Standing bravely on one of these towers this night was Foran, Aerinas’ closest ally and friend. He was about the same build as Aerinas, but had shorter hair that was a tad darker. Feathers were woven into his braids, signifying his skill as an archer. He wore a green-tinted, hooded cloak that surrounded his entire body. This enabled him to blend in with the trees and keep out the brisk air. His sheathed sword stood in the corner of the dais, and light sparkled from the hilt as the shafts of moonlight moved about. His longbow was close to his side. His left hand gripped it tightly and his eyes moved about rapidly, keeping watch. The air was cool and tranquil, transforming his breath into crystals in the chill. Foran, known as one of the best marksmen in the city, held the West Gate along with a half dozen others posted in the other towers. His young elvish eyes were acute and could see long distances, without any loss of detail.
In the faint moonlight he saw a flash of white on the forest floor. The sound of hooves against the soft earth was evidence that someone, or something, approached the city. He watched, muscles tensed with adrenaline, as a figure on horseback drew near to the gate. Foran reached for the ivory warning horn that hung next to him. An arrow pierced it, shattering it from his hand and throwing him to the floor of the tower. He rose swiftly, while drawing back his bow, and trained his eyes on the shape straddling the white horse below. The arrow almost left its poised position when suddenly a familiar voice called to him.
"Foran, son of Arathin, do not fire!"
Though his hand was steady, his target plain, and the arrow poised, Foran hesitated when he heard his father's name. “Aerinas?” he called back.
"Yes, my friend, it is I. Will you open the gate for me and let me ride in silently while time is our ally?"
"You know we are not supposed to open these gates for anyone after nightfall, Aerinas, not for anyone,” Foran responded emphatically. “How am I to know that you are not some wretch gifted with Voice, and are trying to trick me?"
"I am also in need of your trust, my friend. Cannot your eyes plainly see my countenance and know me full well?” asked the figure. “I was attacked and I need your help. Jjanasi and I have traveled far and I must be allowed to enter now, Foran."
"All right, I will be there in a moment.” Foran left his bow at the threshold of the tower entrance. He swiftly descended the spiral stairs that circled a large oak, then drew his sword quietly and nodded to the other guard in the neighboring watch tower. They trained their arrows on the form cautiously.
Foran slid open a small, wooden peephole cover near the main gate and peered out. The face of his friend was clear, and unmistakable. He unlatched the gate, and quietly swung it open. Aerinas rode in on the white stallion. The gate was closed and latched securely once more.
Once inside, Aerinas led Jjanasi to the stables and secured him. When he finished, he quickly returned to the West Tower where Foran was pacing about on the platform above.
"You had better have a good explanation for yourself, Aerinas,” growled Foran as Aerinas entered the guard house, “you almost took my hand off."
He pointed to the shattered remains of the warning horn scattered across the floor, and to the arrow lodged in the tree. Bits of the silver bonds that wrapped around the ivory horn glinted in the moonlight.
"My apologies, my friend. I could not allow you to sound the alarm. My aim was true, and I did you no harm. Harm would have been greater had your breath disturbed the air with warning,” said Aerinas. “We will just have to ask the merchants for a replacement."
"Well it is quite clear to me that you were not roaming about visiting gnomes this time, Aerinas,” accused Foran. “So where have you been?"
Aerinas’ face became weighty. “El-Caras, north of Merchindale."
Foran's eyes grew cold and bleak. “El-Caras? Why did you go there alone?"
"It is of little consequence now, Foran. I did what I did, and there is no changing it now. I cannot speak of it anymore here, my friend. You must trust me. Does my father know of this?” There was sense of urgency in the question.
"I do not know, Aerinas. The Council has been convened again; your father called the meeting. That is twice this week alone. We are told nothing more than to keep a watch going every hour."
"I have discovered why it is so, Foran. I cannot speak of this here, though. I must go see my father, for there is much he may not know.” Aerinas’ eyes grew wide with fear. “Although I disobeyed and journeyed to Merchindale, it may be good that I did so."
