Whitesteel Peaks - Chapter 6: Reordered

Everyone feels the pressure after learning of the Dragon Army's actions, as Turim's departure looms.

Armageddon TM and its characters and story are copyright Terry Tibke. All rights reserved. All music and effects are listed here.

Luke Alphonso [Voice Actor] - Voices Turim Gliderlance

Liam Taylor [Voice Actor]- Voices Grandmaster Strongthorn

Chris Bellinger [Voice Actor] – Voices Percin Storeward, Chaplain Shoalslate

Dio Kerr [Voice Actor] – Voices Dustorn Greyangle

Brittanie Finlay-Hayes [Voice Actor]– Voices Aarin Valecreed

Ki Garland  [Voice Actor] – Voices Thalissa Gliderlance

Produced by: Terry Tibke, Jim Rysinski, Frank James Bailey, Aaron, cfasand, Cory Fulcher; and Kiyra, Torren, Sophany, Mike, and Tippy Tibke.

Transcript

Chapter 6 – Reordered

By the time Lumina had pushed the sun down beyond midday, Turim, Grandmaster Strongthorn, Percin, and Dustorn had ridden hard for nearly an hour—two in the front, two in the back. Daltaria, once a mere speck in the distance, had vanished from Turim's view amidst the blanket of lightly falling snow.

He briefly met eyes with Dustorn and Percin before gazing forward once more. With all the secrets and revelations that had occurred inside Garront Hall, he found himself feeling conspirative. 

After Daynard had given Dustorn and Percin pats on the back for the work they’d done in Daltaria, he’d mostly gone silent as they’d trotted out the city’s gates. Now, Turim was sure he wasn’t the only one navigating his thoughts.

He reached his hand out to test the wind and catch a few flakes, then noticed Daynard’s gaze. “There’s just so much to sort out,” Turim shook his head slowly.

Grandmaster Strongthorn’s beard parted in a feint smile as he let out a sigh. “True words. I’m sorry, I said we’d discuss things further, and here I am just going over everything to myself, alone. We shouldn’t act alone. We can’t anymore.” 

“I still have some things to talk through with you,” admitted Turim, though he sympathized with the look on Daynard’s face. “But perhaps we should wait until we’re inside again. We’ve only about an hour until we reach home.” He held off a shiver. “Shard’s wings it’s getting cold!”

A sudden gust of wind whipped Turim’s cloak up. He gripped it back and pulled it around himself, and when he did, he caught Daynard’s eye on the Aureate now latched to his hip again. The strained look on the Grandmaster’s face turned thoughtful a moment before his eyes seemed suddenly aged.

“That weapon…” Daynard pointed vaguely, but only the sound of hooves crunching through snow went on.

Turim swallowed, almost ready to go silent. But he owed the Grandmaster at least a few answers. “Whatever rumors you might’ve heard… they’re probably true. My armor’s been reforged. My blade’s gone and… now I have this—the Aureate.” He pushed it back against his hip with a gloved hand.

Daynard turned his eyes forward, adjusting his reins. “I’ve not seen it since that night. We’ve not spoken… I just haven’t been sure what to say.”

Turim could tell there was pain there, but the two of them remained quiet.

The flurry picked up again tossing the horse’s manes, a cold bite that made Turim’s moustache feel stiff. He kept trying to think of the right words, but it was easier to keep riding.

Eventually, Daynard spoke, as awkward as Turim had ever heard him. “That’s the reason for the visit to the Paladins of Lumina? After your… death… you wish to… understand more about their ways?”

“Sir!” Percin’s shout interrupted from behind. “Up ahead!”

Turim exchanged glances with Daynard as he spotted two creatures coming at them through the snow-thick grasses at an alarming pace. 

Turim and the others slowed.

“Frost wolves?!” cried Dustorn. It sounded either panicked—or proficient.

Turim’s grip returned to the Aureate. ‘The Westersirk seems rife… with…’ But then, he slowly relaxed as he let out a chuckle.

Grandmaster Strongthorn joined him. “Hah. No frost wolves here. It’s Athuril and Geldis come to guide us in again!”

Turim smiled, watching the two hounds loop around behind them before coming to Sildál’s side. He appreciated the distraction. “Good to see the two of you. Did my mother send you out? Huh?” He reached down to pat Athuril on the head as the dog moved out front again. 

