Chapter 1
The feeling of someone feebly squeezing his left hand woke Aerad. He lifted his head from the plush bed with a jolt, causing the wooden chair he sat upon to scrape across the marble floor. Something clawed at the back of his mind, fleeting specters of a troubling dream that watched him from behind the veil of sleep. In the soft candlelight from the bedside table, he could only see little more than the shimmer of the amberwood bedposts and a small portion of the mosaic decorating the ceiling above the spacious chamber. Arch windows on the far side of the chamber revealed the moonlit city of Ictharis, the bleached stone building a brilliant white beneath the starry sky.
Shadows shifted as the candle flame wavered, illuminating a little more of the figure laying in front of him. Eir, his father, smiled, his pale and grizzled face creasing with love and affection. The man shivered, despite the heavy blankets covering him.
“Thank you… for staying with me,” Eir whispered.
“Of course, father,” Aerad replied, squeezing Eir’s hand in return. The exemplar’s large hands were too soft for what had happened in his lifetime, what the old man could have done. His eyes were too kind to see what he should have done. But Aerad did his best to love him all the same.
“Where is little Qulkest?” Eir asked, his blue eyes dim and listless as he scanned the room.
“Moia took him to sleep hours ago. He did his best to stay up. Surprised you could sleep through his sobbing.”
Eir slumped back into his pillow, gazing up to the polished stone ceiling. “I… think I heard it… in my dream. There was… darkness…”
“The Seven will light your way, father,” Aered assured him, squeezing his hand again. “The people have loved you, and with good reason. Elmiar has prospered under your guidance. You were a fair and noble Exemplar of Justice.”
“And yet… I have failed them all,” Eir sighed, the strength that had radiated from the tall and gentle man sunk within him. His eyes darkened, and his high cheekbones seemed to become gaunter before Aerad’s eyes. “I should have listened to you, Aerad. I had thought the Nithians would cease their expansion, would have-”
“You know as well as I that it was never their wish,” Aerad interrupted, speaking as softly as he could in his baritone voice. “I will not lie to you, father. Your negotiations and policies regarding them were… optimistic. Naive. You believed their humanity would surpass their power-mongering.”
“Is that not what the Seven ask of us?” Eir gasped, tears building in his eyes. “Are we not supposed to extend our hands to our fellow human beings, embrace them as kin?”
“We are. But with a sword and shield, ready to defend ourselves against those who would use that embrace to betray us.”
“And so I leave you at the precipice,” Eir said, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry… so… s...”
“Go in peace, father,” Aerad whispered, squeezing his hand one last time. “I will do what I must.”
The pulse of Eir’s hand slowed steadily until Aerad could only feel the limp yield of dead flesh in his grasp. He kissed what had been his father’s hand and lay it down with reverence. Then he rose, extinguished the candle at the bedside, and left the chamber.
A warm breeze filled the walkway leading to the parapets, ruffling Aerad’s loose-fitting shirt and flicking about loose strands of his blonde ponytail. The delicate, tickling sensation felt a cruel joke to Aerad, the indifference of nature to his suffering. And yet, its immutable beauty still touched him deeply. Moonlight made the polished white stone of the floor and walls glow, brightening even the dark reaches of the high ceiling covering the walkways. To either side of the walkway, leaves and grass of the open gardens shone with quiet radiance. The sea was at peace tonight, the waves barely a murmuring echo traveling between the thin, graceful arches lining the balconies.
Aerad stepped out from the shelter of the walkway into the open air, his shadow a pool of darkness at his feet on the otherwise white stone. He leaned against the parapet on his hands, feeling the cool stone at his fingertips. The familiar ebb and flow of the waves crashing against the cliff wall beneath helped him release the knots of tension he had been holding in his shoulders and back. Breathing in deeply, the briny air refreshed him but did nothing to remove the emptiness he felt within him.
“What would you have me do?” Aerad whispered out into the night.
The sound of metal clicking against stone came from behind him, coming closer.
Aerad sighed. “I find it unnerving that every time I ask the Seven for guidance, you’re always there, Temf.”
Temf chuckled as he came to Aerad’s side, his voice muffled behind the ornate metal mask covering his face. His staff, a simple metal rod with a seven-starred pentacle on top, reverberated as he set it upon the stone. “I would make for a poor priest if I failed to guide those in their auspices who are lost. Is Exemplar Eir…?
“Gone.”
“Mm. I am sorry. He was a good man.”
“A good man. But a weak one. Is such a combination possible? How could a man who loved his people so leave them on the brink of ruin?”
“Eir did what he thought was best. He reached out to the Nithians in a genuine bid for peace.”
Aerad balled his fists. “We have peace. On paper at least. But the Nithians continue to devour their neighbors. As if taking those countries’ people in during the Ragewar entitled them to enslave them.”
“It is several decades late, but many of those countries, and their people, would no longer exist without them. It is also difficult to argue with one of the three strongest militaries in the land.”
“And growing stronger still. At this rate, we’ll soon be one of their ‘neighbors’, and I’m not sure we could resist them, even if we somehow could buy the entire Broxian company.”
“Have the lands we sent missives to responded? Gulbatha? Zeeric?”
“To them, it as a northern conflict. They send their condolences from afar.”
“Then, perhaps it is time we employed our own… enforced diplomacy.”
Aerad turned to stare at Temf. Dark glass fitted into the mask reflected moonlight where the man’s eyes would be. In the decade Aerad had known Temf, tutored by him as a child, he had never seen the man’s face, could never tell what the priest felt, thought, or planned behind his calm, ludicrous suggestions.
