The Dragons Egg : Prologue (Draft)
Prologue
~
Maethilda
let her fine fingers whisper against the golden telescope, perched upon a large
golden tripod. Its long length was tilted so that the head of the instrument
faced upwards into the night sky, now deeply embedded within a galaxy of bright
stars. The astronomy tower, a large round building that lay a few miles north
of the city, Summe, was a place in which Maethilda had always sought refuge,
and never more so than this night. Many people from far and wide, astronomers
in particular traveled to the island of Summe just to lay their eyes on the
ancient tower, the only astronomy tower to have a beautiful glass ceiling,
allowing the astronomer the freedom to fix their gaze to the heavens whenever
they wished. Beautiful instruments filled the inside of the tower and glimmered
gently the reflection of the great moon which now as lay high in the night sky,
only half full as the sun months drew to a close, heralding the cooler months
of Aya, Culna, Culba and Na, the months of the full moon. Even at the age of
twenty five moons, Maethilda never grew tiresome of nature and her radiant
beauty, even as the world grew dark and perilous, it brought to her some inner
comfort and soothed her worries as a gentle balm soothes a cut to the skin.
Within the compounds of the ancient towers, she felt safe and allowed her
wearisome mind and body relax and draw strength from the silence and isolation.
Looking down from the glass ceiling, Maethilda let her eyes fall to a great
book which lay closed upon a pulpit, which lay in the center of the tower upon
a small platform. Dropping her fingers from the telescope, she walked
gracefully towards the platform, stopping to lift her light skirts before
ascending the steps to stand before the large, golden book, decorated with fine
paintings and runes around the edge. The ancient book of days as it was known
to those of Summe had rested upon the pulpit for over a century, locked by an
ancient and strange magic that not even those highly gifted with magic could
open. Maethilda had been drawn to the ancient book since her first encounter
with the astronomy tower, at the young age of eight moons, when her guardian
the great high priest of Summe and Meer had brought her to the ancient round
tower and began her education on astronomy and philosophy. With a frown and
deep sigh, she lifted her fingers away from the book and turned, descending the
steps and walking forth to the great golden mirror that hung regally upon the
wall. She stopped before the mirror and lifted her eyes, finding her reflection
before her. She was tall for a woman, standing at six feet, two inches. Her
body was lean and muscular, a symptom of her constant training as a dulaman
soldier, a small and elite army of female warriors, trained from a young age to
protect the women and children of Summe and on rare occasions, to fight
alongside the regular male soldiers when needed. Maethilda looked at her body,
hidden beneath a pale silver gown, which had been bestowed upon her by Evalean,
her best friend and fellow dulaman. Rarely did Maethilda dress so regally, but
for the festive occasions which befell the citizens of Summe throughout the
year. Maethilda felt no comfort within the confines of Evalean’s dress and
yearned for her daily attire of leather pants, boots, a chainmail shirt and a
leather belt, made to sheath her great sword, ‘Fire’, given to her on her
moonday, seven moons previous. With a slight smile upon her thin lips, she
raised her large, sea green eyes to her face and watched the smile fade away. Her
long lashes fluttered against the limited light of the beacons and her pale
skin shimmered lightly as she traced her femine features with her index finger.
She had never known her parents and knew not if she reflected them in likeness
of body, mind and soul. Anvin rarely spoke of her mother, the last Queen of
Taer, who was brutally murdered a few weeks after Maethilda’s birth and never
spoke of her father, not knowing who he was. Maethilda was the only child and
bastard of the great and fiery Queen Cathlen. It had been Anvin who had saved
Maethilda from her mother’s murderers and brought her to the safe haven of
Summe, placing her into the care of his young wife, Gida and raising her
alongside his two small children, Aabe and Adadine. Upon her tenth moonday,
Anvin had for the first time in her life, explained to Maethilda, who she was
and what had happened to her mother. A great and agonising pain had taken her,
she had grown up calling her guardians father and mother and under the full
moon had been stripped of her once full and deep identity. The pain that had
struck Maethilda had rendered her ill for months and as she lay unmoving within
what she once believed to be her family home. She cried for the lie that had
purged her and felt her once childlike heart, split apart by the revelation’s
that had befallen her that year.
