by Tiger Hebert
Several of the king’s royal guards hurried to his side as he began to walk off with Kiriana. He stopped and turned to them, and with a quick shake of his head, he ordered them to not follow, but rather to stay with the rest of his people.
“Your home is quite an amazing place, Young Mistress,” said Tua’Liluon as he marveled at the towering stone structures that rose high above them.
“I know this is not Trellion, but it is your home as long as you remain here,” she replied.
“Beautiful Kiriana, why are your people so concerned about the elves?” asked the king.
“The elves are part of this world and, as such, have every right to live in it. Aurion’s future is inexorably tied to the elves and, more specifically, the House of Tua’Liluon. I know you have many questions, and they will be answered in time, but we must begin preparing your people for war because it will not spare the elves,” admitted Kiriana.
The king nodded in silent agreement as he contemplated her words. They continued to walk further into the heart of the city. The stone-paved streets led them past many sky-high towers perched over the jungle. They continued on until they reached a long building with a round wooden door. The innocuous building was rather nondescript. Honestly, it looked like an overlooked and perhaps even forgotten abode. No guards stood watch, and no banners hung in decorative fashion, but it was their destination. Kiriana pounded her gloved fist upon the door several times. Then she waited. After a moment’s time, she went to knock again, but the door was opened before them.
A scraggly-looking old man was hunched over in a brown robe. His thin and wispy white hairs barely covered a balding scalp. He greeted them with a hearty toothless grin.
“Mistress Kiriana, you have come home!” exclaimed the old man. “He will be so relieved that you are home.”
“It is good to be home, my friend,” she said with a forced smiled. “Baltus, this is King Tua’Liluon,” continued Kiriana as she introduced them.
“Greetings, Baltus,” said the king as he gave a slight bow to the aging man.
“Elves in Tempour? The seasons are changing, young lady, the seasons are changing!” shouted Baltus with excitement. “This way, come. Duncan has been awaiting your return.”
The king’s eyes traveled from wall to wall as they walked deeper into the great hall. A couple of lit candelabra sat upon the scattered tables. They shed their dim light across the walls, where bookshelves were piled high with books and scrolls. A once– ornately decorated rug stretched the length of the hall. Now it was worn and faded, barely a shade of the rich crimson it once was.
Baltus’s wrinkly old hand held a candlestick out in front of him. The metal basin held the round mound of melting wax securely away from his hand. The soft light flickered on the walls and ceiling as they passed beyond the outer hall. Peeling back a large and heavy curtain, Baltus waited for his companions to follow. The candlelight chased away the darkness that filled the long tunnel-like hallway.
“Are we…going down…into the earth?” questioned the king.
“Yes, King, but we are almost to the grand master’s study,” answered the old man.
No wonder he is all hunched over, the king thought. He must have spent too much time wandering in this man-made hovel. Who lives in the earth anyways? Only beasts live in caves and holes.
Beyond the candlelight they could see illumination in the distance ahead of them. They knew they were now approaching the end of the tunnel. As the hallway ended, it opened to a great room of surprising size. Warm light from the lamps and candles filled the circular room. Tables full of books, scrolls, and maps littered the room.
“Praise the Ancient One, for you have returned. Better yet, you have returned with a royal guest,” spoke a gentle and confident voice.
Looking around the room, they could not see anyone. Their eyes scanned the room, but no one was to be found.
“How was the journey back?” asked the voice.
“We had to come up the Yaresh, and the Danji were waiting for us,” answered Kiriana.
“Ah, yes, the Danji. The flesh eaters only eat flesh when you first give them something else to feed off,” responded the voice.
“Yes, Grand Master, I know,” replied Kiriana.
“Where are my manners? King Tua’Liluon, welcome to the city of Tempour. I am Duncan.” The voice came from behind a bookcase.
