Heya folks. Turns out that I hadn't shared Book one of these NaNo projects of mine. I did a quick copy paste. Here's hoping it's all in chronological order ;)Will me, you never know. Comment if you find major time disparities and I'll see about taking a day to sort it out.
The young girl of 14 seemed nothing more than yet another waif as she dodged through the crowded market, stepping agilely out of the way of men and women touting their wares or purchases in large bundles, baskets and barrels. Her nostrils flared as she breathed deeply of the mellss of the bustling life around her. She could distinguish the aromas of mud, pig shit, and wet wool under the more appetizing smells of roasting meat and fresh baked bread.
Approaching a seller of fruits and smiled warmly at the old woman. It wasn’t until the girl handed her a silver coin, with fingers sporting perfectly manicured nails, for an apple that cost a half penny, that the crone noticed the steel in the girl’s spine. She handed the girl back the coins that made up her change, with a wink. “Enjoy, your Highness,” she commented in a conspiratorial voice.
Princess Aurin held up her hand, refusing the coins. “For your silence,” she explained, and winked in return, biting into the crisp apple. The woman nodded in thanks and returned the girl’s warm smile. Aurin melted back into the crowd, eating her apple and enjoying the buzz and hum of the people and animals around her.
Slowly, she made her way to the quieter streets, where there was less need to dodge carts and people, smiling at dogs and children as she strolled along, finally feeding the core of her apple to a horse tied to a rail near the inn. She hopped along an almost unrecognizable grid of Hop Scotch that had been abandoned by its makers, likely having been called away to chores.
When she finally reached the Church Quarter, she was covered in dust, her face generously coated where the dust had stuck to the still-wet juice of the apple. If the Brothers of the order of <Blank> had seen her, they would have been horrified. However, it was not the Monastery that she was headed for today. Today, her adventures would be taking her to the Library. There was a certain scroll of Prophesy that she wished to cross reference with something she had found in Mother’s private Library.
She pushed open the grand doors that, only a few months ago, she would have struggled with. A recent growth spurt had lent her the added height that she needed to achieve better leverage when dealing with the three man tall, solid oaken door. Her hand gently caressed the carvings worked into the face of the doors panels before she slipped inside, leaning her slight frame against the doors to close them one more, sealing herself into the dim, hushed interior of the Capital’s Library, the second largest library in the lands, dwarfed by the sprawling library of Zion.
Aurin wiped her feet on the thrush mat at the door, and wiped her hands on one of ht soft linen towels provided before moving deeper into the building, her nostrils once more flaring to capture the scents around her. This time, she is met by the smell of parchment, quill feathers, and still- wet ink. Smiling to herself, she pads softly to the area that she knows houses the scroll in question.
A bowed head pops up as the Guardian on duty notices her. The man springs up, a scowl on his face as he approaches the dusty child. His frown melts into a familiar smile as he gets closer. “Good day, Highness,” he greets, with a slight bow.
Aurin furrows her brow. “Genen, I’ve told you to call me Aurin,” she says, reproachfully, as he straightens.
“Of course, Highness,” he continues stalwartly. “What brings you to our hushed halls today, might I ask?”
She sighs, and walks on, as he falls into step beside her, the rustling of his robes and the flickering of nearby torches some of the only sounds audible above the muted murmur of the word beyond the buildings walls. “Research,” she declares. “Do you remember the Prophesy of <Blank>? The one that we were all taught in our first or second year of classes?”
“The one that speaks of the Coming of Darkness?” he clarifies.
Aurin nods. “I found something of it in a scroll in Mother’s library, and I wanted to cross reference it with the scrolls here,” she explains.
He makes a clucking noise with his tongue. “Digging into dark things, aren’t we, Highness? Perhaps this is something best left alone?” he suggests, gently, as she knew he would. Genen had no sense of adventure. None of these dusty old Tome Keepers did.
“Knowledge is power, Genen,” she insists, quoting one of her Father’s favourite adages. “And I have the feeling that this is a particular piece of power that might just come in handy.” She had been reading the stars every night, always the diligent student. What her astronomy teacher couldn’t have known was that her mother had been teaching her to interpret those readings. What she had read had left both her and her mother slightly uneasy. There was change on the wind.
The young man clucked his tongue and shook his head, but offered no further argument, still following his Princess to her destination. They pushed through the cage-like door into separated area which housed the scrolls dedicated to prophecy, and Genen pulled out a chair for Aurin, tucking her in with grace before handing her a stack of blank parchment, quill and ink. “Where shall we begin, Highness?”
She had him begin by fetching the scroll the was a twin to the one in her Mother’s Library, and pointing out the paragraph which troubled her. “When the Deer is in the House of the Sun and the Hunter In the House of the Moon, the Dark of the noonday sun shall mark the death of the Land,” she read, her brow furrowed with concern as she looked up to guage Genen’s reaction.
“And this concerns our Princess, why?” he queried.
She sighs in frustration. “What do you know of the Celestial Houses, Genen?” she asked, gauging his level of understanding.
He shrugs, making the movement appear elegant. “Just enough to have passed my exams, Highness,” he admits. “One does not need to know how to read the heavens in order to be a Tome Keeper.
She straightens in her chair and, heedless to the fact, assumes a look that is the twin to that of her mother when the Queen addresses the council. “The deer represent’s prey, or a victim. The hunter, is, quite literally, the hunter, or the adversary. According to ancient poetry and other Prophesies, the Land means the Royals. The King and Queen.” She pauses, waiting for that to set in. “There is a solar eclipse due in 3 years time. And by my calculations, at that time, the Deer will in fact be in the House of the Sun, and the Hunter, in the House of the Moon,” she concludes with dire seriousness.
Genen’s eyes widen as the implications of her interpretation of the scrolls sinks in. Then he blinks and shakes his head. “You cannot be the only one to have put that information together. If such a thing were true, surely the Monks and the Wizards alike would be in a turmoil, by now,” he insists.
“These are little known poems, Genen, and little known Prophesies. And what with the widespread mistranslations of so many scrolls during the time of the Clan Wars,” she trails off, shaking her own head. “I wanted to double check here, first. However, I think it is now time to send word to Zion, and have the Wizards check the original scrolls, in their original form, before the translations.”
Genen’s face was drawn and pale. He looked as though he might be sick.
“I’m sorry to burden you with this, Genen,” she offered, with genuine regret.
He still looked drawn when she left him to put away the scrolls she had been pouring over all morning. She had a sheaf of parchment tucked away into the pockets of her thread bare dress as she pulled the massive oaken doors closed and rejoined the world of sunshine and people.
The morning’s market session had broken up, and people were moving about the outer streets now, leaving her to wander through slightly less pressing crowds as she made her way back to the palace. The fresh air and sunshine did a lot to lighten her mood, as she wove in and out of the crowd, trying not to dwell on the missive she had tucked in her pocket. It would be on it’s way to Zion for corroboration soon enough, and it would well and truly be out of her hands for the time being. Until then, there were happier things to be thought of.
She turned her thoughts to the upcoming events of her life. She would be officially taking up the ruler’s mantel before the next New Moon. She had helped to over see a few projects, such as an orphanage, or a municipal gardens, however she was about to reach her 14th Winter. And with that came the burden of real responsibility, as her tutors kept enforcing. She would be involved in the planning and design stages of several municipal projects, and be expected to make life altering decisions for the members of the Guilds. “The power to put food on tables or leave bellies empty,” one stodgy old geizer had declared in a most unhelpful manner. And the thought had stuck with her.
These were her people. They depended on her, and her parents, to keep them safe and warm and fed. Just as she in turn had depended on her parents for the same. She was, in essence, about to become a mother, she thought, as she drew closer and closer to the palace gates.
She deviated from the main entrance and headed for the servants entrance, not interested in trying to convince the guards that beneath all of this dust and ink, was their Princess. She used a key tied on a leather tong around her neck to gain entrance through the small door, locking it firmly behind her, before wandering up to the lookout turrets, one of her favourite places to day dream and sightsee.
The guard on duty there saluted her. “Highness,” he greeted.
“Good day, Dorrin. How is the little one?” she queried.
Aurin always tried to make an effort to pay attention to the details of the lives of the people who made up the details of the world around her. “It is important never to think of those you rules as the ‘little people’ and never to let them feel as such in your presence,” her father had instilled in her.
The guard’s face split into a grin. “He is well, Highness. He is gaining so much weight that his mother is already counting the days until he can walk under his own power.” His eyes twinkled with love for his new babe, now two months old. She smiled in return, and took up watch in the nook two down from Dorrin, settling to gaze out over the city below and into the landscape beyond. She would have a good view of the King and his party as they made their return later this afternoon.
She let her mind wander as her eyes followed the flight of bees and butterflies in the blossoms of the late flowering weeds, and the messengers taking flight from the tallest of the castle’s towers. She was barely aware of the Vision taking hold. Dorrin, from his vantage point, only thought her lost in thought. But if he could have seen her fists clenched on the sill of the wall, he might have recognized a Seeing in progress. Her spine was straight, but this was hardly unusual for Princess Aurin. She very rarely slouched nor slumped.
She Saw the woods at Raknor. There was a parade of men on horseback. Her father was among them. The wolves were too big to be natural. She tried to close her eyes as Father’s throat was torn out, but that is the problem with a Vision; it comes from within. Closing your eyes does not prevent you from seeing what there is to be Seen.
Suddenly the Vision changed. She was Seeing the Catherdral of Ruen. It was crowded with women, children and the elderly. They appeared to be refugees. The sky grew dark to the east. She watched as her mother drew a circle of power. There was a flash of light, and then she saw herself. She looked furious, and there were tears standing in her eyes.
[^^New Words]
“Aurin? Highness, he’s here!”
The call penetrated her reverie and brought her back to the present, and the arrival of the King. The image of the King’s smiling face was more than enough to momentarily blur those images that had seemed so crystal clear only moments before. She dashed a tear from her cheek and beamed at Dorrin as she brushed past him.
Rather than her usual frown at having lost a Vision, her face glowed with barely controlled excitement as she scurried down the steps of the guard tower and hurried to join the crowd that had gathered to welcome the King.
The causeway was bursting with the cheering crowd. Aurin could distinguish between several factions that, in any other part of Morus Auris, would ordinarily find it difficult to be in such close quarters with one another. But the prize of being in the presence of the King seemed to outweigh any other inconveniences.
As the cheers suddenly became more ecstatic, Aurin caught a glimpse of the royal standard fluttering above the crowd, signifying the approach of the royal party. She hurried up the shadowed stairway that led from the servants’ entrance up onto the causeway and pushed towards the front of the crowd. She was still a few strides from the cleared path when she heard the steady clip clopping of the procession’s horses. She renewed her forward struggle in earnest, hoping to catch up before they passed through the gate.
Just when they had reached the gate and she had given up hopes of reaching them, the King reined in his mount, bringing the procession to a halt. She could hear his lilting voice call out to Savaus, his right-hand-man.
“Savaus? Where is my daughter? I had expected her to greet us long before we had reached the gate.”
Before Savaus could voice an answer, she called out. “Here, Father! Here I am!”
At last the crowd parted before her and she made her way, quickly, to the open causeway and ran to greet her father.
The King beamed that special smile that he seemed to save just for her, and gripping her outstretched wrist, hauled her onto the back of the majestic, white Arabian. There had been a time when she could tuck herself under her father’s chin as he rode, but a recent growth spurt had left her far too tall for that position. She had to settle for taking her seat as the King’s back and seeking her comfort by wrapping her arms about his waist and feeling the glow of his presence flow through the fabric of his traveling tunic.
At last the gate closed behind them and, as the party dismounted, leaving their horses in the care of the stable hands, they left the roar of the crowd behind to seek the comforting silence and serenity of the Hall.
“You know Aurin,” commented the King, once the heavy oak doors had closed behind them and they were making their way to the King’s chamber, “if you dressed less like a servant and more like the Princess you are, the crowd would recognize you more readily and let you pass.”
“Father, I want to earn their respect, not be handed it on a silver platter. And I’m no different then any of them when you boil it all down.”
He let his gaze play over the girl. What he saw at first was the stained and tattered dress she wore, and the bits of tree caught in her tousled hair, but on a second glance, he realized that the figure that hid behind the dirt, grime and rough, handspun cloth, was quickly transforming from that of a young girl into that of a young woman. But even the tattered dress couldn’t hide the regal way in which she carried herself without even realizing, and the bits of tree couldn’t take the lustre away from her luxurious mane.
It seemed only yesterday that she was an eight-year-old girl, just beginning to learn all of the constellations and their meanings and now here she was, fourteen and beginning to learn the tasks of a ruler. He shook his head in admiration. As he pondered all that his daughter had accomplished in just this summer alone. While both the King and Queen had been involved in more pressing matters elsewhere, she had taken on the task of overseeing the construction of the new orphanage being built in Alus, to replace the former building that had been burnt to the ground in an accident a few months before.
At first, the townsfolk had been resentful of having been sent a representative in place of the King or Queen, but in time, they warmed up to her.
Aurin had always been wonderful with the children in the Hall and from the surrounding villages, but here, she seemed to draw children in droves. The orphans were staying with families from the village but during the day, there was not much for them to do aside from keeping out from underfoot. When Aurin arrived, they had at first come to see the princess. Many of them had never seen an Elf before, never mind the famed halfling daughter of the High King of Alganor.
On her first day in Alus, after a long day’s ride, she was tired and wanted only to rest. She was to reside with one of the local families and was looking forward to a peaceful meal and a warm fire and perhaps a soft bed. She got the meal and fire, but as she was getting settled for bed, she heard a soft knock on her door. Groaning, she propped herself up on one elbow. “Yes?”
The door opened slowly, to reveal a young girl holding a candle. “Begging your pardon, Mi’lady, but I was just wondering if you needed anything.” Aurin felt a pang of remorse at having been short with the child and softened her tone for her response.
“I thank you, hostess, but I am quite fine. The meal and warm fire were just what I needed to end the day’s journeying and now I plan on enjoying a night’s rest in this lovely feather bed with it’s lovely hand stitched quilt and pillow covers.” The girl’s eyes sparkled in wonder. “I’ve never seen such lovely work!” she continued. As she had guessed they would, the girl’s cheeks turned a bit crimson with that remark and she tried to hide a proud smile. “Where did your mother ever find such exquisite work?”
Blushing furiously she explained, “She made them herself, Mi’lady.”
“She did? Well, I shall surely have to pass that along to my mother. She herself would be rivaled by such craftsmanship! Do you see this one here?” The girl crept forward to get a better look, approaching the bed and rising on her tiptoes to see what the Princess was pointing at. The cushion she held showed a series of pictures of a bluebird in flight. The stitches were somewhat sloppy and obviously done by an inexperienced hand. “This is my most favorite of them all,” confided the princess in a hushed voice.
The girl blushed even deeper than before. “I’m so glad you like it, Highness. I finished it only yesterday.”
“You did this?” she exclaimed in mock amazement. “I’d never have guessed that one so young could be so skilled!” she gushed. Examining the cushion’s intimate details, she glanced at the young girl out of the corner of her eye. “Do you think,” she began, “as a special favor to me, you might consider letting me take this with me when I go?”
The girl seemed about to burst with pride, and young though she may be, answered in a very controlled voice, “I don’t see why not. I can always make another to replace it should Mother miss it.”
Beaming an enthusiastic smile at the girl, she embraced the girl. “Thank you so much!”
“It is my pleasure, your Highness, I assure you,” the girl insisted.
“You haven’t yet told me your name,” the princess pointed out. “I am Aurin,” though she knew she need not have said so for surely most everyone in the land knew of the halfling princess, it seemed the appropriate thing to say.
“And I am Ahnika,” the girl replied.
Aurin patted the mattress beside her, indicating that the girl should join her on the massive bed, which she did after first dashing to the door and making sure it was closed tight. She needed a bit of a helping hand for the bed was a little too high for her to climb up on her own.
“How old are you Ahnika?” Aurin asked as she tucked the girl in beside her.
“I’ll be ten years old tomorrow,” she announced proudly.
“Good for you,” she exclaimed and, taking the candle from her, set it on the small table at the bedside. “Are you afraid of the dark Ahnika?”
“Only if I am alone,” she confided.
Aurin nodded solemnly. “I used to be afraid too. My father used to have to come in and chase the trolls and goblins from under my bed. Then one day, he asked if I would help him chase them away. At first I was afraid, but when I bent down to holler at them, as I had seen him do many times before, I saw no trolls or goblins. I turned to Father and said, ‘they’ve all gone away already!’ He grinned and told me to check the wardrobe. There, too, I found no trace of troll or goblin. By then I was really very puzzled. ‘Do you know,’ he said to me, ‘I think they’re just as afraid of you as you are of them!’ I had to laugh at that, and after that, I was never afraid to go to sleep again.”
Ahnika was listening carefully, her large eyes growing brighter as she grew braver. “Is it all right if I blow out the candle now, Ahnika?” Aurin asked carefully.
Without hesitation, Ahnika nodded. “Yes, I’m not afraid anymore,” she said, and with a knowing smile, Aurin gratefully extinguished the candle.
She sighed as she lay down beside the little girl, glad to at last rest her travel weary body. “Does your mother sing to you before she puts you to bed?” she asked.
“She used to, but now I sing to the other little ones because she is busy with Granny, who is old and very sickly,” she explained.
The princess smiled to herself. “My mother used to sing to me every night, and still does when she can, but like your mother, she is busy. Busy running a kingdom.” She paused. “Would you sing to me Ahnika?”
She wished she could have seen the glow on the girl’s face that she was sure was accompanied by that request. Ahnika gently cleared her throat and began to sing a familiar lullaby in the most angelic voice Aurin had ever heard.
“Away she sailed, so cold and all alone
She held the flower close, feeling its warmth down to her toes
The silent shore fell away, and the stars began to shine
Just when she thought her heart would fall, a voice called “It’s time…”
Though she tried to stay awake and listen to the words of the song, Aurin felt herself slipping into a deep, exhausted sleep. Thinking of home and the responsibilities of tomorrow, feeling the reassuring heat of the girl lying at her back, she drifted off, a smile playing on her lips.
When she awoke the next morning, though she was an early riser herself, Ahnika was already gone. All that remained of her was a dent in the pillow and the slight smell of meadow flowers.
Aurin was kept very busy for the next few months, entertaining the children, examining the work done on the new orphanage and helping out as best she could in some of the homes in the village and surrounding areas. It was harvest time and with most of the men and boys working to get the building done before winter, the women and children were left to do their best on their own.
