Chương 51: The Moon Union

"This is how it was," Brendan the Emissary announced. A thousand heads bowed as The Rail began. The High Priest's voice filled the Hall of Heroes, stern and sure. A golden aura glowed around his red hammerhead galero. His silver vestments gleamed in the torchlight like molten tin. Novices scurried between the great formations with censers of pungent incense. Soldiers swayed in their wake, glassy-eyed and pliable. The ceremony commenced.

"Before there was form, there was the Void, resplendent in her emptiness. Through will alone, the Emperor demanded form and cleaved light from the hungry darkness. The Void hated the light and tried to swallow it. The pair warred for aeons untold. No matter how she tried, the Void could never snuff the Emperor's radiance. In His moment of triumph, when light nearly overcame all, the Emperor gave mercy to the Adversary. For what is a hammer without a nail?"

"Nothing," the soldiers chanted, their voices husky with smoke.

"What is the dark without a light?"

"Nothing."

"What are we, without the Emperor?"

"Nothing."

"And nothing comes from nothing, but the Emperor. Defeated, the void cried out endlessly until the Emperor grew weary of her wailing. With a backhand that sundered noise and silence, He knocked off her mouth. Nothing has been quiet ever since. The mouth chattered on, and the Emperor beat black lips of senseless velvet into a core of molten anger. Her fury burns still, from fumaroles that spew darkness and burning rock. The molten core kept up its racket, so the Emperor beat her with his Celestial Hammer.

He flattened the plains into great waves of golden grain. He roughed up the mountains to keep his brilliance from burning the plains away. The seas filled from the sweat of His brow and steam filled the skies with a thousand types of cloud. As the world shuddered with the bliss of his touch, the Emperor flung his hammer into the sky to complete creation. The sky-hammer spun and became the Sun. Each day we bake in its golden rays.

As the Emperor's hammer whirled, three gems flew from the pommel, these became the moons. Each night, we are blessed by their light." The Emissary pointed to the Moon Gate at his back. Through the smoke of ten thousand Goblin campfires, they could barely see the stars. The day was finished. The Blue Moon sailed towards night, the Red Moon took flight and quested after her.

"As siblings do, the three moons squabbled. Each wished to be closest to the Emperor. In their bickering, they crashed together and chips flew and scattered against the velvet of nothing. These are the stars. Some fell into the fields and fought on. These became the three sorts of Elves, still enemies after all this time. The racket of their battles disturbed the Void and she sank deeper underground. As she fled, the Void upset the dust left over from forging. From this dust sprang the dirty, dark-loving Dwarves.

They burrowed deep, so that even underground, the Void could find no peace. The Emperor saw this was good and commanded the Elves and Dwarves to stay separate, each in their own domain. The Emperor's flawless design should have run until the end of time."

"Alas for the feckless!" the soldiers chanted.

"Alas! With black hate in her empty heart, the Void cast her cold gaze over paradise. In the high houses of the Moon-Children, she whispered to Insi, vain princess of the Elves. Insi's mind was poisoned with desire for Dius, the arrogant prince of the Dwarves. Each turned their face shamefully from the Emperor's Law. From their forbidden union, an imp was kindled."

"Woe to all! Woe to all!" the listeners railed.

"Furious, the Emperor's messengers descended from Heaven and cursed the sinners. This is why the Elves and Dwarves dwindle. Without the Emperor's favor, nothing can flourish. While the princess Insi carried the babe, the skies grew gray and nothing would grow. For ten years, there was no rain, no day, no spring nor summer. Pyres stacked to heaven and great sacrifices were made. All were afraid the Emperor would crush his flawed creation and make the world anew."

"Mercy! Mercy!"

"The Emperor of All is mercy incarnate. He looked upon the unborn babe, the innocent fruit of a terrible crime. The Emperor saw how he might correct the servants who had failed Him. He took away the worst of each parent and left the babe with the best parts."

"He made men mortal, so they would never dream themselves greater than their creator. He hated the way the Elves squandered their centuries in idyll, so He snipped the lives of men short, so they would not bore Him. He hated the way the dwarves kept their noses in the dirt and never appreciated the splendor of the Arc. He took away their industry and routine, and filled men with invention and wanderlust. The Emperor swept the failed races aside and gave the world to men.

He told us to conquer and sing his praises from every corner of the map."

"Praise Him, praise Him!" chanted the men.