Slightly startled, the king spun around to his right to face the voice. There stood a short old man in a black robe. His partly bald head shined in the room’s light. He wore a crown of bushy white hair from just above his ears around to the back. Thick white eyebrows shot off to a whisker-like point on each side. Golden circular glasses sat down on the round little nose in the middle of his chubby little face. Beady blue eyes peered through the lenses of the eyeglasses. Yet it was his curious smile that drew your attention. Interestingly enough, the little old fellow was actually quite a bit younger than Tua’Liluon, by almost 250 years, but you’d never know it, what with the way elves scarcely age and all.
With an outstretched hand, he reached toward the king and said, “I am glad that you are here, Great King.”
King Tua’Liluon reached down and clasped the man’s hand in between his own as he responded, “Grand Master, I owe the lives of my people to you.”
“You owe us nothing, especially not me. I did not rescue you. I did not sail across the seas to get you here. I did not slay the Danji to protect you. No, you have a special purpose, but you owe us—me nothing,” answered the little man with his quirky smile.
“I don’t understand why you brought us here. Why have you risked the lives of your people for us? How do you even know of my people? What is this great purpose that you have for us? There is so much I don’t understand,” cried out the anxious king in his first display of weakness.
“Great King, all these questions will be answered, some faster than others, but in time they all will be. You are a chosen people. Your purpose can be filled by no others,” shared Duncan.
“How do you know that we are such a people for whatever purpose you speak of?” begged the king.
The old man gave the king a half-cocked smile and said, “Show me the marking on your left breast.”
In shock, the king looked at the diminutive man. “How did you know about my marking?” inquired the king as he opened his garment.
Ignoring the question, the studious man traced his fingertip over the bird-shaped marking on the king’s chest. “Even the mighty phoenix cannot rise from the ashes and return to its glory without fire in its veins, in its heart. Aurion will rise again, but it will need the fire that lies in your blood.”
“But we are not fighters. We are not warriors. We are fishermen and farmers, fathers and daughters. How can we save Aurion when we do not even understand war?” snapped the king in frustration.
“Not warriors? Don’t understand war? Have you and your people forgotten where you come from?” asked the little old man.
“That was long ago, before my time. It was a different life, one that only brought the elves death and destruction,” answered the king soberly.
“Friend, there is much for you to learn and something for you to relearn. Some will come now, and some you will learn in time, but know this now: the paradigm has shifted. The war is already won but is still waiting to be claimed. You have more doubts about yourself and your kingship than anything that I am telling you. But once you overcome your doubts, you will realize that what has been deposited in you for safekeeping is a precious gem. It will place you among the greatest kings Aurion has ever seen,” revealed the grand master.
“Duncan, I have failed my people so greatly that all that remain came here in four ships. Not even three hundred of them survive. How could I be a great king? I have failed them,” moaned the king through tear-filled eyes.
“No. You have not failed them yet. However, if you choose to believe you have, then you surely will. There is a destiny for your people, as spoken th
rough the great prophecies, and it is waiting for you to fulfill it. Be that king or not. Either way, the choice is yours, Great King,” offered Duncan.
“I don’t know of these things you speak of, but what must I do for my people to be saved?” asked the king as he wiped tears from his eyes.
“It’s about time you asked,” answered the little man as he placed his arm around the king. “When you wake, we will get to work, for I have much to teach you. You will learn about the Law of Blood and the Frelsarine! But first, you must rest.”
13 The Sands of Time
The chill mountain air gusted down and swept through the streets of Storm Vale.
“It looks like your work is coming along nicely, Tomar,” remarked the captain.
“We are doing our best, Nikolai. My forge has been burning for three days now. The same can be said for Malick and Taren,” explained Tomar.
“I know you are, friend. No one questions your work ethic or quality, but time may be running out,” said Nikolai.
Tomar responded, “Indeed. Even still, we have crafted dozens of shields and three times as many pikes.”
“Well done. Make sure you and your men get some rest after today. If another assault takes place, we will see the three of you swinging blades and not hammers,” directed the captain.
