Chapter Nineteen

Where You Are Meant To Be

'YOU GAVE HIM THREE OF MY FUCKING PROVINCES?! YOU BASTARD TRAITOR!'

Kashurra did not even blink as Shabarra picked up an ornate statuette of the full moon and hurled it at his head. He did not flinch, nor make any move even when it pierced his head and stuck fast.

Of course, Kashurra was not actually there, and the messenger golem felt no pain.

Calmly, Kashurra reached up and removed the statuette, placing it carefully upon the low table as the golem repaired itself. 'I apologise for being presumptuous, God Emperor,' Kashurra spoke slowly and calmly, even as he wished to berate and lecture the tantrum-throwing fool. 'However, the offer was necessary.'

'Necessary?! NECESSARY?!' Shabarra's voice rose so high it hurt Kashurra's ears, ringing in a shrill falsetto. If the matter had not been so serious, he might have found it amusing. 'I am a GOD! I do not bargain like some… some common fucking peddler!'

Kashurra wondered who else besides Shabarra's Sun Guard could hear this, and how hard they must be trying to suppress their amusement.

'What gave you the arrogance, the temerity, to act on my behalf? You dare to speak for divinity? You're nothing but a charlatan! A low traitor!'

Kashurra's eyes narrowed. 'Enough.'

The single word was low and quiet, yet Shabarra stopped instantly, as if struck dumb. He stared at Kashurra, gawping stupidly. Then, he finally found his voice, 'You dare? I am your Emperor. You will address me properly!'

'Your temper requires me to be blunt. You are acting like a fool.'

'I AM?! I'm not the one who gave away three good provinces to a barbarian warlord who probably stinks of manure and drinks piss!'

'Perhaps you should recall that you are only alive because of me.' Kashurra stated evenly, resisting the urge to march the golem over and slap Shabarra. 'I could have easily sat back and let the traitors kill you. I would likely have been able to slip away in the chaos, or perhaps bargain for some satisfactory position. But I did not. I chose to risk my life to help you, and I am continuing to help you.

Banehallow needed an incentive. Something tangible. I gave him a required nudge. He may be a savage, but he will be a useful savage.'

'To me or to you?'

'To us. We both stand to benefit from your reclamation and the Ascension. When you claim absolute godhood, you will not lament the loss of three minor border provinces. And that, of course, is assuming that Banehallow survives the war…'

Kashurra let that sink into Shabarra's brain. Gradually, Shabarra started to calm. 'You have a plan?'

'I always do, God Emperor.'

'Casualties in war are inevitable, I suppose. But surely you cannot promise to be so exact.'

'In this case, I do not need to be.'

Shabarra considered his words, then snatched up a goblet and took a long draught. No apologies, but Kashurra had expected nothing better. 'You had better be right, Viceroy. I do not intend to reclaim my empire only to fritter it away to petty tyrants and backwards rustics.

And Kashurra? Do not presume to make such offers without consulting me in future, or I may well forget that I owe you when I retake the Solar Throne.'

Kashurra bowed low, his expression unreadable. 'I live to serve, God Emperor.'

Davion woke to a growling stomach. His growling stomach. Yes, his appetite did seem to have grown, and he had found that he could lift heavier objects than before, exert himself for longer, think more clearly. Whatever injuries he had sustained had healed quickly, quicker than usual.

There was still that same emptiness, the absence of Slyrak, that he felt keenly. Auroth was not sure if it would pass entirely. He supposed that, like feeling the loss of a close friend, he would simply have to learn to endure it.

The others were already up and at the table when he walked into the main hall. It was now obvious that this place had once belonged to the Dragon Knights. According to Auroth, they had come here to try and weaponise the Radiant ore, but had abandoned the place long ago. Since then, it had been her home.

'Good morning, Davion,' Eserren slid a plate towards him as he sat down. 'How are you feeling?'

'Besides hungry?' Davion accepted the food gratefully. 'Better than yesterday.'

'No more headaches?'

'None so far.'

'Good!' Auroth had long since finished her food, and was now organising several stacks of books and scrolls. 'Then we should be able to set out soon. Hmm… will I need The Trials of War or the Arts of Battle and Valour? Or both? Both, I think.' She slid two heavy tomes into an already bulging bag.

'What's all of that for?' Davion asked.

'Well, we are going to war. I thought Princess Mirana might appreciate some knowledge on the subject. I imagine she is well tutored, the Imperium has a well earned reputation for martial prowess, but still, more knowledge can never hurt.'

'That depends on the knowledge,' Eserren remarked. 'But I do see your point.'

'Where is Ymir?' Davion hadn't seen him since yesterday.

'He left last night.' Caewyn recalled. 'He said he was going to gather his warriors and see what they wanted to do next.'

'He's a mercenary,' Bram added. 'Maybe he wants to join the war.'

'Then I hope he chooses to aid us,' Caewyn said, 'he was pretty good with that axe.'