“Hmm. I don’t think things are quite as they seem,” Daynard said as softly as the winds would allow. He pulled Ander into just a walk now.

As Turim leaned back into his saddle, he saw his mother riding directly towards them on her own steed, Maladine. She’d bundled up for the snows, but it was unusual to see her out in this sort of weather. ‘To see anyone out, for that matter’ thought Turim.

They all came to a slow stop, meeting in the deep grasses and snows of the Westersirk.

Turim held his hand over his eyes, hoping to catch sight of the halfling behind his mother. It was a void of grey sky and white drifts. “Laewen, where’s Lala?”

 Something was wrong.

“Fala mir nin gal beritha, tham il nar man venditha ain Tusokan,” Thalissa rushed through her elvish words.

Daynard shook his head, frowning. “I said no such thing. That was a suggestion for your son, Lady.”

“Why would she ride off to Tusokan all on her own?” Turim groaned.

Dustorn and Percin came up beside them now, all standing in a cluster facing Thalissa.

Turim’s mother let out a long sigh as if to regain her strength. “She’s been… restless, ever since you two left. She kept asking what I knew about dragonites—which is not a great deal, I must admit. And then said she needed to go see your friend, Master Shadowstar—to speak with him in Tusokan.”

Turim shook his head at yet another issue he’d have to deal with. He let out an exasperated growl with his blue glove extended. “Why couldn’t she just stay put and settle in? I said I’d be right back and we could find her a nice home, over there, just beyond Miller’s Road.”

Thalissa gave him a look. It was the one that meant she understood something he didn’t. Her eyes flicked to Daynard as well. “That’s just it son. And… I suppose we should have seen it.” She took in another slow breath. “She said she doesn’t think she can do that.”

“Doesn’t think she can—” Turim grunted, then realized he was just repeating his mother. “The God’s graces. Sir, I have to go after her.” He tightened his grip on his reins.

But before he could nudge Sildal’s sides to go, Daynard sidestepped Ander and gently put his firm hand on Turim’s shoulder. His voice, however, was kind but not gentle. “Oh no you don’t. Need I remind you, Commander, that you’ve now two things already on your plate—one of which, I spent a good deal of time arranging. There’s no way I’m letting you ride off on some unnecessary self-appointed task to retrieve—or protect—someone who’s more than capable of protecting herself.”

“But sir—” Turim began yet was cut off.

“Wing Commander Gliderlance, I’ve been patient with you, but to be honest, I’m tired. And I’m tired of you thinking that you can keep all of these people you know out of the world’s struggles,” Grandmaster Strongthorn said sternly. The kindness was gone now. 

Turim looked to his mother, who had a similar expression on her face. “I’ve lost enough knights around me to know I don’t want to lose any more people I care about,” he said, then readied himself to defend his position.

“Yes, yes, everyone who knows you has heard you. But Turim, son,” the Grandmaster’s voice took on an edge of emotion. He glanced at everyone a moment, then seemed to make up his mind and start again. “It’s taken me some time to sort this out, what with everything going on. But how exactly do you think I feel?”

Turim wasn’t sure what was about to come out. “I don’t—”

 “Now I care about every knight in our order, but you know I consider you like my own boy. I trust you far more than you realize, and real trust like that of a friend is hard-earned. But it is those trusted people whom we must rely on. Now I don’t have many people in my life like that, but for whatever reason, Turim, you’ve taken it on yourself to try and control the lives of these people you think you care about.”

“I’m not trying to control them. I’m trying to protect them.”

“You can’t protect all of them Turim! You can’t. Because with all that you consider your responsibility, who’s going to protect you?”

Turim wasn’t sure what to say, but that didn’t seem to matter.

Daynard didn’t stop. “You… died! And if it wasn’t difficult enough before, how do you think I feel now—every time you leave the keep? Do you realize how hard it is to see you go out there on patrol every day, knowing I’m putting you in danger again? Do you think it’s easy to just let you go on this mission to Maelinost?”

Grandmaster Strongthorn set his jaw. “The night Sand told me you’d died, a part of me died too. So if I can continue to allow you, my boy, to go out again after that, and fight to keep these lands free? Then The Hells, you can do the same.”

