“I—they were nowhere to be foun—”
“Ah, wait,” the High Conduit laughed victoriously. “Wait. Say what you were going to say. Speak the words you offered to me when last we spoke. I?”
“I…” Craed hesitated, his panting growing frantic.
“Say it!” the High Conduit bellowed.
“I didn’t see anyone else, so I assumed—”
“NO! Say the words, Craed. You do remember what you told me, don’t you? You said, ‘I watched them all die’. You told me you watched them, so, say it. I. Watched. Them. All. Die.” The High Conduit seethed with anger as he stared down at Craed.
Craed’s lip trembled as sweat poured down his forehead. He shook uncontrollably as he looked up at the High Conduit. “It isn’t true,” he sobbed.
“No, it isn’t,” the High Conduit said quietly. “You lied to me, Craed, and you abandoned the group you were sworn to lead and to protect.” A wry smile formed on the High Conduit’s face, and he spoke in a more playful tone. “Since you watched them all die, gaze now upon Keltin, the resurrected hero of Dism Slyde! Somehow, despite ending his mortal suffering right in front of you, he still accomplished his task of locating Cynmere. Aren’t you proud of your fallen fellow Legionnaire?”
It suddenly all made sense; Keltin stared at Craed in disbelief and disgust. Not only had the man forsaken his entire scout group to flee back to Dism Slyde, he had then lied to the High Conduit, saying everyone else was dead. Garam’s confusion at seeing Keltin alive had been warranted, after all.
“He found it?” Craed asked with an awe-struck laugh, but no answer was given.
“Stand,” the High Conduit ordered softly, and the Draeden was quick to help Craed to his feet as roughly as possible. The High Conduit’s grey-blue eyes searched the Legionnaire with equal parts disappointment and anger. “By lying to me, you also lied to the Venerates,” he pointed out.
“Forgive me,” Craed begged.
“That is not mine to offer, but the grace of the Venerates will protect you if your faith is true,” the High Conduit replied sadly. His grey eyebrows shot up suddenly and he narrowed his eyes in thought. “I know the Legion prefers their isen, but you carry a knife as well, don’t you, Craed?”
Craed was confused by the question. “I do, Conduit,” he said with a frown.
“Pass it to me.” The High Conduit studied the small blade, twirling it in one hand, then the other. He paced towards the large map on the wall, then slowly walked back and began circling Craed. “There is a lesson to be learned here by all,” the High Conduit proclaimed, the blade glinting in his right hand. “Lies are like knives: if you handle them with care and skill, their utility is unmatched. If you disrespect their power, though”—he stepped behind Craed and stopped—“it only takes one mistake for them to turn on you.”
In a single motion, the High Conduit’s left hand gripped Craed’s head while his right hand slammed the knife into the side of the Legionnaire’s throat. Craed gasped, a horrific bubbling wheeze, as the High Conduit thrust his arm forward and sent the blade cleanly out the front of Craed’s neck with a sound like rope being cut. Blood sprayed onto the stone floor in a wide arc, yet the High Conduit’s silvery robes remained untouched from his position behind the doomed Legionnaire. Keltin and Ansund stepped aside quickly, but the High Conduit shook his head.
“Take hold of him, both of you,” the High Conduit commanded, his voice strained as he fought to keep the dying man standing. The Draeden rushed forward to grip Craed’s right shoulder while Keltin numbly took hold of the left. “To the balcony,” the High Conduit said. “Before his breath leaves forever, show the rest of Dism Slyde the reward that awaits a liar.” Ansund and Keltin hurried through the narrow passage onto the balcony, leaving a river of blood behind them. Keltin made the mistake of meeting Craed’s eyes when the man glanced at him: they were wide with helplessness and fear more than pain, but worse, he blinked with desperation each time his ruined throat and lungs strained to capture a breath. Keltin looked away as a block of cold shock formed in his core.
