Post by Silver Shadow on Jul 30, 2011 18:16:44 GMT
It's been printed once... now, the shining heart of the story is being revealed through revision. Exclusive previews and snippets available here!
Graefis perched among the branches of a koa tree and watched the mare below him as she labored to give birth. Pacing and circling, the muscles of her flanks and hindquarters rippled and shuddered in slow, measured waves. She gave a low-voiced groan and finally sank down to lay upon her side. The spasms grew closer, more powerful; a voiceless moan escaped her lips.
A twinge of unease ran through Graefis at the impropriety of witnessing such an event, but anticipation pushed it from his mind. The mare’s sides shone faded pink and burgundy in the shattered moonlight straining through the leaves around him. Her hide was darkned in strange patterns by the sweat of her efforts, and her breath was heavy. She shifted position with a powerful snort, and then the foal lay suddenly upon the grass.
The mottled avian leaned forward, straining for a better view. He flapped his wings briefly to maintain balance, pinions silently lashing the air. Then he settled and cocked his head, studying the slender, trembling foal. The mare gave a tired sigh and murmured to her offspring. The foal blinked and shook his head, his drying fur slowly turning from dull, dark brown to ever-brightening shades of amber and red.
Graefis shifted again, his talons tightening upon the branch as he fairly danced with impatient excitement. The mare’s name was Saina, he recalled, and mate to the High Stallion, no less. Saina rose to her feet with a small groan and shook herself, finding her balance easily. She stepped with care as she turned, mindful not to trample the foal. Lowering her head, she stroked him vigorously with her tongue, both warming and drying him.
“Let it be Fire,” whispered the avian to himself. He shivered with nerves and dug his claws into the koa’s bark to keep himself anchored.
Saina nudged the foal and then raised her head, peering down at him. The foal gave a faint, high whinny, perhaps feeling his hunger at last. He kicked his over-long legs and finally came to some idea of what they did. Pulling them underneath himself, he struggled to rise. He collapsed to the grass before he could properly splay his tiny hooves, and immediately tried again.
The air went out of him when he hit the ground with a muffled thump. The mare looked on anxiously, unable to feed him if he could not rise. After a moment to gather his strength, the newborn surged up once more, prancing and thrashing until at last he stood lock-kneed and shaking. Yet stand he did, and threw up his head with what sounded like a neigh of triumph.
Graefis breathed a silent sigh of relief. Saina turned and presented her flank, letting out a low whicker of happiness as the foal began his first meal.
“Son of mine, I name thee Flayós,” she said softly. “Live long and well, my son, and bring only honor to thy family.”
Flayós’ brushy little tail flicked with pleasure and blissful suckling noises were his only reply. When he was content, Saina lay down with her body curled around his for warmth.
The mottled avian felt a brief flare of disappointment. “No sign?” he muttered to himself. “Must we wait after all?”
Flaring his ruffled feathers, he peered with yellow eyes at the foal and his mother. “No sign marks him,” he continued in a low voice. “No mark—ah, Graefis, you fool!” he interrupted himself. “No mark under the moon. Two for the moon, two for the sun. We’ve had the moon-marked already, you sorry excuse for a Térailiss agent!” He huffed to himself with annoyed amusement and settled more comfortably on the branch.
Tucking his head between his raised shoulders, Graefis closed his eyes. “Which means you can sleep til daylight,” he murmured. Head dropping down, Graefis felt slumber embrace him.
Darkness lay thick in the underground cavern, shrouding its cold stone walls with shadow. Something stirred in the blackness among the sharpened mineral pillars, an ominous silhouette against the faint phosphorescent glimmer of the stagnant Seeing Pool. A snarl echoed from a cavernous chest as talons raked the water’s surface, sending oily droplets reeling up until they rejoined the pool with subdued splashes.
“Something is different,” growled a voice from the void, drowning out the slow and sullen dripping of the stone fangs that fed the tainted waters. “A new power has entered the world from the shelter of its mother’s womb. I can feel the vibrations rippling through the maegha, yet the Pool will show me nothing.”
Rising, the creature gouged its claws into the ledge upon which it had crouched. Stone shrieked in protest as it gave way before those talons. “Far now, far off seems your demise, little one.” A black tongue, invisible in the darkness, swiped across bloodstained teeth and flickered briefly in the air. “Yet my plans run ahead of me, and Prophecy means nothing. Live happy, little dead one, live in bliss until my messengers of death drag you screaming to the Land Beyond.”
