One Crown & Two Thrones : The Dragon's Egg : Prologue : Final Draft

Prologue

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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 travelled 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 against the reflection of the great moon which now hung 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 young 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, allowing her wearisome mind and body to relax momentarily and to draw strength from the silence and isolation. Letting her eyes fall from the glass ceiling of the astronomy tower, Maethilda’s eyes fell to a great book which lay closed upon a wooden pulpit, which lay in the centre of the tower upon a small stone 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 who were 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, Anvin 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 furrowed 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 of Nor that hung regally upon the stone 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 picket 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 picket. 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 pale 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 fine 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 their 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 when Anvin gave light to the truth of her parents for she had grown up calling her guardians father and mother and within but a few minutes was stripped of her Sumerian 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 in order 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 in 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 behaviour 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 may have had the respect of the Sumerian people, but she had no resources in which to stand against either Ravan or Hadaer.

In an attempt to pacify her and give her a role, Anvin had bestowed upon her the post as commander of the Pickets, a small and growing army of female soldiers. 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 Pickets 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 discomfort. 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 pickets, 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. 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 often long and argumentative 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 jewelled 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 armoured 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?”

“Of 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 demeanour 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 defences 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 their 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 defences, 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 pickets as many were simple farm 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, who it is said 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 pain of death, I being one.”

“How can that be?” Maethilda asked with renewed energy, her long arms folded before her.

“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, unbeknown 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 however,” Anvin uttered cautiously. “She gave birth to a son and named him Heidan, a name given to him in honour 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, Mathilda 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 down 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 her 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. Of 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 enquired 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 that lies before us. 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 of the chair in which he sought refuge. “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 pickets 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 enquired 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 Mathilda’s chin. “And 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 pickets 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 epicentre of the city, lay a great roundhouse which stood upon a small hill, overlooking Summe. 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 fur. 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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