A foot smacked into Elyar’s leg jarring him from his deep sleep. Go
away! It’s not time yet. Elyar thought. Nothing happened. After a few sec-
onds the foot smacked his leg again. This time it was accompanied by a voice.
“Wake up boy! It’s time to train,” the voice boomed from above him.
Theos, is that you? Slowly, he lifted his eyelids trying to not be blinded by the early morning sun streaming through the branches. His right hand, half asleep and heavy, started to tingle a little as he shifted his weight off it to better position himself. He was laying in a bed of pineneedles that had fallen over the tree’s lifespan. A few acorns were strewn here and there. The smell of pine was intoxicating and lulled Elyar back to sleep. But he fought the urge by lifting himself partly off the ground. He had slumped onto his right side at some point during the night. His other hand he moved to block the blinding rays which were constantly moving as the branches swayed back in forth from the morning breeze.
After his eyes adjusted, he looked up and saw a man standing before him.
Short brown, leather boots that only went part of the way up the leg, the traditional synthetic black training jumper, and a stern face with one uplifted eyebrow met Elyar’s gaze. Master Pyke stood in front of him unamused that Elyar was sleeping outside and was technically late. One hand rested on his hip with the other on his sheathed sword. His lip twitched.
“Next time you have a late-night stroll lad, try not to sleep through our training,” Pyke chastised clearly frustrated. “I have been looking for you for half an hour to find you out here in the cold snoozing like an ecalf!” Pyke’s cheeks started turning red as he unleashed his words upon
Elyar.
“Sorry, Master Pyke,” Elyar sheepishly replied. He was still too tired to form a coherent rebuttal and he did feel bad for making his mentor search for him for so long. He was in no place to explain himself partly because he was at fault, and partly because he didn’t want to explain his dream. At least not yet. He needed more time to mull it over in his head.
Why was that figure, whoever he was, searching for me? And how did he know my name? Elyar thought to himself before responding. “It won’t happen again.” he said as he pushed himself off the ground. He shook his tingling arm a few times trying to get the imaginative ants to stop crawling all over it.
Pyke noticed that Elyar was wearing his training clothes and his frown shifted just a little. “At least you were smart enough to dress for practice. Maybe you aren’t hopeless.” Pyke reached out a hand and lifted Elyar off the ground.
Once standing, Elyar brushed any pine needles, dirt, and any other sign of where he slept that night that were still on him. He straightened his clothes and hair, and looked at Master Pyke ready for their lesson. The sun was low above the tree line, but bright and already warming the chilly air. Golden threads spread across the ground as the light passed through pine needs and the barren branches of the forest. Snow patches that hadn’t melted yet reflected the sunlight brightening the day even more. As Elyar was readying himself, Master Pyke had started walking toward the center of the training ring. Elyar had to jump to a run to ca tch up. No master likes their pupils being late and slow.
With the sun shining, lines could be seen on the training ground beside where the training dummies were. Starting from the center there were different colored rings each getting bigger. They went red, green, blue, and then yellow. Each ring was about ten feet wider than the next. Elyar, like the rest of his family, had begun in the yellow, but as he grew in age and skill, he slowly progressed to the red ring. His family jokingly called it the “dead zone,” because it was only about ten feet wide and when anyone spared against Master Pyke they always “died.” He was the best swordsman in the Feud. Best besides Lord Edaam.
Master Pyke had taken his position on the far side of the circle with his sword drawn. Elyar stepped into his normal position across from Pyke and readied himself. He had already cast off his cloak and stood wearing almost an identical uniform. The only difference was the Elyar still wore a grey jumpsuit with blue accents marking him as a pupil, while Pyke wore a black jumpsuit with red accents; the sign of a master. A glimmer shone from Master Pyke’s sword revealing the protective rune’s shield. Their swords were real, but a rune had been etched on the side making them dull. A strike was still painful, and a hard enough strike could break bone. But they could not cut.
The dirt field had been compacted into granit after generations of pounding feet. A breeze lifted a little dust which blew across the course and off into the distance. Elyar could see the Great Hall behind Pyke in the distance. Some of his nieces were playing in a snowbank while Lidya watched them. Ravens flew in the distance always circling the meadow. There were always Ravens.
Without any warning Master Pyke lunged toward Elyar and swung his one and a half hand sword over his head and toward Elyar’s left ribs. He quickly side-stepped and parried the sword with his. A loud clash erupted as their swords met. A familiar jarring sensation went from Elyar’s fingers up to the middle of his forearm. After years of practice it didn’t bother him anymore, but that first clash always left his bones vibr ating for a few seconds. Though now he barely registered the shock.
