The Record of the Saints Caliber (16 page)

“I think you’re here for something else,” said Brandrir, giving Etheil a more serious look. There had been a tone of urgency when Etheil had come to the door, and it wasn’t over asking him for patience.

Etheil grimaced and looked down for a moment. “You and me know each other too well,” he said. He looked at Brandrir with his gray-blue eyes and stepped forward. “A quick-hound returned from the Grimwatch with a message for me last night. Syrus says the Kald are amassing. He said his scouts returned from the Shardgrims and the Kald are constructing their machines of war. They believe they are preparing for all out war on Duroton.”

Brandrir bit his lip and nodded.

“Shall I return immediately?” asked Etheil.

Brandrir raised his mechanical hand and balled it into a fist as he contemplated. He exhaled deeply and then looked at Etheil. “No. Stay with me for the Rising of the Phoenix ceremony. Syrus and Aries can handle things for now. Send a hound and tell the others I shall return soon.”

Etheil smiled softly and approached Brandrir. He placed both his hands upon Brandrir’s shoulders and said, “You know I’ve always admired your ability to stay away from the politics of the King’s Council,” said Etheil. “But your time to sit upon the throne has come. Your father and your brother want to know you will be a good King to the Lands of Duroton. Stay here and let me lead the Grimwatch in your stead.”

Brandrir looked at Etheil with a devious little smirk. “Old friend, you’ve told me far too many tales and legends of Duroton for me to ever stay cooped up in a castle. One day, the Mard Grander shall be reforged and I’ll charge headlong into battle carrying that hammer like King Tharick did in the wars against Apollyon during the age of the Great Falling.”

Etheil smiled and nodded. “Just remember, it was King Tharick who eventually broke that unbreakable hammer in the first place. You know, sometimes I think I’ve done you a great disservice by filling your head with all the tales of the kings of the first and second ages.”

“Nonsense,” said Brandrir. “In fact, when we were boys your stories were the one selfish reason I begged my father to spare your life.”

Etheil chuckled. “He didn’t exactly spare my life.”

Brandrir laughed as well. “Well, he didn’t outright have your head cut off either. He sentenced you to spend a long night in the Blue Wilds, and that was quite lenient considering how hard the Council was working against you.”

“You know, some would rather have their head cut off than spend a long night in the Blue Wilds,” said Etheil.

“Well, for you old friend, it was a happy chance.” said Brandrir. “And you survived, so one can reasonably say my father was lenient.” Brandrir chuckled.

“I can thank Solastron for my life,” said Etheil with a smile. “I wonder where that big, blue wolf went off too anyway?”

“I don’t know,” said Brandrir. “But I do know one thing. I think when you were sentenced to spend the long night in the Blue Wilds that the Lands of Duroton spared your life just so you could fill my head with the legends of the kings of old.”

Etheil breathed deeply. “I hope you are right, old friend. I hope you’re right.”

— 4 —

THE STELLARIUM

OF THE JINN

The wool cloak Nuriel wore over her armor did little to shield her from the biting winds. She wrapped the lower end of the hood around her neck and mouth, but her breath smoked in the cold nonetheless. All around her was nothing but gray. Gray skies and gray stones. Even the cloaks that she, Isley and the other four Saints wore were gray. There were patches of snow here and there, but they hardly did anything to liven the landscape. If anything, they only added to the dreary bleakness. Nuriel thought these were called the Graystone Mountains for good reason. She shined her Caliber, its faint glow far too bright amongst the barren stone and snow drifts of the mountaintop, but the warmth it brought her was too alluring to resist.

“Bear and endure, Nuriel.” said Saint Umbrial from behind her. “Bear and endure.”

Nuriel coughed and sniffled and surreptitiously wiped her nose on the bundle of cloak she had wrapped about her face and neck. Ahead of her Isley stopped upon the rocky path and turned to her. “He’s right, Nuriel. We don’t want to attract any undue attention up here. Who knows how far away that might be seen from.”

