Veil of the Dragon (Prophecy of the Evarun) (12 page)

“When Malius married your mother, he broke away from the other Servian Lords. We thought that one of the Fallen Ones had been redeemed. And for a time your father, Malius, served our purpose with us, and protected us from the other Servian Lords. But with your mother’s death he resumed his fall. Her redemption of him was but for a moment. His exile of you was her final wish, to protect you, even from him. And perhaps from us as well.”

The Mother stood, her gaze still fixed upon the gentle flickering flames. “It was against my wishes that Al-Aaron came for you. But it would seem that what once was, has begun anew. Tell me, Chaelus, what is the greatest task of faith?”

“I wouldn’t presume to know,” he answered.

The Mother raised her stare to him. “Then perhaps indeed you are the wisest among us. Yet I believe it is obedience to what you cannot see. Patience is its greatest gift.”

“Patience?”

“Yes,” the Mother said. She looked upward. “They prepare for a war against an enemy they have never seen, yet one which already dwells in the darkest parts of their hearts. They’re restless and they’re afraid, and they’ve forgotten why they’re here.” 

“Why are you here?”

The Mother turned to him. “We wait. We wait here to prepare the way for the Giver, but the binding of steel is a false symbol to the one who still suffers death. There is no armor that can protect one from the Dragon that already waits within. The Dragon’s own dark prophecy has been set in motion and it can’t be undone. The Dragon will suffer no will against it and not even the wisest amongst us will be spared. All that we know will be washed away. Only then will our great hope arise. Only then will the Giver return.” 

Chaelus stood. “Then why do you speak words like ‘savior’ to me?”

“Like I said, there are many different kinds of death, and too many things have already been said in your name. Already, the silent voices, the whispers, they chatter. There is something about you that neither they, nor I, understand; something powerful, something dark. The blood of the Fallen flows within you. So too does the blood of the Evarun. It’s the blood of your mother, whom your father saved and eventually wed in defiance of the other Servian Lords.”

“My mother plays no part in your prophecy,” Chaelus said.  

The Mother held his stare for a moment, then smiled. “You know that she does. The shadow over her past was its own warning. I know you remember it well. You knew it well on the day we first came for you.”

Chaelus remembered his mother’s voice, like crushed flowers, soft and worn, from beyond the shadows of the curtains where he’d hidden on the day the Mother had come to see his father.

“Don’t turn from me, Malius,” his mother had said. “You know this must be. He must be protected!”

“I will protect him,” his father had said.  His father’s breath was silent and heavy. “I will protect him. He’s my son.”

“He is our son. He is my son. This is why he must go. You know this.”

“They once spoke such things of you, my love, but you are still here. Have I not cared for you?”

Chaelus had strained to hear the words of his parents as the rap of staves echoed across the hall towards them. He remembered the whisper of Magus from the other side of the throne. He remembered the sound of his mother’s footsteps as she ran away.  

Chaelus had parted the heavy curtains with care.

A woman with graying hair, flanked by two like men, had stood before his father. All were cloaked in black with the circle and the mark of the prostrate cross emblazoned upon their chests. Cloth-bound swords hung from their waists, even hers.

The Mother had been beautiful then, but already hard-faced from care. The two men held cautious eyes, those of Maedelous the narrowest. They didn’t kneel, only bowing their heads slightly towards his father.

Chaelus’ father either hadn’t noticed the infraction, or hadn’t cared.

The Mother had stepped forward of her companions. “It is good to see you, Malius.”

“Olivia,” Chaelus’ father’s voice had hovered then, it seemed, on the edge of sadness. “Why have you come?” 

“You know our purpose here, Malius. Don’t pretend otherwise. We have honored your request so far. Now we’ve come to ask you to honor ours, and his mother’s as well.”

His father had listened, his face contorted, as Magus leaned over beside him.  He then sat forward in his throne. “Is that why you bring these serpents with you, to better threaten me?”

“Mind your words, Malius. They are foolish and false. We know they aren’t yours. We know the forked tongue of the one who whispers to you.”

“Don’t be so sure. I remember very well the poisoned words of the one named Maedelous who stands beside you.”

The Mother softened. She stepped towards him, unafraid. “You’ve fallen, Malius. Your vows have long since been broken. Fulfill this one last promise while you still can.”

