Looking down at Tristan the venerable Tolan began to speak, ‘Syrion Stormborn, you sit here accused of two crimes against our law. First, you entered the DragonHold, and second, you assaulted one of the DragonHost. We have heard testimony on your behalf to indicate you did so in self-defense. Nevertheless, both of these crimes carry with them the penalty of death.’
Syrion attempted to interject, but Eli raised a hand to silence him. Continuing, he stated, ‘It has been many years since such a sentence has been carried out.’ Eying Elaina, the old man paused and swallowed before continuing, ‘Some of the Council have argued your cause, insisting exile over death would be a more palatable outcome for us all. Others insist on your death as they fear what you might do with our secret should you be exiled from among us. Your actions leave me in a terribly difficult position.’
This time Syrion would not be deterred. ‘This sounds awfully like a sentencing, rather than a trial,’ stated Syrion, defiantly rising from the plaintiff’s seat as he spoke. ‘Does what I have to say bear no weight at all?’ as he pressed on the crowd grew silent.
The looks on the faces of the Council grew stony. Whatever goodwill they had felt towards the impetuous youth began to evaporate as the unrepentant Astarii pressed on. The air grew tense as conflict between the youth and the council seemed inevitable.
Syrion continued, ‘You speak of exile and death as if you were able to deliver such a judgment. Do not forget, I am Syrion of the Astarii, Caretaker of Creation and all that lies therein. I am now as your ancestors once were. It is not with bluff or bluster that I say, pass any judgment you please. You will find its execution most difficult to carry out.’ His voice rang with defiance and menace in equal measure.
Eli stood and raised himself up to his full stature. Standing as he did behind the stone council bench, he towered over the young man before him. ‘Syrion Stormborn, today you stand accused of crimes most grave. In my long lifetime, no one has stood where you stand, accused as you are and lived to see the sun set. If you don’t seek to be the first, sit down and cease this defiance at once. Otherwise, Astarii or not, justice will be done here today as in days of old. We have shown great deference and patience towards you on account of your mother. That ends today. Your decision now will determine your destiny. Choose carefully.’ The ancient Tolan took his seat and an uncomfortable silence filled the air as all anxiously awaited the Astarii’s response.
Syrion remained on his feet and spoke directly to the ancient Tolan. ‘Noble Eli, most wise amongst the Tolan. You are correct, there is a decision to be made, but it is not mine to make, it is yours. All those years ago, did you never ask yourself why my mother sought refuge here amongst your people? Of all the peoples in Creation, why here on this lake, with this people? Her footsteps have known a thousand worlds. This was no random chance. There was a reason, Eli.’ Syrion turned away from the Council to face the Tolan, who were now staring at him with rapt attention. Syrion carefully removed his shirt. There was a chorus of gasps as the startled council members saw the image of the Golden Drake make its way lazily across his back.
Syrion turned back towards the council members. Curious Tolan at the field’s edge tried in vain to see what was occurring. The Council were silent, their expressions mixed. Some were fearful, others angry and others yet looked perplexed, unsure of the image’s significance. Eli, on the other hand, began to smile ever so slightly, a look of hope crossing his weathered features.
‘Amongst my people, there has not been an Astarii who has born the dragon’s mark in millennia. The last is detailed at length in your lore, for he was Tolan, first of your kind and he died here on this very island. You know his story well for you are the beneficiaries of both his legacy and his unfulfilled obligations.
He sought to rule over Creation rather than protect it. For millennia you have flourished, hidden in these mountains, but the time for hiding is over. Our First Enemy has returned, not just to Valaar or this world, but all of Creation lies in its lengthening shadow.
You know well the prophecy spoken by the Allfather years ago. Will you stand with me and shield Creation or will you shrink from your destiny as did your forbears? The day of decision is at hand choose wisely.’
Syrion stopped talking and let the import of his words sink in.
