And all the colors in the world spun and danced, as if in combat. Then Zahvris, Archangel of Ignorance and Learning, spoke, saying, “Intervention is necessary, my brothers and sisters. For the Light is fading and Darkness approaches.” And so Xiomara, Archangel of the Proven and the Untested, Messenger of the Lady of Light, went down to the soil to find one that would lead the Light against the Darkness.

- The Book of Sealed Light, Struggles, 2:14-19

The dungeons of Dragonhearth were not the traditional rowed cells of iron and stone that one would find further south in the Kingdom. The cells were instead built within a massive wheel that turned on its axis to bring the required prisoner to the fore of the singular hallway that led to the castle above.

“Which prisoner, m’lord?” the jailor asked. He was a thickset man with a lazy eye and enough body hair to make a bear envious.

“Second Prince Cadmus Sinclair,” Gabriel told him, pulling his cloak a bit tighter around his shoulders. The dungeon was below Aravell’s Keep in the center of Dragonhearth, and as such was beneath Lake Ilia. The frigid water seeped its cold even through the steel and rock that encompassed the dungeon, making it colder than even the dead of winter on the surface. Most occupants of the cells died of exposure to the cold, given only a thin wool blanket for their short stay. If the prisoner was made to suffer, or was meant to live for more than a few days, they would be provided with a coat, which worked more often than not, but usually not much attention was afforded the inmates.

The jailor lumbered over to the winch and turned it with a hefty groan. The empty cell in front of Gabriel began to inch left, eventually giving way to an occupied cell where a man lay in the corner shivering underneath a white wool blanket. He did not turn or otherwise seem to notice his cell was moving, just stared at the pale blue wall, teeth chattering like gambler’s dice as he moved along the line. Next came a woman with unnatural bronzed skin, her hair cut short. She wore thin leather armor with a band of many colors on her left arm. Whoever she was, she was certainly not Alteran. She ran to the bars as the cell came into view of the hallway, her lips blue from the cold.

“Face Kaieno Setsua Aviena, northern coward!” she spat at Gabriel in a lyrical accent. “Kill Kaieno like a warrior, not an abandoned tsuketa!” Gabriel paused for a moment, wanting to help her, but the jailor kept turning the winch and she was gone.

The final cell housed a much different kind of occupant. Cadmus Sinclair sat on the floor of his cell, whistling a tune one might hear from a marching soldier, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. As his cell locked in place with a loud click of machinery he saw Gabriel and smiled, but did not bother to stand. Gabriel took a couple steps forward, stopping where the hallway to the cells ended abruptly, leaving a three meter gap between the cell and the hallway to freedom.

“Good of ya t’ come, little brother,” Cadmus said. “I don’t s’pose ya brought me a Dysta melody box? It’s mighty quiet in here sometimes.”

“This isn’t a joke, Cadmus. You killed a luminarch. Then you killed his guards and four arbiters of the Luminarchy when they arrived to arrest you.” Gabriel yearned to get closer; to impress upon his brother the depth of his impulsiveness, but the gaping emptiness before him forced him still.

“They only sent eight. It was insulting,” his brother quipped, still not grasping the situation.

“Cadmus, you can’t expect this to end well. Tension between the Luminarchy and the crown is mounting now, more than ever. Even if that luminarch was just casting wind, you’ve started something. Father is furious, and the Luminarchy is posturing to arrest Donovan, Garren and myself simply for being there.”

“Suppose that happens when you kill a Tenskoa,” Cadmus said, seemingly not hearing Gabriel’s true meaning.

“He was a Tenskoa?! Cadmus, are you truly insane?” The Tenskoa family was the most outspoken critic of the royal family among the Luminarchy, having led an Inquisition to depose Gabriel’s great grandfather Karsten Sinclair IV and establish a theocracy in Altera. To a large degree they were successful, executing Karsten IV and most of his sons after forcing them to confess to heresy and incompetence. It took a minor civil war by Karsten’s surviving son Garren IX, backed by an army of commoners, to overthrow the fragile new government and restore power to the Sinclairs. Garren IX had spared the Tenskoa family by extracting an oath not to challenge the Sinclairs again. Since that time the Tenskoa had focused on spiritual works. Evadre Tenskoa was currently the Lambent among the Luminarchy, the highest honor one could receive in the Church of Andragora.

“It was only Chaleria. He was Evandre’s third cousin on his mother’s side, and from what I hear Evandre hated his mother,” Cadmus said dismissively. “I don’t know why he’s putting up such a fuss.”

“Because he has an angle now,” Gabriel said, trying to reign in his frustration. “Aren’t you the one who always told me that the Luminarchy only lost power the last time because they were not trusted by the people? Ever since Evandre became the Lambent he has been fostering good will with the farmers in Teriborie and Eltarn, from the Crown to Southshield. They were waiting for a time to strike and you’ve given them the perfect chance to get rid of the Second Prince and best military leader of the Royal Legions.”