His father continued. “No. I won’t let you take my son.”

“He’s not yours to keep.”

“It is my blood that flows within his veins,” Malius spat.

“So too does another’s, and you cannot protect him from the fate this has brought upon him.”

Malius stood. “I already have. Now leave.”

Chaelus’ memory withdrew from the eyes of a boy and passed to the eyes of a younger man.

The bronze hilt of his father’s sword, Sundengal, shimmered in its scabbard beneath the light of the morning sun. It was powerful, just like his father who wielded it, just like he would be one day.

“Chaelus,” his father said. “Come to me.”

Chaelus lifted his eyes from the sword where it hung at his father’s side. He eased the small gray mare he rode up beside where his father sat tall upon his own black steed. His father didn’t turn to him but remained looking past him, to where the mountains fell away. 

“This is our fate,” Malius said.

Beneath them, the Vicarus wove its wide course leagues away, a golden mirror shining along the base of the Kessel, to which the eastern plains beyond descended. The round white tower of his father’s House stood tall like a fist, keeping watch from the wooded hills above it.

“It’s what we are, what we have built upon everyone that has passed before us.”

“Who were they?”

“The foolish and the weak. Those who wouldn’t learn.” 

“Will the Dragon one day return?” Chaelus asked.

His father smiled. “Only if we don’t remain to keep it at bay.” 

His father turned his mount from the precipice, leading it back down the hill. “Come my son, perhaps tomorrow I will tell you more, but today your mother worries. She waits for us with Baelus below.”

The pleasant coolness of the morning had already passed. Clouds gathered above the plain. To the east, they descended into a wall of gray haze that shifted as it neared, growing beneath the hooves of a thousandfold.

Chaelus turned his mare and yelled out. “Father! Riders approach!”

His father had already disappeared.

The clarion call of his mother’s horn cut through the morning air.

The forest blurred past Chaelus until he found them.

His mother looked both strange and beautiful, leaning against the sage-like boulder along the hunting path down which they’d come. The arrow was deep, its crimson feathers worn and savage, the rich blue of his mother’s dress swollen dark around it. 

Chaelus dropped the reins as he jumped down. He knelt, silent beside her, his father already cradling her within his arms. 

Her lips trembled upon her pale face, the gentle forest shadows dancing upon it. “The horn.” 

His father stroked her hair, his hands shaking. “We heard it.”

“The Khaalish. They’re back. Baelus is safe within the tower. But their scouts, they found me. I’d come to warn you. ” 

“Chaelus saw them.” His father’s voice trembled. “We took flight to you even before you sounded the horn.”

“Is he with you? Is he safe?”

“He’s here.”

She sighed. “Promise me...” She fell weak as a choking cough overcame her.

Tears streamed down his father’s face. “Anything. I will do anything, my love.”

Her eyes grew fierce again as she continued. “Send him away, Malius. Send him far away from this place before the shadow which consumes it descends upon him.”

“I’m sorry, my love.  I’ve done this to you. I shouldn’t have taken you away. You shouldn’t have to die. This should never have been for you.”

“It was my choice. This has always been my choice. All is at last as it should be. Now you must promise me.” His mother sighed again as she closed her eyes.

His father stiffened, choking back his tears. “Aalyanna, I will do everything you ask.”

The Mother’s voice dispelled his dream.

“You take the blood of them both with you to Magedos,” she said. “As to which your fate will choose, I cannot say.”

Chaelus wavered between the scented warmth of the chapel and the pull of the past which still held him in its grip.

“I’ve come to gain my kingdom back,” he said.

“So you say again,” the Mother said. “Your kingdom means nothing to me. Soon you will learn that your desires and your life are no longer your own. Perhaps you are who you do not yet claim to be. Perhaps you aren’t.  Either way, you must understand that everything you know is no longer safe. Not even here.”

“You need not warn me of the deceptions of Maedelous and his kind.”

“It is not to the machinations of man that I speak. The Dragon which hunts you is far too clever to be so bold. No. It’s the very thing you depend upon the most – it’s of this that you must be wary.”

Chapter Eleven

Col Durath

The subtle glow of moon and stars broke the ruined stone arch above him. The whispers of the Synod had passed, even those that followed him as he’d left through the cloister around the open hall.

