Prophecy.
By Jim King Above the well armoured knights the sky was a leaden grey, overcast with dark clouds and shot through with balls of foul green fire falling toward the lands below. More demons from the skies come to kill all who lived and to corrupt the very land into some version of hell dragged from nightmares. The knights themselves stood beside their horses, heads turning to sweep the area around them for any sign of movement, the flash of pale green glow that would herald an attack by the demons. "My Lord Silavy, scouts coming back. All of them this time." The man who spoke was dressed in travel stained leathers over woollen tunic and trous, his hands rested on the short sword and dagger at his belt and even while speaking his eyes moved from side to side. "All of them, then..." The knight raised his voice. "The scouts are coming back, they all survived, make ready, this may well be the place the prophecy promised, where the demons do not tread." The knight lifted a gauntlet encased hand to rub at his face, hiding his deeply lined face and white shot beard behind battered dwarf forged steel , the armour he had been gifted so long ago by a grateful Dwarven city. Another knight spoke, taller, slimmer, his armour more graceful and still gleaming silver in patches. "Well Tristan, this could be the end of our quest. Find the girl, fulfil the prophecy, save the empire, go home at last. If there is anything left to go home to." "The capital is the best defended city we have, the noble orders, the Arcane halls, the Imperial war college, the Emperors guard, strong walls, magical wards, a thousand years of enchantments. Your family will be safe." Tristan looked around the clearing in the tangled woodland where the party of knights stood, a dozen knights, a dozen men at arms, servants and advisors, and a wizard. "Safer than we have been." Tristan placed his gauntleted right hand on the taller mans shoulder, the broad hand almost covering the dainty Elven shoulder plate. "Your family will be safe Atheal, just make sure you get home to them." The tall figure nodded, lifting one hand to touch the left side of his face through his open visor, the skin marked by scars from some fire, the side of the helmet blackened and melted at that exact spot. "The demons won't get me old friend, not after all of this." Tristan looked at each knight, staring at their coats of arms, at the rust and dirt that covered their armour, at the scars and burns on the metal and cloth. "Keep thinking like that. So few left, a hundred knights, the very best of all the noble orders. Each man or woman with a squire and another hundred men at arms and servants. We lost so many, cut down like grass against the Demons." The Elvish knight Atheal tapped his breastplate with his right hand. "We lost the weak, those who were just soldiers in armour. The few who are left are so much more than that now, hardened in the fires of war against the demons. Nine humans, two elves and a dwarf, each now a hero. Our armour is no mere metal, it is skill and courage and will to live bound to steel, each of us has taken blows from demons that would tear a lesser man in two, that is not just the steel that we wear. Our weapons are strength and courage and a determination to succeed, to save our world, no mere steel can cut through the hides of the strongest demons, yet ours do just that, simple metal enchanted by those who wield it. We are few but we are a far greater force than set out three months ago. We owe all of that to you my friend, to your leadership, you persuaded us that the prophecy was real, you found the mage and you led us to the book and across the very world. We have lost much, but we have gained far more and if this is the place spoken of in the prophecy, then the salvation of the world awaits. Lead us onward Sir Tristan. Lead us on." Other knights and men at arms echoed the call then fell silent as the three scouts ran up. "It's clear my lord." "Valleys safe, not a sign." The third scout waited till the other two had spoken before reporting to the. "My lord, we scouted the valley, it's clear, not a sign of bale fire, not so much as burnt grass. No stench of demon corruption, it's like the demons have never been there. Whole valley looks like that, we went halfway up and it was the same everywhere. There's a house up there too, no walls, no defences, but not a sign it's been attacked." "Tell him about the smoke." "Ah, and smoke, from the chimney of the house, like a cooking fire." Sir Tristan Silavy, looked at the rest of his company, men and woman who stared back, hope burning in their eyes. "Mount up, be ready for an attack and pray to your gods and goddesses that this is it." Some among them raised a cheer, quickly stifled as every man and woman looked around them, peering into the dark forest, looking for, seeing... Nothing. They swung up onto their horses, several working hard to pull themselves up, one man in mail helped up by a young man in torn wool when his right leg quivered beneath his mail coat. One knight among them was all but lifted into the saddle of a warhorse, to some chuckles. "Pah, a pox on the lot of you." The Dwarf cursed from beneath his beard, his armour creaking as he moved his rear from side to side in the human saddle. "If my war pony hadn't fallen I'd have used this thing for food. Riding to war on a horse, my clan will never let me forget this." With everyone mounted and chuckles following the Dwarven knight Sir Tristan led the way through the woods and out into the grassland of the valley, endless green as far as the eye could see. "By the sword. No fires anywhere, no sign the demons ever landed here. Mage, remind me again what the book says, the prophecy, how will we know the woman who can turn the bale fire against the demons." In the