||[Jul. 4th, 2005|08:48 pm]
The Writening is Upon You!
Better late than never!! Yeah, bite me. Novel Excerpts are my friend.|
King Azmir, Emperor of the Falyine, Guardian of the Southern Seas and Savior of the Islyi nation rested an aged hand on the arm of his throne. Once rough and new, the years had worn the surface of the wood smooth. The king gazed down at the hand that in his youth gripped a sword’s hilt, now even the simplest movements caused him pain. Old wounds ached more and more each day and death lurked in the king’s eyes, a constant haunting thought. His own memories seemed foreign to him now. Even his years as a slave in the mines could have been another man’s life, if only the scars had healed. Raised white lines, a boy’s wounds, still crossed an old man’s flesh, a reminder of life before his rule. Had he really led a revolution? Vaguely he recalled the long days on horseback, the constant blood -- his and other’s -- shed in dusty battles, hiding in forests, in sympathizer’s homes. He slit the old king’s throat in this very room, but the stain of royal blood faded long ago from the stone floor.
“Majesty?” Azmir looked up, startled. Iain stood before him. He bowed as the king raised his head, inky black hair curtaining his face for a moment.
“You had a vision.” The king stated.
“Yes, Majesty. From it, I believe the Godbane has come of age.”
Azmir nodded calmly, though his heart jumped, in excitement or fear he did not know. He knew the prophecy, few didn’t. Years ago he himself was rumored to be the one to destroy the gods and lead a new era, but that thought passed with his youth.
“I could be wrong” Iain amended.
“No, you have never been wrong before. I am just thoughtful. I’m an old man now, more given to thought than action.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” Iain said sincerely.
Azmir smiled. “A blind prophet, are you?”
“Your rule is no less strong, my lord. Your people love you and your men would die for you.”
“Die for you, majesty? Without hesitating.” Said Iain, his young face serious. Blessed with an extended life as well as visions, years came slowly to his features. Nearly forty, he still looked a young man barely of age.
“I hope not. You will have a long life, Iain. I’d prefer you not lose that for an old man.” Still, Azmir clasped the seer’s shoulder affectionately, grateful.
“I am still the slave child you pulled from his master. I owe you everything. But why do you ask that? Do you doubt my loyalty?”
“No, but I must ask something of you. I can barely hold my own sword, Iain. I want you to go to the Godsbane and offer my help, but I would be little use. Will you go in my stead? Help him and protect him as best you can. Bring the twins if you like.” Azmir knew the two Wildland warriors and the seer were close. He suspected the relationship between Iain and one twin went further than that and he did not want to separate the lovers. Iain served him for over thirty years with unwavering loyalty. Azmir loved him as a son and the Wildland fighter was honorable, a good man.
Iain gave his king a curious glance, as if he knew his thoughts, which, Azmir thought uncomfortably, would not surprised him. Seers possessed strange powers.
“Of course, your Majesty. I would be honored and the twins would protect the Godsbane well.”
“I meant for them to protect you.” Azmir corrected. “I would see you again and I know your skill with a sword. I wonder that you know which end to hold.”
Iain flushed. “So you’ve seen me practice, my lord? I am lucky to have other skills, I think.”
Azmir nodded. “Can you set off in the morning?”
“Yes, my lord. I can be near the Godsbane within a fortnight.”
“Thank you, Iain. Guide him well.”
The seer bowed. “Yes, lord. I will not let her fail.”
He turned and left the hall, boots padded softly on the stone. Her? Azmir, once slave now Emperor of the Falyine, stared after him. Her?