Chapter 12: Journey III

"Your friend is odd."

Tellesa followed the troubadour's gaze. "Ikharos? I suppose he is. He's from foreign lands."

"Oh really? That explains his garb. I've never seen a hunter wearing armour, or... whatever that is." Glafni perked up. "Imagine the tales he could tell... Has he told you much of his homeland?"

Tellesa shrugged. "Some, but it makes little sense." She had the sudden, horrifying image of the troubadours amongst the Traders overcrowding the Guardian. She couldn't imagine it going well, with his current dark mood. "I think he likes to be alone with his thoughts."

Glafni deflated. He nodded in disappointed understanding. "Ah, I know the kind. My nan was like that. She always thought we're out to steal her gold. Not that there was much of it when I had a gander..."

"Perhaps someone else found it first?"

"That's ridiculous, he wouldn't... Of course!" Glafni stood up. "Excuse me, but I need to find my brother. I tell you, if that dolt didn't share, he'll be getting an earful..."

Tellesa smiled and sipped the last of the weak mead. Joining the Traders had been the right move, and not just because it provided a chance to find the Urgals. Her rage still burned ferociously to see the monsters responsible for Kuasta dead, yet this was... nice. It was almost normal. Here she could talk to people, make friends, live. She hadn't known what that was like for a long time. The rebellion had always been her focus for so long - since her childhood. To see the Imperials brought down... she'd thought, in all her naivety, that was that. Then it all came crashing down in the form of an Urgal host.

It had been hard going since then.

Edmont was a fellow rebel and survivor, but they were not often friends. He had a sailor's superstitions, which collided horribly with her Arcaena-orientated upbringing. And Ikharos was too strange, too intense. He had the aura of a practiced killer and an introverted scholar. Both made for poor company when crossing the wilds of Alagaësia.

Tellesa sighed and put aside her flask. They may not have been easy companions, but it didn't mean she wouldn't try. Ikharos's sight never strayed from the direction of the Spine, even as she joined his vigil. It wasn't yet dark, though the brightest of stars still shone in the evening half-light, eager to battle with dusk's shadows.

"A beautiful night," she murmured.

He didn't move. She couldn't even tell if he was breathing. "It is." Ikharos paused. "You've acclimated well."

"They've welcomed me. It's pleasant."

His helmet had been removed. It meant he didn't expect trouble. She learned more from his actions than she did listening to him. He always had armour and weapons on his person if he suspected there could be danger, unless the occasion demanded otherwise. He had his weapon - the Lumina - on the ground before him separated into a dozen pieces. It was a tool he was fond. That she could relate to. It was nice to have something solid to anchor yourself in reality, even as the entire world around you morphed into something unrecognizable. Her Tigerspite, though she did not quite understand how it functioned, was a gift she appreciated most highly in that respect. It helped her hold her own where another weapon would have failed her. And still that power was frightening. She could point, pull the trigger, and a life would be snuffed out.

"You always start your killers young."

Tellesa looked at Ikharos sharply. "What?"

He refused to be anything other than a statue. His lips barely moved to form the precise words in that eternally soft tone. "Start your killers young. Start them with something small. That's why Guardians are so efficient. Often we're barely hours into our lives before something tries to kill us. The wolves were your introduction. It'll be easier from now on."

"I'm not... not comfortable with that."

"It's not about being comfortable. It's about being alive. You survived where many didn't. It's made you a target. If the Shade finds out, do you think it will ignore you?"

"How did you..?" Tellesa asked curiously. "Just moments ago, it was as if you knew what I was thinking."

Ikharos looked back to the mountains and forests. "Telepathy is one of the most common paracausal abilities I've yet encountered. Psions use it, Techeuns use it, almost every Awoken is capable of it - though most can't do much more than detect the presence of others - and Warlocks can use it. Hive use it. The Cabal Emperor can use it. The Nine can use it. Ahamkara, Worms, and Ghosts. I'm not about to profess I can control minds, though I can fend off any mental attack with some manner of efficiency." His eyes darted to her. "Your thoughts are really loud."

"Loud?"

"As if you were talking next to me, but it sounded... I want to say clouded. It doesn't sound sensible, but that's all I can describe it as."

