The Grand Council
#24 of The wolf and the rose
Alrighty, well, I finally finished polishing this chapter way late last night when I should have been sleeping and decided to leave it until now in case I had made a mistake. So, tonight, on the eve of the new year (That is by the Druid calender, before you start questioning your sanity), I thought I would share this one with you, even though I am in the midst of the next chapter already. I hope you enjoy it.
As always, comments are appreciated and requested.
Continued from 'Dreaming in the Storm...'
The bedchamber was quiet, the grey light of early dawn creeping into the windows of the Hall of Hunters crawling beneath the door, illuminating the smooth stones of the floor in a wedge along the far wall. Despite the slowly growing light and the coming day that it presaged, I stayed where I was, in the half-waking state that kept me from true sleep. Julianna was curled beside me, her head nestled into the fur of my chest, her nude form pressed tight against my own as we comforted one another against the night and the revelations that still lingered in our minds. Neither of us had found any rest since we returned from that strange chamber in the heart of the hill that cradled the Slayerhold in its grasp. Instead, we had lain together, talking quietly for a little while, musing over our future, and what we thought the Grand Council would decide. But as the moments had ticked by we had fallen silent, remaining so for hours now, not quite sleeping, not quite awake. We knew that the summons would come before long, and the gathering would begin, both dreading and welcoming the idea. Our wolf spirits were a part of the former feeling, neither looking forward to being under the eye of so many with power, for so long a period. And yet, if all of the portents of our dreams and the visions of the seers were to be believed, then what would be discussed in the council would be perhaps the most important actions that the orders that had assembled in the Slayerhold had ever undertaken, to say nothing about as a united effort.
Finally, after a few more moments of silent solace in one another's embrace, Julianna shifted to the side, rising up to a sitting position on the edge of the bed and I sighed, rising in her wake to sit beside her. We sat there for a few more moments, looking at the cool stone before our feet, then with a shared sigh, we rose into the darkness of our room. Clothing ourselves in the dim light, we prepared to face the world beyond the Hunter's Hall, myself in my white and silver uniform, her in the jade and gold of a Priestess of Auré, the robe a gift from my mother. Finally, when I swirled the twilight grey cloak of a Hunter around my shoulders, my mate smiled.
"Whatever is decided today, we at least know what we are going to do." She whispered into the dark, clasping the simple broach that held the cloak closed and I nodded, giving her a loving kiss, pulling her to me so my cloak swirled about us both.
"True." I replied and we parted, walking to the door to push it open. The Hall was nearly silent, only the distant crackle of the fires in the main hall to be heard. As we walked down the corridor, the air began to change, to feel as if it carried a tremendous weight within it, as if a storm were brewing in the skies above the Hold, its weight growing with every foot fall. It brought to my mind the feel of the air just before the strange maelstroms of the southern mountains, storms I had not experienced since the dark day when I had been bitten, so long ago, the day that had begun this long journey. Smiling slightly when I felt my mate give my hand a squeeze, I shook off the dark memories that that thought brought to mind. These last months, when I had journeyed with my love had been very different, a bright spot among many long, dark years.
The rational part of my mind, the part that was Slayer trained, knew that the feel of the air could simply have been a consequence of having so many humans with magic in close proximity. Magic was a gift from the gods themselves, and something that every mortal knew on some level was not quite natural for humans to wield. Even the least powerful priests gave off a feeling of unreality, a sensation that most said was like a chill running down your spine, a prickly sort of sensation that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Even the common people could feel it, even if they didn't know what it was.
We Slayers were trained to recognize that feeling when we felt it, and even to pick out the one person in a crowd of hundreds who had the power, even if they were trying to hide it. Sometimes it was the only thing that saved us, by warning us of the followers of the dark gods before they could run, or worse, attack. That same feeling, the sensation of unreality, only got more noticeable when large groups of magic users were together in one place. It was why temples felt holy, and how sometimes common people could tell when a cult was gathering, even before our seers saw it. And now, here, in the Slayerhold, there were thousands of them, and what was more, many were the senior most members of their orders. Even if it were only them, it would be enough to make the air itch. And yet, the other part of my mind, the part that came from the wild wolf, wasn't so sure. Something was changing in the world, something big, something that went beyond the odd absence of the demons in the world.