Unfazed, Master Pyke quickly twisted his sword and dashed it toward Elyar’s other side. Elyar blocked the second strike just as quickly. They disengaged and circled each other for a moment before Elyar dove to his left and swung his sword toward Pyke’s right shoulder. Pyke parried the blow and continued into a strike toward Elyar’s legs. He was able to side step the blow, but he felt the wind on his shin.
A little too close. Elyar thought as he took two steps back. He studied his mentor for a moment before switching his stance. They were nearly evenly matched, but Elyar knew that one wrong move and a new bruise would form on another limb. He still bore a few from their last dual.
This time Pyke lunged at Elyar and their swords met between them. Elyar pushed his sword against Pyke’s driving him back a few steps before he broke free and swung toward his right side. Pyke blocked and attacked Elyar who jumped back again as the blade swung harmlessly in front of him.
Elyar took his opportunity to strike toward his opponents left side, but he was to slow. Master Pyke parried and then began a series of combos. Elyar parried each one with relative ease, but he was beginning to tire. Lack of sleep and a haunting dream were making his lethargic. He needed to wake up or he was going to…ouch! He received a bruise on his side as a blow passed his guard. Anger woke Elyar up better than a sip of hot coffee.
After a few more bouts, Pyke bore a few bruises on his shin and left side while Elyar gained another on his right shoulder. Elyar and Pyke looked at each other after a serious series of strikes, non of which landed, and Pyke weezed out, “water time.”
Elyar didn’t fight him. He was parched. Both walked over to the side of the yellow circle where a bench could be found. They sat down and each grabbed a canteen of water. The feeling of cold water was exactly what Elyar needed at that moment. He relishly drank, but knew to cons erve some of it for later.
“Let’s go again.” With that Elyar placed his water canteen down, wiped his lips, grabbed his sword, and headed toward his end of the red circle. He rubbed his hand over his side for a second trying to sooth the bruise beginning to form. It wasn’t his first, but the sore feeling never gets less uncomfortable. When they both were in place they began to circle each other. Exhausted from the first round, neither Elyar nor Pyke were eager to engage first. After a few moments, Elyar thought he saw his opening and lunged at Pyke. Swinging his sword in an arc toward his opponents left shoulder, Elyar waited for the block he was hoping would come. Pyke began to block Elyar’s strike by raising his sword up. A small smile stretched across Elyar’s previously serious face.
He has fallen for my trap, Elyar snickered to himself. But then his tutor quickly switched the angle of his sword, easily deflecting Elyar’s blow and not allowing him to complete the maneuver he was attempting. This caused Elyar’s weight to shift incorrectly and gave Master Pyke the opportunity to strike him again, but this time across his exposed backside.
Elyar fumbled a few steps until he was able to recover his balance.
Turning toward his master, Elyar rubbed his now sore butt. A face of irri tation and embarrassment on his face.
Before he could say or do anything Master Pyke shouted, “Again!”
Elyar jumped back a step and tried to get into position as quickly as possible. This scenario went on for about an another hour. Back and forth they went. Swords clashing until Elyar walked away with a sore spot somewhere on his body. Sometimes he was able to get a strike in on his mentor, but more often than naught, it was Elyar walking away with a bruise.
By the time the sun had reached its zenith Elyar was covered in sweat and aching all over. They had just finished a furious bout of blows and Elyar was half bent over panting. Sweat dripped from his forehead and met an already drenched dirt floor.
“We shall be done for today, lad. Go get yourself some lunch and
then your father wants you to meet him in the fields with your brothers.”
“Uuuugh,” Elyar groaned thinking about more back breaking work. Edaam and Elyar’s brothers would be out preparing the frozen ground for planting, fixing tools, and making sure the e-animals were still working after their winter hibernation. It was hard, tiring work that Elyar was not ready for.
“Why do we have to be out there working when we have vassals who can do the work themselves?” Elyar muttered under his breath. But his tutor heard him and without warning smacked the flat of his sword against Elyar’s calves causing him to fall backward. With a loud thud and the wind knocked out of him, Elyar furiously looked at his mentor.