Eserren stood and pushed away her chair. 'I'm going to see what provisions we can take. It will be a long journey.'

Auroth looked up from her ever growing piles of books. 'Not that long. We're not going to walk.'

They all looked to her wonderingly. Only Rylai did not seem perplexed.

'Erm… Auroth, you are… a strong wyvern,' Bram said falteringly. 'But I don't think you can carry all of us on your back.'

Auroth laughed. 'Don't be silly, Bram! I'm not suggesting we fly into Rasolir. They'd probably panic and shoot us down, assuming I didn't tire from the weight of you all and fall from the sky. No, I have something else in mind.

This is an old Dragon Knight stronghold, as I am sure you've noticed. They did not take everything when they abandoned it. There are still some old teleportation scrolls here, and their magic is still potent. We can use them to reach the Imperium, with a minimal amount of flapping.'

'Oh. That sounds much better.'

'I don't know…' Caewyn grimaced. 'I hate teleporting.'

'Come on, Caewyn,' Eserren beckoned to her. 'You and Bram can help me with the supplies. We will still have some walking to do.'

Davion continued to eat as they left. Rylai soon went to gather some items from a list Auroth gave her, leaving just him and Auroth at the table. Auroth continued to organise her books, never seeming to really reduce the number placed before her.

A glitter caught Davion's eyes as one of the books slid from its pile. He stood and moved towards it, shuffling aside the papers and scrolls covering it.

Carefully, he grasped the book and withdrew it, turning it over to stare at the cover.

There it was.

'I didn't know you liked to read, Davion.' Auroth said.

Davion ran his thumb over the symbol, the open eye of gold, and opened the book. At once, he realised that he wouldn't be able to read it. The language inside was archaic, possibly even predating the Imperial tongue. It seemed to be a jumble of odd symbols and pictographs, and pages were obviously missing. 'Do you know what this says?'

'I have been trying to translate what is still intact,' Auroth answered, peering at the book. 'It's fascinating. May I?' she held out her hands.

Davion handed her the book. She took it gently and placed it upon the table. 'I've seen that symbol before,' Davion told her.

'Really? I didn't know they had spread beyond the Imperium. Where did you see it?'

'Marci has an amulet which looks like that eye.'

Auroth turned her head and stared at him. He hadn't expected her to be surprised. Then again, she hadn't known Marci for as long as he had. She'd never seen her amulet. 'She actually has one?'

'Are they rare?'

'Extremely rare, as are tomes like this.' Auroth said. 'Where to begin?' She frowned and drummed her fingers on the table. 'I take it that you know about the Sun Guard?'

'They're the guardians of the royal family of the Helio Imperium.'

'Correct. Unlike most facets of the Imperium's military, they kept their name and purpose, though their equipment and methods changed.' Auroth turned a page and indicated an image: a warrior, wearing what appeared to be scaled armour, wielding what looked like a khopesh, a far cry from the appearance of a modern Imperial legionary. 'This is one of the first Sun Guard. But according to this and other scraps I have found, they did not protect the Emperors and Empresses alone, not at first.

You see, there were others,' Auroth turned a page, showing a vague figure in a cloak, with that same golden amulet bold against their chest. 'They all bore this symbol. They were known as the Watchers. Unlike the Sun Guard, they usually remained covert. They were people you would not expect to be bodyguards: they usually masqueraded as servants. In fact, that was how they saw themselves: servants of the Children of the Sun.'

'Huh,' Davion frowned. 'It's funny you should say that. Marci is Mirana's handmaiden. Does that mean she is a Watcher?'

'No.' Auroth paused and tilted her head. 'Or maybe… maybe she is, but does not know it.'

'How could she not?'

'Because the Watchers were wiped out long ago, or they were supposed to have been. For some reason, someone went to a great effort to not only destroy them, but also to destroy anything associated with them. That is why information such as this is so hard to find, and why I keep it safe here. Marci's amulet, if it is a Watcher's amulet, would be worth a fortune, though some might seek to destroy it instead.'

'Do they all speak to people?'

'What do you mean by that?'

'Marci sometimes hears a voice in her head when she wears that amulet.'

Auroth turned a few more pages. Davion couldn't make any sense of it, but she obviously could. 'I don't think they talk, assuming I've interpreted this correctly. These symbols haven't been used in the Imperium for centuries. Let's see… here! According to this, the amulets were worn by Watchers, both as a means of identifying each other, but also to relay messages. It was said that the leader of their sect, an individual known as "the Eye", could speak to them through their amulets.'

Davion considered. 'Could some of the Watchers have survived?'

'It's… possible. It might explain a lot about Marci. She is wurm-forged. A luminous wurm-forged. It does not say that explicitly here, but it was common knowledge that the Watchers possessed strange powers, described as "burning light" and "blessed strength beyond that of mortal men". Apparently, every Watcher went through some kind of secret ritual when they swore themselves to service. Maybe it involved imbuing them with a luminous dragon's blood.

