifesting the healing magic, pressing
another glow against her torso. He felt her ribs start to fuse together.
A few more minutes went by and he could no longer resist the urge of the Backlash. He rolled
over into the snow, laughing, ending his chant. The heaving of his lungs sent pain down his body, but the
effects of magic were pleasing. He found himself in a physical paradox of pain and pleasure.
He managed to maneuver enough to watch the battle. It was over, apparently. The Shadow
defeated. Order members rushed around the field and helped those in need to their feet. People of all
ranks were being rushed to the infirmary or healed on the spot if their condition was too critical.
Healing the girl had kept Tavon from hearing the Shadow scream as it died. He shook his head.
He enjoyed hearing those things die. That was, after all, part of the reason the Order was initially formed:
to fight back the creatures of darkness.
Tavon saw Aaron kneeling in the snow, alone, hands against his face. He appeared to be weeping.
Tavon smiled then fell unconscious.

The righteous shall inherit the riches of Heaven.

Chapter 49

Two days later, Aaron sat in a chair before his dresser, using the surface as a desk. The Rhetoria was
opened with a small notepad placed to the side. A kettle of tea boiled in the hearth.
Aaron read a line of the book then dipped a quill into a bottle of ink. He scribbled a personal note
on the piece of parchment. He then returned to scanning the scripture. It was strange how fresh the words
seemed. He had read many portions before, but it seemed like he was reading the words for the very first
time. Like he was given a brand new mind.
The words popped from the page, carrying a new weight. He could read the same passage over
and over and uncover a different layer of mystery each time. It was as though his spirit were communing
with the Almighty Himself, searching for answers to questions Aaron didn‟t realize he was asking.
Was this a type of prayer? If prayer was simply communing with the Almighty, did this qualify?
It certainly felt like a conversation of sorts.
Aaron turned the page, careful not to knock over the candle burning a few inches away. The book
wouldn‟t catch fire. The candle didn‟t produce heat, after all. It was magical. Aaron enjoyed the way the
flame flickered and tinted the pages orange.
294

The only downside to reading by candlelight was the strain it put on the eyes. Aaron had been
reading for hours, and he was starting to feel like it. He took the whistling of the waterpot over the fire as
a good signal that it was time to take a break. After stretching, he refilled his teacup and took a sip. The
liquid was hot, but it was pleasing.
As Aaron put the kettle back on the metal loop along the hearth, someone knocked on the door
four times in succession. A moment later, the door creaked open and in walked Wain—the only visitor
Aaron had allowed into the room since the event transpired two days ago.
“How are you feeling today?” Wain asked as he closed the door behind him.
“Quite well, learning what you meant the other day,” Aaron said. He poured Wain a cup of tea
then took a seat on a wooden chair before the fire. He offered his visitor a seat.
“You will have to be more specific, I‟m afraid.”
“The other day we sat in the library and you explained how the Order evangelizes. You
mentioned that after a Shadow is destroyed, there is a void within the human being which must be filled
lest something worse take place.”
“Yes,” Wain said. He took a sip of tea. “That does sound like something I would say.”
“I‟m beginning to understand what you meant. Since my Shadow was killed, I‟ve had an
insatiable desire for truth. I‟m not saying I believe Orthianism contains the truth, I haven‟t decided yet.
But I have come to the conclusion that there is truth out there, and I want to find it.”
Wain smiled. “Good. I see you have taken my advice.”
Aaron looked over to his dresser at the opened copy of the Rhetoria. “Yes, I have. It‟s strange.
I‟ve found it hard to put the book down.”
“I‟d say so. Judging by the redness of your eyes, I‟d say you have hardly slept.”
Suddenly, Aaron felt a sting behind his eyes. He rubbed them. How long had he been awake?
Heavens, did he even sleep?
“Yes. I‟ve been contemplating things.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“During the battle I was taken to visions of my past.”
“Yes, yes,” Wain said. “To some of the most painful moments of your life, I assume.”
Aaron nodded. “They felt so real.”
“I‟d say so. Shadows live on pain and suffering. While reliving those memories, your pain fueled
the Shadows abilities.” Wain paused, shaking his head. “You should‟ve seen the damage it caused. If you
had another year of training, I‟m not certain we could have stopped you.”
The two sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the wood pop in the fire. Aaron refilled his
cup of tea and looked at the barrels—containing the cherry-apple rum—along the back wall as he took his
seat. Now that things were different, he no longer felt the need to drink away the depression. Somehow,
the thought of taking a life no longer haunted him. It was still unsettling—and he felt guilty—but not to
the point of losing the pain with a drink.
“I‟ve been considering my actions in life,” Aaron said after a few more moments of silence.
“Yes, soul searching the Sha‟Dari called it. An important task which every individual should
undertake a few times in their life. But sadly, most people miss out on the cleansing it can bring. City life
is full of entertainment and economic responsibilities which can be distracting. Soul searching is done
best when in the quiet, free from the noise.”
“Is that why Tirion chooses to live here?”
295

Wain nodded. “Very much so. He enjoys the quietness of Rainor. Many mornings he spends an
hour or two in prayer, searching himself for impurities. Often times he finds himself groaning or weeping
from the stress his position brings. If there is anyone who strives to keep himself pure and his Order the
same, it‟s Tirion.”
So that‟s why he cries before the altar in the cathedral.
Aaron smiled. “The first time I saw him I found myself frightened—astonished—at the way
people corrected themselves in his presence.”
“Yes, he does bring about an aura of conviction, doesn‟t he?”
Conviction? I did feel motivated to be a better version of myself, but I also felt as though all my
wrongs had suddenly become aware to all who saw me.
“What did you find?” Wain asked.
Aaron cocked his head.
“You said you did some soul searching,” Wain explained. “What did you find?”
“That I‟m a wretch and undeserving of the Almighty‟s love—or any love for that matter—yet
longing to discover something higher than this world. Something higher than all creation. My soul is
yearning for something higher than myself or anything I‟ve found. It knows something is out there and
won‟t be quenched until it finds it.”
“That is a profound explanation you just gave,” Wain said. He paused to take another sip of tea.
“One, that if you follow, will you lead you to the Truth you seek, but it will also take a lifetime to
discover just how deep the mystery can be.”
Aaron was quiet for a minute, taking the lull in the conversation to refill both their drinks. Before
returning to his seat, he tossed a few more logs onto the fire, bringing it to a brighter, hotter glow.
“Did Sariah feel this way?” he asked.
“In a way,” Wain said. “She was in a much different situation than you were. While she did find
herself guilty of her crimes against the Almighty—just like you and everyone else who ever encountered
the situation—she did not have the teachings of Orthianism to fall back on.
“So while much of your time has been spent uncovering truth and encountering your past, most of
my conversations with Sariah were regarding the fundamentals of what the Order teaches. That is not to
say that she didn‟t need to encounter her past, she did. In fact, she had a lot of blood on her hands which
needed to be washed away. But I must say, I did not expect her to dive into the Rhetoria quite the way she
did.”
Wain paused, smiling. “She has greatly surprised us all. If she continues to be this serious about
the Order of the Radiant Light, I suspect she will take us to great heights. The world will benefit greatly
from her redemption.”
Interesting, Aaron thought. He thought back to the day, not so long ago, where he watched Sariah
confess her guilt to the entirety of the Order. By her own words, she was guilty and the verdict should
have been death—that was what the law required of sins against the Almighty—yet she was shown
compassion. Mercy. Instead of killing her, they freed her from the demon gripping her soul.
Perhaps I‟m wrong about these people. Perhaps Orthianism holds the Truth.
“How‟s Tavon?” Aaron asked.
“He‟s healing quite nicely. He should be able to walk tomorrow or the following day. The
maidens have been giving him as many tonics as we can afford, but we can‟t relinquish our supply on just
him. Others were injured too. The medicine must be distributed.”
“Why not use magic?”
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“We are, and there is magic in the tonics. Unfortunately with how busy Rainor has been as of
late, we cannot afford to have an entire room full of babbling mad men. With negotiations and war
planning being the primary focus, we are forced to let time and the tonics take the bulk of the healing. It
isn‟t ideal, but it is what we must do.”
“How exactly does magic make people loopy?” Aaron asked.
“Ah. A topic I would love to explain if we had more time, but unfortunately I must be going. I
have to prepare for a discussion at the meeting today.”
Aaron frowned. He took Wain‟s mug and walked the monk to the door.
“Thank you for stopping by,” Aaron said.
Wain smiled. “You seem to be doing well, far better than most. I recommend studying today,
your test is tomorrow.”
“My what?”
“You proved yourself already on the battlefield. Now you must take the mental test. Tirion needs
to be sure you know the fundamentals of what we believe. It is a requirement before you join.”
Aaron nodded.
“I‟d grab your coat.”
Aaron cocked an eyebrow. “Why‟s that? You just said I need to study.”
“And you do,” Wain said, turning to leave. “But the horses cannot change their own shoes.” He
smiled and walked out the door.

The path to love is layered with trials and temptations.

Chapter 50

The Master strolled down the cobblestone street of Revedel. It was a small port town consisting of one-
story buildings and the occasional two-storied one. The citizens all looked mostly the same: white frilly
shirts, tan pants, and black boots. The outfit of a sailor. And there were not too many of them, less than
half the population of the other towns he had visited as of late. Even so, it was possible they may know
the whereabouts of the treasure he sought. Someone had to. It was just a matter of searching long enough.
It was a bright, sunny day. The Master looked at various shaped clouds in the sky as he made his
way down the main street, twirling a cane and whistling a jolly tune. He wore an illusion spell today
which made his appearance resemble that of a younger man wearing a nobleman‟s outfit: slacks, a nice
jacket, and a vest with a buttoned undershirt.
The magic didn‟t make bones ache any less. It didn‟t possess such an ability, not that it was
needed. His body had not ached in centuries, not since he became what he was. Not since he gave up all
he was in that damned ritual. What a curse that had turned out to be.
For the first few decades of his reign, The Master was concerned that his followers were trying to
undermine him. They seemed to find the idea of searching for a single object across the spans of the entire
world to be ridiculous. He understood their ideas, and instead allowed them to form a religious hierarchy
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as a means to initiate and train new people to spread Mul‟Drak‟s power throughout humanity. So far, it
seemed to be working well.
The Shades, however, were something of an enigma. They contained immense, unrivaled levels
of power. Should they have the “mindset” to band together, they could likely have The Master destroyed.
Yet, for some reason, they followed his commands to the letter. Sure, they voiced their concerns or lack
of understanding, but they never interfered with the commands he set forth.
Despite such loyalty, The Master could not shake the idea that his immortality was not safe. It
was only a matter of time before someone figured out how he had gained such power and destroyed him.
Because of this, and many other reasons, he had went to great lengths hiding how the magic worked. To
hide how it was gained at all. So far, not even the strongest of Shades seemed to show any indication of
possessing the knowledge.
But occasionally on days like today, where his humanity seemed to reveal itself, The Master
worried his reign was coming to an end, and he could not allow that to happen. He would not allow it.
Today was not a day to focus on the past. Today was a day of the future, and Revedel was alive
with business. A new shipment of goods had arrived not too long ago, apparent by the way the deckhands
hustled to unload crates from a boat. People dressed in a wide assortment of craftsmen‟s attire pushed
wheelbarrows full of metals, lumber, and tools toward the intended shops. Today was a day to make
things happen.
“I do say, good sir, you have quite an operation here,” The Master said to a deckhand unloading a
crate from the boat. A wave crashed against the dock, spraying more water onto the already slick
walkway.
The deckhand looked befuddled. Apparently, it was not everyday he was asked his opinion.
“Th… Thank you, sir,” he said.
“I‟m a wealthy friend of some merchants who are looking for a new investment opportunity.
Might I inquire as to who is in charge around here?”
“Octrele. He‟s the old man in that cabin over there.” The deckhand nodded in the direction
intended.
The Master nodded his thanks and reached into one of his long coat pockets for a coin, doing his
best to keep up the display of actually being able to feel the thing. A moment later, he withdrew his hand
and tossed a single coin to the sailor. He caught it, stared at it for a moment, and an expression of sheer
surprise and excitement erupted on his face.
The Master smiled, then turned and walked down the boardwalk, leaving the sailor to enjoy the
payment. Every other step was accompanied by a soft tap from his cane. He didn‟t lean against it. Of
course not, he couldn‟t be afflicted in his state. He walked with the cane purely for showmanship.
People glanced as they walked by, confirming his intentions were working. Occasionally, The
Master tipped his hat at some as he continued his stroll. They did not share the same enthusiasm.
Apparently wealthy noblemen were not as well liked here as he had hoped. Perhaps he had chosen the
wrong guise for this task.
A short while later, he stopped outside the manager‟s cabin. Through the small circular window,
The Master could see Octrele was currently in a meeting with what looked to be a ship captain. A contract
appeared to be forming, and Octrele handed the other man a small money pouch. A deposit entrusting the
man to the job most likely.
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The Master turned and leaned his back against the wooden wall. Quietly waiting for the meeting
to end, he watched the water drip off the awning before him. He was in no hurry, after all. Where did he
have to go? He wasn‟t the one bound by time. In the course of centuries, what was a few more minutes?
People continued their bustle down the boardwalk, meeting people on boats, unloading shipments
of cargo, loading boats for their next expeditions. These people were an incredibly efficient lot, working
hard to avoid living a lifestyle of poverty, no doubt.
Perhaps more people should visit this town in search for inspiration, The Master thought. Not
that I know the exact numbers of their economy. He shrugged. What did he care? He would soon be
leaving this place behind him as he continued his never ending search. Or maybe, if he was lucky, this
would be the end of the search.
After a few minutes of whistling a jolly tune and tipping his hat to people walking by, the door
opened and outwalked the ship captain, leaving Octrele alone in his cabin. The Master took the
opportunity to walk through the wooden doorway.
He removed his hat, revealing a slicked back head of curls—thanks to magic. “My name is
Charles Benjamin Teoulls, third heir to the throne of Yrall,” he said. “I do say, it is a pleasure to meet
you, sir Octrele of Revedel. And might I say what a fine establishment you have here.”
The aging dock manager raised an eyebrow, rubbing a hand across his balding head. “Aye. It is as
you say. Some days I feel I may not be needed at all, as efficient as they be. Mr. Charles, what is it that
brings ye here?”
“I am a man who searches for exotic goods,” The Master, Charles, said as he walked across the
small room and placed the hoop of his cane on the arm of a char. “And you seem to have a great deal of
goods travel through these docks. I wouldn‟t suppose you could possibly provide any information
regarding a certain item, would you? I‟d be willing to pay handsomely.”
“Ye say yer part of the royal family?”
The Master nodded.
“Then I‟ll tell ye that there be plenty of pottery shops and glassblowers throughout Revedel. Look
there for your exotics, not in me cabin. All I do is fulfill contracts and pay employers.”
“Ah, while it is part of my duties to acquire rare dishes,” The Master said. “It is not pottery to be
placed into a cabinet and forgotten about which I seek. I desire something much more rare. An item very
few have even dreamed of. I‟m sure in your position you would likely have heard rumors of such an item.
Though if you are sure you haven‟t, I can take my needs elsewhere.”
Octrele was silent for a moment. “How much would ye be paying?”
Charles, The Master, smiled. “I‟m third in line to the kingdom of Yrall. The entire treasuries are
open to me. If you have the information I seek, I will pay whatever price you request.”
“What is it ye be seeking?”
“A key.”
Octrele laughed. “Ye might want to be a bit more specific. Ye know how many keys come
through these parts? I reckon nearly every captain in the harbor has keys to more than a dozen coffers of
their own.”
“Ah, yes. I suppose I should clarify. The key would look identical to this one.” The Master
reached into the collar of his undershirt and pulled out a key chained around his neck. It was made of
solid silver with fragments of light swirling along its surface.
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The dock manager leaned forward, gazing at the key. He shared a look familiar to The Master, for
he once shared the same lust for the item. He, too, once desired to grasp the key, to give up all he had to
possess it. Now he felt as though he could never give it away.
“The one I seek would be made of gold,” The Master said.
“Where did you find that?” Octrele said, reaching out his hand.
The Master tucked the key back beneath his clothing. “Where it was found is none of your
concern. Tell me, have you heard any rumors or seen documents recording the whereabouts of a relic
such as this?”
Octrele snapped out of his trance and fell into his chair. “I‟m afraid not. Something of that quality
wouldn‟t go through this land without some sort of report.”
The Master opened his mouth to reply, but paused as tendrils of smoke formed into a Shade out
of the corner of his eye. “What is it you want?” he said, staring into the creature‟s smoldering eyes, trying
to maintain his demeanor. No matter how many times he had seen these things, he never got used to the
emptiness they held.
“The key is not here,” the Shade said.
“Yes. So I have just discovered.”
“I‟m sorry?” Octrele said. “Who are you talking to?”
“This is not a matter which concerns you,” The Master said. He turned to the Shade. “Was it
necessary to interrupt me during a business meeting?”
“There are more pressing matters,” the Shade said. Its voice carried the normal distortion.
“I‟ve been searching for this key for I don‟t know how long, and you suggest there is something
more pressing?”
The Shade said nothing.
“Who are you talking to?” Octrele asked again.
“Please,” The Master said, outstretching a hand to silence the man. “What is it?” he asked the
Shade.
“Our last correspondant within the Order has been destroyed,” the creature said.
The Master cursed under his breath and kicked a small table in the corner near the door.
“Anything else?”
“The last bit of information we received indicated that the Order has begun moving troops for
war.”
War? The Master thought, kicking another table. They want to rage a war against me? Don‟t they
know the power I possess? Don‟t they know the legions I control? Don‟t they know the delay this will
cause in finding that damned key?
“Ye be speaking to the air, and now you start kicking my goods?” the dock manager said. “Have
you gone mad? You best be leaving. Get out. Now.”
“Mad?” Charles, The Master, said. “I‟ll show you mad.”
He grabbed his cane from the chair and stepped forward. Smoke engulfed the cane, transforming
its shape. As the tendrils faded, the object had been elongated and sharpened at one end. It had formed
into a spear. The Master raised it above his shoulder and threw it with all his might toward Octrele. The
weapon dug deep into the man‟s chest.
Octrele stumbled to the ground, groaning. Blood poured from his mouth.
“I tried to be nice,” The Master said, straightening the edges of his jacket. “I tried to find
information in a way suitable to man, but I still found nothing.”
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“You‟re a monster,” Octrele said, spitting blood. His body slacked to the floor.
The Master paused and turned to the Shade, smiling. He raised a hand and the spear disappeared
in a puff of smoke and reappeared as a cane in The Master‟s hand. He leaned against it and stared out the
window, watching as a fishing boat docked. A group of dock workers waited at the edge of the wooden
platform, ready to grab the rope and tie off the ship. Others were ready with carts, waiting to unload the
fresh fish.
“Destroy this town,” The Master said, “Then meet me at the Spire. If it‟s a war you want, Tirion
Braveheart, I‟ll give you a war.”

Grave is given to those that seek the Almighty, so that they may resist temptation.

Chapter 51

Sariah sat on a seat at the front of a cart. The road she traveled along was bumpy and not used to the way
wheels beat down the earth. It was far too cold for that to happen now. Maybe she could travel back and
forth during the spring to create a better path for the future.
The wind was starting to pick up and the snow fell harder. Sariah pulled the edges of her hood
tighter, using the fur lining to block the frigidness of winter.
She clicked her teeth, encouraging the donkey to increase in speed. It was nice to be able to be
near animals again. With her aura gone, Sariah could now accomplish much more with the assistance of
an animal. Plus, she truly enjoyed their company.
She continued down the countryside for some time, scooting through the snow. Hoof prints and
tire tracks trailed behind. Eventually, she pulled on the reins and rolled to a stop next to a river.
The current was slow at the moment. The blacksmith must be at work, Sariah thought. She turned
and grabbed two empty pails from the back of the cart. The mechanism the blacksmith used was not one
she understood. But she did understand this: when he was not working the water flowed faster than when
he was.
With pails in hand, Sariah slowly stepped forward, careful as her boots crunched into the snow.
The cold, white stuff was piled so high it was impossible to tell where the field ended and the riverbank
began. Any moment she would be stepping—
Her foot slid. She fell forward down the incline of the riverbank. A few moments of tumbling
later, Sariah rolled to a stop, covered in snow, freezing as the winds blew into her shirt.
Great, she thought. She rose to her feet and shook off the excess bits of snow. Just great.
Numbness began to settle into her hands as she continued cleaning off her jacket, the snow
wetting her skin. The outer lining of the coat was wet, but the three layers of leather sewn together created
a warm, water repellant jacket. It would take something far more severe than a simple fall to dampen the
interior.
With her clothing free from snow, Sariah stepped forward and searched for her pails. She found
both not far from the water‟s edge, a pleasant sight. She grabbed one, kneeled in the ground, and scooped
it full of water. Then did the same with the other.
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Scooping water from the river may not have been the most glamorous or exciting of the chores,
but it was one of the most important. Once a week someone was required to travel to the riverside and fill
eight tin buckets with water, lest the reservoirs in the monastery run dry. Due to the weather, they had
been procrastinating on completing this chore. Sariah volunteered to perform the task today. If she didn‟t,
the kitchen would not have the water necessary to boil impurities out of the seafood.
Before walking back up the path she came, Sariah took some time making a clearing with her
foot. Once the path was laid out—and she had tested the snow‟s integrity by jumping on it a few times—
she grabbed the pails of water and marched her way back to the cart.
By the time she placed the water onto the back of the cart, she was breathing heavily. While the
tins were not heavy or hard to carry, it was a rather long distance and the incline was steep. She paused to
take in the view and recover her breath before returning to the water‟s edge.
Some sort of hawk flew overhead in wide circles, seeking what food they could scavenge: a stray
hare or possibly a fish near the surface of the water. On the other side of the river, evergreens bearing
large amounts of snow dotted the fields in sporadic patches. Mountains to the north overlooked the
countryside.
It‟s beautiful, Sariah thought. Cold, but beautiful.
She sighed. Then she took two more pails to the waterside. The trip was much easier with the
path she had created, but the continual snowfall kept the surface slippery. She leaned forward to fill one
of the tins when something snapped in the distance. A branch, large, broke.
Sariah snapped her head upward, turned to face the sound with her hand reaching to her side
where her dagger—
She no longer carried a dagger with her. The only weapon she carried was a small pocket knife.
The blade couldn‟t have been more than four inches in length. Hardly a weapon capable of defending
against a creature of any formidable size.
With the tiny blade drawn, Sariah peered through the snowfall, trying to see what made the noise.
Another snap sounded, further from the original. A white-tailed deer hopped across the landscape. It
didn‟t have any horns to it. Sariah had nothing to worry about.
She sighed, placing a hand against her chest, feeling her beating heart. After snapping the blade
back into its slot in the handle, she put the item in her pocket and returned to filling the tin containers.
Sariah wasn‟t used to the changes yet. For so much of her life she worried about who was waiting
around corners to attack or take advantage of her body. Even starting as early as seven years old she had
always traveled with a weapon. A person had to when living in the streets of a major city.
Reaching for a weapon at the sound of any type of danger had become instinctual. It was part of
who she was. But it didn‟t need to be. She was safe here in Rainor. She was safe near the Radiant Lights.
Despite the mental reminder, she was unable to shake the feeling that something dangerous could
spring from the wilderness at any moment. She froze as she remembered all those that were injured and
killed from the bear attack only days ago. While it was true she did not have any control over an animal‟s
actions—especially one so augmented from the Corruption—she still felt responsible. After all, she was
given the opportunity, whether from the Almighty or not, to kill the creature, and instead she chose to run.
I‟m not that person anymore, Sariah thought as she placed the two full pails onto the cart. I don‟t
have to be. I can change. I have changed. I don‟t have to worry about those things.
What would she do if the donkey died, anyway? Spend hours carrying buckets of water by foot?
Sariah shook herself from the silly stupor, grabbed the remaining two pails, and made her way
toward the riverside. While she was traveling down the path of pressed snow, the weather had picked up
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to the point where each step had to be softly and carefully made, lest she slip again. Eventually, after
many long minutes of hardly moving, she found herself kneeling before the water.
I can see why no one volunteered for this, She thought, filling one of the tin buckets. Her hands
had long since gone numb and he cheeks were red from the chill. Occasionally, she sniffed to stop the
warm snot from trickling out of her nose. At least I won‟t have to do this—
Another snap echoed across the landscape. Louder, closer than before. The noise was followed by
a hoof stomping in the snow up the riverbank.
No, Sariah thought. She turned to make sure the donkey was okay.
As she spun, her foot slipped out from under her and she fell backwards, directly toward the
water. She extended a hand, conjuring the Second Fletching—the spell which would compress the
Strands of the Universe into an arm and grip the desired target. The spell was aimed at a thick evergreen
in an attempt to pull herself further onto land.
Nothing happened.
Her body went into shock as she was engulfed by the freezing water. Had it not been for the
aspect of drowning, the sudden drop in temperature would have caused her to gasp for air. Long moments
passed as she told herself repeatedly to swim to the surface, but her body resisted. All she found herself
doing was sinking further under water, the light at the surface growing more distant.
I can‟t die like this, she thought. Almighty, please.
Heart pounding, nerves racing, her arms finally snapped into motion. Each swipe of her arm
pushed water beneath her, drawing her closer to the light. Her lungs began to hurt as they urged her to
breath.
Only a little further, she thought, still swimming upward.
Her head burst forth from the water like a whale rising from its long life underwater. She dropped
neck deep as she gasped for air, treading water. The winds bit at her, longing to force frostbite. Judging
from the way Sariah‟s teeth were already chattering, it wouldn‟t be long before that may be the case. It
wouldn‟t be long before hypothermia killed her—the thickness of her coat couldn‟t protect her from being
full engulfed in water.
Sariah struggled her way to back to the riverbank where she rose to her feet. How? she thought,
looking down at her shaking hand. She couldn‟t tell if the tremors were due to shock, the cold, or the fact
her magic had not worked.
It should have worked though. She had harnessed the Second Fletching so many times it had
become nearly instinctual. It should have worked. She should have felt the Strands. The only recent
change was—
The Shadow.
Could that demon truly have been the source of her magic? Sariah shook her head. Now was not
the time to think about this. She was soaking wet and the weather was getting worse. If she stayed out
here too long she would freeze to death.
Sariah grabbed the pails of water—being cold was not a valid excuse to fail at a job—and rushed
her way back to the cart. After an excruciatingly long, cold walk, she set the pails into their place and
hopped into the seat. Clinching the reins with paling fists, she encouraged the donkey into motion as she
scanned the hillside for a shelter.
The horse stable was too far. It was take nearly a half an hour to make it back there. And if she
were that close, she could travel the extra five minutes and enter the monastery. She needed something
much closer.
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This particular field she bounced across was a pasture, which meant the closest building would be
a cattle stable. It was far from ideal, but it would have to do. She tugged on the reins and ushered the
donkey that direction.
Her body shook and her teeth chattered as Sariah traversed the snowy field. She desperately
needed to get out of those wet clothes and find a heat source, but she couldn‟t do that out in the open. Not
just because the snow beating against her bare skin would cause the same fate, but because someone
might see her bare skin. She couldn‟t have that.
Eventually, she pulled to a stop before the massive metal door of the stable. She hopped off the
cart and stumbled over to it. The metal was cold to the touch. After struggling to undo the pin, she swung
the door open, then grabbed the reins tied to the donkey and pulled him inside. She didn‟t know the
animal‟s name, but if she was going to be taking cover from the cold so was he. After closing the door,
Sariah unlatched the cart from the animal. Her hands were shaking even more violently now as her body
continued to pull any heat it could toward her core—which was anything but warm.
After performing a quick search to make sure she was alone, she stripped away all her clothing.
She picked up her loose garments and draped them over the cattle gate. Even just being inside and out of
the wet clothes she began to feel a little warmer, but she still shivered uncontrollably. She climbed over
the freezing metal bars and into the cattle pen. Almost instantly she could feel the heat radiating from the
herd.
“Okay now,” Sariah said gently as she slowly approached the nearest cow. “Be nice.”
The cow didn‟t respond, of course, but neither did it back away. It stayed put, which was strange
to Sariah. Even after an entire afternoon with the donkey, she still found it difficult to believe she could
really be this close to an animal.
She reached out her hand to touch the cow. It was warm. Very warm. And fuzzy. Before going
for a full embrace to warm herself, she leaned for to check the gender. Beneath the animal was a large
utter. Sariah smiled. “Just like me,” she said, shaking her head.
She wrapped her arms around the cow in a full embrace. She stayed in such a posture for some
time, slowly feeling the blood return to her fingers. Occasionally another cow or a small calf would graze
her leg, which brought an even greater level of comfort and warmth—if even for a brief moment.
“I love you, cow,” Sariah said. “Without you, I‟d be dead.”
Dead.
That was something which had not been considered in some time. Sure her past was difficult and
dangerous, but her skills had always been there to keep her alive. She had the Fletchings.
She had Matram.
Sariah wiped a tear from her cheek. She looked at her hand, then stretched it out toward a tin pail
hanging on the wall. Closing her eyes, she tried to feel the Strands of the Universe. There should have
been small groupings of power, much like beads, floating around her. They should have been visible in
her mind‟s eye. But there was nothing.
She flicked out her wrist to manifest the Second Fletching.
Nothing happened.
It‟s true, she thought, flicking her wrist again. My magic is gone.
She went back to hugging the cow and wept. Save for her combat proficiencies, everything had
been taken from her. No, she had given it all up to be free from the Shadow. To be free from the forces of
evil. To be herself.
Worth it.
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No longer would the urges of another creature sway her actions. She was in control of herself,
and she was going to go through the intense discipline paths to ensure that another Shadow never entered
her body. Now that she had tasted what freedom was really like, she was going to make sure she stayed
free of a Shadow.
In her mind‟s eye, Sariah could feel something. It was distant. Some sort of faint power. It almost
seemed to be puls—
The metal latch cranked and the stable door creaked open. People were talking.
Sariah‟s eyes snapped open. “Oh no,” she whispered as she looked for some place to hide. “No,
no, no, no. No.”
There were not many places to hide inside this particular stable. There were not any closets or
storage rooms. It was more of just a roof and four walls with some stalls and pens inside. The hay bales
were stacked outside. Sariah could not run outside in the nude, but she definitely would not be putting her
clothing back on either. Those garments would be frozen by now, and there was hardly time to build a fire
in the hearth to thaw them out.
“I can‟t believe you‟ve never milked a cow,” a woman said, her voice closer than before.
“We don‟t have a lot of cows in the city,” a younger man said.
Sariah‟s eyes went wide. She scanned the pen for a place to go.
“I suppose you wouldn‟t,” the woman said again. “It‟s not too difficult. Just takes some practice,
is all.”
“Yes, this might come in handy if you were ever stranded,” an older man said. It sounded like…
Gavin? What was he doing here? Wasn‟t he supposed to be taking supplies to the warcamps?
Sariah flushed. She could not let him see her like this. She could not let any of them see her like
this. Where could she go?
As they drew closer, Sariah had to make a decision, and she had to do it quickly. She weaved
through a group of cattle, using their shapes to keep from being exposed. Each step was done with
caution—the last thing she needed right now was to step in a pile of dung. Once across the pen, she fell
into a pile of hay and covered her “important” parts as quickly as she could.
“How many times have you had to milk a cow to survive?” the younger man said.
“Never,” Gavin said. “But if I ever need to, I know I can. Do you three have your empty pails? If
not, grab some from the wall over there and follow me.”
Gavin‟s greaves clanked as they crushed bits of straw and pebbles. Slowly and methodically they
drew closer to Sariah‟s location. She could feel her heart pounding. Her mind was racing with things she
could say to talk her way out of this.
The footsteps stopped not far from her location.
“Who‟s clothes are these?” Gavin asked.
“I…” the maiden began. “I haven‟t the slightest idea.”
“They‟re mine,” Sariah said, voice timid.
“Sariah?” Gavin asked. Metal tapped against metal. Though she couldn‟t see him, Sariah knew he
was at the edge of the pen. She could feel him looking for her.
“Yes,” she said, flushing as she removed some straw to reveal her face.
“What happened?”
Sariah shrugged. “Sometimes I just like to hang out in some hay with some cows.”
Gavin stared flatly.
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Sariah sighed. “Fine. I was getting some water and fell into the river. This was the closest
building, and I had to get out of those wet clothes.”
“So you‟re—”
“Yes,” Sariah interrupted.
“I see.”
“You better not see!” Sariah shouted, moving some hay about to ensure there wasn‟t any
exposure.
“No, no. I don‟t—”
“Gavin,” the maiden said. “Why don‟t you take the recruits back to the monastery. I‟m sure there
are some tasks there that they need to learn. I‟ll fetch miss Sariah here some new clothes.”
Gavin nodded then walked away.
“Thank you,” Sariah said to the maiden.
She winked. “I‟ve been in your situation before. Wait here. I‟ll be back as quickly as I can.”

Better to be honest than to lead a man astray.

Chapter 52

Aaron‟s boots made a soft tapping sound as he walked down the stone hallway toward the testing room.
This particular destination was located beyond a set of corridors of the monastery he had not yet traveled.
He stopped at the end of the hallway and peeked around the corner. Everburning candles lit the
next segment of stone walls and casted monster-like shadows along the walls. Had Aaron not been
experiencing the realness of abnormal monsters as of late, he would have cast away the tiny fear inside of
him as silly superstitions.
At the far end, past the walls of horror, a wooden door was shut. It lead to the staircase. Or at
least, that‟s what Aaron had been told.
He wore the hood of his cloak up to block any drafts of cool air. Something felt off. It wasn‟t the
cloak. After so many years of sneaking around wearing a hood, it felt natural—even robbery was not an
intention. Perhaps that was what was strange. Perhaps it was the lack of desire to stick stuff into his bag
which made him feel off.
Why am I doing this? Aaron thought, shaking his head. He wasn‟t in any danger here. If
something was to happen to him, it would have happened by now, right? Why did he still feel the urge to
sneak about?
Snuffing away the fear, he walked down the corridor, opened the door, and descended the steps to
the underbelly of the monastery. It smelled old and musty. Judging from the amount of dust on the walls
and floor, this place was not frequently traveled.
Aaron continued forward, following the footprints in the dust. There were quite a number of
them. He stopped at each door and peered inside every room. Despite being freed from a Shadow, he
could not help but feel a little uneasy about all this.
It seemed almost too easy. And nothing in life was easy.
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Killing a soul-sucking-demon that had been gnawing at Aaron‟s soul for probably most of his life
was a good thing. Undeniably good, and he was thankful for it. But that did not immediately vindicate the
entire organization of evil intentions. They had, after all, done some incredibly evil things in the past.
Burning innocents who claimed to be witches, infiltrating and capturing entire civilizations with
the intent of replacing their laws with their own, those were just two of the things Orthianism had done in
history. Should such a religion be given authority to run a kingdom?
Of course not. Government was to be separated from religion to ensure freedom of beliefs. It was
the individual‟s choice which allowed a person to flourish. Each person should be able to live how they
deemed fit. The Almighty—should He exist—had a specific plan for each individual, and it was their
choice, not a law, to pursue such a thing.
What if their beliefs were wrong? Aaron thought as he looked into a room. He half expected it to
be filled with torture devices or long forgotten, immoral tombs of divining with evil spirits. But it was
empty. Who determines what is right and wrong?
Discipline or individualism?
“Aaron, I was wondering when you would arrive,” a voice echoed through the dungeon.
Looking up, Aaron saw Wain standing at a doorway near the far end of the room. “It was quite a
journey,” Aaron said, hesitantly choosing to leave the remaining rooms unsearched. “To be honest with
you, I had to ask more than a few maidens for directions.”
“Yes, yes,” Wain said, smiling. He wore long, black monk robes with the hood up, making him
appear very menacing. “It can be quite a trip. The basement is hardly used these days.”
“What was it used for?”
“Initially, it was designed as a storeroom with a secret exit in case Rainor found itself overrun. It
was unlikely at the time—as Orthianism was looked upon with holy reverence by the majority of the
nations in the world—but the Sha‟Dari deemed it most logical to have an escape route if the unfortunate
took place.
“During the Years of Trials,” Wain paused for a moment before continuing. Was that compassion
on his face? “During those years, the Order strayed far from the disciplines and ideals the Sha‟Dari put in
place. Certain scholars recorded such ways to reveal if a person had a Shadow, but those were lost for
some time. No, hidden by one particular leader. He decided using power to influence belief should, and
would be, allowed. He justified this by stating as long as the person found the Truth, it didn‟t matter how
it was obtained. This basement became a dungeon for torture during those dark times.
“We have since returned from such ideals and repented for our wrongs as we strive to correctly
understand the doctrine our founders first taught.”
Aaron looked around. How many had died in this dungeon because they wouldn‟t lie to save their
lives? He cringed as he remembered how the whippings felt against his back when he was bound in a
dungeon.
“But those matters need not be discussed now, for that is not why we are here,” Wain said. “The
test you are about to encounter will be the most difficult in your life. It‟s not simply enough to have all
the right answers, for anyone can study a book. You will be tested to see if you truly believe the
fundamental statutes of the Order of the Radiant Light.”
Aaron nodded. “Is there anything I need to know?”
“The overseers will not be interested in the speed you answer,” Wain said, “But rather, the quality
of the answer you give. If I may give my opinion, Aaron. I recommend taking your time to consider each
answer before speaking.”
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Aaron sighed and stared at the closed wooden door.


“You can do this,” Wain whispered. The light hanging overhead cast a shadow against his face.
“You have proven yourself in the battlefield. And I know through the conversations and questions you
have asked me, you are fully prepared for this. ”
Aaron smiled.
“Be honest in your answers,” Wain said as he opened the door. “I look forward to hearing how
you do.”
“You aren‟t coming?” Aaron asked.
Wain shook his head. “Only the leader of the Order of the Radiant Light, Lionhearts, members of
the Council of Elders, or priests may enter. The Council is busy with the city, and we have no priests.” He
nodded toward the door.
After a deep breath, Aaron walked through the doorway.
It seemed odd for such a large room to be tucked away, hidden beneath the massiveness of the
monastery. Yet here it was, long and lined with pillars with flickering candles attached. Figures shuffled
on an oval platform raised above the rest of the room. The Overseers, no doubt.
Elaborate paintings with layers of dust lined the walls. Much of the art depicted monumental
moments in the Order‟s existence: Creation, The Departation, The Formation, The Years of Trials, things
of that nature.
Aaron stood at the end of the hallway between two massive stone pillars. The Overseers loomed
over him from their high perch, the light from the candles barely reached their location, making them see
all the more ominous.
Squinting, Aaron could make out some of their figures. They were not wearing any armor, but
judging from the tabards, there seemed to be six Lionhearts. Tirion, of course, was up there. He stood at
the front before a podium with an open book in his hands, studying what was likely the questions he
would soon be asking.
For nearly half an hour Aaron waited. He stood in silence, hands clasped behind his back,
watching as the Overseers engaged in mumbled conversations among themselves. Looking up in such a
way, Aaron felt insignificantly small.
What are they waiting for? he thought, continuing to remain firm in his posture. Was this part of
the test? Were they up there discussing the control Aaron had over his body? Patience was, after all, one
of the many virtues the Order held. But the suspense was eating him alive.
The door creaked open behind and was followed by the sound of boots scurrying across the
chamber. The thudding came to a stop next to Aaron. He didn‟t look to see who it was. He was trying to
maintain the discipline and the focus for the test, should he be graded on the matters.
“Sorry I‟m late,” the person next to him said. The voice was gentle and familiar. It carried a level
of charisma gained only through years of practice, making it easily recognizable. Sariah.
What is she doing here?
“I ran into some… complications earlier.,” she said.
Is she taking the test?
The Overseers came to a silence as Tirion stepped up to the podium. He set the book down, then
retrieved a quill and a small vessel of ink. “Now that you are both here,” he said as he leaned forward on
the podium and inspected them both. “We can begin.”

