The day was set for an adventure. Milky clouds danced on a copper horizon. Glowing sunlight greeted the wakening meadows around Fara’ethar and the sky seemed ready to sing. The morning song began with a rooster’s screeching crow. It was a day for setting out.

Asphales had slept peacefully, more so than he had in what felt like too long. He woke from gentler dreams this day. In his sleep he was carried slowly down streams of starlight. For once there were no torrents to assail him, no shadowy figures to pull him under. The sensations faded pleasantly as he stretched in his chamber.

What lingered still, however, was the rush brought on by the time he had spent with Adélia. His mind replayed the events. Propped up on the tower together under the immensity of the open sky, Asphales felt… he was not quite sure what he felt. Comfort. Closeness. Connection, perhaps.

Even when their words had ended, an easy quiet settled like the flickering flame of a candle in the dark. And even when she had bid goodnight, while everything inside him screamed not to let her go, he could see in her eyes that the comfort had been mutual. Unwritten, unspoken, yet present.

But what to do about this kindled flame? How could he tend to it without it burning up or burning out? Asphales vowed then, as he stared up at the starlight for the final time that night. He would step carefully. He would not ask for what she could not give. And yet he would give of himself to her, what little strength and courage he could see in his heart, for Asphales was truly honoured to fight alongside her.

But larger matters loomed ahead. He and Adélia were only two strands weaved into an unfolding tapestry. Asphales could not help but imagine that it had all been a mistake. Was he truly the one to go forward and do this? He quietly prayed—that seemed appropriate—that Regulus would provide guidance. He was about to step farther than his fantasies. Beyond Fara’ethar, a place he never thought he’d see, in a role he never thought he’d play.

It was with these thoughts in mind that Asphales was caught when the clarion came. He found himself at his window, gazing out at the hidden distance of the sea, wishing he could touch the imaginary line where it met the sky. It was then that the knock at the door sounded.

Asphales opened it only to find Ithilìr standing in the doorway, looking as prim as ever.

‘Good morning, master Asphales,’ he said. There were no signs of exhaustion on the man’s face or in his voice. It was not plain that he had served late into the night, catering at the feast. Asphales was convinced the master-servant perpetually imitated a statue.

‘Good morning, Ithilìr.’

The master-servant sighed. ‘I had matters to address, but first I must deal with this. You room is a mess.’

Asphales glanced back at his room. His bedsheets and blankets were spread and strewn more than seemed possible during one night’s sleep. His clothes—both from the feast and the previous days beside—were crumpled and tossed around the room. There was even a small table, complete with evidence of a messy dinner, taking up space. The only object intact and in place was his father’s sword. And Adélia’s painting.

Asphales turned back to the master-servant and smiled. ‘I did not mean to impinge upon Fara’ethar’s hospitality,’ he said, trying to conjure up a sufficiently sophisticated apology.

‘Yes, yes. But I am not your mother,’ Ithilìr said.

Thank Regulus for that, Asphales thought. ‘I know, I’ll clean it up,’ is what he said instead.

‘I trust that you will, if I’ve shown you anything about propriety this past tide.’

Asphales beamed a smile.

‘Now, back to business,’ Ithilìr said. ‘I came to bring this.’ He pointed across to a luggage trolley filled up with armour and clothing.

‘Oh, that must be what I’ll be wearing for Taeladran.’

‘Yes. These just came in from master Resina.’

Asphales pushed past and wheeled in the trolley. He rummaged through quickly, delighted. Though he could not take in all the details now, he was overwhelmed by the colours of crimson and silver. Then he turned to Ithilìr once more. ‘Valinos and I are leaving for a while. How does that make you feel, Ithilìr?’

‘Ecstatic.’

‘But what will you do while we’re gone?’

‘Rejoice.’

‘I can’t imagine that.’

‘Then picture half my workload being relieved.’

Asphales laughed. ‘Ithilìr, thank you for everything.’ He then threw himself onto the master-servant and hugged him. Ithilìr was evidently unaccustomed to displays of affection, for he showed the response customary of a statue. He did nothing.

‘You are to meet at the Lion Gate in half a watch,’ the master-servant said, unperturbed, when Asphales pulled away. With that he left, his gait sounding down the hallway.

Asphales’ attention was drawn to the gear in his room. He closed the door and promptly rushed to the mirror in order to get attired. As he strapped on the breastplate, arm braces, and greaves, he noted with delight that he was getting better at dressing. If nothing else, at least he would look the part he was meant to play. He would be ready.

Asphales clasped the cloak in place and appraised himself in the mirror. The crimson mantle draped a silver breastplate wound with swirling motifs. A night-black tunic underneath ended in a layered fauld reinforced with steel to protect his waist and hips. Coarse woollen trousers of the same colour were topped by leather and steel greaves. And on his arms, gauntlets and vambraces of similar material, both engraved. Master Resina was an artist as well, it seemed.

And him? Warrior? Or simply a boy pretending?

Asphales walked over to his nightstand and lifted his sword. Hefting this blade gave him courage somehow. His father had once drawn this very sword against evil. It had been radiant and powerful. Could he now learn to wield that same light and do likewise?

As he prepared to leave the room, Asphales’ eyes fell on the painting he had received. Glancing at Adélia’s handiwork, he saw a glimmer of what he could be. Captured on canvas was confidence he had not yet gained and strength he could not yet see.

Asphales tightened his grip around the sword, threw it on his shoulder, and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Valinos clicked open the door to the armoury, letting in cool morning air. Silnodìr was barely awake, the faintest rays of light breaking behind clouds, but Valinos was alert. Ready to leave with the dawn. Ready to leave all this behind.

He snuck through, gold-light and crickets giving way to forge-fire and steam. Inside, blades and armour parts seemed to stretch on endlessly along metal shelves. Like a library of steel.

