4678 words (18 minute read)

Chapter 3

The winds of change blow on and on

Till memory lost and tradition gone

The ashes they fall and the fires do call

Out on the Jade Ocean

The cats of the Ocean hunt at will

Deadly and fast in the evening still

The men on the wall think they see all

Out on the Jade Ocean

-Epic of the Phoenix, First Cycle, Tertiary Minuet, Lines 4-12



A rustle at the foot of the door to Gabriel’s room made him look up from the papers on his desk. He rose and picked up the note that had been slid under his door. His orders were that he was not to be disturbed and any messages given to him in this way. The envelope bore a seal of a triangular shield punctured by a spear, pressed in black wax. It was the symbol of Dragonguard, the watch that policed Dragonhearth and maintained the peace. He tore the missive open and unfolded the paper inside, eyes devouring the tight, ordered script.


Seventh Prince,

As requested, I have investigated the events that transpired on Elrahien’s Day, third week of Piety, Y.O.L. 5297, with special attention paid to the persons involved other than your noble self. The prisoner identified as Kaieno Setsuna Aviena was being held in the dungeons of Aravell’s Keep awaiting execution for piracy and murder when she committed an escape attempt using unknown means. Theories among my investigators range from Dysta mechanical alchemy to pagan magic. While I find the former more plausible than the latter, I am unable to produce a reasonable explanation as to how she acquire such implements, either within or without her captivity. Regardless, the exotic method of her escape and subsequent attack on yourself and castle staff leads me to conclude there was no negligence on the part of the jailors that facilitated this breach in security and order. It is my humble opinion that this was the last desperate act of a foreign criminal from a society of barbarians. As I am sure you are aware, little information is available about the backgrounds and homelands of Saecrean pirates, due to their hostility and refusal to ascribe to proper order and human interaction. As to the your personal request, I have never heard of a creature such as the one you described, even during my time in serving with your noble brother First Prince Garren bringing aide to the primitive tribes in Dakash. If such a thing does not prowl that hellish place than I do not dare wonder from where else it might spawn. Finally, I cannot offer you details on the location or sentencing of Second Prince Cadmus. That matter was handled exclusively by His Majesty, long may his wisdom steer us. I apologize for my failure to present suitable answers. Please inform me if you have additional need of my counsel or investigators.

Respectfully your servant,

Efraim Blandorne,

Captain of His Majesty Cyrano Sinclair II’s Dragonguard


Gabriel memorized the contents and threw it into the hearth of his room where a full fire blazed. He pulled of the dressings on his arms as he paced the room, thinking. Blandore unbelievably thorough and well traveled. If he investigated and turned up nothing, then asking anyone else would be a waste of time. He let the dirty bandage fall on the highly detailed Dysta carpet and ran his fingers over the scars that made up the quilled cat. What was this creature? It matched no stories or legends he had heard, nor books he had searched. A tower of those stood on a table of finely lacquered ironoak with six winged angels carved into the legs. Sitting at the base of the book tower was a giant tome that when opened spanned the length of the table. A Catalogue of Houses: The Icons and Coats of All Noble Titles of the Holy Kingdom is was titled, the life work of some luminarch a generation or two ago, illustrated perfectly with every symbol and standard in Altera. Most of the houses were defunct, but the luminarch had included them anyway. Despite searching until he felt his eyes go dry, none of the houses sported anything feline as their Icon, though the brutal irony of Tenskoa’s Icon being a diving hawk was not lost on him.

Next to the Catalogue sat an open sketchbook, half full with charcoal drawings of the quilled cat. His art was atrocious, but there had been precious little else to do while confined to his rooms by order of the court physicians. They had bound his wounds without any mention of the strange burn pattern and sentenced him to bed rest. After being bodily forced back into his room by a pair of Dragonguards within an hour of the physicians leaving, Gabriel concluded he could use the seclusion to think and had warded away all visitors. Something about this whole event made no sense. Blandorne had surmised that Kaieno had used Dysta alchemy to project those flames, but that was not what Gabriel had seen. However she had done it, it had been a natural action of sorts, using her own physical energy and causing her exertion. He had heard legends of Saecrean pagan magic from veterans of the Green Sea War, but surely it couldn’t have been that. Could it?