"I don't follow."

"It's difficult to explain. But... I probably should, all the same." The Guardian glanced around. "The minds of most are open and defenseless. Anyone skilled in mental warfare could infiltrate the thoughts and memories of the masses with relative ease. You and Edmont both need mental blocks if you want to get any further where the Shade is concerned. "

"I need to defend my very mind?" Tellesa asked dubiously.

"Yes. It's easiest to just focus on one thing and one thing only as a temporary block, but you need to be fully aware that another is attempting to attack. If you will allow me, I can put defenses in place which will make it much easier."

"How?"

"Inserting some dormant memories. You won't feel a difference whatsoever, aside from the advantages if you ever have the bad luck to face something specializing in attacking your consciousness."

Xiān appeared between them. Even after some time, Tellesa could never grow accustomed to the sight of the Ghost. It didn't help that it chose to leave them be for days at a time, then randomly pop in to add to whatever pointless conversations they were having. Its shell resembled a metal flower with petals of gold and emerald, but the smouldering eye at the centre was all piercing flame. It wasn't a human and that unnerved her. "It's harmless, but necessary."

She didn't hesitate. "Do it."

Ikharos nodded. After a moment he said, "There. Done. Warlock-grade mind blocks. Designed by the Praxic Order, handed out for the Martian Front. It saved lives. It might save yours." He stood up. "Where's Edmont?"

"I believe he's speaking with the grain merchants."

"Should I tell him? He might freak out."

"Yes. He has a right to know."

Ikharos tilted his head. "I suppose so. Goodnight, Tellesa. Keep your Tigerspite handy. Our foes may reveal themselves yet."

000

Epirion was empty of anything notable. The fourth planet had a primitive form of sentient life that the Worldbreakers immediately set to subjugating. Zhonoch was there with the rank and file as the Vex started popping into existence. The domination of an entire planet had quickly turned into a mass battlefield everywhere, on each continent and in their orbiting ships.

"This is insanity!" Tlac yelled as a maddened Phalanx beat a Minotaur to death with its own severed arm not two Uluru paces away. A Hobgoblin finished the Cabal soldier off with a needle-thin plasma projectile.

Zhonoch laughed and kicked a Harpy away from them. "This is great!"

The Psion snatched two Goblins with his mind and merged them together in a mess of metal and radiolaria. The Vigilant shot down a score of other robots with his slug rifle, but then the central Vex network calculated the potential damage the two posed was too costly and forced them to take cover behind a small building. One of the residents ran out screaming. Zhonoch caught it by the scruff of its neck and bellowed into its face, "Where's your spirit?!"

The native shrieked in fright. Zhonoch tossed it away, where it started running again. A Vex grabbed the poor creature and snapped its neck with mechanical efficiency.

"That's done and shut," Tlac grumbled. The Vigilant roared and burst out of cover at a run, his shield generator absorbing every hit the Vex threw against him with their disturbingly on-point accuracy. His Psion companion cursed and joined him.

The squadron of traitors they'd been honin in on barely had a chance to notice the fast approaching Vigilant before they started dropping. Zhonoch was set to work in a brutal fashion, employing maneuvers and stances that are just not the legion norm. Tlac covered him with his mind to attack the connection between the compromised maniple's equipment and the Cabal Battle Network, assaulting their very weapons. It sent them into disarray, damning them to the Vigilant's wristblade. First they fought, then they panicked, and then they died.

The Vex never relented.

"We need to leave!" Tlac yelled.

"More!"

"You madman, there's too many!"

Zhonoch faltered. The robots were grouped up in imitations of Cabal formations, surrounding the native village and slaughtering the residents. The Vigilant saw reason through his bloodlust and fell back with the Psion, back to more secure positions. They hoped their little murder spree would go unnoticed with the battle ragin all around. The Worldbreakers would have their hides if they found out.

Zhonoch grinned. The risks made it all the more exhilarating.

000

It had been weeks since they'd left Teirm and there was not a single sign of Urgal activity to be found. Ikharos wondered whether he would ever find them, but the Traders were adamant that there had been rumours of the beasts northwards. Their pace frustrated him to no end. He often took to walking off and circling around the caravan, then steadily increasing the perimeter he patrolled. On a day with nice weather and open fields, he'd even go so far as a couple miles off. Still, no matter what he did, he couldn't find any sign of those he hunted.

