THE ROAD cambered away from the castle, into the Relornian capital city of Uriel. Morning fog and smoke from smoldering fires covered the plateau-bound city. He took in the enormity of the rolling Relornian Plains that stretched to the distant Echantian Mountains in the West and into the rolling hills beneath the rising sun to the East, each divided by the massive mile-wide river known as the Bonekeeper.

The river crawled through the smooth landscape, its banks sheer cliffs a hundred feet above the roiling waters below.

Uriel sat on a high rocky plateau of equal height with the surrounding plains, jutting from the middle of the river, atop the mouth of a mist-shrouded waterfall. Strong currents surged in angry torrents around the base of the rock pillar before dropping out of sight. Thick dirty smog rolled down the sheer cliff face and hung above the rushing water.

Weiss reined his warhorse to a stop and turned in the saddle. From this distance, he took in the enormity of Warden’s Hold. Its white walls stood high above the landscape, and glowed in the sun.

Two towers and the central keep reached beyond the height of the one-hundred foot high walls. Faint symbols carved of a darker stone, had been worked into every surface.

Colossal relief sculptures of heroic figures and historical events decorated the large areas between the symbols and along the ledges.

Without doubt, Warden’s Hold had no equal and Alessandro’s great love of history was evident on every surface.

The world would not soon forget Alessandro Elvand. Or his killer.

Explosions echoed from the castle, across the expansive plains. Fire and smoke erupted from the castle as it crumbled and melted. Banefire boiled from windows.

Black smoke plumes and white steam rose as the liquid fire and molten stone flowed into the river below.

Weiss did not fear fire, but the memory of the hellish substance that melted his flesh made him shiver.

He might have died that day. The force of his will prevented the destruction, even as Alessandro extinguished the flames.

Weiss looked at Alessandro’s corpse and then back up as the last of his brother’s great accomplishments disintegrated into the earth. Warden’s Hold stood proud over Relornia for nearly eight hundred years as the seat of power for the Wardens throughout history. Now, by his hand, it lay in ruin.

The roads through Uriel were comprised of rough and deeply pockmarked cobble, carved directly into the rock of the plateau. Weiss turned his horse, trotted to the edge of the city, and looked over, into the river below. Icy wind pinched his face as it raced up the sheer cliff and swirled violently at its edge. The roaring waterfall of the Bonekeeper, growled up at him expectantly.

Broken ships and boulders of ice filled the alcoves along its twisting banks. The ships had carried the two hundred men, sent to die… as a diversion. There had been virtually no hope of a successful assault from the river, but Weiss needed the distraction. Alessandro’s forces suffered heavy losses in the weeks before the attack on Uriel, but a river assault required attention, spreading the defense force thinner.

Though Weiss’ army outnumbered Uriel’s defenders five to one, the bottleneck at the Singing Bridge exacted a heavy toll on his troops. Had he not intervened, the battle would have surely been lost.

The Bonekeeper fed well that day.

Weiss turned and continued along the slippery road. As he drew closer, he saw the bodies of citizen and soldiers, from both sides, which had fallen during the invasion. Remnant fires burned throughout, evidence of the recent violence that visited the once bustling and peaceful capital city.

Survivors busily piled the dead and set them to fire. Though conquered and reluctant to be under new rule, they carried out this task to prevent the real threat of disease and more death. The devout and a decent people of Uriel held great respect and rituals to treat the dead. Too many broken men and women littered the street to receive individual treatment.

Those not occupied with collecting bodies, prayed for the lost souls—both their own and the invaders—to appease their goddess, Thilonial, instead of the proper rituals. Weiss considered it strange that these people worshipped a goddess of the long extinct Isana. Perhaps they didn’t know she served as their primary deity. Religion grew so far removed from its origins that the gods may as well be the same legend.

Weiss had but one dead body to consign to the earth, and it was not for some disinterested god.

Weiss continued winding in and out of the tight alleys and streets to avoid burning rubble and collections of bodies. Along the way, people cleared wide paths when they recognized the man on the giant warhorse.

He admired the people of Uriel. They had subjugation forced into their lives with violence, and yet they had the will to recover. As if a winter storm had come and gone, and they rebuilt to prepare for the next.

He turned the horse right and followed the main road as it curved to the southern edge of town.

A splintered barricade lay just outside the gate at the mouth of the Singing Bridge. Weiss led the invasion two days before, and destroyed the barrier and the soldiers defending it with a wave of his hand. The show of monstrous power started a full retreat among the citizens fighting alongside the soldiers on the lines. Once the front broke, the bulk of the defense force fell back and dug in to protect the castle. By that time, Weiss had driven his forces in, and with the losses Alessandro had suffered, the city fell within hours.

Weiss shook himself from reminiscing. There was still a long way to go without sentiment distracting him at every turn.

The air was heavy with dew as the morning moved towards noon and its warming light dissipated the fog into a cold, clinging, dampness. Wind whipped in torrents through the Singing Bridge as it howled a brassy bass staccato with each step of Weiss’ giant horse. The bridge, and the many other oddities unique to Uriel, was the product of Alessandro’s love of books and history and ancient technologies. It had a specially constructed substructure that turned it into a large percussion instrument, alerting the city of any approach.

Two days ago, the horses in his army refused to cross it. Several men tried to force their mounts, but they now belonged to the Bonekeeper.

The road wound down to the plain and along the shore for a mile.  It broke away from the coast and curved into a thick, pine forest. Wrecked and broken ships littered the freezing water far from the base of the giant waterfall. Sheets of ice, remnants of ships, and frozen bodies hung motionless on its still surface.

“The fruits of our labor, Alessandro,” Weiss said. He looked back toward Uriel sitting high on its rock perch that jutted from the turbulent waters at the top of the waterfall.