***
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Is she joining the Order? Aaron thought. Heavens, am I joining the Order?
“Sariah,” Tirion said, “what is the importance of virtue?”
Virtue is used to—
“Virtue is used to discipline the body,” Sariah said before Aaron could finish the thought.
“Through the desire to do what is right, we can change our actions to behave according to what we
believe.”
Aaron found himself impressed, but he did his best not to show it. Still, Sariah had only been
studying the Order for a few days—a week at the most—and she answered the question with ease.
“Aaron,” Tirion said. His voice echoed through the quiet, still chamber. “How do we discipline
ourselves?”
Aaron Bardeaux was quiet for a few moments as he considered his answer. He was taking in the
advice Wain had given to not be too hasty with his responses. But he was also careful not to let the
question linger to long as to give the impression he didn‟t know the answer. Or worse, believe it. Which
of course, he didn‟t.
Aaron spoke. “Through prayer and contemplation we can discover the correct ideals and statutes
of the Almighty. When we resist temptation as it arises, the voice of evil is not as apparent in our minds,
making resisting the next time easier. Over an extended period of time, we can find ourselves living more
correctly within the Truth.”
“Why is this important?”
Aaron paused. He hadn‟t expected that question.”The Almighty intended us to live our lives to
the fullest, and that can only be attained when we live the life which was ordained from the beginning.
People believe rules bog us down, but instead they lift us up. For it is within the standards of the
Almighty where our souls, nay our entire being, find peace.”
His eyes went wide as he finished the statement. Why did I say that? he thought, watching as
Tirion marked something on the book.
The leader turned his attention to Sariah. “Sariah, explain to me the significance of hope and how
it pertains to our everyday lives.”
“There are many different topics which fall under the category of hope,” she said. “But the
simplest answer would rely upon what it is a person hoping for. The Order teaches, which I find to be
true, that we hope in the faithfulness of the Almighty and that His plan for humanity, and the world, is
good.
“This can affect the everyday life for every person. In difficult situations followers of Orthianism
are not bound to wallowing in pain and sorrow, but instead can find peace and joy knowing through the
faithfulness of the Almighty, He will bring good out of every situation. And the times where we see this
faithfulness occur increases our faith.”
What? Aaron thought, astonished.
The Overseers engaged in a short conversation on their oval perch overlooking the test. Tirion
dipped the quill into the ink then wrote something in the book. Aaron turned to look at Sariah in disbelief.
She stood straight, hands behind her back, smiling.
Does she believe all this?
“Aaron,” Tirion said, snapping Aaron‟s attention back to the test at hand. “What is the purpose of
charity?”
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Aaron was quiet as he tried to remember the words of one of the first books he read here. The
Mission of Charity by B. Hunt. He remembered it being a remarkable read, one which had changed his
perspective. But for some reason, he was having trouble remembering anything stated in the book. It did
help, however, that Aaron had lived out many aspects of the book during his visit in Sirena.
“In every society there are those who have more and those who have less,” Aaron eventually said,
though he was hesitant even as he spoke. “It is out of selfishness for someone would hoard heaps of
money and items while others struggle to eat. Giving from a person‟s abundance helps show love to
others. It also removes the focus of life from the giver and puts it on person receiving.”
“I see,” Tirion said, stroking another mark. “One final question for each of you. Sariah, you will
be first. Why do you want to join the Order of the Radiant Light?”
Logically, it made sense that Aaron would be asked the same question. Why did he want to join?
He didn‟t, did he?
For so many years he resisted the idea that the Order could be anything but evil, but then he was
given the opportunity to live among them and search for answers. He had not discovered any sense of
greed. The only wealth they hid were the paintings found down in this dungeon. Why were they hidden
anyway?
One of the first experiences Aaron had with the Order was their willingness to go out of their way
to help those in need. And everyone, not just Wain, seemed willing to offer help where they could and
answer questions with the same effort.
Excluding the other sects of Orthianism, the religion was open about their errors in the past. If
these people were evil at the core, should they not be spending their efforts trying to hide those
horrendous events? Instead, these people admit their failures and ask for forgiveness.
Forgiveness.
“Now Aaron,” Tirion said, “The same question to you. Why do you want to join the Order of the
Radiant Light?”
Aaron was silent. During his stupor, he had missed Sariah‟s answer. “I…” Aaron began, but
paused. Words were at a loss. What was he to say?
“I…”
How could he join such an Order? How could he not have known his father was a member?
He looked at Sariah. She seemed at peace. Happy.
Could people really change?
“I want to be something,” Aaron said. He felt a pang of regret as the words flowed from his
mouth, yet he couldn‟t stop them. “I want to be someone respectable. Someone important. For so long I
was a coward, and I don‟t want to be that person anymore. I‟m tired of running from all my
responsibilities. I want to change. I want to help ensure no one goes through the same life I have.
“I want to follow in the footsteps of my father. I want to vanquish evil from this world in the
name of the Almighty. I want to be happy.”
Tirion nodded, the quill moving rapidly in his hands. He placed the pen aside, snapped the book
shut, and engaged in a whispered conversation with the Lionhearts.
“Was what you said true?” Sariah whispered.
“What are you doing here?” Aaron responded in a hushed tone.
“The same thing as you. I‟m joining the Order.”
“Are you certain?”
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“Ever since they killed the Shadow, I have felt something I can hardly explain. A sense of peace
so deep that… Well… I finally feel free. And if those demons exist, then so must God.”
“So you‟re giving in just like that?”
“You‟ve seen the evil in this world,” Sariah whispered. “We both have. But there is good too, and
the Order stands for that. Not just good, but the most good. They are trying to make the world a better
place. If people weren‟t so selfish then they might succeed.”
She really believes this. “I don‟t know.”
“Yes you do. You just don‟t like the answer.”
The chamber fell still as Tirion stepped back to the podium. Flames flickered on the wall, forcing
the gold edges of his tabard to shimmer. Beneath the garment, he wore a thick cotton shirt which covered
the arms.
“The verdict has been decided,” Tirion said. “You both have proven yourself on the battlefield
and the mind. Should you desire to do so, which we believe you do, you may join the Order of the
Radiant Light. Initiation will take place in three days.”
A moment later, the Lionhearts rose and descended from the balcony as they took their leave
from the room. Tirion followed shortly behind. Sariah looked at Aaron, smiled, and walked away herself,
leaving Aaron to his thoughts.
I can‟t join, he thought, watching Sariah pass through the doorway. I can‟t.

The righteous rejoice in justice.

Chapter 53

Tavon stepped into the Gathering room. Despite it being early morning, people had already crowded
around the elongated wooden table to discuss military movements. Raigar stood next to Tirion, pointing
at some tokens that were not representative of his forces. The Hammerfists were labeled in pink,
something Tavon found amusing.
Tavon wore a sweater today with the emblem of the Order embroidered along the chest.
Typically, he wore nicer clothing, but today he was feeling lazier than normal. After a sip of hot tea to
warm his body, he hummed a low tone. It was best to warm up the voice with lower tones rather than
high, less stress on the vocal cords.
“Mornin‟, Sunshine,” Raigar said. He looked up from the table and smiled.
Tavon greeted the man by raising his mug, then he took a seat in the corner near one of the
hearths, holding his drink in two hands for warmth. Avalon sat across from him, sipping on a cup of tea
herself. For the first time since she had arrived, she wore a thick fur coat which stretched well past her
knees. Even so, it was left open, revealing the low cut dress beneath. Still, it was nice to see she was
covering herself, regardless of how revealing she may choose to be once warm.
Raigar turned and went back to the planning, moving his finger along the map as he spoke to
Tirion. Mendril was also there. He stood off to the side, stroking his long mustache. Occasionally he
would add in his thoughts, but mostly he remained quiet.
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Tavon watched Tirion pat the massive man from Hrathgar on the back. It was nice to see Tirion
reuniting with his old friend. It was nice to see him smile. When does the man sleep? Tavon thought,
noticing the bags beneath Tirion‟s eyes.
The Lionheart turned and watched the flames of the fire, thinking back on his life. His old friends
were all dead. They had followed his orders as captain to the letter, never disagreeing—as long as they
got paid, they didn‟t care what the task entailed. And the payment was not always in the form of coin.
They lived a life free of worries or cares. A life without rules.
It was that very freedom which eventually led to their deaths.
So many of his nights were now spent with nightmares of his friends being sliced through by the
sword, falling into the depths of the sea, or with corpses painting the water red. Tavon was the only one
able to escape the life of piracy, all the others lost their lives for his cause.
His cause…
What cause? A life filled with robbing people of their hard earned possessions and killing those
who stood in the way? Such logic was laughable at best. Yet, in those years, it was all that mattered. The
thrill of the hunt. The joy of treasures. The sexual immorality. The crew, his crew, had lived a life of
hedonism which eventually led them to their deaths.
So many of Tavon‟s days were spent ashamed of such a lifestyle. He should have been the one to
die for his crew, not the other way around. With the orders he barked and the lives he ruined, he definitely
didn‟t deserve the level of respect he had earned during the life on the sea. In fact, he felt as though he
should not have it now.
He knew he was forgiven of those transgressions, for many nights he stayed awake praying to the
Almighty, and He was faithful to forgive those that repent. That was one of the promises given to the
Sha‟Dari. Yet, some days the old familiar feeling of regret crept in, especially as the years passed.
“Your boy did well yesterday,” Tirion said.
“Yes, the lad did,” Tavon said, staring into his drink. He had been one of the Overseers selected
for Aaron and Sariah‟s test. He was there when they gave their answers. Both the Recruits‟ responses
were impressive.
Tavon rubbed his legs. They still hurt, and they should. It took some amount of time to recover
from having nearly every bone shattered in both legs. With a little bit of magic and nearly a dozen potions
of healing, he was able to walk nearly as good as new.
“Something troubling you?” Tirion asked.
Tavon took a sip from his tea before looking up at Tirion. “Sometimes I feel like we may have
pushed the lad too hard. I‟m just concerned he is missing out on so much of life, is all.”
One of the maidens strolled over to his location. She wore a dress cut up to the thigh and a fur
overcoat. She refilled his cup with hot tea then gave him a wink before taking her leave. Tavon smiled as
he watched Piola exit into the cold winter airs, likely making her way back to the monastery.
“Ah,” Tirion said, looking back toward the map. “If this were different times then I would
suggest you were right. Unfortunately they are not, and we must be certain all our members are prepared
for what is to come.”
“And what is that exactly?” Tavon asked.
“I‟ve been reading the records of the Binding. The hand of evil stretches to every corner of the
world, searching for a willing individual. If the Surrogate possesses even a sliver of Mul‟Drak‟s power,
then this battle will be far more difficult than we first imagined. And if the Surrogate has control over
Shadows, then this may be the final war this world may see.”
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“Only if we lose.”
Tirion smiled. “Yes. Only if we lose.”
“Which we won‟t,” Jericho added. She stood off in the corner, leaning against the wall,
occasionally taking a sip of tea. Like normal, the leader of the Order of the Blazing Sun wore her armor:
breastplate, steel gauntlets, greaves, sabatons, and chainmail covering her arms and waist where the steel
did not.
“What are the motives of the Surrogate?” Raigar asked. “Why is he doing all this? If humanity
has and will become Corrupted as you say, then why not wait until we destroy ourselves?”
“He lacks our virtues.”
“Hah. You can‟t truly believe that.”
Tirion shot Raigar a look. “The forces of evil do not have patience—”
“And we do? You‟re the one planning to storm the blasted Shadowlands in an attempt to destroy
this evil.”
“Raigar,” Avalon said. She rose to her feet, glided across the room, and placed a hand on the
large man‟s arm. “It is clear from the actions of mankind that we have lost the values of the Almighty.
The Corruption spreads. You‟ve seen it on your lands, as have I in mine. If we do not lead this assault,
there may not be another time.”
Raigar cursed. “I hate that you‟re right.”
“I understand,” she said, looking up at the man. “You‟re worried about your men. I‟m worried,
too, but the Almighty will give mercy to those dying for his cause. Should your men move as
commanded, you need not worry about their fates. Worry about your own.”
“You‟re right. So tell me, Tirion, what is the Surrogate seeking?”
“A way to release the Binding,” Tirion said.
“I thought that was impossible,” Tavon said.
“Yes, I did too. But after studying the works of the Sha‟Dari, I‟m not entirely convinced it was
meant to last forever.”
“Didn‟t they give their lives for the cause?”
“Yes, they did. But they were also given two keys from the Almighty. I believe those might have
something to do with the Binding. If this is correct and the Surrogate finds them both, then Mul‟Drak will
be liberated from his imprisonment.”
The room was quiet for some time as each person considered the possibility of the purest form of
evil, the embodiment of evil itself, being released upon the world. If the world was going to end, releasing
such a thing would definitely complete the task.
“Where are the keys?” Mendril asked after a few minutes.
“We have one and the other was lost some time ago,” Tirion said, taking a seat near the hearth.
“Is it possible he already has one?”
“Unfortunately, a very real possibility.”
“So what is the plan?” Raigar asked. “We use three separate armies to draw the Surrogate‟s
forces thin, then we slam in there and hope we stumble upon him?”
“It‟s slightly more complicated than that,” Tirion said, accepting a glass of water from one of the
maidens. “We have good reason to believe the Surrogate may have found way to immortality.”
“How‟s that?”
“Fear,” Wain said, rising to his feet. How long had he been sitting before the other hearth across
the room? “The fear of death is a strong proponent in swaying people to do unspeakable things”
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That much was true. It didn‟t take much digging into Tavon‟s past to discover his actions were
mostly based on such a fear. Many of his past efforts were an attempt to further himself, subconsciously
hoping that he could attain some type of immortality.
Wain continued. “If Mul‟Drak could find a person that not only greatly feared death, but also had
the resources to travel the world was was attempting to prolong their life, then he could sway them to
follow his path with a lie of promised pleasure and peace. Said person would need to have been living a
life of solitude, away from the distractions of city life.”
Raigar laughed. “Mul‟Drak can‟t offer an escape from death.”
“Yes, so we originally thought, and our research has not changed the fact that he does not have
the capability to do so. However, he may not have to. For the past few days I have been researching the
dark arts of necromancy. In it, I‟ve found the possibility to remove one‟s soul from their body and placing
it inside of an item—known as a Solstace. With the soul removed, the body no longer ages and the person
cannot be killed.”
Raigar snorted. “That‟s nothing but a fictitious tale.”
“So was the idea of skeletons rising from their graves and attacking cities.”
Raigar shot a glance at Tavon. The Lionheart shrugged and went back to scraping his pipe, doing
his best to hide a smile.
“Mul‟Drak does not need to grant someone immortality,” Wain said. “He could simply find
someone desperate enough to try anything, and continue to lie to them until they stumble upon the
discovery of this ritual.”
“So what you‟re saying,” Raigar said, “is that we not only need to find the Surrogate in the
Shadowlands, but we also need to find this item containing its soul?”
“Essentially, yes,” Tirion said.
“You‟ve lost your mind.”
“Hear them out,” Avalon said in a gentle tone. Somehow she managed to calm the man with a
simple touch and a few words.
“No one ever said what we‟re trying to do will be easy,” Tirion said. “In fact, aside from the
Binding, this may be the hardest thing any division of Orthianism has ever attempted. But the longer we
wait, the more of our lands become Corrupted and uninhabitable. I don‟t know how many years it will
take, but eventually the entire world will be covered in a thick, uninhabitable darkness.”
“Yes, that has been explained a few times now,” Raigar said. “But I‟m failing to see how this
Surrogate could have removed his soul and put it in a little doohickey.”
“Solstace,” Wain said.
And wouldn‟t he be suffering from immense levels of Backlash? Tavon thought as he tipped his
mug for another sip of tea. He frowned when he realized it was almost empty.
“The ritual is described in great detail,” Wain said, glancing down at his notes. “But how exactly
the soul is removed is not explained. It would require immense amounts of magic, no doubt, which is
precisely the reason so many people are required for the ritual to be completed. Some are sacrificed, while
others are spent of their magic capabilities.”
“Look, we don‟t know all the details,” Tirion said. He rose to his feet and starting pacing back
and forth beside the table, hands clasped behind his back. “And we could be wrong. This is not something
we can study the past for the best course of action to proceed. If we are wrong, and there is no Solstace,
then the Surrogate will be just a normal man which we can easily stop. If, however, we are right….
Well…. We should just be prepared.”
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Raigar silently nodded, then looked down at the map.


This doesn‟t make sense, Tavon thought as he reclined and watched the fire in the hearth, quietly
humming through a vocal warm up. If the Surrogate harnessed enough power to remove his own soul,
how did he not lose his sanity? Even if he had help, how did the others not lose their sanity as well?
Could a Sol Stone be used to absorb the majority of the Backlash? Could multiple Sol Stones be
used at once?
On more than one occasion Tavon had harnessed enough magic to push the edges of sanity.
During those times, such as when he healed Allantha, he found it difficult to resist letting go and giving
into the pleasures the Backlash brought.
It was possible for people to come together and weave separate spells together, creating a single
spell of incredible power. The Sha‟Dari had done so during the Binding—and apparently used magic to
forge two keys used to seal the imprisonment, though there were theories of disagreement.
What would happen if people gathered together to weave evil magic? Sol Stones could only
absorb the Backlash from members of Orthianism, and only members of the Order of the Radiant Light
carried such an item—the other sects either disregarded their ability, or didn‟t know they existed. If the
members of Myrkurism, or whoever it was Mul‟Drak claimed as his own, carried an item of equal value
and combined that with a coalition of mages th—
“Tavon?” Tirion said.
Tavon shook his head. “Sorry.”
“Everything alright?”
“Yes,” Tavon said, nodding his head. “I believe so.”
“Good. Have the armies begun their movements?”
The Lionheart nodded. “Nat‟Haiel reports they have been slowly pressing into the Shadowlands
the past few days. They should be in position by the end of the day today, where they will await our
arrival or further instructions.”
“How long can they maintain a fortified position?”
“While being surrounded on three sides?” Tavon paused. “A week at the most, and that is if they
don‟t need to spend many of their medical supply, which seems unlikely.”
Tirion nodded. “It‟ll have to do. Wain, I want you to retrieve a weapon request from Sariah and
Aaron. Tell the Smithy he only has a day to make the weapons.”
Wain hesitated. Then he nodded and left the room.
“You‟re certain he‟ll join?” Tavon asked.
“Without a doubt. The boy wants a purpose, and he won‟t find anything more significant than
saving the world and fighting for the Almighty.”
The answer seemed sufficient enough. With a sigh, Tavon rose to his feet and walked out one of
the many exits of the room, searching for a place to refill his tea.

Persevere through troubles and you will find joy

Chapter 54
315

Aaron Bardeaux sat at his dresser, using the flat surface as a table. He was calculating the totality of his
debt in a small notebook he was using as a ledger. Already, he had completed three pages, and that hardly
encompassed the magnitude of coin owed to Reeves.
An everburning candle flickered nearby. The items were something strange. They didn‟t produce
heat and they never burned out, hence the name. The flame did, however, flicker from breezes produced
from wind or nearby motions. For all intensive purposes, it looked like a flame and acted like a flame, but
didn‟t have the risk of burning the entire place down.
One flame burned in a candlestand on the desk just to the right of Aaron‟s arm. There were a few
others mounted on the wall to the left of the door. Each candle had a cap attached to the base on a chain, it
was used to cover the light when trying to sleep.
After calculating the sum of the numbers on this current page—including tax—Aaron turned the
page and began the next column of names and debts owed. It was a grooling process, and one he wished
he did not have to do. But it needed to be done. He needed to know exactly what he owed.
Since he was no longer tempted by the Shadow, Aaron found little desire to flee from Reeves and
his goons—perhaps his extensive combat training helped as well. Aaron wanted to make things right, to
pay off the debt. He wanted to be be forgiven from all his wrongs, but he had to start somewhere. And
that somewhere was money.
He turned another page. The light from the candle painted the page a soft orange, occasionally
flickering a shadow here and there. Aaron had grown accustomed to reading and writing with this
particular lightning. Actually, he loved it. It created a scholarly atmosphere, and he had never dreamed it
possible for a street rat like he to be studying what he was studying.
Living in the slums of Tumeric was something no one desired. Most nobles were too haughty to
notice a starving beggar, much less hand them a coin or two—and that little amount would have gone a
long way for the poor. Those who did receive any sympathy were forced to hide the coins less the be
stolen.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, Aaron had been offered a life free from begging or stealing. Well, it
still involved stealing. He just got paid for his works. Well, he got paid in food, yet acquired a real debt.
This created a vicious cycle of stealing to eat, but growing deeper and deeper into a mound of debt
without the opportunity to ever pay it back.
It was difficult to calculate exactly how much everything was worth that he had stolen in his life.
Some things were priceless relics of religions, tucked away from the world in hidden coffers—nothing
was too well hidden for Aaron to find, except maybe the dungeon of the Order. But that was an anomaly.
Other items were simple weapons used as tools in a family feud or revenge match. Aaron never
cared what the reason was for. At that age, all he wanted was to survive, and that meant not starving.
It was easy to calculate the cost of the actual food he stole in his life. He spent an ample amount
of time outside bakeries as a beggar hoping to turn a fast coin into a loaf of bread. It happened once or
twice. The weapons were a little more difficult because their prices fluctuated so much, but he did his
best.
The relics were given an arbitrary number for their worth.
Aaron ripped a page free from the notebook and set it to the side to use for calculating the totality
from all of the other pages together. After some amount of time, tea, and straining for memory, he came
to the number.
Including inflation, taxes, and the cost of the items, Aaron owed a staggering fifty thousand.
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Over the last ten years of saving to build a home in the mountains, Aaron Bardeaux currently
possessed only three thousand coin—an impressive amount in its own right. Assuming Reeves did not
tack on any extra fees and Aaron could acquire the same amount per decade—both of which were
unlikely—the debt would be paid in full in just under seventeen years.
Aaron sat for a long while staring at the page in disbelief. He recalculated everything more than
once, just to be certain. And the numbers all added to the same amount.
Fifty thousand.
He shifted to the bed where he lay flat, staring at the ceiling. What was he to do? He didn‟t have a
job or any sustainable income. In fact, for the past few months, he had done nothing but sit at a monastery
and study a religion preparing to take on the most dangerous evil to ever touch the earth. And they wanted
him to join.
Aaron shook his head. If they knew his list of transgressions and the debt he owed, they would
never have asked him to join. They couldn‟t. Even if the Almighty could forgive someone, that did not
make him any less of a scoundrel.
Even if he did join, which he was still unsure about, he couldn‟t pass the debt to them. How
selfish that would be.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Aaron said, not moving.
A moment later the door creaked open and in walked Wain followed by Gavin. “Aaron,” Wain
said, nodding his head. Gavin departed from the man and tossed a few more logs into the fire, mentioning
how cold the room felt.
“I wasn‟t expecting company,” Aaron said, still staring at the ceiling.
“It came to quite a surprise to us as well,” Gavin said. He pulled the chair from the desk and
placed it before the hearth. He sat down and leaned forward, watching the flames consume the newly
placed fuel.
“Tirion has requested you place an order to have a weapon crafted to your specifications.” Wain
said, stretching out his arm. In his hand he carried a small, folded piece of parchment.
Reluctantly, Aaron leaned forward and took the paper, unfolded it, and scribbled something down
before handing it back.
“Is everything okay, Aaron?” Wain asked.
“Just a lot on my mind, is all,” he answered.
“Yes, I‟d imagine so,” Gavin said. “Unfortunately, I‟ve found myself busy as of late, preparing
for the war. But I heard about your bravery in asking for your own Shadow to be killed.”
Bravery?
“And that you passed the oral exam to be admitted into the Order. People have been speaking of
your combat abilities since that very day, apparently you caused quite a stir of excitement.” Gavin smiled.
“It seems Bardeaux blood was meant to flow in the Order of the Radiant Light.”
“Did you know my father?” Aaron asked.
“Yes. Quite well, actually.”
“What was he like?”
Gavin paused and looked into the fire. He sat quietly for a few moments, watching as the flames
licked the logs. The wood crackled and sent the occasional splash of sparks against the stone hearth.
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“William Bardeaux was a remarkable man,” he said. “He was so full of life, and everyone came
in contact with him could feel his love. It radiated off of him. You could feel it. It was like a thick mist. It
was impossible to be in a bad mood around him.
“He was brilliant, full of wisdom. He had the intelligence of a scholar. Anytime someone needed
advice they ran to him, and the way he answered… It was like he could see through the eyes of the
Almighty Himself. I‟d imagine he memorized more of the Rhetoria than even you, Wain.” Gavin paused,
looking up.
Wain smiled and nodded his head, hands clasped before him, hidden by the large sleeves of his
monk‟s robe.
“The Council wanted your father to be the leader of the Radiant Lights,” Gavin said. “Of all the
people being considered, it made the most sense. There was no better than William Bardeaux. But when
he discovered your mother was pregnant, he pitched the idea of moving to Tumeric and being an advisor
to the king.
“He said he didn‟t want you to be raised in Rainor, at the monastery. Not that such a thing was
bad—he appeared to love this place a great deal—but he wanted you to be given the opportunity to
choose the life you wanted for yourself. To chase your own dreams without being forced into the
monastic lifestyle. He made it clear that, when you were of age, he was going to teach you the deep
theology of Orthianism, but he wanted you to be given opportunities.
“Reluctantly, the Council agreed. We were all saddened to see him go, but we knew that if this is
what he thought was best, he was probably right. Once a year, when we returned to Tumeric for the
Festival of Lights, some of us were given the opportunity to visit William.”
Gavin paused, chuckling to himself. “You should have seen the way he spoke of you. His eyes
would light up at the mention of your name. When he held you in his arms, he was enraptured with joy.”
If you knew me, why didn‟t you listen to me when I pleaded for help? Aaron thought. “Were you
there when he died?”
Gavin shook his head. “I was unconscious from the blood loss I suffered during The Battle of
Tumeric.”
I don‟t remember anyone being unconscious when the ghosts showed my father dying. Everyone
was conscious and arguing about how to save him. Unless…
Could the visions have lied to him?
“Did you see how my father died?” Aaron asked.
“Unfortunately, when I awoke he had already passed.”
Aaron frowned, glancing at Wain.
The scholar shook his head. “I‟m sorry, Aaron. I do not know. I was in Bel Daire at the time
giving a speech regarding the aspects of the Almighty.”
Heavens, someone has to know what happened. Someone other than Tirion…
What if he had told the truth…
“What about my mother?” Aaron asked.
Gavin hesitated and shared a look with Wain. “No one in here knows. When we went to rescue
her during the battle, she was already gone. No one was home.”
“I was home,” Aaron said.
The Templarite‟s eyes went wide. “I… We—”
Aaron raised a hand. “I don‟t know how many hours I sat in the pantry waiting for my mother to
come home, but she never did. There were a few times where people entered the house. I could hear them
318

walking around. I considered running to meet them, but what if they were the same people that kidnapped
my mother?”
Then I ran to you for help, and no one even considered my words.
“I‟m sorry, Aaron,” Gavin said. “We didn‟t know.”
“No bother. Forgiveness, right? Isn‟t that what the Order teaches?”
Gavin and Wain both nodded.
How do you do that?
Through the grace of the Almighty, of course. The words of Tavon echoed through Aaron‟s mind.
The three of them sat in silence for some time, watching the fire slowly die down. Gavin would
sometimes rustle the logs with a poker to bring the flames back to life. When it was low and nearly out,
he tossed a few more pieces of wood on to build it back up and get the heat flowing again.
“What is this?” Gavin asked in a quizzical voice.
Aaron leaned forward and glanced to the left where the sound came from. The Templarite held a
lid from one of the wooden barrels in his hands as he stared at its contents.
“That‟s… umm…” Aaron said.
Gavin seemed to ignore the stuttering and grabbed an empty mug from the desk. He then scooped
it full of the red liquid. He sniffed it.
“No. Don‟t,” Aaron said, but it was of no use. The Templarite smiled and took a swig.
“That stuff is good,” he exclaimed with wide eyes. He took another gulp. “Did you make this,
Aaron?”
“Kind of.”
“It‟s incredible, so full of flavor. You better start making more of this stuff. Once everybody finds
out about it, they will be banging at your door for more. What do you call it?”
“Cherry-apple rum.”
Gavin shook his head, refilled the mug, and downed the contents. “I could drink this all day.”
“Come, Gavin,” Wain said as he took the mug from the man and set it back on the desk. “We
should be going. Master Watkins will need to begin forging soon if he is to make the deadline.”
“Deadline?” Aaron asked.
“Yes,” Gavin said as he rose to his feet. “It needs to be ready by the end of the day tomorrow to
be ready for your inauguration.”
Aaron frowned.
“Still hesitant, huh?” Gavin said. “Like Tavon said back in Oakwood before you started this
journey, there‟s no shame in turning back.”
He and Wain smiled, then exited the room.
My inauguration? Aaron thought, watching the flames pop in the fire. There was something
enticing about fire. It lured one in to watch the mysterious way it consumed everything it touched.
Something about watching the process freed the mind to better contemplate things.
Things like joining the Order of the Radiant Light. Despite the ceremony being two days away—
apparently—Aaron still had yet to determine whether or not he would actually join. This entire situation
had really spiraled out of his control.
The entire purpose of following the Radiant Lights to Rainor was to escape the grip of Reeves.
Now, he lie in a bed having passed both the combat and theological tests to join said Order. And he still
had yet to make progress on discovering the truth behind the Death Wardens.
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Shadows seemed to fit the profile fairly well, but they couldn‟t walk on their own like the vision
described.
The vision.
Could he even still trust the visions? How did they work? What caused the ghosts to visit? The
only thing that was the same in all the locations was—
Aaron rose to his feet and walked to the foot of the bed. Kneeling, he opened the coffer and
sorted through his important things until he found the black stone he found within the Shadowlands. The
surface was smooth but appeared to have lost its shimmer.
He lifted up the item and stared into the surface. Even though it no longer shined on its own, it
still reflected candlelights and Aaron‟s reflection quite well. Perhaps the stone was activated by magic.
Closing his eyes, Aaron searched for the Strands of the Universe.
Of course he felt nothing. Only once had he felt the Strands, and that was during the
manifestation of his Shadow. Not since that thing was killed was he able to conjure any spells. Though to
be honest, he hadn't exactly tried.
“Come on,” Aaron whispered to the stone. “Do something.”
Nothing happened.
Nothing ever happened within the monastery though. He had tried before. Maybe there was some
type of barrier keeping the ghosts away.
Aaron grabbed his coat and cloak, put on his boots, and rushed out of the room. He weaved
through the twists and turns of the monastery until he found an exit and walked across the snow. The
winter winds were fierce tonight, and with little tree coverage in this particular field, Aaron had to take
the entire brunt of what nature brought.
The snow was deep and the night was silent, save for the occasionally snow owl in the distance.
After traveling west for some time, Aaron stopped just inside a treeline and pulled out the stone. Its
surface reflected the brilliancy of the stars shining above, but nothing else happened.
“Why won‟t you work?” Aaron asked the rock. He poked it, rubbed it, even tossed it against the
ground a few times, but nothing happened. If there was a way to activate the device—should the thing
even be named as such—Aaron had no idea how to do so.
“Why won‟t you work?” Aaron‟s voice echoed off the treeline multiple times before subsiding
into the expanse of Rainor.
Like the Strands, could the stone only be activated by a Shadow?
Aaron frowned, looked at the stone one last time, then pocketed it. He turned and faced the
monastery. It was strangely beautiful the way the candles burned in the windows like tiny stars. The effect
could only be seen at night, and for some reason Aaron had never noticed it before.
He smiled then started trudging his way through the snow toward his bed. There were only two
days until the initiation, and he still had no idea if he was actually going to join.

Let the thief no longer steal, but instead give to the needy.

Chapter 55
320

Sariah stood before a mirror trying on dresses. Later today she would be going through the initiation
process, and she wanted to look good in her first moments of being a member of the Order.
This particular dress was blue and had been given to her by Avalon, since their bodies were
similar in shape. Sariah was a tad shorter, but the dimensions were about the same around the bust, which
was the most difficult part to fit.
“I don‟t know,” Sariah whispered quietly to herself. Like the kind Avalon commonly wore, this
dress had a slit up the sides of the fabric up to the mid thigh. As Sariah turned side to side before the
mirror, the tail end swished against the back of her legs.
“It seems a little revealing,” she said, looking deeper at the cut. The floral pattern was vibrant and
sparkled beautifully in the torchlight, but the neckline was cut incredibly deep. Actually, there was hardly
any fabric covering her chest at all. This outfit would definitely draw attention, but Sariah could not
justify wearing it against the risk of causing males to sin. She could not force them to be on the wrong
side of the Almighty.
Besides, she had had enough men gaze at her with lustful intent in her life, she did not need
anymore.
A soft knock came at the door. Sariah stepped off the slightly raised platform before the mirror
and walked across her bedroom—practicing moving gracefully as she traveled—and cracked the door
open.
“Yes?” she said.
“You asked for me?” a feminine voice came from the other side.
“Yes. Come in.” Sariah opened the door then glided back to the mirror.
“Might I ask why you asked for me specifically?” Piola asked as she entered the room, shutting
the door behind
“The other maidens are nice and all—I haven‟t had any issues with any of them—but you have a
little sass to you. I like that. Reminds me of my mother. And I want your opinion on dresses. I don‟t care
too much for the maiden‟s outfits.”
“Ah, fair enough. They can be a bit of a bore.”
“Besides,” Sariah said, turning in front of the mirror again, “you‟ve done this before and I‟d like
to know what to expect.”
That much was true. Piola, being a Templarite, had gone through not one but two initiations
within the Order.
“Well,” Piola said, taking a seat at the desk nearby, “I like the way your hair is done.”
Sariah pressed a hand against her head, feeling the flower tipped pins keeping her hair tucked
back in a bun. “I thought the dress would go well with it,” she said. “But I‟m having a few doubts.”
“I‟d say so. Your chest looks like it‟s about to pop out. We‟re all going for the show, but not that
show.”
Sariah smiled. Another reason she had invited Piola was because of her brutal honesty. Not too
mention she needed to make a few closer friends around here. Sariah walked behind the divider and
slipped off the dress, which came off easily in one fluid motion, like it was designed to fall to the floor.
“So tell me, what can I expect?” Sariah asked as she shuffled through a rack of dresses, trying to
find the right fit.
“There will be prayers and blessings. And you will take an oath. Let‟s see… the water is likely to
be cold, seeing as how it‟s winter.”
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Sariah popped her head around the side of the divider. “What?”
Piola smiled. “Did you not read up on how one is accepted into the Order?”
“I…” In all honesty, she had not. She had been so busy learning the theology that she had not
even considered what the initiation entailed. She just assumed she would take an oath in the cathedral
before a congregation of witnesses. Never would she have imagined she would be stepping into water in
the middle of winter.
“Let‟s see what we have here,” Piola said. Her voice was incredibly close as she reached around
Sariah and started shuffling through the dresses.
Sariah snapped her hands across her body to cover her “personal” parts. She wasn‟t wearing any
undergarments, as they could be seen through some dresses and made others too tight. “What are you
doing back here?”
“Oh calm yourself down,” Piola said, focused on the dresses. “You don‟t have anything I haven‟t
seen before.”
“Yes… but…. The whole purpose of using a divider is for some, you know, privacy.”
Piola pulled a dress off the rack and handed it to Sariah. “Try this one.” She smiled. Then she
walked out from behind the barrier.
Sariah looked at the garment. It was an off pink with pale green cuffs. Buttons lined the front
where one side of the fabric folded over the other. Rolling her eyes, Sariah began putting on the dress. A
few moments later, she waddled out from behind the screen. The front of the dress was short, while the
back grazed the ground behind.
Piola starting laughing immediately.
Sariah narrowed her eyes and stepped before the mirror. She turned left and right a few times to
see the dress at all angles. Fabric extended upward, enveloping the entire neck, and the entire outfit was
incredibly tight. She felt like she was being strangled. “I look like a fish,” she said. Piola kept laughing. “I
look like a bloody fish.”
“I‟m sorry,” Piola said between breaths. “I had to.” Piola took a moment to gather her composure.
“You need a dress that is long enough to cover your legs and doesn‟t have too large of a slit; the wind will
be cold. The green one back there looked like it may fit the bill. Go strip down and try it on.”
As Sariah waddled off the viewing stage and to the divider, Piola—the maiden, the Templarite—
laughed again. Sariah narrowed her eyes as she went through the long process of undoing each button and
straining to slide the fabric off her skin. It was so incredibly tight.
The green dress was much different than the others. The fabric was far thicker than the thin, silk
dress Avalon had given her, but it was still just as smooth and soft to the touch. It had a slit up to the
knees, allowing the wearer to walk with ease. And most importantly, it slid on without any trouble.
After a deep breath, she walked out from behind the concealment barrier, bracing herself in
anticipation of the oncoming opinions. None came. The room was silent save for a few crackling logs as
Sariah walked her way onto the viewing platform. Now looking at her reflection, she stood motionless. It
was hard to believe this war her.
“What do you think?” Piola asked softly as she stepped beside Sariah and flared out the edges of
the dress. The faint gold linings popped to life as they moved in the light.
“It‟s perfect,” Sariah said. She turned this way and that, sending the edges of the gown shuffling
only slightly, yet enough to feel like a princess. A feeling she never dreamed she would experience. Not
since she once played pretend with her parents so many years ago.
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She closed her eyes and tried to picture their faces, but she couldn‟t. They were long since dead
and any recollections had long since faded. What little she did retain were but distant, distorted memories,
and even those were beginning to fade.
“It looks loose enough to wear some undergarments,” Piola said, tugging at the fabric. “Which is
good, because it will be cold. Very cold. If you are looking to change into this after you get out of the
water, I‟d recommend wearing some long stockings, a thick undershirt, and maybe a pair of cotton shorts
if you could hide them beneath the skirt.”
Sariah opened her eyes, batted back some tears, and nodded her head. “Yes, I think this will do
quite wonderfully.”
“Are you alright?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
Piola smiled. “Keep your head up. Becoming a Radiant Light is one of the greatest
accomplishments obtainable in this life. You should consider yourself with pride. After today, you will be
living a life devoted to the Almighty. A life devoted to spreading His goodness to the world.”
Sariah nodded her head. “I can‟t wait. I just wish some people were… Nevermind, it‟s silly.” She
paused, sniffing, wiping a tear from her eye.
“You parents would be proud,” Piola said as she put a hand on Sariah‟s shoulder. Sariah took the
opportunity to go in for a full embrace. The Templarite accepted, of course.
“I just wish they were alive to see me,” Sariah said.
“I know, dear. I know.”
The two stood motionless for the good amount of ten minutes. Eventually, after wiping the tear
streaks from her cheeks, Sariah leaned backwards to end the hug. “Thank you,” she said, turning back to
the mirror. The dress really was beautiful. And Piola was right, she should be proud.
“I recommend wearing something warm, like some extra cotton maiden clothes, for the
ceremony, then switch into the dress,” Piola said, smiling.
Sariah nodded. “Thank you.”
“You really do look beautiful. You should consider yourself with the highest regards. You have
done something that only some elect chose to do.” The Templarite nodded, then turned to take her leave.
“Why do so little choose to join?” Sariah asked as she walked behind the divider to change.
“It‟s a difficult lifestyle,” Piola said. Her voice came from near the door, but the gentle taps of
boot against the stone floor had stopped. “And most people enjoy having choice. Regardless of whether or
not they will decide to do anything, they like having them nonetheless. Quite a conundrum if you ask me.
Though it is difficult to discipline one‟s self and to strive to do what is best at all times, life is somehow
easier knowing the Almighty has given a specific set of statutes that are good and righteous. Life is easier
when walking in His ways.”
“It has to be more than hard work though, right? People work hard at their jobs all the time. If this
is what He deemed as right, doesn‟t He draw all people toward this?”
“Yes, He does. But people are a stubborn lot, and they choose to resist the signs that are given to
them. They would rather walk around depressed, angry that their lives are falling apart as they struggle at
a job they hate and live in a dysfunctional family, than to take the time to consider if these emotions are
hinting at something greater. If people would slow down, escape the nonstop entertainment, and
contemplate their lives and what‟s happening inside of them, they would ultimately be led to the
Almighty.”
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“So then, all people are drawn to this lifestyle?” Sariah asked. With the dress removed and hung
back on the wrack to avoid wrinkles, she pulled on a pair of woolen trousers.
“Maybe not this exact lifestyle,” Piola said. “The monastic lifestyle of seclusion is not for all
people, but pursuing the Almighty and His holiness is.”
“The Rhetoria records countless stories of specific prophecies that have been proven to be
accurate. The only way this makes sense is if the Almighty can see both in the present and into the future.
If that is the case, why draw those that would not accept?”
“Knowing who would accept is different from desiring only those that would accept. It would be
unfair for the Almighty, or any god for that matter—not that any exist beside the Almighty, but that‟s
aside from the point—to offer a way to escape judgement to one person and not to another. The only way
for the Almighty to remain good would be to offer redemption to all people. But it remains in their hands
to repent and accept the offer.”
“Ah, I see,” Sariah said, pulling on a shirt. “Thank you for your help today. I know you have
things to do to prepare for the ceremony, I‟ll let you be going.”
“It was a pleasure to help. Good day, Sariah.” Piola opened the door and left, shutting it behind.
Footsteps slowly faded away as she walked down the hallway.
Once fully dressed, Sariah looked at the teal dress she was to wear, quietly considering how she
would transport it in a bag without it getting covered in wrinkles. After a few minutes, she concluded the
task was impossible. She stuffed an extra pair of undergarments into a satchel, then carefully folded the
dress in a way so most of the wrinkles would be along the seam lines and hardly visible.
Sariah put on a wooly winter coat, threw the satchel over her shoulder, and walked to the door.
She paused and looked over her shoulder, taking one last look of the room. It was hard to believe the next
time she entered she would be part of the greatest order of the greatest religion to ever walk the earth. The
next time she entered the room, it would no longer be loaned to her but issued to her. It would not be long
until she belonged to something important and good.
Smiling, Sariah shut the door, walked down the hall, and made her way up the stairwell to the
second floor. Once there, she continued down the dimly lit hall until she reached the fourth door on the
right. After a deep breath, she knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” a voice called from the other side.
“Sariah.”
“Come in.”
Sariah opened the door and, walked inside, and shut the door behind to keep as much heat in the
room as possible. Not far away, Aaron stood at his desk stuffing his pack full of clothes.
“Are you about ready?” Sariah asked.
Aaron nodded. His hair shuffled before his face. “I think so.”
Sariah smiled and took a look around the room. Much like hers, this one had a bed, a dresser, a
fireplace, plenty of blankets, and a coffer. Wait. Why was the lid open to the coffer? She turned and
looked at the dresser. It was free of books and there were not garments sticking out from the drawers like
usual.
“Aaron?” Sariah asked.
“Yeah?”
“Where are all your books and items from the coffer?”
He shrugged. “Why do you ask?”
“You‟re planning on running aren‟t you?”
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“I don‟t know. Maybe.”


