“It shall be done.” Sir Kilborn nodded and passed from sunlight into the shadow of the cave.
The new enrollment scroll stretched from the flat surface of Amurel’s tiny wooden desk all the way to the stone floor of the meeting cave. With their numbers swelling so rapidly, he knew the Order could not survive forever on the mere generosity of empowered nobility. They would have to start generating their own revenue – though those were considerations for after the war. At present, the task was simple to state and complex to achieve: defending the Northern Provinces of the Cradle from the encroaching Empire of Chelpa.
Amurel thought it clear enough that the best way to do so was by repelling the enemy at their border, and the old Halidor Keep was in the perfect geographic position to do so. Damage to the structure from its most recent conflict was severe, however, and the Duke of Halidor presumed dead. Lacking the certainty of a body, and with the obvious responsibility facing the lord of the southernmost free province, no one had yet asserted a claim to leadership.
This served as both a blessing and a curse. Amurel did not need to seek permission for his decisions in the realm, but had no effective way to petition individual settlements to combine efforts, either. The Duke’s forces had been annihilated or scattered as well, and other than his own volunteers from the area, Halidor currently lacked any organized military.
“You sent for me, Sir Golddrake?” Saffron’s voice pierced his preoccupied thoughts; he had not noticed the light of her torch approaching from the tunnel.
“Ah, yes, my Lady. The men I sent ahead to the ruins of Halidor Keep have returned, and I would like you to be present for their report.” Amurel could not keep his eyes on hers as he omitted Rogan’s presence. “I know your people have a different approach to warfare, and I welcome any insights regarding our strategy for repelling the King-priest. I also wondered if the rumors were true about what you did at Blackthorn, and if you might help us in combating his dark sorcery.”
Saffron shrugged and allowed a soft smile. “It is still so new to me. Palomar taught me that song-shaping is tied to the elements, as well as matters of the mind. We are all attuned to a single element more closely than the others – he to the Air and me to Fire, I suppose.” She stared at the burning end of her torch as she spoke, eyes losing focus as she invited in the flames. “Our magic tends to express itself with our attuned, elemental voice. The more I practice harnessing the essence, he says, the greater my control of its outcomes.”
As if waking from a dream, she turned her attention from the fire to Amurel. “Different songs produce different results, but there is no map for me to follow. I am still experimenting with the connection between my will, the music I feel, and the expression of their union.”
Amurel shook his head in awe. “I marvel at your gift, and your patience for discovery. It must not be an easy thing to control.”
Saffron leaned forward and lowered her voice, though they were the only ones present. “Restraint is a never-ending battle, fought on many fronts.”
Amurel took his turn cracking a thin smile. Discipline was a trait he long felt the two of them shared – one of the reasons he admired Saffron so much. “Indeed.” This time, with his head up, he did notice the aura of light approaching from the winding, black corridor. “Ah, that should be Sir Kilborn and the engineer.”
Amurel kept his eyes squarely on Saffron’s face, however, as the new arrivals filtered into the chamber. Sir Kilborn led a thin-faced man, who was in turn followed by Baron Rogan. Saffron’s eyes grew large, and Amurel thought he detected a sharp intake of breath.
“Master Golddrake,” Sir Kilborn tended toward formality in front of the uninitiated, “I’ve brought Tyregon of Doshale and Baron Rogan of Thispany – who bring dire tidings.”
Rogan stared at Saffron before switching to meet Amurel’s gaze. “Sir Golddrake,” he nodded.
“Rogan,” Amurel replied with a nod of his own. “I did not expect to see you again so soon, but I am glad for it.”
Rogan emitted a doubtful snicker. “You won’t be after you hear what I have to say.”
Saffron’s mouth opened to release an indecipherable sound, but she choked back whatever words might have followed and moved to Amurel’s side of the desk.
Amurel felt surprisingly bolstered with her behind him, like the oncoming news would not sting as much. “I suppose we should hear your tale straightaway, then.”
