by Martin Frowd
“The vipren are ssswift to react when challenged,” hissed Archdruid Sryth, speaking of the lesser snake folk race, smaller of stature but far more numerous than the cobren, who made up the majority of his tribe. “The Nighthawk warriorssss ssstrayed too near to not only water, but ssspawning poolsss. The vipren who guard them have granted the People of the Nighthawk a boon, by removing the unruly young warriorsss from the mating pool before they could ssspawn more of the sssame.” Rashath nodded to acknowledge the green-scaled cobren Archdruid’s sibilant words, as did the Grand Druid, before Sryth continued. “The People of the Ssserpent have little elssse unusssual to report, Grand Druid. Goblinsss and reptath have long sssince learned not to challenge usss asss they do humansss. Many new ssspawn have been hatched, dessspite the blunderingsss of the Nighthawk. Delegationsss from Bear and Boar have visssited Ssserpent landsss ssseeking to trade, asss all know the People of the Ssserpent are the finessst craftersss of the Twelve Tribesss. All isss well.”
“What of the People of the Bear, Archdruid Zlyth?”
“Little enough to report, Grand Druid. Some sightings of doomwolves returning to the Hills of Dusk from further south, no doubt disturbed by the People of the Nighthawk, and as Archdruid Sryth has already noted, a delegation from the Ebon Pelt clan visited one of the clans of the People of the Serpent to trade hides for newly forged blades, but it has otherwise been a quiet Huntmoon.”
“And the People of the Vulture, Archdruid Sholvyth?” Grand Druid Zakryth asked the black-clad Archdruid two places from his left hand.
“The Vulture lands are secure, Grand Druid,” whispered Sholvyth. “As has been noted earlier, infidels from across the seas continue, now and then, to make landfall on our shores, and make fascinating subjects for experiments. The cat folk howl particularly loudly when they are dissected, but the long-lived are stoic in their silence. The most recent such lasted nearly three days under slow dissection and study. It seems the second heart becomes much more efficient if the first heart is removed or destroyed. Most interesting.”
“And apart from foreign intruders, Archdruid Sholvyth?”
“The People of the Vulture are self-sufficient, Grand Druid. They have little need for interaction with the other Tribes of the People, other than through the Order. They guard the northwestern shores and the western edge of the Black Lake, and they keep their own counsel.”
The Grand Druid nodded, having expected little else.
“Finally, let us hear from the People of the Raven. Archdruid Ranvyth?” The Grand Druid’s even tone betrayed no especial respect, but he was well aware that all present knew that he had once studied under Ranvyth, before either of them had achieved the high positions they now held.
“The People of the Raven thrive, Grand Druid,” Zakryth’s former mentor assured him, “as do those brethren of the Order who study on the Isle of Ravens. Thrice, since we last met in Conclave, the ships of the northern infidels have sought the Isle, but its veils of mist have confounded them, and they have sailed back whence they came. The People of the Raven watched them until they were long gone from the Bay of Ravens and vanished into the Sea of Winter.
“Twice recently the ships of the western infidels have been diverted to our Vulture neighbours, and our brother Sholvyth has just described their fate.
“Those of the Sighted who study upon the Isle of Ravens continue to observe the cycles and conjunctions of the nine moons and the distant stars, and they have predicted that the coming decades will be a time of particular change and challenge for the Twelve Tribes of the People.”
The Grand Druid acknowledged Ranvyth’s mention of the Druid Order’s cabal of seers and astrologers with the slightest of nods.
“This is scarcely unexpected, surely,” murmured Zenryth of the Rat, “as we approach five thousand years since our great Prince’s defeat? We are slow to change, brethren, Grand Druid. No doubt, much slower than the world beyond our shores. But even for us, each new millennium brings change and challenge.”
“And we should embrace it?” snorted Archdruid Zohal. “We are the chosen of the Dark King and the Divine Prince, He Who Shall Come Again! Heirs to the First Druid’s legacy. We do not change. We guard against change.”
“Because we have ever done a thing, Mammoth brother, does it follow that we must always do it?” Zenryth’s words were innocent enough, but the smirk that he could not quite hide was not. The Grand Druid grimaced. He had expected Zenryth, the youngest of their number, to raise the hackles of the others now and then, and clearly Zohal was still smarting over the matter of inter-tribal raids.
