Guarding Darkness: Guarding Darkness, #1

By Jonathan Never

Guarding Darkness: Volume One, about 350pp.

"If you have any doubts or uncertainty about your commitment to the Old Ways -- this is the chance I'm giving you to back out. I won't hold it against you, and I'll let you go freely. But if you stay and continue, know this; that every moment you are with me, you are in danger, and if things go as I suspect they will, soon every moment you are with yourself, you'll be in danger. Is that the life you want, Evergreen?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Never
• Release date: Jan 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386624141

Jonathan Never

Jonathan Never is an old-fashioned family man who enjoys teaching his kids, doting on his wife, and cultivating hobbies including storytelling, music, computer games, exercising, and volunteering at his church. Inquiries can be sent to [e-mail]

Book preview

Prologue

SPELLTORCHES FLICKERED orange and purple on the timeworn stone walls. The Warden paced the long hall to the only occupied cell, each step heavy but graceful. Behind the unbreakable, enchanted alloy bars sat the Prisoner. The last prisoner.

The Warden sighed. You know those words on that wall gave people hope when they were whole. What do they have now? What if they find out?

The etched words of the Song of the End Times, partially destroyed, glowed against the dark.

The warning to those at the end:

seek not for home nor trust in friends,

for none who stay survive the day,

when all the world begins again.

The players gather to thei———-

——-lay the play that ends the age.

Through broken gates, ther——-waits,

when all the world is——————-.

The traitor will re——————

the so—————nd then for——

the no—————————————————

when———————————————-

The Prisoner's aged chair creaked. Heroes and villains. The only difference is who's telling the story.

That doesn't sound like you talking. The Warden frowned. I really thought—

The Prisoner broke in. No, but you misunderstand. It does matter who is telling the story. Sometimes one side tells you more truth than the other.

The Warden's eyes narrowed. You're saying there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for... all of it?

The Prisoner sat forward and met the Warden's eyes. What if there was something, a piece of information that, if you knew it, would change your entire world? The real question is whether you want to know. Because once you learn the secret, you can never forget.

1: Space Rock

EVERGREEN, SON OF CEDAR, had never been more nervous in all of his seventeen years. Leisure walks in peaceful woodlands were supposed to combat anxiety, but the trees only looked as hopeless as he felt. In an hour's time he would stand toe-to-toe with Coiren the Defender and face the Gauntlet, the final trial that granted the victor full membership in the Acrylota city Militia or doomed the failing trainee to an extra year at the Academy.

He sighed, looking to the heavens for answers, but froze as a flashing light streaked across the distant treetops against morning sky. Wonder turned to fear as the light thundered in his direction, shaking his bones. He scrambled behind an abandoned wagon. The hilt of his sword dug into his ribs as whatever it was roared past him. There was an eerie pause, then the ground shook, and the sound of the world breaking split the air. Thick wind rushed past him amid the noise of shattering trees.

Evergreen coughed and brushed dirt from his short, unruly hair as he ventured out from behind the wagon. Chunks of trees, exploded rocks, and patches of fire lay scattered across an enormous crater. Evergreen doubted he could throw a stone from one end to the other. He shook his head at the scene, muttering incredulously. Just the sky falling. That's all.

At the center of the crater sat a lumpy stone glowing so brightly that Evergreen had to squint his eyes. Patches of varying colors pulsed around its edges like sunlight through a crystal. Instinct or daring guided his hand toward it. He shuddered as his fingertip neared the brilliant surface until... nothing. Well, almost nothing. Just a little warm. He scoffed and scratched his head as he turned the stone over in his hand, then started back toward the city's North Gate.

He had barely taken four steps when a wave of unseen force pushed him sideways onto one knee. He gasped, fighting off sudden nausea. Tunnel-vision encircled him as something awoke within his mind. He took in a deep breath, got to his feet, and shook his head, the incident quickly fading from his memory.

On his way back toward the city gate and ever closer to the Gauntlet, Evergreen teetered between moments of near panic, and curious distraction. The thought had occurred to him that the strange rock may have something inside of it. His attempts to open it, however, had only proven that the rock was impervious to swords, tree trunks, other rocks, water, fish, and blood, though he admittedly discovered that part on accident while testing it against other rocks.