“Yeah, Nuriel,” piped Saint Tia from behind her, and Nuriel’s jaw clenched at the voice. Tia had made a hobby of ridiculing her at every chance this entire journey, and the woman’s voice was wearing on her more than the grayness of the mountaintops. “Sanctuary is just south of here and beyond these mountains is the kingdom of Duroton and all their Saint-hating knights. So go ahead, Nuriel, just shine your Caliber as bright as you can. Announce our presence to the world, but it won’t matter as long as Nuriel is warm.”

“She’s too green,” added the loud-mouthed Saint Arric, and Nuriel heard Saint Gamalael laugh at his side. “Should have left her behind.”

“She just needs to learn some endurance,” added Umbrial.

Tia puffed. “Youngest Saint to ever make Saints Caliber and she can’t even handle a little cold air.”

Gamalael laughed again. “So much for her reputation.”

Arric smirked and added under his breath, “She’s an idiot.”

Nuriel rolled her eyes. Part of the reason she had wanted to become one of the Saints Caliber was to get away from the constant ridicule she had endured back home in Sanctuary. She had hoped she’d find respect once she was out in the field, but it seemed Saints were the same out here as they were at home. Nuriel tried to remind herself of her new dream of becoming an Eremitic. Perhaps as a solitary Saint she could finally find peace. But then she also had to remind herself that she had a long way to go to realize that dream, and a little voice in her head also reminded her that it might be impossible at this point. Nuriel sighed, her breath smoking in the cold air. So far her career wasn’t panning out quite the way she had hoped.

“Enough,” said Isley over Gamalael’s and Arric’s giggling. “We’re almost there.”

Tia, Gamalael, Arric and Umbrial pushed their way past Nuriel, each of them giving her a quite deliberate brush-by. Nuriel rolled her eyes again and let them pass. She had known all four of them back at Sanctuary. They were all about seven years older than she, and had all received their Call to Guard about three or four years ago. Gamalael, Arric and Umbrial were typical of the boys back at Sanctuary: loud, obnoxious and arrogant to the extreme. Tia, though, was a beast all her own. She was vindictive, spiteful, jealous and mean, all in her own brand. Of the four, Nuriel hated Tia the most. Her eyes narrowed as she looked upon that white-haired witch.

Tia’s Star-Armor was very similar to Nuriel’s own. The glassy black armor was sleek and light, with a pair of heart-shaped pauldrons on her shoulders and a thin, shapely breastplate that was slightly longer than most. Tia’s breastplate went down almost to her belly where it tapered like the bottom of a heart. She had light bracers on her forearms, and a pair of nearly thigh-high star-metal boots. Tia’s opalescent hair was long, straight and as white as her leather bodysuit with eyes just as frosty as the snow.

Gamalael, Arric and Umbrial all wore slightly heavier suits of armor upon their bodysuits, typical of the boys. Gamalael and Arric could almost be brothers. Both were thin and nimble; both had hair as blue as sun-lit sapphire and eyes to match. They even had similar weapons upon their backs, though Gamalael’s sword was slightly broader of blade.

Umbrial was the largest of the group, tall and stout and walked with a stride that had an arrogance all its own. His eyes and hair were as rich and vibrant as brown tourmaline and he carried a spiked star-metal mace at his side.

Nuriel hated them. Hated all four of them. She didn’t even really like Isley since he had, after all, gotten her into this mess. But at least her mentor had a warmth and caring about him, something these four completely lacked. Nuriel sniffled and coughed and trudged up the rocky mountain path to where the five stood upon a snowy precipice that jutted from a wall of boulders that towered above them.

“That’s it,” said Isley, pointing out to the distant peaks. “That must be the Stellarium of the Jinn.”