“You are still young, Archdruid Zenryth,” Zorgyth of the Lion joined in. “When you reach seventy-five summers you may gain some greater perspective. Our constancy has ever been our strength. Change is damaging. Disruptive. To be avoided, always. We know this, all of us, and the Histories reinforce it also.”
Archdruid Zenryth did not rise to Zorgyth’s patronising tone, but he inclined his head as if thanking the older Archdruid. The Grand Druid knew full well that he was doing no such thing. Zakryth, however, was more interested that Zorgyth had so swiftly agreed with Zohal. The Archdruids of Lion and Mammoth were not usually such easy allies, and this bore further watching.
Zakryth did not comment on Zorgyth’s allusion to the Histories, although several other heads nodded. The Order’s records did make a virtue of rigidity. Of course, there were records hidden even from the Archdruids. Particularly those that covered periods when there had indeed been change and upheaval.
The Grand Druid marked that Sharath and Sryth did not nod in agreement with Zorgyth and his compatriots. He was unsurprised. He had long suspected that the two nonhuman Archdruids knew more than they let on about the true history of the Order and the Tribes alike. Perhaps their Tribes retained and handed down stories of their own about the upheavals of the past, the upheavals that were so carefully excised from the Keep’s records, save for those that were sealed to the Grand Druid only. He had always let it slide, however, as neither tigren nor cobren seemed in any hurry to enlighten their human brethren.
“We have heard now from each of the Archdruids of the Twelve Tribes of the People,” the Grand Druid summarised. “Now, we shall–”, Zakryth broke off in mid-sentence, distracted by the Archdruid of the People of the Raven seated at his left hand, as he suddenly collapsed in his seat. “Archdruid Ranvyth?”
As the other Archdruids turned their attention in his direction, the Archdruid of the Raven sat bolt upright, his eyes staring wildly but clearly not seeing his fellows, as words spilled from his lips.
“When hunter burnt by red eye be, as falling dragon plunges into sea, comes then breaker by shadow’s fire driven, from the stony fields riven. Born to the people, raised far away, returning on the darkest day, steeped in the lore of those who came before, with power to conquer shadow’s core. Deathless, timeless, master of fate, stands defiant before the gate. Only once his blood is spilled shall the empty throne be filled.”
◆◆◆
Though the nighthawk made no sound, still its descent toward the ramparts of the fortress did not go unnoticed. On the battlements, a brown-robed patroller stopped and raised a silk-clad arm skyward, offering the nocturnal hunter a perch, which was promptly and eagerly accepted. As the bird came in to roost, talons gripping the sleeve, its black-feathered head swivelled toward its host. The sentry met its gaze, his dark eyes locking with its golden ones.
“Well met, little winged brother,” the sentry spoke softly as their eyes met. “And what have we here – who have we here?” The Druid sentry’s tone changed, becoming more urgent as his mystically-attuned senses picked up the second presence, the passenger riding the bird’s mind. “Who are you?”
◆◆◆
In the council chamber, Archdruid Ranvyth collapsed back into his seat for a moment, blinked, licked his lips and came to his senses, while Grand Druid Zakryth and the other eleven Archdruids stared at him.
“Brethren?”
he raised an eyebrow.
“You were entranced,” Archdruid Sryth hissed, the cobren’s forked tongue flickering as his scaled and crested head bobbed. “You uttered poetic wordsss, Raven brother. Wordsss of the Sssight, think I.”
“A prophecy?” the Archdruid of the Raven queried.
The Archdruid of the Serpent nodded his scaled head.
“All heard it, yesss.”
“All but I, who enunciated it, then.”
“Your words were captured, Archdruid Ranvyth,” whispered Archdruid Sholvyth of the Vulture. He reached into a pocket of his robes and withdrew a small yellow crystal. As he held up the recording crystal and depressed one of its facets, Ranvyth’s voice and rhyming words issued from it for all to hear.
“You routinely record all that transpires in this chamber?” Archdruid Zohal bristled at the Vulture Archdruid.
