A LEGACY OF LIGHT

RUNE

"I don't want to fight any battle," Rune said.

Valien clasped his shoulder. "Nor do any good men. A brute craves battle. A coward flees from it. The wise man hates war, but will fight to defend what he loves."

"And what do we defend, Valien?" Rune asked. "What do we love?" He swept his arm around. "A pile of ruins? Bricks and broken statues?"

"An idea," Valien said. "A memory. A story as old as starlight. We defend the light of Requiem, even as darkness closes in around us. We defend the heart and soul of our people. And that, Rune, is one battle I am willing to fight."

Rune thought about this for a moment. Valien's words rang true to him. Rune too wanted to fight for light, for the soul of Requiem, and for justice. And yet... he wondered. Valien's men--some said Valien himself--had slain Tilla's brother. The Resistance had slain many legionaries. Those soldiers had not been bloodthirsty worshippers of the red spiral. They had been humble farmers and tradesmen--people like his friends from Cadport--torn from their homes, given swords, and sent to die. Frey was evil and deserved death, but could the same be said for his soldiers, the youths the Resistance killed?

Can light shine in a kingdom so shadowed in death? Rune wondered. Can we ever light the beacons of justice after shedding so much blood?

He did not know. But he nodded. Fighting was something, he thought--fighting was standing up, flying onward, and making a change. That, Rune thought, was still better than hiding in shadows.

Sweat dripped into his eyes, and he wiped it with his hand, then raised his wooden sword again.

"All right, old man," Rune said. "You're going to slow down soon, and when you do, I'll be the one making bruises."

With a grin that looked almost like a snarl, Valien nodded and lashed his sword, and the wooden blades clattered.

That evening, the Resistance gathered in the fallen hall of old kings, the place where Rune had first met Valien. Candles burned upon the craggy walls. Trestle tables stood topped with bread rolls, smoked meats, dried fruits, cheeses, and nuts. Men and women, their robes and faces dusty, raised mugs of ale and drank deeply. Steam, smoke, and the scents of the feast filled the air.

Hundreds of warriors filled this grand hall. Across the ruins of Confutatis, two thousand others gathered in burrows, abandoned homes, and old cellars. This city had become a place of bones and old blood, but today light and hope shone here again.

"It is the Night of Seven!" Valien announced, standing at the head table of his hall. He raised a goblet of ale. "Tonight is the holiest night of Requiem's stars. Tonight marks a thousand years since the heroes of Requiem, the seven who survived the Great Slaughter, stood and rekindled the light of Requiem." Valien raised the goblet higher, and hundreds of mugs rose across the hall, returning the salute. "We live in a time of darkness. Requiem lies cloaked in shadows--the shadows of the Cadigus Regime." The resistors hissed across the hall, and Valien spoke louder. "Tonight we say: Like the Living Seven, we will fight. We will keep our light blazing. Tonight let us drink for those old heroes, and let us vow to continue their fight."

Valien drank deeply from his goblet. Across the hall, hundreds of warriors drank from their mugs.

Rune drank too. The ale was bitter and dark, but it flowed well down his throat and warmed his belly. This feast, these candles, and these stories warmed him like the ale. Back in Cadport, soldiers never spoke of the Living Seven, the ancient heroes of Requiem. Soldiers never spoke of the stars. They only hailed the red spiral, worshipped Frey Cadigus, and mostly they hated--they hated the Resistance, they hated the old enemies of Requiem, and they hated the fallen Aeternum Dynasty for its weakness.

"Here there is no hate," Rune said softly into his mug. "Here there is memory and camaraderie and hope."

At his side, Kaelyn placed her mug down, wiped suds off her lips, and touched his hand. She smiled softly, and the candlelight glowed in her eyes. Their fingers twined together under the table.

"I'm glad you're here with us, Rune," she said and squeezed his hand.

Rune thought back to how he had kissed Kaelyn; this memory too warmed him. When he looked at her now, he could almost feel her lips again. Kaelyn's hazel eyes shone, her hair cascaded like waves of molten gold, and her smile warmed him more than hearth fire. His hand, which held hers, felt more alive than his entire body.

I want to fly with her again, he thought, to dance in the night, to hold her body against me, to feel her lips against mine. She drew him like heat draws a freezing man, so powerfully he could barely breathe.

With a bolt of pain, he tore his eyes away. He stared at the tabletop.

Tilla, he thought. Tilla Roper. I walked with her on the beach. I kissed her too. I vowed to see her again. His throat stung. How will I find you now, Tilla? Do you too have food, friends, and a warm fire? Or are you cold and afraid, and do you need me?

He felt a hand in his hair. Kaelyn was looking at him, eyes soft with concern.

"Rune," she said, "you look sad."

He forced a smile and drank some more. "Are you going to force me to dance again?"

She laughed. "Of course I am! Many more times. For the rest of your life. But not now--now we do not dance. Now we sing." She stepped onto her chair, raised her mug, and cried out to the hall. "Vir Requis, let us sing the song of our people. Will you rise and sing the Old Words with me?"

They rose across the hall, hundreds of men and women with gaunt faces but bright eyes, with calloused hands but raised heads. Kaelyn stood before them, and she sang, and their voices rang with hers. Rune realized that he knew these words--his grandfather used to sing them on quiet nights--and Rune joined his voice to theirs.

"As the leaves fall upon our marble tiles, as the breeze rustles the birches beyond our columns, as the sun gilds the mountains above our halls--know, young child of the woods, you are home, you are home. Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky."

They all drank again, and when Kaelyn turned toward Rune, her eyes were solemn, her smile gone.

"The song of Requiem," Rune said to her. "It is forbidden now."

She nodded. "My father forbade it, but it is old beyond reckoning; we have been singing this song for thousands of years. We will sing it again in the palace of Nova Vita, and starlight will fall upon us." She raised her mug again and cried to the crowd. "Blessed be Relesar Aeternum, rightful King of Requiem! Blessed be his name!"

The hall erupted with cries.

"Blessed be Aeternum!" they called. "Stars bless the rightful king!"

Their cries echoed all around. Men and women stood waving their mugs and chanting his name. Rune stood up too, uneasy. Maybe it was the ale, but the room spun around him, a sea of faces and voices and eyes.

"Blessed be Relesar Aeternum, the rightful king!" they cried.

Rune looked around, feeling his face flush and stomach clench. He wanted the ruins to collapse and bury him; never had so many eyes stared at him. He wanted to cry out: But I'm not a king, only a brewer. Not Relesar, only Rune! Yet he remained silent. He had accepted Amerath, the Amber Sword. He had drunk from these men's brew; if not as a king, then as a brewer, he knew the significance of that. And so he only stood silently. Perhaps it was the best thing he could do now.

They ate, drank, and sang long into the night--a night of light and heat and Kaelyn's hand holding his.