Three days before the first snowfall, Aurin sat down at the dinner table at Ahnika’s house with the knowledge that both the building and the harvest had been completed at last. Nearly everyone was bone weary, their eyelids drooping with exhaustion, but through it all, Ahnika always had a smile on her face and a tune hummed or sung just under her breath. Everyone enjoyed having her around while they worked and especially at the end of the day.
After she had helped to clear away the last of the dinner plates, she took her accustomed place at Aurin’s feet as the household gathered around the big fire in the large common room. Once everyone was settled in, they waited expectantly.
“Because this is Princess Aurin’s last night with us, I would like to sing a special song for her,” she announced, and gently cleared her throat.
Aurin recognized the song immediately, and a smile spread across her face as she closed her eyes and listed to the sound of her friend’s voice.
“Away she sailed, so cold and all alone
She held the flower close, feeling its warmth down to her toes
The silent shore fell away, and the stars began to shine
Just when she thought her heart would fall, a voice called “It’s time…”
When the song was over, there was not a dry eye in the room. To some the song was familiar and held personal meaning, but even to those just hearing it for the first time, it stirred deep emotions.
As she walked beside her father in the palace, she hummed the tune, unaware of her father’s reminiscing. Alkaness was amazed at how easily the people welcomed her into their hearts no matter where she went, but of course he should have expected it, considering who her mother was.
[^^Quilt patch]
Marion of the Stars was a woman who’s very presence seemed to affect affection and calm. Being a very powerful spell caster, there were some who swore it was some bewitchment, and there was a time that Alkaness had been willing to believe it. However, at this point, he had known Marion since she was a young lass, and he knew that no Mage alive held enough Power to keep up such a spell for the duration that she would have had to for the rumors to be true. Some still insisted on whispering epithets under their breath. Things like ‘Human Witch’, or, when it came to their daughter, ‘half breed’. Alkaness’ own brother had been know to refer to the Queen and Princess as the King’s Pet Human and their Halfling Brat. The utterance of those particular sentiments were the reason that Anthor and Alkaness had not been in the same room in just over a decade. If it hadn’t been for their familial ties, Alkaness might very well have had Anthor’s head on a pike, despite his younger brother’s insistence that the King had no stomach for the hands on aspect of the Ruling Class. Alkaness simply didn’t find it necessary to sully his hands, nor the hands of his men, with the blood of his subjects. Despite the lingering bigotry that exists after the Great Wars, the people of Alganor, and truthfully, all of Moris Auris, had by and large been very welcoming of the thought of the High King, an Elf, taking a Human as wife to be High Queen. Certainly none could find fault with his choice in Marion of the Sky. At least, none that had set aside their old hatreds.
As he walked hand in hand with his daughter through the hallways, he noted that she, too, appeared to be deep in thought. They, both of them smiled warmly and nodded in greeting to each person they passed on the way to the receiving room in the Queen’s private study, though there was none of the typical excited chatter that should have accompanied his homecoming.
Upon reaching an empty stretch of hallway, the King broke in on his daughter’s reveries. “What troubles you, Child?” he pulls a leaf from her tangled tresses as he asks.
After a beat, she looks up at him, a startled look on her face, as though she were surprised to find herself so far along their journey into the depths of the castle. She wound a lock of hair around a finger of her free hand, tugging at it absentmindedly, before answering.
“I’ve had a Vision,” she replies, sounding perplexed.
“Oh?” says the King, “Not a pleasant one, I will wager, by your uncharacteristic sullenness.” He patted her hand sympathetically. “Will you tell me of your Seeing?” he asked gently, not wishing to pry into the somewhat private area that Mages consider a Vision to be, however, wishing to support his obviously troubled daughter.
She shook her head, and he resigned himself to not knowing. “Let us wait until later this evening,” she clarified. “I want us to have a pleasant reunion,” she explained, leaning her head on his shoulder. One more growth spurt like the last, and his daughter would be off a height with her mother, who herself was only a finger’s breadth from being of a height with her husband.
He beamed down at her. “Well then, why don’t we begin on that? What have you been up to in my absence?”
His query opened the floodgates. Aurin jovially filled him in on everything that he had missed in the past fortnight. She told him of her antics with the other children, and of the pranks they had pulled on each other and, in turn, their instructors. “Nothing malicious,” she insisted fervently.
When she reached the telling of her classes, she fumbled when she reached her astronomy and astrology classes, as the themes brought to mind the Prophesies and her Vision.
Alkaness listened intently, and noted her pause, but did not comment on it, trusting that his daughter would turn to himself, or to Queen Marion, with anything of import, when she were ready to do so.
They walked into the Queen’s presence, arm in arm and smiling brightly. Marion rose to her feet from her favourite chair next to the large fireplace, a matching smile on her own face. Aurin fell back as Alkaness approached her mother. He took her hands in both of his and, kneeling, kissed them both. Marion bent to kiss the top of his head. Tugging on his hands, she drew him to his feet. The King drew his Queen into the circle of his arms.
[^^New Words]
Aurin’s heart thrilled to watch the love between her parents. It was so obvious that they adored one another, which is not necessarily always the case in a Royal marriage. Aurin had seen the frigid formality which existed between many of the neighbouring Monarchies when they had visited the Hall for celebrations and other political formalities.
She considered herself blessed to have been raised in such an atmosphere and could only hope to, one day also achieve a love match.
When their embrace at last broke, Aurin approached and settled herself on the ottoman at her father’s feet. The Queen settled herself back into her chair and the King folded his lanky frame into a matching chair, settling his feet next to his daughter’s crossed legs.
It was then that Marion finally noticed her daughter’s state of disarray. “Aurin, my Goodness!” she exclaimed with a startled laugh. “Add a traveling cloak and tougher soled shoes, and you yourself may well have been out on the road this last fortnight!” She tutted disapprovingly, but her eyes sparkled with mirth.
They spent the following half hour listening to Alkaness regale them with tales of meetings and treaty signings, which had the potential to be dry and standard fare, from perhaps anyone but Alkaness.
Both the Princess and the Queen were doubled over with fits of laughter by the time that a bevy of servants entered the room with a cart of covered plates, a pitcher and several mugs, and three fold away tables. Once dinner was laid out, the women had managed to compose themselves.
“Thank you, Ladies,” the Queen managed, wiping a tear from the corner of one eye. The servants curtsied and swished out of the room, leaving the family to their private reunion.
“Alkaness, you missed your calling as Court Jester,” Marion proclaimed, draping her napkin across her lap and taking up her cutlery.
Aurin wrinkled her nose as her mother spooned up a mouthful of boiled greens. She shuddered as she realized that, all too soon, the Mage guild was going to expect her to follow the long standing tradition of a vegetarian diet in order to sharpen the depth and clarity of her Visions. After this afternoon, the Princess was not entirely sure that she felt the need for any more clarity of perception.
Aurin caught her mother looking longingly at the thick slice of ham resting on her daughter’s plate. It’s juices already flowing across the surface to mingle with the mound of mashed potatoes.
They passed the meal listening to the Queen tell of highlights of her day, touching on a few items of import from the prior fortnight, some of which Aurin had already heard the telling of.
When they had all three set aside their forks, and folded their napkins in on themselves, Marion folded her hands in her lap and looked expectantly at her daughter. She knew. Somehow, she always knew when Aurin was mustering the courage to speak her mind on any given topic. It might have been a skills she had picked up in the political arena, though Aurin had her suspicions as to how much of that particular talent was political know how and how much was innate talent of a Seer.
The Princess took a few moments to gather her thoughts, collecting the dishes and refilling the mugs before she sat back down, fussing at arranging her skirt. At long last, she met her mother’s eye. “I have had a Vision,” she announced.
The Queen appeared to sit straighter in her seat as her daughter explained first the vision, and then the research she had conducted just that morning.
“Poor Genen,” was her father’s first comment.
“The Annals of the Bloody Brothers?” her mother repeated, unbelieving. “We all thought that some lingering seed of hope for the old factions,” she admitted. None had believed it a true Seeing, as Visions always came in two’s or three’s. There had been no duplication of this Vision. Until now.
Marion Stood. “We will have to get word to Zion at once,” she declared, alarmed.
Aurin drew the missive from her pocket. “I have already drafted a note to the Wizards,” she informed her mother, offering it to her for approval.
Marion’s features softened with a mixture of pride and sympathy. “My poor girl. Such a burden you have born for one so young and not yet fully trained.”
She accepted the girl’s missive and toyed with her daughter’s hair while she read. When she had reached the end, she handed it to Alkaness to peruse. She lent down and took the girl’s face between both of her hands. Aurin’s hands came up to rest over her mothers’.
“Aurin, I have never been more proud of you than I am in this moment,” the Queen proclaimed, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, “and something tells me that that is going to become a pattern in the coming days,” she concludes, knowingly, pressing her lips to the girl’s brow.
The King finished reading and perched on the corner of the ottoman next to his daughter, wrapping his arms around both of the women in his life. “I second that,” he said, his voice choked with tears of pride, and perhaps a tinge of fear.
The Royal couple was watching their little girl grow up right before their eyes. Aurin, for her part, was simply glad to have lived up to at least this part of the expectations which had been laid across her shoulders in the form of responsibilities.
The moment was short lived, as a hasty knock was quickly followed by the entrance of Savaus, the King’s right hand.
“Please excuse the interruption, your Majesties, Highness,” he begged with a quick bow, “but word has come of a splintering of the factions to the North.”
As her parents stood and made the swift transition from Mother and Father to King and Queen, Aurin went to Savaus and handed the missive he held in offering, to her father. She took the opportunity while the King read, to wrap the gruff man at arms in a hug.
“Welcome home, Savaus,” she murmured, her head on his chest.
“Thank you, Dear One,” he replied, wrapping her in a familial embrace. Savaus spent enough time fastened to the King’s shadow, that Aurin had long ago grown to think of him as an uncle.
Aurin squeezed him gently, and when his breath hissed in, sharply, she frowned, stepping back to look him over. She had seen him shirtless in the practice ring, or in the fields, and knew that his body was covered in scars, largely earned in the defense of the Royal Body. Savaus’ eyes met hers and a silent understanding passed between them. He had saved her father’s body from this wound. She nodded in silent thanks, for they had long ago agreed that it would do the Queen no good to fret over what had almost come to pass. “Almost only counts in horseshoes and Mage’s Fire,” her ‘Uncle’ had intoned time and again. Marion was no child, but Aurin agreed that there were certain worries which she simply had no need to bear.
Aurin moved her fingers in the movements of the silent communication of her Father’s regiment. You have been to see Naduk? Savaus signed back in the affirmative, and she relaxed, trusting the herb woman’s healing touch much more than the field medic that would have dressed the wound originally. She stepped to his side, her arm linking gently with his as the King looked up from the missive, stone faced, handing it to his Lady Wife. Aurin braced herself for the inevitable.
Marion wilted as she read. “When do you leave?” she asked, wearily, handing the document back to him.
“On the morrow,” came the reluctant reply. Aurin tried to keep the pain from her face, but she knew that stirrings within the Factions to the North was cause for gut twisting alarm. She could plainly see that alarm growing in both of her parents before they were able to regain their regal calm.
Aurin took advantage of the fact that she had not yet gone through the ceremonies that proclaimed her an adult, by rushing to her father and wrapping her arms around him, burying her face in the front of his tunic. She wouldn’t go so far as to allow herself to sob, but there was little she could do to keep the few tears that welled up from dampening the cloth of his travelling clothes.
Alkaness closed her in the circle of his arms, and she could feel her mother’s hands on her shoulders. The girl, soon to be a woman, took comfort in the embrace of her parents, and took strength from the smell of the wilderness rising from her father’s clothes.
Steady once more, she lifted her head, and backed up a step, as the King and Queen released her. She went to her mother’s desk to copy out her note to the Wizards in good hand, and rolled and tied it with the yellow ribbon that marked it as <yadda yadaa>. She melted the sealing wax into place and proffered it to first one parent, and then the other, for them to place their sigils into the cooling wax. Marked with both Royal seals, it would not be simply set aside to be reviewed at a later date.
“Savaus, get the men together, and speak to the Storemaster about provisions. Enough for the week, I should think,” Alkaness delegated.
Aurin kissed each of her parent’s on the cheek, and excused herself, leaving them the rest of the evening together. “Savaus, would you be so kind as to escourt me to the Tower on your way to the Barracks?”
There was a look of regret tinged gratitude on Marion’s face as her daughter turned to the man at arms. Savaus offered his arm. “I would be honoured, Dear One.” Arm in arm, the pair bowed and curtsied, respectively, before leaving the Queen’s study.
They proceeded in silence for long moments, before Savaus finally reached across to wipe away a tear that had leaked, unbidden, to dangle from the Princess’s nose. “You’re getting all grown up on me, Dear One,” he commented, softly.
She sniffled, daintily. “Thank you, Savaus. It is difficult to do the responsible thing; I have always known this. However, one forgets that the difficulty doubles in strength when one’s family is involved.” She thought back to her Vision. “There are many difficult days yet to come,” she went on, ominously.
Savaus glanced sideways at her, as her tone took on that faraway sound that Seers sometimes get when making proclamations. “You really are growing up, are you not?” he asked, sounding half accusatory.
She nodded, and shared with him the details of her Vision with silent moves of her fingers. He watched her sign, mesmerized.
“But you have not yet completed the ceremonies, nor changed your dietary habit,” he protested, seeking clarification.
“A fact of which I am well aware,” she signed back, her face filled with serious concern. “And that alone alarms me almost as much as the content of the Vision itself,” she admits.
It felt good to speak to someone that was not her parents about problems she was having. Savaus had been her confident since she was a young lass. He taught her the finger language so that she could discuss matters of import without having to be cloistered behind closed doors. In fact, the four of them, Mother, Father, Savaus and Aurin herself, had created a dialect all their own in order to discuss matters of state in full privacy, even amid a banquet or other social event. Aurin would soon have to teach the dialect to someone else, as she would be selecting her own chief of staff very shortly.
Aurin bid her Uncle goodbye as they reached the base of the Tower. He would procede to the outer walls, and the barracks there that housed the highly trained guardsmen of the Royal Watch. The barracks housed a stable, for the men’s horses.
She made her way up the imposing steps of the Tower. There were stray feathers everywhere. Some only the size of her pinky finger, but others, the full span of her leg. She always felt uneasy whenever she had need to draw near the tower. For all of her confidence with the Humans and Elves of Moris Auris, the Avii still had the ability to make her feel like prey.
She could hear the birdlike chatter trickling down from above her as she reached the housing quarter of the Tower. She steeled herself before rounding the final corner, doing some breathing excersises in order to still the humming bird in her heart. If she had not been so off-put, she might have seen the irony in tha comparison. As it was, she straightened her spine and rounded the last bend.
“Ho, Princess,” greeted the man at the door. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, as though he might draw it at any moment, but he visibily relaxed as they spoke.
“Greetings, Kerrith. How are you enjoying retirement?” Aurin teased the portly, older man. He had once been a part of her Father’s personal guard, but an injury, and old age, had left him too broken for active combat. But a soldier never stops being a soldier, and so her father had given him the task of guarding the lower door to the Tower. It was a boring post, and many, younger men, might have taken the opportunity to become lax. However the leather of his breastplate gleamed with fresh oil, and there was not a speck of grime nor rust to be had on the mans uniform. She was certain that if he were to unsheathe the blade, it would gleam with a polished, deadly sharp edge. He may have become overly plump, but while he’d been chewing, he’d been cleaning and polishing and sharpening. Kerrith always looked as though he were ready, or getting ready for, parade.
“Auch!” he bellyached, “I can never seem to get me armour quite clean enough,” he complained with a wink, and guffawing so that his middle jiggles like jellied figs. He noded to the roll of parchment she held reverently in her hands. “Ye’ll be having your own deal, soon,” he commented, sounding almost whistful.
“Why, Kerrith, is that a note of sentiment I detect?” she teased.
“Aye, Lassie, I suppose it be,” his eyes twinkle as me makes the admission. Kerrith was not the only older guard or soldier whom had developed familial feelings for the girl. Princess Aurin was simply exuded the kind of charm that made almost anyone who had any sort of kindly feelings towards the girl find a special place in theirs hearts in which she resided.
Kerrith reguarded her for a long moment, while she in turn reguarded the closed door. “You wouldn’t be procrastinating, would ye, Missy?” he asked of her, one brow raised, his tone lightly scolding. She flushed.
“They unnerve me, Kerrith,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
“C’mere,” he opened his arms to her. She went to him, fighting not to scamper like a frightened child just woken from a nightmare. He closes her in his iron hard arms and lays a kiss upon her golden crown of locks. “Old Kerrith would sooner drop dead than send ye into the depths of a place where any creature therein meant you harm,” he assured her. He held her at arm’s length and reguarded her. “Lassy, I’ve watch ye tumble about with the Hounds of the Guard, and a nest of wolf pups to boot, while the she wolf looked kindly on,” he stated, “Why in tarnation should these feathery louts have ye all in goosepimples?”
Kerrith did have a way of slicing right through to the core of a matter. She chuckled and then heaved a sigh. “You are right of course. I am being silly,” she declared.
He released her shoulders. “A mite unreasonable, mayhap,” he said with a wink. After giving her a moment to think on it, he tilted his head to the door. “Get on with ye, then, Little Princess,” he ordered, gently, his fondness for her eveident in his oddly spurred voice.
She squared her shoulders and, putting the steel back in her spine, presses through the door into the chamber on the opposite side. Her back to the door, she took a moment to orient herself before striding purposefully to the sorting table, spread out with basket of scrolls and packages, both incoming and outgoing. The boys doing the sorting ignored her. She took the opportunity to watch them work, admiring their deft hands as they flipped through scrolls, sheaves of paper and boxes alike. It was not until one of them achieved a paper cut, and began swearing like a dock worker that any of them took notice of her.
“Daethem!” came an irate voice from above them, “That is no way to speak in front of a lady! Especially not the Princess of all the realms.” The words were accompanied by a breeze, though none of the papers did more than rustle in their respective piles or baskets, as one of the Avii settled behind the Princess, coming to roost between herself and the door. After a fleeting moment of panic, she nodded in salute to the Avii, who had sunk into a bow, flourishing his wings as a man might his cloak.
His voice might have been as sharp as his beak, but Aurin found herself relieved to be facing Plegg, one of the friendliest Avii she had ever had the pleasure of meeting.
The Princess bowed her head, acknowledging the flourishing bow, and picked a feather off of her shoulder, with a smile. “Good Day, Master Plegg,” she greeted.
“And to you, Princess!” Th- man? Bird? Birdman?- rose from his bow, the corners of his beak twitching with good cheer to match his greeting. “How may we serve you, Mi’lady?”
She held up the scroll, trying to ignore what she perceived to be glares from the other Avii in the immediate vicinity. “I have a priority message bound for Zion,” she explained.