Evergreen was attempting scratch the glowing rock's surface with a shard of broken glass as he walked, when his hand slipped, leaving an inch long gash on his finger. He shouted as the rock fell from his hands. In a fit of rage, Evergreen kicked it as hard as he could, sending it rolling across the grass until it swished into some bushes. He shouted as pain erupted in his foot, and he fell forward.

With a sudden recklessness he scrambled to the bushes and dug through the leaves until the rock was back in his hands. He stared at it as he caught his breath. Was he so afraid of losing it? He sighed. Whatever this thing is, I don't need everyone in the city asking questions along with me.

He stuffed the rock into his messenger bag and checked the position of the sun. He swore as he took off in a run. The morning's diversion—amazing as it was—had set him back, and he couldn't afford to be late.

ACRYLOTA WAS THE OLDEST, largest, and most mysterious city in the entire continent of Vail, perhaps the world. Prominent and imposing, it sat on a low hill that looked like a mountain leveled off. Massive walls encircled the city with four towering spires at the points of the compass that harbored its four gates. Though much of the city itself remained almost untouched by time, its inhabitants, wars, and rulers had left a long history of conflict and change.

As the city's North Gate drew near, Evergreen considered the strange rock. Unlike Acrylota, this was something new and different. He considered the possibility that the rock was a sign from... from who? Or what? The Creator? If the old tales were true. Or maybe it was one of the other gods that some folk believed in. Evergreen wasn't sure which of it was true, if any of it was.

Evergreen, did you see it? One of the gate guards gave a worried look as Evergreen passed under the stone arch, and the North Gate began closing behind him. The guard raised both his arms toward the sky like wings, asking Auras to protect him. Like something out of the legends. You saw it, right?

Evergreen turned his messenger bag away from the guards. Uh, just. I don't know, Klydon. Could have been bears maybe. He shrugged.

As the wind picked up, Klydon began batting at a corner of an enormous tapestry that was flapping into his face. The tapestry bore the sigil of Acrylota in white, a line in the shape of the circular city walls as if seen from above, with a smaller circle over each point of the compass, and a square in the center. We protect the city from threats outside and in, but who protects us when the city assaults us? Klydon spat and struggled to free himself from the tapestry.

Evergreen smiled and waved as he hurried off. He had hoped that running the rest of the way back would have given him time to walk and prepare mentally for the Gauntlet, but just as the North Gate was out of sight, the way forward became impassible. A noisy crowd blocked the entire street. Drawing on years of experience exploring the area, Evergreen used the alleys and side streets to work his way around the crowd.

Deeper into the city, a gap between two buildings finally allowed a good look at what was causing all the commotion. Soldiers in strange armor that looked to be made of sand moved in unison with fantastic horned horses. Long pointed ears protruded from slits in soldiers' helmets, and each of them bore a two-tailed flag of light brown with a white Seashell emblem. Elves, the race of people that only shared pointed ears as a common feature among all their varieties. Acrylota was home to many sorts of people, but these foreign elves were unlike any Evergreen knew. He guessed they were the water-loving railan elves by their Seashell emblem. What they were doing in Acrylota, he—

Evergreen tripped, and stumbled forward. He swore, but righted himself, glaring at a tree root protruding from the ground. The flap of his messenger bag had skewed to one side, revealing the glowing rock. He shoved it deeper into his bag and glanced around, relieved to find himself alone.

The alley emptied onto a street that was thick with people. Evergreen groaned. You've got to be kidding me. Seeing there was no longer any other option, he wedged himself through the crowd—a little more violently than he thought polite—and emerged on the other side. A pair of militia men patrolled past him, one of them giving an animated rehearsal of the sky flashing and something falling. One of the man's hands was missing some fingers, and Evergreen's mind wandered to the militia veterans who had lost fingers or even whole limbs. How must life be for them? He shuddered and thanked whatever greater power might be listening that he was well and whole.

