New inspiration

Note: I think I can go somewhere with this one.

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The court was abuzz with the latest palace gossip, a light hearted counterpart to the dark murmurs which carried the latest news from the front. The war was going badly and everyone knew it. Even so, some confidence, fueled by the brilliant sunlight shining through the massive crystal windows, burned on, for the King was in good spirits, albeit bad health, and his heirs were both popular and gifted. Of course all that pressure didn’t sit so well with the younger of those two boys as he tended to worry a lot.

“I’m telling you Ivan, charging out recklessly into the front lines will not help us at all. I know you think you’re invincible, but I’ve run the calculations, and you have just under a 2% chance of survival, let alone victory.”

Davin Truesight strode along side his older brother, his impassioned speech falling on mute ears, or so it seemed. It was a common misconception that Ivan, dressed in a gleaming mail shirt and dashing purple cloak, was the impulsive and reckless one of the two, although he was older. Davin knew better. Even so, Ivan Swiftblade had been given his name for a very specific reason. He loved to fight for perceived justice.

The older of the two siblings sighed as he continued walking. “I’ve told you before little brother, I know that between us; you maybe the wiser and more calculative of the two, but morale is falling on the front! That’s why we’re losing. You can’t say that my appearance will not aid the effort. If my life will boost the spirits of our army even a fraction, it may mean the difference between victory and defeat.”

Davin shook his head in frustration and let out a vexed groan. Covering his eyes he muttered in a very audible voice. “I can’t believe I survived without parents for 12 years with you as my older brother.”

Well used to the jest, Ivan just shrugged and smiled. “It helped that my brother was the brightest student in school.” He said nonchalantly.

“You’re damn right!” agreed Davin, adjusting his dark blue cloak around his shoulders with a slight huff in an effort to hide his smile.

Soon the pair approached their destination, the throne room, with its surprisingly full galleries of nobles and VIPs who were sitting in their usual factions. To the brothers, it seemed quieter then usual, although there were less empty seats then expected on a beautiful day like this day. It seemed that the noised dropped even more as the herald called out their names with well practiced bellow.

“Ivan Swiftblade, Duke of Rhoar, Heir to the throne, Commander of the Raven Guard and his brother, Davin Truesight, Nephew to the King, Chief Magi of Phel, request audience with his Majesty, King Davidos!

“Hail King Davidos!” declared all the people in the room.

At the end of the room, sitting on his polished wooden throne, King Davidos looked over from his conversation and smiled at the two young men, whose presence always brought light to his eyes. “Come!” He called, beckoning with one hand.

In unison the brothers marched down the hall, resplendent in their respective uniforms. As a young magi, Davin had forgone the traditional pointed hat, more for fashion reasons then any other, and left his hair short, using one of his special potions to keep it nice and spiky. His brother, even ready for battle, walked with his winged helmet under an arm, double edged sword firmly belted at his left side.

As Davidos watched the pair approached, he smiled sadly, seeing his own brother in every step that they took. It had been the greatest of tragedies that had taken his younger brother Kelvin along with his young wife Dana almost 12 years ago. However God’s hand had been at work and the heirless king now had two sons to call his own. Even so, it was a bittersweet bond for them all.

Ivan and Davin knelt into identical bows as the approached the dais

“Your Majesty” they said in unison.

“Rise my sons, and be at ease,” replied the King before continuing, a saddened look spreading on his face. “Or perhaps not at ease rather. I have brought you here to give you dire news, and to speak of a plan that has been decided upon.”

The brothers exchanged glances; they had heard the latest reports from the war. However word of any decision TO be reached had not been noted. Surely they, with their respective positions, would have been the first to know of a potential plan.

The King cleared his throat, and continued.

“You may have heard that we fight a retreating battle against the forces rallied against us. I fear that morale is weak, but also we face a force of greater numbers, and indeed capability. Indeed, as we are now, we had no hope of attacking and a slim chance of standing our ground.”