They reached the edge of the balcony after what felt like a march of ten thousand strides, and Ansund leaned his head around Craed’s back. “On three, lift and push,” he instructed, and Keltin nodded slowly. “One, two, three!” With surprisingly little effort, they hoisted Craed’s body over the balcony railing and sent him plummeting towards the valley floor below. Still lost in his stupor, Keltin leaned forward in horrified fascination to watch the man’s fall. Whether it was from the act of tumbling itself or a surge of terminal strength, Keltin heard Craed scream faintly just before his body struck the sand.
There was nothing left to see, so Keltin backed away from the balcony, unblinking and twitching with shock. The High Conduit was there, smiling at him approvingly. “You did well, Keltin.” He spoke calmly, as though he had just witnessed a well-executed training session instead of a man’s death—a man that he had killed. When he noticed Keltin’s distant stare, the High Conduit wrapped his hands gently around the sides of Keltin’s head. “He betrayed us all and he left you to die,” he said, his grey-blue eyes instantly pulling Keltin out of the depths of his confusion. “His punishment was the will of the Venerates.”
Keltin thought to protest—some submerged portion of his mind felt certain that what he had just witnessed was wrong—but the High Conduit’s gaze removed all resistance. The old man spoke the truth, though Keltin struggled to admit it. A sudden and gnawing weakness drained the strength from all of his muscles and Keltin felt himself nodding in agreement. Satisfied, the High Conduit released his grip on Keltin’s head with a pleased smile. “Come, there is much yet to discuss.” The Draeden followed the High Conduit back into the main chamber immediately, while Keltin shuffled in behind them, unable to force his legs to move any faster.
“Now, on to more pleasant matters. Show us Cynmere,” the High Conduit said excitedly when they had all arrived at the base of the large map. Keltin’s hand absently began to trace the route he had followed with Craed; he found the entrance to the narrow canyon with the stone trees, then spotted the series of peaks to the east that he had traversed with Silax and Aemetta. The details of the map stopped just after these mountains, but Keltin remembered the approximate location of his root shelter and the cliffside overlook where he and Silax spotted Cynmere engulfed in flames.
To Keltin’s relief, thinking through his journey took his thoughts off the staggering violence he’d just witnessed and—he realized suddenly—helped carry out. Even with reassurance that Craed’s death was the will of the Venerates, it still felt unnecessary. As time passed, the Draeden asked for as many details of the terrain as Keltin could remember, and he used a sharpened piece of charcoal to etch new markings on the far-right side of the map’s fabric. At last, a complete image was formed that captured a route from Dism Slyde all the way to the home of the Cynmeren.
“Our vengeance can finally be known,” the High Conduit breathed in disbelief. He gazed at the spot on the map that marked Cynmere, then he suddenly lifted Craed’s knife and stabbed it through the dot on the fabric and into one of the wooden frame boards. A thin trickle of blood coursed south on the map while the rest dripped off the blade and onto the floor. The High Conduit nodded in satisfaction before taking his seat at the large stone table. “Ansund, how do you feel we should achieve this?”
The Draeden walked to the map and began talking through his thoughts. “The patrols have encountered an increased Cynmeren presence all along the base of the Eastern Hills from the Deadlands to the northern edge of the Plateau Desert. It can be assumed through these actions that the Cynmeren are aware that the location of their main refuge has been discovered.” His finger made a straight line from Dism Slyde in the direction of Cynmere, but he shook his head. “If we attempt a direct attack, they will crush us—this is their terrain, and they will be fighting to save their wretched home. They will already have established camps to defend the easiest paths to Cynmer
e from here.”
“Then we must seek a more difficult path,” the High Conduit replied and Ansund nodded in agreement, still facing the map.
“Rough terrain will call for an elite group, but it will prevent the use of the nysks. Perhaps a small force, masked by a diversion…” Ansund muttered as he traced another route through the mountains, but he offered no other details for some time. Then he tilted his head and pointed to the Plateau Desert. “Our numbers are low, so we must make the enemy think we are everywhere; it’s the only hope we have of keeping them contained and occupied.”
Keltin didn’t understand—if the Penitent Faithful lacked enough fighters to counter the Cynmeren openly, how could they contain a threat that was already spread across the entire desert? The High Conduit’s expression echoed Keltin’s own confusion. “What are you thinking?” the old man asked the Draeden.