"What the Emperor wills, will be. The Elves were too vain to yield, yet too few to stand against the Emperor's Chosen. Thinking themselves gods, they tampered with the laws of creation and gave birth to horrors. It was they who created the greenskins, the serpents, and all the other blighted races. It was Elves who poisoned the seas so nothing could drink from them. They knocked the world off course so that half froze while the rest was scorched.

The treason twisted them into devils, hateful in the sight of their creator. Never forget, every evil stems from their pride. With every act, they serve the Hungering One."

"Never forget!"

"Even these great treasons could never have succeeded, if not for the traitors among us. In those times, nearly all men were good and true to the Emperor. Still, a few weak and evil men were seduced by the wicked ways of the Moon's Children. Everywhere, they spread heresy and dissent. Holy men of the Emperor came to the Dwarves and warned them: the wicked ones would surely anger the Emperor and hasten the End of All.

They offered an alliance, so that men and Dwarves could join forces and destroy the traitors and Elves forever."" Alas, alas!"

"The Dwarves were too cold and clever. In their greed, they sold arms to both sides. They cared not if the righteous triumphed, so long as they could line their dim caves with tawdry treasures. In this way, they became devils themselves, and their strong kingdoms split into bitter factions. See what it bought them! Kerald Dun is gone, Shining Peak is finished. They dwindle, as mistaken races must."

"Soon, the final battle between Good and Evil will come. The Emperor's sons will triumph and we shall all ascend to heaven, to watch this wicked world be cleansed by an all-consuming flame. Remember this, as you walk among them. These so-called 'allies' are the architects of our misfortune. They will surely turn on us when the danger is slain. Steel your heart, guard your soul! Live each day in righteousness and follow the Imperial Script. The night is long, but the day will surely come.

We faithful are destined for glory. His will be done." The High Priest of the Imperium lifted his hands and made each into a fist. He struck himself on either shoulder.

"HIS WILL BE DONE!" The Imperials thundered. *"Do they actually believe that nonsense?" Cinnabinathi asked. The Purest leaned against the entrance to the Hall of Heroes beside Burbak Breakbow. They had fought and bled alongside the Imperial Halberdiers many times since the Miracle at Macamill. Each day, the humans found some new way to be outrageous and strange.

"They're required to." Burbak shrugged. Though he was younger than Cinnabinathi, Burbak had spent more time in the realms of men. He would never understand them, but he'd grown used to their ways. Cinnabinathi met his eyes, never fooled when he fell quiet. She always knew when he had more to say.

"Only the stupidest ones actually believe. An angel walks among them, but they'd rather listen to fairy tales from some fool in a stupid hat."

"I'm no angel," Cinnabinathi whispered. Her look made Burbak shiver. The Berserker and the Purest waited for the long-winded sermon to conclude. The Imperials packed the Hall of Heroes and blocked the way to the Moon Gate. There was a mission at hand and little time to listen to a prattling priest. Burbak had wanted to simply plow through the human dupes. The pair were clad in the armor of legend and bore their storied arms. No man could stand in their way. Cinnabinathi had urged patience.

Someone would surely get hurt, and she wanted to hear the queer ceremony. She was curious, at first, then incredulous, then saddened. Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators! As the congregation broke, each man made a hammer-fist and thudded the shoulder to his left, then his right, so that the Hall of Heroes reverberated with strikes.

"FOR EMPIRE!" the Imperials thundered. The formations broke and soldiers streamed past the two heroes. The bulk of the troops were fresh reinforcements from the heartland, young and untested. Burbak's hands itched. The urge to barrel through the humans and crack heads was hard to resist. For some, the animus was mutual. Fired by the insipid sermon, many of the green recruits glared at Burbak and Cinnabinathi. Others colored with shame, some gaped with naked awe. Burbak met each set of eyes, eager for an excuse.

None had the stones. There were friends, too. The surviving members of Potboy's Pikers were interspersed among the ranks. They'd been split up to keep an eye on the new recruits. The veterans were easy to spot. There was something in their eyes that Brendan's lies could not touch. As they passed, the veterans doffed their caps to Cinnabinathi and Burbak with deep respect. There were many who'd been in close scrapes with the pair. They stopped to offer words of fellowship, and to wish them success on their mission.

