In Seranthia the scent was fear. Stonewater must have fallen by now, and Aynar, the land of the templars, with it. Those who’d disbelieved the Alturan high lord’s words now said they’d believed him all along. The shadow of night hung over the Imperial capital.
Fearful eyes looked out at the walled tower standing on the tiny island barring Seranthia’s harbor. The Sentinel waited.
At Stonewater, the spiritual heart of the Empire, a man in elegant black clothing clutched the stone wall at his side as he fought the buffeting winds to climb the last few steps to the summit of the mountain.
He scowled as he took in the worn decorations where once intricate designs displayed scenes of beauty. The steps themselves were rounded and broken; in his day the marble had been crisp and lustrous. Soon, he vowed, he would restore Stonewater to its former glory.
Finally, Sentar Scythran reached the summit, seeing the circular flat space crowning the mountain. He walked forward to stand in the middle of the plateau, high above it all. His crimson hair shone in the light, but the sun touched neither his ice-blue eyes, nor the streaks of black hair at his temples. He inhaled deeply and felt his spirits soar for the first time since he’d returned to Merralya.
The memories came flooding back. He remembered standing with his brothers, formed in a circle in this very place as they discussed the war with the humans. Pyrax Pohlen had suggested guarding the knowledge kept here with a barrier. Sentar spoke out against the idea, to suggest that the humans could win the war filled him with disgust at his brothers’ cowardice. Yet Varian Vitrix agreed with Pyrax’s suggestion: the vault, the temple-like chamber at the top of the mountain, kept many of their secrets. They took a vote, and the Pinnacle came into being.
The Lord of the Night now glared at the ruins of the vault, just a pile of fallen stones. Now the greatest works of lore would never be remembered.
But when Sentar Scythran brought his brothers back, things would be as they once were. They would restore Stonewater: the slaves would work night and day until it was more glorious than ever before. Together they would build new wonders, and with breeding humans kept captive, supplies of essence would be guaranteed. Once more they would open the way to new worlds, but this time it wouldn’t be to go into forced exile. The next time they entered another world, they would be ready. Merralya would fall, and then world after world would follow. Perhaps another, more compliant race would come to provide fuel for the war machine. Nothing would stand in their way.
Sentar felt determination settle over him as he stood high on the summit of the solitary mountain that was Stonewater. He gazed out at the town of Salvation, a place he’d decided to leave standing. Most of Aynar’s population had fled north, but many stayed to bask in his glory. Sentar now had priests and templars at his beck and call, and a few demonstrations of his power ensured everyone knew who their god was. He had taken back his rightful place.
In time, he would work to ensure only the dead were allowed to serve. But for now, it felt good to be loved.
His eyes again flickered to the ruined structure that had once stood at the summit of the mountain. Sentar’s scowl slowly faded, for when his brothers returned, they would build as well as destroy. They would erect vats in every city of the Empire; they would breed the humans in numbers, and they would have a constant supply of essence and an endless source of revenant slaves.
He’d learned from Shar. Never again would he be in a position where there were no more bodies for the vats.
As he slowly turned and drank in the view, Sentar caught sight of approaching figures, climbing up the last few steps to meet him. An older necromancer in gray robes led four templars, with two tall revenants bringing up the rear.
Sentar smiled and walked over to the templars.
“Kneel,” Sentar commanded.
Three of the templars, all in white robes decorated with a black sun, fell to their knees. An older templar whose robe was lined with gold trim remained standing.
“Why do you not kneel?” Sentar inquired.
“I am the primate. And you are no god,” the plump old man said.
“Then why are you primate?” Sentar sneered. “I am the Lord of the Night! Who do you worship now?”
“We don’t worship; we ponder. We teach. The force that makes us know right from wrong doesn’t come from outside—it comes from within. It is something we humans have developed, and continually strive to understand.” The primate’s eyes saddened. “It took us too long to learn this.”
Sentar lunged forward and gripped the primate around the neck. The three templars whimpered and cowered, but even with Sentar’s hand on his throat, the primate simply rested his weary gaze on Sentar.
“You had your chance,” Sentar said to the primate. “Renrik,” he spoke to the necromancer. “Toss your knife at the feet of our three friends here.”