Prophecy's Queen (The Triadine Saga)

by Timothy Bond

  "I have something to bargain with, Posh," Drianna stated, standing her ground. "Something that you will want very badly."

  "There is nothing you can offer me of your Wiccan magic that I cannot already match or exceed with my own," Posh said without looking up. "I say again. I am accepting no visitors. Good day, Drianna!"

  "You will want to read this, Posh," Drianna said quietly, holding out a yellowed scroll bound with a new green and red ribbon.

  "And what is that?" Posh looked across the great desk. "I have plenty of scrolls and books already as you might have noticed."

  "Not like this one," Drianna replied. She stepped up to the desk and handed the scroll across to the wizard. "Just one thing before you open it," she continued. "If you wish to keep that scroll, you will help me with the spells I came here to speak with you about."

  "I cannot imagine you have anything that I would find valuable”—Posh accepted the scroll, its aged parchment flaking ever so slightly in his hands—“however I give you my word."

  The wizard carefully opened the scroll and started reading. His mouth fell open, and he looked up at Drianna before turning back to the words without speaking. Pushing aside several books on his desk and knocking several more to the floor, he stood and bent over the scroll, gently unrolling more and more of it on his desk.

  "Do you know what this is?" He gasped at last, looking up at the sorceress with wide eyes.

  "I do," she replied.

  "No, I mean do you really know what this is or do you just guess?"

  "I know, old man," she said calmly. "Though I could not read most of it, as the language is ancient, and it was dead long before I was born. I was able to determine it is a treatise on the resurrection of the dead, written by one of the Nordae-Grandia at a time before the creation of humans. It references only Elves and Dwarves as the lesser races, so I suspect it pre-dates even the Lesser Wizards."

  "I can read only a fraction of the text," Posh said quickly, "but I have volumes that have been translated from this form that I will be able to use as cross-reference material to translate this document as well. It is as you say, or appears to be, at any rate. It may take years of study to understand the finer points."

  Posh was lost in the scroll now, and Drianna let him wander deeper into its possibilities before interrupting him.

  "My price, Wizard," she said at last.

  "Yes, yes," Posh replied, looking up impatiently. "What minor spells are you struggling with where you need my help?"

  "I have a few things I need your help with, and you must give me your complete attention and apply your full talent to the effort. Not like the last time."

  She held out her hand in an obvious attempt to take back her scroll; however, Posh left it where it lay and walked around the desk instead. He stood face to face with the sorceress.

  "What you have brought me may be the key to a lifetime of effort.” He looked deeply into her eyes. "There is nothing I would not grant you for this boon."

  "As I hoped," she said, smiling. "Let us go over what I need and get to work right away. The sooner we finish, the sooner you can get to work translating those writings."

  * * *

  It took the two mages most of the next three weeks to put together the necessary spells. The runes and the words of power needed were complex and required them to push themselves beyond their normal limits. The spells wove Wiccan and Wizard magic together in subtle ways that were likely never before attempted.

  Both of them were exhausted when the task was complete, but Drianna was satisfied that she now had what she needed and could leave the wizard in peace.

  "Thank you, Posh," she said as she embraced him outside his tower. He smelled of musk and sweat, which quickened Drianna’s heart. Though the two were never going to be openly close, the residue of the magic they worked with for the last three weeks was still strong and nearly prevented her from leaving.

  "These spells cannot be reversed," Posh repeated for the hundredth time. "Be very sure when you cast them that you are ready for the consequences."

  "That is the intent," Drianna replied, still holding the wizard's hand in her own.

  "Please do not come back here again," Posh choked on the words, the tears welling up in his eyes.

  "I understand, and I will leave you alone," the sorceress replied. "You will realize someday the importance of what we have done, but for now, just accept my thanks."

  "The price you paid is worth more to me than anything.” He absently rubbed the locket he wore around his neck. "This may indeed be the key to bringing back my Bethany."

  "Good luck to you, Posh," Drianna said quietly. She released his hand and walked down the valley to the Way Gate entrance, her own eyes filling with tears and her sobbing nearly uncontrollable.

  Three

  Nearly three weeks had passed since Rozlynn arrived at the Caergana Abbey. She and Brother Hewin were still working through the translation of the book on Goblin prophecy recovered from the ruins of an old Goblin enclave in the Sikyu Mountains.

  The Goblins were once known for their scholarship, though that was centuries ago. This volume was actually written before The Breaking of the World. Though it appeared to have several sections devoted to The Prophecy, it was difficult to determine which passages were speaking about the original use of the Triadine, and which may be referring to the present day.

  "Princess?" Brother Hewin was absently rubbing his bald pate. "Will you please translate this passage for me? I think my first interpretation might have been incorrect."

  Rozlynn took the translated sheets and started to read through Hewin's version.

  "If you would not mind," he interrupted her, "would you work from the original and not be influenced by what I've already done?"

  She glanced up in annoyance at the frail-looking monk, who often went days without eating while lost in his research. Though he was thin and pale, he could scamper up the library's ladders to the top shelves faster than any acolyte. She had to smile just a little.