Leaning over his pupil, Master Pyke glared into Elyar’s eyes and quietly said, “You will never disrespect those placed under you. Leadership is a responsibility, not a privilege. Your father treats his vassals as beings of respect. The other dukes treat theirs like slaves, but your father has always and will always treat his with dignity. You are to remember that.” The anger seeped out of every word as Master Pyke tried to keep his cool. Elyar did not expect the ferocity coming from his mentor. Master Pyke never lost his cool. But then Elyar remembered that he was technically a vassal himself, though one with privileges. Still angry, Elyar stayed on the ground for a few seconds as Master Pyke walked away. Elyar spat some blood onto the ground and stood up. He had bitten his cheek when he fell. Elyar began walking behind Master Pyke while brushing off the dirt and mud. He stayed a few yards behind him, not wanting to be close to him right now. They were both in foul moods and Elyar didn’t need to make it worse.
It was a five-minute walk from the field back to the Great Hall. Not a word was spoken between the two. The surrounding world did not match the mood of the tutor and pupil. The world was bright and starting to show signs of spring. The sky was bright blue without a cloud. A slight breeze whistled through the trees and birds could be heard over head. Ravens flew near the tree line. There were always ravens near the Great Hall. They were a sacred bird, and an ancient shrine had been erec ted before records had been kept.
Once they entered the Great Hall, Elyar went straight to his room to change. He wanted to don his work clothes while Master Pyke ate his lunch. Once he was dressed and had stored his sparing uniform where in belonged Elyar headed to the dining table. There was no sight of Pyke. Good. Thought Elyar still upset. He walked over to the cabinet where they kept the sandwich materials. Bread, lettuce, tomato, and all the other usual toppings. He assembled it quickly and then devoured it even faster. Wiping the crumbs off his face Elyar headed toward the door.
“Elyar, hurry up! We need an extra hand!” Shouted Yonn while holding the metal horns of their tilling e-bull. He had been approaching the barn his brothers were in for a few minutes now. It took Elyar about an hour after lunch to walk to the village were the farms were located. It would have been faster if he had ridden an e-steed, but Elyar wanted to walk. He needed think. His mind kept bounching between his dream and Pyke’s words. Elyar had meandered from the Great Hall toward
Erast. His brother’s call for help snapped Elyar back into the present and he picked up his pace to get to his brothers as quickly as possible. He entered the barn through two large doors resting on rollers. The barn was made of old wood with a mix between metal and wood roof panals. To his right the first e-bull quietly ate feed. How they ate Elyar didn’t know.
Next to the e-bull was a stack of hay harvested from the previous year. There were other wooden pens with other electric animals. E-chickens produced a bioformed egg that Elyar found quite delicious. The ebirds fluttered around the barn making their usual ruckus.
To his left he saw his brothers fighting with the second e-bull. Yonn was at the front of the e-bull as it snorted steam. It had been hibernating all winter and was in a foul mood once they had powered it on. E-bulls could be so temperamental. Pitre was standing by the side of the bull while a vassal was holding the side panel up. Pitre was quickly working on oiling and making sure all the inner parts were not broken. It was a dangerous job. If the bull bolted or kicked the Pitre could be seriously hurt. But both of Elyar’s brothers were expert e-animal wranglers. No matter how they cared for them, the e-animals always had something broken or missing before the plowing season. This year was no different.
One year when they uncovered an e-goat to turn it on it was missing a head. They spent half the day looking for it. Andru found it burried in a loose pile of hay. Another year the same e-bull they were working on now had its head flipped upside down. They had to carefully disconnect ever neckfiber before they could turn it around. Pitre always said that there were goblins living in the forest who messed with the farm e-animals and equipment. Stories like that always scared Elyar when he was younger. He was still apprehensive about Dasos Forest because of those stories.
“Stop gawking and help Pitre!” Shouted Yonn again. Elyar ran to his brother’s side and without missing a beat grabbed the group of wires Pitre was trying to hold back with his off hand while fumbling with a deeper wire. With his right hand free, Pitre was able to use both hands to finish fixing the other wire. He quickly did so while sweat starting appearing on Elyar’s face. It wasn’t that holding wires was hard, but that e-bulls produce a lot of heat. Standing with his body pressed up against its side while holding a collection of thick wires, which weren’t light, cau sed Elyar to sweat.
“You’r starting to sweat on me,” said Pitre as his arm brushed up aga inst Elyar’s.
Elyar retorted with a mix of brotherly jokes and situational anger, “If you hurried up than you wouldn’t have to worry about it.” Pitre and
Yonn chuckled through gritted teeth.
After a few more minutes of tense struggle Pitre shouted, “done!”
