Awe and terror. I still vividly remember these two words he imparted on us when we first met mythical praetor, Shield and Blade of the Empire and his winged companion. Two feelings that deepened when I peered through the nekrotic linkage between the revenant and its primordial, glorious master. My dear master the Nightscale whose eye brimmed with the shielding grace of twilight, dusk itself. Two feeling which were exuded from master Grimslaukh too now that those memories are flowing into my mind once more. I still remember the many mornings following that experience, the cold thrill trailing about each morning.
I stirred from the warm embrace of my old bed, even though I could not fully recall the meeting between the two great beings until I stood in the cold, embracing presence of master in the deepest belly of Dhaugruz itself. Incumbering my thoughts as I silently toiled to unearth the linkage and crawl back into the umbral presence of those who came before. To this day it fascinates me the effects a primordial’s essence and presence possess on mortals, even from just a curtailed glance I could tell the vast knowledge they amassed through long gone eons.
And it drove me into a light madness as I tried to unfold the veil blurring the memory. An endeavor that proved futile and foolish as it drawn my attention away from the growing shadows lengthening past the boundary of the woodland. More importantly it halted the progress of my erudite studies into the maghandr just when I vowed to impress the great uncle of my Pale Orchid.
On further inspection, it also drawn away my attention from the fact that for the next few months whenever I arrived into our abode in Oneiron, her presence was devoid. I never really inquired on the nature as I suspected events of those days were not too pleasant for her as finding out her true purpose placed her in the nest of our enemies. But I digress as the point stands that glancing upon a timeless being, one who I could barely register in my mind had ever lasting consequences I wasn’t aware until dusk fallen over Vonschneithar – one malignant and baleful led by an old friend of the family whom my great-grandfather betrayed in desperation.
When Night lengthened over Elhyrissian, the wheels of fate began their whirring in earnest, as death walked upon our precipices, leaving the ghastly embrace of Vesgiriath, striking when none of us expected it in the least. A strike bold and foolish in hindsight as they remained unfazed by the presence of the once heavenly dragons whose scales shimmered brilliantly before the Sign tore across the sky and the Illius. A night that still fills me with regret, remorse and glad for opening my eyes for my shortcomings plucked out from my mind and heart before further, deeper harm could have come upon me and those now dearest to me.
Though the prize wasn’t easy as for gaining insight and regaining what was taken from us, I lost my family and many a friend whose smiles made the frigid harshness of our lands bearable. The first steps which ensured the future of the Host and a new dawn where their tyranny ends at last…
**
Sigiwaer sluggishly stirred in the warm confines of his sheet as the silvery blaze of the Lunarius faded, molded into the vibrant amber of sparks created when the hammer of a smith strikes against the searing alloy that seeped and amplified the shades of dawn. So much so his lids trembled when the light reflected from a piece of obsidian Priernuss and Eadwald brought from their long and laborious journey from Vhoragos.
As he stared at it, he recalled the tale of their group being surrounded by a wild pack of northern hobgoblins who crawled forth their deep burrows stretching across the steep land a month or so away from their little settlement. Recalling those words, the wheels of his mind stirred and envisioned the battle, the stalwart form of his brother holding his gilded sword wreathed in the flames of dawn. The sibilant growls of the pallid goblins whose primitive, coarse hide was covered by patches of snow-white fur whilst armor crafted from their lupine companions offered a faint spark of hope against the refined weapons of the group.
A battle which was shorter than he envisioned staring with a slowly awakening mind half stuck still in the land of Oneiron. Every little maneuver Eadwald made with his blade; the grizzly sound of flesh parting, bone breaking and the death growls intermingling went through his mind, the grotesque nature of it slowly nudged him towards proper awakening. The last sprinkle to bring him into the waking world was the small piece of obsidian resting below the masterfully crafted painting of Priernuss, depicting the future he and Amiriniel both desired.
Its eerie luster bequeathed a strange sense of curiosity and a suggestion that the object or the shard itself came from one of the old realms, a prospect which excited him as he envisioned the small journey it took through the astral seas Eadwald regaled to him that he himself lived through when stepping through the Greigor Gate. And as he looked at it, the frustration towards his blurry memories from two months ago reared themselves, though only for a short moment as the pleasant and pungent scent of fresh bakeries wafted his nostrils and the grumble of his stomach made him aware of his morning hunger.
