Dawnbringer: An Epic Medieval High Fantasy Saga

Eldarien's heart stirs him awake as deep anguish settles upon him like an incalculable weight begging to be borne. And were it not for the preceding peace, which even now does not depart, holding him at the very foundation of his awareness, deeper than thought or feeling, he would be crushed by the feelings that now flow into him. He sits up and leans against the wall, resting his head against the cool stone. The corridor is now quiet, filled with sleeping bodies and lit only by a few oil lamps along the walls, sending their flickering light in reddish-orange and casting long shadows on ceiling and floor.

At this moment, he hears footsteps approach and looks up to see Elmariyë drawing near, her eyes flowing with tears and an expression of deep sorrow and pain upon her face. Without words, she collapses before Eldarien, and he draws her into his arms, burying her face against his chest. Together they silently hold and are held, as they carry the pain of a hurting city on the brink of collapse.

† † †

"Pull back! Pull back!" Rorlain cries in command to his men, knowing that resistance in the courtyard is no longer possible. If they try to remain, they shall be hewn down to the last man. Therefore, the remaining defense quickly withdraws beyond the arch of the inner wall, and behind them the heavy iron portcullis slams shut, closing out the Imperial forces, at least for the moment.

"The door! Close the door as well!" shouts a man near Rorlain, and soon a few soldiers push shut the thick wooden doors of the gate and lay a reinforced beam across it, sealing it closed. "Good! That shall hold them for a while. But it is only a matter of time until they bring the ladders to the second wall, if they do not break through the door first."

Rorlain takes a step away from the door and draws in a deep breath, trying to lay hold any thread of thought which could lead him to what to do next. But as he does so, he hears a voice from behind him, "Rorlain!" He turns and sees the commander, Hersir, approaching.

"We have lost the gate and the first wall," Rorlain says as he approaches. "Only the second gate and the inner wall still restrain them from pouring like a flood through the city."

"Then you fare better than other sections of the wall," Hersir answers. "There are more defenses here, and so you have been able to hold them off more effectively. To both the west and the east, the single wall was all that held them. We fight now in the streets themselves."

"What would you have me do?" Rorlain asks. "I fear we have little hope to hold them off."

"We have no hope, my friend," says Hersir. "Even though the druadach have departed, we have already suffered a fatal blow to our resistance. Our numbers are too thinned, and too many have been wounded or slain."

"What can we do?"

"I go to request a parley," Hersir responds. "I mean to surrender and to ask for peace."

"But they shall want the city," says Rorlain.

"It is better than allowing them to burn and slaughter until we are on our knees and have no choice except death or surrender."

Rorlain shakes his head in frustration. Nonetheless, after a moment of thought, he says, "I fear that you are right."

"There is no doubt," the commander replies, and, looking keenly at Rorlain, he says, "I am not willing to sacrifice my people." With this he turns away and ascends the stairway to the top of the inner wall and raises a white banner high in the air, crying out in words pleading for a cease in the conflict so that he may speak to the leader of the Imperial forces. It is a while before his gestures and his words begin to calm the combat that has now reached a frenzy of intensity between the two armies, like a ripple gradually spreading from those who stand nearby to those who are far away. But at last, everything becomes still and quiet, though the air vibrates with tension on both sides of the conflict.

Some words echo from across the wall, which Rorlain cannot hear, and then Hersir descends the stairs that he had just climbed. "I go to speak to their commander," he says loudly to those around him. "I wish two captains to accompany me." Then, after a pause, he says, "Fûlting… Rorlain… Please come with me."

"Aye, commander," says another of the captains from ten yards off, and he quickly steps forth from the crowd of men. His armor is stained with blood, though not his own, and he rests a heavy studded mace against his shoulder. In his other hand is a great shield with the crest of Rhovas upon it. Upon his head is a leather helm plated with iron.

Next Rorlain comes to Hersir and says, "I know not why you wish for such a new captain to go with you, but I shall not depart from your side."

"Do we walk into the midst of the enemy forces to speak with their leader?" asks Fûlting. "Why does he not draw near to speak to us?"

"He probably wishes to emphasize his power and, assuredly, to safeguard his own well-being."

