The Order of the Avenging Star

By Will Conway

When the Order of the Avenging Star is brought down in a devastating assault by its longtime enemies, Gavner, Donato, and Darselz suddenly find themselves in a world newly hostile to them. In order to ensure the survival of the human race, they must navigate a continent covered by their enemies, all while surviving the ghosts of the Order's past - but will they learn from the mistakes of their forebears, or doom humanity to extinction?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543978094

Book preview

Epilogue

Prologue

The humans called them demons. That word encapsulated what the Apokros were to them. The many species of Apokros infested their nightmares like the innumerable plagues that wracked their frail bodies.

Vilius, the lord of all Apokros, pondered this as he studied the scene before him. That word, ‘demon,’ was a human creation. It had only entered the Apokros lexicon because of them. Too, it had not always been used to label the Apokros, but the humans of today did not know that, and nor would they have accepted that fact. To them, a demon was an Apokros.

To be fair, Vilius thought, the scene before him would not be changing any minds on that matter.

The tangible shadows that flowed around all Umber Apokros swirled about Vilius. Had other Umber been there to witness him, they would have read triumph and anxiety both in his living darkness. The Umber Apokros smiled as he surveyed the Ignis Apokros burning the crops of the village, the red-skinned Apokros’ cries of victory echoing among the streets. Their wings, unable to propel them with any great amount of force, flapped excitedly.

My Lord, the leader of the Ignis, Eneric, approached the Umber and bowed his head. All is proceeding as you planned. When the soldiers of the Order of the Avenging Star arrive, we will defy them to the last.

Vilius nodded. Good. I must thank you and your warriors again for your sacrifice, my friend. Without acts like yours, our people would not be successful. It is vital that the Order believe they are victorious here today. You will be remembered.

Thank you, my Lord. Eneric turned to survey the scene with his master, and the two did not speak as they watched the village burn.

After a space of silence, Vilius mumbled to himself, Soon, the assault upon the Order’s temples will begin. They will fall, and with their trade and government so disrupted, we will hunt them like the sheep they are. As they have hunted us for these long centuries.

But what if they rebuild, my Lord?

The Umber Master glanced to Eneric. The Glacius and Ignis species had improved hearing from the rest of the Apokros brethren; Eneric easily heard what Vilius had said. Then we will tear them down again. And again. As many times as is necessary.

Vilius’s smile turned to a scowl as his gaze flicked over the human houses. They probably didn’t even consider the fact that he had a name, that he knew and understood what the word friend meant. They probably assumed that, being Apokros, he was incapable of showing any emotion at all. Somehow, the humans had gotten the idea in their heads that the Apokros were nothing more than monsters; faceless, emotionless, bloodthirsty creatures. Well, Vilius supposed he wasn’t helping to dissuade them of that notion.

The scene before him reminded him of something from his Proving, some twenty years ago now. He allowed the events of the present to melt into memories of the past, with a small smile playing on his lips.

* * *

It was shameful, really. How the other Umber allowed their darkness to flag with exhausted. Vilius was tired, too, weary to his soul, and even standing took almost too much energy. But he would not allow the others to know that.

Vilius glanced behind them, at the now closed door. Twenty-nine days they had dwelt here, survived here. Only four of them remained. Out of the seventeen that had begun the Proving, only four yet lived. And Vilius knew that of those four, only he would ascend to the mantle of Umber Master, as no other Umber had accomplished since the time of Calderemus, nearly nine centuries before. The others were too weak. The privilege of leading the Apokros was only granted to worthy individuals. Vilius’s darkness swelled with pride, and he cared not if the others saw.

The room in which they now stood was, like the rest of the Proving Grounds, cloaked in darkness, save for four shafts of light. The light was unnecessary, as Umber could see in the dark, but in this case, they served to highlight the importance of the items held that lay within them. In the first shaft was a rock, the second a brazier with fire, the third a brazier with ice, and in the fourth was a shrub. Vilius turned to his compatriots, all of whom eyed those items as a thirsty Apokros would look at water.

If you do that, you will fail. Vilius stated. He crossed his arms as he watched their reactions.

And if we don’t, we might not survive, the Apokros to his left said. Harius, by name. The transformation will grant us new strength. You know this.

I know only that I already possess all of the strength that I need.

The Umber to his right, Oryena, spoke up, her voice pleading. Vilius, there’s only one day left. I no longer care about passing, I just want to live. Don’t you?

I will live, and I will succeed. Because our people need me to.

Dorius, the last Apokros in the room, scoffed. Aren’t you the entitled one.

Vilius turned his full attention to Dorius. And aren’t you the ignorant one. The reason we here, all of us, is to provide our people a true ruler, and eliminate the inefficient oligarchy that presides over us now. We need a totalitarian rule reinstated, not bungling officials drowning in indecision and bureaucracy. Vilius’s lips curled as he considered the politicans, squabbling between themselves so much that they doomed their own people.

Harius shook his head, then bowed it and leaned on his knees. But we cannot go on like this, Vilius. None of us have the strength, not even you. Even if you won’t admit it.

