CHAPTER II
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CHAPTER II |
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IN AN AGE BEFORE TIME, when the earth was still but a shapeless mass of churning seas, Elyon, High God of Heaven, descended through space, and with him came the mighty hosts of his realms. They gathered upon the rim of this galaxy, and Elyon sent forth his Spirirt to hover over the face of the deep. In the void of silence, he commanded there be life.
TIME HAS PASSED, AND THE FACE of the earth changed. Many things have transpired between our present era and the age of initial creation. Soon, this age, too, will pass from memory and into the annals of ancient history; it has already begun.A look into the age to come has been granted me, but even so, there is little I can decifer of it. As with any other era of time, there will be changes, both small and great: wars, new discoveries; the rise of new powers in the world and the fading of the old. However, as a seer, priest of Elyon, and a prophet of his Word, I have been allowed this foresight with specific intent, and I'm afraid there are fell words to speak of what will come.
Prophets proclaim mysteries, for it is with mysterious things we deal; we are not interpreters of the words we receive--I don't comprehend even half of what I'm given! Such is the case now, and I am sorry I cannot relay this message in any better way. But I have been given these words, not so I may fancy myself wise (and perhaps boast of what I did nothing to bring about), but to exhort those who will come after I have long since passed away.
So it is I come to the most awkward part of all; I must give to you this grand phrophecy and hope you will not shun it for the foolish garble of some madman but take heed to what its meaning may be:
In the final days of the second age, when man and beast are still like one, there will arise a great threat to the world. From the realms of beasts it will come, and many of the kingdoms of men will ally themselves with it, seeking power they cannot contain.
Three great kings will arise, lords wrought with a strength of will beyond any other of their race. They will rule their realms with a fist of iron, the shadow of night, and a heart of bitter cold. With destruction and the fear of death, they will bend all to their will:The catalyst among them shall rise first;
his will be the heart
cold as frozen stone
In his wake, the second shall follow;
his will be the shadow
a relentless fear
bringning madness and despair
And a third shall also rise;
his will be the fist
clad in iron
with it he will crush freedom
he will bend all to the will of the threeSuch will be the hour that none will live in peace; all the world shall be thrown into chaos and war. The power of the three will drive the strong to their knees and the weak they will beat into the dust. All the hopes of man and beast will fail them and nothing will be left of the things in which they put their faith.
Yet, even then, hope will not die. From the sea, the Great Guardian of Light will arise and take wing; he will lead the kings of beast and man against the power of the three. From the mountains, the noble lords of fire shall join him; with unmatched fury, they will rend the forces of the three. From beneath the earth, the Rhuids, a power yet unknown, shall come forth; they will cast many fell creatures into the pits of death. Together, they will overcome the three and cast them into eternal exile.
From the Records of the Kings
1244, the 26th of May
From Ilshgalath
SILENCE HUNG LIKE thick mist in the cedar-panelled room, permeating to its high-vaulted ceiling. Late afternoon sunlight glittered in lazily through high stained glass windows, set in the northwest wall. A long shaft of fading brilliance cast itself across the white marble floor, painting everything in its path with a kaleidoscope of colors. Books, cannons, and other parchment documents lined the north, west, southwest, south, and east and northeast walls of the hexagonal room, housed in decorative shelves of burled oak.
Through another pair of identicle, high framed windows of stained glass (set in the adjacent southeast wall), the northwest portals's radiance blazed from the other side of the room and out into the lengthening shades beyond.
Today, the study chamber was filled with some twenty or so students of the Royal Accademy, sons and daughters of the nobility, all of them future heirs to positions of influence and power.
A three-sided desk of burled oak was set in the middle of the chamber, placed atop a raised slab of black granite. Behind it, on a large chair bound with ebony leather, Grand Maser Ellaphrim sat, casually stroking his flowing white beard.
To the common observer, Ellaphrim was not an imposing man--about average height, with crystal-grey eyes, high-set cheek bones, and a narrow, slightly prominent nose. He was not the aggressive or outgoing type, but because of his peaceful demeanor, people found him pleasant to be around. As one of the head instructors for the Royal Accademy, Ellaphrim was a highly respected authority in his field; because of his ability to give sound advice on a majority of common issues, and because of his respect for the views of others, he was well liked. He did not believe in making his students' work easy, but found ways to make learning a joy. Arms folded across his chest, aged head bent, mind submerged in deep thought, he was every bit the classic scholar.Yet there was a darker side to Grand Master Ellaphrim, a good deal of which lay in the implications of his title.
In the quiet study, no one spoke or even moved. Particles of dust winked and twinkled as their near microscopic bodies fluttered to the ground.
