Dragontiarna: Visionary

By Jonathan Moeller

The legions of the Heptarchy have invaded Andomhaim, and Ridmark Arban stands in their way.

But without aid, Andomhaim cannot defeat the Heralds of Ruin. To seek out the weaknesses of his foes, Ridmark must travel into the depths of the Heptarchy to seek out the mysterious wizard called the Master of Keys.

But the brutal rulers of the Heptarchy will not allow Ridmark to escape their grasp...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Moeller
• Release date: Jan 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005389796

Jonathan Moeller

Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair of a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas.He has written the "Demonsouled" trilogy of sword-and-sorcery novels, and continues to write the "Ghosts" sequence about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the "$0.99 Beginner's Guide" series of computer books, and numerous other works.Visit his website at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.comVisit his technology blog at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/screed

Book preview

DRAGONTIARNA: VISIONARY

Jonathan Moeller

***

Description

The legions of the Heptarchy have invaded Andomhaim, and Ridmark Arban stands in their way.

But without aid, Andomhaim cannot defeat the Heralds of Ruin. To seek out the weaknesses of his foes, Ridmark must travel into the depths of the Heptarchy to seek out the mysterious wizard called the Master of Keys.

But the brutal rulers of the Heptarchy will not allow Ridmark to escape their grasp...

***

Dragontiarna: Visionary

Copyright 2021 by Jonathan Moeller.

Smashwords Edition.

Cover design by Clarissa Yeo.

Ebook edition published January 2021.

All Rights Reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

***

A brief author’s note

At the end of this book, you will find a Glossary of Characters and a Glossary of Locations listing all the major characters and locations in this book.

A map of the realm of Andomhaim is available on the author’s website at this link (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=4487).

A map of the Empire is available on the author's website at this link (https://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=10514).

***

Chapter 1: The Vision of the Guardian

One hundred and forty-two days after it began, one hundred and forty-two days after the day in the Year of Our Lord 1491 when the sky ripped open and the dragons returned, Ridmark Arban watched the Guardian Morigna with alarm.

He knew when she was disturbed.

Ridmark had known her a long, long time now.

Morigna had been human once, with dark eyes and long black hair and a haughty expression. She and Ridmark had been lovers, and then she had been murdered. But the dark magic of the Warden had bound her soul to the material world, and the archmage Ardrhythain had appointed her the Guardian of mankind against the powers of dark magic. During the War of the Seven Swords, Morigna’s spirit had been pulled into the body of Ansalia, an elven noblewoman whose soul had been ripped away by the Sovereign. Morigna began a second life in an elven body, and after the Sovereign’s defeat, Morigna had vanished, going in search of the dark powers that threatened humanity.

Ridmark would have said he had known Morigna as well as anyone, but she had changed a great deal. Death and rebirth into a new elven body had left their mark upon her. So had her journey to the lands of the Heptarchy, the empire ruled by seven cruel urdmordar, as had her narrow escape from the grasp of Warlord Agravhask. Morigna was just as acerbic as she had ever been, but now she seemed haunted, sobered by the weight of responsibility bestowed by a Guardian’s mantle.

But reborn or not, Ridmark could not mistake the shock and alarm on Morigna’s elven features. Her green eyes had gone wide, and she gripped her black staff so hard that the knuckles shone beneath the pale skin.

Morigna? said Calliande. What’s wrong?

Ridmark’s wife stepped towards the Guardian. The Keeper of Andomhaim was pretty in a windswept way, with blond hair and blue eyes with fine lines forming around them. She was frowning at Morigna, and Ridmark recognized that look. It was her physician’s frown, the one she wore when assessing wounds and injuries.

Morigna opened her mouth, closed it, and looked around.

They stood on the plain below Castra Melidern and its hill, the castra’s towers rising over them. The Arcanii and the royal knights Ridmark had brought with him to defend Tarlion against the Heptarchy warships and the goblin warriors moved towards their camps. By good fortune, Ridmark’s gate had deposited them a short distance from High King Accolon Pendragon and his companions, including Bishop Caius of Khald Tormen and headman Kharlacht of Rhaluusk, who had brought the good news of their kings sending aid in the war against the Heptarchy. Accolon’s new queen Valeria had accompanied him, and she had mentioned that she would speak to Accolon’s seneschal to plan a meal to welcome the emissaries from Khald Tormen and Rhaluusk. Except in her home city of Echion in Owyllain, the term for a royal seneschal was the Master of Keys.