Turim looked to his mother again, who only replied. “I could not have made that any clearer myself, my little knight.” She was confident in her response, but Turim could tell she was trying to put all the pieces together.

“Now… you need to give heed to your plans for Esokom, and to the dragonites who are taking prisoners there. That’s what’d I’d held back in your kitchen. The time wasn’t right then, but it’s right now.”

“Wait, are you suggesting I—oh no, no sir, I am not bringing Lala with me!” His emotion and confusion over everything the Grandmaster was saying had begun to writhe inside.

Daynard kept on. “Why not? Because she’s defenseless? Because she’s incapable? How will you arm yourself? Don’t you trust her?”

“I’m not bringing those who’ve not vowed knighthood—to be protectors of these lands—into a place where they could be hurt or killed! Sir!”

“Commander Gliderlance, if you’d seen what that girl’s capable of. Seen what she can truly do when pressed? You don’t need to worry about the arms you’ll have to somehow bring with you—she is a weapon.”

“She’s not a weapon, she’s a—”

“You know what I mean; I know she’s not a weapon. You’re right, she’s just a farm girl from the Plains. She’s the embodiment of every Genovan we fight for, and I can think of few better people in your life you could trust to take with you.” The Grandmaster lowered his brow. “And if you’d open your eyes, you could see that she wants to help you—especially where dragonites seem to be concerned. Or did you simply plan to keep that from her?”

Turim’s eyes went wide. He struggled with everything he knew to be right—his duty to protect and to keep everyone safe. “Laewen, this is not what father would’ve wanted of me. This is not how I have held myself up as a knight.”

“Turim, your father was a good man and always tried to help others. But he could be stubborn when it came to asking for it himself—and you certainly get that from him. You don’t have to do everything alone,” His mother said gently. “For whatever it is you’ve been charged with doing now.”

 “With the fall of Wurai and the news in Tarvú…” Grandmaster Strongthorn’s face softened. It was a lot of pressure he’d likely been under. “I don’t mean to be so harsh. But it’s the truth. People have died, and will continue to die until we can end this war. And it’s not your choice who lives and dies. It’s theirs. And just as you have a choice to put yourself in harm’s way to protect people you care about, so do we. All of us. Your Ysian friends, the airship girl, that dwarf and ogre, your ninja friend in Tusokan, and yes, even Lala.”

Turim felt his breath caught in his throat. He fought his own defensiveness, trying to bring himself to allow such a thing.

“This whole Order of Unification—to bring the world together to combat the Dragon Army—is a necessity. At this stage, the Knights of the Hawk cannot do this alone. You know how weakened we are, and you know in your heart—though you’ve been denying it—that the only way to live free, is to accept that we are all in this together.”

Turim looked at his hands, relaxing his grip. They were right. He’d said so himself. Lala was always armed. And she wasn’t the only one he should be considering. What experience did he truly have with sneaking and stealth?

“It will probably have to be an infiltration,” he said quietly.

Grandmaster Strongthorn leaned back in his saddle, blinking amidst the falling snow.

Thalissa pulled a small sack from the saddlebags at Maldine’s side. “Wurai has fallen? The God help them,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “And I’m sorry, you’re being sent to Maelinost?”

“Lady, we truly should not say, for your own good,” Daynard’s voice was low. “But don’t blame me. Your son was specifically requested.”

Turim glanced between the two of them, still lost in his new direction. His thoughts flashed back to questions he’d derived from the Council again.

“Master Shadowstar,” he said abruptly. “There is no one else I know to help me as he can. I don’t even know if I can accomplish this without him. The Black Talon Clan is far better suited for such a job, to be honest. They infiltrated the lands in Aradúin for the scrolls. How different is this?” said Turim, well aware there was probably a great deal of difference.

“Well if that’s how you plan on achieving the goal—and if you had not been specifically requested—I would tend to agree. But there are other aspects to this as well, not the least of which is some measure of diplomacy.”

“I don’t know how to achieve anything just yet.” Turim felt raw.

He looked over his shoulder at Dustorn and Percin, who’d slowly pulled back their steeds during the whole ordeal. The two sat with expectant faces, a little awkward. He turned back to Grandmaster Strongthorn, his thoughts tangled like cat’s string. 