"Psekisk!" The Warlock swore, startling a pair of singing birds into flight. They hadn't realized he was there up until his outburst.

Xiān joined him. "Nothing around. We could be wasting our time here."

Ikharos slammed his gathered Light into a nearby boulder, shattering it into dust. "This is impossible!"

"What? The Shade or-"

"Everything about this world!" He relaxed his grip and allowed the inescapable gravities of the universe to slip from his control. A nervous calm fell over the life of the meadow. "Too little makes sense..."

"Then let's hope we find something." The Ghost told him. "Come on, let's face it, this place is doing well. People here are alive. There's a world's worth of humans, untouched by Fallen or Hive. That's a plus."

Ikharos sighed. "There is that."

"Where are you headed, exactly?"

Glafni, one of the few brave enough to speak him, shrugged. "Therinsford, Carvahall and then double around to the coast. There's a few villages and towns thataways."

"Doramb?"

"Ah, yes..." The minstrel raised an eyebrow. "Have you been there?"

Ikharos inclined his head. "I have. They used to have an Urgal problem."

"Many do," Glafni spat. "Beasts are becoming more than a nuisance. Some of them are headed southeast, I've heard, though I don't know why."

Ah. "Excuse me a moment." Ikharos slowed and joined his companions. "We may have a problem."

"What is it?" Tellesa asked.

The Warlock glanced around, checking for eavesdroppers, and said in a low voice, "Rumour has it the Urgals are moving southeast."

"But we tracked them north," Edmont argued.

"Therein lies the problem. Maybe the sources are wrong, but... we might be going the wrong way."

Tellesa cursed. "Then we've lost the bastards."

"Not necessarily. Look, if we don't find anything soon, then we head south. The Urgals can't hide from us forever. We will find them, given enough time."

Though the distance to Therinsford was the same as it was from Teirm to the Fläm Lake and easier for the presence of basic roads, the Traders took twice the amount of time to reach the town. Ikharos was gratefulthey managed to reach it at all; he could hardly bear the painstakingly slow pace taken by the merchants.

Therinsford was a scattered, unorderly place that the Risen took an instant dislike to. There was no way that it could have withstood even the most basic of bandit attacks. A Warlord could have ridden in and torn it apart on a whim. Though that, he supposed, wasn't a fair comparison. Earth and Kepler-189f were very different places with very different dangers.

"Too exposed," Tellesa muttered.

Ikharos smiled. "Burhs take foresight and preparation to build. Not everyone has the patience for it."

"Then they'll die," she scoffed. "There's no challenge in it."

"I agree. Still, they've survived thus far. Maybe they have a secret weapon."

Therinsford had no secret weapon. It was exactly what it appeared to be: a defenseless mess. The Traders planned to stay for a few days, which gave rise to another issue.

"Edmont's gone."

Ikharos sighed. "Tavern?"

Tellesa nodded. She looked as tired as he was. "I swear, he treats it like a lifeline. It's not healthy."

"He's stressed and scared and hurt." The Warlock stood and put aside the book that Glafni had lent him. "And we haven't been very considerate."

The walk into the village was short and uneventful, though their surroundings were busy. It was midday and the residents were intent on buying all they needed from the traders. People threw the two suspicious looks, but he supposed that was warranted. They were armed to the teeth. Tellesa had her rifle slung over her back and an Imperial steel sword at her hip, while he had his Lumina and knife in their individual holsters.

Edmont was in the exact place they expected him to be, swigging from a mug of ale and bellowing at other patrons. He saw them coming and pointed. "Ah, 'ere's the wizard now!"

Tellesa crossed her arms. "You're drunk."

"That Ah am, lassie! 'nd a good ting too! Ah couldn't imagine bein' sober 'round yer bunch! Pair of stone-cold killers, both of yees."

Ikharos gently grasped the sailor's arm. "Come on. I think you've had enough."

"Nah, Ah could do wiv 'nother drop..." Edmont's legs buckled. The Warlock rolled his eyes and supported him on one side, Tellesa on the other.