And as you know, the powers of a wurm-forged are carried down bloodlines. Marci may not be a Watcher, but she could be descended from one. Is anything known of her family?'

'She was adopted. She doesn't know who her blood-relatives are, or even if they still live.'

'Hmm… I wouldn't mind having a chat with her about all of this, and maybe Mirana too.'

'Why were the Watchers destroyed?'

Auroth shrugged. 'Nobody knows for certain. My early theories were that people simply grew to fear them. Yet as I continued to seek knowledge, I started to wonder if they might have done something more to earn retribution. For almost every piece of information about them to be eradicated, for them to have been nearly annihilated and forgotten, it suggests that they may have done something terrible, something shameful.'

'What about this "Eye" you mentioned? Could we find them? Maybe you could use Marci's amulet?'

Auroth shook her head. 'Those amulets only work for Watchers, or, more accurately, luminous wurm-forged. And though they might be able to send thoughts back to the Eye, it wouldn't be possible to find them by doing so. The Watchers were secretive, answering only to the Children of the Sun. If the Eye does not want to reveal themselves, we won't find them.'

Davion scratched his chin as he pondered this. Whoever or whatever this "Eye" was, assuming Auroth was correct about all of this, they were clearly trying to help. If the Watchers really had been driven to the brink of destruction, perhaps they had good reason to be secretive.

This all left Davion with more questions than answers, but it did perhaps explain a few things about Marci. Maybe someone in the Imperium could help her to find more answers, perhaps even track down her original family.

'I'll take this one with me too,' Auroth slid the book into her bag. Davion was surprised it had not burst at the seams.

'Auroth?'

'Yes, Davion?'

'What is your stake in this? I understand why you helped me with Slyrak, but why do you want to help the Imperium?'

Auroth began to close the bulging bag, then reconsidered and reached for another book. 'That is a good question, Davion. But you would be mistaken in thinking that the Dark Moon would not affect dragonkind. It would. It might cause irreparable damage to the world, and my kindred are part of the world, as you know.

Though I admit, I would have been far more reluctant to aid the likes of Shabarra. I would have done so only because I see Mene as a greater threat. Happily for us, Princess Mirana is going to reclaim her throne, and she seems like a good person.'

'She is.'

'Then that is a good reason too.' Auroth crammed another book into the bag and, with some effort, finally shut it. 'And, despite all of its flaws, I would say that the Helio Imperium is better than Stonehall. Mirana may well make it better. I would like to give her the chance to try.

And besides all of that, I am something of a chronicler. How could I not want to witness history unfold like this? Whatever happens, whoever wins the coming war, the world will be forever changed—that much is obvious. Though I suppose it's much simpler for you, Davion.'

Davion smiled wistfully. 'Yeah. It is simple. Marci is there and I know she will want to fight.'

'As good a reason as any, Davion.'

Davion nodded, trying not to dwell on what the Radiant stone had shown him.

If he was going to die in battle, then so be it.

Once Eserren was finished gathering supplies, they regrouped in a small, round chamber not far from the library. The walls, floor and ceiling were covered in arcane glyphs, all glowing faintly. Auroth had spread several teleportation scrolls across the floor, enough for all of them. Placed around the room were the supplies Eserren had selected, mostly sustenance.

Davion knew that they would not need furs and thick cloaks in the Imperial Heartlands. Marci had told him that her homeland was warm throughout the year.

'Where exactly are we going?' Bram asked. 'Are we teleporting into Rasolir?'

'No. You can't just teleport into Rasolir. Its defences prevent that.' Auroth explained. 'There's another old Dragon Knight outpost in the Heartlands, about two weeks away from Rasolir. That is where we're going.'

'What should we expect?' Eserren asked.

'Where we will be arriving, it's mostly arid. There's a few small settlements around.'

'I meant in terms of threats.'

'Oh! Right. Well, bandits have always been an issue off the roads, and from what I have heard, Shabarra did little to keep them under control. Besides them, there are some dangerous animals, some venomous snakes, nothing you can't handle.' Auroth spread her arms. 'Ready?'

Davion certainly was. More than anything else, right now, all he wanted was to be with Marci again.

Auroth closed her eyes. The runes on the scrolls and all over the room started to glow and thrum. Streams of light leapt from the scrolls, enveloping them, and Davion felt his stomach lurch and leap as the spell took hold, dragging him through something he couldn't hope to define.

Then, with another jump in his stomach, he felt his feet come to rest against solid ground. Opening his eyes, he saw that they were standing within a chamber similar to the one they had left, only obviously more neglected.

Auroth exhaled and shook her arms. 'Well, here we are: Fortis Draco.' She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. 'And it smells like more rats have moved in.'

Fortis Draco had been left abandoned for a long time. It had likely been deserted long before Davion or Eserren had joined the Order. Everything was covered in dust and decay, and here and there piles of rat droppings and bat guano.

