Absence of Light - Prologue

EA 270

Heyde Castle

The boy is dressed in green velvet. Though he is not old, his posture is regal, his back straight, his eyes clear and attentive.

“The country rests upon the shoulders of the regent”, says the man with the red hair. “For the country to prosper, the ruler must be wise.”

“My father is wise”, exclaims the boy.

“That is true”, says the man with the red hair and continues his lecture. “For the country to be strong, the ruler must be strong. For the country to withstand enemies, the ruler must have the will and the courage to defeat them. A powerful ruler will bring glory to the country.”

The boy’s eyes are gleaming. He remembers the stories his tutors has told him, tales of famous kings and queens of old. Elven lords, grand and terrible in their magnificence. The boy knows his family tree by heart, he can feel the blood of his ancestors course trough his veins, and he is ready to burst with pride.

“Remember”, says the man with the red hair now. “Remember this. There are people of lesser blood who will view a strong ruler with envy. It is our duty to our forbearers to strike against all threats to our lordship. We are great for a reason. In our blood, the Lady has invested the power and the ability to rule.”

It is early spring and they are standing in the courtyard of Heyde castle. The trees does not bear leaves yet. The branches are bare, with only tiny little buds that has a few more weeks to wait until they might dare to burst out and become green. It is still cold this far up north, but the sun strives to bring a little warmth to the people below. The red-haired man and the boy, whose hair is golden, have been here all morning.

On a staircase nearby sits another boy, somewhat older than the one below. His hair is red as well; a shining copper shade. His eyes are brown. He does not partake in the lessons, for his father realised long ago how little good they would do him.

He sits and watches, on the cold stone, and his eyes see more than just what is in front of him. Some say that young Rhodri Merret is gifted with foresight. Rhodri himself thinks of it more as a curse. There are times he wishes that he could tear out his eyes. Maybe that would stop the visions.

Young Rhodri belongs to one of Jirac’s oldes families. He can trace his bloodlines all the way back to the famous firelord, Cienád Mereti, who once ruled the north with steel and rage. It is a heritage to be proud of, as his father, sir Brian, has explaine time after time. Rhodri still wonders. He is more concerned with the future than with the past.

The man and the golden-haired boy below have their swords out now, beginning the familiar training routine. Prince Aidan has spent all winter in Heyde as a student to Jirac’s best swordsman.

Rhodri watches and the only future he can see coming from this is filled with blood and pain.

EA 291 - twenty years later

The Royal palace of Andalad

For the royalty, not even dying is a private event. People are gathered around king Raymond’s sickbed. The Royal council is here. Members of every major family in Jirac. General Mariza and general Creban of the Royal Army are standing, or sitting, in general Mariza’s case, in the back.

The crown prince is kneeling beside the bed with the king’s frail hand in both his. The grieved expression does not reach his eyes, but his head is bowed so no-one can see it.

Rhodri Merret keeps himself in the background. He would rather not be here, wishes this moment to be kept private, within family. But it is an important event, one of the crossroads in the timeline.

The room reeks of illness. Death is written in the king’s face, has been for a long time now. This day has been expected and prepared for, everything to make the shift of power pass smoothly.

“Choose your advisors wisely”, whispers the king to his son, all the strength gone from his voice.

“I will do that, father”, says the golden-haired man. Rhodri knows that there is already poison in his mind. Something dark, growing, twisting, turning. But Rhodri is the only one in the room who is aware of this fact, and it is not his place to question the future king.

“May the Lady keep her hand over your reign”, whispers the king, the last words he will ever speak. Then he closes his eyes and is still.

He breathes for ten more minutes. Rhodri can feel when his spirit leaves his body.

“The king is dead”, says baron Merret, and then puts a hand on Aidan’s shoulder. “Long live the king.”

Aidan places a kiss on his father’s forehead and then he stands up, his back straight, his eyes gleaming. His body is shaped and hardened by war. Rhodri studies him from the shadows, tries to see the proud golden-haired little boy in the man. Only the pride is still left.

The future, more clear now than ever before, is filled with fire.

To be continued…

A/N - and we are away! This prologue contained a little glimpse into the past, and a clue to what made Aidan the man he is. And once again, my characters proved that they know far more about what’s going on than I do. Rhodri Merret was not supposed to have a big part in this story, but then he stepped up and protested, and he can be very convincing.

If all goes well, the first chapter will be up tomorrow or the day after.

All updates will be announced in my livejournal. I hope to be able to make them quite regular this time.