Valinos made his way to the worktable where his newest blade awaited, freshly finished. A bright silver edge and a hilt covered in red felt. Nameless as yet.

He strapped the sheath around his waist and slid in the sword. He looked around for armour, but then stopped himself.

What was he doing?

Was he really prepared to leave on a whim, at the word of a messaged carried by a strange creature and crass strangers? It was like one of Asphales’ foolish stories.

He sighed. But anything was better than this. He reached for a helmet.

‘Why do you feel the need to sneak around your own home?’ a voice called from the dark of the workshop.

Valinos flinched.

Paran stepped out of the shadows. His hardy features, forged as if by metal, lit up in red. ‘What,’ he said, ‘the Guard decided to take you along as well?’

Valinos said nothing and took down the helmet. He shuffled around, stuffing some provisions into a pack. He could feel Paran’s eyes following him.

‘You only visit when you want something,’ Paran said. ‘So like a thief will you now just take and leave?’

‘I’m only taking what’s mine.’ Valinos steeled himself and turned, facing the man before him. This was not his father. This was not his home.

‘I gave you all you have. Without me—’

‘You gave me everything except what I needed’ Valinos burst. A father. A family. Valinos grit his teeth and clung to his longing and his jealousy as he recalled seeing Asphales in the embrace of his parents.

Asphales. A light. A friend. Even when all had been lost.

‘Son,’ Paran began.

‘No,’ Valinos said. ‘It is far too late.’ He shouldered his pack.

Paran scrunched his features. Whether out of anger or anguish, Valinos did not care. He pressed on past the armourer and trudged toward the door.

‘I knew this day would come,’ Paran said. ‘I knew you would run. You have it in you just like—’

‘I would rather be like them,’ Valinos cut in coldly, ‘than anything like you.’ He walked on, lifting down and carrying a breastplate.

‘Val,’ Paran called.

Possessions in hand, Valinos unlatched the door and took a step.

‘Val,’ Paran said, defeated. ‘I am sorry, my son. May they treat you better than I did.’

Valinos shut the door…

For a second time, Valinos was preparing to leave. Outside Fara’ethar, by the Lion Gate, he overlooked the swirling stone mass of the city. The sky looked much like it had that day, gold bleeding into blue. The same chill wind had blown.

What was different now? Had he become a different man? Valinos looked down. He held two blades in hand; one silver, one black. His own handiwork, this time put to use for himself rather than for others. He was now slightly more travelled and more tested, but was it enough to do what he must?

And where to next? Asphales was about to be off learning—what, exactly? But he…

Valinos sighed, closed his eyes, and lifted his head.

Someone stepped near. ‘Good morning,’ a man called out.

Valinos glanced over and saw Ishak approach. The commander’s walk was steady and firm and he carried himself with military efficiency even when he seemed relaxed. His eyes matched the warm, golden sunrise washing over Anardes.

‘Good morning,’ Valinos said as he tried putting his doubts and thoughts away.

‘Good grief, your friend wasn’t kidding when he said you brood like Kenthis clouds over a prairie.’ Ishak’s gentle voice softened the blow of his words, and Valinos could not help but offer a smile. ‘You and Darius both,’ he added.

‘Well, I’ll take it as a compliment to be told that I am cut from the same cloth as the Amarant.’

‘Aye, but you could both lighten up. Didn’t we just spend a whole night in festivities?’

Valinos shrugged and sheathed his swords. ‘Will you be joining us, Ishak?’

‘No. With half of you questing north and the other half sailing, someone has to stay back and keep order.’ He smiled again. ‘I’ll be with you as far as the stables.’

Not long after Ishak arrived, the others joined. Amaleron appeared—looking ever as a wizened old man—with Darius and Catena in tow. His staff clicked lightly against the cobblestone path and the two Amarants spoke quietly. Not far behind them, El’enur strode with his usual confidence and chatted to Asphales. A woman he recognised from the feast walked alongside them, blue streaks through her raven hair. Valinos vaguely remembered Asphales mentioning to him that such markings were the signs of a scholar. But she was garbed in practical gear, as if attired for battle or duty. A scholar-soldier, perhaps? Well, he had witnessed stranger things in recent times.

Amaleron led the small congregation over. A small party for a large task.

‘Good morning, all,’ the steward said, his voice resonant, carrying across the morning. ‘Let us be off to the stables. I wish you to be on your way before the sun is high. Speed and secrecy are your allies as you travel to Taeladran.’

As they trekked down the pathway leading into Guladran, Asphales walked over to Valinos. He noticed that Asphales was clothed in very similar attire, save for their cloaks. Whereas Asphales’ was crimson, Valinos donned a navy blue.

‘I see you’ve made good use of my former sword Anfrìr,’ Asphales said, drawing near as they stepped briskly into the city. Amaleron and Darius led the group with haste in silence.

‘It’s a fine blade, sullied only by its name. Never trust a fisherman with steel.’

Asphales laughed and shook his head. ‘You do know I don’t like fishing that much?’

‘Could’ve fooled me with that stench.’

Asphales narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re particularly prickly today. Oh! Is this because I embarrassed you in front of…’ he looked around conspiratorially.

‘Asphales,’ said Valinos, ‘I have two swords. I’ve got you outnumbered.’

Asphales lifted his hands in surrender. ‘Alright, alright, I know when to stop prodding the bear.’ He smiled.

The two walked on some time without speaking. Valinos’ thoughts soared and circled back, not to his confusion, but to her. Fen’asel, the girl bounding with such freedom. A part of him tightened. He had always been distant from affection. But if he could open himself up to a friend… why not to another also?

I knew this day would come. I knew you would run.

‘So,’ Asphales said suddenly, ‘here we are, my friend. And further still we go.’