The vassal closed the e-bulls side and Pitre made sure it was latched. The weird hum that was present when Elyar walked in suddenly vanished. The e-bull stopped fighting. It shook its head a little, stomped a hoof and then meandered over to the feed they had brought and started eat ing happily.
With a sigh of relief, Yonn looked at Elyar, “Good timing Elyar, Pitre was starting to get tired doing two jobs. Though you could have gotten here a little sooner.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Elyar responded looking toward the floor. He kicked at a piece of straw and some loose dirt. Yonn and Pitre quickly glanced at each other a concerned look shared between the two.
“I was only pushing Elyar. Why the sudden mood? You are normally quick with the combacks.” Pitre asked. Out of the two he was the one more like Mother when it came to asking about his brother’s well being. Yonn entertained and Pitre cared for them.
“Yeah…I’m good,” Elyar mumbled under his breath. His brothers didn’t want to push so Yonn, trying to raise the room’s atmosphere, looked at Pitre and said, “I’m always happy when you are around. You are
so much better working around the e-animal’s innards. Twenty years of
doing this, and I can never get the hang of it.”
“That is because you are more like Father, impatient. You need to be more like me and Mother, calm and cool,” joked Pitre. Elyar cracked a smile and they all walking toward the digiplow which lay outside and on the other side of the barn. Everyone knew that Lord Edaam was impatient, but it was his tenacious personality that made him lovable. Not that their mother was not loved, but she was the rock that kept the community together.
“What do you think will be missing from the digiplow?” Elyar asked as Yonn uncovered the farm tool.
“Hopefully nothing, but one day I expect to find a straw look alike
under here. One day the goblins are going to steal the whole thing.”
The brothers gave the tool a good look once it was fully uncovered. It was a long metal device with six blades attached to furrow the ground. There were two harnesses at the front of a metal pole for the e-bulls to be plugged in. Once they were in place and the harnesses cinched correctly the blades would begin to heat up to soften the frozen earth. This allowed the Feud to begin plowing earlier than some of the other fiscs. Though the heated plows would normally dull easily if it wasn’t for the rune of protection and sharpen carved into the metal.
The plow was situated on the outside of the barn under a wooden awning. Lord Edaam had built the roof when Elyar was only a toddler. The wood was still in good condition, but wear was starting to show on some boards. The floor was still dirt and there were grooves cut in the floor in random places. They were caused whenever the plow was being taken out or replaced. The blades tended to cut into the dirt when they weren’t being careful.
The brothers inspected every piece of the digiplow to make sure that it was working correctly. Surprisingly, nothing was missing or broken. They had gotten lucky this time. As they were finishing up, they heard footsteps coming from the other side of the barn. All three brothers turned at once to see who the newcomer was. Andru, the last brother emerged with an urgent face.Andru walked quickly toward his brothers as they whipped the grease and dust off their clothes. He was slightly out of breathe and it took him a moment before he started speaking.
“Father…has just heard…,” panted Andru, “the spring market will be held early this year.” The three brothers looked at each other for a
memnt. Yonn finally asked what they were all thinking, “is that it?”
Andru breathed in a few more time before responding, “yes, that is it. Father told me to tell you with the utmost urgency. He also said it will be held in the fisc of Val.” Finishing, Andru plopped on a bale of hay and wiped the sweat off his brow. Happy to be done with his task, he leaned into the hay and began to rest a moment while the other brothers digest the news.
Yonn spoke to the group while shaking his head, “An early market, eh? Good to know, but not life shattering.” While speaking Elyar had walked up to Andru and sat beside him on the hay bale
Pitre muttered to himself a few words and then said out loud, “Does that mean they think we are going to have an early planting season? Or did they just decide to move things up?”
Shaking his head at his brothers over thinking, Yonn responds, “you always overthink things brother. You know just as well as I do that some years the Spring Market is earlier and other times it is later. No grand scheme here.” Andru and Elyar looked at each other laughing to themselves as their other brothers begin to argue. Once Andru regained enough of his strength the brothers all began their walk to their father who was out in the village taking stock of the buildings. They were about five minutes from the village and maybe another ten if Edaam was on the far side.
Every spring Lord Edaam takes a few weeks to help fix any winter damage done to the Feud’s main village, Erast. Erast is a small village about three miles from the Great Hall. It lies further down the hill that the hall sits atop. There is no particular pattern in its set up. A main road runs down the middle with many small roads branching off of it. Most of the houses are two storied buildings with a shop at the first floor and the living quarters up top.