To this, Vilius made no response. He stared at each of them in turn, all looking as exhausted as he felt. But unlike them, he refused to give in! Too much depended on them. On him! If we do not succeed here, the humans will wipe us out. All of us. Do you understand that? Silently, all three of his compatriots nodded in turn. Hatred burned through Vilius, and he uncrossed his arms finally, clenching his fists as if that action alone stopped the anger and rage from burning his body to a crisp. Then you know we cannot fail. Whatever the cost. We are our people’s last hope.

Then . . . Oryena began. How can we win? We have no idea what lays behind that final door, what last trial awaits us. Whatever it is, we must endure for one final day.

Vilius looked again to the items illuminated by the light shafts. I refuse to give up my form. But if the rest of you are not beyond it . . . if we Apokros remain disparate, we will fail.

You can’t possibly be suggesting what I think you are! Dorius cried. Why would we take those forms and not you? Why must you be the one to sit upon the throne?

Get over yourself, Dorius, Oryena said, and Vilius read exasperation as it flowed through her darkness. We must consider this objectively, as Vilius said. The fate of our people is at stake here. Pride no longer has any bearing. You want to know why it must be Vilius? Look at us. He is the strongest. It must be him.

Dorius did not respond to her, but finally Harius spoke up again, subdued. I will follow you, Vilius. We have witnessed you these past thirty-nine days. Your combat prowess and military acumen are unqualed in any I have fought with before. It is because of you that even we four are still alive. If any of us is capable of rising to this monumental task before us, it is you. So yes, I will take this form. And I will fight for you. I will make whatever sacrifices are necessary for our people to survive.

Vilius looked at each of them in turn again, Harius and Oryena agreeing immediately. Dorius glanced at the other two, then finally, begrudgingly, nodded his assent, as well. Then all three knelt before Vilius, and Harius said, Well met, my Lord. We will do whatever is in power to ensure that you ascend the throne and guide our people away from oblivion. It will be an honor to serve you.

* * *

The day Vilius had liberated the Apokros from oligarchical rule had been one of the most momentous days of his life. Yes, he had earned his place as leader of his people, and he would be worthy of that honor. It was he, Vilius, who had planned all of this, this elaborate plot to bring down the Order of the Avenging Star. It was he who had brought together all of the species of the Apokros for the first time in their history, to defeat a force that threatened them all. And it was he who would succeed.

Humans, Vilius sneered. So easy to manipulate. Offer them wealth, or power, and many would do whatever you asked of them. Or show them the storm and promise the port. An astonishing amount of them think of nothing more than their own gain or survival. Barely any honor remains to them. I even managed to corrupt someone on the Order’s Council itself.

Indeed, my Lord. They are unworthy of even our respect as foes.

Vilius nodded thoughtfully. There were only ever a few who proved themselves worthy of such respect. Were those few worth preserving their race? Could he allow them all to be exterminated if even but a handful showed potential for greatness? The Umber Master did not have the answers to those questions. Because their potential for hatred and for destruction had surely proven themselves over the long centuries.

What will become of the cursed humans then, my Lord? Will you destroy them utterly?

Their natural arrogance and ignorance left them blind to our growing power, but still, they sought our annihilation for these long centuries. They grew lazy in pursuit of their persecution, secure in their supposed superiority. I—we—owe them no mercy. Do you not agree?

Undoubtedly, my Lord. Eneric said. Conviction and trust colored his words.

Despite Eneric’s confidence, Vilius was not so sure. There were those of his race who certainly believed so, and if he decided against it, he was not sure if he would be able to quell any mutiny. All Vilius wanted was to live without fear of being hunted. Let the humans know his fear for a time. Perhaps someday neither race need be afraid, but Vilius knew he would not see that day in his lifetime.

Goodbye, Eneric. May the Powers preserve you. Perhaps we will meet again in another life.

Goodbye, my Lord. It was an honor serving you.

Concentrating on the folds of magic, Vilius closed his eyes and willed his magic into being. He felt a pull, and when he opened his eyes again, he was in his throne room, far from the now burning crops of the human village. The Order had no idea this castle existed, and they never would. Here, Vilius had found a haven from the ever-watching eyes of his enemies. Here, Vilius had a refuge even from his fellow Apokros when he wished to be outside of their gaze. The underground castle had been built upon the ashes of Calderemus’s abode, destroyed in the war with Gelkarik, so it was proper that here, Vilius had rebuilt his race.

Vilius sat upon his throne and relaxed, deep in thought. Though the underground structure was cloaked in absolute darkness, Vilius’s eyes easily picked out the details of his throne room. The darkness here felt like home, and it gave him comfort. Comfort when his doubts threatened to close in. The darkness was part of him, it flowed through his being, and it assured him that there was nothing more he could do, nothing more he could foresee. He had already taken into account every contingency, planned for every failure or adjustment.

It had been difficult, at first, to figure out how to coerce them, but once he had learned the depth humans would plumb to achieve wealth or power, it had been a trivial matter. He had used his first agents to assume more humans under the fold, and eventually, he had even caught the ear of one of the humans on their precious Council, who even now helped to foster chaos among the disparate arms of the Order throughout the land. None of them, it seemed, no matter how highly placed or respected, were above such briberies and promises.