He took it from her, gracefully, with a small bow, and turned his head before letting you a shrill call, which she knew, from previous explanation was the individual call of a specific Avii, such as the Savaus might call out for one of his men by name. A dainty looking female Lark alighted near the group, dipping into a bob that was the Avii salute.
“Meck, the Princess has a mission for you.” The Lark’s feathers fluffed momentarily, a display of momentary shock, similar to raised eyebrows in a humanoid.
Meck plunged into a deep bow. “Begging your pardon, Mi’Lady. I didn’t recognize you!” Meck’s voice shook slightly, and Aurin wished, not for the first time, that she could learn to tell the age of the Avii.
“You are forgiven, Meck. I am, after all, dressed incognito,” she tried to make it light and teasing. The Avii made a quick duck of her head that would have been a blush in a human.
“Yes, of course, Highness,” she replied. “How may I serve thee, Princess?” she enquired.
Aurin managed to make it clear where the scroll was going, and it’s level of import, all without her voice wavering gain. As she quit the Housing quarter of the Tower, she could have sworn there was a look of pity in Plegg’s eye as he watched her exit. She managed to get past Kerrith without more teasing, though he did clamp a massive hand on her shoulder and squeeze gently, silently acknowledging a job well done.
The Princess headed for the Hall, intending to gather her handmaidens before making a visit to the bath house housed within it’s walls. She was certain there were more than a few leaves still stuck in her hair. And perhaps the hot water and scrubbing would alleviate the growing knot in her stomach.
Erstwhile, deep in the crags of the Northern Steppes, the plot thickened.
He had been called Toadie, Lapdog, and worse, by members of the Court, visiting dignitaries, and servants alike. His skin was the sickly cast that certain reptiles had, and it had the same shine as that of a salamander. Therefore toad really was not that far off.
Soluomin was 5 foot even. Considered short by the Elves whom her served, anything over 4 foot 6 was considered tall by Krig standards. His hands were mottled with black spots, though those were simply ink stains from the speech he was writing for the True King of Moris Auris, Anthor, brother to the usurper, Alkaness. His Grace was meant to travel to the towns in the foothills throughout the next week, recruiting to their cause, and stirring up what some might call, civil unrest.
The Krig did his best not to flinch any time he heard the creak of armour, of the clearing of a throat that announced the presence of his ‘escourt’. Despite years of loyal service to His Grace, Soluomin could not shake the feeling that the guards were watching him, as opposed to watching out for him. The sneers and jeers that cropped up anytime that Anthor, or anyone else of import were not in the room may have added to that feeling. He may have been Anthor’s most trusted advisor, but the King’s brother never truly trusted anyone, and only a fool trusted a Krig, or so the adage went.
Soluomin reached into the basket of sand and let it fall over the freshly written document, drying the ink. He packed away his implements, and could hear the guards stir again, restlessly, ready to escourt him to their leader’s presence. He slung his scribe’s satchel over his shoulder, tucking it against him like a coveted prize, or comforting talisman, and rose, heading for the door. He tried not to hunch, not to show fear, nor intimidation. After all, he was already so much shorter than the vast majority of his ‘companions’. It only leant to the imagery as Krig as vermin, when he hunched, or scurried. However, there was a fine line between hunching and appearing uppity. The last thing he needed was someone thinking he was getting too big for his britches.
He spent the entire walk to the War Room thinking about posture, and waiting for the harassing jab of a spear that never came.
The obsidian doors should have made a Gods aweful wracket as they opened. Only magic kept the noise from being teeth setting. The King’s back was to the door, and Soluomin had to fight down the image of a daggar thrust between the shoulder blades. It was not that the Krig wished his Liege ill. The Krig were, unmistakably, a race of backstabbing retches. However, the loyalty of a Krig can be negotiated for, and if one knew the correct way to negotiate a Krig contract of loyalty, one was guaranteed that said Krig would in fact be loyal til death. There were perhaps four score of non-Krig who had the education required to navigate such a contract successfully.
Anthor ranked among the aforesaid four score.
The Krig approached his King’s left side, sinking to one knee, head lowered, waiting to be acknowledged. Anthor let him stay there for a few moment’s before he finally waved him up.
“Rise, my little scribe,” came the careless sounding, genteel voice of the King. Though you wouldn’t mistake Anthor for the usurper himself, there was no doubt that they were cut from the same cloth. His hair, worn to his waist, was contained within a myriad of tiny braids, taking some of the glacial quality from the icy white strands. His finely chiseled features looked to be cast from living marble. His chin held the same cleft as his brother, and their eyes were the same, startling, Saffire blue, streaked with a stormy grey. A scar bisected his right eyebrow on a diagonal, and if you were to ask the King the story behind it, no two tellings were ever the same. There wre some among the Elves that would have gone to great lengths to hide or repair the scar. Soluomin got the impression that the king thought that it leant him an air of rugged charm. The women folk of several races seemed to concur with that assessment.
The Krig rose and followed the king as he swept across the room, his cloak whispering along the uneven rock floor of the cavern. The guards followed them, their armour creaking, as no one felt the need to waste magic to eliminate the noise.
The True King took up residence in his throne. The chair was carved from the same obsidian as the rest of the room. In fact, it was a-piece with the floor, however it’s lustrous black shine was obscured by the nearly as black furs that covered it. Soluomin stood in a pose of military ease, as his King went over the document, exclaiming from time to time in excitement, his eyes glittering.
Anthor was delusional, of course. He was not the True King of Alganor, despite his protestations. An accident of birth left him the younger child, only able to inherit the title if he could remove his brother from the throne. The only way to do that was to assassinate him, and the only way to rule the people whose beloved King you have just murdered, is to plunge the realm into war.
Anthor was old fashioned. He felt that humans were scum and that Elf Kind should rule all other races. Soluomin had no real beef with humanity, nor did most Krig. However, there was little profit to be had from peace, and even less glory. For a race which valued both, the Krig made it a habit to support whosoever intended the most civil unrest.
Soluomin was writing speeches designed to insight the old hatred that many of the simpler folk in the outlying areas tended to cling to. Those in the cities had been living with Human and Elf, side by each for over a decade now. They were less likely to be easily swayed to renew the racial wars. There were enough long lived, war saturated creatures to give Anthor the confidence he needed to try grinding his brother’s people to pulp, though few military minded individuals had any illusions as to who would win an all out war. The Krig were simply hoping to get a few years of profit out of the resulting chaos of the High King’s death and the pursuant destruction.
After a time, Anthor leapt from his throne. “I love it! It is genius!” He patted the Krig on the head like one might a favoured hound. The Krig bore it kindly enough.
“I am honoured to have pleased my Liege,” he bows deeply as the Elf takes up his typical pacing up and down the room, reading from the pages.
Any other madman might have stumbled over the uneven floor as he paced, his face buried in the pages, however Anthor always managed to be graceful of limb, if not of mind.
He picked out a few key phrases which struck his fancy, and took to repeating them over and over with different inflections and affectations. Soluomin applauded appreciatively, whenever his King looked to him for feedback. Only half of his mind was in the room with him. The other half was calculating profits and losses. The Krig was daydreaming about retirement in a nice quiet part of Moris Auris, a place where he could surround himself with tomes and scrolls. Who was he kidding? The King’s scribe was also the king’s Bard, and retirement, such as it was was, would likely find him traversing the face of the globe in search of new and interesting stories and poems for his collection. He would leave the prophesies to the wizards, he thought, generously.
The crowd cheered, the sounds echoing off of the ceiling and walls of the cavern. Soluomin could not help but shake his head. He had expected no less than the crowd to do exactly what it was doing, and he fully expected them to return to their homes and their inns and their places of work and spread the vicious lies that the True King had just spoon fed them, with Soluomin’s own words, no less. But there were times when he honestly wondered if Mankind didn’t deserve to be wiped from the earth. If this was all it took to get them to abandon their fealty for a King who, to the best of their knowledge before listening to this speech, had done only the best for and by his subjects. If they were willing to go to support the assignation of their beloved leader on the say so of a hopped up Elvin Princiling who fancied himself the True King of Alganor, and all of Moris Auris, simply because he was more racist than his older brother would ever conceive of being… He sighed and shook his head, pittying the poor fools.
Alkaness lent his elbows on the table before him, placing his head in his hands, massaging his temples and morehead. He was running on very little sleep, and had barely touched the food that had been brought him at meal times.
“His Majesty will reconvene with you on the morrow, gentlefolk.” It was not until Savaus was closing the door on heels of the delegation from both splinters of the Northern faction that the King even realized that he had lost the thread of the conversation. As his Man returned to his side, there were lines of concern at the edges of his eyes. “Perhaps Your Majesty would enjoy a hot bath and a warm meal?”
Even Savaus was beginning to pick at him like a mother hen. Perhaps it was about time he saw to his own needs, as opposed to the needs of everyone else. When Alkaness didn’t reply, Savaus crossed his arms and peered down at him down the length of his nose. “Sire, I feel it important to remind you that you are no good to anyone, dead from starvation, or lack of sleep.”
The King heaved a sigh and levered himself out of his chair, picking up his discarded crown, and clamping Savaus on the shoulder with his free hand. “If only they knew how much you had to do with keeping this kingdom running smoothly, my friend.”
Looking relieved, Savaus smiled his crooked grin. “Then they would expect things of me, Sire. I have shadowed you long enough to know that I do not wish any more expectations from your subjects than to keep their king’s hide all a piece,” he teased. But they both knew that without Savaus to remind the King to eat, sleep, and rest, nothing would ever get accomplished. Alkaness also found him invaluable as a sounding board when facing decisions both great and small.
Savaus opened the door once more and gave orders to a servant to have a bath drawn and a platter of tidbits prepared for the King. He then returned to help Alkaness gather up the scattered pile of papers that had accumulated across the face of the table. He shook his head as he considered the obscene demands of the splintered factions. Complaining about taxes was one thing, but to demand that they be exempt from expectations such as educating their children or training their craftsmen…. These people wanted to abolish the requirement to have their children in class. They wanted to be exempt from paying truancy fines. They wanted to be able to, in a sense, work their children like slaves. They thought it folly that a blacksmith or a Ferrier must complete an apprenticeship first, tht he should simply be allowed to set up shop, no license required, no paperwork. Just do whatever shoddy work he wishes in whatever condemned building was available.
“Where in the blazes do they get these ideas?” he asked with venom. He looked up in time to catch his King’s stony face. “You don’t think…” he let it hang, knowing better than to utter the name aloud.
“I don’t think. I know,” His voice sounded weary, and resigned. Alkaness knew that the time had come. He was going to have to order the death of his own brother, or risk having him come against him in a full on war, and he could not afford to let sentiment plunge this Nation into chaos. It simply was not worth the cost in lives. He had known in on hour two of the deliberations with the splintered factions, and it was what had put him off of his food.
“I had known that his resentment would fester. I never in my wildest dreams thought that he was mad enough to plunge us into chaos again, simply to satisfy his racist beliefs.” He sighed again and headed for the door. “May the Ancestors of my people forgive me.” Savaus said a silent prayer to his own ancestors, asking for strength enough to be the pillar that his Liege required during this time. Together they walked to the King’s chambers, their fingers dancing.
“How am I to face my daughter, with the blood of my brother on my hands?” plead the King.
“How will you hand her the mantel of ruler knowing that you staid your hand from removing the biggest threat the Nation had ever known?” Savaus countered. “She might as well be my own blood, Alkaness. I won’t thank you for leaving her a Kingdom she must rule in fear of her own life and the life of all who swear her fealty.” No one but Savaus would ever dare be so brusque, so harsh, with the King. Which was one of the chief reasons that he was the King’s Right Hand. Someone had to tell him when he was being an ass.
His words had the added advantage of being correct. Sometimes a man, especially a King, must do an unsavory thing for righteous reasons. It was time for Alkaness to take his brother’s advice, and get his hands dirty. How ironic that it would he his own blood which sullied the King’s hands…
Feeling as though he done not much more than batter his head against the wall that was the splintering factions for the past week, Alkaness was at last determined that there was nothing more he could do, short of give in to their demands. As this was obviously not something which he was prepared to do, he took his leave of them, muttering platitudes about having to get home for his daughter’s coming of age ceremony, which was true enough, and the thought of seeing her and his beloved queen was the only thing which kept the smile affixed on his features, as he knew what his next step must be. Kinslaying was not a thing to look forward to.
Savaus kept his King’s mind busy on the journey home, engaging him in talk of preparations for a gift for the upcoming festivities. Alkaness had picked up a few trinkets for his Ladies in the markets of the villages they had passed through during the negotiations, but none of those baubles would do for his Daughter’s special day.
“Do you remember the glass maker, Savaus?” the King asked, as they rode through Raknor Forest, several hours outside of Alganor.
His man smirked. “Aye! She was a wee slip of a thing!” crowed Savaus, a sparkle in his eye. The King guffawed, realizing what it was that had his friend so groggy this morning.
“Do you think Aurin might like the windows of her first municipal project to have windows done by your wee slip?” Alkaness mused aloud.
Savaus whistled. “That’s quite an endorsement, Majesty. I think the girl would be honoured. And I think Aurin would adore you for it.” Savaus was right, of course. When she found out who the artisan was, Aurin would thank her father more giving the girl the opportunity, than for the work itself. She was certainly her father’s daughter.
They broke for midday meal in a glen in the forest. As he ate, Alkaness wrote out two brief notes. The first, asking the glass maker if she would accept the contract for the first Municapal building that Princess Aurin signed off on. The second, to his Lady wife, letting her know to expect them before dark.
The two messenger Larks that had traveled with them departed in opposite directions. No sooner had the Avii become specks on the horizon than the undergrowth began to rustle and Savaus’ skin prickled in magical warning. Something was passing his wards.
Savaus’ men circled round the King, their blades out. Savaus himself was at the King’s side, both hands full of steel; an axe in one hand and a longsword in the other. The King drew his own sword and dagger, his eyes keen for whatever the danger was that pressed in on them. Whatevr danger had just passed through two layers of Elvish wards.
The wolves were too big to be natural. Alkaness muttered a string of curses under his breath. His brother had beat him to the punch. He had decided that Kinslaying was not so unsavory. The King dropped to his knees, hoping to lay down a circle of power. It was the only thing he could think of. But the beasts were too quick. No doubt they had their order, not to toy with their prey, not to give them time to raise magic against them. All around him, blood was spilling and fur was flying as the beast tore the throats out of the men.
In the end, his muttering was a prayer of forgiveness. He was asking his ancestors to forgive him for staying his hand for too long.
Aurin reached to her left for a tome on the top shelf, leaning far enough past the ladder that Gennen began fussing. She was in the process of rolling her eyes at him when she went stone still and plummeted from the top of the ladder. The shocked Tome Keeper caught her, but not before she had knocked her head on a shelf o nthe way down. Blood marred her brow where the wooden plank had split the skin just above her eyebrow. A quick look told him it was not a dire wound, though it would bleed some. He pressed the sleeve of his robes to the wound, calling the Princess’s name.
The girl was still board stiff, her eyes far away, her lips moving in silent words. Her fists clenched. “Dear Ancestors!” he exclaimed. The girl was in the throes of a Seeing! He tried to ignore the part of his logical mind that tried to tell him that it was impossible, that only a Vision Come to Pass could send a Seer so quickly into a Vision. He simply held the girl, letting her body leach what strength it could from him as the magic ravaged her.
After several long moments, she gasped, sittingbolt upright. “Father!” she cried out, her voice strangled with grief. She pushed Genen aside and leapt to her feet, rushing through the stacks, her skirts clutched in her fists as she fought to break into a run. The head wound had begun bleeding again, and her blood dripped down the side of her face to mix with the silent stream of tears and stain her dress. Genen rushed after her, knowing that people would try to stop her and well aware of what a Seer was capable of after such a shock. She wouldn’t be herself. She was obviously on a mission, and from her outcry, he could only assume she was headed to her mother’s side.
People gaped, and gasped in shock as the bloodied girl brushed past them, brusquely. Genen kept them back, and finally engaged the aide of a few of the younger boys to run ahead and clear a path. He didn’t know what they would do when they reached the gates.
Aurin saved him the worry by heading to her usual entrance, digging the key out from under the collar of her dress. He slipped in behind her before she slammed the door closed and relocked it. Now he only had the Hall staff to worry about. He breathed a little easier.
The first person they came across was a guard. Genen gave him a hurried explanation that sucked the colour for the lads skin. He shouted to a counterpart on the ramparts, and word was sent ahead of them. The guard stayed with them, clanking ahead of them in the halls to have anyone between them and the queen press themselves against the walls and out of the path of the Princess, still caught up in the aftermath of her Vision.
Marion found them before they had reached her study. She too, gasped when she saw her daughter, not prepared for the sight of her bloodied daughter. “Aurin!” she choked out. The girl did not react except to walk into the circle of her mother’s arms and sink to her knees, exhausted. Marion soothed the girl, her hand passing over the girl, muttering a spell. Soon, the girl calmed, and finally relaxed, her eyes closing in a spent sleep.
“Get her to my rooms,” the Queen ordered the guard who had accompanied them. He took the girl in his arms, silently obeying.
“What happened?” she queried Genen, looking for the explanation as they both fell into step behind the man carrying the Princess’s still form. The Tome Keeper swallowed audibly before telling her what had just transpired.
He had to catch her by the arms when he told her that the girl had cried out for her father upon waking. His own heart was in his throat as he steadied her.
“I am so sorry, Majesty,” Genen tried to console her.
She waved him off, her spine ridgid. “Go on,” she insisted, hurrying to catch up.
He told the entirety of the journey from the Library to her side, wringing his hands as he spoke. At last, they reached the Queen’s chambers. Genen stopped on the threshold, watching as they laid Aurin out on the queens bed, tucking her beneath the layers of blankets. Marion ordered the guard to send for the healer woman, Nanuk, and to send her the first three servants he came across on his way to the Tower.
Genen stepped out of the man’s way, feeling useless. Marion waved him in. “Come in, Genen. I’ll need your help.”
The three servants rushed in, and were immediately dispatched for buckets of water, clean clothes, and a selection of fresh hearbs from the Queen’s gardens. Genen sat on the opposite side of the girl, acting as an anchor for her as Marion hummed under her breath.
“What’s happened, Majesty?” he finally asked.
“She’s lost, Genen. She hasn’t finished her training, She doesn’t know how to find her way back from where she’s been plunged I nthe Spirit realm. We have to guide her home.”
The healer woman arrived and hobbled to the Queen’s side, handing her a note as she started unpacking her satchel. “They told me to give ye this, Child,” she croaked. Genen’s eyes widened at the form of address.
Marion read the note, and her hands were shaking as she set it aside.