The wall of buildings fell behind, and Evergreen crossed a low bridge into Horsemen's Square, the city's open center. It was so named for the statue of Four Horsemen that stood prominently in the middle. The Darkblade river ran from southwest to northeast through the city and parted into a pair of canals around Horsemen's Square. A stone rise for public address or performance surrounded the statue, and four impressive buildings stood at the points of the compass around the edge of the square.

On the north edge, taller than any other structure in their province of Manatel, stood the Citadel, the seat of Acrylota's government. On the south edge was the Sanctuary, the seat of the prominent religious body, and a haven for people who couldn't take care of themselves. On the west edge was the abandoned prison, and on the east edge was Bern's Hall, a very old structure that had served as the headquarters of the city Militia since before anyone could really remember.

As the Hall came into view over the heads of the crowd, Evergreen marveled anew at these buildings, their size, design, and endurance. It was the only word for Acrylota. It endured. Even when Manatel had separated from the Allied Kingdoms of Vail to become independent, before Evergreen was born, Bern's Hall had been the site of the final treaty that had ended the wars, affording it the symbolism of peace through vigilance and duty.

Few things sparked enough public interest to fill Horsemen's Square, but it seemed that the flashing sky and thunderous crash must have had everyone in an uproar. Evergreen feared they would ask him to explain what had happened to him until he listened to what they were saying. None of them were talking about thundering crashes or lights in the sky at all. It was all about the foreigners. Had the foreign visitors had something to do with it?

He waded through the sea of people toward Bern's Hall. If the glowing rock that had come from—where? Outer space? He considered the angle of its flight and decided that it must have. And that settled it. No foreigners, however impressive, could pull a rock down from outer space. And, even if they could, they wouldn't send it off into the woods away from where they were. But how curious it was that no one seemed to be discussing it. As if they had already forgotten.

He patted his messenger bag, and hurried on. This had to be the work of someone or something else. But who or what could cause such a disturbance that everyone would just forget about the same day? He shook his head. Speculation would have to wait.

Evergreen pushed open the heavy doors of Bern's Hall with a shaky breath. Bern was a rather common name, and no one even remembered for sure which Bern the Hall was referring to. It didn't matter. Bern couldn't help him now.

EVERGREEN SLUMPED BACK against the wall of the foyer in Bern's Hall. Coiren, the Defender. He pressed his hands along the sides of his head. Saying it aloud did not make him feel any more ready.

Five years in the Acrylota Militia Training Academy at Bern's Hall had brought him to this one, final test. He had been preparing for the Gauntlet since he had finished primary school. Most recruits spent five years in the Academy. A few even managed to move into full Militia service in as little as three years, like Rain, Evergreen's older brother. All of them, however, had retained a reverence, even a fear of the Gauntlet. Rain did not talk about it willingly, saying that becoming a true soldier required a lot of a man. That was the attitude their father had about such things. An attitude Rain faithfully shared. Evergreen preferred to get to the heart and facts. Vague, mystical words only served to irritate him, but none of those who had braved the Gauntlet before him would budge on the matter.

An arched door at the top of a short set of steps opened. Bladon, an Academy student with long blonde hair emerged with a grin, having clearly passed. Bladon didn't seem to notice Evergreen as he strode by. Evergreen wished he could just skip ahead to when he, too, would wear that same smile and walk with that same triumphant spring. Even if it was not his heart's desire, being a soldier was something he desperately needed. The rent on the small house he and his brother shared had been going up, and the extra income would mean Evergreen could finally pull his own weight.

People like Bladon didn't have to worry about such things. Coming from wealthy families, they seemed to have whatever they wanted at their fingertips, where people like Evergreen and Rain struggled just to avoid having to live in the Runoff, the Edge, or other bad parts of town.

Evergreen gave himself an enthusiastic nod and a whisper. Just a one on one test with the captain of the Militia. Just that. He would do it. He would pass his test and move on in his life to a good income, good associates who had your back in a pinch, and not the least of all, the pride that comes with defending Acrylota from threats outside and inside its walls. Furthermore, at a time of relative peace, it was a lot less swords and blood and a lot more putting out fires and rescuing adventurous children from trees and rooftops.