A firm voice from the left side of the council bench cut through the uncomfortable silence. ‘How can we be sure this is not some cheap illusion you are using to lead us astray?’ The question came from Togar, Takoa’s father who remained thoroughly unconvinced of the verity of the young Astarii’s words.
‘I will not wrangle or waste words with you, Togar. Believe it or not, stand with me or don’t, that is your decision. The Allfather’s gaze is upon you.’
With that Syrion, turned to the assembled masses and projected his voice across the field. ‘Each of you must choose for yourself.’ With a thought, a brilliant aura of light radiated out from the Astarii.
The Tolan averted their gaze to avoid the blinding light. When the light dimmed, a magnificent Golden Dragon stood where Syrion had been but moments before. The light of the sun reflected off the scales of the great beast, its serpentine form suspended on strong legs, the talons of its feet tearing into the earth as it flexed its claws. Its great form cast shadows across the assembled elders as its wings blocked out the sun.
Throwing back his head, Syrion opened wide his jaws and a torrent of fire poured into the sky. The Tolan stared in wonder. With a crack, Syrion’s mighty wings unfurled and cast the Fields of Justice into shadows. With a beat of his wings, Syrion sprang into the air and disappeared into evening sky.
*****
Syrion soared through the air, the steady beat of his wings driving him onwards. He had not intended to leave the Tolan so soon, but the conflict with Takoa had expedited his departure. In his heart he mourned the need to leave Althea. Doubtless, she would be in shock after the day’s events. His heart longed for her companionship, but his soul spoke of a danger waiting in the shadows. It threatened to consume Valaar and all he held dear.
Duty dictated he leave the Tolan to their petty squabbles and deal with the greater threat at hand. My presence will only injure the Tolan’s pride, and prevent them seeing the true danger that lies before them. In time, I hope they will choose wisely, he thought nervously.
As Syrion fled Tolanis, he had only one thought on his mind. His mother had spoken to him of Listarii and his father and after a lifetime apart he sorely wished to see his family: a father and brother he had never known. His excitement built as he soared past the fringes of the Eternal Mountains.
As he sailed through the skies the scent of cooking meat wafted into the air and hunger pains struck, painfully reminding Syrion that he had not eaten since the morning meal. Scanning the lands below with his sharpened eyesight, he spotted a simple cabin, before it, a fire was burning. On a small spit an animal was cooking. From this height, he could make out a lone figure hunched over by the fire.
Landing in a nearby clearing, Syrion resumed his human form once more. If I am to beg a meal, I’d best not scare my host to death, he thought. The notion of landing by the fire in his draconian shape made him laugh, but the thought of giving the aging man a heart attack made him think twice. Syrion made his way carefully through the woods and looked out into the clearing. There by the fire was an old man. His long grey hair flowed down his back whilst his plain robes gave little indication as to his identity.
As Syrion studied the man for a moment, attempting to gauge whether or not he posed any threat, he heard the old man call from the fireside.
‘Come on out, young Tolan. There is more than enough for both of us.’
Startled, Syrion edged forward out of the undergrowth. ‘How did you know I was there?’ he asked quizzically.
‘I spotted you earlier when your wings obscured the moonlight. The forest also fell silent at your approach,’ the old man patiently explained. Syrion listened intently and sure enough the forest n
oises one would expect to hear were indeed hushed. No doubt its creatures were anxious to avoid the attentions of such a foreboding predator.
‘Come and sit down. I am long past an age where I could endanger one of your kind.’ The man gestured to a place by the fire.
Syrion approached cautiously and sat down. ‘How do you know of the Tolan?’ he asked, cautious not to give away more of their heritage than this stranger already knew.
‘It was told to me by a dear friend. In truth, I have come to this place in the hope of seeking an audience with one of your kind.’
Syrion’s guard raised instantly, wary that he’d walked unknowingly into another ambush. Reflexively, he raised a hand and the fire sprang to life. The old man stumbled backwards and swept a hand across the flames, which soon returned to their former size.