It
was not until a year had passed did Maethilda rise from her grief and face the
rising sun of the West with determination and strength. The love of her
guardians had not dwindled and the friendship between herself, Aabe, Adadine,
Morad and Evalean had only blossomed with the revelation that she was the only
surviving heir of the now dark and perilous kingdom of Taer. Soon when the leafs
began to settle amidst the moist ground, Anvin had taken both herself and Aabe
aside, to begin a wide and varied education, to prepare them both for the roles
they would play in the distant future, one to be a great priest and the other
to be if she so chose, a Queen of a fallen kingdom now riddled with internal
conflict and poverty. Where Aabe had been divided and tortured by his future as
a high priest, Maethilda knew within her bones that she would take back her
throne when the time was right, yet with each passing year, she grew impatient
and disillusioned, for it seemed her ambitions where doomed to fail. Her people
believed her dead and did not yearn for a female Queen let alone a bastard
Queen and as the internal divisions of Taer deepened, so did the radical
politics and behavior of her once peaceful and content subjects. Maethilda’s hopes of re-establishing herself
as the heir had faded with each drop of rain and piece of news which spoke of
ridding Taer of the once strong and repressive Ravan and putting in his place
the now great and influential Hadaer, a great politician, warrior and wealthy
nobleman who commanded the respect of the radical’s and fear of those who stood
in their way. Maethilda was respected by those closest to her and when blessed
upon her moonday, was given the role as commander of the dulaman. With each
passing winter, her eyes looked not upon the shores of Taer and instead looked
upon her real tribe, the Sumerians. If she could not lead as a Queen then she
would find her place among the dulaman and find contentment and patience,
repressing any hope or desire to avenge those who had murdered her mother and
reclaim what was rightfully hers. The world had changed, the tide had turned
and what was once was no more.
“A
hollow hope,” she whispered into the silence, her lips softly brushing against
each other as she murmured aloud to herself. She looked at herself with
longing, detailing her fine round face, large eyes, heavy eyebrows, thin lips,
small nose and thick flaxen hair that fell about her tall frame. She had to
admit to herself that she did indeed bare the likeness of a Queen, her eyes
betraying her firm and resolute nature, her brows quizzical and curious, her
mouth intent and strong and her nose finely designed with an air of command
that followed her wherever she went. Maethilda never felt more so akin to her
royal bloodline as she did when gowned and finely decorated, despite her unease
and uncomfort. When she rarely looked upon herself she saw what could be and
with a hard shudder would turn away and bend her shoulders in disdain. It was
with a conflicted soul and troubled mind that Maethilda would seek out the
comfort of the astronomy tower and in particular astronomy and philosophy
itself. Seeking out the greater universe rendered her humble and pious, helping
her to look outside of herself and her woes and to find perspective and focus.
She was happy living among the Sumerian’s and happier still to be in command of
the dulaman, she had a strong inner circle of friends and loving guardians,
despite the sudden deaths of Adadine and Gida and was respected and held in
high regard by all who served within the court. There was not much with which
she could find fault in her life, only her troublesome unrequited feelings for
the lord commander, Morad, her best friend and ally and her secretive
impatience to leave the island and make for the shores of Taer. But under all
of her bubbling problems and secretive hopes, she yearned to find her only
living relative, her father; a desire with little probability of flourishing.
As Anvin had readily pointed out during their conversations, no one knew of her
father’s name or whereabouts, many believed her mother had simply encountered a
man briefly when touring her kingdom and succumbed to the desires that lay
between a man and woman, desires that would take away her good name and fierce
reputation and lead to the birth of an illegitimate child and her own death. It
was a dalliance that not even her closest of allies knew of and that was the
route of Maethilda’s problem. She would never find her father and better still
where would she begin? There were no pointers or even whispers of his name and
so there was no fan with which to flicker the flames of hope.
