Year 8540. Salol - Veirn

GÍLA SENGHU

“Hold on. You can’t just end the battle of Acocaea like that and move on to a new character,” Or’Demp complained.

Gíla snorted and paid the owner of the inn five gold coins for the rooms. “Yes, I can because that was it for the important events of the battle. The rest was clean up, barbarity, and—ultimately—a phyric victory for us. The Dekunians, upon seeing their leader fall, fled in hysteria. We returned to Amphe, weary and changed and significantly depleted in manpower.”

“What happened to the Runemaster’s body after the battle? What happened to Acocaea?”

“The village was unsalvagable for any life beyond that of a reinforced garrison. The river was guarded, and trade in the villages further along the riverfront was strained due to the increased security. As for the Runemaster’s body, we took it with us to show the Duke. A warning to him, I think, to cease his efforts. Audax removed the Runemaster’s head, tore his body apart, and sent the pieces to his mother and the King. The war in Aslofidor was put on hold, though operations in the surrounding countries continued.”

“What the of the Prince and his attacks on the border?” Pinnacle asked.

Gíla led the students to the large dining table in the corner of the feasting hall, beckoning a round of drinks from the bartender. “They failed, though they were close to succeeding. The Prince was ordered to retreat after the Runemaster fell and his corpse defiled. He was furious, as was his mother, and flew into a rage against his father, but understood that without the Runemaster winning Acocaea, sieging Amphe was an impossibility.”

Or’Demp was confounded. “But...if the Runemaster was slain and torn apart, then how...did he just run us out of the Woodlands?”

“Part of the mystery for this story, is it not?” Gíla smiled. “You will learn soon enough. For now, we must cover the events of Tahrir, which I find to be the foremost catalyst for this part of the story. It would be where the war between Duke and King would end at long last.”

Year 220. Amphe, Capital of Duke Polydius Audax - Khirn

CRIUS ALEXANDER TOTALLIS

Crius Alexander Totallis and Nara-ward met the Duke in his dining hall, arriving unannounced but unimpeded by the guards. “The benefits of being an old, respected man and the Holy Bishop of the Church,” Crius laughed warmly as the pair traversed the short way to the Duke’s dining hall, to which Nara-ward smiled and nearly giggled.

“Will I ever have that level of power?” he asked.

“Oh, you will have that level and more if you follow my teachings, my dear boy,” Crius smiled behind his thick, gray beard. “All that and more.”

Upon entering the dining hall, the Duke rose from his cushioned chair and spluttered, to which Crius Alexander Totallis gave him leave to sit down once more and confidently took his place at the table. Nara-ward did so as well.

Sometime later, following small talk and an explanation of the matter, Crius drank his thirteenth cup of coffee and loudly munched on his third berry muffin of the afternoon while his servant slowly drank from his second crystal flute of red wine and softly chewed the corner of his first cream-filled pastry. Duke Audax, a man fatter than an Aqellan hippo, sat opposite them across the table and expressed an inquisitive, doubtful look while silently drinking from his cup of an amber ale.

“Tell me again why I should agree to an armed escort of my Holy Bishop—the Holy Bishop of the Church—to a foreign land to investigate my soldiers while my city is in dire need of spiritual guidance?” the Duke emphasized his question with an exceedingly louder slurp of his ale. “On what? A hunch? A belief? I mean no disrespect, Your Excellency, but this is—”

Crius Alexander Totallis motioned to the Duke’s servant to fill his cup a fourteenth time. “Well, disregarding the fact that you had already agreed to the terms I presented to you, such as costs, who would cover for me during my absence, and the like, I believe this is a calling of the utmost importance. For myself, for my servant here, and all of Aslofidor. Nay, for all of Khirn. This is a matter of dire importance, I’d wager.”

The Duke shook his head. “For my soldiers, yes. Not for the Holy Bishop and his servant boy. I had only agreed to the terms because you would not let it go, Your Excellency. Again, I mean no disrespect, but I cannot in good conscience agree to let you leave the safety of these walls, even with the war in a stalemate. You are too valuable to the people of this land, and if the...Dekunians or the Queen and her brood were to capture you or even bandits, it would be catastrophic. That is not even considering the natural dangers of the road. Storms, hunger, heat, cold.”

A long, loud chug and a fifteenth filling followed by a fourth muffin. Only Nara-ward seemed to care that he was consuming an absurd amount of coffee and pastry. “My Lord Audax, please do not mistake this for my own disrespect, but I cannot in good conscience let this problem transpire. I must be there to stop it.”

The Duke took a loud, heavy breath and set his cup on the table. His guards stood motionless in the room lit by a silver chandelier, the light glinting off the surface of their armor. Crius stared at them for some moments, gauging their spirit. Each but two were weak in body and mind. They would be easier to mold if necessary, though that pair posed some risk.

