Chapter Twenty-One: Words and Intentions
(Meanwhile in Karse)
Maedra paused in her morning chores when an unexpected ripple ran up her spine. The sun was not yet up but it was already very warm out.
The sky was clouded with gray milky fog, that made the sun playing beneath the horizon glow like ghosts in the dappled light.
It vaguely reminded her of a life she had given up in her childhood, a time and place that lived now only in her dreams. Like a wraith passing into the next world, her mind conjured an echo of a hundred drums calling down the thunder from the sky on a summer's night. Momentarily Maedra closed her eyes trying to grasp the faint strands of her memory before they disappeared again. However, the sharp piercing fire behind her eyelids announced the cresting of the morning sun over the high wall like a trumpet pushing her back to her chores.
Lazily she looked around the gray stone courtyard that was nestled beneath the ramparts surrounding the white and gold towers that housed the sun-mages. There were three towers made of a golden yellow stone. The surface of this stone had been carved to show a vague leafy vine design that covered each tower. The vines culminated at the top of the eave to create a braid that lined the smooth white marble mosaic domes that shone brightly like lanterns on even the most clouded days.
As elegant and majestic as these large pillars of secrecy and mysticism were, built to represent the looming and ultimate power of Vkandis Sun Lord, their majesty had been twisted by the aging sun mages left over from a generation of power hungry deceivers.
Maedra could only imagine what went on inside as her duties never allowed her entrance.
No, her life was sequestered to the surrounding ramparts and high walls that separated the city from the religious center. The hard fire forged stone walls were rather un-hansom but they had enough fortitude to withstand one hundred thousand men, and even heavy catapult attacks were not enough to penetrate their girth.
Although Maedra lived a delicate existence so close to the much feared sun-priests, she felt secure against the hardships of the outside world living behind these impressive structures. Living with this kind of security it wasn't often that her senses alerted her to possible dangers, but the second harsh shudder that coursed through her body made her wary. Looking around the courtyard she could neither see nor sense anything of any obvious threat. Shrugging her shoulders faintly she once again bent over her heavy slop buckets and thrust one such contents over the small pen fence to the appreciative swine on the other side.
Before returning to the kitchen door that was slightly open under the side stair, something unexplained made her turn her head uneasily to the left to look at the far eastern wall. She hesitated a little when she saw a young girl standing with her back to the rising sun. Maedra didn't know her name, but thought to herself that the girl seemed almost ethereal with the way the sunlight seemed to outline her whole body in a gentle white glow. As her eyes adjusted to the aura of sun she could identify the emblems embroidered on the robes she wore as an apprentice mage.
Respectfully Maedra quickly averted her eyes and bent her head as she curtsied to the young girl before returning her attention to the kitchen where she could hear the head cook call for her.
Had Maedra been able to see the girl more closely, she would have noticed a peculiar smile on her face when she had noticed the serving woman. It was a smile that spoke of familiarity, and of acute interest, but Maedra had turned her focus to the heavy work at hand, and didn't think more of the encounter until the sun was setting and she was tucked into her bed loft for the night.
Maedra had lived and worked inside the walls of the Vkandis stronghold since she was nine. The circumstances of her transition from nomad to indentured servant were not of a pleasant nature. Upon thinking more closely on her life from then to now, as a woman of twenty three, Maedra was hard pressed to remember another instance when a Vkandis official, mage, priest, or clerk had ever come down to the watchman's post along the gate wall, at any time of day.
There were far better views of both the dawn and the city from elsewhere in the stronghold, and there were no offices or apartments that any of the sun-lords would need to access themselves on this side of the compound, and even if there were they would have sent an official messenger or personal valet.
Given all of that, why would a young priest be anywhere near the south courtyard at dawn?
And even if unofficial business did manage to create a reason to be there, why would a highborn or stationed individual like that pay any mind to a servant?
Maedra contemplated the implications as an old shadowy fear crept stealthily through her mental defenses and wrapped itself firmly around her now pounding heart.
Panic caused her eyes to drift over her roommate's quiet slumbering form on the next bunk over, and fall over a deftly carved seam in the floorboards. There was no way to see the seam by just glancing, or even closely examining the boards. You had to know exactly which wood grain line was the opening mechanism, and then you also had to know which way to push before the top panel would slide down and across, flush with the floor to reveal the opening in the floor.