Coming out of the corridor into the main hall, we found Hunter Relara sitting with the brothers Tanaris and Yarin, the trio giving silent nods as we entered. Though a cauldron of the usual hearty stew bubbled quietly over the center fire, none of us seemed to feel hungry, not even my pregnant mate, the bowls and plates stacked by the fire remaining untouched. When we had seated ourselves, all five of us remained silent, grey shadows cast by the dancing flames, none of us seeming to be able to overcome the tenseness of the chamber. It was as if the tightness that had filled my heart after the trial had returned, but growing steadily until it filled the hall, wrapping everyone in its coils.
The same, tightly wound sensation only seemed to grow more prominent as the benches slowly filled with the other Hunters. And though there didn't seem to be anything to worry about, everyone showed signs of palpable nervousness. Hunter Teyan kept tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table, and though the sound of his drumming digits wore on the nerves in the near silence, no one asked the hulking human to stop. Hunter Adrian was obsessively polishing the silver of his claw hand with a fine cloth, though the metal already reflected the torchlight like a mirror. Even Hunter Sero betrayed the feeling that had engulfed the hall, the stumps of his missing fingers giving small twitches as he sat, his eyes distant, as if he remembering a distant pain. Suddenly, the door to the guardroom swung open on silent hinges and everyone in the room, even my mate, reached for weapons that weren't there.
But, the sight that greeted us as we forced ourselves to relax did absolutely nothing to calm our shared anxiety. Walking in a long, silent and unbroken line, almost in step with one another, were no less than thirty Master Hunters, their faces strained, almost grim, the rustling of their white cloaks like the rasp of some great host, lying in wait for us all somewhere just outside the chamber. Even the fact that my brothers led the procession didn't ease my mood at all. As the white cloaked warriors took seats on the benches as well, the wolf in my mind paced restlessly, longing to go running out in the wild and leave the madness of this stone dwelling behind.
I was more than halfway tempted to give in, the gentle squeeze of my mate's hand beneath the table telling me she felt the same. For a few brief moments, I envied the wolf in my heart. Its view of the world was so simple, so cut and dried. There were demons to hunt, and my mate to protect, and, soon, a cub to raise. What in the world were we doing sitting here, waiting to listen to these strange people talk, when we should be running free in the woodlands, hunting with wild abandon? Drawing a measure of comfort from the wolf's thoughts, I settled my mind to wait and took a deep breath, forcing myself to relax. Fortunately, the heavily laden silence was broken a moment later by the door swinging inward once more, a single figure walking into the hall.
I didn't need to see the familiar face framed by white hair, nor the silver sun cross on his white cloak to know who it was. Before he even took a single step into the hall, I recognized the scent of my father, the councilman walking in to stand by the fire pit, in full view. And here, at last, was one not bothered by the tension in the air. My father's face was unlined by the grim determination that everybody seemed to feel. Instead, it was relaxed, almost joyful, pleased, in a way. His footsteps were slow, measured, utterly confident and unconcerned. And finally, after a moment of silence in which he met the eyes of everyone in the room, he smiled, his voice breaking the profound silence like a thunderclap.
"A bright good morning to all." He said, and at his greeting, spoken softly, warmly, I felt the tension unwind from us all, bleeding away until all of our postures relaxed. No longer did the light coming in through the windows seem dim as twilight, tainted by darkness, no longer did the air seem quite so heavy. Rather, it seemed suddenly to become cool and crisp, like a northern breeze had brought a breath of winter through the room, the light growing as day came. Shaking off the tension, we all called replies to him and he continued to speak. "As you are all aware, today, the Grand Council is set to begin. Never before in the history of our long war, has there ever been such a gathering, so we will have to take precautions that we have never needed in the past."
"How should our forces be divided, sir?" One of the Master Hunters asked, an older man that I had never seen before. His face was lined with middle age, but unscarred, though there was a clear mark along his scalp that might have been from a demon's claw.
