IV
Drawn by two barded basilisks, the armoured chariot was resplendent. Covered in glyphs depicting scenes of victories, its wheels were wickedly scythed and the whole thing shimmered with white light. In place of naked eyes sat tears, tears fashioned as gems.
Its master stood clad in armour plates as golden as the nimbus in his eyes. His two swords were as burnished as his mail, and like his armour, studded with tears. Around him, his five attendants waited.
Aerie tried not to look at them. He had spoken once of a temple outside Beregost where four sirines sang their lord's praise. This had a horrible echo of that.
"She will rise."
"She will rise." The chanters echoed. Chanters from Candlekeep. His acolytes numbered peasants and nobles, scholars and townsfolk.
"Imoen." He pronounced her name. The statue stared blankly back. "Do not forget."
"We shall not forget."
Frozen in stone by her own brother, his companions fallen victim to vampiric curse… now he raided the planes and prime alike, seeking more followers. Many were drawn. Back on the prime, their homeland, his siblings butchered without remorse, spreading terror. She stared at him, at the statue. One day…
She closed the manuscript and sighed softly. Would he ever see her? She was just a scribe. But he hadn't chosen a head priestess. Except that statue…
He had to come back safely. She always worried when he went raiding. The planes were dangerous. But so was he. If only she could go with him…
Sitting down in an alcove, she set to work. Faith made things real. If enough people believed… In the year 1386 DR, Flamerule, the dragon Abazigal was slain by his half-brother, our lord. The blue drake was the last of the Children who stood opposed to our master's claim, and with his death, our lord ascended the Throne of Murder. With his ascension, the statue in his realm awoke, his half sister, Imoen.
It was only 1382 DR, but if words created and faith made manifest became truth, perhaps she could write truth, and if what she wrote was true, it was sure to happen. It didn't work that way, but she could hope.
"No! G-get away! B-bad! N-no touching!"
"Cespenar clean the shiny ones!"
"N-no!"
"Eeeeek!"
"A-and s-stay a-away!"
She didn't like to smack the little 'butler', but she wasn't going to let him put his paws all over her precious pages. Absently, she sketched in a pink ribbon around the doodle of the imp. Couldn't hurt to try…
"Oooh! Shiny one!"
She smiled sadly. A moment later, she found herself gasping. A sketch of a saddened elf stared back at her, and beside it, a smiling girl with wings.
Was that what he had meant by faith? She squinted, and shrugged. The planes weren't the prime and this one was his. Under it, she penned her name. Before her eyes, it changed to the one he had called her when he wasn't using 'child', or 'Aerie'. She thought it meant 'singing owl'. Soon delighted giggles broke the stillness and joy joined serenity.
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