Aerinas shook his head, as if pulling his mind out of deep thought, and gazed into the still air. “His dealings with Lythardia may be unknown to Mynandrias, but I know now why the Council is convened so frequently as of late.” His head hung once more, the expression on his face more grave. He put his hands into his pockets and fingered a tattered piece of parchment paper.
"Yes, I must see him immediately, even if it means interrupting the Council,” said Aerinas. The thought of disrupting his father struck fear into his heart. Aerinas’ father, Tristandor, was not the easiest of the Krayn to deal with. His Kraynish blood was pure, but his long years of life through the dawn of the age had set curse to his sight with the many rank things abroad. Aerinas knew that his father would not have approved of his meddling in such affairs, nor would he want to hear his son's tale of it, lest danger befall the city. Perhaps that was the cause of the meeting, but unfortunately for Aerinas it was too late to worry about the consequence of bursting into the Great Hall.
Foran barely got a chance to bid his friend good luck. Aerinas hustled from the watchtower, and down the staircase. Foran watched after him until he could no longer see him through the dark, then turned to resume his watch.
Below Foran, on the forest floor crept ominous shapes among the brambles and undergrowth of the forest, hidden from the keen eyes of the watchers above by the blinding night. They had slipped in while distraction was their ally.
The House of Lythardia was the largest structure in Mynandrias, and its entrance took refuge at the root of the largest oak in the surrounding wood. It was a circular structure, representing the never-ending cycle of law and order of Kraynish culture. A dome cap topped it off. Entering the House meant one was either an Elf-Lord, or a member of the Council itself. It was named after the first Krayn Elf to hold the throne, Lythardia Oruma, captain of the army of elves in the Great War of Calaridis a thousand years before.
Upon approaching the House of Lythardia, Aerinas was always captivated by its unparalleled architectural beauty. He was not an Elf-Lord, and was saddened that this was the way that he would be able to see the interior.
Aerinas knew that twenty-one of the wisest Elf-Lords gathered there to discuss happenings in Mynandrias, and the surrounding lands. Law was cast, and decisions made as to the involvement of the Krayn Elves in the politics of the Realm. Sadly, though these facts were well known, Aerinas had never seen the inside of the Great Hall.
Tristandor sat quietly on the throne with his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, and chin lowered to his clasped hands. A respected Elf-Lord and holder of the throne, he was by day a renowned craftsman of the finest Elvish weapons. No two weapons were ever alike, and the work was truly exquisite. His face was riddled with scars of wars gone by, yet the rough edges of his demeanor were balanced by gentleness in his voice. Like most of the Krayn dwelling in Mynandrias, his hair was long, silvery, and sparkling. Amongst the strands were small braids, decorated with ivory beads. His skin, common to the Krayn Elf race, was the color of desert sand.
Tristandor was in deep thought and shifted in his seat on occasion, letting out a sigh. The others in the Council sat in his silence, and gazed at their leader. They knew that the news they had just delivered would trouble him. His own son had disobeyed him, and journeyed to the forbidden land of Merchindale. That much he knew. What he did not know was why, and what consequences were destined.
Finally he spoke, “My son has strayed from his path. For some time I have known this, for h
is spirit is untamed. He traveled far to the land of Merchindale, and found trouble there. The Forest has told me this much. What has not been told is what purpose he sought out there and what he may have awoken in that desolate place, for there are now stirrings amassing."
Tristandor finally stood and slowly began to pace the plush carpet near the throne. With his hands clasped behind his back, he glanced up at the walls of the Great Hall to look upon the runes written by the hands of his forbearers. He often searched for wisdom there.