A gasp rippled through the court, albeit a quiet one, for many had known the gravity of their situation. The brothers exchanged another glance. The King had never spoken so openly at their helplessness.

“We need help my sons, or else all of Phel is doomed.”

Conversation begin to bubble around the court, and soon everyone was talking for the king was considering an alliance.

Davin stepped forward. “Your Majesty, as one of your chief advisors, I recommend strongly against this action. Phel has never had to make an alliance with any other kingdom. For all know that many untrustworthy nations live around us, constantly engaged in violence and war amongst themselves. They turn sides at the drop of a hat; that is why we have always been as we are.”

Ivan also stepped forward, “I agree with my brother, surely the situation is not so dire. There are many strategies that had not tried. Let me lead the Ravens to the war front, and lift the spirits of our army!”

Davin hissed softly and elbowed his brother in the side. Forgetting that his brother’s mail shirt was quite stiff, he succeeded only in bruising his arm and making a light sound. With a stronger hiss, he swore under his breath. Ivan just smiled.

The court had grown quiet again at Ivan’s words and the King could see several young nobles nodding in agreement with the young warrior’s counsel.

The King shook his head with a rueful thought, wondering if he had truly been that proud and confident when he had just reached adulthood. Indeed, he had expected better from both his sons, but nevertheless, with or without their initial consent, there was only one path to take.

“I’m afraid, there will be no discussion nor disagreement with this plan. We decided.”

For the third time in a minute, the brothers exchanged a glance at the King’s use of the royal plural. Davin cocked his head, and Ivan raised an eyebrow. However when his brother’s eyes narrowed, the older of the two sighed in defeat.

“If that is the case your Majesty, do you perhaps have an ally in mind?” He asked, hoping for more information to satisfy his brother’s ever calculative mind.

“Indeed my sons,” replied the King, looking meaningfully at Davin, “however, there is time for that later. For the moment let us make preparations for your departure.”

Both brothers were politically minded enough to know that the King wished to continue the conversation in private, and indeed both recognized a dismissal when they saw it. In perfect harmony, they turned and began to walk towards the door, accompanied by the flood of conversation being stirred in the galleries.

Suddenly, Ivan turned and bowed before the throne.

“My King!” he began, walking quickly back to the foot of the dais, “I have a boon to ask!”

Davidos smiled slightly at the confused look on Davin’s face, even as he nodded his consent to his heir.

“Let me take this quest alone, leaving Davin behind. Should I fall, or even should I not, he is by far the more suited of us to take the throne. During this trying time, you will need his advice more then ever before.”

The King’s laugh echoed throughout the Hall, surprising a good many of the younger and more serious nobles. After all, this was a serious matter, one that could decide the succession of this Kingdom.

“Dear Davin,” chuckled the King as eyes turned to the younger of the brothers, “you should see the look on your face. It reminds me of the time when I too asked that my younger brother be left behind while I went out questing. “

With a great deal of effort and will, Davin drew his features into a semblance of decorum, hiding the dozens of emotions which floated around his face, even as embarrassment was added to the mix.

Facing Ivan, the King continued. “Your request is noted, and well meant at heart. However this will be a most trying ordeal, one that will require every ounce of your courage and even bit of your brother’s guile. Without each other, you will surely fail; as corny as that sounds.” The King chuckled once more. “No Ivan, you were both born to do this together.”

As the two walked down the hallway Davin glanced at his brother “That was awfully condescending and pompous of you.” He whispered spitefully.

Ivan’s response measured. “You know as well as I do that you would make a much better King then I would little brother, so it makes sense to leave you behind. We can’t have you dying now can we?”

“Bite me.”

***

Thalassa 1/?

The floor pitched and rolled under her feet. In the darkness something with damp, matted fur scampered over her feet; she kicked it away with a stifled intake of breath before it could decide if it wanted to carry on with its journey or stay and sink its teeth into her flesh. She wouldn't make much of a meal for it, anyway; it had been two days since her meagre rations of food had run out and she would have to break into one of the boxes of provisions stored in the hold soon. In an hour, perhaps. The ship's crew had mostly gone to bed some time ago.