"Although we have seen no demons for weeks now, and they have not been fool enough to attack the Hold for many centuries, it could simply be that they have been marshalling their forces for just such an eventuality." Anton Galnikin began, looking around at us. "I do not need to tell any of you just how many of our enemy there are out there, nor do I need to state that we are hardly invulnerable. Therefore, the majority of the three orders of Demon hunters will be deployed around the hold, a defense in depth. The members of Alarand's Chosen have volunteered to be our outmost guard, and are taking up positions in the woodlands in all directions, with the Nightlancers between them and the Hold. Our Slayers will be manning the walls, with small detachments spread out amongst our allies to bolster their numbers. The Argent Guard will hold the ramparts of the Keep, with one company protecting the meeting place itself. The Slayer council has decided that the Hunters will be stationed within the gathering itself, to protect the delegates directly. You will be the last line of defense if the demons should get that far."
"Where will the gathering be taking place?" I inquired, some of the others nodding in agreement to my question. "The council chambers wouldn't be nearly large enough for all who would attend."
"That is true." My father said, smiling slightly. "We are going to have to improvise. As you might imagine, this sort of thing has never happened before, so the largest training amphitheater has been chosen as the site, but since it is out in the open, this is going to be difficult. We cannot chance the demons surprising us." Nodding my understanding, I caught Sero's eye and the older Hunter shook his head slowly. We both could understand what a coup it would be for the demons to catch so many of their chief enemies in one place. It was one reason the Slayer council met in deepest part of the Keep, surrounded by the might of our entire Order. "Because the Slayers of Auré are doing the hosting for this meeting, it has been decided that the Master Hunters will each have overall command of a part of the defense. I have each of your assignments here." At that, my father held up a scroll and the white cloaked Masters rose as their names were called, each being given an assignment. As they did so, Hunter Sero got up in silence and waved for the grey cloaks to follow him, but I leaned close to whisper before he walked away.
"I will join you in the training amphitheater, I have something very important to talk to the Councilman about." I said quietly and he nodded his agreement.
"We will see you there Galen." He said, walking away, the others following at their own pace, the Master Hunters making way for them. It was torture to wait there while each Master Hunter got their assignments, but Julianna snaking a hand beneath my cloak and around my waist, leaning against me, made it far easier to bare. Finally, when we were alone in the hall with my father, he looked at us expectantly and I took a deep breath before speaking.
"Father, is it possible to speak with the Slayer council before the gathering?" I asked and he looked surprised.
"I don't think so." He replied, shaking his head slightly. "We already have a great deal to discuss before then. Besides, Danos and his cronies are...shall we say, less than pleased, with our family, and especially you right now, Galen. It's not likely they would want to hear anything you have say."
"Believe me, I would not ask this lightly." I said, meeting Julianna's gaze. After a moment or two of silence, I spoke again. "Father, in the middle of the night last night, we were roused from sleep by a strange feeling, a feeling that I cannot even begin to describe. We followed it out of the hall and up the hill." Turning towards the back tunnel, I pointed up in the direction of the ridge where we had gone. "Up there, we found a tunnel that leads down into the heart of the ridge behind us. And in its heart, we found a chamber holding an artifact I have never seen the like of before. It was like a wide basin filled with coals of silver fire, and somehow, my sun cross reacted to it. The basin suddenly flared bright with a fire that was silver-white. The only thing I have ever seen that was even close to the same thing was the few occasions where I have used werewolf magic. But in those flames, we saw things; images, places we have never been, things we had never seen. We believe that it showed us a vision of the lost Fountain of Auré, and, at least I think, how to find it."
"What?!" He said, rocking back on his heels, incredulous by my revelation. "Son, are you sure? This is not the time for jokes and guesses."
"We're sure." Julianna replied, and he fell silent for a few moments, stroking his chin in thought. "It couldn't be anything else."
"I believe you." He finally said, shaking his head. "But this is unheard of. As far as anyone knows, there is no tunnel, and no caves in the ridge, to say nothing of an object that would allow someone to see visions like that. Only the seers have ever had such a terrible gift. I wish, truly, that this had come on some other day."
"What do you mean?" I asked and he sighed, tapping a knuckle thoughtfully on the table top, then shook his head sadly.
"Our family's vindication at the trial only made the divisions of the council deeper, I'm afraid." He said, shaking his head with disgust, "Danos seems to have become convinced that our family is manipulating the rest of the council somehow. Towards what supposed end, I don't think anyone knows but him, but he seems determined to put a stop to whatever he thinks it is. Every motion I have made in the last week, no matter how reasonable, has been opposed, and progress has only been made after hours of debate. Every position I take, Danos takes the opposite, even if it has nothing to do with him. Even if we could convince the Elder and the others of your vision, Danos and his cronies would never believe it. If we were to bring this to them, he would call it a lie, a purposeful misdirection to take attention away from the important matters of the Order. And they would certainly block any attempt to bring it to the other orders."