Valinos shook away the ghosts and noticed the group had stopped, having reached the stables. Even the smell was noticeably different. Sterile stone was replaced by the scent of earth and beast. Lively wood instead of dour rock decorated the structure in front of them. Trainers and riders led horses to feeding troughs or groomed them. Horses were something of a luxury in Silnodìr, but here they were far more common, and the premises were well-stocked. The stable stretched on along the northern wall of Guladran and beyond it, a gate led to open country.

Darius grabbed El’enur and Ishak and walked into the stalls, presumably to secure mounts for the journey ahead. Catena and Amaleron stood to the side.

‘You’re right,’ Valinos said to Asphales. ‘Onward we go.’ He drew Gulren and raised it. Asphales looked on quizzically. ‘I never returned the gesture properly the other night,’ Valinos said. ‘You know, for my part of the oath.’

Asphales smiled, then nodded solemnly.

Darius came out holding the reins to a monstrous black stallion, decked with burnished steel and a fine, sturdy saddle. El’enur brought out a smaller creature, somewhat unsteadily.

‘El’enur? You’re coming along?’ Asphales asked.

‘Yes,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘I want to see your progress.’

‘The lad had to do something unimaginable,’ Darius said, patting his animal. ‘He came to me with a very… impassioned plea.’

‘It’s alright, Darius,’ he huffed, ‘you can say I begged.’

‘Just trying to save you the discomfort,’ the Amarant said, chuckling.

‘Stars above, Darius, I feel I owe it to them.’

Darius smiled, and Asphales followed suit. El’enur pursed his lips and shuffled.

‘Besides,’ he added, ‘you’ll need a master archer with you. If you can learn to fight against me, you’ll never have trouble with ranged opponents again.’

‘There’s the El I know,’ Darius said. He then turned to the woman with blue hair. ‘Lady Nelesa, will you be needing one? I thought you were leaving with the others to Sanaros.’

‘I am, but I can’t trust El’enur around a horse. I have to watch he doesn’t break a nail or scrape a toe getting into the saddle.’

El’enur scowled, then broke into a knowing smile.

Moments later, Ishak returned, guiding two brown geldings. He linked their ropes to the reins of Darius’ steed. ‘These will keep them steady,’ he said to Asphales and Valinos, ‘as long as you don’t spook them too much. And Masìlminur is trained to keep pace with others in tow.’

‘I haven’t ridden much,’ Asphales said sheepishly.

‘That’s alright,’ Ishak replied. ‘Darius and his horse will do most of the work. You just keep your hind on the saddle.’

Valinos approached the mount that was to be his ride. The horse eyed him queerly. He did not know how to make sense of the awkward tangle of ropes, hair, and leather bits. Beside him, the one called Lady Catena hopped on to her horse effortlessly and caressed its mane as she settled in. But even more than the scarlet-haired Amarant, Darius looked comfortable on his stallion. Like he belonged on that jet black beast, armed with a greatsword of the same colour. Together they were a visage of death, and Valinos was suddenly glad they were on his side.

Ishak helped him up on his horse with practiced motions, as if he had assisted countless squires before. Then he lent a hand to Asphales, who had similar trouble hauling himself up. Ishak patted him on the back. ‘There you go, lad,’ he said.

Amaleron stepped forward at that moment, ready to address them. ‘Go forth with all the blessings of Regulus and Carinae. Seek out Taeladran and look for Lord Elan. He will guide you further. Asphales, my boy, there you must learn to awaken your lifeforce if you are to stand before the Dragonking’s return. I will stand guard here and learn what more I can.

All of you, may you leave in peace and return in strength and honour.’ A flit of starlight lit the old steward’s staff as he spoke. Then he lifted his right hand, making the now-familiar sign. ‘Starlight gu—’

‘Wait!’ someone shouted out. ‘Wait!’ Panting and frantic footfalls filled the morning. A girl with frizzy hair and dishevelled clothing—clearly thrown on in haste—rushed to the stable’s exit near the gate.

It was Fen’asel. She screeched to a stop and looked at the group preparing to depart. Amaleron accosted her with a pout but did not seem to mind the disturbance. Carrying obvious signs of a sleep-in, Fen’asel caught her breath and then approached more gracefully. Valinos’ eyes fixed on her. Her brown eyes, her beaming smile.

‘I’ve brought provisions for the road,’ she said, holding out several wrapped bundles of black cloth. Then she drew back. ‘Pardon my intrusion!’

‘Lady Erilen,’ Amaleron said, ‘there is nothing to pardon. Thank you. I am sure the company will be delighted.’ He waved his arm toward the group on horseback.

‘I am so glad someone thought of it,’ El’enur said out loud. ‘I may have forgotten to pack food.’

‘Do you have anything useful in there?’ Ishak asked.

‘I make a pointed effort to carry the essentials,’ El’enur said as he lifted the flaps on his saddlebags to reveal several bundles of arrows. Nelesa groaned.

Fen’asel walked over to Valinos’ mount and held up a parcel. As Valinos took it, a warm yet faintly sharp fragrance tipped his nostrils. ‘Is this…?’

Fen’asel grinned. ‘Your favourite.’

He nodded to her and held her gaze. ‘Thank you, Fen. I will see you when I return.’ Valinos realised then he did not know how long that would be.

‘You better. There will be more and you can only get it here.’

Valinos nodded. Fen then visited each of the riders in turn, handing them parcels. ‘Keep him out of trouble,’ he heard her say to Asphales.

Asphales glanced over and smiled. ‘I’ll try, whenever I’m not in trouble myself.’

Once each member of the group had received their Hawkspie, she joined Nelesa and Ishak, who had moved to the side, and faced the departing group.

Amaleron reformed his hand sign, holding up three fingers.

‘Starlight guide you.’

The others repeated the gesture and its accompanying words.

