Page 298 of Of Empires and Dust

When Kallinvar reached the Watchers’ chambers, he paused a moment, allowing himself a deep breath of clean air and a moment of mental clarity. He twisted the doorknob and entered chaos incarnate.

The antechamber for the Watchers’ chambers performed the dual function of entranceway and workshop. And at that moment, there wasn’t a patch of stone left uncovered. Sheets of parchment were strewn about like autumn leaves on the forest floor, books stacked twenty-high. Chests were piled all about, some atop desks, others blocking doors or occupying chairs. Suits of old armour bearing The Order’s sigil were in various stages of disassembly, propped on racks and hooks.

Bowls of Tarkin Stem sat on every table along with pots of tea, some steaming, some long-cold. Thirty or so Watchers moved about the room, stood over books, or sat cross-legged amidst the canopy of parchment on the floor. Watcher Kitra slept in an old wooden chair while Watcher Timkin had passed out on the floor with his legs to his chest.

“Grandmaster.” Watcher Poldor bowed as he approached, a heavy leatherbound book in his grasp. The leather and the symbol of The Order embossed on the front were worn and tarnished, but the sewn binding still held and the pages looked fully intact.

“Poldor.” Kallinvar inclined his head and looked about the chaotic room. “What can I get for you?”

“We will be fine, Grandmaster.” Poldor kicked Watcher Kitra in the shin and she leapt from the chair, sending pages fluttering. “We will sleep when the knights sleep.”

“But you are not knights, Poldor.”

“No, Grandmaster, we are not. But we are Watchers. Our souls were not chosen by Achyron, but they belong to him. This is our place, and we will not shirk our duties.”

“Have you found anything on Tarron? Anything that might help us find him?”

“Precious little, I’m afraid… but…” Poldor paused for a moment, scanning the room. He held up a finger. “There was something.”

He gestured for Kallinvar to follow and stepped through the books and pages on the floor without even looking down. He led Kallinvar to the door on the left side of the chamber, stopping suddenly. “That’s strange.”

“What?”

“I left this door locked.” He stared at the knob, the door slightly ajar. “At least, I thought I did. I always do because Watcher Yuni steals the biscuits that Marina in the kitchensmakes for me.” He shook his head and squeezed the bridge of his nose, then pushed into the door with his shoulder. “The lack of sleep, most likely.”

Watcher Poldor’s study was a perfect match for the disarray in the antechamber and the antithesis of everything that was Verathin’s study. Kallinvar frowned at the half-eaten apple on the windowsill that had already gone brown as a column of ants scavenged its remnants.

Poldor laid the old leatherbound book on his desk atop a stack of parchment that was twice as high as the book itself.

“I found these in the quarters that had once belonged to the old Watchmasters. They are from long, long before my time – and yours. Though, they were not easy to find. In fact, it was complete chance that I came across them at all. They were locked in a chest set behind a wall.” Poldor grunted like a mule as he hauled three stacks of books from the floor and placed them onto the desk. “I’d not visited those quarters. Not once in my lifetime. I don’t believe anyone has. But I thought them worth a look in this case. I only found the books because the panel had come loose and stone dust had collected on the floor beneath it. The lock had rusted and broken. It must have fallen off.”

Kallinvar studied the books. The leather and the bindings were in too good a condition to have been from the time of the old Watchmasters. That position had been abolished almost a thousand years ago. These books had been redrawn and rebound, though they were still old – older than Kallinvar.

“They are a collection of sorts…” Poldor tapped on the topmost book.

“Of what?”

“Everything we knew of Efialtír’s workings in this world.”

“Why would that be locked away?”

“Because, Grandmaster. There is more in these books than observations and musings. Watchmaster Arkustin felt that to defeat our enemy, we must know them. And so we recorded the composition of every blood rune, symbol, and writing the knights found in the field, asking them to sit and draw what they could and then combining the efforts into something cohesive. Rather ingenious.”

“By Achyron…” Kallinvar reached out and touched the dark leather that covered the book closest to him.

“The Traitor’s hand,”Achyron whispered in his mind.“It reaches even this place.”

“The Watchers keep meticulous records,” Poldor said, folding his arms. “But I found no mention of these books.” He scratched his chin. “I do not believe I would be far amiss if these records were the reason the Watchmasters were abolished. Though, that is just my speculation.”

“Did you read them?” Kallinvar turned his full attention to Poldor.

Poldor looked at Kallinvar, a glint of uncertainty in his eyes. “Would it matter if I had?”

When Kallinvar said nothing, the man spoke again.

“I have looked through their pages in search of something that might lead us to Brother Tarron – under your command, Grandmaster. My loyalty and my soul belong to Achyron, to this temple, and to the knights over whom I watch. That is unwavering.”

Kallinvar could feel Achyron watching from the depths of his mind, but the god remained silent. “Did you find anything?”

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