Yet even so, would all of his planning work? Would it be enough? If he failed, the humans would rally like never before, and his race would be in even greater danger of extinction; the Apokros likely would not survive such a reprisal. That begged the question: better to die slowly, or fight and die violently and quickly? Fade away and die like a coward, or fight and die defending what you believed in?

Vilius did not even have to think to answer that question. He would fight until there was no breath left in his body. And he would die with honor.

Chapter 1

". . . and thus, the Tharsia Campaign will be recorded as another decisive victory for the Order of the Avenging Star. The Apokros were swiftly cut down by the superior skills and discipline of the Order soldiers—"

Donato!

The historian jumped in his chair, dropping his quill pen, somehow managing to avoid splattering ink on his parchment. He heaved a sigh as he saw that Gavner, sleeveless tunic displaying muscles as big around as Donato’s head, stood in the doorway to his room, and he realized that he must have been completely immersed in his writings if he hadn’t heard the big man’s clomping footsteps. His short, dark blonde hair waved without control on his head, accenting his usual smile and wide, square jaw. The soldier seemed unfazed by Donato’s surprise.

The Council is waiting for you! Get out of your writings and come on. Do not keep the Grandmaster waiting any more than you already have. Gavner turned and began to walk away.

Donato rolled his eyes. He preferred the oligarchical rule that the Stronghold of the Order employed with its Council over the system the other temples used, which used ruling Dawnlords. Still, participating in so much Council business, especially when he sometimes felt like he couldn’t contribute anything, could get wearisome. Gavner, wait! Donato called after his friend, and Gavner poked his head back in the room.

Donato stared at the account he had been writing and at his bony fingers holding the pen. He ruffled his thin, black hair with his other hand. Do you think . . . that what we do, what we are trying to do, is right?

Gavner rolled his eyes. This again, Donato?

Donato fought back a surge of hopelessness. Gavner was the only one who would put up with Donato’s constant questions and doubts, but the historian often got the feeling that his inquiries did not have much effect on the giant soldier. Donato gestured to the bookcases of history accounts lining his room that he had written or collected in his time in the Order. I amaze myself with some of the things I write sometimes. Too caught up in the thrill of victory, I suppose, and the zealousness shared by the other members. Our Order is so fervent about ridding the world of the Apokros threat, but this was their world at the beginning. Sometimes I wonder if all this fighting is necessary.

Gavner motioned for them to start walking toward the Council chamber. Donato set aside the manuscript and left his black cloak hanging over the single chair in the room. Compared to Gavner’s height, Donato felt miniscule in his simple brown and black leathers, but it was a feeling he had grown used to. I know what you are saying, Donato. But think about this: if we did not eradicate them, they would eradicate us. We are simply fighting for survival.

The historian sighed. No, this isn’t survival. You know I grew up in a peasant’s village. That life is about fighting for survival, not just against the Apokros, but against the elements themselves. This looks more like luxury to me. Donato gestured at the walls and vaulted ceiling, a background of orange with elaborate murals of battle against the Apokros, with the humans always the victors. The near twin species of Glacius and Ignis Apokros, their varied-hue blue and red bodies muted by the artist, fell to organized ranks of Order knights, their wings torn and horns broken. They were shorter than in real life, too; the Apokros in the mural stood the height of a human, but Glacius and Ignis were generally about a head taller and slightly more muscled than the average human. The only difference that Donato could see between the genders were that the females wore protective wrapping around their chests as well as their loins; Darselz insisted other differences were evident, but Donato, nor many other Order members, could see them. In other places along the murals, towering Petrus Apokros were overrun, their stone bodies crumbling, and the massive Magna Apokros, horrors with gaping maws on their torsos, were surrounded and slain. Donato remembered recording some of the battles depicted, and shook his head at the artists’ embellishments. The ceiling was painted a garish red, and though Donato felt sure that the painter had intended to make the keep feel warmer and more welcoming, to him, the colors made it feel more ridiculous.

The Council Chamber occupied the center of the Stronghold. Branching out from it were all of the classrooms, including the library, cafeteria, and training complex, followed by the Councilors’ offices along the edge of the grand building. The second floor was dominated by the Councilors’ private rooms, the Order’s sanctuary, and the quarters for the most senior of the Order’s warriors. The floors above that housed the quarters for the rest of the soldiers and the students. To Donato’s knowledge, the only three rooms not painted so ostentatiously were the library, the sanctuary, and his own room. Each time he reflected on the Order’s luxury, he gave thanks to the old gods that he had managed to requisition plain colors for his own space. And that whoever had been in charge had the good sense to leave the library plain, as well. For as often as Donato went there, he couldn’t imagine that room with such loud colors.

Besides, Donato continued, you and I both know the accounts I’ve written of the decreasing numbers of Apokros. Our excursions are travelling farther and farther afield. We’ve even been receiving less requests for aid from the Frostwold Mountains. And if Kingsley’s reports from the other temples are anything to go off of, even the Silverfell Forest and the coastal temples have been encountering less Apokros. Is it still survival, Gavner, if they are no longer a threat?