Then the company turned and strode off, the clomping of their mounts making unsteady rhythms along the road. They rode out through the north gate into the morning sun and the golden land beyond.

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* * *

Adélia galloped through a broken land. While sun-streaked clouds spilled above her, chasing her like billowing waves, she dashed through grasslands dead and marred.

Caught between golden beauty above and scarred brokenness below, her mount forged ahead, like a flowing river charting its own course. But it brought no life to the still and stagnant land; no flowers sprouted nor grass blades danced around her. No creature’s song filled the void.

Lacking. Longing.

For this was the place where shadow once threatened to swallow the world.

The fields here were too open. The company felt it too, but she perhaps more acutely than the others. There were no trees here to shield her, no walls to enclose her. Far from Gohenur, far even from her second home in Fara’ethar, Adélia felt exposed out here, like a droplet of dew hanging and poised to fall.

Up ahead, Darius led their charge, trailed by the two geldings carrying Asphales and Valinos. To the side, El’enur followed along, having grown accustomed to horse travel. They did not slow pace and barely spoke. The group intended to reach more reclusive ground by nightfall. Even though the northern garrison outside the castle’s districts had reported nothing suspicious, still the crew had kept their guard up and trod carefully.

Asphales looked around often, seemingly disturbed and entranced by what he saw. The Scarred Fields were curious, bearing marks of battle that never faded and an unnatural stillness that never shifted.

Adélia pulled up her horse next to his. ‘I suspect you already know what happened here,’ she said, her voice fighting the wind.

Asphales nodded slowly, regarding the fragmented landscape. Vast patches of grass stretched out, blackened and ever stunted. In the distance, cracks spread in the earth where the land seemed to have split and fallen into itself. And further still, spurting streams ended in waterfalls on the edge of oblivion. Forests—the sparse outskirts of Gohenur—steeped precariously over the abyss.

All broken. All hurting.

‘I’ve read about it so many times,’ Asphales said, ‘but seeing it is so different.’ There was lament in his voice. ‘Here my father, and yours, fought.’

‘Yes. Here the Ten drove back the Dragonking. They weaved through dragonflame and shadowed blade to push back the dark. But you can see that for all their efforts, our world is still affected.’

As am I, she wanted to say.

‘This is why I told you,’ she continued, ‘that I cannot stand to let the world fall. This is why we must finish this, Asphales Esélinor.’

‘You’re right.’ He straightened.

She offered him a hushed smile.

Darius turned to the group. ‘Not too far now,’ he said. ‘We should reach Splinter’s Approach by sundown. We’ll rest for a bit, and from there it’s only a few hours’ ride to Taeladran at this pace.’

Though Adélia was sure the others were fatigued, none voiced a word of complaint. They understood the importance of the task ahead. Silently, they pushed on, the wind alone as music.

Adélia retreated into her own thoughts. As the sun passed overhead, it sunk behind the Sundered—another reminder of this ruptured land—and cast deep, surreal shadows. Day reddened into sunset, and beneath a blood-spattered sky, Adélia was reminded of him. Flashes of an awful figure all of fire and steel crossed her mind. However much she fought for this world, she also had another duty.

To cast down into darkness the one who had stolen her light.

As daylight faded, the landscape changed around the company. Flat and parched ground marked the boundaries of Splinter’s Approach. Eventually, they would give way drastically to the meadows around Taeladran. But here, ridges rose which shielded them from the east wind. Cactus plants dotted the arid landscape, leading into the distance where the trees of Gohenur’s outermost reaches grappled for hold.

Satisfied with the amount of cover, Darius halted the company with a whistle. ‘We’ll make camp here,’ he said. ‘El’enur!’

At the Amarant’s signal, El’enur drew closer and led the group into an opening. He dismounted first and tied the horse’s ropes around a triumphant cactus plant.

‘Feels good to be back on my own two legs,’ El’enur said, stretching. ‘Something I can trust.’

Darius hopped off Masìlminur and hitched him around the same makeshift post. He loosened the ties to the two geldings as Valinos and Asphales unsaddled. He whispered his thanks to the horse and immediately set to work unlading the saddle bags.

Adélia drew in last of all, hitching her mount also. As she stepped off, it took a moment for the weight to settle in her feet. She rested her spear against the wall of the rock formation and unclasped her breastplate, setting it down. The evening wind soon bit through her cotton shirt.

Darius had already directed the group to a task. Asphales and Valinos unloaded the few chunks of firewood their mounts could carry while Darius gathered stones for an improvised fire-ring. El’enur was given the striker and flint and told to procure additional kindling. He came back with a few flat boulders and a couple of logs. ‘For seats,’ he said.

Soon, a fire crackled and the company huddled around its welcome flame. Night truly settled in. Above, the stars twinkled and winked knowingly, spreading silent rumours and telling tales without words.

Darius sat down last of all. He rummaged through a pack and drew out a pot, setting it on the cleverly-arranged stones around the fire. He filled it with water from a skin and set out ingredients around him in preparation for a stew; carrots, potatoes, and salt-cured cuts of meat.

‘Would you like assistance, Darius?’ Adélia offered.

‘There will be no need, Lady Catena. I drove the group hard today. Consider this my treat to you all.’

El’enur cheered. ‘So you do have a heart, commander. But I do hope you’ve brought a finer knife. Somehow I don’t think Blackfrost was designed as a peeler.’

Darius chuckled, glancing toward his sword before producing a small dagger from his pocket. He began shaving away at the vegetables, flinging each slice into the pot. ‘It won’t be much,’ he said, ‘but it will hold us until Taeladran.’

El’enur pouted. ‘Well, at least dessert is covered,’ he said, looking toward the bundle of Hawkspie, then to Valinos, ‘thanks to your lady friend.’

Valinos almost blushed and Asphales nudged him on the shoulder. Adélia had noticed that around Fen’asel, Valinos seemed warmer and lighter. She numbed the poison in his heart.