"I don't think that would be healthy." Ignoring the stares the other drinkers gave them, they left with their drunken companion between them and slowly ambled their way back to their makeshift camp. Tellesa fetched a bucket of ice-cold water from the nearby mountain streams. Ikharos prepared a pot of tea - though the native blend was awful and totally unfit for human consumption.

Edmont wasn't even conscious when everything was ready.

"You want to do it?" Tellesa asked.

"Well, he likes me less." Ikharos shrugged. "So it might be better that I do." He grasped the sailor by the collar and dunked his head into the water. Edmont came up moments later spluttering and wild-eyed.

"WHAT THE FECK?"

"There he is..." The Warlock emptied Edmont's water flask and filled it with steaming tea. Usually he would have add a spoonful of milk and sugar, but he didn't have those luxuries at hand, so he made do. "Drink this."

"What the feck do you-"

"Now." His voice grew harsh. Edmont's resolve crumbled. He nursed the drink, eyes shuttered. Ikharos stepped back. "I'll buy ingredients for a proper meal. Keep him here."

Tellesa nodded. "I will."

Ten crowns earned him a loaf of bread, a basket of vegetables, and a fresh quail from the butcher's. Though most of his rations were long gone, he still had a few items to enhance the meal. Edmont looked better by the time he returned, but his mood was grim. His eyes brightened at the sight of fresh food, though, and that was a reaction Ikharos had hoped for.

"We won't have many opportunities to eat like this, so savour it."

Tellesa shot the Risen a wry look. "Are you trying to ruin the mood?"

"Sorry." He gathered spare kindling and started a fire. The bird was already cut into portions, perfect for cooking, and Xiān readied the pan for him. He seasoned the bird with salt and pepper, coated it in olive oil, and roasted it for a solid twenty minutes. Tellesa sliced the potatoes, carrots, and onions and added them to the pot. When it was ready, the Warlock served it in three equal portions. All of them burned their fingers in their haste to eat something other than dried meats or hard crackers. It was a special sort of treat they all sorely missed: a homecooked meal. Just without the home part.

When each plate was emptied, Ikharos leaned back and turned to the sailor. "Feeling better?"

Edmont shrugged. "Bit. My skull will be pounding later."

"You drank a lot."

"Aye." The rebel cringed. "I did, didn't I? Feck... I just... everything is gone. Everything. That was my home. My family. All gone."

"It is," Ikharos agreed. "And I'm sorry. And I know saying I understand won't help you any, but I do know what it's like. Just... please, don't worry us. The three of us are in this together."

"Ye scare me, ye know that?"

"I've noticed. And your superstition irritates me. We aren't perfect, but we're working together."

"I thought ye said ye'd leave us behind if we lagged."

Ikharos shifted. "I think that time has passed."

Edmont nodded. "Ye've a good heart, even if ye practice vile magic."

"Thanks?"

"Speaking of, any cure for hangover?"

"I'm a Warlock, not a damn miracle worker. No."

"Argh. Oh, this is going to be hell."

"Yes it is," Tellesa told him cheerfully. "Think of it as punishment for being a git."

Therinsford received no attack during their stay, despite its vulnerable state, which was impressive all on its own. The Traders took solace in profits gained and moved on. Ikharos planned to stay with them until they stopped again and then continue on northwards into the wilds. The Urgals laying low was unusual to say the least. Reports of them attacking travelers was one thing, but they seemed to have left the area entirely. Winter was upon them and the wilderness would become ever harsher than before, too inhospitable for his mortal companions. The frost would mean their deaths. They had only so long before they would be forced back to civilization, which would mean potentially losing the Shade's scent alltogether.

For once, Ikharos wished the Shade was more powerful. It was at that perfect stage where it wasn't yet strong enough to attract his attention at significant distance and yet capable of so much destruction.

Carvahall was not far from Therinsford - a mere four days away - and settled nicely in the Palancar Valley. Unlike the larger village, it turned out to be a pleasant sight, much more orderly and with some strategic placing as to how the houses were arranged. Its greatest strength was how out-of-sight it was.

"This, I think, will outlast the other," he said aloud

Tellesa glanced around the valley. "It only takes one Urgal to find it."