Cinnabinathi received them warmly. Burbak was harder, but he acknowledged the few who had truly proven themselves. Only insane bravery could earn a Berserker's respect. A few of the newcomers smoldered at these liberties and muttered of heresy. The veterans smiled and invited them to do something about it. Potboy's Pikers cared not for the pique of unblooded boys. The Berserkers and the Hawkmoon had saved their necks too many times to count. Soon, Potboy himself toddled by.

He had a new scar right between his eyes from the Battle of Lastgate. Men swore they'd seen a crossbow bolt skip off his thick skull and that he'd barely blinked. Burbak wasn't sure if he believed it, but he was happy Potboy had survived. His golden, guileless smile was as wide as the Viridian River. The huge Halberdier embraced them both, and said he hoped they'd fight together soon. Not a word of the vile sermon had found purchase in his simple mind. Brendan the Emissary emerged, aglow with holy light.

A string of novices carried the long train of his vestments. He looked down at his troops with a superior smile, outlined in the golden glow of the Emperor's Favor. As the procession drew near Burbak, the Emissary's aura flickered and died. The novices gasped. Brendan's face grew bright red, as if he'd been defrocked. Many of Potboy's veterans leaned against the walls, hoping for a chance to talk with the heroes. They perked up to watch.

"Who did that?" Brendan demanded.

"Those tricks don't work around Dwarves. We see right through illusions," Burbak informed him. Brendan scowled. He seemed eager to drop his gaze and scurry past, but there were too many eyes on them now. He had to double down.

"You! You are the Dwarf who slew Gunnag Doreson," Brendan accused.

"I'm the one," Burbak happily agreed. He looked up into Brendan's nostrils, wondering if he could knock the hammer-hat off with an uppercut.

"You have murdered an officer of the High Imperial Army. When this battle is done and the Emperor triumphs, there will be a reckoning." Brendan spoke in the same overblown way he'd given the sermon. He seemed surprised when his words failed to inflame the Imperial soldiers. His bodyguards were close, but not close enough. Burbak cracked the knuckles of his thumbs, each as loud as a slung stone. He rolled his neck, it grumbled like a mortar and pestle.

"I can't wait that long. Trial by combat, you and me, right now. You might want to take off your skirt first." Brendan broke under the Berserker's stare and almost backed into his novices. Laughter rattled among the stragglers.

"No? Then I guess this inquest is closed." Burbak shrugged. Cinnabinathi spoke up. Her voice was tight with disgust.

"Your allegation is false. Gunnag Doreson was not murdered. He went mad with grief at the aftermath of a massacre and invoked the Void. The tainted must be slain at once, before the blight can spread. Doreson's death was a mercy and a service. I'll swear to it before any court."

"What good are the words of a—!" Brendan's words were cut short as a hobnailed boot took out his knee. Suddenly, he was on the ground, breathless with an armored Dwarf on his chest. He bleated for help.

"Go ahead. Say it," Burbak goaded. Beneath him, Brendan grew blue in the face and thrashed in pain. As Burbak's ire climbed, the diamond spines of the Sharddrake Plate rose in response. Brendan's bodyguards only watched. They were too gutless to intervene.

"I yield!" Brendan croaked. Burbak drew back a fist that would turn the Emissary's face into paste. With a great sigh, he restrained himself.

"Get out of my sight."

"The Reconciler will hear of this!" Brendan hissed.

"I suspect everyone will." Cinibinathi smirked. The stain spreading across the front of the Emissary's robe wasn't blood. Brendan fled in disgrace as his wide-eyed novices gawked.

"You follow a fraud. Find a better master," Burbak advised the boys. A few of the Veterans found his eyes and understanding flashed between them. When battle came, the Emissary had best watch his back. At last, the path was clear. Burbak and Cinnabinathi entered the Hall of Heroes and wrinkled their noses at the lingering reek of soldiers and incense.

"Should have ended it there. A weak leader's worse than any enemy," Burbak grumbled.

"He's Bobbert's problem. Let's fly." Cinnabinathi smiled. Burbak clapped his hands in delight. Together, they passed through the Moon Gate to stand beneath the stars and drink in the cool night air. Two Hawkmoon stood guard on either side of the vista. Beyond the troughs of seed for Abaxios' blackbirds was a sheer drop that fell a thousand paces down. They could look out at the entire valley. The Goblin campfires seemed to outnumber the stars. There was no end to the enemy.

