Having exhausted all locations within the celebratory banquet hall, Eriboth was left with no other choice than to seek the presence of Zamorinthia on the elevated balcony overlooking the Star Garden. It was just on the outskirts of the Grand Ball Room and was separated by a very smooth, silken curtain that allowed one to easily gain access to the beautifully exquisite Star Garden. As he bypassed the curtain, he looked to his right and when he did not see Zamorinthia, he looked back to his left.
He had a difficult time processing what he was watching, not because of the act itself, but because it was such a foreign consideration that it presented as a dream. But when the dream did not fade as all dreams do, when the reality of the moment came crashing down upon his youthful hopes, he realized, without a doubt, it was his brother, The Prince, who was kissing Zamorinthia. But this was not an innocent kiss of apprehension and hopeful expectation; this was a kiss of familiarity and repetition. He saw in their kiss a hundred previous kisses, unknown to the exterior, but well known within each other.
He saw himself step backward, in shock, in awe, in disbelief. He saw himself collide with one of the lesser nobles and offer a dazed apology. He saw himself stumble, head down, through the gathered celebrations, again colliding with several attendees, each time maintaining his momentum while offering only a passing apology. He crossed the threshold of the Grand Ball Room, but did not stop his journey there. He traversed the halls of the great castle by root habit and soon found himself outside, striding upon the ground leading him into the forest and to his clearing once again. Tears of sadness turned to tears of anger, and then to jealousy. And in the clearing, he forgot himself and knelt. "What do you have against The Prince?" again echoed the fateful words of Master Venerin. This time though, both the elder and younger Eriboths answered in unison, "Nothing! Except I want to be him!"
As he accelerated in a direction he perceived as upward again, though he was becoming less and less tied to the physical definitions held by his body and mind, he was becoming aware that there was a purpose and continued theme to the memories he was being shown. And even before the dissolving white lights faded to reveal what he hoped would be the final memory, he knew what it would be. It was this one that saw his decision to leave Meckthenial cemented, and his decision to live outside of all boarders and without allegiances solidified as his only available course of action. As the white light faded, and his ascension slowed, he was again allowed to turn and witness a memory; but unlike the others, this one contained none of the intimate closeness. Rather, he was held high enough above to see the entire battlefield without noticeably turning his head.
Below, on the hallowed grounds of The Battle That Cried, both armies were squared against each other. But unlike every other battle in Elven history, this was a battle pitting Elves against Elves, and in some cases, brother against brother. The King, Eriboth's father, had passed away from a mysterious and incurable disease. While the powerful magics of the Elves were able to slow its progression, stop it they could not. Over the six months after the first time the King fell unconscious, his body deteriorated the way a once fully green leaf dries out and withers in preparation for the coming winter. Painfully, both brothers watched as their father passed from a vibrant and great King, to an elf whose body simply could not withstand the forces working against its youth. The magics employed by the Elven healers produced more than just a slowing reaction inside the King's body; it produced an incubation and planning period for those who sought to end the Reign of the current Elven House, The House Dordrosis.
The Royal Family, and all the advisors to House Dordrosis had been made well aware of a small dissention among one of the other Royal Houses, but it was never given credence to because those reports were very small and seemed to include only individuals' opinions stated inside the solitude of familiar walls. Not one report indicated any organized movement or even a small ripple of action against House Dordrosis. In fact, there stood countless reports pointing to the solidified, public position of the Houses in support of House Dordrosis, both with the current King as well as Prince Rendunial. But then again, all usurpers and factions bent upon dissention have their beginnings in subterfuge and deception. So when the combined armies of House Endinudon, House Tinnelei, and House Usthesthriel, positioned themselves to take The Starlit Castle, at the helm of which were the Lords Freidis, Laslonei, and Jhunthois respectively, all dressed in their finest armors, on the day of the King's funeral, it was seen as the greatest honor.