Yet as a testament to its builders, the walls still stood, and there were only a few holes in the ceilings. Leaving behind the bare shelves, looted halls and plundered storerooms, they emerged into a square courtyard, standing before a still resolute looking keep overlooked by sturdy towers.

Eserren cast an appraising eye over the structure. 'It's not as bad as I expected. Perhaps with some effort, this fort could be restored to its former glory.'

'You'll have to ask Mirana about that,' Rylai said. 'Technically, since the Dragon Knights left, the fort is Imperial property. Obviously they don't use it.'

Davion paused to peer at the stone under his feet. He realised that it was actually a large mosaic, depicting a luminous dragon, with the Imperial sunburst behind it, and a host of Dragon Knights arrayed for battle beneath.

It seemed a shame that it had been abandoned. There was something about seeing a stronghold so forlorn that made him feel sad.

The Order had abandoned this place, and others across these southern lands, because they had been less needed out here. The Imperium had the means to slay dragons themselves, so they had seen no point in maintaining outposts here. Eserren had different intentions for the Dragon Knights though. Auroth had said that there were bandits out here, and no doubt there were dangerous creeps too. Maybe if Eserren and Mirana came to an agreement, this fort would once again be garrisoned by Dragon Knights.

Stepping beyond the ruined gates, they all came to a halt, momentarily arrested by the sight before them.

Fortis Draco sat upon a hill, and from there, it stood within sight of a great city—a city Marci had described to Davion. Her descriptions had not been lacking, yet the sight was still incredible.

Even from this distance, Rasolir was obviously vast. Behind its thick walls, bristling with Helios Sentinels, Davion could see arched roofs and elegant towers reaching for the skies.

Above all of them stood a huge pyramidal structure: the Rasolir Palace, home of the Children of the Sun.

'Amazing, isn't it?' Auroth smiled. 'I've seen it several times, yet it still impresses me.'

'How long did it take them to build all of that?' Caewyn inquired.

'A long time, I would imagine. The Palace and the walls came first, and they are ancient. In fact, by my guesses, they predate a great many early cultures and civilisations. Even the Coriel'tauvi would barely have learned to shape bronze by then. The Imperium has always been advanced and powerful,' she shrugged. 'Some claim that gods long lost to time shaped the city, others believe that the Ancients built it. Many scholars simply state that the people of this land were just very advanced compared to others.'

'And which do you believe?' Bram asked, still staring at the palace. For his part, Davion could scarcely believe that mortal hands had built such a thing.

'Well, the latter is the most logical claim, if the least fanciful. But the city was built millennia ago, and I doubt that we shall ever know the full truth.'

Shouldering their packs, they descended to the plains and made their way to the nearest road. The land was much as Auroth had described: arid, a little dusty, with trees keeping solitary vigils here and there. In the distance further east, Davion could see rolling hills crowned by trees, and to the south more verdant lands of green. Westwards the land remained arid, growing drier and dustier until it met the deserts of Misrule and El'harath.

The road was paved, if a little overgrown in places, and straight. Apparently it was the Imperial way to make roads as straight and level as possible.

This road, Auroth told them, was the Royal Imperial Highway. It stretched from the Noonstar Gates of Rasolir all the way to the bustling ports of Trionia. It would be the safest road, she added, though it skirted the wild and mostly lawless territory of Saria, often referred to as the Outlands.

They trudged on, meeting only a few souls as they walked—mostly peddlers and traders, sometimes Imperial patrols who would occasionally halt them and ask questions. Davion could not blame them for being cautious, nor for doing their duty. Still, he wanted to avoid delays. The sooner they were in Rasolir, the sooner he was with Marci, the happier he would be.

They paused only to rest at way-stations alongside the road. These were maintained by the army and various trade guilds, though Shabarra had neglected to guard them during his reign. The Regent had corrected this, but the signs of neglect were there all the same. Graffiti had been scratched and painted upon the walls of the sparsely furnished buildings. According to Auroth, most of it was intended to insult Shabarra.

They walked for three days, with Davion at the front—sometimes pulling a little ahead. Slowly but surely, the land was becoming a little greener and livelier. Trees became more plentiful. With the sun reaching over the heights of the Sovereign Peaks, Davion started to appreciate the beauty of this country more, and began to understand why, deep in their hearts, Marci and Mirana had longed to return to their homeland.

Yet again, he found himself wondering what kind of life he might have here. Those thoughts were clearer now, more defined. He could imagine walking among the cypress and olive trees with Marci on a clear summer day. His heart ached with longing at the thought, and he quickened his pace.

The sun had begun to descend from the fiery sky when they decided to stop and rest, resolving to carry on at sunrise.

None of them relished the idea of spending another night in one of the way-stations. They were therefore heartened when they saw what could only be an inn just off the road.

