The Masks We Wear.
Prologue
There was something stirring.
Prophesied events were being shadowed and the sight was becoming all but inaccessible as the images of the future became muddied.
The bright shining road Emrys would forge as the right hand of destiny was dimming, splitting, becoming a darker tangled web of many paths, and the dragon was very anxious.
Something had happened, an unforeseen event that could shatter the future of the land, for good or ill, and Khilgarrah had no idea now how to undo the knots forming in the threads of fate. Neither did he have a clue if all the strands would emerge unscathed nor if the pattern woven at the end would be the one needed. If it would become the beginnings of Albion, or the destruction of all hope was increasingly unclear.
Khilgarrah's gift and clarity of foresight even amongst the Dragons had been without equal and to lose such ability now, when most needed, was extremely worrisome. Only a Deity had the power to cloud so much of the future. But who? Which of the gods and goddesses that looked over Albion would have so troubled themselves to interfere. Such a move was unprecedented.
There was a darkness coming and he had to talk to his lord.
His wings were stretched as far as he could make them as he made haste back to the Camelot border. He could not go closer to the city without his dragonlord's express permission but he would be as close as he could, for as long as it took, for the summons to come. And it would come; he had no doubt of that. If only he could now be sure of just who would do the summoning.
…..
Morgana Pendragon, last high priestess of the triple goddess, and most feared and hated felon in the 5 kingdoms was staring in bemusement at a very small, grubby hand holding what appeared to be the tattiest looking book in existence. The hand belonged to one of the oddest people she had ever beheld. The woman, if that is indeed what she was, was tiny only standing as far as Morgana's waist, birdlike in the delicacy of her bone structure. She was dressed in ragged flutters of cloth that only appeared to be held together with a few stitches here and there, but which fell from the top of her head, in a sort of cowl like ensemble, down the rest of her frail looking wrinkled form, to drag back along the floor for a good foot, and they were filthy. Whatever colour the rags were originally was unrecognisable beneath the dirt. In fact the entirety of the woman seemed to be encased in muck; there was even a trail of soil leading from the doorway to where the woman stood with her hand out, book presented without ceremony. Morgana was intrigued despite herself.
There were not many instances where an intrusion to the throne room of Morgana's latest hideaway, would not have ended in bloodshed. But this creature had managed to invade her sanctuary with nary a hue or cry from her guards, and her wards had been silent. This woman, whoever the hell she was, had magic, and powerful magic
"I see you Pendragon" The voice was a deep, hoarse rasp, it filled the echoing confines of the room completely and Morgana couldn't help but jump at the power hidden within the deceptively feeble looking person. With that voice Morgana was no longer so certain of the creature's gender and to be perfectly honest felt it to be a somewhat creepy statement. Not even the cailleach had inspired the shivers that were now running down her spine.
"Who are you? What do you want?" The statement didn't come out as forcefully as Morgana would have preferred, in fact it was positively weak sounding and Morgana was becoming increasingly annoyed. Straightening abruptly in the hard wooden throne, she recalled that she was the last of her kind and would NOT be intimidated by a pathetic lump of refuse in her own hall. "Answer carefully old woman I am in no mood for games. Why are you here?" The woman's arm never wavered she just held out the slim volume in silence. Completely unnerved by this point, but valiantly showing no sign on her pale face she reached out and took the damned book with nerveless fingers. The moment she took possession, the wind began to howl and the woman broke into a dust storm and disappeared through the window, but not without another gravelly, parting shot, "Use it wisely Pendragon. Your doom will not easily stand against it."
"Emrys!" Morgana's whispered identification of the cailleach's admission had shot out before she had had time to even process what the book now meant.
If the mystery woman was to be believed she now held a way for Emrys to be defeated or at the very least, damaged in some way. Now suddenly eager, and treating the volume like the greatest treasure, she retreated to her bedchamber. If this was the key to defeating her enemies and regaining Camelot's throne, she wanted no interruptions to her study of it. Sailing from the throne room she instructed her bloodguard that she was not to be disturbed under any circumstances, lit every candle she had with a wave of her hand and a muttered incantation, and sitting in her favourite chair, opened the first page.