by Aleks Canard
EARTH DATE: June 2nd, 2799
LOCATION: Crescent Crown Mountains, Raursioc, Sea of Bones
Snowfall heralded changing times.
It hadn’t snowed this early for centuries. Maybe even a millennium. The Colonel didn’t know. He didn’t commit such fruitless information to memory. The first snowflake had drifted from the sky two days prior. The lake had frozen overnight.
Yvach Aodun might not have had extensive meteorological knowledge, but he was well versed in old Raursiocan legends.
Early winter seldom meant anything good. And the frozen lake, so soon after the first snowfall, that was an ill omen indeed.
Yvach stood by a window in his quarters, looking out onto the icy wasteland that, until recently, had been dense forest. Now it was varying shades of white, barely visible through squalls which screamed like banshees. Pogonip cascaded from the mountaintops. Rushed towards the lake like a waterfall. The actual waterfall had frozen solid too.
Blinking lights cut through the haze far in the distance. Interplanetary docks were still operating, though few people dared takeoff in such inclement weather.
Disheartened, Yvach averted his gaze. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all wrong. He sat on his bed. Held a bottle of Dwarf Star Drop. It was warm. Even through the glass. He didn’t drink. Indecisiveness had him in its claws. It was salivating. Bit down hard.
Among other things, first snowfall marked the changing of the guard. The time for current political leaders to be challenged. When they could honourably step down from their posts and make way for new blood.
Yvach had been working on becoming the Mountain Kings’ chief for months. He liked his chances. He was a decorated war hero and had proven his mettle more times than he could count. That would’ve been fine had the times not been baleful, and the mood so tense.
Dheizir Crohl’s terrorist attacks had shaken fundamental Corrachian beliefs. He had followers in powerful clans Raursioc wide who sought to fulfil his agenda. They might’ve said they were ensuring corrachian culture’s future, but Yvach saw it for what it really represented. Cowardice and fear. The two most despicable traits a corrach could possess.
Loyalty was a chief corrachian virtue. And in a time when politics was no longer national or international, but galactic, Yvach reckoned loyalty should be extended to all allies, regardless of their race, in equal measure. Especially seeing as an external threat could come at any time and obliterate the Milky Way. So it had been foretold. And mayhap it had happened before. Long ago. For reasons unknown.
Yvach set the whiskey bottle aside. His hands were trembling.
His eyes flitted around his room. It was small. Modest. The Mountain Kings believed that pride should not be attributed to material possessions, but to valour, honour, bravery, loyalty, and tenacity. Any corrach who possessed those attributes was considered rich. In fact, all corrachs who lived within the Crescent Crown Mountains — so named for the way they wrapped around the lake — had roughly the same size quarters. Only the clan chief had grander dwellings. The Crescent Keep sat atop the mountains and had stood for thousands of years.
Yvach Aodun began singing in a low, haunting voice. He did so in Earthen. Corrachian left a bad taste in his mouth of late. There were too many tarclabers pretending to uphold Corrachian values when they were just snakes in the grass.
But winter would weed them out. Snap freeze their cold blooded veins and expose them for what they really were.
Or so Yvach hoped.
‘So he begged, oh did he plead,
the lord of Rei’ner Ghlain.
They came in hordes, from mountain halls,
and slew every last man…’
Yvach rose from his bed. Looked across the lake. It was possible to see the Rei’ner Ghlain, The Realm of Glass, on the mountains’ southern side, from the highest peaks. Normally it was separated from the continent of Arthnach by the ocean. However, when the frost came, the water froze. For as long as anyone could remember the water remained frozen due to the Realm of Glass’ south pole position.
Only a prison was there now. And a corrachian warlock dojo. But it had once been a fertile kingdom with the deepest obsidian mines this side of Raursioc. That had been in the year Ten and One Hundred A.G.F. (After the Great Frost). The Mountain Kings had turned it barren, or so the story went. It had been so long ago that no one knew for sure. History was hard to trust when all the losers were dead.
‘The Mountain Kings, oh Mountain Kings,
had only asked for aid.
And on his throne, the lord did scorn,
the lord of Rei’ner Ghlain…’
Obsidian had once been called Scathen Ghlain (Shadow Glass) by the people of Arthnach and Osthorgalt. Though it was the Mountain Kings with whom Rei’ner Ghlain’s people pledged their allegiance. The story went that, one day, Northern Tribes started on a war path towards the Crescent Crown Mountains, for they believed the coming winter would be too cold to weather in their grottos and caves. They sought the Kings’ lava heated mountain halls for protection.
The Mountain Kings’ Clan Chief, Ilrend Ganrealt, had sent word to the lord of Rei’ner Ghlain, whose name was stricken from the record on account of his betrayal. The Lord refused aid to Ganrealt. He feared the Northern Tribes’ ferocity.
‘He did not know, he could not see,
his words had sealed his fate.
For come next morn, come first snowfall,
the Kings they marched, post-haste…’
Ilrend, not one to suffer fools, split his army in two. He wanted to teach the lord a lesson about loyalty. So he killed every person in Rei’ner Ghlain then sowed the fields with salt and razed all the buildings.
‘So he begged, his people screamed,
the lord of Rei’ner Ghlain.
His lands were burned, the flames ate all,
an offering, of pain…’
Even after the destruction wrought upon the Realm of Glass, Ilrend’s secondary army re-joined his main unit, and together, they crushed the Northern Tribes while singing the dirge known as the Song of Shattered Glass, written by Einnich Laregalt especially for the occasion.
‘Glass was what came before,
And shattered it remained.
The shattered glass remained.’
No one ever took up residence in the Rei’ner Ghlain again. And from that moment on, it became the banishment destination for tarclabers to suffer death. Cold, hungry, and alone.
The prison which stood in the Realm of Glass’ mountains was built on the foundations of the old Lord’s fortress. And it was where Dheizir Crohl would hopefully fester until he died.
Yvach let the song’s last words hang in the air. They did so like corpses. Swaying. Putrefying his room. There were important lessons to be learned from the Lord of Rei’ner Ghlain’s betrayal. Yvach planned on using the tale to emphasise his points about keeping the Consortium strong, and not to forgo external alliances. His other argument was what befell Earth when they exorcised themselves from the Consortium.
Biting cold dug its claws into Yvach’s spine and ran to the nape of his neck. War was coming. All that remained to be seen was who would be fighting whom.
His friend, the machina, had told him that an ancient prediction foretold civil war to be the beginning of the end. An end so final it would be inescapable. One that would condemn the gods themselves.
Yvach couldn’t factor the prophecy into his run for Clan Chief. People would think he was mad. But it was what kept him up late at night, when the howling winds tore his peace of mind to tatters and shadows danced on his heart.
Right there, Yvach decided he wanted the machina with him. She could help him win his people’s favour. If he was to be preaching about the importance of external alliances, he’d better have one present. Yes, the machina would help.
And her name was Beatrix Westwood.
If you liked this story, then in late 2019, prepare to join Dante Quintrell on the final part of his gr
and adventure.
The Tales of
Dante Quintrell
Chapter III
Converging of
the Colours
Aleks Canard