***
The steward was not one that fancied the desert, despite being there for the past six years. ?He anticipated the long-awaited day when he could turn his back on the desert and its black stone fortress for good. ?That day, he sensed, was close. ?Handling the affairs of the desert princeling did not suit his superior talents, and as a human, the steward had a rare talent indeed.
Instead he found himself presenting a rare and mysterious guest for an audience with the princeling. ?As instructed, he led the hooded horseman through the metal gates of the fortress. ?The cowl and cloak that shrouded the horseman from sight would not be a cause for concern, but the sexless creature astride its blasphemous steed made the horses restless and the dogs uneasy. ?Even the hired soldiers shied from its presence. ?This was a messenger from the Blind Seer.
Glancing black, the steward saw that the messenger took no notice of its surroundings. ?It kept its hidden gaze locked straight ahead, so the steward did the same, opening the castle doors. The messenger proceeded inside, still atop its horse. ?The princeling rose from his metal-fashioned throne to greet the visitor, a revolting smile touching his sand-puckered face. ?The steward had been in service to this princeling for nearly a decade, and the princeling disgusted him. ?Still, the steward preferred his largely arrogant desert prince over servants of the Seer.
"Welcome emissary of Sibylla!" the princeling boomed, holding his thick arms wide as he waited for a response.
The messenger turned to the steward and handed him a slip of dirty paper. ?The steward read over the foreign runes with a practiced eye. The messenger would not speak, servants of the Seer rarely did, so it was the steward's job to voice their intentions.
"My lord, the Blind Seer has sent this messenger to stay with us. She says that the time draws near and she wishes for her servant to be here when the time comes."
The princeling was delighted with the news and anxious to show the uninterested messenger the expanse of his fortress, a sign of his great wealth. ?The steward ?was left alone in the hall, annoyed at the princeling for readily welcoming a creature he had no true comprehension of. ?A servant of the Blind Seer had no concern with material surroundings.
The steward would have followed behind his master to lightly reprimand him for his imprudent behavior, but there was something on the parchment the messenger handed him that caught his eye. ?It was a note specifically for him from the Blind Seer.
I know what you plan, Lisiek. ?Fear the Black Crow, for she will take your life.
The steward detested the prophetic arts of divination. ?His brother had once dabbled in them, and it only brought him ruin. ?The incident left him without a brother, and because of it he now avoided seers and the like. ?He had warned the princeling against using the services of the Blind Seer, but the princeling was blinded by his own grief, determined to avenge the murder of his love. ?The steward didn't understand the devotion; he had never been connected that deeply to his brother or anyone else. ?He thought it silly.
But the warnings of the Blind Seer, though unwarranted, should never be taken lightly. ?He folded the paper and tucked it into his sleeve before leaving the hall to patrol the fortress walls. ?The steward trained his eyes on the hazy horizon of the desert, his shoulders tense. ?His instinct searched for a black raven, but his mind told him that such animals were not native to the desert.
"Unless it's not an animal at all," he muttered to himself. ?The Blind Seer was fond of speaking cryptically.
From the top of the wall, the steward could see all the training companies of soldiers. ?On the other side, he could see the sudden drop off the edge of the plateau that the fortress sat upon and mentally, he cursed the place. ?He didn't see the use of building such a large fortress in the middle of an uninhabited desert. ?It did not seem wise to him, but then again, the princeling owned over half the desert. ?He would have had little other choice in choosing a location.
Plus, crows weren't native to the desert. ?The steward had convinced himself of this fact until, turning, he saw one flitting from the turrets of the west wall.
Archer of the Lake Page 8