Footsteps sounded directly above. She drew herself further back into the shadows, in her living space in a corner behind a stack of boxes. In her week out at sea, she had had many false alarms, but she never ceased to be vigilant. She had no illusions about what they would do to her if they discovered her there.

The door to the cargo hold opened, and booted feet tramped down the wooden stairs. Rats skittered away to their own corners. She heard a low, masculine voice muttering absently, and raised her head slightly to inhale the fresh sea air. She longed to feel the breeze full on her face, instead of the cloying, stinking air of the hold.

"Where has that rum got to - ah! Already!"

Peeping between the boxes she caught a glimpse of part of a lion's mane of hair and intent eyes examining a box of empty bottles with dismay. She ducked when the eyes swung around the gloom of the hold in search of more rum, lifting a little lamp in his hand. She knew who he must be, the hoity-toity passenger the rough seamen muttered about, the young royal ambassador they'd been forced to accommodate on their voyage. She wondered if he knew half the things the men said about him, none of which were complimentary, and all of which were rather graphic. When she replaced her eye at the peephole she used, she saw he was now commencing a search of the boxes lashed down in the hold, and a trill of fear ran down her spine at his systematic thoroughness.

"Perhaps," he muttered - and staggered as the ship listed and rolled. The box of potatoes he'd opened tilted, sending tubers rolling across the floor, mostly in her direction. She flung herself low, and the sound of her pounding heart nearly drowned out his exclamation of, "Cap'n'll have my hide!"

Her world was dark. She had closed her lids to hide the whites of her eyes, the gleam of her irises. Potatoes rolled against her feet and knees. She thought again of the methodical way he had searched the boxes earlier and felt dread. The scraping footsteps came closer, closer.

Let it be done with quickly, she thought, and as if in answer light flared in front of her eyelids - a dim flame by most standards, but after her time in the dark, it blinded her.

When she could see again, she saw the young ambassador standing above her, the golden-red mane framing an impassive face.

"You don't look to me," he said matter-of-factly, "very much like a potato."

---

A/N: For Josh: a casually written, lighthearted bit of fantasy (with perhaps a dash of romance), instead of my normal doom and gloom - writing is meant to be fun! ;)

Also perhaps for Claire, as an apology for the last eye-burning sea story she read from me, and for Shan's delayed resurrection, and for not getting around to bringing Anya to life yet. Claire is a demanding wench and I can't keep up! :P

Decisions.

Jenny was feeling antsy. Or did a word even exist that described the emotions roiling inside of her guts? It was impossible for her to express, and luckily, there was no need to at the present moment, not verbally anyway. Before her lay two paths, of the non literal variety, and she was unsure which to pick.

On her plain wooden table lay two letters each that led too very different decisions.

Once more her eyes scanned the first paragraphs of each. The first, on her left, was lettered in eloquent and beautifully styled cursive, yet the very uniformity and perfection of each letter told him that it had been printed and not written.

“Dear Mrs. Archer,

We, Her Majesties’ Royal Academy of Performing Arts, would like to congratulate you on your successful application to join our prestigious school. With only 1000 of the world’s top young musicians, dancers and actors, this is truly an accomplishment of which you should be proud of.

Even as she read the words again, a cascade of self fulfillment, achievement and a strong sense of pride filled her heart. She had worked hard for this, and it was her right to go!

Yet the other letter contained words which were not will formed, whose paper was dirty and yellowed.

To Jenny,

Hey beautiful, it’s me, I don’t know if you’ll get this, or if I’ll see you again. I just want you to know that I love you, and will forever, in this world or the next. If you’re reading this letter, it means that I have been missing for at least a month. Attached should be my last known location. I don’t want you to come after me, it’s too dangerous… but I don’t want you to get angry with me, even if I’m not around anymore.