“Mi’lady?” he inquired.
“It’s from Alkaness. He says they’ll be home before dark” her eyes met his, full of meaning.
They stayed with the Princess through the night. Dusk had come and gone, and there was no sign of the King nor his party.
Marion sent scouts, but she held no false hope.
The sun was just lighting the eastern sky when there came a tapping on the nearby window. Genen went to the window and let in the Avii. He was an Osprey, one of the hunters. He bowed to the Queen.
“What have you got there?” Her voice was a thin sound, like a cloud that would disperse under the slightest wind.
The Avii rose, and the light from the lanterns at the bedside reflected off of the circle of gold he held in his beak. He stepped lightly forward and laid his cargo delicately in the outstretched hands of the Queen. The Queens Right Hand stepped forward to grasp the Queen at the wrist and elbow, expecting, as were most in the room, that she would buckle. However, the High Queen of Moris Auris was made of sterner stuff than that. Her spine straightened, and she nodded in thanks to the Osprey. She tunred to face the room, holding up the King’s Crown.
“The King is dead. Long Live the Queen,” she intoned the traditional words. As those in the room repeated, “Long live the Queen!” she accepted the full burden of rulership for the entire Kingdom. Aurin chose that moment to moan, struggling towards consciousness.
Everyone turned to the Princess, and Nanuk had one of the servants ladle a potion into a goblet and bring it to the girl. “Sit her up and have her inhale the fumes,” she croaked. Marion herself got up on the bed, propping the girl up. Aurin coughed and spluttered, but her eyes sprang open with a gasp.
“Shhhh, Aurin my sweet, Mother’s here,” Marion crooned, petting her hair, careful to avoid the bandage on her brow.
“Father?” the girl asked weakly, though she was sure she knew the answer. There was a long silence.
It was the Osprey who broke it, bowing again, from his place near the window. “Long live the Queen,” he repeated. Marion held her daughter as she sobbed.
As Anthor had predicted, the people were struck deep by the loss of their king. What he did not expect, in his delusional state, was that he had now provided them with a martyr. They had a cause. At frist, with the heart torn out of them, they fell easily under the slash and dash assaults from the skies, but soon, they regrouped, and found discipline. While it was true that the Elves had more mystics and mages among them, three years later, the Elves were faltering. They were no match for the blind passion of Men, who fought for a cause, not for power. This somehow gave them the power to prevail over the magic of the Elves.
Despite this, the Elves were not hopeless. Their ruler had a plan. A plan that, if all went well, would wipe out the annoyance that was Man.
Anthor hated Man. They were an annoyance and a threat to the ancient ways of the Elves and they must be crushed. He had despised his brother, the High King, for his love of Man, a race that Anthor, considered to be vermin. Anthor held on to the old prejudices tightly. His first action after assinating their king hand been to declare war on Man. He felt that the only way to quell the imagined danger which they represented, was to abolish the entire race. But they were winning!
Anthor tore through the library in a rage. Soluomin cowered as he followed his King, attempting to save the pages and scrolls from too much more than a crumpling as the Elf raged.
“What am I missing, Krig! There has to be something that I am missing!” He finally collapsed into a chair. “Recite me the songs of Alganor,” he commanded in a clipped voice.
The ballad in question had always been a childhood favourite of the Elf Prince. Soluomin set the pages aside, delicately, and stood straight, putting on his orator’s voice to soothe the tantrum.
Anthor closed his eyes, imagining the Human’s scattering in the full face of the Kings of Old. They had many more mages back then, and weapons of Magic. That was when he began work on his plan.
There was a great gathering at Alkaness’ Hall that night. The word had gone out and all of Anthor’s loyal minions had sent their Seers, Sorcerers and Magicians to his court to aid in the plan.
They had worked steadily for seven days and seven nights, knowing they must be finished before the setting of the sun on the day before the Elcipse.
At last it was finished. Anthor gently lifted the Book from its pedestal of bone. This was the key to his victory. Within its pages was the power of a thousand centuries, spells that had been passed down from Elf to Elf and even from the Fairy folk of Diakka. With this weapon he would destroy the forces of Man and finally rid himself of his nemesis, Marion, and her halfling brat, Aurin.
In another part of Morus Auris, Marion looked over the crowd before her. Nearly two thousand of Ruen’s citizens and other stragglers had spread themselves on the floor of the Citadel. Two thousand wasn’t nearly enough to make the massive building seem crowded, but it was enough to keep it from feeling empty.
The might of Alganor and her Allies had been pushing back the quell of the Elves’ attack over the last three years, and it looked as though things were finally coming to an end. There were still minor skirmishes, but the will had died in the opposing force. They were simply no match for the power of the Mage Guilds and the Wizards of Zion.
There would be an Eclipse today…Which, combined with certain prophecy, told her that the worst was yet to come.
As she made her way gingerly through the crowd, she spotted her daughter perched on the ledge of one of the enormous windows. Stargazing, no doubt.
“Aurin.” The young woman turned at the sound of her name, and a smile played on her lips as their eyes locked. She slid from her perch and met her mother at ground level.
“I miss him, mother,” she said simply as they began to walk through the crowd.
Marion sighed, despite herself, a sound of longing and remembrance. “I know Aurin, we all do. But we must be strong.” A shadow passed over her finely chiseled features as she thought about the message she had just received.
“What is it?” asked Aurin, catching the brief flicker of distress from her mother.
“The Elves are advancing, Aurin. They’re up to something, something powerful.” She paused. “The Eclipse will begin soon. You know what that means, Aurin.”
This time it was the daughter’s turn to flicker. Pain flowed across her beautiful face and settled in her eyes. “If my father were here, he would put a stop to all of this,” she declared.
“If your father were here, we wouldn’t be in this predicament, but thanks to Anthor’s treachery, he is not.” She stopped walking and took her daughter by the shoulders. “I need you to be strong, Aurin, for the people. You are their beacon of hope, and without hope, they will be conquered by Anthor and his brethren. I know it hurts,” she continued, as she noticed the girls eyes shine with unshed tears, “and there will be a time to deal with that pain, but not now, not here.”
She embraced the girl, enveloping her in the sweet smell of dewdrops and lilacs, that even weeks without bathing could not disguise. “I love you Aurin.” But before the girl could respond, Marion dissolved in a shower of silver-white light.
“Bring my steed!” bellowed the Elf King as he paced the floor in anticipation. The great Osprey appeared almost immediately and the Krig slid nervously from his back. Soluomin had never trusted that bird, it was too much like its master.
Anthor quickly lashed the Book to a second Osprey and hauled himself on to his mount, Sivek. He seemed to never roost, this massive bird of prey. Always he seemed to be circling the skies. With a cry to his followers, Anthor took to the sky, headed for Ruen, and victory.
He shivered in anticipation as he pictured the Sorceress cowering under his might, perhaps pleading for the life of her brat. The sooner he was rid of those two the better. If it hadn’t been for those two, he thought, he would have been celebrating this victory months ago. No matter, this would make victory that much sweeter.
Her spies from Alganor had been breathless as they fell from the sky that morning. They had paid with their lives to make certain she was warned. She seethed with hatred as she thought of Anthor and his Book. This may be too much for even a Sorceress as great as she, she pondered. But she would do everything in her power to make sure he did not reach the Citadel.
She looked up at the Citadel once more before turning her back on it for the last time. As she began to draw the circle, the image of Aurin’s face, contorted with rage as she forced herself to accept everything that was happening around her, flashed before her.
Marion took a breath to clear the image from her mind. She must concentrate on the spell. The lines of the circle must be drawn perfectly. Everything had to be perfect.
The circle complete, she drew herself to her full height and lifted her hands to the sky, appealing to the powers of light. “Prolinus setta kilus, met kilus, ots kilus, Temus ik, setta sevius, setta devimus. Temus ik, Temus ik, TEMUS IK!” With the final words, she felt herself rising into the air. She gritted her teeth against the searing pain that she had known would come. Just when she thought she couldn’t keep from crying out, the end came.
Aurin tried to choke back the sob that clawed at her throat as she watched the glowing speck explode into a brilliant display of silver-white fireworks. The power of the Prophesy swept through her, but she had been prepared this time, and rode the wave, only a soft moan belying the event.
“Did you say something, Aurin?” came an angelic voice from near her feet.
“No Tassa, I was just thinking of my father.” This answer satisfied the young girl who had often seen the older girl shed a tear for her lost father.
Aurin wiped her face and slid down from her perch in the window. She had to be strong, her mother had said.
She swept the little girl up into her arms and they giggled together as they walked through the crowd. Eyes lifted and faces brightened at the sight of their bright smiles.
There it was, Ruen. And, yes, there was their precious Citadel. It wouldn’t be long now. He could hear Soluomin whining from somewhere near his right shoulder, something about witches and powerful halflings.
Suddenly aware of the meaning of those whinings, he whirled on the Krig. “If you fear anyone, Krig, it had best be me.” Anthor grabbed the cowering Krig by his shirtfront and nearly dismounted him as he drew him close. “I will have no talk of that witch or the halfling. Not even Alkaness’ brood can stop me this time.” With that he released the Krig who swung precariously before righting himself again in midair.
He turned back to the approaching hillside. “Land us there, above the Citadel.” His steed nodded almost imperceptibly and banked to bring them down for a gentle landing on the hilltop.
Just as they were about to touch down, Anthor noticed a dark cloud rising from the Citadel.
“Fools! Do they really think their puny squadron can stop me?”
To clear her mind and regain her inner calm, Aurin decided to pay a visit to the cave where the ancient Elfin hieroglyphs had lay hidden for thousands of years. Since coming to Ruen she had often trekked up to the cave. It was peaceful there and it gave her a sense of being part of something much larger than herself. But today, before she could accomplish that feeling, she heard a disturbing noise rise over the quiet of the caves.
When she left the seclusion of the caves and looked back towards Ruen, her heart sank. The squadron was taking flight to intercept a massive cloud heading in from the east. Noting the perfect dimensions and fluid speed of the cloud, she guessed it to be an opposing squadron, and coming from the east meant that it must be Anthor.
She had been outside the walls of the citadel though she was not supposed to have been. When she returned and saw the rubble, something extraordinary happened. A rage wept through her and she began to glow. Aurin was no ordinary girl. She was the child of Marion of Ruen, and Alkaness of Alganor.
She had within her veins, the combined blood of two very powerful beings, and the sight of the decimated Ruen was enough to jump-start the power within her. At once she called for the aid of bird and beast to find out who had done this. They told her of the elves and their Book. As she took to the pursuit of her quarry, she vowed that she would wreak her vengeance upon the elves. Not only had she lost a home in Ruen but a brother and the only man she had ever loved. As she tracked the elves, her power grew, fuelled by her fury.
She had been outside the walls of the citadel though she was not supposed to have been. When she returned and saw the rubble, something extraordinary happened. A rage wept through her and she began to glow. Aurin was no ordinary girl. She was the child of Marion of Ruen, and Alkaness of Alganor.
She had within her veins, the combined blood of two very powerful beings, and the sight of the decimated Ruen was enough to jump-start the power within her. At once she called for the aid of bird and beast to find out who had done this. They told her of the elves and their Book. As she took to the pursuit of her quarry, she vowed that she would wreak her vengeance upon the elves. Not only had she lost a home in Ruen but a brother and the only man she had ever loved. As she tracked the elves, her power grew, fuelled by her fury.
***She was on the back of one of the surviving Avii before anyone could hope to stop her. She had lost everything and everyone that was close to her. She was not about to lose all that was dear, the remainder of her Kingdom and her Subjects. She had one thing on her mind. Kinslaying. It irked her that it was going to be a case of an eye for an eye, but she also recognized that she was a tool of prophesy. And she would not let down the ancestors, nor the memories of her parents. She could feel the power rushing through her. Hear it whispering to her. There was a sound like sweet seduction, that pulled at the edge of her subconscious, but the righteous fury burned hot enough, for the moment, for her to ignore it.
She flew through their defences as if they were nothing more than vapour. The limits of the spells shimmered in red as she passed, she herself enveloped in silver. Odd, she thought in passing. Her mother and father’s magic had always resulted in a blue spectrum… But it was a fleetingthought at the edge of her mind as she headed deep into the encampment, stopping long enough to lay a spell of protection on her mount before disembarking, and pressing into the hillside caves, and arrowing towards Anthor’s lair.
Everything was in turnoil. Everything which they brought against her, fizzled. Spells failed, weapons dissolved, and those poor souls who held in their hearts a true love for the Evil King, fell dead as they came within the corona of Aurin’s fury.
She came, at last, to the inner sanctum. The Mages that hadn’t died to feed the Book were gathered there. All of them focusing on a circle of power with the Book, and Anthor, at it’s centre. Looking back later, Aurin would not be certain if she could have reached the book if Anthor hadn’t been cowering behind it.As it stood, she parted the circle with a wave of her hand, sending the spellcasters sliding across the uneven obsidian floor. The circle sputtered and collapsed as she passed its threshold.
Anthor quaked before her. He begged and plead for his life. But there was no room for mercy within the Fury which gripped her. Aurin’s voice echoed throughout the caverns, and boomed like thunder throught the land.
“I name you Land Slayer, Killer of Kin. What say you, Anthor of Alganor?”
He cried for mercy, bending to kiss the hem of her robes in fealty. He froze with his lips touching the fabric, her hand outstretched above him. As her arm rose, so did he. Her eyes burned with the fury, her hair blowing back from her face and her robes a flutter, as though some body of wind worked around her. His body was stock still as her hand hovered above the book which he held clenched to him. His cry turned to a scream of agony as her skin touched the Book, it’s cover bursting into silver flame. He tried to release his hold on it, but it fused to him, engulphing him in its flames. At the moment hta his scream cut short, power rushed outwards from the book, sweeping through the land. All those which still heald fealty for the False King ofAlganor, fell dead as it swept over them. Those who lived, dropped their weapons and turned themselves in to the nearest of Aurin’s forces. Those still I nthe room with her, fell to the floor, prostrate. None dared approach too near.
For her part, Aurin, Queen of Alganor, high Queen of Moris Auris, held out her hands for the book, which glided into her beseeching arms. She clasped it close, and collapsed to her knees, a sing sob of remorse escaping her before she collapsed into exhausted oblivion.
It was days before anyone could reach her. The Book seemed to feed on the energy of ht Fury, and it kept the corona of power alight. No one dared tp [ress omtp the heat it exuded. By the time one of the surviving students of Zion reached the depths of the catacombswhere she lay, it had been four days. And for those four days, the silver lighted pour swept over the land, neutralzing all of the mystical poisons that Anthor and his ilk had laid.
In the forests of Dekka, it swept over the Imp, Soluomin. The Krig saw the wave coming and stood, arms outstretched, at peace with his fate. But the Power seemed to have a twisted sense of justice. It did not kill him, rather, it cast him to stone. Save his voice.
Deep within the earth, something stirred, as a wave of unprecedented power swept across it. Ancient limbs shuddered to life, ancient eyes fluttered opened, and ancient hungers rekindled.
Aurin’s Coming of Age Ceremony dawned three weeks after they had placed the marker bearing her father’s name in the Great Mausoleum. She rose early, and had her ladies in waiting draw her a bath. Her mother had procured for her, a gown of silk the colour of aged ivory, with golden birds embroidered along accenting lines that drew the eye to her newly curving form. She recognized the Artisan, smiling and thinking of the blue birds on the pillow cover in a place of honour on her bed. It warmed her heart to be wearing something that Ahnika’s mother had poured her love into.
She caressed the gown where it hung next to her bed before moving into the adjoining bathing area where a wall of steaming, rose scented water washed over her in a wave. She padded across the heated flagstones, inhaling the warm, scented, moisture as she went. She stilled at the tub’s edge, her servant’s peeled the thin linen shift that she had slept in, over her head.
They combed out her honeyed tresses before helping her step into the waiting waters. She braced herself against the searing temperature, letting her breath out slowly as she sank into the water, crouching to let the water come to her chin. Her hair floated like a golden lily pad upon the surface of the water, sweeping aside the few stray rose petals which garnished the water’s surface.
Once her body had grown accustomed to the steaming waters, she laid back, fully submerging. The weight of her body drew her hair below the surface with her, and she swept an arm back to draw the full length below with her. She laid on the bottom of the bath, her eyes closed, listening to the rush of her blod in her ears and her heartbeat throbbing through the water, letting a small stream of bubbles escape her.
Her lungs eventually plead for oxygen, and she accommodated them, sitting up and sucking in a deep breath and wiping the water from her face.
Feeling the desired stillness with in herself, she moved to the edge of the tub. Her girls worked the cleanser into her hair, creating a lather and combing her scalp with their fingers, deepening the stillness within her. She let herself sink below the water again as she felt pressure on her shoulders, and the suds were sloshed out of the strands of golden seaweed. She rose when the hands stilled, and sluiced the water from her face, standing to accommodate the scouring of her body. By the time she stepped out of the water to be patted dry by soft linen towels, she had achieved a meditative state that she hoped would keep her nerves from getting the better of her and making a fool of herself and disappointing her parents. Either of them.
She could hear father’s voice in her heart as they patted her hair dry, combing it out over and over again with special wooden combs, leaching the moisture from her locks. “You could never disappoint me, Child,” can the faint whisper. She straightened her spine, and the set of her jaw, refusing to let the tears come. But her heart ached with the fullness of his voice.
She reached for the feel of it, wrapping it around her like a warm blanket. She would not cry. She was not alone. (This line to be moved to after Marion’s death)
Eventually, the girl’s stilled the fluttering about. She came out of her trance and examined herself in the mirror. She had been made up for the occasional banquet, but as she had not yet reached adulthood, she had been allowed to pretty much wear her hair however she pleased. With Royal responsibility seemed to come some need by the populace to see your hair delicately coifed. Her hair looked as though any moment, a bumble bee, or a humming bird, or perhaps one of the wee Fey would come buzzing to next in the gentle tangle of curls and twists. Gold dipped twigs and berries and vines had been used as a framework for something that was half nest, half cage. But all Aurin. She looked every inch the Half Elvin, Princess of Alganor, and in turn, all Moris Auris. No. That was a lie. She looked like a future Queen.
She could see it in all of their faces, the unspoken words. ‘If only your father could see you.’ What they did not know, what they could not know, was that he was there, whispering from her heart. As she walked the halls towards the banquet hall, his voice was joined by another, and her heart felt as though it might swell o be too large for her chest. Savaus…. It occurred to her that she must be hallucinating. No one have ever told her of such things, of hearing the heart whispers of dead relatives-for Aurin would ever consider Savaus family, despite blood nor marriage.
She nearly wept when the voices went silent just as she was to enter the hall, and then nearly staggered, as she say them smiling from the dais; her father, in his throne, and Savaus, his ever present shadow.