An honor, at least, until the King’s emissary sent to welcome the Lords and carry Prince Rendunial's personal appreciation had his heart pierced by Lord Freidis's thin and merciless blade. Moments after, the three Lords stormed the castle with their personal guard. All the members of House Dordrosis were able to flee safely because only the Royal Family knew of the secret tunnels beneath the Starlit Castle. Consequently, they were left unsecured. Combined with the death of the King, the treachery of the fellow elves sparked a unified vengeance that welled deep in the souls of each member of the usurped house. Their army was assembled quickly, outside the castle grounds, and on the heels of the saddest day in recent Elven history, its bloodiest was birthed.
But the three rival lords were neither naive nor unprepared for a quick counterstrike aimed to reclaim the throne. As quickly as the army of House Dordrosis was assembled, the three lords were able to garrison the castle grounds and ready their newly taken fortifications. They stood at the ready, waiting patiently for House Dordrosis to initiate the confrontation. They were supremely confident in their patience because even though their vengeance driven attackers were quick to arm and organize, they were without the benefit of siege weapons. On an open field, these towers, catapults, and trebuchets played an important role, but not a vital one. True, they were still able to shift the tides of victory one way or the other, but when pitted against a superior infantry and cavalry force directed by superior martial strategy, they could be easily overcome. However, this was not an open field. The assault was against a castle, and a castle of great formidability at that. And when striking a blow aimed at toppling a strong, fortified castle position, victory could be achieved only by the proper implementation and defense of the machines of war, of which, House Dordrosis had none.
But the Prince was adamantly opposed to relinquishing the castle and throne without a proper attempt, foolish as it might be. "We cannot, I cannot, so lightly release that which was so tightly protected by the virtues of the Stars. It is beyond the chance for victory, or death. It is to the very core of House Dordrosis that response MUST be given quickly and forcefully," said The Prince in response to one of his advisor's recommendations to withhold response until such a time as proper battle plans can be formed.
"I understand, we understand, your desires and position. We even understand the virtues you stand upon; but, Highness, if we mean to engage with the goal to win back your throne in your father's name, then we have one choice to make. We must wait and put down our heated hearts and vengeance born determination until we have the chance for victory, for today, even next week, we have none," spoke Master Venerin.
"Master Venerin, your wise council echoes with everything I have been taught about war and battle. Yes, you are correct we should wait until such a time as our victory has been prepared for, but I say now, it is not Victory that is our motivation as members of House Dordrosis! Is the blood of our foes, those who desecrated the yet empty tomb of my father! Such behavior necessitates action that must be swift, treacherous, and bloody. Every moment we hold, not only does our foe prepare his fortifications, but those who have been stunned by their actions are given a chance to draw upon their position of strength. Nay, we will not wait! We will strike hard and fast, to the thick of their hearts will we bury our swords and arrows, and show them our House, my father’s house, is yet alive and vengeance driven. Our charge is not to win; our charge is to make them see it is their turn to bleed!"
After the Prince finished his
soliloquy that would see itself written in the Annals of the King, Eriboth interjected quietly, "My Prince, there is a better way."
"How so, Brother?"
"We were able to escape because of deception, should we not carry our attack on the winds of that same deception?" he said as he focused his attention singularly upon his brother.
"What do you mean?"
"We cannot take the castle unless we get our army inside the walls. And we cannot get inside the walls without the necessary war machines, at least, not through the traditional dictates of battle," he said with a slight grin.
Leaning in a bit more closely, the War council, previously used to holding their meetings in the expanse of the Starlit Castle's large war room, gave their full attention not to Eriboth the man, but the hope he brought. "Continue, please," insisted Master Venerin.
Establishing his plan on the go, Eriboth asked a question before he continued, "Can the castle be taken from the inside?"
"How can this be done?" asked the seasoned Master Venerin.
"What I mean to ask is this; would we be able to reach the leaders of this insurgence, who are no doubt holding their own council at this very moment inside the War Room, by utilizing a small group of us to sneak in the same way we snuck out?"
"That is a difficult question to answer, Eriboth. It depends on so many variables, how can we possibly offer any conclusion?" answered Master Venerin.
