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TCoR: Prologue

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PROLOGUE



King Albane, who was never to be a King at all but became one owing to a sudden twist of fate, sat at his throne, his limbs stretched languidly before him. On either side him sat his twin nephews, Ciaraen and Cael, both of whom wore identical looks of blatant contempt which they fixated upon their oblivious uncle. Sprawled before them across a long wooden table was a stained, torn map depicting the Land of Aethern. The King pulled a bone-handled dagger from its sheath at his hip and drew a ragged line down the parchment, tearing streak down the middle of Raithern.

"You will follow the River of Remembrance-" He began to say before the tall, dark haired and light eyed man before him interjected with, "Just as I always have done,"

A frown furrowed the King's brow. "Do not speak out of turn, Elthen. You would do well to remember your place,"

"Uncle," Ciaraen, the elder twin, said, "What Elthen has said is true; he has travelled these lands many, many times before. Surely there is no need-"
The King slammed the dagger against the table which fractured the wood as it embedded itself there. "I do not recall asking, nor requiring, your opinion, Ciaraen. Hold your tongue,"

Ciaraen's chair toppled over from the momentum at which is was propelled backwards. The fuming Prince's golden eyes were narrowed upon his aging Uncle, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I think it wise to remember your place, Uncle. For you shall rule no longer once I take my rightful place as King of Southern Raithern." And with that he stalked from the room, the slam of the double height, wooden doors reverberating off the old, grey stone walls.  

"Your brother certainly needs to get his temper under control, Cael,"

Cael shook his head, pushed away from the table and the King, and followed his brother without uttering a word.

"Whatever am I to do with them, Elthen? I have practically raised them after their father died and their mother became too ill to even leave her chambers. What more do they want? Ciaraen is the Royal in Command of the Warriors and Cael has his lady minions and more coin than any young Prince need. I fear for the South when they take the reigns. This place will fall to pieces…"

Elthen shuffled uncomfortably and fiddled with the various weapons strung across his belt. "They are ungrateful, King Albane. You are by far the superior King in both generosity and ferociousness.  Without you, this war would not be on the brink of conclusion." He lied.

He could still remember, even though he had been much younger then, the first King of Southern Raithern. Aelion had been kind and just, where Albane was greedy and sordid. The mysterious disease that spread across Raithern and stolen so many lives, had taken not only the true King, but Elthen's parents as well, leaving he and his younger sister, Calene, to fend for themselves. Thus Elthen was thrust into a life he had not anticipated. He had longed to become a Warrior, just as his father and mother were, but instead became a cunning thief, renowned for his ability to escape at the very last possible moment. That was until King Albane found him, and offered him a deal: a life as his personal spy -thus committing several kinds of treason against the opposing Crowns - or death in the dungeons.

So there he was, not quite a free man, yet not exactly a captive one either, standing before the man he was supposed to call King, awaiting yet another mission. He had ventured back and forth, from the North to the South many times before and it was always the same message that he brought back  - the next war was imminent. Always right around the corner like the twilight waiting for the near-end of the day.

"This time, however, I wish for you to get as close as you possible can, Elthen. In order for that to happen I want Lucian to accompany you," The King spoke of the Castle's healer and the most knowledgeable man when it came to magical enchantment. Magic, in many different forms, was like a loose thread, connecting the Royal family together whether they wished it to be so, or not. It frayed outwards to very few other humans who did not bear the Royal insignia, and there was a rumour, spread from the Castle itself, that Lucian, being as powerful as he was, was in fact the King's illegitimate son.  "We can no longer take chances on those darned Northerners that pride themselves on their battle ability. A few of them managed to get past the border only a few moons ago and we cannot have that happen again," Albane continued, absently stroking his cropped, black beard that was shot through with grey.

"There is no need for Lucian to accompany me," Elthen tried to assure him, "I can more than manage on my own. I will have Alaeron with me," He spoke of the messenger eagle that flew back and forth between himself and the King. Unbeknownst to the King, however, was the fact that Alaeron would sometimes detour and take messages to Prince Ciaraen, who knew Elthen to be one of his closest allies.  

A wicked gleam glinted in the King's pale gold eyes, "Yes, I do believe Lucian shall be needed here after all." His gaze strayed from Elthen's face, focusing on the view framed by the arched window to his side. Grey clouds gathered ominously in the sky, dimming the light the sun otherwise would have shone down upon the forest that encompassed the Southern Castle. A storm was brewing, bringing with it untold change, the scent of which carried on the decaying autumn leaves as they once again began their fated dance to the forest floor.

The King's eyes snapped back to Elthen. "Depart, now. Not later. The heavens are warning us," He waved a hand, "Go!"
The Crown of Raithern © Kayla Lamb 2010/2011.
Written during NaNoWriMo 2010.

Some characters are inspired by the amazing artwork of the talented M.L Versini or =OceanLord. Other similarities to previously published works are purely coincidental unless otherwise stated. No part of this original work may be replicated in any form unless permission is received.
© 2011 - 2024 nonsensica
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