“Don‟t lie to me, Aaron,” Sariah said, hands on hips.
“Fine. Yes, I am. I‟m running away. I‟m going to go grab a horse and leave.”
“After all they‟ve done for you, you‟re just going to rob them and leave them out to dry? Just like
that? Where are you even going to go?”
“The mountains.”
“And do what once you get there?” Sariah asked, voice louder than before. “Build a cabin? With
what materials? If you haven‟t noticed, you don‟t have carts of supplies sitting around waiting for you.
You might have a stockpile of coin, but you have no help. You won‟t survive out there.”
Aaron turned away.
“I know you don‟t like to hear it,” Sariah said, “but that isn‟t a life for you. You were made for so
much more than running from all your problems. You were made to join the Order. Don‟t let fear hold
you back.”
“How can you be so certain this is right?”
Sariah paused. “I can see the change in me. I‟m not who I was. I don‟t want to kill or steal
anymore. I just want to help people and stop those Shadows from taking anymore souls. You need to
believe what you said in the test. Here, you can be something. Here, in the Order, we can both be
something.”
Aaron‟s shoulders rose as he sighed. He nodded, then turned and grabbed his backpack. “Let‟s
go,” he said.
Sariah smiled and exited the room. She led the way through the monastery, excited this was
finally happening. They traveled through all the twisty hallways, walked through the library, and made
their way to the back entrance. It was strange how silent the monastery was. Everyone was outside
preparing for the ceremony, of course, but it was still disturbing.
To have such a large structure with no one in it seemed nearly pointless. All things were created
with specific intentions, the works of man should be the same.
Stepping outside, Sariah immediately felt the bitter winds trying to snap at her skin. The coat she
wore blocked most of it, and what didn‟t was absorbed by the maiden‟s outfit or the undergarments
beneath. So very little air was actually able to touch her skin.
Judging from Aaron‟s groans, he was not as well covered
As previously instructed, Sariah turned left and found two horses awaiting their arrival. They
were covered with a tabard bearing the Order‟s colors—white with a red lion crest—on top of a thick
winter blanket. She smiled. Everything was working out perfectly, assuming Aaron had lost the thought
of leaving. She whipped her head around to check. Aaron smiled and walked to his horse where he tied
his bag to the saddle.
I can‟t tell if he‟s serious, Sariah thought as she tied her own satchel to the saddle of her mount.
He always was good at playing a part.
After dusting off the accumulated snow, Sariah grabbed the horn of the saddle and heaved herself
onto the horse, feet sliding snug into the stirrups. Situated nicely, she looked over her right shoulder and
watched until Aaron was ready. When he looked up, she nodded her head, indicating for him to take the
lead. When he passed her, Sariah encouraged her horse into motion.
The two of them trotted across the fields for some time. Snow had ceased to fall, but judging from
the cloud coverage, it may start up again soon. Hopefully it would delay long enough for this ceremony to
be completed. The last thing Sariah wanted was to be pelted by snowflakes while trying to change.
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Up ahead, as they crested over a hill and peered down over the icy, white landscape, crowds of
people were congregated around five different firepits. Each person wore the tabard associated with their
rank: red for Squire, white for Templarite, black for Lionheart, and lastly the sole silver of Tirion. Each of
the five bundles of burning wood was stacked incredibly high and smoke poured into the sky in thick,
black columns. The wind appeared to be blowing the smoke ever so slightly to the west.
This particular field looked oddly familiar. All the fields were snow covered and looked exactly
the same, but this one carried an air of familiarity about it. She had been here before. The riverbank
was… Yes. It was the one she fell into not long ago. Which means…
To the right was a wooden fence and further past that was the stable she had hidden inside.
Strangely fitting. What once almost caused death would now be used to bring about a new life.
Aaron and Sariah continued riding, hooves sending clumps of muddy snow into the air. It was not
long before they were close enough to smell the nice scent of burning wood accompanied with ashfall.
Tirion stood at the central most bonfire, reading a book. Far to the right, past the furthest fire, Piola was
setting up a large, wooden, foldable wall that looked like a divider for changing clothes. Sariah smiled.
The horses slowed to a slower gait, nearly prancing across the field, before coming to a walk.
Gavin was waving them over from the second to last fire—one over from Tirion‟s. Upon reaching the
location, Sariah and Aaron dismounted and took a seat on a wooden bench cut from pine. There was a
circle of these around the fire and many people sat on them. Who could blame them? It was cold. Very
cold.
What‟s he thinking? Sariah thought, rubbing her hands together before the flames—they had
grown quite numb from holding the reins on their ride—and watching Aaron do the same.
“Don't warm yourself too much,” Gavin said, handing each of them a chicken leg. It was
blackened, cooked over the flames, but had cooled to just a lukewarm.
Sariah bit into her piece then cocked her head.
“The water‟s going to be cold,” Gavin explained as he fetched two mugs of water. “You get
yourself too warm and you will find yourself in shock when you step in.”
“Yes, of course,” Sariah said, nodding, staring at her hands. Both were a bluish pale and the veins
could be easily seen along the surface of the skin.
A maiden placed a covered pot over a section of flames. She was wearing brown clothing, similar
to what Sariah wore. Looking around, Sariah realized only the Recruits were the ones not wearing a
tabard—and the visitors, of course. Everyone of higher rank, or any rank at all for that matter, wore a long
flowing cape which matched the color of their tabards.
“You‟ll be getting one soon,” Gavin said. “The hard part is over.”
Sariah nodded and smiled, eagerness swelling inside her. She had been so busy preparing for the
moment that she had not stopped to consider how she should be feeling. The recent changes had done a
number on her focus, and she was still adjusting to the fact she could no longer feel the Strands of the
Universe, much less weave them together into a spell. It still pained her deeply.
It was like a part of her had been ripped away. Now when she closed her eyes all she could see
was darkness, like things were before she had understood the power. She felt hollow, as if a void were
resting inside her waiting to be filled.
“Are you ready?” Gavin asked.
Sariah met the man‟s eyes, then looked out toward the water. Tirion was standing at the water‟s
edge, wind rustling the edges of his garments. The brown robe beneath his tabard appeared to be old and
tattered.
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“I think so,” Sariah said, rising to her feet.


Gavin motioned for her. Grabbing her arm in his, he escorted her to the river‟s edge. And he was
a mighty fine escort at that, what with the extra long sword at his side and chainmail armor beneath his
Templarite wears.
“How is he doing?” Gavin asked.
“I‟m not entirely sure,” Sariah answered. She was focused on the waters, resisting the urge to
peek over her shoulder at Aaron. She was greatly concerned for his well being and expected—no,
hoped—he would make the correct decision today, but she could not help but worry. It took everything
inside of her to focus on the what was before her instead of him.
“This is a grand decision indeed,” Gavin said. “It takes some longer than others to come to their
conclusions on such matters. I must say, Sariah, I am quite proud of how quickly you have adapted to our
lifestyle. Many people struggle for quite some time.”
“Thank you,” Sariah said, watching the water‟s flow. It moved nicely today, far faster than the
last time she visited this place. And as the sun broke free of cloud cover, the water sparkled as if its
surface was layered with a multitude of jewels.
“I would love to continue chatting, but it is your time.” Gavin nodded and extended his arm
forward, releasing her from his grasp.
Sariah curtsied. “What him for me.”
Gavin nodded.
“Are you ready?” Tirion said.
Sariah looked up at him. He was much taller than she, and he had an aura that demanded respect.
Something more people should desire, she assumed. “I believe so,” she said.
“There is no turning back from this decision.”
“I understand, and am prepared to live the life it requires.”
Tirion smiled, revealing white teeth behind a slowly greying beard. “Then let us proceed.”
Sariah stepped behind Tirion and followed him into the water.

***

Aaron had positioned himself precisely along the benches so he could watch Sariah enter the
water. He had to lean slightly to see around the smoke column, but he could see her nonetheless. And he
considered himself lucky the wind was blowing the smoke away from him rather than straight at his face.
He quietly chewed on a chicken leg as he watched Sariah slowly wade into the water. She
followed Tirion, and at first the water was only ankle deep. Then it became knee deep, and finally they
stopped when the water was just over the waist.
I can‟t do this, Aaron thought. It isn‟t right.
Gavin sat on the bench next to him but was not saying anything. He simply bit into a chicken leg
of his own and watched as Sariah had some type of conversation with Tirion. Perhaps it was a check of
her faith, or maybe it was the oath. Aaron had memorized the oath for this occasion, it was one of the
requirements, but he was still uncertain if he believed the words or not. He supposed he should decide,
considering he would be saying the it soon.
While he lived a simple, modest lifestyle, Aaron put great value on oaths and promises. Even
though he spent many years in the slums of Tumeric, working for thieving crews, he never once broke a
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promise or contract. He always fulfilled what he said he would do—even if sometimes it meant lying to
others.
So for him to take an oath and not mean the words, that would be ridiculous. Barbaric even. He
looked to the left at Raigar. The brute from Hrathgar looked a lot like a barbarian as he ripped his teeth
into the flesh of a roasted chicken with juice spilling down his chin. Yet even with his lawless ways
which bordered on the edge of rebellious, Raigar seemed to take some amount of pride in doing good.
Aaron looked to his right. Gavin sat watching Sariah complete her initiation. Beside him, a few
Templarites smiled as they joked among themselves. Kaylie was positioned near the water‟s edge. As
Sariah rose from the river, the clouds had parted in just the right way to send beams of light from the sky.
It was as if the Heavens were exceedingly glad at what was taking place. Kaylie and other Order members
cheered wildly as Sariah began wading toward shore.
Aaron looked down at his food. It was almost completely spent. I can‟t push my debt on these
people. It isn‟t right.
“Remarkable, isn‟t it?” Gavin said.
Aaron nodded.
“Why the long face?”
Aaron frowned and shook his head.
“Ah. I won‟t force you to tell me what‟s going on. Just know we are here if you need help.”
How can they always be willing to help others in need? How can they live out the oath everyday?
“How did you know?” he asked.
Gavin cocked his head. “Know what?”
“How did you know that Orthianism is true? How did you know you wanted to join the Order?”
“That is a question of great intrigue and one which took me quite a many months of study to
come to a conclusion. The easiest answer, and one I imagine should suffice, is if you compare Orthianism
to every other religion in the world, you will find something interesting. Every other religion is based on
working to obtain favor from a god, or working to escape this evil, abandoned world.
“But Orthianism is different. It claims that God stepped into the world to save it. It claims the
Almighty went through the efforts required to rescue humanity from the Corruption which entered the
world shortly after its creation. As far as knowing the Order of the Radiant Light was most true among the
seven divisions, it is the only one capable of tracing its core theological beliefs to the Sha‟Dari. The
others hold some, but not all, of the statutes the founders recorded in the Rhetoria.”
Aaron did not respond, instead he quietly watched as Sariah walked behind the changing barrier
and a different Recruit took her place in the water.
Something burned inside of Aaron. His chest felt hot and knotted, like he was going to be sick. It
was as if his heart were pounding a message, or his conscious was trying to communicate. Get in the
water, the feeling said so strongly it was difficult to resist.
I can‟t, Aaron thought. I just can‟t.
He sat quietly for some time, sipping on water, watching the flames crackle. When the bonfire
grew low, Squires—male and female—gathered new bundles of wood and built them back up. Every so
often, Aaron peaked around the edge of the smokeline and watched as Recruit after Recruit waded into
the water and met Tirion for their initiation.
Sariah never returned. She had wandered her way toward the last bonfire where she spoke with a
woman with brown locks in a Templarite garb. Sariah seemed happy enough. Of course, she had been
lately. Something dramatically changed since her Shadow was removed.
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Should Aaron not feel the same? He, too, had a Shadow removed, after all. Why was he so
hesitant? Should he not be free to make decisions for himself?
Unless…
What if not all his thoughts came from the Shadow? Could some of the memories that haunted his
dreams and idle moments be bound to him and not the destroyed creature? Sure it manifested in such
ways that it tempted him toward evil, but it was his actions that caused the devastation. It was those
actions that ruined people‟s lives.
Sure the Shadow had been killed, but that didn‟t make him any less than what he was: a
scoundrel, a thief. A sinner.
Get in the water.
Aaron watched as Tirion dunked one of the newer Recruits into the water. As he came up, he
brushed water away from his face and gasped for air. Then, he smiled and returned to the shore where
another Recruit waded out to take his place.
It was the very words of the Order against which Aaron wrestled. A statement the Sha‟Dari had
written over a millenia ago. Put the needs of others before my own. How could Aaron possibly join an
Order, and break the immediately ignore the wisdom of the Sha‟Dari by pressing a mound of debt against
the their treasuries?
“Are ya ready, lad?” a voice said. Tavon stood between Aaron and the fire for a moment before
taking a seat. He mumbled about how hot the flames were. And he was right. They were indeed hot. Very
hot. So much so the snow had melted into rings half a dozen feet past the benches.
“I…” Aaron started to speak, but couldn‟t finish the words. I can‟t.
“What‟s holding you back?” Tavon asked in his seaborn accent.
“I‟m not like you all. I‟m not made for this.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I…” Aaron tried to explain, but something held him back. He was unwilling confess his
transgressions. He couldn‟t. Doing so would result in his death. He knew it.
But, Tavon had explained how horrible he once was. Maybe…
Get in the water.
“I owe a man a debt,” Aaron said. His heart stopped as the words left his mouth.
“What debt?” Tavon asked. The Lionheart had not even flinched at the statement.
“After my parents were taken, after I pleaded to the Order for help, I lived in the streets of
Tumeric as a lost kid. A street rat. When begging proved worthless, I had to steal for what little food I ate.
Let me tell you, most days I went without.” Aaron paused, wiping a tear from his eye.
“One day,” he continued, “I met a man who offered me shelter and provisions. As scrawny as I
was, so hungry my ribs showed, how could I turn that down? The only requirement: complete any
contracts given. It was an unsettling request, but I couldn‟t turn it down. I had to eat. The man‟s name was
Reeves, and from that day onward I started my life in organized crime.
“For years I committed felonies punishable by death. Somehow I was shown mercy during each
of my captures, instead being punished only by being locked away in the stocks or whipped into
unconsciousness. Often times the former led to the latter.
“For each crime I committed, each contract completed, I was given food. Little did I know, there
was an unwritten clause among Reeves‟s gang, you must pay back what you eat. It was their way of
keeping people constricted to that lifestyle. And you couldn‟t go to the authorities. Who would believe a
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street rat was speaking the truth? Besides, Reeves would have you killed anyway. The stocks weren‟t safe
from his grasp.
“Eventually, after accumulating a debt I could never repay, I decided to run. Do you know what
it‟s like to have to look over your shoulder every minute and wonder if some goons were chasing you?
Wonder if that day would be your last?
“Anyway, I eventually stumbled into you and your crew in Oakwood. And the rest you know. But
I still owe the debt, and I couldn‟t live with myself if I passed it on to you.”
No one spoke for some time. Aaron watched the flames pop around the logs in the bonfire,
somehow relieved he was able to spew the words so effortlessly. It felt good to have them out, even if
they were likely to lead him to death.
Eventually, Tavon spoke. “Oh, that deby. We‟ve taken care of that.”
Aaron chuckled under his breath, wiping a tear from his eye. “Funny.”
“No, lad. It‟s been settled.”
Aaron looked at Tavon. The Lionheart was not hiding a smile.
“You serious?”
Tavon nodded.
Aaron paused, mouth gaped, breathless. “What? How? When?”
“Some men came during your first few weeks here. Said they‟d traced ya here. Which meant they
were following us for some time. Good thing they decided to wait until you were in training, who knows
what we would‟ve done had they jumped us out in the woods. Anyway, Gavin was supposed to meet with
them, but he was busy with your training and showing you around Rainor. So I met with them personally.
“They stated that you owed some amount of money, I can‟t remember exactly how much it was.”
He shrugged. “It doesn‟t matter. We went to the treasury and grabbed an item that should‟ve been worth
roughly the same as the debt. From what I understand, the lackeys seemed happy with what they received
and hurried home to tell momma bird all that happened.”
It felt as though a giant boulder was slowly being hoisted off Aaron‟s shoulders. “I…” He tried to
say something, but what was he to say? What do you tell someone that pays an entire debt they didn‟t
owe? Was thank you enough?
“I doubt you will be seeing much of this Reeves anymore,” Tavon said.
“You didn‟t have to… I mean, why?” Aaron eventually said.
Tavon smiled. “God stepped into this world and lived a perfect life, a life that humans were
suppose to live. But we messed up and couldn‟t do it. Through our mistakes we deserved death. We
acquired a debt you might say.
“But there was only one way for this debt to be paid. Someone, something, had to die. And since
the debt was supernatural in nature, only a supernatural death would suffice. The Almighty graced the
world with His presence and offered Himself up to death. He died to pay a debt He didn‟t owe, because
we owed a debt we couldn‟t pay.”
Tavon, the Lionheart, paused, wind rustling his hair. He stared into Aaron‟s eyes like he was
piercing into his soul. “How selfish would it be if we didn‟t do the same?”
Aaron nodded. The feeling he felt was strange. He didn't know how to describe it. It was
something on the edge of frightening and freeing all at the same time. He sat in quiet contemplation,
watching the fire pop. Bits of ash drifted lazily through the air, covering various parts of benches,
clothing, and hair.
Get in the water.
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“It‟s scary, lad,” Tavon said. “No one is denying that. But you know what is more frightening?
Standing before the Almighty at the end of your life having known what was right and refused the offer.”
That statement pierced into Aaron like a spear, spilling spiritual blood made of resentment,
heartache, and fear. For long moments he sat quietly, fighting back tears, gripping the strap of his pack.
He watched as the last two Recruits were dipped into the water.
Now, Tirion stood alone in the water, waiting patiently with hands clasped before him.
“You ready, lad?” Tavon asked. “It‟s time for you to decide if what lies ahead is greater than
what you leave behind.”
Aaron was quiet for a few long moments, staring out into the river. He had to do this. If he
refused to stand up now, he never would. And once the moment was passed, who knew if he would be
given another opportunity.
“Almighty,” Aaron whispered so quietly only he could hear. “If you‟re real, tell me what to do.”
Get in the water, his body urged again. This time, he did not resist. He rose to his feet and walked
toward the riverside, keeping his eyes focused on the subtle waves along the water‟s surface.
He stopped at the bank of the river. What am I doing? Aaron thought as he removed his boots and
placed them gently to the side. Slowly, he crept toward the water. The waves teetered past.
After a deep breath, he dipped his foot in. Frigid water gripped his ankles, stirring his body to
retreat. But he remained focused and took another step forward. A few more and he was knee deep.
To say the water was could would be an understatement. There comes a point where water no
long feels could but instead begins to feel like a thousand bees stinging the skin. This was past that.
With his body screaming for relief, Aaron continued onward, forcing his hands to resist the urge
to shake. He wanted to turn and retreat, but he knew something greater was waiting for him at the end of
all this. He refused to let fear stop him this time. This moment was his, and freedom was waiting in the
water. Honor was waiting. Justice. Redemption.
When the bottom of the river become so deep the water passed his waistline, Aaron took a sudden
gasp of air. That always was the most difficult part of descending into a cold body of water. That and the
chest region.
It was only a few more moments before he stood before Tirion who, of course, was smiling.
“I‟m glad you came to this decision,” he said.
“Thanks,” Aaron said, resisting the urge to shiver, though that was becoming increasingly
difficult as his core temperature dropped. But Tirion had been out here nearly half an hour and all the
other Recruits kept their bodies under control, so he could too.
“Are you prepared to confess your belief in the Almighty, His goodness, and the statutes He left
for those who follow Him?”
“I am,” Aaron said.
“Please, take the oath you have prepared.”
“I, Aaron Bardeaux, vow to follow in the footsteps of the Sha‟Dari, using the power invested in
me from the Almighty to pursue all that is holy, righteous, and good. I vow to help those in need, to give
to the poor, to feed the hungry, to heal the sick, protect the weak, and to push back the forces of darkness
until the day the Almighty returns. It is for His sake that I will continue His work in redeeming mankind,
and the entire world, from the Corruption. I vow to—with all my efforts—attempt to leave the world and
a better place when I die. I vow to fight for the goodness of all people.”
“Very well,” Tirion said. “Hold your breath,” he whispered. “Through the leadership given to me
from the Almighty, through the lineage of the Sha‟Dari—”
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Water overtook Aaron as he was dipped backwards. He stood in an awkward crouched position,
being held in place by the strong hands of Tirion. The words he spoke spoke became muffled. Light
lingered above the surface of the water.
Time seemed to slow down. Sound slowly ceased, waves on the water‟s surface danced slower
than before. And most importantly, the feeling of anxiety had washed away. Whatever inside of Aaron
urging him into the water had vanished. Now, all he felt was peace. He could stay in this place for all
eternity and never desire anything else.
But since he was not dead and continued to need breath, Tirion pulled him up out of the water.
“Welcome to the Order of the Radiant Light,” he said
Aaron, the new Squire, stood quietly for a few seconds, taking in the moment, wiping water from
his eyes. The feeling of peace did not flee. No, instead something else joined in. A feeling of worth and
pride. Now Aaron was part of something far greater than he was before.
With a smile, he turned and shifted through the water toward the bank.

***

A short while later, Sariah walked up to Aaron holding a folded garment of red. The edges
sparkled a flashy gold as the flames flickered nearby. She wore the tabard issued to her with pride. It had
been a long time since she felt this excited and honored by anything. Her matching red cape flapped in the
wind.
“I have something for you,” she said when she was closer.
Aaron looked up and smiled. His face was hidden by the edges of the blanket wrapped around his
entire body. He set down the cup of hot tea on the bench to his left, then reached out and took the tabard.
Sariah took a seat to his right, and watched quietly as he felt the fabric in his hands. A maiden
walked over and offered a drink. Sariah nodded and took the hot tea in her right hand, using her left to
push wet hair behind an ear.
She was still cold. It was hard not to be with the winter winds and the damp skin, but her body
was beginning to adjust. She assumed it would only take a couple more minutes in front of the fire before
she was back to normal.
“Try it on,” Sariah said. She took a sip of tea. It was hot and warmed her insides. So pleasing.
Aaron nodded and rose to his feet. Sariah had trouble putting her own on. The fabric was large,
bulky, and surprisingly thick. She had so much trouble in fact, that she had enlisted the help of Piola, who
helped her behind the divider. It was an awkward experience, but she had seen her in her skimpies—less
than, actually—before, so why not ask for the help?
“Let me help you,” Sariah said, rising to her feet. She grabbed the fabric and started tugging until
it finally slipped around Aaron‟s chest. She unfurled the bottom edges and tied the rope snug around the
waist, keeping the garment from flailing wildly in the wind. Once the tabard was bunched in the right
places and smoothed in the others, she stepped back and admired her work.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Different,” Aaron said, turning to look into the bonfire. A maiden nearby was tossing the last bit
of logs onto the top. In another hour or so the flames would disappear, leaving behind only smoldering
coals and ash. “It feels like I‟ve finally found a peace my soul has been longing for.”
He sat down and grabbed his drink, holding it in both hands. “I never dreamed I would be in such
a place.”
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“I know what you mean,” Sariah said, taking a seat next to him. The bench was carved from an
old log and curved slightly inward for a little extra comfort. She looked out into the river where he
transformation took place.
“It's hard to believe,” she said. “We were once criminals, thieves, murderers—well, I was
anyway—scoundrels, sinners, but now we‟ve been redeemed. We once walked in darkness, but now we
are Radiant Lights.”

A man chooses his own path, but the Almighty carves a way out of the darkness.

Chapter 56

The next morning Aaron awoke early. At least, he assumed it was about that time. Since his room lacked
windows, It was difficult to tell exactly what time of day it was. And the lightning was always the same,
and there were no clocks of any sort.
After wiping the sleep dust from his eyes, he leaned forward, expecting to press a hand against
his back. But the pain was gone. He leaped out of bed and jumped up and down a few times, bare feet
landing against the cold stones.
Ever since he arrived in Rainor—some forty days ago—Aaron had been performing physical
tasks with vigor. Most of his chores involved hard labor of sorts—and if it wasn‟t hard, the long hours
they took ended with feeling the same. On top of the work, he was required to train quite extensively
during the first month. Because of all this, most days Aaron woke with an aching body, specifically his
back.
But today, all that was gone. He felt no pain. There was no aching bones or sore muscles. Today,
he felt like a brand new man.
Perhaps there‟s something medicinal about dipping into cold water, Aaron thought as he put on
some thick undergarments. He paused after tying his trousers tight and bit into an apple. The crunch was
loud and juices dripped to the stone flooring of his bed chamber.
He put on a woolen undershirt, then began the efforts of donning the leather armor resting on a
stand in the corner of the room. It was typically on display as a decorative piece, rarely worn. And during
training bouts he borrowed a leather jerkin from the armory. But today, today was different. Today he was
a member of the Order of the Radiant Light, and that meant wearings one‟s best. For first appearances, at
least.
The shin guards were easy to equip, as were the bracers. It wasn‟t until he had to tie the strings
beneath his arms did things become difficult. After a few minutes of fumbling with the strings, he got it
tied tight and pulled the red Squire tabard on, letting it fall freely over the armor.
Then he grabbed the white rope and wrapped it around his waist just above the hip bones. The
rope was long enough to wrap around his body a few times. This was intentional, as the long strands
would be shorter after the large knot was tied.
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Over, under, wrap around, Aaron thought as he tried to tie the intricate knot. One wrong step and
you had to start all over. It wasn‟t a simple slip or overhand knot. This one was much more precise and
complicated, designed only for elegancy.
It took Aaron the better part of ten minutes to finally figure out how the knot was tied. He
smoothed out the tabard—leaving ruffles only around the right waistline where it was proper—then
moved before the mirror.
Honor. Justice. Power.
Aaron tucked back his shoulders and puffed out his chest as he straightened his posture. That
reflection… It was hard to believe that was truly him. He felt so grown up. He felt so empowered. He
felt… like a soldier. The only thing missing was a sword at the hip.
After a deep breath and a smile, Aaron left his room and his way toward the meeting room. Along
the way he passed a few other Squires who were shoveling the muddy, snowy road. Unfortunately, it had
started snowing again, heavier than before, if such a thing were possible. The shovelers smiled and
nodded as he passed.
Up ahead, a familiar bundle of red hair whipped in the breeze. Kaylie stood bent over, long blue
dress nearly touching the ground as she picked at a grouping of snow blossoms. She appeared to be
weaving the stems together to make a sort of circlet. By the time Aaron reached her location, the purple,
blue, and pink flowers were already placed in her hair.
She looked up, met his eyes, and ran in for a full embrace. Aaron twirled as he held her. She
smelled of lavender, meaning she‟d recently visited the hot springs. “I‟m so proud of you,” she said once
her feet were back on the ground.
“Oh, it was nothing,” Aaron said, taking her hand. They walked toward the meeting building
together, leaving boot prints in the soddened ground.
“Nothing?” She giggled. “You could not be more wrong. Being admitted into Orthianism is one
of the most courageous things anyone can do.”
“I don‟t know about that.”
“It is. It‟s the truth. I wanted to tell you yesterday, but I was too busy cleaning up from the
ceremony and packing for the trip.”
“The trip? Oh, right. The Shadowlands. When do we leave?”
“As soon as the Ar‟Kire decide on the destination, but the first stop will be the warcamps.”
The Ar‟Kire? Yes, that‟s right. That was the name given to all the various leaders of Orthianism.
There were seven in total. It had been a while since Aaron last heard the term. He had nearly forgotten
what it meant.
It was still surprising leaders like Raigar could put aside their differences and join together for a
common cause. What would happen when this was all over? Would they go back to bickering?
“What do you suspect we will find in the Shadowlands?” Aaron asked.
Kaylie‟s face went grim. “Nothing good. You‟ve been there before. You know nothing can live
within that wasteland. All we will find is death in all its forms.”
Aaron‟s heart sank. Maybe I shouldn‟t have brought this up.
“Do you think it‟s possible?” he asked. “That the world is ending?”
“What do you think?”
Aaron shook his head. “I don‟t think it can be. It conflicts too much with what the Rhetoria
records. Even if some prophecies were read incorrectly, this would be but a taste of the destruction to
come. Too many signs have yet to appear. Not that I agree with such a failure theology.”
334

“So what is it you believe?”


“What the Sha‟Dari did. „Where the light shines, darkness cannot be.‟ The only way the world
will end, is if we let it.”
“You seem rather certain,” Kaylie said, smiling. “It feels as though you‟ve given this much
thought.”
“I had to. I had so much happen to me in life, I had to be certain of many things before I
committed myself. There was a good deal of misconceptions I had to overcome.”
“Well I am glad you did. We need your intelligence in this place.”
“I don‟t know, there are a lot of smart people here.”
“That‟s true,” Kaylie said. “And everyone reads the Rhetoria through their own lenses. Yours is
unique to you, and it is battered and bruised. Which means you will likely be focusing on the mercy,
forgiveness, and goodness of the Almighty and His ways. This makes you different than some. Plus,
might I add, you wear that tabard nicely.
Aaron flushed.
“That lion fits you perfectly,” Kayle said, pressing a finger against the emblem on his chest.
“There‟s a fury inside of you waiting to get out. I‟ve seen it in the way you fight. Tame that emotion,
figure out how to control it, and you will be an unstoppable force.” She kissed him on the cheek then
walked down the path, leaving Aaron alone.
He stood dumbfounded, hand on cheek, watching her go. Once she was a good ways off, he
turned to the right and looked at the stone building where so many arguments had taken place. Despite the
unwillingness of nearly everyone involved, the Gathering was turning out to be something grand indeed.
Aaron took control of his emotions, hid his smile, and walked into the building. As the door
opened, he was hit by a wave of sound. Conversations were at a roar within the hallways lining the central
room.
As Aaron moved inside, the voices grew so loud he felt like he may need to cover his ears. It was
hardly far journey from the entryway to the main chamber, but it took him many minutes to pass through.
People from every denomination of Orthianism greeted him and paid their respects to his bravery for
choosing admittance. Not caring to speak to any of them, Aaron nodded and continued pressing through
the crowd.
Eventually, he found himself stepping into the main chamber. Tirion and Raigar were staring at
the map placed on the central table. The noise of conversations grew to a low rumble as he stepped in.
Then the noise vanished.
Strange, Aaron thought. Must have something to do with the way this square room was
constructed.
“Well, well, well,” Raigar said, glancing at Bardeaux as he entered. “Don‟t you look like
something fierce.” He chuckled as he moved a token on the map.
“You asked for me?” Aaron asked Tirion, ignoring the comment.
The leader of the Radiant Lights looked up and smiled. “Yes. My apologies, I‟ve been
distracted.” He motioned to Wain.
“Your weapon is ready,” the monk said. He handed Aaron a folded piece of parchment.
Aaron took the request and nodded, pausing as he turned to leave. “What are you doing in here?”
he asked, stepping up to the table.
335

A map was spread nearly corner to corner upon the large oak table. On it, each country was
labeled in a different color with tokens from Kill the King in different locations. A large black country
stretched the majority of the eastern section of the map labeled Shadowlands.
“Preparing for war,” Raigar said with a smile. That man sure loved killing. It was surprising he
didn‟t help fight the Shadows. Though, his men did not have the runes lining their weapons. Did they
need to in order to fight the creatures?
Tirion snorted. “Trying to figure out where to attack is more like it.”
“Things are growing more complicated,” Wain said. “We once thought we knew where the
Surrogate would be, but it appears we may have been mistaken, seeing as how that town no longer exists.
Recent reports state it was burned down not two weeks ago.”
Aaron cocked his head and stepped closer to the table to inspect the layout of the battle. Circular
tokens—typically used as resource indicators—were placed near the eastern edge of Rainor, signifying
the location of the warcamps, no doubt. Far to the north, pink tokens were placed within a ravine of the
Northern Peaks, likely the Hammerfists—Raigar‟s forces.
Wain leaned forward, one hand cupping the large cuffs of his robe so as not to scatter pieces, and
marked the city he described with an “X”. Mendril started up a conversation about various tactics for
storming the place. He appeared to want to be a little more strategic in their assault, preferring to use
siege tactics, while Raigar wanted to storm in with brute force. Avalon agreed with Mendril. Which made
sense. She did not want to lose her forces. What general did?
Though, to be fair, most of the forces storming the Shadowlands would be from the Order of the
Radiant Light, not the other sects. Their forces were spread about the massive border in select locations to
draw forces away from the main fight. At least, Aaron assumed.
The battle planning was a lot like a game of Kill the King. The tokens were indicative of armies,
and if Aaron reconsidered the countries to be resources then the layout seemed to make a lot more sense.
Kill the King was always based around two things: destroying the opponent or capturing a single
objective which would make the player so powerful they were unstoppable. Winning a game in the
former was done by destroying resources or eliminating their main base.
“Where did the Corruption originate?” Aaron asked.
“What do you mean?” Tirion asked.
“I mean, it wasn‟t always there. Where did it start?”
“The Corruption has been here since Mul‟Drak. It‟s his power spreading throughout the world.”
“Yes, but after the Binding his power was banished, right? When we traveled through the
Shadowlands we stopped at a city named Ghara. It wasn‟t always ruins. Once, people lived there. Which
means the Corruption was not always there. So where is its source? From where does it spread?”
“I‟d imagine it‟s coming from the Binding. That‟s where Mul‟Drak is.”
Aaron sighed. “Where did the Binding take place?”
Tirion and Wain shared a look. “You are asking questions with answers that have been lost in
time,” the monk said. “The Sha‟Dari did not record where the Binding took place.”
“What‟s your point?” Raigar asked.
“My point is,” Aaron said, “if the Surrogate is indeed feeding off of Mul‟Drak‟s power, then his
home base is likely closest to the source.”
Tirion stroked his greying beard. “That is probably true, but we don‟t know where such a place
is,” he said, voice deep and raspy.
336

“It was a good try, Aaron,” Wain said. He stood to Aaron‟s right, hands clasped together, slightly
covered by the oversized sleeves of the robe.
It must be something else, then. But what?
This was not just a physical war they were about to embark on, but it was also spiritual. The
different kingdoms in the world all raged war over different opinions, and that ultimately could be boiled
down to a different view of spirituality. Whether or not there was an afterlife determined how a person
acted during their life.
This war, being spiritual in nature, meant there were two opposing sides. Albeit, one side did
have the Almighty, while the other was lead by a creature which deemed itself just as powerful.
“Pride,” Aaron said.
The other conversations came to a halt. He did not realize it, but Aaron had interrupted the
continuing negotiations of the best plan for assault.
“What‟s that?” Tirion asked.
“Pride. It‟s all about pride.” Aaron said.
Everyone was quiet and staring at Aaron. The silence indicated he should continue speaking.
“Mul‟Drak is attempting to gather an army to assault those the forces of the Almighty. He is
trying to destroy the world. He is doing so because he wants to be god.”
“Yes, we know this,” Raigar said. “What are you getting at?”
“This war is between Mul‟Drak and the followers of Orthianism—most specifically, the Order of
the Radiant Light. So what would be the greatest blow to the Radiant Lights but converting something of
our own. Were there any ancient relics or monasteries further east before the Shadowlands formed?”
“I‟ll be right back,” Wain said, excusing himself from the conversation. He ran over to the corner
he typically sat at and riffled through a coffer. Not finding what he was searching for, he turned and ran
out the door.
“What was that about?” Raigar asked.
Tirion shrugged. The group of men went back to plotting their attacks. Much of the conversation
was based around the warcamps belonging to the Radiant Lights. The other sects were rather set in their
part of the war: assaulting from different sides to force Mul‟Drak‟s forces to divide lest the Radiant
Lights be overrun.
There were five tokens indicative of warcamps placed along the eastern border to the
Shadowlands. The tokens stretched north to south in a wavy line. The Order didn‟t have any other tokens
on the board, meaning all their forces were either here in Rainor or in those camps.
After half an hour of loud negotiations that bordered on the edge of arguing—Aaron was doing
his best to follow, but really had no idea what anyone was talking about—Wain rushed back into the
room. The monk slammed a book onto the table. He opened the old leather, and turned the age stained
pages. Eventually, he stopped on a page which bore a picture of a large tower.
“There,” he said, pointing to the picture. “Before the Order of the Radiant Light started building
monasteries, they had a tower. The Sceptre of God, they called it. It once stood in the realm of Tellinora,
but that place has since been overrun by the Corruption.” He nodded. “I‟d bet that is where the Surrogate
would be.”
Wain slid the book to the side, grabbed a resembling a lighthouse, and placed it on the map in the
rough location where Tellinora once stood. It was not too far from where the warcamps stopped inside the
Shadowlands.
337

“The tower of old,” Kue said. Aaron forgot he and his twin were even in his meetings. They had
not spoken in so long. It was nice.
“Where the wizards once lived,” Hue said.
“Unto the world they gave,” Kue said.
“All the mysteries they hid.”
“They were mocked and hunted,”
“And beaten for what they loved.”
“The world was not ready,”
“So they murdered them in blood.”
“It was there in their death.”
“That something was revealed.”
“The corruption of all mankind.”
“And that their fates had been sealed.”
“But not all the wizards died.”
“No, there was one that lived.”
“For many years he ran.”
“Deep in the mountains he hid.”
“Eventually he returned.”
“And to his great surprise.”
“He found the written mysteries.”
“And hope gleamed in his eyes.”
“He opened the ancient tomes.”
“And began to search again.”
“For something that could cure.”
“The evil in the hearts of men.”
With the room silent, the two sat back down and gazed forward, eyes wide, staring at nothing in
particular.
Tirion and Tavon shared a look. A look that Aaron could easily decipher. What is wrong with
those two? it said.
“Right…” Tirion said. “Can you get to The tower?”
Hue and Kue shared a look. Who knew what it meant. They were impossible to read. The two
leaped to their feet and in unison said, “Rightly so. It‟s as easy as the tip of a hat.” They, of course, were
not wearing hats. The twins placed their goggles over their eyes and rushed out of the room.
“Meet us at the warcamps!” Tirion shouted to them before the door shut.
Tirion shook his head as he leaned forward and shifted the circular tokens, moving the warcamps
into a line which dug across the border of the Shadowlands. Four of the tokens were completely engulfed
by the black country. Only one remained on untainted lands.
“Great job you two,” Tirion said, smiling. “We now have our destination. Everyone finish your
preparations. We leave in an hour. Aaron, go grab your items from the blacksmith. Tavon, please send
word to your generals to begin their movements. We will need to assault not long after we arrive.”
Tavon nodded, rose to his feet, tucked his pipe into his pocket, and began walking toward the
door. He paused next to Aaron and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Great job, Aaron. And you look good
in that armor.” He nodded and walked out of the room.
Aaron smiled and turned to make way for the blacksmith.
338

***

Aaron caught himself from falling. This particular path had not been shoveled in a couple of days,
and those that did travel on it did so with an animal. He, unfortunately, was walking, and the neglected
road was layered with thick ice.
Snow continued to fall in a light shower of small flurries. Despite it being midday, the cloud
coverage had become quite thick, giving suggestion that the future may contain more snow than what was
already received.
Why now?
Aaron Bardeaux shivered as the wind howled and brought with it the pains of winter. The
weather had been fairly light the past few days. What had changed?
There was a hope in the distance. A candle flickered in a windowsill as the familiar sound of
ringing steel bounced through the countryside. A signal the blacksmith was hard at work. Methodically, a
hammer hit against some type of steel as the man forged. Aaron nodded his head to the beat. He started to
whistle different tunes, trying to find the one that fit.
Big Fuzzy Bear was too fast and Whistler in the Breeze was too slow. After a few more attempts,
he finally settled on Hiking on Up, a song that nearly every child in Tumeric knew. The hammering from
the smithy was only slightly slower than the songs original speed which made it easy to adjust.
The song did nothing to bring warmth. It couldn‟t. Aaron did not possess whatever ability Tavon
did. Aaron‟s songs were just songs. Even so, they did take him back to a time free of worries and strife. A
time where he spent many hours a day singing and playing with his mother and other children in the city.
And that livened his spirits.
A snow owl flew overhead. Had it been snowing any heavier, or had Aaron not just so happened
to be looking at the right time, he would have missed it.
With his cloak pulled tightly around his neck, Aaron continued onward to the blacksmith. Every
few steps his foot slid, forcing him to catch his balance. Eventually, after an excruciatingly slow trip,
Aaron walked up the steps to the door of the blacksmith‟s shop. The ringing anvil was incredibly loud
now at the same steady peace. When the steel was ringing, water rushed down the river behind the shop at
a slower pace.
Aaron stopped before the thick, wooden door, and took a moment to brush off all the excess snow
which had accumulated on his shoulders and hood. Then he pushed the open the entrance and walked
inside. Instantly a wave of heat hit his face, forcing him to stumble slightly.
“Come in or leave!” a burly man shouted from behind the counter. The sword he hammered was
red hot and its form had a slight curvature. “I don‟t care which, just shut the bloody door already!”
Aaron did as requested, then removed his damp cloak and put it on the stand just to the right. He
ran a hand through his hair as he stepped up the counter. Behind, on the wall to the left, various swords of
different lengths hung on display. The sharpened edges gleamed, indicative of being properly created.
The steel appeared to have different layers within itself. It was likely forged with a technique involving
folding steel upon itself to create a thicker, multilayered metal. The blades were also free of blemishes
which were common when forging a weapon.
The blacksmith looked up, then went back to lightly tapping the blade with a small mallet. Tiny
sparks and bits of red hot metal fell to the stone floor with each hit. “I‟ll be right with you,” he said. He
set down the tool, checked the blade for dents and irregularities in the shape, and placed it into some
339

coals. Then he pulled a lever on the wall. After a few more clanks, the automated machinery came to a
halt.
How does it work? Aaron thought. I don‟t hear anymore water outside. Perhaps it somehow
harnesses the flow of the river into a power source, which is then used to move a large hammer. It would
make sense. A good way to keep someone from injuring themselves.
“Now,” the blacksmith said, wiping his hands with a rag as he stepped to the counter. “What can I
do for ya?”
Aaron fumbled in his pocket until he found the paper Wain had handed him earlier. “I was told
my items were ready?”
“What‟s your name, son?” the blacksmith asked as he wiped off his spectacles.
“Aaron Bardeaux.”
“Ah, you‟re the Bardeaux. I feared that lineage ended with William.” He smiled. “A shame that
would‟ve been. Anyway, people around here call me Master Watkins. Something about me being a
master swordsmith or something. I don‟t really care for all the lingo, I‟m just happy to be a part of it.” He
held out a calloused hand.
Aaron hesitantly shook it.
“Gotta grip it with some purpose,” Watkins said. “Let the person know your strength right from
the start. If you‟re gonna wear that tabard, you can‟t be shaken by anyone. You stand as the hope for all
humanity, and hope isn‟t intimidated.”
Aaron nodded, glancing at his tabard. Master Watkins was right, afterall. Somehow, Aaron had
become part of the very religion attempting to save humanity, and most people would never even know
what was happening. Heavens, did any other religion even consider the world might end?
“Anyway, let me go get it,” Watkins said. He disappeared into a side room, then appeared some
thirty seconds later carrying a sheathed sword in one hand and a shield in the other. He placed both items
on the counter and leaned forward.
“It‟s not everyday someone asks for such specifics such as yourself,” he said, eyeing Aaron up
and down.
Aaron Bardeaux picked up the sword and drew it from the metal plated sheath. It slid out quietly,
nearly as silent as a snow owl. The steel blade glistened beautifully in the light of the forge. The
shortsword was sharpened expertly on each edge and gold runes were engraved down the center of the
blade on both sides. It appeared as if the runes were somehow added during the forging process.
No, that was impossible, right?
“Give me a moment,” Watkins said, stepping away from the counter. He pulled the blade he was
forging from the coals, gave it a once over, and dipped it into a bucket of oil. Steam erupted from the
container as bits of flames licked the blade. After only a moment, he removed the weapon and placed it
vertically on a metal grip, giving it a final look over. There was only a few precious moments to correct
the blade after tempering. Once it hardened, it was nearly impossible for corrections.
Watkins smiled, flipping the blade around in his hands, admiring his craftsmanship. He set down
the weapon on a table then walked back to the counter. “Sorry, I—”
“Didn‟t want the blade to get too hot and risk it warping or cracking when tempering, I know,”
Aaron interrupted, running his hand along his blade.
“Well, I wouldn‟t have guessed you knew so much about smithing.”
340

“Most people don‟t. My father taught me some things and I‟ve read books. A few times in my
teenage years I had a chance to work in a shop.” Aaron said. He looked up to the weapons hanging on the
wall. They didn‟t carry these engravings, their blades were a solid steel.
“Your father was always a good man and loved teaching people. Makes sense that he would share
some of his passions with you.”
“How did you get the runes on here?” Aaron asked, looking back to his shortsword, running his
fingers along the runes. “There isn‟t edges to them or anything. It's completely smooth.”
“There‟s a room in the back where we do the etchings. Hardest part of making these things.”
“What do they say?”
“They are prayer to the Almighty for a blessing,” Watkins said. “Each is designed specifically for
the wielder. Yours is a prayer for courage.”
Courage, Aaron thought. “And the one on the shield?”
“Resilience.”
Aaron smiled.
“They are just gold etchings right now, but when evil is near they will glow brighter. The stronger
the evil, the brighter it will glow. I‟m sure you‟ve experienced this with the Shadows.”
Aaron nodded. He had experienced it, though he did not know how bright they could get.
“I‟ll say that sheath you requested was something strange. It took a little bit of work too, far much
more than the sword. Typically, the inside of the sheath is steel, so the sword rings when it's drawn and
it's easier to slide back in. But with your request we had to wrap the inner lining with cloth, and finding
one that wouldn‟t tear and would still grab the blade was tough. Same for the underbelly of that shield
there. It was hard to find a cloth that would stretch and move with the shield, but not rip from being too
tight.” Watkins stopped and chuckled. “You gave us quite a run here.”
A wave of frigid air rushed into the room as the entryway door opened. In walked a boy no older
than ten years old. He carried a long, rectangular box in his arms as he stumbled forward far enough to
shut the door.
“Master Watkins,” he said. “I have a delivery for you.”
Did he make it here alone?
“Ah, let‟s have it then,” Watkins said. He walked around the counter, grabbed the box, and
ruffled the kid's blonde hair. “Thank you. Let‟s see what it is, shall we?”
The blacksmith placed the box on the counter, flipped the metal tabs open, and lifted the lid.
Inside the box was a thin sword about four feet in length with a domelike guard covering the upper
portion of the grip. Watkins lifted the item up and flicked it around a couple times.
“What is it?” Aaron asked.
“It‟s a newer style of weapon—popular in the Western Lands—known as a rapier,” Watkins said.
“How does someone fight with it?”
“I‟ve only seen a demonstration but once. But from what I can remember, the technique involved
a lot of thrusts and parries. The fighter‟s didn‟t wear much armor, so they dodged rather than let blows
glance off their steel. It was very strange.”
“You mention parrying, but it seems like one blow from a sword like this would shatter that
thing,” Aaron said, raising his shortsword.
Watkins shrugged. “I don‟t understand it. They prefer quick, agile fighting. There isn‟t anything
wrong with that. It‟s just different from what we do out here in the East. But with the way we fight, I
doubt we would ever convert to these thin pokers.”
341

“Then why did you order it?”


