that
haunted the halls. Two thousand years ago, the last survivors of the Goshar had
built this fortress to protect their flickering civilization, yet their
fortress had become their tomb. Today the Horde, this great army of many
nations, ruled here.
Korvin
turned his gaze to look down the mountains. Buried deep within them lay the
arena where they had fought Behemoth. Korvin hoped to never enter that place
again. The rocky, barren slopes stretched thousands of feet downward. The
mountain range spread across the land like a raised scar, separating the northern
desert and the southern arable lands where rivers flowed. In a mountain pass,
Korvin could still see remnants of Ancient Goshar: a few chipped walls and the
capitals of columns rising from the dust, hints of the civilization that had
once ruled the path from desert to grasslands.
Across the southern grasslands now spread the tent city of Gosh Ha'ar,
sister to the northern bastion of Hakar Teer on the coast. A towering sandstone
archway led into the city, soaring as high as a palace, its crest gilded and
topped with statues of warriors and dragons. Beyond spread countless tents and
dirt roads. Hundreds of thousands lived here: warriors from many nations in
iron and bronze armor, griffins with silver helms and leather saddles, and salvanae
with long beards and chinking scales. Many women and children lived here too,
for in the Horde, there was no distinction between the military and civilian
life. All here served the Horde. All here were warriors, from the gruff swordsmen
to the women whose wombs bore future fighters.
As Korvin watched children play below, he thought of his daughters.
Fidelity and Domi were both adults now, but to Korvin they would always be some
mixture of babies, children, youths—simply his daughters, always his children,
no matter how old they all grew. He missed them. He had not stopped thinking of
them since flying here.
Do you know that I'm alive, Fidelity? Korvin thought, staring down
at the tents. Do you miss me as I miss you? Do you still fly as a firedrake,
Domi? Do you think of me too? Do you still love me, pray we meet again?
As much as he mourned the loss of Requiem, Korvin ached with loneliness,
with longing to see Fidelity and Domi again. Since Beatrix had murdered his
wife, his daughters had been the reason he stayed alive, all he had in this
world.
I'm still alive, daughters, and I'm thinking of you, and I love you,
always. Always.
"This army will follow us, Korvin," Amity said, interrupting
his thoughts. The red dragon pointed her claws down to the camp, and her eyes
shone. "Imagine it! A host of a hundred thousand warriors, screaming and
thirsty for the blood of the Commonwealth, storming the beaches, burning all in
their path, heading toward the Cured Temple." She sneered. "I will
cut off Beatrix's head myself."
Korvin grunted, smoke puffing out of his nostrils. "Will we be
replacing the Commonwealth with the Horde? Where in all this does Requiem rise?"
The red dragon spun her head toward him, baring her fangs. "Once
Beatrix is dead, I will pull the Horde back, and Requiem will rise from the
ruins."
"Wildfire is easy to ignite." Korvin stared down at the hosts
below. "It might not be as easy to put out."
Amity snorted. "Platitudes. I'm strong. I'm fierce. And we're
fighting for justice, Korvin." Flames flickered out from her mouth. "Justice
always prevails. Light always banishes the darkness."
"Does it?" Korvin sighed. "Beatrix thought herself a
warrior of justice and light. She too was sure of her path, full of rage and
righteous certainty." He shook his head sadly. "Blind righteousness
is like a fortress of paper, likely to burn in the flame and collapse. Doubt is
the path to wisdom. The winding, uncertain path through a dark forest leads to
victory, not the brash warrior cutting down every tree along the way."
Amity beat her wings and took flight. "You'll have time for grim
philosophy later. Come now. The coronation is
haunted the halls. Two thousand years ago, the last survivors of the Goshar had
built this fortress to protect their flickering civilization, yet their
fortress had become their tomb. Today the Horde, this great army of many
nations, ruled here.
Korvin
turned his gaze to look down the mountains. Buried deep within them lay the
arena where they had fought Behemoth. Korvin hoped to never enter that place
again. The rocky, barren slopes stretched thousands of feet downward. The
mountain range spread across the land like a raised scar, separating the northern
desert and the southern arable lands where rivers flowed. In a mountain pass,
Korvin could still see remnants of Ancient Goshar: a few chipped walls and the
capitals of columns rising from the dust, hints of the civilization that had
once ruled the path from desert to grasslands.
Across the southern grasslands now spread the tent city of Gosh Ha'ar,
sister to the northern bastion of Hakar Teer on the coast. A towering sandstone
archway led into the city, soaring as high as a palace, its crest gilded and
topped with statues of warriors and dragons. Beyond spread countless tents and
dirt roads. Hundreds of thousands lived here: warriors from many nations in
iron and bronze armor, griffins with silver helms and leather saddles, and salvanae
with long beards and chinking scales. Many women and children lived here too,
for in the Horde, there was no distinction between the military and civilian
life. All here served the Horde. All here were warriors, from the gruff swordsmen
to the women whose wombs bore future fighters.
As Korvin watched children play below, he thought of his daughters.
Fidelity and Domi were both adults now, but to Korvin they would always be some
mixture of babies, children, youths—simply his daughters, always his children,
no matter how old they all grew. He missed them. He had not stopped thinking of
them since flying here.
Do you know that I'm alive, Fidelity? Korvin thought, staring down
at the tents. Do you miss me as I miss you? Do you still fly as a firedrake,
Domi? Do you think of me too? Do you still love me, pray we meet again?
As much as he mourned the loss of Requiem, Korvin ached with loneliness,
with longing to see Fidelity and Domi again. Since Beatrix had murdered his
wife, his daughters had been the reason he stayed alive, all he had in this
world.
I'm still alive, daughters, and I'm thinking of you, and I love you,
always. Always.
"This army will follow us, Korvin," Amity said, interrupting
his thoughts. The red dragon pointed her claws down to the camp, and her eyes
shone. "Imagine it! A host of a hundred thousand warriors, screaming and
thirsty for the blood of the Commonwealth, storming the beaches, burning all in
their path, heading toward the Cured Temple." She sneered. "I will
cut off Beatrix's head myself."
Korvin grunted, smoke puffing out of his nostrils. "Will we be
replacing the Commonwealth with the Horde? Where in all this does Requiem rise?"
The red dragon spun her head toward him, baring her fangs. "Once
Beatrix is dead, I will pull the Horde back, and Requiem will rise from the
ruins."
"Wildfire is easy to ignite." Korvin stared down at the hosts
below. "It might not be as easy to put out."
Amity snorted. "Platitudes. I'm strong. I'm fierce. And we're
fighting for justice, Korvin." Flames flickered out from her mouth. "Justice
always prevails. Light always banishes the darkness."
"Does it?" Korvin sighed. "Beatrix thought herself a
warrior of justice and light. She too was sure of her path, full of rage and
righteous certainty." He shook his head sadly. "Blind righteousness
is like a fortress of paper, likely to burn in the flame and collapse. Doubt is
the path to wisdom. The winding, uncertain path through a dark forest leads to
victory, not the brash warrior cutting down every tree along the way."
Amity beat her wings and took flight. "You'll have time for grim
philosophy later. Come now. The coronation is
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