A memory danced in the back of his mind. He reached up onto the highest shelf of the bookcase that sat by the window, carefully taking down the most important book he own. His fingers traced the intricate emerald scrollwork craved into the fine azure leather of the cover and spine. He moved from the book itself to the blacksteel chains affixed from the center of the back cover, wrapping around the front where all four were bound with the same lock. The tome bore no title. It needed none. All would know it for what it was - The Book of Sealed Light. The chains prevented the book from being opened unless unlocked and bore the runes of “Ignorance” engraved on each link. In identical script on the lock were the runes for “Mercy”. Gabriel reached down past his undershirt and retrieved a silver key that was bound with simple leather cord around his neck. He stared at the key for a long time, his eyes almost recarving the runes for “Justice” on the key’s neck. He swept the table clear; heedless of the mess he was making, and lay the Book down in the center.

“I have no need to open this and reflect again,” he said aloud. “I know the words. I could rewrite them on plain paper if it were not heresy.” He paused. He never spoke aloud to himself. Never. His thoughts were his own; he had no need to prove them to himself. This puzzle was bothering him more than he had known. The Book always provided answers; it was just a matter of searching. Holding his breath, he set the key into the lock and turned it.

The tumblers’ clicking into place was familiar sound, a comforting one. Or at least it had been. Today they sounded like a rolling peel of thunder, far off and faint, but still threatening. The lock popped open forcefully and the chains splayed out to every corner of the table. Gabriel had to tear his hand away to keep from being struck by them. The presence of truth always presented danger, his brother Quintus had told him. But it is to be sought and revealed nonetheless. Without truth, justice cannot be met.

He began reading at Victories, the passages detailing when Sevai first began coming into her powers as the Illuminator and gathering a following. He found the exact passage he had been searching for, soaking in the words carefully:

“You break tradition, Sevai,” the shaman told the Illuminator, unwilling to see the truth before him. “The elements are our true masters, you cannot deny their power.”

“I deny and reject it,” Sevai said. “Let you call upon your masters and I shall call upon mine. The one who is left worships the true ruler of creation.”

And so the priest called upon fire and gouts of flame rose from the ground in a wellspring. Sevai walked through those flames unharmed and call upon the power of Elrahien, Archangel of Victims and Survivors. The Prism drove his mighty axe to the earth, swallowing whole the collection of priests before Sevai. Those that survived took knee to her majesty.

So there was precedent for Saecreans wielding fire as a weapon. Could they have that power still, or was it lost to the ages the way channeling angels like Sevai was now impossible?

Gabriel turned immediately to Judgments, the final verses. It detailed the battle of the Eight Prisms against the forces of nature to pacify the world for man’s safety. Sevai the Illuminator had lead the human forces against the Saecreans while the Prisms fought the elements made manifest in the sky above. Gabriel’s mouth moved along with his eyes as he read, taken by the rapture of the truth before him:

On the eighth day the forces of the Illuminator, blessed be her name, shed their skins of beasts for skins of metal, granted to them by the Light. Xiomara, Fifth of the Prisms and Archangel of the Skilled and the Untested, Messenger of the Lady of the Light, fired her arrows and where they struck a might roar rose. The ground was shattered as a plow breaks the earth and the lives of men were torn as a beggar tears a loaf of bread. Flames rained from the heavens and ashes drifted as snowflakes on the winds of war. Davhion, Second of the Prisms and Archangel of the Guardians and the Aggressors swung his might blade against the darkness and its flesh was rent from its bones, hiding to this day in a cloak of night.

Gabriel paused to reflect. So Davhion had battled the darkness, not Xiomara. Then his vision on the cliffs was not of the past, but the future, or at least something new and not simply a pressed upon mind recalling details from the Book. He had thought as much. The Book of Sealed Light was never mistaken. It was fact, given to humanity so they might know the events of their dawning, despair at their former ignorance and revel in their current knowledge. Judgments ended in a stalemate, neither force able to subdue the other. So long as mankind continues in ignorance shall he be forever chained were the last words of the Book. What did that truly mean? Gabriel had thought he knew, once. Now, the phrase ate away at him every time his set his mind upon it.

