“Hail, Lady Saffron.” The Begnari woman approached him on horseback, flanked by an initiate of the Order. She had become something of an unofficial lieutenant since the day he’d freed her from a Chelpian slave caravan.
Saffron raised her palm in greeting. “Happy returns, Sir Golddrake. I trust your mission went well?” She tugged gently on the reins and halted her horse, allowing Amurel to finish his approach, in deference to his authority.
He nodded. “There is much to tell. Find Orestes and bring him to my tent. Sir Kilborn and I will join you for council shortly. First, though, I shall speak with our newest patient. How is Master Luminere faring?”
Saffron pursed her lips and her posture slackened. “He is having some difficulty with his new condition – and I with him. He is stubborn as a kank at a watering hole, Amurel. Perhaps you will have more success consoling him.” Her eyes slipped to his malformed right leg.
“Until council then, Lady Saffron.” Amurel bowed before nudging the reins and clicking his heels gently to his horse’s flank. He made his way to Jaiden’s tent, where an attendant tried to assist him from the saddle. Amurel waved him off. “My horse needs attention, squire, not I.”
He removed his gauntlets and limped to the entrance flap, then took a breath and straightened his posture before whisking it back. Sure enough, Jaiden Luminere was reclining in the same spot Amurel had left him. “Ho, friend. You seem to be as immovable as Mount Massither. Perhaps we should pluck you down before the gates the next time we are besieged – we shall outlast the enemy a fortnight at least.”
Jaiden sat up straighter upon being addressed, though he was unsure of the identity of the knight speaking to him. He had not held a conversation with anyone for two days, not since the doctor, and was suspicious this man might be coming to execute the surgeon’s orders. “What do you want with me?”
“Relax, Jaiden.” Sir Golddrake pulled a section of log beside the dirty cot and sat, before removing his helm and sliding the coif back from his head.
Upon seeing his golden mane, Jaiden recognized the leader of the Order, and eased a little. He imagined such an important man would not be singlehandedly implementing any surgeries.
“Sir Golddrake, I was unaware you’d returned.”
“I only just arrived. You were my first concern.”
“Have I earned a reputation already?” Jaiden teased, while knowing it would be well-deserved. He hadn’t been easy to get along with, and his refusals to give or receive help had worn the patience of those around him.
“I’m not sure what you mean, my friend. I wanted to see and hear from you, first-hand, how your recovery has progressed.”
“Progressed?” Jaiden felt his frustration rising again. “Well, I’m stuck in this cot for most of the day. My leg is broken, and the surgeon wants to saw it off altogether.” Despite his intention to challenge, Jaiden’s eyes couldn’t maintain contact with the calm gaze of Sir Golddrake. Realizing he wasn’t being judged, he sighed and spoke more softly. “I feel useless. I’m a swordsman in a camp of soldiers, yet I’m useless.”
Sir Golddrake lifted his chin for a moment in consideration before speaking. “I was brought into this life a cripple. The midwife told my mother I had turned in the womb, and nothing could be done. If not a nobleman’s heir, I probably would have been left to perish.
“There were certainly times in my youth I felt sorry for myself, Jaiden, but you can’t let that kind of thinking seize you, or you will become useless. Years ago, when my parents died, I knew I must find a way to contribute to the Golddrake legacy.
“Nothing came easily, but I dedicated myself to equestrian pursuits. My own legs wouldn’t get me far, so I learned to use my steed as a living extension of my desire. Once I mastered riding, I practiced doing everything from horseback: combat, falconry, even eating. You can’t imagine how perilous it is to ladle soup from the saddle without spilling every last drop.”
Jaiden raised his eyebrows at the last image. “I am not a rich man, Sir. There is no way I could afford such a talented and patient horse.”
“My point, lad, is that nothing is impossible if we search hard enough for a way – and are open when the way reveals itself.” Sir Golddrake paused, seeming to weigh the possible impact of his next statement. “Criesha has plans for you, I feel it. Would you consider joining my Order and staying on under my tutelage?”
