ARC 1 - SANCTITY

CHAPTER 2 - LIFELONG MENTOR

Thousands of metal pieces glinted in the meager firelight from torches on the end of each row of the countless shelves. Raegn straddled a wooden bench in the back of the armory surrounded by the stockpiled weapons and armor. His black hair was still damp with sweat and the stone walls cooled the air that hung in the room. He’d given the report at the keep immediately upon their return, but by the time he’d reached the armory his vanguard had finished storing their gear and moved on.

This is what he had wanted, was it not? Bearing the burden of leadership meant alienating oneself to a certain degree. Even so, he reminisced of days when he had first joined the Sentinels. When Ulrich had led the First Vanguard and he had simply been one of the rest, jesting and laughing with the others after a successful trip. These days he often found himself alone, meticulously preparing for the next excursion.

The whetstone’s rasp on the edge of the blade lulled him into a slight trance, each measured stroke against the metal a familiar echo in his mind. Caring for his equipment was the first thing he’d been taught related to combat. Before being permitted to swing a sword or raise a shield Raegn had stitched holes in garments, cleaned countless blades, and repaired links in chainmail until the tips of his fingers bled.

“Combat is chaos,” Ulrich had said to a boy no older than eight, “so many opportunities for mistakes. For failure. Do not let your equipment be one of them.”

Raegn despised the work at first, but tolerated the time on stiff benches by daydreaming of the legends from Ulrich’s stories. Glorious tales of mighty warriors that fought alongside the Archangels, Lightborne, and Angels centuries ago - men and women fabled to have saved humanity from extinction through exceptional valor. As a boy Raegn had been more attentive to the tales than Ulrich’s other teachings, so the Old Bear began to weave lessons into the stories in order to keep the child focused. Now the fables helped to lessen the loneliness as he recounted them and imagined a future in which his own might be told among them.

“Your reputation would soften some if you didn’t look like you were always about to kill something with what you’re sharpening,” a gruff voice said.

Raegn’s hand paused at the end of the stroke. He hadn’t noticed the approach of the worn face that towered over him. It was mostly covered by a fist-length beard that had less black and more white with each passing day. Similarly-colored hair hung off the man’s head and met the edge of the beard just below the ears. There was also a scar that crossed the forehead at an angle and ended just below the eye - another tale and a lesson in overconfidence from years long gone.

“It only took two seasons in the Sentinels for everyone to call me Reaper,” Raegn said, testing the edge of the blade with his thumb. “It took several years after my birth for the other lords to learn how to pronounce my actual name.”

Ulrich hummed in agreement. “‘Raegn’, like a king ‘reigns’. I remember your father scolding them at every gathering.”

“I would take being known over being an afterthought,” Raegn muttered, and took the stone to the metal once more.

“If you insist.”

The Old Bear took a seat on the opposite end of the bench and waited. Raegn could feel his mentor’s eyes on him. He knew what would come next and there was little point in keeping the old warrior waiting. With a measured breath, he placed the whetstone on the table and took care not to rap the tip of the spear as he propped it against the wall.

“I had hoped you would come with praise,” Raegn said, “but judging by your frown I suppose I should prepare for the opposite.”

Ulrich sighed. “I suppose I can give both. Which would you hear first?”

“The praise.”

“Very well.” Ulrich licked his lips and adjusted his position on the bench to square himself against Raegn. “You have led your vanguard to an accomplishment not seen since it was demanded by the ferocity of all-out war. I am proud of your dedication and I hope you see the fruits that deliberate training and planning can bear.”

Raegn’s head bobbed slightly. A compliment, to be sure, but the taste was wrong. There was a sourness hidden in the tone. Or perhaps it was the anticipation of the bitterness that would come next.

Ulrich let the words fall and settle into the stone of the armory. Then, when the sound of the crackling torches filled the room, softly inquired, “But why try it?”

Raegn studied the bench for a time, delaying the inevitable. Ulrich’s brown eyes weren’t fierce. Not now, at least. When had he come to favor his mentor’s anger over disappoint? And why did the latter always hurt worse?