“Ere
it is the festival of splelin and instead of dancing about the fires with your
friends, I find you here in the astronomy tower, alone and I dare say,
aggrieved?” a mellow voice announced gently.
“You
know I care not for the killing of splelin, especially when they are at their
most vulnerable,” Maethilda replied readily, seeing Anvin in the reflection of
the great mirror. He never seemed to age she acknowledged as he stood tall and
mysterious, upon the steps of the pulpit. Even at the great age of fifty nine
moons, the high priest still looked ten moons younger. He was a foot taller than
Maethilda, his frame thin and firm. He had spectacular blue eyes that always
seemed to glimmer with mischief and heavy black brows that flicked upwards at
the ends. His long nose was slightly dented at the ridge and curved over his
thin lips which always seemed to be smiling slightly as though in jest. The
gentle golden light shimmered against the priests jet black hair, which fell
down his long back elegantly, resting about his waist. He was as always
beautifully robed; this night in a blood red gown that fell loosely over his
tall frame. His long fingers were jeweled with precious rings and upon his head
was a golden wreath of leafs.
“Our
people are not so lucky as to choose what they eat, they serve no such luxuries
and must catch what they can if they are to survive the white months. Do you
think splelin carry such morals when they hunt?”
“Is
it foolish to place my hope in them carrying some morals of their own?” Maethilda
sighed with contempt.
“Yes,
they are not driven by morals as you or I are, they are driven by the need to
simply survive,” Anvin replied sharply, stepping closer to the great mirror
until he came to stand beside his most beloved of children and students. He let
his flashing eyes behold the strong and determined young woman, whose heavy brows
now folded deeply with disgust.
“How
did you know I was here?” Maethilda asked, changing the subject quickly, not
wishing to engage in an argument at such a time in the evening.
“My
good sense and whispers of your departure,” Anvin smiled warmly, the effect of
his compassion causing Maethilda’s brows to straighten with relief.
“Well
the men were making fools of themselves and I did not wish to stand and indulge
such idleness, when I could seek refuge here,” Maethilda answered bluntly,
trying to wipe away any images of Morad dancing like a crazed animal leaping
about a great fire, with young women surrounding him, their eyes filled with
lustful hope. Maethilda would never admit to such immature jealousy, but it was
in truth not the killing of the splelin that brought her to the tower, it was
the ever stirring jealousy that had sprung upon her in the last year. It seemed
to Maethilda, that it would not be a blade that pierced her armored heart, but
the seeds of unrequited love that would render her impaled and broken before
the feet of the ever godlike warrior, Morad, whose gaze never fully rested upon
her.
“In
time Morad will settle and he will find himself at your mercy,” Anvin said with
sensitivity, awakening Maethilda from her wishful thinking. A gentle heat
inflamed her skin as she turned her gaze away from the ever seeing Anvin.
“I
care not for Morad,” she lied outright with trembling lips. “There are more
important matters at hand, the least important of them being my heart or
Morad’s.”
“I
am sure you would wish for such a matter to be at the bottom of your list of
priorities, but why do you deny the truth at least to me?” Anvin asked gently,
laying a hand upon her shoulder and feeling her body tense under his touch.
“Because
it is true,” Maethilda said with a deep breathe. “Whilst your people dance
themselves into a state of unconsciousness, we have enemies ready to attack our
peaceful and primitive island. That should be our priority now.”
“Do
you think it right or indeed just that we take away the joy and traditions of
our people, merely because others would wish us to succumb to oppression and
fear?”
“Off
course not,” Maethilda bated hotly, turning her sea green eyes to her guardian
who had his head tilted slightly as though in observation. “I do however
believe that there is more that we can do to protect the island.”
“Soldiers
patrol the northern and southern shores of Summe, there has been no activity to
bring warrant to us having to prepare for an attack,” Anvin said calmly, hoping
his calm demeanor would soften Maethilda’s heated argument.
“Two
spies were caught delivering messages to Beon last week, does that not worry
you? That spies are now infiltrating the island?”