The floor of the Great Hall chamber was laid with another gift from the dwarves: lavish gray-and-white marble containing patterns that swirled about in no discernable scheme. On either side of the room, starting at the entrance and continuing around the outer wall, climbed stone staircases adorned with lush, crimson linens and a heavy railing brandished with Elvish runes scribed in the ancient tongue. Each staircase reached its end, about half height of the wall, and flattened out to a balcony that overlooked the chamber below. These were held in place by two large stone pillars wrapped in green ivy plants that grew on their own from the floor. Ten handcrafted stone chairs sat on each balcony, totaling twenty. At the far side, across the sparkling floor, another staircase climbed up and ended at the foot of the throne. Drawn and carved into the walls were elaborate paintings and runes that chronicled the history of the Krayn. Large golden sconces holding candles cast eerie shadows about the room. As the walls crept higher, the dome formed and brought them all together at the pinnacle. From its center hung a chandelier of grand stature. Familiar soft, blue light emanated from the Lenthan crystals that were mounted on the spokes. The dwarves would have been proud to see their gifts so aptly flaunted.
"My Lord,” Arath, one of the Elf-Lords spoke, “he is as you have described him, yet this does nothing for the danger that may have been unleashed on our peaceful city. If this evil has followed him or trailed him to our borders, then we are in danger even as we deliberate over it. You know what fate has in store for him even though he is your son."
Tristandor nodded. “He broke not only our laws, but my own command to stay away from the troubled land until we learned of its treachery.” Anguish came over his face, and his eyes became dark with memory. “That fortress was sealed by Aeligon and the wizards for a reason; until that reason was found or destroyed, it was to remain so."
"We have no choice but to banish him, my lord,” said Arath again. This time he stood as he spoke.
Tristandor bowed his head, eyes closed as he mumbled, “So it is written in our law, so shall it be done.” Just then, the door burst open. Aerinas appeared at the threshold of the Great Hall. He stood astonished as he took in the vast beauty of it for the first time. It was unlike anything else he had ever seen in Mynandrias, or elsewhere.
"Aerinas!” his father shouted. “What are you doing here? This is just as forbidden a place for you as Merchindale itself.” His father, draped in his robes, stood firm and seemingly darker as his rage grew.
"Father,” said Aerinas, unmoved by the shout, “let me speak, please. You do not know what I discovered at El-Caras, so do not judge me before you have heard my plea.” He straightened himself, trying not to allow his father to break him like he had done so many times before.
Two guards adorned in elegant ceremonial armor grasped his arms, one on each side. His sword and his bow were stripped from him; the guards forced him down on his knees, then to his face.
Tristandor scowled and descended the staircase. He made his way across the shimmering floor to face his son directly. He walked around him with his hands clasped behind his back. Aerinas quivered. The bravery and boldness that he possessed a moment before was gone in a heartbeat. He kept his head up and stared straight ahead, never faltering his gaze. Tristandor motioned to the guards. They lifted him roughly, then released his arms. They took a few steps back to allow the heir of the House to stand before his father.
"Let me hear of it, then,” Tristandor ordered, transfixing his son with his stare.
Aerinas delved into the story without hesitation, while his father and the Council listened. Tristandor continued to pace around his son in a circular line and did not interrupt him once during the account. Aerinas told of his theft of the horse Jjanasi from the stables, and of his hidden route out of the city. Arath finally sat down.
When Aerinas got to the part about the Fortress, they queried him further for detail.
"When I arrived at the Fortress of El-Caras, I ran into trouble,” Aerinas admitted. “I was snooping about the ruins searching for whatever evidence I could find, although I must confess that I did not know what it was I was searching for to begin with."
The Council stopped him.
"You came upon the Fortress with seal broken?” one asked. They all were extremely attentive and leaned forward in their chairs with heightened interest.
Aerinas answered, “Yes. The seal was broken and the ruins were open to the outside air. Staleness was upon it as if it had been sealed from the air for ages. I could tell that there had been the barrier present that you spoke of, for all living things had retreated back twenty paces from the ruin's edge."
Mumbling rose amongst the elders of the Council on both sides of the House. Accusing glances were cast at Aerinas, which made him feel uneasy. Despite this, he stayed focused and continued, “I searched the remains intently, carefully, and finally came upon a chamber that was buried beneath some rubble. I could not tell how it was formerly accessed, for the surrounding structures had been beaten down. Surely it could have been overlooked easily. All I saw was a faint light emitted by an unknown source, springing from a hole in the ground at the center of the stronghold. I had little to prohibit me from entering because a path had already been carved out to it. I left my sword and bow at the mouth of the hole and squeezed into the opening. In the darkness, my feet found a staircase leading down toward the soft radiance. I could hear voices and echoes. I moved cautiously forward. The voices grew louder, as the stairs fed a larger room. I peered around the corner and saw something my eyes had not been made to look upon."