“I don’t know.” Jaiden had the impression of being led into some sort of trap. What would he do in such a group? Sir Golddrake believed in things he could not see; Jaiden believed only in himself and the transcendence of sharp steel. There was always a cost involved with choices like these. He’d learned this lesson from his father: nothing was free unless you took it. “How would I serve with only one good leg?”
“Give it time and we will find a way, together.” Sir Golddrake waited until Jaiden nodded his agreement, then smiled and lightly swatted Jaiden’s feet with his gauntlets as he stood.
“Sir Golddrake, why do you serve Criesha? I mean, if she’s real, what is it about her you find worthy of worship?”
Sir Golddrake didn’t seem to expect such a question, and considered his answer carefully. “Have you ever heard stories of the green moon, the larger of the twins?”
Jaiden shook his head, none coming to mind.
“Legend has it the Eladrin named it Criesha, believing that was where the soul of the goddess rested. Criesha controls the flow of all natural magic – it grows and ebbs with the faces of the moon. Magic is all around us, Jaiden: in the music of the waterfall, the wisdom of the oak, the strength of the mountain. I believe it is important for us to honor this magic, protect its sanctuaries, and prepare ourselves to be better instruments of its power.
“My goddess has shown me that the way to do so is by being courageous, honorable, loyal, generous, and obedient. Natural magic is the path to our better selves. Dominion and suffering stifles it, Jaiden. This is why Ebon Khorel must be stopped, beyond the obvious need to end his cruelty.
“We will be breaking camp on the morrow. I shall ride with the cavalry across the border into Chelpa – we have a mission to perform there. You can accompany the support troops to the town of Greyhorne, further north, to resupply and await our return.”
“May I go with you?” Jaiden asked. He knew it a foolish request, but longed to be part of the action.
“I am sorry, but it would be too dangerous for you. You’ve got healing to do, and we must be fleet to succeed. Lady Saffron will be accompanying me, but find Lieutenant Orestes in the morning, and he’ll get you sorted out.”
Sir Golddrake was almost to the exit when Jaiden asked one final question of him. “Will you teach me to ride like you?”
Sir Golddrake stopped, though didn’t turn to face his inquisitor. “If Criesha wills it.” He lifted the tent flap with his left hand, and carrying his purple-plumed helmet in the other, limped back toward his horse.
By the time Amurel reached his own tent and retired his stallion, Bastion, for the evening, his council was assembled and waiting. Maps of Halidor and the adjacent provinces were spread across the table that dominated the pavilion. Though he was Master of the Order of the Rising Moon, his accoutrements were only slightly more grandiose than his followers’. Amurel had no desire to set himself apart in such fashion. His tent was larger out of necessity, and his polished armor suggested familial wealth, but he ate the same food and slept on a simple bed.
His inner-circle consisted of three members; he trusted and was grateful for each. Sir Geldrick Kilborn came from a noble family, knew Amurel’s father, and had been instrumental in negotiating the creation of his Order with the Prince of Dawn’s Edge. Lord Kilborn had kept watch over Amurel since his parents’ deaths, though the man never dishonored him by claiming so. He always rode into conflicts at his Master’s side, and showed no qualms about following Amurel’s lead, though he was older and just as highborn.
Orestes was a fighting man with a knack for organiz
ation. A longtime man-at-arms under the Golddrakes, he knew more about the upkeep of the Order than even Amurel, and served as his chief lieutenant. He dispersed orders to the troops, kept everyone on task, and arranged for the company to be resupplied when necessary.
Then, there was Saffron min Furasi. She was a foreigner, and Amurel had not known her long, yet he could not escape the secret truth he knew from the moment he emancipated her – he would gladly give his life for hers. She was a unique woman, and he didn’t know a man among the Order who would claim to have seen her equal.
She spoke with a tongue as sharp as her mind; she grasped and assimilated new concepts almost instantly. Saffron’s talent for musical arrangement seemed to spill over into tactics of all sorts. Her native people had trained her with horse and spear, and she fought with a western style that perplexed many of the soldiers she now taught, giving her advantage in battle. She called it the Ghostwind: a blending of graceful movements so quick she seemed to strike from two places at once.