"By endangering our own?"

"Precisely, but we have little choice," says Hersir. "I am sorry, but I do not think we are on terms to complain. Let us go." Together the men then turn to the wall and ascend the steps. There is no point of access to the wall from within the courtyard, and the enemy is unwilling to open the gate, so a rope ladder is thrown down, and they descend it into the mass of Imperial soldiers. These step aside to make room for them as their feet touch the ground, and then they part to make a path to the north, out of the city and into the plain.

"At least some honor still lives among the soldiers of the Empire," Hersir says under his breath. "They restrain themselves from slaying us in cold blood."

The column between the Imperial forces leads the three men a hundred or so yards past the wall until they come to a stop before a man bearing the armor of a commander—glistening steel plate—with long hair braided on either side of his face and knotted according to his position. He is clean shaven though his face looks neither young nor old, only stern, proud, and immovable.

"Are you the commander of the Imperial forces?" Hersir asks, with a slight bow. Though it pains him to do so, Rorlain joins Fûlting in bowing as well.

"I am," says the man, leaning upon his shield and looking at the men with satisfaction. "My name is Erineas Larendon, of the city of Authringhaem. Thence I hail, and long have my sires ruled over the people of that city and its surrounds."

"A true Imperial, all the way from Væliria," Fûlting sneers quietly.

"The quarrelsome nature of your nation has necessitated my arrival," Erineas says as if by way of explanation. "Why do you continue to fight when you are clearly defeated?"

"Why do you ally yourselves with inhuman creatures of despicable wickedness?" Hersir asks in reply.

"Such was not my choice," Erineas says. "Not all orders originate in myself alone. I am a man under orders just as much as I am a man who gives them. Surely you yourself know this?"

"And I come to you to plead with you to spare the lives of the citizens of Ristfand, to spill no more innocent blood," Hersir says vehemently. "If you do it not out of pity, do it at least out of strategic consideration. We wish to lose no more life unnecessarily, and we are willing to speak with you about the terms of our surrender, relying upon your clemency, whatever measure of that you may have."

"Surely you have already achieved your goal," Fûlting interjects. "The rebellion in the city has been crushed, and our will to stand against the Empire has been extinguished. There is no more for you to fear from us. Your duty is already done."

"What do you know of my duty?" replies Erineas angrily. "What do you know of our goals in besieging this city?"

"What other goals could you possibly have?" Fûlting asks.

"Quiet, Fûlting," says Hersir softly, holding out his hand as though to calm his captain. He then speaks to Erineas, "Let us then converse together. What is it that you seek? Can we not come to terms peacefully?"

"I came to conquer, and conquer I must," replies Erineas shortly. "The only possible terms are your complete and unconditional surrender. The city shall be ours, under total Imperial occupation, government, and control. Hence it shall be a base for our operations east of the Teldren and Yjind Mountains. And all men who refuse to join in the efforts of the Empire shall be punished severely." He then turns to look over his shoulder and says, "Jinda, step forward." A man who is clearly a lesser officer and secretary to the commander joins Erineas. Turning back to the three men from Ristfand, he continues, "Where is the leader of your city, that we may make an agreement by which all must abide? That is assuming, of course, that you do not wish to continue the battle and assure the massacre of the entire population?"

"Our leader and all his court have been slain," replies Hersir. "I alone, therefore, stand as the current leader over the people of Ristfand."

"Well, that is an unexpected boon," laughs Erineas. "Not only have we taken the city, but we have beheaded the government of the entire clan of Rhovas. For you are certainly not going to replace the slain jarl and lead these people in his stead. The Empire shall make the appointment, and in the meantime, I shall assume all authority over the affairs of both city and clan."

"Perhaps you do not understand," says Hersir quietly, "but the settlements outside of the city, both near and far, live and act mostly independently from the guidance or authority of the hæras."

"And perhaps you do not understand, but the leader of the clan has authority over them, whether he has in the recent past exercised it or not," Erineas says. "And the Empire has absolute claim over the entirety of the land of Telmerion, as you are our subject and a colony integrated into our governance. Whatever boons you have from your membership in the Empire would be forfeit were you to resist, and death only would be your reward. Perhaps, at long last, you are beginning to learn such a lesson?"

