The bronze resonating basin deep within the earth ceased its tolling.
In its place, a huge, ringing silence dropped over the summit of Val-Khorat. The twenty men stood shoulder to shoulder around the central hard speckled rock stone base. Their breath rose together in pale, unified plumes against the mountain air. Outside the circle, the seven conflicting skies hung motionless, like painted glass waiting for the glazier’s hammer.
Ren Prime stepped into the center of the ring.
He reached into his leather apron. Then he drew out the core ancient object of the entire twenty-life war. The gold-silver metal-framed Speculum of Forfeited Paths.
It was no larger than a lit up octavo manuscript, but in the hands of an unlicensed apprentice, it felt heavier than an anvil of solid iron. The gold-silver metal border was scarred with the tooth-marks of nineteen divergent lifetimes. The central mirror surface was no longer dark, nor silver, but a swirling, bottomless vortex of amber embers. It reflected the faces of the twenty men who had refused to let their sister die alone.
Ren looked around the circle.
To his right stood Vane Vale, his marten-fur coat dusted with snow, his lips curved in that wry, indulgent smirk. Beside him, Brother Ren held his head high, the shadows of the catacombs washed away from his eyes. Lord Ren stood tall and erect, his massive chest unburdened by royal armor. Ren-the-Cinder leaned forward with his thumbs hooked in his belt, his brass keys still.