Like every morning, as he freed himself from the warm embrace of his sheets, he faced Amiriniel’s empty bed. As soon as his soles touched against the cold flooring, with a sibilant hiss he pulled them back then channeled his mana whilst focusing on the warmth exuded by the brim breath of dragons he experienced the few times slipping into the camp erected near the southern wall, on an even section adjacent to the druidic circle.
Hearing his name being called upon by the silken voice of Amiriniel amidst his usual morning routine of stretching his limbs, Sigi answered and tiptoed with a faint smile now that the cold stopped seeping into his body – and because of the mild euphoria. He quickly went to aid Mirdbruil who was juggling with the wooden plate holding the stacks of buktas – oblong bakeries holding various fruit jams and the dough mixed with the sweetened milk of tretean cows imported from the south western isles.
When he took his first bite, a question which loitered in all three’s minds surfaced after being repressed from excitement. “Mother, why were you and Uncle Aelfsigior so surprised at the arrival of Praetor Augermil?” Though he saw Mirdbruil tear the bukta in two, he noticed the momentary tremulous jolt. Before an answer would have left her lips, she wiped the spilled jam with the ukta and let out a sigh. “Does it relate to them not taking us immediately?” Amiriniel added as she found it quite strange the dragon praetors did not take them as soon as they arrived besides suspecting the dream maiden visiting her brother often in the land of Oneiron.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
“It is.” At last, she answered averting her gaze from the two. Slowly, she formulated the way to lay it out for the two just as they heard the door swing open and boots trampling before they heard Priernuss’s greetings as he and Eadwald arrived from their practice. “Told you another round would have made us miss the buktas Eadwald.” He said slapping Eadwald’s back as they entered and sat down at the table where Mirdbruil set up two plates and a small wooden cup for emanating a white steam rising forth the warmed and sweetened milk.
“So did we interrupt something?” Priernuss asked as he noticed the pensive gaze of Mirdbruil whilst she was munching on her breakfast. “Brother was just asking why did you guys looked weird at Uncle Augermil when he arrived? And why he didn’t deliver us yet to the capital.” Amiriniel spoke up next after she let out a sigh after she finished sipping.
Though at first, Mirdbruil fiddled with the idea of leaving the answer for when they depart, looking at Priernuss she realized it was proper time as he could fill out any blank holes she may have. “I see. It is not an easy topic.” Priernuss said with half his cheek filled with the gnawed off bukta. “Want me to explain it?”
Mirdbruil shook her head. “No, though if I miss anything do feel free to correct me Priernuss.” He nodded. “Now, where to begin. As you all aware, we aevhen folk are quite the blessed race in regards of not just our aptitude for maghia and resistance against the Rage of Acheryoth – but in our looks. Looks which were gifted us by the Magnificent Mother and her dear husband and brother who both spent millennia reshaping our winged ancestors who rule the skies and the astral sea to this very day.”
For a moment she stopped and looked at Priernuss as she lost her confidence a bit for having to utter these condemnatory words towards the one who sacrificed nearly everything to ensure a peaceful life for the good, common folk of the Empire. “And as such, it is quite sacrilegious for our kind to change their work.” Though she wanted to utter more, as her lips opened her mind overworking in that short moment led to a short answer. Her gaze moved onto Priernuss for possible aid in case they found the answer unsatisfactory.
“So him going through the Rite means that there is a turmoil within the capital.” Amiriniel spoke what was on her and Sigi’s mind. He already had an inkling something wasn’t alright when during their meeting before a week or two before Augermil’s arrival, she appeared quite tired in the land of Oneiron. Her honey-smooth voice appeared a bit raspy, and her gaze seemed absent as if she was searching for a solution. On top of them finding it strange that the right hand of the Elhyrissiar himself would recommend delaying their departure.
“That is right. Though whilst it’s a bit worrying, I am sure no matter the situation if he shall be by your side, you all will be safe.” She said dishonestly as she could not win against her motherly instincts.