And that phrase had stunned Morigna.

Morigna looked back and forth from Ridmark to Calliande.

Tarmyntir, said Morigna. Her voice, normally confident and a little strident, was unsteady.

Ridmark frowned. He knew that name, and he hadn’t expected Morigna to mention it. The high elf who made the Great Eye before he died. Rilmael told us about him.

He’s not dead, said Morigna. I know where he is. We have to find him right now. Or else the Warden and his Heralds of Ruin are going to destroy us all.

Dead silence answered this pronouncement.

Perhaps, my lady, said High King Accolon, you should explain.

For a moment, Accolon had sounded just like his father, who had died defending Cintarra against Agravhask and the Heptarchy invasion. Accolon had changed a great deal from the charming young Crown Prince he had been a few years earlier. He was not yet thirty, but already his face had the grave cast that had marked his father ever since Arandar Pendragon had become the High King. No doubt his mien would become even more solemn the longer he reigned.

Assuming they won the war and stopped the Heralds of Ruin, of course.

Did you have a vision? said Bishop Caius. Caius had become the bishop of the church of the dwarves of Khald Tormen, but he still dressed in simple brown robes, a wooden cross hanging from his neck from a leather cord. From the way the robes hung, he wore armor of dwarven steel beneath them. Caius was fond of saying that a man of the church should put his trust in God, but it was churlish to expect God to do all the work. That philosophy extended to the mace of dwarven steel hanging at his belt. Priests were not supposed to spill blood with the edge of the sword, but that did not preclude bashing a foe over the head with a blunt object.

No, said Morigna. No, I recalled something that I had forgotten. She looked haunted by the thought.

Start from the beginning, said Ridmark. He suddenly felt like he was talking to one of his children after they had suffered a nightmare, and he decided it would be best to keep that thought to himself.

Morigna nodded, took a deep breath, and collected herself.

You know that after the War of the Seven Swords, I foresaw a great dark power rising across the sea, one that would one day threaten Andomhaim, said Morigna.

The Heptarchy, said Accolon. His new queen Valeria watched the conversation with solemn gravity. She was good at that, which was a useful ability in a queen.

Aye, said Morigna. I found Agravhask’s army, disguised myself as the spiderling priestess Masrivia, and sought to find a way to both warn you and sabotage Agravhask’s invasion. She had been successful at the warning but less effective at the sabotage. But before that, I went to Mazulrast, the city where Agravhask had been born. Or its ruins, anyway. I thought I could learn something about Agravhask there, but the city was nothing but dust and rubble.

You remembered, said Calliande. The portion of your memory that was lost. You recalled it.

What’s this? said Accolon.

A few weeks of Morigna’s memory of her journey to the Heptarchy had been suppressed, said Calliande.

Kharlacht grunted. The big orc wore blue dark elven armor much like Ridmark’s own, the hilt of a greatsword rising over his shoulder. This again?

She did it to herself, said Calliande. Or, at least, someone did it to her with Morigna’s permission.

Yes, said Morigna. I know why. I found Tarmyntir. Or, rather, he found me.

Rilmael thought that Tarmyntir had been dead for thousands of years, said Ridmark.

Rilmael is wrong, said Morigna. Tarmyntir is hiding in the Heptarchy to keep the Theophract from finding him.

Which is no longer a danger, now that Lord Ridmark has slain the Theophract, said Valeria.

When I arrived at the ruins of Mazulrast, the servants of the Visionary found me, said Morigna. The Visionary was one of the seven female urdmordar who ruled the constellation of kingdoms, tribes, and city-states that made up the dark empire of the Heptarchy. They are called the Quaesitors and act as the secret police among the Seven Temples. The Visionary has been looking for Tarmyntir for as long as he has been hiding among the nations of the Heptarchy.

What happened? said Calliande.

I fought the Quaesitor and her guards, said Morigna, and one of Tarmyntir’s allies found me. A Knight of the Stormblade.

