Page 16 of Of Empires and Dust

“Report,” Kallinvar said to Ruon, no longer wanting to look upon Sylven.

“We held the Bloodspawn off long enough for most of the survivors to flee towards Varsund. The city’s garrison stood with us and now march with the refugees. The Chosen appeared, and the Bloodspawn consolidated to the city. All the souls left within…”

“You did what you could.” Kallinvar clasped his hands at the side of Ruon’s head and brought their foreheads together.“That’s all Achyron can ever ask of us. The Shadow is rising, and we will be there to meet it.”

Ruon drew a deep breath, then pulled away, nodding.

He passed his gaze over Ildris, Arden, and Varlin. He could sense the pain and exhaustion emanating from their Sigils. “Go and rest yourselves in Heraya’s Well. Lyrin waits for you there. He returned from Catagan only an hour past. We are to meet on the plateau once the rest of our brothers and sisters are with us.”

“Please, Grandmaster. Send me back out.” Arden’s helmet receded and he looked into Kallinvar’s eyes. Sweat streaked Arden’s face, and he was breathing heavily, but his eyes were unwavering. He swallowed, then took a breath. “Every minute we spend here, more people die. I can help them. I can save them…” He shook his head. “You didn’t see it… You didn’t see what those monsters did.” He drew a sharp breath and steadied himself. “Please. Send me back. We are not done there.”

“If you don’t rest, Arden, you, too, will die.”

“I already died. I was given this chance so others wouldn’t have to die the way I did. The duty of the strong is to protect the weak. I ask you again.Please. Send me back.”

“Heal your soul in Heraya’s Well.” Kallinvar stared into Arden’s eyes as he spoke. He understood the young man’s frustration. “There is more at play here than you know. The duty of the strong is to protect the weak, Arden. All of them, not just a few. When you have recovered your strength, I will send you and Lyrin to Aravell. We will need their aid, and the Draleid is still important in what is to come.”

The hardness in Arden’s expression dissipated at the mention of Aravell and of his brother. “Yes, Grandmaster.” He bowed his head, his breaths still heavy. “Grandmaster, may I ask, the western villages of Illyanara?”

“Your people are safe.” Kallinvar drew a long breath. It was often difficult for knights to dwell on their past lives, but forArden in particular the past was still blended with the present. Kallinvar did not doubt his commitment, but he was wary of the weight he might place on the young man’s shoulders. “From Lyrin’s last report, many of the remaining villages and towns were abandoned in favour of Salme. They have gathered in large numbers and have erected fortifications. They are holding back the Bloodspawn.”

“Thank you, Grandmaster.”

As Arden, Ildris, and Varlin left the chamber, Kallinvar grasped Ruon’s arm. “Walk with me?”

Much like in the Heart Chamber, porters, cooks, servants, and priests filled the corridors of the great temple, their footsteps and shouts echoing. Every face spoke of fear and worry.

“I will address the village once I have spoken to the knights.”

Ruon gave a downturn of her bottom lip, nodding. “It would go a long way. They are terrified. The crimson twilight of the Blood Moon is all they’ve seen in days.”

“I should have done it sooner,” Kallinvar admitted.

Ruon shook her head, then gave a slight bow at the sight of Watcher Hildan. “No,” she said, looking back at Kallinvar. “Time is a luxury we’ve not been able to afford. But the knights could use a rest, even a few hours.”

The pair walked in silence through the temple, eventually arriving at the Soul Vault. Candlelight warmed the stone of the one hundred alcoves carved into the far wall. The last time Kallinvar had been in the room, all but three alcoves had been empty. Now thirty-seven Sigils rested in their places, metallic green surfaces glinting in the candlelight.

A priest garbed in white and green robes bowed deeply to Kallinvar and Ruon before lighting two freshly placed candles and slipping from the room.

Kallinvar’s steps echoed as he walked through the chamber. He stopped before the wall of alcoves, reaching out a hand to touch a Sigil. “This one belonged to Verathin.”

“Kallinvar…” Ruon’s words faded as her steps bounced off the stone.

“This was Mirken’s,” he said, moving to the alcove six spaces over, then to the alcove beside it. “Daynin’s… Illarin’s.”

“Kallinvar, it’s not on you. We all chose this.”

“I can feel them, Ruon.” Kallinvar turned to look into Ruon’s eyes. Those eyes had stared back at him for centuries, kept him sane, kept him grounded. Ruon was his keystone, his anchor. With Verathin gone, she was his reference point in the world, the thing around which time flowed. Ildris, Tarron, and Ruon. The three of them were part of Kallinvar’s soul, shards of who he was as a man. But Ruon was… different. She knew him like no other.

“We will find Tarron,” she said, resting a hand on Kallinvar’s arm. “We must trust Gildrick and the Watchers. They will find a way. Have faith in Achyron.”

Kallinvar sighed, his fingers lingering on Illarin’s Sigil as it rested in its alcove. “I hear him, Ruon.”

“Illarin? What do you mean you can hear him?”

“Not Illarin.” Kallinvar pulled his hand away from Illarin’s Sigil, then took a step closer to Ruon. His mouth suddenly felt dry as sand. “I can hear Achyron’s voice in my head. He speaks to me.”

Ruon didn’t answer. She tilted her head sideways, narrowing her eyes, examining every line on Kallinvar’s face. He could feel his heart pounding slowly against his ribs under her gaze.

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