She had helped craft twelve such openings in eight rooms across the religious complex over a span of ten years. Some of them were in walls and chimneys, others were camouflaged by furniture that took twenty men to move an inch, and only one other was carved in the floor like the one she was staring at right now.
Her mind was racing behind fortified mental barriers designed to throw the mages off her scent. If someone tried to push their way through her mind, she would throw images of her childhood, the memories of battle, capture, and subjugation under heavy Karse rule. These images were followed by the kind of fear that manifested in mistreated animals, and the shame of a child caught lying, and ended with extreme obedience and devotion.
It took extreme amounts of energy to present this false hedge of emotion, but it was necessary to protect the inner thoughts of a rebel figurehead.
Automatically her hands began to pull the fuller quilts from their summer storage drawer than rested beneath her bed. Methodically she gracefully rose and dressed in a long heather gray swath of skirt over a pair of trousers. Over her sleep shirt went a dark leather jerkin with laces on both sides under her arms. Maedra's hair had once been long, but some years ago she had taken to cropping it short. Easier to manage it was still a stark pale hay color, that she wrapped in a black scarf.
When her boots were laced she leaned over her roommate and shook her slightly.
Auna turned over and beheld Maedra in a foreign kind of dress. Without a question she nodded and clamped her hands over her ears, shut tight her eyes and turned over to face the side of the room towards the other bed.
Maedra waited a few moments until she was sure Auna could neither hear nor see her, and then knelt.
Crouching on hands and knees she felt in the darkness for the texture of the wood grain, and the slightly rough vein that indicated the latch compartment. Pressing firmly with all of her weight on the palm of her hand she felt the latch give under her hand. Once the trigger was released and the counter weight under the door unhooked from the latch behind the door, it was very easy to push the solid sheet of oak and warped pine down and slide it under the other boards.
She had done this so many times that she didn't even think about leaning forward head first into the hole. She knew by heart where the hand holds were inside the shaft, and how to balance with one hand and two feet while she replaced the floor door from the other side.
Descending like a spider down a wall, she was able to exert minimal effort in scaling the stone well, that was like a chimney built under the floor.
Twenty four arm lengths down she climbed, until she felt the tread polished sandstone passage under her hands. Dropping into a low squat, she hunched down into the darkened corner and waited for her eyes to fully adjust to her surroundings.
The construction of these secret scurry ways were centuries old, but many of them had been blocked off by new additions to the compound. Maedra's introduction to their existence had been little more than an accident.
When she had turned fifteen, her supervisors had decided that she was no more a threat to them than the old spaniel set to guard the chicken coops in the grass lots. However without what had been their constant under foot direction, Maedra had found herself lost in an under used corridor and had smacked a nearby wood panel in frustration, only to feel it give in a way that had peeked her interest.
Time had prevented a thorough inspection, however a few days later she had returned and found the immediate hollow passage behind it. At fifteen she was still quite small for her age, and it had been quite easy to fit between the wall panels to investigate the space beyond the wall.
The path in question had lead her down wards a whole man's height to a space the size of a proper corridor with two hands clearance above her head. A couple hundred steps further brought her straight to what appeared to be a slightly lit dead end. The light in question came from a high iron grate that was set deep into the stones, where a small trickle of watery mud sloshed through the grid like bars.
She remembered her numerous attempts to scale the high wall so she could see out of the grate. It had been tricky with the slippery clay mud covering the stones, but eventually she had managed it and had peered cautiously over the sill of the opening to see into the trio-tower arcade that separated the ramparts from the High Alter of Vkandis.
It was constructed of a light gray polished stone that reminded Maedra of an abandoned graveyard more than the highest place of honor for the Sun-God of Karse. Part of the reason for this lonely likeness were the four piles of smoldering cinders that decorated the lower tier platform of the alter. At first Maedra was puzzled as to their presence, until she saw the charred remnants of the Calliny tree.
The Calliny tree, was the hardest wood of all the native species of Karse. The bows of this dense tree were not very thick but incredibly hard and very slow to burn. They could grow up to two hundred hands high and as big as a ring of ten men with only fingers touching around. Only the best and most durable tools could saw or carve this wood, and so only the most masterful of drafters and artisans could work with it successfully.
Because a single tree could withstand the brightest and hottest of god-fires for more than a fortnight, the tree was considered holy by Vkandis and was often used in rituals.