Two Militia sergeants crossed the foyer, deep in discussion. That's the second disappearance this week, and there were four more in the last month.

The older of the two put a hand to his chin. And those are just the ones that have been reported. Troubling.

They went into an office and closed the door before Evergreen could get more of what they were saying. Disappearances were not uncommon, but six in less than a month was troubling indeed. Earlier that week, Rain had fended off a significant attack from some local bandits by the North Gate. Rain was not one to boast, and even took great measures to downplay his accomplishments in favor of giving the Militia the credit, but some stories could not be contained. Twenty-to-one, and he came away with little more than a flesh wound. Were the bandits to blame for the disappearances?

Evergreen stood and paced. How long was Coiren going to make him wait? Perhaps this was part of the test. To wear you down with impatience so it's harder to concentrate.

A gruff, truculent voice broke the air. I suppose you're next.

Evergreen whirled around. He knew that voice, though he had only heard it a few times. Coiren the Defender stood before him at the top of the stairs, silhouetted against the light in the training hall behind him, hands on his hips, and a knowing look on his weathered face. They said the might of Auras, the God of Justice, dwelt within him. One of the dwarves, a race of stout determined people that made up for their lack of height with enormous spirit, he was more than a full foot shorter than Evergreen, with a bald head, icy blue eyes, and a graying beard that was separated in the middle by a shaven chin, leaving two points that resembled a warrior's helm. He was not the least bit bothered by Evergreen's height advantage, which made him all the more intimidating. The only thing that didn't add to his intimidation was the tired look in his eyes. Evergreen wondered if he had filled in for a night watch.

Coiren beckoned Evergreen up the stairs with a wave as he turned back to the training arena. Come on, let's see what you've got for me.

Evergreen followed, his nervousness rising. It all came down to this. The next couple of hours would decide the next year of his life. Coiren was examining him even then as they reached the training arena. Weapons lined the walls, leather mats covered parts of the floor, and large windows near the high ceiling allowed just enough darkness to keep one alert.

As a soldier, Coiren was an example. Every muscle of his body toned and worked to perfection in combat. Rain had told Evergreen that Coiren didn't train, he was just that active in the first place. Coiren retrieved a piece of parchment and beckoned.

Evergreen followed him onto one of the mats in the center of the arena.

Coiren's eyes scanned the parchment. Did you see the folk from Sandridge out there? Fine militia they've got. And horses. I haven't seen so many horses since the Plague War. Leave it to the elves to put on a show. He gave Evergreen a quick glance, then continued reading. "It says here you're half-elf, Evergreen?"

Yes, sir. My father, Cedar, is a shalan elf, and my mother was human, sir. She died in childbirth.

Coiren laughed. That's the trouble with half-people.

Sir?

Bloody impossible to know one when you see one. The human side always takes over. So you're Cedar's second son. I knew your father well, as I'm sure your brother's told you. Coiren nodded.

Yes, sir. My father was a hero, and I'm honored to represent our family in the—as... today.

Coiren looked back, and smiled. You can lose the formality anyhow, lad. I just like to know a soldier's heritage so I know how to get the best understanding of his capabilities, but I suspect with a brother like yours, you'll do fine. And I'm sorry about your mother. Mine passed when I was fourteen. I know your father took it pretty hard when it happened.

Evergreen hesitated. Sir, I—very well. I'm sorry, too.

The dwarf laughed. Call me Coiren. And try to relax. I won't get to see what you're really made of if you're nervous. Your brother tells me you're a fine soldier when you're collected.

Evergreen wasn't sure what to say. Rain's guidance was the main reason he had joined the Militia. If not for his brother, he wasn't sure what he would do. Join the circus, perhaps. He took a deep breath.

Coiren made a few preparations for whatever he had in store, his famous sword-axe, Carver, lying next to some sturdy-looking dwarvish woad armor made almost entirely of wrought metal. Carver was a weapon of Coiren's own design, and had become a symbol of terror among criminals. Instead of 'running you through properly' like a sword, its heavy hacks and chops just left an enemy in mangled pieces.