"There might be a way to do it." Julianna said softly and he looked at her in surprise. "High Priestess Serena Galnikin has asked me to be one of the representatives of the Priesthood in the Council. I could bring this up directly in the Grand Council; if we did that, Danos wouldn't be able to block it from coming out. The other representatives would have no reason not to allow me to speak, and Danos has no authority over the Priesthood or its members."
"Perhaps so." My father responded, nodding slowly. "But if we do it that way, Danos is going to see it for what it is, an attempt to go around him. And that isn't the only concern. Things are already...complicated in the Council. There is a very good reason why we have never asked so many disparate groups to join us in discussion before. Unless we are very fortunate, it is likely that there will be many arguments, and little else, before the day is out. I ask you both not to bring this up until the time is right. With any luck, we can bring it into the open without interruption."
"Yes, father." I agreed and Julianna nodded. Nodding in reply, my father shook his head and let out a long, slow breath.
"Well, there is nothing more that can be done at the moment." He said, a wan smile finally showing the strain he obviously felt, but had refused to show. "I must return to the Council Chambers. I wasn't lying when I said we already have much to discuss. You two should be getting on as well. It's going to be a very long day..."
***
The training amphitheater was already bustling with activity when we arrived, the captain of the Argent Guardsmen standing outside it waving us through immediately, nodding in respect as the two of us passed their ring. The center of the amphitheater was a wide circle of marble, perhaps fifty feet across, long ago stained brown and black, mottled by the blood of Slayer and Demon over centuries of training, even though it had been endlessly washed by the rain. Around the circle of stained stone, in ascending ranks, a dozen levels had been carved out of the bare stone, each a little wider than the one lower down. We Slayers had all spent many days here, learning the weaknesses of our foes while older trainees fought below us, or else the Master Hunters demonstrated some technique. Thus, amphitheaters like this one brought back memories both good and bad for anyone who wore the white and silver.
Normally, each level had benches where initiates would sit, but now, the stone benches had been removed in favor of richly carved wooden chairs, and tables had been constructed on the lowest levels, where the members of the council would be seated. Torches and braziers stood here and there as well, all blazing cheerily to drive off the chill of the morning, though the day looked like it was going to be cloudless. Already, there were members of every priesthood present, as well as ranking officers of the Nightlancers and the Chosen, though the principle members of the delegations would arrive later. Most were standing in groups and talking together, or else sitting quietly by themselves. But, with the exception of my fellow Hunters who walked here and there among the knots of visitors, the Slayers of Auré were consciously absent from the bowl. On one of the lower levels, across the amphitheater from where the two of us entered, a group of bards from the Halls of Myro were playing a calm, quiet tune, the sound of lutes and flutes almost covering the quiet murmur of conversations, bleeding off some of the tension from the air. On another, a pair of hulking disciples of Kuor were arm wrestling, their rippling muscles bulging as they strained against one another, several priests watching each group with interest, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary, unless it was that most of the priests who were present seemed to share the same underlying tenseness.
As soon as the gathering saw the two of us enter, the assembled priests looked at us with curiosity and we stopped in place for a moment, waiting to see how they would react. A few of the younger priests seemed unable to look away from us, though I sensed nothing hostile from their attention, merely amazement and interest. After a moment, an acolyte of the Priesthood of Auré called to Julianna, motioning her to come down and join them and we embraced briefly before she moved off. Nodding in greeting to Hunter Sero, I began to descend the steps to take my place in the patrols that the other grey cloaks were walking, working my wrists in a circle to warm the joints as I walked, preparing them as I would before battle. But, I had not gotten far down the steps when a quartet of middle aged men and women, all of them shaved completely bald, stepped in my way, bowing low before me. Each wore the open book of Covarus, the god of knowledge on the breast of their tan robes, but they also each wore a medallion in the shape of silver scrolls, flanking a golden book, marking them as a quartet of Learned Adepts, high members of their order. For a moment, just a moment, the wolf in me inched my hand closer to the hilt of the dagger I wore in my belt, our decades long wanderings having made it more than a little wary of strange people, but I forced my hand to be still.
