“They always seem to know what’s best,” Eyrie replied before glancing at Wyand with a knowing smile. “Where are your trainees today?” she asked, tossing the staff back and smoothly changing the subject to something that she knew could be discussed further.
“Most are with the Order of Hands or asleep in their own beds,” Adelea said. “The sickness that came with this rain is a fierce one.”
“You seem to be faring well, Bloodsister,” Eyrie noted somewhat skeptically.
“You know me—I’m carved from tougher wood than most,” Adelea replied with a proud grin.
Eyrie shook he head. “That’s an understatement,” she laughed. “Speaking of tough, I need to get this one outfitted with a set of Sreathan plate, since he’s officially a Bloodbrother now. Is that something you could request?”
“I’ll speak with the Order of Stone,” Adelea nodded. “Without my trainees, I’ve run out of things to keep me busy here anyway, so this sounds like a fine job for a cold, rainy day.”
“Thank you, sister,” Eyrie said. “Not to task you and leave, but I want to show Wyand as much of our Order as I can before the Council comes looking for us.”
Adelea frowned, then looked past Eyrie. “I think they just found you,” she replied, pointing the end of her staff towards the Wargarden entrance. A young boy, drenched from the rain, panted as he stumbled into the Wargarden. He searched the room wildly for an instant as his eyes adjusted to its dim confines, then he hurried over to Wyand and Eyrie.
“Bloodsister Eyrie, Bloodbrother Wyand, the Council Guide himself has summoned you,” the boy said. “He was…agitated…by your unannounced departure earlier.” Eyrie closed her eyes and said nothing. Adelea snorted before placing a comforting hand on Eyrie’s shoulder.
“Whatever you just did, it was apparently very foolish,” Adelea smiled sympathetically. “Old Ones watch over you,” she said.
“And you, sister,” Eyrie sighed. “Let’s go, Wyand. If they’re forced to wait, it will only make things worse.” The young messenger led the way back into the rain with Eyrie following in brooding silence and Wyand uncertain what to think. When they reached one of the covered boats, the boy remained on shore and nodded to himself after seeing Eyrie and Wyand both seated. Satisfied that his task was done, he then dashed back to the main path, presumably to go report to whoever had sent him. The wordless tension between Eyrie and Wyand continued for the remainder of the journey across the lake, until they arrived at the door to the Council Chamber. Eyrie gripped the door, then paused and turned to Wyand.
“Unless they question you directly, let me provide the answers,” she said sternly. Before Wyand could answer, Eyrie opened the door and stepped into the Chamber. Wyand had no choice but to follow.
“…opportunity like this since the founding,” the Voice of War said as she pointed to the stone from the Cavern of the Winds
“The most important thing right now, Tilia, is to slow down and approach this situation carefully,” Stonebrother Aloric replied in his thunderous voice. “If word spreads of this prematurely….” He trailed off when he noticed Eyrie and Wyand approaching from the entryway. As they walked, no one spoke; when they stood before the Council’s imposing gaze, still no one spoke. Wyand’s anxious eyes settled on Leomar, whose fist covered his mouth as he studied Wyand and Eyrie with an unreadable expression. As expected, the Council Guide was the first to break the silence.
“Does anyone outside of this chamber know about the Thoughtcaster or the stone?” Leomar asked quietly. It was clear that he was bracing for the worst.
“They do not, Stormbrother,” Eyrie answered. “We—”
“Short answers, girl,” Tilia cautioned her. The Voice of War spoke calmly, but the slow tilt of her head spoke of limited patience. There was another tense silence that followed, then Leomar nodded to himself in relief.
“You should not have left before we dismissed you, Wyand,” Leomar said. “That was very disrespectful. You are new to the ways of Cynmere, though, so mistakes are to be expected. But you…” the Council Guide’s swirling eyes fixed onto Eyrie, “…you know better than to depart without our blessing. What possessed you to do this? What could possibly be more important than your continued involvement in the life-changing events that are happening here today?”