“If it could be done by us in four days, it should be possible for others to do it in five or six,” he explained. “If the threat were ever to become greater, more vanguards could be cycled in. We could even have eyes out every two to three days instead of every six or seven. Or perhaps go beyond the Ridge!”

Ulrich cocked a brow. “It wasn’t because you tire of routine trips that aren’t worthy of legend?”

Raegn bit his lip. Of course seeking glory had been part of his reasoning. He had hoped his mentor wouldn’t arrive at that conclusion so soon, but there was little point in trying to hide it now.

“Yes, I saught glory,’ Raegn confessed, “but what is that desire besides motivation to achieve greatness? Our ancestors didn’t win the Void War by being meek and patient.”

“They didn’t win it - the unity of the realm and the Archangels did.”

“They fought alone with no help from the Heavens for years! They were willing to fight to the last! What is that if not seeking glory?”

His mentor sighed and stroked his beard with a gloved hand. The contemplative warrior - the only blemish on Ulrich’s otherwise formidable character. Raegn scowled. Before him sat the marshal of Bastion’s forces and the strongest man in the city’s recent history - a man he had grown to respect as much if not more so than his own father. The Old Bear belonged in battle, yet here Ulrich Aldway sat, counseling him the same way as when Raegn was a child.

“Glory is fleeting, boy,” Ulrich said. “You will chase it until the chase consumes you. Had you brought this idea to me I would have advised you that your plan only increases the physical toll on each Sentinel. I would almost guarantee that your method would bring losses from fatigue.”

“Would most not take that risk?” Raegn replied. “The Sentinels have been declining in numbers for years, Ulrich, because there is less to be proud of with each passing of the seasons!”

“You cannot possibly know what others are willing to risk,” Ulrich answered. “And our numbers have been declining because there are fewer with the required affinity born each year. We are still luckier than most areas of the Realm, from what I understand of the reports from the Church.”

Ulrich paused and Raegn was unable to meet his gaze. The words of counsel would not yet be over. No matter how he argued, the Old Bear would make him see some error in his decision. Did the old warrior not realize he had wanted to please him, too? To show that the years of guidance had not been in vain? Raegn tried to relax the fists that rested on his thighs, rubbing away the sweat that had appeared in his palms.

“Have I ever told you of someone I once mentored that was like you?” Ulrich asked.

“No,” Raegn mumbled. “Do I know them?”

“No. They were exiled when you were hardly older than an infant.”

For Ulrich to take someone under his wing they must’ve been of some importance. His stomach dropped. Was completing a scouting trip so quickly worthy of such a punishment? Was Ulrich going to banish him? No, the Old bear couldn’t. His father would never allow that. “Is that a threat?” he retorted.

“Of course not,” Ulrich replied.

“Then why bring it up? Who were they?”

“Who an exile is does not matter. As for why...” Ulrich took a deep breath and Raegn noticed the subtle movement of the old man’s jaw by the twitches of his beard. “They had become a danger not only themselves but to those they fought alongside. Anger clouded their mind. I failed to soften it, so they were banished to protect us.”

There was a story there, but for some reason his mentor didn’t seem to keen on telling it. Still, the stories never came without a reason. “If banishment isn’t a potential consequence I fail to see the lesson here, Ulrich.”

“The lesson,” the Old Bear began, “is that if you fail to control your emotions you will get those under your command killed. It would only take one mistake for the rest your people to resent you for it.”

“I didn’t plan this in anger,” Raegn complained. “I considered the alternatives and made an informed decision, just as you have always instructed.”

“And I recognize the improvement, but in the future, you should bring these ideas not only to me, but to the War Council before implementing them.”

Raegn threw up his hands. “And what have they done? Decades of the same methods while the Sentinels slowly wither. At least I was bold enough to try and make a change!”

That earned a soft chuckle from the Old Bear. Ulrich leaned back and crossed his thick arms over his chest. Rolled sleeves exposed coarse hair and several scars, each a sign of a battle fought and a battle won. “They can be a bit stubborn, can’t they? Have you considered, perhaps, taking a different route to implement your ideas? From a different role, perhaps?”

Raegn swung his leg over the bench. There was too much wisdom in those tired eyes for him to try and look into them any longer. “Please, Ulrich, your efforts to convince me to act more lordly carry little weight coming from a lifelong warrior.”