A low, sibilant hiss filled the chamber like a breath rising and falling. The ominous tones it bore spoke of danger, and the faintest flicker of fear drove through the accursed creature.
“I fear not these weakling beasts!” it roared at the source of the warning. “They can do nothing against me.”
Ignoring the continuous echo of doom that followed behind, the thing in the shadows turned about. The fetid air swirled as the creature swept from the chamber, leaving the stalactites to drip their mournful dirge alone.
Pale streaks of dawn were slashing across the silver-blue sky as Graefis roused to wakefulness. Below him in the grove of trees, Saina was stirring. She rose to feed her son, then stepped from the sheltering grove of trees in which they had spent the night.
Graefis leaned so far forward he nearly fell from the branch. Regaining his composure after an undignified scramble of wings, he fluttered to a lower vantage point and stretched his short, feathered neck. The foal bounded and wobbled after his mother as she walked slowly toward her Herd.
“Fiel, her Herd is Fiel,” muttered the avian to himself. “But, dash it all, I didn’t want to follow them back there!”
Just then, the sun broke from behind its thin veil of cloud, shedding its pale but warming rays upon the earth below. The foal, Flayós, wheeled about and squinted up at it, batting his long lashes as he blinked back its brightness. The light strengthened as the mist of cloud burned away, and the foal stared up at the flaming orb with obvious fascination.
Saina turned to look for him, and with a smile, allowed her son his curiosity. Graefis’s nerves were strained to a fever pitch, his citrine eyes wide and roving as he eagerly studied every visible portion of the foal’s delicate frame. With a little half-rear, Flayós tossed his head and neighed a challenge to the sun. The sunlight struck golden hues in Flayós’ coat, bringing it alive with echoes of amber and bronze.
Then sparks seemed to jump across him, and the colors flared bright, shot through with hints of crimson. Graefis panted with excitement as a spectral image flared to life across the foal’s soft and tender hide. Roaring flames billowed up and lightning crackled through them, stabbing bolts and licking tongues interwoven as Flayós reared again. The patterns rippled over his flanks and hindquarters, and for an instant, Graefis saw the foal as a stallion grown and powerful, sharp-edged hooves poised to deliver death.
Then he was but a foal, frolicking under the new-risen sun and dashing back to his mother’s side. The world was once again quiet and unremarkable. Graefis sat for a moment, dazed, as Saina and her son walked back to the Herd of Fael.
Then he leapt into motion, spreading his wings and levering himself into flight. He rose quickly above the trees and sped toward the northern forest bordering the Valley of Fael.
“Sÿrkaór!” he shouted as he neared his destination. “Sÿrkaór, it is true!”
He tilted his wings and dived for the dark hole in the trunk of a tree below him. “Sÿrkaór!” he shouted again.
“Is that you, Graefis?” asked an irritated voice from within the hole.
“No, it’s Kaltaró—who do you think?” The avian landed in a hurried flutter of wings and grasping talons, then folded his pinions and hopped back along the branch.
“Stop shouting, Graefis.” A black squirrel, speckled with silver and rubbing an eye, emerged from the hole in the trunk. He leveled a severe gaze at his feathered companion and flicked his ample tail with irritation. “Come, come, out with your report.”
Graefis tried without success to tamp down his lingering excitement. “It’s him, Sÿrkaór, it’s really him! I saw the mark as the sun touched him, fire and lightning. The Four are here!”
“Of course they are,” said Sÿrkaór with a yawn. “It’s as I said. What is his name?”
“Flayós,” answered Graefis. “Saina named him Flayós.”
“Is it a blessing or a curse, do you suppose?” murmured the squirrel, his eyes going distant.
“Pardon?” said the confused avian.
“Birthing two of the Four,” Sÿrkaór explained. “To bear both Fire and Water in the same womb…” he trailed away and shook his head.
“What happens now?” asked Graefis, sobered a bit by the squirrel’s contemplation.
“Naharra has set me the task of their teaching,” said Sÿrkaór with a dismissive flick of his tail. “To prepare them, as best I might, for their destiny.”
“What an honor!” gasped Graefis.
The squirrel flicked his tail, somewhat pleased. “And a burden,” he answered. “It shall not be an easy task to train young ones with so much power, and harder still to keep it secret.”