The Bla'claw Horde had more than doubled in size. More warbands continued to arrive as the Blue Moon neared her apex. It seemed impossible that so many Goblins could gather in one place without tearing each other apart. Any other Warlord would have been forced to attack at once. Blakabaa Ba'ah was a different matter. The Maja understood that time was on his side. Tonight, the Red Moon would catch his blue beloved. The pair would dance in a long eclipse, freed at last from their silver chaperone.

With the Silver Moon absent, no augury could be relied upon, and all magic would act unpredictably. Bobert believed Blakabaa would not attack until dawn. When he did, he would send his rivals to the front lines and attack with all of his multitudes at once. The two Hawkmoon Sentinels had kept watch since dusk. Each had their bow and blade with a barrel full of arrows close by. The eldest told Cinnabinathi that two waves of Bat Riders had tried to swarm the platform so far. Burbak saw no blood on either Hawkmoon.

He was sure no bat had made it within a hundred paces of the Moon Gate. The three Elves held up their palms and made a triangle.

"Eteta-niuna suma-silva perpeta-eta." Their words pinged like purest silver. The hair on the back of Burbak's neck rose. Something in him had changed. His battle-brothers could never know this thrill. They loved the lust for blood, the thunder of war, the epiphany of victory. He'd thought he was the same. Before, he wanted nothing more than to die gloriously and honor his family name. The Berserkers were all Dwarves without a kingdom, outcasts without a future.

They marched towards revenge and fought only to feel alive. Now, he heard the sweet words, and saw the three serene faces outlined by the blue moonlight. He knew it was not enough any longer. What good was war without a greater aim? What good was he if he could not defend the beauty he'd found? They honored him as Elf-friend, but it had become something more. Burbak was unsure if he'd been seduced, or if he'd simply grown old. He only knew he would spend ten of himself to protect this moment of perfect accord.

For Cinnabinathi the Purest, he'd die a thousand times over, and war with the Void herself. The triad broke. Burbak was stung with envy for what he could never be. Next lifetime, perhaps. It would not be long.

"Shall we?" Cinnabinathi held out her hands. Her blue eyes cut right through him. He nodded and stepped to the ledge. It was a thousand paces down to the battlements, but Burbak felt no fear. He felt the straps tighten against his harness, and he leapt. A moment later, ebon wings flung wide. Cinnabinathi lifted them toward the stars. The feeling swept him back to the Battle of Aravitrimore.

Burbak could recall only flashes: crawling over razors, the awful fall, the terrible crash, and the days after, parlaying with death. Now, he wore the Diamond Drake's hide. Now he soared. Black Angel wings hauled him on high. The awe of flight sang in his veins and the air grew bracing as they sailed up the mountainside. On a high mesa, waterfalls roared from the edge of a great, ring-shaped lake. This was the Sky Iris. The water was midnight blue and deeper than any chain could fathom.

Snowmelt from the towering peaks of the Tizpyr Range collected and crashed over the plateau. The six great cascades became the Viridian River. The water tinged green in the ore-laden hills of Sparfydl and darkened as the mighty river snaked across three kingdoms. The Viridian flowed all the way to the Great Solemn Sea where the man-made mountain of Anvillan Fortress rose above the black moors of the delta. At the center of the Sky Iris was a sacred isle called the Mote.

A white-petaled shrine was carved into the bare rock, surrounded by a ring of immortal Silverwing Spruce. Sweet clover grew between the ancient trees, thicker than any featherbed. Cinnabinathi flew down and landed on a beach of fine black sand. Burbak freed himself from the harness, looked into the dark water, and shuddered. There was no telling what was in those depths. They walked to the shrine in silence to let the night speak her piece. Everything glowed strangely in the rare violet moonlight.

The stars blazed impossibly bright.

"It's a while until dawn. Let me help you from your armor," Cinnabinathi offered.

"We'll be cold," Burbak warned. Her eyes said, no we won't. They laid their weapons down. The Lovers met above, a rare celestial pairing Burbak had witnessed only twice in his long life. He wondered how many moon-unions Cinnabinathi had seen. Surely, this was the last, but that did not matter. In this moment, they were truly alone. In the lovelight, he beheld Cinnabinathi the Purest and his heart broke. No Dwarf deserved to witness such beauty. Yet, somehow she stared back, cheeks aflame, eyes only for him.

"Burbak, do you want to ruin the world?" Cinnabinathi asked. He was too flummoxed to laugh.

"I do. Very much." The eclipse seemed to last forever.