“A master of a craft only remains a master by perfecting multiple techniques within his craft. I
ordered it so I can replicate it. And in doing so, perhaps I will discover a method I haven‟t once learned or
considered. That is, after all, how I learned the ways of folding metal upon itself to create something
stronger.”
Watkins paused and looked at the young boy. “Thank you, Benjamin,” he said. The blacksmith
put the rapier back in the case, took it behind the counter, and returned with a small coin pouch which he
handed to the boy.
Benjamin gleamed with joy as he pocketed the pouch into his coat. He said a final thanks before
out into the cold and shutting the door behind.
“Kids,” Watkins said, shaking his head, smiling. “A little bit of coin will make their day, even if
it‟s in a place they won‟t even use it.” He picked a longsword from the nearby rack and began polishing it
with a cloth.
He started as something exploded in the back room. Metal clanged to the floor and bits of smoke
poured out of the doorway. Watkins sighed then went back to wiping the blade.
“What was that?” Aaron asked.
“That would be my apprentice, Winston. He‟s trying to create a contraption that can turn steam
into a powersource.” Watkins shook his head. “It's a ludicrous idea. I mean, can you imagine? Anyway,
It‟s his day off so I let him tinker as long as he doesn‟t burn down the shop.”
Aaron raised an eyebrow.
“Don‟t worry, the entire room back there is made of stone. Even the table. He won‟t do any harm.
Anyway, you should probably get going. The troupe will be leaving soon.” Watkins put the longsword
back on the rack and disappeared into the furthest room.
What a character he was, Aaron thought. He smiled as he tied the sheath to his belt. He threw on
his cloak then strapped the shield on top. Then, he opened the door.
Snow continued to pelt the ground, but the flakes had become thicker. Visibility was becoming
more difficult, but the sun still broke through the clouds, so it couldn‟t have been too bad. Aaron stood for
a few moments staring into the wilderness, regretting not grabbing a winter cloak before departing.
Though to be fair, he had not expected the weather to pick up.
“Shut the bloody door!” Watkins‟s voice roared from the backroom.
Aaron cracked a smile and stepped outside, shutting the door behind. Due to the slickness of the
path, Aaron chose to cross the fields for the return trip instead. It would take a little longer because of
how deep the snow was, but it would be safer than sliding all over the placing and risking a nasty fall.
The cattle pasture was the largest of the fields in Rainor stretching some fifty-two acres, and
Aaron was crossing the brunt of it corner to corner, making the walk as long as possible. Even so, it was
faster than walking around. Aaron stepped through the fence which separated the open cattle field from
the enclosed horse range. The horses could be moody, even territorial, at times, but the field was empty at
the moment.
They must be gearing them up, Aaron thought. He heaved his foot out of the dense snow from one
struggling step to the next.
The horse field was half the size of the cattle field, but it was a difficult hike. With the horses
being in the stable for most of the winter, the snow had not been trampled or moved around, leaving it
deep, thick, and excruciatingly cold. Eventually, Aaron reached the final fence, scurried through it, and
some ten minutes later, to his relief, he saw the familiar sight of the monastery.
342

Members of various ranks and sects prepared their saddles and belongings on horses lined up
outside. Apparently, it was nearing time for departure. Not surprising considering it took Aaron nearly
two and a half hours to travel what should take only forty-five minutes.
Three horses trotted past, riders‟ capes flapping in the wind. The two riders in front were easily
recognizable from what they wore. Tirion by his gold trimmed silver tabard riding Stormwind and Tavon
from his tabard of black and plate armor which covered him from head to toe—he was one of the few in
Rainor that wore such protection—riding his white horse, Frost. The last rider, the one who rode in the
back, broke off from the rest and trotted toward Aaron.
Sariah‟s black hair was covered in snow and rustled gently as she rode. She, of course, wore her
Squire tabard over her furry winter coat and she had a dagger strapped to each of her hips.
“Here,” she said, tossing Aaron a thick, black cloak as she pulled her horse to a halt. “Figured you
might like this.”
Aaron looked at the garment. It was his winter cloak he had left in his room. He looked up at
Sariah and smiled. She was already smiling, which was not surprising. She had been incredibly happy
ever since her Shadow had been destroyed, even more so now that she was a Radiant Light.
“Thanks,” Aaron said. He removed the shield so he could put on his cloak.
“Now hurry up,” Sariah said with a wry smile, breath becoming steam in the air. “We‟re waiting
for you.” She trotted off to her spot in line.
Aaron smiled and walked as quickly as he could, snow reached the middle of his shins with each
step. Just before he reached his horse, he saw a familiar sight off to the left. Wain was walking toward
him, brown robe blowing in the wind. He carried a pack in his hands.
“I believe you will be needing this,” the monk said.
Aaron took the pack. “Thank you.”
“It‟s got everything you need: clothes, your books, and I may have slipped in a few morsels of
bread and some apples.” Wain smiled and put his hands together in his classical form. “Be careful out
there.”
“Are you not coming?” Aaron asked as he tied the pack to his horse.
“I‟m afraid not, Aaron. Just in case anything should happen, I‟ll be staying back with a few
Squires and Templarites to keep an eye on Rainor.”
Aaron frowned and looked away, focusing on tightening the straps. “Makes sense.”
“Be careful,” Wain said as Aaron hopped onto his steed.
“I will,” Aaron said.
The monk nodded and walked away. A moment later, the troupe kicked their horses into motion
and began making their way east to the warcamps. Kaylie, ahead of Aaron, turned around and smiled. She
winked and then faced forward. Try as he may, Aaron could not keep from flushing.
Snow flurries continued to fall.

When the mind stops learning, it starts dying.

Chapter 57
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“What is this place?” Sariah asked Gavin. He rode to her left and Michael on her right.
“The lumberyard,” he responded, voice slightly muffled from his helmet. He kept the visor closed
to block the winds and each step from his horse caused his armor to clank. Sariah found herself slightly
jealous. The hood of her cloak hardly helped against the cold, but at least it was something.
“It‟s so far away,” Sariah said. She watched a group of five round men throw, what she assumed
to be ropes, around a giant log. They heaved, all together, trying to maneuver the thing from the base of
the rack and into the massive canopy-like structure. Even with five of them, the log dragged along the
surface of the snow.
“Do you hear that?” Gavin asked. “That noise is the sound of sawing. It‟s a bit too loud to be near
the monastery. Monks like it to be quiet when they read.”
“Can‟t blame them,” Michael added.
“Oh, not at all. I‟m sure you‟ve noticed, my dear, that aside from the racket when building the
Gathering structure and training regiments, Rainor carries a certain level of tranquility.”
Sariah nodded.
“It is quite intentional,” Gain continued. “You see, Sariah, it is far easier to trace the voice of God
in the quiet places. The Order of the Radiant Light chose to build a monastery in Rainor simply due to its
location, which is the perfect distance away from one of the main roads which connects two of the major
cities in the Eastern Lands.”
Makes sense, Sariah thought.
Gavin kept speaking, but she tuned him out and watched the workers slide the log into a saw,
creating a spray of sawdust and a perfectly smooth and straight board. It was not that what Gavin was
saying was boring—in fact it was quite interesting—Sariah was just intrigued by the lumberyard. She had
never seen one before.
Two of the workers grabbed the freshly made board and set it on a stack to the side, while another
man cranked a foot lever to raise the platform the log set on. With the machinery positioned high enough
for their liking, they pushed the log forward. On the other side of a wooden barrier, just behind the saw,
four men sat on strange devices with feet on pedals, running in place—if such a thing could be called
running, their feet were not on the ground. Through a series of pulleys, ropes, and some other advances in
engineering Sariah did not understand, their running spun the sawblade incredibly fast. A few seconds
and a stream of sawdust later, another board was made.
Fascinating, Sariah thought. “What do they do with all the lumber?” she asked, interrupting
Gavin from talking about whatever he was talking about.
“Aside from the stone buildings, everything in Rainor is made of wood,” Gavin said. “And
around back there,” he pointed with his finger as he spoke, “there is a group of chopping blocks where
they make firewood. Without the hard work of the lumberers here, we could never make it through the
winter. They truly are the backbone of the season.”
“Where do they get the wood?”
Gavin and Michael shared a look.
“What?” Sariah asked. “Where do they get it?”
“My dear, this whole area used to be a vast forest,” Gavin said. “We started by clearing a section
to build the lumberyard. Once that was completed, we started felling the nearby trees. Because who
would want to carry lumber far when you didn‟t have to? Over years of clearing, this area turned into a
massive plain.
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“There is a forest up ahead which separates Rainor from the base of the mountains. We won‟t be
going through the mountains—well, you might be. Most of us will be going through a ravine known as
Sigzil‟s Pass.”
“Wait, I might be going into the mountains?” Sariah asked.
“Heilois, to be exact. Oben lives up in those hills. And since we are in the area, Tirion will be
wanting to swing by and grab a few concoctions, if the old man has any ready that is. Though, I‟m not
entirely sure if Tirion has decided who will be going or not.”
The mountains. Sariah reached for her daggers discretely, trying to make sure they were there. It
was not that she was scared. Orthianism was quite clear with what happened in the afterlife. Her nerves
were simply about how she would perform in a battle.
For the majority of her recent years, she had relied on magic to carry her through combat. Sure
she could wield some daggers and perform a few good tricks in a fight, but the brunt of her damage was
caused by the Fletchings. And those were no longer available.
“You alright?” Michael asked.
Sariah nodded as she fixed her gaze back to the lumberyard. They had already passed the bulk of
the wooden structure. Primarily consisting of wooden posts and a peaked roof, it carried no walls to block
the wind. It was built in a way to keep the wood dry, not necessarily to keep the workers warm. Physical
labor did that.
Behind the building, four workers wearing overalls and multi-textured shirts stood before large
tree trunks, chopping wood into wedges perfectly suited for fireplaces. A few dozen yards further south,
some donkeys were gathered under a stable. They seemed unmoved by the thuds the axe heads made as
they hit the chopping blocks.
“I did not mean to spook you,” Gavin said.
“It‟s not a bother,” Sariah said, watching the men work. “I haven‟t exactly been confident in my
abilities since my Shadow was killed.” She shrugged. “I guess I didn‟t realize how much I relied on that
wretched creature.”
“I remember feeling the same way,” Michael said. He stretched his finger toward the baby snow
owl on his shoulder. It snipped at it a few times then looked away.
“Is it completely necessary to bring a pet?” Gavin asked.
“It isn‟t unnecessary.” Michael smiled as the owl tried to take flight, but the leather strap around
its ankle kept it bound to Michael‟s jacket. “Artemis here is but a few weeks old. He needs caring if he is
to make it in the wild, and we desperately need more birds.”
“Do we need more birds?”
Michael cocked his head. “Can one have too many birds?”
“Yes. Yes one can, if one reaches the point in life where one has a baby owl clinging to a jacket
in the middle of winter as they ride toward a place known as the Shadowlands.”
“I‟m afraid that is where our opinions differ.”
Sariah smiled. Artemis‟s puffy feathers and big round eyes were cute. And the faint squawk it
made made it even more adorable.
“Doesn‟t the sun mess with its eyes?” Gavin asked.
“That is a common misconception about these marvelous creatures,” Michael said. “While owls
are nocturnal, they can function quite well during the day. And since I am the one raising the bird and I
am not nocturnal, it will need to be awake, especially since I don‟t have a cage.”
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“Pity,” Sariah said, reaching forward to pet the back of the bird‟s head. It turned abruptly and
nipped at her fingers, but the beak was still far too tiny to do any damage. Instead it felt like a nibble.
“I agree,” Gavin said. “The bird would be far safer in a cage, especially where we are going.”
Michael and Sariah raised an eyebrow at each other. He must not understand sarcasm, their look
said.
“You said you felt this way?” Sariah asked Michael. “Like you‟ve been drained of power?”
“Yes, once,” he replied. “After my Shadow was killed—many years ago—I lacked any ability to
communicate with or influence nature in any way. Such a thing was so important to me during my life, I
found it hard to recover. But then I came to the realization that not all the things I did before were evil,
thus not all the power came from the Shadow. That, of course, didn‟t grant me my abilities, but it did help
in my recovery, at least.”
So not all magic is evil?
Of course that made sense. She had seen Radiant Lights use magic on more than one occasion. If
it were evil, then they must not care that they used it. But since such a thing clashed with the core beliefs
of Orthianism, there must be some magic which was good.
“What are you going to do with a bird anyway?” Gavin asked Michael before Sariah could reply.
“Send messages, of course,” Michael said.
“You‟re going to use an owl chick which can barely flap its wings to send a message?”
“Maybe.”
“You can‟t be serious, my dear man. Why not just use the dozens of birds they already have at the
warcamps?”
“If things become so dire, we may need Artemis.”
Gavin looked at Sariah. “He‟s hopeless.”
“Maybe he‟s just being prepared,” she said.
“Or maybe he just likes being around birds.”
That is also a possibility. Sariah turned and looked at Michael. The Templarite smiled as he
played with Artemis.
The three of them rode silently within their positions in the lineup for some time. There were
some two hundred and fifty soldiers of different sects riding across the countryside. The further they
traveled, the more distant the buzzing and thudding of the Lumberyard became.
Sariah looked over her shoulder. Aaron was riding next to Kaylie. They were laughing and
having a good time. Sariah smiled. She was happy for them. And why could she not be? Sure Aaron was
attractive, a member of the Order of the Radiant Light, and dedicated to discovering truth, but he was also
a dear friend. And friends wanted the best for the other, regardless of what it entailed. Kaylie was
someone great. It made sense Aaron would want her.
Stillwind Forest, the stretch of trees separating Rainor from the Shadowlands, was improperly
named to say the least. The assortment of pines, oaks, and evergreens stretched high to the sky and grew
close together, but they did little to block the winter air from howling as it passed with vigor. Squirrels
rustled around on branches and somehow there were still some birds lingering in their nests.
Should they not have flown to a warmer climate?
Despite the thick canopy of winter leaves blocking the sun and most of the sky, snow somehow
found a way to wiggle through openings and coat the leaves, trunks of trees, and much of the path. Even
so, the tree-cleared path was much easier to navigate compared to the open plains.
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A low hum started at the front of the soldiers and slowly trickled to the rear. Sariah joined in with
a hum of her own. Of course, her tone was slightly higher than her male companions. In unison, the entire
lineup starting singing Heavenly Glories. Sariah only sang the first few words. She had not taken the time
to learn many of the ancient hymns which had been passed down through the Order from generation to
generation.
For two long hours—which made a total of three and a half hours—they traveled through
Stillwind Forest. To keep from growing bored, the troupe sang a variety of songs in honor of the
Almighty. Tavon rode from the front of the troupe to the back shouting “hold” every few seconds.
“What‟s happening?” Sariah asked as the Lionheart trotted past her location.
“We‟re stopping and making a quick camp,” Gavin said.
“The horses will need to spend some time next to a fire if they are to keep going,” Michael added.
“I‟d say, my dear, judging from the redness of your cheeks, it may be well if you stand by the fire
a bit as well,” Gavin said.
It was then Sariah realized just how cold she was. Wearing thick woolen gloves, a furry winter
coat, and wool stockings beneath two pairs of trousers had apparently not been enough.
Everyone broke into smaller groups and began setting up camps. Sariah hopped off her horse,
walked to a wagon, and started grabbing bundles of logs that were kept dry beneath quilts. She went to
the center of her particular grove and, with the help of some others, stacked the logs high and wide,
creating what would soon be a decently sized bonfire.
Some of the other Templarites started stuffing the opening at the bottom full of torn fabrics and
hay being used as tender, and Sariah walked back to the wagon and brought out a few boxes of meat and
some skillets. The other maidens had the same plan: if we are stopping, we might as well eat.
A short while later, once the bonfire was ablaze and the soldiers had all gathered around, Sariah
moved two pairs of skillets on a makeshift stone. The rocks, as they were, were placed on the edge of the
fire pit and had heated to an incredible temperature. Had they been a metal, they would be red hot. Sariah
sprinkled a dash of dill, salt, and barley onto the sizzling flat steaks.
“Smells delicious,” Kaylie said.
Sariah turned her direction. Kaylie, the red haired Templarite, was still taking her seat on a fallen
log next to Aaron. He was admiring the craftsmanship of his sword.
“Thank you,” Sariah said. She turned back to the meat and poked it with a metal tong, checking
to make sure it was not overcooked. To her side, another maiden was brazing a pile of onions and peppers
to be piled on top of the meat to finalize the dish.
“It‟s incredible, isn‟t it?” Sariah heard Kaylie say. She was with no doubt speaking to Aaron.
“Yes,” he said. “Quite remarkable. I‟ve never seen anything like it. Is it true the weapons contain
a magic within these runes?”
Sariah thought of her own daggers and the runes etched into those blades. She could not read the
language, so she was unsure about what they said, but she assumed it was something good and not evil.
“The runes are a prayer to the Almighty requesting a blessing,” Kaylie explained. “The sword
will contain no more magic than the Almighty is willing to give.”
So Sariah was right.
“And if He refuses to answer?” Aaron asked.
It was a good question in Sariah‟s mind. The Almighty was an entity in and of Himself.
Therefore, no mortal could command His ways, but instead humans needed to rid themselves of pride and
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seek His council. Through prayer, humans could humble themselves and seek the guidance of the
Almighty. But He is under no obligation to give what they asked, simply because they asked it.
To help better understand, Sariah liked to compare the thought to a child asking their mother for a
dessert before dinner. The mother always answered their question but it was not always with a yes.
Though, that analogy was obviously far different than fighting the forces of evil.
“It has not happened yet,” Kaylie answered. “The Almighty does not forsake those who seek His
ways. Those runes have always glowed when battling Shadows and Hollows.”
“Your bow doesn‟t have any, but I‟ve seen the glowing arrows it fires.”
“Yes, the bow is not the same as what you have. It was made far before there were rules
regarding what materials could and could not be used during crafting. You‟ve heard of Sol Stones, yes?
My bow is made of the same material. It does not have a blessing within itself, but instead takes the
Backlash of the magic I harness into it.”
“So you use magic to shoot arrows, and the bow takes the Backlash?” Aaron asked.
“Correct.”
“Where did you find it?”
“I killed a king for it,” Kaylie said. There was not even a hint of wavering in her tone as she
admitted her crime.
Sariah‟s eyes went wide as she flipped the meat over in the skillet. She quickly recovered so no
one would see—not that anyone would care if she was listening to an open conversation—and focused on
cooking the food.
Aaron chuckled quietly. “Very funny. But really, where did you find it?”
“I told you,” Kaylie said. “I killed a king for it.”
So maybe she isn‟t Ms. Perfect after all, Sariah thought. She used a pair of tongs to hold the
steaks on their side which made for a perfect, well-rounded sear.
“I wasn‟t always a Templarite, Aaron,” Kaylie continued. “Like everyone else, there are many
things in my past I‟ve had to repent of. I wasn‟t always as disciplined and honorable as I am now.”
“Food‟s done!” the maiden to the right of Sariah shouted. A group of other maidens rushed to the
wagon, grabbed a stack of plates, and distributed them among those who would be eating. Sariah
followed behind with the perfectly cooked steak, and the maiden behind her topped the plate with the
sauteed vegetables.
Conversations dwindled to a gentle roar of grunts and groans as the food was devoured. Sariah
found it amusing how such chiseled, handsome men looked so dainty eating with a fork and knife before
a fire, doing their best not to let any food drip on their clothing. If she had a way of saving this memory
forever, she would not have hesitated to do so.
Just as dinner was coming to a close and the maidens began cleaning the dishes, something
shrieked in the distance. It came from the east and sounded distorted and mangled. Sariah felt a shiver run
down her spine. Like everyone else, she turned and stared at Michael who was, of course, the expert in all
things nature.
The Templarite took a moment to gather his composure before speaking. “It sounded like… It
sounded like a deer.” Michael nodded, certain of his answer, but Sariah could see through the facade. He
hardly believed the words he spoke. He thought it was something far, far worse. And she did too.
Another shriek echoed, followed by another. Then another. Then silence.
“That‟s no deer,” Gavin said, rising to his feet. “I‟ve heard that noise too many times.” He pulled
his cloak tight and walked off toward Tirion‟s campfire.
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A moment later, Tavon approached Sariah. “Pack your things,” he said. “You and Aaron are
coming with me and a few others.”
“Where are we going?” Sariah asked. She looked over the Lionheart‟s shoulder and saw Aaron
give Kaylie a hug. He then started to gather his belongings and strap them to his horse.
“To Oben‟s cabin,” Tavon continued. “He‟s not far from here. A small group of us will be
heading there. We will meet with the others at the warcamps.”
Sariah looked out into the treeline in the direction from where the sound originated. The leafy
roof of the forest had grown thick and kept the sun from breathing through, making the world within a
dark, daunting place. The wind, unfortunately, continued to find its way through gaps in trees as it sang an
ominous song.
“Don‟t worry,” the Lionheart said. “We will send a separate group to check out that noise.” He
nodded toward her horse. “We need to get moving before the weather gets worse.”
“Do you think it will?”
He looked up at the roof made of leaves. The trees swayed slightly with each gust of wind. “I‟m
not entirely certain.”

The violence of the wicked leads to their destruction.

Chapter 58

It took far longer to leave Stillwind Forest than Aaron had expected. On two occasions they had been
forced to stop and warm themselves and the horses. The first was at a clearing within the heart of the
forest, and the other was at the base of the mountain.
Now, Aaron Bardeaux gripped the reins to his mount as they traveled up a path carved from the
crag covered cliffside. Leather bracers around his wrists kept the snow from sneaking into his gloves,
though they were starting to get wet which was unfortunate in its own right.
From his vantage point, Aaron could see Stillwind Forest from above. It was elegant the way the
trees moved in groups with the wind, and the forest was beautifully quiet from this distance.
Snow now fell in the largest clumps Aaron had ever seen, and it was so thick he could hardly see
Leonias riding in front of him. He had hoped to see the way day and night fractured the sky when they
met, but the cloud coverage had become thicker as the weather worsened.
Something shifted in the sky. A grouping of clouds slowly drifted apart, forming two small
circles for light to shine through. It looked like a face was watching them ominously from above. A nasty,
unfamiliar face within nature itself.
A moment later, the face vanished.
“Leonias,” Aaron shouted. “What can you tell me about Wizards?” He was not sure whether or
not the Templarite had studied the group, but it couldn‟t hurt to ask.
“What?” Leonias shouted back.
“I asked, what do you know about Wizards?”
“I can‟t hear you. The winds are too loud.”
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Nature was fighting against them in an attempt to slow their progress. So far, it had been working.
The howling, frigid, winter winds beat against them, pelting their faces with flakes of snow and carrying
their words to some unknown place never to be heard by anyone. The temperature had dropped
substantially, and it, along with the constant gusts of wind, had brought a thick layer of ice on different
sections of the narrow path. Even with the reinforcement of fresh horseshoes, the steeds with their
immense strength still slipped at times. This resulted in Aaron grabbing the reins for all his life as he
stared to the ground a great distance below. A fall from this height only ended one way.
Aaron turned around and looked at Sariah. She shrugged. He could yell and the wind might carry
his words to her, but he would not be able to hear her response. Aaron frowned and turned back around,
tightening the strings of his cloak to pull it closer to his neck.
After another hour of struggling against the weather and fighting agitated and uncomfortable
horses, the small band of Radiant Lights finally stumbled upon a little cabin tucked into the distance
behind a gathering of pines. The building consisted of stone and wooden walls, a roof steep enough so
most of the snow fell off, and a thick oaken door. Smoke poured from its two chimneys.
Tavon hopped off his mount some feet ahead, roughly halfway across the small field outside
Oben‟s place. Dexter hopped off next, then Leonias, followed by Aaron, and lastly Sariah. The horses
were cranky and in no mood for messing around a they fought against their riders. They were not angry,
they just needed some heat.
“Here,” Tavon said, handing the reins of Frost to Aaron. He then went to the back of his saddle
and placed a stack of logs into his arms. He turned and walked about ten feet away, cleared a circle in the
snow with a foot, and began stacking the logs.
Aaron fought hard to keep Betsy, the horse he rode, under control. And of course once Frost saw
Betsy was fighting, he starting putting up a fight, too. The two horses swung their necks hard and
stomped their feet as they backed away, pulling Aaron in two different directions. Sariah put a hand on
Betsy and calmed the steed. It stared at Aaron with an unpleasant look as it snorted puffs of steam into the
air.
With a small fire crackling nearby, Aaron tugged the reins with all his might in an attempt to
draw the horses to the warmth. Reluctantly, they gave in and soon found themselves settled not far from a
decent heat source. Despite the glances they gave, Aaron knew the horses were happy to be warm. At
least, they would be soon.
Tavon‟s whistle cracked through the air like a bull whip, drawing everyone‟s attention. He stood
to the side of Oben‟s cabin, pulling logs from a stack. Taking the signal to mean he wanted help, Aaron
followed behind Leonias to help gather more wood. Aaron held out his hands as Leonias stacked the
wood higher and higher. With it being so cold, It was hard to not give up the cause and rush inside where
heat was destined to be. Instead, Aaron reluctantly stumbled forward, careful not to drop the wood, unable
to see because of the stack.
It was not long before he felt the tickle of warmth emanating from the small fire. He stood in
place as Leonias began throwing the logs onto the flames. With each thud, tiny sparks and bits of ash
twirled into the sky.
“Careful,” Aaron said. His breath lingered as a small steam cloud. It dissipated after a second or
two.
“Don‟t worry, lad,” Tavon‟s voice came from behind. He walked past Aaron and threw even
more logs onto the pile. “The horses are smart enough to step away when the sparks lick them.” The
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Lionheart smiled, taking delight in the bonfire they built. “That should keep them warm for a bit. Now,
let‟s head inside.”
“What‟s he like?” Sariah asked.
“Who, Tavon?” Aaron responded. He brushed bits of wood from his tabard before slugging his
way through the snow. He looked over at Sariah who was taking each step with grace, appearing like an
elegant noblewoman walking to a ball.
How did she do it?
Sariah gave him a flat look. “No. Oben. What can I expect?”
“Oh. He‟s um… How do I explain it? Interesting, to say the least.”
“That was helpful.”
“Sorry,” Aaron said, shrugging. “He‟s a unique character, that‟s for sure. I can‟t exactly describe
him, but you‟ll see what I mean.”
Sariah frowned. “Ah. Well, I suppose I will. Things seem to be going well with you and Kaylie.”
Aaron‟s heart stopped. “I… uh…”
“What‟s wrong, cat got your tongue?”
“I… uh… Well first, that expression never made sense to me.”
“Yeah, me neither. How can a cat grab someone‟s tongue? Those beasts are far too large and
dangerous to play with.”
Aaron shook his head. “Who‟s walking out into the forests and sticking their tongues out at cats,
anyway?”
“I don‟t know. It doesn‟t make any sense. Anyway, you and Kaylie.”
Drat, Aaron thought. I thought I had avoided the question. Why is she suddenly curious? “We
are… um…”
“Aaron, I‟m fine. Really.”
Aaron nodded. “We are doing well, I think. We have been spending more time together and she
seems to like hugs.”
Sariah giggled. “Most girls enjoy hugs. There‟s something enticing about physical touch. It draws
two people together. It‟s intimate, most of the time. But if you aren‟t careful, it can lead to other things.”
She paused, cocking an eye at Aaron.
He did not say anything. There was no need. He knew all too well what it could lead to. Heavens,
Sariah had tried to lead him to do things through that very method. Had they been married it would not
have been an issue. But since they were not...
Tavon knocked on the thick, oak door of Oben‟s cabin.
A muffled voice bounced back, then a minute or two later, light peeked and heat rushed out from
around the edges of the door as it was opened. “Ah,” Oben shouted, somehow managing to slide
gracefully with the opening door. “What a pleasant surprise. I wasn‟t expecting visitors. Come in.”
Aaron shared a look with Sariah, smiled, and walked inside.

***

Sariah followed behind Aaron, stepping into Oben‟s cabin.


The old man stood barefoot, holding open the door. A longsleeved shirt covered his torso and
linen slacks, which had been cut or torn, reached his knees—though just barely. The hair on his head had
351

long since started to fade and now only existed on the sides, sticking straight up. His wiry beard was long,
mostly grey, and looked as though it had not been combed in weeks.
Surprisingly, Oben was not the strangest part of the cabin. Mattresses stained with a variety of
colors lined the floor. There had to have been a dozen of them surrounding the various tables in the room.
All of which carried different shapes vials of different colors, mostlly reds, pinks, greens, blues, and
yellows. Some of the liquids were bubbling above candles. Different sized decanters and boxes rested on
the surfaces, and some type of liquid sizzled in the next room.
“Take off your cloaks and throw them anywhere you want,” Oben said as he shut the door. “It‟s
warm enough in here that they will dry in a jiffy.”
In a jiffy? Sariah thought, removing her cloak. It was decently hot in the cabin. The small
structure allowed for the heat to congregate in the center room where the largest of tables sat.
One by one the troupe of five removed their weapons and leaned them against the wall adjacent
to the entryway door. Sariah, however, did not follow suit. It was not that she did not trust Oben—there
were many reasons she should—it was just that she was starting to get reaquainted with the feeling of
having daggers strapped to her hips.
As Sariah stepped forward, she paused for a moment and pressed her foot down on one of the
mattresses to test its durability. To her surprise, it carried a decent amount of spring to it, despite what its
old age and torn fabric might suggest.
The old man, who Sariah was starting to think might be a little crazy, stepped across some of the
mattresses. He let out a loud cackle as he picked up a vial containing some sort of green liquid. After a
quick sniff, he gave a disgusted face. Light flickered across his eyes, if only for a second, then he smelled
it again. Seeming pleased, he set the item down and picked up another.
“What are you folks doing out this time of year?” he asked as he poured some red liquid into a
long, spiraled, glass tube.
“We were just passing through and thought we‟d stop in,” Tavon said. He took a seat in the
corner and watched the man work.
Oben let out a vicious cackle. “No one passes through Heilois this time of year. Tell me, why did
you come?”
“It is true that we were passing through. I just may have left out the little detail about storming
the Shadowlands. We stopped by to see if you had any tonics ready.”
Cocking an eyebrow, Oben paused for a moment, then burst into a series of cackles. “It‟s
surprising you can say that with a straight face. Heavens, what has gotten into you all, thinking you can
launch an assault on such a place.” Oben took a break from speaking to take a big whiff of steam rising
from a vial of blue liquid. Happy with the scent, he continued. “Things sure have changed since my day.”
“Since your day?” Aaron said. “This is your day. You know you're still alive, right?”
“Many days have come and gone since my time here. What‟s a few more.”
“That doesn‟t make sense.”
“You don‟t make sense.”
Aaron looked at Sariah. She shrugged. Who was she to decipher what this man was trying to say.
Oben cackled, set down the potion he was mixing, and stumbled across the mattresses to the other
room.
Once the old man was out of earshot, Sariah looked at Tavon. “Is he always like this?” she asked.
The Lionheart snickered. “As long as I‟ve known him. Magic has rotted his brain.”
Sariah paused. Was that possible?
352