A knock came at the steeltrunk doors to his room. He froze, trying to decide who it could be that would be able to dismiss the Dragonguard from barring their way. The list was short, only his brothers or father. Well, he had delayed them long enough and he was eager for news of Cadmus. “A moment for reflection,” he called out. A patient silence followed while he closed the Book of Sealed Light carefully, rewrapping the chains and snapping the lock back into place. Reflecting on the Book was a private affair, never to be done in company or discussed. Each person’s findings were his own until he agreed to share them. He went so far as to place the Book gently back on his bookcase before announcing, “Come.”

He had been expecting Donovan, who had requested multiple times to be let in to see him. Who he had not expected was Quintus. The Fifth Prince of Altera was tall with a lean, powerful form and an angular face, just like the rest of his brothers. Unlike his kin, however, Quintus was not identical to any of them. Cyrano had seven sons and three pairs of twins. Gabriel was surprised to see Quintus wearing a street worker’s clothes and his honey colored hair was cut short, too short for the royal clips. He had always defied luxury and fashion, but now he was dressed like a Coldhearth vagabond.

Quintus gave him a hollow smile. He looked drained, exhausted from some battle not fought with swords. He looked much like Gabriel felt, actually.

Quintus walked slowly around the room in silence. It was modestly adorned for the quarters of a prince. Aside from the carved table with its two chairs boasting the Sinclair’s rampant dragon as backs and the finely carved four poster bed, the only furnishing was a simple armoire and Dysta carpet with its intricate labyrinth pattern. Gabriel’s brother ran his hand along the cold grey stones of slate that composed the wall, tracing some kind of path only he knew. It was a habit Quintus had when he needed to stall for time to think. Finally, he turned back to his brother and spoke.

“I’ve always done me best to give you advice, Gabe,” he said quietly, a gentle lilt to his voice. Garren and Cadmus’ tutor had been from the isle of Pyrus, Quintus’ had been from Veracia. The soft but quick accent made the normally slow Voice of the Valleys sound odd. “Ye’ve taken it well and acted wit’ pride. After some thinkin’ ye’ve always known what to do, long as ye had an ounce o’ help.” He took a deep breath. “Which is why now I need yours.”

Gabriel got a sinking feeling in his stomach, heavier than the codex of housing he had been reading. There was nothing Quintus could not decide a course of action for. He was not a tactician like Cadmus, nor a mercury tongued orator like Karsten, but his sense of right and wrong was finely tuned. So sharp, in fact, that Cadmus had jokingly mentioned several times that Quintus would make a good- No… Surely not…

“Quintus, are you asking me to give you my blessing to join the Lawbringers?” Gabriel said carefully, trying hard to put the inflection in his voice that it was a bad idea. Quintus nodded slowly. “Shades and smoke.” Quintus blinked at the uncharacteristic oath, but Gabriel was past the point of caring for once. “You can’t do that.”

“I know it’s not exactly proper, but-“

“Proper? Quintus, they’re a militant force outside both the church and the throne’s spheres of control! They have their own rules, which they never let anyone know, and openly defy both luminarchs and nobles with impunity. What could possibly possess you to even consider this? It’s insane.” Says the man who is having visions of the future. He hoped his grimace was taken for outrage.

Quintus was silent for a moment. He continued his circuit of the room, stopping to run his hand along the grain of the poster of the bed. It was a fine piece, or so Gabriel had been told, carved with clouds billowing up in a column wrapped in the chains from the Book of Sealed Light. “Insane is to follow the blind in search of colors,” he said, quoting the Book almost inaudibly so that Gabriel had to strain to hear it. Raising his voice back to a normal level he said, “I cannot live mah life waitin’ and seein’ others in need. I will always be a disciple of the Lady and reflect upon the Book. But there are some things the Book cannot answer for a man. Do you deny it?” Gabriel shook his head regretfully. It was a hard thing to come to terms with, but he now saw it to be true. “”We are all chained, but a man who picks the anchor he is bound by is truly free.’ Some could argue this, but I feel the Book gives us a choice.”
“You know what Father will do. He’ll strip you of land and titles; he’ll take your clips. Then he just might execute you. Even if he doesn’t, the Lawbringers are not gentle. A life without a name or a face, is that what you really want?” Quintus avoided his eyes and Gabriel knew he was making some progress. “Give it time. Think on it and do not do anything rash.” There was a silence. “What of Cadums?” Gabriel asked.