Ikharos shrugged and carried onwards. The going was tougher than earlier, with fresh snows falling on a nightly basis by then, but he persevered. His Light warmed him, and he shared that Light every night to spark their fires to life and keep the cold at bay.

The Traders settled in an empty field on the outskirts of the village. Edmont cleared them a space not so far that they couldn't enjoy the shelter brought by the small neighbourhood of tents, yet distant enough that they had some measure of privacy. Tellesa went into the village to buy more supplies for dinner. Ikharos promised to cook it himself, using what seasonings he still had. They were rare for Kepler, apparently, and delicious according to his companions. Which was odd. It was common on Earth and the means to make it should have been brought within the Exodus Prime.

Too much had been taken from them. Something was to blame. He just didn't know what.

The furs were piled high and a makeshift pavilion erected above them, yet the winds still froze him to the bone. Perhaps it was only because he had not wrapped up like the others, or that he was wearing normal clothes rather than the insulating Braytech suit, but Ikharos felt cold. And he was sure it wasn't just the temperature.

The fire flickered. Something was attacking it. Attacking his Light. He could feel it keenly: a broiling Darkness, stalking him like a tiger, rippling with power. It was sharp, forged on death and death and death. The entire world was a whetstone for it.

"Go away..." He muttered. It bristled, felt his uncertainty, and began to coil around him. It did not squeeze, did not stab or slice, only sniffed around. It was looking for a weakness. And it found it - the scarcity of his power. His Light shrank from malign presence, hid away from that which sought to devour it. The once-stable Solar-started campfire was extinguished, plunging their camp into darkness and Darkness. No one, and nothing, noticed its absence save for the twin ideologies battling within and without - and the two who represented the losing side.

Ikharos flexed his stiff fingers and curled up. No matter how much he wanted it, the frost couldn't distract him from the raging war he was being subjected to and he hated that. Hated that there were two forces, unbelievably powerful, who only saw him as a tool, a husk to be worn. Was this what the Awoken felt, when they were riven in two?

"I'm here." Xiān nestled against him. She shared his terror. Kepler wasn't like the worldthey hailed from. It was wrong. It was Dark.

The Warlock hugged her closer. Her shell exuded a faint warmth, the only thing keeping his heart weakly pumping. He realized that if he didn't do something quick, he was going to freeze to death and never get back up, but neither of them could move as paracausal energies battled it out, keeping them in place as their beings were torn asunder.

He awoke with stiff joints and numbed lips. A thick blanket had been laid over him at some point. It was the only reason he was still alive.

"You are reckless," Tellesa scolded, stirring the pot filled with their supper's leftovers.

Ikharos gratefully accepted a steaming bowl. It brought life back to his fingers. "I needed to be distracted."

"From what?"

It wasn't there anymore. His Light remained, too faint for anything other than reaching for the Void, but the Darkness was gone. And he knew there was no way it had retreated. It had spared him. And the Darkness knew no mercy.

It must have had something else in mind. Something worse.

"Nothing. It's nothing."

She gave him an incredulous look. She didn't, however, pry. He was grateful for it. "Edmont's asking around about Urgals. I have a feeling we won't find much." She closed her eyes. "We might have lost them for good."

"That won't be forever," he reminded her. Ikharos warily tasted the scalding stew. It was very, very good. "We have the means to keep looking."

"Maybe you do. I can't... I don't know if I can do this forever. Maybe you're right, those fortunes Angela gave us were false. I don't know if I'm willing to become a warrior. We might not find the Shade, let alone be able to kill him." Tellesa hugged her legs. "I was a rebel sympathizer. Now I'm an outlaw. I've spent my life searching for justice, but this world has none."

"Recognizing injustice does not make a just world," the Warlock quietly said. "Another of my kind told me that. During the Dark Age. He knew it better than anyone."

"Who was he?"

"Lord Felwinter, but I met him before the Iron Lords took him up. I swear, he was the only one of their order I in any way liked. The others were all excuses. He was pure action. It didn't matter what rules he broke, he saw that justice was served."

"How did he-"

"Die? Siva. A plague of sorts." Ikharos stood. "I think I should get to work." He made to walk off, but stopped before he could fully leave the encampment. "Tellesa? Thank you."