Oben, the alchemist of Heilois, entered the room a few moments later carrying a few empty vials
in each hand. He hummed a tune only someone tone deaf would consider lovely. Every few notes he
laughed quietly to himself.
“Where do you get the vials?” Aaron asked.
“I make them out back. Come on now, I‟ll show you.” Oben motioned an invitation with his
hands before hopping across the mattresses and scurrying to the back room.
With a sigh, Tavon rose to his feet and followed Aaron into the back room. A rush of air
indicated the back door had been opened, but Sariah did not follow. She stayed to investigate.
The work table contained a few cuts and splashes of blood along its surface. Considering how
bubbly, and somewhat crazy, the alchemist behaved, it was surprising there was not more staining.
If there was any rhyme or reason to the way the table was setup, it was lost to Sariah. A variety of
mismatched vials containing red, blue, yellow, green, or purple liquid lie scattered about the table. Glass
tubes extended from some of the vials. Some filled with smoke, the others ran the liquid from one jar to
the next.
As confusing as all this was, the most surprising thing was the lack of herbs. Alchemy within The
Family always consisted of herbs and fruits. It involved using what the Universe provided in order to
create vaccinations and minor healing remedies. But what Oben was doing was something completely
different. The only natural ingredient on the table, aside from water, was a small bundle of blueberries,
likely used just for adding flavor to the concoctions.
Muffled voices sounded as the back door swung open, allowing a gust of winter air to fly through
the cabin. But only for a moment before the exit was sealed again. Sariah set down the awkwardly shaped
container full of a strange, bubbly, green liquid which she had been staring at. She winced as the glass
tobbled over and brought a few others clanging against the wooden table. She scrambled to get all the
items back in place, hoping no one heard.
“...It comes in handy,” Oben said. “I don‟t know how much money and time I‟ve saved turning
my own glass into vials.”
“”Where do you get the glass?” Aaron asked.
“That is a great question,” Oben answered as he rounded the corner. He hopped across some
mattresses and returned to inspecting and sniffing various vials, humming quietly to himself.
Aaron looked around as the question was neglected, trying to see if anyone else heard him. Tavon
sat back down in his chair and stared at a painting on the wall. Was that painting… Yes. It was a painting
of his front yard where they had built a fire for the horses... Oben had a painting of his front yard.
When Aaron looked at Sariah, she pursed her lips and shrugged. She had heard the question but
was unsure if Oben did. Or if he had, perhaps the words were lost somewhere in his mind.
“Did you hear my question?” Aaron asked.
Oben, who was starting to seem more and more like a crazed alchemist, picked up a glass vial of
yellow liquid, smelled it, and smiled. A flash of light crossed his eyes. He then, after smiling for a long
moment, let out of a muffled cackle and set the uncorked vial onto the table, steam flowed from the
opening.
“What question?” the alchemist said as he watched the fumes leave the container.
Aaron mumbled something under his breath as he took the empty seat between Tavon and Dexter.
Sariah continued leaning against the wall near the entryway, watching Oben work. It was something
strange, that‟s for sure.
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“Leonias, why don‟t you go outside and check on the horses?” Tavon asked. “Make sure they
don‟t freeze to death. We are going to be here longer than expected.”
The blonde haired Templarite rose to his feet and opened the front door, shutting it behind as he
disappeared into the cold.
“So, what is it you‟re making?” Sariah asked Oben. The others shot her a glance, but the
awkwardness of staring at the alchemist in silence was sort of disturbing.
Oben looked at Sariah and cocked his head while stroking his beard with one hand. After a
moment, he nodded and whispered to himself, but the words were lost in the distance. “Tonics, of
course,” he said. He snapped his attention back to the table and poured some blue liquid down a spiraled
glass tube while humming to himself.
“I suspect that not all these are the same.”
The alchemist let loose a high-pitched, violent cackle. “Most definitely not. Just as flowers are all
similar but unique in their own ways, so are my creations. However, unlike flowers, the red potions hold a
healing liquid, which I believe you are familiar with. The other colors are still being tinkered with, but
they are intended to be for enhancing physical abilities and curing natural ailments such as diseases and
poisons.”
Satisfied with the answer, Sariah nodded and watched the man work in silence. Aside from his
awkward mannerisms and outbursts of laughter, the way he fused liquids and colors together was
something magnificent and alluring.
A minute or two later, Leonias opened the door and entered the room. He leaned forward and
removed his boots he had tapped outside to remove the excess snow. Then he walked over to the hearth
on the far side of the room and hung his icy cloak on a hook.
“How‟s it looking out there?” Tavon asked.
“It‟s gotten worse since we last went out there, some ten minutes ago,” Leonias said, tossing log
into the fire.
Tavon mumbled something under his breath, pulled out his pipe, and started scraping it clean.
The rest of the group remained silent as they watched the alchemist work.
Oben hummed a song to himself, every few seconds cackling under his breath. He continued
inspecting the various liquid, sniffing them when they grew hot enough for steam. When satisfied with a
scent, a flash of light flickered across his eyes.
This went on for some time before Tavon spoke again. The Lionheart removed removed his pipe.
“I hate to be pressing ya, Oben, but do you have any tonics we could borrow? We should be going.”
Oben snapped his head up, eyes wide behind a stream of steam. “Going? Where are you going?”
Sariah shared another look with Aaron.
“Into the Shadowlands,” Tavon explained.
Oben cackled. “Why are you heading there?”
“We believe Mul‟Drak may be harboring a host, and we believe the host is in the Shadowlands
somewhere near The Sceptre of God.”
Oben started, eyes wider than before, knocking over a few vials and spilling some liquid on the
table. It coalesced along the edges, forming into droplets which fell to the mattresses lining the wooden
floor. “The Tower…”
“Yes. Have you heard of the place?”
The alchemist shook his head and snapped back to his normal, bubbly, crazy self. “Only in tales,”
he said. “Only in tales.”
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Sariah narrowed her eyes. Something wasn‟t right. Oben knew something, but what? There was
more to this crazy, old man than what he let off.
“Do you have extra tonics, then?” Tavon asked.
Looking up, Oben stared forward—gazing at nothing—for a moment before snapping back his
attention to the question. “Oh, yes. I do. But you wouldn‟t want to go out into the night with weather like
this. Stay the night here and leave in the morning.”
“I don‟t know if we should. Tirion is waiting for us at the warcamps.”
“Bah. If Tirion wanted you to leave so early he should have come himself. Old man, he is. And
he‟s acting like one.”
Sariah looked at Aaron. What‟s he talking about? her look said. Aaron shrugged.
“We don‟t mean to be disrespectful,” Sariah said, still leaning against the wall. “But we really do
need to be going. The entire world is kind of at stake.”
Oben let out a cackle. “The entire world? You act like you are waging war against Mul‟Drak
himself.”
“We are,” Tavon said.
The alchemist paused, stroking his beard as he considered the notion. “Well then, you will be
needing some potions after all. And I do make the best. The only ones, actually. Well, not the only ones.
There are other chemists in the world, but they can hardly make a liquid capable of creating skin to cover
holes in the flesh.”
“Very well. Let‟s gather them so we can be on our way.”
“They are in the other room,” Oben said, pointing with a finger. “But it would be wise if you
stayed the night. The weather will only continue to worsen, and you know the horses will not survive a
night out there. Stay here until tomorrow, leave when the sun has risen and can provide at least a little
warmth.”
Tavon stared at the man as he took a large drag on his pipe. “Very well,” he replied, smoke
pouring from his mouth and nose.
Oben cackled as he jumped up and down with joy. “It‟s been some time since I last had people
stay the night. Come. Come. Let us gather some blankets. They are in the back room. I‟ll meet you there.”
Patting Dexter on the leg, Tavon rose to his feet, saying in a reluctant tone, “Come, let‟s go get
the blankets.” Aaron rose to his feet and Leonias left the hearth and followed behind.
Once everyone left the room, Oben snapped his attention to Sariah. She froze mid-stride and
stared at the man, wondering if she were in danger. Instinctively, her hands gripped her daggers. In one
quick motion, both could be drawn.
“The gift you possess,” the alchemist said, “is still within you.”
Sariah leaned forward, inquisitively. “My gift?”
“Yes, you‟re ability to harness magic.”
How does he know about that?
“It‟s a gift from the Almighty,” Oben continued, stepping around the edge of the table toward
Sariah. He lacked the previous signs of a lost mind. His face and tone were both stern and serious. “While
magic is waiting for all people, some—like myself—have an easier time finding it than others.”
“No,” Sariah said. When are the others getting back? “I‟ve tried. I can‟t find it. Magic has left
me.”
Oben smiled. “It hasn‟t left you. It can‟t leave you.”
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“Ever since they killed my Shadow, I can‟t feel it.” Sariah raised her hand and looked at it. “I
wish what you said was true, but it‟s not. My magic is gone.”
“My dear, I‟ve been following the Almighty for some time now, and I know that what he gives he
doesn‟t take away. You have a gifting. Now you just need to find a way to use it the correct way.”
“Are you using magic?”
As the foot steps from the others grew closer, Oben‟s eyes went back to their lofty gaze and he let
out a cackle. “Wonderful,” he shouted. “Come. You all can sleep on the mattresses here. I‟ll go grab some
more wood for the hearth; keep it nice and warm in here for you.”
The Alchemist smiled, hopped over to his sandals, and stormed outside. He returned a few
moments later with logs in his arms. He attempted to avoid brushing into anyone as he scrambled to the
other room and tossed the wood into the fire, all the while humming and quietly laughing to himself.
Sariah grabbed a few of the blankets from Aaron‟s stack, found a mattress with the least amount
of stains—whatever it was she did not exactly want to know—on it, and began making her bed. The
mattress she chose was closest to the hearth, which meant she would be incredibly warm. She did not,
however, begin stripping down. Not with all these men here. She would not lose clothing to avoid
sweating until everyone was tucked in and the majority of the lights had faded.
“Do you think he‟s mad?” Aaron whispered as he threw a blanket over the mattress next to
Sariah‟s. It was close. Perhaps a little too close.
No, Sariah thought, shaking her head. There‟s nothing between us. It‟s okay.
“I‟m not entirely certain,” she said, watching as Oben walked away from the main hearth. Every
few steps he stumbled and stretched out his arms as he caught his balance. Eventually, he made his way
out to his bedroom, walls muffling his humming. “He certainly seems like he‟s on the edge.”
“Gavin explained it to me once, back at the monastery. He said Oben was one of the ones that
tried to push the edges of magic. Apparently, he may have gotten a little too close to the edge and lost it.”
Sariah smiled. Not because what she heard was amusing, but because she wanted the
conversation to end. The topic was interesting. She actually wanted to learn more about magic. It was not
the limits of magic she was wondering, but how to access it at all.
Could it be true? Was the power that once coursed through her body still be accessible? No. It
would not be the same power. It couldn‟t be.
“Aren‟t you getting some sleep, Tavon?” Aaron asked.
Sariah turned.
The Lionheart shook his head. “I‟ll stay up and make sure the horses don‟t freeze. You all get
plenty of sleep. You‟ll need it.” He stepped over the mattresses and took a seat on an old, rickety chair—
surprisingly, it did not creak as he sat down—near the hearth.
After nodding, the men stripped down to their undergarments and crawled into their beds. Sariah
took a moment to walk around the room and put out all the lanterns, leaving only the small glow from the
hearth pulsing on the wall.
With Tavon in the other room and certain the boys were asleep, Sariah crawled into her bed and
stripped down to her undergarments, careful to make sure she was covered from all angles. She felt safe
knowing that Tavon was going to be awake. There was something about him she liked.
“Why do you think he has these mattresses are sprawled out on the floor?” Aaron whispered.
“If what you said about how he pushed the edges of magic is true,” Sariah answered in a hushed
tone, “then I think he keeps them here in case he passes out and falls down.”
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“Makes sense. He seems rather strange. I bet he falls a lot. What are you going to do after we
defeat the Surrogate?”
“I don‟t know.” The question had not even been considered. So much was happening, Sariah
never found the opportunity to consider her future. “Three months ago, I would never have considered
joining the Order, yet here I am. I honestly don‟t know what the future holds.”
“Perhaps the Almighty will tell us.”
“Perhaps he will tell us many things.”
“Good night, Sariah.”
“Sleep well, Aaron.” She closed her eyes and listened to the logs crackling in the fire, hoping the
Almighty might give her a dream explaining magic.

It is easier to obtain riches than to restore a shattered reputation.

Chapter 59

After throwing some logs onto the fire, Tavon took the time to groom each of the horses. The snowfall
had grown worse and the temperature had continued to drop, but the bonfire outside had melted the snow
in a decently sized ring, allowing Tavon to work without the risk of slipping. It was strange to see the bits
of crispy, white, frosty grass trying to live on the frozen ground.
All but one of the horses were still asleep. And, of course, the one awake would be Tavon‟s.
“There, there,” Tavon said to Frost as he ran a gloved hand through her mane. “This should all be over
soon.”
Would it be though? Was there an end to this madness before the Almighty returned, or was that
just a hopeful dream?
Tavon had spent most of the night sitting before the fire to keep warm, but every fifteen to twenty
minutes he would step outside and check on the horses. Most of the time they were calm, though
occasionally they were restless when their fire had started to dwindle away. After a quick toss of some
logs, the horses would calm themselves and fall back asleep.
By Tavon‟s estimations, nearly seven hours should have passed, meaning this would be his last
trip outside before gathering the crew and departing to the warcamps. That journey would be another few
hours riding and stopping. The horses could not do it all in one take, they and the riders would freeze to
death first.
Tavon shook his head as he slowly put a feeding muzzle onto Frost. The horse hesitated for a
moment, then gave in when she realized there was food to be had. “Eat your fill,” he said, smiling. “I‟ll
go wake the others.
The sun should be rising soon, he thought as he turned and began walking to the stone cabin.
Looking at the sky told a different story. Behind the thick blanket of snow flurries, clouds coated much of
the sky, blocking any hope of sunshine today. Despite their hopes, and the assurance Oben had given,
daytime would not be warmer than the night.
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Tavon, the Lionheart, opened the heavy, wooden door of Oben‟s cabin, allowing a rush of brisk
air to fill the main room. People rustled in their sleep, not wanting to accept it was time to get moving.
“Everyone up,” he shouted. He smiled. After a long night of being awake and contemplating life,
there was something gratifying about waking others. Perhaps that was his guilty pleasure.
Nearly in unison, everyone snapped upright, then they groaned. Rubbing their eyes, they
complained about what time it was or how little sleep they had gotten or how their mattresses smelled
funny. Which was probably true. Who knew what the Alchemist had spilled on those things.
Oben stepped out of his bedroom carrying a lantern. The hem of his oversized nightgown dragged
the floor as he walked. “What‟s that? Who‟s there?” he shouted, light shifting on the wall as he stumbled
along.
“It‟s us,” Tavon said. He walked around the room and lit the candles sitting on various end tables
and windowsills. “You let us stay the night, remember?”
Once the room had enough lights for clear visibility, Oben let out a quiet, groggy cackle. “I
suppose I did, didn‟t I? Well get dressed then. I‟ll make some breakfast.” He set down his candle and
walked to the other room.
“Um, Tavon?” Sariah said.
He looked down at her. She sat on her bed, covering her chest with a blanket. Tavon nodded,
picked up one of the extra blankets, and held it up like a curtain to give her some privacy for changing.
The men, of course, did not need such a thing. They were already up and about, walking around with
trouser strings untied as they put on their shirts and packed their belongings.
“Thank you,” she said after a few moments of shifting and bumping against the makeshift
divider.
“You‟re quite welcome,” the Lionheart said. He returned to his seat along the far wall—the one
he had sat on the night before and watched Oben work.
“Do you believe what Wain said about the Solstace?” Sariah asked in a quiet tone so only she and
Tavon could hear. She walked next to him and started folding the blankets she had used. “Could a person
really put their soul in an object?”
Tavon looked up at her, retrieving his pipe from his pocket. He looked down and started scraping
it clean. “What are your thoughts on the matter, lass?”
“It seems strange. If a person could place their soul elsewhere and live forever, why haven't more
people done it?”
“Because it's a dark and forbidden magic.”
“Yes, but there must be more to it than that, right? People do dark and forbidden things all the
time. Especially among those who do not know the Truth.”
She‟s a smart one, Tavon thought as he pulled out a small pouch from his pocket. Slowly and
carefully, he started packing the bowl of the pipe full of cherry flavored tobacco. “I find it hard to accept
as well. In my opinion, the council gave into the notion far too quickly. But Mul‟Drak tempts people in
their greatest weaknesses. If he is involved with the Surrogate, then it would be completely possible he
has lead him on a chase for immortality.”
“But is it possible to obtain? Or are we rushing into the Shadowlands playing a fool‟s game?”
What do I say? Tavon thought, encouraging the tobacco to light by taking quick, short breaths
through the pipe. I can‟t lie to the girl, but I also need to encourage her spirit.
“Death awaits for us all. Whether a person lives for a hundred years, or six hundred, the end
result is that we will all die. How we live—how we love others, how we forgive, the ways we show
358

kindness, the ways we worship the Almighty, the ways we spread truth and make the world a better
place—is what‟s important.
“Is it possible for a person to put their soul into an object? I don‟t know. Is it possible for a person
to waste a life trying? Most definitely. But Wain is among the smartest men I have ever met. There is
little chance of him being wrong, and even if the Surrogate had been led to a ritual that could sustain him
over the years, it won‟t last forever. And if he will not repent, we will rid the world of the foul creature he
has become.”
“Say he has done this thing,” Sariah said. “How do we break it?”
“By smashing it, I assume,” Tavon said, shrugging. “I guess it would depend on the object
holding the soul. Regardless, we will find a way. We always do.”
Sariah nodded. The answer seemed to be enough. For now, at least.
Oben struggled into the room a moment later carrying a large cast iron pot. Aaron and Dexter
rushed and helped him carry it to the adjacent room. Sparkes popped onto the hearth as the pot grazed
some logs while being placed over the flames.
“Should be done here in a bit,” the Alchemist said. He smiled, stroked his beard, and walked to
the largest table with a muffled cackle. He picked up a strange vial of yellow liquid and gave it a sniff.
His face cringed in disgust. Leaning backward, he poured the stuff down a strange, spiraled tube that led
to a larger decanter of liquid.
“Does he do this all day?” Aaron asked.
Tavon shrugged. “You‟re guess is as good as mine.”
The next thirty minutes were spent in silence as each of them watched the Alchemist work.
Despite the many times Tavon had visited this place, it was still a strange thing to watch. So many vials
and different colored liquids, yet the only ones he ever brought to Rainor were the red ones. And how on
earth did he make a liquid that could heal the body in the same way magic did?
With the cabin smelling of carrots, potatoes, and chicken, breakfast was served. They ate quickly
and quietly. After breakfast they finished packing their belongings and gathered at the door, putting on
their coats in preparations for the cold waiting outside.
“We must be going,” Tavon said. “The horses will be getting cold soon, and we are needed at the
warcamps.”
“Very well, then,” Oben said, walking to the door the bid them farewell. He seemed slightly
saddened to be ushering them out.
“The tonics?”
“Yes! The tonics. I‟d almost forgotten.” Oben rushed into the other room. After a few seconds of
glass clanging together and toppling over, he returned with a burlap bag. It bulged in ways that indicated
there were quite a few containers inside.
“Thank you,” Tavon said. He put on his winter coat, threw on his cloak, strapped his two
scimitars on his back, and took the bag. “You don‟t know how many lives you save in a year with these.”
“Two hundred and sixty-six,” Oben said.
Tavon cocked his head.
After a moment of awkward silence, the crazed alchemist of Heilois cackled. “I‟m only kidding. I
have no idea how many of these things are used. I just keep on keepin‟ on.”
Tavon and the others smiled. “Take care of yourself, old friend,” he said, then exited the cabin.
“Come back in the spring,” Oben shouted. His voice was slightly muffled from the intensity in
which the wind howled outside. “It‟s much warmer.” With that, he shut the door.
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To Tavon‟s surprise, past the intense wall of snowflakes, the fire for the horses still carried a bit a
glow. The steeds seemed peaceful. Some munched on the icy, cold grass, likely trying to get a bit of
water. They would soon be given feeding muzzles before the next segment of their adventure began.
“Here,” Tavon said, handing Aaron an end of a rope. “Run this through all the reins of the horses,
then tie a loose knot on the other end. If the weather continues to worsen and visibility becomes worse,
this will keep us from getting separated.”
The fresh Squire nodded, then, with Dexter‟s help, started completing the task. Once this was
completed, everyone fastened their bags to their saddles and prepared the horses for the trip. It would not
last long, but they took the horse blankets and held them before the flames, heating them before putting
putting them back on the horses. It would be a little extra warmth, for a while anyway.
Once everyone was situated and the feeding muzzles and armor had been placed on the horses,
Tavon gently prodded Frost into motion. He looked over his shoulder. Through the faceplate of his
helmet, he saw the next horse in line kick into motion. The plan was working. All they had to do was
follow the rope. And all Tavon had to do, was figure out where to go.
He lead the troupe to the east, down a different path from the way they first climbed into Heilois.
This path was wider and less steep than the other, likely used by Oben when he had a cart. They rode
down the cliffside slowly to help ensure the horses did not slip. Even so, the trip was far from easy.
After about an hour of riding, the path evened out and they started passing trees again, an
indication they had reached Stillwind Forest. Tavon did his best to keep the troupe heading east, but
without the sun, this was a difficult task. Many of the times, he simply guessed and hoped he was heading
the right away.
With the decrease in temperature, they only had enough wood to stop one time, meaning the well-
trained war-horses would need to brace the cold for as long as possible. Understandably, they were
starting to grow restless, but they did not rush away from the group or break stride. They were, however,
growing hesitant to following the leadership of the riders, instead wanting to continue heading in a
direction that suited their thoughts. Each time, Tavon was able to order Frost in the direction needed.
After another hour or so, despite Tavon‟s willingness to move on, he pulled the group to a halt. If
he refused to stop now, who knew how long the horses would continue before keeling over. He hopped
off his saddle and cleared a section of snow. Aaron and Dexter followed closely behind with a bundle of
logs as Leonias started packing the bottom with hay. Once a few flames licked the bottoms of the logs,
Leonias took out a few carrots and walked around to each horse.
“How much farther?” Aaron asked, holding his hands before the fire.
“I‟m not sure,” Tavon said. “The weather is making this difficult.”
“There‟s normally one good snow storm a year, is this it?” Dexter asked.
Tavon shook his head, retrieved his pipe, and started scraping it clean. “No. The snow storms we
get are not like this. At least with those, the sun shines more of the time. This… This is something
different. The cloud coverage is like a violent thunderstorm on the seas.”
“What does that mean, then?”
“I don‟t know,” Tavon said, packing the pipe. “Nothing good, though. Nothing good.”
The Lionheart leaned forward, lit the end of a small stick and used it to ignite the tobacco. After a
few puffs, he felt the warm drag of smoke trickle down his throat. He breathed out his nose, forcing the
smoke to combine with his breath in the air. He knew smoking was not healthy, but it helped calm the
nerves.
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He stood quietly, smoking the pipe, watching the fire pop. It would be another fifteen to twenty
minutes before the horses were warm enough to start adventuring. The others had gathered around the fire
and were sharing stories about their childhoods or laughing at things Raigar did while in Rainor. When
they happened, those events were infuriating. But looking back, the man was something funny.
Tavon did not join in the conversations, however. He stood in quiet contemplation regarding the
situation at hand. The snow should not have been falling so intensely. In another month or so it would be
spring. The heaviest snowfall should have already passed. It made no sense.
“Tavon?” Aaron said.
Tavon looked his way. The boy was holding a cup of warm tea. When had he taken the time to
put a pot on the fire? “Thank you,” Tavon said, taking the cup.
“Is everything alright?”
The Lionheart used a sip of tea to provide a moment to consider how to answer. Honestly, things
were not alright, but he needed to be a strong leader for these people. He could not let those he loved die.
Not again.
“I believe so,” he said.
Aaron walked back to the fire and engaged in a conversation with Sariah.
Those two are something strange, Tavon thought, taking another sip of tea. It was good and hot.
They both came to us as broken individuals, yet not they are members of the Order of the Radiant Light.
Sariah was a witch, and he was a thief. He smiled. The Almighty redeems in mysterious ways.
Once the pipe had been smoked—and packed again—and the tea had all been drank, Tavon
encouraged everyone to get back on their horses and return to traveling. He put the pipe back in his
pocket and shut the faceplate of his helmet.
“What about the fire?” Leonias asked.
“What about it?” Tavon responded.
“Should we kick it out?”
“Leave it. The forest could use a little heat.”
After everyone had hopped in their saddles and Tavon had checked the rope, he prodded Frost
into movement. Reluctantly, his war-horse stepped forward, heading—what Tavon hoped was—east.
Aside from the howling wind and the occasionally falling clump of snow, Stillwind Forest was
eerily quiet and dark. Apparently the forest finally wanted to live up to its name. A veil of leaves and
clouds loomed over the adventuring group as they weaved through the path. After an hour of travel, the
beaten path had faded away and they now weaved between trees, carving their own path through the
place.
Every few minutes Tavon looked over his shoulder, checking to make sure the next person in line
was still there. Whether or not the rope was necessary or working, it made him feel better knowing they
were all connected.
A shriek echoed through the forest, shattering the silence. It was familiar, almost identical to the
one that happened the day before. Tavon removed one of his two scimitars, slowly so as not to disturb
whatever creature made the noise. The runes along the blade carried a faint glow.
He brought Frost to a walk and led the group slowly toward whatever made the sound. Snow
crunched with each step. Tavon‟s heart began to race.
His eyes went wide.
Up ahead, a Hollow crouched before a dead animal. It ripped flesh with its hands and stuffed its
face as it consumed the corpse. Another Hollow stepped into view. It joined the other in the feast.
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Frost reared her head away from the sight. Not now, Tavon thought, gripping the reins tightly in
his left hand, trying to keep the horse from moving. Please, not now. Frost refused to listen as it shook its
head and stomped its hoof against the snow.
The two Hollows looked up from their kill. Then screeched. The sound was horrifying and made
hairs stand on end. They left their meal and charged directly at the Lionheart and his group as another
group of Hollows echoed the call in the distance.
Tavon kicked his heels into Frost‟s side and the horse charged directly at the Hollows.

***

Hooves thundered against the snow as Tavon leaned forward and braced himself for the fight
which awaited him. He held his scimitar at the ready. The rope, though pulled tight, still connected the
horses, which meant the others were charging with him. Whether or not they had weapons ready was
another question. One that would need to be answered later. Right now, Tavon was the one in front, and
that meant he had to be ready.
For a brief moment, just before the two sides collided, it felt like time stopped. Tavon‟s heart was
halfway between beats. Breath lingered before his face. The runes along his scimitar glowed an appealing
gold. Frost—Tavon‟s horse—was in the middle of heaving air, pouring breath out of her nose. Her
hooves were mid motion. Death was waiting at the end of the charge. Either the Hollows would live to
scavenge another day, or the Radiant Lights would defeat another force of evil.
Time kicked back into motion. Frost remained true to the task at hand. Starting in her younger
years, she had been trained for combat situations for much of her life. Continuing onward in a thunder of
hooves, she trampled the Hollow which stood in her path. The crunches suggested the thing was dead.
Tavon swung with his scimitar, catching the other Hollow above the shoulders. It sliced through
the creature's throat. It fell to the ground with a spray of blood.
A group of Hollows stormed to Tavon‟s location, screaming, barely visible through the snowfall.
Frost trampled the nearest one, allowing Tavon to swing again. Two more dropped to the ground.
Unfortunately, the horse was forced to a stop as the remaining Hollows surrounded it and wildly slashed.
Their attacks screeched against Frost‟s metal plating.
Tavon continued to through what body parts he could: mostly throats and chests, but occasionally
he was only able to cleave the flesh of an arm. At the moment, he did not quite care what he hit. His
largest concern right now was killing the foul, Corrupted creatures anyway he could. Sending them to the
ground screaming was far better than letting them land attacks on him or his crew.
The sound of dying Hollows screeched behind him. Turning, Tavon saw Leonias—the Radiant
Light riding behind him—fully engaged in combat. His longsword whizzed through the air and dug deep
into black, Hollowed flesh. The Lionheart smiled. There was not a better noise than the sound of dying
evil.
Tavon turned back around and forced his attention back to the Hollows attacking Frost. He swung
in wide, fast arcs, doing his best to catch as many of the things in one sweep as possible. So far, it seemed
to be an effective method.
Despite the stream of dead bodies increasing around them, the group of five Radiant Lights were
hardly putting a dent in the swarm of Hollows streaming from the treeline. They were, however, able to
keep their mounts slowly moving to the east, clamping over what Hollows stood in the way.
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Everywhere Tavon looked there were more and more Hollows storming to their death. Normally,
this would be a pleasing sight as he found killing the damned creatures enjoyable. But now was not the
time. The warcamps were some unknown distance away, so if someone got wounded it was unlikely they
would make it to the infirmary. Or if they were dismounted and somehow not killed by the sea of
Hollows, they would freeze to death in no time at all.
How? the Lionheart thought as he sliced through another of Hollow. It screamed as it fell to the
ground, hand covering the diagonal slash across its chest. How did they know we would be here? It‟s
like…
The knew. Somehow they knew. This was an ambush. These creatures had been waiting in this
forest for them.
Tavon paused, raising his blade to look at the runes. They were glowing brighter now than they
first had. Something more evil than these Hollows was coming, and it was getting closer. He started to
hum En Liesse Dieu, a low pitched ballad that would help press down the nerves. They needed to get
moving. They had to press—
A Hollow got its grip around Tavon‟s foot and ripped it free, snapping the stirrup off the saddle.
He grunted as the creature continued to tug at him. He tried to hold on, but another Hollow grab a hold of
him and brought him off the back of Frost and onto the ground.
Despite what their frail, scrawny bodies might suggest, Hollows could put a good amount of
muscle behind their attacks. Try as he may, Tavon kick away the boney hands gripping his steel sabaton.
Two more pairs of hands gripped him by the shoulders and pulled him backwards. With the added
strength, Tavon lost his balance, fell backwards, and slammed hard against the frost covered ground.
Hollows swarmed in slashing every which way with their claws-like hands, but Tavon‟s armor
was far too thick for the attacks to be effective. But he did struggle beneath the weight of bodies as more
of the creature‟s piled on. Perhaps when he was on the horse, he should have sliced the hands that gripped
his boots, but it was too late to consider that now.
Still humming, Tavon tried to figure out his next plan of action. He could send forth a powerful
burst of magical energy. But doing so would cause too much Backlash, so that was hardly a viable option.
He had been trying to use brute force, but there were too many of the things gripping his limbs. Everytime
he kicked one free, another Hollow took its place in pinning the Lionheart down.
Yet, there was a silver lining in the midst of the chaos. A hoof caught the Hollow attempting to
claw Tavon‟s face. The creature screeched as it fell away, body rolling on the ground.
Frost was still alive and she would never abandon Tavon. Through their many years of
adventures, the two had formed a bond. Tavon had nearly raised the white horse since she was just a filly
learning to walk. He remembered teaching the old girl to carry a rider and how to keep a stride with the
heavy barding. He remembered training himself how to fight on horseback. It seemed the war-horse had
been trained well, and she loyally stayed near him, kicking Hollows in the face.
One of the creatures screamed to his right as blood splashed onto the ground and parts of his
gauntlet. The dying Hollow was removed from his body, and with the release of the weight, Tavon was
able to start scrambling to his feet. Turning, he saw Sariah engaged with another Hollow, daggers
whipping through the air. The runes pulsed along the blades as they sliced through flesh. She appeared to
be handling herself well.
Tavon gritted his teeth, pushed with all his might and rose to his feet. He stepped forward,
grabbed the handle of the scimitar sheathed to his back, and started to spin, pulling the weapon free and
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slashing with it in a single motion. The snowy ground turned crimson as a wave of Hollows fell to the
ground, bleeding from slashed throats
Suddenly, the waves of Hollows stopped attacking. They backed away silently, staring down the
troupe. Heaving for breath, Tavon picked up his other scimitar and cleaned the blade against some nearby
snow.
A muffled clap sounded from behind.
Turning, Tavon saw a dark silhouette approaching slowly from behind a snowy veil. The
person—whom Tavon assumed to be a man, judging from its figure—wore an intricately designed leather
haubergeon with extra padding on the shoulders that formed pauldron-like protrusions. The waist broke
free and turned into multiple straps that blew in the wind like a skirt. Growing closer, it was apparent the
person approaching had leather padding on their legs to keep them protected.
“Well done, Tavon Aiell, Lionheart of the Radiant Lights,” the man said. His voice was a smooth
tenor. The man, now close enough to be seen clearly, wore a menacing smile, seemingly taking delight in
a long awaited moment.
Tavon turned to the others. “Run,” he shouted, voice thundering through the trees, echoing
wildly. His crew snapped into motion as he turned back around to focus on the Acolyte of Myrkurism.
I have to give them enough time to escape.
Tavon stepped forward, scimitars at the ready. The runes glowed brighter with the Acolyte was
near. Tavon did not need to looked to see them. Their light pushed back the surrounding darkness of
Stillwind Forest.
The Acolytes were a people—should the name fit—that possessed an immense level of power.
Whether or not it was given from Mul‟Drak was up for debate, but they used dark, forbidden magic and
were considered to be the equivalent of a Templarite within Myrkurism
After a deep, calming breath, Tavon swung. The Acolyte stepped to the side, easily dodging the
attack. He ducked beneath the follow up swing. A second later, Tavon felt a fist slam into his chest. Pain
surged behind the steel breastplate which was, without a doubt, dented from the impact.
All around, the Hollows snapped into motion, chasing after Tavon‟s crew who were trying to
escape.
“Darkness is coming,” the Acolyte said. “It cannot be stopped.”
Tavon surged forward, instinctively humming an upbeat song. He swung with the scimitar in his
right hand, then the one in the left, attempting to avoid releasing a full powered swing. It would be too
violent to recover from, and though he had only encountered an Acolyte once before, he knew his
opponent would be incredibly talented in combat. Just the single punch proved this was true.
Sidestepping to the right, the Acolyte easily dodged every attack that came his way, sidestepping
to his right. The dodging was moving the fight in a clockwise rotation, which was exactly Tavon‟s plan.
He need not win this fight. He just needed to move around enough to get to Frost.
Methodically, the Lionheart stepped forward and swung at his opponent, forcing his hand. The
Acolyte stepped to the right and narrowly avoided catching a scimitar to the shoulder. Tendrils of smoke
gathered around his right arm. Once the Acolyte‟s hand was completely engulfed in shadow, he lunged
forward and punched. The smoke exploded, and though Tavon was able to avoid the impact, the wave of
power could still be felt.
With the Acolyte‟s arm still outstretched from the attack, Tavon took the opportunity to attack.
He sliced with the scimitar in his right hand, the runes along the blade left a faint trail of light as the
weapon moved. The Acolyte sidestepped to the right, continuing the clockwise rotation.
364

The Acolyte then stepped forward and punched with his right hand then the left. Tavon dodged
them both, but his opponent was not finished attacking. The Acolyte continued with an onslaught of
unrelenting punches, never allowing Tavon the opportunity to counter.
The Lionheart continued humming a song and tried to find the rhythm in the Acolyte‟s attack.
Tavon tried to move to a cadence. But the howling wind, slick ground, and unpredictability of an Acolyte
made finding a steady beat difficult. Singing a warsong came easily, but there were not any sounds of
clashing metal or screams of pain for him to harmonize with. There was no natural song in this battle save
for the howling wind, but that was hardly enough for what he needed.
With the Acolyte stepped backwards and smiling, Tavon glanced over his shoulder. His crew had
all escaped some time ago, and frost was nearby. He just needed to make an opportunity to mount the
beast and escape.
Glancing back at the Acolyte, Tavon saw another shadow infused punch headed his way. He
ducked beneath the attack. The infusion exploded behind, releasing a powerful wave of energy. Tavon
took his opportunity to charge forward, slamming a sohulder into the Acolyte. The opponent was caught
off guard and carried a good distance away.
As Tavon ceased his momentum, he sliced with each scimitar. One glanced off the Acolyte‟s
leather armor, but the other sliced through the man‟s thigh. Blood splashed against the snow.
The Acolyte stared at Tavon, stunned.
The Lionheart smiled, turned around, and put his swords on his back as he ran toward Frost. He
leaped onto his war-horse‟s back and kicked it into motion. Frost reached a full four-beat gallop after only
a few seconds, kicking snow and clumps of wet earth into the air.
The wind howled and beat snow pellets violently against Tavon and Frost as they thundered
through the forest. He did his best to keep his horse moving east, but it was difficult with only one stirrup.
He had to rely on their relationship instead. They had to trust each other.
Looking over his shoulder, Tavon saw the Acolyte had disappeared behind the veil of snow. At
least something was going right. Unfortunately, despite his efforts, Tavon was unable see any of his crew
through the snowblind.
“Almighty,” he whispered, leaning forward in an attempt to make himself as small as possible.
“Please show me the way.”
A group of Hollows screeched. As Tavon and Frost thundered past, the Hollows reached out with
their claw-like hands in an attempt to injure the two. The Lionheart was able to avoid the attacks. He
guided his horse between trees to dodge groups of Hollows. He did not have the time to pull out his
scimitars and he didn‟t want to slow down to fight. He simply pressed his steed onward.
Between his legs, Tavon could feel Frost heaving for breaths. The frigid, winter air was thick and
pierced the lungs. He felt it, and could only imagine how she felt trying to use it to power her body. Yet,
she continued onward at full speed, unrelenting in her stride. The snowflakes whizzed past in white blurs.
The faint hoot of an owl echoed to Tavon‟s right. Turning, he saw the bird flying just on the edge
of his vision. Its figure was a distant, shadowy silhouette.
It‟s the middle of the day, Tavon thought. It must have been Michael‟s work, or perhaps it was a
sign from the Almighty. Whatever the case, Tavon smiled and steered his mount toward the bird,
following it through the snowblind.
“Come on, girl,” Tavon Aiell, Lionheart of the Radiant Light, whispered to his horse. “Just a little
further.”
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To his surprise, Frost kicked in a little extra speed and forced her way through the frost layered
landscape, kicking up massive amounts of snow, leaving behind a trail of perfectly crafted hoof prints.
Tavon did his best to remain focused on the nocturnal bird as he weaved between the trees and
ducked beneath low hanging branches. Eventually, the owl flapped a few extra times and disappeared into
the dark, cloudy sky above.
Tavon continued onward, expecting he must be close. A moment later, he thundered past past two
dumbfounded guards standing next to the wooden entrance of the warcamps. Tavon pulled his horse to a
slow gait, easing it to a walk.
Aaron, Sariah, and the rest of his crew rest on their horses up ahead, snow pelting their standing
bodies. They had not stopped beneath some of the canopies within the warcamps. Tavon let out a sigh as
he approached.
“How long have you been here?” he asked.
“Ten minutes, I‟d say,” Leonias answered for the group.
“Well I‟m glad you made it safe.” Tavon smiled, though no one would see it through his
faceplate. The horses the others rode were covered in scratch marks and bits of their armor had been torn.
Blood leaked through the cracks and trickled to the snow below. Perhaps they did not make it as safely as
desired, but the horses would heal. Better a little injured than dead.
Tavon trotted up to the nearest guard. The guards, and soldiers, in the warcamp dressed far
differently than the Radiant Lights. They wore basic leather armor, had a small battle knife on the hip,
and carried a spear as a primary weapon. The outfit was topped with a red cape draped over the left
shoulder. These soldiers, of course, wore thick winter coats beneath their armor.
“Where‟s Tirion, soldier?” Tavon asked.
“Middle camp, sir,” the man responded.
Tavon nodded. “Tell the others Hollows are coming. Storming in in fast and in large groups. The
war is upon us.” He paused and turned his horse around. “Let‟s go,” he said to Aaron, Sariah, and the
others. Then he kicked Frost into motion.

Do not shun the council of the wise.

Chapter 60

The warcamps were not at all what Aaron had expected.


In his own imagination, he anticipated this place to look almost like a small town in and of itself.
And it did, to some extent. But there were not any tall wooden or stone buildings with awnings and clay
roofs.
The warcamps consisted of endless rows of tents lined up on either side of a path carved into the
snow. Small fires burned inside each of the small homes, and a large, peaked canopy stretched over the
majority of the camp, held down by long strands of rope tied to various posts. But a canvas canopy can
only catch so much snow before ripping, so some soldiers were required to stand on ladders with shovels
and heave off clumps of snow to ensure the whole place did not come crumbling down.
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What a dreadful task.


These types of structures made sense, though. The warcamps needed to be as mobile as possible,
ready to tear down and move to a new place when new orders arrived.
Aaron was riding Bell—a white spotted brown mare of decent age—behind Sariah, who was
behind Tavon. Aaron had his feet pressed against the stirrups, keeping his butt off the saddle as he rocked
up and down with the movements of a sprinting horse. Large flakes of snow beat across his face as they
passed dumbfounded soldiers who rushed out of the way to avoid being trampled.
The camp was larger than Aaron anticipated. Though with the thousands of soldiers who took up
residence among the five locations, it made sense that it would need to be large. The warcamps were
labeled with a round token on the map in Rainor, but the layout of the small city was anything but round.
It was laid out in more in a thick line with alleys breaking off the main path.
They continued on for a few minutes. As they left the first camp and entered the second,
everything went black. The snowfall vanished, allowing one to perceive the vast, emptiness that was the
Shadowlands. The frigid winter airs disappeared and the temperature increased to that of an cave beneath
the earth.
Aaron felt a chill cross his body as he continued to crouch in the saddle. The group did not slow
down in the second camp. They needed to reach the third and central camp. Tavon needed to tell Tirion
what had happened.
Even so, with the wind beating his face, Aaron turned and examined the area. The tents retained
their color in this wasteland. Of course they did. Outside objects did not have their existence changed just
because they entered the Shadowlands. Otherwise, Aaron‟s clothing would have been stained a deep
black, but they still retained the brownness of leather and the Squire‟s tabard was a vibrant red.
Behind the multicolored tents, past the edge of the warcamps, the black silhouettes of jagged
mountains overlooking a massive, empty plain could be seen. It was daunting the way the earth seemed to
beckon for relief from the Corruption. He remembered his last trip to this forsaken place. His mind was
still recovering from the trip, if such a thing were possible.
The second warcamp was just as long as the first, but eventually they galloped into the center of
the third and pulled to a halt before the largest tent Aaron had seen yet. It was a crisp white with the red
lion crest along the entrance flaps. Tirion rushed out a few seconds later, accompanied by two unknown
Lionhearts.
“Tavon,” Tirion shouted. “I‟m glad you made it. But what made you thunder through the camps?”
“Hollows ambushed us in the forest. They followed us here and are setting up a perimeter,”
Tavon said in his seaworthy accent.
“You‟re certain?”
Tavon nodded.
“How? I thought they were unintelligent. How can they be moving as an organized unit?”
“An Acolyte was with them.” Tirion‟s eyes went wide. “The Surrogate is using them as generals.
They must have some way of controlling the things.”
“By the Almighty,” Tirion said, stroking his beard in contemplation. “How many?”
Tavon shrugged. “The weather has gotten worse. It was hard to see how many followed. But if I
had to guess, I‟d say a few hundred.”
“That isn‟t too bad, then.”
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“They didn‟t follow us into the camp. Or if they did, they did so after we started through the first
one. I reckon they are setting up outside, waiting for us to storm into the Shadowlands so they can cut off
any hope of retreating.”
After a few moments of silence, Tirion motion for his horse. “Show me,” he said, hopping onto
the saddle. Tavon nodded and the two trotted off toward the first camp, breaking into a gallop after they
were a safe distance from the crowd that had gathered.
Aaron shared a look with Sariah. Let them go, it said.
With a smile, Aaron swung a leg around the saddle and plopped to the ground. It felt nice to be
standing on dirt again, even if it was empty, cracked, and dark. He handed the reins to a soldier, undid his
pack, and let the man lead Bell to the stable. Another soldier did the same with Sariah‟s horse, and
Leonias‟s, and Dexter‟s. The two Templarites gave a nod and walked off toward a large tent together.
“So, what do we do now?” Sariah asked.
Aaron started to answer, but hesitated. What did they do? It had been a while since he found
himself in a situation without chores and responsibilities. “I guess we make ourselves comfortable. I don‟t
really know.”
“Well, I‟m going to go find whichever tent acts as the tavern and get a drink and a meal. Want to
join?”
“I think I‟ll meet up with you later.”
Sariah smiled and walked away, aimlessly searching for the particular tent.
Aaron watched her go for a moment, then started walking around the warcamp. It really did act
like a little town. Sure, there were not any buildings per say, but there were tents setup elaborately to act
as merchant booths. The nearest one contained full waterskins. They were free, of course. The next booth
offered a variety of smoked meats. This street carried a plethora of different shops, making it feel like a
marketplace.
Near the end of the booths, Aaron took a turn to the left and made his way down a tiny alleyway.
Past the line of sleeping tents, he stumbled upon the latrine, so he turned back around and walked down a
different alleyway. Eventually, after about an hour of walking aimlessly, he found what he was looking
for.
The training grounds consisted of a large, circular patch of blackened dirt with a medium sized
tent full of a variety of dull weapons. Aaron set his pack down along the edge of the field, shed his cloak
and coat, and walked up to the wooden training dummy near the center. After a few brief stretches, he
reached to his back, grabbed the shield and sword, and pulled them free, doing his best to make as little
noise as possible.
The blade was pulled out at an angle where it pressed the cloth against the inside fabric of the
sheath too hard, forcing it to tug and make a little more noise than Aaron had hoped. He ended the motion
in the defensive stance—shield raised before him on the right arm and the shortsword gripped in the left
hand ready to swing.
Unhappy with how the drawing ended, Aaron relaxed and considered his mistake. But the runes
along his sword distracted him with their faint glow. They had continued glowing ever since the Hollows
attacked in the forest.
Courage, he thought, placing the weapon and shield on his back.
He drew them again, trying to be silent. Unhappy with the result, he reset the items and did it
again. And again. And again. About an hour of grabbing the weapons and dropping into the defensive or
aggressive stance went by before he was comfortable with what little sound accompanied the motions.
368

