Chapter Sixty-Three: The Beginning of the End

“All I can say is that it will be a great darkness, a deep darkness, and a long darkness. In this eternal night, friendships will be destroyed, lovers will be parted, families forever shattered. This will be the first and last of its kind, for when the sun rises, if it rises, Faengard will be no more, and in its place the New World.

“And should the night not end, then everything we know will be swallowed, never to be seen again.”

—Morene Gylfaginor, The Codex Gylfaginor

The entire night should have passed since they’d emerged from the tunnel into the wilderness, halfway between Aldoran and Caerlon, but it was still dark. Mothers walked alongside wagons with their children, pointing to the stars above, telling them stories. Horses and donkeys trotted tiredly, hauling behind them wagons and carriages filled with supplies and the injured.

Ein and Aeos walked a fair distance behind the main body, heads lowered, feet dragging in the ground. Ein limped along with a staff in one hand, the fingers of his other bound in white. An unwieldy iron sword swung by his waist.

“I still can’t believe she took it,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought we’d earned her trust. Especially considering all we’ve been through.”

“There’s no use pondering it,” Aeos said. “We have to get the Dragonstone back.”

“But how are we supposed to track her?” he asked. “She would be long gone by now, even for a wolf to pick up her scent.”

Aeos bit his lip. “I can do it. There’s something I’ve been keeping from you, and I suppose now would be the best time to reveal it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can find things, Ein.”

Ein came to a halt, leaning on his staff. The wind whistled around them, carrying with it the distant smell of smoke from Aldoran. “What do you mean by that?”

“It started in Mor’Gravar,” Aeos explained, “when we became lost. I began seeing a strange light that guided me to whatever I wished to find, which happened to be the exit at that time. Then, once we’d left Mor’Gravar and were searching for you, the light guided us to Darmouth. I call it the Guidelight, and it leads me to whatever I want to find.”

“What direction does the Guidelight think Rhinne is?”

Aeos stuck a finger at the horizon. “North-east. Towards the Whitewood.”

Ein sighed and began to walk again. “Wyd almighty, what a mess we’ve gotten ourselves in.”

#

Celianna stayed with Gilfred for the entire night as the Songweavers cleansed his wounds and the medics bound them. Her face was haggard and drawn, but she didn’t complain, and she didn’t let him out of her sight for an instant. The poor girl had cried out all the tears she could manage when she thought he’d been asleep, mourning for the loss of her mother and father. It was no wonder she was so concerned about him; he and her brother were the last links she had to her childhood.

Once his wounds had been treated and stabilized, he emerged to where they’d set up camp along the side of the Royal Road. Celianna came with him, as did Alend and his brother, Gerrard. The soldiers saluted him as he walked by—they’d always done so before, but there seemed to be a driving force behind it this time, an unspoken reverence to his person. He heard whispers out of the corners of his ear, whispers of the “Lion of Faengard” and the “Demonslayer.”

“What’s the plan?” Gerrard asked him, nursing a bandaged arm. A few of the surviving Captains and Sergeants had gathered, looking to him for direction. After all, he was now the highest ranked soldier in the Legion.

“We’ll go to Caerlon, I think,” Gilfred said. “There’s someone I need to visit, and we’ll need to warn the surrounding cities of the relicts. Now that Aldoran has been taken, it will be hard to cross over back to eastern highlands.”

“We can sail to Oster from Tarinthe,” Alend said. “I daresay we’ll need their help in order to take back Aldoran.”

“Look at you,” Gerrard smirked. “Acting like a King already.”

Gilfred shook his head. “No. Prince Aeos will be King when he returns. I am simply taking charge in his absence.”

“Whatever you say, brother. You have already won the hearts of the people.”

Gilfred looked around at the Captains and Sergeants, at the guards keeping watch around the campfires and numerous faces of curiosity that stared at him in the night, and he realized Gerrard was right.

In their eyes, he was already King.

#

Alend found Evaine with the runner boys, sharing a large pot of stew. She greeted him as he sat down on the log beside her.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Everyone’s going their own separate ways,” he said. “What are you going to do?”

“Me?” she asked, swallowing hastily. “I know Ein is heading to the Whitewood with the Prince. But what about you? Aren’t you going with him?”

Alend shook his head sadly. “The way I am now, I’d only hold him back. He’s changed, Evaine, since we all left the Sleeping Twins so long ago. He’s going somewhere far away, somewhere we won’t be able to reach.”

Evaine looked at her hands. “I suppose you’re right, though I’m loathe to admit it. He’s been different ever since he took the Vow and became a Kingsblade.”

Alend pulled the sack from his back and opened the drawstrings. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I suppose I’ll stay here for now,” Evaine said, looking at the runner boys as they silently ate. “They need me here, the Songweavers and the healers. It’s a long road to Caerlon, and the future is uncertain. I want to help as many people as I can with my gift.”

Alend nodded. How you’ve changed, he thought. He remembered a time when she would have jumped at the opportunity to travel.

“Besides,” Evaine added, suddenly serious. “I… I want to wait for Bran. In case he comes back.” She stared at the fire. No doubt she still blamed herself for the death of the young Sutherland.

“He will be back. I’m sure of it.” Alend squeezed her shoulder gently. “In the meantime, Evaine, I have something for you.” He reached into the sack.

“What is it?”

“Something Talberon wanted you to have. Perhaps you’ll find some meaning in it.”