Stormblade? said Ridmark.

There is a nation of humans hidden within in the Heptarchy, a concealed city called Nova Europa, said Morigna. They came from Old Earth, just as Malahan Pendragon escaped the ruin of Arthur’s realm and founded Tarlion. The humans of the Heptarchy would have fallen under the domination of the urdmordar, but Tarmyntir helped them. He forged the Stormblades as weapons against the urdmordar and their priestesses, and he has been aiding the humans of Nova Europa ever since.

Then the Heptarchy faces a war within its own borders? said Accolon.

The Heptarchy always faces war within its lands, said Morigna. The tribes and nations sworn to the Temples often go to war against each other at the priestesses’ encouragement. But the humans of Nova Europa and the Order of the Stormblades are rebels, striking when they can and fading back to their stronghold.

Why did Tarmyntir remove your memory? said Ridmark.

The Visionary, said Morigna. The Visionary has been looking for Tarmyntir for millennia. He knows how to make more keys for the Great Eye. The Master of Keys, that is what the men of Nova Europa call him. She looked at Valeria. That is what awoke the memory, when you spoke of a master of keys. But the priestesses of the Visionary, the Quaesitors...they have a machine devised by the Visionary, a mixture of physical science and black sorcery. It can view memories from the brain as easily as a man can read letters written upon a page. I had to let Tarmyntir remove my memory because if I was captured, the Quaesitors could have ripped my encounter with Tarmyntir from my mind.

You are a Guardian, said Accolon. You already have a great deal of knowledge that these Quaesitors should never possess.

Aye, said Morigna. But I know not how to make keys for the Great Eye. Accolon inclined his head in acknowledgment of the point. For that matter, I know not how to make another Great Eye, or soulblades, or other mighty weapons of magic. Tarmyntir knows all those secrets. If Ardrhythain is the mightiest archmage of the high elves, Tarmyntir was their greatest artificer. If the Visionary takes Tarmyntir, she will rip the knowledge from his brain, and the Heptarchy will conquer the world with his secrets.

Could Tarmyntir offer us aid against the Heptarchy? said Accolon.

Morigna took a deep breath as if bracing herself for an unpleasant task. Ridmark had the sudden certainty that he was about to hear bad news.

Tarmyntir asked me to bring the Shield Knight to him, said Morigna.

What? said Calliande. Why?

He has a weapon for Ridmark, said Morigna. A weapon Tarmyntir prepared for your hand long ago.

Me? said Ridmark. How does he even know that I exist? You were the first person from Andomhaim he ever encountered.

He is a high elf, Ridmark, said Morigna. What we call the Sight all the high elves possess to a greater degree. For that matter, Tarmyntir is one of the strongest wizards the high elven kindred ever produced. He has likely known about Andomhaim since Malahan Pendragon first settled in what would become Tarlion. Tarmyntir may have been able to read the shadows of the future well enough to know that one day he would need your help.

This weapon, said Ridmark. Did he say what it was?

A ruse, said Morigna. That was all he would tell me. Presumably, he would not tell me more for fear that I would fall into the hands of the Quaesitors.

Accolon shook his head. We need more than a ruse to defeat Agravhask and the forces of the Heptarchy.

No, lord King, said Morigna. The true enemy isn’t Agravhask and the Heptarchy, or even the rest of the Heralds of Ruins. In the end, the Heralds are the servants of the Warden of Urd Morlemoch. He is the true enemy of Andomhaim and the world. The Warden is the one we must defeat, High King. Defeating the Heptarchy and retaking Cintarra will not matter, not unless we stop the Heralds and defeat the Warden.

Ridmark frowned. How would this weapon defeat the Warden?

I know not, said Morigna.

Ridmark was unconvinced. The Warden of Urd Morlemoch was the mightiest wizard of the dark elves, and the dark elves had been an entire nation of powerful wizards. After Ridmark had escaped from Urd Morlemoch the second time, Ardrhythain had battled the Warden to a draw, and the backlash from that titanic struggle had turned the land around Urd Morlemoch to a sea of molten lava. When Ridmark had still carried the sword of the Dragon Knight, perhaps its power might have allowed him to prevail, but the Warden was invincible within the walls of Urd Morlemoch. Tarmyntir might have been a brilliant artificer, but Ridmark doubted he had forged a weapon capable of defeating the Warden.

