Whispers of a Legend, Part One-Shadows of the Past (3 page)

“You are going no where!” King de Folur
snarled. He pointed to one on a horse. In a loud voice demanded.
“Seize him! A good flogging will teach this impudent blusterer the
price one pays for such calamity!”

One of the guards began to dismount. In a
swift motion, Falco sprang towards him, easily having hold of the
guard’s sword. He welded it with ease against de Folur’s chest.

“Now, my Lord, let me once more express my
sincere apology for the accident, but I have no desire to be
flogged upon this day.”

Shaking my head in disbelief, I heard the
mutterings of the warning Turstan had instilled within us
. Lay
low and never, never call attention to yourselves
. We couldn’t
afford to, but now I had no choice. I couldn’t allow my brother to
be flogged by such an insolent man!

Oh, Falco
! Without issue my brother
would have need of me within moments. Mounting up, I kicked my
pony’s flanks and rode up to the group. For a brief moment, I
wondered about my decision. The band’s horses were of great
stature, strong and clean-limbed. There would be no out running
them, but my appearance didn’t give way to much attention, except
for one which sat still upon his mount.

The most handsome man I had ever laid eyes
upon. His long yellow hair tied back from the most telling eyes of
the most unusual color, perchance an emerald of sorts. He sat tall
upon his mount with an amused look upon his face. The situation
seemed to give him no cause for concern. His head tilted to one
side. He looked curiously and closely at me. He glanced back at
Falco.

“Father,” the young man said. “Does not this
ring strange to find such here? Take note of his back. Is not the
forming of wings emerging? He is a Sordarin.”

Panic surged within me. Falco’s wet shirt
clung to his back outlining the full skeletal formation. I held my
breath as I caught my brother’s eye. His mark of his emblem blared
out upon the back of his neck. The hope that no one noticed
depleted when I glanced back at the young man sitting upon his
mount. I quickly comprehended he did.
Oh, hang the devil! He
knew. We were in danger! Turstan was going to kill us if these men
did not.

Falco!
I screamed from within me.
There was no more time for playing around.
Now
!

Falco dropped the sword upon the ground and
in one motion he was upon Mayer’s back. Jerking back upon the rein
of my horse, I inched backwards. Falco took off in a gallop. In a
blink of an eye one of the guards held his cross-bow in his hand,
aiming at Falco’s back. Without hesitation my hand flicked toward
the cross-bow and it flung out of the guard’s hand. A few of the
guards tried to follow, light flashed while I called forth the full
extent of my power, an instinctive surge.

Turstan’s warnings forgotten, the only
thought lay with protecting my brother. The guards urged their
mounts to gallop. Immediately upon my thought, they hit what I am
certain they thought to be an invisible wall, sending them
sprawling upon the ground, moaning and groaning. I kept
backtracking, not daring to turn my back upon the group. From the
corner of my eye, I caught sight of the young prince. He hadn’t
moved, but a smile formed upon his face watching the sight before
him.

His father screamed for all to follow us. The
prince shook his head as if he knew and understood. “It will do no
good, Father.”

King de Folur gave no heed. He directed his
band in a chaotic manner. Falco called to me from the woods.

It is set!

With one more outstretched of my hand, the
guards all were flung from their mounts as a force hit them.
Abruptly I turned and galloped toward Falco while a mysterious fog
appeared. Within the mist, Falco grabbed hold of my reins. In
moments there would be no visibility and only Falco could navigate
such.

“Oh, Falco,” I began.

“Do not go there, Sister. Was that not the
most fun? Did you see the look upon the King’s face?” Falco
laughed. “They will think before confronting us again!”

“One seemed to know, Falco. Did you not see?
He saw your mark.”

“You are letting your imagination play with
your thoughts,” Falco dismissed my concerns. “Come we need to get
back before Gunilda sets supper.”

I sighed heavily. It would do no good
debating with Falco. He was probably right. Had we not been nomads
for years? Moving upon every suspicion Turstan had upon a
stranger’s remake, look, never settling down, never making friends,
and always looking, yet always overly cautious. Yes, Falco, was
right. If I mentioned the incident, we would be on the move once
more and I liked this place. No, I would keep silent.

