They travelled along Long Road, one of the Realm’s broad highways that cut through the Borderland Forests from the northern regions of Asher Rise. It was upon this road that Paraden and his company left the Olian Glades behind them, heading north towards the Nune Glades.
Arriving at the Glades, they were escorted to the Nune Portal, a stone structure covered by a great steel dome. Once inside the dome, Paraden walked through the portal and found that on the other side, his entire surroundings had changed.
Paraden stood awestruck, gaping, taking in how vibrantly white was the courtyard that he stood in. He observed how smooth the bricks were beneath his feet, how high were the walls that encircled it. Craning his neck, Paraden then saw six sentinels peering down at him.
“They are the Portals Guards,” said Nevdia. “They keep watch over who passes and appears through the Portals of Blydran.”
Nevdia was shadowa of the old Bellandra, who had been nurse to the murdered baby. Since leaving the Glades with some of the members of the Greathouse, this shadowa had conceded to the notion that given the fact that they were both shadowas, she and Paraden were relatable to one another; able to cast aside reservations which in turn would lead to familiarity. But so far, Paraden found her more irritating than relatable, for since leaving Olian, he had discovered that the elvess preferred being the sole contributor to conversation - seemingly uninterested in what he had to offer in their interactions.
While they waited for the last of their party to enter the courtyard, Paraden turned around and basked in the site of the famous Portals of Blydran. They were the four revolutionary structures of the Last Sorcerer. Three of the four had been designed to be the gateway to Alepion’s capital regions; the Nunes, the Trails and, of course, Asher Rise. As for the fourth portal, the one Paraden and his company had just passed through, that portal had been built so that should Alepion’s borders become threatened by the Sand Elves, Alepion’s armies could rally to defend it by utilising the portal that led to the Nune Glades.
Paraden was now following his company through a black gate that acted as the courtyard’s primary exit. Stairs made of stone awaited on the other side, curving upwards until they arrived at the top, where Paraden was then presented with the Portal Guards.
One of the Portal Guards led them to the Throne Room where the trial would take place and when passing through its high doors, Paraden’s brows lifted in sheer wonder. It was a hall like none other; grander than the hall of Olian’s Greathouse, possessing a lucid air of authority and wonderment that, for a moment, took Paraden’s breath away.
The floor was marble of sapphire blue. Upon the walls were built three private balconies on either side, separated by thick grey curtains that fell to the floor. The curtains were drawn, revealing long rectangular windows that, for now, allowed glorious rays of sunlight to invade the contents of the room. At the end of the hall, Paraden locked eyes with the Golden Throne.
Looming ahead, the throne was exalted upon seven steps and it was made completely out of gold. Though vacant, the great chair was able to send a shudder down Paraden’s spine; its posture alone being a vision of awe.
They found their seats among the rows of chairs that had been stationed within the throne’s shadow. Paraden sat at the end of the row, next to Nevdia and when at last the hall began to fill, he turned to the elvess and asked very quietly who were those seated in the high balconies.
The elvess looked up. “In that balcony over there,” pointing to the one to their left, closest to the throne, “you can see the Son of Alepion, Tylan Olian Lightmarsh. He was the youngest child of the Last Golden Elder. With him is his united-one and son. And then in this balcony,” pointing to the one on the other side, “you will see Tylan’s sister.”
Paraden’s eyes went wide. “The Lady of the Moon?” he gasped.
“No,” said the elvess, shaking her head. “The Lady Lanixia doesn’t seem as if she will be attending.” Nevdia sounded surprised. “That elvess up there is the middle child of the Last Golden Elder, the sister of Tylan and Lanixia.”
Paraden turned and looked over his shoulder, eyeing out the rest of the balconies and those who were seated in them.
“Then where is the Lady of the Moon?” he asked. From the corner of Paraden’s eye, he noticed Nevdia scan the heads about the hall, saying now in a low voice,
“I don’t know, she hasn’t arri ---” the elvess paused as if suddenly noticing something. Paraden felt her lean in and saw that her eyes had become dead set on something towards the end of the hall.