Then again, Tarmyntir had built the Great Eye, a relic capable of opening a portal to anywhere in the cosmos. What sort of weapon might such a man create?

You said this weapon was a ruse, said Caius, stroking his gray beard as he thought. What manner of ruse? A trap for the Warden, perhaps?

I know not, said Morigna. Tarmyntir did not tell me because of the dangers I already mentioned. Her green eyes shifted back to Ridmark, intense with urgency. I need to bring you to Tarmyntir as soon as possible.

Ridmark shook his head. I cannot go. I am needed here.

You must come, said Morigna. Tarmyntir would only deliver the weapon to your hand.

I have responsibilities here, said Ridmark. We’re about to march against Cintarra and the Heptarchy. I do not delude myself that the battle hangs upon my presence or absence…

Kharlacht snorted. It doesn’t? It has before.

Several times, added Caius.

Ridmark decided to ignore that. I am the Constable of Tarlion, and my place is with the High King’s army as it marches to Cintarra.

Morigna’s eyes flashed. Despite the tense situation, he felt a flicker of amusement. She had never liked to be thwarted, and her death and rebirth into an elven body had not changed that. But you are needed elsewhere, Shield Knight. Tarmyntir says he has a weapon that can defeat the Warden, and he will only give it to you. Additionally, you can travel swiftly to the Heptarchy and return the next day with the power of Oathshield.

I’ve never been to the Heptarchy, said Ridmark. I can only use Oathshield’s power to open gates to places I have visited previously.

I can use the Sight to guide you there, said Morigna

Ridmark shook his head. I cannot. Not when the army is about to march against Cintarra.

You could go yourself, Guardian, said Calliande. Ridmark recognized what she was doing. Acting as a mediator, as she had so often between squabbling lords and knights. Rilmael taught you the travel spell. You could travel to the Heptarchy and bring Tarmyntir back to Andomhaim.

No, said Morigna. Ridmark must go to the Heptarchy and meet with Tarmyntir. He foresaw that it was necessary, or else the Warden would prevail.

Tarmyntir also failed to destroy the Great Eye, said Ridmark, and he also failed to foresee the Heralds of Ruin, and he’s spent the last fifteen thousand years hiding from the Theophract. Perhaps his foresight is not as keen as he believes.

You will not be gone long, said Morigna. No more than a few days at the most. If you were traveling to the Heptarchy through the Deeps or a ship equipped with a sea compass, the entire trip would take a year, if not longer. But with the power of Oathshield, you can go and return in two days. Less, if we use Rilmael’s travel spell.

I cannot, said Ridmark. The next few weeks will decide the fate of Andomhaim. Agravhask has more soldiers and a stronger position than we do. Every sword is needed.

If the Warden is not stopped, said Morigna, then both the realm of Andomhaim and the world will fall, to say nothing of countless other worlds, for he would not stop with ours. We need Tarmyntir’s aid and his weapon. Even without the weapon, Tarmyntir’s counsel would be invaluable. Perhaps he would find a way to sabotage the Great Eye so the Heralds would be unable to open it.

No, said Ridmark. My mind will not be changed. I…

He fell silent as a wind sprang up from nowhere, and a column of hazy light flickered into existence.

###

Calliande watched the argument, uncertain of the proper course.

She didn’t doubt Morigna, was certain that Morigna had met Tarmyntir in the Heptarchy. But Calliande doubted that sending Ridmark to the Heptarchy was a wise decision. Part of her reluctance, she knew, was selfish. She didn’t want to send her husband into danger in a strange land halfway across the world.

God knew there was enough danger right here in Andomhaim.

Calliande believed Morigna, but Morigna had been wrong before. She had warned Accolon and Ridmark of the impending invasion, but her efforts to sabotage Agravhask’s army and fleet before the Heptarchy arrived had failed. For that matter, as Ridmark himself had pointed out, Tarmyntir had made mistakes. He might be wrong that Ridmark needed to meet him in the lands of the Heptarchy.