Klide Rhoannafar gently folded the manuscript and handed it back to Elellphrim. The elderly man accepted the parchment, and after a few more thoughtful strokes of his snowy beard, he wrapped a delicate leather cord about the oil-colored cylinder and replaced it within its nearby cannon. He stood from his oaken desk, motioning for Klide to retake his seat with the other young men and women in the great study. Clearing his throat, the renowned teacher made his final comments for the day:
"The debate over who wrote the Ishgalath has rolled on for decades, but basically, we still know nothing about its author. Nevertheless, as Prince Klide just read, we at least have a rough idea as to when it was written. The manuscript speaks of a great evil, how it will come to be, and how it will be defeated. Interestingly enough, most other cultures that existed at about this time also have such prophetic works. The dragon lore is especially so, being, perhaps the most comprehensive version of this simple rendition."
He paced from around his desk and stood before his pupils, removing the small reading spectacles from his wize face.
"Many have sought to unlock the 'mysteries', as they say, of the ancient texts--all to no avail. The prophecies are always the hardest to understand. They speak of things which are not seen or, as some speculate, will never be seen, and perhaps do not exist. Be careful how you interpret such works; at best, not all is as it seems, and not everyone is fit to interpret what the mind of another, be it genius or mad, wrought of their quil."
Folding his arms, master Ellaphrim studied the faces of those set in his charge; some were deep in thought, but at least half looked bored, daydreamed, or seemed anxious to go. He sighed. Sometimes, being a great teacher was still not enough. It would have to do.
"You are all dismissed."
With that, the static atmosphere erupted with activity as students collected their things and filed out the door.
"Prince Klide?" Ellaphrim was collecting his notes when he noticed his student.
Klide still sat at his desk, gazing thoughtfully out the northwest windows.
When did he pick up such a facination for stained glass?
The prince turned, looking a bit startled, "Huh? Oh, shades! I'm sorry, I'll be going-!"
Ellaphrim chuckled, "Ah! No rush, prince. What's on your mind?"
Yawning, Klide stood up from his desk and stretched.
"I was just wondering, was the Ilshgalath written in Ilshgalath?"
"Yes. It was indeed."
"Where was that again?"
Ellaphrim scratched his head. "Huh. . . Oh, let's see: the ancient Dragon Kings had it built during the first decade of the Sclefdon Alliance. They needed a central safehold for their forces, so they had the fortress city of Ilshgalath constructed at Galath, a mountain in the crossroads to their collective realms."
The Grand Master gazed nostalgically out the window. "Ilshgalath was more than a place to take refuge in during times of trouble; it was the crowning achievement for the alliance--a tribute to their combined strength. I wish I could be there again, during its glory days. The entire city was abandoned when the alliance was broken. . . it's now the haunted peak known as Cleft Rurn; a veritable scrap heap."
Klide looked skeptical. "Master Ellaphrim, that was two centuries ago, at least."
"Eh? Oh, yes! So it was--three actually. But that's where the script you read today was composed." Ellaphrim noted his student's expression. "Anything else?"
"Well," Klide started hesitantly, "it's probably nothing, sir, but you make it sound like you where there."
"Hmm. Do you think that's possible, perhaps?"
The prince smiled dryly. "Not for any normal human beings I know."
Ellephrim laughed pleasantly, slapping a puzzled Klide on the back.
"Prince, you've said more than you know!" Smiling broadly, he held his senior student at arms length in front of him, a hand on the boy's shoulder.
Ellaphrim had known Klide since the prince's birth, playing a central role in the boy's early education, even then. The child was a handful: spontaneous and blessed--though it sometimes seemed more cursed--with an insatiable curiosity. Yet it was his desire to learn everything he could that helped the prince excel at almost anything he took a fancy to. Young and vibrant with life, Klide Rhoannafar embodied the essence of childhood: the undying belief that all things were possible.
Now, on the threshold of manhood, those short years were coming to a close. The prince was not a child anymore; he had changed a good deal. Klide now stood at eye-level with Master Ellaphrim, and his short-cropped, unruly black hair was now shoulder length and pulled back into a neat ebony tail. At 18, he was in the last stages of adolescence, fresh with new strength, hardened by nearly two decades of disciplined refinement. Yet he was still very much the same boy he'd always been.
Despite his overall maturity, the prince still displayed an unrelenting drive, digging into things most of his peers would have considered beyond them. Klide was not a rebel, and he found no joy in making trouble. But when important matters were on the line, he was not shy before authority.
"Well, thanks for hearing my question." The prince extended his hand. "I'll be going now."