Then he practiced the act another fifteen times. Dropping into the positions silently needed to be
instinctive.
That particular exercise was useful for practicing stealth, but what if an assailant caught him by
surprise and threw him to the ground?
With his weaponry on his back, Aaron ran forward a few steps then dove, landed on his shoulder,
and rolled. He drew his sword and shield as he rose to his feet and dropped into the defensive stance. As
hoped, removing the sword from the sheath quietly was not something he had to think about anymore. It
slid out with ease, though it still made a little bit of sound. Considering the situation he was practicing for,
that was expected and completely acceptable. But the quieter the better.
He reset his arsenal and performed the exercise again. Then again. And so forth, until he had done
it for, what he guessed, was about thirty minutes. With the technique down, Aaron turned to the dummy
and flicked the blade in his wrist. The shortsword was light, well balanced, beautifully sharpened, and
void of blemishes or imperfections in the blade.
Aaron stepped forward and swung in an overhand chop. The blade sliced a vertical line into the
dummy‟s wooden arm. The log it was fastened to was dug deep into the ground, allowing for a bit of
wobble. So it shook a bit, but refrained from toppling over. Aaron imagined the dummy to be a Hollow as
he followed the chop with an upward swing.
Hollow‟s don‟t have souls, he thought, trying to suppress the knot in his stomach. He sliced
downward again. I can do this.
A picture of Matram‟s disciple appeared in Aaron‟s mind. Her lifeless eyes dull brown, robe
stained crimson red. Blood trickled to the ground below as her head dipped forward and her body slacked
to the ground.
Aaron shuddered. It had been nearly two weeks since he had killed Matram‟s disciple, yet the
memory still haunted him. Forgiveness did not necessary mean forgotten, he was starting to learn.
Over the next thirty minutes he went through a regiment of down and up, left to right, and
diagonal slices, mixing in a few spins and footwork maneuvers where he could. He wanted to become
accustomed to the way the blade moved through the air and how it felt in his hands. Occasionally, during
some turns, he would bash with the shield. It was lighter than the one he trained with in Rainor, making it
easier to wield as a weapon.
Clap. Clap. Clap. The sound came from the edge of the ring.
After a final downward slash against the training dummy, Aaron turned to see who the noise was
coming from. A man in soldier watched the practice routine from the edge of the grounds. He had a sword
strapped to his side and an elegant sash across his chest, identifying the man that possessed some rank of
importance. The gold chain on his shoulder tabard suggested possibly a general.
“Very good,” the man shouted. He continued clapping and as he slowly approached Aaron. “You
move like a soldier.”
From what I‟ve been told, I should be a better fighter than most people here. “Thank you,” Aaron
replied, sheathing his weapon. He wiped the sweat from his brow, walked to his pack, and took a large
swig from his waterskin.
“What‟s your name, son?”
“Aaron Bardeaux. And yours?” Aaron paused, motioning to the sash. “And what‟s with that?”
“My name is Nat‟Haiel. I am the highest ranking general in the army. I report directly to Tavon
Aiell.”
“Nice to meet you.”
369

“Tavon speaks quite highly of you,” Nat‟Haiel said, walking forward, hands clasped behind his
back. His accent made it hard to pinpoint where the man was from. It carried some indications of being
southern, but also carried the fluidity common to city nobles.
“Oh? Is that why you are here? To tell me how Tavon feels about me?”
Nat‟Haiel snickered. “Hardly. I‟ve come to explain the situation at hand, per Tavon‟s request. As
a Radiant Light, you have rights to the first notification of the plans. And, might I add, your part in it is
most important.”
“The soldiers are not Radiant Lights, then?”
The general shook his head. “It‟s complicated. We are and we are not. We follow the Almighty
and His ways, but we are not bound to the same training regiment that Tirion enforces. Not that we aren‟t
well trained, we are.
“My forces work to maintain peace along the borders to protect Rainor and for everything it
represents. We provide a barrier of defense for the Radiant Lights to train, scholarize—I assume that‟s a
word—and evangelize the surrounding kingdoms.”
Aaron plopped down on the ground, back against a wooden post.
Nat‟Haiel continued. “The Shadowlands, as you know, are something dangerous. My soldiers are
confident when defending, but storming into those lands is going to be something else entirely.” He
paused, nodding to the east where dark, shadowy shapes moved in the distance past the warcamps‟ walls
formed from sharpened logs. “The Hollows have taken to fortifying their position.”
“Why? What‟s their play?” Aaron asked, trying to relate the landscape to a game of Kill the King
in his mind.
“We suspect that when the battle begins, they will attack from behind. Destroying the warcamps
would ensure there is no means of escape. Tirion and Tavon are still perfecting the plan, but as of now,
you will be charging in with them behind a wall of my soldiers. We will take the brunt of the Hollows as
we pierce through the forces and create a path to The Tower.” Nat‟Haiel paused, nodding with his head
toward the east.
Deep in the distance, past the increasing lines of the army of Hollows, a large spire as black as the
void of the night sky stretched toward the heavens. It was hardly distinguishable against the dark
landscape of the Shadowlands. The way its top portion of the monument was shattered suggested it was
once twice as high.
“Once there,” Nat‟Haiel continued in his strange accent, “you and the other Radiant Lights will
enter the Tower and kill this Surrogate Tirion speaks of. My forces will continue keeping as many of the
Hollows at bay on the outside for as long as possible. Our hope is that the they will go motionless once
the Surrogate is killed.”
The plan sounded reasonable, and was similar to what Aaron had imagined would happen.
Honestly, given the wall of Hollows surrounding the warcamps and however many Acolytes accompanied
them, it was probably the best course of action.
“And if we fail?” Aaron asked.
Nat‟Haiel paused as he considered the question. “Should we fail, without a means of retreat, we
will stand on the glorious Shores of Eternity, awaiting the blessed entrance to the Heavens. The Almighty
will raise a new generation to stop this Surrogate. And if they fail, He will continue to do so until the
world is rid of this evil.”
Yes, of course. Eternity. The Heavens. That was what the Radiant Lights long for.
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“I know that feeling,” the general said. He took a seat next to Aaron. “You worry if such a task if
possible. If we can actually defeat this Surrogate. You worry you may die.
“While I don‟t completely understand everything to the extent that Tirion, Tavon, or even
yourself do, I can tell you that the Almighty gives wisdom on how to defeat evil. There has never, and
will never, be an evil in this world the Almighty cannot stop. And I don‟t doubt that you will make it to
The Tower. You, being a Squire, are capable of inflicting the same amount of damage as ten of my
soldiers. The Templarites, a hundred. The Lionhearts,” Nat‟Haiel paused, smiling. “I don‟t think there is a
fair comparison for them.”
“I feel like I‟m in over my head,” Aaron confessed. “All I wanted to do was retire to the
mountains, and now I‟m wearing this.” He tugged on his red Squire‟s tabard. “What if we fail? Do I stand
before the Almighty as a failure? How does one do that?”
“It is true that we need to succeed for humanity‟s sake and failing will lead to more destruction
than imaginable, but do not fear death. Death will come for us all. Fear standing before the Almighty as
someone who didn‟t give what they could have, who was too afraid to step out and fight evil. Fear being
someone who gives up. Sometimes the greatest achievements in faith comes through moments of doubt.”
Aaron nodded. “When do we leave?”
The general shrugged. “Whenever they are done planning. If you were my soldier I‟d say, pack
your bags and spend time with friends and eating warm meals before the horn of battle blows. And let me
tell you a secret about fighting these Hollows. They don‟t have much in the ways of defense, so attack
hard and don‟t stop.” Nat‟Haiel smiled, rose to his feet, and walked away, hand clasped behind his back.
Aaron watched the general leave, then he turned his attention to the gathering army just outside
the borders. As his eyes grew accustomed to the blackness of the Shadowlands, he started to see more and
more layers of the Hollows. The army was three layers deep—with more Hollows piling into the back—
and stretched around the warcamp as far as Aaron could see. He suspected that it continued all the way
around their position, trapping them where they were.
After a few more minutes, Aaron grabbed his things and stood to his feet, taking one quick
second to check the runes on the shortsword. They carried a faint, gold glow. He pushed the weapon back
in the sheath and started walking through the warcamps, hoping Kaylie was at the tavern-tent with Sariah.
He needed a drink and a warm meal.
If there was any hope of retreating, that‟s gone now.

Do not forget your former transgressions, lest you fall back to those wicked ways.

Chapter 61

For two days they stayed in the warcamps as Tirion planned the assault into the blackness which was the
Shadowlands. Aaron had spent the majority of those days sleeping, reading the Rhetoria, practicing in the
training grounds, and spending time with people in the tavern-tent.
Today, Aaron sat on a barstool in the midst of the large, red tavern-tent. Sariah sat to his left
chatting with Gavin. Based on the amount of laughing, they seemed to be enjoying themselves.
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After taking a sip of his rum, Aaron leaned to his right and whispered to Kaylie. “Is there
something going on between those two?”
The red headed Templarite turned her head, smiling, eyes a beautiful emerald green. “I‟m not
sure. They make a good couple though, yeah?”
Aaron nodded. He took another drink as he looked out the entryway flap. Outside, the
Shadowlands could be seen, dark and void, ominously declaring war against the light. Aaron‟s body told
him it was roughly mid-day, but he honestly could not be certain with the way the Shadowlands blocked
the sun.
“What? You don‟t think so?”
“What?” Aaron said. “Oh, that. I don‟t know. I mean, I like Gavin. I suppose anyone from the
Order would be worth considering.”
“Anyone?” Kaylie said, leaning back.
“Wait. What? I didn‟t mean—”
Kayle smiled playfully. “I know what you meant.”
With a fake smile, Aaron looked toward the entrance again. A multitude of weapons rested on a
rack next to the flaps, others were stacked not from from the exit. At any moment the battle horn would
blow and it would be followed by a rush of people preparing for war. That horn, whenever it happened,
would signal the end of the warcamps. It would signal the start of something much larger and important:
the beginning of the end of the Corruption plaguing and mutating the world.
Aaron‟s weapon and shield were on top of his pack beneath the wooden stool he sat on. He was
hardly concerned about someone stealing his belongings. It was more of not wanting to push through the
crowds to find his belongings why he placed them where he did. With the items within reach, he would be
one of the first ones to leave the tent. That was the plan, at least.
“Is everything alright, Aaron?” Kaylie asked “You seem worried.”
“I… Yes, I think so.” He said before taking another drink of his rum. Somehow, whoever brewed
the liquid found a way to make it pack a punch but not have much of an alcoholic effect. So, the drink
was more to keep Aaron awake than to ease the nerves or the aching of muscles.
“With what‟s inside you,” Kaylie said, poking Aaron in the chest, “you have nothing to worry
about.” She kissed him on the cheek and turned to order another drink.
Something sounded in the distance. It was muffled. But it sounded like…
Yes, the distinct sound of a galloping horse echoed through the warcamps, slowly making its way
to the central camp. Aaron flinched and reached for his weapons. Realizing how foolish he was being,
Aaron smirked as he regathered his composure. Hooves thundering through the camps did not necessarily
mean the war was beginning.
At a collapsable oaken table nearby, Leonias sat with a few of the soldiers playing a game of Kill
the King. The Templarite sure seemed to like the game, and judging from the groans from his opponents,
he seemed to be winning. Typically, Leonias liked to play with Alexander, but he had stayed in Rainor
with Wain.
Aaron had joined in a few games over the past two days, but his mind had been occupied with
preparing for the battle. The thought of attacking a Hollow—human or not—still made his stomach turn,
and that was against the training dummy. Who knew what he would do when he was attacking the real
thing.
He tried not to worry about it, which was something easier said than done. If it was true that
Shadow‟s did consume people‟s souls, it also made sense that someone‟s soul could eventually be
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completely devoured. Sariah had mentioned once before that she had seen an event take place where the
very thing happened. So maybe—
A horn blew.
Everyone snapped to attention and rushed to the entryway where they scrambled against a
multitude of arms to find their weaponry. Aaron grabbed his items and pushed his way through the large,
muscular soldiers, making his way outside. Once there, he ran toward his horse, strapping the sheath to
his back as he moved.
Bell was waiting for him in a great display of war-horse plate armor, already saddled. With the
boost from a soldier, Aaron hopped onto the horse in one fluid movement. Gripping the reins, he kicked
the horse into a trot and followed Sariah and Gavin to the east.
It was a decent trip through the third and fourth warcamp, but eventually they pulled to a halt
behind a massive army of nearly ten thousand troops. They each carried a spear pressed against the right
shoulder of their leather armor and a red cape draped over their left shoulders rustled as they took their
positions. Some of the soldiers near the exit of the warcamp carried shields and shorter, one-handed
spears. More soldiers piled in behind the Squires, Templarites, and Lionhearts of the Radiant Lights.
Kaylie stopped next to Aaron, bow on her back, red locks falling over her shoulders.
Aaron took a deep breath as he nervously moved his fingers along the leather strap that was the
reins. I can do this, he thought, glancing around, waiting for Tirion to trot past. He should be arriving any
moment.
Being seated on a horse allowed Aaron to look over the entirety of the army of foot soldiers.
Outside of the warcamps, standing on the black, scorched, Corrupted earth of the Shadowlands, an army
of Hollows awaited combat. The way they stood motionless with their arms to their side was something
strange. It almost seemed like they were awaiting directions.
Aaron shuttered as he saw Acolytes slowly walking through the leagues of Hollows waiting
outside. Matching everything in the Shadowlands, they wore black.
As Aaron and the others had learned recently, the Acolytes were not only the ones giving the
orders, but were also terrifying to encounter on a battlefield. Aaron had only caught a glimpse of the
power from the one Tavon fought in Stillwind Forest. The way that man‟s eyes glistened with joy at the
sight of combat and pain was unnerving to say the least. He and Sariah had shared a short dialogue,
contemplating their origins. They both came to the conclusion that the Acolytes were harnessing their
abilities from powerful Shadows. Why else would Tavon have been worried about fighting one?

“This is it, men!” Tirion‟s voice echoed from behind. “The moment we have been preparing
ourselves for. In this moment we find out what we are made of, and where our faith stands. For it is only
faith that you will get you through this battle.
“Remember this: your strength does not come from your muscles, for they may fail. Your
courage is not something that is mustered up from within, for that may come and go. Your awareness of
battle is not something inside your mind, for thoughts can be blurred. Remember this, all our efforts must
come from the Almighty, for it is only He who can grant abilities which never fail.
“Our families await us after this victory,” Tirion shouted, voice incredibly crisp as he trotted past.
A line of six Lionhearts trailed behind. “Our friends await us after this victory. The entire world is
waiting—and longing—for this victory.
“As many of you now, battles come and go in the matter of minutes. Victory is waiting on the
other side. If you find yourself in a land of brilliant light, do not worry, for you have already died. Instead,
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walk across the Shores of Eternity and step into the Heavens boldfully, for you have died in honor of the
Almighty.
“I consider myself honored to have known soldiers such as yourselves. You should be proud to be
who you are. Many have walked this path and given up, but here we stand as followers of the Almighty.
Darkness may be waiting on the other side of those walls, but there is something you need to remember.
Darkness can only dwell where light does not exist. And we, as followers of the Almighty, are Radiant
Lights!”
He paused as the entire multitude of soldiers, Squires, Templarites, and Lionhearts shouted a loud
“Hoo-Rah!” The sound roared throughout the warcamps and bounced off the hills of the Shadowlands.
The thumping of wood and clanking of metal sounded as the entire army drew their weapons and shifted
into their battle formations.
“Nat‟Haiel,” Tirion said, “on your command, sound the horn.”
The general nodded, turned, and handed Aaron a spear. When did he ride up next to Aaron?
“Gives you a little reach while on horseback. Try to keep it for more than one of those forlorned
creatures. Save your sword for when you dismount, if you can.” Nat‟Haiel winked and turned to face the
exit. He raised a horn carved from the horn of a ram and buzzed his lips.
A deep bellow—like the rolling thunder after a lightning strike—echoed through the warcamps.
The soldiers shouted at the top of their lungs and charged into the wall of Hollows.

***

The fighters in front pinched together as they flooded out of the warcamps, forming together in an
arrowhead formation. Screams sounded wildly as a wall of spears slammed into Hollows, splattering
blood every which way. The first line of Hollows dropped nearly instantly.
The second line of Hollows stepped forward and swiped their mangy claws at the soldiers, but
their attacks were blocked by shields. The footmen in the front retaliated with spear thrusts. As those
Hollows dropped, more and more of the forlorned creatures charged the soldiers with fury filled eyes.
Aaron gripped the reins with a sweaty hand beneath a leather glove, holding the spear in his left
hand at the ready. He was not close enough to attack, yet. Too many layers of soldiers blocked the
Hollows from reaching his location, but they were slowly dwindling. Soon, the wall of men would fall,
and Aaron would meet the Hollows face to face. Soon, he would need to kill again.
They don‟t have souls, he thought, watching as men continued to stab their spears into Hollow
after Hollow. They aren‟t people. I can do this. He rocked up and down to the motions of Bell—who was
encouraged to keep at a steady speed somewhere between a trot and a gallop—as he pressed down the
knot swelling in his stomach.
Just like an arrowhead could only pierce so far before stopping or a sword could be hit against
stone only so many times before it was dull and useless, so did the bullhead of the charge begin to slow
its pace and dwindle in numbers. Out of the corner of Aaron‟s eye, he saw Nat‟Haiel raise the horn to his
lips and send another thundering sound.
The soldiers that formed the point of the formation shifted their movements. They split into two
divisions and formed into aisles. Hollows flooded into the opening, slashing at the soldier‟s backs.
Aaron gripped the spear tight in his strong hand, preparing for the attack. Ahead of him, a line of
Templarites and Lionhearts slammed into the oncoming Hollows, trampling them and continuing on to
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The Tower. Aaron followed, Kaylie riding on his left and Nat‟Haiel on the right. Together, they trampled
a few divisions of already dead Hollows before colliding with live, fury filled ones.
They don‟t have souls. They aren‟t people.
Who said they don‟t have souls? a voice whispered in Aaron‟s mind. It sounded similar to
Reeves. You think you can believe the Order?
Shaking away the thought and pressing down the nausea in his stomach, Aaron thrusted his spear.
The weapon pierced through a Hollow‟s chest, sending a spray of blood out of its back. Bell continued
forward, unphased by the attack. With a few rough tugs, the momentum pulled the spear free of the
Hollow. The creature‟s lifeless body slumped to the ground.
A whirlwind of uneasiness spiraled inside of Aaron as he speared another of the creatures. It
screamed and dropped to the ground. He should not be feeling this way. He should not care if these things
died. They were walking abominations, after all.
His spear dug deep into another Hollow. It fell to the ground as the bloody weapon was pulled
free.
This is what the Almighty would want, Aaron told himself. Any force, any agent, of evil needed to
be expelled from the world. Only then would the world return to good.
Good.
He thought of good as though it were something attainable. Like it was something that could be
achieved if someone tried hard enough. But such a notion seemed to contradict what he knew to be true.
Before he discovered the truth behind Orthianism, he did not have the gumption to hardly any good. But
now he knew what holiness looked like. This begged the question: how could progress be achieved if a
person did not know what they were progressing to? Without empowerment from the Almighty, how
could a person even—
A Hollow leaped through the air, gripped Aaron‟s shoulders, and yanked him off the horse. He
tried his best to use what little momentum was gained to roll to his feet, but he thudded hard against the
blackened ground as a stampede of horses thundered past.
Focus, he thought, thumping the Hollow in the forehead with the butt of his spear. It grunted in
surprise, shaking its nasty, distorted face, releasing its grip.
Aaron sprang to his feet and dropped down into the aggressive stance, glancing to the east. Bell
continued onward, unphased that the rider had been removed. Aaron looked back to the Hollow that
pulled him from his mount. It was struggling to its feet, growling with rage. Aaron stepped forward and
thrust his spear at the thing. The Hollow raised its hand to block, but the weapon pierced through it and
continued forward, digging into the creature‟s skull.
Aaron‟s stomach twisted as he watched the Hollow die. He tried to rip the weapon free, but it
wouldn‟t budge. The wooden shaft suddenly snapped. He reached to his back and drew his shield and
shortsword. The gold runes along the blade carried a faint glow.
I need to keep heading east, he thought, looking to The Tower in the distance. He had a ways yet
to go, and a sea of Hollows to pass, so he bolted into motion as the creatures started swarming his
location.
He leaped over corpses left in the wake of the Radiant Lights. They were distant now, the path
slowly becoming blocked by Hollows.
Motion was spotted to his left. Aaron dipped beneath a swipe from a Hollow. He twisted and
thrust the sword quickly into the thing‟s chest. Despite it not looking as sharp, the weapon pierced flesh
far easier than the spear did. The Hollow screamed in pain, fumbled to the ground, and started flailing. It
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was still alive, but Aaron did not necessarily need to kill all these creatures. He just needed to make it to
The Tower.
The war you are fighting is useless, the voice said again.
Another enemy stepped within reach. Aaron moved forward, swinging with his shield. It blocked
the Hollow‟s attack and forced its arm out of position. Aaron followed up by slashing the thing diagonally
across the chest. Black, tainted blood shot into the air as the thing dropped motionless to the ground. With
the shield already raised to the right, Aaron blocked the attacks next to him, turned, and cleaved through
the opponent‟s throat. The Hollow fell, gurgling, gasping for breath.
After a few quick steps, Aaron leaped forward, pivoting as he landed. He ducked beneath a
Hollow‟s claw as he continued to turn. Close enough to smell the foul scent of an unbathed, dying
creature, Aaron slammed forward with his shield, pushing the Hollow to the ground. It scrambled in a
pain before dying as a sword cleaved its heart.
Aaron continued moving.
The runes along the crimson stained sword glowed slightly brighter than before as Aaron slashed
at what Hollows stepped into his path. Each one fell with a scream. The ones still alive scrambled on the
ground long enough for Aaron to leave them behind. Someone else would kill them. Or perhaps they
would go mindless once the Surrogate was killed. Either way, he could not fight them all.
He was almost there when he was sent to the ground by a Hollow gripping his leather boot. Four
short strips of pain pounded in Aaron‟s back. He sliced at the hand gripping his foot, severing it with one
sweep. The creature shrieked and clawed with the other, but it was blocked as Aaron‟s shield slammed
into it and the thing‟s face. It went motionless.
Another Hollow—presumably the one that slashed his back judging from the blood dripping from
its claw—swiped at Aaron‟s face, but he reacted fast enough to stab his blade into the claw. It screamed
and yanked its hand away, freeing it from the blade. Aaron lunged forward and forced the shortsword
deep into the Hollow‟s chest. After two final squirms, it died.
Aaron rose to his feet, turned, and sprinted toward The Tower, but he only went to far before he
was forced to stop and fight.
So close.
He turned and sliced at the Hollows filling in around him, continuing with the aggressive stance.
He blocked an attack with his shield and followed it with a shield bash to a Hollow‟s face. It fell and
Aaron slashed at another. The forsaken creatures were falling, but not as fast as they were flowing in. It
was like they were the waves of the sea, and Aaron was a turtle trying to walk its way to shore.
A thin, short, light flashed through the air, followed by a Hollow‟s scream. Glancing, Aaron saw
an arrow made of pure energy sticking from the creature‟s neck as it crumbled to the ground. Aaron
blocked another attack from a Hollow, stabbed it in the chest, then turned and looked toward The Tower
as another arrow of light arced through the air.
Kaylie was standing at the top of the steps leading to the entryway of The Tower, firing arrows of
magic to help Aaron out of the vicious crowd. A group of Templarites and Lionhearts stood near her,
fending off the Hollows trying to storm up the steps.
As another Hollow shrieked and fell to the ground with an arrow in its skull, Aaron used the
suppression fire to his advantage and stepped east. He ducked beneath another attack from a Hollow and
thrust his sword completely through the thing‟s torso. As he blocked an attack with his shield, Aaron
pressed his boot against the Hollow at the end of his sword, forced it off, and leaped off its corpse as it hit
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the ground. Falling, he thrust his glowing blade into another Hollow‟s face. It died before it could make a
sound.
Landing, he dropped into the defensive stance instinctively, relying on Kaylie‟s barrage of arrows
to down the creatures charging toward him. He stepped slowly toward The Tower, careful to block and
parry each attack coming his way.
Being surrounded was hardly an ideal situation for the defensive stance. Typically, it was used
when near a corner because, no matter how good your combat sense was, it was difficult to block from all
angles.
Aaron‟s boot hit against something hard. He stepped back carefully, using his foot to feel the
surface of the object. Once certain he would step down on the ground, he moved back, parrying a claw
swipe from a Hollow. He counter attacked the off balance creature, dropping it to the ground with black
blood pouring from its neck.
Certain he would not fall, Aaron glanced down, raising the shield above his head to block the
next oncoming attack.
Aaron started.
Leonias lie on the ground, white tabard stained crimson. Blood pooled around him. The
Templarite‟s neck and arms had been slashed by one of the Hollow‟s.
“No,” Aaron whispered, looking into the young Templarite‟s motionless eyes. “No. This can‟t
be.”
The images of dying and tortured friends flashed through Aaron‟s mind. Images of the people he
knew being whipped in the stockades. He saw himself being whipped. He was so young then, younger
than Leonias.
He thought about Sariah and how she had given herself up for him. How her bloody, naked body
dangled from a chain. How she took many more whippings than she deserved. Did anyone deserve such a
thing?
Everyone will die just like the Templarite did, the voice said in Aaron‟s mind. You cannot escape
this fate.
A whirlwind of anger, torment, and sadness filled Aaron‟s chest. his right arm shook as a Hollow
pounded against the shield. As he took a step back to stabilize, Aaron‟s foot brushed against another
body. Turning, Aaron saw the mangled, bloody corpse of Leonias‟s horse.
Aaron‟s training had not prepared him for this. Sure, he had seen plenty of death in his life, but
how was he to react?
A Hollow stepped onto the horse‟s corpse and lifted a claw to attack, but an arrow of pure white
light pierced into the thing‟s neck, sending it to the ground. Kaylie was still trying to protect Aaron‟s
flank the best she could.
Setting his jaw, Aaron switched from the defensive stance to the aggressive stance and exploded
forward, leaping over Leonias. He swung as he moved, slicing throats and chests of Hollows. They fell to
the ground with loud screams of pain.
Pain.
Aaron wanted them to feel pain. If he was hurting, so would they.
He moved forward with fury, pivoting, slicing. He became a whirlwind of shield bashes and
sword swings, killing anything standing in his path, relying on his leather armor for protection. It was not
a lot, but it would force some attacks to glance away. Each scream from a dying Hollow brought him
closer to The Tower.
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Steel sounded up ahead. Glancing between movements, Aaron saw Hollow‟s being ripped apart
as a squadron of Lionhearts stormed the battlefield. They fought in unison as they carved their way to
Aaron‟s position.
After killing a few more of the Corrupted creatures, Aaron released himself from the focus of
fighting and sprinted toward The Tower, running through the opening the Lionheart‟s were creating. He
leaped over Hollow corpses, soldiers, and horses. Aaron was too focused on the destination to tell which
steed belonged to who, but from the lack of horses near The Tower, he assumed all of the steeds were all
dead. Including Bell.
After passing the flood of black tabards of the Lionhearts, Aaron scrambled up the blackened
stone steps of The Tower and rushed inside. Once safe inside the stone walls, he stopped, dropping his
weapon, heaving for air. A crowd of Templarites entered. Tavon arrived last, shut the door behind, and
barred it shut with a long, thick beam of wood.
“I feared you wouldn‟t make it,” Kaylie said, crouching next to Aaron.
“They got Leonias,” he responded between breaths.
“I know. I tried to save him, but I couldn‟t. It happened too fast. From the looks of your back,
they almost got you as well.”
It was then Aaron‟s back started wailing in pain.
“Hold still,” Kaylie said. Aaron flinched as she pressed her hand against his shoulder blades.
She started mumbling and light began to glow from behind. Aaron could feel the pain leaving his
back as the tendons started weaving back together. He could feel his flesh stretching as it fused together.
A moment later, the light was gone, and it took the pain with it.
“You should be as good as new,” she said. She kissed him on the cheek. Her irises were a
glowing gold for a moment, then faded back to the emerald green Aaron was accustomed to.
He ran a hand along his back. Through the rips of his leather jerkin, he could feel his flesh. It was
smooth, like the cut never existed. How? he thought, but the idea was quickly washed away and replaced
with the image of his friend‟s corpse.
“Alright,” Tavon said, stepping before the group. “Tirion is already in here searching for the
Surrogate. He has two Lionhearts with him. I‟ve been instructed to separate us into two groups and begin
searching for the Surrogate‟s Solstace. Aaron, Sariah, and Kaylie, you will come with me. Everyone else,
group up and let‟s find a way to kill this thing.”
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Aaron picked up his shortsword. The runes glimmered with
light.
Darkness comes, the voice said.

Metal is smelted through fire.

Chapter 62
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Sariah climbed the stone stairwell that had been blackened by the Corruption some years ago. Large
chunks of debris lie in clumps every few steps, and every dozen feet or so a window rested along the
outside wall.
Without the sun or moon, The Tower was incredibly dark, and the glow from the runes lining the
Radiant Light‟s weapons were hardly enough to act like a torch. But it also was not entirely necessary.
Somehow, visibility was normal inside the empty, shattered, forsaken structure.
Sariah felt like the was walking through the Void itself. The place which existed between heaven
and hell. The place where souls sat in limbo waiting for an eternal judgement. There was a great deal of
debate on whether or not such a state of being existed, but this is what Sariah imagined it looked like if it
did.
Aaron was in front of her, and Tavon in front of him. It was the Lionheart who had suggested
they climb the tower rather than descend into the dungeon.
“So, what are we looking for exactly?” Sariah asked.
“The Solstace,” Kayle whispered from behind.
“No kidding. What does it look like?”
“I‟d imagine kind of like our Sol Stones, except black,” Tavon said, voice slightly muffled from
his helmet.
“Wait. We don‟t know what this thing looks like?”
“Not exactly.”
Aaron stopped and looked over his shoulder, sharing a look with Sariah.
“So we stormed into this wretched place,” Sariah said, “looking to destroy an item that may
possess the soul to a man who may or may not be immortal, and we don‟t even know what it looks like?”
Tavon carefully stepped over a pile of rubble on the stairwell. “I reckon we should have
considered that first, huh?”
Unbelievable, Sariah thought as she followed up the steps.
“I can‟t imagine it being difficult to spot. Just look for a black stone. And if it does contain the
Surrogate's soul, perhaps we will be able to see it floating around on its surface.”
“And if it‟s not in a stone?”
Tavon shrugged. “If an item is capable of such power, we‟ll find it.”
Sariah sighed, shaking her eyed, eyes closed to hide her frustration..
You have a gifting, Oben‟s voice echoed in Sariah‟s mind. It hasn‟t left you. It can‟t leave you.
She felt something
Something—somewhere—pulsed with power. She could feel it. It was a constant, steady thump.
Squinting, she tried to focus in on the power, like she would before with the Strands of the Universe.
Whatever pulsed was distant and off to the right, maybe? It felt… dark. Unnatural. Evil.
Sariah opened her eyes and looked at her daggers. The runes glowed brighter now than they did
before. “Aaron?” she whispered.
When he turned around she showed him her weapons. His eyes went wide. They both knew what
it meant: the brighter the glow the more powerful the evil nearby. Aaron frowned and turned back around.
We can do this, Sariah thought, focusing back to the mission at hand, suppressing her nerves.
All of this was new to her. When fighting with evil, she had been on the side of evil, so fighting
against it was something new. Screams from Hollows could be heard faintly through the thick walls of
The Tower. That was also new to her. And how were they suppose to find this Solstace any—
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Tavon shushed them up ahead. He leaned against the curved interior wall, looking at something.
The Lionheart motioned for the others to approach him, but to do so quietly.
When Sariah got close enough to see what was happening, she saw that Tavon was peering
through a window. She leaned looked over his shoulder.
They overlooked a large, circular, central room. A few dozen feet below, a group of three people
walked through the black room, weapons glowing. One carried a large halberd and a shield, while the
other two carried large, two-handed swords.
Tirion and the Lionhearts, Sariah thought, watching as they investigated the room.
Their steel footsteps echoed loudly through the eerily silent chamber. Sariah watched them
walked around the edge of the room, but they appeared to find nothing. She felt a pulsing. Something was
in the room with them. Everything inside of her wanted to say something, but Tavon‟s instructions were
to remain quiet. As her eyes adjusted to the room, she saw something shift.
“Tirion Braveheart,” a voice said. “I‟ve been expecting you.”

****

“Who are you?” Tirion asked, tightening his grip on the halberd. Most people wielded the
polearm with two hands, but his was slightly shorter so he could wield it with one. This allowed his other
hand to carry a large shield shaped like a kite. Both the sigil on his shield and the runes coating the axe
head and spear point of his weapons became brighter. He could hear his companions shift their weapons
into an attacking position.
Up ahead, a figure stepped out of the shadows and into the gold light of the weapons. He was not
much taller than Tirion, if at all. He wore black nobleman‟s clothing doned with a long, black cloak
which nearly touched the floor. A clean shaven face revealed a smile.
“I‟m surprised it took you so long,” the man said.
“Who are you?” Tirion asked again.
“I believe you call me the Surrogate, though that is hardly close to my name.”
Tirion flinched. How did he know…
Of course, the Shadows. Aaron still carried one during the negotiations with the Ar‟Kire.
Somehow, this man had a way to communicate with the demons.
“I figured the Radiant Lights would have come pounding on my door long before today,” the
Surrogate said. “It took you all decades longer than I had expected.” He paused and frowned, leaning
forward, pressing his weight against the cane he held with both hands. “Did you have trouble
communicating amongst yourselves?”
“What do you want?” Tirion snapped.
“Yes, I remember those days all too well. It‟s rather difficult to arrange plans when there is so
much squabbling happening around you, isn‟t it, Tirion? Each of the seven sects have their own agenda
and they are unwilling to compromise to make anything happen. Yes, I remember that all too well.”
Except, we did come together. “Who are you?”
The Surrogate started, pressing a hand to his chest. After a moment to gather his composure, he
smiled. “Yes, well, I suppose I can‟t blame you too much for not recognizing me. I don‟t look like I used
to, not that the Order ever bothered to paint a portrait of me for any of my accomplishments.”
Accomplishments? He speaks as though he used to be a member of the Order. But once a person
becomes a member they can‟t leave, that was what made the oath and the water so important.
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“Still can‟t put it together?” the Surrogate asked. “Yes, I suppose that is only fair. The Order
doesn‟t like to hold dear to the ones they consider insane. I imagine the majority of my books have
probably be burned on the account of my heretical views.”
“Clive? Clive Taigan?”
“Very good,” Clive, the Surrogate, said. His cane disappeared in a puff of smoke as he started
clapping.
“How?”
“Now, now. If I told you everything then how could you waste your time searching out the
mysteries? Aren‟t some mysteries better left unanswered? That sound like something the Order used to
teach.”
“What do you want? What‟s the purpose of all this killing? It has to be more than petty revenge.”
“What do I want? Why, the same thing you do: to end this war.”
Tirion laughed. “You are the reason we have this war.”
“I‟m the reason we have this war?” Clive scoffed. “Just like the Order to blame others for their
own mistakes. If you weren‟t so dedicated to fighting for your own view of good, you may realize you
can only obtain what you can grasp with your own hand. Power is gained through sacrifice. I sacrificed
what I thought was true, to gain a power I know to be true.”
Tirion shook his head, gripping his halberd tightly with a steel plated gauntlet. No. No true
believer in the Almighty would give it all up for a false sense of power. Real power comes from the
Almighty.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
Clive paused for a moment, appearing to consider the questions. “Yes, I suppose that is
something I could answer. Some amount of centuries ago—I lost count how many years exactly because
honestly, I don‟t care—I set out on another of my adventures that the Order said was worthless. The
leader at the time had multiple discussions with me about how I should stay at the monastery, study the
Rhetoria, and translate it to different languages.
“While I didn‟t consider that to be a waste, it wasn‟t what I believed the Almighty wanted me to
do with my life. Since I didn‟t have a blessing from any of the Elders, I packed my bags and set off on my
journey alone. After a few years, I stumbled upon a clue which took me on a separate journey. Which
then led me on another. I prayed and prayed for guidance from the Almighty, but I never received an
answer. But I never let the feeling of worthlessness and a life wasted to deter me from my goal. And after
a decade of being alone and struggling to find food in the wilderness, I found a cave deep within the
Northern Peaks.
“Inside the cave, I found a treasure which held a special medallion. That medallion changed my
life forever and led me to what I know now is true truth. I kept it for myself, knowing the Order would
never accept the artifact I found. Because of their unwillingness to change, they never accept anything
that would mean they must reconsider their theology. Which is exactly why the world views Orthianism
as futile. If they released their pride and—”
Tirion lunged forward and thrust the spear tip of his halberd straight into Clive‟s chest. With the
runes shining bright, the weapon easily slid completely through and stuck out from the man‟s back.
The Surrogate stumbled to the ground, landing on one knee, hand wrapped around the wound. He
shuoted in pain. After a moment, he started laughing and stood to his feet, pole of the halberd still
protruding from his chest.
“Tell me, Tirion Braveheart,” Clive said. “What is it you planned to do next?”
381

Tirion watched in horror as the Surrogate ripped the halberd free and tossed it to the ground. The
bloodless wound sealed shut without the aid of healing lights or a mumbling prayer.
“Had you let me finish my story I would have explained how I reached immortality, but you are
just so impatient.”
After a deep breath, Tirion drew the longsword from his waist.
They better find that Solstace and destroy it.

***

Nearly three stories above, Sariah watched through a window as smoke appeared from nowhere
and coalesced together into a longsword. The Surrogate slashed with it. When the black blade collided
with Tirion‟s shield, a flash of light erupted from the glowing sigil on the shield
Near the two Lionhearts behind Tirion, multiple strands of smoke coursed through the air,
weaving together into a pair of feet. It continued to gather, forming legs and then a torso. This continued
until a large human with smoldering eyes engaged in combat, keeping the Lionhearts from attacking the
Surrogate. Though, judging from Tirion‟s first attack, nothing would happen until the Solstace was
destroyed.
“Come,” Tavon whispered. He pressed a finger against his lips to ensure everyone remained
silent, then quietly led the troupe further up the stairwell as fast as possible.
Sariah followed behind, stepping as quietly as she could. She was by far the quietest of the group,
of course she was the only one that had been trained for stealth. While she no longer carried the heart of
an assassin, the skills still remained. She gracefully stepped forward, touching first with the midfoot,
careful to keep the heel off the steps.
Not that the sound of her leather boots tapping against the stone would be any louder than the
steel greaves Tavon wore. She nearly cringed every time he took a step. Though if creatures were waiting
to attack them, they probably would have done so already. Unless Sariah and the others had not reached
the ambush point, but the stone stairwell did not contain any doors. Just windows.
Sariah glanced out one of the exterior windows and looked out over the battlefield. A sea of
Hollows stretched nearly as far as the eye could see, forming into a blob of black figures the further into
the distance. Mountains loomed on the horizon, black and menacing, as though they were shadowed from
a massive thunderstorm refusing to flash its light.
The forces of Orthianism continued to slaughter through the Hollows. Raigar spun in a flurry of
axe swings as Brutis—his giant grizzly bear—slammed through a horde, mauling anything stupid enough
to step in its way. The Hammerfists followed behind and used their massive weapons to cleave the
Hollows in two. A slew of soldiers followed behind and fought in the wake the Raigar and his men
created.
Further to the north, an army wearing vibrant colors pressed in on the Corrupted forces. Avalon‟s
army. Even from this distance it was clear they preferred more technical fighting than brute force.
However they chose to fight did not matter. All that mattered was that they pulled forces away from the
tower, and so far it was working.
A knot swelled in Sariah‟s chest as she began to feel the weight of their situation. All those men
out there were depending on her group to succeed. They were risking their lives in the hope that a group
of four Radiant Lights would shine brought enough in the darkness to end the war capable of destroying
the world.
382

Sariah shook her head, turned, and continued up the stairs. A few minutes of quick, silent
traveling later, Tavon opened and door and stepped into a room. Aaron followed, then Sariah.
The large, circular room was quiet and carried a faint must in the air. Tables sat in corners and
bookshelves lined the walls. A single, circular pillar stood near the center of the room. Sections of its
surface had been carved away, making more shelves which carried more than a few books. A wooden
door rested at the other end of the room.
“Spread out,” Tavon said, turning to investigate the shelf to the left. “Look for anything that
might help. And do so with haste.”
Kaylie and Aaron walked to the center column together. Sariah watched for a moment, then
moved to the far wall away from everyone. She opened up a book at random and lifted one of her daggers
for light. It hardly helped, of course—no source of light did anything of value in the Shadowlands. The
pages of the book had been scorched as black as the letters, yet Saria was still able to see the words. But
she was unable read whatever ancient language they had been written in, unfortunately.
She set the book back on the shelf and grabbed another. It, too, contained the same type of
strange letters. They looked almost like glyphs. Determined searching the books was worthless, she put
the book back on the shelf and walked along the wall, searching for something out of the usual. A gust of
wind, a book colored something other than black, anything.
Her foot tapped against something solid. A wooden chest rest in the corner. She knelt down,
popped the lock with a dagger, and opened the coffer. A white Templarite tabard lie elegantly folded
inside. Unfurling it, Sariah held up and inspected the garb.
It was too flawless to be a forgery. This was the real deal. This was an authentic Templarite
tabard from the Order of the Radiant light. Setting the garment to the side, Sariah picked up a sheathed
shortsword. Runes along its surface carried a faint gold glow as the blade was drawn.
She set it to the side and picked up the final object in the chest: a book titled Supplications for the
Soul, written by Clive Taigan.
“I think I might have something,” she said, opening the book. It was written in the same ancient
language as the rest of the library.
“What is it?” Tavon asked. He walked her direction, greaves clanking against the stone floor.
“It‟s a book written by Clive, but it‟s in some language I have never seen before.”
“May I?”
Sariah handed the text to the Lionheart.
“Do you recognize these letters?” Tavon asked Aaron.
“Vaguely. When I was looking at the books over there,” he pointed to where he and Kaylie had
been, “I thought I recognized the language, but I can‟t remember from where.”
“Remember when we were in the Shadowlands and we went through the catacomb?” Tavon said.
“There was a room full of empty graves that appeared to be used for a ritual of some sort. On a pedestal at
the center of that room was a book. That book was written in the same language as this one.”
Aaron cocked his head as Sariah peaked over his shoulder at the book. “What does that mean?”
he asked.
“That means our friend, Clive Taigan, may have found a secret in the forbidden magic. He may
have found a way to tap into magic and forfeit his soul.” Tavon paused, shaking his head. “I fear that man
is going to find something far worse than immortality once this is all over.”
“This tabard,” Sariah said, lifting the white garb bearing the red lion emblem on its chest. “Was
Clive part of the Order?”
383

“Yes,” Aaron said. “I‟ve read a few of his books. He was quite intelligent.”
“He went through the same initiation as the both of you,” Tavon said. “Even washed in the same
water. We all were. We have all shared in the same oath. The process has not changed since the Sha‟Dari
first founded the way.”
“After becoming a Radiant Light, is it possible to revert back to darkness?” Sariah asked.
“Pray you never have to find out. Let‟s go. We need to hurry” He placed the book in his pack and
walked toward the unexplored door. Behind it was another staircase leading up.
As they traveled, Sariah closed her eyes and tried to focus on the thumping of power. It was
unsteady now. Seemingly more distant than before. There was also another source. Sariah opened her
eyes and looked at her daggers. They were dimmer than before, and growing more dull the higher they
climbed.
“This isn‟t the right way,‟ she said.
Tavon stopped and looked at her, face hidden behind the closed faceplate of his helmet. “How do
you know?”
“The runes on our weapons, they aren‟t glowing as bright as before—when we were near the
Surrogate. The Solstace is likely to have immense levels of dark power. If we were getting closer to it,
wouldn‟t the runes be getting brighter rather than dimmer?”
Plus, I can feel it.
The Lionheart looked at Kaylie and shrugged. “She‟s got a point. I don‟t know how I didn‟t think
of that. Good job, lass. Let‟s head down then and check the dungeon.”