“Very well.” Rogan folded his arms across his chest. “I came across Ebon Khorel in the hills a day’s ride south of Halidor Keep. In the dead of night I followed him into his army’s encampment, which was concealed by dark sorcery. They have been moving in stealth, and have likely already crossed the border.”
Sir Kilborn could not hold his tongue. “That means there is no point trying to fortify the Keep now.”
Amurel closed his eyes and let his chin fall to his chest. He felt a headache rushing on as if launched from a catapult.
“And there’s more, I’m afraid,” continued Rogan. “Palomar was correct about the Living Fire. I saw a jeweled pendant around the King-priest’s neck, and I fear his magic is stronger than ever before. Besides the many feral creatures kept by his beast-trainers, he has animated warriors forged of the uril-chent alloy he hoards. I suspect they are near-impervious to normal weapons, for the metal is hard and they possess no blood to spill.”
“The statues we saw in Hope’s End?” Saffron spoke as the connection seemed to dawn on her.
Rogan’s eyes shifted to her momentarily and he nodded. “Even with the Aasimar at our side, it’s going to be a tough fight, and we need to brace for it now. I think Windhollow is our best chance. The castle has already thwarted the King-priest once.”
This was hard news. “You’re sure Halidor Keep is out of the question?” Amurel asked.
Rogan nodded. “Absolutely. My guess is, the shadow has passed it already. We will be hard pressed to even get to the castle in time to make preparations.”
“We, is it?” asked Sir Kilborn. “Did you not just leave us to look after private matters?”
Amurel was caught off guard to hear his right hand speak so. He shot Sir Kilborn a stare, but not harder than Rogan’s.
“I have been striving to depose Ebon Khorel longer than anyone else alive—”
“Of course you have, Baron,” Amurel jumped in. “My commander forgets himself, and we are happy to have you with us.” He looked down again at the roster spilling off the desk –hundreds of names, but they were mostly untrained, and their enemy likely numbered in the thousands. “We need the rest of the Order, as soon as possible.”
Sir Kilborn snorted, “Good luck getting the Prince to abandon his precious Selamus.”
Amurel remained stern. “We need to convince him. It will be much easier to hold up the King-priest at Windhollow Rock than the Eight Hills. Falcionus has his own army beyond the Knights of Criesha.”
“And I dare say he should send them too, Sir, but I can’t imagine him doing so, can you?”
Sir Kilborn was right, of course. Amurel softened. “Maybe he will listen to Jaiden.”
“Let me go,” Saffron offered. “I may be able to assist in persuading the Prince.”
“What does that mean?” Rogan asked.
Saffron narrowed her eyes at him, but turned back to Amurel before continuing. “I must confess I am worried for Dhania as well. If she returned to the capital, I would like a chance to see her and make amends.”
“Your sister is not with you?” Rogan’s insistence still failed to produce results.
Amurel bit the inside of his cheek. He preferred Saffron remain beside him, both for her influence and unquestioned usefulness on the battlefield. Yet he remembered how the Prince of Dawn’s Edge had warmed to her, and found it impossible to deny her, especially when the matter concerned her family. “Of course, Lady, I cannot think of a more adept emissary.”
“Then I should be her escort,” interjected Rogan. “It would be a shame
to spare any soldiers – I suspect you will need them all.”
For a moment, Amurel expected to see smoke rise from Rogan’s armor, so hot was Saffron’s stare. Her arms were crossed but the Baron matched her gaze, unwavering and patient.
“Fine,” she said at last, in a way suggesting he might live to regret volunteering.
“Very well,” Amurel concluded, certain now that something sour had passed between the two. He hoped they would find a way to reconcile, if only for the sake of their collective cause. “Sir Kilborn, ready the men to move out at first light. Send a rider ahead to Synirpa, and another to apprise the Duke personally. Lady Saffron, speak to Sir Luminere first. With any luck, the two of you can find a way to convince Prince Falcionus to succor us. I will lead our army to defend the castle at Windhollow Rock. Look for us there, and may Criesha deliver you with haste!”
