For Drahkonia's Honor - Prologue

Prologue

Somewhere, through the darkness, a distant steeple's clock chimes twelve times, signaling the dawning of a new hour and a new day.  It's a special day. Likely not to be forgotten for ages by many men, nor for lifetimes by those who live through it.



The lone rider crosses the plains at a gallop.  The sun is only now beginning to rise over his shoulder, and he wants to put as much distance between him and those who would follow.  Riding through the night, as he had, would have already put leagues between them, since they would not have discovered his absence until the morning.  Right about now...  So much the better, really.  It may cause some trouble for him later on, but that is not something that crosses the rider's mind.  His focus is set on the pounding of his horse's hooves, the road beneath them, and where it would take him.  It had been a long time.  A very long time.  Reaching up with one hand, the rider pushes away the hood of his grey cloak.  The wind rushes through his hair, tousling it even more, whipping it behind him, over his shoulder.  Toward the sun rising. 
         
         He would give his horse a rest soon; let it slow to a trot or, more likely, a walk.  He was in a hurry, but not enough to let the beast die of exhaustion.  He doubted he could ever be in such a hurry...  Though he shouldn't think such things, he notes silently.  For it is situations like those that arise at inopportune times and force one's hand to something they had not previously thought themselves capable.  Tugging gently on the reins, the rider in the storm-grey cloak puts the thought from his mind.  It does not do to dwell on such things.  After all, there were many miles yet to go before he would reach his destination, and many matters of import to attend to once he gets there.  Not the least of which would be delivering his message to the king.



Somewhere, through the darkness, a man stands amid glowing tapers of carved and crafted beeswax, their mismatched scents entwining and encircling his person, though he pays it no mind.  His focus is on the patterns-the circles and runes carved, elaborately, painstakingly carved into the stone floor on which he stands.  He checks them over once, twice, once more before stepping within the swirling, runic grid.  He closes his eyes.



It was early spring in the kingdom of Drahkonia.  No snow lingered still, but the mornings were not yet free of frost or chill.  A few early, eager buds could be seen trying to make their way to daylight and to full bloom, but ever were they found chilled to the root, dusted with the pale shimmer that let others know it was still too early in the season for blossoms.  But the days were warming, causing the farmhands and ranchers to roll up their sleeves after the midday meal.  Yet the hearths still warmed the houses at night, and children still slept close to the fire.
         
         It was spring in name, though not yet in reality-in being.  It would come soon, everyone was certain.  One could tell just by the way the air smelled of rain even with not a single cloud in the sky.  Or by the way those few flowers tried so hard to bloom.  Though most especially by the lengthening of the days.  Dusk was starting to come later... a source of joy for the children who, after finishing their chores, were allowed to play until the twilight hours.  Then it was home for the stew mother had been simmering over the hearth all day, for the stories father would tell around it afterwards, and for the exaggerated, falsified versions sister would tell the young ones when all were sent to bed.



Somewhere, through the darkness, a boy crouches behind a door too poorly shut.  One eye, wide with some intoxicating mix of awe and terror, watches through the space between door and jam.  His ears twitch at the unfamiliar, yet altogether disturbing language coming from the man standing amongst the candles and runes.  The darkness swirls, seethes, undulates.  He closes his eyes.



The frost had dissipated into a fine mist by late morning, causing the lone rider to pause in his hurried ride at the sight of a small pond, allowing both him and his horse a rest.  The horse, a dark bay mare, stood not far from the man now, grazing in the wet, surprisingly verdant grass of the plain.  He'd been teased at first, for choosing a mare for his steed, but she had a spirit to her that he could not ignore.  He had trained her, and well at that.  The men had not joked about it after the first time they saw the two of them-man and beast-work in tandem. 
         
         While the horse grazed, stretching its neck and resting its legs from the hard night's ride, the man in the storm-grey cloak found a rock on which to rest himself.  He'd been awake more than a full day now, judging by the height of the sun behind him.  But sleep wouldn't do for him.  Not yet anyway.  It wasn't much farther to where he was heading.  And there were those following him to consider as well, though that which was behind the rider was never as high a priority for him as that which was in front.  He'd reach it by dusk, he guessed, if he was reading the landscape correctly.  Then he could deal with all of the many complications, each in their own time.
         
         He whistled.  The bay mare raised its head and whinnied, approaching the rider almost immediately.  She stood perfectly still as the man pulled his weary body up into the saddle.  "Not much farther to go, Yissa," he whispered soothingly.  The horse bowed her head in acquiescence and the two were off once more, gliding over the plains at a canter.

Continued in "For Drahkonia's Honor - Chapter 1"  ASR: The story begins in the palace of Drahkonia