Over eight years had passed since I lost my
parents. A time forgotten lived only within my dreams. Since that
time, we have lived a different life, protected only by two loyal
servants whom served now as our guardians and protectors. Long ago,
Turstan had erudite that to survive we had to live within the
shadows of the land around us. He trusted no one and over time he
held to this oath.

His previous life had been spent in service
of Scarladin, his home, his country. This we knew because he had
long told us his stories, especially when he drank his ale. Gunilda
admonished him greatly when his tongue loosened with his drink, but
the stories were the best when he did. I feared that Falco and I
encouraged his talk when he was in such a state.

In his youth he had been given charge within
King Edulf Calledwdele’s Royal Wings. His days of service to
King Edulf had been one of despair. Not long after he led
a mission upon the boundary of the Palgaga Desert, his wife,
Frieda, whom he loved dearly had taken to her bed early with child.
She did not survive, nor had his son. He fell in rank after
not caring where his fate lay.

Our father, Prince Mithelk, found him thus.
He offered Turstan new standing and an escape to the throes of
Nottesdone. In this Turstan gave his loyalty to his
prince. Turstan was a grim man of great strength. His hair at
one time had been raven dark, but now speckled with gray. His once
proud wings had been damaged beyond repair to fly during the battle
that my father had lost his life. He held to his oath and protected
us children with his life.

Questions abounded upon what happened that
night. Who had betrayed us? Why? And who could we now trust?
To Turstan's way of thinking Gunilda had been of little
help in trying to rectify our situation, constantly saying it would
be made known to all when it was time. Time? How much longer would
time have to elapse? In truth, I believe Gunilda had no trust
for Sordarins.

The place called upon to serve as our home
sat quietly a top of a hillside, a long, comfortable craft of a
dwelling with a thatched roof of straw. The walls at places looked
warped, bulging out, but if the truth be known of the times the
house had been moved one would wonder about the strength of such
establishment. A stone hearth centered the kitchen with open
shuttered windows on the bottom floor. The entrance door was wide
and tall. No other entrance would be allowed where a Sordarin
dwelled. Their wings would not allow for anything less. The
ceilings were high and the rooms spacious and broad.

Turstan stood comfortably within this house
and saw to our needs, but he held no knowledge of childrearing. A
Sordarin warrior had little to do with such, but he held no pity
for himself. He did only what he knew. He had taught Falco the ways
of the Sordarins in which I followed suit. In turn Gunilda had
tried to instill into the two of us the Witheleghe’s ways, but
at most ends, I'm afraid, she had been met with bitter
disappointment. We were born to be Sordarins as our father, Turstan
bolstered. Gunilda took comfort in Sareta, a true Witheleghean.

Over time, all of us came to comprehend that
Sareta held tremendous powers. A wish would become reality if
Sareta felt the need, as when Turstan felt threatened. Sareta could
will the whole of the house elsewhere. The problem lay with where
elsewhere lay. We held no knowledge of where would be safe for all
of us to grow. Turstan held firm it would be in Scarladin, but
Gunilda cautioned all with the fear of betrayal. Had we not been
betrayed by both Sordarins and Withelegheans?

“When the time is right, all will fall into
place, Turstan. We can’t force the issue. The children need time to
gain strength. Do not be fooled into believing Asmeodai has ceased
looking for them, especially Sareta. He must feel her power. It is
better to use caution.”

But of late, Sareta had grown weaker.
Barely, eight years of age, Sareta was a delicate creature with
unearthly beauty. Illuminating from her was a glow, a white sheen.
Her dark hair flowed down her back; her skin clear, white; her eyes
were like an opening for the heavens, sparkling as stars. It was if
she didn’t belong to this world. Gunilda constantly guarded over
her.

Gunilda, unlike Turstan, gave not quickly
her knowledge. She held within her the understanding of Witheleghe.
And made no clandestine she held to Sareta greatly. Gunilda stood
slender and tall, n’ver given away her age which must have been
great. She had served my mother and her mother before her. She
longed for her home, yet was terrified upon the comprehension of
the waste it lay within upon the ascension of Asmeodai. She was a
true Witheleghean. She abhorrent violence, yet when called upon
gave no issue if Turstan felt the need for such. She lived in fear
for herself and her charge, Sareta.