"Not a problem, young prince." The old man replied. "Take care."
With a parting handshake, Klide walked out of the room, leaving the aged scholar alone in the great study.
Ellaphrim sighed wearily. There were still so many more questions the boy would have for him, especially in the days to come. Yet, the Grand Master had spent the better part of his life answering peoples' questions anyway. It did not surprise him. Someone always had to give an explanation for things beyond man's control.
The prince's small query had cut across something much deeper than what its face value would give. Ilshgalath. Now the desolate Cleft Rurn. There was some very deep history in that place, and the memory of it had brought something back to the old man. . . something dark. . . something very troubling.
Ellaphrim lifted his crystaline eyes; pale-blue light flashed with cold intensity across their surface.
The Grand Master's stance became instantly firm, the signs of age melting away. Extending his right hand, Ellaphrim gripped the empty air before him. An audible hum revererated through the room's hushed atmosphere as a staff of white light flashed suddenly into existance, held in the Master's outstretched hand. Grasping the fiery rod with both appendages, Ellaphrim closed his glowing eyes. Searing white light exploded suddenly around him.
In the blink of an eye, The High Wizard of Ilshgarath had gone.
Klide Rhoannafar stepped lightly over the study's threshold, closing the heavy door behind him. He walked across a small landing and then turned clockwise to descend the spiraling flight of stairs that led from the main keep to Ellaphrim's study, perched neatly atop the castle's central tower. Small archer windows lined the out-facing wall, set at regular, five foot intervals. Shafts of sunlight poured through, lighting the path. Torches were also set in racks between the windows, but they would not be lit until Master Ellaphrim himself left the study, late that evening.
Klide took the stairs two at a time, making it to the bottom of the flight in under ten minutes.
Another landing stretched from the staircase's end, broader this time, squaring an even ten by ten. A small flight of stairs descended from each of the three sides facing away from the main tower, leading down their own hall. There were no windows in here, and the torches lining the walls were always lit.
Klide took the stairs to the right, practically sailing to the bottom in a couple of leaps. He was determined to make up for his small delay in the study. By now, his friends were wondering what had become of him. . . or they'd had sufficient time to throw together one of their outrageous pranks!
The prince smiled, shaking his head as he walked swiftly down the hallway. Corridoors flew by him, and even some of the torces fluttered as he sped passed. His company was almost always of the highly intelligent and sophisticated type, but that didn't mean they couldn't whip out a good one every once in a while. And with age, they'd been getting better. Between keeping up with his studies and trying to stay one lap ahead of his friends, Klide had his hands quite full.
The hall came to an abrupt end, exiting into a great chamber, its vaulted roof ascending twenty feet overhead. Thick, round pillards supported a network of high arches, which in turn supported the ceiling. The main path extended through the center of the large room, with two other paths of equal width branching to the right and left, leading around the entire perimeter of the chamber, finally meeting the main path again at the double doored exit.
The prince glanced warily about.
Between the butressing pillars, but off the main walkways, long, pine tables were set in even rows, three wide from the central path and ten deep from one end of the room to the other. Some fifteen or so students were still in this room, most seated on the extended maple benches placed on either side of their tables. Some were doing paper work, tending to their studies, but the majority immersed themselves in noisy conversation--much to the chagrin of those trying to complete their tasks.
Klide made his way down the central isle, nodding occasionally to people he knew. They nodded back, or waved.
One left her group and joined him on his way out the chamber's front entrance.
Klide bowed slightly, "'Evening, princess Nale." He stepped aside, holding the door open. "How've you been?"
The red-headed girl smiled pleasantly. "Just fine, Klide." She stepped around behind him, grasping the door's dragon-shaped handle. "After you, prince--higher royalty first, you know!"
If there was any real weakness in Klide, it was that he was a sucker for female flatery.
Smiling like an idiot, the prince strode proudly through the door.
SPLASH!
Klide stumbled back into the large chamber, soaking wet. "Ar! Who the heck-!?"
Behind him, a chorus of hysterical laughter broke out.
Wincing, and red with embarassment, the prince turned to face his friends.
Sure enough, there they were--all five of them.
Prince Dirk Waterflower was doubled over on the marble floor, sides heaving, peach face inflamed with jovial streaks of crimson. His cerulean blue cloke lay disheveled about his sharp frame as his whole mass convulsed with spirited amusement.
"Good afternoon, your highness!" He chortled, trying in vain to rise to one knee.
Luscious and Richard Leonair were in no better shape, their twin, burgundy capes strewn in equally un-royal fashion as each leaned on either of Dirk's stout shoulders, as they, too, attempted to rise. Their wavy, golden hair fell about their flushed faces as their exerted effort only shoved their support downward, taking all three of them to the floor in a rollicking heap.