And Ridmark really was needed here. As much as he had disliked assuming the office of Constable of Tarlion after Corbanic Lamorus fell in Cintarra, Ridmark had proven good at it, marshaling the lords and keeping them behind the new High King. If Ridmark had not been at Shadow Crown Hill, the army of Andomhaim would have been defeated. Or they would have won the battle and Accolon would have been killed, and the lords of the realm would have dissolved into bickering, letting Agravhask pick them off one by one.

Still, the creator of the Great Eye would be a powerful ally, one who might give them an advantage in the impending battle against the Heptarchy. Agravhask was a cunning and skilled commander, and the Heptarchy’s force was nearly twice the size of the host of Andomhaim and its allies, even with the new arrivals from Rhaluusk and the Three Kingdoms of the Dwarves.

Calliande decided to offer a compromise. Perhaps Morigna and a few Swordbearers could travel to the Heptarchy, find Tarmyntir, and bring him back to Andomhaim. Ridmark could open a gate for them and then open it again a few days later to bring them back.

She opened her mouth to speak, and the Sight rose to life within her.

Currents of arcane power flickered around them, magic that looked both strange and familiar at the same time. It resembled Calliande’s own magic, the power of the mantle of the Keeper of Andomhaim, but subtly altered somehow.

Around her, the others reacted, raising weapons or readying spells. Accolon drew the soulblade Hopesinger, and Valeria lifted her hand, icy mist swirling around her fingers as she drew on her magic.

Are we under attack? said Accolon.

No, said Calliande. No, I don’t think so. This is something else. I don’t…

The column of light flickered and became the translucent image of a young woman.

She looked familiar. Calliande had never seen the woman before, but it felt as if she had known her for years. She had blue eyes and thick black hair and wore dusty boots, trousers, and a leather jerkin. The woman looked around, and her eyes settled on Calliande.

With a jolt, Calliande recognized her.

It was her daughter Rhoanna. But that was impossible, Rhoanna was a child of two years, and she was safe in Tarlion with Calliande’s sons Gareth and Joachim. But Calliande knew her daughter’s features, and this was an adult version of Rhoanna. It didn’t take Calliande entirely off guard. Ridmark, Morigna, and Third had all experienced visions of Rhoanna, or perhaps a shadow of Rhoanna’s potential future, who had appeared to warn them of danger.

Now Calliande was seeing her as well.

Though everyone else also saw her.

Accolon and Valeria and their escort stared at Rhoanna’s image in surprise. Kharlacht and Caius looked astonished. Even Morigna looked taken aback. Only Ridmark did not look surprised. He seemed almost resigned, as if the inevitable had just happened.

Is this a spirit or a wraith? said Kharlacht, reaching for the hilt of his greatsword.

She looks like a relative of yours, said Caius, glancing at Ridmark.

She is, said Ridmark. Or she will be.

Rhoanna? said Calliande.

The translucent image smiled at her. Mother. Her smile faded, and she looked over everyone. I have come to warn you.

Who are you? said Accolon.

I am the shadow of the future of Rhoanna Arban, she said. You know that Rhoanna was born with the Sight, more powerfully than any other human has ever possessed it. The shadow of her potential future can speak to the present, which is why I have come to warn you of what is to come. Her blue eyes swung to Ridmark. Father, you must accompany the Guardian Morigna to find Tarmyntir.

Why? said Ridmark.

Because you’re the Shield Knight, said Rhoanna. Because you’re the true enemy of the Warden. Not Rilmael, not Ardrhythain, you. You need to speak with Tarmyntir, and you must bring him back to Andomhaim. All other paths lead to ruin and the Warden’s inevitable victory.

How can Tarmyntir defeat the Warden? said Ridmark.

Rhoanna snorted. The gesture was so much like Ridmark that Calliande knew beyond all doubt that this was what their daughter would look like as a grown woman. He can’t. You can. But you can’t defeat the Warden without Tarmyntir’s weapon, a weapon he made for you and no one else. Go with Morigna, Father. Find Tarmyntir and bring him back. But beware the Visionary. She has been looking for Tarmyntir longer than human civilization has existed. If she finds him, she will become as dangerous as the Warden, and the world will become a battlefield between her creations and the Heralds of Ruin.