The town warden lives in the only three story house. He is a burlley man who dislikes hard labor and thinks himself the lord of Erast. That is until Lord Edaam is present. Then Boris becomes a sniviling cowardly person always trying to kiss Eddam’s hand.
The last census, which was done when Elyar was ten, showed that four thousand people lived in Erast proper. Another five thousand lived in small hamlets or isolated farms throughout the entire Feud. There were about 10,000 acres of land that made up the Feud. This made them the smallest fisc in the empire, but with their small size came less governmental oversight. Edaam was able to do things other dukes could not do. And he enjoyed his autonomy.
After about ten minutes of walking, the brothers saw their father talking to a few villagers. Boris was there as well. Elyar curled his lip a little when he saw the overweight man. He stood at around five feet five inches, which was short even for a terran vassal. His head stopped just above Lord Edaam’s elbow. Boris had long black hair tied in a ponytail, at least the back half of his head. The man had a terrible widow’s peak. The first half of his scalp was nearly bald. Elyar and his brothers always called him half-dome. His cheeks were always red due to the huffing and puffing he did when he walked.
Everywhere Lord Edaam went the sound of huffing followed him. Edaam finished talking to the small group around him and began coming their way. Elyar tried overhearing the conversation, but he couldn’t hear anything.
“I see that Andru found you.” Edaam said once they were within earshot. He and his boys began walking toward the edge of town. “There
is much to do before we leave for the market.”
“Yes, and Pitre thinks that there must be some grand conspiracy.” Elyar said before anyone else could respond. He looked over to see if Pitre was fuming; his face was stone. He liked seeing his father tease his brothers.
“I didn’t say there was a conspiracy,” argued Pitre. “I asked if they thought if the Spring Market expected an early planting season. That is all!”
“Oh Pitre, there is no conspiracy. Sometimes the Spring Market is held in a different week than usual.”
“That’s what I said!” Shouted Yonn.
“I know!” yelled Pitre. “I never said any of that!” He glared at Elyar.
“No need for that Pitre. You never know, one day you might be right.” Edaam said. They continued walking for a few more minutes before they saw the edge of town. Lord Edaam appraoched his e-horse and looked at his sons. “We have to start preparations tomorrow. Except for you Elyar. You will prepare for your knighthood ceremony. It will happen in a fourth night.”
Elyar turned toward his father with excitement and said, “I will be done training in four nights!” He jumped a little in the air shouting, “Woo!”
His brothers chuckled as they started walking toward the Great Hall. They remembered how happy they were when they finished their tutoring.
Elyar pondering deeply, sat at the dining table twisting the knife from his lesson the other day. He stared at the knife, but his mind was far away. The tip of the blade was in the wood, and his fingertips were holding the blade as he spun it around and around. His thoughts were far away in the darkness of his dream. Elyar, come join me. He could hear the voice as clear as he did that night. How did he know my name? Who is he? Was it a dream or… Elyar kept circling these questions in his head over and over again. No matter what he thought or how he tried to unravel the mystery, he kept hitting a dead end. He twisted the knife faster and faster as his thoughts raced. As he spun his thoughts spun. His thoughts started to spin into a whirlwind of emotion. Breathing became inte nse and his chest started to rise faster and faster.
“Papa,” Olive said while she sat on Lord Edaam’s lap by the fire. Elyar’s chaotic world faded. The roar softened to a whisper, and then to silence. The sound of his niece broke Elyar from the spell he had been trapped in.
“I want to hear the story of our family.” Olive always liked hearing stories of the family from her grandfather. Elyar never knew why, but it always seemed to make her happy and calm.
Edaam chuckled and asked, “are you sure that is the story you want before bed?”
“Yes, Papa.” She looked up at him with big brown eyes. He looked around the Great Hall at the rest of the family there. Most were already sitting around quietly talking. A fire was tranquilly crackling a few feet away casting its warm glow on the family. The local priest had dined with them that night and he sat talking to Eva about a new construction under way in the fisc next to theirs.
Lord Edaam repositioned himself to make himself a little more comfortable before he began telling a story about his grandfather. “Once upon a time my grandfather, who was a great knight, once fought a giant named Ulog. Ulog was fifteen feet tall and had legs the size of an old tree. On the day they fought, Lord Melthusala and his men were on their way from the capital to the Great Hall. They were in the middle of the wilderness and far away from help.” Edaam looked at Olive and spoke in a sinister voice to scare his grandchildren. The children had moved in front of Edaam when he began the story. When he got to his sc ary part the other children moved closer to each other. Fear in their eyes.
