The Crossing (Book 1)

Chapter 7

     Staring ominously out the window of the throne room at the raging storm heading toward his castle, Obram's mood began to fester. Being King gave him the power to do whatever he wanted to satiate any mood he was in, but he did not want to be hasty on this day. He knew a foreboding when he saw one and the limestone statue carved of his ancestor that had just been struck by lightning, cracking it across the neckline and down the torso, was one he was not looking forward to hearing about. Watching the distance for Malganadem he waited as patiently as he knew how. Unsure of who would bring him the news first made the waiting intolerable.

     Pivane, a slave to the King, eyed him with keen blue eyes and deliberated whether he should or shouldn't approach him in his current mood. As he wondered, he watched King Obram turn from the window and climb the steps to sit on the edge of his throne. Watching him raise his fist to cover his mouth and his eyebrows furrow toward his stormy blue eyes, Pivane tried to remember the last time he had seen the King this deeply disturbed. He looked almost as menacing as the throne he sat in, which was covered in the antlers, tusks, claws, and teeth of the hundreds of beasts he and his ancestors had slain in the past. Pivane decided it couldn't be helped and walked over to King Obram, bowing low to address him.

     "My lord, there is word from the Oracle."

     "So, it shall be her then." Obram lowered his fist, "And what will she tell me that I may not already know?"

     "It is about the storm, my lord." Pivane lifted his eyes until he was able to see King Obram's hands.

     "We have had storms before." Obram waved his hand for Pivane to rise.

     "This particular storm is a bad omen for you, my lord."

     "I could tell as much when the lightning struck my ancestral stone statue in the center of the courtyard, but please, do proceed with the dreadful news." Obram leaned back into the dark maroon cushions fastened into his throne and placed his fingertips together in the form of a steeple before bringing them back to his lips. He prepared himself mentally for the news he knew he was about to receive and slowly looked down at Pivane. "Every detail has a meaning where I am concerned. Continue."

     Pivane stood and braced himself for the King's wrath, "The royal line was not eliminated." He watched as his façade of indifference faded and contained fury began to overtake his features.

     "What?" Obram's voice reverberated through the throne room. Balling his hands into fists, he rose from his throne and stalked over to Pivane, placing his nose inches from his face, his blonde hair falling into his eyes, "You assured me that the whole family was destroyed in the fire fifteen years ago. That fire was supposed to burn through the night," Obram pointed his forefinger at Pivane's heart, "You were supposed to make sure no one escaped. What went wrong?"

     Blinking rapidly at the pressure he felt around his heart, Pivane began to sweat but stood rigidly in front of the king, "The fire did burn through the night, my lord. I stayed until the last flame died. I walked through the ash myself, nothing was left."

     "If that was true then I would not be hearing that the so-called royal line was not eliminated, would I? What happened?" Obram's face had turned red with rage.

     "The Oracle has said that the children were led out by a woman robed in white. She says this woman in white has the sight, my lord, that she is a sorceress. She must have foreseen the danger that awaited them."

     "Of course she foresaw it! She knew the danger the family was in so Alsandair and Ayleen knew as well." Obram turned away from Pivane, ran his hands through his hair in aggravation, and walked toward the window growling low in his throat. "Use her name. You know who this woman was Pivane. You and I both know that Trill has always been the bane of my family's existence."