Raziel did not sleep. The message from Zion held him rigid on the cold stone. 'Do not die before I arrive.'
The command felt like a physical threat that superseded the tactical alliance with Aerion. Zion wanted him alive for a reason that was bigger than the current War of the Kings.
That reason was the Forge. He watched the flicker of the Paladins' torches until the gray of predawn seeped into the reliquary.
He pushed himself to his feet.
He was already standing when Ser Drakon approached. Drakon carried the practice sword Raziel had used the previous night.
The metal was heavy, cold.
"First lesson," Drakon said.
His voice was rough, low. He did not ask if Raziel was ready. He carried a thick wooden staff, heavy as a shield, stripped of bark and hardened by fire.
Drakon tossed the heavy sword to Raziel.
