Dawnbringer: An Epic Medieval High Fantasy Saga

Rorlain walks alone through the streets of Ristfand and passes through a high archway of stone into the southwestern section of the city, where the barracks and training grounds of the militia are located. So much has happened already in the short time since he and Eldarien arrived in the city, and he finds the turn of events almost difficult to believe. How could he have known that his plan to speak with the hæras, the jarl of the clan of Rhovas, would lead instead to him being an eyewitness to the murder of the Imperial counselor and the skirmish that led to the supplanting of the Empire's troops within the city? He thinks back on these events now, while he simultaneously looks forward to speaking with Eldarien about them.

But for now, he has no time to reflect upon these things and instead is forced to draw himself back to the present, to the matters at hand. A city needs to be fortified, ordinary citizens need to be trained as soldiers, and soldiers need to be equipped with arms and armor. Rorlain, of course, is little qualified either to train men or to equip them, but he finds people turning to him for his aid and guidance nonetheless. He is unsettled by this, by the fact that he has come to be seen as possessing a kind of authority simply because of his role as the "news-bringer." If anyone is fit to aid the people of Ristfand against the coming assault by the combined forces of the Empire and the druadach, that man is Eldarien. But it appears that the gods are marking out a different path, one unexpected by both of them, and Rorlain struggles to come to grips with it. He has seen a great leader in Eldarien almost from the beginning, and he has wished to follow him, to aid him in guiding the people of Telmerion—in whatever role may be marked out for him—toward freedom and peace. But now Eldarien goes where he cannot follow. He walks a path into darkness and suffering—invisible and yet real—which Rorlain simply does not grasp and from which he feels excluded. And Eldarien rests in pain, he slumbers in incapacity, while the city continues to live, while the men continue to prepare for battle, and while the forces of darkness prepare to march upon them.

Yes, Rorlain has spoken often with Cirien—a true leader, though of a different sort—but there are certain questions troubling him about which he wishes Eldarien's perspective and even simply the solidity of his presence. Has he truly come to depend so deeply upon this man in the short time that they have been together? It has been less than three months since they met, a small period by all accounts, even if most of that time was spent continually in one another's company and walking together through fears, trials, and hopes. But shall Eldarien ever be who he once was? Or has his life forever been changed by those mysterious events that occurred during the few hours they were apart—hours in which Eldarien saved life at the cost of his own, and in which Rorlain witnessed the unveiling of the true nature of the hæras and the unfolding of events which would forever change the future of Ristfand?

"Sir Farâël?" says a voice, interrupting Rorlain from his thoughts. He realizes then that, despite his efforts, he has still been thinking about the past and worrying about the future, rather than attending to the present.

"It is not fitting to address me as sir," he replies, turning his attention to the man who approaches him along the road, "but what is it that you wish?"

"Captain Sædan wanted me to ask you whether you wished to be fitted for some armor," the man says. "He said the choice of kind is yours to make. You may have whatever you request, within reason, of course."

"That is a generous offer," Rorlain says. "But are there not many men in need of armor and many who are forced to wear ill-fitting protection made for another man or no protection at all?"

"The smiths try to remedy that as we speak," the man rejoins. "But the captain told me that he rather insists that you accept this offer."

"Then if I have no choice, I will go. Tell him that I accept. Where shall I be fitted?"

"I shall lead you there now, if you please."

"There is one thing I wish to attend to first," Rorlain says. "Could you tell me, instead, where to go? I shall find my way there myself."

"Very well."

† † †

"Do you think that this will be enough for your family today?" Rorlain asks as Aldin—an ordinary laborer from the ghetto now, by necessity, become a soldier—receives the covered basket from his hands and lifts the cloth to inspect its contents: a loaf of bread, some handfuls of nuts, a few thick slices of salted pork, and some apples.

"Yes, yes," Aldin says, with enthusiasm in his voice. "It is more than we are used to. I cannot thank you enough for doing this for us."

"It is really thanks to Elmariyë and Cirien," Rorlain replies. "The food is from the temple, and it is only due to their permission and efforts that I am able to bring it to you."

"But you are the one who approached them about our need."

"Aye, that is true," Rorlain acquiesces, "but you chose not to hide it from me."