“Yes, sir,” answered Tomar.
“Oh, has there been any word on how the arrows are coming?” asked the captain.
“I don’t know the numbers, but the fletchers have already delivered a wagonload down to the outer wall. It can’t be less than a few hundred,” said Tomar.
“Excellent. Carry on then,” replied Nikolai in stoic acknowledgement.
With that, the captain of the guard rode away from the smith on his ashy steed. Heading down through the market square past the busy people, he slowly passed through the inner gate and ventured down the narrow road toward the outer gate. As he moved down the winding road, he passed by citizens carrying supplies to the wall.
The outer gate was designed to be the first line of defense, but it essentially served as an outpost. Typically, the gate remained closed and abandoned. However, the wall was designed to become a mighty and formidable bulwark during times of war. Its massive iron door was not yet raised and secured. The thick and heavy chains would run back away from the wall to a large mechanism that was securely mounted to the surface of the rock ledge that emerged from the rugged terrain below their feet. It was this mechanism that would be used to laboriously close the heavy iron door.
Men and women worked quickly to prepare the gate. Tents were set up a distance behind the walls. Tables were placed inside the mess tents while the cauldrons and fire pits were just to the outside. Breads, fruits, and dried meats were placed on the tables. The top of the stone wall itself was decorated with dozens of baskets full of arrows. Men made scattered piles of wood, brush, and hay in the corridor beyond the wall, then doused them with a form of crude oil. Branches were cut and sharpened to spear-like points and driven into the ground at the wall’s base.
Nikolai confidently smiled as he looked upon the impressive fortification efforts. Silently he turned his horse back toward the city. Slowly he rode his horse up the narrow and ascending pass until he finally reached the inner gate where he saw Melgrim and Seth approaching.
“That’s a sight for sore eyes,” quipped Nikolai.
“Do you want sore eyes?” fired Melgrim sharply.
“We do not have time for your chest pumping, horseman. I am not sure if you are aware of it, but we are about to have a war,” remarked Nikolai snidely.
“The war started last week. It’s nice of you to join us, Nichole,” retorted Melgrim.
“Amusing,” remarked Nikolai dryly. “So about the king’s orders?”
“If you are concerned with the king’s orders being fulfilled, we could let you run the scouting mission. That may be a bit too dangerous for you, seeing as you would have to actually venture outside these walls,” snapped Melgrim.
“Your time is coming, horseman,” barked Nikolai.
Melgrim growled through clenched teeth. “I just hope you’re there with me!”
Melgrim slapped Nikolai’s horse on its hind end, startling the horse. Quickly the horse sprang forward, nearly throwing his rider as he darted through the town square. Villagers jumped out of the way of the frightened horse as it charged ahead. Enjoying the moment, Seth and Melgrim shared a much-needed laugh, while they watched Nikolai holding tightly to the saddle as he struggled to stay atop his frantic steed.
“That is our cue to leave,” said Melgrim with a wink to his young comrade.
“You do realize that you make a poor choice in your enemies?” remarked Seth, shaking his head.
“Yes, let’s ride,” responded Melgrim while he climbed onto Shadow’s back.
“Yes, sir,” agreed the young man.
Within moments, the two soldiers disappeared through the outer gate and down the mountain pass.
The two men walked their horses along the foot of the Sky Reach. Their assignment would take them west over the Northern Sands, in the direction of the Sunburst Sea, toward Jasprita. Their mission was to gain as much ground as they could for early warning of an advancing army of Baalim. In the event of an invasion, they hoped to sound an early warning to their people.
Despite the circumstances, it was a welcome escape from the political maneuverings of city. King Tiereon had been a good king for a long time, like his fathers before him, but at the age of sixty-three, he was getting along in years, with only one apparent successor to the crown. He was one of the only remaining members of his family, and many who had audiences with him postured and privately wrangled for a position of power. Melgrim himself had no delusions of grandeur, no fantasy of power.
