Chapter 11
(Durahn - Stoneheart Hall Courtyard - 8 Weeks Before Conclave)
The Durahn dawn was cold and grey, mist clinging to the jagged peaks surrounding the Stoneheart Hall. The air vibrated with the impatient snorts of war-rams and the clatter of heavy Durahn plate. King Brom stood like a craggy outcrop, bellowing final orders. Beside him, Lord Magnus leaned on his legendary warhammer, Mountain's Fist, its scarred head resting on the flagstones.
Princess Ysra oversaw the loading of her massive stone golem onto a reinforced wagon, while Prince Borin mounted his war-ram, his expression sullen.
Nearby, the Marinos delegation prepared to depart. High Admiral Korso adjusted his fine sea-wool cloak, Admiral Selene a silent shadow in scaled armor at his shoulder. Princess Coralie stood serenely beside their sleek carriage, her luminous pearl cradled discreetly. Its inner light pulsed softly.
"Blackhold delays," Korso murmured. "Listen for the cracks."
Coralie nodded, consciousness sinking into the pearl's depths. Shimmering impressions filtered through Blackhold's distant mountains: the rhythmic clang of a forge, the scent of frost and pine.
A figure solidified: Roran. He stood in Blackhold's courtyard, directing Greycloaks with calm authority. His voice was a deep, steady rumble. He moved with grounded assurance – no bluster. He projected competence, reliability.
"...secure the eastern flank. Durahn scouts have been active. Show them the watch-fires burn bright..."
Coralie observed, her analytical detachment momentarily pierced by a flicker of professional recognition. Efficient command. Potentially valuable. She shifted the pearl's focus, the image of the steady heir lingering briefly.
Korso clapped Brom on the shoulder. "Until the Conclave, Stoneheart!" Brom guffawed, slamming his chest plate. "Aye! Drown our enemies in gold!" The combined contingent rumbled out, Lord Magnus falling in beside Brom.
(Varyndor - Sunspire Plaza - 6 Weeks Before Conclave)
Varyndor glittered under a harsh noon sun. King Varek's departure was an imperial procession. Sun Knights in blinding white-gold plate formed immaculate ranks. Golden chariots bore courtiers and mages. Varek sat astride a massive, fire-maned stallion, his crimson cloak a river of blood. Beside him, Princess Aelara rode a sleek, silver-grey mare. She wore simple white robes, her expression serene, almost bored. Master Orvin fussed nearby. No other Clan Leaders rode in Varek's immediate retinue – his confidence rested solely on his own power and Aelara's terrifying potential. The procession was a display of unchallenged imperial authority.
"Emberheart shines, and the Accord follows!" Varek declared, his voice amplified. "To the Conclave! To order!" Trumpets blared. The immense procession began its stately roll. Aelara's gaze drifted northward for a fleeting second, a flicker of cold assessment in her golden eyes, before settling ahead.
(Sylvaris - The Whispering Gate - 5 Weeks Before Conclave)
A somber march beneath weeping trees. Queen Nymeria led, her Thorn Guard flanking her. Lady Thorne, the commander, marched immediately behind, staff planted firmly. Prince Orlan walked beside his mother, face etched with weariness, eyes scanning the blighted trees. Princess Elara walked near the rear, a quiet counterpoint to the gloom.
"We carry the Rot's shadow," Nymeria said quietly. "Let the Conclave feel its chill."
Orlan nodded grimly, sending green energy into a Heartwood trunk. "Perhaps shared fear will forge answers." Their procession moved silently into the shadows, Lady Thorne a vigilant presence.
(Sun Steppes - The Wind's Edge - 4 Weeks Before Conclave)
A flowing river of horsemen moved with the rhythm of the grass. Khan Sharo led, Princess Zoya beside him, air shimmering faintly with contained sunlight. Chieftain Kaelen rode nearby, Sky-Sunderer across his back, gaze hawk-sharp. Sun-hawk banners snapped in the wind.
Sharo raised a hand. The tide halted. "The open sky reveals truth," he stated. "We ride to see what the stone halls hide." Zoya nodded. "We see the strength." Kaelen grunted agreement. The tide surged forward, Kaelen merging with the flow.
(Blackhold - The Gates of Stone - 4 Weeks Before Conclave)
Frost etched the battlements, stinging snowflakes swirled. Lord Toran sat astride Stonehoof, gaze sweeping the Greycloaks. Lady Elyna radiated readiness, Frostfang prominent. Talin fidgeted. Lira scanned the southern road, then the Vale's lightning-scarred peaks.
Roran moved along the ranks, voice steady against the wind. "Secure your gear! The passes hold winter's teeth! Stay sharp, stay warm, stay together!" His commands settled the ranks. He met Toran's gaze and nodded. The empty Frostbite bracket loomed on the armory wall.
Toran raised his fist. The deep, resounding Departure Horn echoed. CLANG answered – mailed fists on breastplates.
"BLACKHOLD RIDES!" Toran's voice rolled down the mountain.
The column descended. Roran took point, eyes on the path. Lira cast one last look towards the Vale before turning south, jaw set. Talin joined the rearguard. The Iron Wolf banner dipped under the arch, then snapped defiantly.
(Ironwood Vale - Wrynn's Cairn - 2 Weeks Before Conclave)
Kael stood motionless, Frostbite in hand, layered with muscle. His eyes held fierce focus, reflecting the cairn's pulse. The chaotic thrum from the east was a physical pressure.
Wrynn watched, expression granite. "Show me the sky-fire. Pure."
Kael nodded. Raised Frostbite. Runes blazed blue. Air thickened.
CRACK-BOOM!
A blinding column of lightning connected with the axe. Light seared. Thunder detonated. Rock vaporized in a smoking crater. Kael lowered the axe, stance unyielding.
Wrynn grunted. "Hmph. Satisfied?"
Kael turned east. The horizon pulsed with violent violet light, the chaotic thrum resonating within him. He felt the storm's raw vitality, the Rim's limitations like chains. He looked back, fierce light edged with dangerous hunger. "I've learned the blade. Learned the spark's path. The Rim hums. The Core screams." He hefted Frostbite. "Facing it means seeing its heart. I need to know what forged this place. What the lightning truly is."
Wrynn surged up, eye blazing. "Core is unmaking! You walk in, you don't walk out! Power ain't worth vanishing!"
Kael met his gaze, unflinching. "Hiding ended at Blackhold's gates. Fearing it ended in the moss." He turned towards the violet abyss. "Facing it means seeing where it's born. I can feel it pulling." He stepped towards the path. "I need to know."
Wrynn lunged. "KAEL! STOP! THAT'S SUICIDE!"
Kael paused at the clearing's edge. He glanced back, terrifying certainty in his eyes. "Tell them..." His thought was of Blackhold. "...tell them I went to meet the storm." He adjusted Frostbite's harness. "Head on."
Without another word, Kael Stormborn vanished into the violet-tinged gloom, swallowed by the twisted trees. Wrynn stood frozen, warning echoing uselessly in the silence. The ancient warrior stared east, dread settling over him. The world moved towards Grey Spire, but Kael sought the storm's primal heart.