“My experience carries all the weight it needs. A warrior alone may be mighty, but a group well-led is unstoppable, like—”

“Oswald?” Raegn interjected. He knew this lesson and the story that accompanied it. It was one of his favorites as a child. One of a valiant warrior that stood alongside heavenly beings as the leader of humanity during the Void War.

“Yes,” Ulrich continued, “like Oswald, First Highlord of the Templar Order. He brought together the strongest of his generation and founded the Order. A lesson that the leader can be far more important than the blade-wielder.”

Raegn shook his head. “You would have me step down as a Sentinel? Spend my days arguing with the other lords over supplies and coin?”

“Yes!” The enthusiasm caught Raegn off guard and he leaned away as the Old Bear leaned in. “Yes,” Ulrich repeated, “because that is how you create the change you wish to see. Your father may have scouted with the Sentinels years ago while he sat on the throne, but it was one of many ways he kept himself visible to his people. His reason, his true purpose, was to understand the needs of the city and provide for them. To create an environment for prosperity.”

Raegn scoffed. “Yet now he never leaves the halls of the keep.”

“All the more reason for you to prepare to sit on the throne, boy.” Ulrich slapped Raegn on the shoulder. “At the very least you could give Bastion another heir if you intend to continue your reckless pursuits.”

Finally, the counsel was over. This was a conversation Raegn could deal with. He’d been having these discussions with the Old Bear for nearly a decade now and this was the one area in which he might hold more experience than his mentor. Raegn laughed. “Ah yes, yet another duty I’ve failed to fulfill.”

“And one of the easier ones at that. You even have the perfect prospect if you would simply marry Raelle and give her a child.”

“You want me to marry a cursed girl?” Raegn grabbed his spear and walked to the front of the armory. That ought to get a rise out of him, Raegn said as he placed his weapon on the rack.

“Of all the stories you believe, don’t tell me that’s one of them,” Ulrich huffed, then stood to lean against the doorframe at the end of the armory. The wood creaked under his weight and he adjusted himself to ensure he was in the middle of the frame. “And don’t deny that you’ve been keen on her.”

“Of course I don’t believe it,” Raegn said with a wave of his hand. “It was a dark day when she was born. She has gray hair and gray eyes. As if any of that matters. If she didn’t distract herself with learning the duties of her father she might equal me as a Sentinel.”

Ulrich raised his brow, arms folded and a smug grin plastered on his face. Raegn shut his eyes. Perhaps staying on the topic had been a poor choice. The Old Bear frequently admitted to never enjoying romance and that left Raegn with no information to fight back with. This would be a one-sided talk on his personal affairs—not something he wanted to discuss with someone he considered family.

“And I don’t deny it,” Raegn said under his breath. “Though that was years ago,” he added quickly. “I’m not sure either of us feels the same as we once did.”

“Perhaps she only became a Sentinel to stay close to you. Has she not been attempting to prepare you for the throne as well?” Ulrich offered.

Raegn rolled his eyes. “She has. And between the two of you, I spend nearly all my waking hours annoyed by that talk.”

“Then the only way to win is to comply, boy. I’ll stop bringing it up if you would at least start attending meetings of the War Council on a regular basis.”

Raegn studied his mentor. New wrinkles appeared on the man’s cheeks as the grin grew. “Fine.”

“Good.” The grin widened to show a bit of teeth between chapped lips and disappeared when Ulrich turned to exit the armory. “Come then, if we walk quickly the hall might still have fresh bread. Your unexpected return broke my routine and now I haven’t eaten.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Raegn mumbled.

Ulrich gave a hearty laugh, but Raegn hadn’t meant it as an insult—the man was far from fat. Ulrich stood a full head taller and significantly broader at the shoulder with thick legs holding up the sizable frame. In fact, the last time Raegn had seen him in the baths he still rippled with muscle. An Old Bear, but a fierce one still.

Wind tousled hair, youthful black and battle-worn gray, as the two walked from the armory along dirt paths and up carved stone steps edged with wooden braces towards the keep. Even now, when the Realm would’ve considered him a man several years ago, Raegn still felt like a child next to the Old Bear.