FIFTEEN
Martar entered the Oaths Chamber, where too many chairs sat empty at the long table once filled by brothers, now lost to the Black Cloaks.
Martar took his seat slowly beside Zarek’s empty space, the ice steady beneath his skin.
Around him sat the remaining officers of the Sworn Exarchs, Vanguard warriors chosen not by rank, but by the ancestors who watched from the Oaths Chamber.
“Let us begin.” Lord Gellar sat at the head of the table. Their commander looked older tonight, the gray threaded through his black hair and beard more prominently, his stern eyes heavy with the burden of keeping peace among the realms. “Tell me what happened to Zarek.”
“The Black Cloaks came in force.” Rocharde fiddled with the gold earring that always made Martar think of land pirates and back-alley tarot readers. “They came from everywhere.”
“How many?”
“Eleven.”
Gellar’s brow creased. “Unusual. Katarra rarely gathers such numbers of his collective at once.”
“They were hunting,” Martar said quietly, as he began to polish his buckles, a habit to do something with his fingers. “And desperate.”
Rocharde nodded. “They’re weakened.”
A murmur rippled through the table.
“How do you know this?” Gellar asked.
“I touched one,” Rocharde said evenly. “Before I sent it back to Katarra.”
“You touched a Black Cloak?” Martar paused from polishing his buckles to peer at Rocharde, whose main power was gravity suppression. But they all knew it was dangerous, reckless even, for Rocharde to use his lesser magick of sight. It was not meant for prolonged contact.
“All I know is that they’ve been weakened. They’ve lost numbers.”
“How?” Gellar’s shoulders swallowed his high-back chair, intricately carved for the Commander. “When Black Cloaks fall, they return to Katarra to be reborn and become whole as part of the collective.”
“But this time they didn’t,” said Rocharde. “Not all of them, from what I read. But I know they were desperate to return those numbers lost.”
Martar felt it then; they all did, the faint tightening in the air, of something ancient listening within the Oaths Chamber. Home to the Sworn Exarchs, this room had no ceiling, just perfectly round walls that stretched tall like a tower, built to protect their secrets from a world of magic.
Martar expected the pages from the Hidden Hall of Histories to start flipping any second now, as the ancestors, the fallen members of the Sworn Exarchs, liked to share their thoughts. All of them were bound by unfinished business with the threat they fought almost nightly.
“Three were destroyed a week ago,” Rocharde continued. “And one last night.”
“Which would weaken Katarra’s collective power?” Bellus murmured by the open doorway to the Hidden Hall of Histories. The historian’s voice was calm as he adjusted his round-rimmed glasses. “We know the rebirthing of Black Cloaks drains him.”
Gellar nodded slowly. “And so they attacked in numbers to regain strength.”
“And for revenge, we can assume.” It’s what Martar would do if in their place—and what he would happily return tenfold if they didn’t find Zarek soon.
They’d been searching all night. The entire Vanguard had spilled into the mortal realm, but no one could sense him anywhere.
It bothered him. He’d stood at Zarek’s side for centuries—his field commander, captain, and friend since they were children. Paired together before they’d ever lifted a blade, they’d been trained to balance one another long before they understood why. He was the ice to Zarek’s fire.
Zarek was the leader. Always had been. And Martar always followed without question because they had each other’s backs.
It wasn’t like Zarek to vanish without a trace.
“Only this time they brought the Poison Blade onto the battlefield.” Gellar nodded at the black blade sealed inside a heavily warded glass box that lay in the middle of their table. All of them were fully aware of how deadly it was to their kind.
“Why use it in battle when they also risk themselves?” Bellus said. “The blade steals power from any who wields it for too long. Which leads to the logical conclusion as to why we haven’t found Zarek yet, is that it has stolen the Captain’s power.”
Gellar’s gaze shifted to Martar. “Tell me how Zarek was singled out.”
“We were battling inside the warehouse…” Martar sat forward, scrubbing rough hands over his face, while his mind replayed the same situation he’d been churning over for hours. “They kept coming. Feeding on mortals, street children. Using them to rebuild their numbers.”
Condorr swore softly, shifting his bulky frame as the chair creaked beneath him.
“Two broke free,” Martar continued. “Zarek followed. I saw him turn one into ashes. Then he vanished after the second.”
Martar swallowed. “We felt it. All of us. The wound.” His hands clenched into fists that rested on his leathered thighs. “And then… nothing. I couldn’t sense him again.”
“Again? Has this happened before, not being able to sense him?” Gellar’s brow creased as the others listened.
“A few times,” Martar admitted with a shrug. “Only briefly. And always in the mortal realm. Zarek never stays gone for long. He always reappears.”
“But this time is different,” Gellar said quietly.
“Yes.” Martar didn’t hesitate. “We know he was wounded.”
Zarek wounded meant more than blood on the ground. The absence of his command was felt. It meant his fire had been dimmed enough for others to reach him—and the Black Cloaks would know exactly what that meant.
Martar’s jaw tightened as the realization took hold.
Zarek had warned them before when the Poison Blade made their way onto the battlefields: The Poison Blade is dangerous, even to those who wield it.
They’d never bring it into the mortal realm without a purpose. Not unless the risk was worth the cost.
Had that been the plan all along?
Strike Zarek, or one of the Vanguard, to weaken and take them alive.
Martar’s jaw tightened; his teeth threatening to crack under the pressure.
Zarek carried centuries of knowledge of their wards, that were the threshold sigils; he knew the fragile measures that kept Paradox’s realm sealed against all of Katarra’s advances. Secrets learned only through command and by those within the Sworn Exarchs.
The only problem was that no one knew where Katarra hid. He wasn’t in any realm they could reach, and even with their combined magicks, Katarra’s domain was cloaked so deeply it might as well have been part of the underworld itself.
If Zarek had fallen into the bony hands of the Black Cloaks, they would carve those answers from their captain, his friend, piece by piece. It truly terrified Martar.
There was a knock. “It is the Seer,” called out the aged female voice.
“Open,” Gellar commanded from the end of the table.
The double doors opened only because the ancestors allowed it.
The Seer entered just a step inside the threshold but could not come any closer. The room’s walls seemed to lengthen instinctively, while silence fell like it was holding its breath.
“What did you see?” Gellar asked.
“Katarra is losing the strength in his collective, Commander.” The Seer leaned heavily her staff, its trinkets and tassels wrapped around the wooden tip like talismans. “His power bleeds away.”
“How?” Gellar demanded.
“A new power neither he nor I can see. A something-something that only harms him.”
New power? Martar felt ice coil tighter in his chest, which dared to fill with hope.
“Is it our power?” Gellar asked the Seer.
“No. It is not of the Vanguard. I can’t explain it, as I’ve never seen it before.”
“And Zarek?” Martar asked, unable to stop himself.
The Seer smiled faintly through her many lines of age and wisdom. “Alive.”
Relief struck Martar hard. He sat forward. “Where?”
“I cannot see him. But he is safe. Our captain will return soon.” Her gaze lingered on him. “But whether he wishes to return… that choice may no longer be ours or even his.” Silence followed as the doors smoothly closed behind her.
A missing soldier mattered. Because they never left a man behind. But for their Captain to go missing, and with the Seer’s cryptic message of whether Zarek wanted to return, wasn’t right.
“Zarek must be resting to gain his strength, just somewhere beyond our reach…” While the war tightened its grip.
“He will come back.” Martar believed it as he stood to get back out there and search for his friend.
“This is his home. His duty.” And he knew without a doubt that duty always came first for Zarek.
“The Captain will return. Soon.” Just not soon enough.