Within the last fifty years, the sun priests had added the smaller branches to their cleansing fires to indicate a sense of holy ritual in their perverted practices.
The corruption of the sun-priests had been going on long before then, into the old days of war between Rethwellan, Karse, and Valdamar, but the burning of innocent children with gifts had been the last straw for many good souls in Karse.
Maedra shuddered a little at the memory of witnessing her first of such practices and rested her thought weary head on her arms that wrapped themselves around her knees. She kept her eyes on the long passage in front of her and waited for the dawn hour when Auna could get word to the others that she had gone.
After all this time in the service of the officers, it would be nothing to explain away her absence from her daily chores. It had been done before, with enough people making the excuses for her or inventing some errand that took her elsewhere for the day, even a captive traitor like her could disappear without notice once and a while.
In a small concession to the hilarity of the situation she couldn't stop a tiny chuckle that broke the tension inside her as she sat against the stone wall. She thought about all the people who were the most dedicated and devotional servants to Vkandis.
Not the priests or mages that pretended to follow the will of Lord of Light, no, the true believers that followed the writ of the old texts. The Walkers of the True Way, as the rebellion referred to themselves, were not so brutal towards their own people. These special and rare few among the many, saw the current Son of the Sun for what he and his constituents really were, lying tricksters.
In the rituals of Vkandis, the Son of the Sun was the only individual capable of lighting a holy beacon said to indicate the true word of Vkandis himself. The relationship between Vkandis and the Son of the Sun was the most pure connection between the Lord of Light and his Chosen One. Like the bond between King and Heir, the Son of the Sun is meant to speak the wishes and words of Vkandis, they are the hand that commands His will. However for longer than most realized the mage priests had been rigging this beacon with false lights created by hordes of mages, intent on presenting a prophet icon that could be controlled to the favor of a corrupt system.
All those who knew and spoke openly of the deception had been murdered, or exiled to the deepest parts of the desert, so deep that they had often died before any nomad clan member had found them.
There were still more military officers who had refused to do the corrupt will of the mages or priests and had suffered in similar ways.
Thus the Rebellion of True Light had been born.
True Lights, as they were called by the mages that hunted them, were widespread and organized on a level that few on the outside of the collective would have believed. Made up of primarily of clerks, and servants, it was surprisingly simple to stay under the radar of the head hunters, mostly because they were in many ways nothing special and often overlooked.
Maedra had been recruited early as a member of the desert alliance, she had been identified as a person of resources even at such a young age. Until the discovery of the old passage system in existence within the Vkandis fortress, her contribution had been embarrassingly little.
That discovery had been a kind of cosmic kick off, because not six months afterward Maedra had seen her first clan member since her capture.
Once in a purple moon, Maedra would be sent outside the battering ram to the palisade with messages from higher rank military officers or their subordinates. On such an occasion, Maedra was waiting for a written reply near the outer gate under the heavy stone crenelated archway when a walnut trickled from one of the archer manned openings and hit her on the shoulder. She had looked up expecting to see the long face of Eldon, one of the regular watchmen, but had come face to face with a silver haired Jemia, one of General Ivorn's best spies.
The woman Maedra had known throughout her young life appeared to be just another archer, it was only the eyes that she had gazed into so many times as a child that gave the older woman away.
Jemia for her part did nothing but point to the fallen walnut and grunt in a masked voice,
"You can have that one." said the rough gritty voice in the archer's window.
Maedra had stooped to pick up the nut, but when she looked back to the crenelation Jemia had disappeared with expert grace.
Once she was safely back in the kitchen watching over a slow cooked stew, she hunched a little in her chair and firmly squeezed the hull along its seams. Inside the hard husk there was no nut, but a thin skin of paper folded ten times into an impossibly small size.
In her corner of the kitchen she was often ignored, but taking no chances she turned her body into the hearth to block the paper from general view. At first glance the paper was clean, but as she held it up against the gentle glow of the hearth fire she saw the intricate fortress map highlighting the rest of the passages that she and the other true lights had been searching for since the initial discovery.
There were no other messages or news, but it was enough to know that their efforts were being watched over by a trusted guide.
Over the years, Jemia had surface only a handful of times, each time she spoke in small irrelevant phrases to accompany whatever she had the opportunity to pass to them.
It had only been in the last year that Maedra had been gifted with the news of Ivorn's passing, or that the clans had met immeasurable losses in their many confrontations with Karse's armies.