Hersir is silent for a long moment, and then he turns to Rorlain and Fûlting. He looks at them with pain painted upon his features, and many things are exchanged between them without words. Then he turns back to the Imperial commander and says, "Will you give us some time to discuss this among ourselves?"

"Discuss as you need, though there is little choice," answers Erineas. "Report to me by midday tomorrow—or is that today? Yes, it is already past midnight. Report to me by midday, or I shall make plans to commence the attack with the coming of night."

† † †

Tilliana, Elmariyë, and Cirien sit together in the grandmaster's rœdra, taking advantage of a moment of respite in the early morning, just after daybreak, when most of those under their care are still asleep. The sounds of warfare fell silent sometime during the night, and yet no word has come to them concerning the state of the conflict. Many persons from the temple, in the nocturnal darkness, had assisted in extinguishing the flames that ignited upon hundreds of walls or roofs from the arrows loosed by the Imperial forces. But in the early hours of the morning this crisis had been averted and all had grown calm, falling into stillness, silence, and waiting.

"So much death, in flame and darkness and blood…" Tilliana whispers. "Never in my life have I witnessed such evil and such suffering than in the last few months."

"Did you behold the druadach with your own eyes?" Elmariyë asks her.

"I did," she replies. "I was absent from the temple at the time that they appeared and could not but encounter them before finding refuge here."

"That I did not know," remarks Elmariyë.

"We have had little time to speak about anything these past days," Tilliana says. "But it was only by a thin thread that I was spared being one of those who lie prone upon the floor of the temple, whether in injury or in death. The former indeed I fear more than the latter, for to join those who have departed before me is a welcome journey. But pain...pain scares me."

"How were you saved?" Cirien asks, breaking his silence until this moment.

"I was returning from dinner and conversation with Siga, an old friend of mine. Hearing the cries and knowing that the enemies were near the walls of our city, Siga encouraged me to stay with her family that night and to return to the temple in the morning. But I saw no danger, not knowing that the enemy—some of them, at least—could pass right through the walls and appear in the city itself. I was on a small side street when one of the creatures stepped forth from the dark before me. I was more than fortunate at this moment that it was only one and not more. For I was alone and unarmed."

"You...?" Elmariyë begins to ask, but she falls silent, though the import of her question is clear: You fought and defeated it?

"The fear of their presence is terrible," Tilliana whispers, "suffocating worse than a coil around the neck or water in the lungs. It is a suffocation, not of the flesh, but of the inner person. I turned to flee in the opposite direction but immediately saw similar shapes—though farther away—appearing at the other end of the street. My mind nearly ceased its working in that moment, paralyzed with terror, but I looked around and saw a hay cart only a few steps away with a pitchfork in it. Suffice it to say that their...their horror is worse than their threat...or that most of their threat lies in the fear that they induce. It is hard to explain."

"I think we understand," Cirien says encouragingly. "They are unarmed and slow, and if a person is able to overcome the fear that they feel before the druadach draw near, there is a chance even for the untrained to fell them."

"Exactly so. That is, unless they come in great numbers or one finds oneself unarmed," Tilliana says. "And by the favor of the gods, I was spared both of these. I needed only face a single one to clear the path of my escape."

"And that you did," Elmariyë finishes for her.

Tilliana nods silently, saying, "And then I ran all the way here with my arms and legs trembling so badly and my heart pounding so violently that I feared I would collapse in the street. Once I was safe within the walls of the temple, and as the night progressed, I became ever more keenly aware of my fortune that I had been in the street when what was soon to become a flood was but a trickle." She looks at her two confreres with both pain and gratitude in her eyes and then says, by way of conclusion, "Twice now has both the precariousness and the preciousness of my own existence been impressed upon my heart, and in the very face of death, life has been handed to me."

"And I am deeply grateful that it has been so on both occasions," says Elmariyë.

"I do question why, though," adds Tilliana. "I mean...why is it that I have been spared not once but twice, while so many others have fallen at the hands of men and beast?"

