“Twenty years of training?” he asked, mouth agape. “I suppose the awkward follow-up question is finding out how old you are without asking.”
Elade laughed. “I’ve heard that it’s impolite of you to ask that of your females for some reason, but you don’t have to worry with me. I’m a hundred and forty-seven.”
“That seems…impossible,” he breathed. “You look like you could be twenty-five.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she replied with a wry smile.
“You should,” he said, smiling back. “I can’t imagine spending twenty years just training to do something.”
“Many take longer. And no, we’re not just slow learners. But we do take breaks for…”
He raised an eyebrow. “For what?”
Her face twitched. “Repopulation.”
“Repopulation? You mean, having children on a set schedule?”
“Not exactly. And before you ask, no, I don’t have any children.” Elade rubbed her eyes and sighed. “It’s probably easier to skip the explanation for now.”
“All right,” Darius said, trying not to dwell on the thought. “Everything I’ve read suggests shadow knights are some type of elite military unit. I’m guessing that isn’t accurate, either.”
“The common perception is that we control demons and use some kind of, I don’t know, ‘dark magic’ or something equally absurd. Part of the misunderstanding is probably related to the translation. Every human language has a word for ‘shadow’ and ‘knight,’ more or less, but those aren’t really the most accurate terms. We are trained to be versatile soldiers who combine swordplay with channeling, not unlike paladins. We are Bound to the Matriarch-Queen and use her power to protect our people and destroy our enemies.” Elade gestured to the silvery-blue glyph tracing up her right arm. “Her power is infused into our tattoos as well. They ward us against demonic possession.”
“Tevek told me about them once. I always thought they were fascinating.”
She cocked a white eyebrow. “Solarians are usually offended by them.”
“It’s an old cultural tradition,” Darius said dismissively. “I wouldn’t let it bother you. I think they’re quite…lovely.”
Elade smiled and slid her gown up a few inches. Another design was visible moving up the calf on her left leg as it hung crossed over her right. “The designs are personal, meant to represent something about you.”
Darius struggled to focus on the design of the glyphs and not the shapeliness of her calves or the smoothness of her gray skin. “And what do yours represent?”
“That’s another long story,” she said, leaning backwards.
“Hey, I’m not letting you go that easily. You have to at least tell me why you decided to join the Last Dawn. Everyone wants to know that one.”
Her smile faded. “Tevek.”
He frowned. “He recruited you?”
“Not exactly,” she told him. “He rescued me from…well, he rescued me.”
“Ah,” Darius murmured. As much as he wanted to know more, he was almost sorry he had brought it up. The pain in her eyes was both sudden and stark; whatever had happened, she clearly didn’t want to dwell on it. He made a mental note to ask Tevek about it later and moved on.
“The Highlord has saved a lot of people in his lifetime,” he said, offering a way out. “Krystia and I both owe him our lives.”
“So I’ve heard,” Elade murmured. “The Isen Siege is debated quite frequently at the Dawn Citadel. Some of the older knights use it in their lessons on morality.”
“How do you mean?”
“Two knights and three dragons died to defend a band of tactically insignificant refugees and a few soldiers,” she explained. “Even if the civilians had been wiped out, the Crell didn’t have ground forces close enough to actually occupy Isen before reinforcements arrived. It’s about as close as you can get to a classic moral dilemma, given that the rational, tactical choice is so obvious.”
“We had similar discussions within the Legion,” Darius said, thinking back. “We once conducted a war games exercise where we were forced to choose between similar options and then explain our position later. I chose the ‘tactical’ option, and I didn’t catch the irony until later.”
“You mean that if Tevek would have made the tactical decision at Isen, you would be dead?”
“Exactly. I’m only alive because he made the choice to sacrifice his own men, and then when I was confronted with the same decision, I picked the opposite.”
“To the vaeyn it wouldn’t even be a question,” Elade said, her voice distant. “They would always choose the tactical option. But I don’t think Tevek ever could.”
“He’s a paladin,” Darius said matter-of-factly. “I’m sure the other knights would do the same.”
“Maeleon’s Code calls for all the knights to be willing to lay down their lives to protect the innocent. Most of them agree…but I know for a fact that some don’t and keep it to themselves.”
“What about you?” he asked. “Where do you stand?”
“I told you what the vaeyn would do.”
“But not what you would do.”
Her luminous eyes glimmered as she studied him. “One of the men Tevek saved grew up to be a powerful Solarian General who might lead his people to victory over the Crell—and save millions of lives in doing so,” Elade said. “One woman who survived became a respected priestess and has saved dozens of people from wounds, illness, or death. Who knows how many of those others can do something similarly impressive given time. Maybe they already have.”
“But what about those knights,” he said. “They were already in a position to do something positive in the war. Who knows what they would have accomplished had they not died in Isen’s defense.”
“That is the usual counter argument, but those men made the conscious decision to join the order. They knew the risks and sacrifices they would be called upon to make. But the Isen refugees were just fleeing their homes destroyed by a war they probably wanted nothing to do with.”