Slowly something began to rise up the deep within her gut. The lump moved to her throat, then, with increasing speed, out of her eyes and down her face. Tears had begun to flow, tears of frustration, anger and grief. Why her? Why now? How could that irresponsible jerk gotten himself lost, or worse even killed, at this precise moment? At exactly when he should be around to share this victory and accomplishment with! Why had these letters arrived on the same day?

Looking up at the ceiling, she cried out to the one person with all the answers. Her voice was broken, and in one of the rare times, she didn’t know what to do. “God, I know you’re out there, you’ve watched over me from the time I was a baby. You have guided my steps since I was young, shown me the path which I should take. Now God, please, light my way once more.”

Silence echoed through the house… broken only by the quiet sounds of her sobbing. Suddenly a light began to glow outside the window, a soft yellow glow that began to build in magnitude and intensity with each passing moment. At first she didn’t notice, but when she did Jenny stared in wonder at the phenomenon, knowing that it was dark outside, and there were no streetlights on that side of the house. Then, without warning, a bright flash, almost like an explosion, went off inside the room, yet there was no force or no heat.

When all had faded, the young woman opened her eyes, blinking away the spots. It was then that she noticed the table. One of the letters had been burnt to a crisp.

She had an answer.

Redemption

Prologue

The wind whistled and moaned over the red rocked dunes, mounds of rust colored earth which constantly encroached on the small dirt road that ran like a scar through the sand. Along this path, almost indistinguishable from the surrounding desert, walked a cloaked man, the edges of his gray robe fluttering wildly with the sandstorms whims. The incessant noise drowned out all thought and it was impossible for him to see beyond a foot in front of his face. These conditions would be fatal for any normal human, yet still Darial walked on, the few footsteps behind him dead straight, heading unerringly towards Jerusalem. To him, the elements were like children, noisy but harmless, infants in a cradle.

Slowly the sand began to settle, and in the hot afternoon sun, the hazy image of a large city began to form, shimmering in the distance. Pace unchanging, Darial continued to press on, right hand clasped around the sheathed sword at his right hip.

Even as he approached the gate, the cloaked figure began to make out a blanket of darkness which stained the sky above the fabled city. With that realization, his steps began to quicken, for though he had come because of a rumor, he hadn’t truly believed such a tragedy could truly take place. Soon he was racing through the streets, the city flying past in a blur of brown. His cloak flowed out behind him revealing the ragged white robe that he had on beneath his grey cloak, the remnants of a former glory.

Above him the darkness began to thicken and, in a strange way, pulse with a strange sort of malicious anticipation. Even in his speed, Darial was aware of his surroundings, and what he sensed only filled his being with more horror. It was all about to take place as he had been told… and really there was nothing he could do about it. Finally he reached the end of the city, and came to a stop, his sandals sliding on the gravelly ground. Almost instinctively his left hand half drew his mighty double edged sword, but just in time he stopped.

Before him stood hundreds of figures who could only be described as demons. Faces twisted with pride, greed and rage, each was more grotesque then the last. They were monstrosities of dark blue, purple and black, some huge and some the size of small children, lounging in a ring. In the air were thousands upon thousands more, the flapping of their wings creating a sound like the moaning of a thousand lost souls as they formed a dome of sheer darkness.

The mass seemed to be in very good spirits, cackling with hideous laughter even as they watched the events taking place on a small hill a bit outside the city. There, three cross were erected, and three men hung, dying.

Darial felt the world around him spin sharply, even as he slumped down against the side of the gate on which he lent. To go into that cesspool of evil was suicide, especially for him… but to leave things as they were, how could he live with that shame on top of all the things he already regretted. Would his immortal life be one of endless pain and torment? Was that to be his punishment?