The old man was a magician, Syrion realized fearfully. He had never met another magic user besides his mother and fear of the unknown swept his mind. At his age, this newcomer would certainly be more practiced in the arts than he, a mere boy barely coming into his powers. The threat posed by the timid old man was difficult to determine.
To his surprise the man settled back down by the fire and fixed Syrion with a knowing stare. ‘Please do not do that again as I bear you no ill will and mean you no harm. I come seeking my friend. She hides amongst the Tolan and taught me of their ways. I have urgent news to tell her, but the Tolan that stand guard at the portals entering the Eternal Mountains will not suffer me to pass. I have waited here, hopeful that I would be granted the opportunity that this night affords. The hope that one of your kind might carry a message for me.’
There was quiet between the two as Syrion ventured no response. Could this stranger be speaking of his mother? There were no other refugees amongst the Tolan that he knew of. Continuing, the stranger pressed on, ‘You appear to be Tolan and possess their gifts and yet at your will my fire would have consumed me. I was led to believe the Tolan possessed no such ability but that in the form of a dragon, they might breathe fire but control it? Certainly not. That is a different matter. I am told they could not do as you have done and so, my young friend, the question remains... who are you?’
Syrion stared long and hard at the old man whose face simply gazed back at him patiently. After much deliberation, Syrion stood and countered the question with one of his own. ‘I have a question for you, stranger. You know a great deal you ought not to know. Who is it you seek? Speak truthfully, for they may be the last words you ever speak.’
The old man hesitated, as if bearing up under an immense weight. ‘The one I seek has known many names, but in the years she was my friend, I knew her as Lady Elaina of the Listarii.’
‘You seek my mother?’ Syrion paused, the words out before he could stop them. ‘Why?’ The question was firm and demanding. Ethereal energies pulsed through the very air as he prepared to reduce the stranger to ashes. Instead of dispersing them as he had earlier, the old man’s face eased as if a great burden had been removed. A tear ran down his face as he asked. ‘Syrion, is that you?’
‘How do you know my name?’ the young Astarii demanded, confused. Before he could be answered, the old man was on his feet. He took two steps with a quickness that defied his age and threw both arms around the young Astarii. ‘After all this time you are alive,’ he sobbed relieved. ‘Your mother is she well?’
‘Well enough,’ Syrion responded, deeply confused. ‘Are you my father?’
‘No, Syrion. I am not, but I have known your family since before you were born. I served your father all my life. He was the finest man I ever knew.’
‘Knew? You make it sound as though...’ Syrion paused not wanting to voice his fears. That the father he had never met, might have already passed from this world.
‘He is dead, Syrion. He was murdered in cold blood by the Wolf in their lust for power. That is why I have come here seeking your mother, she told me to find her in the event that anything befell your father or brother.’ The sorrow was heavy in his voice as he laboured over each word.
‘And my brother?’ Syrion asked, fearing the response.
‘He is alive and well. He seeks justice for your father’s death. If the tales I hear are true, he is exacting a heavy price on the Wolf for their works of darkness.’
‘Not heavy enough,’ spoke Syrion enraged. ‘Tell me where I might find these Wolf and I will show you justice.’
‘Soon, Syrion. First, you must eat. Sit down and I will tell you all I know.’
The two men spoke long into the night, trading tales of what had transpired in the two decades since the twins were born. After several hours, Syrion turned to Malus, for that was the old man’s name, and fixed him with a stare. ‘So you are telling me that Falen and these Wolf murdered my father, burned my home to the ground and now hunt my brother like an animal?’
Malus couldn’t bring himself to answer the bereft young magician so he simply nodded.
‘Pack your things, Malus. We’re going to find these ...Wolf.’ The words were wrought with malice and whilst the old advisor had little idea of the power the young Astarii possessed, there could be no doubt of his intentions.
‘We must send word to your mother; there are things she must know.’
‘In time, Malus, I will not delay another day and lose my brother also. Gather your possessions. We will not wait for the dawn. We leave at once.’
Chapter 27
Earlier that day.
The edge of the once proud Listarii Duchy.
