2 July 2012
Tynias flung the table across the room. His anger filled
roar mingled with the crash of wood as the table splintered, and everything
that had been on it was flung to smash wherever it fell.
I
had been on my feet and across the room a split second before I felt his anger
race up my arms like lightning. His power surged through the room. Everything
fragile exploded in an array of shards that flew like rain through the air.
Barghild
grabbed my arm and pulled me back behind him, shielding me as best he could as
we rode out my brother’s tantrum. There had been a time, not so long ago, when
my father would have halted the theatrics immediately, to make Tynias control
his temper accordingly. But we’d both found out that it was useless anymore. To
interfere now would only lengthen and worsen the entire episode.
My
father’s arms wrapped around me and he bent down, swallowing me in the bulk of
his body, his back to the room so he took the brunt of whatever came our way.
He
was a large man, larger than was the norm for our people. The Southern Elves of
Fandanir were tall lean people, deeply tanned from our work in the sun and
lives on the coast of Selenity Sea. Our people were fishermen and farmers, merchants and free ranging folk.
But my father was taller than most by more than a foot, and twice as broad in
the shoulders. He had more muscle mass than was ‘suitable’ and many said that
our family line descended from that of the Northern Elves. They said that we
weren’t truly Southerners. Maybe it was true. Maybe.
Tynias’s
power faded as quickly as it had risen, and felt like water receding from the
shallows. My brother may have been a fierce and well-feared warrior, with
strength enough to cleave an elf in two with a single stroke of his sword, but
his magical stamina came up rather short. But I couldn’t complain, I had no
magic at all. Yet.
I
turned my head enough to barely glimpse Tynias as he stood in the middle of
what used to be my chambers. Now it was nothing more than a wreck room.
Literally. He stood there, breathing hard, his shoulders heaving with every
breath, his teeth clenched with spittle running down his chin like a rabid dog.
He swung his head back and forth, looking from one end of the room to the
other. Whether he was looking for me or at the mess he had created was a
question yet to be answered.
My
father let me go, uncurling his huge frame from around my smaller one as he
turned to Tynias. I stayed behind him, grasping his arm with my hand. My
fingers didn’t even begin to wrap around the muscle, he was so large, or I was
that small.
It
was pathetic, I thought, to hide behind my father like a small child. But
Tynias scared the seven hells out of me, and in this instance I would act like
a child if it meant there was a shield between he and I.
“Tynias.”
My father said.
That
one word was low, barely a whisper, but it held a threat, a promise of
retaliation. The low growl of it made me shiver and sent goose bumps up my
arms.
“You
are a prince of Fandanir. You will damn well act like it, or the only thing you
will every be prince of will be the Sea Guard!” His voice grew until it was a
booming yell, echoing off the walls with an authority only a king could hold.
It got Tynias’s attention. He closed his mouth and stood up a little straighter,
wiping the spittle at his mouth.
My
father let the silence stretch. I said nothing, only clung to his arm like a
small child, hidden behind him, scared of the monsters under the bed. I was a
good foot and a half shorter than he, which made me shorter than a majority of
the entire elven population. It was one thing Tynias hated about me, and as I
thought it his eyes locked on mine, and they filled with a rage so dark and
merciless it could reduce a grown man to tears, but not my father, and not me,
so long as I could cling to him.
Tynias’s
gaze finally left mine as he turned his attention to our father.
“How
could you come to this decision?” he demanded, “The northerners are our
enemies! You do not present your enemies with a wife!” He shouted the last. And
I had a moment to reflect on the fact that whatever secrecy my father had hoped
to hold on this matter was now gone. Every servant and elf on this half of the
city could no doubt hear my brother’s words, and the gossip would spread like
wild fire through the entirety of the south.
I
flinched. I had nearly forgotten the reason for my brother’s tantrum. Now I
remembered. Father had come to us, just a while ago, to inform us that I,
Tempest Pentheslia Belisqua, would be wed to the newly crowned king of the
northern realm of Sorendel. Farkas Amarok. The thought made me shiver. I did
not want to wed any savage king from the north, or anyone for that matter.
Among
the elves, one did not marry before they’re twentieth name day, and most never
married before their fiftieth. But royalty did. My father had, and now, it
seemed, so would I.
“Give
me an army father. I will deliver to you the frozen crown, and the Belisqua
family can rule the north and the south just as we did when your ancestor’s
ruled.” His words were quick, almost hurried, but they held an edge of
eagerness. Like a child that was going to get the toy they almost wanted.
My
father growled. A low rumbling sound that traveled the length of the room. It
was not a sound that was meant to come from a person’s vocal cords. It was
animalistic, and it drained Tynias’s face of all color.
The
Belisqua line was famous for one thing, and one thing only. They were changers.
My ancestors could change their shape to that of an animal. Some, it was said,
could only change to one other form, but the strong could take any animal form
they wished.
My
father was strong.
He
could take any form he wished, or so I’d been told. The only other form I had
seen him in was that of a wolf. He
was the only wolf I had ever seen, and he was larger than the biggest horse,
with a fur coat as black as his hair. His eyes turned from that pine-bark brown
they always were, to a glowing auburn color. Some said wolves were extinct, my
father said they simply lived in the north, in the cold mountains, that life in
the south was to warm for their heavy coats. Night hunters they were called.
Mountain dogs.
That
growl echoed now as my father’s voice had before, and when he spoke again his
words held an edge of that growl, as if his vocal cords weren’t completely
elven. “The northerners are not our enemies.” Each word was slow and careful,
“and before the next moon as turned her cycle through the sky, they will be our
allies in truth.”
I
dug my fingers into his arm, my throat working furiously. I would not cry like
a little girl. I would not.
Tynias
opened his mouth to speak, but my father growled again, and this time I felt
the rumble of that sound shiver through my skin. I could feel it vibrate
through my father’s body. “You will leave this room.” He said, “And you will
not return here, ever. Guard!”
Two
men flew through the doors and were on their knees before us in seconds. I
recognized them immediately as my guards. And noted that they completely
disregarded Tynias, which was fine by me. They were both clad in black leather
chest armor, black pants, and black calf hugging boots. They both had capes
that hung from their left shoulders, and were made up of thrice woven silk with
two layers. The top layer was a deep red that almost matched my hair. Hair the
color of blood dripped rubies. It
was an oddity among all the realms. The second layer of the cape was purple.
They
were my colors.
The
two guards kneeled and spoke together, “My King, My Lady. You’re will is ours.”
It was a rather formal greeting, especially from Yohan and Yuran, but I had the
feeling they were doing it on purpose as their own personal punishment to Tynias.
Arctic Fire (1) • Opuss № I