"Perhaps you are right, Master Venerin. Perhaps there is no answer to that question foreseeable before our attempt. But answer this; where are we able to place our hope, and thus our plans, if not in the smallest of chances when faced against no chance at all?" The silence Eriboth created with this single question echoed inside each Elf.
"Brother, what do you suggest?" asked the Prince and rightful King, now fully intent on his brother’s plan.
"Let me lead a small band of guards, your Red Guards, through the tunnels and into the castle. We will proceed to the inner sanctum and from there, into the war council room. We will capture the head of the snake before it coils around us.”
It was Lord Calandri who spoke next, “Prince Rendunial, this is foolishness. One man cannot accomplish that which an army of Elves cannot. Please, if this is our only course of action, please reconsider. The cost may not be worth the price."
"Price? Price you say? There is naught price I would consider greater than whatever end is required to reclaim my father's throne, Lord Calandri! If you should disagree, now is the time to leave!" The Prince let his last statement hang long enough to meet the leveled gaze of each of his war council members galvanizing them to his will. When none left, he continued. "Then it is settled. Eriboth, you will lead a small band of my Red Guard, four others at most, through the tunnels and into my Starlit Castle's War Council room. You will take the three Lords of Houses Endinudon, Tinnelei, and Usthesthriel. Once you have them secured, lead them out of the tunnels and back here. We will then begin our assault on the castle. What we do in the next moments is not done for elvish culture, or for the continued health of the Kingdom. We do this for House Dordrosis. We do this for the Red and Black!"
The details of the Red Retaking, as it would come to be known, were all recorded by the King's Scribes in the Annals of the King. Written in great detail was the young Prince's iron determination to risk everything in a moment of great courage and his steadfast ability to make the difficult decision and place the Kingdom before himself. Also included in the details was how Prince Rendunial's speech delivered to his most loyal subjects before embarking on the mission was the single deciding factor for their subsequent victory. He was heralded as merciful because he allowed the three betraying Lords, and their Houses, clemency. But their clemency did not come without a price, and one that would ensure Houses Endinudon, Tinnelei, and Usthesthriel retained only a fraction of their influence.
In order to retain their Royal Status, each of the offending houses were required to pledge seventy five percent of their current treasury as well as fifty percent of their yearly collections directly to House Dordrosis. Because their treasury had been dwindled, along with any hope of rebuilding it, their lands, armies, and other holdings were left without support. And the new King Rendunial was in the best position to assimilate their losses, having his recently bolstered. Thus, the Kingdom had been secured in the hands of House Dordrosis for ages to come, and all because of the wisdom and battle prowess of the new King, Rendunial Dordrosis.
Yes, Eriboth, both the present and past versions, knew there were many details that were omitted, intentionally, from being recorded in the official doctrines by the Lorekeeper, who was charged with the official and objective historical preservation of everything deemed worthy in elvish history. While the Red Retaking went as planned, there were many more guards situated in the war council room than had been initially estimated. Instead of the estimated nine dictated by each of the offending Lords retaining their three most lethal protectors, there was, at final count, forty-five, not including the Lords themselves. Nor was it written that Eriboth, after dispatching nearly two thirds of the guards himself, was then faced with the oppressive revelation that he alone was left to stand against the trinity of Elvish treachery. And finally, nowhere was there even the briefest mention of how he emerged, blood drenched and weary, from the secret tunnels beneath the Starlit Castle with the Lords of House Endinudon, Tinnelei, and Usthesthriel, all completely alive, and all completely beaten.
The subsequent assault to remove the combined military might of the unsuspecting armies required nothing more than Prince Rend presenting the bloody and broken forms of the three house lords at the gates of the castle. Having all three of them tied together and stripped of all clothing was an image impossible to ignore, and its effect impossible to deny. Slowly at first, but with an exponential acceleration, every last member of the betraying armies surrendered and vacated the Starlit Castle. When Prince Rend entered the War Council Room and saw the carnage leaving his feet literally standing in pools of blood, he looked to his brother, with an expression of awe, and asked, "How?"