“My Lord Totallis, please understand that you are—you are an old man, Your Excellency,” the Duke said. “You are the Holy Bishop. You are not suited for roads like the ones you want to travel. If you were to say that you wanted an escort to one of my many towns and villages and parishes, then we would have an understanding. But to leave for a foreign land when we need you most, I cannot condone that, even if you are a Voice of God. We have defeated the Runemaster, the greatest of our foes thus far, but at immense cost to ourselves. We are still recovering, and we need your words. Your guidance. The Belanorians offer what they can but are brutal and rigid, especially now. You are able to speak to humanity, to the soul. I cannot let that go at this time.”

Crius finished the fifteenth cup and placed it on the table with a defining thunk of disappointment. He saw Nara-ward’s face curl in confusion and worry. “That is unfortunate, my Lord. I had hoped that our previous talks would have convinced you. I had hoped that you would not be so bold with your power and authority as to think that you could hold me, the Holy Bishop, in your possession. I had hoped that I would not have to use this simply to leave my position for a single moment. It hurts me to do so. But, as it is, humanity has proven itself complicated time and time again. I am Crius Alexander Totallis, and I want to go to Tahrir to see the unnatural monsters and stop them from worsening. So...as I was saying—”

A bright, blinding flash filled the room alongside a catastrophic sound of thunder. All of Amphe fell still for that instant; their minds were wracked with changing history and the shattering of a wing. Crius blinked away the brightness and straightened his beard, coughing the aetherial smoke from his lungs. “Goodness me, that is never easy on the body.”

When the smoke cleared, all was as it was physically. The Duke sat opposite the pair, hands clasped over the surface of his ornate dining table, his fat face hidden behind a thick goatee that barely his extra chin; the Duke’s guards stood throughout the room, standing unaltered and unaware, even the pair that posed some risk of remaining unchanged; Nara-ward and Crius consumed their food and drank with a nonchalant attitude, the former as oblivious as the rest.

In the weaves of time, however, things were not as it was—

“I am very grateful you have agreed to my proposition, Lord Audax. As it stands, I have all my bags and equipment packed up, along with Nara-ward’s. I shall not require a substantial armed force to ensure my safety, but rather something small, token, elite. Do you have any such force in mind?”

The Duke was silent as his mind rewrote itself to the new history before he inevitably nodded and smiled. “Of course, Your Excellency. I have quite a number that could prove useful to you. The Ashen Shields. The Brazen Hammers. They are stationed in the city. The newly formed Argent Harbingers could also prove useful. I can summon them from the Star Bastion, though bringing them here would take a bit longer.”

Crius looked to Nara-ward. “Your old master, Jira ne’Jiral, is one of its captains, is she not?”

“I believe so,” the young man answered.

“Then I shall choose them and meet them at their fortress. It shall make for a grand reunion. Send word of our arrival ahead of us if you would be so kind, Lord Audax.”

“I shall. Will you require an escort to the Bastion?”

“If I am not safe in your own lands, Duke Audax, then whatever are you doing?”

“Where were you during all of this?” Lu’Rorca asked Alden. “During Acocaea and all of these years after Gortinda?”

“I was there, fighting with the Harbingers,” Alden answered. “I just never made another impact until a particular point.”

Gíla nodded. “That point being now.”

Year 220. The Star Bastion - Khirn

JIRA ne’JIRAL

“Jira!” she barely heard over the hum of activity.

The silver knight urged her red-haired steed to turn away from the inner bailey’s gate. Down the cobbled street lined with thousands of the Bastion’s garrisoned workers, she spotted the encroaching luxury travel cart carrying His Holy Bishop and her former ward, pulled by four massive white stallions. Once impassive at the sight of the Bastion going about its daily business, her face broke into a wide grin.

“Nara!” she cried out, trotting her mount to the cart and turning it back around to match its pace toward the inner gate. The young man smiled at her and held out his hand for her to shake. She would have rather hugged her former ward if she could. The sight of his braces and slightly askew limbs split her heart. “How have you been, young boy—I am sorry, young man?”

“Well enough!” he squeaked in a manner that Jira could have dubbed ‘nostalgic.’ “Crius has taught me many things on top of what you did when I was in your service. I believe I have the potential to truly reach that knowledge of the world that you believed I could have.”

“I am pleased to hear that, Nara,” she said, turning her eyes to the old man. “Thank you, Your Excellency. I am most grateful for you helping him, especially after his injuries. But I am confused. What are you doing here? Alone, no less! Is that not dangerous?”

The old man looked at her with his own confusion. “Where are your soldiers? Where are your gathered forces?”

“Your Excellency?”

The old man grunted and stood up in the cart, placing his hands on his hips like a disapproving father. “We are here to gather your guild and set out for Tahrir!”

“What?” she asked, incredulous. A memory of Milligan’s words played in her mind.

His expression took on a hint of irritation. “Were you not informed of our impending arrival and purpose? The Duke was to have sent out ravens weeks ago.”

Jira shook her head. “I never received word, though my colleagues might have. Come, let me escort you to the Lords. Likely, they will have some answers on this matter.”

