A Second Letter

I must apologize, again, that I have not written sooner. I was delayed at Kemgarde; a Septurion Commander recognized me, I'm afraid. I scarcely got away, and I lost a good portion of my manuscripts. It took me some time to track them down, and with considerable risk of being captured by Academy agents. But I retrieved most of them, and I can fill in the gaps of the rest.

I'm writing now in a stable stall in Faldin's Terrace, a small village on a surprisingly secluded plateau north of Kemgarde, rather than east. I hope you maintain that patience of yours for just awhile longer; I'll need to re-sort my notes and scripts before I can continue writing. Bear with a doddering old fool, who's in deep over his head.

Your Faithful companion,
Midanya Fellshard
Former Chaplain

A Letter from the Chaplain

My apologies, my dear friend, that I did not write sooner. Even now, I have little time to pen this down, so I will be briefer than I desire to be.

The History Academy found me again at Brelem. I thought I had covered up well enough; indeed, I was able to write out the first parts of our histories to you undisturbed. But their agents asked most everyone in the village, and it didn't take long before they would puzzle out who I was. I have been moving gradually northward since, unable to deliver the rest any sooner. I'm stopping only briefly in Kemgarde to send this before I turn east. I hope to find some measure of safety in one of the villages there, if only for awhile. I will be sure to write again once things have settled.

Your Faithful companion,
Midanya Fellshard
Former Chaplain

Chapter 5 - The Ruins in the Air

Chapter 5 - The Ruins in the Air

Swords-Sergeant Grevin called down to the ground below as he let his rope uncoil from the thick limb it was attached to. The black-haired, rust-winged soldier stood, taking the chance to survey his surroundings. Grevin couldn't see inside the massive stonework from his position, though he knew his Pike-Marshal, Rynsor, had a better view from his crumbled corner. He grumbled to himself; he'd have to wait until the rest of the scouting party came up to see inside.

The rope finally started quivering, signaling another scout climbing the ancient tree. After checking the rope to ensure it was firmly secured, Grevin crouched down against the wall. He began figuring in his head: for the ruins to be lifted off the ground by the trees, then... jera! That would mean this was built while they were just saplings, or even before. These trees could not be less than two thousand years old. How ancient were the ruins, then? He was rather shocked, too, that the ruins had not simply crumbled to the ground. The foundation had long since fallen through to the forest floor, but the walls, and some of the flooring, had remained suspended. The trees seemed to have grown around portions of the walls over the ages, trapping them forever in solid wood.

But even with all that could have caused this, there were other problems he could not lay a finger on. How had the walls survived the blasted rains for so long? Surely it would have eventually eaten away every stone long before the trees claimed it. But the remaining stone seemed untouched by the constant moisture. Grevin suspected it could weather even the wildest tempests from the Orthean Seas without so much as a crack forming. His back was not even wet from laying against the wall, he realized, and as he looked more closely at the wall, he realized what had caught him as odd from the start, yet still managed to escape notice. Rain fell onto the surface of the ruins, but, as it touched the stone, it seemed to... slip was the only word he could think of. Instead of running along the cracks and grooves in the stonework, the water slid smoothly down the side, dripping off at the bottom. Something stronger was at work here. Could it be the Black Magicks at work, or was this some Harmonist trick?

"Fascinating, isn't it, Sergeant?"

Grevin turned his head quickly in surprise, and gave a slight yelp when he realized Lance-General Darte himself had climbed up the rope, and was now staring at the ruins as well. He had to put out a leg quickly to catch himself from tumbling off the limb. "Y-yes, Sir," Grevin stammered, "v-very much so. My apologies, General." He shut his mouth: he was nervous, and that stammering of his always led to trouble when he was nervous. Darte simply looked slightly bemused, waving away the Sergeant's reply casually. "Oh, don't concern yourself, Sergeant. I don't expect you to salute me up here: it's a bit precarious for that, don't you think? Now, let's see what we have to work with."

Grevin stood to grip the nearest limb as Darte moved alongside him to feel the wall. "It's just the same, Sir; I can still feel the wall, but the water just slides right off. I think I can still grip it, though..." Darte nodded slowly in agreement, still probing the rough stone. Grevin simply stood silently. Whatever the General had in mind, he had no more information to offer. At last, Darte turned to face him. "Swords-Sergeant, do you think you could make it over this if I hoisted you up? It's a bit of a climb, but higher up, there seems to be more footholds and cracks." Grevin looked up, and bit his tongue in exasperation. Why hadn't he looked at that before? "I think so, General. I made it up here, after all." Darte grinned, crouching down on the limb to let Grevin onto his shoulders. "So you did, Sergeant. Up you go, now!"