There were a few soldiers standing guard outside, who watched them warily. Davion couldn't read the sign, but Auroth told them that the place was called "The Old Campaigner". Davion made a mental note to start learning the Imperial alphabet.

It was all familiar to Davion: the smell of ale and sweaty bodies, the sounds of raucous laughter and drunken singing, the clusters of locals and knots of travellers and mercenaries.

An inn just like the many dozens he had visited, just in a country he'd never been to before.

There were signs that this one was different from its northern counterparts. One wall contained a mosaic, depicting the sun rising over the plains, illuminating a line of legionaries on the march, Rasolir visible in the distance. There was a bust near the bar, a man who bore a noticeable likeness to Mirana—Davion assumed it was her father. On the wall behind the bar was a scutum, with a gladius mounted alongside it. A plumed helm, freshly polished, was placed on the bar itself. The man behind the bar still stood like a soldier even as he cleaned mugs.

All eyes turned to the new arrivals. Davion could not blame them. The cloaks did not hide the red, orange or silver dragon scales the Dragon Knights wore. Davion had wrapped the blade of his sword in an old cloak, but the hilt of the large weapon was still visible, and Eserren was openly bearing her bardiche. Then there was the rest of them. Rylai and Auroth stood out due to their unusual garb and striking features, and Caewyn, an elf, was still clad in her brigandine with her crossbow slung across her back, staring around with wide eyes and wearing a cheery smile.

'Nice place!' Caewyn remarked happily.

'That'll get you the first round for free,' the owner stated. He squinted as they drew closer. 'Dragon Knights? Nobody's seen your kind up here for a very long time. No business for you, I hear.'

'That may change,' Eserren said.

'Not many dragons up here for you to hunt.'

'I'm sure we'll find work.' Davion said, leaning on the bar. 'Can you spare us some rooms?'

'I can. Always room at the Campaigner.' The innkeeper placed some mugs in front of them. 'This is a frequent watering hole for patrols, sometimes they stop by.' He shrugged. 'I always figured this would be a good place to set up an inn, and I was right.'

Davion took a sip of the ale. It was a pleasant draught. A good start to life in the Imperium.

'Where are you headed?' the innkeeper asked.

'Rasolir.'

'No dragons there.'

'We have friends there.'

Auroth caught the innkeeper's attention, asking for food. Davion nursed his ale as she relayed requests for food. He wasn't terribly hungry, but he accepted the suggestion of a meal. He should have been hungry, if indeed Auroth was right about him being effectively wurm-forged now.

He still felt strangely empty, with Slyrak gone. It was like he had been a part of him for years, a lifetime, not a few months.

He would feel better once they reached Rasolir, once he was back with Marci. He was sure of that. One thing he knew for certain was that he wanted to be with her.

'Hey there, handsome,' Davion almost rolled his eyes as a voluptuous brunette leaned against the bar at his side, doing her best to emphasise her cleavage. 'You remember me, don't you?

Eserren half turned her head. The voluptuous woman grimaced slightly as she beheld the scars and the eyepatch.

Davion's brow furrowed as he tried to remember. She was familiar. He distantly remembered laying her down on a bed, recalled a night spent with her. She wasn't from the Imperium originally, or at least she lacked the accent. He hadn't asked where she was from.

'Kemra?' Davion said at last.

She grinned. 'You do remember me! I remember you. It was a memorable night we had.'

'I'm flattered.' Davion didn't feel proud though. He wasn't exactly ashamed. But he was recalling how it felt to be with Marci. Not just the physical stuff, more how fulfilled he felt with her. How his heart warmed whenever she smiled.

Nobody else would compare now, and that felt right to him.

'You have interesting friends,' Kemra said, glancing at the others.

'They're part of the Order.'

'Ah,' Kemra inched closer. Davion could detect a faint scent of lavender coming from her long hair. She whispered in his ear: 'What say we relive that night we had?'

Davion didn't hesitate. 'I'm sorry, but I can't do that.'

'Oh?' she was surprised. 'Why not? We both had such fun!' She paused, her eyes flicking over to Caewyn. 'You having a few lovers isn't a problem. Everybody knows your reputation.'

'There's just one these days.' Davion answered. 'And you wouldn't want to annoy her. She has a mean right hook.'

Kemra glanced at Eserren, then her gaze roved over the other women. 'Which one?'

'She's not here.'

'Oh?' she sounded very intrigued.

'Not worth the risk, and I don't want to hurt her.'

'What she doesn't know...' Kemra reached into Davion's cloak and ran her hand along his vambrace.

'I can't.'

'If she never knows,' her hand inched lower, running down his abdomen and towards his waist, 'it won't hurt.'

'I won't.' Davion insisted, his voice becoming frostier. He shuffled to the side, leaving her hand hanging in the air.

Kemra stared at him for a moment, then stepped back. 'She must be something special.'

'That's an understatement.'

'And here I was thinking I might get to spend another night with the famous Sir Davion.'

