Page 79 of The Ashborn

—Tristian—

Tristian called his commanding officers to the highest island in the sky. The Shardborn Island was a flat training ground with grueling obstacles, meant only for the most elite fighters. It left no room for error. Talon flanked his left, Connak his right—the two men he would have to rely on to get the rest of his commanders on their side. He picked them for a reason. The strongest warriors he’d ever seen, but also the most humane. Every single one of them would give all they had for their own battalion, protecting each soldier as if they were family. Tristian needed that. He needed them to care, but in this moment, he needed them to prepare.

“What’s the plan, High Commander?” Talon asked. His stone-gray eyes studied the other nine commanders taking formation in the field, hands behind their backs while they waited for their address.

The first rays of the sun hit the clouds, painting them hues of soft pinks and golds. Tristian let the breeze pass between them all, a reminder that even in their formality, beauty was free and could not be ignored. He read a poem about it once, a tale of the ancient Elvish. It painted a world of beauty before destruction and politics took hold. If there was anything Tristian detested most, it was politics.

“The wards are being tested,” Tristian sighed, glaring at Connak through the side of his eye. Through all of this, his Blades Commander kept it silent, figuring it all out on his own until others got hurt. Until Tislin got hurt. “We may have less time to prepare than I’d like, but war is upon us soon.” He studied his other commanders. There were nine others aside from Connak and Talon, each one commanding their own battalions, protecting their own island of magic. “You’ve all seen war before,” he said loudly. “I fear what’s coming will be worse.”

“Why?” Thalira asked, fixing her dark blonde hair. She was a healer, in charge of the Verdent. Her round eyes stared forward, her magic flaring as if to reach out to all the soldiers her team would have to heal—and to those they would not be able to save.

“A Shade has broken out of Fire Storm. Maybe two.” Tristian scanned their faces as realization dawned on them all. “We don’t know why the wards are breaking. We suspect the King of River Storm has developed a weapon. Most wards are holding for now⁠—”

“Is the god of light in peril?” Jayel’ric, commander of the Skybinders, asked.

Brennic, Thornclad Commander, sneered. “You blaspheme the Mother.”

Jayel’ric flicked his eyes. “Not if he’s a descendant of the Mother. Regardless, the light holds the power of the wards, does he not, or do you refute the ancient scrolls of Silverthorne?”

“Enough,” Tristian said, craning his neck to release the tension. It never helped. The scar restricted his muscles, reminding him of all the things he couldn’t escape. Of all that rested on his shoulders. “You will need to prepare your armies. When battle calls, we won’t just be fighting a dead army. We will need to prepare for what else may come.”

“How do we fight an unknown threat?” Niramelle asked. She was a fierce warrior. Freckles dusted every inch of her sun-warmed skin, a stark contrast to the dark, sculpted brows that framed storm-gray eyes. Copper-rose hair tumbled around her face, which was marked with swirling tattoos that climbed her cheeks and brows like vines. Silver glinted from a septum ring and twin lip piercings.

Niramelle commanded two of Tristian’s battalions. A skilled illusionist, she started with the Duskveil. When they lost the commander of the Moonshard years ago, Niramelle stepped forward and took them both.

“Let’s assume it’s a Shade,” Connak said. “And weapons built with their power.”

Brennic grunted. “What are we to do about a Shade? If Jayel’ric’s beliefs are true and we turn to broken, unfinished prophecies to guide us, this elusive god of light is the only thing to defeat it.”

Those stories were true enough, in the sense of their beliefs. As it stood now, the god of light’s magic was not at their disposal. They would have to think of another method. Tristian turned to Connak. “Any ideas?”

“Well, Kienna managed to scare one off with her fire.” Connak shrugged as if the idea hadn’t been so absurd. As if Connak could feel Tristian’s glare on him, he shifted. “No other ideas.”

Brennic crossed his arms. His molten gold eyes narrowed. “Why don’t we talk about your loyalty, High Commander, before we go pledging our soldiers to shadows. What have you been sending Talon and Connak to do in the realm? And why not us?”

Tristian pursed his lips. He studied all nine of his commanders in front of him, hoping he’d picked the right people to trust with his command. “I have been building alliances around the realm, a move that will help our army in the midst of battle.”

Jayel’ric and Ryven, Commander of the Emberreign, shared a look. A hawk’s screech carried through the wind, followed by a falcon—Talon’s falcon.

“Should we be worried about your birds?” Tristian’s brow rose as he searched for the creatures of the sky.

“Precautions,” Talon whispered. “Zephyr will be on his best behavior.”

Jayel’ric’s hawk landed on his shoulder. The commander’s golden eyes remained forward, as vigilant as his hawk’s. “We know what you’ve been up to, High Commander. We are all skilled in such things that you and Connak attempted to elude from us.”

Connak’s fingers twitched against the fabric of his pants, and Tristian tried not to notice the tensing in his jaw. He waited for a joke or some way to lighten the mood. It never came. Something was weighing on his Blades Commander.

“What we don’t know is why,” Kaelorna said, her body brightening with gold as the sun burst above the clouds. Her silver hair was plaited with gold adornments down her back. Though the other women stuck to tunics and pants, Kaelorna wore a white dress with gold embroidery, a reminder that she was born of the sun. It made the gold of her eyes and the brown of her skin resplendent. From the Sunforged battalion, she was a golden presence. Like Moira.

Tristian stepped closer to them. “Our leadership is failing. Thirty years ago, the Eternal Mother gifted a new magic to the world to defeat an unknown darkness that is coming. A magic that drove a man mad, and our queen cannot beat him. So, we warded the world to keep him trapped and to hold the darkness out of Alistile.” He paused to decipher reactions. No one moved. All eyes remained on him. He cleared his throat. “The queen will never admit this, but they sit in the hollow tree and run circles on strategy while we are playing from behind. The Accords gave us power for a reason. I don’t want to put our people on the line alone. If we are going to beat him, we need a united front throughout the realm.”

Serenya, glowing with luminous stones, stepped out from her position and approached Tristian. Her eyes glistened with the crystals, one brown and one blue. He didn’t bother scolding her, not after admitting treason that went far beyond Trinity. It went to Silverthorne, and he knew how deep their politics went in the mountains. He trained there. They created the man he was, though they didn’t know his truth. No one did.

As the Crystal Chorus commander spoke, her voice came out in layers like a choir. “What are your guardrails, High Commander? We fear you are not being safe. Will this put us in danger in our own home?”

“You’ve spoken about this before?” Tristian’s forehead rose high in surprise.

“High Commander,” Brennic said, his voice gruff. He was, by far, the largest of his commanders and the oldest, with nearly three hundred years to his name. He saw the world as it was and what it became. “We serve you, but we need to know we are not serving a dying cause.”