middle of the group of riders a liver spotted hand, fingers long, thin and wrinkled, rose from the depths of a brown robe that was clean and un-damaged, in contrast to the clothes worn by everyone else. The hand pushed back a hood to reveal a head and face, deeply wrinkled skin and a bald pate, eyes that seemed to glow a pale blue from deep within dark eyelids. "The book says we shall find the girl, born to wield the power of the bale fire, she who shall stand unharmed at the altar of the temple of the World Ender, and turn back the demons, to drive them from this world forever and banish them back to the realm from which they spawned." "Yes, yes, how will we know her again." The old man paused then fumbled with the draw strings of a large pouch at his belt, finally he removed a small leather bound book set with hinges and a lock of green bronze. Opening the book the mage ran his fingers across the pages then began to speak. "She shall be born upon the day of Conjunction, when the three moons shall be seen in the sky together and shall merge as one, the light of Astora shall shine upon the land to bless her birth, she shall carry a mark, the sign of Astora upon her flesh, by her birth and by the bolt of lightning shall she be known to us. As you know my lord, the day of conjunction happens every six years, but the light of Astora is seldom seen on that day, it was last seen on the conjunction that happened sixteen years ago, so the girl we seek will be fifteen or sixteen years of age. The mark of Astora will be upon her somewhere. The book says we will find her in the place untouched by the demons power for her birth and very presence shall make the land holy and protect it from the demons touch." Sir Tristan looked around. "This place is certainly untouched by the demons." Beside him the Elven knight lifted his sword a little then dropped it back into the scabbard. "Fifteen or sixteen, for an Elf a mere child not to be allowed from the house without supervision, you humans grow up so quickly, but even so this girl can be little older than a child." "Young she may be but if she has this power, then while any of us live she will reach the altar. I'll not expect her to be a skilled warrior or mighty mage, though who can say what form her power takes, but whoever she is, she can ask for no better escort." The elf nodded and opened his mouth to respond but he was interrupted. "House ahead, people watching us." Every eye turned to follow the curve of the dirt track they followed and looked upon a sprawling farm, white plaster walls flaking in large patches, a thatched roof darkened and beginning to rot, patches of green where grass was growing on the roof itself. A handful of horses in a fenced enclosure beside the house, and two people, a generously sized old woman holding a broom and the thin, unhealthy looking man of middle age holding a hoe. The riders came closer, watched by the two at the farm, then sir Tristan raised his right hand and the entire group stopped. "Mage, come with me, everyone else wait here, watch for danger but let us not scare this girl too much." The two rode forward another fifty yards then stopped, the man took a step backwards, the woman hawked and spat into the dust. "Good woman..." "Don't get many knights out here, you lot been in a war or someat?" "We... What, yes, of course, the demons, we fought our way through the demon armies, three months we have travelled to reach this place, to find your... Granddaughter I would think." "Me granddaughter, what you be wantin her for, who in the three hells be you?" The woman raised the broom, holding it as if it were a fighting staff and sir Tristan hid a smile. The mage nudged his horse forward a step. "You speak to Lord Captain Tristan Silavy, Knight commander of the order of the silver eagle, general of the Crimson host, Paladin of Kal'Darak, and champion of his Imperial Majesty. We come to fulfil the prophecy, seeking the girl who holds the power to drive back the demon hosts and save our land." "Me granddaughter. Power. She ain't got any powers, no demons round here anyway." Sir Tristan raised his voice a little. "The prophecy says the girl has the power, we will escort her to the place where she will use her power and save us all." He turned to look at the man who was standing in the doorway to the farm house, constantly moving his head to look from the knight to the inside of the house and back. "Are you her father?" "I ain't done nothin." "I am not saying you have, it is your daughter we seek, where is she?" The old woman drew up her considerable bosom and glared at the knight, "Me daughter an granddaughter are round the back in the vegetable gardens but I ain't sure about this prophecy or any such nonsense." "Round the back." Sir Tristan shouted then nudged the flanks of his horse and turned its head toward the side of the house. Behind him the other riders started moving forward. "Here, who said you could go round there!" The old woman's cry was ignored and sir Tristan and his mage pushed their horses past piles of reeds and trimmed branches stacked alongside the house them came out behind the farm, fresh tilled earth before them and two figures bent over planting seeds in the furrow rows. "Young lady, I am sir Tristan Silvary and I must speak..." The knight fell silent, the two figures stood and turned to face him revealing their faces, a woman of thirty perhaps, and a child of eight or nine, both with the same straw blonde hair and light brown eyes." "Where is the other girl, the one I seek must be sixteen or so, woman, where is your other daughter?" The woman looked confused then pulled the little girl closer and behind her legs, "please, leave my girl alone, she's done nothing wrong." Sir Tristan turned in his saddle and looked intently at the mage. "There