He was a good captain and a better leader than he would allow himself to believe. His men respected and trusted him; they loved him. But he struggled with the losses. So many of those close to him, including the men under his command, were gone, and he couldn’t bring them back, just like his sisters. He hated knowing that he could be sending men to their deaths, especially men like Seth.
Despite Melgrim’s best efforts to shroud himself in solemnity and hide behind a cynical exterior, the boy’s enthusiasm was more powerful than he could admit. Seth’s lighthearted nature was such a departure from the brooding melancholy that Melgrim clung to.
The young soldier’s smooth skin was naturally darker than most in the vale. His natural smile and light green eyes set off his dark curly hair. His appearance and disposition were not common among his people, making him naturally desirable among the young ladies. He was not too concerned with that right now, though. Throughout his whole childhood, he had wanted to be a soldier, and now he was one. Much of his youth was spent focusing on honing his craft. He greatly admired Captain Melgrim and strove for his approval. So when he had heard about the scouting mission, he quickly volunteered to join his mentor and captain.
He glanced up to see a serious frown on his captain’s face, an expression that his leader had been wearing more and more often of late. Occasionally Seth would catch hints of suppressed laughter or the glimpse of a smile. He didn’t fully understand why Melgrim was so restrained, but he, being full of the optimism and confidence found in youth, was determined to see a way past it.
“Captain, tell me what you know of Jasprita,” asked Seth.
Melgrim answered, “Well, it was long before our time. She was established…what? Two hundred and fifty-three years ago? And according to the ancestral scrolls, it was the most beautiful city in all of Darnisi. Its alabaster spires rose high into the sky, towering above the shining waters of the Sunburst Sea. The legends paint pictures of its splendor for us. They tell of the sun’s radiance shining so brightly off the water that from a distance, the city glowed. The sound of crashing waves against the stone face of the seawall was like thunder pulsing through the city. As the waves crashed, the sea sprayed high into the air. It is said t
hat as the sun’s rays poured through the mists, the city shimmered and sparkled.
“The scrolls say that our ancestors founded Jasprita upon a foundation of faith and honor. It is said that even her very walls and streets were formed as an act of worship to their God. Their city and their lives were dedicated to the service of this King of Heaven. Legend says she was feared as much as admired by those outside her gates. The civilized nations of Darnisi called her the Northern Jewel, and many believed that she was a gem in His royal crown. Tales say that she was bathed in the very power and glory of this God until some fifty-plus years ago.
“Of course, these same legends tell us that the people began to turn from God to their own ways, and it was their undoing. The scrolls say that it wasn’t as if a great shadow fell over the land, but rather that the light and glory simply faded away. The city lost its luster, and the presence of their God was merely a memory.
“The prosperity of the kingdom faded, and the lifeblood of our people drained. Fear and greed became commonplace among them, each concerned with only their own well-being. Division came. Conflicts were born and lines drawn among the nation’s very own people. The crown rested in the hands of a king unable to shape and lead his people, and the crumbling empire slipped like sand through his fingers.
Melgrim paused long enough to take a swig from his waterskin before continuing his story, “Hunger for wealth and power grew. Allegiances were sworn, and sects thrived within the nation. New and dangerous organizations were formed while ancient ones were given new life. Worse, these cults were no longer forced into hiding, but allowed to operate publicly, and they thrived in that climate of unrest with shifting loyalties. One such sect was the Brotherhood of Baalim. As legend goes, they were an ancient order that rested in the shadows. Moving in the darkness, they grew, by some accounts, for hundreds of years across all of Aurion. As far as Jasprita is concerned, the sect supposedly held meetings in secret locations throughout the city from the beginning. Their ways were always hidden. As the city changed, though, they were no longer forced into the shadows, but were able to freely walk the streets, robed in their dark priestly garments.