‘Don’t think we didn’t notice,’ El’enur goaded.

Valinos coughed. ‘Where did you get that sword?’ he asked Darius, probably as a way to divert attention from his reddening cheeks.

The Amarant stopped, breaking the rhythm of his cuts for a breath. Then he picked up again. ‘It is… a family heirloom. But it has been in Kerena long before my clan. The stories say the country’s first conqueror wielded it. But whether he found it or forged it, I do not know.’

The others listened with rapt attention, occasionally daring to look at the blade which rested beside the Amarant. The sword’s black surface sheened sinuously.

‘It is called Blackfrost. Some sick irony, I’m sure, for it burns with bloodlust. I curse him who dared to create such a thing.’

Adélia looked away. She knew something of the burden this man carried. Better him than others to bear this weight. That’s what Darius believed. Better him than that the enemy should wield it. That’s what he told himself.

‘I’m sorry,’ Darius said, moving on to dice the cuts of meat. He brought out the spices as well. ‘There is no need for such gloom around a fire,’ he continued, ‘but this is the reality. History is written in blood, not ink. And we cross a bridge built on the bodies of the fallen. If I can build a better day, then it will have been worth the cost.’

Asphales glanced down, folding his hands together. ‘I don’t quite understand,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if I ever will.’

‘All I know,’ El’enur said, ‘is that you’ve deprived Kerena of a deadly weapon. It will make them think twice before invading again.’

‘What will we find at Taeladran?’ Asphales asked after some time. Adélia could sense he was afraid of where this path would take him.

‘I’m not sure, lad,’ said Darius. ‘But you need to be prepared. We may have done some work each day, but that won’t be enough against whatever you will face. I… we all need you to be ready. I am speaking to you as well, Lady Catena. You and this man are gifted. You two can rise above us.’

At those words, something seized inside Adélia. A deep fear, a gnawing apprehension in the corner of her heart.

Adélia.

No. She could not.

You are a flower, trampled and beset by flame.

I cannot.

You must rise and bloom again.

How? How could she learn to use what was taken? She feared failure. Failing herself. Her family. Her world.

She scrunched her fists, feeling unsteady.

‘A—Are you alright?’ Asphales asked. Adélia looked up. His jasper eyes were locked on hers. If only he knew the strength and security she could see in him, despite his doubts. She nodded.

‘Here,’ Darius said a while later, offering her a small bowl with the first of the stew. He poured on some seasoning and she took it. Adélia suddenly noticed the wafting smell of the stew, the warmth of the bubbling thing in her hands.

She took a sip, feeling refreshed by the simple, homely taste which burned away more than the chill air. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘Everyone else, feel free to help yourself,’ Darius said, passing around other clay bowls.

El’enur, Asphales, and Valinos dug in keenly. They sipped the stew together in a moment of camaraderie under a perfect, cloudless sky. Darius joined in contentedly.

‘Good food, pleasant company, nice weather… We could do worse,’ El’enur said as he put down the bowl after a hearty mouthful. ‘It’s certainly more than what Lanurel enjoyed when he camped on the Stormpeak for nights on end.’

‘I know that story,’ Asphales piped up. ‘He was seeking out the Dreadspawn then.’

‘Aye, part of his quest to impress the mad King of Stone.’

‘I remember parts as well,’ Valinos said, ‘because Asphales here told it so many times. Didn’t the beast… spill fire when it was struck?’

‘Yes,’ Adélia said, ‘and its shriek called down lightning bolts.’

‘The story scared me when I was a child,’ Darius said. ‘My parents used it to teach us fear.’

‘In my family it was more of a curse,’ El’enur said. ‘Father would call us all “bloody Dreadspawn” when we misbehaved.’

‘I guess he didn’t realise that makes either him or your mother the Dread,’ Valinos said.

El’enur laughed. ‘I guess not.’ He took another sip and sighed, savouring the taste. ‘Ah, a meal unspoiled by the nagging of that bald buffoon,’ El’enur said. ‘But Darius, I didn’t know you had a single culinary bone in your body.’

‘The Kerenani learn to fend for themselves from a young age.’ Though the Amarant said it jovially, there were whispers of pain. Hidden beneath muddy water.

‘This is far better than what Valinos and I lived off all these years,’ said Asphales.

‘Well, you may have caught the fish,’ Valinos taunted, ‘but you sure couldn’t cook them.’ The group laughed and El’enur threw his arm around Asphales’ neck as if the jest had been his.

After each member had drained the stew in their bowls, Valinos brought out the parcels of Hawkspie and distributed them. Adélia bit into the soft pastry, delighted at the clash of favours.

‘Remind me to give Fen’asel my compliments,’ El’enur said.

Darius shot him a look. ‘Not if I have anything to say about it.’

El’enur’s face fell, looking deflated. The rest of the group laughed at his expense.

‘I dare say there is only one person here she would like to hear from,’ Asphales said.

Valinos grunted testily.

‘There, I’ve said it. You can now strike me down, Prince of Gloom and Swords!’

‘Don’t be ashamed,’ Adélia said, smiling. ‘It is wonderful.’

Valinos shrunk away, taking another bite of the Hawkspie.

‘So, Asphales, you know the tales of Lanurel,’ Darius began when the laughter died down, ‘but grew up among fishermen. You’re a curious man. Tell us, what was it you dreamt of doing before… well, before you got caught up in all this?’

A hush fell around the fire. Adélia leaned in, her dessert forgotten for the moment.

Asphales stared into the snapping flames before he looked up to speak. ‘I’ve… always wanted to sail,’ he said. ‘To see the world. My father was a sailor. I suppose he would’ve been around when seas and stars were young. But even now, I want to know what is out there, far to the north beyond my home, far out beyond the reach of songs and stories.’