Chaelus leaned out over the fluted and pitted stone window sill. The craftsmen of the Evarun may have held no equal, but even their skill couldn’t prevent the loss that time, or prophecy, could bring. The forest floor descended amidst the crumble of the ruined tower beneath him.

It was with a whisper that this had began. It would be with a whisper that it would end. Blood on fallen snow and a whisper in the dark. The name and memory of his father ran deep amongst the Servian Knights, but it was a memory stricken by legend and myth. It was a memory bereft of anything he knew.

What is the best way to tell a lie? To hide it in truth. So Malius, his father, had done to him. 

The stares of three in particular had followed him after the Synod: Maedelous, the Goarnii, Al-Hoanar, and another who stood with them, one he had not expected to see here, one from his life before; Cullin, Roan Lord of the House of Soloth.

Chaelus’ old brother at arms and childhood friend had not retreated from his disbelieving stare, nor from the poisoned company of Maedelous. Neither had the question retreated from Chaelus as to why Cullin was here. The Roan Lords had long ago lost any charity for the machinations or schemes of the Servian Order. Yet here was one he had once thought was his brother, here, just like he was.

He exhaled and climbed out through the broken window, lowering himself to the tumbled slope of broken stones. The vestige of a path wrapped around the slope of the hill beneath it, leading back to the ruined stairs of the Synod. To his right, the secret valley descended into mist, to where hearth fires of the Servian Knights smoldered in the distance. 

The knotted mass of a fallen tree bordered the path, nestled amidst moss and undergrowth
.
The forest loomed over him, tangled and dense, the trees closer here than he had seen since his passage to this place. Beyond the rotting log, a small path climbed up through the stunted mounds pressing up between them.

Two statues of gray stone, set apart from the gaunt white ruins of the valley, rose from pedestals on either side of the narrow path. The
ir
face
s
had been removed, not by time, but by
v
engeance or regret. Chisel marks had left unmistakable trace
s
upon them, leaving them silent to the act as they waited, their gossamer
-
bound swords still held in both hands, pointing towards their feet. 

The path climbed unmarred by the malice of the wood itself.
Ye
t darkness still claimed it, cloaked from the light of the moon, the caryatids alone st
an
d
ing
to guard whatever secrets it held. 

Chaelus climbed over the log and between the reach of the two solemn guardians. A cold wind whispered past
.
 

The mounds, half buried tombs of gray stone like that of the statues, lay scattered across the hillside. Dark holes stared back through their moss
-
covered portals, the passage through which the souls of their owners had once been let to pass. The branches of the forest hung dark and saddened about them. Another, smaller path led off between them. The chill of the place deepened as he passed
.

Near the crest of the hill, the forest opened
.
The gray ghost
s
of ruins reached up into the moonlight.

Chaelus stepped up onto an open court. Another statue, one the height of two men
,
sat on a pedestal at its center, looking northward.

Chaelus followed along the curved edge of the broken walls. To the north, the heights of the forest stopped beneath them. Beyond them, beyond the bare gray hills of the Abadain, the sky trembled above the black wall of the Karagas Mun, no longer a distant vision. 

The statue stared northward with empty eyes, his weathered face lost like those at the base of the hill. His hands rested upon the sword within his lap. The tip of the blade had broken off, but traces of lines still remained upon it to reveal the image of the binding it was meant to portray. Worn steps, carved into the front of the statue base, led up to him, as if the Servian Knight portrayed there had climbed up to sit upon the chair himself, before his flesh had be
come
stone.

The remembered footfalls of Cullin drew
close
behind
Chaelus.
He
lowered his hand to Sundengal’s hilt.

“Do you know the story of this place?” Cullin asked.

Chaelus turned in silence.

Cullin stepped out like a ghost from the path. The silver sigil of the House of Soloth, a chalice over a setting sun, hung pronounced amidst the furs
over
his chainmail coat. At his waist, his broad sword hung unsheathed, its steel blade bound by gossamer.

The eyes
i
n Cullin’s stoic face smiled. “It
’s
here
where you’ll
find the loneliness that awaits you, my friend.”
He
placed a red fruit, clutched within his hand, to his mouth. Its juices fell fast between his fingers. “Chaelus, of the Roan House of Malius.”

