Chapter Two: The Prophecy
Since Melira had insisted Tor remain at the clinic over night so she could check on him first thing in the morning, the five of them had agreed to meet back there. Thol and Keza had re-rented the room they had previously lodged in at the Royal Crown and Goro had gone back to the room he rented out from the old man who ran the black magic shop in town.
After the two of them had returned to the clinic, Thol had been oddly quiet. The others noticing this thought it wise to just go on as if the argument hadn’t happened. It was much the same in the morning, though with the onset of heading to the castle, Thol was forced to speak up.
“Alright, we shouldn’t waste anymore time here,” he said, interrupting a conversation between Goro and Keza. He turned his head toward Melira and jerked his head in Tor’s direction. “How is he doing? Is he good to go?’
“Yes. He doesn’t seem to have a concussion as I feared he might. I want him to keep his head wrapped up for the rest of the day to let the healing herbs finish the job, however,” she replied.
“Looks like you’ll be wearing that to the castle, Tor,” Thol said, almost apologetically.
“It is of no moment,” Tor said with a shrug. During his stay at the clinic, Tor had taken the time to properly shave himself and the extended rest he got the previous day nearly got of the dark circles under his eyes. With the exception of his perpetually messy hair, he looked almost presentable.
Thol nodded. “Let’s be off then,” he said, motioning for the others to leave ahead of him. Keza was the first to him feet and out the door, grinning with excitement, no doubt over the though of the reward gil that was only a short trip to a temple and back away. Tor left immediately behind him, followed by Melira and the hulking Goro, who actually had to stoop down a bit to avoid bumping his head on the door frame. Thol sighed to himself and followed them out into the streets.
The magician silently observed his companions as they walked, his sudden lack of protest over the two new additions to the team no doubt puzzling the others. In the lead, Keza was chatting animatedly with Tor about some trivial subject or another. The black haired man said something and the two of them burst out laughing, no doubt over some sort of crude joke.
Thol shook his head in disapproval. The thief Keza was quite possibly the most deviant man he’d ever met. His activities made Tor’s vices look harmless in comparison. In the short time he’d known the man, he’d already witnessed Keza’s sticky fingers in action more then a handful of times. Then there was his constant flirting with every woman he crossed paths with. Tor could be quite the promiscuous man on occasion, and having traveled with him for several years, Thol knew the swordsman’s habits better then anyone, but even he knew when to draw the line. Of course there was also his narrow minded gil centric thinking and he wasn’t even going to start thinking about his annoying habit of making everything into a joke.
He shook his head again and moved his thoughts and gaze to the two newest additions to the team. The two of them were in conversation similar to the pair up front, but they were being much quieter about it, so Thol had no idea what it was they were discussing. Examining that thought further, he found that he really didn’t care either. Goro now walked with a bag slung across his massive shoulders, one of similar make to his own. He noticed that the big man was walking very close to the girl. Apparently, he intended to take his role as her guardian seriously, especially judging from the way he kept darting his head back and forth as if looking for any potential threats. Thol nodded. Good. Saves me the trouble of having to do it, he thought.
His gaze finally wandered to the raven haired healer whom he seemed to get into a shouting match with every second time they spoke. She had re-donned the white cloak she had been wearing the first time he had met her in light of the cold morning air. She had chosen to wear the hood down this time, allowing her hair to flow out behind her freely. Thol watched the silky strands in amazement for a moment, entranced with how the dawn light reflected off them as if they were some sort of mirror. He shook his head to clear it and went back to his observations. He had noticed earlier that she was now armed with a staff not unlike his own, though hers was in much better condition, most likely having rarely been used, if ever. At the moment she had the weapon clutched in the middle before her with both hands, a stark contrast to how he held his weapon: clutched tightly in his left hand and currently being used as a walking stick.
Thol’s musing was cut short as they arrived at the castle gates. The two weary looking guards who flanked the gates snapped to attention as they neared, the shorter, stockier one stepping forward to address them.
“Halt! What business do you have at the castle?” he demanded in a deep voice.
“We seek audience with the king involving the incident several nights back,” Tor announced.
The guard’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why do you seek audience? Do you have information regarding the incident?”
“Nay. We simply wish to offer our services in rescuing Princess Sara.”
The guard snorted. “If General Carthire wasn’t able to save her, what chance do you think a bunch of kids have? I suggest you all go back to your parents before you get hurt,” he said with a note of finality.
“Excuse me,” Melira spoke up, stepping forward to address the man. “I’m Melira Fedal and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you who my father is,” she said pleasantly.
Thol whipped his head to look at her after hearing her last name, but said nothing for now. The guard had a similar reaction, his face taking on a look of surprise and suddenly bowed to the girl respectfully. “Ah, my apologies, Miss Melira. I hadn’t recognized you. I haven’t seen you since you were just a kid. Were you planning on going with these people to save the princess?”