  "I will start fresh, Brother," she said calmly. "Both pages?"

  "If you don't mind, Princess."

  Brother Hewin was always polite, and when the Princess was here to study, he gave her his undivided attention. Rozlynn settled in to translate the Goblin text, though the age of this document meant that much of what the two of them understood would be in error. The written language of the Goblins was full of metaphors that were based on Goblin history, and that made any translation awkward at best and often incorrect.

  The work was tedious, and Rozlynn worked through the first several paragraphs finding nothing of interest. Then she stopped, crossed out the words she had just written, and started the section again.

  Bane of darkness. Born of short and long of life. Two are one, opposite and identical. Barak's scourge. Griswold's regret. The impossible is possible. When the ??? rise from spawn ???, the ??? will be the ones to ??? into the void forever.

  After she finished as much of the translation as she could, she read this one section aloud. Hewin gave her his complete attention as she continued.

  "Most of this text is a repeat of earlier sections," she announced, "and though it applies to the future of the Goblins, I don't think it pertains to The Prophecy. This one section however might be applicable. There are a few words I cannot do anything with."

  "Barak?" Brother Hewin asked, "Isn't that the name of the Dragon Lord who served the Dark Wizard at the end of the First Age? Does that put this prophecy into the realm of those of the First Age?"

  "It does, though I don't think it is accurate to say he served the Dark Wizard. I believe that the dragons were serving their own interests, and that just happened to align with Khollaran, that's all."

  "Griswold?" Hewin asked for clarification. "I don't recognize that name either."

  "You do, you just know him by another," Rozlynn suggested. "He was the last Goblin King in the North, after The Breaking."

  "You mean Grash-nold?" Brother
Hewin asked.

  "They are one and the same. Goblin prophecy always refers to him this way. They superstitiously believe that they cannot name their leaders in prophecy. They believe if they use real names that the prophecy will not come true. Having him named in this passage clearly puts it after The Breaking."

  "You know, most Goblin prophecy was recorded by the seers directly.” Brother Hewin was off on an academic tangent now. "Goblins with the gift of prophecy were venerated members of society. They lived a life of relative luxury and used several drugs to enter the trance-like state where they could prophecize. They—"

  "Thank you for that lesson," Rozlynn interrupted, trying to get the monk back on track, "but I don't think it's relevant to our work."

  "Of course, of course.” He absently rubbed his head while reading the rest of Rozlynn’s translation. "I think your version is more accurate than mine, Princess, thank you. I believe I can fill in some of the gaps."

  Hewin took the pages and began to copy them. Both he and Princess Rozlynn kept copies of the volumes that the Princess deemed interesting. She would keep just the portions that applied to The Prophecy, adding them to her notebook. Brother Hewin would keep the entire translated volume in the library.

  "What do you think this section means?" Rozlynn asked, pondering the short piece that felt otherwise out of place in the document.

  "The words you are missing are part of an earlier translation I did on another section of the document. Let me see if I can put the last part together. 'When the Orc rise from corrupted spawn, the children will be the ones to cast darkness into the void forever.'

  "I think this is the most accurate translation of the last part, Princess," Hewin stated. This hit home with Rozlynn, as it was confirmation of several other passages that she and Drianna agreed directly applied to the world today.

  "What are Orc?" she asked the monk.

  "I don't know precisely," he replied, "but the name originated with the Nordae-Grandia, and is related to failed experiments by the Lesser Wizards in the First Age. They were trying to create a race of beings and bring life into existence by themselves. This was the exclusive realm of the Gods and any attempt to do so resulted in abominations. 'Orc' is not a Goblin word, but they use it directly in the text. It's always associated with the Lesser Wizards."

  "And how do you come up with 'children' and 'cast darkness into the void’ in this context?" she asked.

  "I am unsure if this means 'children' or 'child,' but it could also mean 'twin' based on my understanding. As for 'cast darkness into the void,’ that is also just a little bit more than a guess, but it seems to fit the earlier translations as well. The Goblins rarely name the Dark Wizard, but refer to him as the darkness. Casting him into the void is their way of eliminating him, as they believe he is immortal and cannot be killed."

  Rozlynn looked over the finished translation that Brother Hewin created the first time he dissected these pages. His version was very nearly identical to what she pulled from the ancient Goblin text.

  "I think we are finished for the day," Hewin interrupted her study of the text. "How about a meal?"

  "I think a meal sounds wonderful!" Darius exclaimed from the other side of the room. The Elven Hunter spoke for the first time in many hours. He was assigned to protect Princess Rozlynn whenever she left the Elven Cities of Kalystra or Alpenvail. "I swear, both of you can live on words and air when the rest of us need food and water!"

  "I'm sorry, Darius.” Rozlynn meant it, and as she stood, the stiffness now settled into her joints. "Let us go down to the kitchen and see what we can find to eat."

  "Dinner was many hours ago," the hungry Elven Hunter stated, "but I'm sure that Brother Andre will have something for us still on the stove."