“Sir, who sent me?” His question came out unexpectedly.  Who sent Meineken to obtain the scrolls, and who sent me to Ys? You said it was at the Council’s request but…”

Grandmaster Strongthorn was silent for another brief moment. Then his eyes averted to the advisors. “Well? I had my suspicions, but will you two now come out with it?”

Percin exchanged a silent agreement with Dustorn, it seemed. “It should not be said. The knowledge of that is dangerous,” began Percin.

Dustorn nodded, his brows arched down, his head tilted. “That’s right. And not just dangerous to you, but to all of us, especially him.”

Percin shook his head and sighed. “He did approach him. Clearly, he trusts him.”

There was a longer-than-expected pause, then Dustorn spoke solemnly. “Both were at the request of Ambassador Flashcut.”

Turim sat silently in the wind as the snow continued to pelt his cheek and brow. For far longer than he’d had any idea, Brill had been either manipulating him, or working with him. He wasn’t sure which to call it just yet. “I want to ask more, but there’s no time now, and I’m sure you’ll be as secretive as the Ambassador was anyway.”

“Alright, Turim,” grunted Grandmaster Strongthorn. “you know you can’t—”

“… know everything all the time—I know,” Turim huffed.

Thalissa rubbed her hands together and blew warm air into her gloves. “As much as I’d love to hear more about all of this, we’d best not stand here in the snow for too long lest we find ourselves buried beneath it.”

Turim gave a sharp nod. “Sir, as I’m already short on time, might I ask your Advisors ride for Tusokan and request—” he glanced around to ensure everyone heard the word and settled his gaze on Dustorn and Percin again. “Request that Lala Truffleroot and Meneken Shadowstar allow you to escort them to Grendelock Keep.”

“Grandmaster, is that your wish?” asked Dustorn with a crack of a smile.

Daynard wheeled Ander halfway around and sighed as if considering every possibility. Then he nodded. “I think after the work you’ve done in Daltaria, a nice ride would do you two good.”

Percin caught eyes with Turim as he looked back. “We are at your service, Wing Commander Gliderlance.” He gave a slow head bow.

 “You have my gratitude.” Turim gave a short but crisp salute as Dustorn snapped one in return.

Percin’s hand brushed across one squinted eye and brow. “I don’t suppose, Lady Gliderlance—”

Everyone looked back toward Thalissa, who’d begun to open the sack she’d brought out. “I knew you’d be coming back to the house to see Lala, son. But since she’s no longer there…”

Now that it was out, the brief scent of bread carried even through the cold winds. Thalisa had prepared food. It was clearly a meal meant for travel, consisting of two appazas each, a chunk of cheese, a small bag of sweetnuts, and an apricot muffin.

Turim allowed a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Percin? You’ve a sensitive nose if you caught that before it came out.”

Percin already rode forward through the snow to take up one of the packages. “My father was a cheesemonger. I caught the faint Ivory Plains cheddar blend several minutes ago and haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

The others laughed, chasing away the depth of the previous conversation for a brief moment.

Turim looked seriously at Dustorn and Percin then as they gathered up food. There was a swirl of guilt for treating them as he had, and appreciation for—what they’d probably gone through to help the Grandmaster achieve what he did, and whatever cooperation they’d had with Ambassador Flashcut. “Do be careful. Of dark elves or whatever else might be out there.”

Their faces looked back, solemn. Dustorn patted his short sword. “Well, that only makes me want to find the halfling girl sooner. For our own protection.”

Turim understood the sentiment but was still confused over how he felt. It went against so much of his very being.

The advisors rode away, disappearing into the haze of snow as they went south. They would cross the Whitehewn Bridge eventually, and make their way to Tusokan via that route.

“Turim, say goodbye to your mother, she looks positively frigid.” Daynard’s voice broke in.

 “Laewen, I’m sorry.” Turim looked back to see she’d mounted again, wrapping herself tightly. “Yes, we should be off. We’ve a few day ride to Grendelock Keep ahead. Will you be alright mother?” He whistled out to the hounds who were off, leaping and playing in the snowy fields. “I’m sure they’ll keep an eye on you.”