Davion chuckled wryly. 'A lot of things can change a man, and I've been through a lot these past few months.'

She wasn't sure what to make of that. She just shrugged. 'You can't blame me for trying.'

'I am flattered.' Davion said. 'And had you tried this before, I would have been more welcoming. It was a fun night.' He picked up his mug. 'Better luck next time.'

He didn't watch as she walked away. No, he didn't blame her for trying. Marci wouldn't have either. But he wasn't going to betray her. Not for anything.

He heard the door open again, probably more travellers. No, soldiers from the clanking. Legionaries, most likely, the innkeeper had said they often visited. Sure enough, the voices coming from the doorway all sounded Imperial, except for a couple…

And then he heard his name.

His name as only she uttered it, a soft musical trill, like a songbird singing.

Davion spun round, knocking over his empty mug, his eyes wide, his heart soaring.

There she was, standing in the doorway, staring back at him with those warm eyes, her expression going from disbelief to joy, a beautiful smile lighting up her face.

Mirana was behind her, also staring. A bunch of Imperial soldiers were with them, Luna and Aiushtha too, Donte and a pangolier Davion did not recognise.

Davion's companions looked just as startled as they did. None of them had expected to run into Mirana and her companions here. They'd expected them to be in Rasolir by now.

Marci dropped her satchel, then hurried forwards, arms outstretched, and wrapped her arms around Davion, grinning as she lifted him off his feet and spun him around. Davion did not resist, in fact he could not help but laugh joyously as she spun him. He was still laughing as she set him down.

Marci grinned up at him, her arms still wrapped around him. Davion leaned down, not caring or really noticing how everybody in the inn was staring at them, and kissed her.

And now he felt whole again, with Marci in his arms, right where he belonged: with her.

There was an outburst of whistles, whoops and applause as Davion and Marci kissed. The two of them paid it no heed. Kemra was staring with disbelief, though it was hard to tell if she was wondering how someone like Marci had caught Davion's attention, or whether she was startled by Marci's display of strength.

'Davion!' Mirana chuckled. 'I should have known we'd run into you at an inn.'

Davion finally raised his head, his arms still around Marci. 'What can I say? I'm a creature of habit.'

'It's good to see you again, Davion.' Mirana smiled. 'Did you…'

'Yes,' Davion nodded. 'It's done. What happened to you?' He now noticed that Mirana and Marci were dressed very differently. Marci was wearing what looked like Mingin Accord clothing. 'We were expecting to meet you in Rasolir.'

'Long story,' Luna grunted.

'It sounds like we have some catching up to do.' Eserren said. 'Bram, see if you can find us a table. A big one.'

'And we'll need some more food.' Davion added. 'A lot more.'

Marci beamed up at him.

They gathered around a large table in the corner, eating and talking long into the evening. Marci remained close to Davion, practically sharing a plate with him—he let her have the lion's share.

Though he'd had good reason to go to Icewrack, Davion did regret not being there for the others. He would have been glad to help deal with Aridin. But he was no longer a problem, and things had worked out well enough.

As big as the Old Campaigner was, some of them would have to share rooms. Not a problem for Davion and Marci, of course. Aiushtha elected to sleep in the stables.

Davion had expected Marci to be eager. She still surprised him. He'd only just opened the door when Marci scooped him up and carried him into the room, bridal fashion. She'd stopped only to latch the door, then she had deposited him on the bed and practically pounced on him.

Their clothes ended up strewn around the bed, the rests taken between their lovemaking were all brief, and the two of them ended up in each other's arms when they were finally done.

Marci snuggled up against him, her arms around him, her head resting on his chest, satisfied for the moment, her skin warm and smooth against his, smiling widely.

'I guess you missed me.' Davion remarked.

Marci nodded, caressing his chest. She raised an eyebrow.

'Of course I missed you too.'

Marci grinned in response.

'I love you, Marci.'

Marci shuffled up and kissed him, conveying all she wanted to say. As she lifted her head, a mischievous, impish grin bloomed on her face and she raised her eyebrows.

'Again? Marci! You're insatiable!' He chuckled as he drew her in closer for another kiss. 'Not that I'm complaining.'

'It doesn't bother you?'

Mirana had just finished unstringing her bow when Luna asked the question. 'What doesn't bother me?'

'Davion and Marci. You know what I mean.'

'I do.' Mirana confirmed. 'And no, it doesn't bother me. What Marci and Davion get up to in private is their business.' She glanced at Luna, who raised her eyebrows. 'It doesn't bother me, Luna.'

'Really?'

'I love Marci, Luna. You know that. And because I love her, I want her to be happy. She's happy with Davion.'

'And you? Are you happy?'

'For them? Yes.'

'And yourself?'