"I am glad that I did not."

"Tomorrow I will bring you some more."

"Are you certain?" Aldin asks. "I can come to the temple myself and pick it up."

"I insist, at least for the present," says Rorlain. "You are in training exercises almost all day, and I want you to retain what little time you can spare to be with those whom you love. Great danger approaches, and we do not know what fate awaits us. I wish not to take you from your family any more than you already have been."

"You have my thanks," says Aldin, and, placing the basket under his arm, he turns away.

After this, Rorlain makes his way to the forge to which the captain's messenger had directed him. A burly blacksmith, face dripping with sweat, is hammering a sheet of metal into a sword and looks up as Rorlain enters. The smithy is little more than a covered platform of stone without walls—the roof held by pillars—with a furnace, anvil, and grindstone. The heat of the forge is intense, and the air is thick.

"I was told to come to you for a fitting," Rorlain says.

"Aye," replies the smith. "My name's Fyrir. It's nice to meet you. I'll be supposing that you are Rorlain Farâël?"

"I am."

"Very good. Give me one minute and I'll be with you."

Rorlain steps back away from the heat to wait, watching the smith work in silence, and Fyrir chuckles softly at this. When he has finished whatever particular task he thought necessary to accomplish before letting the metal cool, Fyrir calls to Rorlain, "You won't learn much watching from a distance."

"I don't know if I would be able to learn much just from watching, anyway," he replies.

"You would be surprised."

"In truth?"

"Yes and no," Fyrir says. "You could learn to beat and grind a metal pole into a point sharp enough to pierce a shirt of mail, or take it and make it look more or less like a sword. But any work of true skill, you'd need to be taught or to experiment till your arms fall off. Though if you did that, I suppose you wouldn't be making no weapons at all, nor wielding them."

"Then I shall leave the smithing to those who possess the skill," Rorlain says. "For my arms shall be needed yet, like the arms of all the men of Ristfand."

"And I shall provide you all with what weapons and armor I can, and, when the dread day comes, I shall also fight by your side."

"We need valiant and strong men like you, Fyrir," Rorlain says, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"We have yet to see how valiant I am," he retorts, "though I do have the strength of two men. That must count for something."

"Let us hope that it does," says Rorlain. "Now, how about the fitting?"

"Come inside with me, and we'll get your size," Fyrir says, gesturing to a door at the back of the smithy that leads into a building. "What kind of armor will you be wanting?"

"I have worn little armor in the past, so nothing that shall be too much of an adjustment. I want to be able to move freely."

"Armor won't stop you from moving freely. I can design it so that it can move more or less as your body can move. However, it is the weight that might be a bit of an adjustment. It takes a while for a man to become accustomed to walking around in twenty to thirty pounds of metal. Of course some armor weighs even more, but we have neither the material nor the custom among our people to fashion such armor except in the rarest cases. That, sadly, is more the custom for the knights of the Empire."

"I will gladly take whatever is in your power to give."

"Aye, and that be what I hope to give." Fyrir leads Rorlain inside what he sees to be the entryway of his house, though they step only into a kind of antechamber, then pulls a knotted cord from a table and begins to take his measurements. "What weapons do you favor?" he asks as he wraps the cord around Rorlain's chest.

"Until now, the bow and the axe."

"A two-handed war axe for cleaving?"

"No, an axe small enough to fit into my belt comfortably and to be wielded with a single hand."

"Then you might want a shield to go with it, or at least a buckler," Fyrir says. "Axes aren't the best weapons for blocking and parrying. And if you have an army charging toward you, I can almost assure you that you'll want something more solid between yourself and them than an axe."

"Have you fought before?" asks Rorlain. "You speak as if you know."

"It seems common sense to me, when you think about it. Yet to answer your question: I have studied the art of combat, but have not been engaged in it myself. Anyway, I think I've got just the thing for you." Fyrir finishes the measuring and then disappears for a moment into an adjacent room. When he emerges, he holds in his hand a small circular convex shield, made of treated wood plated with iron. Rather than a handle, it has two adjustable leather straps—enarmes—one for the forearm and one for the hand. It is two feet in diameter. "This is the biggest targe you're going to get before it becomes a shield. Here, strap it to your left arm and see how it fits."