"Honored Hunter," The leader began as he straightened up out of his bow. His voice was a bit scratchy, a quality probably acquired from long days spent in silence in the libraries, but his smile was warm. He was clearly aging, but far from being paunchy, as others might have been from a lack of physical activity enforced by long study, instead, I would almost have called him thin. "We have been hoping for a chance to speak to you ever since rumors reached us of your existence."
"May I ask on what subject?" I replied, taken aback by their request.
"We have many questions for you." The woman to his right replied, her tone exactly the same as the lead monk. "You and your lover are the first of your kind. And you have so much knowledge that we would explore."
"The knowledge we possess of werewolves is sadly lacking, as it has only come from observing the captured ones, and the few fortunate occasions that we have witnessed combat with them." Another man said, "Long have we dreamed of being able to speak with one, and to study your abilities in detail."
"And you two alone of any mortal have seen the demon realm, and emerged alive from battle with one of the five dark gods." The last continued, all four sharing the same strange, comfortable notes in their speech, as if the world itself, with all of its dangers and mysteries, was simply made of branches of knowledge just waiting to be explored. "Such knowledge would be of immeasurable value to our order, and to the world at large. Our Wise Masters beg of you both the chance to discuss such things, and perhaps to study you closely, in depth."
"I doubt that we will have the time to discuss such matters for some time," I began, looking between the four monks with surprise. Oddly, the idea that we should be of such interest to the followers of Covarus was flattering, if a little strange. "But, please pass on the message to your Wise Masters that we would be honored to accept your invitation."
"The honor would be ours." They replied, bowing low in unison before turning and walking off, their strides perfectly matched to one another, habitually placing their feet so carefully with each step that they made no noise at all, so as not to disturb the concentration of anyone who was studying nearby. Watching them go for a few moments, I shook my head at the odd monks and continued on my way, beginning my rounds of the lowest levels of seats, where the heads of the orders would sit.
Each place at the tables was marked with the sigil of a god, or else an order of demon hunters, their number precisely chosen, and I carefully counted the seats as I passed them. By far the largest sections belonged to the Slayers and the priesthood of Auré, with twelve seats each, which only made sense because of the location where the meeting was taking place. The smallest group in turn belonged to the followers of Serid the Mariner, only three chairs marked with their symbol, which again seemed only logical, the Slayerhold being so far from the sea. But, the lowest ring, the one closest to the training floor, held twelve seats only, evenly spaced about the ring, each with the symbol of its owner's order carved into the high seat back. It was on that level where the senior most member of each order would sit, in theory to speak for the others, to keep the gathering from degenerating into chaos, though anyone could request to speak before the council.
My rounds of the lower level had only just taken me past where Julianna sat among the mid ranked priests, her brilliant white fur standing out brightly amid the green and gold robes of the others, my mate flashing me a warm smile as I passed, when a loud chime rang through the air, singing out three times, a signal that the council was to begin. At once, the minstrels that were playing laid their instruments aside, taking their seats, the two arm wrestling disciples of Kour stopping their contest, the other priests quickly finding seats in their own sections. The chime rang out once more and my ears twitched, detecting the sound of many feet on the stones, coming ever closer to the amphitheater, ever nearer to where we waited. And then, before ever we saw the newcomers, everyone present could feel the air began to shiver, writhing as legions with power marched through it.
The tramp of feet on the stones of the Hold was nerve wracking to the wolf in my heart, its restless pacing quickening, my hackles standing on end, my fingers twitching, longing to take a blade in hand. Looking around, I could see that my fellow Hunters were likewise on edge, their hands creeping towards weapons, each of us staring around the amphitheater with apprehension. While we were undoubtedly the most skilled and experienced warriors in the Hold, this was hardly what we were used to doing. Solitude in the wild was our way, free to move, free to engage the enemy on our terms, and so waiting here, listening to what sounded almost like a small army on the march, was like torture, every instinct telling us to move out of its way. Finally, after a minute of standing there, the first of the orders came into view at the top of the amphitheater. Clad in trousers and vests of sea foam green, only sandals on their feet, the followers of Serid the Mariner, goddess of the sea, strode down to their places in two ranks, led by a old man with thinning grey hair. All of them bore tattoos of many sorts upon their bare arms, but as they walked, I noticed that while the placement of the marks was different with every priest, each follower of Serid had some of the same marks upon their bodies.