'Well enough.' Mirana answered. 'I will be happier when we reach Rasolir.' Luna's eyebrows remained raised, so Mirana gave her a comforting smile. 'Don't worry about me, Luna. I am happy for them, really I am. I am at peace with them being together.' She removed her tiara and set it on her bedside table. She and Luna were sharing a room, partially because there were no more rooms left, but also so that Mirana could keep an eye on Luna. She would rather Luna rested in comfort, but the inn would hold its temptations. So she would keep an eye on her, in case she had a seizure or became tempted by alcohol.

Luna only removed her borrowed armour before reclining on the bed. She lay her sword at her side. 'Just in case.'

'A habit from the old days?' Mirana asked.

'Can you say that this place is completely safe?'

'The owner seems trustworthy.'

'Seems. Not is.'

'He preferred my father to Shabarra.'

'The fickle change direction like a weathervane.' Luna stated, closing her eyes. 'And even if he is loyal, who's to say that some cut-throat or assassin won't try to claim your life?' She sighed. 'Marci is brave and vigilant, but distracted. So protecting you is a duty which falls to me. I sleep lightly and not for long.'

Mirana sighed and shook her head. 'Luna, I appreciate the gesture, I really do. But you don't have to protect me alone. I strive to protect Marci too, and everyone else here.' Mirana placed a dagger under her pillow as Luna watched. 'I've been hunted too. You're in good company.'

Luna closed her eyes again. 'Try not to snore too loudly.'

Mirana scoffed. 'Luna! I'm a Princess! I don't snore.'

Luna chuckled. By the time Mirana had thought of a retort, Luna was already asleep.

Aehlie was not the only new Nightblade. Her pod-mates, Nemwyn and Denweth, had also shown the signs.

Fymryn watched from her perch as the pod revelled in their newfound gifts. They had been celebrated by the rest of the army well into the day, she along with them—though Fymryn had not felt nearly the same joy as they had. She had worn a smile, she had tried to laugh and enjoy herself, yet still her misgivings plagued her.

Underneath the celebrations had been an undercurrent of hatred. They were at war with an ancient enemy, a foe they had despised for centuries.

Fymryn had tried to enjoy herself. She really had. But then she had heard one elf ask a question of the new Nightblades, a question which had made her blood run cold.

"So, when are you all going to sneak into Rasolir and slit the throat of the Usurper's whore?"

Worse still, Nemwyn had smiled at that as she had answered: "Who knows? Soon, I hope. The sooner the bitch is dead, the better for all of us."

Not all of them. Not Fymryn.

So she had quietly withdrawn, slipped away to a corner of the camp, and dwelt on her worries.

These were her people. The Coriel'tauvi. Elves like Dyfed, Adara and Idwal. She was meant to be here, fighting alongside them, for the glory of Mene, bringing justice back to the world and slaying the heretics.

But there were friends amongst those whom she would be fighting. Friends who had become so dear to her in so short a time, and they were good people. Even Luna had her virtues.

It had been only a little easier when they had gone to fight Selemene. Then, the loss of her pod and her people had been fresh. Her anger had been blazing hot. And Selemene had deserved to be torn down.

Yet now… now her anger was gone. Now there was only uncertainty. Something which had started to grow in her ever since she had spared Luna. If she could not have brought herself to kill Luna… then how could she expect to fight the others?

What if she was wrong? What would have happened if she had gone with Mirana or Davion? They would have welcomed her gladly. But it would have meant turning her back on Mene, on her people, on all elvenkind.

Fymryn sighed and gazed up at the bleeding moon, feeling sick. She was tempted to go back to the celebrations, chug down several jugs of mead, and try to lose herself in the revelry, or just drink until she passed out. No wonder Luna drank.

'Fymryn?'

Fymryn lowered her gaze.

Aehlie was standing there. She wasn't wearing much. The breeze plucked at her tunic, drawing it against her skin, emphasising this and that in a way that awakened a primal, carnal hunger in Fymryn.

She was beautiful. Elegant, graceful, a bit like Mirana in the way she stood. Part of Fymryn longed to touch her, to feel her skin against her own, to give in to her.

'I think I understand.' Aehlie spoke softly, quietly, her voice almost a whisper. 'You care for them a great deal. You love them.'

Fymryn blinked, trying to banish the burning in her eyes.

'How could you not, Fymryn? You are meant to love. You are a woman of passion.' She moved a little closer, her scent lingering. 'It is beautiful, Fymryn,' her hand moved towards her face, touched her cheek, lingered warm against her skin. 'You are beautiful, Fymryn.'

Fymryn felt her lips part slightly, but she could not speak. She could not say a word.

'Fymryn, it is a sign. We are Her chosen. We are meant to be together.'

Still, she could not speak. She wanted so badly to give in. Perhaps it would help. Maybe things would be clearer. It would bring her back to being the Coriel'tauvi she was meant to be. Yet part of her railed against the desire, urged her not to give in. It might mean a betrayal. It would perhaps alienate her from her friends.

"Betrayer."