“Tell me then, when did you abandon your own?” Chaelus whispered, nodding to Cullin’s
gossamer bound
blade.

Cullin barked the briefest of laughs. “No, I am no cleric of this. But I am no fool either. I am only their guest, one who will not share in the ignorance and folly of our brethren. As we speak, the gates of the Evarun stand open for the Khaalish to again pass freely through. But to the north, an even greater darkness stirs, one I do not claim to understand but one I fear more than I do my own death. The Line which guards against the Dragon has been broken. Those who watch it have fallen. So I have come here to watch it myself.”

Damp leaves lifted up around them as a gentle breeze awoke. The smell upon them wafted stale, reminding Chaelus of the graves he had just passed.

He stiffened. “This place is forgotten.”

“No,” Cullin said. “It’s waiting. It is the Mont of Col Durath, the Gray Chair. This, my friend, is the Watchtower of old.”

“What does it wait for?”

“For the signal fires to be lit again. It waits for the return of the Giver, the One, the one who will return them to their purpose. There are even those who believe it waits for you.”

Cullin seized Chaelus’ hands in his own. A smile cut across his face. “It’s been long since we’ve met, my friend.”

Chaelus backed away. “Since you betrayed my father’s House.”

Cullin’s voice lowered. His eyes narrowed. “There are many things for which many of us must be forgiven.” He stepped forward. “Yet I did not betray your father, Chaelus. I was with many who grieved at the loss of both Malius and his House, but I could no longer stand beside you and watch you take the same path as he.”

“It would seem that his House isn’t lost yet.”

Cullin shook his head. “To your brother, Baelus, and all who knew you, you’re dead. They remain ignorant to the truth of this. Already there are some who have begun gathering their colors to him.”

“I seem to remember that my father trained Baelus in war and the Measure well.”

The corner of Cullin’s mouth turned down. “Hold no doubt that there are many who follow Baelus closely. Already they circle like vultures, waiting above him. I’ve kept watch over him, as closely as I’ve been able.”

Chaelus turned away.

“Your father’s loss was not by my hand,” Cullin said. “Nor do I believe it was by yours. Your father’s death came long before breath ceased to come from his lips. I’ve been told you’ve already seen enough to know this.”

Chaelus felt a dull pain. 

“If you knew this,” he asked, “why didn’t you stop him? Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Because he wouldn’t see, because you couldn’t see, just as I couldn’t see, as young Baelus still can’t see now. I know that you know the whispers he hears.” 

“He won’t hear them much longer, even if I fail.”

Cullin placed his hand upon Chaelus’ shoulder. “I’ll leave you here amidst the solace of the stones. But the truth that you seek isn’t here. It lies with the dead that wait beneath you. There is more in this than you know, Chaelus, Lord of the Roan House of Malius. Your path has already been laid. To gain what you seek, you mustn’t turn away from it.”

“I don’t want this.”

Cullin turned away. He raised his head to the night sky. “Then leave it, but don’t mourn the passing of all that’s been given to you. Your desire will succumb before the truth, just as you will if you continue to seek your own solace. If nothing else, know it was for this that your father fell.”

Beneath Col Durath, the mist parted
from the
narrow path amidst the tombs.
Ye
t the chill of the place remained. The path ended before one of the mounds, a tomb set apart from the others. Small white flowers crowned its top.

Chaelus passed his hand over his brow and his own dark crown that sat there.

No opening broke the surface of the door’s bright white stone, nor was it as aged as its companions. It glowed against the night between the damp leaves pressing against the virgin moss growing upon it. 

Chaelus fell to his knees. 

He drew his hand across the face of the tomb, pressing the leaves gently aside as his fingers traced the fluid engraving beneath.

Aalyanna

Chaelus cleaned the remaining leaves and moss away until only the fluid script of the Evarun that spoke his mother’s name remained.

Around it circled a seamless script with neither beginning nor end. Chaelus had seen it before, had copied it even from the pages of dusty tomes in the halls of Lossos. It was a blessing; one, it was said, that the Evarun reserved only for their own.

Chaelus picked one of the small white flowers atop his mother’s tomb, and yielded to the memories he knew were no longer his alone.