Built into the side of the mountain was a fortress. It was completely camouflaged, and it took Nuriel a moment to even distinguish its towers from the mountain peaks and its windows from crags and crevices. The only thing betraying its presence were the wisps of smoke that wafted from concealed chimneys, but even that could be mistaken for the clouds and fog that dogged the peaks.

Isley pointed to the sky. “Beyond the clouds, built into the very heavens, is the Stellarium. It was built above the clouds as an affront to our Goddess, Aeoria, so that the Jinn could flaunt their evil and magic before her eyes.”

“We’ll have to be careful,” said Saint Umbrial. “Be on your guard and don’t trust them.”

“I’m not afraid of Jinn,” squawked Tia. “Let them start something. I’ll bring this whole mountain down on them.”

“I’ve fought Jinn,” said Umbrial, folding his muscular, Star-Armored arms over his chest. “Back when I was assigned in Escalapius. It ain’t fun.”

“There will not just be Jinn here,” said Isley, looking at them all with those wise, silver eyes of his. “Celacia told me this entire place is guarded by the Knights of the Dark Stars. They are more akin to us than the Jinn. The Jinn are warlocks. The Knights of the Dark Stars are their creations, and they are powerful warriors. Celacia said they are expecting us and that we will be welcomed. Still, Saint Umbrial is right. We must all be cautious. We are the first Saints to be allowed into Duroton in more than six-hundred years. This is something special, and we’re all a part of it. We’re probably being watched even now.”

“As you have been since you first set foot upon the Graystones,” came a voice from above.

Nuriel’s head shot up and in a flash her claymore was drawn. Isley turned, and in the blink of an eye Tia, Gamalael, Umbrial and Arric all had their weapons at the ready, their bodies encapsulated by the faint glow of their Calibers.

Like ghosts, men armored in matte-black steel appeared from every direction, materializing from their hiding places amongst every crag, crevice and theretofore unseen cavern. They all bore steel swords in their hands. Long blonde or auburn hair flowed out from beneath their horned helmets and icy blue and gray eyes looked at them with contempt. Though these men all wore black armor, it was not Star-Armor or the armor worn by Celacia. It was steel. Cold, black, Durotonian steel. These were just ordinary men. They were members of the Northern Guard and Nuriel detected no threat from them.

It was the man who spoke to them that had Nuriel on edge. He was draped in a black shroud that masked his form, its dark hood pulled over his head. Nuriel could sense something about him. He exuded a strength that could be felt in her very Caliber. She wondered if he was one of the Jinn or their unholy Knights of the Dark Stars. Here upon the cliffs of the Graystone mountains they had slain many Saints over the centuries. Duroton was a forbidden land.

“You are the constellation of Saints my King is expecting, no doubt,” said the shrouded man from his perch above their heads, his arms crossed at his chest. “The ones Celacia told us were coming.”

He appraised them all with his smokey blue eyes. Through the shadows of the hood that obscured his face Nuriel could see that he was an older man, his blonde hair tarnished with darker streaks. His face was rough, weathered by the unforgiving North, and his beard fell in two tight braids off his chin.

Nuriel and the others now became aware that small rocks and stones upon the ground near them were floating a few inches above the earth. The shrouded man uncrossed his arms and stepped from the ledge. But he did not fall. Instead he floated down like a feather, as if upheld by the cold mountain air. As he touched down, the small stones and rocks that hovered off the ground all fell with a simultaneous patter.

Nuriel watched him, evaluating his every move, as he gently landed upon the precipice before Isley. This man possessed power, yet had no glow of Caliber upon him. He confronted Isley directly and removed his hood. Nuriel had never seen such boldness by a mortal man in the face of a Saint, let alone a constellation of six Saints, and she was slightly taken aback by it.

Isley, the only of the group who had not drawn his weapon, bowed his head slightly. He gestured to Nuriel and the others to sheath their weapons and they reluctantly complied. “I am Saint Isley, leader of this constellation. This is my apprentice, Nuriel. I am accompanied by Saints Tia, Umbrial, Arric and Gamalael.”