A/N:
Well, my first attempt at a fic in a long time. Not a very large fanbase for this series, but I've personally loved it for a while now. I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar errors, or if it just plain bad. Any constructive criticism would be helpful. I'm not entirely sure how long I plan on this being, but it's not going to be very short, I can pretty much say that for certain. This chapter, and the few after it, are just a prologue. I feel I should also point out that I'm rating this M for a reason. Its not going to be a very nice story.
Prologue: The Invitation
It was not an easy feat to make a denizen of hell uncomfortable in their surroundings. A life of constant twilight in a realm with neither life nor color tended to make even the most forbidding of places seem festive in comparison. Saetan was willing to concede however, that Cairnhaven Island could qualify as an exception. It was a barren, windswept place, situated on a barren, windswept rock, directly off the most barren, windswept and desolate strip of coastline in the realm of Terreille. All in all, the place was making a very convincing bid for being considered an honorary part of the dark realm. Even the weather seemed to be making an effort to mirror the dark realm, the wan rays of sunlight barely bothering Saetan and his demon-dead companion.
"Reminds you of the dark realm a little, doesn't it?" Saetan turned his head, taking in Andulvar's wary posture. The Ebon-Gray warlord prince had one hand on the large hunting knife at his belt, and his leathery wings were tucked tight against his body.
"It does a little, my friend." Perhaps a little too much if I'm honest about it, he thought. That didn't need to be said out loud though. Andulvar was jumpy enough as it was. Being invited to Terreille by an anonymous source was bad enough. Accepting an invitation to a place like this could only be considered the next best thing to insanity. Even still, they'd come anyway. The two of them wouldn't even be there at all if Draca hadn't insisted. Mother night, they would at least have known who had delivered the blasted note to the Keep if Draca had been willing to tell them anything. She had not, however, been feeling particularly forthcoming, and a wise man wishing to continue his existence did not press the seneschal of Ebon Askavi for answers she did not wish to give.
Caught up in his musings, Saetan didn't notice Andulvar's raised arm until he ran into it. He stopped, giving his old friend a questioning look. The Eyrien looked back, golden eyes wide with surprise, and gestured scene before them. Up to that point, they'd walked up the steep incline on a roughly paved and badly cracked stone path just wide enough for two men to walk abreast. The surrounding countryside of the island was nothing but scraggly weeds and rocks, competing for space. Ahead of them however, finally visible from the top of the hill, was the manor. Stretching for several hundred paces before them, a meticulously tended garden spread out before the building. Row after row of perfectly square beds formed a mesmerizing tile-like pattern, interwoven with the same cracked paving they stood on now. It was too far to make out what exactly was in the beds, but Saetan identified what seemed to be many types of fruits and vegetables. Interspersed between these were beds containing plants Saetan recognized as being integral to the hourglass's craft, along with others he wished he didn't recognize.
The manor itself resembled nothing more than a crumbling ruin. Windows were cracked and missing. Webs of creeping vines and thin fractures seemed to be racing each other to destroy the heavy stone blocks of the building. From a distance, Saetan couldn't see any wooden features on the building, and the charred remnants of what must have once been a pair of double doors hinted at the reason why.
"Hell's fire Saetan, it's a mess." Andulvar lowered his arm, staring at the wreck before them. "Draca wants us to find someone living in there? I doubt anyone's lived there for centuries." Saetan regarded his old friend, and gestured to begin their descent towards the gardens below before replying.
"If that's the case old friend," Saetan murmured quietly "then whose been tending the garden beds? More importantly however, why have they tended the garden so carefully, and let the house fall into such disrepair?" His cane tapped on the pave stones as the reached a pair of delicate, wrought iron gates at the entrance to the garden.
"Andulvar… does it strike you as curious that there is a gate, which is in perfectly good repair, but no sign of a fence around this garden?" Saetan stepped around the gate, intending to make his point clear. A heavy blow struck his entire body, as if a giant hand had backhanded him with tremendous force. He stumbled backwards, shocked at the viciousness of the attack, despite the double black shield around his body absorbing the power of the blow. Saetan cursed under his breath and looked at Andulvar.
"Hourglass craft," he panted. "Illusion spells layered over shields and traps so that they're unnoticeable until you walk into them, with nasty surprises mixed in for anyone who walks into the shield." Saetan's breathing started to return to normal, the sudden shock of the unexpected defense wearing off. "Don't touch the area where there should be a fence. It's a good thing I wear the Black- I doubt anyone wearing a jewel lighter than the red could have survived that."
Andulvar gave the invisible barrier a suspicious look, and carefully took a few steps back. He then fixed his attention on the gate. "Saetan" he said warily, "I didn't think there was anyone left in Terreille outside of Dorothea's court capable of wielding the craft with this level of precision. Even then, I'm not sure any of them are capable of it." Saetan took a very long time to reply.
"There was one witch who could." He said finally. "She was never part of Dorothea's court though." Andulvar grew noticeably paler
"You don't mean…?"
"Yes. I'd rather not try this gate until we have a better idea of what we're up against. If the 'fence' is anything to go by, and if my guess is correct about who crafted the spells for this place are true, then I don't want to try it unless we have a little more information."
"Can't you tell if it was her, just by studying the spells? I'm no expert in the Hourglass craft Saetan, but I'm fairly sure that much is possible." Andulvar's voice was tinged with nervousness, as his hand strayed back to the knife at his belt.
"I can't tell anything about it other than it wasn't done by a single witch, and that it's old. There are so many different bits of power woven through this wall that I could no more pick one out than I could pluck the moon from the stars. It would be difficult without all of the illusion and trap spells. With them, I don't dare try. I imagine Janelle could do it, but I'd rather not involve her in this. She doesn't need to be back in this realm. I don't know what memories it might stir up, but that's a door I won't open." Saetan turned, and beckoned to his friend, who followed him back up the path.
"You really think this is Tersa's work Saetan?"
"Who else could it be, Andulvar? I doubt there's anyone else in Terreille who could manage this kind of a working. It can't have been Janelle; these spells have been here so long they've become a part of the place. That only leaves Tersa." Saetan said as they crested the ridge.
"Well then old friend, it looks like you're paying a visit to Tersa." Andulvar replied. Saetan gave him a quizzical look.
"And what will you be doing while I am paying said visit?" he said with one eyebrow raised. Andulvar gave him a mournful look.
"Explaining to the waif what we've been doing all day. And trying to keep her from getting curious" Saetan groaned at the reminder.
"Mother night, she's going to wonder where we've been. What are you going to tell her?" Andulvar stepped onto the landing web first, and his Ebon-Gray jewel flashed in the pale sunlight as he gave Saetan a quick grin.
"Why, high lord, I thought I tell her you were organizing a surprise for her. I'm sure you can put together something suitable to back up the story." He caught the winds and vanished before Saetan could reply.
Saetan Daemon SaDiablo, High Lord of Hell, stood on the desolate, windswept beach in front of the old landing web, and silently contemplated whether his discussion with Tersa could wait until he'd finished hanging his oldest friend from a tree by his balls.