Chapter One Alistair
Snow and ice crunched beneath Alistair’s boots as he trudged up the steep slope.
His breath came in puffs of steam, and even with the midday sun warming his neck, the air felt frigid as the Void.
Thank the Light for his magic—without the heat of dawnflame to bolster his body, he wasn’t certain he could’ve survived this trek from the lowlands.
Of course, that was precisely why he’d been sent. Were it not for paladins like him, the outer villages would have little recourse for their troubles until springtime, when the snow melted and the treacherous mountain passes reopened for trade with the rest of the Empire.
Determination straightened his back, and he shoved down his weariness, forcing one aching foot in front of the other.
He’d heard the whispers before he left the capital.
Many of his fellow paladins doubted whether the youngest Knight ever initiated was up to this solo assignment.
They thought him a spoiled noble who’d inherited his position rather than earned it.
Whatever it took, he would prove them wrong and show he was worthy of carrying on his father’s legacy.
Cresting the hill, he found Singer’s Rest laid out before him.
The small village appeared crude and crammed together compared to Qori or the other sprawling desert cities he was used to, but he supposed if you squinted, the squat stone houses with their snow-coated roofs possessed a certain quaint charm.
Thin posts lined the streets, perhaps to help identify the path during thick snowfall.
He braced himself to ensure he didn’t tumble in the loose snow and descended the slope. A few passing villagers gave him curious looks as he approached. The instant they spied the sunburst insignia on his breastplate, however, they bowed their heads and averted their eyes.
Such nervous reverence shouldn’t surprise him.
Even those with minimal faith and nothing to hide often viewed Knights of the Order with a mix of fear and awe.
Still, the reception left him uncomfortable.
Some paladins might revel in their authority, but all he cared about was keeping these people safe.
Anything that made accomplishing his mission more difficult was a liability.
As he neared the closest buildings, he glanced toward one of the posts lining the street and stumbled, eyes going wide.
Bursts of crimson blossomed across the pole’s crystalline surface like blooming roses.
The luminous circles expanded until they were almost a full hand’s width long before collapsing on themselves and shifting to a pale yellow, only to resume their growth in an endless cycle reminiscent of flickering flames.
“Ah, I see you’ve spotted our harmonite. A marvel to behold, is it not? Each crystal is unique, shaped by a combination of specific sounds and the artist’s individual touch.”
Alistair tore his eyes from the pole and found a smiling man standing on the edge of the path ahead of him. By his wrinkled periwinkle robes, frazzled white hair, and too-knowing eyes, Alistair judged him the town’s mage. “I take it you are Erys?”
The man bobbed his head. “I am. And you must be the young paladin rushing gallantly to our rescue! What a pleasure it is to welcome you to our humble town. We have Brother Kelvin to tend to our church, of course, but I imagine you could enlighten us with countless tales of your own heroic deeds in service of the Light.”
Alistair frowned, hoping the mage hadn’t noticed his faint wince. He could count his deeds thus far on one hand, and none ranked as particularly heroic. “I’m not here to trade stories, Master Erys. I understand you face a crisis in need of the Order’s intervention?”
“Indeed, we do!” Erys spun about with surprising spryness for a man as old as he appeared, gesturing for Alistair to follow.
As Alistair trailed after Erys, he glimpsed a silver rune tattooed on the man’s neck, half-hidden by the folds of his cloak. Not just any mage then, but a member of the Arcanum. What was a graduate of the most esteemed arcane university in Allaria doing all the way out here?
“We expected you this morning,” Erys continued, “so the town council is already gathered. They can explain more once we arrive.”
A flicker of embarrassment tightened Alistair’s shoulders. “Apologies for my lateness. The pass proved more difficult to navigate than I expected.”
Erys made a dismissive gesture. “No apologies necessary, Sir Knight. I imagine our mountain home must seem unnatural after the desert heat prevalent throughout most of Khordan’s territory. We’re grateful to have you here.”
Alistair didn’t reply as he followed the mage deeper into the village.
Though he had many questions about his mission—details in the request for aid had been sparse—it seemed better to wait until he could speak to the entire council at once.
No sense wasting time repeating the same information.
Besides, the dazzling poles lining the street were more than enough to distract him.