That was what the Omniknight had whispered to her with his dying breath.

She would be betraying somebody either way.

Aehlie started to lean forwards, her lips parting, eyes closing.

Without conscious thought, Fymryn did nothing. She accepted the soft touch of Aehlie's lips. Accepted it again. And then, then she chose to respond, returning the kiss, slowly reaching up and embracing her.

Aehlie drew back, smiling sweetly at her. She took Fymryn's hand in hers. 'Let us love you, Fymryn. Let us be as one.'

Fymryn did not resist. She let Aehlie lead her to the tent, where Nemwyn and Denweth, already naked and eager, accepted them gladly. Fymryn did not resist as they enfolded her in their arms, she did not resist as her passions and desires took hold, and she gave in and abandoned her restraint as they made love.

She did not resist.

Even as she knew that when she awoke, she would still be at war with herself.

Before…

Aurenak did indeed listen patiently as Ezalor explained his plan, from its beginning to the end he hoped for.

Aurenak lifted his head, whiskers drooping, and looked towards the central edifice that the Elder Titan was still working on. 'You would entrust mortals with such power?

'There is no choice in the matter,' Ezalor stated. 'My time in this universe is limited.'

'Why not confront your brother?'

'I have considered it, Aurenak. But in such a battle, there would be no victory, only loss.'

'I would fight for this world. Not only is it my duty, but I care deeply for my charge.'

'I expected no less.' Ezalor looked to the sun, and then to the Mad Moon. Even from where they stood, the fissures appeared to be growing bigger. Small glowing dots were moving around it—fragments of the Radiant and the Dire sundered from the surface. 'It will not be long now.'

'Will your weapon be ready before then?'

'The weapon is not intended for the Mad Moon. It is missing critical pieces. And the only way to get what I need is by destroying the Mad Moon.'

Aurenak looked down at him, his nostrils flaring. 'You said that destroying the Mad Moon could end the world.'

'A risk I am aware of. But the most recent instance I spoke of…'

'The universe where the Daughter of Fire attempted to stop it.' Aurenak recalled.

'Yes. I saw what happened. And I believe I know how to prevent that. There will be great danger, and costs, but the Mad Moon must be destroyed or else this weapon will never function, and my efforts will be for naught.'

'Our efforts.'

Ezalor looked up at the dragon, surprised. He had hoped for his aid, he had even expected it, yet he had not expected Aurenak to agree so readily. 'You will help us then?'

'Yes, Keeper. I will. But one aspect of your plan sits uneasily with me: this idea of yours to imbue an individual with the essence of the light itself.'

'It must be done, Aurenak. I cannot protect this world myself. But I can prepare the mortals to do so themselves.'

'I see.' Aurenak tilted his head. For a few moments, he simply watched as the Elder Titan and Raigor Stonehoof continued to shape the vast work of stone below. Valora patrolled ceaselessly, as if she expected Nessaj or some other threat to appear at any moment. Icarus glided overhead, basking in the warmth of the sun.

'Your chosen mortal, this Prince of the Sun, will need to be defended.'

'I am sure that they will have followers.'

'The threats you spoke of, the ones in other universes, may appear here too. Terrorblade, rogue dragons, a sorcerer who can force other realities into being. I have no doubt that mortals are capable, but that may not be enough.'

'That is a risk we will chance.'

Aurenak gazed south, towards the winding narrow canyons lying before a great mountain range and the glittering waters beyond. 'Maybe we can tip the scales a little further, though this is a suggestion I am loathe to make.'

Ezalor frowned. 'And why is that?'

'It will anger my kin. It may even put them at risk. But I cannot sway them into aiding your cause. It is fortunate that they have merely tolerated your presence here. Yet against such foes as you have encountered and told me of, more than mortal strength will be needed.'

Ezalor turned his gaze southwards too, wondering just what Aurenak had in mind. 'I told you about the Dragon Knight.'

'You did. Who knows? Maybe that will come to pass here too. There is something different here though, something you have not encountered before. I believe I know someone who could provide us with aid.

But be warned: he is reviled by all. He was gravely punished for his actions, driven mad by his sentence, and even if he has regained his sanity, he will likely be bitter and resentful. A terrible curse was laid upon him, and he will feel it keenly until the end.'

'You make him sound like monster and victim both.'

'Perhaps he is both. I have no love for him, yet I pity him.'

'It could not hurt to at least see him, surely? If he is a lost cause, then we shall not ask anything of him. But you believe that he can help us?'

'What he knows and learned is profane, yet perhaps that is what we will need.' Aurenak lifted his arm and pointed towards the canyon. 'If you would seek the Bereft, that is where you must go.'

Ezalor raised a snowy eyebrow, wondering if he had misheard. 'Is that what he calls himself? The Bereft?'

'It is what we call him. He has no name. He has nothing. No music. No power. No worthy form. No purpose. He is bereft of all things, the worst thing a dragon can be.'