“Of course, Archdruid of the Mammoth. Do you not? It is only prudent,” Sholvyth whispered. Archdruid Zenryth chuckled, causing not just Zohal but also Zorgyth and Zakaran to bristle defensively. Sholvyth ignored them all, focusing on Ranvyth. “Hear your own words, Raven brother.”
“Or at least, the words of the Sight, given voice through me,” the Archdruid of the Raven observed. “In any case, Grand Druid, brethren, the meaning is clear. At last we know the conditions, long awaited, by which our Divine Prince may at last return to this world and the Empty Throne will, at long last, be filled.” He inclined his head respectfully to the throne at the far end of the council chamber. His fellow Conclave members promptly did the same.
“Asss you sssay, Raven brother,” hissed Archdruid Sryth. “But firssst we mussst decccipher the wordsss, yesss? They ssspeak of a conjunction of the moonsss, think I.”
“Some of them, at least,” agreed Archdruid Ranvyth. “The Great Red Eye, the Dragonmoon and the Huntmoon, certainly, and the reference to sea could be to the Tidemoon.”
“The Firemoon also,” growled Archdruid Sharath, flexing and retracting his claws. “What else could burnt hunter be, but a conjunction of Firemoon and Huntmoon?”
“The Tiger ssspeaksss wisssely,” Archdruid Sryth acknowledged.
“So, a conjunction of five of the nine moons,” Archdruid Ranvyth summarised. “We may assume that the Great Red Eye, the Firemoon, Huntmoon and Tidemoon are intended to be full moons. Falling dragon suggests to me that the Dragonmoon must be waning. If we take it that the phases of the other four moons are not important, for our purpose, we can consult the lunar charts and determine the next occurrence of such a combination. An unusual one, to be certain – I do not believe the moons would be in the necessary alignment more than thrice in a thousand years! I shall set the Sighted to checking the astrological charts as soon as I return to the Isle of Ravens. Let us all give thanks, brothers, that the coming of our Prince is finally at hand.”
“Have them seek not only the next occurrence, but the last one also,” Archdruid Sholvyth said in his usual whisper.
“You think thisss breaker already born isss?” hissed Archdruid Sryth.
“Would you risk ruling it out? If this alignment is so rare, we could err on the side of waiting a few centuries, when the subject of the prophecy already lives, and never know it until he is long dead and useless to us.”
“And the rest of the prophecy, brethren?” queried Archdruid Zohal. “This breaker, if he wields shadowfire, must be Gifted, and unusually strongly so at that, but born to the people yet raised far away? Gifted, but not a Druid of the Order? The very idea is blasphemous! The Law forbids it, and the Histories give ample reasons for that forbiddance.”
“And yet, it may be necessary,” observed Archdruid Sholvyth.
“Would you violate millennia of tradition?” Archdruid Zohal snorted in response. “Relax our vigilance against the infidels beyond our shores? Allow them to spirit away Gifted children – for what else could it mean – to be raised overseas?”
“If it is necessary, it is necessary,” murmured Sholvyth. “Fate and the Gods move in often mysterious ways, Archdruid of the Mammoth. And it need but be for a short period, as defined by the Sighted, when they have studied their lunar charts, yes? Perhaps not even within the lifetime of any sitting here tonight, for all that we now know.”
“Or perhaps it is no true prophecy at all!” Archdruid Zorgyth snorted. “How likely could it be, brethren, that the filling of the Empty Throne could depend on an outlander, whatever his birth? No. I say this is no prophecy.”
“We all witnessed the prophetic trance,” Archdruid Zenryth murmured, raising an eyebrow at the Archdruid of the Lion. “Our Vulture brother even captured it in crystal – and I should be surprised if he were the only one. Are you suggesting we all imagined it? That we were all hallucinating, both when it was spoken and when it was retrieved from the crystal? Or that our esteemed Raven brother was simply pretending to be entranced, and made it all up?”
“Put no words in my mouth, Archdruid of the Rat,” growled Zorgyth. “You will not make me look the fool!”
“Perish the thought, Lion brother. You clearly need no assistance.”