As he spoke, Adélia saw the keenness in his eyes, heard the passion in his voice.

I have a friend who loves the sea. A warm voice from long ago.

Then the sharp sting of betrayal. Her home destroyed by one striding the sea. The black threatened to swallow her like a tide.

‘That’s why I signed on with fishermen and sailors in the first place,’ Asphales was saying. ‘I could never afford a ship of my own.’

Adélia turned away. She could not let them see the tears welling in her eyes, forming like blackened gemstones.

‘Nadros would love you,’ Darius said. ‘I’m sure he could take you sailing one day. When all this is done.’

‘I wager he would not be against making you his first mate,’ El’enur said, ‘but you’ve got some competition. It would take something special to replace his current one. Leara is seriously—’

Darius frowned at him.

‘—good at what she does.’ El’enur cleared his throat. ‘I must be thirsty.’ He drew out a wineskin and put it to his mouth. He leant against the rocky wall.

Asphales beamed. ‘I… I would love to sail with the Amarant.’

Adélia’s mind was on her own ambitions. Could she aspire to anything beyond the thought of vengeance? For now, she could not make sense of her dark and starless dreams.

El’enur suddenly stood forward. He lowered the wineskin, looking into the distance with furrowed brow.

‘Are you going to pass the wine? Darius asked, extending his hand.

El’enur shook himself. ‘Pardon, but, are we expecting company?’ he said, pointing beyond the group. The others turned in unison. Adélia could see it. In the distance, a discernible figure walked toward the camp. Their cloak billowed as they stepped lightly through the sparse foliage among the expanse of dirt. As the figure got closer, Adélia could make out that it was a man.

Darius rose. ‘Be on guard,’ he hissed. He walked out a few steps from the fire. ‘Are you lost, sir?’ he called out.

‘Not as lost as you are, surely,’ the man spoke back. Though he did not raise his voice, the man’s tone carried through the night.

‘Who are you?’ Darius tried.

‘Who is it that asks?’ The man walked closer.

‘A company of Fara’ethar.’

‘Ah, very good.’ He sounded pleased. ‘You could run into worse things in the dark.’

The figure stepped into the light of the fire. He was dressed in colourful robes of gossamer and satin, outrageously exquisite for a night-time wanderer. His finery was barely hidden under a cloak several shades darker than the sky. If anything, the man looked like royalty. He was tall and wide-shouldered, and he bore a neatly trimmed brown beard matching his short, slicked hair. With a sharply-sculpted face, he did not look older than thirty.

The company was speechless. ‘Can we help you?’ Darius asked.

‘I am looking for sustenance, or…’ His ruby eyes scanned the campsite. He pushed past and snatched the wineskin out of El’enur’s hand. ‘Or this.’ He took a deep draught. ‘Mm, a Senhì vintage. Auvall region, if I am not mistaken. Quite nice.’ His speech was coloured with the lilt of a foreigner, perhaps someone who had spent time in the East.

‘I know you!’ Asphales shouted.

‘I truly doubt that, my friend. You may have seen me. But to know someone is an entirely different matter.’ He took another sip and wiped his lips.

‘What? You’re familiar with this man?’ asked El’enur.

‘You were there that night,’ Asphales said, slumping.

‘I am in many places on many nights,’ the man said. ‘You will have to be more specific.’ He returned the wineskin to El’enur, who stood stunned nearby. ‘Thank you, my slack-jawed friend,’ the man said.

‘On a Meadsbell night,’ Valinos filled in. ‘At the Waypoint Inn. I remember you as well.’

‘Oh, yes. You two were with the Guard. Whatever happened to those delightful chaps?’

‘They… lost their lives protecting us,’ Asphales said.

The stranger sighed. ‘How tragic. And they wonder why I drink.’

‘What did you mean, then?’ Asphales said, his gaze determined. ‘You said you were waiting for me.’

‘Meaning is a tricky thing, my boy,’ he began. ‘Not to be confused with intent. But quite simply—’

A shriek tore through the night, an unearthly howl that shook the stones. Adélia jumped to her feet, startled by the quaking. She could feel the cry’s dying echo in her chest.

‘Ah, not good. This is one of those things you do not want to run into.’

‘What do you know of this?’ Darius asked, reaching for Blackfrost.

‘I may have drawn a… friend. One that does not entirely like me.’

* * *

Amarant Darius breathed heavily, staring down the length of his blade. He gripped Blackfrost in front of him as an explorer would a torch. But he intended not to brighten but to banish whatever would arise. He unhooked his fur cloak and let it fall.

Protect them.

There was a rumble in the distance, as if something was stamping toward the campsite. Darius slowed his churning mind even as his blood rushed.

‘Lady Catena! El’enur! To me,’ he called. ‘We’ll draw whatever comes away from the camp. Asphales! Valinos! Stay back and take care of the stranger. Find somewhere to hide and guard the horses.’ At the Amarant’s command, the others snapped to position.

‘Alright, if you fine folk think you can take care of this, I will gladly sit out,’ the man said. He sat down on a stone and turned his back to the oncoming danger. Foolish man.

Cracks and crashes sounded. Trees toppled in the distance.

Lady Catena rushed to her mount. All but Masìlminur were spooked, neighing and tromping wildly, struggling against their restraints. In moments she returned, armour clasped and gleaming spear in hand. El’enur took up stance, bow armed and arrow nocked. Even Asphales and Valinos drew their weapons, shaky though they seemed.

The thing appeared from over the hill.

‘Snow and ashes, what have you brought upon us?’

It was a rannak.

‘What is this? I have never seen one so large,’ Catena said.

Darius faced down the huge, boar-like creature. Its muscled exterior was covered by black fur. Stout legs carried it across the plains with speed surprising for its size. Beady eyes peered out high above its snout, and it was armed with tusks long as a man, set in its jaw like proud banners on a castle wall.