The big man’s brow furrowed in thought. Tell that to the people of Tharsia. If we grow complacent in our endeavor, it will only endanger our children.

I suppose, Donato replied, unconvinced. As usual. But you sound more like Order doctrine than Gavner.

As they reached the doors to the Council chamber, Gavner paused a moment to flash Donato a look of doubt, doubt that his friend never expressed, then he opened the double doors.

The Council chamber had much the same look as the rest of the Stronghold, with the orange walls and crimson ceiling, though the murals decorating the walls and ceiling here were much more intricate and detailed. The table was dominated by a large sun, which stretched its rays out to the rounded edge. The sun was the symbol of Star, the Avenger, the namesake of the Order of the Avenging Star, but, like many things about the décor of the keep, it came across as garish to Donato. Aside from the main double doors that Donato and Gavner entered through, smaller doors punctuated the walls to either side, the left which opened to a side corridor leading directly to the Councilors’ offices, the right corridor travelling to the training complex and courtyard.

The rest of the Council already sat at the round table as the two came into the chamber. Donato took his seat next to Gavner, who sat on the Grandmaster’s right, and nodded to the three others seated there. On Donato’s right sat Archmage Myer, the Order’s premiere mage, who seemed to have a perpetual scowl on his face. Bushy black eyebrows and unkempt black hair didn’t help the image, complete with an untamed mustache eclipsing his mouth. Donato had no clue what made the man so consistently sour, but the historian made an active effort to avoid him; most of his interactions with Myer involved the older man displaying nothing but condescension.

Next to him came Quartermaster Kingsley. A bulbous nose made him look almost comical, and his short, brown hair and thin mouth did nothing to dispel the illusion. His most distinguishing feature were his eyes, which constantly darted everywhere, as if he expected someone to jump out of nowhere. Kingsley was often sought after to secure trade agreements and the like. He also kept records of the maps and personally handled the communications with the Dawnlords of the other Order temples throughout the land. Kingsley was very particular about his records and would not often let others alter them. Donato respected that; if anyone else tried to help him write his own accounts, he would get irritated, also.

Telion, the last person at the table, was the Garrison Commander, and he sat between the Grandmaster and Kingsley. He stroked his sandy mustache often, as he was doing now, and his hair, unlike Myer’s, was carefully groomed. Everything about Telion spoke of care and precision, both in his appearance and his bearing. He was one of the better fighters of the Order, and his insight was a constant boon, not to mention his excellent ability to ease the tension out of nearly any knotted atmosphere. There was that one occasion, Donato remembered, two years ago, that without Telion, the Order would have had to defend themselves against a peasant riot in the southern village of Merescot, all over a ridiculous misunderstanding; a pig in a merchant caravan from the village of Alaren had escaped and run rampant through the local bakery. The baker, in turn, took his sword to the animal, and the two towns had nearly gone to war over the affair. Until Telion stepped in, cooled the tempers, and offered recompense from the Order for the losses of both villages. In the accounts, Donato had jokingly referred to the incident as The Battle of the Pig and Pastry, a name the soldiers popularized, even though no fight had truly occurred.

Movement from the wall next to the door caught Donato’s attention, and he flashed a smile to his friend, the stoic Darselz, who stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall.

Donato reflected briefly that perhaps stoic was not quite the right word for the half-Apokros, but he supposed it was as close as he could approximate. Darselz’s father had been a Glacius Apokros, a blue skinned demon that bore the powers of the cold. His friend had told him that his Apokros father had raped his mother, taken the child, and promptly abandoned him to the demons of the north. The Council had found Darselz in the snowy Frostwold Mountains, but the chill, biting winds had not affected him more than a summer breeze. Donato and Gavner had led that expedition, the Frostwold Campaign; the Council had sent Order soldiers to quell reports of increasing hostility by the Glacius Apokros among the villages in the north. After one of the tribes had been eliminated with the half-Apokros’s help, Donato and Gavner had brought Darselz back with them, and, having grown up with the Apokros, he had been constantly consulted on their movements, patterns, and strategies. Donato still was unsure how, but he and Gavner had managed to convince most of the Council to vote Darselz into the newly created Tactician position on the Council, on the basis that his knowledge and insight of the Apokros were invaluable. Only Myer had voted against it, and that had been a near defeat; any other votes against, and Darselz would not have been elected.

Darselz had the ocean blue skin of his father and his hair, something the Glacius did not have, was jet black and shoulder length, a legacy from his human mother. Two short, translucent horns popped out just below his hairline, smaller versions of the true Glacius’ pronounced horns. If there was such a thing as a born warrior, Darselz was it. The two long swords sheathed on his hips seemed as natural on him as clothes.