***

A short while later—after a long descent involving stepping over multiple piles of debris along
black, cracked, stone steps—the group of four Radiant Lights entered the final stretch of steps which led
into the dungeon. They walked in the same formation: Tavon in front, Aaron second, Sariah third, and
Kaylie guarded the rear.
Sariah walked with her hand on the wall as she closed and opened her eyes. She was trying to
discern the source of the power, but it was becoming more and more difficult as her body grew tired.
Discerning powers was apparently some form of magic, and she was starting to feel the beginnings of
Backlash.
There was an immense amount of power emanating from the Surrogate. Sariah had felt in when
they passed by the room where he fought Tirion. But there was some other form of darkness further into
the depths, toward the dungeon.
Aaron gasped.
Sariah opened her eyes and peeked around his body. Five Templarites lie at the bottom of the
stairwell where the steps ended and the room began. Blood coated their clothing where wide, black holes
pierced through their bodies. Some of their broken ribs were protruding through their tabards. The black
ground carried dried rivers of crimson.
“What happened to them?” Sariah asked Tavon.
The Lionhearted removed the helmet from one of the men, revealing a pale, motionless face. The
dead man‟s lips were stained with blood where he coughed up the liquid. Tavon moved the man‟s tabard
to get a better look at the puncture wounds.
384

“Looks like the work of a Shadow,” he said. “But I‟ve never seen break bones like this. If this
was one of the Shadows, it‟s ridiculously strong.”
After saying a quiet prayer for the fallen, Tavon motioned for the others to follow him into the
dungeon.
The long, wide hallway was more of a dormitory than a dungeon. Wooden doors lined each wall
a dozen feet apart. To the right of each of the doors, a single, blackened sconce hung empty on the wall.
The layers of dust suggested they had not been touched by a candle in many years.
Tavon stepped to the first door to the left, motioning for Aaron to follow close behind as they
entered. Kaylie stepped to the side and drew an arrow of magical energy. She held the projectile at the
ready.
Not knowing what to do, Sariah stepped beside Tavon with her back to the wall and daggers at
the ready. The runes carried a distinct glow, but she did not need them to tell her something was near. She
could feel the energy in the room. It was thick like water. The thumping steady.
Tavon, Lionheart of the Order of the Radiant Light, opened the door and charged in, scimitar
ready to swing. He did not get but one, maybe two, steps in before he froze in place.
“What is it?” Aaron asked after bumping into Tavon. The Lionheart remained as unmoved as a
stone wall.
Tavon lowered his weapon and stepped into the room. Sariah shared a look with Aaron, then they
followed.
A man lie in the ground, shaking, muttering to himself. He wore cotton garments covered in dust,
but somehow remained untouched by the Corruption. A pile of steel armor was stacked in the corner. The
man had a line of runes etched on his face, stretching from temple to the jaw. He coughed, then went back
to mumbling the unrecognizable words.
“Who is he?” Sariah asked, leaning down to inspect the man. He appeared to be uninjured and
unarmed. His skin was warm to the touch. Whoever this was, he remained unaffected from whatever
event turned this countryside into the Shadowlands, if he was here during such a time. The dust suggested
he was.
“I…” Tavon hesitated. “I don‟t know. These runes look familiar, but I can‟t discern from where.”
“Do you think the Surrogate is feeding him?” Aaron asked.
Sariah shook her head. “Doubtful. He appears to be under the effects of some serious Backlash. I
don‟t know how long he‟s been here, but I imagine the power he harnessed is unimaginable. Even within
The Family—when people didn‟t listen to Matram and expelled too much magic without the proper
Khasta—I didn‟t see anything this severe.”
The Family. Khasta. Those words sounded so strange to her now.
“Come on,” Tavon said, rising. “Let‟s go check out the rest of this place.”
“So what, we just leave him here?” Aaron asked.
“There isn‟t anything we can do to help him in this state. We can get him once the Surrogate is
dead and all this over.” With that, the Lionheart left the room.
Reluctantly, Aaron followed. Sariah looked at the man one last time, checking to see if the
thumping was coming from him. It wasn‟t. But it was coming from somewhere, she just didn‟t know
where.
Stepping into the hallway, Sariah saw Tavon had opened the next door along the western wall.
The runes on his weapon pulsed with light for a second, then returned to their normal glow.
385

“Another,” Tavon said, stepping to the next door. “And another in here. This one doesn‟t have
anything written on his face, but he‟s babbling just the same. I reckon this whole dungeon, all these
rooms, are filled with men like this.”
A line of smoke shot across the room. Spiraling, they formed together near the entryway. Feet
first, then legs as it slowly formed together into a humanoid shape. The creature stood at the bottom of the
stairwell, staring at the group.
“Midnight black skin,” Aaron whispered. He stood to Sariah‟s right. “Smoldering eyes. Standing
nearly eight feet tall. A trail of blood.” He paused for a second, glancing to Sariah and Tavon.
“Death Warden!” he shouted.
Sariah snapped out of shock, leaned forward, and held her daggers at the ready. They glowed a
bright gold down the center of the blades. Was the thumping coming from this creature? It carried a
powerful aura, but were there multiple sources down here?
No. She was already beginning to feel slightly lightheaded. She could not afford to continue
discerning the location of that power. It was slowly digging her deeper and deeper into the chasm of
Backlash.
The Death Warden nonchalantly moved forward. It reached out with its long, bony arm and
swiped at the air. It was still a good ways away, but the wind accompanying the swing could still be felt.
As she heard Tavon humming, Sariah felt herself relaxing into a comfortable stance. Relaxed
shoulders and arms ready to strike. She stepped to the left, placing Tavon and Aaron in the path of the
creature. She was uncertain how this thing perceived the battlefield, but not being at the front line made
her feel a little safer.
Without the use of Fletchings, she needed to modify her fighting style. She would need to rely on
a series of hit and run tactics, quick slashes and stabs.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sariah saw Aaron lower his shield slightly and adjust his attacking
arm as he switched from the defensive stance into the aggressive stance. A moment later, he sprang
forward, ducked beneath a swipe from the creature, and thrust his sword forward.
The Death Warden reached out and swiped with its massive arm. It collided against Aaron‟s
shield and sent him tumbling to the ground. It motioned with its other hand and sent forward a black and
purple line of magic to grip Tavon‟s foot and yank him to the ground.
The Second Fletching, Saraih thought. Our power did come from these things...
An arrow of brilliant energy arced across the room and pierced the thing in the chest. Sariah this
opportunity to engage. She ran forward and rolled to avoid getting hit by the Second Fletching. Using the
momentum gathered during the tumble, she sprang forward and dug her daggers deep into the thing‟s arm
as she fell.
It screeched. Smoke poured from the wound. Another arrow pierced its chest, forcing another ear
wrenching screech and more smoke. It dissolved into a mass of smoky tendrils and shot across the room.
As Sariah rose to her feet, she watched as the thing reformed behind Kaylie.
“Kaylie!” Sariah shouted, pointing. “Behind you.”
Kaylie rolled forward, turned as she rose to her feet, and fired another arrow. It sent a streak of
bright light across the room, but the Death Warden leaned forward and avoided the attack. The light
formed arrow slammed into the far wall at the end of the hall.
A moment later, Tavon stepped into view, swinging a glowing scimitar in each hand. The
creature avoided each of the attacks and retaliated with a few of its own. The Lionheart was able to duck
beneath each attack and keep his ground near the front of the fight.
386

Sariah took the opportunity to step forward and get into a better position. A knot of excitement
and anxiety swelled within her chest. It was nearly overwhelming. But as she listened to Tavon‟s
humming, she felt the emotions washing away. Once calmed, Sariah walked around the edge of the
battlefield, daggers at the ready as she looked for her moment to strike.
Aaron ran past her and attacked the creature. With two combatants in melee and an archer
sending arrow after arrow at the thing, Sariah decided to charge in, hoping that was enough of a
distraction to keep her safe. She paced her steps. After the things large arm slammed against the ground—
narrowly missing Aaron—Sariah sprang forward and dug her two bright daggers into the Death Warden‟s
arm.
It shrieked. The room pulsed with darkness for a moment. Then a giant shockwave shot forth
from the creature, flinging everyone in the room against a wall. When Sariah stopped moving, she found
herself at the bottom of the stairwell from which they had descended.
Something wet touched her leg. Somehow during her flight her leather armor had gotten ripped
and blood trickled from a leg wound. Pressure knotted inside her chest. She tried to stand but it was to
great. She felt like she needed to wretch. Whatever was inside her screamed to get out.
She closed her eyes and attempted to fight back the nausea. Some sort of power pulsed near her,
which was not surprising. The Death Warden carried a large amount of evil energy. She tried to press
away the ability to discern locations of power, but she was unable. Opening her eyes, she realized the
pulsing was not coming from the Death Warden. The creature was too far away. This was nearer and did
not feel nearly as dark.
She closed her eyes once more and focused on the power. The knot in her chest swelled,
expanded, stretched to her shoulders. Then to her arms. She opened her mouth to speak, to cry for help,
but all she could do was mumble.
“Almighty,” she mumbled to herself. “What is happening to me?”
The swelling in her chest deepened, became stronger, more violent. She could feel the knot
change, like it was expanding and pressing against her sternum.
“I don‟t want to die right here,” she said. “Not like this. There is so much more I want to do in
your name.” The back of her eyelids went red. She opened her eyes.
Sariah started
A small aura of light wrapped around each of her hands.
It hasn‟t left you. It can‟t leave you.
Sariah pressed her hand against her leg. She felt a wave of pleasure rush through her body. It was
so intense it forced her to shudder and shake uncontrollably. After a deep breath to gain control, she
pressed her hand back against the wound. Another wave of pleasure. Her head felt incredibly light,
weightless. A gentle warmth brushed her skin.
The light around her hands vanished, taking with it the light headedness, pleasure, and warmth.
She sat stunned at what just happened. She had just used magic. But this was different. This was
not an evil form of magic, but was something good. It felt strange. It felt incredible. It felt… right.
Struggling to her feet, Sariah gripped her daggers and stumbled into combat. Pain throbbed
violently from the wound in her leg. Why always the leg? She could hardly move, but she could not let
her friends down. She would not abandon them.
The Death Warden shrieked then sent forth the Second Fletching, ripping the shield from Aaron‟s
right arm. The shadowy creature then reached forward and picked the Squire up. Aaron thrashed about,
scoring a few glancing slices against the creature, but it just shrieked and continued staring at the man.
387

An arrow pierced the Death Warden‟s chest. It screamed but refused to budge. Another arrow.
Another. And Another. Shrieking in pain and smoke pouring from its chest like a reversed waterfall, the
Death Warden raised its other arm. It puffed into a cloud of smoke and reappeared as a spear-like
appendage.
Sariah‟s heart stopped. “No!” she screamed. But it was to no use. The Death Warden thrust the
spear-arm forward and stabbed Aaron through the chest. Blood sprayed against the wall behind the
Squire. Despite the creature‟s featureless face, it somehow appeared happy as it harnessed the First
Fletching and sent Aaron flying across the room. His body slammed against the far wall with a crunch.
Then it fell to the floor, motionless, blood pooling around him.
“No!” Sariah shouted again, stumbling into combat.
Tavon leaped upward and sliced. He caught the Death Warden in the arm, just under the shoulder.
The glowing scimitar slid completely through the creature and severed the arm as another arrow dug into
its chest. Black vapors poured from the wounds as the Death Warden screamed in agony.
Landing, Tavon thrust his other sword deep into the thing‟s abdomen, causing another wave of
smoke-like blood to rise into the air. With a final scream, the Death Warden turned into a ball of coiling
smoke, shot across the room, flew up the stairwell.
“No, no, no,” Sariah said as she stumbled across the room to Aaron‟s motionless body. “Please,
no.”
She dropped to her knees and cradled Aaron‟s head. “Hold on, Aaron. Tavon will be over here in
just a second. He can heal you.” She paused and tried to focus on the pulsing power, searching for the
knot in her chest. It wasn‟t there.
Aaron coughed up a bit of blood. Then his eyes lost their motion and the breath left his lungs. A
tear dropped from Sariah‟s cheek, putting a tiny, damp circle on Aaron‟s tabard.
Tavon rushed over, greaves clanking loudly. “Please don‟t tell me…”
Sariah looked up at him with tears streaming down her cheeks. “He‟s dead.”

Count others above yourself.

Chapter 63

Aaron found himself engulfed in a sea of light.


His skin tingled with pleasure as his arms lazily drifted upward as if they were weightless. It was
almost like he was underwater. His instinct was to cough to avoid drowning, but as he breathed in he felt
a sense of peace fill his lungs. The feeling exploded into the rest of his body, forcing him to breath in
deeper. It felt incredible, like he was breathing for the very first time.
Where am I? he thought. What happened?
As his eyes began to adjust, Aaron found himself standing on a sandy shore. He lowered his
hands—which moved far easier than he had expected—and lifted a foot to step forward. As he did, he felt
a pile of sand fall off his foot. Moving forward, He pressed his foot press into the cool, damp sand, but
each time he raised his foot the tan stuff fell right off, leaving his foot completely clean.
388

The gentle sound of calm waves washing against the shore sounded to Aaron‟s left. Turning, he
saw a vast sparkling ocean stretching farther than his eye could see, disappearing where the water met the
sky. At least, what Aaron presumed to be the sky. It was not blue and did not carry any clouds. It only
consisted of pure, bright light.
Did I die? Is this Heaven?
Remembering the fight and how he bled out, Aaron checked his chest for a hole. His hand moved
beneath a cotton tunic, finding only smooth, uninjured skin. That‟s strange, he thought as he pressed his
hand over the area where the wound should have been. I remember the Death Warden piercing his arm
straight through me. I remember the pain.
Pain.
Should he not have been hurting? He moved his hand from his chest to his back, checking for the
scars which coated his skin from the many whippings he had received in his life. But his skin was
completely smooth, and the memories no longer brought the pain which accompanied them.
Tilting his head in confusion, Aaron continued walking along the shore. Every which way he
looked he saw the same bright light, yet he could somehow tell where the source was. He headed that
direction but was stopped abruptly as the faint silhouette of a man passed through his view.
The visage wore similar clothing as Aaron, but his translucent, glowing skin was hardly visible.
He walked away from the shore as he made his way inland to where the source of the light and the waves
of peace were originating. After a few steps, the man disappeared. Another appeared a few moments later,
only to fade into nothingness after a few steps.
Aaron continued walking along the shore, watching as a multitude of silhouettes appeared and
made their way toward the source. A few of them were standing still, dumbfounded as they checked their
bodies for wounds. Soldiers, perhaps?
The familiar gentle breeze that came with oceans brushed sand against Aaron‟s skin. It stuck in
place, gathering into bits on the hairs of his arm and the skin beneath. Some even found its way into his
eyes. Continuing on, the wind took the sand with it, leaving Aaron as if he had never been touched by the
stuff.
Looking inland, he expected to see where the sand ended and grass began like all the oceans he
had been to before, but that was not the case. After a few dozen yards, the sand faded into light as if it
were a type of sea in and of itself.
Aaron closed his eyes and felt a wave of peace and joy wash over him. Something felt right about
this place. Something made him want to say. Deep down, something inside of him knew this is where he
belonged. This is what he had longed for.
He opened his eyes and continued walking on the sand. With each step his foot sank just enough
to leave an impression. A short while later, Aaron saw a figure standing along the shore some distance
ahead. The man stroked a long, white beard as he stared out over the ocean. He looked familiar.
“Oben?” Aaron said as he got closer.
The man turned and smiled. “Aaron. It‟s a pleasure to see you.”
“How… Do you know where we are?”
“Why, the Shores of Eternity, of course.”

***
389

Tavon dropped to his knees and started inspecting Aaron. The lad had a massive hole in his chest
that went completely through his torso. Blood still poured from the wound, though it had slowed
dramatically since the heart stopped beating.
I should have been able to save him.
He turned and ran across the dark dungeon to where he had placed his pack before the fight.
“Come on,” he whispered to himself as he rifled through his belongings consisting mostly of: food,
garments, and a few of the healing tonics. There was also a sharpening stone, a torch, some flint and steel,
and the book found in the library of The Tower.
“What are you doing?” Sariah asked.
Kaylie sat next to her, holding Aaron‟s hand, crying.
“It should be in here somewhere,” Tavon said.
“What, the potions that Oben gave us?” Kaylie said. “Those don‟t work on the dead.”
“Yes, yes, I know. Those only heal injuries that aren‟t severe enough to need magical attention
first. I know how the tonics work.”
“So what are you looking for then?”
A moment later Tavon found what he was searching for. He pulled out the Sol Stone and lifted it
into the air. It was pure white and formed into the shape of a diamond. The last one, he thought, rushing
over to Aaron‟s side.
“What are you going to do with that?” Kaylie asked between sobs. “You can‟t heal him, he‟s
dead.”
“Do not underestimate the Almighty,” Tavon replied. After a deep breath to calm his nerves, he
started mumbling quietly to himself, hoping the Almighty was listening.

***

“So, I‟m dead?” Aaron asked.


“I‟d imagine so,” Oben answered. The alchemist continued staring out over the ocean. His body
was translucent, though more apparent than the figures who wandered the place behind.
Aaron looked out over the vast, clear waters. Okay, he thought. I‟m dead. And I‟m standing on the
Shores of Eternity, which is why all my wounds have been healed. But…
“How are you here?” he asked Oben.
“Why, I‟m using magic.” Oben did not even hesitate as he answered. There was purpose in his
tone.
Aaron started. “What?”
“Magic. I'm using it.”
“I get that, but how? I mean, are you dead?”
Oben laughed. It was not his normal cackle, but instead a calm chuckle. It seemed strange to see
the man so calm and collected “No, not at all,” he said. “I‟m making potions in my cabin in Heilois.”
Aaron shook his head. “I don‟t understand. If you are using magic, shouldn‟t I be seeing signs of
Backlash?”
“You are.”
“Okay, now you are confusing me even more.”
“My dear Aaron Bardeaux, did no one explain to you the details of magic?” Oben tucked his
hands into the pockets of his long robe that looked similar to those the monks wore in Rainor. The hem of
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the garment grazed along the top of the sand as the gentle breeze from the ocean sent it rustling. “You are
aware of Backlash, correct?”
“Somewhat. The mind tries to process the change in reality, which causes it to do strange things.”
“That is partially correct. You see, there are two different sources—or pools, if you like—of
magic. One is good and comes from the Almighty, while the other is evil and originates from Mul‟Drak.
“When one taps into the evil source—depending on the amount consumed, of course—the
Backlash they suffer can be quite excruciating. Often times they involve nightmares and night shivers—
similar to the chills involved with a severe sickness. Escalating past that a person will delve into babbling,
and it could even lead to insanity.”
The nightmares, Aaron thought. They only came after I spoke to ghosts. They only happened after
I used the stone. I must have actually been using magic.
“Tapping into the source that is the Almighty, a person experiences something different entirely.
It is not the avoidance of pain which causes a person to not use holy magic, but instead one must be quite
disciplined to resist the urge to give into the pleasure the Almighty resonates. You see, when using holy
magic a person experiences intense pleasure, love, happiness, joy, belonging, really all of the good
attributes the Almighty gives to his beloved. However, a person can still fall into babbling and insanity if
they push too far into the bliss.
“Whatever the source, the mind still is required to process what happened, but it is not due to the
change in reality. It is due to the fact the soul and the mind are touching a higher level of reality.”
So that‟s why he‟s so loopy when using magic. “Okay. If you are using magic in Heilois, why can
I see you right now?”
“Ah.” Oben said, smiling. “That is a grand question, indeed. You see, Aaron, when a person uses
magic, their soul is taken—if only slightly—to its origin. If evil, it experiences Mul‟Drak and the torture
of his state. If good, the soul is taken here to draw from the Almighty.”
“Wait, the Almighty is here?”
Oben turned and point inland to where the waves of peace and pleasure were emanating from.
Suddenly, Aaron felt an urge to walk that direction, but he fought it. “What do I do?” he asked,
stepping further into the sea. A cool wave brushed against his foot. When he lifted it out of the water, his
skin was dry, like it had never been touched.
“Go meet your maker,” the alchemist said. He smiled, then returned to staring out over the ocean.

***

Light glowed in Tavon‟s hand, completely engulfing the Sol Stone. His eyes and turned into solid
balls of light. A surge of energy erupted inside his chest and started flowing through his bloodstream,
making its way through his arms and legs. Eventually, his entire body felt the peace and pleasure magic
brought.
He continued mumbling quietly to himself. Already he could feel himself getting light headed as
the Backlash set in, but he knew the Sol Stone would absorb immense amounts of power before it was
spent.
Almighty, don‟t fail me now, he thought as he leaned forward and pressed the Sol Stone against
Aaron‟s body. From his fingers wrapping around the Stone‟s surface he could feel Aaron‟s cold body. It
had only been a few minutes since he died, but he was already beginning to lose his heat as the blood had
stopped.
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Tavon was not entirely sure what he was trying to do was possible. No one had ever attempted
such a thing. Well, no one who survived to talk about it. Some may have accomplished this and ended up
a babbling fool, but that was not much help either.
Sliding his metal covered knee across the stone floor, Tavon inched closer to Aaron. The
Lionheart leaned forward until his head almost rested against Aaron‟s body. Tavon continued chanting,
words become louder. More intense. Bolder.
Energy coursed through his body more violently than before. He struggled to resist the urge to let
go of the Sol Stone and be enraptured by pleasure. In one decision this could all be over and he would be
left recovering as his body pulsed with enjoyment, but he couldn‟t do that. He couldn‟t abandon part of
his crew. Not again. No, he had to be strong. Had to be disciplined.
“Help those in need,” Tavon said to himself, chanting the same oath the Sha‟Dari once said so
many years before. “Give to the poor. Feed the hungry. Heal the sick. Protect the weak. Push back the
forces of darkness until the day the Almighty returns.”
The words were words that meant caring for someone else over your own personal needs. They
were words of love. Counting others above yourself was one of the theological cores of Orthianism. So
many of the other sects forgot, or chose to ignore, the statute.
Tavon repeated the words again, focusing on the power pouring from his hands. The stone was
starting to dwindle and his words were beginning to slur. He suppressed the urge to laugh. It was only a
matter of time before laughing became irresistible and the world became flurr. But he pressed on and
harnessed more power from the Almighty than he ever had before.
Almighty, help me.

***

Aaron walked inland a few strides before stopping. Glowing, transparent figures still phased in
and out of sight as they made their way away from the shore. Aaron turned and faced Oben. “You put
magic in your potions, don‟t you? That‟s how they have the ability to heal. It isn‟t a special mixture of
herbs and plants, its magic from the Almighty.”
Oben turned Aaron‟s direction and smiled. “That‟s correct.”
“Why do you choose to live so far away? Wouldn‟t it be better to live in Rainor and perform
alchemy there?”
“You may have noticed the mattresses lining the floor of my cabin,” Oben said. Aaron nodded.
How could a person not notice that? “What I do requires me to use immense levels of magic. This makes
it very dangerous. I use the mattresses for safety when I pass out. Those mattresses and discipline are the
only things keeping me alive.”
“So how exactly does it work? Magic, that is. You explained the Backlash and where it
originates, but how does magic work?”
“Magic stemming from Mul‟Drak can only be used for destruction, and since Mul‟Drak cannot
create things, it must use what already exists in the world and in the universe. Because of that, it is very
limited.
“Since the Almighty is constantly creating, magic stemming from Him can only be used to create.
My tonics contain a massive amount of this creation power, so that when a person drinks it, magic
courses through their veins and creates new skin, tendons, muscle, blood, bones, whatever is needed to
bring the body back to its intended state.
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“I don‟t want you to think that these two forces—the Almighty and Mul‟Drak—are somehow
equal in power. That is simply not the case. Mul‟Drak can only bend, or augment, what the Almighty has
already created. That reasoning alone puts the Almighty as the supreme power, force, being, whatever
you want to call him—that theological discussion is for another time. And I assume you will be finding
out the answer for yourself.”
Aaron nodded and started to turn around, but he hesitated. “Are the rumors about you true? Did
you really try to push the bounds of magic?”
A smile cracked on the edges of the alchemist‟s lips. “What do you believe?”
Aaron paused for a moment. “I believe you encountered a mystery you desperately wanted to
solve, not just for others but also for yourself. You believe magic is meant to be used to heal people, and
by pressing the limits, you wanted to see just how much you could heal.”
Oben turned back around and looked out over the ocean. The water sparkled brilliantly as if a
thousand beautiful gems floated along its surface. “That is a great theory.”
A hand grabbed Aaron‟s shoulder. Turning, he saw a familiar bearded face. “Tavon?”
The Lionheart smiled as his skin flickered with transparency—becoming stronger at times then
sometimes weaker, almost nonexistent. He wore a cotton shirt with gold lacing along the trim and a pair
of elegant trousers. Like Aaron, he was barefoot, feet sinking slightly in the sand. It was strange not
seeing the man wearing armor or a tabard.
“You didn‟t die, did you?” Aaron asked.Seeing the man in this place was more than unsettling.
Aaron felt as though he should be nauseated, but he lacked such a feeling in his current state.
„No, no. I‟m very much alive, lad.”
“Then how…”
“Magic, lad. Magic.” Tavon straightened his posture, hands placed behind his back. His skin and
clothing slowly became more distinct, more defined. It slowly filled with color.
“What are you doing?” Aaron asked. He took a step forward. “Did we kill the Surrogate?”
“Not quite yet, but we will.”
“Then why are you here? Your becoming less transparent. How much magic are you using?”
“I‟ve lived a full life, Aaron. Far better than what most can claim. My years have become
numbered, but my memory remains the same. I‟ve encountered great moments of joy and also sadness.
I‟ve watched many Recruits become Radiant Lights—you included—but I‟ve also lost a great many of
people that I‟ve loved. Most of which, were because of my own selfishness. But I won‟t be letting that
happen again.”
“Tavon,” Aaron said, “I don‟t like the way your talking.”
“It‟s okay Aaron. There are many things in life that I‟ve regretted, but I couldn‟t live with myself
if I let you die without trying to do something‟. You still have much more to live for. You still have much
more to accomplish. And you wouldn‟t be in this situation if I didn‟t push to have you train so intently.”
“Tavon, what are you doing?”
The Lionheart smiled then spoke in his familiar, seaborn accent. “Bringing you back from the
dead.”
Was that even possible? Aaron thought, eyes wide. “Okay,” he said as he nodded his head.
“Okay. We can do this. So what, we go back to our bodies then kill this Surrogate?”
“Something like that,” Tavon said. His form had almost lost all lucidity. “Let everyone know I‟m
okay,” he said. Tavon then stepped past Aaron and started walking toward Oben.
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“What? Tavon!” Looking at his hands, Aaron could see the sandy shore through his skin as his
appearance started to become translucent.
“It‟s alright, lad. I‟ve made my peace.”
“Tavon! No! Don‟t do this!” Aaron felt his body being pulled away from the waves of joy
emanating from the center of the Shores of Eternity. His skin became clear and slowly faded from view.
Looking up, Aaron saw Tavon and Oben standing at the edge of the shore, water washing against their
feet.
Aaron blinked and found himself in a dark room. A bright light to Aaron‟s side allowed him to
see Sariah looming over him, tears rolling down her cheek. He coughed. Some type of liquid poured out
of his mouth.
Someone else shuffled at his side, squeezing his hand. She gasped. Turning his head, Aaron saw
Kaylie‟s beautiful red hair and green eyes. She smiled and kissed him on the cheek.
“Aaron,” she said, wiping the tears from her face. “We thought you were dead.”
He struggled to lean forward. Sniffling and wiping tears away, Sariah leaned forward and helped
him sit up. Together, she and Kaylie put Aaron‟s back against the wall. He coughed up another round of
red liquid.
“I was,” he said.
As Sariah turned and started rummaging through Tavon‟s pack, Aaron put his hand to his chest.
A hole was dug through it, so big that he could easily put his hand into it. He felt his heart beating as
blood filled the chasm. The skin started fusing shut. No, it started rebuilding itself.
Aaron removed his hand. Pain coursed through his body as his eyes adjusted to the change in
lighting. It was a large jump going from the brightness of the Shores of Eternity to the darkness of The
Tower, but eventually his sight returned and he saw the blood coating his glove.
“Here,” Sariah said, handing him a decanter filled with red liquid—one of Oben‟s healing
potions.
“I don‟t think I need it,” Aaron said, turning to look at Tavon.
The Lionheart lie motionless on the ground, staring at nothing, mumbling to himself.

Learn from those that have gone before.

Chapter 64

Tirion stepped forward and pivoted to build momentum as he swung his runed longsword in a wide arc.
The weapon glowed brightly, leaving behind a short, faint trail of light as it sliced through the air.
Clive, the Surrogate, dipped beneath the attack. He swung his black longsword, but only managed
to make contact against a shield. Light popped from the impact.
Tirion continued to build momentum as he used his shield to push Clive‟s longsword into an
unfavorable position. As he spun, Tirion saw his two Lionhearts engaged in combat against two massive,
shadowy creatures. They stood nearly eight feet tall with smoldering eyes that screamed for death. He had
never seen a Shadow that did not require a host before. These must have devoured an insanely high
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number of souls. Finishing his rotation, Tirion sliced with his sword, but Clive was too nimble and
avoided the attack.
The Surrogate‟s black longsword vanished in a puff of smoke. Tendrils spiraled in the air around
his hands, and a moment later he carried a quarterstaff as black as the void itself. Smiling, Clive stepped
forward and swung the weapon wildly.
Avoiding the attack by sidestepping, Tirion tried to move into a favorable position. He blocked an
attack with his shield and parried another with his sword, each sending forth a flash of bright light.
Focus, Tirion told himself, feeling the inside of his helmet filling with hot air. He was breathing
too heavily. If he continued at this pace he would wear himself out before Clive began to feel fatigue—if
he could even feel fatigue in his forsaken state.
He blocked another attack, then another. Clive was attacking wildly, not allowing Tirion a chance
to counter. Which would not have been the worst thing in the world, given a different situation. After the
next pop of light, Tirion stepped forward and slashed vertically with his longsword. The glowing weapon
collided against the center of Clive‟s staff. The attack ended with another explosion of light.
“Do you really believe you can win?” Clive asked as he sent forth another wave of attacks.
“It isn‟t just what I believe that matters,” Tiron said, keeping his shield firm against the attacks.
Light exploded with each one, revealing the vastness of the circular room.
“You can‟t defeat me alone, and your two companions are… occupied.” He nodded.
Hiding behind the shield, Tirion glanced to see how his two Lionhearts were holding up. What he
saw made it evident that a greatsword was not the ideal weapon against the shadow-demons.
The Lionhearts were not given the opportunity to attack. One dodged beneath an attack from one
of the creature‟s large, boney arm. Rising, he tried to slice the arm arm but was forced to avoid a second
attack. Despite the thick plate armor they wore, one attack landing against the Lionhearts would crush
their bones. It was like playing with fire. You could only play so long before you got burned.
The other Lionheart was doing slightly better. He ducked beneath an attack and pivoted to build
momentum—a tactic Tirion tried to teach all his fighters. He moved forward as he continued to spin. The
greatsword left a long, faint trail of light from the brilliant runes along its blade. As he finished the spin,
he swung the massive weapon and managed to catch the edge of the creature‟s skin. A deafening screech
erupted from the thing, making hairs stand on end.
A ball of purple light formed in the creature‟s hand. “Move!” Tirion shouted as the shadow-
demon pressed its hand forward in an attempt to catch the Lionheart. The man leaped out of the way and
the spell only managed to touch the floor. The compressed ball of energy exploded and sent chunks of the
floor into the air.
Tirion dropped to his knees and raised his shield above his head and blocked a particularly large
chunk. A sting of pain shot through his left leg as something thick slammed into his cuisse. The metal
screamed as it bent.
He turned and repositioned his shield between he and Clive and blocked the man‟s next attack.
Once again, light splashed into the room. If only for a moment, Tirion could see Clive‟s face as the light
started to fade. Evil filed the man‟s eyes and he wore a menacing smile. He was enjoying this fight far too
much.
How many times has he dreamed of this moment?
“Are you ready to surrender?” Clive asked as he swung the staff forward again.
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The weapon collided against Tirion‟s shield. Then it disappeared into a puff of smoke and
reemerged as a longsword already in motion. Tirion, leader of the Radiant Lights, was barely able to
move his sword in time to parry the attack. Light flashed.
“Why would I surrender?” Tirion asked, taking a gamble and swinging. The pain in his leg
screamed for relief as he stepped forward with the attack. His arm flinched which resulted in the attack
being easily parried.
Clive‟s longsword changed into a scythe, which he started swinging in wide arcs—similar to how
Tirion would swing his halberd, if he still had it. “Because death is inevitable,” the Surrogate said,
building momentum with each sweep of his giant weapon. “It comes to us all. Except me, of course.”
“Tell me, why are you so afraid to die?”
Tirion thought he saw a hint of hesitation behind the man‟s fury filled eyes as he ducked beneath
a swing of the large, black scythe. As the weapon moved past Tirion lunged forward. Catching a perfect
timing before the weapon circled around again, Tirion was able to dig his longsword deep into Clive‟s
chest.
The Surrogate screamed and finished his attack. The blade of the scythe slammed against Tirion‟s
shield. The item was ripped off of Tirion‟s arm and fall against the ground some distance away. As Tirion
stepped back he took his sword with him. The wound on the Surrogate‟s chest started immediately sealing
shut.
Tirion started mumbling. His eyes shifted to light. A tiny trail of white light moved through the
air and etched a shield around Tirion‟s left hand. After a moment, the outline filled in and glowed with
intensity.
“It don‟t fear death,” Clive said, swinging again. His weapon slammed against Tirion‟s new
shield of light. Bright energy popped from the impact. “To fear death you must have a soul, and I
abandoned mine many, many years ago.”
Yes, Tirion thought as he raised his sword to parry the oncoming attack, gripping the blade tightly
with a gauntleted hand. And that will soon be destroyed.

***

Sariah watched as the hole in Aaron‟s chest sealed shut. She pulled out a spare piece of cloth
from her pocket and wiped the blood from his mouth.
“Incredible,” she said.
“I can‟t believe he did it,” Kaylie said. “He brought you back from the dead.”
“Yes, it‟s unbelievable, but at what cost?” Aaron groaned as he leaned forward and tried to stand
to his feet.
“Does it still hurt?” Sariah asked as she pressed a finger against his chest. He winced.
“What do you think?
“Sorry.”
“It‟s okay. My chest is feeling better—surprisingly—but my head is throbbing.”
Interesting, Sariah thought as she, with the help of Kaylie, lifted Aaron to his feet. Some sort of
magic is healing and taking away the pain. Glancing at her hands, she remembered the light they carried
for a brief moment and the pounding in her chest which screamed to get out of her body.
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Sariah watched as Aaron stumbled forward a few steps. He stopped and inspected his body.
Every wound, bruise, hole, any injury that once existed on his body had vanished. The scars on his back
had disappeared, replaced with smooth skin instead.
Stepping forward, Sariah stumbled and dropped to her knees as her leg wound flared with pain.
With everything going on, she had completely forgot about it.
“Here, let me help you,” Kaylie said, kneeling at Sariah‟s side.
“No. It‟s okay. I‟m fine.”
“Please, let me help. It will only take a moment.”
Sariah wanted to resist and tell the red haired woman that everything was fine. That she would be
okay. That she had encountered many wounds in her lifetime far worse than this one.
But she hesitated. Maybe she needed a little bit of help. “Okay,” she said, nodding, tucking a
strand of black hair behind her ear.
Kaylie closed her eyes and started mumbling quietly to herself. When she opened them a moment
later, her green eyes had turned to gold and carried a faint glow of white light. A small speck of light
appeared in her palms. It started to slowly spread to her fingers as she continued mumbling. Over the next
few seconds, the light spread to her fingertips, then to her entire hand, then eventually grew so large the
hands were engulfed entirely.
She pressed her hands against Sariah‟s leg. Pain immediately sprang to life, but its cry for help
was met with relief as the magic began working. As a wave of peace rushed over her body, the wound
started sealing shut. It only took a few moments before the pain had left her body in its entirety.
With eyes closed, Sariah enjoyed the pleasure the healing brought. Was that a gentle, cool breeze
brushing against her face? Some form of power pulsed nearby. It was different from the one from the
Surrogate or the Death Warden. This one was pure, holy. Right. Sariah opened her eyes and saw Kaylie
continuing to mumble quietly to herself. The pulsing was coming from her.
The glowing light left Kaylie‟s hands as she stopped mumbling—the pulsing of power went with
it. She smiled, rose to her feet, and walked over to Aaron.
Sariah sat quietly, running her hand over her leg. “How?” she asked.
Kaylie turned around, red hair and cape swishing behind. “I‟m sorry?”
“What did you say?”
The Templarite hesitated to answer. “I shouldn‟t… You are not ready to learn about this yet. You
have to prove yourself knowledgeable of the theology and discipline before you can tap into magic.”
“I can feel it,” Sariah said.
Kaylie leaned forward with a confused look on her face. “You must speak from your heart. You
must confess your feelings to the Almighty.”
Sariah nodded and closed her eyes. “Almighty,” she whispered, trying to search for the source of
power that should be swelling within her. “I need your grace and wisdom to do the task standing before
me. I want to be able to heal.”
Nothing could be felt. She had to try something else. “I‟m so scared of failing. So many people
depend on me, and I don‟t know how I could live with myself if they all died because I wasn‟t strong
enough. Please, I need your help. The weight of this responsibility—the weight of the whole world—is
too great for us to carry alone. We need your help.”
Suddenly, a wave of peace erupted inside of her chest. It began coursing through her body,
stretching out to her fingertips. She pressed her hand against the other, focusing on the cut.
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As she opened her eyes, Sariah saw her a bright light where her hands should have been. She
looked up at Kaylie. The woman‟s figure was dark. Nearly invisible, save for a thin glowing light
outlining her body. Aaron appeared the same. So did Tavon.
The feeling of pleasure escaped her body as the light disappeared, revealing two uninjured hands.
Her friends lost their outlines and returned to their normal color. The Tower returned to the dark
stonework it carried before she had tapped into the source of power.
“Not bad,” Kaylie said. “How did you feel?”
“Incredible,” Sariah responded as she inspected her wound. There wasn‟t even the slightest scar
on her hand.
“As you know, using magic can be very dangerous. More so for us than for people who use the
evil stuff. The immense amount of pleasure that can flow through the body is intoxicating, and if you are
not careful you will—
“Did you hear that?” Aaron interrupted. “Footsteps. Coming from the stairwell. You two will
need to finish later.”
The faint sound of tapping could be heard through the thick stone walls. Someone was heading
their way. Judging from the softness of the steps, it was not Tirion or one of the Lionhearts.
Sariah glanced at her daggers on the ground near Tavon. The runes carried the faint glow that was
normal within the Shadowlands. She closed her eyes and started searching for the power of whoever was
approaching. She was placed a hand on her head as a wave of dizziness struck her mind.
I can do this, he thought, pressing down the feeling. Something evil pulsed to her right where the
stairwell was. If the Solstace was down here, shouldn‟t I be feeling it as well? But she only felt Aaron,
Sariah, Tavon, the figure walking down the steps, and…
The men dispersed inside the multiple rooms of the dungeon let out an aura of powerful energy.
They had to have been using incredible amounts of magic.
Sariah shook herself from her thoughts, did her best to press down the ability to seek sources of
power—not that she really understood how to turn it off—and rushed to pick up her weapons before the
footsteps reached their location. The runes on daggers glowed brighter now. She watched them as the
person approached. Ever so slightly, they continued getting brighter.
A padded, leather wrapped shoe stepped into view, followed by a pair of thick, leather pants the
color of black. A jerkin followed, decorated with bones. An Acolyte. The man wore a disturbing smile.
A glow of light appeared to Sariah‟s right. Seconds later, an arrow soared through the air. The
Acolyte lifted his arm and a wall of smoky tendrils erupted from it, deterring the arrow of course.
Aaron surged forward, glowing shortsword in hand and shield pulled back. He was charging
forward in his aggressive stance. He sliced with his sword as he got close, but the Acolyte stepped out of
the way and countered with a punch. The attack was avoided, leaving a few tendrils of smoke lingering in
the air. After a moment, they dissipated into nothingness.
He‟s so agile and can block arrows. How are we going to defeat him?
Watching Aaron avoid attack after attack, Sariah decided she needed to help. She charged in,
daggers in hand. She dipped beneath a punch from the Acolyte and thrust upward with one dagger while
slashing with the other. The man stepped out of the way, narrowly avoiding both attacks.
Bits of smoke vapor coiled around the Acolyte‟s hand. He punched forward and slammed a fist
against Aaron‟s shield. Darkness exploded into the room and Aaron was sent tumbling backward.
Smiling, the Acolyte dipped beneath another swipe of Sariah‟s dagger and stepped into the center of the
room, allowing the three Radiant Lights to surround him.
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Well isn‟t he prideful.


