Page 301 of Of Empires and Dust
“Let her go, Grandmaster,” Poldor said, finally resting a hand on Kallinvar’s shoulder.
Kallinvar released his hold on Tallia, and the young Watcher squirmed away, dropping to the ground, tears streaming.
“You need rest.” Poldor shifted so he looked into Kallinvar’s eyes.
“He’s dead, Poldor.”
Poldor’s jaw clenched at that, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I’ll have the rites prepared, and his name will be marked. Gildrick will watch over you always…” His fingers tightened on Kallinvar’s shoulder. “Always.”
“The book,” Kallinvar said.
“What book?”
“The one he took in here to study…” Kallinvar tried to gather his thoughts. Gildrick was dead. The young boy he’d watched grow into a man. The man who had become his friend. The friend who had become a rock upon which Kallinvar leaned. “It wasn’t what he was reading. Where is it?”
Poldor stared into Kallinvar’s eyes, and Kallinvar wasn’t sure whether it was because Poldor understood what he was saying or because the man just wanted to comfort him, but Poldor walked to Gildrick’s desk. He pulled open the curtains, letting light wash over the room, then moved here and there, searching.
“It’s not here,” Poldor said finally. “It could be anywhere, Kallinvar.”
“What is it you’re looking for?” Tallia asked, still trembling, eyes red.
Poldor glanced at Kallinvar. “Just a book. One Watcher Gildrick had in his possession. Deep black leather, the edges frayed, some pages missing. It was thick and heavy.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know… That sounds like all the books.”
Poldor sighed. “Go. Get some tea, some food, some rest.”
The young Watcher was gone within a heartbeat of Poldor’s words, scampering past Kallinvar like a terrified doe.
“I should speak to her,” Kallinvar said, more to himself than to Poldor.
“Leave her be for now, Grandmaster. Hearts lash out when they are hurt. Go and rest until the others call. I will ensure Gildrick is taken care of. And I will find that book.” Poldor paused for a moment. “At least he went in his sleep, quietly and peacefully. For those of us who do not carry blades and dreams of dying in the glory of battle, quietly and peacefully is the way all hope.”
Kallinvar nodded absently, stepping past the three Watchers who surrounded Gildrick and kneeling beside his old friend. He pulled Gildrick’s head closer and planted a kiss on the man’s silvered hair. “Heraya will rejoice, for she has taken a shining star into her embrace this day. I’m sure she will be loath to let you go, but I would very much like a drink in Achyron’s halls when I find my rest. Sleep well, my brother.”
Chapter 72
The Choices We Make
21stDay of the Blood Moon
Mythníril, Aravell – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
The drain sappedat Chora as she wove threads of Air through the wheels of her chair, pushing herself ever upwards along the staircases that led to the platform near the top of Mythníril. Two of the Dracurïn mages walked behind her, funnelling threads of Earth and Fire into the stone steps, forging them into a ramp as she moved, then back to steps as she passed over.
Before she’d lost Daiseer, she would not have needed their aid for such a usage of the Spark. But she was weaker now, and the towers of Mythníril were as tall as mountain peaks. Besides, before she’d lost Daiseer, she hadn’t needed her chair either. She was a different person now, in a different world, and she’d come to terms with that… until she’d met Calen Bryer.
After what seemed like an eternity, she finally reached a landing that entered an enormous circular chamber. She pausedfor a moment, slowing her breaths as her lungs begged her for more air. She grunted and stretched, the pain in her lower back burning as though her bones were on fire. If Daiseer had taken her pain as well, she wouldn’t have minded. How thoughtless of him. With a soft cotton cloth she pulled from a pouch at her waist, she wiped the sweat from her brow.
“Rakina.” Hanvar, one of the Dracurïn who had helped her climb the tower, moved to stand beside her, his fist pressed to his breastplate. “We will wait for you here.”
“Du haryn myia vrai, Hanvar.”
You have my thanks, Hanvar.
“Din vrai é altinua atuya sin’vala, Rakina. Palín det er myia haydria ar myia thranuk.”
Your thanks are always welcome here, One Who Survived. But it is my honour and my privilege.