The Grandmaster sat calmly in the seat farthest from the door. White hair and white beard imparted a grandfatherly image, but every movement from him seemed purposeful, precise. His crinkled gaze swept the room and, though small in stature, when he cleared his throat softly, the quiet sound nonetheless carried throughout the chamber. Greetings, Field Commander Gavner and Historian Donato. Now that we are all here, the Council is officially in session. His quiet voice betrayed no hint of the man’s outward age, and despite its small volume, it carried easily through the room and over the small conversations that the other Councilors had been having.

The Tharsia Campaign was a complete success! boomed Gavner. We avenged our fallen comrades threefold. Our superior strategies are still in evidence. He cast a sidelong glance at Donato, finishing with a clenched fist.

Still, said Darselz, their tactics were different. The Ignis adjusted to our maneuvers much more quickly than usual.

The Grandmaster nodded, but Myer spoke. Darselz, you don’t know what you’re talking about. It was clear from the start that we would be victorious! Our troops have superior training in all aspects of fighting and are accustomed to the overused tactics of the Apokros. The accursed beasts never stood a chance. The man sneered at Darselz as he said the last bit.

Donato was shaking his head before Myer had finished his sentence. No, Myer, I agree with Darselz. I could see it, too, from my vantage point in the hills. They were adapting too quickly to our forces.

But the battle was won nonetheless! Myer returned, obviously annoyed with Donato’s defense of Darselz. We are still victorious, the demon scourge was banished from the village of Tharsia, and the surrounding countryside and people are safe now. I don’t see the need to worry.

Myer’s right, Donato, Kingsley said, We won this time. All we need to do is keep training, make sure we stay at peak condition. Vigilance is the key.

Donato glanced over to Darselz to try to discern his reaction, but the half-Apokros was far too practiced at concealing his emotions to betray any now.

Telion, what do you think? You are the only one who has not yet spoken. Gavner said.

The man stroked his blond beard thoughtfully, and shrugged after a moment. I think you all have good points, but I don’t think there is cause for concern quite yet. We’ve already identified a potential problem and will have time to prevent it. We just have to make sure we prepare properly.

The Grandmaster nodded. It was a good battle. But Darselz does well to point out our foes’ tactics. Be wary, my warriors. Do not dismiss potential danger so easily. As for Tharsia?

I’ll send some of my troops on the morrow to assist the unit we left behind, and personally accompany them, Telion said. We’ll be at the village no later than midday. I plan to stay for a few days to ensure that the townsfolk are at peace and nothing further disturbs them.

Darselz grunted. I could lead a small contingent out to make sure that Tharsia is rid of the last of them.

I don’t think that’s necessary, Donato replied, crinkling his face in doubt, they lost the battle, that should be enough.

Not for those who prey upon peoples weaker than themselves, Darselz returned.

Besides, is it not the Order’s mission to wipe out all Apokros? Kingsley asked. Murmurs from around the table sounded agreement. Donato sank back into this chair and opted not to respond.

Moving on, trade connections will quickly be restored as well, I’ll see to that, Myer mumbled.

There is one small problem, though, Gavner said, the crops. The Ignis Apokros burned the ground so horribly that nothing will be able to grow there for years. What can we do about that?

They may have to find another place to plant, Kingsley said, his fingers drumming the table, especially if the area is in that poor of a condition. This will put strain on any surviving villages. Why not move them all here? He absently gestured to the surrounding walls.

Gavner shook his head. That will not work. It would stretch our own resources; if we are not able to support them all, we would only be doing them a disservice.

Donato thought he saw Kingsley’s brow furrow in anger, but then the man shrugged as if the dismissal was nothing of consequence. Silence took hold as the Councilors considered that, before the Grandmaster’s soft voice broke through. Are there any other suggestions?

Well, Telion began slowly, is there any possibility we could restore the land through magic of any sort? Perhaps you know something suitable, Donato? I’ve worked closely enough with Myer to know that he does not.

That’s because magic of that caliber does not exist. Myer barked, shaking his head with an irritated expression painting his face. And why would you bother asking a novice, in any case?

The historian felt his face flush. Apologies, but nothing in my meager repertoire is that powerful, nor do any of the histories speak of such magic.

Telion shrugged and continued, Then if that isn’t an option, perhaps we could supply the town with enough rations until they are able to grow their own again?

The stress on our resources would likely prove too great. Darselz said. But you seem to be missing another point. This isn’t the only village that’s lost its crops. Trade routes all over are being hurt. Anyone else see a pattern here?

Most of the Councilors shifted nervously, and Gavner gave Donato another sidelong glance. Donato ignored him. What can we do to prevent this from happening, then? The historian asked.

Kingsley spoke up first. The obvious answer is to allocate additional troops to defend each remaining key trade outpost. Perhaps with greater protection, the Apokros will be less likely to attack.

Telion shook his head. No, that won’t do at all. There are far too many for that. Even if we coordinate with the other temples throughout the land, we would be spreading ourselves too thin. The best response is to form a unit to investigate the cause of this sudden interest in our trade routes. We find the Apokros responsible and put a stop to it.

I like that plan. Gavner said. Cut to the root of the problem. I can begin to assemble a force to take up the task. What do we do about the villagers, though?