“Spies
have been infiltrating our island for years, it is nothing new and whilst for
the most part our shores are closely watched by guards, we cannot hold out
every foe, for our enemies are not only men,” Anvin replied with furrowed
brows. “We are preparing and training new soldiers every year, our defenses are
stronger, our plans leaner and we have built ten new ships this last year alone
to sail around the island constantly. But we are limited, now more than ever.
We do not have the means or strength to defer an attack from either Taer or
Galgor, their fleets are too large and their men two fold in number. Our own
forces are small and many of the men are farmers and fishermen. Women and
children now outnumber the men on this island, and there safety must be our
priority.”
Maethilda
could not deny the truth in Anvin’s words, could not deny the fact that no
matter how much they tried to better their defenses, they simply would not
stand against their enemies and it would be detrimental to believe they could.
Maethilda herself had found it difficult to persuade young women to join the
dulaman, many were simple farming hands, wives, mothers and weavers, whose
families did not approve of women fighting. She understood the hurdles that
faced the people of Summe but refused to give in, refused to hand over the
beautiful and ancient island to two brutal and barbarous Kings who cared little
for tradition and prosperity.
“The
red barren waits patiently each year, until the wind changes course and it
takes flight,” Anvin began, his eyes glazed as he slowly began to walk about
the tower, letting his hands roam over some of the astronomical instruments.
“Even if the snow begins to fall and the ground freezes, they will not spread
their wings until they are absolutely certain the wind has changed course. Do
you know why?”
“When
the white months come to our land, the snow melts from the southern lands,” Maethilda
answered dutifully, watching as Anvin came to a halt before a strange door,
forbidden by anyone save Anvin to open. No one knew where the door led and any
crazed young pests who did open the door on a dare, only found a brick wall
within. Maethilda observed keenly how Anvin’s body straightened and stilled
before the simple, wooden door as though in reverence to its secretive powers,
which none but he knew. As if feeling her eyes upon him, Anvin turned slowly to
face her.
“They
know the exact day when the thaw melts the springs and gives way to the coming
of the southern winds, which breathes life into all that was once asleep.”
“I
do not understand,” Maethilda whispered as she came to his side, her eyes upon
the door.
“When
the wind changes course, I shall know when we are at peril and when that day
comes, we shall be prepared,” Anvin stated with a serious gaze. “Do you trust
me?”
“They
have the black witch, it is said she is the most powerful witch in the six
kingdoms,” Maethilda trembled with worry. “She will bring with her a darkness,
none of us can withstand. What does she seek? ”
“A
power far greater than myself and Ethla combined, a person who brings with her
a great prophecy and a great hope for all those withering under the cloud of
fear that now hangs over us,” Anvin said with an air of mystery.
“I
do not understand, what is this power you speak of? I thought Beon and Ravan
wished to have you killed, I thought that was the reason for the imminent
attack?” Maethilda replied with a confused expression.
“If
only it were that simple, child,” Anvin sighed heavily. “Do you recall the
terrible story of Elieor and his wife Unyae?”
“Yes,
they were killed by Heidan,” Maethilda answered cautiously, a small bud of trepid
anticipation growing.
“Little
was known of the high queen, many suspected she was one of the last guardians
that walked this earth,” Anvin explained with folded arms. “They were right in
thinking her unlike most who walk this earth, in thinking she was an ancient
being not from this world.”
“I
heard tales that she was as beautiful as the dawn and as warm as the sunset,”
Maethilda interjected quietly with a wistful gaze.
“Unyae
was the daughter of the great God, Heiden,” Anvin announced with a frown. “Only
a select few knew of this and those that did were bound to silence upon death,
I being one.”
“How
can that be?” Maethilda asked with renewed energy.
“A
great attack took place in the Heavens, an attack led by Lagar and his commander,
Lagman,” Anvin began, now pacing to and fro, his right hand furrowed under his
chin, as though holding his head up for support. “Heiden’s wife and three sons
were brutally murdered and his only daughter, unbeknownst to him was raped by
Lagar.”