She regained her decorum and finished the walk to the foot of the dais where her bother sat. She knelt on the small cussion left their for the purpose, and recited the oath that was offered her. She knew in a few week’s time, she would bee saying her initiate vows at Zion before returning home to finish her training with private tutors. A privilege of Roayl Seers.
She rose, and scaled the dais, standing in front of her own, smaller throne, and as the entire gathered crowd dropped to one knee to pledge fealty, she sank into the deep bow that a minor noble reserves for high royalty. There was a roar of approval, and Marion beamed as she watched her daughter win them over all over again. Aurin at last rose fro mthe deep curtsie, taking her seat next to her mother, some dignitary lowering the diademn onto her delicate coif. She couldn’t help the lip wobble, as it occurred to her that it should have been Savaus crowning her.
She went through the rest of the proceedings feeling rather drunk, and hazy, though she did name her own Shadow, a girl she had known from her many trips to the Libraries. She had at one point wanted to be a Tome Keeper, but she was too… boisterous, Genen always said. She had made him the promise, earlier this year, to take the girl off of his hands when the time came.
The girl was very bright, and had a mind for details. She was fiercely loyal to the crown. In fact, she sported a scar on her lower lip from getting into a fist fight with a boy twice her size when she heard him and his friends badmouthing the roaly family. Aurin’s father had given her a special commodation at the time, when it was brought to his attention by the guardsman who had pulled them apart. The King refused to punish his people for speaking their minds, so long as it didn’t get to the point of rabble rousing, but he felt it important to encourage loyalty.
That loyalty followed her into her apprenticeship with the Keepers. She made a special effort to stay out of Aurin’s way whenever she were in the library working, as she knew she would have a difficult time containing her rapture at being in the Princess’s presense. Aurin thought this a wise and mature decision, and made a point of asking the girl to fetch her a scroll or Tome at least one a week, to acclimatize her to the Royal presense. Typically, one of Tyra’s teachers would have been the one to tell the girl tah her apprenticeship was ending, and that she had been chosen to serve as Shadow to Princess Aurin. However, ever her father’s daughter, Aurin thought it would be best to give it a personal touch. She invited herself to dinner at the girl’s home.
Tyra arrived home to the sound of gentle laughter and chatter coming from the kitchen, at the back of the hut. She followed the smells of roast venison and father’s favourite spiced wine to the cheerful group gathered around the table. Everyone was in their usual spots, but across from her own place, where there should have been an empty seat, sat the Princess!
Tyra froze in the doorway, stunned. “Ah! Daughter!” her father called out, as he caught sight of her. “Come! Join us!” She hesitated a moment before emerging from the doorway and rounding the table to hover behind her chair, her eyes lowered to a spot on the table in front of the Princess.
“Won’t you sit, Tyra?” invited Aurin, gesturing to her vacant chair.
“Yes, Highness. Thank you,” she managed, dipping into a curtsie before slinking into her seat.
Nina, Tyra’s 8 year old sister, tugged on her sleeve from the next chair. “Aurin was telling us about all the preparations they are making for her ceremony! I wish I could see the pretty decorations,” she sighed wistfully.
Tyra bristled, “Nina! You must address her as Princess Aurin!” she scolded.
“Nuh-uh!” Nina countered. “She said!” The girl stuck her tongue at her big sister.
Aurin couldn’t help it. She burst into a fit of giggles. Tyra blushed, humiliated that her sister was showing such poor behaviour in Royal company. Aurin begged her forgiveness. “Please, forgive me. She’s tellin you the truth. I’ve asked your family to call me by my name, not my title.” She wiped a tear from one eye. “Nina, you’ve given me such a gift. I don’t think any subject in all of the land has so fully honoured my request to simply be themselves in my company,” she beamed at the child, who beamed right back, giving her sister a sidelong glance that plainly said ‘I told you so’.
The girls’ mother set steaming goblets of wine before them all, a smaller one for Nina, and Tyra’s elder brother, Joryn, set plates heaped with venison and potatoes and a thick, creamy gravey. Aurin inhales the smells deeply, instantly salivating in anticipation.
Gauging Tyra’s confused reaction to her Princess sharing the supper table, and her family treating her like nothing more than a long missed relative, Aurin cleared her throat. “Perhaps an explanation is in order,” she offered.
Tyra clasped her hands on the able in front of her and tried not to sound short as she replied. “Yes, perhaps that might be best.”
Aurin made an effort not to straighten in her chair, wanting to meet the girl as her peer, not as the Heir apparent. “Tyra, I’ve come to ask you to be my Shadow.” There was a round of delighted gasps around the room. Aurin could see Tyra’s mother and father looking at each other with hope and pride lighting their faces.
Tyra, for her part, looked perplexed. She knew that Genen and the other’s found her high spirits out of place in the stacks of books and scrolls. She had spent the first two years of what should have been a 5 year apprenticeship doing her best to reign in her Spiritedness. Apparently, she had failed. She had been waiting with bated breath for one of her teachers to tell her that her apprentice had been rescinded. Part of her was heartbroken that she would not get to fulfill her dream of becoming a Keeper. Another part was relieved. She could not see herself as the cool, quiet, stoic copy of Genen, to whom she’d been apprenticed. And he was the liveliest of the bunch!
However, Shadow was not a position to be taken lightly, and she knew that. Had it been a position to be applied for, she might have done so, in palce of her stint at the Libraries. She had always held a burning desire to make a difference in teh Kingdom.
A few moments of silence had passed while Tyra considered. She could feel every eye in the room focused on her. “I accept,” she declared, simply.
Aurin’s lips quirked into a grin. “Shadow isn’t a responsibility to be taken lightly,” she began.
“Aurin,” interrupted Tyra, set on obeying the Princess’s edict to just be herself, “With all due respect, I understand that, and if you didn’t think I was up to the task, you wouldn’t be here.”
Aurin was not taken aback. She had heard a few whispered confrontations between Genen and his apprentice, she knew what the girl’s temperament was like. Tyra’s mother looked mortified. But Tyra was correct. Aurin had watched the thoughts fly across the girl’s face. It was obvious to her that this was not the frist time the position of Shadow had been among Tyra’s list of considerations. In fact, Aurin had the sneaking suspicion that, had it been a position for which the girl could apply, she would have done so.
“Why do you want the position?” she asked, watching the girl intently.
Tyra’s head swam with a plethora of responses. She stilled her mind, and reached for her heart. What was the truest answer to that question? She opened her eyes and gave her answer. “I want to be someone who makes a difference,” she stated simply.
Aurin nodded, more than satisfied with that answer. “And you don’t feel that there are other, less demanding jobs in which you could fulfill that goal?”
Tyra waved he head dismissively, “Oh I’m sure that there are. But Shadow is one of the most influential and honoured positions in the Kingdom. I have no illusions that you think I’m some amazing gift from the Gods who is ready to solve all of your problems for you, but you obviously recognize that I have the potential to grow with you and help you shape the Kingdom,” she replied brashly. “I do not disagree, and so I accept,” she concluded.
Aurin laughed, and clapped her hands in delight. “You’re perfect!” she insisted, picturing Savaus grinning and nodding his approval from behind the girl’s chair.
A tension broke in the room, and Tyra’s father held up his glass. “A toast! To my daughter, Shadow to the High Princess of Moris Auris!” he cried out, and everyone joined him, clinking their glasses, and offering congratulations to Tyra and Aurin both. Tyra’s mother, met Aurin’s eye with a soft motherly smile. She understood the trust that the Princess was offering their daughter, and by extension, themselves. She also appreciated the relief that the Princes must be feeling at finally having found the right fit for the position.
Along with the regret at losing her apprenticeship, a dozen other feelings filtered through Tyra’s perceptions. She was proud to have been chosen, and thrilled to have pleased her parent’s and siblings so. She was nervous to know that she would have to leave the security of their roof. Of course the Princess’s Shadow would be housed within the Hall. She was also terrified of letting down the Princess, but she knew that the fear itself was liable to get in her way more than any actual failings of her own. This was not hubris, speaking, just her own ability to recognize trends in her own behaviour. The Princess had every confidence in her abilities. It was not for her to second guess the Princess.
Aurin watched all of this pass over the girl’s face throughout the meal. She nodded and smiled in reaction to thumps on the back by her father and siblings, had embraced her mother when it was appropriate, but Aurin could see that Tyra was very deep in her own thoughts, untangling the sudden storm of emotion. Aurin had to admit to herself, she was very impressed with how the girl was coping. Most might have excused themselves from the festivities. But then again, Tyra, chosen Shadow of Aurin of Alganor, was not most girls.
After the meal had been cleared, the little one followed her mother obediently down the hall towards bed. She surprised Aurin by running back down the hall to throw her arms around the Princess’s neck and planting a kisso n her cheek. “I’m glad taht you chose my sister,” she confided in a whisper. “I think you’ll be nice to work for.” She concluded, before turning to scury back down the hall. Aurin smiled, her heart warming. After the tragedy of recent weeks, it felt good to immerse herself in the love of hte people.
The men excused themselves to go and look in on the animals before bed, themselves, leaving Aurin alone with Tyra for the moment. “I suppose I should go pack my things,” Tyra offered.
“Not just yet, Tyra. Enjoy a last evening with your folks. Family is important, and recent events have only helped to reinforce that lesson to me. You will likely see your parents and siblings again, but you will recognize soon enough that each time could be the last time. I don’t expect the last time to be soon, but yo should enjoy this time with them.” She rose, and Tyra rose with her, instinctually. She walked to the girl and surprised her by embracing her. Pulling back, she whispered, “If I had known that that evening would have been my last to spend with my fatrher...” She shook her head slightly. “I’ll expect you to present yourself at the Hall in time for thte noonday meal. Pack your things in the morning. Someone will be round in the afternoon to fetch them to your new rooms.” She caught Tyra’s eye, whose stare had been faraway again. “Welcome to the family, Dear One.”
Tyra’s eyes glistened, at last succumbing to the events of the evening. “Thank you, Aurin. Truly.”
Aurin quit the little hut amid a flurry of hugs and thank you’s from the rest of Tyra’s family, mounting her horse and following the guard through the sleepy streets of Alganor, back to the Hall. She had just made her frist Command Decision, and it was a new, not unpleasant weight upon her shoulders. She smiled to herself as she replayed the family’s joyous reaction to the news. Her smile turned to an impish grin as she pictured Tyra’s brusque remarks. They would get on well, the Princess mused.
She sighs, and walks on, as he falls into step beside her, the rustling of his robes and the flickering of nearby torches some of the only sounds audible above the muted murmur of the word beyond the buildings walls. She could see Genen’s young apprentice, Tyra, replacing books and scrolls at the end of a row of shelves. The girl ignored her existence. Genen had long ago confided to the Princes that his somewhat boisterous girl was one of the Princess’s most staunch supporters. Aurin had once noticed the scar on her lower lip, and was reminded of a special accommodation that her father had given a young girl several years before. It seems that she had gotten into a fist fight with a boy twice her size when she heard him and his friends badmouthing the royal family. When it was brought to his attention by the guardsman who had pulled them apart, the King seized the opportunity to reward such fierce loyalty to the crown.
That loyalty followed Tyra into her apprenticeship with the Keepers. She made a special effort to stay out of the Princess’s way whenever she were in the library working, as Tyra knew she would have a difficult time containing her rapture at being in the Princess’s presence. Aurin considered this a wise and mature decision, and made a point of asking the girl to fetch her a scroll or Tome at least one a week, to acclimatize her to the Royal presence.
“Research,” she replied to Genen’s query.
She had him begin by fetching the scroll the was a twin to the one in her Mother’s Library. He went off to find it, and she could hear a whispered conversation. By the furious tone, she knew it would be Tyra, likely flustered about one Keeper or antoher not putting things back in the right palce. Tyra was very detail oriented, and she tended to hold others to the same ridgid standards that she held herself to. A traight that Aurin admired, despite the temper that flared in the face of it.
Genen returned, looking flushed.
“She’s quite spirited, your apprentice,” the Princess mused.
He rolled his eyes skyward, offering the Princess the scroll he had gone in search of. “Ancestors protect me from spirited women!” he prayed. “Present company excluded, Highness,” he offered, offhandedly.
Aurin chuckled. She preferred this side of the Keeper. The side that told her that he was in fact a young man, and not just a dusty grump in a young man’s body. “The Ancestors may not be able to take her off of your hands, but I just might,” she mused, thoughtful.
Genen’s brow quirked. “Highness?” he asked, hoping she would choose to elaborate.
“I’m to choose a Shadow, Genen,” she stated. “Savaus refuses to point out specific candidates, but he has made a point of listing preferred qualifications. Our Tyra may just fit the bill,” she explained.
“But Highness, she has no combat training,” the man protested.
Aurin waved taht off. “You can train for that sort of thing. You can’t train the attention to detail, the confidence to confront authority.”
Genen scoffed. “The arrogance, you mean!”
Aurin shook her head. “I don’t think that she’s arrogant, Genen, just too young to know how to dull the edge of her keen intellect and radiant confidence. But that, too, can be trained.” She waved her hand again. “But we’ll discuss that at a later date.” She opened the scroll and pointed out the paragraph which troubled her.
Aurin would soon have to teach the dialect to someone else, as she would be selecting her own chief of staff very shortly. Which brought to mind her earlier conversation with Genen.
“I think I may have found my Shadow, Savaus,” she divulged.
“Oh?” He was instantly excited. “Who has caught the attention of our Mighty Princess?” he teased.
She stuck her tongue at him before she continued, a smile in her eyes. “Tyra,” she replied.
“Genen’s firey apprentice?” He considered that a moment. “How many of the criteria does she fit?”
“I’m uncertain for sure, but she seems to fit a goodly number of them. Not the combat training of course.”
He waved that off, “That’s why we have training masters,” he dismissed. “You should speak with Genen, and whosoever sponsored her apprenticeship. Perhaps even speak to the girl’s family. Off the cuff, she seems a likely candidate, but you’ll do your research?”
It was a rhetorical question, but she nodded. “Yes, Uncle.” Aurin embraced him again, gently this time. “Thank you,” she said, greatful for his passing approval.
“And to you, Princess!” Th- man? Bird? Birdman?- rose from his bow, the corners of his beak twitching with good cheer to match his greeting. “How may we serve you, Mi’lady?”***Uncle***
The Avii came in all shapes and sizes, but each of them resembled an oversized bird of some sort. Most nearly mansized. Plegg was an owl whose head came to Aurin’s shoulder, and his wingspan was that of two tall men.
She held up the scroll, trying to ignore what she perceived to be glares from the other Avii in the immediate vicinity. “I have a priority message bound for Zion,” she explained.
He took it from her, gracefully, with a small bow, and turned his head before letting you a shrill call, which she knew, from previous explanation was the individual call of a specific Avii, such as the Savaus might call out for one of his men by name. A dainty looking female Lark alighted near the group, dipping into a bob that was the Avii salute. The larks were used for anything considered ‘friendly correspondence’. Any missive likely to ruffle feathers (no pun intended), would be carried by something lightly more fierce than a lark. Meck’s head came barely to Aurin’s waist, and her wingspan was perhaps a four foot span.
“Meck, the Princess has a mission for you.” The Lark’s feathers fluffed momentarily, a display of momentary shock, similar to raised eyebrows in a humanoid.
***
She went through the rest of the proceedings feeling rather drunk, and hazy, though she did name Tyra as Shadow. The girl was very bright, with a sharp mind and sharper tongue. She was fiercely loyal to the crown. As was evident by the scar she sported.
Tyra had been fitted for her dress uniform only that morning. The girl looked resplendent in her split skirt, with her long hair plaited down her back. They were going to have to work on that scowl, but she certainly looked fierce enough that no one would guess that the only combat training she had was tussling with the boys who gave her that scar, and her own older brother. Her hands were clasped behind her back to disguise the tremor that was the only outward sign of her own nervousness. Aurin couldn’t be prouder of her new friend.
When the ceremony was finally over, she was able to thank everyone for coming before quitting the room, her newly sworn in Shadow at her heels. She hoped that Tyra wasn’t glowering at their guests. When they had attained the relative solitude of the hallways, she waved Tyra foward.
“I’d rather you walked at my side when we are not in a crowd, Tyra,” she explained.
The girl stepped up beside her charge, for that was what the Princess was, her’s to advice, council, and protect. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Aurin sighed, and quirked an eyebrow at the girl.
“Yes, Aurin,” she conceded, with a small bow of her head and shoulders, a smile playing at the corners of her dour mouth.
Aurin gave an answering smile. They walked in silence for a few moments, as Aurin shed some of the tension she had been feeling. She kept getting glimpses of her father or Savaus from the corner of her eye. She would be sure to mention that to the Mage Guild when she arrived for her first few weeks of training on site at Zion.
“What did you think of the ceremony?” Aurin finally broached the silence. She watched the girls face twist with uncertainty. “You can feel free to be frank, Tyra. When no one but the guards are around, you may always feel free to be so. And if we are completely alone, you can feel free to let that temper of yours free, a little,” she invited.
Tyra considered for a moment before replying. “It was exhausting, and largely for show. But I see the point of it,” she gave a small shrug of concession at the end.
Aurin nodded her agreement. “It’s important to let the people see that there is stability in the Heriarcy, despite the recent tragedy. They need hope,” she voiced.
“And you are that hope,” Tyra concluded.
Aurin nodded, rubbing at her eyes as both her father and Savaus nodded along with her, trying to rub away their ghostly images. It was making her anxious, that she could still see them. She had hoped that the hallucinations would fade once the stress of the ceremony was behind her.
They reached the Princess’s rooms and she sighed with relief. The day was nearly concluded. Tyra lead the way into the room, sweeping it with her eyes, her hand on the grip of her dagger, even though there was already a guard posted within. Aurin approved of her vigilance, smiling to herself as she entered on Tyra’s signal of all clear. One of the guards had been coaching her. Aurin noted the show of initiative, and thought that Savaus would approve. His ghostly image nodded thoughtfully to himself in congruence with her thoughts.
Aurin moved to pull the rope that would summon a pair of servants to help divest her of the diadem, and the golden wreathe woven into her hair, but she thought better of it.
“Tyra, would you mind helping me escape this tangle?” she asked, indicating her hair.
Tyra smiled, “Of course, Aurin. It would be my pleasure.”
They ensconced themselves at the vanity, Aurin working on unbraiding the plaits that Tyra freed for her, and Tyra building an ever growing pile of hair pins and gold dipped greenery.
At last, her hair free, and brushed out, Aurin twisted it into a single, simple plait. She took off her new signet ring and laid it in a place of honour on the vanity before looking longingly at her bed.