Severous Marr shook his dark head, relinquishing an amiable grin as he brushed his dark braids from his dark face. Leaning over, he extended a strong, dark hand to each of his fallen comrades, hosting their laughing bodies up with ease. Golden robes rippled casually about his large build, flowing over extended, black leather shoulder guards.
Smoothing back his obsidian hair, Joshua Albreck shuffled forward and gave Dirk a light, good-natured punch to the shoulder, which the Waterflower prince gleefully returned, initiating a few moments of like congratulatory exchanges between them all.
"I think we got'im good this time, gentlemen!" Albreck chuckled, fluffing his velvet attire and light cape. "Klide, consider yourself royally christened!"
Princess Nale stood behind Klide, still holding the door open, looking a bit shocked and very confused.
Klide smiled ruefully. "Alright, lords and lady, who's idea was it this time?"
The five lords-and-dukes-to-be jumped to their feet and stood at mock attention. In an over-dramatic gesture, each pointed with both hands at a different member of the group. Seeing Klide roll his eyes in exasperation, they all burst into another hail of gu-faws, laughing so hard they had to lean on each other for support as tears began to stream down their red faces.
Rhoanaffar grinned mischievously.
"Have at you then!"
With one quick movement, he grabbed a nearby bucket of mop water and cast its contents in a wide arch over their heads.
Six soggy figures strode across the courtyard from the great hall's entrance to the adjacent boys' dormatory. Arms over each others shoulders, Klide and his merry companions swayed back and forth, singing some ridiculous tune composed off the top of their heads, leaping into the air every few yards to click their boot heels.
Finally, laughing harder than ever, they all managed to stumble through their dorm's entrance.
From the main tower's open door, princess Nale Waterflower stared after them, something less than amusement chissled into her beautiful features. With a dismissive toss of her lustrious, crimson hair, Nale turned away, releasing the door, letting it bang shut as she marched irritably back inside.
Day faded into night and darkness enveloped Grand Master Ellaphrim's cascading fortress. The four guardian towers of Samras Mhricshir rose like stone giants into the deepening shadows, rising above the battlements and casting their long shadows across the keep's seven courtyards. Each sentinal obelisk ascended precisely twohundred feet into the air, marble walls cut smooth as glass.
Instead of a pyramid capstone, tansparent globes adorned their peaks. The mysterious spheres shone with a slight bluish tint and appeared to be made of glass, though their true substance was much harder and more enduring. By day, they gathered sunlight, channeling the solar energy through a network of shafts into several enormous generators housed deep within the fortress's foundations. This provided the bulk of the keep's power.
When the sun set, Mhricshir's translucent globes shone like beacons on the seashore, casting their penetrating rays through mist, rain, and the deepest shades of night.
The stone towers were alight now, their opaque beams melding with the scattered pinpricks of lamplight that leaked through several dormatory windows.
As the night drew on, these flickering luminations winked and disappeared.
All except one.
Klide stared at his textbook, rubbing his eyes, trying hard to shake the sleep from himself. The leatherbound tome sat precariously on the prince's tilted reading desk. It kept sliding to maple slab's edge, threatening to commit kamekazi on the hard ash floor below. To make matters worse, it was late (about ten minutes till midnight), Klide was tired, and was starting to doze off, waking just in time to catch his expensive book before it fell.
"You know what I say?"
Klide looked over his shoulder. "Yeah, Dirk--time to call it a day."
"Exactly."
Dirk Waterflower yawned loudly, ambling stiffly over from his own desk to where Klide still sat. Running a hand through his spiky, auburn hair, he glanced dispassionately at his roomate's oversized book.
"Klide, 'ol boy, if you keep this up, Master Elaphrim just might retire and hire you to take his place."
"Really."
"At this rate, you already know everything he does on--what're you reading?--The Edicts of Sclefdon!"
"And how about yourself?"
"Ah! To be honest, I really don't care. History's not my specialty anyway--I'm a swordsman, not a scholar."
"Well, neither am I actually."
Dirk chuckled. "No! Someday, you'll be this country's top-grade, high-performance, all-powerful, super to-die-for VIP A+ King."
"Huzzah. And I suppose you'll be my top-grade, high-performance, undefeatable VIP Knight."
"You betcha, yer'oyal 'ighness sir!"
"This place'll be one heck of a kingdom when we're in charge."
"No joke! Hey! D'ja like the shower?"
"Eh?"
"You know--the bucket of water over the door? Earlier this evening??"