“Why
have you not spoken of this before?” Maethilda asked hurriedly.
“I
never believed the time was right, now however I do,” Anvin said in a hushed
tone. “Heiden brought his daughter to the garden of Calhuni, you remember it?”
“The
garden of Kings, yes?” Maethilda replied with a raised brow, turning her body
anti clockwise as Anvin circled her, his eyes on the ground beneath.
“Indeed.
He did not know that she was pregnant,” Anvin uttered cautiously. “She gave
birth to a son, his name was Heidan, a name given to him in honor of her
father.”
“You
mean to tell me that Heidan, the King of Calnuthe is the grandson of Heiden and
son of Lagar, the Lord of Hellnuthe?” Maethilda said breathlessly, hardly
believing her guardians words.
“Indeed.
You are aware of the great power he already wields, yes?” Anvin stopped pacing
and turned to Maethilda.
“Yes.”
“When
Elieor entered the gardens of Calhuni, he fell in love with Unyae, who had been
struck low with foreboding after her son’s departure from the gardens,” Anvin
went on. “They fell in love and he brought her forth from the gardens,
journeying south to his High seat in Caci. A year later Unyae gave birth to a
daughter, Celestine.”
“Yes,
I know,” Maethilda added. “She died alongside her parents, yes?”
“So
many believed, but those of us who knew the truth, know that she survived,”
Anvin whispered as though afraid of being overheard.
“She
lives?” Maethilda whispered in unison, stepping closer to Anvin with shock
filled eyes.
“Yes,”
Anvin nodded with grace.
“Where
is she?” Maethilda asked, a light draft causing the hem of her dress to dance
about her ankles lightly.
“She
was taken from this world and placed into the safety of another,” Anvin said as
he made his way over towards the telescope. “Come,” he ordered Maethilda. Without
hesitation, Maethilda made her way towards Anvin and stopped in front of him.
“Many years ago a young seerer made a prophecy that in the year one thousand,
one hundred and seventy eight, the three stars; Ungilith, the star of the morning, Maglorn,
the star of the day and Zuenaye, the star of the night, would begin to align,
heralding the return of Celestine.” Anvin bent his head, and leaned his right
eye into the lens of the telescope as Maethilda watched on. With his left eye
shut, Anvin gazed up through the telescope into the night sky, where he found
three great stars beginning to align together, a process that had been evolving
throughout the past year. “Naturally the prophecy spread throughout the south
and north, and infiltrated the royal courts. Many astronomers like myself, have
been on the watch, measuring and predicting the direction of the great beam of
light that will occur when the stars align with one another.”
“Do
you know where it will be directed?” Maethilda asked with a haunted expression,
unable to take it all in. Anvin lifted his head away from the instrument and
turned to her with a blunt gaze.
“Beon
and Ravan are not preparing to attack Summe because of me,” he whispered. “They
are preparing to attack because they know that Celestine will appear here. The
light of the three stars will fall upon our island just before the moon takes
its full shape.”
“But
that’s in two months,” Maethilda said with an anxious expression. “That change
in wind that you speak of, it will change in a few weeks and you knew all this
time and spoke nothing of it?”
“I
dare not speak of it, I must protect Celestine at all costs,” Anvin counter
argued lightly. “If anyone on this island hears a whisper of what I have told
you, then we will all be in terrible peril.”
“People
will die for this Celestine, how do we know she is worthy of such a sacrifice?”
Maethilda cried out impatiently. “Does she warrant such a service?”
“You
cannot reclaim your mother’s throne without Celestine and she cannot reclaim
her own throne without you,” Anvin said with a worried glance. “Both of you are
bound to one another. She is the beacon of light that we have been so ardently
waiting for.”
“But
do you know that she is to be trusted?” Maethilda asked haphazardly, her hands
upon his hips.
“No,
I know nothing of her,” Anvin admitted with a sigh. “All I know is this,” he
waved his hands into the air. “If she is true and worthy of the throne of
Calnuthe then she will need to find the garden of Calhuni before her brother.”