“We press east with our full force as far as we can go before encountering heavy resistance, then retreat slightly and sweep south as soon as the Cynmeren show themselves,” Ansund explained. “Each time we find the enemy, we establish a series of thuribles and keep them burning at all times. A handful of fighters and lookouts will remain with each thurible group, and they must not allow any Cynmeren scouts that enter the smoke to escape. This will bolster our illusion—they fear the smoke already, and if their scouts begin disappearing, they’ll think the entirety of Dism Slyde is waiting within every billow.
“As we progress south, we will gradually form a wall of smoke, fueled by a chain of thuribles spread across the eastern edge of the Plateau Desert. This will mask our movements and confuse the Cynmeren. If they apply pressure at any given point, we’ll use the nysk carts to speed reinforcements to that area, once again enhancing the illusion that we have far more fighters than we currently do.”
“That is a desperate plan, but it has merit. How do we assault Cynmere itself, though?” the High Conduit pressed.
Ansund drew a long, sweeping curve with his fingers on the map. “Once we are established, we will constantly move within the smoke, striking at individual Cynmeren outposts randomly and wiping them out one after another. They will continue pulling more of their defenses away from Cynmere and into the Eastern Hills in an effort to counter our advances, and that will be the time for us to strike. When the beasts are in a sufficient state of disarray, we’ll divide our forces and attack several of their camps at once.” He spread out his hands on the map and pushed them towards multiple points in the Eastern Hills. “It is during this combined attack that we will send the chosen group forward to assault Cynmere itself.”
The High Conduit stood and surveyed the map, nodding as he thought through all that the Draeden had proposed. “We will become a dark cloud looming over the Plateau Desert, an ominous storm that never changes and never recedes. Unpredictable destruction will be our lightning and silence will be the thunder that follows. The Cynmeren will tremble in our presence until, at last, they are all cut down.” He stared at the map before narrowing his eyes with fevered determination. “We must prepare to move immediately.”
Keltin could see the plan in his mind and was stunned not only by its complexity, but by the speed with which it had been developed. He had a newfound respect for Ansund’s skills and was very glad to be on his side of this conflict. He also felt a sudden surge of hope that he might be able to find both Silax and Aemetta, if either one of them was still alive. “I want to be part of the group that assaults Cynmere,” Keltin declared suddenly, and the High Conduit and Draeden Ansund both looked at him in surprise.
“Keltin, after what you’ve just endured, the Venerates will understand the need for a few days of rest,” the High Conduit replied with a concerned frown. “Your role in our victory is already well established.”
Clarity began to push aside the weight of Keltin’s tangled thoughts, and he shook his head fervently. “I want to watch Cynmere fall. Venerates willing, I’ll find Silax and Aemetta while I’m there and bring them back here.” He knew being a part of the assault group would require more violence and come at great risk, but for the first time in his life, Keltin felt like he could do something that would truly make a difference. He hoped that perhaps the Venerates could forgive his countless failures in exchange for victory over the Cynmeren.
The High Conduit shared a worried glance with the Draeden. “You believe you are ready for this fight, Keltin?” Ansund asked bluntly.
“Probably not,” Keltin said, smiling as he admitted the undeniable truth. “But I know the terrain near Cynmere better than anyone else, and the Venerates have chosen to keep me safe this far for some reason. I believe that reason is to finally bring an end to Cynmere.”
Keltin stood confidently as the two men studied him in silence. A moment later, the High Conduit’s shoulders shook with a single chuckle. “As the Venerates will, let it be so,” he declared softly. “Ansund, Keltin will go with your group when the time comes to reduce Cynmere to ash. Use him wisely and keep him safe.”
“It will be as you say, Conduit,” the Draeden replied somewhat distractedly. He frowned as he stared at Keltin, his head tilting to one side with curiosity. “I recognize that,” he said, pointing to the scrid spike on Keltin’s hip. Without thought, Keltin’s hand leapt to the spike as a sudden memory of its pain flashed through his side.