". . . Oh yeah! Ha, ha--how'd you do that one?"
"High science, my dear prince! Set the bucket to dump itself at just the right instance by adjusting its drop time. We assumed you'd learned from our last attempt--which failed misserably anyway--so we thought the slight delay would off-set your judgement." Dirk smiled mischiveously. "Of course, convincing my sister to hold the door open for you was also a nice touch! If there's ever a sure way to catch you off guard, it's with live female bait!"
"Yeah, unfortunately." Klide yawned. "Well, let's catch some sleep."
Dirk nodded drowsily. "Right, Ace. No arguments from me!" He was already heading out the door to their private study. "See you tomarrow, Klide--six sharp, on the northwest field!"
Rhoannafar groaned. "Shades! We've combat training, don't we."
Dirk leaned against the ebony-stained doorframe. "Not your best subject, eh?"
"Well, it might be--if I could just beat you!"
Waterflower laughed cheerfully. "Oh, come on, your highness! How'm I suppose to save your butt someday if I can't defeat you yourself in hand-to-hand combat?"
Klide shut his book, placing it back on the medium shelf that held his other reading material. "My friends!" he sighed. "What would I do without you guys!"
"Heck if I know! You'd be the victim of anarchy, likely as not."
"Likely as not indeed." Klide answered, rubbing his chin, gazing introspectively at his burled oak bookcase. "Enough already! Let's get some rest!"
"Last one to snore stands first watch!"
Dirk smiled disarmingly, stepping aside to let Klide pass through first. Rhoannafar stopped dead.
"Don't even think about it! YOU'RE going first this time!"
With that, he playfully shoved Dirk forward.
SPLASH!
Waterflower spent a good twenty minutes changing out of his wet garments before shambling doggedly to his own sleeping quarters. He peeked into the adjacent room, casually glancing at its sleeping occupant.
Dirk shook his head and smiled ruefully. "You win, Rhoannafar."
Velvet mists encircled Mhricshir, a pulsating shroud of stoic phantoms that swirled about the fortress's raised foundations. With silent longing, the ghostly tides surged against the impenetrable barriers, reaching with their transparent tendrils, but falling short, unable to scale the smooth masonry. Like a seismic pinwheel of reeling stars, the swarms of microscopic water particles floated in suspended elegance, a surreal galaxy of cosmic beauty, but tinged with the forboding promise of immanent doom. From a distance, Ellaphrim's castle seemed to float on air. The four sentinal beacons blazed from their towers overhead, leaving few places for concealment on the grounds below. A dreamy hush enshrowded the sleeping compound. All was still.
Silently, a cloaked apparition detached itself from the lingering shadows.
Klide tossed restlessly. He'd fallen asleep just after going to bed, only to be awakened by a very strange sensation. . . like he was being. . . watched? He turned on his side, twisting the sheets uncomportably as he did. The feeling persisted.
Rhoannafar threw his covers off. Something wasn't right.
He climed stiffly out of bed, yawned, stretched, and then made his way to the small closet directly across the tiny room. He glanced back at the time rendering device set in the wall above his bed's headboard: IV:XDIV. Too early to be up, considering the time he'd gone to bed.
The prince frowned. He'd be taking a mid-day snooze, probably during geometry.
Touching a small switch set in the doorframe, Klide opened the closet door. A circular disk illuminated the dark room, casting its pale light from the enclosure's ceiling. Several outfits hung from a rack set in the closet's back, including a suit of azure chainmail. A shield, helm, and matching suit of armored plates hung from the wall on the right, and the prince's sword rested on the left, set horizontally atop two dragon-claw pegs.
Stepping inside, Klide shut the door.
A slight breeze glided across the courtyard in front of the boys' dorm, curling up the structure's smooth walls without a sound.
Adjusting her hood, the cloaked figure flattened against the building's stone surface. Cautiously, she advanced into the courtyard, moving quietly across the lush turf that grew on either side of the main, cobbled walkway.
Rhoannafar emerged from his hubble wearing the suit of azure mail, with his sword strapped across his back, and a long dagger buckled to his left thigh. With a touch, he extenguished the light, and quietly shut the closet door.
Maneurvering cautiously around his bed, Klide approached the room's small oblong window. Slowly, he flattened himself against it's left wall, and with both hands on the pommels of his weapons, he peered out onto the courtyard below.
She turned swiftly, bracing against the stone wall. Steadying herself, the shade reached into her pall shroud, extracting a small metal device with a long coil of black rope attached to its end.
. . . Nothing. . .
The prince exhaled slightly. Maybe he'd just been imagining the whole-
*klink*
-thing. . .
* * * * *
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