The day after the Traders had arrived saw a sudden influx of activity. Crowds had formed around the newly sprung market, drawn from all over Carvahall and beyond. It had been much the same in Therinsford. The snow began to melt in the day's heat, and with the help of the masses, churned the mud beneath into a glossy sludge. The air was filled with the smell of cooking food and the hubbub of those bartering.

Ikharos drifted here and there for much of the day, inspecting everything in a casual manner with an eye kept on the surrounding valley. He neither heard nor saw anything amiss. The people of Carvahall didn't seem troubled, which was ironically not what he wanted.

"Ikharos!"

The Risen turned. "Glafni, Lofni. How are you both?"

The brothers - troubadours both - grinned in unison. They were identical, save for the differently coloured garb they sported. Glafni favoured reds while Lofni liked yellow. Their dress was flamboyant, though that was likely commonplace in minstrels. Lofni spoke first. "We're to perform tonight!"

"Oh?"

"Carvahall is great for it. They enjoy a good story."

Glafni took over. "We were wondering if you would attend."

Ikharos smiled. "In that case, I think I will. I look forward to it."

The minstrels cheered and danced away. Ikharos shook his head and continued onwards to explore the village. There was nothing out of place, not that he expected there to be. Still, it was worth checking. He retreated into the tavern, if only to warm up. Edmont was still under watch, but Ikharos was feeling charitable despite his close brush with death the night before. Perhaps a bottle of wine would go well with whatever they were going to have that night. Nothing was quite as fine as the palate he formerly enjoyed in Sol, but he still welcomed the odd drink. His nerves needed settling; the Darkness was an oppressive thing. It had been much the same in the Hive Dreadnaught and the worlds of Jovian space, where the Light was limited.

He wondered if it was his fate to be drawn into every conflict conceivable, for within the building he found an argument already rising up, between the villagers and the cousins Kranti and Bolver - both of whom were cheap grain merchants.

"... angry with the Empire for treating people unfairly, a legitimate concern, but a government cannot please everyone," Kranti told any who listened. "There will inevitably be arguments and conflicts. However, the majority of us have nothing to complain about. Every country has some small group of malcontents who aren't satisfied with the balance of power."

"Yeah," a villager called. "If you're willing to call the Varden small."

Bolver must have noticed the Guardian's presence, for he said, "Ikharos, you come from another land, yes? Is it not the same where you come from?"

All eyes turned to him.

"No," he said. "It isn't."

Bolver continued on regardless, as if his words meant nothing. "The Varden have no inclination towards helping anyone but themselves. All they want is do is overthrow the king and take possession of our land. They have spies everywhere. You never know who might be working for them."

IKharos shrugged to himself and strode over to the bar. The owner, a jovial man, smiled uncertainly. "What would you be having?"

"Wine, if you have it."

The barkeeper frowned. "I don't know... We might just have some in the back."

"I'd like a bottle, if you would, to hold onto for later." Ikharos dropped twenty crowns onto the counter. The man paled and scrambled away to serve him. IKharos turned around, if for nothing else than to enjoy the debate.

A local youth stepped forward to speak. "How do you know this?" He asked the merchants. "I can say clouds are green, but that doesn't mean it's true. Prove you aren't lying."

Kranti glared at the boy. "Aren't your children taught respect? Or do you let boys challenge men whenever they want to?"

No one answered. Ikharos finally decided to add his own input. "I find the young ask us the right questions. They test the validity of our own knowledge."

Bolver, flustered, waved the question away. "It's only common sense."

IKharos leaned back against the bar. He could certainly see the situation getting violent if they kept their attitude up, but he felt no inclination to help them. He had no love for the empire. Not after all that had happened.

The tavern owner returned with three bottles, more than he needed, and Ikharos brought them straight back to the camp. Tellesa and Edmont joined him before long. Supper was a quiet affair, but once more the meal was rich and left them satisfied. For lawless vigilantes they dined well.

The minstrels drew quite the crowd. Children and adults both listened to each of the troubadours' fantastical stories of heroes and jesters. The brothers put on a show about an unfortunate hero who suffered from the worst luck in a highly comical manner. Ikharos found the lighthearted play amusing. Other tales were more grim in their themes, but the last was a different beast entirely.

