71. Sleep Well
Chapter 71
Sleep Well
20 th Day of the Blood Moon
Temple of Achyron – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Kallinvar stood on the steps that led from Ardholm to the great temple, looking out over the city that had become his second home. The clouds covered everything beyond the cliff edge, seeming as immutable as the mountains they caressed. The moon’s light bled into them, tarnishing any beauty they had once held.
He had heard Efialtír’s voice in that chamber. Just as he knew every knight had. He could feel the fear radiating from their Sigils, the panic. Either Efialtír was growing stronger and closer to this world, or he was growing desperate. Neither option calmed Kallinvar’s mind.
Kallinvar glanced up at the statues of the first knights that watched over the temple doors. Thousands of years those statues had stood, their watch unending, their will unbroken. Brother-Captain Arturius and Sister-Captain Cleotan.
Watch over us, brother and sister. I fear the night grows darker.
Red light spilled over Kallinvar’s shoulder as he climbed the steps and passed through the wicket gate set into the temple doors. The halls echoed with the sound of footfalls and chatter, pots clanging, and young porters flitting about like bees. They were all welcome sounds to Kallinvar’s ears. He’d never liked silence.
As Kallinvar walked, Ildris, Arden, and Kevan stepped from a doorway ahead that led to the Soul Vault.
“You acquitted yourselves well today, brothers. They would all be proud.” Of the three, Arden’s Sigil ached of pain the most. The man had taken Lyrin’s loss as deep as a blade. The fault had lain with all three of them – Arden, Lyrin, and Kallinvar himself. Arden for separating from the rest of the chapter, Lyrin for following him, and Kallinvar for allowing it to happen. He was the Grandmaster. Their lives were his treasure to guard, his burden to hold.
“You were a Knight of Achyron today, more than any other day,” Kallinvar said, grasping Brother Kevan’s shoulder. Where Arden’s Sigil held pain, Kevan’s was wrapped in doubt and worry. “You were born for this, chosen by Achyron himself. Do not doubt that, brother.”
When Kallinvar turned to continue on his way, Brother Arden touched his arm.
“A moment, Grandmaster?”
“Walk with me.” Kallinvar gestured along the corridor that led to the Watchers’ chambers. He knew what was coming. He didn’t need to feel Arden’s Sigil. “What plagues you?”
“My brother. While Ruon and the others eat, I would ask that I can see him. That I can ensure that he is all right, and my sister… I need to know how she is.”
“He is well, brother. I watched the dragon vanish into the skies myself. And of your sister I can give you no reassurance other than your presence will do little for her recovery.”
“I understand, Grandmaster, but if I can?—”
“Listen to me carefully,” Kallinvar said, stopping in front of Arden. He did not like the words he knew he must speak, but he had little choice. “Your duty is to this knighthood above all else. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Grandmaster.” Conflict pulsed from the man.
“There is a reason we must shed our past lives, Arden. Being two people at once creates division in our minds, splits our loyalty – a loyalty that must be singular. You know why Lyrin died. I need not beat you round the head with it.”
Arden’s jaw slackened, his gaze shifting to the floor.
“I can accept mistakes. I have made thousands in my lifetime, tens of thousands. What I cannot accept is the repeating of a mistake. Wear your missteps like armour, brother. Wrap them around you so that you may always know them and not be doomed to suffer for them twice over. And so, I say again – your duty is to this knighthood.”
“The duty of the strong is to protect the weak, Grandmaster.” Arden pressed his fist to his chest. “I will be better.”
“Each day, better than the last. That is all a man can strive for, all we are in control of.” Kallinvar let out a soft sigh. “Your brother is a Draleid. His strength is vital to our cause. At this very moment, I go to Gildrick to see what they have uncovered in the remnants of what we found at Ilnaen. If there is something worthwhile, I will send you to your brother. But if not, I need you to know your place. If Efialtír crosses into this world, nothing else will matter. You do not water the plant while the whole village burns. We must focus on the task at hand. There is nothing else that matters. Go,” Kallinvar said, placing his hand on Arden’s back. “If you do not eat, you will not have the strength to fight. That makes you a liability to those around you.”
Arden’s eyes widened at that, his body growing tense.