Perhaps . . . Donato began, well, Tharsia was not a rich village, but neither was it a particularly poor village. We could relocate the villagers and contract those capable to build more houses in some of the Order’s establishments. This would allow many to continue supporting themselves until a more viable option presents itself. And if there is a pattern, this plan would help reduce the damage to the overall trade system by strengthening an already strong route. We’ll just have to compensate for the loss somehow.

Telion nodded. Yes, not a bad idea. I can work with Kingsley to draw up a list of villages and cities to syphon the refugees to.

Don’t worry about that, Telion, Kingsley said, waving his hand is a dismissive gesture, I can take care of the relocation. You have other things to deal with, and I know the trade system best. I’ll also help convince those who don’t wish to move that it is in their best interest to do so.

The historian let loose an inward breath, relieved at the support of Telion and Kingsley. It felt like he often had to pacify the tension between Darselz and some of the other Councilors. Telion often tried his best to act neutrally toward the half-Apokros, but Myer and Kingsley had a habit of going after his friend, though today had been light, in comparison. Still, the historian knew if it wasn’t for the Grandmaster’s backing of Darselz, Myer and Kingsley would probably have the half-Apokros’s throat. Politically, at least.

The Grandmaster nodded and looked around the table. It shall come to a vote. All in favor of the relocation plan? Murmured ayes sounded through the room, and when no nays came, the Grandmaster continued. Very well, so it shall be. Kingsley, you shall be in charge of the organization. When you are done, supply Telion with the needed information so that he can provide you a protective detail to oversee and guard the refugees, as a precaution in case Darselz is correct and more Apokros remain hidden. I believe that is all for today. This Council is officially concluded.

As the Grandmaster ended the Council meeting, Darselz was the first to leave, so the historian rushed to catch up to his friend. Donato always thought it sad that, despite all his years of assistance to the Order, Donato and Gavner were the only people he named as friends. Many, like Myer, avoided Darselz out of some sense of misplaced prejudice, but neither did the half-Apokros make any effort to build any bridges.

Darselz, Donato called. Darselz stopped briefly, allowing Donato to slide into step with him. There is something wrong, and the Grandmaster knows it, too. This doesn’t seem right at all.

Darselz grunted again. Donato could never tell the difference between his grunts of approval, disagreement, or annoyance. Donato looked at his face to gauge his reaction better, but Darselz was expressionless, save for an almost resentful glint in his eyes. Darselz had never really been one for words, but then again, Donato couldn’t blame him; owing half of one’s heritage to the Apokros couldn’t be easy.

Donato kept looking at Darselz as they walked silently and realized that his friend seemed more agitated than usual. You’re not letting Myer get to you again, are you? I thought you were finished with him.

When no response came from his friend, Donato let the silence continue. That was probably a ‘yes.’ Myer had always been hostile to Darselz, more than most, and the man had a definite arrogant streak to him that seemed to rub off on many of his pupils.

After more silence, Darselz turned to Donato and put his hand on his shoulder. I survived for so long in the wilds by knowing when something isn’t as it seems. The Tharsia Campaign reeked of that stench.

And with that, Darselz turned down a different corridor, probably going to the training complex. Donato stared after him thoughtfully, digesting his words. He understood that the Tharsia Campaign could have far reaching implications, but Donato knew that Darselz could imagine those possibilities far better than he could. What could that mean for the Order of the Avenging Star?

The historian sighed and headed toward his classroom for the history class he taught. Darselz, and perhaps Gavner, shared his doubts, and maybe even the Grandmaster, but none of the other Councilors did. And the Grandmaster never involved himself overmuch in the meetings. It was a good thing Donato wasn’t the warrior type. He just wasn’t suited for that kind of mindset.

Donato entered his empty classroom and placed his tome upon the desk. At times, he still couldn’t believe that he had all this; he had never dreamed, as a boy, that he would one day be a teacher at the Order of the Avenging Star. He had only come here in search of knowledge and truth. Yet, he found his new profession fulfilling. To be able to help shape the minds of the future was a task simultaneously daunting and exhilarating. The historian could remember a time when he was the student, when one of the elders of his village had helped to shape him.

* * *

The older man sat pensively, as if deciding the proper way to begin his lesson. Donato, for his part, leaned forward eagerly, ready to devour whatever wisdom Tury wished to impart. It was dark out, and Donato was tired, but his thirst for knowledge was insatiable. With days full of nothing but planting, seeding, and plowing, these nights with Tury were the only times the youth looked forward to.

Tury rubbed his short beard, and his beady eyes studied Donato. The man’s hair was shoulder-length and as white as his beard, his skin tanned from constant travel. Until now, I have only been teaching you magic in the formal way, with verbal lessons, but I think it is important that you begin to grasp how to use spellbooks. With any luck, you might come across more of them in your travels, and they can be sources of extraordinary power.

Here, Tury stood up and wandered to one of the many stacks of books flooding his house. With a short exclamation, he pulled one out and brought it over to Donato.

What do you see on those pages?

Excited, Donato opened the book and flipped through a few of the pages before a frown creased his face. Was Tury playing a joke on him? Nothing.