“Well, Aurin, I’ll see you in the morning,” Tyra bowed stiffly from the waist, as Savaus had done a thousand, thousand times, meaning to excuse herself.
Aurin hesitated. “Would you stay?” she finally asked.
Tyra tilted her head at the sudden vulnerability in the Princess. She was not exactly looking forward to her first night alone in a strange room without the sounds of her family to comfort her. And while she may not know the Princess well at present, now was as good a time as any to being forging the bond that would bind them for life. She allowed some vulnerability of her own to seep into her response. “I’d like that.”
They both stripped out of their evening finery. Aurin leant the girl a sleeping shift, as they were of a size. The guards had already excused themselves to the outer chambers, and Tyra extinguished the candles and lanterns before hurrying barefoot across the flagstones to join Aurin in her over large bed. There was a brief stint of giggles as they hunkered down, their shoulders touching. But as the laughter faded, and Tyra listened to her heart beating in her chest, she felt Aurin’s shoulder’s hitch in silent sobs. She rolled to her side and drew the girl to her as she mourned the loss of not only her family, but her childhood.
Aurin was confused by the tears, and the sudden loneliness which she felt. She shouldn’t have been surprised by the wave of tears. Tyra certainly was not. She had just celebrated one of the most important days of her life, save her own coronation, marriage, and the birth of her children. And her father, and his ever present Shadow, her Uncle, had not been a part of it.
Tyra hushed her softly, and stroked her hair until her shoulders finally stilled, and they both drifted to sleep, exhausted, and entangled in each other’s arms.
The next few days found the halls ringing with alternately the laughter or debating of the two girls as their friendship was forged. When it came time for Aurin to pack her things for her three weeks of training at Zion, she was terrified. Not of leaving her home, that she had done plenty of times before. But this would be her first trip by Avii as opposed to horse. She did not relish the prospect. Tyra tried to distract her by having her check and double check what she had packed, and telling the Princess about her own upcoming training. They spent the last hour before she was to deliver herself to the Tower working on the finger languages. That of the guards, and that of their immediate circle.
This was proving to be one of the more difficult tasks for Tyra, not because she couldn’t grasp the movements and their meanings, but because she was having a hard time not using her mouth to communicate the thoughts that she wished to share. Aurin eventually got so frustrated that she threatened to gag the girl. Tyra, whom Aurin expected to grow haughty at the suggestion, tilted her head in consideration, before pulling her kerchief from a pocket and tying it across her mouth while the Princess looked on in amazed silence.
“Better?” she signed.
Aurin was wiping tears of mirth from her eyes when her escourt announced itself at her chamber doors. The men gathered up her few bags, and Tyra fell into step next to her as they paraded through the halls and up the steps of the Tower.
Kerrith gathered the girl into a hug when they reached him. “Don’t forget what old Kerrith told ye, Lassie,” he murmured into her ear, giving her a squeeze before releasing her and giving her a gentle push towards the door. “We’ll be seeing ye in three weeks time, Little Princess,” crooned the gent. Tyra squeezed Aurin’s hand supportively as they passed through the door, before taking up her position just behind the Princess’s left shoulder. Plegg was on duty again, and expecting them, this time. He gave his flourishing bow before leading them up one more set of stairs to the next level. Here were a set of roosts that resembled the avian version of a stable. He called out a shriek for their mounts, and there was a flurry of wind and feathers. A squadron of Osprey bowed before her, and Aurin nodded her acknowledgment with her heart in her throat.
Plegg leaned in towards the Princess. “Don’t worry, Mi’Lady, Grith is the gentlest Osprey I’ve ever known. He’ll serve to well, and won’t spook you, like some of the other’s might,” he confided, giving her mixed feelings of gratefulness and horror at having her fears confirmed that some of the Avii at least, would take joy in terrifying their Human-Elf Princess.
Aurin turned to give her friend one last hug before following her guardsman’s directions to mount the Avii and settle herself securely in the saddle. She did her breathing exercises, and her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of Savaus’ ghostly self doubled over in laughter.
At last, they were prepared for take off. Gith’s head turned over his shoulder. “Just try to remember to breathe, Highness. The takeoff is the worst. After that, it’s smooth sailing unless we encounter some sort of resistance,” he cautioned. She made a silent prayer to the Ancestors that her first flight would be uneventful, and tried to loosen the tension in her body.
“Ready?” the Avii asked?
She nodded vigorously. He took her at his word and hopped off of the perch, and into open air. They free feel for a dozen or more feet before his wings snapped open and they were airborne. Her heart lurched in her chest, and she let go the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
She was surprised to find Savaus waiting for her at the base of the Tower as she emerged. “How did it go?” he asked, knowing that the Avii still unnerved her.
She heaved a sigh before answering. “Master Plegg was quite charming, as usual,” she replied, dismissing the the topic of her lingering trepidation.
“You’ll have to get used to them, Aurin,” Savaus admonished, refusing to let the matter drop. “You do realize that it’s by Avii that you’ll be getting to Zion in a couple of weeks time?”
Aurin groaned in a most un Princess like fashion. “Don’t remind me,” she begged.
Savaus chuckled and linked his arm with hers. “Shall we take a walk through the gardens?” He always knew how to ease her tensions.
She grinned up at him, and walked along with him, her head leaning on his shoulder.
The gardens were quiet and empty except for a gardener pulling weeds from between the flagstones. They walked in relative silence, commenting now and then about the health or growth progress of one species or another of flower.
When they reached the gazebo in the centre of the gardens, Savaus tugged her down to sit next to him. Aurin fought to set aside the fears that tugged at her insides, drawing hte knot in her gut tighter and tighter.
“You’re going to give yourself wrinkles,” Savaus teased, rubbing his thumb over the frown line on her forehead. “What’s on your mind, Dear One?”
She spread her hands, hopelessly. “The splintering of the factions, my first Avii flight, the upcoming Ceremony, my training at Zion, choosing my Shadow,” she listed, ticking them off on her fingers.
He lent back, stretching out his long, lanky frame. He crossed his feet at the ankles, and draped his arms along the rail at their shoulders. “Well, you can stop worrying about the factions, as that’s not your concern just yet,” he held up a hand when she began to argue. “Is there anything that you can do about it?”
“No,” she conceded, “and that’s the point!” she insisted.
“Yes, that is the point. There is nothing that you can do about it, so stop worrying about it. Trust your father to deal with it. You’ll have enough of your own impossible tasks to deal with when you’re Queen. Until then, let your parent’s carry their own burdens and you focus on yours,” he admonished.
“Yes, Uncle,” she murmured, chastened.
“As for the Avii...” he gave her an amused look. “The fearless Aurin, afraid of a bunch of oversized buzzards,” he goaded.
She swatted him for that one. “We can’t all be fearless warrior Magi,” she retorted, “and besides, who is it that jumps like a frog in a frying pan when there’s a snake about?” she quipped, eyebrows raised.
He leans back, accepting his defeat with a graceful nod. “I’ll ask Plegg to arrange Grith to be your mount. He’s the mellowest of the Osprey,” he offered.
She nodded, trying to let that soothe her fears. She’d heard tell of the Avii pulling pranks on new riders. She doubted very much that her royal status would do much to shield her from the foibles of a race of naturally regal creatures.
“As for the ceremony, just remember: It is as much for the people as it is for you. These are troubling times, and they need a beacon of hope.” He leaned up, bringing his face close to her’s and clasping her hands in his. “Be that beacon, Aurin,” he advised.
She remembered how they had cheered when her father returned home. She remembered the smiles and rleif when the orphanage was complete, and the harvest gathered. “I can do that,” she affirmed.
“You love your studies, and you’re already proving to have the gift of the Seers,” he said, offhandedly, “So there’s really nothing to fret about there. The Mage Guild aren’t as stuffy as the Keepers,” he confided with a wink. She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her at that. “And as for the Shadow, well,” he stood and walked to the opening of the gazebo. “That’s really the easiest part of all,” he said, his hand finding the wound housed beneath his uniform.
He turned to face the Princess. “Think of it like choosing lover. You’re going to be spending nearly every waking moment for the rest of your life with this person. You’re going to need someone to equal you in passion but solid enough to ground you and remind you of your flaws and weaknesses. You need someone you can trust with your confidences, and someone who will give their life for yours. Only someone who truly loves you can do that.” His voice had grown soft as he spoke, and Aurin suddenly had a new appreciation for the nuance in the relationships between her parents and their Shadows.
Lovers. It made a certain kind of sense.
The sun had been kissing the horizon when they’d entered the garden’s, and now, the stars were beginning to emerge.
“I think we’d best be heading in, Princess. I’ve preparations for a journey to see to, and you look like you could use a hot bath,” observed her Uncle, tousling her unkempt hair.
He conducted her back within the walls of the Hall, leaving her to make her way back to her rooms.
She walked the remainder of the way trying to picture Tyra in the role of Lover. It made the knot in her gut tighten again, but in a different way. She was looking forward to the hot water.
*****
While Aurin was off playing with the Mage Guild, Tyra was stuck in Alganor, getting beaten to a pulp by Jarelle, the Queen’s Shadow. One would think that with the familial feelings which the Princess held for Savaus, the King’s Shadow, there would be something of that ilk between Aurin and Jarelle. But no. Aurin had confided to Tyra in hushed tones over breakfast the morning she was leaving, that Jarelle was a harsh woman. As warm and open as Savaus was, the Queen’s Shadow was more akin to a sour, distant great aunt to Aurin. She was only 6 years older than the Queen, but all of that frowning made her appear decades older. “So you’d better learn to lighten up!” the Princess had teased.
Aurin had always walked on eggshells around Jarelle, doing her best to simply treat her as part of the scenery, but never giving her cause to need to address the Princess. When she was younger, she was actually terrified of the woman, and was certain that she was in league with the monsters under her bed. That feeling of unease had not dissipated as the girl grew older.
Tyra pushed herself to her knees, spitting dirt, and glaring daggers at the older woman. Jarelle leaned calmly on her staff, watching as the girl swiped a hand across her brow, leaving a muddy streak as the dirt combined with her sweat in the crisp, clean, morning air. She picked the girl’s fallen staff up with her toes, and tossed it back to her. Tyra caught it in mid air, duly impressed.
“That could be useful,” she acknowledged, heaving herself to her feet and resuming a ready stance.
Jarelle was on her before she could blink, bashing at her with a flurry of blows that she mostly managed to fend off. They were a week into combat training, so these bouts of furious blows were lasting longer and longer as Tyra got mastered the defensive tactics. She was expecting Jarelle to pull some trick to end the bout, but still wasn’t expecting hte feint.
She felt the bone in her finger break, and bit down on an epithet, but didn’t drop her staff. Instead, she stepped back, letting Jarelle’s momentum carry her past her. The older woman had quite obviously expected her to drop her staff when her finger had caught the brunt of hte stroke, and so was not prepared for hte butt of Tyra’s staff coming down between her shoulder blades with enough force to knock the wind out of hte older woman.
While Jarelle was spitting dirt, Tyra stood ready, lungs heaving like a bellows, but prepared to defend herself.
Jarelle stood, and bowed, admitting her defeat. “We need to work on your lung capacity,” she commented, as Tyra retuned the bow. “Go and have that finger looked at,” she advised. “I’ll see you in half an hour at the archery range.
Tyra nodded, and wiped her staff down before replacing it on the wrack on her way to the medic’s cabin. She cradled the injured hand now, feeling the pain throb in time to her still rapid heartbeat.
Thade, the medic confirmed that the finger was broken, and grumbled as he worked. “Don’t know who she thinks she is...” The middle aged man set the finger bone, and bound a splint in place. “You’ll want to see Naduk about that when you have leave to do so,” he advised, “but it will get you through the rest of the day without causing any permanent damage.” He paused. “Do you want something to chew for the pain?” he asked.
Tyra shook her head. “No. The pain keeps me sharp,” she stated. “Thank you, Thade.” She took her leave of the man, leaving him to look after her.
Thade shook his head. Never had he seen so many injuries in a Shadow’s first week of training. Granted that the girl had next to no combat training, but a good teacher could keep such injuries from happening. He made a note to talk to the Master at Arms about it, for all the good it would do.
Tyra made her way back to the archery range, as ordered, and found it without the menacing presence of her Trainer. She took the opportunity to perform a series of stretches to loosen her bruised and cramping muscles. She was nearly finished the entire set that Jarelle had taught her, when her mentor breezed in, tossing her a bow that was as tall as she was.
To Tyra’s puzzled expression, Jarelle barked, “You do ride, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir,” Tyra confirmed, still ill at ease with calling woman, Sir, despite Jarelle’s insistence. She followed the woman to the larger taget arena next door, designed for target practice on horseback. They each picked up a quiver of arrows as they approached a pair of Chestnut mares.
As she drew closer, Tyra noticed the saddles looked odd. It took her a moment to realize that it was only the stirrups. They were choked up so that the rider would look to be crouching in the saddle, as opposed to riding at ease. Again, she gave the woman a questioning look. Jarelle liked that the girl wasn’t constantly prattling, demanding to know why. She simply made her ignorance plain, with one of those looks, and waited for Jarelle to enlighten her.
She chose to explain by demonstrating. She grabbed the pommel of the saddle and leapt astride the horse, not yet hooking her feet in the stirrups. Tyra watched the woman do so with the grace and ease of long practice, and thanked the ancestors that her last growth spurt had put her almost a height with her elder borther, giving her the length of leg required to manage this without need of a helping hand.
‘Speaking of hands,’ Tyra mused, as she realizes she was going to have to figure out how to perform this acrobatic leap with only one free hand. She decided that the bst way to go about it was to simply do it. So she took the pommel in her good hand, and took the swinging leap, trusting her body to mimick the maneuver it had just witnessed.
She found herself securely in the saddle, feet dangling.
“Well done,” came the flat voice. Tyra lifted the bow in silent salute. “You’ve ridden bareback?” Jarelle queried, getting a brief nod in reply. “We ride the horse normally, between destinations.” She kicked the animal into a trot and moved around the ring. “And if trouble arises, and we have need to implement the bow,” she let the sentence hang, dipping her feet into the stirrups and rising up to a kneeling position, procured an arrow from the quiver at her back, knocked it, drew the bow, and let the arrow loose at a target. It thunked into the dummy, protruding from the centre of the bullseye, of course.
“And when you are as good as I am, you will be able to do this.” The horse continued it’s gentle gallop around the ring, and Jarelle rose to a full standing position, only her ankles touching the barrel of the horses chest. A second arrow joined the first. Tyra gaped as Jarelle completed another circuit of the ring, still standing.
Tyra said a prayer of thanks that she had never been much of a show off, and took her time, spending the remainder of the morning mastering the ability to send an arrow from kneeling, and have it hit a viable target. She’d worry about centering her aim during the next lesson.
Two hours later, legs and arms trembling from the exertion, and her broken finger throbbing incessantly, she was finally dismissed for a brief shower before mid day meal.
Jarelle clapped a hand on her shoulder as they made their way to the common bathhouse. “You’re doing well, girl. Keep this up, and you’ll do the Princess proud.” Praise was so rare from Jarelle that Tyra was momentarily taken aback. It took several steps to be able to reply.
“Thank you, Sir. I intend to,” she claimed, simply.
Jarelle watched the girl as she struggled out of her clothes with the broken finger. It might be pride which kept the girl from asking for assistance, but then again, it might be the knowledge that there wouldn’t always be time to get some Magi to heal a wound. Her student was doing well under the gruelling conditions that Jarelle was creating for her. She knew that Thade did not approve. But training the girl in combat was her job. She wouldn’t explain herself to anyone but the Queen herself, or the Princess, if either thought to ask.
Tyra seemed determined not to let the brutal treatment phase her. And brutal it was, Jarelle admitted to herself. However, she had her suspicions about the girl, and this was the only way to prove one way or the other, if she were right. If she were, Tyra would be the first of her ilk in many decades. Jarelle may be the only one qualified to teach her the lessons she would need to learn.
The good news was that, because Tyra was two years older than her charge, she could afford the extra time in the practice ring while Aurin took her studies. She would end up behind her peers as far as classes were concerned, but she would be ready to sit in on Aurin’s classes in a year or two and continue her academic education.
Her heart lurched in her chest, and she let go the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
It was extraordinary. There was no other word for it. No wonder the Avii always made her feel like prey! Who could possibly feel anything but powerful and self assured, viewing the world from this vantage point? Grith turned his head to check on her as they cleared the city limits, and their shadow played over the outlying fields.
“How fare thee, Princess?” he asked, formally, pitching his voice to carry over the rushing of the wind.
She let out an exhilarated laugh. “Wonderful!” she cried, and Grith gave an answering cry, glad that the young Princess was enjoying herself.
Aurin was glad that Jarelle had ordered her into light furs for this trip. She could feel the cold air trying to leach the heat of her body, but the fur lined leather tunic kept her core warm. She glanced around at the other riders, and noted that most of them had their extremities as close to their core as possible. Her legs and feet were warm where they tucked against Grith’s body. He radiated heat like a small furnace, as his powerful wings worked to keep them alight. She pulled her arms in close to her core and gave herself over to the experience.
Aurin left the worrying to her guards, and let her eyes soak in the world around her. By the time they touched down next to a sheer cliff face for mid day meal, she had watched the landscape change innumerable times. From fields to forests to rocky plains. She knew they had traversed several region boarders, partly because Grith had called out to point each one out, and partly because there were patrols of Avii at each boarder.
The Princess’s legs were a bit wobbly as she slid from the saddle. One of the guards helped her across the rocky ground to where the other’s had spread out a blanket and were working on getting a fire burning to prepare a hot meal. Aurin sank greatfully to a sitting position, and stripped off her outwear, not wanting to break a sweat and grow chilled when she regained the windy heights. She set aside the furs, and stretched out her legs and arms, rubbing circulation into her long still limbs. Riding an Avii had many of the same side affects of riding a horse, she found. The distinct lack being tense back muscles; travelling by Avii certainly was a lower impact method of transit. Feeling languid of limb, and slightly drowsy under the noonday sun, Aurin lay her head on the pile of furs and resigned herself to a light doze while food was prepared.
She was woken gently by one of the younger guards. She smiled her thanks as she sat up and accepted the steaming bowl of soup from him. He saluted and was about to excuse himself when she called him back. “If you haven’t anywhere else to be, why don’t you fetch your own meal, and come join me?” she invited. The lad blushed, but nodded his acceptance.
“Thank you, Highness, I will!” He moved off with a lighter step, and she was glad taht she could do something to lighten the darker, hushed feeling that seemed to have descended on all of the staff and guards upon hearing of the King’s demise.