---

Inside, the ruins were little better than outside. Floors crumbled with every other step, small pieces of stone falling to the distant underbrush, and clattering down the hillside. Doorways opened to empty space where entire rooms had collapsed. Yet there were still some rooms that were practically intact: one even held a scarcely recognizable weaponry rack, obviously not shielded from time's grinding as the rest of the ruins were. Darte tasked Grevin to search on the lower floor; he had a head on his shoulders, and he could most certainly climb. Little chance of him falling from an unexpected crack.

Darte himself scanned one of the central layers. It was slower work than Marshal Lubris would have searching the uppermost parts; not much flooring remained up there. He ducked through an empty doorway, folding withered wings tightly to prevent them from catching on the narrow frame. The room seemed to be solid enough, but he stepped warily just the same. Except for piles of dust in the corners, it appeared to be empty. Darte knew what he was looking for, though. He moved towards the closest pile, crouching to brush it aside. The water hadn't touched this particular clump, and moving it set off a choking cloud into his face. After a couple moments coughing and wheezing, he glanced into the corner, and jumped back, startled. A shard of richly black endertium nestled in the remaining dust. Darte had seen enough sigil shards by now to know them by sight, but finding one out here... Ka'ghain's heart, what if he had touched it? The thought left him breathless and shivering for a couple of seconds. This far, and almost dead from a stone. The dangerous crystal would earn him some extra Ryi when he returned, though. He briskly removed a pair of thick, leather gloves from his pockets, and gently lifted the shard out of the pile. Wrapping it in thick, fur-lined cloth, he placed it in his satchel, in a compartment already containing two more similar shards: one slightly larger endertium piece, and a second smaller one, made of adarbium: white, nearly seeming to glow, with similar grey veins streaking through it. This expedition was proving to be quite fruitful for his purse.

He stood from the corner, gently dusting his officer's coat, and proceeded to check the rest of the room for any other potential finds; however, the most he found was a spider's nest in one pile. He was grateful he still had the gloves on; the little beast had quite the pair of fangs, and his day would likely have been cut short by a trip to Liure had its fangs reached him. He shuddered at the thought of one of the Heron's horrible antidotes. The next room held little more, except for a hole that opened beneath his feet as he first stepped in. He was about to enter the next room when he heard a faint call from somewhere below: "General, Marshal, I've found it! Come down to the bottom." Darte grimaced; Grevin had beat him to it, it seemed.

Turning, he moved back to the hole he had stumbled into minutes before. A couple harsh stomps, and the hole was widened enough to fit his bulk. Clutching the edge, he swung his legs through, wings dipping in under his armpits. Directly below, he could see the forest's floor, but if he swung a little... he concentrated on not looking down as he began to pump his legs rhythmically, back and forth, gaining momentum until he released, arcing gracefully to the stonework below. He landed flat, arms lashed out clumsily. The wind was knocked out of him for a moment. Spreading his weight evenly had been necessary; his sheer weight could have easily broken through the flooring if he had not. Standing stiffly, he began moving towards where he had heard Grevin's call. The floor was trickier to navigate in the lower ruins, and he was glad he had not volunteered himself to do search down there. A couple minutes of holding tightly to walls and cracks, and he found Grevin staring wide-eyed at... something. It wasn't a hole, and yet a sense of nothing, of dry emotionlessness, emanated from the blackness. Darte nodded at Grevin approvingly. "Well done, Swords-Sergeant. I'll have to mark your name down in the records, you've done fine work today." Grevin broke his eyes away from the empty black for long enough to look moderately pleased, before returning to a vacant stare. Darte found himself staring, too. This was the first time he had actually seen a Revolved object, and it defied even the most descriptive picture the Songbird poets could paint.