“But what if they ended up as thieves or murderers later? What if Krystia or I end up as tyrannical despots in the future? At least you knew the character of the knights who died. Everyone else is mere speculation.”
“It’s not an easy decision,” Elade said after a moment. “And I’m not sure it’s one I could make without being faced with it myself.”
“Yes,” Darius agreed quietly. “In any case, I’m glad Tevek chose the way he did.”
“So am I,” she said, smiling and setting down her glass. “It’s late, Darius. We could both stand to get some sleep.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he conceded, smiling back. A part of him begged to come up with a glib retort and keep their conversation for a few minutes longer, but deep down he knew it would have been foolish—just as foolish as coming here instead of Krystia’s chambers in the first place. “Thank you for the drink, though. We’ll have to do it again next time you visit.”
“I look forward to it.”
Darius stood and walked towards the door, but before he left Elade slipped up behind him. “For what it’s worth,” she told him, “I hope you convince the Council to act even if we don’t find anything in Lyebel.”
He nodded. “It feels wrong to actively hope that you find demons there, but a part of me does. It will make my job a lot easier…and if I’m right about the Crell, it could end up saving us from another war.”
“I understand,” Elade said with a wry grin. “Tactics versus morality.”
He grunted. “Yes, I suppose so.”
His eyes met hers, and he found himself staring into them for a long moment. He usually preferred short women, but right now he wasn’t bothered in the slightest by her height. Nor was he bothered by her tattoos, her gray-blue skin, or her perfect athletic frame.
“I should go,” he croaked.
She reached out and squeezed his hand, and for a moment he almost thought—or at leas
t hoped—she might actually lean up to kiss him. But after another smile she turned away, and he swallowed heavily before turning and leaving the room.
Once he was in the hall, Darius closed his eyes and swore under his breath. He really was acting like a crush-addled teenager, but he was a grown man—a grown man used to getting exactly what he wanted. And that, more than anything, might have been why he found her so compelling.
Clearing his throat, he set off towards the Celenest Temple. With any luck, perhaps Krystia would still be awake.
Chapter Thirteen
“Demons might be the manifestation of Immortal sin, but it is mortal fear and hatred that sustains them.”
—The Book of Maeleon
The Vortex Chamber was a massive, sprawling room on one of the lowest levels of the Zarul headquarters. At first, Admiral Tenel had though it was just an elaborate instructional facility for Green Coat agents—there were target dummies, weapon racks, and all manner of other accessories common to military barrack or training yards. But then he had actually stepped inside, and he realized it was much, much more.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he commented as he swept his eyes around the expansive chamber. “Not even at military headquarters in the imperial capital of Drakendaar.”
“We have others, though this is the largest,” Sovereign Damir told him. “Some of these soldiers are the secret weapons I was telling you about earlier. They will be the ones who will tilt the pending war in our favor. And one of them in particular will be responsible for traveling to Lyebel and dealing with the Knights of the Last Dawn.”
Tenel nodded idly. The men and women training here weren’t just normal soldiers—they all appeared to be Bound channelers of one variety or another. The air thrummed with power as they discharged bolts of lightning or plumes of flame into their targets—or even each other. Others blended martial and magic skill together; they sheathed their weapons in Aetheric energy and hacked through steel as easily as if it were parchment.
In the past, he had always envisioned the Green Coats as dark, inconspicuous figures who skulked from shadow to shadow, but these individuals could have easily been on the front-lines of battle. He marveled at their athleticism and channeling ability…but also at their very existence. Did High Command even know they existed? Did any of the other Sovereigns?
Tenel and Damir maneuvered briskly through the chamber until they finally reached their target: a youngish muscular man sheathed in black, form-fitting armor practicing his fencing techniques with a slew of younger trainees. A healer stood nearby to tend to any wounds that arose during the sparring, and given the splatters of blood all across the floor, it was obvious he had been quite busy already.
“His name is Garin Kroll,” Damir said. “He is the first of what will eventually be many like him. I have taught him a powerful new channeling technique that will be quite useful in the war.”
“Why him?”
“It is a technique only an Unbound can master, and as you know, they are in short supply.”
“I see,” Tenel whispered, though of course he didn’t. He knew that Unbound were able to channel Aether without relying upon an Ascendant, but otherwise he thought they were exactly identical. Was she suggesting that they were more powerful?
He pushed aside his concerns and returned his attention to the combat ring. Kroll was currently taking on three other trainees at once, though it was quickly apparent that he could easily handle more. And that wasn’t to say the other fighters weren’t competent—quite the opposite, in fact. They coordinated their attacks as a group, hoping to divine his attention and open up flanking opportunities. But Tenel could see that Kroll was merely toying with them; he would twirl his blade between theirs, striking them just enough to keep them on their heels. They were afraid of him.