Only this wall was charging straight toward them.

Darius felt sweat clamming his neck. He had known about the rannakim in the area, and even faced some before, but it was uncharacteristic of these creatures to stray so far from the forest.

And of course, none had been as massive as the one in front him. The full beast stood as tall as a house, casting an ominous shadow in the moonlight.

The wild beast roared ferociously again, having spotted its adversaries. Too late to run now, Darius had to engage.

‘El’enur! Aim for its eyes,’ the Amarant yelled as he started running at the rannak. Catena followed suit beside him.

The archer complied. He bounded north and released several shots in quick succession. The boy’s aim had been true, but the arrows bounced harmlessly off the creature. The plates around its eyes were too thick. It rushed unfazed, trampling down cacti and kicking up dust.

Darius ran forward. Mere steps from the creature.

The rannak reared its head for a strike. Darius dove to the left, barely keeping his grip on Blackfrost as he tumbled through the dirt. The creature’s tusks scraped ground.

Recovering to his feet quickly, Darius attempted his own blow. He dug at the creature’s side, but the sword could find no purchase. It merely cut away some of the rannak’s fur.

Lady Catena had dodged the attack also, and was now testing the beast’s back with her spear. The rannak howled in annoyance and kicked up its back legs. Catena wove around them in time to avoid what would have been a devastating blow.

El’enur, now far to the right, continued to loosen arrows. They fared a little better, piercing the beast in places. The rannak now had wood protruding from the side of its head, around its ears. It howled again and spun fiercely, disoriented by the attack’s direction. Darius barely jumped back in time, tumbling to his back.

The rannak noted this opening and rose up on its hind legs briefly, intending to come down and crush the Amarant. Arrows appeared in its belly as soon as it had risen, slowing it a little and giving Darius enough time to roll away.

‘Darius!’ El’enur yelled out.

The Amarant rose, covered in dirt and shoulders bloody from scratches. He signalled to the archer. Thanks. I’m fine.

Displeased the attack had failed, the rannak charged again. At least it was drawn away from the direction of the campsite. Darius spared a glance toward it. Asphales and Valinos stood on guard, uncertain. He was sure they would have liked to help. I’m sorry, this fight is not yours. As he stood up, Darius yelled. ‘If anything goes wrong, take the horses and run. Make it to Taeladran.’

He did not wait to see their reaction. He dodged another head-charge from the rannak, and brought Blackfrost up in reply. He felt the blade slice at the creature’s ear. The beast yelped. To its side, Catena managed to pierce its belly. Her spear came out reddened. Almost immediately, an arrow entered the wound. El’enur was capitulating on the opening Catena had created.

The rannak turned, finally taking note of the archer’s location. It rushed off at blinding speed, heedless of its wounds.

‘El’enur!’ Catena called. The archer had to abandon an arrow and dash to the side to avoid the rannak. He quickly made his way to where Darius was standing.

‘Commander,’ he said, panting, ‘I’m running out of arrows, and I don’t think we’ve done much to it.’

‘We’ll need a more direct approach.’

‘It’s kind of hard to get in its face with all that death in the way,’ El’enur said, gesturing to his jaw.

‘Catena, I want you to try and trip the beast when it charges. Aim for the legs. El’enur, you take point and lead it here. After that, get out of the way.’

They both nodded.

‘I never know what you have in mind, commander, but I’ll trust you.’

The beast turned. El’enur unleashed the last of his arrows, nicking the creature’s face. As planned, the rannak charged. As it kicked up rocks and dirt, Catena swept in, planted her feet, and thrust her spear toward the rannak’s legs.

Darius braced himself, hands tightening around Blackfrost.

Lady Catena was knocked off balance and lost her spear, but the manoeuvre succeeded. The creature lost its footing and was now hurtling toward Darius. The Amarant screamed and swung. He felt the blade connect, but the rannak crashed into him. Even with its slowed momentum, Darius was lurched backwards and for a moment lost all orientation as he was knocked up. Then he met the unwelcome touch of the ground. Pain blazed in his chest. He felt for his sword nearby, but met something that felt like… bone?

He opened his eyes. He was holding on to a severed tusk. He smiled. The rannak lay crumpled just ahead of him.

Then the smile turned to dread as the creature rose with a growl. An uneven stump hung where its left tusk had been. The enraged rannak let out an ear-splitting noise. The Amarant tried to crawl away, then felt a pang in his side. He looked down and noted blood.

Someone was screaming. He could not make it out. Behind the creature, a scarlet-haired figure was running toward him.

The creature tromped closer. Slow. As if it knew he was done.

Then Darius felt it.

The fire within. That flame that would not let him die. The rage that told him he could not go.

Not here.

Not until you take them.

Not like this, you weakling.

Darius roared to drown out all the voices. Those around him. Those within him. Drown them. Damn them.

‘Now that is some wonderful stew,’ a clear voice suddenly rung out. It cut through the night like a ray of light in winter.

The stranger was walking toward him, bowl held to his mouth. He sipped again and then threw it away. ‘That is very good stew,’ he said. ‘And that means something, coming from me. I have tasted cuisine older than this Empire, from farther lands than you can dream.’

The man’s words were somehow soothing, laced with light and healing. The rannak’s attention was drawn.

‘And as for you, my ugly friend. You have done quite enough.’

The stranger pulled aside his shroud, revealing a blade strapped to his side. He drew it and it was as if the sun had risen.

Oddly shaped, exotically forged, the sword was a thing of marvel. The stranger held it with confidence.

The rannak let out another shriek and charged.

It was the last sound it ever made.

The stranger danced around the rannak’s charge, movements smooth as a river. He whooped cheerfully and struck.

Light exploded as blade connected with beast.

