Description : A Memory of Light
And the Shadow fell upon the Land, and the World was riven stone from stone. The oceans fled, and the mountains were swallowed up, and the nations were scattered to the eight corners of the World. The moon was as blood, and the sun was as ashes. The seas boiled, and the living envied the dead. All was shattered, and all but memory lost, and one memory above all others, of him who brought the Shadow and the Breaking of the World. And him they named Dragon.
—from Aleth nin Taerin alt a Camora, The Breaking of the World. Author unknown, the Fourth Age.
By Grace and Banners Fallen
Bayrd pressed the coin between his thumb and forefinger. It was thoroughly unnerving to feel the metal squish.
He removed his thumb. The hard copper now clearly bore its print, reflecting the uncertain torchlight. He felt chilled, as if he’d spent an entire night in a cellar.
His stomach growled. Again.
The north wind picked up, making torches sputter. Bayrd sat with his back to a large rock near the center of the war camp. Hungry men muttered as they warmed their hands around firepits; the rations had spoiled long ago. Other soldiers nearby began laying all of their metal—swords, armor clasps, mail—on the ground, like linen to be dried. Perhaps they hoped that when the sun rose, it would change the material back to normal.
Bayrd rolled the once-coin into a ball between his fingers. Light preserve us, he thought. Light . . . He dropped the ball to the grass, then reached over and picked up the stones he’d been working with.
"I want to know what happened here, Karam", Lord Jarid snapped....