Ardent

Chapter 6.2

The man stopped, staring just beyond Tyr with a gaze devoid of recognition. Damien gasped as the form suddenly fell forward, hitting the ground with a dull thud. He sprinted to the attendant, falling to his knees beside him.

"No wound, no blood, nothing," Damien said, pushing the lifeless form so it faced the sky. He ran his hands along the body, searching for any sign of injury.

"How did he die then?" Tyr asked, approaching. He knelt beside Damien, inspecting the body. His old friend was right. There was no sign of any injury or even a struggle.

"Peculiar," Damien mumbled, pushing up on his knees until he was standing. He drew the blade at his hip and looked around, caution swimming in his eyes.

The sound of metal freed from its confining scabbard drove Tyr to draw his own sword, a chill running through his body as the heat of the blade hissed against the cool air. He exhaled, stifling his excitement and running his violet gaze along the edge of the blade. It glinted brightly in the haze, the reflection of the rising flames around them dancing along its metal edge. The weight of the sword moved with well-trained precision in his skilled hands, and he turned the hilt over in his grasp a few times.

It had been a long time since he had drawn the weapon intending to use it. Alendor had been at peace for hundreds of years, and his last two hundred years of life had been devoid of any combat.

Now was the time he needed those skills. He could not afford to be unpracticed.

The silence of their location caused the hairs to rise on the back of Tyr's neck. He rotated his body to take in the whole area, looking for any indication of movement. The eerily calm breeze ruffled his hair, playing with it as though it was a simple evening on any other day.

"We should keep going," Tyr whispered, his eyes narrowing. "Something isn't right here. It's too quiet. For a city that's burning, I hear little."

"It was much louder before," Damien mused, scanning the area with a careful gaze. "Something's changed."

With that, the old man started off towards the large spire that was the Echoing Chamber. Tyr was right after him, his pace matching that of his friend. Their robes fluttered behind them like flags raised in the wind, steps swift and unobtrusive.

As they neared the large building, they noticed shadow after shadow scattered on the ground. It wasn't until they were at the entrance that they realized what the shadows represented. Bodies were everywhere, lying limp on the foliage. There was no movement, nothing, just an eerie silence punctuated Tyr's own heavy breathing.

His voice caught in his throat, and it rose with panic.

"Are they all dead?" He sprinted to the nearest figure, checking the woman for signs of life. Her skin was ashen and lips blue from lack of oxygen. "She's not breathing, and again, there are no signs of a wound." He blinked back a layer of tears, looking at the surrounding death, devastation in his gaze. Damien was behind him, checking a few more of the lifeless forms.

"All dead, Tyr." A sob caught in the old man's throat. "Males, females, children, guards. They are all dead, anyone who was near the Echoing chamber, all gone."

"No," Tyr breathed. "It can't be. Who would do something like this? Why would they do this? The people of Alendor are a peaceful people. Most of them were not warriors. They shouldn't have died." He ran from corpse to corpse, hoping for a sign of life, a sliver of light in what seemed like unending darkness. His perseverance was only rewarded with more lifeless bodies, and he crumpled to the ground on his knees.

"Where are the Agents?" he choked, "the council?"

"They would have rallied to the Chair during late night council. The Chair is Alendor. They would have protected their Lord." Damien inhaled, turning to the entrance.

"Why was I not notified sooner?" Tyr's voice rose in anger. He narrowed his eyes, bringing his scathing gaze to Damien.

"I told you I had little notice. I came for you right away. You were due to depart with the Ardent tomorrow, which is why you were excused from council duties tonight." Damien averted his eyes.

"You're not telling me everything, Damien!" He moved to the old man, grasping his shoulders.

"This is not the time, Tyr. We have to go inside." Damien watched Tyr with eyes like steel, his mouth a tight line. He turned without another word, stalking to the giant door of the chamber. It was standing ajar by a couple of inches.

Tyr followed him, slipping into the door, and letting it close behind him.

The dim glow of the flickering lights revealed more dead bodies littering the floor of the Echoing Chamber. This time, they wore the familiar garb of the Agents.

Tyr's gaze fell.

Many were here, but not all. Some of them had to still be alive, somewhere. He stepped through the maze of bodies with hesitant steps. The guards had stood alongside them, but every single one of them had perished.

"I should have been here," he muttered under his breath. "I should not have been excused from the overnight council."

"Had you been here, Tyr, you would be dead now. Don't be so quick to throw your life away."

"My job, like yours, is to defend the Chair. I should have been here." He closed his eyes for a moment, the faces of the dead flashing in his mind's eye. He exhaled and kept walking forward to the altar, looking for the one body he hoped he would not find. His gaze moved to the back wall.

The entrance to the Loom's chamber was open. Did that mean there was still hope? Did the Chair get away?

Tyr bolted through the hole in the wall, robes rustling around him.