“Eltarn and Southshield are safe from the grubby hands of the Luminarchy,” Cadmus argued. “We saved Eltarn from the Field Fox three years ago and didn’t even need to tear down the countryside to do it. As for Southshield, I’ve taken care of that port since I was your age, made it safe from Saecrean pirates, opened up trade with Dyst, they have no complaints. Teriborie needs some work but the Luminarchy is far from ready for an Inquisition. They’ll just have my head on a spear, parade it around Coldhearth for a few days and then go back to collecting their tithes. Life will go on, Gabe, even for us.”

Behind Gabriel the iron door opened. “Out,” said an imperious voice that made Gabriel jolt straight to attention. Behind him Cyrano Sinclair II brushed past the jailor to stand next to his son. He was a tall man, more than head and shoulders higher than Gabriel, with his silver hair cut short save for his bangs which were kept in neat rows by clips of dragon bone. He kept a short beard around his lips and chin and his robes were black adorned with silver scrollwork at the hems. For a man of sixty-eight years he was incredibly fit, still able to travel the Kingdom and lead legions into battle. Gabriel’s father wore royalty like most men wore their favorite coat. Even if one somehow missed the clips and crown, there was little doubt this man was meant to be king. The jailor bobbed as low as his paunch would allow him and trundled up the steps to await being called back down. Gabriel, for his part, remained still. There was a prolonged silence before Cyrano spoke again. “I said ‘out’, boy. Is your hearing worse than the jailor’s?”

Gabriel gave Cadmus one last glance. His brother smiled warmly and motioned him up the stairs. “What more can he do, Gabe?” he asked. “What’s done is done and I won’t apologize for it. Now get moving, Da and I have things ta talk about.”

Reluctantly, Gabriel retreated up the stairs. He slipped the jailor a silver coin embossed with a spear and instructed him to send a messenger after him once Cyrano left. Needing some air, he moved through the castle until he reached the courtyard, a flurry of activity full of blacksmiths, ferriers and other laborers. Summer was fast approaching and there was only a small layer of snow across the yard. Gabriel spent some time in the here as a child, weaving in and out of the laborers and avoiding his lessons with Lady Morgan or his father, Donovan never far behind. He had always thought it so much livelier than the interior of the castle. These people were servants, yes, but not manservants, whom Gabriel had always chaffed under. He knew being a prince was not something one usually complained about, but if he could ever have found a grievance it would have been the constant dressing and polite pleading of the butlers. They had always tsked at him for returning from the courtyard or practice ring with muddied clothes. As if somehow he had been able to remain clean during sparring but had opted not to out of spite. No, that was something Cadmus would do. Thinking of his brother made him tense, but he fought the feeling down. He would return once Cyrano was certain to be gone and try to talk some more sense into him. If he could convince Cadmus to be apologetic, even if he had to fake being contrite, perhaps this could be salvaged. He spent hours walking the courtyard. Everything had seemed so much more vibrant when he was younger, the activities of the servants so full of wonder. Now everything felt mundane. An armorer here, a stableboy there. He recognized most of them by sight, if not by name. Yet their tasks were so familiar that he had trouble keeping interest. Finally, he felt a hesitant tug on his cloak. Turning, he saw a boy no more than five years of age with mud smeared over his face and clothing.

“My uncle says the King has left the dungeons, m’lord,” the child said in the slow drawl of Alteran commoners. Gabriel thanked the boy and turned to go, but stopped mid step. He turned back to the boy and slipped another spear into his hand.

“Don’t let your uncle have that,” Gabriel whispered. He knew if the jailor had rewarded the boy anything it would have been a copper shield at best, only an eighth of the cost of a spear. “Buy yourself a bath and some new clothes for next winter.”

“Prisms bless you, m’lord,” the boy said and torn off down the yard as if worried Gabriel would change his mind. The prince sighed and made his way back toward the dungeons. He knew that the spear would likely go towards candy or something else fleeting, or discovered by the boy’s relatives and spent on something for the household, but it was the thought that counted. Tenskoa claimed to care about the common people by committing grand, loud works to proclaim their commitment. But even if a new chancel gave spiritual comfort, it did little to warm or feed the commoners. Gabriel preferred more gentle, meaningful gestures.

The walk down to the dungeons was longer than it had been previously, the anticipation of discovering what his father had said to Cadmus making the stairs seem endless. Finally he reached the end, where the jailor stood, wringing his skullcap in his hands nervously. “Sorry, m’lord,” he said quietly.

“For what?” Gabriel demanded. He felt slightly guilty about being so curt, but he was in no mood to be delayed. “Just bring my brother’s cell around and I can discuss what ever it is with you when I am finished.” The portly man did not move. “Didn’t you hear me?” Gabriel said, using the commanding royal voice he reserved for the Legions and particularly disrespectful servants. “Bring his cell around immediately!”

“I can’t, m’lord,” the jailor said meekly. He motioned with his cap to the empty cell in front of them. “That was his cell. ‘Is Majesty ordered him removed after they was done speaking. I can nay speak of where.”