There was no immediate reply this time. Wyand glanced worriedly at Eyrie, then he saw for the first time that she was just as nervous as he was. Her mouth hung slack as she searched for an answer and red pulsed in her cheeks from embarrassment. “Forgive me, Council Guide,” she mumbled.
“What was that?” the Voice of War demanded loudly.
“Forgive me,” Eyrie said again. “This was my fault entirely.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Leomar spat. “Regardless of his inexperience, Wyand chose to leave as well despite what his instincts told him. If I wasn’t certain that I need both of you here right now, I would assign you six weeks of the most menial tasks I could imagine.” The Council Guide looked past Eyrie and Wyand suddenly as the chamber door burst open and a middle-aged man rushed in.
“Does no one respect the sanctity of this chamber any longer?” Leomar demanded and the man skidded to a halt.
“Forgive the interruption, Council Guide, but this news demands immediate attention,” the man said, bowing humbly before the Elder Council.
“What news?” Leomar asked tiredly, but his irritation faded when two more men entered the room with Haemlan supported between them. There was a collective gasp among the Council members as well as Fadian, Eyrie, and Wyand.
“The sort that I needed to deliver to the Council in person,” Haemlan replied, his voice nearly as unsteady as his legs.
“Haemlan!” Leomar exclaimed. “Kingdom preserve me, what’s happened to you?”
“War,” Haemlan announced, the impact of the word amplified by the hollowness in his voice. “War unlike anything we have ever known.” Questioning murmurs and whispers raced through the chamber.
“Silence!” Leomar commanded, then continued more gently. “Tell us everything you know, Stormbrother.” Wyand watched in disbelief as Haemlan limped forward to be closer to the Council. He remembered Haemlan as an energetic young man with a permanent smile; surely he couldn’t be the same person as this stern-faced Guided with graying hair. Whenever Haemlan spoke, though, Wyand’s memory confirmed that it was the same man he’d known so many turnings earlier. That made Wyand’s inescapable vision of Haemlan’s death in Aldhagen all the more troubling as he watched his friend speak.
“We’ve known for many months that factions of the Distant Watch were beginning to develop increasingly violent tendencies,” Haemlan began, clearly in pain but determined to deliver his message. “I answered the call as many have—Guided or otherwise—to put a stop to the foolish actions of the Distant Watch before irreparable damage was done. It’s too late for that now.
“The situation on the Plateau Desert has deteriorated far more than any of us expected. Retaliation and thoughtless rage have created an endlessly-worsening cycle of killing and loss between the Distant Watch and the Penitent Faithful of Dism Slyde. What were once raids that focused on securing supplies and freeing our brethren from the Murk have now been twisted into exterminations. In response, the Smokedwellers press farther into the desert every day, seeking to purge any Distant Watch camps they find.
“All of this, though horrific, was salvageable with immediate intervention. This was the Vision that carried me into the desert: an image of peace, a world where the convoys no longer moved between Aldhagen and Dism Slyde, a time when the people of the Distant Watch could return to Cynmere for good. As soon as I reached one of their camps, though, that Vision became obscured as I was flung instantly into a struggle for survival.
“We encountered a massive convoy late one night a little over a week ago. I advised the Watch Leader—Adernan—to avoid engaging such a sizeable force, but his hatred led him far from the path of peace. After he rallied the members o
f his Hunting Watch and sent a request for support to one of the neighboring camps, I knew that blood would be shed that night. When the attack began, I pressured the Hunting Watch to remember the beliefs we hold as a people, what it means to be Cynmeren, but it had little effect, even as the word of one of the Guided.
“Arrows flew in blazing arcs as I screamed in protest. I watched cart after cart erupt in flames, the occupants doomed to either burn with them or suffer the cruel death offered at the tip of a scrid’s tusk. Only one cart escaped, but somehow it found its way directly into the other Hunting Watch. I took one of the scrid and broke away from Adernan’s group then, as I had been given a Vision of where this cart was headed next. I didn’t know why at the time, but I was certain that I had to be the one to capture its occupants.