None of these events were unexpected, and though she knew that the reason for the long term delay was one of accountability, she couldn't help but suspect that some larger battlefield was at stake. While what the True Lights sought was indeed important for Karse, and all the children of Vkandis, Maedra couldn't shrug the feeling that what happened in Karse played some larger role in the lands beyond it.
Even now, when it was possible that the priests would be coming for them all in the morning, she knew somewhere deeper than sensory instinct that everything was connected to some single purpose that only time and patience could properly reveal.
...
Lord Orthallen stood alongside a long wall, partially hidden by the thick drape of an ancient tapestry. He had no choice but the wait until Lady Halle finished her gossip with Lady Kestor about the happenings and social dysfunctions of her sister's house. The old snippet had been nattering on for almost an hour, soon Lady Kestor would make an excuse to end the dreadful prattle, and then he could finally move.
The courtiers had such simple minds, so predictable, so easily manipulated. They were like strings on a lute, and he was the master player.
Deftly he slid a piece of wood panel inward and ducked slyly into a shallow tunnel and walked half hunched toward the hidden room that was at the far end of the eastern wall.
This series of tunnels dug between the stone faced walls had once served the royalty to escape should the castle ever be overtaken, as was once feared in the years after the last Herald Mage Vanyel's time. Not that anyone after King Sendar would find much information on them, as he himself had altered the histories and chronicles detailing their existence.
The artisans of Valdemar, particularly those in residence within Haven prized themselves on knowing and boasting of their superior knowledge and understanding of all the structural glory that comprised the Palace, the Collegium and the surrounding landscape. How surprised these scholars and engineers would have been had they known how little they knew about the various hidden passageways and inner chambers that existed inside the documented walls of the Palace grounds.
The thought often tickled the elderly man, but of course he could never let such an uncontrolled emotion as amusement grace his features. To be anything less than controlled and stoic, would be unthinkable; to be all powerful he must be what ever person around him deluded themselves into thinking he was.
The tunnel forked to the left up ahead and would lead to a marvelous stained glass window. The window was actually a door that only opened from the tunnel side, to get back through it one could extend a bronze lever downward from the bottom of the sill frame to prop it open.
His business led him past the left fork and onward to a strange rust-colored door that was narrower than the passage but had a slanted top edge. Orthallen pushed it with his balled fist and crouched forward to enter the cramped room on the other side.
The room was hardly bigger than one of Housekeeper Gatha's linen closets. There was only enough space for a single small table and a pair of rickety wooden chairs.
Orthallen sat in the chair that faced the other door that led into the sparse room. Although he had labored himself to arrive on time, he sat languidly, leaning slightly to one side that gave an impression that he had been waiting long enough to become bored.
Keeping one arm partially extended on the table top he lent forward slightly to cast his upper body into shadow, this often made him look more menacing.
As the other door slowly began to open, he began to idly tap his first and third finger on the table to communicate his annoyance of having to wait, knowing perfectly well that his messenger was early.
The messenger in question arrived, with his hood up he dropped a single pouch and a tightly wrapped scroll onto the table before Orthallen.
"Did they take the bait?"
"Yes m'lord, the pin was taken from the body and delivered to the Queen."
"Good, a little scurry and fetch between Karse's envoys and Valdemar should provide enough distraction to keep the Council and the Heralds away from the rest of our business."
"What of the child, what progress has the maid made?"
"It isn't her you should be concerned with, but no matter, the plan continues on schedule."
"Is there anything else I should impart to the Prince?"
"Patience always patience."
A low wry chuckle from under the shadows of the man's hood signaled the end of the conversation. Orthallen reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small coin purse which when tossed, was caught by the right hand of the hooded man. The messenger backed out of the room slowly and when he was gone, Orthallen tapped twice on the solid tabletop before him.
The door to his right opened gently and the Royal Nanny, Hulda, glided in and took up the chair to his left. She was wearing a court dress, probably having just come from an evening of terrorizing the Brat with wicked tales of the evil Companions. It was a detail that had ensured the heir presumptive had kept a vast distance between herself and not only Companion's Field, but also the other Heralds.
Orthallen cupped Hulda's pretty pale chin with a smarmy grip of dominance,
It was a gesture that Hulda allowed him to think she enjoyed.
"I think the Hardornian Prince gets nervous when he can't watch your every move." Orthallen stated, his amusement playing in the smirk he wore as he traced his thumb over her lips.