“I have made far greater journeys than this,” she smiled beneath her hood. “I can make an hour’s ride home. Worry naught.” She nudged Maladine a bit closer. “It’s you I’m more concerned for.”

Turim saw the look on her face. This was the goodbye. The long one. He likely wouldn’t be back to the farm until his mandatory leave next season. ‘If ever,’ he thought grimly.

“Do we yet know how long it might take?” she asked, as though the danger he faced couldn’t possibly prevent his return.

Daynard pulled Ander up beside them as well. “The Knights of the Griffon will treat him with whatever hospitality the elves there can afford, Lady. They will send your son home.”

But Turim knew no one could promise such a thing. Not for him, nor for anyone who journeyed north with him. “Im ael thalaim, laewen. Be at ease—it seems I’ve been convinced to take friends with me when I go. And of course, Sand and the Wing will be there too.”

She shook her head with a faint smile. “Don’t you and Sand go getting into trouble then... again.” Then she leaned forward and kissed him on his forehead, just beneath his furred hood. “Do be careful. And come home.”

“I will.”

And that was their last goodbye. Turim watched his mother ride off towards home with Athuril and Geldis on either side.

“Time wanes, son,” Grandmaster Strongthorn’s voice had compassion.

With that, they stirred their horses and wheeled back to the northeast, making for Solenol to pass through and on to Grendelock Keep.

The night was cold, camped in a tent beneath the boughs of the Lockwood Forest. They set a watch and took four hours each. “Can’t be too safe with dark elves about,” Turim’s thought echoed. But this close to the city of Solenol, he was sure the woods had been kept clear of such enemies.

At last, on the third day, even before Turim’s eyes could pierce the afternoon’s growing cold mist, they saw the walls of Grendelock Keep loom before them. 

As they rode up the rocky path that approached the gate, it was different than Turim had remembered it. Its mighty doors had been repaired, though dents and cracks had been left in them by the tunnel raptors and dragonites when they’d attacked. Debris and rubble were around the outer wall, and small scars of battle still showed themselves.

Looking to the guard towers on either side of the gates, which had also sustained a good measure of injury themselves, he saw several knights. At once, he noted how young the sentries looked. It seemed like they were freshly recruited for the task of manning the gates.

“Grandmaster Daynard Strongthorn and Wing Commander Turim Gliderlance,” called the Grandmaster to one of the guards, holding aloft the appropriate entry signal.

The two young squires on duty atop the wall looked at each other for a moment before one called down in greeting. “Welcome back Grandmaster! Commander Gliderlance!”

Turim was fairly certain these two had never met either of them, but had probably been given a list of names to listen for.

Inside, the keep was full of life, despite the cold. As they rode in, they were passed several times by carts bearing lumber and other building supplies. Many farmers were at work outside their homes, making repairs to shutters, doors, or anything they hadn’t looked after during the months that had passed since the Battle of Black Dawn. Many of the makeshift repairs, made just after the battle, were being made permanent.

When they came to where Turim would turn off from the path towards the Officer’s Quarters where Grandmaster Strongthorn resided, the two of them halted briefly.

Grandmaster Strongthorn spoke first. “Take care and do what you must. Though I expect communication from Maelinost won’t be long in coming.”

Turim gave a slow salute. “Yes, Grandmaster. And…”

“You need not say a word, my boy. I appreciate everything you’ve done and are yet to do. ”

Turim nodded stiffly. “Thank you for helping me see—helping me understand—to see a different perspective.”

“What good is age if the wisdom gained is not forced into the minds of the young.” Daynard returned a short salute. “If we do not speak again before you go. Do take care, son. We’ll await word from you.”

The next morning, Turim woke acutely aware the time had come. He’d taken an afternoon to get settled in, report back to Company Commander Wrengaze, and let Sand know he’d returned. His friend would continue with the patrols while Turim took care of his business with the Paladins of Lumina. Only hints that they’d be leaving soon kept Sand from outrage.

“It’s time to get some answers,” Turim muttered, tossing his warm quilt aside.

He readied himself, putting on his winter coat and armor, then quickly eating some of his last travel rations. No time for the mess hall today.

His first steps outside revealed the return of descending flakes. The ground was still covered with light snow from the previous letting on their ride back, so it had just begun again. But along all the walls and fences there were noticeable strokes of white.