“Gone,” Quintus said quietly. “Father took him out of the dungeons then was buggered off to Mount Kysrael and the Illuminator’s Labyrinth.” Gabriel shuddered. The Illuminator’s Labyrinth was a maze of heated rock in the active volcano known as Kysrael. No one knew exactly what was in there, but no one ever came back out. It was reserved for the harshest of punishments, those the prisoner was not meant to return from. In over a thousand years, no one ever had.

“There wasn’t another solution? Exile, penance, trial by combat?”

“No,” Quintus said. “You know well as I Cadmus would walk clear in a trial by combat and exile or penance don’t send a clear enough message. Killing a luminarch in cold blood is never a good t’ing; certainly no if the killer is a royal. The common people are in an outrage, though they only whisper to one another about it. I even heard some very brave fool talk of another Purge. A blizzard is coming, Gabe, and our dear brother kicked up the wind. Tenskoa demanded his head and Da would have given it to them if they had bother to ask nice. This will appease the sacks of shite but it won’t placate them. I hear they’re tryin’ ta find an angle on you and Donny as well. Best ta be watching yer arse, little brother.”

Quintus left soon after, leaving Gabriel alone with his thoughts. The burns on his arms began to itch, like the creatures burnt on to his skin were growing restless. “What are you?” he murmured to the quilled cat. The beast itched more in response, and for the briefest of moments Gabriel thought it moved.


Quintus Sinclair walked the ramparts of Dragon Hearth’s second wall, its curved length cutting the city in half. To his left was the center of the city and Aravell’s Keep, surrounded by all the other noble mansions in the capital. Aravell’s Keep stood out in a massive spire, a spear half a mile thick thrusting to the overcast. Aravell had begun its construction at the beginning of his father’s reign, even at age eight holding all the political power. By the time he was killed by his sons who were tired of waiting for him to die at age ninety the Keep was only half completed. Between half the kings wanting to tear it down and the other half wanting to add their own touches to its plans, it had taken another three hundred years to be finished. Aravell had wanted his legacy to be seen from everywhere in the city, and it could be. The Keep looked stark and imposing over all the gilded mansions and polished roof tiles of the noble half of the city.

To his right was a completely different matter. Cold Hearth was what the commoners called it, with good reason. Smoke rose from only a dozen chimneys out of thousands and most roofs were poorly thatched, letting in snow, wind and rain. There were no people in the streets of Cold Hearth, no hawkers selling their wares. Here firewood and food was the currency, gold was never seen and copper and silver largely ignored. A family could not eat coins. Those who found work in the noble houses often stayed there, their only wages a fire and a solid meal. It was Cold Hearth that had been bothering Quintus for years. It had been days since Gabriel had told him to think before doing anything drastic. But he still was no closer to an answer either way. He needed to think harder. He pulled up the hood of his dusty grey cloak and made his way down the steps into the center district, carefully avoiding the patches of ice. He had known three soldiers personally who had broken their necks going down these stairs.

He passed through the gate into Cold Hearth quietly, keeping his face shaded from the guards. They had orders to stop him from leaving, he was sure, but were too cold or inattentive to check everyone moving through the gate. Getting back in would be more difficult, but… He sighed as he stepped into the dull grey and black stone street identical to every other street in Cold Hearth. Not even stray cats or dogs were to be seen, having been used long ago for meat, no doubt. How could the crown let this happen? Entry to the richer district or exiting the city was impossible without first traveling through Cold Hearth. They lived surrounded by this poverty and sorrow, yet did nothing. Once, decades ago, he had taken all of his childhood toys and scattered them over the center wall so that the other children would have something to play with. Lady Morgan had scolded him raw and sent him back to pick them up. When he returned the children of Cold Hearth had piled them in the middle of the street and used a lantern to light them aflame. At least thirty children had been huddled around the fire for warmth. He knew then that money would not fix these people’s plight.