“Paraden… over there,” she whispered.
Slowly, Paraden’s eyes narrowed as they searched, not sure what it was he was supposed to be looking at, until…
At the far back of the hall, Paraden glimpsed two individuals seated close together, the entirety of their row empty. The vague shadowy figures of sentinel guards that were behind them seemed a clear presage that forewarned anyone seeking to sit with them that they would not be welcomed.
“There she is, Paraden; the deposed Lady of the Moon.”
Paraden couldn’t stray his eyes away, but due to the famous elvess being at the back, it was hard to analyse what she looked like. The constant sketches of her in the Headlines formed an image in Paraden’s mind, yet none that fit the profile he was currently watching with intrigue. What was notable was the vibrantly dark auburn hair. Besides that, the distance and shadow cast by the balcony above the elvess sent her into a shroud.
Luckily, the one sitting next to her could be glimpsed more clearly, seeing as he sat on the right-hand side of the elvess, outside of the shadow of the balcony that loomed high above them.
“The other,” Paraden enquired. “Is he the Son of Alepion?”
“Yes. That’s Jaydan Raven Skysinger.”
The way the elvess emphasised the elf’s name, immediately caused Paraden’s fascination to swell. So much so that he found that his stare was prolonged, though this time not at the elvess who had once been Lady of the Moon before the Elder deposed her, but rather at her youngest son.
Staying true to the Skysinger reputation, Jaydan Raven Skysinger was tall and he possessed a strong build. He had hair like his father and brother had; chestnut brown that was as rich in colour as it was thick and long. The elf’s composure was such that there was a restraint to him, a calmness that translated into a notable self-assurance that perhaps exceeded the typical confidence expected by those of his rank. But now, there was something else that Paraden noticed; something so profound that all previous observations faded from prominence. It was the admirable trait of loyalty.
There besides his deposed mother, the Son of Alepion sat strong and defiant, arms folded across his broad chest as both he and his mother waited peevishly for the spectacle of today’s event to begin. And it was while watching such an impressive elf sitting with his shamed mother that Paraden found himself glancing upwards again, at the brother and sister of the disgraced Lady of the Moon.
It would seem that besides her son, the Lady Lanixia Lowvilla Skysinger stood friendless at court, which while the Elder remained on campaign and since her deposing, was ruled by what the Headlines had dubbed ‘the Silvindas’ - supporters of the Lady Silvinda.
Upon the Herald’s announcement of “All rise,” Paraden turned forward in his seat and did as bade.
Behind the shadow of the throne, the shadows materialised. First came two solemn individuals, of whose identity Paraden hadn’t the slightest idea. Then came an elvess of grace; one Paraden suspected immediately was the infamous Daughter of Alepion, Silvinda Skysinger, united-one of the late Crowned Son of Alepion and mother of his successor, the new Crowned Son of Alepion.
Paraden watched the elvess take her seat, unable to disregard the negative opinion forming in his mind that came as a result of all the nasty things he had heard said about the elvess; slanders that portrayed her as a greedy and ambitious elvess who had profited most from the Lady of the Moon’s downfall.
Th
e next elf who appeared changed the atmosphere of the hall completely, at least for Paraden, who now felt his heart rate begin to rise. It was the blademaster and his bladewatcher, both elaborately armoured.
Paraden broke out in a sweat as the blademaster took his stand on the right side of the throne, while the rest were seated on the chairs beneath it. Despite his trepidation, he couldn’t pry his gaze away from the warrior, not until another appeared - the last of the utmost attendants of the trial.
The Crowned Son of Alepion stepped out from behind the throne and immediately Paraden found himself frowning, taken unawares at the vast contrast in appearance of the elf he now watched to the elf he had imagined in his mind’s eye, which entertained one who bore similarities to the Fierce and his sons.
Never had Paraden seen a picture in the Headlines of this youngster, which, judging by the look of him, shouldn’t have surprised him. While the youngster’s family members remained impressive figures in appearance, the Headlines might have felt the need to focus on them rather than this little flower. But now that this flower would one day wear the golden circlet of the Golden Elders, Paraden had a feeling the little Skysinger would soon and, at last, receive his due publicity.