Tury grunted as if he had expected that answer. As I said before, magic is something you understand, not something you learn. It is both a language and not a language, which can be a difficult concept to grasp. Not even the illustrious Order has an abundance of magic-users. And to get better at magic, one needs to practice it constantly. Quite a paradox, don’t you think? To learn, you must practice, and to practice, you must learn. But that is the way of things.

Donato nodded numbly, flipping the pages absent-mindedly. Tury continued. As you practice magic more, even the mundane magic, you will begin to understand the force of what magic is. This, in turn, opens up new avenues and new ways of learning and understanding. As with physical exercise, if you do not continue to practice, your skills will weaken, and where once you might have been able to conjure mighty storms and unleash raging infernos, you might only be able to create one spark of lightning or ignite nothing more than a candle.

Donato’s brow furrowed. But how you can lose understanding? I understand how to plant a seed, how to harvest a crop. That isn’t something you lose, is it? How could magic be different?

Because magic is fundamentally different from everything else in this world. Tury said. Even the most learned scholar of magic would be at a loss to explain it. Think of a river. Its waters are ever-flowing. The nature of that river is never in the same place at more than one time. It retains its fundamental shape, but the exact substance of that river changes with every moment. So it is, I believe, with magic. You may understand it, but if you neglect it and come back to it years from this day, you might find that the riverbank has been moved, and you no longer know how to swim in it.

* * *

Tury had begun Donato’s education on magic, and eventually the youth had left the village with his mentor and traveled abroad, until running into an expedition deep in the Silverfell Forest, what had after been called the Silverfell Campaign. That was when he had met Gavner. Unfortunately, that day he had also lost Tury; a battle with the shapeshifting plant-like Vitis Apokros of the forest saw an end to Tury’s life.

Donato ceased his ruminations as his students started entering the classroom, talking or reading things unrelated to his class. Here in the Order’s Stronghold, schooling went beyond the traditional system taught in the Order’s other installations throughout the land. Unlike other temples, the Stronghold saw an older population of students; all of the students and recruits were at least twenty, and the classes were less numerous but more focused. Donato taught several classes on the history of the Order and the Apokros, and Myer taught the only magic class, but the other courses were physical training sessions, teaching either technique or how best to improve one’s body.

Evening, class, Donato straightened some parchment on his desk at the front of the room and smacked their collective edges on the table to get everyone’s attention, and the well-disciplined recruits followed in short order to the unspoken command. Today we are moving on from the Apokros, and we will begin the lesson on the origins of the Order of the Avenging Star and the the human race.

Donato turned his back to the class and picked up a book from the stack on his desk, the oldest tome he had and his most prized possession. The tome was primarily a spellbook, but it also contained some historical accounts. He had received it from the Grandmaster when the historian had first come to the Order, and the Grandmaster told Donato that he, out of anyone, might be able to understand what lay within it. Every time Donato asked the Grandmaster where he had gotten the book, or how much he knew of it, the historian never received a straight answer. As to why the Grandmaster had never gifted the book to Myer, he had only said that the book’s owner needed an open mind, that for such a rare find, only an inquisitive keeper would do. Donato could see that. Myer always acted like he already knew everything worth learning, and if he didn’t know it, then it wasn’t worth knowing. The man’s greatest downfall was his inflexibility.

To one ignorant of the ways of magic, a spellbook looked like a collection of blank pages. But to a magic user, a spellbook contained a wonderful collage of the secrets of spells. Reading magic required an understanding of how it worked, and a willingness to grasp that knowledge. Spellbooks, however, were rare, and the only ones that Donato knew of were Apokros in make. The Order had yet to discover the process of creating a spellbook, despite centuries of effort. Donato still saw only blank pages for a majority of the book he held, but he understood more of what lay within the book now than when he had first received it. The book itself was bound in black leather that had clearly seen the passing of several centuries, if not longer. A circle on the cover of the book—wrought in what Donato guessed as bronze, by the hue—depicted an elaborate symbol that didn’t seem to constitute any known design, though Donato had a suspicion it was a character or characters from a now dead language. Myer and others, though, had scoffed at that hypothesis, since nothing else existed to providence evidence for the Apokros having a concrete language.

With a wave of his hand, pictures and words began to draw and write themselves upon the carefully white-washed stone, the tiny threads of his spell darting about the surface to depict the images. Donato opened the tome to a bookmarked page and directed the pictures and words on the board, addressing the class as he did.

Eons ago, legends, of which I am sure all of you are familiar with, say that before the humans came into being, the Apokros ruled our world. In the beginning, there were only the Umber, but those Apokros possess the unique ability to merge with another element, to take something else into its being. This gave rise to the different Apokros species that we know today: Glacius, Ignis, Petrus, and Vitis. Then the legends speak of a new race being born: the humans. They speak of these humans being greeted with hostility from the Apokros, and in an epic and dramatic fashion, the humans fought back and won.