"Do you speak of anyone in particular?" Elmariyë asks with as much delicacy as she can, thinking of Tilliana's husband and children.

"I...I do not think the pain of that wound, those many wounds, shall ever fully heal," Tilliana says after a long moment for thought. Her face is grave and lined with care and sorrow. "But at the moment, my thought is occupied with the many who have suffered at the hands of those who lay siege to our city, those whose anguish and death we have witnessed almost constantly since the battle began."

"Such pain and such loss, so apparently senseless, raise profound questions in the heart," Cirien says gently, returning to the question which Tilliana had voiced. "The paths marked out before each person are far beyond foresight or control," he then continues, not by way of providing some answer or solution, but rather simply as an act of empathy. "Sometimes all that we can do is trust in a wisdom and a sight greater than our own, even if what appears before our eyes seems to be naught but folly or failure."

"I understand your words," replies Tilliana, "but it is hard to find any reason to trust when so many have their aspirations, desires, and their very lives crushed by forces of evil or even by apparent random chance. How can such things be the work of goodness?"

"I do not say that such things are the work of goodness," answers Cirien, running his hand slowly through his beard, speaking in a voice that indicates that he has thought deeply about this (and felt it deeply as well) for many years. "But I do believe that none of it happens outside of goodness or its great weaving."

After these words, the three of them fall silent. It is a few minutes before anyone speaks again. Elmariyë is the one to break the silence, as she says, "The great festival of Sun's Height is only two days from now. It is a grievous thought to realize that it shall be a time not of joy and celebration but of mourning."

"Even more: it may even still be a time of battle," adds Tilliana. "Many of us on that day shall recall the bright banners that clothed the city, and the songs of celebration both in the temple and in the squares, and the evening service in which Ristfand has been again placed in the hands of the Seven, through the littlest one. And yet I fear that none of that shall be this year except in memory, and so few of us, probably even less than now live, shall still draw breath even to lament on that day."

"Despair not," whispers Elmariyë. "Perhaps ceremonial in lament is the most fitting disposition we can offer right now. And the heart of the festival has always been the service of entrustment. Certainly that need not be omitted even this year."

"But Tilliana also speaks truth," Cirien adds. "Joy has long been strength for many, and lightness and glad celebration. Were it within my power, I would wish to give at least some measure of this to the hurting people of our city once again. But it may be many turns of the moon before even a small spark is again kindled from the ashes to which war has nearly reduced us."

"Do you think, Cirien," asks Tilliana, "that we shall live for so many months that such a thing becomes a possibility? Is it even possible that in that amount of time anything will have changed such that sparks can arise from the ashes?"

"I know not the future, but I suspect that this battle shall soon cease," Cirien answers, "though it may not at all be with the outcome that we wish. Those who fight to protect our city are not fools; they shall not allow us to be slaughtered to the last man or woman, and neither to I believe that is the Empire's intent. Nonetheless, the sparks may need to fight suffocating winds for a long time to come, and the flowers of hope and gladness may struggle against a biting chill for many years hence."

As another moment of silence envelops them, Tilliana's thoughts carry her to her husband and children, to Alsenor, Beïta, and Annar. Or rather, their faces arise before her interior vision, vivid and clear and painful, but also so very beautiful. It is a beauty that tears the heart and causes it to bleed. In this moment in particular, the absence of her two children feels like a gaping wound, like a hole in her heart as well as in her womb. So vividly does this experience strike her that she feels a physical pain in her abdomen, as if their absence from the world of the living, from the space of her love and care, is being reflected in the aching hollowness of her womb, from which they came and in which they were first sheltered and nourished in their life and growth.

Tilliana is stirred from her thoughts, not by any words from the other two, but by the sound of footsteps in the hallway, followed swiftly by a knock on the door of the rœdra. Cirien calls out in response, "You may open the door." When it swings open, they all turn and see the faces of Rorlain and Eldarien as they stand side by side. Rorlain speaks and says, "They are demanding unconditional surrender by the middle of the day, or all shall be slain. I have no doubt what the commander shall choose, but I seek your counsel, Cirien, about the path moving forward. Hersir awaits as well, in the outer courtyard. We are filthy and stained with blood, and he does not wish to enter the temple as he is."