He sat there for hours, looking for all the world like a normal man, resting against the gate. All the while he watched in agony, indecision and inner turmoil. Even through the darkness and the earthquake, he didn’t move. Only when the body had pronounced dead as water and blood flowed from the side of that man in the center did he quietly depart. The mocking sounds of triumphant laughter from a hundred thousand throats followed him. It would not leave him for a long time.

It was finished.

***

Inspiration

It didn’t happen that often, at least that’s what he liked to think, but Jason could do nothing but stare at the blank screen, helpless to continue. Writing might be his passion, and his main livelihood, but even for one such as himself; sometimes the words just stopped flowing. It was known to the world by such an innocent phrase, “Writer’s block.” However, ask an author or a writer of any description and they would say that “Writer’s block” is but a mild euphemism for a horrible and painful scourge which must have originated in a place far from any light.

Yet, for every problem, a solution is but one thought away, however long and convoluted it may be, and for this re-occurring issue, one which plagued the young man almost daily, there was but one simple answer. Inspiration.

With an audible sigh, the lanky and fair skinned writer initiated his computer’s shut down procedure. There had been nothing on the screen, and thus there was no use in saving. With a quick jaunt around his cramped study, he slipped the essentials of life into his pocket and was soon out of his small two bedroom apartment, staring out at the sidewalks of the city.

For the moment, Jason lived in Melbourne, a pleasant city in the south of Australia, known at one point for being the most livable metropolis in the world. It was said that the major factor that went AGAINST that decision was the weather, and on this cold and blustery winter’s day, it might have seemed obvious why, yet as with many things, there is often more then meets the eye.

Stepping into his car, parked as it was ungainly on the side of the street; he slammed the door shut and cranked the ignition. His present mode of transportation was an old red Ford Laser, still functional and actually a decent vehicle truth be told, however that didn’t stop him from yearning for a new ride, something to impress, but not scream for attention. However today, the seeker of enlightenment had more important things in mind, and without another thought, he punched the gas.

Weaving (the only true word to describe his driving) through the early afternoon city traffic, the author began to reflect on the events of the day… of the past week… and then on the past month. It had been a tumultuous time, one with a great many obstacles and upsets… but yet equally, one of great joy as well. It was an unusual paradox, a stage in life where people often never find themselves.

The sound of a horn shattered Jason’s musing as the green light before him shone steadily for all to see. As his car lurched forward, the young man ideally wondered how long the light had been green for… it was unlike him to be so distracted.

Just ahead the Botanical Gardens beckoned and he began to look for parking spots. At this time, the process should have been easy, and soon he was rewarded with a bay not meters from where he habitually came when he needed to clear his mind.

Stepping out, Jason headed for the nearest hill and as he reached the top, the clouds broke around him and the sun began to shine all around.

There he stood, on top of a great hill; before him, bathed in glorious yellow sunlight, lay a wide open plain that stretched in rolling hillocks for as far as the eye could see. The entire area was covered in yellowing grass swaying back and forth with the fluttering of the warm summer wind leaving ripples on their backs. Far in the distance sat some cows sat, calmly chewing their food, watching with docile eyes at this intruder into their world.

Then slowly the sound came, a dull roar that began to crescendo with each moment. At first it could have been mistaken for a single, drawn out note, but as the noise grew, Jason could begin to distinguish the individual rhythms that merged together in a chorus and harmony which was not of his world.

A movement from the west, as a herd of wild horses crested a nearby hill. At the front charged a single stallion, majestic in all his freedom and raw power. Even as he galloped before his companions, those who were under his command, the wind seemed to follow an invisible command, and the most elemental of forces parted without objection. The mighty stallion, pure white with a shining mane of golden silk, continued off past the horizon, and Jason could only watch in awe… his eyes wide and mouth opened…

Slowly he turned around; reluctant almost to take his eyes from the golden plain… and the dream, the vision… the Inspiration was gone.

Yet it was enough... more then enough.

Ohh no!