His boots crunched against the frozen ground as he made his way to the western wall of the keep. Along that road, Turim saw few knights about, except those scheduled for the early morning Skywatches—the ones his own Wing had taken their turn at for the month preceding the Battle of Black Dawn.

He passed training fields and a few of the clustered smithies before coming to the turn leading him towards the wall, and south. Only one of the smithies glowed with the life of flame: that was Durok’s. There was no time for a visit to the dwarf now though.

Eventually, Turim found himself standing before the chapel.

It had a roof of shingles, and just beneath it, a small, round, stained-glass window. It looked small against the western wall of the keep. But he’d been there before on occasion, and the priests were always kind and welcoming. ‘Or at least, I’d always thought them welcoming until Jaffrine was been put under watch.’

The thought of it bothered him still. But then, so did magic. Then that caused him think about the deception Ambassador Flashcut had made about Sinfa’s airship being made to fly with spells, and he found he needed to immediately refocus to keep himself out of another frustrating political mental guessing game. 

He took a deep breath, unsure of exactly what it was he would say, and what he’d do. ‘Will they even believe me?’ he wondered. That was probably the least of his worries. They saw amazing and spiritual things all the time. ‘Will they have the answers Lumina didn’t give me? Now that’s the question.’

Just before making up his mind to enter, a bald old fellow came out from a pair of doors, limping onto the porch. He leaned on a staff there a moment, then gave Turim a wave, seeming to beckon him in.

“No need to linger out here in the cold,” came the chaplain’s voice across the frozen yard. The old man was almost shivering already. He’d only been outside a moment, but his pale blue robes quivered as he stood there.

“Chaplain Shoalslate,” said Turim, approaching the steps to the door. “It’s good to see you again. How’d you know I was coming?” he said, sounding as casual as he could manage.

“Know you were coming?” replied the chaplain, his voice quizzical. “I just saw you standing out here from the window, Commander Gliderlance. I thought you’d best come in before you catch cold.”

Turim nearly scoffed. “If I can’t handle this cold…”

“What’s that?” the Chaplain tilted his head.

“Nothing.” Turim stepped up to the porch feeling a little relieved, not sure if it was more from the invitation, or the fact that the chaplain hadn’t expected his visit. “Thank you,” he said. “I will.”

Turim shut the wooden doors with an effort, blocking out the breeze as they entered. He shook his cloak a bit, letting some of the snow fall, and took his hood down.

“It’s not a great deal warmer in here.” Chaplain Shoalslate stood patiently by, leaning on his walking stick. “But it’s enough to take the nip out of the air at any rate.”

“Yes,” Turim approved. “That’s much better. Thank you again.”

The pews were relatively empty. The heaviest worship day was Onesday, of course. That was when most of the farming folk and the knights came for services that ran throughout the day. Turim hadn’t been around for a Onesday at the keep for months. Truthfully, he was a little surprised that Chaplain Shoalslate had remembered him by name.

“It’s good to see you, Chaplain.” The sound came out, but to Turim it felt rushed.

“You said that. And you as well, Commander Gliderlance.”

Turim rubbed the back of his neck for a moment, still wavering over the right words. On the other hand, if he couldn’t get right to his questions in the chapel, where else could he? This was where he needed to be.

“Now, if you’re showing up here on a Thirdsday,” continued the chaplain, turning to walk, “you must have something on your mind.”

They began their paces down the aisle running between the pews. Turim saw several young folk in robes like the chaplain’s, but of varying hues of gold and pale blues. They were lighting candles around the pulpit at the front of the chapel.

Turim raised his eyebrows, then let them fall. “There’s… just a lot of things I need to understand,” he said finally. “And I was told I should come here—to speak to the paladins.”

“Ah, the paladins,” chimed the chaplain. “I suppose that makes some sense.”

“Why’s that?” asked Turim, mildly stunned. Maybe the chaplain had heard something.

“Well, I have no idea,” said the chaplain. “But I have a notion of an idea—if the rumors are true, that is. I know it isn’t a right good thing to listen to rumors and gossip. But if we here were to ignore all the whisperings in the world, then we couldn’t accomplish the goals that The One has set for us to accomplish.”