Clattering and a mumbled oath from the room Darte had just exited signaled Lubris' arrival. Darte winced -- profanity had no place in the army -- but he let it pass. Lubris must have been right above Grevin when he called, to have come so quickly. The Marshal stooped into the room, rubbing his calves gingerly, and muttering to himself, thankfully under his breath. Darte gestured at the brick-shaped blackness. "I'd be willing to bet this is our prophecy, Marshal. Would you care to bring it down to the twins? They can do the rest." Lubris flinched as if one of those cursed spiders had bitten his feet. "I'm not touching that thing, sir, with respect," Lubris exclaimed, even emphasizing with a sketchy kneel. Darte rolled his eyes. If you want the fields sown, you need to pull the plow yourself, Darte mused. Walking over to the wall, he used a small belt knife to chisel away the surrounding mortar from around the hole, until it loosened enough for him to extract it from the surrounding wall. Dull light and droplets of rain began splashing through the new hole in the wall. Darte hefted the mass of nothing. It seemed light, much less than he'd expected a brick that size to. Turning to Grevin and Lubris, he grinned mischieviously. "See, now? It's not as bad as all that." He tossed the mass to Grevin, who gave a small shriek before it hit his hand, falling soundlessly to the floor. Grevin crumpled, back slamming on the ground. Darte leapt face down, leaning up against the wall. Lubris ducked behind the doorway he had just entered, bellowing loudly. "Attack! Soldier down, keep low!"

Darte looked blankly at Grevin's neck. A long, needle-like dart protruded from the back, blood dripping from the tip. It seemed Liure and Rynsor hadn't been far off when they said they were near Kairn territory. He clutched the knife tightly, standing with back to the wall. This was going to be a rough fight.

Chapter 4 - Complaints

Chapter 4 - Complaints

Marching proved to be a dismal affair. The rain started mere minutes after the scouts set out; not thick, but enough to thoroughly dampen the soldiers and their spirits. The birds, however, seemed to enjoy the rain; there seemed to be thousands, flying from tree to massive tree, constantly singing. The underbrush was thick, but not enough to impede Darte as he pushed forward on the western flank of the search. He refused to simply walk through the trails left by his troops: if he was going to lead them, he was going to help where it was practical to do so. Besides, few could best him with the guan dao. Should an attack be made, he would almost certainly survive to call the alert. One thing was for sure: he was eager to have this expidition over and done with. Rynsor had been right, he knew: any further south, and they would be in danger of ambush, and he would not risk the lives of his men.

The sound of swishing ferns signaled an incoming cadet. He did not kneel: all the cadets had learned that kneeling during a march meant a breathless dash to catch up. He did give an informal salute, though, knuckled hand meeting wing-tip at the forehead. "Sir, it's Liure. She's wanting a talk with you. She's near the rear flank."

Darte gave a heavy sigh. Liure complained worse than a tentful of soggy cadets, and he knew he was in for an earful. "Thank you, Cadet. I'll be there directly. Cover this area until I come back, you hear?" The cadet nodded, pulling an elm flatbow from his back, while casually nocking an arrow to the hemp bowstring. Darte began burrowing his way toward the center of the formation. Liure would be somewhere near the middle, surrounded by the guard assigned to her. He was surprised she had even let herself get near the edge. She was scared to distraction that barbarians would take them all in their sleep. He would not have brought her, had it not been that she was the only Heron willing to travel in this expedition. If they did run into barbarians - Ka'ghain's heart, he hoped they wouldn't - she would be the only one who could tend to wounds beyond basic aid. This far from the city, there was little chance a wounded soldier would survive. No, Liure was a necessary bother.

"Speak of the black soul itself," Darte muttered. Liure had spotted him, and was riding slowly towards him. He was surprised her horse did not take a fall: it was of noble stock, little suited to the rough terrain of the rainy forest. Her dress, too, was out of place; the fine silk was practically ruined by the constant damp. Liure finally managed to come within decent speaking range, and she opened her mouth to a torrent of words. "Lance-General, you ought to have seen to better accommodations on this... expedition. I awoke this morning to find a spider nesting itself at the foot of my cot. What would your scouts do if I was killed by the thing? And I'm sure to catch cold something awful in this rain. It's not healthy, I tell you. You should have brought a Harmonist, at least. One of them would fix things better than any tent."

By this time, Liure had finally intercepted Darte, and rode alongside him. Darte supposed she was trying to be intimidating, with her white-veined, deep blue wings pinned tightly together. She certainly stood little above the General in height, even mounted. He simply plodded on, making no comment. Why would the woman not speak common sense? Tents he could do nothing about, and he was sure no pair of Harmonists could touch the weather, no matter how strong. The difficulty lied in telling her that; the Heron seemed to have two minds lodged in one. The bitterness against Magicks inherent in her Chamber was ingrained into her - but she recognized, however grudgingly, when they were needed. On the other hand, she didn't seem to understand exactly what Harmonists were capable of: she couldn't comprehend that more than one Harmonist was needed to accomplish anything worthwhile.