As Rorlain does so, Fyrir disappears again and this time reappears with a long thrusting dagger in a sheath. This, too, he gives to Rorlain.

"The dirk can be held in your left hand as well as the targe, blade downward—or you can simply take it out when you need it. It will give you a great deal more options in combat than just fighting with an axe, or even with axe and shield."

"Are you sure these will not be better suited for another warrior?" Rorlain asks hesitantly.

"Oh no, I insist," Fyrir responds. "They are yours. But now let's talk about the armor itself."

After some conversation and a few experimental try-ons, they decide to outfit Rorlain with a brigandine—not as protective as metal plate, but lighter—for the torso, shoulders, and upper arms, with metal, gauntleted vambraces for the forearms and hands ("Because if you're fighting with an axe, you'll want your fingers protected"). Fyrir already has such armor and only needs to adjust it so that it conforms more precisely to Rorlain's proportions. This is something that Rorlain himself thinks important, since he does not wish to take any more time than necessary away from the making of arms and armor for the other men.

† † †

That evening, Rorlain sees Eldarien in the dining hall as the former walks past. He is seated in a corner of the room alone (the temple members take their evening meal alone in their rooms, as a rule, and during this time the dining hall is used only by guests). An empty plate sits before him, and he rests his head against his hands, his elbows against the table.

"Welcome back to the realm of the living, my friend," Rorlain says, crouching down beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It is good to be back," Eldarien replies, embracing him in response and then looking intently into Rorlain's eyes, as if to judge how he is faring.

"I suppose, however, that it is a good thing that I asked to speak with the hæras alone and sent you on your way," Rorlain says. "Who would have foreseen that it would have led to what it did? The fire in the ghetto started at the very time we were on our way to the palace."

"I hoped to speak with you about those matters soon," says Eldarien.

"There is much that we need to discuss," agrees Rorlain. "When would you like to speak?"

"I am still feeling quite weak, and I intend to return to my room in just a moment to rest. Perhaps we could speak the first thing in the morning tomorrow? Do you have the time?"

"Yes, I do," he replies. "There are a few things for which I am required later in the day, but most of the morning should be free."

"Thank you," says Eldarien, "I shall look forward to speaking to you then."

The next day, Rorlain rises early and, feeling restless, paces the corridors slowly and silently, not so much preoccupied in thought as preoccupied in emotion. He passes the door to the library, finds it open, and steps inside simply out of curiosity. The walls are lined with books and scrolls, and many shelves create a maze-work of aisles in the small but overcrowded room. Rorlain has never been much given to reading, but he scans the titles of the books now and pauses to take a few from the shelf and flip through their pages. A certain book he recognizes from when he was younger, one of the few books that his family owned and which he read and re-read over a course of many years. Taking it in his hands again, he sees that the cover and the binding are different than his own copy, but the script and the format are almost identical to the one that he knew. He then sits in a padded chair by the wall, near a lamp that burns bright and strong, and begins to read.

The events of history surrounding the occupation of our country by the Vælirian Empire are now shrouded in mystery and forgetfulness. Much has been forgotten, as if effaced in the blowing snows of time, buried deep under rifts or eroded beyond the point of recognition. And yet certain things have been impressed so deeply upon the memory of our race that, even if their specifics are no longer known, their shape remains. We know of warfare and blood. We know that when the Empire came to our shores, they brought the sword, and a sword mightier than our own. But we also know that, for centuries before this, our land itself was marked by strife, by contention for supremacy, by the conflict of clan against clan and hæras against hæras. A question poses itself to us, even at the distance of nearly two centuries: did the Empire bring war with them when they came, or did they intend to bring peace, and our own people insisted upon war? We may never know the answer to this question, for it is almost as if such matters were deliberately erased by those who participated in the great events of that time. All that we know is that, even if the Empire's coming was followed with combat and bloodshed, the ultimate fruit of its presence was peace. The occupation of the Empire brought about a peace between the clans which, until that moment, had eluded us in all but the rarest of circumstances.