**
Orhadin’s gaze slowly passed through each undead amongst the flock of the Queen of the Damned. With a deep curiosity, he peered beyond the layers and analyzed the strange runes stirring a queer sensation within him. They were nothing like runes tamed, controlled by the sheer will of mortals; neither was it anything the greater beings of Dusk attuned to alter reality to their whims and desires. Though he could not decipher their meaning, their origin instinctively he felt them devoid of the prima materia used to order the realms, the essential element of time imposing an endless state of change upon the world.
The element which symbiotically existed; joined forces with nekrotic matter, the primal element of darkness and the finality of all beings and all things including the moment wind dies down; waves crashing against the shore calm into a state of stillness; when a spell fulfills its purpose imposed by the caster and vanishes back into the deep layer only a few chosen can peer into. Like the boy whom peered through the vast network binding all undead walking, meandering under the shadowy embrace of these blessed lands.
“Won’t this be excessive for capturing a single boy?” He remained silent even as he heard Uchitemar approaching, snow crunching beneath his pallid feet of cadaverous flesh devoid of the prima element of time. His gaze continued focusing instead not on the barely visible, queer runes etched indelibly – he could tell as the yawning blackness bled their blessed soul. And he felt something lurking in that blackness. The faint waft of will old and wise nearly identical to his divine patrons and the Nightscales breezed against him, yet unlike the two it whom evoked a sense of devotion, it trembled his augmented form.
Noticing his attention focused on the dead – which filled even Uchitemar with dread – he spoke. “Apologies Emissary of Dusk, but is it wise to peer at those runes? My knowledge is lacking compared to yours, but those runes I believe were not meant for mortal eyes to be seen. Not even to those like us, blessed by the prima essence of the Great Ancients.” He spoke as courteously as he could while tensing his throat and tongue.
“I am well aware of the dangers of maghandr beyond our realm. But still I am still ailed by a childish curiosity and a thirst for knowledge.” Orhadin went silent, his eyes scoured their snowy surrounding where the light of the Illius barely reached. Uchitemar denied it, but for a moment he noticed worry lingering in those ophidian eyes. “And I have to be sure nothing shall conflict with our progress.” He whispered into Uchitemar’s mind.
Uchitemar understood as he himself had his doubts in regards of the Queen of the Damned’s loyalty. He himself believed she was simply playing along, the sole evidence being the undead and the queer runes binding them, strengthening them. For the past two centuries he spent within the walls of Vhoragos, he studied the lord of the woodland, and whilst she only ascended to the position recently, there was no description amongst the tomes his comrades collected or received from the agents of the Host. They both the spell, the enchantment upon the souls were recent.
Suddenly, a gulf of circumfluous black mist and pallid, translucent haze appeared signaling the arrival of Grimslaukh from the center of Dhaugruz. The two immediately got on their knees and greeted their pale liege who with a genial tone prompted them back onto their feet. “Regarding your question, this much shall be need.” He started, answering Uchitemar’s ignored question.
“I see. I had no intention to question your or our lords’ decision.” Uchitemar bowed like an abashed child as he stood in the creeping, cold presence.
“Though you shall need not to worry, the reasons for such a force shall be taken care of by myself. So just focus on your task.” As he turned, Orhadin and Uchitemar followed him through the path where no snow, no ghastly foliage had grown in centuries, an earthly path of blackness.
Whilst Grimslaukh stood upright before the Queen sitting atop her throne, the two offered half a bow in silence. “Has the time finally come?” She asked in her mirthless voice poisoned by centuries of agonies.
“It has.” Grimslaukh answered simply. “Though I beseech you to leave the boy with a dark eye alive.”
“Is he not a descendant of his?” She asked partially rising from her seat. “He is, but he is more important for the future of the realm. And I promise you, the day shall come when he’ll amend the mistakes of his ancestor.”
She looked pensive under her ghastly dark veil, and for a moment her tortured mind gained clarity in a bizarre turn as she stared into the dark, listless eyes. “I shall bring no harm upon this boy of yours. Now shall we depart at last?”