Darte's mouth tightened as Liure's list continued. Poor rations hurt her stomach, but better food would surely attract Wild beasts; light cloaks were needed for the soldiers, and heavier ones for everyone else, to keep off the rain; tanned gloves and boots, more pack-horses to lighten the loads...

"General! A word, if you will!" Rynsor's head poked up from the approaching incline. Liure cut short and glared in Rynsor's direction challengingly. Whatever he had to say, it was not as important as the immediate concerns of fresh bedding, apparently. Darte groaned inwardly, turning his head up to the now-pouring rain in sheer exasperation. He froze in shock, mouth falling open. In the trees, a massive shape loomed; seemingly squareish, it was not large enough to cut the light out of the sky, yet near hollow in the middle. Suddenly, he realised what it was. He jumped to action immediately, waving Rynsor over rapidly, and calling a nearby cadet to retrieve Lubris' squad. "Liure, I think you need not be concerned for much longer. Our expedition just may be at an end."

Chapter 3 - Juchai's Roots

Chapter 3 - Juchai's Roots

Darte shivered as he stepped out into the cool, damp morning, letting the tent-flap fall closed behind him. The spidery clouds spread over the skies told him another wet day was likely ahead. The climate here was not what he had expected: when it wasn't raining, which was very rarely, the air itself still felt warm and sticky. Even the massive trees constantly let fat droplets fall on unsuspecting heads, as if they had drunk their fill and were now overflowing. Not even the tents were safe from leaks; they hadn't been made for this much water, and the best one could do was keep your bedding above the ground, and hope the patches held.

He strode, yawning, to one of the campfires lit nearby. The wet wood billowed vast streams of thick smoke, but the shivering cadets surrounding it didn't seem to be concerned about choking. One of the cadets spotted Darte, and, after a series of rapid whispers, one of the cadets jumped up from the huddled circle and ran up him. The cadet could not have been more than 15 or 16 years of age: he could not yet have seen his Fledging Day, though the tight bandages around his back told Darte that it would arrive soon. The boy eyed Darte's green-fringed shriveled wings for a brief moment before bending to the ground in a formal Tur'nasi kneel.

Darte blinked as if startled for a moment, running his hand through lanky brown hair. What was it he needed...? Glancing down, he realized the cadet was still kneeling. Some cadets gave far too much respect, but he could not expect them to know without experience. He beckoned him to stand, which he did, snapping to attention. "Lance-General, Sir! Cadet Brynik reporting, Sir, is there anything you need, Sir?" The cadet's half-hearted shouts couldn't have woken anyone within two wingspans, and Darte could barely contain his inward chuckles. This one was obviously the son of a Council member, whose parents hoped he would have a future in the Alliance forces. He managed to keep a straight face, however. "Yes, yes, Cadet, half a moment." What was it? Ah, yes. "Cadet Brynik, could you see to Pike-Marshals Lubris and Rynsor, and tell them to get the troops ready to search farther to the south? And let them know I want to see them this morning, before they set out."

"Yes, Sir, right away, Sir!" The cadet followed the half-hearted reply with another extended kneel before running off across the camp to find the officers. Darte did chuckle, now. The army probably wasted whole days waiting for young cadets to finish paying respects before carrying out orders; such was the cost of training.

Back in his tent, Darte shuffled around various charts and notes on his small, but portable table. The mess looked somewhat more organized by the time Rynsor made it to the tent ten minutes later. For a middle-aged member of the Chamber of Hawks, Rynsor's dusty-brown hair was already greying around the temples, with a hairline that looked like it was slipping off his scalp. Lubris entered a minute later, grinning as always. He too, was a Hawk, with wings a deeper brown than most, and long enough to clip the top of the tent as he closed the flap. "I'd hoped to eat some more of that runny gruel Weskan prepared, but I guess I'll have to save it 'til we call halt. So, what's today's plan?"

Rynsor gave a mildly disapproving glance at Lubris' joking before echoing his curiosity. "Yes, I was wondering if the young cadet still had frozen brains; he said you planned on moving further south. You know we can't move south any more, seeing as we're already at the roots of the Juchai Range."

Darte didn't look up from organizing for a couple moments, then turned with a slightly smug look on his face. "Come here, I want to show you something." The two stepped forward to look at the charts. The simple maps had been covered with ink blots, notes taken and removed, changed beyond recognition, as often as not. Rynsor mumbled something about untidy behavior, and Lubris snickered quietly. Darte ignored the two, pointing instead at the end of a deep-red line. "This, Marshals, is where we are. And here..." He slid his finger rapidly down the map two full squares. "...here is where the roots start. We have a full days worth of marching left until we need to turn back. We've already covered most of the territory; there can't be many places left to look. It shouldn't be too hard to identify some old ruins."