“I had enough time to reach the upper rim of a small canyon before the cart appeared below me, just as the Vision had showed. The cries from both Hunting Watches confirmed my fears—they planned to kill the poor fools in that cart no matter what. Watch Leader Adernan knew just as I did from previous raids that if we allowed even one of the carts to reach Dism Slyde, a force of Smokedwellers would be dispatched to hunt us all down. Unlike previous raids, however, this faction of the Distant Watch had no intention of taking any prisoners.
“From my advanced position, I saw an opportunity to stop the cart before either Watch was close enough to do any real harm. I fired six arrows, all tipped with the haugaeldr’s stasis poison, and the last one caught the man steering the cart in the shoulder. After the cart came to an abrupt stop, I hurried down into the canyon and leapt off of the scrid. My intention was to paralyze the cart’s occupants, secure them in the scrid’s belly cage as quickly as I could, then depart immediately for Cynmere before either Hunting Watch arrived. In the moment, though, I became careless and that was what ultimately thwarted my plan.
“As expected, the man steering the cart was a Vessel Guard, but the other man was clearly a Newfallen. I brushed the bewildered Newfallen aside as a non-threat and moved forward to disarm the Vessel Guard in the event the stasis poison had not yet fully taken hold. That was when one of my own arrows was stabbed into the back of my leg by the Newfallen. As I fell, I watched the Newfallen steer the cart away into the night and I laughed in utter despair. I had saved both of their lives, but without capturing them I knew that I had just ensured a brutal retaliation against the Distant Watch. Four days later, it came.”
The Council Chamber was silent as Haemlan paused for a silent fit of coughing to pass. When he looked up again, it was suddenly clear that he hadn’t been trying to suppress a cough at all. There were tears in Haemlan’s eyes and a wavering in his voice that hadn’t been there seconds before. “It was early morning. Since it was my fault that the cart had escaped, I decided to remain among the Distant Watch to suffer any punishment that they received. After my failure in the canyon, though, Adernan banished me from his Hunting Watch, so I was with a different camp when the Smokedwellers found us. We thought it was nothing but morning fog at first—a dense, blinding fog. Then we heard the children screaming.
“Panic and confusion spread throughout the camp as the screams ended one by one. Parents wandered the fog frantically and many of the Distant Watch produced weapons as they prepared for combat, but there was nothing to fight. Just fog, everywhere. Then, when the last child was silent, the smoke receded back across the desert in the direction of Dism Slyde without a sound. In a matter of seconds, and without shedding a drop of blood, the Smokedwellers had taken every child from that camp. To kill is evil, but to steal children right from their parents’ arms…it was just cruel.”
Haemlan’s was not the only set of eyes in the Council Chamber with tears in it after the description of the Smokedweller’s attack. Cerelia sobbed into her hands unconsolably, and even Leomar appeared to be struggling with what he had just heard. “The families mourned, some of them even tried to pursue the smoke, but it was hopeless,” Haemlan continued. “A little more than an hour later, a runner appeared from Adernan’s camp. He was bloodied and burnt, but alive; he told us the same could not be said for the rest of his group. The Smokedwellers slaughtered them all, yet they spared him just so he could bear witness to the wrath of Dism Slyde.
“A collective cry for vengeance rose up from the people of the Distant Watch. I spoke out against their desire to cause more harm, but I was quickly silenced. They knew if an attempt wasn’t made immediately to retrieve their children, then they would never see them again. And so it was quickly decided that a united force of camps would strike Dism Slyde as soon as they could organize. I joined them out of guilt, because I knew that my actions were the source of all their grief. The screams of their children echo inside my mind even now.
“We attacked a few nights later. I stayed near the back of the Cynmeren advance, firing arrows to assist where I could. Even when my shots immobilized an enemy, though, the blood-crazed Watch wasn’t satisfied until they ensured the target was dead. Soon, I stopped firing altogether. The Smokedwellers pushed back against us in a sudden surge; hundreds of fighters seemed to materialize out of the night itself. Despite staggering casualties, however, the Distant Watch showed no sign of retreat or surrender. In that instant, I understood: they all planned to fight until they were dead. Their sorrow blinded them; it drove them to attack wildly and with no concern for their own lives. They thought only of their children.
