ALDIR
A sea of mist moved in the unconscious rhythm of earth and air, eddying around the base of the mountain and under the many-colored bridge that guarded Castle Indrath. Wide, white rivers streamed past further out, away from the tumultuous currents near the stone cliffs.
It was almost as if one could ride the wild river of clouds away from Castle Indrath and into the far reaches of Epheotus, where the politics and intrigue of war were a distant, meaningless shadow.
I’d carried the knowledge of Arthur Leywin’s survival for several days now, but the understanding of what to do with it eluded me. As a soldier, I owed it to my lord to inform him at once, and yet…
My fingers traced the story carved into the wall where I’d stopped to think. It told the tale of an ancient Indrath prince, and how he challenged Geolus, the living mountain. Hundreds of miles had been torn apart by the ferocity of their battle, but in the end, Arkanus Indrath cleaved Geolus nearly in two, and the mountain fell still.
In ages after, Akranus’s descendants built their home on the mountain’s back. As a sign of respect, they forbid the use of mana when ascending or descending Geolus, a tradition that lived on to the present era.
A wisp of earth mana trickled from the runes and along my outstretched fingers, imparting me with the stolid essence of ancient bedrock. My mind quieted as my spirit settled. This tale was a favorite of mine; it imparted the passiveness of rock and stone, allowing for more rational thought.
“I guessed that I might find you here, old friend,” Windsom's voice came from down the hall. “Is your mind still plagued with doubt?”
“No,” I answered, half turning to watch the dragon approach. He wore his uniform as always, which denoted his position as a servant of Lord Indrath. The midnight blue fabric was embroidered with gold thread at the cuffs, shoulders, and collar, and a rope of woven gold hung from his right shoulder to the middle button of his jacket. I had allowed myself more comfort, wearing a simple gray training robe bound with a silk cord. Visit lightnovelpub.com for the best novel reading experience.
His gaze settled on me with the weight of the night sky. “When we last spoke…”
He left the rest unsaid, but we both understood well enough. I had expressed concern that our actions had led to more Dicathian deaths than Agrona’s ever had or likely would, a moment of weakness I now regretted.
“I did not carry the burden of my actions lightly or well, but distance widens one’s perspective,” I answered.
Windsom glanced at the story wall. “Are these the words of Aldir, or of Geolus?”
“I am a warrior,” I answered simply. “My mind is full of tactics and battle, and at times requires calming.” Stepping back from the wall, I gestured down the hallway. “Walk with me? I am enjoying the castle this morning.”
Windsom nodded and fell into step beside me, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes straight ahead. “I’m glad you’ve accepted the necessity of what was done. At least your part is played, for the time being.”
We stepped aside as two armored guards marched past. They stopped to bow deeply before continuing on their patrol. “Is that why you were so quick to volunteer to lead the attack? To end your long-suffered role as guide to the lessers?”
Windsom straightened his uniform. “I will do as Lord Indrath commands, now and always. But the truth is, you had it easy, old friend. The lessers have become more tedious by the day. At least the boy, Arthur, was interesting. The rest are just fireflies.”
I couldn’t be sure if the dragon spoke out of ignorance, or if he was testing me with his suggestion that my task had somehow been “easy.” It was possible he was attempting to push me to anger so that I might reveal some hidden reservation. I let his words go by unanswered.
“Is the situation in Dicathen salvageable?” I asked.
“They have not accepted our version of events as readily as the asuras,” he answered, his tone accusatory. “Lessers are suspicious by nature, and they yearn for hope above all else, even if it means abandoning logic.”
I nodded solemnly as we turned a corner. On our right, a training room was open to the hallway, separated only by a series of columns carved into the shape of serpentine dragons. Four students practiced a coordinated series of movements and strikes, each in near-perfect unison with the others.
I stopped to watch for a moment. I’d witnessed a thousand—maybe even ten thousand—such displays in my life, but now I couldn’t help but see it as much more than the slow perfection of form, speed, and delivery that we taught our youth. With each practiced strike and block, they learned a blow intended to disarm or kill an opponent. If the asuras continued on their current path, these young warriors would have reason to use them soon.
Chapter end
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