Amurel suspected Saffron served him out of a sense of indebtedness, yet he held no belief that she owed him anything. He was aware she used her high position to search for her captive sister, but did not mind. He saw how Saffron burned with disgust for the King-priest, and could count on her loyalty as long as he was their common enemy.
“I am sorry if you’ve been waiting long,” Amurel apologized. “I wanted to speak with the survivor of the Halidor massacre.”
“Hmm, it was that,” Sir Kilborn agreed. “It seems like this King-priest is just as happy to slaughter his enemies as rule them. No wonder the free provinces are nervous. Did this survivor have any useful intelligence on the enemy?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Saffron interjected. “He was badly injured, and though interrogated by Ebon Khorel himself, he knows little, and has not been particularly helpful.”
Amurel glanced at Saffron, taking note to discuss their patient further, in private. “Even so, I feel Criesha has delivered him for a purpose. The matter at hand, however, is a discussion of our next mission. It’s difficult to understand a man like Ebon Khorel, to imagine what drives him to such cruelty. Studying his tactical behavior, at least, may help us find weaknesses.”
Amurel placed the fingertips of both hands upon the table to steady himself. “So, what do we know?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “In order for him to rule such a vast territory, especially when he is leading the push into the north, he must have men who are loyal. What drives this loyalty, however, is not a sense of honor, or even the devotion he may feel towards The Dread Tyrant. As sure as I breathe, it is either fear or greed. Most of his commanders are opportunists, seeking to add to their own wealth or power by preying on those weaker. Others are simply afraid of the consequences of refusal.”
“But what of it, Sir?” Orestes never had much use for speculative banter. “Ebon Khorel is not the first dictator to wield influence through fear, but he may be the strongest we’ve seen, given this god of his. We’ve got to find a way to combat his magic, or I’ll be just as useful brandishing a wet fish as a sword, when it comes to it.”
“Time is what we need, Orestes. Criesha will show us a way to stop him, I’m certain. My point about the King-priest, my good man, is that fear can be both a potent weapon, and an undoing. If you hold people in line through fear, they will despise you. Such hatred leads to betrayal, more often than not.”
Saffron broke in, “You think we can find someone close to him to help us?”
“Perhaps in time, but I’m thinking on a larger scale at the moment – open revolt. Consider it. Just because the King-priest of Chelpa is evil doesn’t mean his subjects are. Their conditions under his rule are part of the reason we’re fighting him. There must be droves wishing they could throw off his yoke, but afraid to do so. Under such a crushing oppression, rebellions need only the spark of hope to ignite, and the Order of the Rising Moon can supply the tinder. What we need is a community with the courage to act on their discontent – and I think I’ve found one.”
Amurel leaned in closer to the map, and the others mirrored him. “There is a village called Salmarsh near the Chelpian frontier. It supplied wood, peat, and other goods to the King-priest’s army. Several weeks ago, they stopped. Word is, the locals are an independent crowd and never took well to being conquered. When the Blood Tear Brotherhood was sent to look into the matter, things got bloody and the people of Salmarsh rose up, killing the delegation.”
“Sounds like my kind of town,” Sir Kilborn added, his heavy tone dulling the intended humor.
“News has reached Lucnere,” Amurel continued, “and you can bet they’ll be sending more troops to force Salmarsh back in line. We’ll use the Harpy Pass through the Wyvernwatch to approach undetected from the north, and give aid to the resistance. I’m told they’re more organized than Ebon Khorel would suspect, but they could certainly use our help.”
Sir Kilborn took over for Amurel, giving him a chance to wet his lips from a goblet of wine. “Our informants give the impression the King-priest is overconfident in his grip over his own lands, and has not taken the proper steps to secure them. There are reserve armies around the capital, but the majority of his troops are in far, forward positions. This mission will have two objectives: aiding Salmarsh in a successful uprising, thereby emboldening other towns to do the same, and halting the advance of Ebon Khorel’s armies into the Free Provinces. If he suddenly has to consider the effects of fighting on two fronts, it may buy us time to forge alliances, raise more armies in the north, and find some way to counter his Channeling, as Orestes mentioned.”