A shudder of excitement ran through the avian’s feathers. “I can scarcely believe it,” he said softly. “After so long, they’re finally here… and I saw all of them born!”
“You needn’t act so surprised.” Sÿrkaór seemed a trifle impatient. “Is that not what you expected when you joined us? To witness the Prophecies of old as they occurred?”
“Yes, but I never dreamed it would all happen so fast, so, so close!” he breathed. “All four of them in this same valley—within two Herds, no less! How much easier that makes it for you to teach them!”
“Hmmph,” snorted Sÿrkaór. “Yes, it does indeed do that. But it also makes it easier for the Enemy to find and perhaps destroy them.”
“Surely, he couldn’t know?” gasped Graefis with dismay. “How could he?”
“Evil things always seem to sense the means of their demise. All we can do is leave the younglings to grow up in peace until the harsh world forces itself upon them.”
“They will succeed, won’t they?” Graefis sounded worried.
“They are the Chosen, are they not? They will have to.”
All was silent as evening faded to night. The High Stallion walked beneath the coloring sky, charcoal and indigo-violet coat darkened to almost black in the growing twilight. His grey-amethyst eyes were slightly distant, thinking of his new son. Saina had presented him that very morn, and he was more than pleased with his latest offspring.
Stepping between a pair of towering saicamira trees, the stallion seemed to disappear in the darkness beneath their thick-laced leaves.
“Flae,” said a low voice from the branches above him.
The High Stallion’s eyes flashed as he wheeled and reared, throwing up his head to find the one who had startled him.
“Flae, it’s me,” the voice went on. Leaves whispered gently as a small figure emerged from behind them.
“Sÿrkaór!” said Flae in surprise, coming back to earth with a pair of muffled thumps. “Long it has been since last we met.”
“Indeed.” The squirrel seemed a bit uncomfortable. “Flae, I’m sorry I left so suddenly, all that time ago… but there was something I had to do.”
“You joined them, didn’t you?” asked the stallion astutely. “You always wanted a grand adventure.”
“And now I have one,” answered Sÿrkaór. “Flae, great matters are upon us. The Prophecy is nigh.” Flicking his perfectly-groomed tail, Sÿrkaór’s paw darted over his shoulder to grasp its tip. He looked all around as he twisted the hair between nervous claws and muttered a string of soft, incomprehensible words to conceal his speaking from hostile ears. Then he leaned forward and whispered, “Flae, Saeas and Flayós bear the Marks of Power. They and two others—of the herd Fayna—are the Chosen Four.”
Flae said nothing, but his expression grew closed. “So you return only on behalf of the Térailiss,” he said at last. “To meddle in our lives so that your cherished Prophecies might come to pass.”
“Flae, listen to me,” begged Sÿrkaór. “Better me than another; you’ve no idea how hard I worked to be set this task. There are those among us that view the younglings as tools, nothing more than a means to an end. But I assure you, old friend, that I want them to succeed, and I will do everything I can to safeguard them.”
“The Térailiss value Prophecy over Life,” said Flae, his voice growing cold. “I swear by my Vision, if you try to take them from me you will quickly feel my hooves.”
Sÿrkaór gave a sidelong glance at the Leader’s muscular body and powerful legs, as well as the black and sharp-edged hooves beneath. “They wanted to take them from the Valley, until I astutely pointed out the foolishness of moving them from the one place they might go unnoticed—among countless other horses. So they sent me here instead.”
“For what?” Flae still looked wary.
“To watch, teach, guard, and guide them until they must leave the Valley.”
“Our kind do not leave the grasslands of Fael,” neighed the High Stallion with a hard edge to his voice.
“I’m afraid they must,” Sÿrkaór answered softly. “But not for a long while. I swear to you by the power of Word itself that I will prepare them as well as I am able, and delay their departure as long as I might. At the least, they shall not leave before Flayós’ Lifesday. I know not what the Térailiss would do, but I will not send younglings not of age to face a perilous destiny.”
Looking down, the High Stallion gave a long, hollow sigh. “I know you’re doing the best you can,” he said sadly. “And because I have seen visions of a dark and terrible future, I will allow you to do this.” His eyes sparked with inner light and lit their depths with the glint of violet fire. “But if you fail them, or lie to me, Sight help me, you will not find my wrath pleasant.”
Sÿrkaór swallowed. “I do not doubt you. Please, Flae—you must trust me.”