“I understood their decision, but I did not agree with it. When the opportunity presented itself, I secured a scrid without a rider and stored as many wounded in the transport cage as the creature could carry. My injuries were comparatively minor, but over the course of the return journey, I grew weak from loss of blood and a lack of water and food. And so, here I stand.” When Haemlan finished, Leomar rose from his seat at the base of the Woven Wall and embraced the injured Guided.
“You made the right decision, brother, painful though it was,” Leomar said reassuringly as he stepped back. “I am saddened by the news you bring, but I agree with you—war is coming and we must prepare accordingly.”
“The Order of Stone will begin bolstering Cynmere’s defenses at once,” Aloric declared with a sharp nod of his bald head.
“Defenses?” the Voice of War said incredulously. “Leomar, we must send forces to support the Distant Watch immediately, before the Penitent Faithful wipe them out. It’s clearly the correct choice. That is our best and only true means of defense in this situation.” The Elder Council once again began bickering about what should be done next and why.
“Enough!” Leomar commanded, and the Council was silent. “Myrten, what does the Voice of Peace have to say about all of this?” The frail old Nightbrother had been the only one to remain silent throughout all of the arguing. He stood slowly from his seat, then straightened before shuffling to the center of the room.
“You’re very wise to seek a plan for peace before the war has even begun,” Nightbrother Myrten said in his kind, shaky voice. “I see a pattern, a link between the two disagreements we’ve had in this Chamber today. The answer is the same for both, and it is tied to three things: the Thoughtcaster, the stone, and Wyand.” The Voice of Peace smiled sweetly at Wyand, whose eyes suddenly grew wide in apprehension. With everything else going on, Wyand had hoped the Council had completely forgotten that he was even in the room.
“What is he talking about?” Haemlan asked looking from Leomar to Wyand in confusion.
“Much has changed since you left,” Leomar said as he helped Haemlan over to the small table. “During Wyand’s assessment, we discovered that he’d brought this stone with him from Aldhagen. Through some means we do not yet understand, it energized the Thoughtcaster and allowed him to access memories of the past. Many of those memories belonged to Grigg himself. The Council used the Thoughtcaster after that. Each of us witnessed the fall of Aldhagen through Grigg’s eyes, which reinforced our hatred of the Cultivators. Most astonishingly, though, we have proof that the Old Kingdom is rea
l, and that there may one day be a way to contact it.”
Haemlan gaped at the objects on the table, then at Wyand. “The Visions reveal their truth once again,” Haemlan said quietly.
“One other truth was made known,” Leomar continued. “The stone also has the ability to purge the effects of the Murk almost instantly. As soon as it is touched, the cleansing process begins.”
Haemlan laughed, then coughed painfully. “You’re right, Stormbrother, much has changed since I left.”
“I fear the changes have only just begun,” Leomar muttered before shaking away his thoughts. “Myrten, forgive me. What is the connection you see between spreading word of the Thoughtcaster and the impending conflict with Dism Slyde?”
The old Nightbrother waved his bony hand. “There’s nothing to forgive, Council Guide,” Myrten said, hobbling slowly past each member of the Council. “Tell me, why do you wish to keep the stone and the Thoughtcaster secret?”
Leomar thought for a moment. “I fear that widespread knowledge of their existence will draw increased attention from Dism Slyde that could ultimately compromise Cynmere’s location.”
Myrten nodded. “Thanks to Stormbrother Haemlan, we know that unparalleled retaliation from the Smokedwellers is already coming, although it pains me deeply to imagine such horrible things. With the Distant Watch fractured into tiny groups all across the Plateau Desert, let me ask you this: what happens if we isolate ourselves in Cynmere completely and offer them no aid?”
“They will be wiped out,” Leomar replied bluntly.
“And without the Distant Watch, what will the Penitent Faithful do?” Myrten asked.
“They will establish permanent outposts in the desert, then devote all of their fighters to trying to find the location of Cynmere,” Leomar admitted.
“And then they will find us, and war will ravage Cynmere itself,” Myrten said sadly. “Now, ask yourself this: if we send out all of our forces to aid the Distant Watch, what will happen?”
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