Steady on, then. Coiren clapped, and rubbed his hands together. First things first, do you have any magic?

Evergreen stepped into the center of the arena with Coiren, the light from the high windows casting harsh shadows on their faces, and illuminating bits of dust floating in the air. This was a complicated question. Magic, as rare and powerful as it was rumored to be, was met with distrust, and even ridicule anymore. So much that it was impossible to tell real magic from a performer's illusions. Some older people still clung to a belief in magic as a gift from the gods. Evergreen was happy with science, but since he wasn't sure whether Coiren was hopeful to find a wizard or seeing if he had his head on straight, he just shook his head.

Coiren nodded anticlimactically. That's fine. I just wanted to know if you had a refined ability we should know to make use of. Since you're half-elf, I'll expect you to be pretty quick.

Evergreen nodded, not sure if Coiren was joking with him. Lots of guys are stronger, but it doesn't matter if they can't catch me. He hoped it didn't sound too bold.

Coiren punched the palm of his hand. I like that confidence, now show me what's behind it.

Any notions Evergreen had of Coiren's tiredness resulting in easy trials quickly evaporated. They ran through a series of progressively more grueling tests, each determining his ability in one area or another. Evergreen struggled to keep pace but managed with a few close calls. By the time they had finished dodges, sprints, grapples, takedowns, escapes, blow taking, and a dozen other things, Evergreen was panting and sweaty, while Coiren looked like he had just finished a brisk walk. He motioned to one of the worn benches. Sit down, Evergreen. Let's talk.

Evergreen was only just getting control of his breathing, and resorted to a nod. He wondered how good his performance had been, and whether his near exhaustion would show effort, or want for additional training.

You've done well in the tests, lad, but I'd like to know a little about your commitment. Is the Militia something you see as a life for you?

Evergreen tried not to sound overly enthusiastic. Absolutely. It's really the best option for me at this point. There are so many benefits with this.

All right. How do you feel about the people of Acrylota? Would you protect them? Serve them? Coiren met Evergreen's eyes with hard intensity. Would you bleed for them, Evergreen? Even if they didn't like you? Even if they didn't want your help at all?

Evergreen inhaled. This was what it really meant, wasn't it? A soldier had to be willing to put his life on the line, perhaps every day, regardless of how he felt about people as individuals. He thought he could see the weight in Coiren's bloodshot eyes. Carrying the well-being of friend and foe alike, putting their lives before yours. It was a staggering responsibility. He let out a shaky breath. Yes.

Coiren paused for a moment, stroking one side of his beard. I see. I thank you for your time, Evergreen. You've made good progress for five years. I think by next year, you'll be more than ready. Coiren got up and went about preparing the arena for the next student. Evergreen froze, dumbfounded. He tried to figure out where he had gone wrong, but nothing added up. He went over the whole thing in his mind again. Was the glowing rock somehow unlucky? At length he stood, gathered his things, and lumbered toward the door. It was over. What would he do now? Beg Rain to keep covering more than his share of their expenses as the cost of things kept rising every season? He knew Rain would not be happy, and part of him wondered if Rain might kick him out. He would deserve it. He sighed, and only barely noticed Coiren beckoning him over.

Coiren shook his head. Sit down, Evergreen. I want to tell you why you've failed.

A combination of hope, frustration, and confusion swirled in Evergreen's mind as he took the nearest bench.

You did well on the physical tests, not great, but well enough for your age. You answered the questions right, but I need answers that show they mean something to you. Evergreen was about to protest, but Coiren continued before he could. Then, when you thought you'd failed, you just sat there, and eventually left. No questions, no fighting it. You didn't stand up for yourself. A soldier has to know who they are and what they want and be willing to defend it. Or else how can he defend others?

Evergreen wanted to kick something.

If you want to, train up for another year, and get some real confidence—not just the kind you say you have—the kind that comes from testing yourself against the unknown and finding out what you're really made of. Do you understand?

Evergreen sighed. Coiren was right. It reminded him of how his father taught him in his younger years, replacing shame with wisdom, but sometimes the shame was just too strong at first. I do. I just have to find out what's really right for me, and work hard enough to deserve it.