“The others will be back from granting the new Sigils in little more than an hour. We will plan the next step then.”
Arden acquiesced – though Kallinvar could see the reluctance in his features – and marched towards the kitchens. In the seven centuries Kallinvar had served Achyron, Arden was one of the greatest warriors he’d had the privilege of standing beside. The man still held the impetuosity of youth and the guilt-wracked soul of one who had not yet grown numb, but he was a ferocious warrior and his honour was without question. The conflict within him held him back, weighed him down. In the past, Kallinvar would have broken him, would have ground that conflict from his mind. But something had shifted in him of late. Perhaps it was losing Verathin, or perhaps it was finding Ruon. Whatever the cause, he found himself unable and unwilling to drive that love from Arden’s heart.
When Kallinvar reached the Watchers’ chambers, he paused a moment, allowing himself a deep breath of clean air and a moment of mental clarity. He twisted the doorknob and entered chaos incarnate.
The antechamber for the Watchers’ chambers performed the dual function of entranceway and workshop. And at that moment, there wasn’t a patch of stone left uncovered. Sheets of parchment were strewn about like autumn leaves on the forest floor, books stacked twenty-high. Chests were piled all about, some atop desks, others blocking doors or occupying chairs. Suits of old armour bearing The Order’s sigil were in various stages of disassembly, propped on racks and hooks.
Bowls of Tarkin Stem sat on every table along with pots of tea, some steaming, some long-cold. Thirty or so Watchers moved about the room, stood over books, or sat cross-legged amidst the canopy of parchment on the floor. Watcher Kitra slept in an old wooden chair while Watcher Timkin had passed out on the floor with his legs to his chest.
“Grandmaster.” Watcher Poldor bowed as he approached, a heavy leatherbound book in his grasp. The leather and the symbol of The Order embossed on the front were worn and tarnished, but the sewn binding still held and the pages looked fully intact.
“Poldor.” Kallinvar inclined his head and looked about the chaotic room. “What can I get for you?”
“We will be fine, Grandmaster.” Poldor kicked Watcher Kitra in the shin and she leapt from the chair, sending pages fluttering. “We will sleep when the knights sleep.”
“But you are not knights, Poldor.”
“No, Grandmaster, we are not. But we are Watchers. Our souls were not chosen by Achyron, but they belong to him. This is our place, and we will not shirk our duties.”
“Have you found anything on Tarron? Anything that might help us find him?”
“Precious little, I’m afraid… but…” Poldor paused for a moment, scanning the room. He held up a finger. “There was something.”
He gestured for Kallinvar to follow and stepped through the books and pages on the floor without even looking down. He led Kallinvar to the door on the left side of the chamber, stopping suddenly. “That’s strange.”
“What?”
“I left this door locked.” He stared at the knob, the door slightly ajar. “At least, I thought I did. I always do because Watcher Yuni steals the biscuits that Marina in the kitchens makes for me.” He shook his head and squeezed the bridge of his nose, then pushed into the door with his shoulder. “The lack of sleep, most likely.”
Watcher Poldor’s study was a perfect match for the disarray in the antechamber and the antithesis of everything that was Verathin’s study. Kallinvar frowned at the half-eaten apple on the windowsill that had already gone brown as a column of ants scavenged its remnants.
Poldor laid the old leatherbound book on his desk atop a stack of parchment that was twice as high as the book itself.
“I found these in the quarters that had once belonged to the old Watchmasters. They are from long, long before my time – and yours. Though, they were not easy to find. In fact, it was complete chance that I came across them at all. They were locked in a chest set behind a wall.” Poldor grunted like a mule as he hauled three stacks of books from the floor and placed them onto the desk. “I’d not visited those quarters. Not once in my lifetime. I don’t believe anyone has. But I thought them worth a look in this case. I only found the books because the panel had come loose and stone dust had collected on the floor beneath it. The lock had rusted and broken. It must have fallen off.”
Kallinvar studied the books. The leather and the bindings were in too good a condition to have been from the time of the old Watchmasters. That position had been abolished almost a thousand years ago. These books had been redrawn and rebound, though they were still old – older than Kallinvar.
“They are a collection of sorts…” Poldor tapped on the topmost book.
“Of what?”