Talleth stood back to bask in the attention that was being lavished upon him. After all these years of hiding, it felt good to be the center of events, the person to whom ever eye was drawn. It was very different to his usual modus operandi of moving unseen and invisible.

“I see that you’ve figured it out Cerion.” He congratulated, “pity that it won’t help you.”

Elstridge had been frozen due to his startlement, but quickly he regained his wits. Casting a glance at Orion, he straightened. “Guards!” the Prince bellowed.

There was a sharp ring as the the Honor Guard drew their swords, united as one man and began to advance on the interrupting Photographer. The nobles began to pull back, but at the same time, morbid fascination with impending bloodshed kept their eyes riveted to the dais.

“No!” commanded, Cerion, the tone of authority clear in his voice. “Your swords can not hurt him, and your lives will be forfeit should you try. Stand down Captain!”

Hesitantly the Guard looked to their leader who in turn looked to his Prince.

Elstridge’s pride fought for a moment with his good sense, but a glance at Cerion’s face made him reconsider. A wave of his hand and the Prince also began to back away.

“Not so fast… brother” said Talleth.

Suddenly a circle of bright beams encircled the prince, bringing an abrupt end to his attempted escape.

To Orion’s eyes, those beams emitted a strong wave of heat. Even as Elstridge reached out to touch the beams, the Embermage knew that to do so was death. “Don’t!” he shouted. Elstridge gave him one startled look and stopped in mid reach.

Talleth looked mildly surprised. “You realize what they are boy?” He asked, eyes narrowing.

Suddenly directly in front of him, a source of heat began to form. To his strangely dual vision, it seemed that it came from highly concentrated light. In that moment he realized what power a Photographer had.

“Light is energy and intense light can generate intense heat.” He replied calmly.

Talleth laughed, “well done Orion! Now feel the pain which mere light can bring.”

The heat became overwhelming and bright beam of laser like intensity shot out towards Orion.

Light is faster then any other force on earth, even faster then the fastest brain speed.

However Cerion had already considered this possibility. As the beam entered an area not a foot from Orion’s body, it began to distort and lose its focus.

Talleth noticed and the beam faded. With a shrug, he dismissed the shield of incredibly moist air that Cerion had created.

“You can stop one beam Hydromancer… but you can’t stop a hundred. At my thought, everyone in this Ballroom will die.”

Cerion grit his teeth, but then Azrael stepped forward. “However one thought from me… and you will also perish, Photographer… or did you not notice the bonds of air which could rip your body to shreds.”

Talleth’s right eye twitched slightly as he attempted to move his arms. Locked as he was in a cocoon of air, he wasn’t having much luck.

“I’ll remember this Azrael; I still have time to complete my mission.”

Light erupted without warning between the four weather arts users, causing Azrael to lose her concentration for a split second. In that moment, Talleth vanished.

Cerion’s eye’s narrowed. “Orion, can you see him?” he asked his younger brother, aware of the heat sense.

“No,” replied Orion, looking slightly puzzled. “He simply vanished.”

“I was afraid of that.” Sighed the older brother.

“Hydromancer Cerion!” barked the Captain of the Guard. Cerion spun around. “The Prince, he’s gone!”

Orion also had turned and stared at the place where Elstridge had been but moments before. This was very bad.

***

Secrets revealed!

His head hurt, that much was readily apparent before his eyes opened. Waves of alternating numbness and aching pulsed through his skull. He most certainly had a concussion.

However when it was when he tried to sit up that he really understood just how much pain he was in.

“ARGH!”

Talleth collapsed back into his make shift bed, and even that motion was enough to set his skull pounding once more and the room spinning more then it had before.

A room?

‘Where am I?’ he wondered, looking around at the strange implements and books that filled the round office. Looking around, his eyes landed on a plaque on the wall. It read.

“To Cerion WaveRunner, on his appointment to Council of the Keep.”

