Page 14 of Of Empires and Dust

Ormin clenched his jaw and gave a sharp nod. “Yes, Watcher,” he said with a grunt, speaking through gritted teeth.

Kallinvar rested his gauntleted hand on Ormin’s bare leg. Snapped bone pierced the skin in several places, pale as snow, torn flesh dangling. With the power of the Sigil flowing through Ormin, and the restorative gifts of Heraya’s Well, he would walk again, but the bones needed to first be set.

The two healers poured Altweid Blood into Brother Ormin’s open mouth and got to work. The liquid was to pain what water was to fire.

“How is he?” Brother-Captain Gandrid, the knight who took Illarin’s place as Captain of The Seventh after he fell at Ilnaen, appeared by Kallinvar’s side, Sentinel armour coating his body from the neck down.

“He’ll live,” Kallinvar said, resting his hand on Gandrid’s pauldron. “Torebon?”

“Safe, for now. Six of Efialtír’s Chosen bound into bodies of Bloodspawn and more Bloodmarked than I could count. The mages held them at bay, but the city will fall eventually. The Bloodspawn are simply too many, and the light of Efialtír’s moon turns those Bloodmarked into demons. And the Chosen… We’ve never faced anything like this, Grandmaster.”

“And yet here we are.” Kallinvar kept his tone level, attempting to radiate the same sense of calm that Verathin had always possessed. “Our duty remains unchanged, does it not, brother?”

“Protect the weak,” Gandrid said, nodding to himself. “Forgive me, Grandmaster.”

“There is nothing to forgive, brother. This path was never meant to be easy. It will test us, push us beyond our limits, and it may even break us. We were given a second chance so that we may protect this world. If our lives are the cost of victory, then so be it. We have already given them.”

Gandrid exhaled sharply, then met Kallinvar’s gaze. “What news from the North?”

“The Bloodspawn have poured from the Burnt Lands and Mar Dorul, razing Arginwatch and Copperstille. Kingspass still stands, but only just. Lyrin’s eyes and ears in the city tell us it will soon fall. The Lorian Empire are on their heels, but this war is far from over. Ilnaen changed everything.” Kallinvar hesitated but pushed onwards. “I will summon the knighthood to the great plateau once the others have returned. There is something that must be discussed.”

“At your command, Grandmaster.”

“You did well, Gandrid. Illarin would be proud.”

The man simply nodded, then turned to his wounded knight. It had been Illarin who had been given the honour of granting Gandrid his Sigil over three hundred and fifty years prior. They had been like blood.

With the Altweid Blood taking effect, Ormin’s screams faded as Kallinvar made his way to the war table at the centre of the chamber. Four more knights lay about on cots and tables, wounded and broken, healers and Watchers tending them before they could be moved to Heraya’s Well.

This had been the way in the days since the Blood Moon had risen. Sixty-three knights still drew breath, almost thirty fewer than before that night.

This war will take everything from us.

“We will avenge them, my child,”Achyron’s voice echoed in Kallinvar’s mind.

“It was you who led them to their slaughter,” Kallinvar answered.

“What was that?” Gildrick appeared at Kallinvar’s side, wiping blood from his hands with an old cloth.

“Nothing.” Kallinvar shook his head, resting his hands on the edge of the war table. Much to Gildrick and the other Watchers’ displeasure, he’d had Sister-Captain Arlena rip the table from the floor of the war room and shift it into the larger Heart Chamber. “What news from Poldor and the Watchers?”

“Your description allowed us to locate several old texts. They talk of the Chosen as Efialtír’s champions in the realm of the gods – the Vitharnmír. They are the warriors who held the armies of the other gods at bay so Efialtír could cross to this world and plant his seed in the crust of the earth. They also mention the other name you spoke of – the Urithnilim, the Fades. They are lesser souls, servants of the Traitor, created from his shadow, if you would believe it. But the Vitharnmír are more than that. They are demons carved from Efialtír’s flesh, empowered by his soul, given life through his blood. Most of it reads more as mythology than history.”

“The two are one and the same more often than not, Gildrick. Have you found anything that would give us an idea of Fane Mortem’s plan? Why would he bring the Vitharnmír through the tear in the veil?”

“Efialtír is to cross, my child. He seeks the Heart of Blood. It is hidden, even from me.”

Kallinvar closed his eyes and shook his head, releasing a calming breath.

“Are you all right?” Gildrick asked.

Kallinvar pried his lids open, finding Gildrick staring at him with a curious expression. He drew a short breath and let it out in a sigh. “Look for references to a ‘Heart of Blood’.”

Gildrick raised an eyebrow.

“Just do it, Gildrick. Search through the texts. Have the cooks bring meals on the hour, Tarkin Stem, ale, tea – whatever keeps the Watchers awake. Sleep comes later. We have no time for it now.” Kallinvar leaned in close, lowering his voice to avoid Tallia’s prying ears. “We need to know how Fane plans to help Efialtír step through the veil between worlds. He will make his move before the Blood Moon has faded. Wemuststop him.”

“It will be done, Grandmaster.” Gildrick bowed and made to leave.

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