“Everything we knew of Efialtír’s workings in this world.”
“Why would that be locked away?”
“Because, Grandmaster. There is more in these books than observations and musings. Watchmaster Arkustin felt that to defeat our enemy, we must know them. And so we recorded the composition of every blood rune, symbol, and writing the knights found in the field, asking them to sit and draw what they could and then combining the efforts into something cohesive. Rather ingenious.”
“By Achyron…” Kallinvar reached out and touched the dark leather that covered the book closest to him.
“The Traitor’s hand,” Achyron whispered in his mind. “It reaches even this place.”
“The Watchers keep meticulous records,” Poldor said, folding his arms. “But I found no mention of these books.” He scratched his chin. “I do not believe I would be far amiss if these records were the reason the Watchmasters were abolished. Though, that is just my speculation.”
“Did you read them?” Kallinvar turned his full attention to Poldor.
Poldor looked at Kallinvar, a glint of uncertainty in his eyes. “Would it matter if I had?”
When Kallinvar said nothing, the man spoke again.
“I have looked through their pages in search of something that might lead us to Brother Tarron – under your command, Grandmaster. My loyalty and my soul belong to Achyron, to this temple, and to the knights over whom I watch. That is unwavering.”
Kallinvar could feel Achyron watching from the depths of his mind, but the god remained silent. “Did you find anything?”
“There are records of old tears in the veil, of knights who closed them… but…”
“What is it?”
“The latter pages – those that I believe told of what truly happened – were torn from the books. As were a number of others. What’s more, that seems to be a common trend. A trend we would not have noticed had you not set us to our task of searching for Brother Tarron.”
“Does Watcher Gildrick know of this?”
“The rank of Watchmaster may have been abolished, Grandmaster, but in name only. There is nothing within these walls that Watcher Gildrick does not know.”
“Where is he?”
“In his study. He spotted something in one of the books earlier today and has been studying it ever since.”
“Something to do with Tarron?”
Poldor shook his head. “Something he believed might be of import in locating the Heart. Something about a fallen god. He said he wasn’t sure.”
Kallinvar nodded, staring down at the books on the desk. “There is wisdom in Watcher Arkustin’s thoughts, Poldor. These books may yet guide us along the correct path. But so too are they a danger. Keep them safe. Seal them in chests and ensure this door is locked at all times. They are for your and Gildrick’s eyes only. Understood?”
“Understood, Grandmaster.”
Kallinvar stepped closer to Poldor. “Watcher, we are close to what could be the end of all we know. A feather alone could tip the balance.”
“The duty of the strong is to protect the weak, Grandmaster Kallinvar. I remain faithful and resolute.”
“Achyron guide us.” Kallinvar inclined his head to the Watcher. “You have my trust, Poldor.”
“And you have mine.”
“Hmm. Let me know if you turn over anything that might be of import. I will see what Gildrick has found.”
Kallinvar stepped from the room and walked carefully across the antechamber, avoiding the sleeping body of Watcher Timkin and trying not to tread on any of the loose sheets of parchment. He snatched some Tarkin Stem from a bowl on a nearby table and tossed the whole stem into his mouth. He bit down, and the stem cracked, the sour juice flooding his mouth. Kallinvar clenched his jaw and sucked in his cheeks. Chewing Tarkin Stem was like snorting fire and eating a raw lemon at the same time. But it kept him awake.
The main entrance door creaked, and Watcher Tallia slipped in, a satchel strapped around her shoulder. She smiled at Kallinvar, then knelt and shook Watcher Timkin by the shoulders until he jerked awake and slapped his head on a table leg.
Kallinvar carried on, rapping his knuckles on the door of Gildrick’s study.
When no answer came, he knocked again. “Gildrick. It’s Kallinvar.”
No answer again. Kallinvar shook his head and turned the knob. As expected, Gildrick’s study was pristine. The scrolls set in stone alcoves were well kept and orderly, the candle on the desk was fresh, any dripping wax scraped away. And the books and loose parchments were stacked neatly.
Gildrick was slumped, not behind his desk, but in a deep leather chair in the far corner, a blanket over his legs, a book open in his lap.