Sariah slowly stepped forward, carefully positioning herself for the moment of attack. This man
was incredibly powerful and appeared to have a special bond with a Shadow. It was unlikely the three
Radiant Lights would be able to fight this man for long. This fight needed to end quickly.
Behind the Acolyte, Kaylie slid her bow onto her back and pulled out her longsword. She held the
glowing weapon two hand—a strange grip for that type of weapon. Most people wielded it with one hand
and used a shield or a separate weapon. But if a person was using it alone, two hands might make sense.
Maybe.
Once Aaron recovered from his tumble and took his position in the battle, Sariah signaled the
fight to start by lunging forward. Once in range, she swiped with her two daggers. The Acolyte stepped
out of the way and pressed a hand against her chest. It was covered in a black mass with bits of purple
flowing through it like electricity.
The First Fletching.
The ball of energy exploded and filled the room with a flash of darkness. Sariah was launched
across the room and slammed into a wall. She groaned as she scrambled to her feet. Somehow, she
managed to maintain her grip on her daggers. She shook her head, fought back the dizziness, and made
her way back to the battle.
Aaron swung his sword wildly at the Acolyte, but the man easily sidestepped each attack as he
avoided Kaylie‟s sword slashes. Blurry lights from the trails of the sword surrounded the Acolyte as he
stepped forward and attacked.
Sariah flicked one of her daggers through the air and charged behind it. A mass of smoke
emerged on the man‟s arm, reflecting the projectile. Which was exactly what she wanted. As the dagger
flew past, Sariah leaped forward and slashed with her other dagger. The Acolyte had been facing the other
way, and Sariah felt a tug in her movements as her blade sliced skin.
The man turned and smiled, swinging forward, ball of energy in hand. Sariah rolled forward and
avoided the attack. The Fletching slammed against the floor and sent bits of shattered stone into the air.
Stepping forward, the Acolyte kept his momentum and dodged another round of attacks. Tendrils of
smoke lingered above his shoulders.
The Acolyte stepped forward, pivoted, and kicked in a wide arc. Kaylie stepped back and Aaron
ducked to avoid being hit. He took the opportunity to counter attack, but the Acolyte was not finished in
his series of attacks. He sent four shadow-wrapped punches at Aaron. Two landed against his shield, one
against the armor, and the other one missed. The powerful impacts forced the Squire to take a step back.
The Acolyte stepped backwards, putting a bit of distance between he and Aaron. Leaning
forward, the bald assailant stretched out his arm and touch the palm with two fingers from the other hand.
Blood trailed through the air as he outstretched both arms. It pooled into crystal like shards. Smiling, the
Acolyte flicked his wrist. A crystal shard flew threw the air. Then another. Then another. Each time the
Acolyte flicked his wrist, another shard was sent. This continued until five shards were sent piercing
through the air.
Sariah watched in horror as the blood projectiles drilled into Aaron‟s chest. The Squire fell to the
ground, motionless.
As Kaylie stepped forward and performed a series of sword swipes, Sariah charged back into
combat. She was not going to let the attacker use any of the higher tiered Fletchings. Those would end the
fight abruptly, but the Acolyte did not exactly seem seem to worried about that. He seemed to be enjoying
the fight.
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He‟s toying with us.


Sariah sidestepped to avoid a punch. Stones flew through the air as the Shadow-infused punch
slammed into the ground, releasing the First Fletching it carried. Using Kaylie as a distraction—which
she felt bad for—Sariah stepped behind the man and attacked. Her dagger dug into his leather armor. She
was certain it contacted skin.
A horrifying, skin-crawling scream echoed through the cellar. It was followed by the deep groan
of a man. Sariah stepped back, pulling her dagger free. Blood dripped off her blade to the stone floor
below.
He didn‟t make that sound, she thought as she dropped into combat stance suited for wielding a
single dagger. That was the scream of a Shadow.
Of course. Acolytes drew their magic from Shadows. The tendrils lingering in the air above the
man‟s shoulders were not a side effect of using magic, but he physical form of the Shadow. The creature
was forming a veil of protection around the man. Just like Matram, the only way to defeat the demon was
to kill the host.
Sariah rushed forward, swinging wildly in an attempt to grab the man‟s attention. It worked. The
Acolyte slammed a fist into Kaylie and sent the Templarite tumbling back into a wall. Then he turned his
attention to Sariah. Wearing a wicked smile, he punched forward. Darkness and smoke spiraled around
his fist as it moved through the air.
Sariah didn‟t try to dodge it, but instead stepped forward. At the last second she pressed her free
hand to the inside of the man‟s forearm, pushed the attack away, and stabbed forward with her own
dagger. The glowing blade slid into the man‟s arm with ease. He and the creature screamed in pain.
The Acolyte‟s other hand moved forward, collided with Sariah‟s stomach, and released the First
Fletching. A cloud of darkness with purple lightning intertwined exploded from the impact. Sariah was
flung across the dungeon and slammed into a wall.
She heard bones snap as she bounced off the stone and collapsed on the ground. A series of five
bloodshards dug deep into her right side, slicing in between her ribs. She closed her eyes to pray, but the
pain was far too severe to focus on words.
The Shadow screamed, the sound echoing off the walls of the dungeon. The noise was followed
by the groaning of a man. Then coughing.
Somehow—despite the incredible amount of agony throbbing in her body—Sariah rolled over
enough to see the fight. Half expecting to die, her eyes went wide from what she saw.
Aaron stood near the center of the room. The Acolyte lie at his feet with Aaron‟s shortsword
impaled through his chest. The runes along the blade glowed brightly as tendrils of smoke coalesced in
the air above the man, forming into the shape of a human. Kaylie stepped forward and performed a two-
handed swing with her longsword. The momentum combined with the sharpness of the blade and the
magic within the runes was enough to cleave the Shadow in two. It screamed as it exploded from
existence.
With the Shadow gone, blood pooled from the Acolyte‟s wound, staining the stone floor. Kaylie
stepped forward and slit the man‟s throat in a single motion. A few moments of gargling later, the man
fell motionless, eyes dull. Dead.
Sariah tried to say something, but found herself unable to produce words. Blood spilled from her
mouth as she coughed. Her chest screamed in pain with each heaving movement.
Broken ribs. Broken wrists. Coughing blood. Shattered legs. I‟m going to die. This is it…
I‟ve failed.
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Sariah tried to speak, but the words still refused to come out. Blood had started pooling in her
throat, allowing her to only make a gurgling sound. Dizziness settled into her mind as her vision started to
go black. Teetering on the edge of consciousness, she saw Kaylie kneel down beside her.
Light erupted from the Templarite‟s hands as she mumbled quietly to herself. Sariah‟s body
screamed for relief as Kaylie placed her hands on Sariah‟s stomach. She could feel her bones twisting on
the inside as her muscles started reforming. Immense amounts of pain coursed through her body, but also
high levels of pleasure and peace. The emotions were at war with each other, but the pleasure was
winning.
Sariah‟s mangled hands twisted back into position and the bones reconnected as a gentle wind
brushed through the cellar. She could feel the ligaments reconnecting. Moving her hand back and forth,
Sariah noticed all pain had vanished from her wrists and arms. Her breathing had become pain free and
natural.
The light disappeared as Kaylie fell backwards.
Something cold touched Sariah‟s lips. It was round and smooth. Like a glass. Liquid rushed into
her mouth. She forced herself to swallow, and almost instantly felt an intensity of power swell inside her
stomach. What cuts, bruises, and broken bones still remained sealed shut and shifted back in place. After
a few moments of heat, pleasure, peace, and joy, the tonic finished taking and Sariah felt as good as new.
She leaned forward and looked at Aaron. “How?” she asked. The piercings from the blood shards
had sealed shut.
Aaron looked to Tavon. Bits of rock rested on the Lionhearts body.
“That‟s it!” Sariah shouted.
Aaron Bardeaux started.
“That‟s how the Surrogate is staying alive.” She scrambled to her feet, took a moment to stabilize
herself from the lightheadedness she still felt, and ran into one of the side rooms. She grabbed one of the
babbling men on the floor and drug him next to Tavon.
“Can you understand what he‟s saying?” She asked.
Aaron leaned forward, listening. “No.”
Sariah looked at Kaylie. The Templarite shrugged. She had found a way to sit up on her own,
back against the wall, but it was evident she was suffering from severe Backlash.
“What about Tavon?” Sariah asked.
Aaron Bardeaux shook his head.
“I can‟t understand him either. But the way the words are being said cannot come from the human
mouth naturally. Both this unknown man and Tavon used so much magic they entered insanity.”
Sariah could see Aaron‟s eyes moving as he put the pieces together. “The Surrogate doesn‟t have
a Solstace,” he said.
“No,” Sariah said, shaking her head. “These men are keeping him alive.”
“That means the only way we can kill the Surrogate is…”
“Yes. We have to kill them all.”
Aaron was quiet for a moment. He looked at Kaylie. The Templarite was badly wounded from the
battle with the Acolyte. Her injuries indicated The Acolyte had landed more than a few hits and
Fletchings.
Aaron turned back to Sariah, red cape swishing with the motion. “Let‟s pull them all out here.”
After the next few minutes, they pulled all of the people into the central hallway of the cellar.
There were thirteen in total. Eleven males and one female. It was not too terrible to move them at first,
401

but the longer Sariah kept working the heavier the people started to feel. Halfway through, she took a
potion over to Kaylie and had her drink the healing stuff. The girl needed it.
“Okay,” Sariah said, catching her breath. “It looks like six of them have runes inscribed on
various parts of their body, and the other six don‟t.”
“Do you know what they mean?” Aaron asked.
She shook her head. “I was hoping you did. I guess we will have to kill them all.”
“I don‟t think we can. It isn‟t moral, is it? Doesn‟t that break one of the cardinal statutes of
Orthianism?”
“What else are we going to do?”
Aaron shrugged.
“We have to kill them.”
After a few moments of hesitation, Aaron Bardeaux nodded.

She paused, glancing at Tavon. “What do we do with him?”


“I saw him when I died. The last thing I remember was him standing on the edge of the Shore,
staring out over the ocean with Oben.”
“Wait, Oben was there?”
“Yes. It‟s a long story. I‟ll tell you later. Anyway, Tavon was not going to meet with the
Almighty. I don‟t think he can as long as his body is babbling. So, we should kill him, too.”
“Are you sure?”
Aaron nodded. “I‟d hate for this to be the reason his soul doesn‟t find rest. I‟d hate for this to be
the reason he doesn‟t meet the Almighty.”
Sariah grabbed her dagger. With the Acolyte dead, the runes carried only a faint glow. She looked
down at the babbling man before her. A line of runes ran from his temple to the jawline. The man‟s
unblinking eyes stared at nothing in particular.
Could Sariah do this? Could she become a killer again, a murderer? Could she have these men‟s
blood on her hands? Heavens, was there another way?
Almighty, forgive me.
She slashed his throat.

***

Tirion stepped forwarded, pressing his steel greave firm against the ground. He pivoted, blocked
an attack with his shield of light, and sliced with his longsword as his rotation ended. An explosion of
light filled the room as the weapon was blocked by Clive‟s longsword.
“How long are you going to keep at this?” Clive asked, changing his weapon to a scythe. He
swung the weapon in a large arc.
Tirion stepped backward and ducked in an attempt to avoid having his head removed. The long,
sharp blade swished past. “As long as it takes,” he said quietly to himself. The battle was beginning to
wear on him. His body ached and his breath was unsteady and heavy. Not too mention the beginnings of
the Backlash could be felt.
The Lionhearts fighting behind him could not have been doing any better. The two of them were
engaged against two massive, shadow-demons, while Tirion only had to fight a single opponent, who was
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not even taking the fight seriously. Of course, why would he? Without the ability to die, it hardly
mattered how reckless or careless you fought.
“As long as what takes?” Clive asked. He stepped forward and swung the scythe with the
momentum built up over multiple circular swings. He stopped, letting the scythe dissipate in a cloud of
smoke. “Do you honestly think you are going to stop me?”
Tirion stepped forward and stabbed his longsword straight through the man‟s chest. The runes
glowed incredibly bright, allowing the weapon to move through the man with little to no resistance.
Tirion knew it would not kill him. The Surrogate‟s flesh would just simply regenerate. But Heavens if it
didn‟t feel good.
Clive groaned at the wound. Then he laughed. “You must be more stupid than I thought. Of
course, it makes sense you would believe you could win. That was something nice about the Order. They
always spoke of a day when peace and happiness would rule the world. A time when all darkness had
been banished and evil was defeated.
“But that‟s a fool‟s game, Tirion. Darkness cannot be stopped. In fact, it is the hope of mankind
which has dwindled. Have you looked at the world lately? Men fight amongst themselves as they seek
their own selfish ambitions. I didn‟t have to teach them that, they learned that on their own.”
“But they didn‟t turn into an abomination,” Tirion spat.
“Just because I proved everyone wrong and found something on one of my treasure hunts, does
that make me an abomination?” Clive laughed. “That hardly seems reasonable. Couldn‟t I call you one for
believing in the Almighty?”
“I didn‟t go and sell my soul for immortality. Unlike you, I‟m not afraid to die, and you and I
both know how real the Almighty is.”
“Yes, well—” Clive hesitated. “What happened?”
The two massive Shadows screamed in unison. Tirion did not need to turn around to know they
had felt the sting of some massive greatswords. The room grew darker as two trails of spiraling smoke
shot across the room.
“What are you doing!” Clive shouted as the twisting clumps of smoke fled the room. “Do not
abandon me!” The Surrogate placed a hand against his chest. A hint of pink flushed into his pale face.
Tirion felt invigorated. He stepped forward—ignoring the pain pulsing through his leg—and
stabbed his sword into Clive‟s chest. This time, the wound did not fuse shut. Blood poured from the
opening. The Surrogate fell to his back. Tirion let his shield disappear and placed his hands on his knees
as he caught his breath.
“How…” Clive tried to speak, but the words were faint. He coughed up blood. “How…”
A hand gripped Tirion‟s shoulder. Turning, he saw Relik—one of the two Lionhearts—smiling.
The faceplate on is helmet was lifted, revealing tired eyes batting away drops of sweat. “They did it,” he
said between breaths.
“Yes, they did.” Tirion replied.
The other Lionheart, with hands glowing, healed the wound in Tirion‟s leg.
They stood quiet for a moment, watching as Clive bled to death. Something sparkled around his
neck. It appeared to be silver.
Tirion reached forward and ripped the necklace from around the man‟s neck. A magnificent,
silver key dangled on the end of the chain. Tirion smiled. He did not expect to find this here.
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With one final heave of his chest, Clive‟s eyes went numb and his body lost all movement. A
massive shockwave erupted from his location, knocking down Tirion and the Lionhearts. Loose stones in
the floor rumbled as the thunderclap continued outward, passing through the walls of The Tower.
With a hand against a knee, Tirion rose to his feet and shared a look with his Lionhearts. They
rushed out of the room. Turning right, he ran up the stairs a little ways until he found a window on the
outter wall.
The shock wave moved across the Hollow army in a large ring. As it passed over them, the
Hollows lost all motion. They went numb and fell over from the force of the wave. Tirion‟s soldiers
scrambled to their feet and started shouting.
“We did it,” he whispered to himself.
Footsteps sounded to his left. Turning, Tirion saw the familiar sight of Aaron, Sariah, and Kaylie
making their way up the stairwell.
Tirion smiled and embraced Aaron. “You all did it!”
“Yes, we did,” Aaron said, short of breath.
“Where was the Solstace?”
“There wasn‟t one, exactly. The Surrogate was kept alive by other means.”
“How, exactly?” Tirion asked.
“There was a slew of men in a rambling state,” Sariah said. “They were in insanity. Apparently
their bodies were still harnessing magic. They were keeping the Surrogate alive.”
“I see. Where‟s Tavon?”
Aaron shared a look with Sariah.
“What?” Tirion asked.
“He... umm,” Sariah said. “He didn‟t make it.”
Tirion frowned. “Ah, that is a shame.” He was silent for a moment. “He was a noble knight. One
of the best we will ever see. We will get his body as we leave. We will need to spend some time gathering
the wounded and counting the dead.”
With a large smile, Tirion grabbed Kaylie beneath her shoulder and helped her toward the
entryway of The Tower. The two Lionhearts continued down the stairs into the dungeon and grabbed
Tavon.
Tirion stepped outside and watched as the Radiant Lights and soldiers of the other sects stabbed
their weapons into motionless Hollows. He smiled.
They just saved the world.

In the end, light defeats darkness.

Chapter 65

Two Months Later


404

Spring was in full swing, and Rainor was taking advantage of it. Snow had long since faded, and with the
recent rain showers, the grass was growing quite tall. Someone would need to cut it soon, or at least bail it
for the winter.
Aaron ran his hand along the top of the wheat as he made his way through the field and toward
the source of the sound. With the array of colors, warm temperatures, grazing cattle and horses, a vast
variety of birds, and puffy clouds in the sky, he wanted to enjoy as much of the outdoors as he could. The
red cape on his back rustled in the wind as a gentle breeze blew past.
It felt strange being one of the saviors of the world. He had expected nations take pilgrimages to
Rainor and offer their gratitude, but it hardly seemed like anyone noticed. The world continued on like
normal: people continued squabbling about theological differences as each person tried to find the Truth
and the meaning of life.
Unfortunately, most people were searching the wrong way. Acceptance and happiness were not
found inside occupations or prideful arguments. Aaron had learned first hand that joy, deep unwavering
joy, could only be found in the Almighty. Even with the world the way it was, the Order of the Radiant
Light was growing in numbers and negotiations with the other sects were the best they had been in
centuries.
Aaron opened the large, wooden doors to the grand cathedral. He paused in the antechamber,
taking a moment to enjoy the elaborate stone architecture and the massive stained glass windows. Tucked
away from the world, deep in the heart of Rainor, this dazzling masterpiece stood. If a person took the
time to truly enjoy the beauty of this building, they would find that it was an art of worship to the
Almighty. The crafters had poured themselves into their work, and it showed.
On the second floor above, metal creaked as the giant bell rocked back and forth, sending out
methodic wave of sound that echoed through the countryside. Aaron smiled. For the first time in who
knew how long, it was finally being used for its intended purpose.
Aaron Bardeaux passed through the antechamber and paused at the entryway to the nave where
the pews waited packed full with people. He dipped his finger in the bowl hanging on the wall and
splashed the holy water on his forehead. Did the water contain elements of magic in it, or was it just a
reminder of what had already taken place? Aaron did not have the answer, but he was not going to limit
the Almighty and say the ritual was for nothing.
The people in the pews sat with heads bowed, praying quietly to the Almighty. A man wearing
the most elaborate, decorated robe Aaron had ever seen stepped onto the stage and took a seat on the right
side. Tirion stepped up behind, set a book on the podium, and waited for the room the fill with silence.
As quietly as possible, Aaron rushed to his seat beside Kaylie.
“You were almost late,” she said.
“Yes, but I wasn‟t.” Aaron smiled playfully. She just shook her head. Aaron looked across the
room and saw Sariah sitting with Gavin. She smiled and waved.
“Thank you all for coming,” Tirion said. “There are a great number of things I would love to talk
to you about: a thorough explanation on how the Surrogate was able to live for so long, how far the
Corruption has been repelled from our borders, or how the training regiments are going with our Recruits,
Squires, and Templarites as they seek entrances to new understandings of life.
“As great as any one of those topics would be, they would all fail in comparison to the
monumental day we are experiencing today. For the first time in centuries, the Order of the Radiant
Light—in agreement with the Elders—has found itself with a priest.
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“But first, let me draw your attention to a different position. One of equal importance. As one of
our greats, Tavon Aiell, fell in The Tower attempting to rid the world of the Surrogate, a position opened
up for another member to become a Lionheart. Through many nights of prayer and discussions with the
Elders, we have come to an agreement of who the new Lionheart should be.
“This person had proven themselves in will, mind, discipline, and combat expertise. This person,
will without a doubt, be a beacon of hope and light in the world. Gavin, please step forward.”
Gavin looked around, surprised. He then stood to his feet and walked onto the wooden stage. The
Templarite took a knee before Tirion and bowed his head. Tirion, leader of the Order of the Radiant
Light, tapped the man on each shoulder with a longsword.
After rising to his feet, Gavin removed his white Templarite tabard and was given a black one.
With the help of two other Lionhearts, he donned the fabric. He turned to face the audience for the first
time as the highest member of the Order would could be besides Tirion. Gavin was now a Lionheart.
Everyone cheered.
Some moments later, after the cathedral had silenced, Gavin returned to his seat. Sariah, of
course, was beaming with excitement.
“I could speak at great lengths of the greatness of the next man who will stand before you,”
Tirion said. “But it is not my desire to lift him up with my boasts. Instead, let the gift of the Almighty
speak for itself. May this priest edify your spirits, cleanse your minds, and bring you closer to holiness as
he, too, seeks the will of the Almighty. Wain, please step forward.”
Wain, Aaron thought, smiling. If anyone deserves to be a priest, it‟s him.
Wearing the white and gold priestly robes, Wain gave Tirion an embrace before stepping up to
the podium.
“We are gathered here today to honor those that fell in the Shadowlands,” Wain said. His soft
spoken voice carried surprisingly well in the giant room. “I do not need to list the two thousand soldiers
we have identified, nor the hundred Squires and Templarites. Nor did I need to mention the names of the
Lionhearts that died. We know who they are.”
Tavon Aiell. Leonias.
“There is hope in death,” Wain continued. “For death is not the end. Our bodies may die and
decay in the ground, but there is more that awaits for our eternal souls. We were designed to walk in
humility with the Almighty, and in death there is no exception. For those that have fallen bearing the
honor of our crest—those that truly sought the Almighty and tried to worship Him with their life—they
will awake in the bliss of the Heavens as they meet the Almighty.
“Today, we honor those men. Not because of the mistakes they overcame or the long list of
transgressions their pasts once carried. No, we honor them for who they were when they died. We
remember them as those that gave their lives so that others may live. It is because of their love that we are
breathing today. And through their sacrifice, the kingdoms around the world will continue to have time to
repent from their ways.
“So what does this mean for us? How do we go forward with this knowledge? Know this: one
day—when time has run its course—the Almighty will return with glory and all those that have died will
join the living on this world. It is for that reason you should be encouraged to become the most sanctified
versions of yourselves you can be.There is hope in death because it is not the end.
“Please join with me in saying the oath that all Radiant Lights have said since the Sha‟Dari, and
we will continue to say until that day when we see the Almighty in all his glory.”
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Aaron bowed his head and repeated the words with the great multitude that filled the cathedral. “I
vow to follow in the footsteps of the Sha‟Dari, using the power invested in me from the Almighty to
pursue all that is holy, righteous, and good. I vow to help those in need, to give to the poor, to feed the
hungry, to heal the sick, protect the weak, and to push back the forces of darkness until the day the
Almighty returns. It is for His sake that I will continue His work in redeeming mankind, and the entire
world, from the Corruption. I vow to—with all my efforts—attempt to leave the world and a better place
when I die. I vow to fight for the goodness of all people.”
A moment of silence lingered as the words stopped echoing through the chamber. The words felt
different to Aaron now that he had lived them out, and he owed much of his teaching to Wain and Tavon.
He looked up to the ceiling. Immaculate stained glass windows covered much of the ceiling.
When the sun shone through it, vibrant rays of purple, yellow, blue, and some red poured into the room
“So, what do you want to do now?” Kaylie asked.
“I guess we should find a way to teach the other kingdoms about the Orthianism,” Aaron said. “I
guess we should continue redeeming the world.”

Do not forsake the ways of the Almighty.

Chapter 66

Two Years Later

The wars were coming to an end.


Conflicts between kingdoms over various territories were dwindling. Reports of political intrigue
and espionage were becoming less frequent Thievery and deaths were at all time lows and on their way to
being completely extinguished. Apparently, Clive—Mul‟Drak‟s surrogate—had held great power
throughout the entire Eastern Lands. But that had changed. The Shadowlands was slowly losing strength,
and life began to sprout once more. Perhaps it would not be long before people could resettle the
easternmost part of the Eastern Lands.
Word had not been heard from the Western Lands, but the Order assumed their conflicts were
fading as well. Or perhaps they had their own surrogate to fight, but that was unlikely. If such a problem
existed someone would have told the Radiant Lights by now, right?
Aaron stepped into the great hall of the monastery within Rainor. The chamber was elaborately
decorated with paintings, sculptures, and the large table at the center of the room was covered in an
ornate, white tablecloth. Sections of white wire carrying everburning candles dangled from various posts
throughout the room, making the room seem like snowflakes had been frozen in the air. A group of four
Templarites sat in some chairs playing various instruments in front of the kitchen‟s windowsill.
Various groups of people crowded the chamber and the hallways leading up to it. One group
consistied of mostly women adorned in rather revealing, colorful dresses. Members from the Order of the
Sun, no doubt. It was nice to see Avalon‟s forces had traveled the distance to Rainor in honor of the
event.
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The group a little further to the right was full of people wearing plate armor, the symbol of the
Blazing Sword painted on the chestplate. Jericho‟s forces. While they had less of a distance to travel than
Avalon‟s forces, it was still comforting to know they had traveled as well. Apparently the various sects
did care about how the world was changing.
With Sariah‟s arm wrapped around his, Gavin walked toward a table on the far end of the room
where a wide array of drinks were set up. They were, of course, wearing their tabards. Every Radiant
Light was. Next to the elegant tablecloth, a plain, wooden barrel rested with its lid removed. Cherry-apple
rum.
Aaron smiled.
He walked up to Kaylie. She was standing with a group of the Hammerfists. The brutes from
Hrathgar were telling crude jokes, so Aaron was sure she would enjoy being relieved.
“How were the negotiations?” Aaron asked Kaylie when he was close.
She turned to him and smiled, red hair shuffling. “I‟d say surprisingly well, considering how the
kingdom of Yrall has been these past few years.”
“What do you think will happen?” Aaron asked, leading the Templarite to the drink table.
“I don‟t know. This is the most excited about a treaty I‟ve ever seen from the King of Yrall. I
think we might have made some progress today.”
“Are you certain? You know how these things are. They will drag their feet for a few months then
send word that they need us to revisit. Then we will explain our proposal in the exact same way as
before.”
“I don‟t know. I think things were different this time.”
“I certainly hope so. His kingdom needs a little hope.”
Kaylie smiled.
“What?” Aaron asked.
“I‟m just thinking about how we first met. You seemed so reluctant to learn this things, yet here
you listening to how I have been proclaiming theology to the nations.”
Aaron flushed.
“You never did learn to shoot a bow properly.”
“I guess I just need a little more training.”
She laughed and looked ahead.
Aaron smiled. What had he done to deserve her? She was enough proof that the Almighty must
exist. Every day Aaron saw her, he considered himself beyond lucky. He considered himself blessed.
Wain stepped into the room and started speaking with Gavin. The priest looked concerned and
carried a rolled up scroll in his hand. Curious, Aaron led Sariah to their location.
“What is it?” Aaron asked.
“Word from our advisor in Tumeric. Its a request for support,” Gavin said.
“What‟s the report?”
“One of our own, a man named Tormond Caell, has gotten sick. They tried using potions and
natural remedies, but the sickness has been too resilient. They want us to travel to the city and heal the
man.”
A smile formed on Aaron‟s face. “I‟ll go.”
“You? You haven‟t yet learned how to use magic.”
“Kaylie can go with me. We can go together.”
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Gavin paused, face stern. “Are you certain? Tirion requested we all stay in Rainor until he
arrives.”
“Yes. We can do it. I will only need a cart, a mule, and some supplies from my room.”
“I think Tirion will understand,” Sariah said.
Gavin, the Lionheart, was silent for a moment. “Very well. Make haste.”
Wain smiled and nodded. “May the Almighty bless your path, Aaron Bardeaux.”

***

Aaron sat on a cart being pulled by a donkey named Mischief. Kaylie sat to his right eating a loaf
of bread. They were making their way toward Tumeric. They both wore peasants clothing: a brown shirt
and dirt stained pants with a black cloak. The hood was up, not out of necessity but of comfort. Rain had
not fallen in days, which was strange for spring. But flowers and crops would likely be enjoying the
sunlight. A breeze rustled through the countryside, making the tall grass sway in a dance like motion.
With the distant seven spired keep slowly drawing closer, Aaron considered Tavon‟s life. A
dreadful pirate turned holy knight. The late Lionheart had sacrificed his life to save Aaron‟s. Even two
years after the event occurred, he still found the memory haunting. Tavon was the one who taught Aaron
about patience and honor; who first showed him magic was real. Without him, Aaron would still have
been the wretch he once was.
Aaron owed every passing moment to the man. He respected him with great honor, hoping his
own actions in life would be even but a sliver of what Tavon had taught. At times, he thought he was
failing, but Gavin was always reassuring. As were Kaylie and Alex.
Before leaving, Sariah had visited Aaron and expressed her desire to join the trip. It had been
many years since she last walked the stone streets of Tumeric, but Aaron had insisted she not come.
While it hurt, she knew it was best. This was no leisurely visit, and it did not require a multitude of
Templarites storming a city unannounced. The crowds would never let them through, anyway. Not with
the way they flocked the Radiant Lights when they visits. Plus with Sariah‟s growing relationship with
Gavin, Aaron was not completely sure she wanted to join.
Aaron looked over his shoulder to check the cargo. The barrel was still in place. He was
concerned it might fall and roll down the path behind, despite how tightly it had been secured. Next to the
barrel was a large sack full of nice clothing from Rainor and Aaron and Kaylie‟s tabards.
The walls surrounding Tumeric‟s marketplace brought a level of excitement with it—a thought
Aaron never imagined would happen. But it was nice to be feeding a long brewing homesickness. Two
guards nodded as Aaron and Kaylie rode through the Eastern Gate, the same gate he used as an exit a few
years ago.
Hardly anyone roamed the streets. The merchants sat bored in their tents, twiddling their thumbs.
Aaron pulled his cart to a stop next to a particular one-story shop made of stone. It had a peaked roof with
clay shingles.
“Come on,” he said to Kaylie as he hopped out of the cart and grabbed a sack from the wagon.
She followed him around back.
I wonder if Mae is still here, he thought as he unlatched a gate. She was. She stood tucked away
in the corner slightly unsettled, ears perked. She looked much older now. Her coat was thinning and white
hairs surrounded her lips, like she wore an elderly goatee. Aaron smiled as he grabbed a bag of oats.
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“There, there,” he whispered as he filled the trough. “I‟ve missed you too.” He let her smell his
hands, and she seemed to relax.
Aaron turned. Mae was not the only donkey here. Another slowly clopped over to the feed. “And
who are you?” Aaron whispered, leaning forward to inspect the tag hanging from a collar. “Annabelle.”
Named after my mother.
With a smile, he let go of the tag and changed into the extra clothing he brought. He tied a red
Squire‟s tabard over his shirt. The pants were replaced with nicer cotton leggings and the cloak was
removed and replaced with a flowing, red cape.
Looking over his shoulder, Kaylie nodded. She was just finishing attaching her cape to her
clothing.
Aaron paused at the top of the steps, rubbing the sides of the building. It had been so long. So
much had changed. Not only in him, but the entire world. Nothing was the same. After a deep breath, he
opened the door and walked into the room.
“Who‟s there?” a voice rang from the inner room.
“I‟m here looking for Tu-,” Aaron paused. “Tormond Caell.”
“I‟m here. What do you want?”
“Word has spread of your sickness. We were sent to check in on you.” Aaron turned a corner and
saw Tormond sitting in a chair. He was heavier now, and his skin was pasty white. His mustache carried
more than a few white hairs. Spectacles still sat on his face, but they had been tinted black—apparently no
longer used for reading. His clothes were old and stained, as if they had not seen the wash in some time.
“I assure you I‟m fine. Tell whoever sent you all I need is a little food. I‟ll walk this off.”
Aaron desperately wanted to reveal himself, but he couldn‟t. He wanted to be angry, but he
couldn‟t. All he felt was compassion for this sick, bedridden man. “I believe I can help you,” he said,
stepping forward.
“Unless you are sent from the Order, I hardly think you can. Many have tried, all have failed.”
“I am.”
“Don‟t play with me, boy. I haven‟t seen anyone from the Order in nearly three years. And I
haven‟t seen anything for six months.” Tormond grunted and took a drink from whatever liquor he held.
“I am,” insisted Aaron.
“We are,” Kaylie added.
“If that‟s true—and there are two of you—then the Creator must exist.”
Aaron smiled and nodded to Kaylie. He took off Tormond‟s glasses as she knelt before the man
and started praying. Towels hanging nearby rustled as a gentle breeze entered the room. Light began
glowing in the Templarite‟s hands. Aaron watched as she gently pressed them against Tormond‟s face,
resting her thumbs on his eyeballs. A moment later, she pulled her hands away and the light faded.
Tormond opened his eyes. Tiny droplets dripped down his cheeks which were starting to show
more color. He buried his face in his hands and started weeping. “Aaron, my boy,” he whispered between
sobs.
“It‟s been too long, Tusk,” Aaron said, his voice calm and gentle.
“I shouldn‟t have left you that day in Oakwood. You deserved a choice, but I thrust you into my
will. It wasn‟t right. I was… I was worried about you.”
“Has this been tormenting you all these years?”
Tusk said nothing.
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“My dear friend,” Aaron said. “I don‟t hold this against you. You did what you had to. Had you
not, I would never be who I am today.”
“I‟m sorry—”
“No, Tusk,” interrupted Aaron. He bowed his head and dropped to a knee in respect. “It is not
you who should apologize, but me. I was the fool. I was the one was caught in selfish ambition, but you
were the one always gracious enough to house me. You deserved far more than what I gave you. Forgive
me for how I acted, for I wronged you in more ways than one.”
“My boy, you know I never held anything against you.”
“Yes, I know. But sometimes you need to hear the words you know to be true.”
“All is forgiven, lad. It always has been.” Tusk placed his hand on Aaron‟s shoulder.
Aaron began to cry.
“Come, lad. Tell me what happened that day. Tell me how you got to where you are. And tell me
who your pretty friend is.”
Together, they rose to their feet and wiped tears away from their watering eyes. Aaron pulled out
a chair and helped Tusk sit down at the table.
“This is Kaylie,” Aaron said, escorting her to her seat.
“Pleasure to meet you,” she said, smiling.
“And you, darling, and you.”
“Might I say, you are looking much better than before.”
Tusk smiled. “I believe I have the both of you to thank for that.”
“Wait here,” Aaron said.
He ran into the other room and grabbed a trolley. Then he rushed his way to the wagon outside.
He hefted the wooden barrel onto the trolley and returned inside as fast as he could. Which was not very
fast. That thing was heavy.
“What are you doing, lad?” Tusk asked as Aaron walked to the bar.
Aaron grabbed three glasses and popped the cork from the bottom of the barrel. Carefully, he
filled the glasses with a red liquor, then pressed the cork back in place.
“Is that…” Tusk began.
“Yes,” Aaron nodded and handed Tormond, Tusk, one of the glasses. “Cherry-apple rum. You
made it all those years for me, I thought I would repay the favor.” He handed a glass to Kaylie.
Tusk took a sip. “Remarkable. Perfect. Just like old times.”
“Just like old times,” Aaron smiled. “Tell me, How‟s Marian?
“Beautiful, mean, and hard headed like a goat. Just the way I like her.” They both laughed.
Just like old times, Aaron thought, taking another sip of rum.
“If I remember correctly, Aaron, you once said „Love only belongs when it‟s surrounded by
magic, swords, and death. And those only exist together in fairy tales.‟”
Aaron looked at Kaylie. “It turns out all those things are very much real.”
Tusk laughed. “Tell me, lad. What happened to you?” His voice was layered with excitement,
more than Aaron had ever witnessed.
Aaron smiled. “Let me tell you about all the adventures I‟ve—we‟ve—been on.”
And they spoke all night.

***
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Sariah walked down the stone stairwell to the cartography room. It was only visited by a few
scholars, and most of those were only interested in a few of the maps stacked on the shelves lining the
wall.
The small chamber contained a thick, musty air. Tirion stood at the far end of the room on the
other side of a wooden table. Two everburning candles sat on its surface. Tirion was quietly staring at a
door on the opposite wall from Sariah.
“You called me?” she asked, stepping into the room. The stone floor was coated in dust.
Footprints formed a distinct trail from the entrance to Tirion‟s location.
He turned. “Sariah. Yes, yes. Come.”
She wiggled her way past the wooden furniture until she stood before the door. What was the big
deal? It was a wooden door. “This is why you called me down here? To stare at a door?”
“I found this on Clive‟s body,” Tirion said. He held up the silver key in his left hand.
Something gripped Sariah as she looked at the key‟s surface. The silver reflected light similar to
how the waves of the ocean reflected the sun. Sariah snapped her attention away. Whatever magic was
used to forge the ring gnawed at her. Made her want more. Just one small touch and she would be happy.
No. She looked away. It was not her treasure to hold.
“I don‟t get it,” Sariah said, trying not to look at the item. “It‟s just a key.”
“This is one of the two keys passed down generation to generation by the Sha‟Dari. This one has
been lost for centuries. I suspect this is one of the items that drove Clive to seek immortality.”
“So what are you doing with it?”
“This door requires two keys,” he said. He inserted the silver key into the lock on the left hand
side of the door.
“That‟s great. We have one of the two keys. Where‟s the other?”
Tirion smiled and pulled on the necklace he wore. On it, a key gold key of similar shape dangled.
Its surface was even more alluring than its silver counterpart.
“Wait,” Sariah said as she adjusted her gaze. “Have you been wearing that this entire time?”
“Yes,” Tirion said.
“So we stormed into the Shadowlands to fight a guy who was searching for a key that you wore?
You took his desire directly to him. What would have happened if he got his items on that artifact?”
Tirion shrugged. “I guess we won‟t ever know.”
Unbelievable.
After a deep breath, Tirion put the golden key into the lock on the right side of the door. He
stroked his greying beard quietly for a moment. “Shall we?”
Sariah nodded and, together, they turned the keys. Something large clicked. It sounded like it was
made of thick metal.
Tirion gave her a look. He pushed on the door.
It opened into a tiny, featureless, stone room. A man lie on the floor, babbling to himself. He
wore a nice cotton shirt with matching trousers. A pair of stockings covered his feet. The man had long,
black hair which stretched to his shoulders, and a line of runes were etched on his forearm, spanning from
his wrist to his elbow. He spoke in a foreign, unrecognizable language.
Why? Sariah asked herself as she moved into the room. Aside from the placement of the runes,
he looked similar to the men she had found in The Tower. Why? Why was he here?
“What is it?” Tirion asked.
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“I‟ve seen someone similar to him before. In the dungeon of The Tower. There were six of them
there—albeit, the runes were in different places. There was another group of six that didn‟t have writings
on their skin.”
“Ah, the people you killed to stop the Surrogate.”
We figured out they were in a state of insanity from the Backlash. And because of that, their
power continued to be repeated over and over. That‟s how the Surrogate remained alive.”
“Yes, I remember you telling me that. If this one is still alive, then there might still be a chance
Clive still lives. We‟ll have to kill him.”
“But you saw Clive die with your own eyes.”
“I know, but are you willing to risk it?”
Sariah opened her mouth, but hesitated. If this man was using magic from Mul‟Drak, even if it
was not being cast directly on the Surrogate it could still have dire consequences.
“Okay,” she said, pulling out a dagger. She knelt before the man and placed the blade against his
neck. The man did not flinch, but instead continued babbling, eyes wide, staring at nothing. “Are you
certain?”
Tirion nodded.
Almighty, forgive me.
She slit the man‟s throat. Blood poured from his neck and pooled on the floor. Then, for the first
time in nearly two millennia, the earth quaked. Both Tirion and Sariah fell to the foor. A few minutes
later, once the shaking stopped and the dust and dirt quit falling to the ground, Tirion looked at Sariah,
eyes wide. She stared back, then looked at the dead man.
What have we done?

Epilogue

Somewhere deep beneath the earth, a dark chasm rumbled.


The world tried to resist the urge to shake, but it was unable to suppress the notion. It shook
again, sending loose chunks of rock and dirt into the dark cavern. Smoke lingered in the air, so thick that
even if there was light visibility would be nonexistent. The black, misty vapor spiraled slowly in the air.
The intensity at which it moved increased as it sprawled out around the chamber.
Again the world shook.
It could not let this happen. It tried with all its efforts to keep the chasm in place, to keep the
barrier lifted. But such a thing was beyond its control. The world quaked again.
Large, thick tendrils of smoke gathered together and began forming a massive, clawed foot.
Another formed beside it. Smoke continued coalescing as it formed into two massive hind legs. A torso
formed next, then two hands. Wings made entirely of smoke drifted out of the creature‟s back. It slammed
a claw against the wall of the earthen pit.
The world shook.
The smoke creature pulled its gigantic body off the ground and slowly started scaling the wall.
Each impact from its claw sent rocks crumbling to the darkness below. Through smoldering eyes, the
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shadow-creature looked around the earthen cell. It stretched its long, colossal body. Black, misty teeth
made unnerving sounds as they clashed together.
It took in a deep breath, sucking in the smoke still lingering in the room. Then, it roared.
The earth shook violently. It tried with all its might to collapse the exit, but the creature was too
powerful. The earth could not nothing but watch as the beast continued to climb out of the pit.
The smoke creature let out a deep, steady laugh as it slammed a claw into the earthen wall.
Chunks of shattered earth fell as it heaved itself upward.
“It feels good to be free,” Mul‟Drak said, climbing out of the darkness.

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