Finally Kroll went on the offensive. His left hand sparked briefly with power, and suddenly one of his opponents hurled backwards like he had been rammed by a charging bull. He didn’t pause and give the other warriors time to react; he immediately launched into an assault with his blade. The first warrior, a male, went down first. Kroll battered aside the other man’s weapon and slashed a vicious, gaping wound across his chest. The second warrior, a female, didn’t fare any better—even as she tried to lunge in for a strike, Kroll flicked his free hand and suddenly she froze in place. Her eyes widened in terror as she tried to wrench free from the invisible grip, and Kroll strode casually in front of her. He appraised her coolly for a moment, then smashed his gauntlet into her face and released his grip. She crumpled to the ground, blood and teeth splattering the nearby area.
“It’s not meant to be a fair fight,” Damir whispered. “All my Imperators undergo a similar style of training. They must learn to face down a superior opponent and steel themselves against their fear. In a few weeks they’ll learn their lesson or we’ll just stop healing them.”
“I…see,” Tenel replied awkwardly.
She turned and smiled faintly. “It may seem harsh, but it is necessary to be sure they are prepared for the demands of life as a Bound servant. If not…well, we can’t just return them to their farms or villages after they’ve seen this much of our operation.”
“You execute them?” he asked, not bothering to hide his horror.
“Of course not,” Damir replied as if it were obvious. “We’re not barbarians, Admiral. No, those who fail the trials are usually taken to a special facility where they can still attempt to produce worthy offspring for us. Over the years, we’ve found it the most reliable way of creating as many potential Unbound as possible.”
Tenel swallowed heavily as he watched the female trainee struggle to retrieve her teeth from the floor. The healers hadn’t even moved over to help them yet.
“In any event,” Damir said, waving her hand, “I didn’t bring you here to show you our failures. On the contrary, I wanted you to meet Kroll. He is what I call a ‘Breaker.’ He has the ability to separate a Bound from their Ascendant.”
Tenel frowned. “Is that even possible?”
“Not before now, as far as I’m aware. I learned the technique myself not so long ago, and in time I plan to teach many others. I’m sure you can imagine the tactical value of such a weapon.”
“The Alliance would be helpless against us,” he whispered.
“Everyone will,” Damir said, smiling. “That is the idea, after all.”
Tenel turned and studied Kroll. The man’s athletic frame was a perfect symmetry of power and grace, with enough muscle to crush a man’s neck but not so much as to restrict his own movements. His black hair was buzzed close to his scalp, and his green eyes were dark and intense. He face was riddled with scars and burns from many battles.
“Garin,” Damir said, calling him over, “I’d like you to meet my new adjutant, formerly Vice Admiral Onar Tenel of the Perilous.”
Kroll eyed Tenel as if he were some type of strange insect. “Admiral.”
“Tenel was the chief strategist at Vienshel Harbor,” the Sovereign told him. “For that alone, he deserves our respect.”
“Ah,” Kroll said, nodding. “An impressive victory.”
“Especially for a mere vorhang, I know,” Tenel replied.
“I respect a man capable of relying upon his own strength rather than leaching off of others,” Kroll replied stiffly.
Tenel felt his lip twitch. “I’m so glad you approve.”
“It is time for you to put your skills into practice,” Damir said. “In less than two days, a group of rebels will be entering Lyebel. You’re going to lead a team to greet them.”
“Rebels?” Kroll asked.
“Rebels who are friends with a powerful elysian channeler and two Knights of the Last Dawn.”
Kroll’s mouth twisted into a grin, and Tenel repressed a shiver. He had seen men like this before, men whose eyes glazed over with fanatical devotion to a person or cause. He might not have been directly Bound to Damir’s will, but his loyalty was absolu
te.
“When shall I leave?”
“Soon,” she assured him. “Meet me in my chambers in an hour. We’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
“Yes, mistress,” he said. He nodded once to Tenel then returned to the combat ring.
After a brief tour of some of the other hopefuls, Damir eventually led Tenel back upstairs. Once they were alone, he leaned in towards her.
“Do you really believe one man will be able to stop two paladins and a druid?”
“Kroll will have a small team alongside him, of course,” she said, “but the channelers themselves won’t pose a challenge. There is no defense against his technique, and once they are out of the way Moore and his other friends will be ours.”
“I hope you’re right,” Tenel murmured. “I wouldn’t underestimate all of us vorhang, though. Sometimes we can be quite crafty.”
“Moore and his friends can be as crafty as they like. They will have nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.” Damir smiled. “Fear not, Admiral. Soon enough, the divine spark shall be ours.”
***
The wooden door opened with a withered creak, and Kyle Adar stepped hurriedly inside. Like most of the old, beaten buildings in this part of Lyebel, the room was made entirely from the brownish granite that filled the quarries all along eastern Galvia. It was an echo of the Ash War, just like the city itself. The broken walls throughout the five story structure spoke to the month-long sieges that once pummeled Lyebel into submission, while the seared pieces of rock and debris in the lower levels memorialized the war’s final battle.
To this day, Crell and Solaria blamed each other for the massacre that had leveled the city and killed tens of thousands of people in the span of a few seconds. The Alliance claimed that hundreds of Imperators had combined their powers and conjured an Aetheric blast so powerful it had annihilated half the city; the Imperium, by contrast, argued that Alliance priests had chosen to scorch Lyebel behind them rather than allow the city to fall into Crell hands.
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