The hall was filled with quiet tension, a swarthy grimness on the verge of breaking open into a rage. Even the candles seemed to lack their usual vibrance. Fearful of the reaction the old man would have

“We did receive word of your arrival, Your Excellency,” Count le’Micha informed the old man who stood far more powerful in the center of the hall than she would have expected him to. “Unfortunately, we have had...issues within the Bastion that took the majority of the Harbingers’ numbers. We have our defenders still on the surface, like Lady ne’Jiral, but most of our forces are beneath the mountain as we speak.”

“What matters are more important than a visit from His Holy Bishop? His Holy Bishop with a quest no less!”

Count le’Micha swallowed hard, his voice turning hoarse with worry. “The inhumans. The Drayheller—”

“The Nujant Chhank,” the old man corrected, his voice suddenly harsh and low.

Count le’Micha shared a look with his compatriot, le’Matto, who spoke on his behalf. “The—the Nujant Chhank have discovered something deep within the Bastion and refuse to let any of us see it.”

“Was that not part of the agreement?” Nara-ward asked. “That you would be able to use the Bastion, and they would be able to keep relics they discover?” Per our agreement with them, that is more or less allowed. However, given the growing severity of the war, we are pressing in the hopes that it is a weapon or weapons that we can use.”

The old man’s face darkened, and Jira found herself shuddering at the sight. “So you are seeking to defy your agreement with the noble beasts so that you might slaughter more effectively? That is what is impeding my mission of the utmost importance now? I sent word ahead of our arrival weeks ago, and you stand here unprepared to move out on a time-sensitive mission heralded by His Holy Bishop himself. Unacceptable.”

“Your Excellency—”

Jira felt her breath stop in her throat as the old man took a single step forward. There was something unnatural about it, a warning in her head telling her it was not right. “Unacceptable. Recover the Harbingers from the depths of this mountain. I would not be delayed any longer.”

“What was down there?” Jira asked the returning Alden Rasidaios. The young man had grown considerably in the time between Gortinda and this day, now bearing the appearance of a lean-built lion made into the form of a human. “Is Gíla alright?”

Alden set his longsword and kite shield down next to his bedroll. Goscelin, who rested in the tent just ahead of Alden’s area, immediately reached out to grab the sword and muttered how the edges had been dulled from smacking against the stone walls of the mountain. “She is, though Helgol is as acerbic as ever,” Alden said. “Still ranting and raving that we used his family’s teachings for pure destruction, even though that’s what we told him was going to happen when we asked for it for Acocaea. The old bastard just wants to be mad at us, I think. Surprised he hasn’t tried to fight us.”

Jira nodded and laughed as Goscelin emerged from his tent, carrying the blade upside down by its hilt and marching over to his workshop in the brightly lit, subterranean chamber the Harbingers had made their home. “He threw out that chance when he let us in. His entire family would be put at risk if he did, and I’m not sure Gíla wouldn’t try to stop him rather than join him.”

Alden shrugged and slumped to his bedroll, groaning as the exhaustion in his body visibly took hold. “Be that as it may, I understand why he’s angry at us this time.”

Jira knelt beside him and draped her arms over her knee. “Is it a weapon that they’re guarding?”

Alden twisted his back until it popped and then looked around the immediate area to ensure no one was listening. He kept his voice hushed. "An orrery, Gíla called it. I caught a brief glimpse of it only because Gíla loves me enough to have let me. It’s old, Jira. Older than a lot of stuff here on Khirn. Gíla said her mother dated it to be older than the stuff that’s in Aqella. I’d wager it’s older than whatever the hell you encountered during Acocaea.”

Jira’s eyes widened, her jaw set, then both softened. “Right, I forgot Gíla told you about that.”

Alden smirked. “She tells me a lot.”

Jira sucked on her teeth. "Did you tell Prokos or Sodon?"

“Of course I did.” He lay down on his roll and stretched as far as possible. “Didn’t tell the captains, though. They’d use that against them.”

Jira shot up to the sound of a beating hammer and roaring forge, slowing her breathing when she saw that it was Goscelin fixing Alden’s sword. “How’s Prokos handling it?”

She noticed the look from Alden, but he didn’t press it to her great gratitude. “The man is so used to his shattered worldview that he just went about it normally. Sodon, having died, couldn’t have cared less.”

Jira sat on the ground beside Alden. “Sounds accurate.”

He closed his eyes and crossed his arms under his head. “So, what are we being pulled away from that lovely bonding between two races for?”

A loud crash of yelling and clamor choked her words. Harbingers fighting each other out of irritation or clashing with members of the standard unguilded garrison. “We’re going to serve as the armed escort for His Holy Bishop, Crius Alexander Totallis, into Tahrir.”

Alden sat up. “Tahrir? Isn’t that...one of the places—”

“Yes.”

He rubbed his nose violently and pressed his fingers against his jaw until the joints popped. “Coincidence?”

Jira laughed as ruefully as a human could. “Nothing’s a coincidence anymore. Not in this world. Even after being remade and placed outside fate, it still pushes us on its path.”