The rannak fell in the dust, still and lifeless. The stranger sheathed his blade and night returned. Everything settled. The horses no longer made a peep. Calm washed over.

He walked over to where Darius lay, speechless, unsure what he had witnessed. The stranger offered his hand.

‘I know you told me to keep away. But I could not allow the world to lose such culinary talent.’ Darius gripped his hand. ‘And you make a decent commander also.’ The stranger lifted him up.

‘I don’t…’ Darius stammered. ‘You’re a… Thank you.’

The man regarded the dead rannak and winced. ‘The land and its creatures grow ever fouler with the coming of the Shadow. The beasts are bolder, always looking to make my strolls bothersome.’

The others had caught up, now that the spectacle was over. El’enur stared on, wide-eyed. Lady Catena considered the man grimly. Asphales and Valinos rushed to the group. Asphales knelt by the injured Amarant’s side. ‘Darius, are you okay?’

Darius nodded. ‘I will hang in there,’ he grunted.

‘You’re no ordinary traveller,’ Valinos said, accosting the stranger.

‘Very perceptive of you, master Gloom. I—’

He stopped himself as he looked over the company. They were all either injured or shaken from the encounter. He sighed.

‘I figure I owe you an explanation. I am Eltanin of the Ten. Though I suppose men know me as Lord Elan of Taeladran. Which is to say, they do not know me at all.’

‘No mortal could strike like this,’ Catena said as she scanned the fallen rannak.

‘Oh, I assure you, my lady, I am very mortal. My existence is simply… prolonged. Time teaches lessons even to the most unwilling eventually. And what is more, I am mortified that you would suggest such, because from what I sense, both you and master Jasper here will need to learn to do what I did.’

‘My name is Asphales,’ he said, ‘and how do you know so much? We’re looking for you, but it sounds like you’ve been expecting us.’

Lord Elan—or Eltanin—hushed the boy and brought a finger to his lips. ‘Pleased to meet you a second time, Asphales. But we will not do this here. Rannakim are rarely alone. This one may have strayed, but others will come and they will not take kindly to what I have done to their unfortunate friend. We will speak at Taeladran. Come along if you favour survival.’

He sauntered toward the camp, drawing his cloak closer and laughing so heartily as if all the world was a jest.

The others stared at each other and then followed the man. Darius limped, hand on his gut where the rannak’s tusk had struck. Some of the pain had subsided and blood no longer gushed. How had Eltanin done it?

‘I am sorry about the wound,’ Eltanin called out without turning. ‘Restoration was never my strong point. Your own body will do the rest from here.’

Back at the campsite, the company hastily packed up their belongings and threw the saddlebags onto their mounts. They cleared trace of their presence, scattering the fire-stones, before setting out again into the night.

As they travelled, Darius could not help but think of what had happened in the moments before the rannak’s final assault. He was about to be taken by the flame, consumed by rage he had not felt so intensely since… well, it was best not to recall the Day of Ash and Snow. But Eltanin had intervened at the right time, and for that he was grateful. He glanced over to the Elder, who rode happily on El’enur’s horse. The archer was now seated with Darius in order to keep him steady.

They passed through Splinter’s Approach and reached the lowlands around Taeladran proper. Grass grew once more, and the thickets and bushes were richer here. Darius knew the company was close when they heard the sound of a river.

As morning broke to the east, the city rose before them.

Rightly was it called the City of Stone and Sapphire.

Taeladran was nestled among cliffs unnaturally thrown up, like crashing waves of rock frozen mid-impact. Impractical, but also impregnable. The stone itself comprised the city’s walls, and windows were bored into the formation where it served as watchtowers. The upper echelon of the rock face featured blue, gem-like protrusions, for which the city had garnered its title. A lone stone path led to a gate barely visible in the rock. The river here gushed loudly, its flow echoing off the stone crevasses.

Yet despite the geological wonder in front of them, Darius noticed Asphales kept staring at Eltanin. Asphales was practically simmering, surely bursting with questions.

Finally, the man seemed to have noticed. ‘You know, boy, it is rude to notice a blemish on one’s face and not speak out, for surely that is the reason you gaze at me incessantly.’

Asphales startled. ‘I’m sorry. No, you’re just so different to… the last one we met.’

‘Old Antares is something of an oddity. Centuries of wisdom and book-learning have left him… well, I was going to say as attractive as a shrivelled kitchen rag, but I do not want to be disrespectful to the rag.’

‘He does not strike me as a warrior. Not like you.’

‘Then you have never seen Antares angry. Try—does he still carry that staff of his?’

‘Yes.’

‘Try taking it next time you see him and hide it.’

Asphales chuckled. Darius was confused by the conversation.

‘But surely you remember your father,’ Eltanin said. ‘He was more pleasant to behold. You have so much of your father in you. I picked you out before you said a word.’

Asphales glanced down darkly as his horse trotted. ‘No, I do not remember much of him.’

‘Curious. Well, here we are,’ he said as they pulled into the shadow of the city. The magnitude of the stone obscured the daylight beaming through distant mountains.

Eltanin cantered up to the city gate and held up a hand for the others to stop beside him.

‘Who approaches?’ someone called from behind the gate.

‘Is that you, Deresh? Look, I know you want to go for your morning eggs and bacon but do the master of the city a favour and open the gate, would you?’

After a moment, the gates creaked open. A solitary guard walked out, but Darius was sure others were watching from peepholes in the rock walls.

The guard approached in a stately manner. His uniform was mostly blue, with emblems of deep gold emblazoned like an early sunset. He looked comfortable in the collared silk.

‘I’m sorry, Deresh is not on duty,’ he said, his voice melodious. He looked over the group with indigo eyes and ran a hand through his russet hair. ‘I am the new Captain of the Winged Guard. Welcome to Taeladran, masters. My name is Nathariel.’