This realization is made all more grievous by the recognition that once before in history has the land of Telmerion known universal peace, and that was short-lived. A paradoxical history is that time, the victorious ascension of Sera Galaptes and the reign of the Galapteä kings, for it was a unification brought about not from without (as we know now under the rule of the Empire) but rather from the heart of our own land and people. But little do we recall now how such a peace was brought into existence and even less do we understand the fabric of that unity, which was able to restore to harmony the seven tribes even while preserving their diversity and the richness of their traditions. But we do have cause to wonder now, in our own day and age, how long the peace that has been brought under the auspices of the Empire shall truly endure, and also whether such peace can even be rightly called by such a name.

Rorlain lowers the book and looks out the window, through which morning light shines yellow and bright. The song of birds filters in from outside, a song of peace and lightness and carefree wonder, and yet Rorlain struggles to hear it, to rest in it. The peace that the land of Telmerion has known in the past two hundred years is fast fading, and he feels a threat of violence drawing near from many sources, a threat that he feels powerless to stop or even to delay. Shall their beloved home soon become a land drenched in blood, spreading from the point of utmost concentration—the rebellion around Minstead—to bathe the entire land in loss, pain, and grief?

† † †

"How are you feeling?" Rorlain asks as he sits opposite Eldarien in the latter's room.

"I feel a great deal better now. Of course, I have only been awake a couple days, and before that I was not even conscious...at least, that is, in the ordinary sense of the word. It is hard to explain, and I cannot put it into words even to myself. I am afraid that I would utterly fail to communicate it to you, even if I tried. I hope you understand."

"Is there anything that you think I should know about...all of this?" asks Rorlain.

"Someone explained to you what happened, correct?"

"Yes. Elmariyë herself tried to explain to me this thing that she called 'bearing.' I did not truly grasp it in any meaningful way, so I asked Cirien about it. His words were a bit clearer—at least for me—but..."

"But it does not seem 'normal'?" offers Eldarien. "Rather, it seems almost frightening?"

"No, no...it's not frightening. After all, it's just you...and just...I don't know, healing someone. How could that be frightening?" says Rorlain, not entirely honestly.

"I suppose not..." sighs Eldarien, lowering his eyes.

There is a dense moment of silence before Rorlain says, "But do not worry about me. It will just take some time, I think, to adjust."

"Yes, for both of us," says Eldarien, and then he looks back up with kindness in his eyes. "But tell me," he begins, changing the subject, "what happened in the hæras' palace."

"There is a lot to tell, actually," Rorlain answers, glad to let the prior subject rest for the present, "and it concerns not only the hæras' palace. I assume that the others have not told you much?"

"They have refrained from telling me much anything, in fact. They seem to wish that I hear it from you and from no one else."

"I wonder why," Rorlain murmurs.

"I think they are trying to protect me," Eldarien says.

"Protect you? From what?"

"I am not sure, exactly. I think they see me differently, now, after what happened."

"That is understandable," Rorlain comments, hiding the fact that he, too, is struggling with seeing Eldarien differently. It is not that he is a different person than he had known before, and certainly not that Rorlain looks up to him more now or feels more comfortable in his presence. For Rorlain, at least, it is quite the opposite: he feels put-off by what he sees as Eldarien's aloofness, an aloofness, granted, that is not due to his own choice but to the very nature and fact of his suffering. When he tries to explain it to himself, all that he is able to say is that he feels "distant" from Eldarien, or more precisely, he feels that Eldarien has moved away into a distance that Rorlain cannot reach, as if he took the only boat to a distant shore, and now all that Rorlain can do is look across the waters and see his figure silhouetted in the mist.

Because of this, Rorlain simply does not know how to relate to Eldarien any more, how to be close to him as they were close before these events transpired. In the midst of such thoughts, he realizes that he is sitting silently with his gaze on the floor, absentmindedly thinking, while Eldarien is looking at him with inviting eyes, waiting for him to continue. He realizes, too, that they have turned right back to the previous subject without even intending it. Shall it always be like this now, from this time forward?

"Sorry, there is just a great deal on my mind," Rorlain says. "The city is astir with preparations for the coming attack. But something preoccupies me in the midst of it all: I do not trust our leader. Granted, to all appearances he has now shown himself to be unconditionally on the side of the rebellion; but considering what we have learned of his character, I doubt the authenticity of his actions. Or rather, I doubt the integrity of his heart."