"The temple is a home for the unclean, and it is here that all can be cleansed, not share their uncleannesses like a contagion," the grandmaster replies. "But I understand the gesture and will go out to him." Cirien then rises to his feet, walks quickly to the doorway, and steps out into the corridor, shutting the two women alone in his rœdra.

They turn to look at one another, and their eyes meet and interlock for a moment which seems both to pass swiftly and to linger for an immeasurably long time. In the depths of Elmariyë's gaze, Tilliana sees something that she cannot name but which both challenges her and comforts her deeply, as if she is gazing into wells whose depths she cannot even begin to discern but which are revealed even by the play of light upon the surface. In response to this gaze and to her own surprise, she bursts into tears, and the words come to her lips, "I am afraid, Elmariyë. I am deathly afraid..."

In response, Elmariyë does not speak but simply reaches forward and wraps Tilliana in her arms and allows her to weep in her embrace.

A good amount of time passes before Tilliana sits back to look at Elmariyë again. And eventually she continues speaking, in a frail and wavering voice, "It is not only fear but sadness. I am so raw, and I have been given so little space to heal from the prior wounds inflicted upon me before being inflicted with wounds on top of them. And whatever progress I may have made before has all been undone, or at least so it feels. I feel like a total wreckage, like a ruin of broken pieces with hardly any unified personality to hold them together."

Elmariyë nods at these words and opens her mouth as if to say something. But after a moment of hesitation, she closes it again. Tilliana, seeing her silence and guessing at least some of its import, continues speaking, slowly and with hesitancy, but clearly, "But even more painful than all of this is the awareness that my pain is not the only pain, that the evil I have suffered in my own life is not the only evil in our world. No, for our city is on the verge of crumbling, and our culture is threatened with collapse or destruction. So many lives, so many families, so many things both good and beautiful, as if spat upon and besmirched with the violence of forces that I can hardly begin to understand… And for what reason? I do not know what drives the Empire nor what could possibly give rise to creatures of such inexplicable wickedness, creatures whose only purpose seems to be to kill and to inflict pain. And why would men, human beings like you and me, make a pact with them and join them in warfare against a peaceful people?"

"I wish I had at least a glimpse of an answer to the many questions that torment you, Tilliana," Elmariyë whispers at last, when the former has fallen silent. "But all I can do is join you in the questions. Perhaps sitting with the questions together is not a waste of time, and our longing and our pain shall become a vigil of expectation that, even if a long time from now, will find an answer."

† † †

Meanwhile, the men hold counsel together, though their counsels concern not whether to capitulate to the demands of the Empire but rather how to continue their resistance even though surrender is inevitable.

"I fear for our people," Hersir says, his voice heavy and rough, not only from grief and sorrow but from shouting orders through the length of two nights. "I wish now that our leader, Glendas, had commanded our people to flee to the east or even to take refuge with other clans. It would have been better to give up the city than to give up our people. Or at least many of them...many of them could have been spared. Then only some of us would be facing this terrible fate."

"I wonder if that course of action would indeed have been wisest," Cirien replies gently. "Many in fact did flee and take refuge elsewhere, and we know not yet what fate awaits them in the coming months. But you are correct in lamenting the losses our people have suffered."

"The walls did nothing to restrain the creatures, Cirien," Hersir says bitterly. "They weakened us beyond repair, and even if they came not again for a second night, the damage was done. What we experienced was a massacre, and the only way to avoid it would have been for the people to flee."

"If they can appear at will within the city itself," says Rorlain, "then I wonder what prevents them from appearing just as easily within other cities and settlements. We really do not know if fleeing would have saved life, or if it would only have weakened our people further. Is fleeing from such creatures even possible?"

"Fleeing from an Imperial army certainly is," Hersir retorts, "and the druadach have come as the vanguard of the Imperial forces. That much is obvious. I appreciate your effort to find light in the darkness, but do you not see that terrible things have happened that could have been prevented if only we had known how to prevent them?"