“I pray to the All and Only that I am right to do so,” said the stallion. “Again.”
~ Prologue ~
Graefis perched among the branches of a koa tree and watched the mare below him as she labored to give birth. Pacing and circling, the muscles of her flanks and hindquarters rippled and shuddered in slow, measured waves. She gave a low-voiced groan and finally sank down to lay upon her side. The spasms grew closer, more powerful; a voiceless moan escaped her lips.
A twinge of unease ran through Graefis at the impropriety of witnessing such an event, but anticipation pushed it from his mind. The mare’s sides shone faded pink and burgundy in the shattered moonlight straining through the leaves around him. Her hide was darkned in strange patterns by the sweat of her efforts, and her breath was heavy. She shifted position with a powerful snort, and then the foal lay suddenly upon the grass.
The mottled avian leaned forward, straining for a better view. He flapped his wings briefly to maintain balance, pinions silently lashing the air. Then he settled and cocked his head, studying the slender, trembling foal. The mare gave a tired sigh and murmured to her offspring. The foal blinked and shook his head, his drying fur slowly turning from dull, dark brown to ever-brightening shades of amber and red.
Graefis shifted again, his talons tightening upon the branch as he fairly danced with impatient excitement. The mare’s name was Saina, he recalled, and mate to the High Stallion, no less. Saina rose to her feet with a small groan and shook herself, finding her balance easily. She stepped with care as she turned, mindful not to trample the foal. Lowering her head, she stroked him vigorously with her tongue, both warming and drying him.
“Let it be Fire,” whispered the avian to himself. He shivered with nerves and dug his claws into the koa’s bark to keep himself anchored.
Saina nudged the foal and then raised her head, peering down at him. The foal gave a faint, high whinny, perhaps feeling his hunger at last. He kicked his over-long legs and finally came to some idea of what they did. Pulling them underneath himself, he struggled to rise. He collapsed to the grass before he could properly splay his tiny hooves, and immediately tried again.
The air went out of him when he hit the ground with a muffled thump. The mare looked on anxiously, unable to feed him if he could not rise. After a moment to gather his strength, the newborn surged up once more, prancing and thrashing until at last he stood lock-kneed and shaking. Yet stand he did, and threw up his head with what sounded like a neigh of triumph.
Graefis breathed a silent sigh of relief. Saina turned and presented her flank, letting out a low whicker of happiness as the foal began his first meal.
“Son of mine, I name thee Flayós,” she said softly. “Live long and well, my son, and bring only honor to thy family.”
Flayós’ brushy little tail flicked with pleasure and blissful suckling noises were his only reply. When he was content, Saina lay down with her body curled around his for warmth.
The mottled avian felt a brief flare of disappointment. “No sign?” he muttered to himself. “Must we wait after all?”
Flaring his ruffled feathers, he peered with yellow eyes at the foal and his mother. “No sign marks him,” he continued in a low voice. “No mark—ah, Graefis, you fool!” he interrupted himself. “No mark under the moon. Two for the moon, two for the sun. We’ve had the moon-marked already, you sorry excuse for a Térailiss agent!” He huffed to himself with annoyed amusement and settled more comfortably on the branch.
Tucking his head between his raised shoulders, Graefis closed his eyes. “Which means you can sleep til daylight,” he murmured. Head dropping down, Graefis felt slumber embrace him.
»»» «««
Darkness lay thick in the underground cavern, shrouding its cold stone walls with shadow. Something stirred in the blackness among the sharpened mineral pillars, an ominous silhouette against the faint phosphorescent glimmer of the stagnant Seeing Pool. A snarl echoed from a cavernous chest as talons raked the water’s surface, sending oily droplets reeling up until they rejoined the pool with subdued splashes.
“Something is different,” growled a voice from the void, drowning out the slow and sullen dripping of the stone fangs that fed the tainted waters. “A new power has entered the world from the shelter of its mother’s womb. I can feel the vibrations rippling through the maegha, yet the Pool will show me nothing.”
Rising, the creature gouged its claws into the ledge upon which it had crouched. Stone shrieked in protest as it gave way before those talons. “Far now, far off seems your demise, little one.” A black tongue, invisible in the darkness, swiped across bloodstained teeth and flickered briefly in the air. “Yet my plans run ahead of me, and Prophecy means nothing. Live happy, little dead one, live in bliss until my messengers of death drag you screaming to the Land Beyond.”