A thin layer of frost covered the grass and dirt of the seldom traveled road. It crunched beneath the weight of the horse and wagon as he passed. Mottled tree shadows darkened the road. The air stood still, and was significantly cooler shaded from the rising sun. Quiet dominated the tunnel of thick trees, except for the crunching ice and occasional snort from his horse. Small animals scurried in and out of the brown undergrowth.

Weiss examined the condition of the road and surmised that no one had traveled this way in several years. With good reason; the route passed close to the Wastes, nightmare lands that left its inhabitants mutated and feral. Fortunately, the nature of these creatures bound them to their chaotic home, and they rarely ventured out. Those that did almost never survived.

Above the trees, the mountain range dividing Relornia from Echantia stabbed at the sky. In days past, Echantia thrived and was home to the ancient and powerful Alphon. Now the Waste dominated the land, threatening all around it.

The road curved west and ran parallel with the dwindling leg of the Bonekeeper several miles before it turned south into the foothills of the Echantian mountain range.

Weiss reined his horse to a stop and dismounted. He unhooked the wagon and allowed the animal time to graze and drink from the cool stream. The trees here were thinner, allowing the pleasant heat from the sun to touch the cold earth. The early morning fog dissipated in the warmer air.  

Weiss looked to the distant mountain range. He pushed out with his will. He closed his eyes and allowed his searching will to form images in his mind. Deer and other wildlife went about their business in the woods and nearby foothills. Boulders obstructed the mountain pass a mile in. Weiss considered the obstacle. It would take too long to clear everything before dark. He made camp here and would worry with the boulders tomorrow.

He relaxed his will. He stopped. Something out of place moved in the woods behind him. A human something. He pulled his senses in from everywhere else and focused on this person.

A man. Young by Weiss’ standard and crouched behind a cluster of low brush near a rocky outcropping. Weiss tried to pick up on the man’s thoughts. He never possessed a strong talent with Mind Aspect and the man possessed just enough ability to block his attempt.

Weiss had resolved to just kill him and search the body for clues when he heard voices in his mind. Weiss realized that it had to be a psiode. A Rare crystal that grew in old, natural caverns around Armain and always in mated pairs. They contained mysterious energy that anyone with the knowledge could tap into. The bond between two crystals allowed the user limited communication of surface thoughts, which is what Weiss heard.

“It is him. The rumor proved true,” the man said.

“Good. Follow him,” A familiar female voice said.

Someone followed him. Weiss suppressed the urge to charge through the underbrush and fall upon the man with vengeance.

“Yes, Mistress,” the replied. “What if he discovers me?”

“Well,” the woman said with a hint of humor. “That might be the worst thing that could happen to you in this life. Next to failing me.”

Weiss smiled. At least they did not underestimate him. He imagined that the young man was likely reconsidering his career choice.

Weiss focused and got good bearing on the spy’s position and charged into the woods. The young man reacted quickly enough and drew his weapon as he stepped back.

The brush to Weiss’ right came alive with motion and a deep battle cry sounded from a large man charging toward him. Weiss focused his awareness on the assassin. He realized even the smallest movements the man made.

Weiss slammed a wall of shimmering force into the charging man’s chest. There was a loud crack as bones snapped. A fount of frothy blood spewed from his surprised mouth.

The other man gasped and whipped his sword tip low as he maintained his distance. Weiss held his open palm out. His glossy black greave flowed over his hand, reformed and solidified into a long wicked point.

“I think you and I should have a little talk,” Weiss said and stalked forward.

Then a flash of light and a popping came from the young spy’s clenched fist. He convulsed, dropped his weapon and fell to the ground, his dead eyes wide with shock. Whoever owned the mate of this psiode must have destroyed it, which destroyed this one and the unlucky youth tapped into it.

Weiss shook his head in frustration. The benefactor realized Weiss as soon as the spy had. They had just enough time to break their bond and destroy the psiode.

He searched the man and found a small bag of assorted gems, a loaf of dark bread, a hunk of jerky, and a light armor breastplate and clothes. Weiss took the gems and food and headed back to camp.

He gathered wood and prepared for the night, starting a small fire next to his large stack of wood. He pulled his pack from the horse and set it on the ground next to his bedroll. He pulled the top flap back, reached in and fished around. He withdrew a dark, woolen cloak with a large hood, a linen shirt and pants. It would be simpler, he thought, to avoid confrontation and not leave a breadcrumb trail of death leading to him. His glossy black armor, pale skin, white hair and scars stood out.

Weiss removed the heavy metal armor and stowed it in the wagon with Alessandro. He pulled the quilting off and dressed in the simple linen shirt and pants. He took a pair of soft leather boots out of the pack and slipped them on before shrugging into the cloak. He sat on his bedroll and stared into the flickering fire, unable to shake the familiarity of that voice. When someone speaks in your thoughts, it is always different than a live voice. It lacks the inflections that make a person recognizable. Whomever this person turned out to be, they knew where to find him tonight.

He searched with his awareness several more times, at different distances. Aside from a few animals, he sensed nothing. He lay back on his bedroll and chewed a piece of jerky. The tangy flavor of sweet wine and peppered spices danced on his tongue.

The road ahead was long, and he did not need distractions. This unknown woman threatened to be one. He did not know what interest she could have in tracking him, but it hardly mattered. It bothered him more that he could not match a face to the voice. Weiss closed his eyes and let his mind wander.

The sun chased the morning chill into the shadows. Frost melted and dripped off the trees in the forest, pattering like light rain as it hit the loamy ground. He allowed his mind to relax with the soothing sound and drifted to sleep.

Next Chapter: Chapter Twenty Two