The bottom of Gabriel’s stomach dropped out into empty space. If Cyrano had taken Cadmus elsewhere then it meant his brother’s fate had been decided. Nothing could alter that now. He wanted to beat his hands bloody against the stone wall, but he was above such crass behavior. “You did your duty, nothing more,” he told the jailor with forced forgiveness. He knew the man was not to blame, how could he have denied the King, particularly one as commanding as Cyrano. He turned to go and was halfway up the stairs when he heard the groaning whine of the cells shifting. “Feeding time, you heathen-“ the voice of the jailor rose to a scream and Gabriel felt a thick draft of heat assault his back. Whirling, he saw pools of fire at the base of the stairs. How in the- The flames roses in an unnatural fashion, twisting like serpents and giving way to curl around the arms of the female prisoner in the leather armor he had seen earlier.

“Kaieno may not reach the Jade Ocean again,” she said, breathing heavily as if from some kind of exertion. “But Kaieno can burn this city of stone and ice to the ground from where it came.” She looked up at Gabriel and smiled grimly, like the condemned looking at her executioner. “Come, child of the Divider. Shaidra guide Kaineo’s hand.” She raised a hand and a jet of red and yellow flame shot forward in a perfect line.

Only his reflexes saved Gabriel as he dodged sideways, the fire guttering out when it reached the cold air before him. He didn’t pause, but sprinted out into the hallway that emptied the dungeons into the castle. He rushed right, then left, yelling at the maids and other servants he saw to flee. Another line of fire caught one of the stunned maids before they could react. She screamed as she caught aflame, the smell of burning hair and flesh filling the hall. He winced regretfully at the casualty, wishing he could have saved her somehow. A sword, he thought, trying to ignore the needless death and stop this madwoman. I need a blade. But what good would a blade do against someone who used fire itself like an archer does arrows? Still, he had to try. I need to get her away from everyone, he thought, sliding roughly around a corner, his head kept low to avoid another gout of crimson fire that splashed against the wall. A spark caught his shoulder and ignited his fur coat. The flame spread faster than it had any right to, reaching his back and chest and burning away his coat entirely. Before it could spread to the rest of his body he launched himself out a nearby window, the colored glass twisting and sparkling in the dim afternoon sun.

He landed in slush and mud, extinguishing the fire but staining his clothes and clinging to his face. Ignoring the muck, he stumbled into the courtyard, attracting stares from the crowd. He staggered toward them, bellowing for them to clear the area. If they stayed, that madwoman would turn them all to kindling. To his dismay, many of them moved closer rather than backing away. Their concern for him gave way to panic as a thick arc of flame leapt out of the broken window, cutting a circular barrier between him and the mass of innocents. Prisms providing small mercies. The thought was short lived as Kaieno, that must have been her name, dove through the opening.

“Sword!” Gabriel shouted as she landed in front of him. “Someone, throw me a blade!” The need to dodge her next arrow of fire prevented him from seeing if anyone had moved to find a weapon. Half a moment later a dagger came skidding through the ring of flame. He threw himself flat to catch it before it was lost in a puddle of melted snow and mud, evading a fiery attack as well. Pulling to his feet, Gabriel palmed the knife and grimaced. He had hoped for a sword. With this, little better than a skinning knife, he would need to get in close to this living, fighting, campfire.

She seemed to be tiring; the strain of wielding fire like a common weapon must have been very draining. The flames were getting weaker, her movements slower. Kaieno must have realized it too, for she became more reserved with her attacks. If there were a time to strike, it would have to be now.

Rolling a toss of the stones, Gabriel slipped between the flames that surrounded the foreigner, thrusting the knife to her chest. The blade struck one of her ribs rather than cutting cleanly, bouncing off the bone and finding a resting place somewhere below her heart. The fires cut out like a quickly doused lantern. For a fraction of a moment, Gabriel thought himself safe.

Suddenly pain lanced across his forearms as Kaieno grasped him. Her fingers gouged through his thin undershirt and into his flesh, burning what felt like patterns into his muscles. Her eyes locked with his and their bright scarlet sheen began to glaze over as her life left her.

“Xi Vai, Shaidra ra te hakin ava le!” she spat at him, the words spilling out along with a thin stream of yellow blood from the corner of her mouth. She paused, struggling to form words. “Scatter my ashes to the center.” Her hands fell limp beside her, leaving angry red and black charred skin on Gabriel’s arms. A sudden rush of heat came one final time, enveloping her falling body in an orange and red conflagration. Gabriel stumbled back, holding up his wounded arms to protect his face. The flames lapped at his burns. This time he was certain, the fire was carving symbols into his arms. As soon as the inferno began it was over, leaving a pile of ash where a dead woman had once been.

Gabriel looked down at his hands and slowly turned them over to check the damage done to his forearms. The redness had receded already, artistic patterns burned upon his skin like tattoos drawn by flame. The right boasted an uncoiling dragon, scales black and silver with claws tipped in gold. It was the House Icon of the Sinclairs, used in their heraldry for hundreds of years. How in the name of the Lady…? The thought was cut short by the sight of his left arm. In mid pounce was depicted a giant cat, white teeth and claws flashing in the dim sunlight a harsh contrast to the rippling azure and crimson coat of fur, hackles raised and sharp as if quills on a brownspine. It was a creature Gabriel had seen once before, remembered only faintly from the one nightmarish vision he could never recall.

Next Chapter: Chapter 3