A low, sibilant hiss filled the chamber like a breath rising and falling. The ominous tones it bore spoke of danger, and the faintest flicker of fear drove through the accursed creature.
“I fear not these weakling beasts!” it roared at the source of the warning. “They can do nothing against me.”
Ignoring the continuous echo of doom that followed behind, the thing in the shadows turned about. The fetid air swirled as the creature swept from the chamber, leaving the stalactites to drip their mournful dirge alone.
«» «» «»
Pale streaks of dawn were slashing across the silver-blue sky as Graefis roused to wakefulness. Below him in the grove of trees, Saina was stirring. She rose to feed her son, then stepped from the sheltering grove of trees in which they had spent the night.
Graefis leaned so far forward he nearly fell from the branch. Regaining his composure after an undignified scramble of wings, he fluttered to a lower vantage point and stretched his short, feathered neck. The foal bounded and wobbled after his mother as she walked slowly toward her Herd.
“Fiel, her Herd is Fiel,” muttered the avian to himself. “But, dash it all, I didn’t want to follow them back there!”
Just then, the sun broke from behind its thin veil of cloud, shedding its pale but warming rays upon the earth below. The foal, Flayós, wheeled about and squinted up at it, batting his long lashes as he blinked back its brightness. The light strengthened as the mist of cloud burned away, and the foal stared up at the flaming orb with obvious fascination.
Saina turned to look for him, and with a smile, allowed her son his curiosity. Graefis’s nerves were strained to a fever pitch, his citrine eyes wide and roving as he eagerly studied every visible portion of the foal’s delicate frame. With a little half-rear, Flayós tossed his head and neighed a challenge to the sun. The sunlight struck golden hues in Flayós’ coat, bringing it alive with echoes of amber and bronze.
Then sparks seemed to jump across him, and the colors flared bright, shot through with hints of crimson. Graefis panted with excitement as a spectral image flared to life across the foal’s soft and tender hide. Roaring flames billowed up and lightning crackled through them, stabbing bolts and licking tongues interwoven as Flayós reared again. The patterns rippled over his flanks and hindquarters, and for an instant, Graefis saw the foal as a stallion grown and powerful, sharp-edged hooves poised to deliver death.
Then he was but a foal, frolicking under the new-risen sun and dashing back to his mother’s side. The world was once again quiet and unremarkable. Graefis sat for a moment, dazed, as Saina and her son walked back to the Herd of Fael.
Then he leapt into motion, spreading his wings and levering himself into flight. He rose quickly above the trees and sped toward the northern forest bordering the Valley of Fael.
“Sÿrkaór!” he shouted as he neared his destination. “Sÿrkaór, it is true!”
He tilted his wings and dived for the dark hole in the trunk of a tree below him. “Sÿrkaór!” he shouted again.
“Is that you, Graefis?” asked an irritated voice from within the hole.
“No, it’s Kaltaró—who do you think?” The avian landed in a hurried flutter of wings and grasping talons, then folded his pinions and hopped back along the branch.
“Stop shouting, Graefis.” A black squirrel, speckled with silver and rubbing an eye, emerged from the hole in the trunk. He leveled a severe gaze at his feathered companion and flicked his ample tail with irritation. “Come, come, out with your report.”
Graefis tried without success to tamp down his lingering excitement. “It’s him, Sÿrkaór, it’s really him! I saw the mark as the sun touched him, fire and lightning. The Four are here!”
“Of course they are,” said Sÿrkaór with a yawn. “It’s as I said. What is his name?”
“Flayós,” answered Graefis. “Saina named him Flayós.”
“Is it a blessing or a curse, do you suppose?” murmured the squirrel, his eyes going distant.
“Pardon?” said the confused avian.
“Birthing two of the Four,” Sÿrkaór explained. “To bear both Fire and Water in the same womb…” he trailed away and shook his head.
“What happens now?” asked Graefis, sobered a bit by the squirrel’s contemplation.
“Naharra has set me the task of their teaching,” said Sÿrkaór with a dismissive flick of his tail. “To prepare them, as best I might, for their destiny.”
“What an honor!” gasped Graefis.
The squirrel flicked his tail, somewhat pleased. “And a burden,” he answered. “It shall not be an easy task to train young ones with so much power, and harder still to keep it secret.”
A shudder of excitement ran through the avian’s feathers. “I can scarcely believe it,” he said softly. “After so long, they’re finally here… and I saw all of them born!”
