*
When Falion closed the door behind himself and entered into a small room that now served as a waiting area, two men sat in the center sipping tea, holding an intense conversation. One was Lord Joachim and the other was Carl Hapwell. This did not surprise Falion, for in the second of the three rooms opening into the waiting area, Hapwell’s wife had just given birth to a son. And in the third, at this very moment, Andromeda Sartor labored to pass a child of her own as well. Falion had no doubt that if he had gone into those rooms what the color of the newborns’ eyes would be.
Three rooms.
Three births.
All on the same night, all at the same time.
Neither man heard the old servant, and for this he was glad. For the first time in his life, he padded over the where the decanter that held Lord Joachim’s private stock of brandy sat, and with trembling hands took it upon himself to pour a small glass. He knew this was a breech of etiquette, possibly one that could have him expelled from his service at the manor, but for the moment his numbed mind could not rid itself of what he had just seen. Quickly, he downed the brandy. It was sweet and smooth. Possibly the smoothest he had ever tasted, with a faint hint of oak and some delicate spice he could not name.
Great Lord, it was good!
He breathed in a slow breath, and the flavor that remained on his tongue mellowed sweetly. He set the glass down and refilled it quickly.
A hand closed on his shoulder and Falion gave a start.
“Good, isn’t it?” Lord Joachim asked quietly.
Falion cursed his old ears for failing to detect the lord’s approach. He began to stammer an apology.
Joachim held up his hand. “You’d better pour us all one while you’re pouring one for yourself, Falion.”
The old servant stood mutely for a second. “Y-you m-mean you’re not angry with me, m’lord?”
“What? For filching some of my brandy? You and I both know that servants have snuck off with far more than good brandy!” Joachim said with a chortle, and for a moment, continued to laugh until he had to hold his sides. Across the room, Hapwell laughed too.
“Falion, Carl and I needed a good laugh. Thank you.”
“But I ain’t never taken a thing of yours, sir. Never!” he said proudly. Then, “Not ‘til tonight, that is . . .”
“Forgivable,” Joachim said, “and that is the reason you, along with the three midwives here, were chosen for this task tonight. Fill four glasses with brandy and join us over at the table.”
As Falion collected four small glasses, Brent Maldies came barreling through the archway. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said tensely. “How is my wife? Has my child arrived yet?”
“Ah, Brent,” Joachim said gruffly, “I believe my old friend Falion has some news for us.”
Falion turned and told Brent, “Little Niam is well, sir. I’ve held ‘im myself, and you can take old Falion’s word if nothing else!”
“And was there anything . . . unique about him,” Brent tried to ask delicately, but it came out as a bark.
Falion looked away, unsure of what to make of these events. “Well, sir, he weighs a good stone or more, and he’s definitely got your hair, but his face already has his mother’s freckles scattered across it. He’s a handsome little lad, that’s for sure.”
“His eyes, Falion,” Brent demanded, “What bloody color were his eyes?”
Falion forced himself to lift his head and meet the other man’s gaze. “As yellow as a summer flower, sir, and that’s the Great Lord’s truth!”
Back in a minute,” he said and briskly walked into the room where his wife and new son waited. A few moments later, Gaius Sartor came out of the room where his wife and the midwife remained. He gave Hapwell and Joachim a nod and said, “We’ve named him Maerillus.”
“His eyes?” Joachim asked.
“Yes,” was all he needed to say.
“Then it is as my grandmother said it would be,” Joachim said. “The color of their eyes will change. If the stories of their powers are true, the color will return when they exert themselves, but it doesn’t last. Has something to do with the forces flowing through them. We’ll have to keep them hidden until it wears off, but since they’re infants, that won’t be hard.” Joachim’s voice turned deathly serious, and he continued on, “If anyone finds out about this before your boys are ready . . . they will be in serious danger. I don’t think any of us would survive the week. The old stories of this have struck fear in the hearts of men and women for over a thousand years.”
Falion slowly made his way to the table and began setting out glasses, filling them with brandy. After a short while, Brent returned and sat with a sigh. “We were all there when she said it . . . when she made the prophecy. I just don’t think I ever really accepted it. It didn’t matter that she had spoken true on other occasions. Knew she had a gift. Just didn’t sink in.”
“You know,” Hapwell began, “our other children bear no signs of this. Why these three . . . how?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Joachim said. “What does is that another era is about to begin. Now, we must see to the safety of these children. At all costs.”
“Yes,” all three agreed.
“But those eyes . . .”Falion stammered. “Those eyes are the mark of the—“
But he broke off and Lord Joachim answered for him. “The Dread Lords? Yes, that is what they are called, but in the old language they were called the Valiere. Do you know what that means, Falion?”
The old man shook his head.
“Not many people do, not many at all. Since my grandmother made that prophecy, I’ve seared out every scrap of information I could find, dug through libraries across the continent. Whenever the crown called on me to lead troops, I spent my time hunting down all the information I could find. Valiere meant guardians, Falion. And for much of history, humanity benefited from their stewardship, though this has long been forgotten. And now, with the evil lands to the east stirring, I fear we will have need for them once again. And if my grandmother’s prophecy was right, these three boys are the start.”
The room settled into a lengthy silence, until Falion spoke up again. “But it was the Dread . . . the Valiere that brought ruin to the world. They turned dark, the stories tell us. What if it happens again?”
Joachim took a sip of brandy, considering. At last, he said, “Then may the Great Lord have mercy on us all.”
The Dread Lords Rising Page 2