For example, each priest had a tattoo of a sailing ship somewhere near their heart, all visible beneath the loose cloth of the vest each wore, the symbol of Serid herself. Most of the older priests also had storm clouds on their shoulders, bolts of lightning striking down towards their waists. A few had sextants upon their chests, others constellations, and still others a compass, like to the ones found on charts and maps, but only three, the ones that walked right behind the leader, had more than one of the three designs, the marks probably representing a different branch of the priesthood, or perhaps a skill that each possessed. But by far the most impressive collection of tattoos was the old man in the lead. His skin was tanned and weather beaten, more resembling old leather, but the tattoos he wore formed almost a single picture, the ship sailing on storm tossed seas, in the center of a triangle formed by the constellation pattern, the sextant and the compass. But around each bicep, and across the line of his forehead like a crown was a tattoo of a rope, tied into the intricate knots that only sailors knew the purpose of. I didn't need the words of the Argent Guardsman who was acting as a herald today to know that the old man was a Master of Tides, the equivalent of a High Priest in any other order. Most of the Masters of Tides spent all of their time aboard the temple-ships made and crewed by their order, never even coming ashore.
When the last of the teal clad priests had taken their places, the sound of marching feet came to my ears again, and another order entered the amphitheater, coming in on the opposite side from the sea priests. This group was a little larger than the first order, their robes many shaded, hues of red, orange and yellow that seemed to shift and dance like flames as they moved. Each priest carried a charred wooden staff carved in the likeness of flames in their hands, stained with reds as deep as rubies, hues of gold like honey and tints of orange blazing like candles. For a moment, I had a hard time with who was senior to who in their order, age not seeming to matter much, the man in the lead being very young, no more than nineteen or twenty. But, as they passed where I was standing, I noticed that there was indeed a difference to them. It was in the eyes. The man in the lead had brown eyes, and yet the pupils were not wholly black. Instead, they seemed to glow, blazing as if they were windows into the heart of blazing bonfire. In fact, every follower of Targath had the same strange gaze, though it seemed almost to grow more dim the further back in the line one went, as if the fires within them were lessened. But another odd thing that I almost missed because of their odd eyes and fiery dress was that everyone of them seemed to have the same red-orange hair, no matter where in the world they seemed to hail from.
Before even as the last Fire priest had entered the Hall, the followers of Alarand were entering next, a long stream of pine green and brown. To my surprise, though I saw a pair with the distinctive flowing green cloaks of High Druids, woven of many living, leafy vines, it was the Ovate that led the procession, my mother's old friend flashing me a smile as she took the single seat on the lower level, her medallion gleaming in the sunlight. And, as the Alarand priests were filing into their seats, I noticed an odd thing, something that I had never marked before, though it did make a certain kind of sense. The feeling of hidden, unnatural power, that each group of priests gave off, though similar in that one could feel that they possessed the gift of their deity, each felt different from one another. For instance, the followers of Targath, the spirit of fire, felt warm, almost spicy, the sensation of being near to a campfire on a cool evening; the sea priests by comparison felt cool, refreshing, distinctly reminiscent of a salt breeze on the coast. The followers of Alarand gave off a feeling that was difficult to describe, though the wolf in my heart supplied impressions and images that served well enough. The feel of their power reminded me of the feeling one got when breathing the first breath of the green scent of spring after the long winter, of rain washed pine and most of all, of the sound of aspen trees whispering in the summer sun.
Next, came the Myro, dressed in a riot of joyous colors, each with the sigil of a harp embroidered on the breast of their clothing, many carrying an instrument, or else a satchel of scrolls containing songs and stories. Three nearly identical men led them, each with a different instrument of marvelous workmanship, each with a harp of spun gold on their tunics. One had a lute slung over one shoulder, the instrument stained a rich brown, and polished up with care, the strings made of some strange material I couldn't identify, white with a fine pearlescent sheen upon their taut surface. The second had a flute tucked into the sash he wore around his middle, but the instrument was unlike anything I had ever seen, though I had heard tell of them in legends and old tales. It was clear like glass, fine and fragile, made of the finest crystal, and I knew that when it was played, it would produce the purest tones of song, an ethereal, ringing music, almost celestial in sound. The last, the one that would probably be the speaker for their faith, carried a harp of brilliant gold in his hands, its strings of silver wire. The power I could feel from them was light, free, a feeling full of joy, like to a traveler's walking song, fair to feel, a sensation that one couldn't help but long to join in with.