A small group of people stood huddled in the midst of a clearing. The secluded setting lay on the western borders of what had once been Listarii Manor. The intimate setting was presided over by a priest, the symbol of the Allfather prominently displayed on his ceremonial attire.
Tristan and Linea stood before him clothed in the traditional Listarii robes of state. Nearby, a few of their loyal friends stood watching with eager anticipation. The words of the priest rang out loudly through the clearing, ‘We are gathered here today to witness the union of Tristan, Lord of Listar, to Linea, daughter of Eberoth of Farnshire. An occasion such as this is an encouraging sight to see. We live in trying times, but the young amongst us, are yet determined to find joy in the companionship of those they love which is a delight to behold. To celebrate that love, I would ask them now to say a few words. Then in the eyes of the gods, we will see them joined as husband and wife. Tristan would you like to begin?’
‘Certainly...’The young Lord of the Listarii seemed nervous. ‘Linea, from the moment we met, I have loved you. I was heir to these lands and had a world of opportunity and privilege to share with you. Now, my lands lie in ashes, I am but a prince amongst thieves and have naught but my love to give you. It isn’t much, but I do so freely and will continue to as long as I live.’
‘Tristan,’ Linea started fighting back tears. ‘I never hoped for title or riches. Your presence fills my soul with joy and brightens my life. Without you, I would be alone in this world. I wish for nothing more than to be with you from now until the day I die.’
The old priest smiled, ‘Then by the authority vested in me by the Allfather, I pronounce you husband and wife. Tristan, you may kiss the bride.’ A series of cheers and whoops broke out from the assembled well-wishers as Tristan took his wife in his arms and gave her a long lingering kiss.
As the cheers died down another noise could be heard. The thundering of horse hooves drummed through the forest.
Tristan moved between the source of the noise and Linea, positioning himself to meet any threat. Moments later Sven burst out of the undergrowth on horseback shouting. ‘Tristan, we have been compromised! Gerwold is on the move. They have emptied the garrison and they march on King’s Court today. Almost fifteen thousand foot soldiers from Belnair are on the move. The Mizumura are marching in the west and the forces of Fordham also close on the Capitol.’
‘What of their cavalry?’ Tristan asked. ‘Surely they will be needed in the fields as well.’
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‘No. They are here, Tristan, they come for you. I don’t know how they found you. Take my steed and be away from this place. I will hold them as long as I can.’ Sven drew a pair of wicked knives from his belt and prepared to meet the storm.
‘No, Sven. You must do two things. First, you must carry out our plan at once. Our agents must be informed. Send word to the Tanamere and Sisaron at once, otherwise King’s Court will almost certainly fall.
‘And the second, Milord?’
‘You must take Linea to safety. I will not see her fall into Falen’s clutches again.’
Linea began to protest vehemently, but her cries fell on deaf ears. After taking the knife from Sven, Tristan carefully cut away the trailing portion of her dress. ‘I am sorry, my love but you cannot ride in that. Now get on the horse and do exactly as Sven tells you.’
‘But I...’
‘No buts. The Wolf are searching for me. They will not pursue you far. Warn the council and see what can be done for me then. With their army on the move there is still hope.’
Tristan helped his bride onto the horse behind Sven and gave the horse a firm hit on its rump to send it on its way. Turning to his friends, he spoke. ‘Flee now, my friends. I treasure your loyalty, but if you are found here with me your lives will be forfeit. Head deeper into the woods and seek refuge there.’
His friends looked on him with pity, reluctant to leave their beloved leader. As the cadence of hooves drew nearer and nearer, they reluctantly headed into the dense foliage where their pursuers would struggle to mount an effectual pursuit.
Moments later, the first of the Wolf cavalry burst out of the undergrowth. A man in captain’s uniform barked orders to the cavalrymen at his flanks. ‘Into the woods after the others! Leave none alive! Bind him!’ the leader spat, pointing to Tristan who was sitting calmly on a log waiting.
A Coronation of Kings Page 18