An old man - not of the Traders, he knew for certain - stepped up for the final performance. A deep silence filled the camp, signaling the importance of the event. Ikharos paid much closer attention; this seemed like it was special.

"The sands of time cannot be stopped," the old bard began. "Years pass whether we will them or not... but we can remember. What has been lost may yet live on in memories. That which you will hear is imperfect and fragmented, yet treasure it, for without you it does not exist. I give you now a memory that has been forgotten, hidden in the dreamy haze that lies behind us. Before you grandfathers' fathers were born, and yea, even before their fathers, the Dragon Riders were formed."

Ikharos leaned forward. Dragons. Finally.

"To protect and guard was their mission, and for thousands of years they succeeded. Their prowess in battle was unmatched, for they had the strength of ten men. They were immortal unless blade or poison took them."

He could feel Tellesa's surprised gaze turn on him. He was just as startled, though hid it better. The tale sounded a poor rendition of history, but already elements mirrored that of Earth's own past. Guardians were strong; the greatest warriors in mankind's entire history. They were immortal, save for the effects of the Darkness's weapons or the forced destruction of their Ghosts.

"For good only were their powers used, and under their tutelage tall cities and towers were built out of living stone."

The Last City was only able to be built with the assistance and protection of the gathered Risen. No human settlement survived without their patronage.

"While they kept peace, the land flourished. It was a golden time."

Humans, Exos, and Earthborn Awoken could farm and manufacture without fear of a Devils attack while the Titans patrolled the walls.

"The elves were our allies, the dwarves our friends. Wealth flowed into our cities, and men prospered. But weep... for it could not last."

The Red War saw an end to the safety of the City and a return to a handful of lesser settlements scattered around Earth, the Farm in the EDZ chief among them. There weren't enough Guardians left to keep the City safe afterwards. They couldn't even keep the Fallen from sneaking through the cracks in the walls. The inner city was all they had the resources and manpower to secure. Even in defeat, Ghaul had won. They were never to have another Age of Triumph. Ghosts and Guardians were in limited supply. Each life counted; none could be wasted.

"Though no enemy could destroy them, they could not guard against themselves. And it came to pass at the height of their power that a boy, Galbatorix by name, was born in the province of Inzilbêth, which is no more. At ten he was tested, as was the custom, and it was found that great power resided in him. The Riders accepted him as their own."

So the king had a connection to Ahamkara. That made him far more dangerous than Ikharos previously gave him credit for. It brought Mara Sov to mind, though of a far less compassionate nature.

"Through their training he passed, exceeding all others in skill. Gifted with a sharp mind and strong body, he quickly took his place among the Riders' ranks. Some saw his abrupt rise as dangerous and warned the others, but the Riders had grown arrogant in their power and ignored caution. Alas, sorrow was conceived that day."

He thought that every occasion the Shadows of Yor were brought up. Shin had been playing a dangerous game. He could easily give have given rise to the next Rezyl Azzir.

"So it was that soon after his training was finished, Galbatorix took a reckless trip with two friends. Far north they flew, night and day, and passed into the Urgals' remaining territory, foolishly thinking their new powers would protect them. There on a thick sheet of ice, unmelted even in summer, they were ambushed in their sleep. Though his friends and their dragons were butchered and he suffered great wounds, Galbatorix slew his attackers. Tragically, during the fight a stray arrow pierced his dragon's heart. Without the arts to save her, she died in his arms. Then were the seeds of madness planted."

Perhaps it could be translated that the king looted the bones of an Ahamkara he had slain. It would have been a quick trip to insanity.

"Alone, bereft of much of his strength, and half mad with loss, Galbatorix wandered without hope in that desolate land, seeking death. It did not come to him, though he threw himself without fear against every living thing. Urgals and other monsters soon fled from his haunted form. During this time he came to realize that the Riders might grant him another dragon. Driven by this thought, he began the arduous journey, on foot, back through the Spine."

The half-dead state of loss and rage was something Ikharos had seen befall others. Guardians who had lost their Ghosts often suffered it. Not many survived the ordeal. Losing a Ghost was not just losing a lifelong friend, it was losing the Light. Losing the purpose of a Risen's entire existence.