“But
how can she? No one knows where it is?” Maethilda said with a dejectatory look.
“Not even you know where it is.”
“Every
true heir can find the garden, if they are in possession of the book of kings,”
Anvin said with wide eyes.
“Where
is this book?” Maethilda asked.
“No
one but the King or his heir knows where the book is hidden.”
“Well
the King is dead and I doubt he bestowed the knowledge of the books whereabouts
to a babe,” Maethilda said, her words laced with desperation. “So even if she
does find herself here in our world, the only lead on the book has no knowledge
of its whereabouts.”
The
tower fell silent as Anvin sought refuge in a nearby chair. Maethilda took the
opportunity to gaze through the telescope, her mouth opening slightly at the
sight of the great stars. Off course she had been in observation of their
change in the last few months, but little did she know why they were closing in
together. After a short while, she drew away from the telescope and made her
way towards the steps of the pulpit, sitting down upon the top step and
glancing over at Anvin.
“How
will we know where she is, if the light falls over the whole of the island?” Maethilda inquired softly.
“That
I cannot answer yet,” Anvin said quietly as he bent his head into the palms of
his hands.
“And
if she does not come back, what then? How can we protect the innocent?”
“We
will find a way,” Anvin said with certainty. “The underground tunnels are
nearly finished and the caves can offer protection.”
“And
if we find her, how do we protect her?”
“We
must take her to Ballour, she will find refuge in his court,” Anvin said with
clarity, lifting his heavy gaze towards the calm Maethilda, whose temper seemed
to cool with perspective and a little time.
“The
Kings court is no longer safe, Galean lies dying and their enemies draw ever
closer.”
“She
cannot travel south, it is too dangerous,” Anvin replied with a frown. “And
Summe is too small an island to keep her hidden. She must go to Meer, it is the
only option. We must hope that Galean survives for it is he and he alone that
commands the king’s loyal subjects and if he dies I am afraid the fate of Meer
will hang in the balance.”
“But
there is Loaki?” Maethilda whispered.
“I
have great admiration for the young prince, he is a diplomat and optimist, he
is however, no warrior or leader of men,” Anvin said with a hint of
disappointment. “How I wish he were, it is true that he has many a loyal
subject, but I am afraid that he is no match for Beon. The throne has never
been as vulnerable as it is now, even with the great and formidable Ballour
sitting upon it.”
“But
those who support Fiar and Dulthe will not idly suffer Beon and his army to
take control of Meer without a fight?” Maethilda quipped with confusion. Anvin
observed the young woman, beautiful and fiery as he mother was and smiled.
“You
are right, but there are those who would wish to see themselves upon the throne
of Meer, those who seem loyal and dependable now, but who in secrecy are
waiting for the right conditions in which to strike,” Anvin replied, his smile
fading and his eyelids closing.
“Then
we must hope that Galean recovers,” Maethilda said with gumption. “He is the
lord of dragons and if I am being entirely honest, I believe we are in
desperate need of his skills and dragons for that matter.”
“It
is imperative that we get to Celestine before our foes do, this task I am
bestowing upon you,” Anvin announced regally. “You are gifted and bound to
Celestine, you can protect her in ways that other mere soldiers cannot. She
will need us when the time comes and who better to guide her but you.”
“Surely
it should be Morad who finds and protects Celestine, not I?”
“Morad
is a fine warrior and commander, but his weakness lies in his need for power
and wealth,” Anvin said carefully, not wishing to betray to Maethilda his true
feelings on the subject of the ever arrogant Morad. “When he sees a beautiful
and rare treasure he wishes only to have it for himself. I am afraid his
arrogance will lead to his downfall if he does not find renewed focus.”
“Morad
is one of us and I trust him,” Maethilda said with certainty.
“I
do not doubt your trust, and I do not mean to belittle him in a way that you
may find insulting, I love him as my own,” Anvin counter argued lightly as he
lifted himself off the chair. “Morad is young still and has much to learn. But
it is you that I entrust this mission too.”