Coiren yawned as he clapped Evergreen on the back. Very good. If you really want to become a soldier, stick with Rain. He can teach you everything you need to know, but if you really want to go anywhere in life, stick with yourself. You'll always be your own greatest challenge, and if you let yourself become your own enemy, you'll always know how best to hurt yourself, but if you become your own ally, you'll always have someone on your side you can trust. If that makes you a finer soldier, I'd be glad to have you, if it doesn't, you'll be better off in the end.

Evergreen sighed silently at being told, once again, to just do as his brother did, then a grin pressed its way across his face. Coiren hadn't said to follow Rain, had he? In his annoyance, Evergreen almost missed the rest of the message, and he then found himself thrilled at the prospect it gave him.

Coiren raised his brow. Steady on. What's got you so riled all of a sudden?

Evergreen looked up as if noticing Coiren for the first time again. I think I'm going to go talk to Ethlem.

Coiren rubbed his chin. Ethlem? Which Ethlem?

Evergreen stood slowly. He had never heard the name Ethlem before being introduced to Ethlem himself. I... I don't know his last name. Not many Ethlems around, I suppose. He shrugged, gave Coiren a quick salute, then hurried down the stairs, stopping only to call back. Thank you.

It was a way out. He hopped down the outside steps and turned into the wind. The thrill of it all was like a cozy fire in his soul. He had another chance, another option. All he needed was for Ethlem to say yes.

2: Deaf Ears

MOTHER OF ALL... AVADANN Kedeth watched the multicolored comet speed toward some unfortunate patch of land. He shielded his eyes then brushed back his slightly greying hair behind the collar of his weathered duster. Looks like this is going to be a busy— A sound like thunder broke the air, and everyone nearby looked around.

Avadann stared into sky. He would have to report this. The Quorum liked to keep their records, and exceptional events may help secure the aid he needed. Though sometimes difficult or slow, the Quorum always came through. If there was one thing he could rely on, it was purpose. A true purpose working for the greater good. The warm safety of being right. The foundation his life and ways were built upon.

Everyone in Horsemen's Square was speculating wildly about the flashing sky and crack of thunder, the procession and ambassador from Sandridge all but forgotten. Avadann rolled his eyes. It happened about every decade. Each of the provinces would send an ambassador around to all the others just to make sure no one really meant to go to war with anyone else. There was comfort in tradition.

Avadann let the wind blow his hair and coat behind him as he plodded forward. He thought it looked impressive, despite the way he leaned on his cane with every other step. The cane was fashioned out of steelwood and blackened with age, with the grip in the shape of a wolf's head and the tip like its paw. He frowned as he stepped off toward the Citadel and Hall of Governors, trying to ignore the constant background of pain in his right knee. He scoffed. The Hall of Governors indeed. He shook his head. I remember when it was that fine restaurant. Those were the days.

In his memory, Acrylota had gone from very old to ancient while its citizens had, once again, become preoccupied with their small lives, blissfully unaware of the bigger picture. Blissful until now, for even this morning the hour was late, and he had civil unrest to cause. Though the lights and thunder a few moments ago may have upstaged him.

The Song of the End Times reverberated in his mind as he muttered some of its words. The Noble. Of all the characters in the song, this one interested and concerned him the most. Perhaps it represented the complacent people of his time. Things had been easy for far too long, and it was time the current generation of Acrylota got a good idea of how much trouble they were in. They didn't remember dark times past, and if they wouldn't learn, they would face darker times ahead.

Soon the Citadel's ancient stones gleamed in his view. A pair of uninviting doors towered before him, flanked on either side by smaller, more sensible ones. One of them opened, and a young man in spectacles and an official-looking Militia uniform came through.

The young man leaned in and spoke in a low voice. The small doors are easier.

Avadann had become accustomed to official-looking people wondering what he was up to. He smiled. Are you the doorman?

My name's Rain. Militia Lieutenant and assistant to Coiren the Defender. Rain held out a hand bearing several scars and a palpable confidence.