When the young future ruler sat down with his mother, the rest of the assembly did so too, the hall becoming as quiet as a crypt until the Lady Silvinda, rather conceitedly, stood up and began to address the congregation.
“Upon the day of our Elder of the Moon Elves, Great Servant of Alepion and Supreme Deacon of the Alepion Temple, we, his subjects, give thanks unto Adonai the God of Whispers for yet another day in His Freedom, His Favour and His Love. To those present, let it be known that you are loved and cherished.”
The attendees applauded. The Lady Silvinda continued, her persona as unappealing as the words of her opening disclosure was pretentious. They were said not out of any patent conviction that Paraden could discern, but rather out of a well-rehearsed protocol that caused a shadow of mistrust to fall over his expression.
“Today we stand to witness the accused as he appeals to the Representatives of Alepion. Today, the accused shall offer testimony. From the Representative, judgement shall follow.”
Incredulously, Paraden wondered how on earth this elvess could be revelling in her authority so blatantly and how an elvess of such character could preside over a trial as pivotal as this.
Now raising her gaze to the end of the hall, the Lady Silvinda gave off a signal. As a result, the great doors of the hall opened and Paraden turned in his seat to see the accused being escorted inside.
Durasian Lightfire looked intent, more so than he had while the investigation for his murdered daughter was underway. He leered with glaring eyes and when he stood up upon his post that had been positioned directly before the judges, there was such belligerence exuding from him that it appeared as if even the Lady Silvinda was shrinking back away from him. Her son, the Crowned Son of Alepion, appeared just as wary.
“As a higher of Alepion,” came the Lady Silvinda, in a loud voice, “a post received from the Throne itself, it is for the Throne to hold this elf to account and to listen with an open heart and mind, to apply wisdom and to not shy away from delivering justice. While in accordance with the right to judge, the Throne will absolve the innocent of all crimes presumed, if he be deemed innocent. May Adonai be praised!”
Another applause sounded, all the while Paraden watched the accused with fixation and anticipation. The rise and fall of the Higher’s shoulders suggested that either he was anxious and afraid, or he was momentously furious and so before the trial was done, Paraden expected some form of explosion was set to begin. He could hardly wait, hoped that the Higher wouldn’t disappoint him.
When the Lady Silvinda informed the Higher that he was to speak, the Higher turned without delay in order to address the assembly.
“I did not kill my daughter!” he quickly fired, furiously, his eyes ablaze with hot anger.
Paraden smiled, highly expectant of a good and entertaining show. He folded his arms and made himself comfortable.
“I did not abduct her! I did not steal her away from her mother! I. DID. NOT. KILL HER!” The Higher turned around and raised his head to those set to decide a verdict. “I was made Higher of the Olian Glades by the Throne. And it was a Golden Elder who gave me the post, your own great-greatfather,” said the Higher, clearly at the little Skysinger who paled against the Higher’s intensity. “And let it never be said that a Golden Elder led this country poorly or allowed the Moon to shrink back in the face of the horizon. Let it never be said that Adonai did not guide those who sat where you will one day sit,” referencing the throne looming above the judges. “But rather, with a clear understanding of those who have ruled before you, I implore of you Crowned Son of Alepion, Jaylan Lowvilla Skysinger, greatson of the Fierce, descendent of both Lightmarshes and Rareshades - put my accuser on trial. Have him stand before you and judge his words with open eyes and by Adonai, you will see that he has either lied, or has allowed himself to be led astray by falsehoods!” The Higher turned promptly to face all those watching, his eyes scanning those in the first row, then the second where most of his household watched. Just now, the indignant Higher spotted Paraden and on Paraden the Higher’s eyes narrowed insidiously.
