King Santanara’s Gift #2
“Then we will begin immediately.” He wasted no time and launched into a history of Eletian people ancient beyond ancient times.
“There were once several great Houses,” Telagioth said, “but now there are few. Santanara, of course, is the ruling House. Laurelyn’s House, Aldaria, was the ruling House of Argenthyne, the most ancient and wise of all.
Aldaria were the first to depart Avrath and walk upon this Earth.
“Soeldar was another great House, but the Soeldari journeyed away from us and we believe they made their home far into the frozen wastes of the great ice.”
“Wait,” Karigan said, “there are more Eletian realms out there?”
“Once there were several, but they have vanished from the Earth for one reason or another, or merged with Eletia and Argenthyne. Of the Soeldari, if they persist, we know little. They’ve been estranged from us for thousands of years. We’ve had no contact with them.”
It was rather exciting, Karigan thought, to imagine a lost nation of Eletians still somewhere out in the world that was a mystery even to other Eletians.
And so hours passed as Telagioth spoke of the farthest reaches of time and listed so many Eletian names and Houses that she could not keep track.
The others sat as if in a trance as they listened to his slow, steady recitation.
It was musical in its way, a chanting not unlike those of monks in prayer, but with a beauty that surpassed hallowed cloisters and flowed like a gentle breeze riffling the surface of a lake.
His words carried the weight of the Ages, like a thick tome of history, and she wondered if this was, in fact, how Eletians kept their history and passed it on.
Telagioth’s voice was so soothing that she gave up listening to the words and making sense of them.
Her eyelids drooped and she dreamed, or thought she did, of Eletian people living among vast forests, their peace and contentment disrupted by turmoil and battle.
Warriors arrived from the heavens with blazing swords to fight in skies blackened by demons and, at other times, one another.
Many great wars ensued. In this manner she was given layers upon layers of Eletian history from Avrath to— Someone shook her shoulder.
Abruptly her visions of the endless past of the Eletians fell away and left her with only flitting images she could not explain, similar to the way ordinary dreams were understood only during the dreaming.
She blinked dazedly and was surprised to find that all the Eletians had departed except for Telagioth.
“We forget that your folk have not the endurance or capacity for the sagas of our people,” he said, eyes glinting with humor, “and I had not even reached the turmoil of what is often called the Black Ages. But you wished to learn more of Eletia.”
“I am sorry I dozed off, or whatever it was I did,” Karigan replied. “I hope I haven’t caused offense.”
He bowed. “No offense taken. It is what we call a learning trance.”
“Perhaps we don’t try to cover all of Eletian history in one go?”
He laughed. “So it shall be, though I did spare you from going into depth with stories of Avrath. One day, perhaps.”
“Maybe we can stick to current day Eletia?”
“Ah, but which current would it be? We shall see you again the night of the ball, Dama.” He bowed and strode from the solar.
Karigan sat there among the greenery of Queen Estora’s solar.
Which current? she wondered. Obviously there was more than one thing happening in Eletia at any given time, but she was not sure that was what Telagioth had implied.
If there was anything she had learned about Eletians, it was that there were many layers of meaning in what they said that defied interpretation.
· · ·
Karigan entered her chamber with a sigh. Her meeting with the Eletians and listening to the epic tales of their history left her feeling as if she were aboard a swift sailing vessel on some great, endless voyage, still in motion rising and falling on the waves though she stood at rest on dry land.
Dim light filtered through her arrow slit window in a shaft of dancing dust motes.
She crossed over to the hearth to stir the embers and build up the fire.
She’d no duties for the rest of the day and contemplated how she might spend her rare free time.
Since Condor would be turned out to pasture until feeding, she did not feel inclined to disturb him just so she could go for a ride.
Horses deserved free time, too. A nap would be nice, but she kind of had one when she listened to Telagioth’s history of the Eletians.
She glanced over her shoulder toward her desk where ledgers awaited her attention, and she groaned.
No, not that.
She placed wood on the embers and used the bellows to encourage the fire to take.
When she was satisfied, she straightened and noticed something glint on her mantel.
She kept a number of items there, including pretty rocks she’d found on various errands, a couple candles, a lucky horseshoe, dirty teacups, and a sock.
A sock? Why’d she put that there? And yuck, there was a layer of dust and cobwebs on everything. Cleaning was never a priority.
The glinting object was half obscured by a ceramic horse she had received from her father one Night of Aeryc. She moved the horse to reveal an Intrigue game piece, a mounted messenger resting on its side in the “dead” position.
“That’s strange,” she murmured. She didn’t possess an Intrigue set nor any individual pieces, and she had never seen this one before.
She picked it up and was surprised to find it was made of heavy glass. She took it by her window for a closer look. Daylight gleamed through it and tinted the flesh of her palm green.
“Where did you come from?” she asked.
The Intrigue board in the common room had plain wooden markers, so it was not part of that set.
Did someone leave it on her mantel to tease her?
It was pretty well known among her friends that she disliked Intrigue.
The game was more a test of strategy developed long ago, not for pure entertainment, but most likely to train nobles in the art of subtlety, cunning, and deceit, qualities she personally found distasteful rather than admirable.
She couldn’t recall ever having seen Intrigue figures made of glass, and she couldn’t imagine to whom it belonged or why they would leave it on her mantel. She always kept her door cracked open so Ghost Kitty could come and go, which meant anyone could wander in, but still . . .
She’d ask around if anyone knew anything about it. It couldn’t have just appeared out of nowhere.
“I will find out who put you there,” she told it.
She was about to place it back on her mantel when a whisper came into her mind: “Your move, Green Rider.”
“Wha—?”
The glass messenger exploded into a dazzling cloud of fine particles that glittered in her vision before subsiding and vanishing into nothing.
She gazed at her empty hand in astonishment, then looked about herself.
The game piece was not to be seen broken or entire.
Not a single fragment of glass could she find. Had she imagined it all?
A knock came on her door and she jumped. “Yes?”
A Green Foot runner peered in. “Rider? The king requires your presence down in the chapel.”
“The chapel? Was a reason given?”
“No, ma’am.”
Now what? she wondered.