  As the three of them left the library section devoted to prophecy and descended from the tower to the lower level where the kitchen was housed, Rozlynn was beginning to harden herself to the task ahead. She felt certain that it was time for her to act. It was time to help The Prophecy along the path that would preserve the world, lest it fall into darkness for a thousand years.

  * * *

  "Aunt Rozlynn?" the voice was in her head, as Rozlynn was awakened from a light sleep in the pre-dawn morning.

  "Yes, Lynntania, is something wrong?" Rozlynn replied.

  "It's just that Mother is very upset, and is on her way to Kalystra. She was up all night packing, and she called to me moments ago using the mirrorstone. I wanted to let you know, not exactly to warn you, but you know how she can be."

  Lynntania had the ability to scry with virtually any of her people, a once common trait among Elven royalty that was virtually unknown today. Her ability was augmented by green earth-stones cut from emeralds mined by the Dwarves. Each Elf living in Kalystra wore a small green stone around their neck for just this purpose.

  Rozlynn absently fingered her own pendant as she replied to her niece.

  "Thank you, Lynn, I appreciate the warning. I will be returning shortly, but will no longer debate The Prophecy with your mother. I know the path that I must take, and there is nothing she can say or do to stop me."

  "Be strong, Aunt Rozlynn," Lynntania spoke in her mind. "If I can do anything to help—"

  "I will not pull you into this, dear," she replied, "but your support means a lot to me. Thank you."

  The link was broken, which meant that Lynntania was either finished or had been interrupted. Either way, it did not matter. The message was clear, and Rozlynn's resolve was set even more firmly than before. The Queen would not interfere with her next steps, but Rozlynn would not engage with her either. Let her think she was winning. Fate would keep them on the right path now.

  Four

  King Leondis Tarbane was a handsome man with strong shoulders that sat on a study frame. He was in his mid-thirties, and recently came to power when his father died a quiet death from old age. Old King Adon was loved by his people, and they passed along that unconditional love to his only son.

  Leondis was not skilled in warfare, as the Kingdom was at peace both internally and with its neighbors for many decades. He was a trained diplomat, as his father felt diplomacy was going to be the key to ruling for Leondis’ time as King. He was a skilled hunter however, and enjoyed spending time on horse or afoot, hunting with spear and bow in the lands surrounding Solenta.

  The capital of the Kingdom was situated on the coast of the Arithe Ocean, just north of the Estonan River. The Great Rift Valley leveled out for several miles before the river met the sea, and this delta was home to flocks of migrating water foul in both the spring and fall. This spring, the hunting was particularly good as flocks of migrating waterfowl were more numerous than in years past.

  "Has Your Majesty done well today?" the castle cook asked, as the King entered the castle through the kitchen doors. Entering through the kitchens would be unusual for most Kings but not for Leondis.

  "Lord Randolf was the better man today, I'm afraid," Leondis said in his booming voice. "I managed to bring down six of the black ducks, but Randolf bested me with nearly twice that number!"

  Lord Randolf was right behind the King as they came in the servant's entrance, his ever-present smile lighting up the room.

  "I did bring down ten of the flyers," Randolf admitted, "but then I was in a better position than His Majesty in the blind."

  "Ha, you do try to curry favor!" Leondis laughed at his oldest friend, slapping him on the back as he pinched a kitchen maid with his free hand. She squealed and only slightly inched away, giving the King the look that said she would not mind being called to his chambers later.

  His entourage today included nobles from all across the Aren, as well as courtiers who wished to curry favor with the young King. Most of these were simply too pompous for the practical Leondis; however, he enjoyed seeing them traipse through the marshes in their finery and attempt to act as though they enjoyed these outings.

  "Here, Randi," the King grabbed a small loaf of warm, fresh bread an
d tossed half to his friend. "This is all you get to eat tonight after showing me up!"

  "It is a small price to pay, Your Majesty, for the enjoyment that bragging rights bring me," Randi quipped in reply.

  The two men laughed together as the servants entered the kitchen carrying more than twenty ducks for the evening meal. The cook took over and shooed everyone out so the staff could get busy preparing the bounty. Leondis was a gentle King, but he did insist that his meals were on time and for the celebration of a successful hunt, that the day's game was the centerpiece for the evening.

  "Come now, Randi.” Leondis ushered his friend ahead of him. "We must clear the kitchen before the cook gets out her wooden spoon!"

  Both men laughed at this, remembering when they were children and this same cook regularly chased the young Prince and his best friend from the kitchens at the end of her spoon. Taking one look at her now, Randi could imagine her doing it again, even to the King.

  * * *

  In the sitting room off the front entrance to the castle, in what was known as the Eastern Throne Room, King Leondis Tarbane sat in his hunting clothes with Lord Halford Randolf and shared another mug of Elven honey-mead.

  "Where is it you say you get this stuff?" the King asked Randolf, slightly slurring the words.

  "I trade with the monks from the Abbey in Alnen," Randolf admitted. "I'm not sure how they learned to make this, or if they even make it themselves, but it is the finest mead I believe I've ever had."

  "I would have to agree, Randi," Leondis admitted, "but after a half a dozen mugs, can you really tell the difference anymore?"