"I think he worries that my efforts here are not quite worth the time I spend away from him. Such a petulant Prince is he." she retorted as she playfully slid her hand onto the geriatric Lord's knee.
"Just how dedicated a nanny were you to Ancar's education?" he asked almost jealous of her perverted attentions.
"I have simply planted the seeds that will fester well into his adulthood." she answered coyly, as she kissed his fingers before leaning back in her chair.
"But yes, business must always take precedent," he sneered. Orthallen was never naive enough to think that this clever woman in front of him was ever a true ally. Neither of them could or would ever fully trust the other, and it was only powerful forces outside of Valdemar that had brought them together at all.
No, he allowed her to think that she was the dominant figure in their twisted equation, when there was nothing he would have enjoyed more than snapping her clean little neck in his hands. Maybe one day she would outlive her usefulness and he might receive the honor of doing so.
For her part, Hulda played an innocence to Orthallen's real motives concerning her. There was no doubt in her mind that he would rather see her as food for crows then endure her touch or attentions, but she also knew she was far safer playing a submissive servant than to indulge in her true, cruel nature. She was behind enemy lines, and for the moment the role she played now was of more use to the cause.
"It's amazing to me how stupid the castle maids prove to be. They are always huddled in spare corners whispering about this and that heard through doorways or from secondary rooms." Hulda said flippantly.
"And what does the "this and that" tell you?"
"That the Brat is having nightmares of evil white demon horses almost every night, and that the Queen and her precious Herald's Own are having quite the audience with Sir Baronal and his wife, Lady Fynna."
"That's the lesser noble holding to the east that Talamir offered to send the child to?"
Hulda nodded before continuing,
"Yes, they are expected at the equinox feast to meet with the Queen in person."
Orthallen considered this tugging at the long whiskers framing his jaw and hiding the ghastly scar under his chin. The silence proved too unnerving for Hulda who restlessly pressed on.
"Should we accelerate the demise of the designer?" she asked cryptically.
"No, it would draw too much suspicion, the original time line will allow us better protection of our resources. There isn't any harm in letting the negotiations proceed. Selenay would never agree to send Elspeth before her sixth birthday, that alone will give us the time we need to deal with Talamir."
Hulda eyed his speculatively but nodded her consent to his words. In the right pocket of her dress she rolled a small cylindrical vial between her fingers, delighting in the cool glass against her skin.
So small a thing to do so much damage, she thought ruthlessly.
It had taken her ages to perfect the recipe, although having an unsuspecting test subject in the nursery had been of great help. Used once and a while the dark red liquid in the vial could aid in the unnatural disruptions of sleep due to trauma or disease. However continued use, even in small amounts, over long periods of time and the subject would begin to loose the sharpness of their memory and would begin to experience nerve sensitivity in their extremities. Slightly larger doses over a period of a few months would trap toxins in the blood and weaken the bodies ability to fight off illness and eventually lead to painful heart failure.
She idly remembered the first test subjects reactions to the drug.
Lord Orthallen narrowed his eyes at his beautiful counterpart as an evil little smirk on one side of her mouth grew into a creepy and devilish smile that matched the sadistic flash of her eyes.
Redirecting her attention he moved on to other business.
"I have news about the recruited Fox girl"
Hulda's smile vanished and her eyes snapped up to meet Orthallen's.
"She has been positioned within the curriculum as a special instructor, and she is only teaching a specific percentage of the students, particularly those who are within a year of earning their whites. It seems that Selenay has been persuaded to continue the ancient Heralds position of Special Messengers. Miss Fox has been chosen to begin the training for the first generation of said title in four hundred years.
"We must be very careful of these developments, for they could prove to be troublesome for our allies."
Hulda said nothing but leaned forward in her chair deep in thought.
"What have you discovered about her relationship to Herald Alberich?"
"The gossip mill paints them as lovers, but one or two rumors of their previous affiliation is something you might find interesting."
"Previous affiliation?"
Hulda almost gave herself away in her urge to smile at knowing something that the great Lord Orthallen didn't.
"They knew each other in Karse." She sneered.
"Inventive rumors," Orthallen scoffed.
"Usually yes, but these tidbits came from two senior Heralds."
Orthallen looked at her hard then.
"You overheard this yourself." It was not an inquiry.
Hulda nodded.
"This could prove to be quite valuable information," he mused.