Lubris nodded slowly, pointing to a small hatch-mark on the chart. "This is where we expected to find it, right? We've already searched through a circle at least ten greens wide, and we can't look much further without wasting time. If it's not there, it won't just appear through some mysterious magick." Rynsor, too, nodded. "The only alternative is if we didn't recognize the ruins for what they were, impossible as it may seem. Much can happen in several thousand years. Either way, we don't dare to move too close to the mountains. You know the Ka-"

Rynsor cut short as a young Swords-Sergeant pushed open the tent-flaps, giving a brief Tur'nasi kneel before standing. "The scouting parties are prepared, Marshals. We await your orders." Darte nodded quickly, wiping all the parchments into a jumbled pile inside his chest. "You heard the lad, Lubris, Rynsor. Pack up the tents, we move south!" The two nodded and dashed out the tent behind the Sergeant. There could not be much left to search. He would show the Emperor he could serve better than that big-headed General Poraeus. The ruins would be his to discover, and his alone.

Chapter 2 - Simmering

Chapter 2 - Simmering

Poraeus stepped out from the shaded columns of the Council, barely stopping to glare at the two plated, guan dao-wielding¹ Kairn guards posted outside the entryway. A black-haired Humari with mottled grey wings fell in beside him as he entered the white-graveled thoroughfare. Though a full head shorter than Poraeus, the general's companion's wings stretched much higher, making him seem to loom. After one glance at the general's crimson face, he did not need words to know what had happened in the hearing. They reached half-way across the plaza before Poraeus opened his mouth to snap at his companion. "What do you say about your great plan, now, Trake? Rejected, like the others before it. I spent months on it, and they still threw it out! You're supposed to be the most esteemed advisor in the Chamber of Owls. Tell me, were your wings rubbed in ash on your Fledging Day, or did they come out that colour?"

Trake arched his back slightly, though not enough for Poraeus to see. There was no reasoning with him, and it was better he blow off steam with poison words than with iron-clad fists. Best to remain silent. Poraeus continued ranting. "The Kairn are a deadly threat to the Humari Alliance, and they choose to ignore it. Just wait: they'll make an attack soon. They may have strength in numbers, but..."

Trake nodded vacantly, ignoring the growling chatter. He'd keep talking until he was blustering and out of breath. The two were now walking through the grimy alleys; stone and mortar sat next to half-rotted wood structures, more often than not. Muffled noises of noisy haggling and busy common rooms filtered in through the cracks and open windows, half-drowning Poraeus' grumbling. Once or twice, Trake had to pull his wings down to avoid clipping them on overhanging beams and window-panes.

"Trake! Do you need to clean out your ears? I asked you if you've any news from the Exchange yet."

Trake blinked, realizing he'd completely missed his companion's question. Frowning absently, he began rubbing his chin, despite the obvious lack of stubble. "I've not heard anything, but I haven't stopped by in the past several days: planning, you know, for the hearing..." His voice faded as Poraeus pivoted on one heel to grip Trake's arm. Trake winced as his wrist was squeezed in the general's powerful grip. So much for just poison words.

"Check... it... now." The general ground out each word with grit teeth, punctuating every syllable with a painful squeeze of Trake's arm. Trake quickly nodded, trying to pull back. "Of course, I'll do it, as always. I will report to you tonight, if you're not busy?"

Poraeus considered the statement for a moment, then nodded, releasing the vice, leaving Trake to chafe his wrist gingerly. "I'm in need of good news; if I don't get some, soon... your body would make a fine example for the Council of the Kairn's brutality, don't you think?" Flames seemed to flicker behind those blue eyes. Whether madness or anger, Trake did not want to find out. He nodded, licking his suddenly dry lips, and turned towards the alley entrance, concentrating on not running.

The Raven Exchange was on the other side of the Melero River, at least two-hundred wingspans away. At least he'd have more time to think. Poraeus was an incredible general, and a powerful man, but his method of leadership was unorthodox, to say the least. He relied on threats and anger to do what other generals accomplished with a single, impartial order. And yet the Emperor favoured him, perhaps because of this stand he was taking against the Kairn. Trake sighed: if there was another man he could attach himself to more powerful than Lance-General Poraeus, besides the Emperor himself, then he wasn't born Trachendre Firlocke.