"Perhaps if you told me what you witnessed," says Eldarien, "that might help me to understand what you mean to say."

"Of course, of course." He pauses, trying to choose his words carefully and to speak clearly of what he saw. "When I entered the rœdra castria I stepped into the midst of a heated argument between the hæras and the Imperial counselor. The hæras was accusing the counselor of setting fire to the ghetto in order to root out the last remnants of the rebellion. But the counselor said that he would never act without the command or at least the approval of the legate in Brug'hil, and that, regarding such an act, he had received neither. In response, the hæras said that he had long known that the counselor acted beyond and against the directives of the Empire and that no longer could such treachery be tolerated. He continued to press his point until the counselor became enraged. The latter drew his blade and threatened the hæras with severe punishment for these false accusations. In response, he too drew his blade, and did so just in time to deflect an attack from the counselor, who seemed to have lost his self-restraint. At this moment, a fight broke out in the chamber between the guards of Ristfand and those of the Empire. In the midst of the fray, the counselor was slain, as were most of those men who with him served the Empire. A few were taken captive, for reasons, I suspect, of bringing witness to bear on what they beheld that day.

"To all appearances, it seems that the hæras acted solely in self-defense, standing against a bloodthirsty counselor who acted far beyond the commands of his superiors and who proved this by attempting to slay the very man to whom he was meant to offer counsel in the name of the Empire. The actions of the hæras and his guards, thus, were nothing but an appropriate response to those who first drew the blade against them, thus breaking the bond of peace. It seems to me though that this whole affair was a tactic planned by hæras Glendas. He has since taken undivided control of the city and claims sole leadership of the clan of Rhovas in the absence of the counselor and any other Imperial representatives. We have yet to receive any response either from the capital or from any of the Imperial forces in nearby lands. I fear that their response shall be one with the coming attack, all the more vigorous for the bold moves the hæras has taken to exert his rule, whatever reasons he may claim to be on his side."

"But if he is sided with the rebellion and fighting for the freedom of the people of Telmerion," Eldarien says, "then surely his actions are fitting to such a goal, and they are even militarily tactful. If he is indeed a leader of the rebellion, we could not well expect him to act differently than he has done. What then, precisely, causes you to distrust him?"

"It is because I judge his accusation toward the Imperial counselor to be false," Rorlain replies. "I do not believe that the counselor started the fire. In fact, I do not believe that the hæras believed it either."

"You believe that it was an accident that the hæras then utilized for his own purposes? Though not right or just, that would still be militarily tactful. It would mean nothing regarding his fidelity toward the cause of the rebellion, but only cast a shadow on his character."

"No, I do not think that either."

"What then?"

"I spoke with many men who worked in close proximity to the Imperial counselor, and all unanimously told me of his honor and integrity. Yes, he stood entirely for the goals and ideals of the Empire, but he was not a duplicitous man. He would never act against or beyond the directives of his superiors, nor, indeed, would he willingly cause the death of innocent persons."

"If that is the case, then he is fortunately unlike many of those who bear an office similar to his own within the Empire," comments Eldarien. "Nonetheless, it does not surprise me, for not all those who take the side of the Empire are unjust or malicious. Indeed many are noble. I cannot attest to that myself from my own experience. Yet perhaps, like myself, he did indeed receive such a command and simply did not communicate it to the hæras. For what reason would such a plan be shared with the very person who would have cause to prevent it? The counselor could very likely have received an order to set fire to the ghetto, and even if he was a man of integrity, resisting such an explicit order is a very difficult thing to do. Is that not more feasible than the fire being an accident? It seemed much too widespread to be an accident. That I witnessed first-hand."

"Regardless of what kind of man he was or what course of action he took, he lives no more," says Rorlain.

"Then why not let it rest?" Eldarien asks.

"Because I think it possible that the hæras himself commanded the fire."

"Really? Why would he do that?"

"I thought I already made that clear: now the hæras has a perfect pretext to justify the death of the counselor and his forces," Rorlain explains. "He can portray it as a matter of simple self-defense—defense of his safety and the safety of his people. The guilt can be laid entirely at the feet of the Empire, and he can rally the people behind him in that regard."

"But why would he need a pretext at all?" Eldarien asks. "I am not following your train of thought. Could you explain more thoroughly?"