“I
will need his help if I am to track her whereabouts and bring her to safety,”
Maethilda said with raised brows, her deep eyes gazing up into Anvin’s calm
face. “Does Aabe know of Celestine?”
“Yes,”
Anvin answered bluntly. “Both you and he must work together and in secrecy,
this information must be kept between yourself and Aabe, do you understand?”
“I
do,” Maethilda sighed lightly. Anvin stood before Maethilda and lifted her chin
with his fine fingers, forcing her gaze upwards.
“Your
mother was fiercely loyal as you are,” he murmured with graveness. “You are in
her likeness and grow in her likeness with each day that passes.”
“I
wish I could see what you see,” Maethilda smiled gravely. “Even if Celestine
returns and reclaims her throne, I am not at all sure my own people would wish
to see me upon the throne of Taer.”
“The
people of Taer are divided and conflicted, they don’t know what they want
anymore,” Anvin counselled, his eyes generous and filled with understanding.
“It is for you to show them the kind of future they should yearn for.”
“With
each day, my vision of that future fades. It is hard enough for a bastard son
to find acceptance in his family, let alone a bastard daughter.”
“Your
mother was as strong and determined as any great man of my acquaintance, she
commanded respect from even the greatest of critics,” Anvin said with strength,
his gaze penetrative and direct.
“Yet
she was killed by those she trusted.”
“A
tale as old as time itself,” Anvin replied. “It is no easy feat being a ruler
and for most of the time you are constantly looking over your shoulder. Why do
you think so many kings of old lost their minds? They grew to trust no one.”
“I
wonder if I have it within me to rule like my mother.”
“Look
at the respect you command already among the dulaman and the male soldiers,”
Anvin smiled lightly, bending his knees so that he could lower himself to face
Maethilda. “That should give you peace of mind and hope. My men and women would
willingly follow you into the jaws of death because they place their trust in
you and you always deliver in return. You are the most compassionate, selfless
woman I know, with flickering flames of loyalty and sense of duty.”
“It
seems the tide is indeed beginning to alter,” Maethilda announced in a
melancholic manner.
“A
shadow grows in the east,” Anvin said with a worried gaze, his fingers
trembling slightly under her chin.
“Do
you sense something?” Maethilda inquired quickly, coming to her feet instantly,
helping Anvin up. The high priest’s eyes glazed for several moments before he
re focused and found her own worried gaze. Anvin shook his head as though in
denial of what he had just seen. With furrowed brows and trembling lips he tried
to force a smile upon his face.
“It
is nothing,” he lied blatantly.
“Anvin
you just had a vision, what did you see?” Maethilda pushed gently, holding onto
Anvin’s arms, offering him support and council.
“I
must send a raven to Ballour at once,” Anvin mumbled haphazardly, releasing his
hand from under Maethilda’s chin. “You must return to your friends.”
“But
I do not wish to return, I wish to stay here, alone,” Maethilda argued as Anvin
curtly made his way towards the door of the tower, his body rigid, eyes filled
with terror and his hands shaking. Before reaching the door he turned abruptly.
“Maethilda
this may well be the last year in which our people dance around a fire and
celebrate the festival of splelin, do you understand?”
“Why
won’t you tell me what it is you have just seen?” Maethilda returned quickly,
making her way towards Anvin with hell bent eyes.
“I
have no wish to burden you further,” Anvin explained as he opened the door.
“You must focus on strengthening the dulaman and forming a plan in which to
rescue and secure Celestine. Come, I must hurry.” Maethilda sighed with
impatience as Anvin rushed her out of the tower and down the steep slope of
steps. Together in awkward silence, Maethilda and Anvin made their way back to
the great city of Summe. Once they had entered the great northern gate, they
headed south via the main street, until they came to another great wall that
encircled the ancient part of the city, where the great round houses and towers
lay, surrounded by smaller roundhouses which housed the great families of
Summe. During the great festivals of Summe, the ancient part of the city was
used to house the great fires and festivities. At the epic center of the city, lay
a great roundhouse which stood upon a small hill, overlooking the city. When
Anvin and Maethilda reached the great steps that led up to the roundhouse, they
parted ways.