“When Lord Melthusala and his party made camp one night he felt something was off. He did not know where it came from, so he brushed it off. But while they were sitting around the fire making dinner, suddenly the giant appeared. Swinging a tree for a club he bashed one soldier before he could rise from the fire. The other four men quickly rose and drew their swords while Lord Melthusala drew the enchanted family sword. It shone bright casting sunlight upon the giant. The giant covered its eyes and swung wildly at the men. One tried to block with his sword, but it shattered and broke the man’s arm. The three men and Lord Melthusala charged the giant. One soldier struck his sword into the giant’s right foot causing the creature to scream in anger and pain. Another struck his wrist bearing the club, but he did not cause much damage. Lord Melthusala dove around the giant and slashed at his calfs. His enchanted sword swept through both legs cutting deep.” With each strike, Lord Edaam mimicked the attack for the children. A stab here, a jab there. A funny death face to make the children laugh.
“The giant roared in pain and collapsed onto his knees. With one last desperate moment before death took him, the giant swung his club across his chest toward all the soldiers…”
“NO!” Interrupted the priest. He had not been paying attention to the story, but once he had he jumped up to end it. His brown robes swung as his hands spread to stop Lord Edaam. “You cannot tell such an unholy story to the impressionable. There is no such thing as giants! They are a myth.” He lectured wagging his winger toward the children.
Edaam’s joyful face faded into a mask of stone. His jaw clenched, a knuckle gripped the arm of the chair until white could be seen, and his eyes bore into the man. Elyar knew that the relationship between noble and cleric was tense and his father could not always stand against a priest. Even if he was technically inferior to his father.
“Father Flet, I know that you do not always approve of such stories. But this is my home, around my hearth, speaking to my grandchildren. I will decide what stories we tell.” Cold as wintery stone, Edaam spoke in a hushed tone. Not missing a beat, and apparently ignoring his father, Father Flet dove immediately into a story of his own.
“Our glorious empire, Korax, was founded over a thousand turns around the sun. Before the peace and unity provided by the Supreme there was chaos. The years then were dark and war was common. There were five nations whose names have been forgotten in the winds. They fought each other constantly. One would invade and ravage another only to have the same done to them. Finally, one king took it upon himself to end the suffering by bringing the five nations under his crown. This would make the world safe. Thus, the first Supreme was made. One by one he conquered the other kingdoms. Once they were all under his rule, he summoned the old kings and asked them to crown him emperor.” Father Flet had made his way into the center of the gathering. After every sent ence he seemed to get more animated and boisterous.
He continued, “After the empire was formed, the nations, which became the first fiscs, voted on the first emperor. Mathius Oranum became the first emperor. And the Oranum dynasty has lasted the last thousand years. That is how our glorious empire began.” Elyar, along with the adults in his family, looked at the priest stony faced. Elyar of course didn’t disagree with the story, but they disliked the way the priest had forced himself into the situation.
Without missing any beats, Father Flet said, “the empire remained at peace until the dreaded Olacs began to appear. Their first invasion over four hundred years ago shocked the empire. They ravaged the fiscs for weeks until the empire could muster its forces. Once armed, the empire was able to quickly repel the invaders. We swore an invasion like that would never happen again. From that time on yearly excursions into the Hinterlands began. The fiscs would send a percentage of their fighting men for two months. After two hundred years of this a treaty was struck between the Olacs and the empire. Peace reigned once again. That is until thirty years ago when the Supreme intercepted a spy who divulged that the Olacs were once again gathering an army to invade. Swiftly, the Supreme gathered his army and has waged a war to this day.” With his story complete Father Flet folded his arms into his brown habit and sat down happily.
After a moment of silence, Edaam spoke, “Thank you Father Flet. Your words of wisdom will be cherished by our family.” He politely bowed his head toward the man and the priest bowed in return. “But alas the night is long and the children look tired.” Elyar looked at his nieces and nephews, realizing that half of them had fallen asleep during the lesson.
Pitre picked up one of his sleeping children while his wife grabbed
the other. Yonn and his wife did the same and headed toward their wings of the Great Hall. Father Flet said goodnight to his hosts and saunt ered out the great door.
Eventually, Elyar was left with a crackling fire and his thoughts. They dwelled on the history lesson for a moment, but slowly his mind turned toward where his mind had been before. He thought about the
words written on the sword when suddenly he heard, “Elyar.”
His head flew from his chest. He had fallen asleep. Nervously, Elyar curled in a blanket and stared at the embers. The embers stared back.