“He has played us false and he has tried to bring me low, for I remain a steadfast believer in the Whispers. I am one who would sooner die than hurt my family!” This was when the Higher’s voice choked, the intonation shifting with subdued and raw emotion, picking up again with his next declaration, made with clear conviction, “Especially in the name of gods who are dead! DEAD!” the Higher pointed a fast and unexpected finger at Paraden. “Tell your master, shadowa! Tell him, if death has not come to him already, that I will not go down! That Adonai knows me by name and He can testify that I have devoted my life to my family and to the downfall of the Old Way, who have proven themselves shrewd! But Adonai is shrewder still and will not abandon me in my time of need. He will not abandon me to those who oppose Him. He will not forsake me, for I belong to Him! I am His!”
Paraden’s face went hot from the attention received and when at last the Higher turned to face the Representatives of Alepion, Paraden sighed in relief.
During the next interval of the trial, the Lady Silvinda called for the evidence to be presented. This was where Paraden lost concentration, knowing the evidence would be overwhelming and so was confident that the verdict of the Representatives would go as he and his master had assumed. Unfortunately, that verdict would come only after the witnesses. As for those witnesses, their change in confidence over their master’s innocence manifested with notable obviousness - each one avoiding eye contact from the Higher as he glared at them returning to their seats.
“The evidence and testimony against you, my Higher of Olian,” came the Lady Silvinda, upon her rise from her chair, “is substantial and appalling should its legitimacy prove creditable. For as you say, you were entrusted with the Glades of Olian, to govern it and steward its occupants in the elder’s name, that elder being the great Dayane III whose own kin sit among us and who have watched their father’s trust be trampled. And yet…” pausing as she gracefully turned her head to look down at her timid looking son, she added, “the verdict over your innocence I believe, lies with one who Adonai will one day anoint ruler over His most favoured.” Mother winked to son and son rose to his feet while mother concluded, “And so the decision, hereby, belongs to my son, Crowned Son of Alepion, Jaylan Lowvilla Skysinger, future Great Servant of Alepion,” her declaration teemed with endearing affection, her tone shaped in what way only mothers could do when addressing their most beloved child.
That child blinked rapidly in obvious nervousness and doubt. With clear hesitation, he addressed the faces looking at him.
“Considering the evidence,” came his sweet and light voice, like an elvess. “And the testimonies. The voice of Adonai speaks even now. It is my verdict that the Higher of the O
lian Glades, Durasive ---”
Paraden cringed internally, watched as one of the Representatives lifted in his chair so as to whisper in the youngster’s ear. The youngster looked abashed, did clear his throat for rectifications and said,
“apologies. Durasian. Durasian Lightfire… It is my verdict that he is guilty of abduction, murder and ---”
The cry went up, first heard from the Higher’s united-one who wailed in grief, then from some of his household who remained convinced of their Higher’s innocence. Then their shouting of disagreement and defiance to the verdict was joined by the others seated in the hall - those who were also not convinced of the Higher’s guilt.
Paraden looked about and noticed a shake of the head from the Lightmarsh Son of Alepion sitting in the balcony to the left. He saw him stand and turn to leave with clear displeasure. Such was the volume of disapproval, that barely did Paraden catch the words of the Crowned Son of Alepion condemning the Higher of the Olian Glades to branding and then to exile, Alepion’s most severe punishment.
The Higher’s own protests earned him the attention of nearby sentinels. First, two silver clad warriors were on him, then four. His united-one cried out in desperation, tears spilling while the blademaster next to the throne walked down the steps to encourage the Crowned Son and his mother out of the hall.
Paraden sat in complete silence while he watched everything unfold, amazed as the world was thrown into complete chaos. The tears and outrage of those around him made him wonder how long the effects of today would last and what ramifications this day would have over the course of the next few days and weeks, perhaps months, maybe even years?
He was pondering these things in obliviousness to Nevdia’s stare, becoming aware only when nudged by her.
“Did he really do it, Paraden?” she asked, now gripping his arm in earnest. “He didn’t, did he? He couldn’t have? The Higher loved his daughter. Surely the Crowned Son is wrong? He must be! Paraden please, please tell me! Did the Higher really abduct and murder his own daughter?”
The Missing Page 11
