Prologue
Light Bringer
A Caelderan Song of Battle
Fyremas flames filled the air
An eve of joy beyond compare
Till skies flashed red at midnight’s stroke
The wards came down and in they broke
Reaver blades, ice giant brawn
Would spare none to see the dawn
Arrows fell short, bolts flew astray
Defenseless, we made easy prey
But then she came to join the fight
Weaver of wind, bringer of light
Rhya the mighty, Rhya the brave
Eyes of storms, pale hair a’wave
Evil felled by a tempest’s blows
Lightning flashed, a new day rose
Let none forget as time moves on
Caeldera’s one truechampion
Chapter
one
The metal handle sears my palm, a withering harbinger.
One I ignore.
I step into the throne room and nearly double over. It’s hot as a furnace, the heat a shock to the system after the chill of the corridor. At my chest, my Remnant mark burns with contradictory cold, stirring awake in response to the maegic shimmering in the air. It is thick as syrup, a vermilion haze that suffuses the entire space.
The doors close behind me with a resolute click. The sound makes me want to bolt straight back the way I came. I don’t want to be here. In truth, I would rather be almost anywhere else, given the fiery reception I am no doubt about to receive, but the memory of Mabon’s deep voice rumbles in my head, imploring me to try.
Maybe this time you can get through to him.
If anyone can make the man see sense, it’s you.
Please, Rhya. You know I would not put you in this position without good reason. You know I would not ask this of you unless…
I take a deep breath, struggling to fill my lungs, tasting the distinct tinge of elemental power on my tongue. Flame and ash,pressing in from all sides. My knees threaten to buckle as I make my way down a short flight of stone steps onto the gleaming floor.
Set deep in the earth, the cavernous chamber was spared the wrath of the ice giants that ravaged Caeldera two months ago. While the rest of the city is an unrecognizable ruin of glass and debris—roofs caved in from massive boulders that rained down, storefront windows shattered with axe hilts, facade columns crumbled into dust—the throne room looks just as I remember it. Dark stone of pure, petrified lava, veined with red. Massive columns with bases of caged fire holding up a distant ceiling. Trenches of flame lining the perimeter floors, extending up the back wall.