“To… care for the hurt and sick. To educate? To advise the cathedral in Daltaria? I know that much at least,” Turim looked sidelong at him as they proceeded.

Chaplain Shoalslate shook his head and blew out his lower lip. “Bah, you know better than that, I’m sure. Yes, those things we do here upon Caball, of course. We help each other. That’s kindness—” 

‘But watching the light and dark paths, acting as physical hands upon the world, while The God and his seraphim keep events sorted and moving forward is a much larger concern,” called a blonde-haired human girl from the archway nearby.

The young lady dressed in armor and wore a helm, winged on both sides. Upon her shoulders were the symbols of the winged cross and sunburst.

 “What’s this? You’re hoarding Commander Gliderlance all to yourself, Chaplain?” She said this in such a direct and forthcoming way, that Turim wasn’t sure if she was joking or serious. Only a faint turn at the corner of her mouth gave it away.

The chaplain chuckled as he led Turim the last few steps in her direction. “My apologies Aarin. I saw him approach and scooped him up. He says he has all sorts of questions for the Paladins of Lumina. I was going to speak with him a bit, so you all wouldn’t intimidate him straightaway. But I suppose… since you’re here,” he said with a chuckle.

“Chaplain, he’s a Wing Commander who rides dragons. I highly doubt he intimidates easily,” said Aarin. Again, Turim wasn’t sure of her tone.

Aarin stepped into the room and approached Turim, and now he could certainly tell she was glad to see him there. “Commander Gliderlance, there’s much I’ve heard about you and your ordeal. I’m Aarin Valecreed. I’m a Paladin of Lumina—of those that belong to the Knights of the Hawk.”

Turim turned a questioning look towards the chaplain. He’d never met the girl. Why was she acting so familiar to him? “How does she know my name?” he thought.

“Some have, uh, made their own decisions about the presence felt the night of the battle,” said Chaplain Shoalslate. “Aarin was very confident you’d be coming soon.”

“Presence?” Turim responded to her salute. “It seems I don’t even know all of the questions I have to ask.”

“You have come to meet the Paladins, have you not?” she asked.

Her frosty eyes sparkled as Turim gazed on her a moment. In those wells was the look of both admiration and respect, but also of hardened battle experience. He’d never met Aarin, nor any of the other Paladins at the keep. But once he’d seen a few of them in the field before, many years ago when he was still a squire. It was an awe-inspiring sight. But now, this was all somewhat strange.

“Come, Commander Gliderlance, walk with me,” replied Aarin. Then she turned and walked off, clearly expecting him to heel.

Turim gave a nod to Chaplain Shoalslate. “It appears I’m following,” he said.

“Yes, yes, go on. Follow your path,” said the chaplain, waggling his walking staff.

“The God be with you,” were Turim’s final awkward words.

He strode out of the main hall, his greaves clanking against his boots as he hurried to catch up with Aarin. Sunlight now beamed through the stained glass window they passed by, spilling across her.

“Where is it we’re going? I don’t have a great deal of time to spend here,” said Turim, feeling like a sheepdog chasing sheep.

Aarin glanced back over her shoulder. “If you don’t make time now…,” she paused as her words caught on what he’d said, but kept moving. “Listen, and learn as much as we can teach you, as quickly as it can be taught.”

“Lady Valecreed,” called Turim, still trying to keep up. “I bid you, please, what am I here for? You seem to know. What is it you’re teaching me?” He halted as she turned quickly towards him, breaking her pace.

“Forgive my haste,” said Aarin with a compassionate sigh. “I know this is a lot for you. And I hope your faith is as strong as it must be to bear what it is we do. I’m also well aware you knights don’t stay put long, especially you, Commander Gliderlance. You’re a busybody if I ever saw one. But like I said, you must do as the other clergy here do, or you’ll never make use of the favor you’ve found with the Bright Lady.”

“With Lumina,” said Turim quietly.

“Yes, with Lumina,” said Aarin, sounding impatient. “Now come. We must begin with teaching you how to put yourself in the proper state.”

Turim got ready to keep in step with her this time, watching her body language. “Proper state of…?”

Aarin didn’t falter. “Of worship. To summon miracles. Or at least, we have to show you, so you can begin training yourself how.”