“We can’t just let the enemy march unimpeded all the way to Selamus,” Amurel reiterated. “We must sow doubt into the mind of the conqueror.”
Saffron nodded, and her eyes considered the map, perhaps calculating the distance and travel time involved. “Any idea of the numbers?” She was perhaps the most eager for invasion, increasing her chances to discover the whereabouts of her sister, Dhania.
“We know soldiers have moved from the capital, but it’s too soon to tell how many are designated for the rebellion. We won’t know until they turn west, Lady Saffron.” Saffron’s eyes met Amurel’s, but he couldn’t read what was behind them.
“If they’ve already left the capital,” her words followed a brief silence, “we’ll need to move quickly, and leave soon.”
“We break camp in the morning,” Amurel confirmed. “Orestes, this will be cavalry only. You’ll be taking the rest of the men to resupply in Greyhorne.”
Orestes nodded.
Amurel and his council discussed their plans well into the dim evening, and the preparations to depart were underway by the time most of the Order of the Rising Moon had earned their beds for the night.
“I’m back,” Jaiden observed as midnight-grey clouds raced by, around and beneath him. “Would that I had never left.” He was standing on two, fully-healed legs, absent of pain.
Starlight peeked through vacancies as the cumulous rushed by – there one second, gone the next. Though it remained breathtakingly wondrous, this realm had acquired a movement and energy lacking during his first visit.
A pale, green beam of light suddenly cut through the clouds, but by the time Jaiden followed its path to the ground it disappeared, leaving an unmatched beauty standing in its place. Criesha appeared even more tantalizing to him than before.
“Self-pity does not become you, Jaiden Luminere.” Her voice was soft and compassionate, despite the judgment of her words. “You are capable of so much more, but must learn to fight for what you desire.”
“M’lady,” Jaiden bowed his head reverently, but not so low that his eyes couldn’t continue looking upon her illuminated countenance. “I was hoping for the chance to see you again.”
“You will have the chance for a great many other things, if you submit your will to my service.” As she spoke, Criesha trailed the fingers of her right hand slowly down her torso, between her breasts and down to her
belly.
Jaiden’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped agape. “What must I do?”
“You must learn to serve others, first, before you’ll be fit to serve me. I want you to join the Order of the Rising Moon.”
Jaiden looked from side-to-side, wondering if this was some sort of trick. What if he was really still lying in his cot, ensorcelled as he slept? “I was thinking of doing just that,” he mentioned warily, “but I’m afraid I’ll never be of use in battle again.”
“Because of your injuries?”
“Well, yes,” he said, looking down at his leg. “Of course, when I’m here, everything seems to be right.”
“Keep up your courage, Jaiden.” Criesha stepped slowly closer. “Once you show you are ready to serve me, to give yourself completely to the way of life I demand, I will heal your body. Within my realm, however,” she gestured with open palms to the starry night around them, “you will always be your better self.”
Criesha was close enough now that Jaiden would only have to extend his arms to touch her, yet he dared not. At this proximity he could feel the unseen current between them, binding them, empowering his blood. He was scared to lose that feeling, and eager to do what he must to reclaim the health he’d always taken for granted.
“If you can do that – if you can fix me…” The words escaped quietly, for it was a hard thing to admit aloud he was broken, even though such knowledge had consumed him since his meeting with Ebon Khorel. Jaiden closed his eyes before finishing, “I would do anything.” He collapsed to his knees, overcome.
“Devotion is a beautiful thing.” Her voice was beside him now and he felt the silk of Criesha’s hair against his cheek, the moisture of her breath on the skin of his ear. “All manner of rewards shall follow, should you prove yourself worthy to be my Champion.”
Shiver the Moon Page 9