“Go
join your friends and be merry,” Anvin smiled quickly, his blue eyes scanning the
heavily populated area for any glimpses of his son and his friends. “They will
surely be about here somewhere.”
“Are
you sure you do not wish to tell me what it was that you saw?” Maethilda asked
once more, desperation exuding itself from her stern gaze.
“It
is nothing for you to concern yourself with, now go,” Anvin replied forcefully
before turning on his heel and ascending the steps with speed. Maethilda
watched him disappear before turning about and heading into the heavy mass of
people.
*
The
guards opened the great doors of the roundhouse and watched with slight
nervousness as Anvin sped through the doorway, his long red robe flowing behind
him. With a wave of his hand he said aloud.
“My
raven quickly!” and made for his private quarters. Once within his small room,
he made for his writing table and picked up his quill, quickly dipping it into
a small glass tub of ink and sitting down upon his large chair, covered in a
thick blanket of deir dur. A large piece of parchment was already sprawled out
before him and with a steady pace he began to write.
Sire,
I
have two pieces of news in which to share with you. First, the black witch,
Ethla is now aiding your son Beon, I need not tell you how detrimental this is
to our cause. His army strengthens in numbers, great ships of men from Taer
sail north to Galgor, docking in the city of Balgor, travelling west to Gaul
city. There have been numerous rumours that the black witch has awoken a
dangerous and ancient enemy from within the mountains, the wolf king of Dulga
and with him his army of night wolfs now aid your son. War is coming, the sky
darkens and the birds fly west beyond our island of Summe. Even they sense what
is to come. The sea waters have changed, the currents have strengthened and the
sea creatures have awoken from their slumber. The second piece of news I bring
you is that the great stars, Ungilith, Maglorn and Zuenaye begin to align. The
time is near your majesty, she is coming and with her will come the greatest
battle of our age. I warn you, be vigilant, be safe and do not trust a soul
within your court. Spies linger in the shadows, night creatures have opened
their eyes and those who would see you and your kingdom fall have arisen from
the darkness and come forth into the light. The time is nearing when the sun
will rise in the north no longer and a greater shadow will wash over the lands
of your people.
It
is time to take up your sword once more sire, your enemies now lie to the east,
south, west and north awaiting their summons. The kingdom of Taer is ready to
fall, into whose hands I am uncertain, Islaer has great influence over Ravan at
present, yet Heidan’s army marches north, first to take the last free city of
Ethe from the hands of the young heir, Elion. The city will not last and remains
the one true barricade that keeps Taer safe from Heidan and his ever growing
army. We must now place our hope in the return of Celestine and the merging of
the three stars. Until then, I caution you to keep vigilant and to protect
Galean at all costs. War is brewing and he is greatly needed if we are to be
victorious.
Your
loyal servant,
Anvin.
When
he had finished writing, Anvin put down his quill and sat back against his
chair, closing his eyes briefly, his back aching and his hand swollen. A light
knock forced Anvin to open his eyes.
“Come
in,” he said aloud, now lightly dusting his letter with parchment dust and
rolling it gently before sealing it with red ink. A servant entered the room
with a large raven upon his left arm.
“My
lord, your raven,” he announced, coming to stand before Anvin. Anvin stood up
from his chair and carefully attached the letter to the foot of his raven
before taking the raven from the servant.
“Thank
you, you may leave now,” he ordered quietly. When the door of his room had
shut, he made his way over towards the small round window and opened it. He
stretched out his arm and turned his gaze to that of the raven. “Take this to
the King with all speed,” he ordered sternly. With a squawk, the raven took off
from his arm and flew up into the night sky as Anvin watched on. After several
minutes of gazing up into the night sky, Anvin turned and closed the window,
coming to stand before a small fire. As he gazed down into the flames, he saw
the ancient enemy that he had seen in his sudden vision. A black dragon wound
its way within the flames, its wild red eyes sparkling in jest. Crouching down,
Anvin felt a shudder run down his back.
“Belnun.”
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