An unexpected explosion tore throughout one of the tower walls and a terrible beast was blown free, afire, and it screamed, a sound so terrible, the staff in the castle proper fled, wailing in terror. But he was blessed with other forms of awareness, so his lack of vision was only of limited concern most of the time.Īs he came to the final bridge between the castle proper and the king’s personal tower, he heard the sounds of combat and the sounds of conjured flame sizzling through the air. He could not see these things, vision was denied to him, an accident of his birth, he was told. After his return, his war-gear was cleaned, repaired and returned to him, as good as new by the armor-technicians, fresh with new qubar coatings, new protection wards and plated with the family colors of red, black and white.
Their craftsmanship had stood him in good stead during his Quest Year. His new armor and weapons were a gift from the Queen, upon his eighteenth day of birth ceremony and he wore them with great pride. There was no better mage-smith in the kingdom. There was the potential for a fatal injury but the Queen, having made his armor reassured him. He would meet in the King’s private training arena in the far tower and the king would preside over his inauguration or his defeat. This is an accomplishment that could not be denied, could not be claimed, as so many of his successes were, a matter of mere chance. That he was a noble, but born of the Ur-Selig Court. Then everyone might forget his shame, his failure of birth, his slavery to the kingdom. The thought made him smile, inwardly.Īs a member of the Red Guard, he would wear the anonymous red armor, fully covered and able to be hidden in plain sight. Today, Cuculane was prepared to graduate. Only if he could go undefeated against them, would he, as a graduation exercise, face them all. Then each potential recruit would be forced to battle each of the Red Guard in single combat. Each had to best one hundred of his battle-brothers and many perished for this considerable honor. These were twelve of the king’s finest warriors masters of numerous weapons and sorceries arcane, they were chosen from thousands in the kings army. His normally dour mood was buoyed by the idea that he might be allowed to become a member of the king’s personal defenders and bodyguard. As his eyes burned with restrained tears, he thought of how differently today had started…Ĭuculane was on his way to the western tower, striding in his war-gear to partake of a training exercise with the king’s Red Guard. The thought stung his eyes, blind though they were, and tears streaked his cheeks, but they did not stop his progress nothing save Death could. No matter how monstrous, how unforgiving, how demanding he was, the only father he had ever known, the High King of Avalon, Fagan the Cruel, Firelord and Master of Caer Caleban, was dead and Cuculane had loved him. No day before this had ever kindled this new level of rage, and he thought no day would ever again. He channeled that rage, into his power, for his power grew best when stoked by his fury. The wind carried his all consuming rage, a spicy scent, as his power grew within him. His footfalls ghost-like, his legs blurred through the undergrowth, whipping up a trail of dust, grass and leaves.
0 kommentar(er)