With that, the ghostly image of Rhoanna vanished, and the currents of power faded.

The vision was over.

They stood in silence for a moment, looking at where Rhoanna had been.

Ridmark let out a long sigh and looked at Morigna.

Well, he said. That settles that, doesn’t it?

***

Chapter 2: Companions

The High King already had matters to discuss with his Constable, and Rhoanna’s message simply added to them.

Ridmark went to the great hall of Castra Melidern. The army had been outside the walls of the castra long enough by now that the camp had turned into something like a small city, with rows of tents encircled by ditches and earthwork walls. So far, Agravhask and the Heptarchy had not sent raiders to attack as Merovech and the Dragon Cult had done, withdrawing to Cintarra and the nearby countryside, but Agravhask might decide to change his tactics. Best to remain cautious. Besides, patrols and digging ditches kept soldiers occupied, and idle soldiers soon became lax and vulnerable to ambushes.

Castra Melidern was the strongest fortress on the western side of the River Cintarra, and its great hall was a lofty space, the ceiling supported with high pillars. Until a few weeks ago, it had been held by the Dragon Cult, serving as Merovech’s stronghold as he waged war against the realm of Andomhaim. Then the Dragon Cult had been broken at the battle of Shadow Crown Hill, and Agravhask had seized control of the Cult’s remaining goblin mercenaries, sending them to attack Tarlion.

All those goblins were dead now, the charred hulks of their warships clogging Tarlion’s harbor, and Castra Melidern was in the hands of the High King.

At the moment, the High King stood at the foot of the dais, Valeria next to him. Ridmark and Morigna waited nearby, and Accolon’s closest advisors and most trusted lords gathered to offer counsel. Aridain Martel, the Dux of Caerdracon, who was betrothed to Accolon’s sister Nyvane. Queen Mara and Prince Jager, flanked by several scowling Anathgrimm orcs of the Queen’s Guard. Selene stood next to Mara, watching everything with amused interest. Gavin and Antenora had come as well, along with Kharlacht and Caius. Morigna stood a little distance apart from the High King, a haunted look on her face.

The High King’s closest advisors, Ridmark reflected, were mostly those who had known Accolon when he had been a boy, before his father had defeated Tarrabus Carhaine and claimed the High King’s throne. Those who had been his friends before Accolon had become the Crown Prince. Princes and kings had an easy time collecting friends. Finding allies who would stand with them against the storm was far harder.

And everyone in this room had seen quite a few storms.

Morigna finished telling the newcomers about the vision of Rhoanna.

Well, said Jager. Unsurprisingly, he was the first to speak. The halfling Prince Consort of Nightmane Forest had curly brown hair and bright amber-colored eyes, and he stood just slightly shorter than his diminutive wife. I shouldn’t be surprised that your daughter is so assertive that she ignored time itself to give you counsel.

You saw it yourself, said Calliande. The day I tested her for the Sight, that you played a shell game with her. You weren’t able to hide the ball from her since she could see a few seconds into the future. She has the Sight more powerfully than I do. It’s not surprising that the shadow of her future self can speak to us. Calliande paused, considering what she had just said. No, actually, it is astonishing. But knowing what I do about her abilities, it makes sense.

Then…your daughter herself is warning you? said Valeria, her voice tentative. The little girl we met in Tarlion?

No, said Calliande. Ridmark doubted that Rhoanna herself was even conscious of her future shadow. This morning, before they had left Tarlion through Oathshield’s magical gate, Rhoanna had been chasing her brother Joachim around the grounds of the Tower of the Keeper, and Joachim had let her catch him from time to time. Rhoanna was a cheerful, healthy girl. Except she sometimes knew words and concepts that a girl of three years should not understand. I don’t think she’s fully conscious of what’s happening. Calliande took a deep breath, a flicker of fear going over her expression before the calm mien of the Keeper returned. Nothing frightened her, save for something that might harm her children. But the warnings of her future shadow have always been accurate. She appeared to Third in the Frankish Empire and warned her that Ridmark was in danger, and we all know what happened next.