Talleth began to laugh, even as that action brought immense pain to his head. It was obvious now what had happened, and ironic in the extreme. He was almost certain that neither Cerion nor Orion knew who he was, nor what it meant… yet it was blind luck that had brought them together for that first time. Well, that and some slippery roof tiles.

Even as the pain began to reside ever so slowly, Talleth wondered how he survived the fall from such a high tower. Nevertheless, he wasn’t one to question good fortune, or the provision of God, and he attempted to stand.

That proved to be disastrous, however on the third go he managed to remain standing without crumpling to the floor. The clock on the wall said he was late. He didn’t have much time.

***

“Really your Highness?” questioned Tricolum, looking with bemused surprise at the young man. “This is most unusual, would now really be the best time?”

Elstridge took a deep breath, and nodded. “I’m afraid so old friend, I would speak to those gathered as is my right.”

Tricolum nodded slowly, “that it is. Speak on good Prince.”

Elstridge stood to address the people gathered in the Ballroom. Their faces were alive with curiosity as they wondered what this quiet young Prince had to share with them. Most thought it merely a reaction to his nerves, but some, including Queen Elmaria, had worried frowns on their faces.

“Fellow citizens of Wilderia, I am Elstridge Liam Royale, son of Elmaria and Elton, Nephew to the late King Elliam who died three years ago in a rock slide along with my father. He had not married, nor had he any children of his own, and so I was named heir apparent to ascend in my 18th year. Thus I was given the middle name Liam to trace my lineage through our King.”

Elstridge paused; so far what he had said was common knowledge. Now he had reached the point of no return. If he continued, it would forever alter his life, and indeed it may change the destiny of his country. Still, his Uncle had made his wishes clear, and he was the only one who could make it happen.

“What you may not know, is that my Uncle, your late King, had adopted a son to succeed him.”

Gasps of astonishment rippled through the crowd and soon after that cries of indignation and denial. Soon the Ballroom was abuzz like the sound of a thousand locusts as people discussed this new development.

Elstridge raised his hand, and silence slowly returned. He continued slowly, trying hard not to rush through this speech that he had rehearsed for months.

“The King had told me this several months before his accident, when I was but a 15 year old boy. It is no secret that I had not wanted to ascend the throne, and he told me that such would not be the case. His true heir would have been presented to the country on HIS 18th birthday, which is 1 year gone. His name was or is…”

Rather ironically and very suddenly a bright light began to pulsate behind the Prince. Startled, the Prince spun around. There in the center of that light stood a young man, barely a year older then Elstridge, aglow with white light.

The assembled nobles stared…

“My name is Talleth!”

***

Upon hearing Elstridge’s confession, Orion’s first response had been outrage and betrayal, followed rather quickly by guilt for such thoughts. He could only imagine the strain of hiding such a secret for the past years, especially in the arguments that his friend always seemed to have with his mother.

Even so, the quick witted young man had proceeded to move closer to his friend. Orion knew how people thought, and the flashpoint temper that a mob could have. If this flustered enough people, things could get ugly.

For once wishing that Azrael was around to give him a lift to the throne room, he still managed to nimbly squeeze through the press of people, all the while listening to Elstridge’s explanation. But then his friend stopped, even as Orion was hunched between two massive knights. However even he noticed the bright light and stood up straight to see what was happening. He was a mere 5 meters away, but already he knew that it was too late.

***

Cerion started from his seat in the balcony, staring at the glowing light.
“Photographer!” he hissed, mind going back to all the knowledge that he had learnt about these hated sorcerers.
“Azrael!” he called, no longer the bumbling and vain young man that he was when he could afford to be.

Azrael smiled. She loved it when her fiancé was like this. With skillful weaves she picked him up, and sent him catapulting towards the throne along with herself. Even as she caught them both in a net of air and dropped into a crouch at the foot of the throne, Orion wormed his way next to them.

“What’s going on Cer?” He asked, his voice cracking slightly.
Cerion’s voice was grim and determined. “It’ll be alright Orion, I know how to deal with a Photographer.”
***