“It was with me when I helped Silax carry you to the healing quarters,” Keltin explained. “I’ve kept it nearby ever since.”
“When we are finished here, come with me,” Ansund said mysteriously, still admiring the dark spike.
The High Conduit waved his hand dismissively. “I believe we’re done. Besides, I need to prepare to address the people of Dism Slyde, although I’m sure word of Cynmere’s discovery has already spread to almost every ear. Serve well, both of you.”
“And you, Conduit,” Keltin and Ansund replied in unison. The High Conduit turned his attention back to the map as the Draeden led Keltin out of the room. When they were past the guards and several steps down the great spiraling staircase, Keltin’s curiosity finally overcame him. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“I need to do something,” Ansund replied. Keltin waited for more, but instead they walked in silence to the base of the Holy Spire and then onward across the valley to the men’s side of Dism Slyde. After beginning the climb up to the healing quarters, Ansund veered off suddenly into one of the side hallways Keltin had never used. Several strides later, a rhythmic thud began that quickly grew louder until it shook the floor, the walls, and even the air itself. A sound like rushing water filled the silence between the echoing thunder just before Keltin turned left and found himself entering an enormous cavern.
The Western River flowed through the center of the enclosed chamber, its course meandering but its swiftness undeterred by the numerous twists around columns of rock that extended from the floor to the ceiling. Most of these pillars appeared natural and ancient, although there were others that had clearly been added by the hands of men some time much more recently. At five points along the shoreline, large segmented cylinders of wood spanned the river, their edges catching the water and spinning from the force of the powerful current. Assemblies of pulleys, gears, and chains converted this rotation into other motions that were then utilized by various mechanisms throughout the cavern.
One such mechanism consisted of a slab of stone bound to the end of a long pole that lifted and dropped in a regular rhythm—this immense hammer was the source of the thunder that had shaken Keltin on the way to this place. Charcoal fires blazed in pits on either side of the river, and several workers clad in dark field clothes hoisted bars of glowing hot metal out of one of these fires and onto a flat stone beneath the incredible hammer. At other workstations, smaller hammers wielded by soot-coated workers caused metal to ring as it was shaped and joined.
Keltin was in awe—he had been to the forges in Aldhagen and had even performed menial tasks for the Metalworkers for a short time as a young child, but noth
ing there compared to the scale of this workshop. The closest thing he had seen to a forge this size had been when he went to free the Wrights in Locboran from the collapsed bannuc forge, but not even that space could compare to this cavern. He was amazed, too, that a place filled with such noise and heat could exist so close to an area like the healing quarters while somehow remaining completely unnoticeable.
Ansund moved through the chamber confidently with Keltin close behind. The workers bowed with respect as the Draeden passed, but their expressions quickly turned to curiosity when he wasn’t looking; apparently it was far from normal to find someone of his importance at the forges, especially so early in the day. More than one set of eyes looked on with fear and uncertainty as Ansund walked farther up the river. At last he paused, seeming to have found what he was seeking, and sat on a stool at one of the grindstones that spun slowly on the edge of the river. He extended his hand and stared at Keltin. “The spike,” he commanded, and Keltin passed it to him.
Water from the river below continuously coated the surface of the grindstone and spilled over onto the spike as Ansund pressed it gently against the coarse stone. “I’ve never shaped one of these before,” he admitted as he worked, “but from what I remember hearing, it requires patience to put an edge onto it. Normally we burn the scrid along with any other filth from Cynmere, but this spike has special significance: it’s a part of your story, so it warrants extra attention.”
Keltin was confused. “But…why?” he asked. “Shouldn’t we be preparing to leave?”
Ansund lifted the spike away from the wheel and stared at him flatly. “Keltin, you saved my life and then went on to find our enemy’s stronghold. The least I can do is make a presentable weapon for you. Yes, there are a thousand other things I need to be doing right now to plan for the fight ahead of us, but I believe this is just as important as any one of those tasks. Consider it a sign of my thanks.” He turned back to his work and continued removing one small bit of the scrid leg after another with excruciating slowness.
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