Zorgyth’s face was thunderous. The tattoos above his eyes sparked with eldritch light. He slapped his hands on the table and pushed up from his seat.
“Sit. Down.” The Grand Druid grated out only two words, but their effect was immediate. Archdruid Zorgyth fell back into his seat. Though he glared venomously at Zenryth, he clearly was not ready to go against the Grand Druid’s direct command. Archdruid Zenryth smirked, but the smugness vanished from his face as Grand Druid Zakryth’s frown turned on him, and he was quiet.
“We are the Conclave. Not a gaggle of children,” Zakryth did not raise his voice, but his scathing tone hit home. “If we cannot rule ourselves, how can we rule the Twelve Tribes of the People?”
The assembled Archdruids were silent for a moment. Sharath flexed and re-sheathed his claws. Sryth’s forked tongue flickered, as if tasting the air.
“While I do not suggest that we heard anything other than Archdruid Ranvyth’s words,” Zohal of the Mammoth carefully broke the silence, “or, at least, the words of the Sight given voice through him, we know, brethren, that prophecy is a most inexact art. Can we be sure that the words he spoke truly mean what we believe? Are we being led astray by our most fervent hope, seemingly dangled before us, that the Prince may walk among men once more and sit upon the Empty Throne?”
Grand Druid Zakryth noted that Zohal had come to Zorgyth’s aid this time. Returning the earlier favour, perhaps. He resolved to pay close heed to this new seeming alliance between Mammoth and Lion.
“For that matter, brethren,” Archdruid Zakaran spoke up, “can we be sure that our brother of the Raven was guided to prophecy by the Dark King, and not by some God or spirit more – hostile – to our Order? Many and varied are those who might seek to confound and deceive us, for hostile cause or simply for their own amusement.”
“In this chamber?” Archdruid Sholvyth spoke in his usual whisper, but it was clear that he scoffed at the Boar Archdruid’s suggestion. “Through the wards all around us? The most protected chamber in all these lands – indeed, in all the world?”
“I concur with the Archdruid of the Vulture, brethren,” Archdruid Ranvyth said quietly but firmly. “Though I must rely on you who witnessed my tranced words, and committed them to crystal, I assure you that no hostile spirit could reach us here. Not in this chamber, through the wards that guard it. I remind you all that I myself have contributed to them – as has every Archdruid of the Sighted, since time immemorial. And, of course, every Grand Druid.” He gave a shallow bow to Zakryth at the head of the table, who answered it with a nod.
“Let us assume it is a true prophecy, brethren,” Archdruid Zenryth spoke up again. “If it should prove not to be, we lose little – far less than we do, should we ignore what proves to be a true Sighted prediction. In any case, there are still other elements of the riddle to decipher. From the stony fields riven? Steeped in the lore of those w
ho came before? And for that matter, deathless timeless master of fate?”
“Stony fields are clearly hills or mountains,” said Archdruid Zohal. “Thus, even if we give true credence to this foretelling, we can be sure this breaker will not come from the People of the Mammoth! Nor from Hookbeak, nor Rat. And I think we can all agree that none of the People of the Tiger or People of the Serpent would ever betray our Dark King, nor let any infidel leave their lands alive! No, this breaker must be of human kind, brethren, and likely not from the eastern Tribes of the People.”
Sharath and Sryth nodded calmly at this declaration but did not speak.
“Stony field could also be an execution ground,” noted Archdruid Zlyth.
“Of course,” murmured Archdruid Zenryth with a sardonic smile. “The People of the Bear execute their wrongdoers by throwing rocks at them – and must spend much of their time digging up rocks to throw, which perhaps explains why there are not more wrongdoers – they are all simply too tired? Whereas in the east, we find a quick slice across the throat or stab to the heart is much less effort, and just as final. Dead is dead, after all. But a valid point made by the esteemed Archdruid Zlyth – perhaps this breaker comes from, or will come from, the People of the Bear.”
“Or perhaps that is merely what the Archdruid of the People of the Bear hopes for, and would have us believe,” said Archdruid Zakaran, glowering. “If we grant that this is a true prophecy at all, might it not be just as likely that the one who will bring about our Divine Prince’s return to this world arises from the People of the Boar?”