"Territory he had soared over effortlessly on a dragon's back now took him months to traverse. He could hunt with magic, but oftentimes he walked in places where animals did not travel. Thus when his feet finally left the mountains, he was close to death. A farmer found him collapsed in the mud and summoned the Riders. Unconscious, he was taken to their holdings and his body healed. He slept for four days. Upon awakening he gave no sign of his fevered mind. When he was brought before a council convened to judge him, Galbatorix demanded another dragon. The desperation of the request revealed his dementia, and the council saw him for what he truly was. Denied his hope, Galbatorix, through the twisted mirror of his madness, came to believe it was the Riders' fault his dragon had died. Night after night he brooded on that and formulated a plan to exact revenge."

Nothing in the post-Collapse history reflected that. The harsh punishments of the Man with the Golden Gun and watchful gaze of the Praxic Order ensured rogue Lightbearers wouldn't pose a threat to humanity. Even Dredgen Yor at the height of his power never truly posed a danger to the City at large.

"He found a sympathetic Rider, and there his insidious words took root. By persistent reasoning and the use of dark secrets learned from a Shade-" At that, the Warlock turned to his companions. They too held suspicious expressions. "- he inflamed the Rider against their elders. Together they treacherously lured and killed an elder. When the foul deed was done, Galbatorix turned on his ally and slaughtered him without warning. The Riders found him, then, with blood dripping from his hands. A scream tore from his lips, and he fled into the night. As he was cunning in his madness, they could not find him. For years he hid in wastelands like a hunted animal, always watching for pursuers. His atrocity was not forgotten, but over time searches ceased. Then through some ill fortune he met a young Rider, Morzan - strong of body, but weak of mind. Galbatorix convinced Morzan to leave a gate unbolted in the citadel Ilirea, which is now called Urû'baen. Through this gate Galbatorix entered and stole a dragon hatchling.

"He and his new disciple hid themselves in an evil place where the Riders dared not venture. There Morzan entered into a dark apprenticeship, learning secrets and forbidden magic that should never have been revealed. When his instruction was finished and Galbatorix's black dragon, Shruikan, was fully grown, Galbatorix revealed himself to the world, with Morzan at his side. Together they fought any Rider they met. With each kill their strength grew."

It sounded like Sword Logic. If it were, then everything would have been rendered dead in their desire to sharpen themselves further. Ikharos quickly dispensed with the theory.

"Twelve of the Riders joined Galbatorix out of desire for power and perceived wrongs. Those twelve, with Morzan, became the Thirteen Forsworn. The Riders were unprepared and fell beneath the onslaught. The elves, too, fought bitterly against Galbatorix, but they were overthrown and forced to flee to their secret places, from whence they come no more. Only Vrael, leader of the Riders, could resist Galbatorix and the Forsworn. Ancient and wise, he struggled to save what he could and keep the remaining dragons from falling to his enemies. In the last battle, before the gates of Dorú Areaba, Vrael defeated Galbatorix, but hesitated with the final blow. Galbatorix seized the moment and smote him in the side. Grievously wounded, Vrael fled to Utgard Mountain, where he hoped to gather strength. But it was not to be, for Galbatorix found him. As they fought, Galbatorix kicked Vrael in the fork of his legs. With that underhanded blow, he gained dominance over Vrael and removed his head with a blazing sword."

There was no such thing as an underhanded blow in true war. There were lines even he wouldn't cross, but he would still employ the most vicious tactics against the enemies of humanity. Ikharos didn't care for honour or glory; he wanted to win. The Fallen, the Cabal, the Vex, and the Hive all knew that truth. They all employed it. Those who didn't were already dead.

"Then as power rushed through his veins, Galbatorix anointed himself king over all Alagaësia. And from that day, he has ruled us."

The storyteller, who looked thoroughly saddened by his own tale, departed. He had left Ikharos with many more questions. But then, for a change, Ikharos didn't mind. The story was a clue. The story gave him a lead.

"I've never heard it told like that," Tellesa said quietly. "But I'm glad I was here to witness the tale told."

"As am I," Ikharos replied. Finally. Something.