"I think it due to the fact that he wishes to assert his claim before the judgment seat of the Empire, to assert himself as the sole ruler of the clan lands of Rhovas. But he does not want to make that claim with the burden of having led a rebellion against the Empire on his shoulders—that is, at least for the Empire to see. He wishes, rather, to present himself as a peaceful and moderate ruler who did everything in his power to cooperate with the Empire and only acted in defense when the counselor went on a tirade of destruction. He wants to appear as though he cooperated with the Empire in quelling the rebellion...that is, until the counselor went too far and burned an entire sector of the city and then sought to slay the man who pointed out his wrong. What happened after this, he would say, was unavoidable."

"So you are saying that the hæras himself started the fire in the ghetto as a way of framing the counselor?" asks Eldarien.

"I do not firmly believe either way," Rorlain replies, "though I fear it to be the case. Such an action seems entirely in accord with his character. And if the Empire did not command the fire, then the hæras does have just cause before the Empire, for then they can only assume that the counselor did indeed act independently and without the blessing of the legate."

"If even a part of what you say is true," says Eldarien, "then hæras Glendas Medora wages a war of his own or seeks to profit from the civil war in whatever way he can. And he little considers the cost that such actions bring to bear upon his citizens."

"Precisely."

"But false accusation is a grave matter," Eldarien warns, "as is the silent judgment of the heart, even if not voiced. The former can be severely punished, and the latter also bears its own poison."

"It is not that I intend to publicly accuse him," says Rorlain quietly, "though perhaps that is the appropriate course of action. But I have no proof of wrong doing, and I do not know where I would find any. I rather am simply concerned about what he may do, particularly if he is placed in a position in which it falls upon him to protect his people at the risk of his own well-being or rule."

"You fear that he will choose rather to sacrifice the people for his own power?"

"That is my fear."

"But does he have the authority to do such a thing?" Eldarien asks.

"If my suspicions are correct, then he had enough authority to command his subjects to burn a section of the city and all the people within it."

"But if your suspicions are not correct...?"

"I don't know," Rorlain sighs.

"It seems that all we can do is stand strong in defense of the people, whatever may come. I think what we ought to fear and what we must resist is the clear and pronounced enemy, and we should not allow ourselves to be preoccupied with fearing enemies in our midst."

"You tend to trust people too much and too easily, Eldarien," says Rorlain. "I hope, for your sake and for the sake of us all, that it does not redound unto harm."

"I am not counseling you on what you yourself are to do," replies Eldarien. "We will not know how the hæras will act in open confrontation with the Empire until it comes to such a moment. Then, and only then, will he be judged—and not on speculations but by his own actions and their fruits."

Rorlain opens his mouth to reply but, after a moment's hesitation, he closes it again.

"What is it?" Eldarien asks him.

"Ah, it is nothing... I still need to tell you about what happened after the slaying of the counselor. As I told you, I was circumstantially present at the most opportune moment—whether fortunately or unfortunately, I don't know. After things settled and the 'dust cleared,' as it were—which took the greater part of the day—I approached Glendas and spoke in this manner: 'I bring pressing news concerning the civil war. And, granted you do not yet know of what I shall speak, my words may mark out a course that shall allow you to prevent great evil and suffering for your people and to retain the authority that is yours.'

"He replied to me as follows: 'How is it that you came at such a moment claiming to bring a message concerning the civil war? Can you not see that the civil war is on our own soil? This very day, my hand was forced in defense of our people, and in the process, the man who represented the Empire but was no more than a tyrant has fallen.' It was then that I realized that he did not know of my presence earlier that day. My witness to the murder of the counselor had itself gone unnoticed. I did not think it fit or necessary to tell him otherwise. I simply replied, 'I see that you have stood against the Imperial power in defense of your own people, and you are very likely right to do so. I come to you because I have learned, through quite unusual circumstances that I shall soon elucidate, the plans of the Empire to lay siege to the city. And they plan to do so in collaboration with powers of unearthly darkness, called by men the druadach.'