must be another girl somewhere, or could it be one of these?" "No my lord, the prophecy is clear, born on the day of the conjunction when the light of Astora burns in the sky. That was sixteen years ago, it cannot be either of these two." "What about the mark, the sign." "What you talking about now knight, me daughter and granddaughter have done nothing wrong." "No, not them, we seek a girl, sixteen years of age, living here. What..." He stopped speaking as he caught the look exchanged between grandmother and mother. "What, you know something. Tell me." "Me daughters first born would have been sixteen this year, she died, came down with a blood cough near ten years ago. We buried her other there." The old woman used her broom to point to a lone tree some distance from the house, mounds of dirt beneath the wide spread branches were planted with spring flowers and made a riot of colour against the green. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO. The prophecy, how, it can't be." Sir Tristan howled at the sky as a cluster of green balls flared into existence, flying overhead and vanishing beyond the hills to the north. The mage tore at his pouch and pulled out the book, frantically going through the pages, his lips moving as he read the words. The rest of the group rode up and began to speak all at once, a babble of voices the... "SILENCE. Mage, the prophecy, it has been correct, every detail, we have followed it exactly, how can it be wrong now?" "My lord, I... I, don't know. It has been correct at every stage, every part of it has been fulfilled, the clues we followed, the cave, the fallen tower, the beast in the pool, every part has been correct. It cannot be wrong now." The mages voice quivered and his eyes began to glisten. Sir Atheal nudged his horse closer to the two women. Both looked up at the Elven knight and began to tremble, the little girl buried her face in her mother's skirts. "Elf lord, please, not my girl, don't take my baby, not a changeling." The elf stared down at the mother. "Your first daughter, my hearing is excellent so I heard, she died of a blood cough you said, are you sure she was dead, she may have had some power that..." "She's dead, leave em alone, ya don't scare me Elf, leave me family alone." The elderly woman was brandishing her broom like a club now, both hands holding it near the top of the handle, the bristled end being waved at the knights. Sir Atheal turned his head toward his old friend, "we must be sure, if she was the one the prophecy spoke of and she is truly dead. But if she was not the one then the girl we seek is still out there somewhere." Sir Tristan snapped his head around to stare at the Elf. "Yes, of course, this valley is huge, who else lives in this area old woman?" The old woman hawked and spat again. "Why?" "Because it is possible the one we seek was not the dead girl here." "There be three more farms up the valley, the towns over the pass and..." "TOWN! There is a town here, how many people?" "Bout three hundred I guess, an the farms beyond there." Sir Tristan's face glowed, his earlier fears now gone as he realised the prophecy had not been wrong. "Up the valley then and search for the real girl we seek. Of sixteen years and with the mark. The prophecy still guides us." "What mark sir, what mark do you speak of?" The little girl's mother asked with fear in her voice "What be this prophecy thing?" The old woman interrupted. The mage answered, the knights were gathering in a group at the edge of the vegetable gardens and looking up the valley. "The prophecy we follow says a girl shall be born on the day of the conjunction when all three moons are in the sky and the Light of Astora bathes the land, she shall bear the mark of Astora and shall hold the power to defeat the demon horde. The conjunction of all three moons happens every six years but the Light of Astora burns bright in the sky on the same day only every fifty four years, the last time it happened was sixteen years ago. So we seek a sixteen year old girl, born on that day." "What is the mark, my first born didn't have a mark." "It will be a birth mark or some other sign upon the skin, like a lightning bolt and probably silver or white as that is the sign of Astora." "My girl didn't have a mark like that." "Of course not, the prophecy would not have failed us, the girl we seek is alive, in this town or the other farms. We will find her, the prophecy says so." Sir Tristan called to the mage then nudged his horse into a trot, the other riders did the same and the mage chased after them as they quickly moved further up the valley, eager to continue their quest. Behind them the little girl came out from behind her mother's skirts, her father came out of the farmhouse and the old woman walked to join them, all four standing and watching as the knights, men at arms and servants vanished into the distance. "Granma?" "Yes little one." "That mark, the one they was looking for, he said a lightning bolt. Just like yours." The old woman laughed then rolled up her left sleeve, the skin was wrinkled and darkened by a lifetime on the farm, there was a birthmark, silvery white against the tanned skin, running from the elbow to the wrist. If you looked at it just right it really did look like a bolt of lightning. "Maybe like mine, but I sure as the three hells ain't sixteen, not sure but well passed sixty, if I remember right I was sixty a few years afore you were born. For sure I can't remember being sixteen. Anyway, enough wastin time, these crops won't plant themselves." The old woman rolled her sleeve down again and with a last look at the cloud of dust that was all that remained of the questing knights she went back to sweeping the farmhouse, and in the distance, thunder rumbled. Or maybe it was the laughter of the gods. |