Sure as a full moon, Avadann knew a warrior when he saw one. He took Rain's hand and shook. Do you always have to introduce yourself with all that?

Rain broke their handshake. Just making sure everyone knows who to talk to if they're in trouble, what with the procession.

You don't have to remind me. Thanks for keeping the city safe.

Rain seemed taken aback. Right. You're welcome. He nodded and hurried toward the Sanctuary.

Avadann considered the enormous Citadel doors for a moment, but thought the better of it, and made his way to the smaller door Rain had used. In the hall ahead sat the current Governors of the most powerful, oldest, and most influential city in all of Vail. Acrylota—of all places—deserved the best leadership, but they were all of them fools. He stopped, putting a hand to his chin. Except maybe Jepkin. I like Jepkin. The man sees sense most of the time.

Into the foyer and quietly through a hallway and a plush waiting area, he found the door leading to the Hall of Governors hanging ajar. Avadann took inventory of each voice as they echoed down the spacious hall.

Baez Marcardre's nasally sneer silenced the other voices. Very well, what of the kingdoms? Have we recent news?

Borus with his bold, thick accent answered. There is news abounding in all of Vail. Rime and those disgusting Valheim keep to themselves as always. Edgeon continues to build its secret military. One of my men reported that the ambassador from Sandridge spoke quite freely if he had enough ale in him. Apparently he was saying all sorts of worrisome happenings in the western shores. Ships and catapults and the like. No one fights wars with their hands anymore. It's all machines and sieges these days.

Baez tutted. Recruit a few more spies, I think. We don't want them taking to the river if they grow too bold. What of the South?

Partin, the oldest of the Governors, droned a phrase obviously repeated many times. The Iron Lands burn. Those forest fires have been going for—

Three years, yes we know. What news?

Partin continued with effort. There is a new council member. Killed the old one. We should re-attempt at trade. The smiths in the Iron Lands are matchless, even in Manatel.

Baez scoffed. Because our smiths go there to study, or have you forgotten?

Borus broke in. It is not as common as you seem to think. My boy has an interest in smithery, but I would never send him among those dwarf savages. It is said they eat the flesh of trespassers.

A calm voice that Avadann did not know fought off a laugh. Nonsense. I've visited inns in the Iron Lands, and they've taken ne'er a bite off me.

Enough of this. Jepkin, has there been any word from your men at Hell's Gate?

Jepkin's gruff voice was almost comforting. Yes, but it's the same words as ever. Nothing's happening. They keep wondering why we keep them stationed out there in the desert. I tell them someone has got to watch for dragons.

There were several snickers from among the Governors. Avadann steeled himself and stepped through the door. A row of half a dozen towering, cloudy windows cast shafts of golden light into the middle of the hall, leaving the fifty foot ceiling and the corners in shadow. The stillness of a room so large made anything above a whisper into thunder. Avadann crossed the long hall with slow, loud bootsteps and canefalls. Halfway there he stopped, raising a hand to request their attention.

Governors. The word cracked down the hall to where they sat. The hour is late, and death lies on your doorstep. He let his eyes dart around the hall. The last time he had openly visited the city, he had not been able to leave a favorable impression. I have come before you to offer counsel and service as you may require during these troubled times.

Seated with the others on an ornate stand with stairs on either end, red carpets, tapestries bearing the sigil of Acrylota, and all the pomp Avadann could stomach, was Baez Marcardre. He was fat enough to prove that his wants seldom went unsatisfied, bald enough that even his eyebrows were scare to be found, and sour enough that his face carried creases frowned into it over a lifetime of dissatisfaction. Great purplish bruises darkened his eyes, contrasting with his pale skin to give him a ghoulish look. Baez waved his hand in dismissal. Yes, yes, we know who you are, Avadann, but whatever do you mean with all this nonsense of danger and doom?

