Chapter One

Illian found solace in the night. As the castle slept he let his mind take flight in the writings of old. Seated in a tower of the church library with his beloved books and charts, he could almost escape the judging eyes of the world. Illian neither tired nor needed food or even air to sustain him. The Lords of Light and Order had seen fit to bless him with a body that neither felt heat nor cold, and the tearing agony of swords made no more difference to him than the gentlest kiss. In fact, to all appearances, Illian was dead, and yet he moved and thought, and suffered.

“Gods above, thy will be done, but if it please you, I would end my time here and go to what reward or punishment awaits me. I would feel again, even if only pain lies before me.” Had he been capable of crying, his hulking armored form would have heaved with sobs, but instead his black, enamel breast plate was still.

He waited a moment in silence, only the flickering of the candle flames in the drafty air making any sound, then he sighed and turned back to the scroll before him. It was an illuminated map of the world that he knew well. The legend at the lower right read:

“A MAP OF THE LANDS KNOWN AS BOORQUAN AND THE SURROUNDING ENVIRONS, THIS BEING THE 43RD YEAR OF THE ENLIGHTENED AGE.”

Illian marveled at the brightly colored parchment, and wondered absently if he would look this good after 450 years. To the south, some weeks distant he saw the Gulf Of Zarja, with Adu, the magical city, gleaming on the coast. He’d often dreamt of having the freedom to travel there. From that port one could reach all the known world; from the Bard’s College in Haladie to the slaver’s markets in the Flesh Pits of El’Jahlon! His eyes turned north then, as they always did, across the swamps and forests of Rhumal, to the hills and plains that surrounded the holy city of Hollamund. Just south of there, where the forest gave way to the plain, was the symbol of a white shield.

It was too small to notate in writing, but the legend explained shields as meaning a “Noble House” owing fealty to the empire matching its color. Hollamund was written in white, so the shield owed allegiance to the Avatar of the Lords of Light and Order, who ruled that city since it was founded. Illian knew the shield to represent the house of Larroset, of which he was a part, or had been. It depended on how you looked at it. He tore his gaze from the symbol of his isolation and looked around the room for a diversion. Family was a thing from his former life.

A shoe scuffed quietly on a step outside the door and Illian waited patiently while someone hesitated outside. After several, long moments the door opened revealing a lad that couldn’t have been more than thirteen. Illian recognized him as being the young servant of another member of his order. There was obvious fear in the poor child’s face as he spoke, “Beggin’ your pardon Sir Larroset. My master, Sir Danville bids you attend him in his study.” There it was again, the fear and awe. Even the eyes of the innocent set him apart.

“Inform your master that I shall come directly.” As Illian stood and put away the map the boy bowed and backed away, turning at last to run back down the stairs. Though his body didn’t fatigue, Illian found that the sound of the child’s frantic steps made him weary.