The men were accustomed to the somewhat familiar way that the Royals of Alganor had of interacting with them, and while some of the veterans found it passing strange, they all appreciated the light that it brought to their days.
The boy’s name was Nattan, and this was his first escourt mission. He was trepidatious, as the entire contingent was, that Anthor would choose now to strike. While it was ever their job to protect the Royal bodies, Nattan confided that the men took the responsibility to new seriousness in face of the rescent loss of the King. “No Kingdom could keep it’s heart if we were to lose you, too, Princess. And they’ll need their heart to stand against Anthor’s rabble.” Nattan’s voice was heated, and his face flushed with an answering heat. The Flush tunred to a blush when he realised what he was saying and to whom. “Beg pardon, Mi’Lady, this isn’t exactly polite dinner conversation.”
“That’s quite alright, Nattan. How else am I to know the heart and mind of the people if they would keep them from me?” she touched his blushing cheek, gently. “I thank you for your candor.” He gathered their empty bowls and took them to a nearby stream to wash them before returning them to the camp cook. A different guard came to help her back into the saddle while the others finished breaking camp.
“Are you prepared for the second half of our journey, Highness?” asked Grith over his shoulder.
“I am!” the Princess replied with excitement, her heart hammering as he stepped closer to the cliff’s edge. Nattan had explained that it took less energy, especially with a rider, for the Avii to take off with gravity working with them, rather than against them. Aurin knew that especially with the threat of an attack by her estranged Uncle, each of them would require every bit of advantage they were afforded, and so she clenched her jaw and steadied her breathing as they perched on the cliff’s edge.
She still gasped as they plummeted into the open air, but could not contain a whoop of excitement as Grith’s wings snapped open, and they we once more skyborne. Grith tossed his head with delight, and Aurin could see his eyes aglitter with mirth. Her heart glowed as they sailed through the air together.
Because it was the Princess’s frist flight into Zion, the men made a small detour, taking their path through the canyons Kryss and over the Feather Light Falls. Aurin’s eyes were glued open as she took in the sights. The water falls literally looked like feather plumes erupting from the cliff face. It surpassed anything else that she had yet seen, on the journey. Her eyes stung with tears as she was struck by the beauty of her land.
And then Zion was before them, a glittering jewel in the late evening sun. Every building seemed to have glass which winked at her as they passed overhead. As the Tower of Zion acme into sight, Grith turned to address her. “This next part may be somewhat terrifying, Mi’Lady,” he said, gently bracing her. “We’ll be flying right into the roosts of the Tower. It will look somewhat...terrifying,” he repeated. “You may want to close your eyes.”
Aurin thanked him for the warning, and hunkered down, making her profile as minute as possible at the thought of plummeting into the opening of the roosts.
It wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d feared, as she had never been brave enough to watch the Avii come in for a landing, before. Grith cut their momentum with a flare and beat of his powerful wings, stirring her hair about her face, but not even causing so much as a lurch in her stomach. When his feet found purchase on the roosting log, she barely felt the jolt of impact. He walked up the length of the log to bring her to the dismounting platform, well away from any open air.
Aurin dismounted on her own this time, steadying herself against Grith’s bulk. She stroked his neck as she thanked him. “I was terrified of this journey, you know,” she admitted.
“You don’t say?” Grith’s eyes gleamed as he exhibited the first sign of Avii glibness to which she were accustomed. She grinned, and thanked him again on a job well done before following her guards down the stairs to the base of the tower.
The squadron leader caught up with her on her way down the stairs. “Well, highness? What did you think?”
“Of the entire trip, or of the spectacle at the end?” she asked, eyes a glitter with renewed excitement at the thought of the canyon and the falls.
He guffawed. “We thought you’d like that. You took well enough to the rest of the flight that I hoped the canyons would be a pleasure for you. Some can’t stand flying between the walls like that,” he explained. He gave a mocking, half bow. “I congratulate her Highness on her remarkable bravery,” his eyes sparkled and she was filled with awe. This man, who’s job it was to lay his life down in protection of her own, had just called her brave, and only half in jest.
“I am honoured, Guardsman,” she gave her own half bow as they walked.
They were met at the base of the tower by a welcoming committee composed of dour looking academics. Aurin did her best to cling to the uplifting feeling of the flight and her conversation with the Commander, as she listened to the dour spokesman welcome them to Zion.
Thankfully, the young student whom they had assigned her as her personal aide while she was in attendance, was a breath of fresh air among the stolid, scholarly types around her. Venae had eyes of pale lavender, and her hair resembled spun amethysts. Her features seemed to be carved from living soapstone, lending her an additional ethereal quality. Aurin returned her dazzling smile as the woman was introduced and dipped into a low curtsie.
Vanae lead her, and five of the guardsmen to the quarters set aside for the Princess’s stay. Aurin was pleased to see Nattan among her guards. “Would you care to bathe or rest before the banquet this evening, Highness?” Vanae’s voice sounded like the music of a flute flowing on a spring breeze.
“Both of those sound like wonderful ideas, but please, if we’re going to be friends, call me Aurin,” she invited.
“I’d like that, Aurin,” replied that delightful voice. She waved her arm to the door they were approaching. “This will be where you are staying for the next three weeks.” Two of the guards preceded them, doing a sweep of the rooms. On the all clear, Aurin and the rest followed them in. They entered a moderately sized receiving room, with seats arranged around a fireplace.
Several doors opened onto the circular room. “Through there is the sleeping chamber, and the adjoining private bath,” Venae gestured to the largest of the doors. “That one leads to the first of the guards rooms, and the other is through there,” she pointed to a twin door on the opposite side of the room. “You can reach my own rooms through the last door. Aurin smiled, happy to know that she would have a friend so close at hand in this strange place. They passed into the bedroom to deposit the Princess’s bags. Three ladies in waiting stood unobtrusively to one side of the room, near the vanity.
Ve`nae waved them forward. “This is Greesa, Talura, and Naro. They will be your private staff while you are here. All three girls shared Venae’s ethereal qualities, but in different spectrums. Greesa’s hair could have been spun from Topaz and her eyes hinted at buttercups. Talura’s hair was glittering aquamarines and her eyes, cornflower blue. Na`ro’s spun rubies hair was matched with eyes like a pair of poppies.
Aurin had spent little time in the presence of the Fae, and found herself dazzled by their glowing splendor. She had the distinct impression that this was something done a-purpose. She nodded her approval. “I see that my mentors plan to blend politics with academics,” she quipped.
To her credit, Ve`nae did not try to deny it. She simply smiled, knowingly.
“I look forward to getting to know you all better,” Aurin directed towards the girls. The three younger Fae broke into giggles as they curtsied in reply.
There was much more giggling and laughter as the girls helped the Princess out of her traveling garb, and helped her suddenly wobbly kneed self into the hot water. Aurin couldn’t stifle the moan *****that poured from her lips as the hot water worked it’s wonders on her travel weary body.
Talura begged the Princess’s leave to join her in the water in order to execute a massage while Aurin soaked. Aurin knew that modesty was not a trait which the Fae fostered, but she had also heard that lust and all of it’s applications, was a favourite past time of theirs. With an internal shrug, Aurin gave the girl leave to join her, and was soon stifling additional moans as Talura’s delicate, yet powerful fingers soothed away knots of flesh and sinew in her neck, shoulders, back, and even arms and legs.
Had they been human, it would have taken all three of them to get her to the bed. As it stood, Greesa got her dried and wrapped in a soft robe of lamb’s wool and conducted her to the bed while Talura dried and redressed herself, and Na`ro turned down the bedclothes.
“Mustn’t over sleep..” Aurin murmured.
“We’ll wake you in time to dress for the banquet,” Greesa assured her as she pulled the covers to the sleep addled girl’s chin. “Just sleep, now.”
Aurin obeyed the hushed request, falling immediately into the darkness of unconsciousness.
Aurin thought she heard her father’s voice, and struggled to shrug off the mantle of sleep, longing to hold him close. But as her eyes finally opened, and she levered herself into an upright position, she discovered the voice she was hearing was a butler, his arms full of beautifully shimmering cloth as he spoke in hushed tones with Na`ro.
Talura’s hand brushed a stray lock from the Princess’s face. “Would you care for some water, Princess?” The Fae offered her a goblet which she accepted gratefully, and drained to the last drop before handing it back and moving to free herself from the stack of bedclothes. Talura stepped back to give her room to move, depositing the goblet on a nearby pedestal table, next to a matching pitcher.
Na’ro stepped forward. “Princess Aurin, this is Master Beeson. He’s come to dress you for the banquet.” He bowed low over the armful of cloth, and Aurin nodded in acknowledgement as she examined his spindly frame which seemed to be straining to reach five feet. By the dunn colour of his hair, skin, and eyes, Aurin guessed that he was one of the Wood Sprites.
“Highness,” he greeted. His voice was lower than she’d have expected from such a small man, and it brushed over her skin like suede. The gown he had brought for her was a rich forest green, edged in gold thread and golden braids ending in tassles. There was a matching cape, and both were made of crushed velvet. At her quizzically raised eyebrow, Na`ro explained that the banquet would be held outdoors. This delighted the Princess to no end, but would no doubt prove challenging for her guards. She promised herself to do her best to abide by any restrictions or guidelines they set her tonight.
Aurin emerged from her chambers with her hair stacked high on her head, a cascade of golden curls pouring over one shoulder, and the deep green of the dress caressing her frame. She entered just in time to hear the leader of the Zion contingency that had been added to her own security detail, complete a viscious comment.
“-won’t have some upstart Royal running willy nilly, working against me, while I run myself ragged trying to keep her skin all a piece!”
What her own Commander might have replied was interrupted as Aurin greeted the group.
“Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen.” There was one woman in her own detail, and she spotted two more wearing Zion crests.
They all saluted and replied in unison. “Good evening, Princess Aurin!”
She approached the group. “You’ll have some words of advice for this evening, I’ll warrant?” she invited.
“Yes, Mi’Lady,” replied her Commander, eyeing his Zion counterpart. “Highness, this is Commander Kett, of the Zion Guard. He’d like to go over some things with you.” His look seemed to be warning the other man to tread carefully.
Aurin gave the man her full attention. “Let’s hear it, then, Commander Kett.”
As he finished his list of concerns, she nodded her assent. “Very good. The last thing we need is to mar what should be a wonderful evening by tragedy borne of carelessness,” she commented.
“A very enlightened attitude, for a politician,” commented the Zion Commander. Aurin could see the tension in the shoulders of her own men. It was fine for them to tease her. They all sort of considered her a sister, or beloved cousin. This man was a stranger; he had not earned the right to be so familiar with their Princess.
“Ah, but you see,” Aurin leaned in, conspiratorially, “I’m not just a politician, I’m an academic, and a Mage. I can see the logic in working with one’s safety detail to keep one’s own skin a piece,” she finished, feeding the man’s words back to him. He had the decency to blush, and began a stuttered apology, which Aurin waved off. “Shall we have a truce, Commander?” She offered her hand, which he looked at in awe for a moment before straightening his spine, and closing his around hers.
“Let’s hope things go just as smoothly with the Mage Guild,” Aurin commented to no one in particular. She was rewarded with a round of appreciative smiles, and a chuckle or two.
By the time that she had arrived at the vast courtyard, the tensions between the two ranks of Guards had dissolved, and there was some amiable banter being exchanged. They all grew quiet and professional as the large double doors that would deposit them at the banquet loomed ahead. Va`nae fussed with Aurin’s hair, straightening the cascade of curls on her shoulder, and then the doors were opened, and her entrance announced by a crier to the assembled guests.
There was a burst of light, as one of the Magi set of a minor fireworks display. Aurin entered the courtyard amid a shower of gold and green sparks. The attention to detail was masterful. Va`nae directed her to a central dais, where she was tucked into a high backed chair, with a fur throw for her lap. Once she had settled, there was a welcoming speech, and then, much to Aurin’s gratitude, food was served.
Between courses, small groups of people would approach the dais to introduce themselves. Some were Wizards, and others were Magi or Seers. There were also Professors of science and math, as well as geography and religion. She thought she caught a smirk play across Kett’s face when the Professor of Politics was introduced.
Every race of Moris Auris seemed to be represented here tonight, and she tried not to appear star struck as she was introduced to <blahs, and blahs and blahs>. Of a surety, she had met members of some of these races, if not all, in attendance for her Father’s memorial, as well as her coming of age ceremony, but she was hardly in a state of mind to have absorbed much of it. When she mentioned this to Va`nae, she surprised to discover that she had actually met, personally, several of the dignitaries at those events, includeing Va`nae herself.
Aurin fought not to blush in embarrassment, and Va`nae laid a cool hand on the girl’s cheek. “Don’t fret, Princess. None blame you for being distraught at those previous encounters,” consoled that lilting voice.
Aurin took a steadying breath, nodding against the hand on her cheek. “Thank you, Friend Va`nae.”
At last, the Banquet was called to an end, and the Acrobats and Dancers took their bows and quit the courtyard. Aurin and her entourage were next, after a brief word of thanks from the Princess. Va`nae had to help steady her as the day’s exertions caught up with her. Aurin bid goodnight to the guards and pressed through to her bed chamber where the three younger Fae divested her of her carnival clothes.
Aurin gratefully collapsed into the bed as Na`ro tucked her in, laying a kiss on her brow. “Sleep well, Princess.”
There was little doubt that she would, safe and warm in the bed, with the presence of new friends and her trusted guards all within the reach of her Feelings. They glowed like candles within the periphery of her awareness. The warmth of their presence lulled her to sleep.
Aurin’s interim studies were gruelling. The brightest part of her days became the evenings, when she could sink into a hot bath, with Talura’s skilled hands easing away the day’s tension. On one such evening, during her first week at Zion, her eyes drooping, and her head lolling on her shoulders, it occurred to Aurin that such an intimate touch was often the task of a lover. That got her to thinking about Tyra. She suddenly felt guilty that she hadn’t written to Tyra at all when she had written brief messages to her mother, keeping her apprised of her overall progress.
Not that Tyra herself had written to her, either... But she assumed that Tyra’s own training would be somewhat more –intense- than her own studies. Aurin resolved to write to her Shadow that evening before bed.
While Aurin was off playing with the Mage Guild, Tyra was stuck in Alganor, getting beaten to a pulp by Jarelle, the Queen’s Shadow.
***
If she were, Tyra would be the first of her ilk in many decades. Jarelle may be the only one qualified to teach her the lessons she would need to learn.
It was the morning of her fourth day at Zion. Aurin woke with a scream that brought all four Fae, and half a dozen guardsmen, running. She could feel that she was caught in a Seeing, but she could not break free. She thrashed as the Vison flashed before her eyes. But she wasn’t just seeing the Prophesy, she was feeling it. They were burning. And she was burning with them. Just when she felt that her skin would burst into blisters, sweet oblivion swallowed her up, and there was no more Vision, and no more burning.
She woke with the smell of singed hair and burnt flesh still fresh in her nostrils. She coughed, and choked as she vomited bile over the side of the bed into a handy bucket. Cool hands smoothed her hair from her forehead, and a damp cloth dabbed at her mouth. As she sat up, a cup of water was pressed into her hands, and she sipped, cautiously, washing the sour taste from her tongue.
When she looked up, Aurin was nose to nose with a furry blue face. The Kie was speaking, but her mind wasn’t distinguishing syllables and words, as yet. She took a deep breath, and then another drink, reaching for her inner calm.
“-mustn’t get excited,” the Kie was saying.
“I beg your pardon, but could you repeat that?” she managed to croak.
The monkey-like Kie smiled at her, head tilted to one side, and then the other. “Princess had rough morning, yes? Just sit quiet. Drink water,” she encouraged, “Mustn’t get excited.”
Aurin nodded her agreement, focusing on the cerulean primate in front of her. Not that she was all blue. The Blue fur that covered the Kie was fine, and almost downy in places. Her hands, feet, and face were fuzz free, and a pink colour, much deeper hued than a human’s. There had been a Kie among the Acrobats at the welcoming banquet, and there were two of the blue furred creatures instructing her on meditation and memory retention. The Kies’ abilities were all memory based. They said that a Kie remembered every word ever said within earshot, and every face ever glimpsed.
Aurin concentrated on these facts as she avoided thinking about her earlier rude awakening.
Suddenly, Va`nae was there, trying not to be excitable, when she was obviously bubbling over with concern for her charge. Aurin didn’t know how old the Fae was, but she assumed that its was probably a number measured in centuries, as opposed to decades, and that somewhere in all that time, she had long ago mastered the art of staying calm in a crisis. She likely had her Attaché to thank for still being in her right mind, after this morning’s excitement.
The Princess opened her arms to the woman, who gratefully enclosed her in a gentle, lingering hug. Touch comforted the Fae, and Aurin wasn’t too proud to indulge in that selfsame comfort.
“You’re alright,” Va`nae uttered, seeming to be trying to reassure herself of this fact.
“You’re alright,” Va`nae uttered, seeming to be trying to reassure herself of this fact.
Aurin nodded, and murmured reassurances of her own into her friend’s amethyst hair. “I’m a little muddled, and queasy, but otherwise, I’m just fine.” Her eyes sought the Kie’s over Va`nae’s shoulder, seeking for some sign that she was, in fact, alright. The Kie clasped her hands in front of her and gave a small bow, smiling and nodding her own assurance.
Va`nae pulled back, stroking the Princess’s hair, concern still writ on her face. “You should try to sleep,” she suggested, looking to the Kie for her opinion.
“Yes, Aurin Princess rest now. The Seers council will have words for you. But I make them wait,” she winked.
Aurin assented, and laid her weary head back onto the pillow, but couldn’t help the tightness of fear in her chest. “Will you stay?” Aurin asked the Fae.
“Of course, Aurin,” she smiled warmly, and moved around the bed to lay down at the girl’s back, curling around the Princess’s body and holding her hand gently in hers.
Aurin felt the tension seep out of her limbs, and let her eyes drift closed. The last thing she remembered thinking, was she wished Tyra were here.
On the fourth day with no news from Aurin, she began to worry. She had finally resolved herself to schedule an audience with the Queen to ask after the Princess, when a messenger Osprey alighted on the wall of the training ring.
Jarelle hadn’t arrived yet, but Tyra had been going through a series of moves with a dummy. She stood at attention as the Avii landed.
“Tyra!” The Osprey called. “The Queen would speak with you, at once!”
Tyra bowed her acknowledgement, and set the staff with the others, hurrying for the door, with the intention of sluicing off in the showers before dressing in a clean uniform and presenting herself befre the Queen.
The osprey’s shrill cry brought her up short. “Where do you think you are going, Young Shadow?” he hopped impatiently up and down the wall.
“I planned to clean myself up,” she explained, but turned to face him.