Avadann suppressed a groan. I expect Mahan will soon return, governor. He has had ample time to rebuild his resources, and we are at a part of the cycle where we are most vulnerable. He knows—as do I and my associates—that if he delays much longer, he will miss this opportunity, and risk our growing stronger. To that end we should—

Baez impatiently waved his hand again. But this is all just speculation, Avadann. He leaned forward with a patronizing smile. Surely one as wise and experienced as yourself can see that it has been over twenty years since Mahan was defeated. If he had intended an attack, or was even capable of doing so, would he not have taken an opportunity sooner, while we were rebuilding from the Plague War?

A growl pushed its way up Avadann's throat, but he held it back. There was a time, not so long ago, when the Guardians of the Quorum, such as myself, were heeded and welcomed by kings and governors the land over. I would expect even someone as wise and experienced as you, Baez, to realize that Mahan has also been rebuilding.

Baez shrugged. Where? The sound echoed through the hall, and the other governors showed signs of renewed alertness. Baez's frown deepened. That is to say, where is he rebuilding? No one has seen or heard a whisper or flicker of this Mahan in twenty years. I think it far more likely that he was actually defeated, as you claimed the last time you were here. If we had not been convinced you had defeated this threat, we would have kept you in the dungeon where you b—where you would still be now.

The laugh came unbidden, though Avadann managed to keep it short. Your dungeons indeed. Defeated is not dead, Baez. It'll take a good deal more than what we managed last time to even consider dead an option. 

Baez stirred in his chair, nearly spitting his words. Even if such a threat exists, we are quite capable of defending ourselves against it.

That's right. Avadann was relieved they were finally getting somewhere. You have the strongest militia in the province, perhaps all of Vail.

A hint of a smirk warped Baez's face. "Militias are for grunt work. We will soon wield power beyond mere swords and arrows."

Avadann shifted his weight backward. What are you talking about? His relief twisted into fear. What have you done?

Baez's smirk stretched in a crooked grin. Previously, tired traditions have severely inhibited the advancement of our society, but no longer! He raised a finger in the air. We have executed an amendment to the Laws and Statutes to allow the Consortium of Antiquities free access to the Citadel Vaults.

Avadann gritted his teeth. The Vaults, you say?

Baez's expression turned sour. As I said, we are quite capable of—

By the abyss. Avadann pounded his cane into the stone floor. Baez, do you have any idea what you've done?

Oh, I see. The innkeeper is put off now that his patrons have built their own house.

Spirits preserve us, Baez. Partin's face registered mild outrage. Even if you disagree with him, you should do well to remember who you are speaking to. This is a Guardian of—

I know very well who he is and how old and tired traditions revere those like him. Baez sneered. And that, primarily, is what concerns me. I do not see evidence of any of the supposed threats his lot protect this people or this city from, but he seems very quick to deny us any ability to protect ourselves. It all smells of usury if you ask me.

Jepkin's mouth was agape. Really, Baez, the threat from Mahan was not so long ago. I was only a boy, but I have not forgotten the terrible things that Mahan caused. Half of the city burning, the dead scattered in the streets, mothers slaying their infected children rather than see them change. If there is reason to believe—if there is even a chance that Mahan could return—

Borus cleared his throat, and pushed round spectacles back into place. His large brown mustache flapped and twitched as he spoke. I, too, recall the horrors of the Plague War, but I stand with Governor Marcardre. The Vaults will protect us now, and I fear we have no need of this hand-holding, Avadann. The people of this city who do remember will not look on you fondly. Perhaps it is best of you took your help elsewhere. There are many places in greater need.

Partin raised and shook his hand. Well said, Borus.

The rest of them nodded, or murmured their agreements. Avadann felt his patience wearing thin, but making a scene here would be very costly. Governors, this threat still exists. Mahan's banishment was merely a setback. He will return eventually to finish what he started twenty years ago, but if this new discovery of yours is what you say it is, we would do well not to give anyone—especially Mahan—access to it. He'll come for what's in those Vaults.

Baez raised the ridge above his eyes where his brows should have been. And what makes you think this Mahan even knows the contents of the Vaults?

Avadann shook his head. You're meddling in things that ought to be left alone.

Baez scoffed. If the threat is so significant, we would do well to utilize whatever resources we can to combat it.

Avadann could not withhold a sickened laugh. "I've seen this play before. The one where you all