"But that is precisely the point, Hersir," Cirien says, "if only we had known how to prevent them. But there was no way we could know. In the future, yes, we shall be able to act upon this newfound knowledge. But the past is no longer within the domain of our action. The questions before us now all concern the present and the future. What are we to do now? Given our current situation, what paths lie open before us? First, how can we save lives and prevent further destruction of our people? And second, how can we prevent the Imperial presence from crushing both our spirit and our struggle?"

"Yes," Rorlain says, "for it is clear now that the Empire wishes not just the reestablishment of order, our acquiescence to the power and authority of the Emperor. There is something more at work, something that I fear threatens the existence of Telmerion as we know it."

"Our real enemy," Eldarien begins, breaking the silence that he has kept until now, "is not the Empire or its forces, however great. The real enemy is the creatures of darkness, the druadach, and whatever other abominations we may have the misfortune to encounter in the future. We cannot ignore the Empire and its aspirations. That is true. But I suspect that, despite the goals of those in authority, goals of domination and power, the Empire is ultimately but a pawn to powers greater than even the mightiest of men or the most supreme of civilizations."

"Even if what you say is true," Hersir answers, "it is simple truth that we must fight the Empire or learn to negotiate with it. We cannot simply ignore those who seek to conquer and occupy us, as you would have us do, in the name of 'fighting the real threat.'"

"You are right," Cirien says. "But Eldarien is right as well, and his words do not imply ignoring anything: he means rather that we need far-seeing vision, or at least minds inclined to the deeper meaning of the events unfolding before us and around us, if we are to walk with wisdom the path before us. And this means that we must discern our response, our resistance, both to the demands and aspirations of the Empire and to the more hidden but more insidious aims of whatever leads these unearthly creatures."

"Do they have aims?" asks Hersir. "Do they seek anything but death and destruction?"

Cirien sighs and rests his head against his hands for a long moment before replying. When he speaks at last, he says, "Those creatures whom you witnessed—the druadach—it is true that they are mindless beasts, capable of nothing but destruction. They are but tools. Weapons. Yet we should not underestimate or ignore the force that lies behind them and perhaps even fashioned them. I fear that whoever or whatever it is, it in fact possesses an intelligence greater than our own and powers far beyond our comprehension. Even beyond all the might of the Empire, this is what we should fear and the threat against which we must steel ourselves."

"I agree with Cirien," Eldarien says. "Through circumstances that are as painful as they are fortunate, I have spoken with the one who called himself their 'commander,' and he is a being with mind great but twisted, and a being of incredible evil and power. Yes, I fear that he is a being more akin to the gods than he is akin to humankind."

"Akin to the gods?" Hersir cries. "What do you mean by this? Are we fighting celestial powers in the very domain of earth?"

"Long has every man done precisely that in the depths of his own heart," replies Cirien. "Our battle is never merely with ourselves or with other men, however blinded by the lust for power they may be. Men we must seek to save even as we resist them. But the horizontal battle—the battle across the face of Telmerion, between man and man, brother and brother, is never the only battle. Vertical lines intersect this horizontal plane at every step of the way, though they as a rule remain invisible, using the cloak of darkness and our own apathy as their primary tools. Little has changed now but that these forces choose to act visibly and to work not only in the shadows but to step forth and wage war against us openly."

"But why?" Rorlain asks, his voice strained. "My heart is burdened by the question. Why, if these beings you speak of are always seeking to besiege us, do they only now make themselves present in the way that they do?"

"That is a question to which I do not know the answer," says Cirien sadly. "But I suspect that precisely one of their main tactics is to preoccupy us with a thousand unanswered questions and thus to prevent us from asking the question that actually matters. The question of our fidelity to the light in the face of darkness and of our resistance to the assaults of evil which seek to threaten all that is beautiful and good in the world. I would also add, Rorlain, that even if you have no memory of such creatures ever walking visibly in our world or openly interfering in the affairs of mortals, this does not mean that nothing like this has happened before. Much in the past has been clouded in the shadows of forgetfulness or has been twisted by memory, intentionally or unintentionally altered. And I shall study the past, shall contemplate what has come before, in the desire to find light for the present. But it remains true that the only thing that we can do is to try to discern the way of the present and the future and to not allow ourselves to be distracted or disillusioned by the myriad questions that, while valid, either simply have no answer or lead us away from focus upon the true struggle that lies before us."

