Of Darkness and Light (The Bound and the Broken, #2)

by Ryan Cahill

May your fires never be extinguished and your blade never dull.

streets below. “We need to go, now!” Calen stumbled sideways as

“Back-to-back!”

of the onrushing

“Sound the retreat, Lord Captain. We make for the Wind Tunnels… The city is lost."

horse, inspecting the wall of Kingsguard that stood across the entrance to the courtyard.

cannot. You are my king. But they are my men. I cannot ask them to do something that I am unwilling to do myself.”

the eye. “Dammit, Tarmon, don’t be a fool! I need you!” “I will follow you, my king. Once the men are to safety.” Daymon

Only what you need.

was completely and

A feeling of warmth washed over the back of his consciousness. “Draleid n’aldryr.” Calen hadn’t intended to speak the words, but they felt right. A rumble emanated from the dragon’s throat in response. “Navigator, are we ready to go?” Calen called out as Erik helped him back to his feet. The Lorian soldiers were over halfway across the yard now. “Aye, Draleid,” came a familiar voice

‘we honour the dead not by how we mourn their death, but by how we live on despite it.’”

down the woman’s cheek as she fidgeted with the nozzle of the waterskin. “Will it ever

But true pain had been stripped from him when Shinyara was killed. Along with many other things.

When you blend something so completely, it is impossible for it to return to what it once was. Pulling himself from his ponderings, Farda lit the pipe again. He took a large puff, releasing

the cloud of smoke in a sigh. As he approached the rail at the starbo...

“So,” Erik said after a brief silence. “What are we going to do?” The question hung in the air like a bad smell. Everybody had been thinking it, but nobody had said it out loud.

had no idea where they were. Even Falmin, without knowing the route that Calen took to get there, was at a loss. “This place looks like what used t’be a waypoint. Long time ago

Vaeril sighed. “He chose neither. Therin’s beliefs aligned with the elves of Aravell, but his duty was, first and foremost, to all elves. You see, to me, Therin’s choice was the most honourable. He chose what he knew would be exile, so as not to encourage the breaking of our people. To the others, he was a coward, leaving his people to stumble alone in their darkest hours. Honour is a delicate thing. What one elf views as honourable, another might see as despicable.” “There’s something up ahead,” one of the soldiers called out from the front of the group. Sure enough, as Calen lifted his head, he could see a speck of yellow light in the distance.

Darkness had loomed large over them all since Ilnaen, or ‘The Fall’ as it had become so commonly known. That name clamped like a vice around his heart and left a bitter taste on his tongue. It was at least an hour before the messenger arrived from the Inquisition to give his report. He was a scrawny young man who barely fit in his leathers and had a weaselly face with

Dahlen noted that Hafaesir was positioned next to Heraya. He already knew that was typical of dwarven culture, from his father’s teachings, but it was still strange to see.

was slouched on a short wooden bench that rested against the wall to the left, his plate armour still adorning his shoulders. Even dented and stained with dried blood, the

”Asius,” Therin said as the giant made to leave, “if you do have difficulty with the Fenryr, tell them that the son of the Chainbreaker is lost, and he needs them.”

an eyebrow in curiosity, but simply gave a nod. ”As you say, I will do, Therin Eiltris, son of Alwin Eiltris.” With that, Asius strode off across the courtyard, his

That can’t be. “My robes?” Garramon nodded slowly, his mouth spreading into a subdued grin of pride. “I…” Rist didn’t know what to say. Those robes were the first real step. They were the first tangible thing bringing him into the Circle. He was now an apprentice. “But why? I have only been here a matter of weeks.” “With war on the horizon, we do not have the time that we would usually give to new initiates. Needs must.” Garramon said, rising

Rist’s heart stopped. “Black? But I haven’t decided my affinity. How could I⁠—” Garramon’s laugh cut through Rist’s words. “Calm yourself, apprentice. It is not the apprentice who chooses his acolyteship. It is the Guide, for you can never truly see yourself. But I see you, and I see what you can become – a Battlemage. Chapter 8 Awoken The glow of the lanterns illuminated the stone walls as Kallinvar walked along the edge of the sparring chamber, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes narrowed

On any other morning, he would have joined his brother and sister knights in training. But Lyrin had not yet returned from his journey to Camylin.