Illustrations danced across the stone showing what Donato thought of as more realistic depictions of the Apokros than the murals peppered throughout the rest of the Order: Glacius and Ignis, wings poised to gain them advantage in combat; Petrus, towering constructs of rock; Vitis, the vine-like Apokros that slithered about; Magna, the giant mouths across their torsos dwarfing miniscule heads that sat between tremendously muscled shoulders; and finally the Umber Apokros, roughly the size of a human, but enshrouded in constantly swirling darkness, enough to obscure all but their piercing eyes.

Soon, the drawings gave way to words, and the writings soon took up the entire wall. Donato turned around to address his students directly. "But we of the Order know this only to be a half truth, for these legends, as is the habit with stories, do not tell the whole tale. Indeed, humans did come forth and were met with nothing but flashing blades and sadistic grins, but the humans, being a newborn race, could not fight back immediately. The Apokros are ancient, and so of course were masters of war and battle. According to the bones and debris of long ago battlefields, the Apokros had been engaged in civil war before our race was born.

So the Apokros enslaved the humans, seeking to aid their war with each other. After a century of this enslavement, a hero rose up from the human ranks, and he found a way to escape with his brethren. They became the first founders of the Order of the Avenging Star, for it was believed then that Star aided the humans in defeating the Apokros. The leader of the new Order, the hero who had led them to freedom, became the First Grandmaster: Gelkarik, afterward named Gelkarik Umberhunter. Donato turned back to the board and pointed out grandiose scenes of Gelkarik leading other humans into battle.

When the Order came to the height of its strength, they rid the Apokros of their power in one fell swoop; Gelkarik led a daring assault, now called the Prime Campaign, against the Apokros Stronghold, and the First Grandmaster himself slew the Apokros Master, a member of the Umber species. Unfortunately, Gelkarik, too, fell that day. Today, because of that battle, very few Umber survive.

Donato paused at this point and gestured to the pictures on the board behind him, to detailed images of battles and captions describing them. He stopped and resisted the urge to frown. In the classes he had taught in years previous, he would add that the Apokros were close to finally being eradicated, but the historian decided against it. The entirety of his lesson derived from Order doctrine, so, with Darselz’s doubts ringing in his head, Donato hesitated. Nothing he had been able to read in his tome spoke anything of the origin of the human species, and there was little concerning the battle between Gelkarik and the Umber Master.

"But the most important fact to keep in mind about history is that we can never truly know what happened. We can never live the lives of those ancient people, never experience their woes, their joys, their fears. Because of this, history can be too easily shaped by a biased hand. So when studying and learning of the past, you must always keep an open mind. Donato stared at the pictures he had magically drawn across the board, his thoughts in turmoil. The class behind him, perhaps sensing the depth of his words, remained silent, and Donato could feel their attention more at that moment than ever before. He smiled to himself. The historian had always believed that the most important education was one which taught you to question. Maybe he was getting through to the younger generation. And so—"

Before Donato could finish his sentence, the room flashed with orange light—Myer must have scheduled another combat station drill. The historian let his sentence hang unfinished as students quietly filed out of the room, proceeding to their assigned battle stations. Donato watched his students go. Hopefully they would never have to use these tactics, but he’d rather be sure of safety than sorry for it later. The historian shook his head, wondering why the drills always seemed to happen during his class, but at least the students were still learning; each student or group of students was assigned to a battle station that already had several soldiers and veterans manning it, in hopes they would learn how to act in emergencies. Donato and the rest of the Council were merely in charge of observing.

Donato walked out of his room, waving a hand an unraveling the thread that held the spell-written notes and images on the board; the drill would take the rest of his class time, or at least enough of it that it wasn’t worth returning.

Chapter 2

Orange light flashed through the training complex. The few recruits and other Order members training there on their own time, like Darselz, quickly and calmly stored their weapons on racks located at the sides of the room or stopped their spell practice and went to their stations. The smell of stale sweat lingered after they left, as if it was as permanent a fixture as the weapons and the customized terrain. Darselz took off his chainmail and walked to the small office at the back of the complex, weaving absent-mindedly through the terrain—rocks, occasional poles that were meant to represent trees, even a few ponds—meant to mimic the conditions on a real battlefield. Even the floor changed qualities at different parts of the complex, ranging from sand to dirt to something meant to represent a swamp. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and put his chainmail on a desk for now. When the Order had first found him, Darselz had been used to wearing nothing but hide armor he had made from the the wolves in the Frostwold Mountains. The chainmail had taken some getting used to, but it had saved Darselz from grievous injuries many a time. He didn’t think he would ever get accustomed to plate armor like Gavner’s, though—the man wore that suit of armor like it was his favorite pair of clothes, and hindered him about as much.

The small office did not hold much: a desk, a chair, and a scroll or two cluttering the desk. This room wasn’t used often, but Darselz liked to plan his combat classes here, and it was useful for storing information concerning their army. Unlike the training complex proper, the office had gray-green tile flooring, each tile a square larger than a man. Darselz took the chair and slid it out, then knelt down, lifting one of the huge tiles with both hands and inspecting the integrity of the secret entrance to the tunnel passage below. The tile clunked softly as he