Through the maze of alleys, following a path only few knew. Trake knew he had navigated correctly when he spotted the old hide-covered cart, axle shattered and wheels nowhere to be seen. Looking furtively to ensure he wasn't seen, Trake casually walked to the cart, leaning against it. His hands, however, moved behind him, to lift up the fabric, and in moments, he had rolled himself into the cart. Or what looked to be the cart from the outside; inside, you could see the wall behind the cart. A corbel arch² was inset with a solid door, with no apparent handle. The arch itself had a detailed painting of what appeared to be a raven on its keystone³, wings outspread and beak holding a jewel-crested amulet. Trake grinned and touched the amulet. There was a green flash under his finger, a momentary tone, as if someone had sung a brief, pure note. He had always found this Artefact fascinating; the sheer simplicity of it belied its complex design. The door swung open to reveal a cramped storefront, lit only by two flickering torches pegged to the wall. The Raven Exchange was open for business.

---

Glossary-
¹Guan dao: A pole arm used in martial arts, consisting of a blade with a rear hook mounted atop a five to six foot pole. Picture Wikipedia
²Corbel arch: An arch made not by curving stones smoothly together, but rather with blocks coming in from either side until they meet at the apex. Wikipedia
³Keystone: The stone at the apex (peak) of an arch. Wikipedia

Chapter 1 - Denial

Book 1 - Unfolding Song

Chapter 1 - Denial

"...I'm afraid that won't be possible, Lance-General. The War Council has deliberated over your proposal for these many months, but even though we've managed to repair some of the greater... errors, there are some glaring impossibilities you haven't accounted for. Therefore, we are forced to deny your request."

The speaker took his seat, but continued to hold his unblinking stare on the man in front of him. The speaker's short, round-cut white hair matched his simple robes and snowy-white feathered wings. Nine others, with near identical appearance, sat in a semi-circle on either side, each between imposing granite columns, adding to the utter gravity of the room. No colour to be found here; decoration distracts the eye from what was truly important.

The soldier in front of the Council, however, was a disheveled contrast to the rest of the room. Gleaming steel bands circled his body, with chain-work guarding his legs and arms. Golden scrollwork emphasized his position as an officer, though no officer would be foolish enough to wear ceremonial armour in battle. In conflict with his pristine outfit, the officer's rust-red, black speckled wings were thoroughly ruffled, with barely a feather in its proper place. His flaming hair was little better, and matched his face well. Normally the very image of self-composure, the officer's tight-cheeked face was nearly as red as hair and wings put together. He looked as if he'd swallowed a boulder. He could barely speak without sputtering.

"Impossibilities? Did you stop to think before you spoke from rote, or did you simply burn the parchment as soon as it was delivered?" He choked to a stop, barely containing his anger, and certainly not trying to hide it.

The council member who had spoken earlier gave a guarded glance to the man to his left, who returned it with a slight shake of the head. Sighing, the speaker stood once again. "You are a fool, Poraeus, if you think they will allow an attack without retaliation. What if they returned our attack with one of their own? If but half their number were sent against us, they would surely overwhelm us. Not to mention, your concerns over these people is ill-founded. They have given us no cause for which to attack. A raid now and then from barbarians is part of the cost of having general peace; would you rather have a full-scale war in the Alliance? No; your plan would bring us only ruin. Now, stop this muttering. You may stand down, Lance-General!"

Poraeus clenched his teeth, but sounds of strangled growling continued. He stood straight and stiff, giving only a sketch of the Tur'nasi kneel used for Council members, and stalked out of the chamber, head high. The speaker released his held breath in a relieved sigh.

"I did not think he would take it so well. That one will be trouble, I'm afraid. But the Emperor favours him. It's only a matter of time until he erupts; who knows what could save us then. Now, if you'll excuse me, I will be retiring to my chambers." Sliding his simple stone chair back, he stood to make a formal Tur'laske bow, wings wrapping around his outspread arms to cover his face. The other Council members quickly stood and duplicated the gesture before filing out the rear door to the building, talking among themselves.

As he watched the others go, the speaker stood in silent thought. This Raven Emperor would destroy the work of centuries; him and his obsession with the Kairn. Lance-General Darte would need to be recalled from his exploration in the Southern Juchai ranges if they were to continue with the plan, though. The speaker shook himself as he realized he'd been mumbling aloud. Giving a wry chuckle, he exited the chamber, leaving the stone cold and dark once again.