Aye, said Accolon. If Lady Third, the Lady Selene, he glanced at Selene, and the Guardian Rilmael had not come to my aid, the treachery of Ricatus Eborium would have slain me. Ridmark’s sword hand curled into a fist, and he made himself relax it. Ricatus had murdered the decurion Vegetius and some of Ridmark’s other loyal men-at-arms, and Ridmark had not forgotten that treachery. Nor would he overlook any opportunity to bring Ricatus to account for his murderous betrayal.

I remember it well, husband, said Valeria. She had been there, fighting Ricatus to defend Accolon, though even with her magic, she would have been no match for the Herald of Ruin and the dark soulblade Ghostruin. Though…I wonder something. She looked at Ridmark. Forgive me, Lord Ridmark, but were you in danger during the battle of Shadow Crown Hill?

Ridmark snorted. I think we all were in danger that day, my lady.

Aye, said Valeria, as was every man in the host of Andomhaim. But the Theophract had come to Shadow Crown Hill to kill the Guardian Rilmael. The High King was just the bait for the trap. The Theophract did not expect you at all, Lord Ridmark. Indeed, he was very surprised to see you.

Briefly, said Jager, and a few people laughed at that.

Truly, said Valeria. I think the only person there specifically to kill the Shield Knight was Aeliana Carhaine, and I don’t believe you even saw her during the battle of Shadow Crown Hill.

No, said Ridmark. Aeliana Carhaine was one of the five Heralds of Ruin, bearer of the dark soulblade Ruinheart. She was also the bastard daughter of his old enemy Tarrabus Carhaine, and blamed Ridmark for his death.

Ridmark hadn’t killed Tarrabus. Something worse than death had befallen the usurper king, and Ridmark had tried to save Tarrabus in the final moment. But Aeliana didn’t know that, wouldn’t have believed Ridmark if he had told her, and wouldn’t have cared if she had believed. She hated Ridmark so much that the hatred had led her to the Warden of Urd Morlemoch and twisted her into the creature that she was now.

Valeria shrugged. Perhaps Rhoanna foresaw that by helping Accolon, you would avoid a grim fate elsewhere.

Perhaps, said Ridmark.

I think we may all be overlooking the obvious, announced Selene. The obvious is only obvious in hindsight, of course, but since we are talking about hindsight, it should be obvious.

There was a bit of silence as everyone attempted to figure out what Selene had meant. Ridmark had to admit that it wasn’t the most confusing thing he had ever heard her say.

For those of us who are not blessed with your clarity of vision, my lady, said Accolon in a dry voice, perhaps you could explain further?

It’s obvious, isn’t it? said Selene. Rhoanna loves her father. I don’t know what that was like since my father was the Confessor and he tried to conquer Owyllain and did a lot of other evil things, but that’s a digression. Rhoanna’s shadow loves her father, and she’s trying to save him. Selene shrugged. The rest of us simply benefited as a result.

That makes sense, said Calliande. An unsettled look flitted over her face before her expression calmed. If she foresaw the possibility of Ridmark’s death, her shadow might have acted to prevent it.

Selene shrugged. She’s your daughter. I saw how far you went to save Ridmark’s life before the battle of Urd Maelwyn. Why shouldn’t Rhoanna take after her mother?

Ridmark said nothing. He loved all his children and was relieved they were safe in Tarlion, or as safe as anyone could be in a realm under attack from the legions of the Heptarchy. But he had never considered the idea that his children might try to save him. It was a reminder that they would not remain children forever, that soon they would become adults and have families and children of their own. He had always known that, of course, though sometimes events reminded him of that fact.

Though he had never expected one of those reminders to be the shadow of his daughter’s future self.

If Rhoanna issued this warning to us, then we must heed it, said Accolon. If not for her counsel, Third, Selene, and the Guardian Rilmael would not have made the long and hazardous journey from the Frankish Empire to Andomhaim.

It wasn’t all that hazardous, said Selene. Well. Except for the hydra. And it is easy to travel across a continent in the company of a Dragontiarna Knight.

But if you hadn’t come, Ricatus might have killed me, said Accolon. And we would have lost the battle at Shadow Crown Hill. He took a deep breath. "Therefore, we dare not ignore Rhoanna’s counsel, even if only the shadow of her future speaks with us. I think, Lord Constable, that you had best travel