My concerns forgotten, the two of us ran and
giggled back from the barn toward the cottage on our return. We
gave no notice of Gunilda who waited on the step, looking
tired and worried. Immediately we both dug our heels in the ground
for we were met by her cold glare.

For a tense moment of indecision,
I exchanged glances with Falco. The look upon Gunilda's face
gave no question that we had been caught and lay upon trouble. Most
times, Turstan served in between us and Gunilda, but Turstan was no
where to be seen this day.

“Explain quickly,” she demanded. Her frail
body bent over worn from the years and the stress we lived under.
Her dry winkled skin folded tensely around her eyes. “Your sister
has taken to her bed. What have you asked of her? Falco?”

I lowered my head noticing Falco biting his
bottom lip while he thought.

He uttered, “It was for fun only, Gunilda.
We needed only a small favor. It wasn’t too much for Sareta. She
did it with ease.”

“Ease! She has taken to her bed. You take
her too much for granted!”

“We didn’t mean too, Gunilda. Is she going
to be okay?” I asked, worry echoing within my voice. I stepped
toward my sister’s room. Gunilda halted my progress with her
hand.

“I’ll take care of Sareta. I have warned you
before and you do not listen. Have I told you not to ask of her?
You know well she will give you both anything you want, but she
hasn’t the strength. The years of need have put a strain upon her,”
she sighed, studying the two of us. “Now, the question is what did
you do?”

Chapter Three

The Euchoun

In the stillness of the night we waited. My
eyes glued to the clear sky with only the stars glitter littering
the heavens. I wondered vaguely if all our concern was for naught.
It had been six nights without any sign of danger. My eyes caught
Falco’s while Turstan stoodby the door, listening intently for any
sound, noise, to alert him of a potential threat. The once massive
intimidating warrior held tight to his freshly sharpened sword’s
grip.

Most nights the hearth burned brightly with
an open fire. Not this night. The shutters closed outside the
windows and the curtains drawn until all inside became dark. And
thus we sat within the shadows waiting for an unknown threat. For
six nights waiting while Turstan’s reprimand echoed within me.

“You said
King
Gregorius de Folur, King of Brixtone!” Turstan exploded at
me
. His pitted scarred face covered by his long
heavy beard, softened most times by his kind eyes, now remained
grave and attentive. Falco warned me not to say words but to let
the burly warrior unleash his fury. “I don’t know one that would be
worse!”

“I don’t think it’s as bad as you make it
out to be,” I said defensively having already endured Gunilda’s
wrath. “The band didn’t….”

Turstan cut me short. His temper, his worry
abounded.

“What can we do but make a stand?” Turstan
exclaimed upon looking down at Sareta, who lay listless within her
bed. “You both know well the cost of being discovered. Have we not
well instilled within you the need?”

“In truth, Turstan. But it was not our
fault. Falco didn’t mean to run into the party. And the Prince…how
could he have known who we are? I had to be mistaken. No one knows
we live.”

“Rumors exist. This we know, Kela.
Prophecies foretold are not forgotten,” Turstan muttered.

“Kela! How native you are! Once suspected
they will use the Hallow Minions to smell out the magic! Sareta! We
have to protect her. She is our only hope,” Gunilda responded,
wringing her dry wrinkled hands together. “Sordarins!”

“I won’t let anyone harm, my sister,
Gunilda. I am a protector, Gunilda.”

“You are a child!” she squelched. Turning
her back on me, she leaned back over Sareta. I quieted.

The love for my family
encompassed me, more than my own life.
If
I have done anything to do harm
! The
thought gave me pause. But, I reasoned, it was merely a simple fog
she had brought in to cover their escape. Had she not moved houses?
Supplied all with the needs they had?

At most times, Turstan would have rushed to
our defense when Gunilda ranted about the vices of Sordarins, but
on this I saw only worry in his eyes. He stood now with his head
looking toward the heavens.