Melira nodded. “Yes I am. Are you sure you can’t let us through to see the king? I’d appreciate it a lot.”
The guard sighed. “Alright. I guess I can do that, but just make sure to talk to the Chamberlin about it first, you hear?” he said reluctantly.
Melira smiled and dipped her head at the man in thanks. “We’ll do that. Thank you very much, private,” she said, having noted his rank earlier.
The guard sighed again and waved for his partner to make way. The five of them quickly shuffled through the castle gates, leaving the reluctant guard in their wake. Thol strode up beside Melira and turned his head toward her.
“So, Kiran is your father then,” he said. It was a statement as opposed to a question.
“Yes. Do you know him?” she asked.
“I know of him is all,” he replied, his voice taking on a peculiar tone as if he was upset about something. “I wasn’t aware he owned the clinic as well.”
Melira nodded. “The clinic was the whole reason why he ended up being the city representative in the first place. Everyone respected him because of it, so he won pretty much by default.”
“Yes, I see. Either way, good job getting us in. We might have had trouble otherwise.”
“Thank you,” she said. She turned to the others. “The Chamberlin’s office is this way. Follow me.”
They arrived at the man’s office and Melira politely knocked on the stout oaken door. The man inside responded with a muffled “Enter,” which they promptly did. A man who looked to be in his late thirties sat at a desk frowning over a pile of parchment that he kept flipping back and forth through while writing on another, separate piece. He raised his gaze to see who was interrupting his work and his face broke out into a pleasant smile of familiarity.
“Why, Miss Melira! I hadn’t expected to see you here without your father, let alone with such an odd assortment of gentlemen in tow,” the man said as he stood to greet her.
“Well we are here on business, Midola,” she replied, her use of his first name clearly indicating that they knew each other quite well.
“Oh? What business might that be? Perhaps there is some way I might be able to assist you.”
“Actually, we were hoping we could see the king about offering to help with Princess Sara.”
Chamberlin Midola rubbed his chin with his fingers thoughtfully. “You know, you’re the second group of people here today offering aid in the situation. A trio of elves arrived just this morning. How intriguing.”
Thol groaned and put his head in his free hand, muttering something about how he knew something like this would happen.
“You think it’s too late then?” Melira asked.
“Why not at all. The other three are still in there speaking with Kael right now. Besides, I’m sure his majesty would welcome all the help he can get to bring his daughter back.”
“Kael?” Keza asked.
“The king,” Goro explained.
“Oh. I’d never heard his name before,” he replied.
Thol had perked up immediately at the Chamberlin’s words. “Perhaps we should intrude ourselves upon the conversation before it does become too late then,” the magician suggested.
“Of course. Follow me everyone,” Midola said, leading them out of the room.
The five of them silently followed the older man as he lead them a short distance through the castle an up to an ornately decorated set of double doors. It didn’t take a genius to realize that beyond the doors lay the throne room. Midola paused only briefly to order the guards to open the way before motioning to the others to follow.
Just as the doors were opened, they could hear a soft, feminine voice speak out.
“Here they are now, your majesty,” the voice said.
Thol frowned at the words, not being comfortable that a group of elves would somehow have prior knowledge of their arrival. He took in the owner of the voice with a critical eye. She was beautiful of course, like all her race. It was exceptionally rare to see an ugly elf and even then, they were still comparable to the average human. Her soft golden skin gleamed in the bright torch light of the throne room, as did the shimmering white hair that framed her delicate face, hair that fell to her shoulder blades. She wasn’t very tall, shorter even then Keza, who was the smallest of the five of them, and she had about her a look of innocence that marked her as being quite young, even taking into consideration the extended lifetime of the elves. Judging by her build, Thol estimated that she was most likely still in her adolescence, a fact that made him quirk an eyebrow in confusion. Her face looked tired and drawn, as if she was under an incredible amount of stress, and she gazed at the five of them with half-lidded violet colored eyes.
The other two elves that stood one on each side of her were the polar opposites of the young girl between them. Both were grim faced men that stood tall in their shining mythril suits, one sporting short black hair and cerulean eyes, the other pale blond hair that fell to his shoulders and steel grey eyes that shone with determination. Both stood stock still and eyed the new arrivals to the throne with a degree of mistrust, as they were clearly not part of the castle’s employ.
“Your majesty,” Midola began, performing a quick bow as be spoke. “These people wished to seek audience with you in respect to our dear Princess Sara. Knowing the reason for the visit from our friends from across the sea, I thought it would be prudent to bring them right away.”