He pulled out the weathered tome and placed it in her hands. Evaine’s eyes widened as she hefted it, flipping through the crinkled pages.

“Wasn’t this book locked?” she asked.

“It was. But no longer—I fear our wizened friend is gone.”

Evaine peered at the open pages for a moment before closing it. “Are you sure I should take this? There must be other people who would be suited to safeguarding such knowledge—”

“It is yours, Evaine. Talberon himself said so. There must be something inside you he sees.”

Evaine continued to stare at the cover in wonder, even after Alend had left.

#

The white Bloodmane forced Bran to his knees before taking a knee himself. All the torches and chandeliers in Uldan Keep’s once grand hall had been extinguished, and the room now lay in total darkness. Several figures knelt on either side of the central aisle, hidden under the shadow of the pillars. Apocalypse Knights, five of them, the remaining five who’d emerged from Nephilheim and Hellheim upon the taking of the capitol.

“Why don’t you just kill me already?” Bran asked. His heart thumped like a hammer, so great was his fear. There was something sitting upon that throne, some invisible presence that scared him so much he wanted to wet his pants.

“Do not speak unless you are spoken to,” the Bloodmane snapped, smacking the back of his head. Bran hated the creature—Vandrhind, his name was,—more than anything else in the world at the moment. It would have been so much better if he’d just been left to die, ripped apart at the frothing jaws of the Worgals.

But no. The Bloodmane had taken him alive, shackled him and dragged him into the castle. Aldoran had been revamped in the space of a single night, its buildings burned and derelict, its trees withered to husks, the great walls left battered and broken among piles of debris. It was a city of relicts now, a city of darkness, and Uldan Keep was a citadel of shadows.

YOU HAVE DONE WELL TO BRING HIM HERE, VANDRHIND.

The voice rattled inside the minds of everyone present, causing them to flinch. Bran eyed the throne, expecting something to appear, but nothing ever did. All it was was a voice, and a presence.

“Al’Ashar,” Bran seethed.

THAT IS MY NAME, FATEWEAVER.

“What do you want with me?” Bran demanded. He didn’t care if he was killed anymore; if anything, he wanted to die. He would rather face death than return to Evaine or Ein having turned onto the Oathbreaker’s side.

YOU ALREADY KNOW WHAT I WANT. I WANT THE LAND YOU KNOW AS FAENGARD, THE RIGHTFUL LAND OF MY PEOPLE. AND I WANT YOUR HELP TO DO THAT.

“I won’t join you.” He looked around, half-expecting Vandrhind to cuff him over the head, or one of the Apocalypse Knights to draw their sword and teach him a lesson.

But none did.

THAT IS WHAT THEY ALL SAID AT FIRST, BRANDON. BUT THEY BENT TO MY WILL EVENTUALLY. EVEN YOUR FATHER.

Bran blinked. Had he misheard? “My father would never join you,” he cried, his voice quavering. “You’re the reason he’s dead. Your Worgals killed him!”

AND DID YOU SEE HIS CORPSE?

Bran fell silent.

SANSON SUTHERLAND WAS A FACELESS, BRAN, SLAIN BY THE HAND OF NONE OTHER THAN ALEND THOREN. HE WAS ONE OF MY SERVANTS, AS YOU SHALL BE TOO.

“No!” He clamped his hands over his ears, but it was too late. “You’re a liar! My father was a good man!”

JOIN ME, BRANDON. The throne seemed to ooze darkness, thick and oily. JOIN ME, AS YOUR FATHER DID. I WILL SHOW YOU THE LIGHT. I WILL GIVE YOU EVERYTHING YOU EVER WANTED, AND MUCH MORE. IT IS FUTILE TO RESIST ME.

“No!” Bran cried again, but his voice was weaker this time. “I won’t do it. I won’t!”

YOU WILL, BECAUSE THE WINDS OF FATE HAVE DICTATED IT.

#

Yselin came to Ein and Aeos as they prepared to ride, their horses already saddled and strapped down with supplies. It was in the early hours of the morning, though there was no real way for Ein to tell under the unchanging night.

“Are you leaving?” she asked them timidly. Aeos was already straddled across his mare, spear tied across his back.

“We’re going after Rhinne and the Dragonstone,” Ein replied. “We don’t have a moment to spare.”

“Where will you recharge it?” the girl asked. “Now that the Heart of the World is gone…”

“We can cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, what’s important is that we get the stone back.” He made to mount his horse, his foot already in the stirrup, but Yselin stopped him.

“Can I come with you?” she asked.

Ein exchanged looked with Aeos.

“I don’t think it would be safe—”

“I might know a place we can charge the stone, once we get it back. It’s far to the north, past the Whitewood.” Yselin bit her lip. “I’ve been there before, when I was very young.”

“Past the Whitewood,” Aeos murmured. “Surely you can’t mean…”

“Past the Whitewood,” Ein echoed. “To the land of the felen and the fae.”

The girl nodded. “I… I want to go home. And I’ll be able to help us, while we’re at it. There are many foreign dangers on the road, things you would never have heard of in legend and folklore. I can help you.”

Ein looked over his shoulder. A light had flickered to life in one of the camps.

“Hop aboard, then,” Aeos said. “The sooner we leave, the better. I don’t want people sticking their noses into our business. Especially if some of them might be Faceless.”

Yselin grabbed Ein’s hand, and he hoisted her onto the saddle in front of him.

“Let’s ride, then,” he said, digging his heels into the side of his horse. “Let’s ride like the wind.”