Aerinas paused momentarily. His irritation was evident to the council members.
"Continue!” snapped Tristandor, his visage growing grimmer.
Aerinas swallowed hard and spoke again, “As I peered around the corner, all I could see was a small room. I guessed it to be twenty paces from end to end, and twice as high to the ceiling. It was candlelit and the soft amber glow cast shadows on the dusty walls. The walls looked to be built of thick stones. I had little time and less light to allow for more detail. It was then that I spotted a tall form clothed in a hooded robe as black as the night. It stood with its back toward me, so I could not see the face. Its hands were twisted and wrinkled; long nails jutted from the ends of skinny fingers. In one hand was grasped a long, wooden staff, and the other hand was cycling through what appeared to be a scroll. This was set upon a pedestal before a great mirror mounted on the wall in front. As the finger glided along the parchment, its speech followed suit, as if it were reciting the lines. The staff was raised high into the air and the mirror was swirling with blue and black lights. Clouds of smoke rolled down, searching along the floor of the chamber for some unseen exit. Then, suddenly, it turned toward me, staff outstretched."
Aerinas lowered his head and breathed hard. His father paused in his tracks and laid a stern hand upon his son's shoulder, steadying him. Pity, it seemed, had finally entered his soul to allow him to feel his son's suffering. This seemed to calm Aerinas and he continued.
"His face was horrid, long, and hard looking. What the light revealed was minimal. The hood shrouded much. The form was that of a man, taller than me by a head, but half as fast. The man shook the earth as he lunged, teeth dripping with saliva. He was possessed by wrath, not of his own accord. He was an old man by all outward appearances. I jumped out from behind the wall just in time. A vile madness was unleashed from his staff that struck where I had just been standing. I slid to a stop reali
zing that I was unarmed, a foolish mistake that I won't make again. The cloaked man shot another bolt of crooked red light from his staff. I narrowly dodged that by the time I had approached the side of the room where the pedestal resided. I glanced over and there was the large scroll set upon it. I figured that I must have interrupted the cloaked man's ritual, for the mirror had faded. Quickly, I dove behind the pedestal as another bolt struck near, reached around and pulled at the scroll, and tore a piece off. I ran as fast as my feet would move around the room and up the steps. From below, I heard still more screams, curses, and explosions.
As he finished his account, Aerinas withdrew the portion of frayed parchment and handed it to his father. Tristandor sighed as he took it, and looked upon it. He frowned as he ran his fingers along the worn parchment, then looked at the walls of the Great Hall where runes were engraved to chronicle the vast history of the Krayn. His face wore expressions that suggested that he was reliving past events that carried savage memories.
The runes chronicled the age when the Warlock, Hydrais, claimed his dominion in the Plane of Vaalüna long ago. A great darkness and shadow filled the surrounding lands, and its people were enslaved by spells and creatures. Armies of goblins patrolled all realms of Vaalüna, and direwolves claimed as their own the Forest of Mernith and the Forest of Spirits to the east. Orus Dragons took flight and flew west across the Tunin River to the land of Fornidain. They caused chaos as they went, assaulting the island city of Resforian and other lands. Armies of hideous trolls invaded the dwarves, buried within the safety of their mines. They also soiled the Farrin Downs in their sweep through the land. Hydrais was thought defeated by the peoples of Anwarna, one of whom was Tristandor himself. Likewise, the Fortress of El-Caras was destroyed. Aeligon, the wizard, sealed off the land to any outsider. His containment spell endured many years of tampering and prying by the ever-present evil forces that lurked throughout the Vaalüna Plane. Evil was always present, though none of the Vaalüna-borne creatures knew how or why.
Chronicles of the Planeswalkers Page 3
