Page 75 of Of Empires and Dust

A sombre silence fell over the chamber until all that could be heard was the rushing wind through the arches and the drum of the rain that had begun to fall outside and onto the stone table through the oculus.

“Arden, Kallinvar requested an audience with regard to a matter of urgent need,” Aeson said. “Now that these matters are tended to, he may come.”

The knight bowed his head, then closed his eyes.

Barely a minute had passed before a green orb materialised behind Arden, its light battling the crimson glow of the BloodMoon and washing the stone in an odd, muted brown. Within seconds, the orb had spread to a disc over ten feet tall and wide. The centre of the disk rippled like water, its surface black as molten onyx.

A man in green and gold plate stepped through, followed by two knights.

Kallinvar rested his hand briefly on Arden’s shoulder as he passed and moved to the table’s rightmost edge, his helmet turning to liquid metal and receding into his collar as he did.

“Thank you for granting me an audience with this council,” Kallinvar said, bowing slightly towards the elven Triarchy and those gathered. “When I last stood here, I made a vow to fight at your side in the war to come. I intend to keep that vow. But now I am here to ask for your help.”

“Speak, Grandmaster Kallinvar.” Uthrían bowed her head. “If we can help, we will.”

The relationship between the elves and the knights had always been a strained one, and although likely unnoticed by many, Uthrían’s gesture was one Aeson was glad to see.

Kallinvar smiled, touching his open hand against his breastplate in acknowledgement. The man looked to Aeson before lifting his head and staring up at the oculus in the centre of the ceiling, the crimson light sparkling in the rain that fell through. He then proceeded to tell all those gathered about the battle that took place in Ilnaen the same night as the battle for Aravell – of Fane Mortem, of the Uraks, of Efialtír’s Chosen crossing into the world, and of the losses the knights suffered.

The silence that followed held the room in such firm a grasp it had an almost tangible presence. Even the new queen, Tessara, stared at Kallinvar, wide-eyed.

When nobody else spoke, Kallinvar continued, resting his gauntleted palms on the chamber’s stone table. “The Blood Moon is in its seventh day. It will not wane for some time, andwhile we wait, Efialtír’s hand grows ever stronger in this world.” He lowered his gaze, looking around the room before settling on Aeson. “You do not need to take my word for it. All you must do is look across the continent. The Bloodspawn pour from the mountains like a raging tide. Towns and cities across Epheria, north and south alike, lie empty, smoke and fire pluming from their bowels. And with Efialtír’s Chosen at their side, the empire’s armies are more powerful now than they’ve ever been. We cannot stop what is to come on our own.”

“What is it you need?”

All heads turned as Calen spoke, more than a few looks of scorn on the faces of the elven Ephorí. Draleid or no, he was young, and despite their bows and carefully chosen words, many of the elves still saw him as a child – a thing to be used.

Kallinvar sucked in his cheeks, then spoke. “For four hundred years, we have waited for the Blood Moon to rise again. And now that it is here, I can tell you that it is not our greatest threat. There is a war coming, a war like nothing you’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know if you’ve looked, old friend,” Aeson said, gesturing to the map. “But war is already here.”

“Next to what comes, this is nothing. The Godwar looms.”

Aeson stared at Kallinvar open-mouthed. “This is everything,” he said, incredulous. “I care little for what the gods do to each other. Four hundred years I’ve waited to lift the empire’s iron boot and take back everything that was stolen. How can you say this is nothing? I was there in Ilnaen all those years ago. I watched your brothers and sisters die at Eltoar’s hands. I watched your knighthood crumble just as my order did. I watched Fane Mortem and his empire hunt the Jotnar into near extinction. What did the gods do then?”

Aeson’s right hand clenched into a fist, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

Kallinvar’s sombre expression didn’t change. He held his gaze on Aeson. “You misunderstand me, old friend. Winning this war does not matter if Efialtír crosses into this world. Everything you save will die anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Therin’s voice rang clear in the chamber as the elf took a step from beside Asius. It was the first time Therin had spoken a single word within the chamber’s walls.

“You have no voice here, Therin Eiltris.” King Galdra looked to Therin with fire in his eyes. “You saw to that many years ago. Know your place, Astyrlína.”

Therin bowed his head, nodding slightly, but Galdra did not stop.

“It is insolence enough that you dared return here.” The king’s eyes narrowed as he walked slowly around the table. “But for you to speak in these chambers… Your arrogance knows no bounds. We suffer your presence out of respect for the Draleid and Rakina, but make no mistake, your honour is forfeit. Your own daughter has shed your name, so deep is your betrayal. Speak again, and I will send you to Achyron’s halls.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aeson saw purple light misting from Calen’s eyes. He placed his hand on Calen’s chest and shook his head. As he did, he laughed.

“What about this amuses you, Rakina?” Galdra’s anger still laced his voice.

“You, Galdra.” For so many centuries, Aeson had stood by and said nothing. The elven ways were the elven ways. So it had always been, so it always would be. But he’d had enough. “The traitor god is at our gates. Epheria burns. This city, burns!” he roared, a fury he had not felt in a very long time rising. “And still you cling to your grudge like a child.”

Thurivîr stepped across Aeson. “How dare you speak to?—”

“Speak again, Thurivîr—” Aeson lowered his voice, levelling his gaze at the Lunithíran Ephorí “—and I will bury you so deep your own mother would give up digging.”

Thurîvir’s hand hovered over his sword pommel, his usually calm demeanour shattered, the veins in his neck bulging. Aeson could feel the ripples of the Spark flowing from the elf.

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