The Book of Terrus: A Land of Sunlight

Chapter 10 - All the King's Obads

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Castle Armathain had changed, and not for the better in Hithon's estimation. Where once there had been the soft click of slippers on sun-washed marble floors, now there was the creaking and clanking of armour. The end-of-summer garden parties had been cancelled, leaving Castle Armathain's fountains empty of copper ignums and the court jesters searching for other work. Instead of jewel laden nobles speaking together in smooth voices, the castle halls now rung with the gruff baritones of soldiers and the anxious chatter of pages running to-and-fro.

The castle wasn't the only thing that had changed since spring. Hithon found his family life was also much diminished. As far as aunts went, Ellorae was neither the most warm nor playful. Still Hithon missed her willingness to play checkers with him, especially since she wasn't one to let him win just because he was the king's son.

Missing his father was a strange feeling. Mahir had returned home from the port at Syrion a changed man. The loss of the Third Company in Utunma seemed to have stoked a fire within the king, a fire which until now had been only simmering. Mahir spent his days constantly on the move; from the barracks to meetings with the Magicol to consulting with the Masters of Warefare at the Academy and back. Although Hithon was very used to his father being a busy man, it was a new dissapointment to find Mahir pouring over maps, lists, and letters even long into the evening when the two of them usually spent time together. The book they had started last month hadn't even been touched since the last moondark.

Wheneven Mahir did speak to Hithon, it was of Factionists and rebellion and the Amenthis line. On these subjects the king was happy to spend as much time with his son as Hithon could stomach. Talk of treason and the punishment therof sickened Hithon though, and even though he could see the dissapointment in his father's eyes he always found some reason to excuse himself from these conversations. It wasn't that Hithon did not want what his father wanted; peace and a return to the way things were. It was just that he wanted those things without the war which Mahir seemed convinced was now inevitable.

It was from just such a conversation that Hithon was fleeing when he made his way to the SkyBridge. The guards on duty nodded him through with murmurs of 'Your Highness', and Hithon hurried to feel the open air. It was a bleak day, grey and overcast. There might be rain later, if the metallic scent on the wind was any clue. Hithon's summer cloak felt thin against the breeze. Perhaps it was time to have his autumn wardrobe brought out of the trunks. With things as they were now, who knew if the Harvest Feast would take place this year...

Strange sounds drew Hithon across the SkyBridge toward the upper rings of The Lair. Down on the floor of the arena, the Magicol was assembled for their daily training session. These sessions were a new routine for the Obads, and Hithon hadn't seem them practicing their craft openly like this before. The sight made the prince's mouth fall open.

Each Obad was paired with a weapons master from the Academy. The sorcerers were slow and deliberate with their new, unfamiliar weapons, but even so it was instantly apparent that only a master could have sparred with them.

Arzai and Frandel wielded short whips, long enough to strike at a man within five paves without being uncontrollable. The two Red Obads flicked and spun their whips cautiously, but even so their opponents kept their distance. They also wore full armour, the better to withstand an unexpected strike from one of those twin tongues of flame. Both Arzai and Frandel advanced, eyes blazing like coals from the heart of a forge and their whips trailing tongues of flame behind them as they hissed through the air.

A safe distance away, Bvhoros was reluctantly practicing strikes on a man-shaped wooden manequin with a mace. His weapons master stood to one side, arms crossed and offering critiques on form. The Green Obad's eyes when he nodded curtly to the swordsman were as vividly lit as his colleagues', summer-bright like the sun through a canopy of young leaves. Hithon could see now that anywhere Bvhoros' mace struck the target, wood instantly turned to stone and crumbled away into dust.