“Would you have us worship demons as the Nithians do also?” Aerad asked, pushing himself off the wall to put his face in Temf’s. Aerad had been graced with a statuesque physique, tall and broad-shouldered. But Temf stood taller still than Aerad, and had always met his fiery gaze unfazed.
“Of course not,” Temf chuckled. “I am not suggesting we enslave anyone. Merely that we… fortify those lands in anticipation of Nithian occupation.”
“Which is the same as occupying those lands ourselves.”
“We have been left with little choice in the matter. If the fools to the south refuse to see Nithia as the threat it is, we must make them see these circumstances through our eyes. It is either that or they one by one fall under the Nithian banner. And that is the path your father left us heading toward. I am sorry, Aerad, but he has left us with only one choice, and it is yours to make.”
“I have not been appointed as the new Exemplar,” Aerad growled, stepping away and fighting to control the knotting of his guts. “Nor would the Council agree even if I were.”
“I have already spoken with them,” Temf asssured, walking closer. “They hardly needed any convincing. Only the seven lineages of the First Exemplars have the strength necessary to uphold these responsibilities.”
“Exemplars are not hereditary titles.”
“Not officially. But in the three generations that have passed since the Ragewar, none others have proved worthy.”
Aerad turned back to the sea. Beyond, somewhere in the darkness, lay lands he had never visited, cultures and people he didn’t understand, and his mentor was asking him to conquer them.
“War is inevitable,” Temf continued. “The Nithians continue to cultivate their abominations and raise them up in place of divinity. The countries they have absorbed are small, but I have heard word they are infiltrating Skyvaln as we speak. The wounds from the Ragewar still fester there, and-”
“I understand,” Aerad said, raising his hand to silence the priest. The waves below still lapped against the rock with serene regularity, again demonstrating nature’s apathy to Aerad’s struggle. “But these lands… they will not bow to us without a fight.”
“I have already drafted arrangements with the Broxians,” Temf replied, revealing a parchment in his robes which placed on the stone in front of Aerad. “We will incur significant debt, but once trade resumes with the south, it will quickly be paid for.”
“Just speak plainly. You intend to rob them blind.”
“Having an empire does have its benefits,” Temf admitted. “The central body must be healthy to ensure the wellbeing of its subjects.”
“An empire, just like the Nithians have?”
“An empire of justice,” Temf said, opening his hand again to reveal a seal. “You will see to that.”
Aerad’s gaze fell, looking at nothing and retreating into himself. He didn’t look as he grabbed the seal from Temf’s spindly hand and pressed it to the paper. The seal flared brightly for a moment, resonating with the power flowing in Aerad’s veins. Smoke rose from the parchment as Aerad moved his hand away and handed the seal back to Temf. The priest retrieved the parchment and bowed before leaving without another word.
When the clicking of Temf’s staff had faded to silence, Aerad cradled his head in his hands. The knots in his stomach had spread to his chest, choking him.
What have I done? he demanded of himself. What… what else could I have done?
Small and strong hands touched wrapped around Aerad’s waist, and he nearly flinched back in surprise. But then he grasped them both, one of his hands easily wrapping around both of his wife’s.
“Temf told me what happened,” Moia said as she leaned into Aerad’s back. Her warmth melted away the pressure that been building inside of him. Moia stroked Aerad’s calloused palms with her own, the years of training and battle between them made their flesh their as rough as the desert sands of Zeeric. But like Zeeric, warmth radiated throughout. “I’m sorry.”
“Did he tell you that we are about to go to war with the world? That I agreed to it?”
Pulling Aerad’s hand, Moia turned him around to face her. The light breeze pulled on her loose, long black hair framing her oval face, delicate nose, and dark brown eyes. “Your father once told me that justice isn’t always about what you do, but how you do it. That was what he would tell me whenever I urged us to go to war against Nithia and he would instead send yet another emissary.”
“That is how he excused his blind idealism? He would have made for a better Exemplar of Mercy than of Justice.”
“I know,” Moia replied, placing her hand on Aerad’s cheek. “He may not have been the most practical man, but he had wisdom.”
“But… how?” Aerad asked. “How can you do an unjust thing in a just way?”
“By keeping a just end in mind. You do not wish to enslave these people.”
“Never.”
“You wish to protect them.”
“... and ourselves.”
“Then let that guide you. I don’t trust Temf. I see lust for power behind that mask, I hear it in his voice. With every step we take, listen to what is spoken here,” Moia added, moving her hand to his chest. “The path you must take begins in darkness. But the Seven will lead you to the light.”
Aerad wrapped his arms around Moia, pulled her in, and breathed deeply of her. He loved that she didn’t wear perfume, like the other courtiers. Her natural scent reminded him of the years they had spent in the training grounds and in the battlefield, the dirt, sweat, blood, and tears they had shared together.
“I don’t think I will ever forgive myself for this,” Aerad whispered into her hair.
“I don’t know if anyone ever will,” Moia whispered back. “But better they not forgive you for the sins you make than for not acting at all.” Then, she pulled back. “Come. Qulkest is fast asleep, and the nurses are with him. We could be alone.”
“I’ll join you in a moment,” Aerad replied and kissed her deeply. She stroked his hair and chest before stepping back. Aerad held her hand briefly after it traveled down his arm and then let her go. He watched as she returned to the walkway, her dark dress and hair blending into the shadow.
Aerad looked out again at the sea and the stars twinkling above. He had loved the sea as a child. It had felt like home to him, a place of comfort, the sound a refuge, the unique undulations of the waves a constant wonder. Now, the sounds and sight of the sea crashed against his numb heart apathetically and didn’t fill the cracks and fissures there. He resented the waves’ certainty, the natural cadence with which they broke through the sea’s surface in a glorious moment and receded, unconcerned with the wake they left behind.