"His face betrayed doubt and confusion, and this turned quickly to anger. At first, he did not believe me. It took a thorough recounting of what we beheld in the barrow of Sera Galaptes and my responses to a rather pressing interrogation for him to begin to accept my account. In this interrogation, he demanded to know a great deal concerning my past, and I was only barely able to conceal the fact of your identity. He did, however, learn of my previous alignment with the rebels, though he well hid his reaction to this. He truly does walk the line of a 'neutral observer' in the civil war. In this seems to lie his security and his strength. But I think he has other plans and finds himself in a rather unusual situation. Shall I tell you what I think?"

"Go ahead," Eldarien replies, with a nod.

"I believe," Rorlain continues, "that he does not know whom to trust. Though the reasons are opaque to me—I have my guesses—it seems that he finds himself quite alone in governing Ristfand and the lands of Rhovas."

"What do you mean in saying that he finds himself alone?" asks Eldarien. "Did he not recently succeed in defending against the Imperial attack against the rebels and now has put an end to the counselor himself?"

"I think the feat is smaller than in words it appears to be," replies Rorlain. "After biding his time and making preparations, it seems that Glendas seized this opportunity to exert his authority at last and to claim all the lands of Rhovas as his own. But that is not really feasible in his current situation, even were he to slay every person favorable to the empire within fifty leagues. For not only does the Empire have a presence in almost every settlement on the continent of Telmerion, however small, but surely the forces west of the mountains shall retaliate and seek to take back what he has claimed. That is one of the reasons I mentioned to you earlier that I think the fire was staged by the hæras. He needed to be able to stand before the Empire as a reasonable man, as someone with whom to dialogue and reach an agreement, not as a rebel to be cut down."

"And your message destroyed that plan of his in a single blow," Eldarien concludes. "Is that what you are saying?"

"The Empire marches upon his domain whether he tries to avoid it or not. As much as he may aim to present himself as a partner in dialogue, the armies come to attack his city nonetheless."

"But if he is a leader of the rebellion, what else could he possibly expect? Or is he not a leader of the rebellion, but actually neutral as he claims to be?"

"A good question," replies Rorlain. "He clearly presents himself not as a leader of the rebellion but as one who would force all the rebels to acquiesce and to return to peace. He counts on that as the currency with which to barter himself and his rule with the Empire. Only when he felt backed into a corner—either he must risk the exposure of his true intentions or he must allow the rebellion to die in his lands—did he follow through with the plan that I have just recounted to you. And he did what he could to justify his own position, to make it appear as reasonable self-defense, as if somehow he could still fight for the rebellion in secret while standing before the Empire as an ally."

"I am struggling to follow you now, Rorlain," Eldarien says softly. "I am sorry, but my mind is just not capable of making sense of these things at the moment. But I do not think it much matters what methods the hæras uses to protect himself while still trying to fight for the ideals that he wishes achieved for his clan. When the day of battle comes, he shall either stand with his people against the combined might of the Empire and the powers of darkness, or he shall betray them in manner small or great. I still think little is to be gained by these questions and suppositions, though you seem to be putting a great deal of effort and attention into trying to unravel them."

"Forgive me, Eldarien," says Rorlain. "But you did not witness what I witnessed. Something concerns me greatly, and I have tried to express that 'something' to you as best I can. Yet it seems that you do not share my concern. I shall therefore take it and bear it alone. If I am meant to act upon this in any way, all I can do is trust that a path shall be made clear before me."

"I wish that I could help you, Rorlain," Eldarien says quietly, with a mixture of compassion and strained tension in his voice. "I truly do. And I am trying to bear the pain of the realities of which you speak. But I simply do not follow you in your preoccupation with affairs beyond your understanding and your influence."

"You speak of 'bearing,' my friend," Rorlain says, frustration showing in his voice, which he immediately tries to conceal. But his final words come out with a strong tenor of accusation within them, "You speak of 'bearing,' and yet I feel like you keep your distance from me when I try to invite you into this space. I wish for your advice, your counsel. And yet you simply dismiss my concerns as excessive, as 'beyond me.' Well, if I do not act on them, who shall?"

"Rorlain..." sighs Eldarien, reaching forward to place a hand on his friend's knee. But Rorlain rises quickly to his feet.

"I am sorry that I spoke with you," he says. "This is something that I must do on my own. I suppose that is the way it must be."

And with this he turns and leaves the room.