The monks of Covarus and the forge priests of Ovniran came in next, almost opposite one another, their numbers about even, as if they had planned it that way. Leading the long procession of the bald, brown robed scholars who walked almost without a sound was a man who was obviously very old, yet with a strangely youthful aspect, the amulet around his neck like to the Learned Adepts I had encountered earlier, but made neither of gold, nor of silver. Rather, it was platinum, the scrolls set with black opals that winked as he walked, indicating he was a Wise Master. Solemnly, every member of the Covarus already seated rose and bowed as he passed, as did many of the other priests in the hall. Wise Masters, as the name implied, possessed an incredible wealth of knowledge, their experience having made them wise. The Wise Masters could only ever be found in the three Great Libraries, the nearest one residing in Solaria, rarely emerging from among their books and scrolls, yet they were the most honored. It was often said of them that only Covarus himself knew more than they.
The Ovniran on the other hand, were completely unlike the quiet, academic monks, jingling and clattering so much as they moved into the hall that one could recognize their coming before you even saw them. Each forge priest or priestess wore armor they had made themselves, the design becoming more and more ornate as they grew in skill and power. The youngest of them, many no older than recently anointed Slayers, wore chainmail of simple steel, unadorned, but polished to a high sheen. But even the senior priests, who wore richly decorated plate armor, were put to shame by the woman that led the line. Unlike the others, she wore no coif or helm, her braided silver hair at first appearing to take their place, so brightly did it shine, as if it were made from living metal. But the armor she wore would have been the envy of every knight, lord and king in the world. Each of the interlocking plates that made up her armor was forged of a different metal, steel, gold, platinum, silver, copper and more, many more, all engraved with images of the exploits of the god of smiths and many runes of protection and craft, all polished so the sun reflected off of her in whorls and patterns of many shades. But most prominent of all the symbols that reflected and shone from her armor, emblazoned on breastplate, vambrace, greave and paldron, was the hammer and anvil of Ovniran. And yet, though the armor of each smith was different, they too were similar to their brothers and sisters. All of the Ovniran wore the same belt of woven wires, no two wires of the same metal, dozens of braided strands.
Next, the healers of Arnath entered the open hall, a river of light blue robes. Like the Covarus monks, the healers wore simple robes, unadorned with ornamentation, yet, if one looked close, the sleeves of their blue robes were speckled with old blood, stained with the long, ceaseless labor of their order. Each healer carried a white wax wood staff as tall as they were, the top foot or so carved to resemble two opened hands, cupped as if administering a handful of water. Only the priest who led the line wore any ornamentation, a simple amulet of the same design as the top of the staves, made of white crystal upon a thin chain. But, as with the Wise Master of Covarus, nearly everyone stood and bowed as he passed, recognizing him for what he was, one of the Great Hands, healers with a gift for healing so great it was said that no wound or disease was beyond their skill to mend. The power that emanated from them was subtle, almost hard to perceive, except that one felt a great sense of ease, and of comfort, as if there was no need for fear in their presence.
The Nightlancers were the next to enter, an almost motley procession of warriors clad in leather armor of many colors and designs, all of the them bearing the sigil of a charging black horseman with a couched lance sewn onto their breast. If one didn't know who they were, one might assume that they were looking upon a nobleman and his army, the man in the lead wearing a fine chain with the same sigil upon it, marking him as a Lord of the Lance, a rank similar to one of our Councilman, though as I understood it, the Nightlancers had no such council. Instead, each battalion was organized under their own Lord, and only rarely did they ever meet one another. Behind the Lord, ten men wearing silver chains marking their captaincies followed behind him. Some Slayers and Chosen looked upon the Nightlancers with something akin to distaste, for, since they followed many different gods, their reasons for fighting the demons were less focused, and some said, less pure. Some fought because they enjoyed warfare, and demons provided a better challenge then men, others for some deep seated sense of revenge. Of course, there were some who felt the call of our fight too late in life and so could not join the Slayers or the Chosen, who were always trained from a very young age, and so joined the Nightlancers instead. Regardless of their reasons, they were often no less fierce and steadfast than we were in battle, and no less likely to willingly give their lives in the struggle.