"You say the same thing again and yet again," Hersir replies. "Has wisdom forsaken you that you have no more to say than this? Give wisdom concerning the present rather than insisting again and again that the questions we ask concern the present. Of course, our questions concern the present! But we need guidance and light, not the repeated insistence to ask the questions that we are already asking." The commander's voice betrays anger, a temper that is on the edge of breaking entirely, though under this anger is a thick strain of fear.

Cirien simply nods silently, and says, "Then what is the question you ask, commander?"

"How do we care for our people now that the Imperial forces shall occupy Ristfand and indeed claim rule over the entire clan of Rhovas?" Hersir says, reigning in his temper. "Any open resistance shall be met with severe punishment. This much the enemy commander has made clear. But I myself cannot capitulate to such a demand. I cannot play the friend to the enemy. Should I depart now from the city, or should I remain? For either way, I am a target, a threat, and they shall know it."

"The same is true for all the forces of resistance within the city," Rorlain adds. "We can either leave the city to its fate and seek to regroup with others who stand against the Empire, hoping someday to retake the city. Or we can hide our resistance in the shadows and seek to undermine the rule of the Empire from within."

"I fear that the only result of the second course of action shall be death," says Cirien.

"But the only result of the first course of action, at least in the immediate future," Rorlain rejoins, "is abandoning the people of Ristfand to the unhindered influence of the Empire and its goals."

"My path, then, is clear," Hersir says. "At whatever threat to myself, I shall remain in Ristfand. Little shall I be able to do openly, and perhaps even with caution my life shall be short. But I cannot simply abandon our people to their fate."

Cirien looks deeply at the commander for a moment, as if gazing into his heart through the eyes of his body, and then says, "I see that you shall not be dissuaded from this path. And I know not whether it shall indeed prove to be best for you. But I caution you to remain hidden. It would indeed be to your benefit if the Empire thought that you had fled this very day. They shall then expect you to return with a rebel force to try to retake the city, while you operate underneath their gaze in appropriate ways. Their expectation shall be turned outward, whereas you can tend to the people and support their resistance from within."

"This path is true and wise," Hersir sighs, his tension beginning to subside at last, even though he seems almost to begrudge his agreement with Cirien. "I am glad we have come to some sense of purpose regarding my path. But it is fraught with danger. Indeed, it appears to me impossible. It is more likely that I shall be discovered within the first fortnight and put to death than that my efforts shall bear any fruit."

"Patience shall be your weapon more than anything else," Eldarien says, "patience and trust in the goodness of the people...trust in their goodness and their desire for freedom. If anything, you are their custodian and the protector of their rights. But this means that your desire for rebellion, or for the immediate departure of the Empire, must be subjected to the protection and well-being of the people. Like a seed planted deep in soil, we must set our hopes in the future by doing the little that is within our power now."

"You shall remain and aid me, will you not?" Hersir asks, his question directed not to one man any more than another, but to all alike.

"I would like to do so," Eldarien answers, "but my path leads me elsewhere. There is a seed too that I would plant. But the seed that I wish to plant must first be found, if the future we hope for is to come to pass. I am of course aggrieved to leave at a moment such as this, when the men and women of Ristfand are bleeding under the agony of so much loss and suffering. But...but the way before me, too, is clear." He then proceeds to explain to all present both the light that was entrusted to him and the significance of the previous conversation that he and Cirien had shared concerning the "lightborn" and the secret forest of Velasi. He conceals many intimate details but gives enough information that they can grasp the situation.

"I have witnessed the power of this light with my own eyes," Rorlain says when Eldarien has finished speaking. "And what Eldarien says is true: it is the bane of the creatures of darkness. They dissolve at its touch. It may indeed, therefore, be the best hope that lies before us...and perhaps the only hope. I find great courage in this, as it shows that even though unearthly forces assail us, so too unearthly forces come to our aid. Let us be custodians of this light and wield it rightly."

"You think it shall ever be wielded by more than one man?" Hersir asks, immediately attaching himself to the most obvious question. "Is there a way to harness this power that we may all wield it against our common enemy?"

