Marshal Beorn rushed into the room, stopping when he saw Miro. "Lord Marshal, we're under attack. A force is testing our defences in the woodland to the east, near the Halrana border. We need you."
Miro turned to High Lord Rorelan, and then to Bartolo. He threw up his hands. "Bartolo, go after them. Look after my sister."
"Lord Marshal, I forbid…" Rorelan began.
Miro fixed Rorelan with a stare. The Alturan High Lord met his gaze, and then faltered. "He's going," Miro said.
Bartolo put out his hand, and Miro gripped it in return. "I will find her," Bartolo said. "I won't let you down."
Miro nodded, at a loss for words. He watched his friend dash out of the room, and then grimly followed Beorn, to discover what the enemy were up to this time.
6
NO man or woman without desperate business wandered the corridors of Stonewater during solace. In these two darkest hours of the night, farthest from both dusk and dawn, the priests were silent, noise was forbidden, and even the patrolling templar guards halted their pacing, standing still and meditative during this time of contemplation and prayer.
The stationary nature of the guards made Sabithe's task that much easier. He crept along the gallery, moving from column to column, using them to hide his form, and fought to keep his breath even and quell the raucous beating of his heart.
Sabithe was a priest, and had little experience of danger. He'd grown up in a sleepy village in the south of Aynar, sheltered by the loving care of his parents, both tailors and regular attendees at the temple. When Sabithe had reached the age where he started to attend, and saw the way the priest earned the respect of the townsfolk — no matter their age or station — he had instantly known what he wanted to be.
He had scored high marks in all of the temple's examinations, from arithmetic to grammar, but where he had most excelled was in theology. Sabithe didn't exactly understand how all the events in the Evermen Cycles could be related to the simple life of the townsfolk, but he had a strong sense of morals, of right and wrong, and a deft mind that could turn an argument, and change a man's mind without him realising he had ever thought differently.
The priest of Sabithe's village had sent him to Salvation, in Stonewater's shadow, to study under the wisest men and women of the Assembly, drawn from all over the Tingaran Empire. The young priest thrived in the competitive environment — the late-night discussions of free will versus destiny, or when it's right to lay down the sword and when it's right to fight. He was destined for great things, they said; for the senior echelons of the templars; but then the philosophy of the Assembly changed, and Sabithe refused to change along with it.
Sabithe believed there were times when it was right to pick up a sword, and he knew in his heart when those times were: in the defence of one's self, or one who could not defend themselves; to protect the flow of goods from marauders, so that there was more wealth in the land and fewer went hungry; to keep more swords out of the hands of those who would put them to evil ends; and to put the sword back down, just to show it could be done.
One day, Sabithe woke up and realised there were more templars wearing swords. It was a right that templars — not priests — had, but with the exception of templar guards and soldiers, few rarely exercised. Sabithe looked on as the people of Salvation's respect for the Assembly turned from awe to fear. The sermons of Melovar Aspen, Primate of the Assembly of Templars, changed.
Before, the Primate had preached the maintenance of peace, even at the detriment of those such as the people of Petrya, who lived under oppressive leaders, or Tingara, who valued wealth too much, and life too little.
At the time, Sabithe had understood the Primate's argument. Change came about with time, and in this troubled age the inhabitants of the Tingaran Empire were still living better than their fathers. It might take time, but the world would get there. Picking up a sword could be justified, but only the most extreme of circumstances called for war. An uneasy peace was better than no peace at all. This was logic Sabithe could agree with.
Then the Primate's words changed.
Melovar Aspen began to speak out more against the great wealth divide in Tingara, particularly in Seranthia, where the poor were rounded up and cast out of the city, sometimes from the towering heights of the Wall, the bodies forming little holes in the dust when they hit the ground.
He raved at the terrible weapons the Alturan enchanters made, fit only for war, and the exploding devices of the Louan artificers. He spoke of an eventual end to the houses, of a new world of unity, without lore, without borders, without tyrannical High Lords and an economy based on essence. At first, Sabithe agreed, such problems needed to be spoken out against, but then he saw the meaning inside the Primate's words.
The Primate wanted to change the world, and he didn't mean to wait. He wanted to change it now.
Sabithe knew what the words meant. There was only one way to bring about such wholesale change.