Next he had turned to the Book of Sealed Light for a solution, inquiring about certain passages advocating help to the poor with any luminarch willing to listen. The church was even worse than the crown. The luminarchs claimed to be the voice of the people, to guide them along the right path, but there was little sympathy among them for the poor. The church sustained itself through tithes and taxes on conquests. It knew nothing of hypothermia or starvation, nor had a wish to. And since it was self-sustaining and anointments are only given to those of noble birth the church did nothing at all to support the common people, despite their token acts to keep up appearances. At least the nobles employed commoners, albeit in a limited capacity. No, he knew the Book held the answers, but other men were too close-minded to see it. So he had decided to seek out the Lawbringers.

He had wandered aimlessly and found he was in an unknown section of Cold Hearth. The streets were hard packed dirt underneath his boots and the buildings had become storehouses. It was the kind of place where the air itself made one alert, cautious. His hand drifted inside his cloak to where he kept his two batons, carved of steeltrunk and banded with blacksteel, each a stride and a half long. Some men preferred the sword, others the axe, but Quintus knew well that broken bones ended a fight just as quick as spilled blood. He was better with his batons than any other weapon and faster than most swordsmen.

A scream of panic tore the afternoon stillness. His head snapped toward the sound, his body following in a smooth motion. Before he could think to run he realized he already was, his cloak flapping behind him. He ran for a time, eyes scanning the alleys for movement. Had he just seen… There! He skidded to a halt, digging his right heel into the ground and turning. The heel dug a trough through the packed earth and he ending in a lopsided crouch, one leg splayed to the side. He tried very hard to make it look like Wolf Among the Rocks but knew it wasn’t very impressive. Shamera, his wizened old Veracian tutor would have switched him for the failure.

Quintus now saw clearly what the commotion was. Four thugs surrounded a woman and three children, each with a quarterstaff or small knife. One of them turned to Quintus and grinned savagely. Batons in hand, Quintus sprung forward. Vine on the Tree became Flower Blooming in Spring, catching the man on the shoulder and then both batons hitting his skull. He fell like a sack of barley and the others turned clumsily to defend themselves. The woman and her children screamed and fled now that they had a clear egress. Quintus fell back into Wolf Among the Rocks, a proper stance for multiple opponents. He deflected blows to his head and chest, but some thrusts of the quarterstaffs got through. A swipe cracked his jaw and another swept his leg, making him fall backwards. In no time the thugs were in a perfect circle around him, kicking viciously. Quintus spat blood onto the ground and tried to shield his stomach and face. Beaten to death by a bunch of cutthroats in an alley. Well, he had wanted to understand the plight of the people. He laughed at that between the grunts of pain.

Suddenly the kicking stopped. The thugs were looking farther down the alley, at something Quintus couldn’t see. They were frozen in place, a look of sheer terror on their faces. Then they bolted like rats when a cellar door pops open. Quintus heard footsteps and a gauntleted hand extended toward him. He took it gratefully and was heaved to his feet. His rescuer was dressed all in grey, arms and legs armored by overlapping plates of blue tinged steel. Underneath he wore workers clothes, basic wool without embroidery. Quintus met his eyes and knew he was a Lawbringer. Those piercing green eyes looked out at him behind a mask of solid steel, enveloping his entire face and wrapping around his head. The face on the mask was cast in marvelous detail, a plain man in his middle years with lines around his eyes and stern mouth.

“I admire your courage and initiative, but these will not save you from foolishness,” his rescuer said, his voice a deep bass like far off thunder. “Next time you come into the Cold Hearth I suggest you keep your head out of trouble, or, better still, do not come at all.”

“I have come… seeking the Lawbringers,” Quintus said, finding it hard to breath, though from the beating or from reaching his goal he was not sure.

“Oh?” From under the mask Quintus could see one eye shift, as if from an arched eyebrow. “You are not the first young simpleton to chase the hems of our cloaks. Some do it for glory, others power, but none of them realize they shall receive nothing of value in pursuing this life.” Quintus could feel those eyes weighing him, taking in every measurement of his body and soul. “For now I turn you away, you are not ready. But perhaps someday soon…” He pressed a copper coin into Quintus’ hand. It was a plain copper coin, until one realized that it showed a face of a Lawbringer embossed on it rather than a shield. “When you are ready, use that to buy passage to me.” He turned and began to walk away.

Quintus stood there, speechless. Eventually he called out, just as the Lawbringer was at the mouth of the alley. “I never told you me name.”

The man did not turn, but called back, “And I will never need to know it.” And with that he was gone.