He’d heard of song crystals before—like many Khordanite nobles, his father had kept a few modest pieces in their estate.
Specialized artisans used sounds to permanently alter tiny reserves of magic imbued in the stones and evoke beautiful designs from unique patterns of light.
As the only place in the Empire where they naturally grew, Singer’s Rest had made the crystals their main export.
Without them, the village likely wouldn’t exist.
Yet, these pieces were nothing like the trinkets his father had shown him as a child.
Those had been designed for elegant beauty, carefully curated to serve as art.
By contrast, these poles remained largely unshaped, coruscating with wild patterns that barely hinted at any sort of underlying order.
No doubt they’d be even more stunning at nighttime when they reflected off the winter snows—a fitting sight for Dawncoming in a few days’ time.
Erys waved at the townsfolk as they passed, and to Alistair’s surprise, most smiled and waved right back.
Curious. In Alistair’s experience, mages, especially those from the Arcanum, were usually regarded with the same trepidation as Knights.
He couldn’t decide whether Erys’ apparent friendliness should set him at ease… or make him even more wary.
Singer’s Rest barely spanned the equivalent of a proper city block, so it didn’t take them long to reach a stone building near the town’s center.
Though it lacked the fine adornments one might see on a government building in Qori, festive wreaths of dried leaves and flowers coated its exterior, interspersed with shards of unworked song crystal.
Erys paused before the building’s arched entrance. “As I said, the others should already be gathered inside, as eager to meet you as I was.”
A faint hint of nerves roiled Alistair’s gut as echoes of his fellow paladins’ doubts rang in his ears. He forced himself to take a deep breath. Remember, you are a Knight of the Order. These people are looking to you for help. Give them no reason to doubt you.
“Anything I should know before we enter?” he asked.
Erys grinned. “Maxwell’s nice enough, but he’ll go whichever way the wind blows. It’s Liliana and Kelvin that wield all the power. Remember that, and you’ll do fine. Here.”
Before Alistair could respond, the mage held up his hand. Azure runeflame coated his fingers in scintillating blue spirals intermixed with flecks of silver. The magic swept over Alistair, wiping away the grime caked on his armor from his long journey until it gleamed.
Giving him a wink, Erys shoved open the heavy wooden doors and stepped into the hall, leaving Alistair little choice but to follow.
They emerged into a wide, open room. Twin hearths blazed with warmth along either wall.
At the far end of the chamber, the three other council members sat on raised chairs behind a worn table.
Giving Alistair a friendly pat on the back, Erys took his place at the fourth and final seat.
The area in front of the council would normally be filled with benches, but those had all been shoved to either side.
Alistair crossed the empty space, making sure to keep his shoulders straight and his head up.
He stopped right before the raised dais and pressed his right fist to his breastplate above his heart, meeting each of the council members’ gazes in turn.
“Greetings, elders of Singer’s Rest. I, Sir Alistair of the Order of the Radiant Dawn, am here to answer your summons.”
A dark-skinned woman he assumed was Liliana crossed heavily muscled arms over her worn tunic. “Elders? Bah! I have plenty of years left in me yet, Sir Knight.”
“Now, now,” a tiny, balding man—Maxwell?—at the table’s center said. “I’m sure he meant all due respect, Liliana.”
The last councilor, a narrow-faced man dressed in golden robes matching Alistair’s armor, leaned forward with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Something about him instantly set Alistair on edge. “Of course, he did. Unless you mean to express doubt in the Order’s judgment?”
“Certainly not, Brother Kelvin!” Maxwell said, his pudgy face paling slightly. “I have full confidence in Sir Alistair’s ability to resolve our little problem.”
Liliana narrowed her eyes. “I suppose we shall find out soon enough. And I wouldn’t call our problem so little, mayor. Four of my artisans are missing, and supplies will be tight as it is without more vanishing in the night.”
“I...that is to say...” Maxwell sputtered.
“Perhaps we’d better start from the beginning, hmm?” Erys interjected. He smiled at Alistair, a twinkle in his eye. “We’ve already met, but for the sake of propriety, I am Master Erys, this village’s mage. Mistress Liliana is our head artisan, in charge of our song crystals.”