Rogan had spent the better part of the day trailing Saffron’s horse. She set a brisk pace, and although he understood her eagerness to make sure Dhania was safe, her impatience obviously doubled as an avoidance tactic.
He rose in his saddle to canter beside her, his horse’s hooves clicking pleasantly against the stone-paved marvel of the Dawn Way. “Are we going to talk about this, or just ride all the way to Selamus in silence?”
Saffron brought Sheen to a sudden stop and glared at Rogan. “Oh, you want to talk about it?” He instantly regretted his approach. “What exactly do you want to talk about? How you professed your love for me after kissing my sister? Or maybe how you left the capital the morning after bedding me without even saying goodbye?” Her face flushed as she threw up her hands.
Rogan found his own sense of calm quickly boiling away under her accusations. “What did you expect me to do? I bared my soul to you, which wasn’t easy, and you told me you weren’t interested. Then you show up at my room an hour later and share my bed. Then the next morning, you say it was all a mistake. How is that supposed to make me feel? I’m not a handkerchief you can just use and toss away!”
Saffron’s mouth dropped open for a moment, but she recovered quickly. “You don’t love me, Rogan. You were drunk and just lonely since your wife died!”
Rogan was unsure what his face portrayed at the mention of Riah, but it garnered Saffron’s attention. She took a deep breath and when she continued, seemed more in control. “We both had too much wine that night, and behaved unlike ourselves.”
He wanted to respond, but the sting of her earlier words constricted his throat.
“I respect you tremendously, Baron. You have struggled through so much, and given years of your life to fighting for the betterment of your country. You have shown me kindness, and already risked your own life to help rescue my sister.”
Rogan finally found his voice, though drained of its aggression. “Dhania did not deserve her lot, and I am sorry my actions upset her. I hope I have not damaged your relationship.”
Saffron shook her head. “You are not to blame. I saw how she’s looked at you since Hope’s End, and discounted it because I assumed you would not be interested – and she will always be my little sister. But I was wrong to do so, and should have considered her feelings.”
His unexpressed emotions had been building since leaving Selamus, and now that they found release, weariness replaced their domain. “I know it is not yet evening, but perhaps we can find a place to camp?”
She nodded and they rode in silence for another mile before locating a friendly spot. Once they settled in, Saffron played her lyre, and Rogan found his thoughts unexpectedly drifting to memories of Dhania over the last few weeks. They were all pleasant: the two of them smiling at one another or laughing over a shared joke at Jaiden’s expense, the way she looked along the wall of Windhollow Castle before kissing him, or at the Prince’s banquet as they shared a dance. How had he been so wrapped up in his own feelings that he missed hers?
Jaiden was slowly coming to embrace his new role of leadership in the Order. Thanks to Criesha’s guidance, he realized some serenity could be found in sharing the burdens of responsibility with others. Always on the receiving end of orders in the past, it did not come naturally to him, telling others what to do.
Now, however, Palomar tutored the initiates on the doctrines of the Rising Moon, and Lothander proudly accepted a position as his squire, taking care of most of his daily needs. Lieutenant Orestes was exceedingly competent in managing the men’s assignments. He somehow kept everyone busy doing something useful, while also tracking the disbursement of supplies and serving as the hub of communication for the three factions.
The men under Jaiden’s command tended to be the most fervent in their loyalty and belief. Every day he was surprised by how reverently they spoke of the goddess they had never met, and their desire to please him when he gave lessons of the blade. That, at least, he enjoyed.
Though not as exhilarating as facing a true enemy, he pushed his body every day running sparring sessions and contriving battle scenarios for his men. Criesha planted the seed that, instead of requiring a nemesis to strive against, he could retain permanent motivation by focusing on becoming his perfect self. “Strive against complacency,” she’d said.