“You needn’t act so surprised.” Sÿrkaór seemed a trifle impatient. “Is that not what you expected when you joined us? To witness the Prophecies of old as they occurred?”
“Yes, but I never dreamed it would all happen so fast, so, so close!” he breathed. “All four of them in this same valley—within two Herds, no less! How much easier that makes it for you to teach them!”
“Hmmph,” snorted Sÿrkaór. “Yes, it does indeed do that. But it also makes it easier for the Enemy to find and perhaps destroy them.”
“Surely, he couldn’t know?” gasped Graefis with dismay. “How could he?”
“Evil things always seem to sense the means of their demise. All we can do is leave the younglings to grow up in peace until the harsh world forces itself upon them.”
“They will succeed, won’t they?” Graefis sounded worried.
“They are the Chosen, are they not? They will have to.”
«» «» «»
All was silent as evening faded to night. The High Stallion walked beneath the coloring sky, charcoal and indigo-violet coat darkened to almost black in the growing twilight. His grey-amethyst eyes were slightly distant, thinking of his new son. Saina had presented him that very morn, and he was more than pleased with his latest offspring.
Stepping between a pair of towering saicamira trees, the stallion seemed to disappear in the darkness beneath their thick-laced leaves.
“Flae,” said a low voice from the branches above him.
The High Stallion’s eyes flashed as he wheeled and reared, throwing up his head to find the one who had startled him.
“Flae, it’s me,” the voice went on. Leaves whispered gently as a small figure emerged from behind them.
“Sÿrkaór!” said Flae in surprise, coming back to earth with a pair of muffled thumps. “Long it has been since last we met.”
“Indeed.” The squirrel seemed a bit uncomfortable. “Flae, I’m sorry I left so suddenly, all that time ago… but there was something I had to do.”
“You joined them, didn’t you?” asked the stallion astutely. “You always wanted a grand adventure.”
“And now I have one,” answered Sÿrkaór. “Flae, great matters are upon us. The Prophecy is nigh.” Flicking his perfectly-groomed tail, Sÿrkaór’s paw darted over his shoulder to grasp its tip. He looked all around as he twisted the hair between nervous claws and muttered a string of soft, incomprehensible words to conceal his speaking from hostile ears. Then he leaned forward and whispered, “Flae, Saeas and Flayós bear the Marks of Power. They and two others—of the herd Fayna—are the Chosen Four.”
Flae said nothing, but his expression grew closed. “So you return only on behalf of the Térailiss,” he said at last. “To meddle in our lives so that your cherished Prophecies might come to pass.”
“Flae, listen to me,” begged Sÿrkaór. “Better me than another; you’ve no idea how hard I worked to be set this task. There are those among us that view the younglings as tools, nothing more than a means to an end. But I assure you, old friend, that I want them to succeed, and I will do everything I can to safeguard them.”
“The Térailiss value Prophecy over Life,” said Flae, his voice growing cold. “I swear by my Vision, if you try to take them from me you will quickly feel my hooves.”
Sÿrkaór gave a sidelong glance at the Leader’s muscular body and powerful legs, as well as the black and sharp-edged hooves beneath. “They wanted to take them from the Valley, until I astutely pointed out the foolishness of moving them from the one place they might go unnoticed—among countless other horses. So they sent me here instead.”
“For what?” Flae still looked wary.
“To watch, teach, guard, and guide them until they must leave the Valley.”
“Our kind do not leave the grasslands of Fael,” neighed the High Stallion with a hard edge to his voice.
“I’m afraid they must,” Sÿrkaór answered softly. “But not for a long while. I swear to you by the power of Word itself that I will prepare them as well as I am able, and delay their departure as long as I might. At the least, they shall not leave before Flayós’ Lifesday. I know not what the Térailiss would do, but I will not send younglings not of age to face a perilous destiny.”
Looking down, the High Stallion gave a long, hollow sigh. “I know you’re doing the best you can,” he said sadly. “And because I have seen visions of a dark and terrible future, I will allow you to do this.” His eyes sparked with inner light and lit their depths with the glint of violet fire. “But if you fail them, or lie to me, Sight help me, you will not find my wrath pleasant.”
Sÿrkaór swallowed. “I do not doubt you. Please, Flae—you must trust me.”
“I pray to the All and Only that I am right to do so,” said the stallion. “Again.”