“Thank you, Midola. You’ve done well. We were, in fact, expecting them in light of what this young lady has told us,” the king said in a weary voice, the strain of his daughter’s kidnapping evident in his very movements.
“Then I will leave them with you. I have much to do,” the Chamberlin replied with a second bow. He spun about and left the throne room, pausing only to nod his respects to Melira.
“Please,” the king bade with a wave of his hand as Midola left. “Do approach so that we might speak with greater ease.”
The five of them looked at each other, each with a look of confusion on their face, and then approached as was asked of them. They stopped as they arrived beside the three elves, each bowing with varying degrees of aptitude, from Keza’s wobbly attempt, to Melira’s graceful curtsy. Thol took the initiative and stepped forward following his own polished genuflection.
“I have to admit, you majesty, I am a bit confused as how you could have been expecting us,” he stated, eliciting nods of agreement from his comrades.
“I will explain it to them, your majesty,” the elf girl said then, taking several steps toward them, her red silken dress flowing with her almost as if it were alive. “Your arrival here was foretold many years ago, well over five hundred to be more specific. It is a small, but important part of a much larger prophecy written by a Mysidian man by the name of Lukahn.”
Thol was rather startled to hear the name. “Lukahn the Sage?” he asked incredulously.
“The very same, a man that I’m sure you’re quite familiar with, Mana Weaver.”
“That’s impossible. How could he have written all this five hundred years ago? Only you elves live for that long and Lukahn clearly isn’t an elf.”
The elf girl smiled. “You’ll find a great many things in the coming months that defy convention I’m afraid. A man lives for as long as he lives and will continue to live for so long as there is a task he must perform. Lukahn still has such a task, and thus is still alive.”
“That has to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Keza remarked. “Just who are you anyway?”
The girl bowed her head and closed her eyes briefly. “My apologies. My name is Valamaria Intuliril. As you can guess, I am from Ellandanar, better known to you as Elfland. I am… I suppose you can say, a guide of sorts.”
“A guide to what?” Melira asked.
“A guide to Lukahn’s Prophecy. The sage was stricken with the vision of the prophecy five hundred years ago so that he might write it down and prepare the world for what was to come. Unfortunately, no one listened to him until it was too late. Now, I too am burdened with the vision of the prophecy, but not to warn, as it is beyond such a time, but to guide, as I said.”
“Yeah, that’s all well and good,” Thol said sarcastically, starting to become irritated. “But what, may I ask, does any of this have to do with us.”
“Everything,” Valamaria replied cryptically.
Thol just narrowed his eyes in response, too annoyed to even reply.
It was Tor that would eventually speak.
“How so?” he asked.
“Lukahn’s Prophecy foretells the fall of the elements, starting first with the air, then water, the earth, and finally, fire. The earth is just now starting to fail, and at this time, it was said that a mighty warrior, once the most respected man, would fall from grace and steal the Flower.”
“General Garland… And Princess Sara,” Goro identified.
“My daughter, the Flower of Coneria,” the king confirmed sadly.
“Yes,” Valamaria continued. “The kidnapping of the Flower would mark the arrival of six men that would unite together and restore peace to the world, identified only by their symbolic names. They are called the Light Warriors.”
“Oh great,” Thol said as he crossed his arms. “Another idiot spouting nonsense about mythical figures.”
“Not nonsense, truth. All the proof you need is the fact that you are all standing here in this throne room.”
Thol actually laughed. “Oh, come now. Are you trying to tell me that we are supposed to be these so called ‘Light Warriors’? For one thing, there’s only five of us, and for another, how are we suppose to ‘unite together and save the world’ if we can barely endure each other’s presence?”
“There are six of us, Mana Weaver. I am the sixth warrior.”
Melira frowned. “Why do you keeping calling him ‘Mana Weaver’?” she asked.
“It is the
name given to him by the prophecy, just as I am the Guide and you are the Holy
Light. The rest of you also have similar
names, as do all who have a part in the prophecy. Princess Sara is the Flower.
“Big deal. Those names are so general that they can apply to almost anyone. Mana Weaver? Anyone who can use magic can be called that. And the Guide? Wow, that’s so original,” Thol retorted caustically.
Melira frowned again, this time for a different reason. “Do you really have to be so harsh?” she asked him.
“Don’t tell me you’re actually getting sucked in by this drivel,” he replied.
“I think we should at least hear her out.”
“Why? Because some senile old man supposedly had a dream five centuries ago? That’s even more ridiculous then this prophecy itself.”
Valamaria smiled at this. “The prophecy knew you would be skeptical,” she said, slowly walking over to him. “And so I will tell you this,” she said, stopping in front of him and motioning for him to lean forward. He did so out of curiosity. The elven girl stood up on her toes and leaned in to whisper in his ear.