"Oh it was," Hulda said withdrawing her left hand from under her cloak and setting a good sized leather pouch onto the table between them.
Orthallen hesitated a moment before reaching for the parcel. He didn't need to look inside the bag to know there were gems inside, the raw cleaved edges of the unfinished stones slide under the leather between his fingers as he weighed the contents in his palm.
Hulda allowed herself to show a smirk as Lord Orthallen's usually stone cold expression slid back and his lips never more than a quirk, stretched into a disgusting smile of glee.
The two perpetrators locked eyes and said in perfect sickening unison,
"They are summoned."
…..
Talamir was at his desk in his rooms.
So often he could be found here, late at night working on some report, list or letter for the morning, or a lengthy declaration to present to the Council, but not this night.
The single candle that had led him through the first part of the evening had guttered out an hour ago, but the elderly Herald had not stirred to relight it. The wax was still tall over the iron edge, and the letter he had begun at sundown was still unfinished under his hand that rested on the cold table.
Talamir had not moved for hours, his eyes were firmly directed towards the night sky outside his window, but he could not see it. He held a determined set in his jaw and the glassy reflection of his gaze would have been all too familiar to other Heralds, but to the untrained eye he might have looked dead in his chair.
Suddenly and without warning Talamir raised his fist and brought it down hard on the table as though it had mortally offended him. In that instant his eyes cleared and he hung his head exhaling a breath he had been unaware of holding in a defeated rush.
Talamir shut his eyes in frustration when he felt his eyelids release some of the water he had been trying to keep at bay. He was so overwhelmed. He could neither protect his queen, nor convince his own companion about what must be done for the sake of Valdemar's future.
Rolan had not been the Companion that choose him, but as a fellow spirit of them all, he had hoped that the dutiful entity would have understood him enough to know that his course of action was the right one for Valdemar. Instead he had met with utter opposition to his plans, and the stubborn voice of a companion was hard to resist when in a mind lock with one.
In the end each had agreed to disagree, but a compliance of silence would be kept.
Talamir knew that it wasn't within Rolan to give up on his Herald, even if it served Valdemar to do so. The elderly man knew with every fiber of his being that this quality of Rolan's would be perfect for the Herald that came after him. No doubt that new Herald would need this relentless reassurance of faith, but this old man had seen too many things, and had learned too many enduring truths.
Rolan would not betray his mission to the others, but the Stallion could never condone such actions no matter how noble the intentions behind them.
Rolan felt a familiar and mighty presence next to him and gazed sideways into the equally blue eyes of Orestes. The two creatures did not bother to mind-speak, the gravity of the situation rested heavily on their shoulders whether they realized it fully or not, and for the moment just being there beside the other was enough.
Companions were usually open and social with the others, and so it was noticed by more than one set of blue eyes that on the edge of Companion's Field two stoic silowettes were sharing an isolated and silent moment at each other's sides. The silver hoofed others looked between their friends and up to the glittering sky searching for answers. For a sudden feeling of threat could be felt in each creature's core as swiftly as it was manifesting inside of Rolan's mind.
At the very same time, every Herald alive in the world felt that same unease crawl into them;
In the north end of the Herald's Wing, Keren and Ylsa rose from their chairs, tea forgotten and let their hands rest on their sword hilts.
Skif had been readying for bed but had suddenly crouched under his window, trying to make his breath as quiet as possible.
Alberich's head had come up from his book, and he had drawn his dagger while turning to Marie who had not moved an inch from her chair. Alberich noted that though her body had gone as still as a statue, it was only the resigned look in her eyes as they found his gaze that gave any hint of anxiety.
Rolan looked to his fellow Spirits and felt their Chosen's fear and saw their plagued dreams. His head hung a little lower to the ground in a show of resigned emotional fatigue.
"Once more", he spoke to his fellow Companions.
If anyone was looking at Companion's Field, they would never remember the beautiful blue white glow that mirrored the heavens above them that night. Each Spirit horse seemed to ebb a soft ethereal essence in exact rhythm with the brightest stars, it was more beautiful than the eldest days of the universe when the first solar fires were ignited by the gods.
As the light that resided in each Companion faded from the atmosphere, so did the hearts of their Chosen ease, and all but four Heralds would remark of the night's trouble as little more than a strange dream.
….
A/N: I am writing my first novel, and while that has become my first priority I will finish this story too!