Eriboth, still eerily quiet ever since exiting the tunnels, and still covered in blood having silently refused the linens meant to clean his hands and face of his red regret, returned with a silent response the carried with it all the depth of thunder.
The floating Eriboth remembered this day so profoundly that instead of seeing himself stare into the eyes of his brother, the soon to be king, it was as if he was staring into the living mirror of his own soul. And what he saw was the truth; jealousy. He knew his deeds of valor would remain hidden and unspoken behind the sealed lips of Prince Rend and his War Council. He knew the Lorekeeper, even if he were told the details, would elect to omit them, for how could a man be seen as the savior of one of the great houses of elven culture, let alone the entirety of the Elven Kingdom? He loved his brother dearly for the years upon years of his faithful protection and attempted promotion. Yet, included in that love, bred in the dreams of childish equality, watered with the rains of a youthful broken heart, and fertilized in the selfish need for fame and acceptance, was a seed of jealousy, now matured into a fully blossomed tree of hate. In that moment, when both brothers stared into each other’s eyes and the dying if not dead Eriboth saw into his own soul, he knew he would leave his home.
He waiting until after his brother's official coronation, but during the celebration, when the merriment was at its peak, he silently slipped away as quietly as a thief in the night. He had told his mother and brother, but no others. Rationalizing it away on the structured self-delusional pedestal of the pseudo-need of finding oneself, he was able to adhere to his desire in spite of their rather compelling arguments. Having this part of his vision transition rapidly through a series of brief scenes beginning with staring into his own eyes as if he were his brother, to seeing the moment the Crown of Stars was placed upon his brother's head, and then to two independent scenes of himself justifying his need to leave indep
endently to his brother and mother, he was surprised to see one common thread tying his life's decisions together: jealousy.
There it stood, naked and open. Unhidden, unhindered, and unapologetically it bore itself down upon his heart and soul with a crushing might. So heavy was this truth about himself that had he maintained his physical body, he was certain it would render him paralyzed and motionless upon the floor. But because he lacked his physical constraints and mortal limitations, neither his body nor mind was able to shield his soul against the awful force of his naked intentions. For his entire life, he had deluded himself into believing his was not a journey of selfish promotion, but rather a selfless journey of internal, pure intent. He further rationalized his need for perfection as the fulfilment of his gifted potential, but now, in this moment, when the reality of his life was being shown to him without his mortal and subjective influence, he saw. And he saw clearly. Everything he did, from the moment of his self-awareness to even his death, was nothing more than the summation of a series of events born from a selfish desire to be seen, accepted, valued.
As he was now forced to face the reality of what he was, The Great Warrior Poet of Avendia, Eriboth Dordrosis, looked at himself and became filled with shame resulting from his own condemnation and judgement. His legend was built upon the blood of his foes and the tears of the hearts he had broken. As he was pulled away again, his last vision was that of himself walking silently and singularly away for the Starlit Castle, in the dead of night, with nothing more than the moon as his guide. Accelerating upward, he saw the familiar white light consume him, but this time, as it dissolved, so too did the last remaining aspect of himself, his will.
Solinido (Firestorm).
Justice. Duty. Honor. Those three words echoed more loudly than her sobbing tears, and were the reason she was able to stand, albeit, on weak legs, and do that which must be done. The image of his loving eyes, selfless in their light green glow, was eternally embossed within her soul; yet preventing it from surfacing and consuming her mind with emotions such as sadness, loss, and desperation, were the waves of betrayal, rage, and vengeance. As she slowly walked to her now deceased king, lying on the ground, his flowing blood stilled by the sword of a man who wielded a greater weapon with his empty words and broken promises, she finally realized she was still tightly gripping her twin blades. As she instinctively moved to sheath them, she hesitated when she saw a single red droplet of blood drip from the edge of the slickened metal and land heavily upon her boot. So forceful was its weight that she bent over and wretched.
Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1) Page 52
