Ynorr stood at the crown of Barkhad tower, overlooking the oceans around. The prophesied day had come. Thaed’s word demanded it. He glanced once more at the darkened heap that, seven hundred years before, held the birthplace of the mighty Bodolaeth empire. Few understood the destruction of Epave. But, Ynorr had an inkling. There was a reason Emperor Matei ordered the mages to be hunted just before great Epave became a blot on the pages of history.
Looking North across the waters, Ynorr fixed his gaze on the fog-covered forest surrounding one of the surviving kingdoms of that time. Aculas, if he was not mistaken. The massacre there. Imperial forces slaughtering those with even an inkling of magic in their blood. It was no wonder to him why the Runewood trees grew there, making his order possible. He caressed the staff in his hand. “What’s wrong, child?” the voice spoke, deep and without ornamentation. “Do you have such little resolve? You, who speak of purpose. Would you ignore yours?” Ynorr turned his dark, weathered face to his Eldritchron, Akraam, who sat with legs crossed. Akraam sat still; unwavering gaze with skin so cracked and timeworn, no one was certain what color it had initially been. He glared at Ynorr with piercing mauve eyes. “This is a fool’s prophecy. Thaed’s hand has guided me here, yes. But, to betray the Order?” The Eldritchron smiled wryly. “Bold of you to question Thaed’s dark guidance. Moreso, when you bear his daughter’s mark.” Ynorr absently touched the spot beneath his robes where the mark of Sielik had been etched into his flesh. Akraam said, “Maranath, he who walked the mists, and first Eldritchron of the Order of Sineaters. He was clear in his prophecy. You are the Sineater who rejects our teaching. You will be the one to end the hunting of mages. Sielik demands it.” Ynorr looked to the moon above, it’s black coloring somehow bright against his eyes. “Sielik, Elder? The holy daughter has never been more silent. Many of the prophecies have been false.” Akraam whispered, “We men can be so hasty, that we cannot see the fortress until we have crossed on the mountain behind it. The fault is not in the prophecies. It is in your desire to see them bear fruit.” “I don’t understand,” Ynorr said. Lifting a hand, Akraam traced runes before himself. The air came alive with vibrant energy, a strange blue aura. “Whether it takes a day, or a decade, the consequences of this tower’s destruction will ripple through our world for generations. Whether you and I are here to see them through is an irrelevant matter.” Ynorr squinted in the glow of his Eldritchron. “It is true that I dislike the hunting of mages by our order. I am not the only man who bears the mark of Sielik. No man bearing her mark can work peace. There is only Order in her law.” The old Akraam appeared lifted in the air by unseen forces. “Just who are you, to define order, law, and peace. Like me, young one, you are a mere speck of dust to the holy daughter Sielik. It matters not what you wish.” “I suppose I’ll be punished for this,” Ynorr grinned. “But, of course. Though commanded by Thaed in service to his daughter, you still betray the Order of Sineaters.” Lifting his staff, Ynorr clenched every muscle, letting the power flow through to his staff. “Better to betray you, than Thaed and Sielik.” “Indeed it is.” Akraam said sadly, bringing his hands together as closed fists. Shining blue chains shot from the stones of Barkhad tower, grasping Ynorr. They did not restrict his movement, but he felt their power. Akraam vanished just as Ynorr twirled his staff overhead several revolutions, using its ornamented head to carve runes in the air above and around his body. Slamming the staff to the stones below, a surge of power burst forth, rending stones from one another. The tower, and all it held, crumbled beneath him. Above, he saw a vision. Past, present, and future all collided in this place. Buildings, plants, and flameless lights he had no names for towered above, a dark storm on the winds above. Above all things, he saw that none would study magic in this tower ever again. Indeed, his end would come soon enough. A flash of the dark blade that would take his life brought with it an odd sort of peace.
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AuthorLawrence Henry is an aspiring author with more caffeine than time. BTW, here's some of my thoughts on a few varied subjects. Archives
July 2023
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