Once the last of the leather clad warriors had taken their seats, the Chosen of Alarand arrived, the thunk of their wooden staves distinct upon the stone cobbles, the green and brown clad warriors almost stepping in sync. Coming into view at the top of the stairs, the twin lines of Chosen filed down the stairs almost in step with one another. Each of the green and brown clad Chosen bore the sigil of the oak tree upon their clothing, and all carried the short swords favored by their order. But, while the Slayers used simple shapes to denote our ranks, the Chosen used acorns, leaves and vines, all embroidered upon their sleeves. The ones present today ranged from a few with no ornamentation, merely aides to the leaders, to the woman in the lead whose sleeves were practically covered with embroidered thread, a rich tapestry of symbols and artistry, marking her as being an Archon of the Chosen, their version of a Master Hunter.
Finally, when the Chosen had settled into place, the disciples of Kuor strode into the hall. These presented an odd group indeed, for there seemed to be little in the way of organization among them. Unlike the other priesthoods, the followers of the God of Strength sauntered into the amphitheater and down to their seats almost as a mob, instead of in ordered lines, each walking with a swagger in their step. Each wore clothing that was decidedly minimalist, the better to show off their musculature, which ranged to the almost implausibly built. The youngest, and obviously lowest ranked priests merely looked fit, as average soldiers might. The ones more towards the head of the procession were hulking individuals, every muscle bulging, strong as stone. But the one in the lead was by far the most impressive. I had no idea what title he claimed, but whatever it was, he was entitled to it. The man was tall, easily seven feet in height, and as bald as the Covarus, but no one could possibly mistake him for one of the monks. He looked almost as if he had been made from solid rock, like a collection of boulders had suddenly animated itself and taken on human shape. His arms were thicker than even the strongest man's legs, and his own were akin to mature trees, every muscle corded, rippling with strength. I had no doubts whatsoever that his ability well outstripped my own, even with the wolf spirit's regeneration helping me to push the boundaries. In fact, I would have given even odds that if he had fought hand to hand in the demon realm with Redamarc as I had, that it would have been the demon lord that would have been overpowered, not him.
In any case, when the walking mountain and his followers had settled into their seats, the orders of the Sun God entered the amphitheater, last of all. And the two orders properly entered the open bowl side by side, long lines of white and silver, gold and jade green. The Elder Slayer led the warriors, walking side by side with the High Priest of the Temple in Solaria, perhaps the most powerful member of the priesthood. Behind them walked the Slayer council and a like number of High Priests and Priestesses. My mother and father walked arm and arm down the stairs among them third in line, but I felt a cold chill creep its way down my spine when I saw the look on Danos' face. He and a few others, mostly those who had voted against me in the trial before the council, had barely hidden scowls on their faces, glaring around at all of the other orders present, as if they were all potential enemies. And as I looked at my parents, I noticed that both of them had hints of worry upon their faces, which made me wonder exactly what had transpired since I had seen my father this morning. Still, as the two orders filed into their places, I knew it was too late to do anything about it, whatever it was.
Finally, the last of the seats were filled and I looked around the hall, struck suddenly by the might displayed in this single place. Arrayed on the lower two levels alone were some of the greatest powers in the world. Whole countries could not compare to their influence, or their ability. The Slayers and Chosen present alone were more feared and respected than any army in the world, and we Hunters not least among them. For a few minutes everyone was silent and still, looking around at all the others, then the Elder Slayer rose from his place, drawing his long sword and placing it on the table before him, the silver in the sword flashing brightly in the sunlight. Then, with three sharp taps, he banged the hilt upon the wood like a gavel.
"Welcome, friends and comrades. You have answered the summons, and for this I thank you. We are all here because we represent the great powers of this world, the guiding lights of the common folk, and the shields that keep them from our dark foes." He began, meeting the eyes of each leader in turn. "What we discuss here today represents the single most ominous threat the world has ever faced. So, let us now set aside what divides us, and instead begin to work together..."