"That is one of the things that Eldarien goes to discover," Cirien replies. "He has no foreknowledge of what awaits him or even any certainty that he shall find what he seeks. But he must walk into the unknown nonetheless, in the blind hope that an answer awaits him there, an answer not only to the questions of his own heart but to the anguish of our people. But such blind hope is in fact anything but blind, even if it sees not even a single step ahead. The earth may be shrouded in darkness, but this does not mean that the starry firmament ceases to shine and to mark out the way."

"This Velasi Forest…" Rorlain begins, hesitantly. "Do you really believe that answers lie there, answers that justify leaving the people of our land alone in their desperate plight?"

"The people shall not be abandoned. Are there not enough good men still to remain and resist? Not all who care for the people of Ristfand, for the people of Telmerion, shall depart," Cirien replies. "Eldarien goes, and a select few shall go with him. The rest shall continue as they did before he arrived, even if he hopes to return with light to bring hope into the darkness of our time."

"But that is the problem," Rorlain sighs, "it doesn't continue as it did before we arrived. For now the Empire lays its heavy hand upon the people, a hand that, as far as I can see, is placed only to crush and subdue."

"Subdue, yes," Cirien says, "but as long as it does not crush us entirely, there is hope that we may yet throw it off, resisting the yoke the Empire would place upon us. And we must be aware, as Eldarien has said, that a threat greater than the Empire is at work here, and that it is this above all against which we must be prepared to fight."

"If you wish to remain, Rorlain," Eldarien says kindly, "I encourage you to do so. I see that your heart lies with the people and with the resistance that men like Hersir are giving against the might of the Empire. I go into the unknown with only faith and hope as my guide, and I need few companions for such a journey. On this path, few are just as good as many, and friends of the heart shall do as well as or better than an army."

At these words, Rorlain is visibly conflicted. "I…" he begins but then falls silent. When he finds his voice again, he says, "But am I not a friend of your heart, and have I not made an oath to go where you go, to protect your life with my own?"

"You are such, Rorlain," Eldarien replies. "But I free you from such an oath, my friend. Follow where your heart leads. This I insist upon."

Rorlain runs his hands through his hair and then says quietly, "I shall need some time to think about this before making a decision."

"That is only right," says Eldarien, "but know that you have my support, whichever path you may choose."

"I have given my counsel," Cirien says, "but now my own path also becomes clear. And it is not the one that I expected. I assumed that I would remain in the city, but now my heart speaks clearly in a way that I simply cannot doubt or ignore. My path lies with Eldarien. And Elmariyë shall go as well. At least the three of us shall depart, and we shall do so with haste since our business is so pressing, and since we do not wish to alert the Empire to our movements, though I doubt that a handful of travelers shall awaken any suspicion."

Rorlain nods at Cirien's words, as if trying to gauge their import for his own decision, but he does not speak.

"Who shall take your place as grandmaster of the temple?" Hersir asks, looking at Cirien.

"I shall remain grandmaster," he replies, "though there is another whom I trust wholeheartedly to act as vicar in my place. You know him: Ilmæl Herindas. He shall support you as I have done until my return, if return the gods grant me."

"It causes me pain nonetheless," Hersir says, "that our people shall be left without your support, to speak nothing of the others whose support has been forever taken from us. For our hæras is gone, and I, the rightful ruler of the people of this city, shall go into hiding and concealment."

"It is your part, Hersir," Cirien replies calmly, "to find and counsel those who can continue to guide our people, to support them in their pain, and to encourage their firmness and wisdom in resisting the Empire. We alone are not the sole guides and leaders of our people. You do not walk alone, nor need you for a moment consider doing so. I shall speak with you privately about others on whom you may lean and whose assistance you can most certainly expect. But for now, it seems that our counsels are leading us to a path—or rather paths—that promise some hope for the future, for the people of this clan and the people of Telmerion, though the hope is slim."

"It seems almost like a fool's hope," Hersir mutters under his breath with a tone of profound discouragement.

"Sometimes perhaps that is the only hope that remains," Cirien answers just as quietly, though in a far different tone.