He made a sound that might have been a chortle. “No time. When the Queen says, at once, she means, at once. Mount up.” He hopped to ground level and crouched to let her mount the saddle. He heard her gulp and turned his head to eye her. “You’ve never ridden.” It was a statement. He took the look on her face as answer enough. He gave a sigh. “Just think of it as an elongated equine saddle,” he suggested. “Your knees go over the knobs there, and your feet in the stirrups at the back. You needn’t steer, just hold on tight.”
Tyra followed his simple directions easily enough, and tried to quell the rising panic. She could not shake the feeling that something was wrong with Aurin. That fear nearly eclipsed the fear borne of her first, sudden, Avii flight.
“You’ll want to brace yourself,” he warned, and hopped up onto the fence once more before leaving into the air. The surge of his wings was jarring, but she kept her seat.
A had full of minutes later, they were approaching a window in the main receiving hall. “Make yourself small,” the Avii cried over his shoulder, and she complied, tucking herself low over his back. With a rush of wind and a momentary darkness, they plummeted through the whole in the wall. The osprey’s wings flared, cutting their momentum, and he alighted gently on the floor before the dais.
Tyra did not have to be told to dismount. She took a moment to find her equilibrium, before approaching the Queen’s thrown and sinking to one knee.
“Majesty,” she said, simply, waiting, head bowed.
“Rise child, and come sit,” Marion’s face looked drawn as Tyra rose and ascended the stairs to take the seat Marion had offered her, in Aurin’s smaller throne. The queen waited until she had settled.
“I know that you probably haven’t heard from Aurin as yet,” she began, and Tyra waited. The Queen continued, doing her best not to comparte the girl to one of the Avii in her mind. A bird of prey, just watching and waiting. “For the most part, she’s been immersed in exhaustive studies, which I expected. I’ve been getting the barest of details in brief notes from my daughter. Most of the information I havehas been coming from her Attaché, Va`nae, or the Commander of her Guard.” Marion’s face grew tighter as she continued.
“This morning, there was, an incident.” The Queen paused as Tyra’s shoulders grew taught, her fists clenching in her lap. “She was overtaken by a powerful Seeing. The Kie are keeping her stable while an investigation is underway. She’ll be speaking with the Seer’s council this evening.”
Tyra sat, absorbing this information. The Queen was letting her know that their Aurin was in danger, but that there was nothing either of them could do about it, even if they were in the room with her. She nodded. “Will that be all, Majesty?”
Marion had watched the girl’s features as she thought it over. She was a very cool, logical creature. She had a very even temper, for the most part. “She did well to choose you,” she commented.
Tyra tilted her head, then have a half bow from her seated position. “Thank you, Majesty. You honour me.” Tyra did not know the Queen well, but she knew that mother and daughter were close. Perhaps closer now that Alkaness was no longer with them. The Queen’s support mattered.
Marion touched the girl’s forearm. “I’ll keep you posted on her situation. But I thought you’d like to know. Better you hear something, than nothing at all. The imagination does tend to run wild,” the Queen ended with a wry grin, wondering if this stoic young girl had such a thing as an imagination. But the flicker of fear that ran through the girl’s eyes as she let her mind wander, answered that soon enough. *****
Tyrar rose, gently to her feet, not wanting to give the impression that the Queen’s touch was unwanted. “Will that be all, Majesty?”
The Queen nodded, withdrawing her hand.
Tyra stood there for a moment, considering, and hesitating. At last, she took the risk, and bent to hug hte Queen. “She’s a strong girl, Marion. She’ll pull through. Whatever it is,” she murmured in the Queen’s ear. Marion was momentarily startled, and could sense Jarelle step forward. She closed her own arms around the girl, letting them both know that it was alright.
“Thank you, Child,” she uttered, her eyes stinging with tears.
Tyra broke the embrace gently, making eye contact with her mentor.
“Kerrith is waiting for you at the barracks,” Jarelle said, but way of a dismissal. Tyra saluted, then bowed deeply to her sovereign and turned on her heel, marching out of the hall to make her way back to the barracks on foot.
Marion watched the girl leave, and felt her heart swell with pride in her daughter. Savaus and Alkaness had guided her well. Tyra was turning out to be a ideal Shadow.
“How is her training coming?” she asked Jarelle, suddenly.
“The whelp’s? Well enough,” she tried to sound casual. However Marion was one of the few people who could see through her facade.
“What is the catch, Jarelle,” she Queen demanded, simply.
Jarelle told the Queen her suspicions about the girl’s abilities using the silient finger language. Marion’s eyes grew wide.
“You’re certain?” she sought.
“Nothing is certain until it is proven. But I’ve been pushing her, and I feel that my suspicions lack merit.” Jarelle clarified.
The Queen chuckled. “Well, that explains Thade’s complaints to the Master At Arms!” Marion understood why Jarelle felt the need to keep this particular information to herself, however, she would speak to the Medic, the Master At Arms, and even Naduk, to make certain that they understood that what Jarelle was doing with her protogé was acceptable to the Royal Body. “Thank you. Keep me posted,” said the Queen, giving her go ahead on Jarelle’s plans for the girl’s training.
Jarelle, touched the Queen’s shoulder, lightly. “The Whelp is right. She’s a strong girl, our Aurin,” pressed the Shadow, in an effort to smooth the crease of concern from the Queen’s forehead.
Marion laid her hand over Jarelle’s. “I know,” she said, softly, “I know.”
Aurin woke to the smell of spice soup. She rubbed at her eyes and blinked to clear the blurr of sleep, propping herself up. Greesa and Va`nae stood over her, the former with a tray in her arms.
“Are you hungry, Princess?” she asked with a grin.
Nodding vigorously, her stomach rumbled it’s agreement. They laid the tray before her and she spooned up the thin, aromatic soup. The Kie wandered by, nose twitching. Her brow furrowed when she saw the soup.
“What you been eating, last couple of days?” she asked her patient.
Aurin crinkled her nose. “Veggies and starches, with cheeses, nuts and eggs for protein,” she replied, bemoaning the lack of meat in her knew diet.
The Kie turned to Greesa. “Bring her meat,” she declared.
Greesa and Va`nae both looked puzzled, while Aurin tried not to look overjoyed. “But Minister, the Mage Guild Traditionally-“ began Greesa.
The Minister waved her off. “Dryna in charge of her health. Dryna says bring Princess meat,” she insisted.
The young Fae looked to her elder, who gave a small shrug. Greesa dipped into a curtsie. “Yes, Minister.”
As the young Fae hurried off to follow her edict, the Kie looked into Aurin’s eyes. “I touch you now,” she warned, before laying her fingers along hte girls face, as though she were probing for something. And then Aurin could feel her, rustling through her mind.
Instinctually, she closed her eyes and drew Power from the room, from the Kie herself, and from Va`nae. She put walls between the probing touch and her thoughts. Her eyes flew open when the Kie let out a joyful exclamation.
“Very powerful, Princess,” she said with a smirk and a wink. “You power too great for the vessel if you not eat flesh. You not be Vegetarian,” she concluded, matter of factly.
Aurin blinked rapidly, trying to keep up.
“Please explain,” ordered the Head of the convened council. Aurin sat meekly as Dryna hopped around the dais with barely contained excitement, attempting to explain to the gathered Magi, Seers and Wizards, what she had already explained to Aurin herself.
“The Princess too powerful. Must eat flesh to dampen the Glow, or it burn her up. She not strong enough to contain it,” the Kie insisted.
“The scrolls do tell of one Star who burns brighter,” offered one of the Wizards at the end of the table.
The Head of council looked over his steelpled fingers. “In light of the Minsiter Gryna’s discovery, and your own delving into the Annals of hte Bloody Brothers,” he intoned, “it would seem, young Halfling, that you are thoroughly ensnared within the unforgiving grasp of Prohesy” His voice was tinged with remorse.
There was a conversation held in hushed voices, as others up and down the length of the table chimed in. Va`nae stroked the Princess’s hair as they deliberated, offering what comfort she could. At last, the Council settled in their seats, and the Head of Council spoke again.
“It is the decision of this council that Aurin of Alganor shall be exempt of hte tradition of a vegetarian diet, for the foreseeable future. Dryna, we charge you with the care and investigation of the Youngling’s powers. We trust that. You will return with her to Alganor, and keep us appraised.” His eyes burned into Aurin. “. May the Ansestors guide you, Highness.”
Aurin was still reeling as Dryna and Va`nae guided her back to her rooms. She had followed the events of the day, well enough, despite the flicker of flame that seemed to lick up her spine to her brain from time to time. Dryna assured her that that would fade after a day or two of consuming flesh, once more.
His eyes burned into Aurin. “ May the Ancestors guide you, Highness.”
With that, the meeting was adjourned. Aurin had fought to follow the flow of the voices throughout, but it had been difficult to focus past the sensation of flame that seemed to lick up her spine, to her brain, from time to time. Dryna assured her that that would fade after a day or two of consuming flesh, once more.
As it was, Aurin leaned heavily upon Va`nae as she and Dryna walked her back to her rooms.
Aurin progressed well, once her blossoming powers were dampened by the consumption of flesh. She worked with her teachers to learn methods to tap into the power’s taht she had thus far only been using instinctually. Everyone commented on how alike she was to both her father and mother. Many were awed by the shear brilliance of her aura when they tested it.
Aurin, Va`nae, and Dryna became very close, spending almost all of their waking time together. It was not uncommon for Gleesa to come in in the morning to find two or more of them cuddled together in the big bed.
Aurin found Dryna’s lessons both the most useful and the most perplexing. It was a disconcerting feeling to have the Kie rifling around in her mind.
“Must learn control of own thoughts, Aurin Princess,” Dryna scolded over and over again, shaking her hand and tisk tisking her, all the while, grinning ear to ear. Nothing ever seemed to truly upset any of the Kie. They were always cheerful, and often robust about it.
One day, after a lesson with the Brothers of <blank>, Aurin asked her furry mentor something that had been itching at the back of her brain.
“Dryna? Where do the Ky get their name from?”
Dryna continued brushing hte Princess’s hair. “Kie means knowledge,” she stated simply.
“But I thought Kie meant Power in the toungue of elves,” she said, confused.
Dryna tisk tisked her. “Yes, yes. But in our language, Ky, it mean Knowledge,” she clarified.
Aurin murmured to herself. “Knowledge is Power...” Her father had spoken the words over and over to her, but always in the tongue of her mother, the common tounge of Man. Aurin rose suddenly and rushed to a drawer in her nightstand, where she kept an old letter from her father. She pulled it out and examined the seal. Sure enough, there in the wax was the negative impression of his signet ring. Kie ik Ky it read. Knowledge is Power. She grinned and hugged the letter to her bossom, feeling the glow of having solved one of the small puzzles which her father had always lain out for her. Even when he was absent physically, he was teaching her.
She returned to her seat and Dryna resumed the brushing, smiling quietly to herself at her student’s lesson.
Now that her power had had a taste of the world around her, it wanted more. (move to later in the story)
The circle nearly complete, she drew herself to her full height and lifted her hands to the sky, appealing to the powers of light. “Prolinus setta kilus, met kilus, ots kilus, Temus ik, setta sevius, setta devimus. Temus ik, Temus ik, TEMUS IK!” With the final words, she felt herself glowing. She gritted her teeth against the searing pain that she had known would come. Just when she thought she couldn’t keep from crying out, the end came. But not in the way she had expected. She hadn’t felt the disruption as the Circle was crossed, but now, she looked down, staring at the three inches of steel protruding from her chest.
As the High Queen’s light dimmed, she sagged against her Shadow. They locked eyes. In the next moment, there was a brilliant flash of light as her life force fed into the incomplete spell, closing the gap in the circle.
Jarelle let the body sink to the ground. A cry went up as the others turned in reaction to the unexpected flash. Steel rang as sords were drawn. Two of the five dropped to their knees, throwing knives glittering at their throats
She dispelled the remaining three quickly and quietly. She collected her blades, cleaning them in the grass before retunring them each to their sheathes. With a shrill cry, she summoned her mount. The Harpy Eagle landed with a hushed ruffle of feathers. Jarelle mounted, and they were away.
Aurin saw the Light and knew that something was wrong. She signed to one of the nearby guards, not wanting to startle the children. He ran off to aler the Master at arms.
Aurin choked back the sob that clawed at her throat as she Reached for her mother and was greeted only by emptiness. The power of the Prophesy swept through her, but she had been prepared this time, and rode the wave, only a soft moan belying the event.
“Did you say something, Aurin?” came an angelic voice from near her feet.
“No Tassa, I was just thinking of my father.” This answer satisfied the young girl who had often seen the older girl shed a tear for her lost father.
Aurin wiped her face and slid down from her perch in the window. She had to be strong, her mother had said.
She swept the little girl up into her arms and they giggled together as they walked through the crowd. Eyes lifted and faces brightened at the sight of their bright smiles.
Jarelle appeared silently at Anthor’s side. As he looked up, she met his eyes in silent acknowledgement of a task completed. His face split into a grin, but his eyes remained cold and empty- the eyes of a serpent. Even Soluomin could not suppress the shudder that such a look elicited. As the Krig and the Shadow frissonned in unison, Anthor chuckled cruelly.
Jarelle was the first to regain her composure, and merely assumed the at ease position, waiting.
The King nodded to himself and waved a hand, dismissively. “As the Magi for the Onyx Key,” he instructed her, and to one of the guards, “Escort her to the Hall of Doors.”
Jarelle’s body sagged noticeably with relief. She wasn’t out of this yet, there was still time for him to double cross her, but it was a risk she had to take. She couldn’t just leave the children at his mercy.
She followed the guard as he lead her first to the Magi who kept the Keys. She formally requested the Onyx Key, reciting the ritual words as she stared into the milky eyes of the blind man. She also knew him to be deaf. Only the words of the ritual could pierce his ruined senses to make clear a seekers request.
As her voice came to a halt, the Magi nodded and painted a runic symbol in the air between them. She watched as he reached into the pocket that had formed there and withdrew the key she sought.
Again, relief swept through her. She raised her trembling hands to receive the treasure, and kissed the old man’s cheeks in gratitude, leaving him with a radiant smile.
The trip to the Hall of Doors was short, and equally filled with mystical words and air painted runes. They stepped through a shimmering curtain and the underground passage they had been traversing gave way to a massive through fair with vaulted ceilings and large ornate doors carved of every precious metal and gem imaginable.
Jarelle broke into a run as she spotted the door she wanted, and fumbling, fitted the key to the lock, pulling it open in a rush.
She stared in confusion. She was expecting to find them crammed into a small, dark space- but what she found looked like it had been wrought from the wish list of any child under 14.
The two hundred and fifty missing boys and girls were laughing and playing in a brightly lit, spacious room, strewn with all manner of toys and other childhood diversions. Jarelle stood shocked in the doorway, looking on.
After a few moments, one of the girls nearest the door spotted her, and a cry went up. There was a rush of running feet and Jarelle was swept into the room, amid a flurry of “Have you come to play?”
Jarelle was suddenly uncertain. She had betrayed her Charge, her Queen, her Kingdom- to set these children free. But was if fair to wrest them from this idyllic place just to be thrust into a war torn reality?
Swallowing her own honour and guilt, she spoke to the guard. “I will need time to think,” she proclaimed.
He gave a smug grin. “Anthor thought as much. You have three hours to make your decision.” With that, he pulled the door closed behind them and took up a post facing the room.
To clear her mind and regain her inner calm, Aurin decided to pay a visit to the cave where the ancient Elfin hieroglyphs had lay hidden for thousands of years. Since coming to Ruen she had often trekked up to the cave. It was peaceful there and it gave her a sense of being part of something much larger than herself. Today of all days, was one which needed a little more calm in it. Her guard protested , of course, and Tyra cursed a blue streak when it turned out that only Aurin could pass through the ward that her mother’s life force had laid over the citadel. She was red in the face and using some very colourful language when Aurin turned the corner, putting a rock face between herself and her Shadow.
There it was, Ruen. And, yes, there was their precious Citadel. It wouldn’t be long now. He could hear Soluomin whining from somewhere near his right shoulder, something about witches and powerful halflings.
Suddenly aware of the meaning of those whinings, he whirled on the Krig. “If you fear anyone, Krig, it had best be me.” Anthor grabbed the cowering Krig by his shirtfront and nearly dismounted him as he drew him close. “I will have no talk of that witch or the halfling. Not even Alkaness’ brood can stop me this time.” With that he released the Krig who swung precariously before righting himself again in midair.
He turned back to the approaching hillside. “Land us there, above the Citadel.” His steed nodded almost imperceptibly and banked to bring them down for a gentle landing on the hilltop.
Just as they were about to touch down, Anthor noticed a dark cloud rising from the Citadel.
“Fools! Do they really think their puny squadron can stop me?”
They disembarked quickly, Anthor rushing to the Book, and loosing the ties lashing it in place. “Kneel, Krig!” commanded the King, and placed the massive book between his servant’s shoulders, wresting the Krig’s hands up to the edges o hte open binding, holding it in place.
Anthor didn’t wait for the Krig to get comfortable before holding his hands out spread above the open pages, willing them to open to the page he sought. The pages stilled and he looked down, raising his voice to cast the words of power through the air. A nimbus of red light surrounded the King, and the book, but it ignored the Krig, leaving him an indistinct shadow below them.
As the power of the spell grew, Anthor raised his arms, motioning as though dispersing a cloud of annoying gnats. The approaching squadron was swept aside by a power outlined in red, mount and rider alike, tossed to one side in time to Anthor’s motion. The King grinned, and then brought his palms together as though crushing a moskitoe. The result was swift, and messy. What rained to the ground more closely resembled jam than corpses. Soluomin gulped, and blinked back tears as he looked on in abject terror. Perhaps he shouldn’t have bet against his King, after all...
When the last of the opposing squardron was nothing more than a smear of blood and feathers on the clifface, Anthor let his hands hover once more over the pages, which fluttered to life for him. His own squadron stirred behind him, the smell of blood on the air calling to the Avii, leaving them restless.***The King’s voice lifted again, and this time the nimbus roiled over him, surving out from time to time in founts of energy, looking like geysers upon the surface of a stirring volcano. At last, he brought both arms above his head and brought his fists crashing down. As he did, a blue dome of answering light protested over the citadel, as the Power of the Book crashed upon it, sparking purple where red and blue collided. ***
Within the walls of the citadel, the few Magi that remained, drew their own cicles f power, and murmured word of power as they drew the runes in their own blood, drawing their long, slender blades to plunge them into their own hearts.
Without, Anthor laughed as the flashes added strength to the Dome, giving it enough power to shimmer solid blue. He laughed, and raided his fists, bringing them down again and again, like a child in a tantrum, but in erie silence.
