say we are to blame for this?” Al-Hoanar said.
“No,” the Mother said. “But I do say that we can no longer stop it alone. Perhaps we were never meant to.”
The Mother stood. To Chaelus, she was no longer frail but instead the younger woman who had once come before his father. Her stare returned its hold upon him.
“Not all of the Fallen Ones have been destroyed. The Dragon still waits for the return of all twelve. Chaelus, Roan Lord of the House of Malius, your father was one of the twelve Servian Lords who fell. By your hand, and the grief you hold, was he spared the Dragon’s call. I know you’re aware of the eyes of the past resting upon you.”
The entire Synod turned to him.
Chaelus’ fever wept across his brow. Its lament brought a stinging pain to his eyes. He flushed beneath it, but raised his head and stepped towards the Mother. Her knights parted before him.
“I won’t deny their weight or their shadow,” he said.
“And I can do nothing of either for you, but to say that I once loved and knew your father well.”
“You came to him when I was a child.” Chaelus stared at Maedelous beside her. The old man’s eyes were veiled. “You came with another.”
“We sought to save you from the same fate as your father,” the Mother said. “The same fate that brings you to us now.”
“We were not successful.” Maedelous let loose a bitter smile. He leaned forward. “So much less so for the blood that has been spilled, and the souls we have lost because of it.”
The Mother’s eyes darted to Maedelous. “Yet it seems, in the end, providence did what we could not.”
Maedelous stood. He drew his long tunic close in the orators’ fashion. He held his other hand open, outstretched before him. “It is only because in the end, Malius heeded the cautions we paid him. For too long he’d been warned, of his own failings and the need for his son’s protection.”
“My father believed it was you who betrayed him,” Chaelus returned. “And although I was only a child, I remember the word he used for you particularly. Serpent.”
Maedelous’ eyes narrowed still more. “His greatest betrayal was by you – and himself. He betrayed both his oath and his order! His union with your mother should never have been. We forgave him once. We shan’t do so again. And now it’s you before us; the very fruit of his betrayal, bearing shamelessly the unbound blade of your father.”
Chaelus stepped forward as a chill swept through him. The old man was baiting him. Chaelus stayed his hand as it crept towards Sundengal’s hilt. He stepped closer to Maedelous.
“You wouldn’t dare.” Maedelous bristled as he returned to his seat. His robe caught his feet and he staggered. “Your arrogance only reveals his failure.”
The Mother stood. “That’s enough, Maedelous. Be wise.”
Maedelous paused, but then he nodded and sank into his seat, his eyes narrower and darker than before.
The Mother lowered herself back into hers. “We did not gather for this purpose, yet our purpose it has become. For you, Chaelus, Roan Lord of the House of Malius, I’ve but one question. Why have you come here?”
“I’ve come to restore my father’s House,” Chaelus answered.
“The light of your father’s House diminished long ago, along with any hope it once carried. So tell me again, Chaelus, son of Malius, why have you come to us?”
Chaelus hesitated, unsure. He knew of no other words to say. “To slay the Dragon.”
The murmuring around the Synod deepened.
“And so you have,” the Mother said. “Al-Thinneas, it is time.”
Al-Thinneas stood. He bowed his head, first to the Mother, and then to each of those seated.
“One of our own was confronted upon the streets of Tulon but three days past,” he said. “It was a servant of Ras Dumas who found him. The boy said little
“No,” the Mother said. “But I do say that we can no longer stop it alone. Perhaps we were never meant to.”
The Mother stood. To Chaelus, she was no longer frail but instead the younger woman who had once come before his father. Her stare returned its hold upon him.
“Not all of the Fallen Ones have been destroyed. The Dragon still waits for the return of all twelve. Chaelus, Roan Lord of the House of Malius, your father was one of the twelve Servian Lords who fell. By your hand, and the grief you hold, was he spared the Dragon’s call. I know you’re aware of the eyes of the past resting upon you.”
The entire Synod turned to him.
Chaelus’ fever wept across his brow. Its lament brought a stinging pain to his eyes. He flushed beneath it, but raised his head and stepped towards the Mother. Her knights parted before him.
“I won’t deny their weight or their shadow,” he said.
“And I can do nothing of either for you, but to say that I once loved and knew your father well.”
“You came to him when I was a child.” Chaelus stared at Maedelous beside her. The old man’s eyes were veiled. “You came with another.”
“We sought to save you from the same fate as your father,” the Mother said. “The same fate that brings you to us now.”
“We were not successful.” Maedelous let loose a bitter smile. He leaned forward. “So much less so for the blood that has been spilled, and the souls we have lost because of it.”
The Mother’s eyes darted to Maedelous. “Yet it seems, in the end, providence did what we could not.”
Maedelous stood. He drew his long tunic close in the orators’ fashion. He held his other hand open, outstretched before him. “It is only because in the end, Malius heeded the cautions we paid him. For too long he’d been warned, of his own failings and the need for his son’s protection.”
“My father believed it was you who betrayed him,” Chaelus returned. “And although I was only a child, I remember the word he used for you particularly. Serpent.”
Maedelous’ eyes narrowed still more. “His greatest betrayal was by you – and himself. He betrayed both his oath and his order! His union with your mother should never have been. We forgave him once. We shan’t do so again. And now it’s you before us; the very fruit of his betrayal, bearing shamelessly the unbound blade of your father.”
Chaelus stepped forward as a chill swept through him. The old man was baiting him. Chaelus stayed his hand as it crept towards Sundengal’s hilt. He stepped closer to Maedelous.
“You wouldn’t dare.” Maedelous bristled as he returned to his seat. His robe caught his feet and he staggered. “Your arrogance only reveals his failure.”
The Mother stood. “That’s enough, Maedelous. Be wise.”
Maedelous paused, but then he nodded and sank into his seat, his eyes narrower and darker than before.
The Mother lowered herself back into hers. “We did not gather for this purpose, yet our purpose it has become. For you, Chaelus, Roan Lord of the House of Malius, I’ve but one question. Why have you come here?”
“I’ve come to restore my father’s House,” Chaelus answered.
“The light of your father’s House diminished long ago, along with any hope it once carried. So tell me again, Chaelus, son of Malius, why have you come to us?”
Chaelus hesitated, unsure. He knew of no other words to say. “To slay the Dragon.”
The murmuring around the Synod deepened.
“And so you have,” the Mother said. “Al-Thinneas, it is time.”
Al-Thinneas stood. He bowed his head, first to the Mother, and then to each of those seated.
“One of our own was confronted upon the streets of Tulon but three days past,” he said. “It was a servant of Ras Dumas who found him. The boy said little
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