So he toiled with sword and shield, both alone and with his men. He labored daily in the field with Inferno, working on balance and posture, reading his horse while learning to speak to him as well. He met with Palomar each evening to work on his letters; they were starting with Illanese, Jaiden’s native tongue. The Aasimar proved even more brilliant than he imagined and an excellent teacher, owning the knowledge of many lifetimes and a talent for assimilating new information quickly.
Still, Jaiden continued to make time for his meditations. He knew the people of Selamus rampantly speculated about his unique relationship to the goddess, often hearing them reference the miracle at Windhollow Rock while he conducted business throughout the city. He wore a plain cloak over his tabard to remain anonymous when leaving the palace, or risked being held up by admirers. Quite a following of Criesha worshippers had sprung up since his arrival, without any attention on his part. Supporters had already sought him out about the erection of a chapel dedicated to the goddess, and he spoke to them some of his devotion, but only Palomar possessed a true inkling of the depth of Jaiden’s communion.
The inspection of a possible construction site drew him down from the Eighth Hill one morning, and when he ascended to the palace once more, a surprise awaited him.
“Lady Saffron has returned, Sir Luminere,” Lothander informed him as they walked briskly down the hallway to his apartments. “And that Baron fellow, I think. I asked them to wait in the council chamber, but Palomar was with them and brought them directly to your quarters to catch you before daily meditation.”
“It’s fine, Lothander.” Jaiden sighed, trying to convince himself he didn’t feel the butterflies churning in his stomach. Not only did Saffron’s appearance mean important news from Sir Golddrake was likely, but the last time Jaiden saw her, she was a bit put out. At least Palomar’s presence would mitigate any residual malice. He hoped.
Stopping at the door, Jaiden remembered he still wore the disguising cloak and took a moment to shuffle out of it. He deposited the bundle of cloth in his squire’s arms, patted down his hair and straightened his tunic, trying to remove any signs of dishevelment. After exhaling deeply, he dismissed Lothander with a nod and joined the reunion.
“I apologize if you have been waiting long,” he said as his three guests turned from their conversation at his entrance. “I confess – I was not expecting a visit after so few weeks. Can I offer you something to drink?” No sooner had he spoken than Jaiden noticed Saffron and Rogan already held cups in their hands. He blinked and shook his head at the delay of his observation. “There is news from the South, I presume?”
“Nice rooms you have found for yourself.” Rogan stood from leaning on the back of a finely upholstered lounge. He swirled the liquid in his goblet as his eyes paraded around the apartment, nodding at exa
mples of the expensive décor.
Jaiden was thrown by the shift in subject. “Oh, thank you.”
Saffron came next. “I spoke with Lieutenant Orestes on the way in. He said you put Dhania up in the palace, but no one seems to recall seeing her the last few days.”
Jaiden’s lower lip jutted out. “Really? That… seems odd.”
Saffron’s tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. “Where is my sister?”
“The Lady Dhania’s location does need to be ascertained, my friends,” Palomar’s wings stretched and folded back behind him, their golden tips shining in the late morning sunlight, catching everyone’s attention, “but perhaps we can conduct a search after delivering Sir Golddrake’s urgent request to Sir Luminere?”
“What request?” Jaiden looked from face to face, settling on Saffron’s.
From the corner of her mouth she blew a strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead onto an eyebrow. “Of course.” Her eyes darted to Palomar in recognition, but raced back to engage Jaiden’s challenging stare. “The King-priest’s army advanced in secret and was probably across the border of Halidor before we rode to Selamus.”
“What?” Jaiden asked softly, his mind already calculating distances and time. He kept his eyes trained on Saffron, but stepped forward slowly until he too could lean on the lounge.
“We were at the Caves of Criesha,” she continued, “when Rogan delivered the news. Sir Golddrake headed for Synirpa behind us and intends to defend the Castle at Windhollow Rock, though he implored you bring whatever forces you could muster to bolster him there.”
“Orestes has already delivered directives to assemble, Sir Luminere, while you were out. I am afraid, however, that the Prince has travelled with a large portion of his command to establish the safety of the western boundary.”
Shiver the Moon Page 49