Ten chapters, ten knights in each. That had always been the way. With the exception of Kallinvar’s knights, the massive chamber was empty. He

A loud crash drew Kallinvar’s attention. Young Arden stood over Ildris, who lay on his back in the sand, Arden’s sword pressed against his neck. Arden had come along quickly since they found him only two years gone. The last Sigil Bearer. Nearly four hundred years to recover from that night in Ilnaen and rebuild the knighthood. Physically, Arden was a specimen. His chest and shoulders were thick and broad, and his muscles were dense. By Kallinvar’s gauge, he was almost six and a half feet in height. As he

Ruon, Tarron, and Ildris had been with him the longest. Since before. Before their numbers had been decimated at The Fall. Achyron had asked a heavy price of them that night. Of one hundred knights, only seventeen had returned from that battle, a battle they had lost to the Shadow. In truth, their chapter had suffered the least, making up four of the seventeen survivors: Ruon, Tarron, Ildris, and Kallinvar. The Fourth, The Eighth, and The Ninth had been completely

It had been over seven hundred years since Kallinvar himself had first accepted the Sigil. For seven hundred years, he had served the will of Achyron. The Sigil would not permit him to die. Not that he would permit himself to either. To serve under The Warrior was the greatest honour a man could ever receive. Kallinvar’s eyes fell on Brother Mirken and Sister Sylven. Flashes

Soulblades were weapons wrought from Spirit. They were pure energy that did not exist until called upon by a knight. The Soulblade was the weapon of the knighthood, gifted by the warrior god himself. Some mages or Draleid who were powerful enough could imitate it. They called them níthrals in the Old Tongue. But whatever they chose to call them, they did not understand the power of a true Soulblade, wrought from the soul of Achyron himself. “Care to join, Brother-Captain?” Varlin called from the other side of the sparring pit. Sweat rolled down the woman’s face as she leaned on the pommel of her sword, the tip of the blade

There was no place in all of Epheria that filled him with such a sense of peace. “Shit…”

already formed along the length of his friend’s forearm, and the long, thin cut that ran

Arden shot him a look that could kill. “Shut your mouth or I’ll drown you.” “You can’t drown me in here. It’s the Waters of Life. Emphasis being on life.” “So, you’ll just keep drowning indefinitely then?” Lyrin snapped his mouth shut at that, pursing his lips inward as he realised the flaw in his thinking. “So… shall we go?” Chapter 9 Shadows Rising Brother-Captain Kallinvar, Grandmaster

It was Kallinvar, along with the other knights of The Second, who had saved Arden and given him a second chance in the world. Arden would not let him down.

body and a deep thrum resonated from his Sigil as a green orb appeared in the air behind Grandmaster Verathin, materialising as if from nothing. Before

The Rift was a power given only to the Grandmaster. A portal that could send a knight, as long as they were encased in their Sentinel armour, anywhere in the known world in a matter of moments. Arden’s mouth grew dry as his eyes traced the rippling lake of black that hung in the air, its green outer rim shimmering. It wasn’t fear that gripped him; it was reverence. To step through the Rift was to feel the touch of a god – the god that had pulled him from death’s door: Achyron. “Step forward, Brother Arden, Brother Lyrin.” Grandmaster Verathin moved to the side, allowing Arden and Lyrin to take their place before the rippling pool of black that hung in the

Do you think the Shadow truly is rising?”

fingers around the hilt of his sword, pausing

Bloodmarked.

textbooks,

You always fear what you do not understand.

convinced, but Arden didn’t have time to waste

He had never felt the Taint pulsate with such ravenous hunger before.

held as much awe as it did contempt. Just as Lyrin spoke, the Shaman’s

“Draleid n’aldryr.”

echoed through the

How the mighty have fallen.

he felt a sharp pressure