“Old age, my friend,” Kallinvar said as he walked across the study and pulled over the book that sat at the top of the pile on Gildrick’s desk. “An alphabetical list of all Watchers inducted? I would have fallen asleep too.”
Kallinvar smiled. He shook his head and blew out the candle. Gildrick had earned his rest. Kallinvar could give him an hour or two, but there was no sense in burning the temple down.
He lifted the book from Gildrick’s lap, the dim light drifting in through the half-open door to the antechamber.
“ A History of the People of Ardholm ,” Kallinvar whispered, reading the title worked into the spine. He set the book on the desk, lifted the blanket up to Gildrick’s shoulders, and turned for the door.
When Kallinvar’s hand brushed the wood of the door’s edge, he stopped, frigid fingers creeping up his spine. A tiny droplet of doubt in his mind.
Gildrick never sat in that chair. He hated it, said it was as uncomfortable as the void itself. He’d kept it only because his old mentor, Watcher Harthor, had loved it so.
“Gildrick?” Kallinvar called back into the room, far louder than before. No answer came.
Kallinvar looked back into the darkness, dread coiling around his heart like a viper. “Gildrick?”
Again, no answer.
His boots clapped against the stone as he walked, each step filling him with more darkness. The light from the antechamber shone over his shoulder, carving a thin strip through the dark and illuminating the grey hairs in Gildrick’s beard.
“Gildrick?” Kallinvar’s breaths trembled. He stood before Gildrick, eyes adjusting to the dark. His mind and his heart warred when he realised that Gildrick’s chest did not rise or fall.
Please, Achyron, no. Please, no.
He reached out and touched his old friend’s cold neck, tilting Gildrick’s head and squinting to look more clearly upon his face.
There was no pulse, no beating heart.
Kallinvar dropped to his knees. He rested his hand on the side of his old friend’s head, using his thumb to peel back Gildrick’s eyelid. The eyes of a dead man.
He knelt there, his hand trembling against the cold skin of his dead friend’s face, until the door creaked behind him.
“Watcher Gildrick?” Tallia’s voice was soft. “Grandmaster, what are you doing here?”
Kallinvar held his gaze on Gildrick for a moment, then turned. “Where were you today, Tallia?”
He stood, the dread in his heart bubbling.
“What… what do you mean, Grandmaster? I was in the library in the temple. And… and out fetching tea.”
“I don’t believe her,” Achyron’s voice whispered.
“Where were you?” Kallinvar’s voice rose, filling the room.
“I… I was in the library, I swear it.”
His thoughts swirled as he approached the young Watcher. Gildrick never sat in that chair. The candle had been freshly changed. The book… Poldor had said Gildrick had been reading one of the old Watchmaster texts. “Where is the book?”
“What book?” She stared up at Kallinvar, fear in her eyes.
“We do not have time for this, my child.”
Kallinvar grabbed Tallia by the shoulders and slammed her against the open door, roaring, “ Where is the book?”
Shouts came from the antechamber and Watchers rushed in. Not one of them dared intervene. But Watcher Poldor called out, “Kallinvar, put her down. Whatever has happened, this is not the way.”
Tallia’s gaze flickered from Kallinvar to Poldor.
“Gildrick is dead,” Kallinvar growled, staring into Tallia’s eyes. There was something behind those eyes, something he hadn’t quite figured out.
“She is hiding something,” Achyron said in his mind.
“What did you do?” Kallinvar growled.
“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t, I promise. He’s dead? He’s really dead?” Tears streamed from Tallia’s eyes.
“Grandmaster.” Poldor’s voice was steady. He didn’t lay a hand on Kallinvar, but he stood less than a handspan away, his face between Kallinvar’s and Tallia’s. “She is a Watcher of Achyron.”
“There are no wounds,” a voice called from behind Kallinvar. “No blood. He died in his sleep.”
“Did you hear Watcher Nandra?” Poldor’s voice softened. “Let her go, Kallinvar. I understand your loss. Your rage. But Tallia hasn’t been in the Watchers’ chambers all day. Gildrick sent her to the library.”
“That is true,” Watcher Timkin called from behind the door.
Kallinvar loosened his grip, shame washing over him. “I… the candle… the book…” He swallowed hard, turning his head to look at Gildrick’s lifeless body. “I… it can’t be.”
“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.”