11 The Grand Avatar (1/2)
The window, the room, everything disappeared into the shadow mist of his power. His arms pulled her closer, his hand covering her eyes. ”Don't look,” he said in her ear but she had already seen it, that unnatural darkness of his magic.
Around her it twisted and spun, thick limbs that ranged in color from black as the darkest night to a fresh bruise. Deep purple light sparked and glowed along the edges, a color that shouldn't exist.
She closed her eyes tightly and buried her face into Arren's chest. For a moment she could hear the sound of his breathing and then he released her.
She opened her eyes and stared up at the hall that had replaced the sitting room. Wooden pillars lined the walkway, thick carpet covered the stone under her feet. Wide windows dotted the walls every few feet filling the space with light.
”Are you alright? Do you feel sick at all?” Arren asked, his voice low.
She opened the book, I feel fine. Where are we?
”Good. This is the Hall of Viewing. We're somewhere near the top floors of the castle, too far to walk,” he answered, off hand.
She grinned and half ran, half tripped to the nearest window. She touched the glass, cold against her fingers, no hum of magic. Outside the ground was far away, the city below the mountain that the castle was built into, a tiny thing. The peaks of churches, the roofs of homes and shops looked like toys that she could move around at will.
Her attention shifted, pulled away from the landscape and back to the sky. Birds, she thought as she watched the winged forms as they came closer. Hawks but much larger than anything that she had ever seen, the beasts were massive, large enough for a man to ride.
She turned back to Arren, wide eyed and pointing.
He glanced out of the window, ”Shadows Fall looks very calm from here.”
Is that the name of the town? And those birds, what are they? She wrote excitedly.
He smiled, amused, ”It is the name of the city, yes. And those were Great Hawks, I don't think you have them in your lands.”
She shook her head, I want to see them. I want to go to that place.
”Maybe you will someday,” his mood, for the moment still pleasant.
She nodded, smiling.
He held out his hand, ”Come now, Princess, we have a meeting to attend.”
She placed her hand in his. Together they walked down the hall until they reached a large door. She watched as Arren's shadows reached forward and the door opened onto a large open room, a single full length mirror in the center of it.
Around the mirror sat chairs, each occupied by a man. They were all middle aged or older, clearly of the upper class, marked by their rich clothing. Isilla spotted Lehan, his legs crossed, his posture betraying his arrogance. She stilled, fear filling her gut.
Arren rested his hand against her lower back for a moment, intimate and encouraging, but when she looked at him, his face was cold. His hand slipped from her back and he walked forward.
”Well look who's finally here,” one man with a thick beard growled as Arren stepped towards the center of the room.
”I am not late, Lord Markel,” Arren said his voice neutral, motioning for Isilla to take an empty chair. She sat down, smoothing her skirts over her thighs.
”We've been waiting for you to bring her, so that we can sort this all out,” the man grumbled.
”We wouldn't have to do this,” a thin man from across the room started, contempt dripping from his voice, ”if the Crown Prince could hold his temper a bit better.”
Lehan smirked, ”Why blame me for the lies of the Light Realm? I was supposed to receive a wife, not some half cursed thing.”
Isilla looked down at her lap, her fingers curling around the little book, her only means of communication. Whoever these men are, they will look down on me for this, she thought.
”It's done,” Arren said, it was clear that he was ending further discussion on the matter of Isilla. She peeked from the corner of her eye at Lehan, even he listened.
”Regardless of the girl, why did you attack their prince? Were you trying to start the war again? Do you want bloodshed so badly?” Lord Markel hissed, his words directed at Lehan.
”I dislike tricks,” Lehan said simply.
”Mad as your father,” the older man responded, shaking his head.
The magic moved quickly, a dagger aimed at the man's face was suddenly there, hovering in front of his eyes. The air wavered, the outline of a twisted rope of Arren's shadow holding the dagger in place.
”Watch your words when you are speaking to the Crown,” Arren said coolly. The dagger broke apart, turning to a greasy dust that hung in the air for a moment before disappearing completely. All eyes were on Arren and after a few grumbles the room calmed.
Isilla frowned. They think he attacked that man, she thought, but he was the one that stopped the dagger. Why did he protect Lehan?
”In a few moments, the representatives for the Light Realm will be on the glass. I have gathered you all here in order to show our respect and dedication to this peace. I know that your lands are weary from supporting the war effort for so long, we could all use this rest. So please, try to keep your petty upsets to yourself for a few moments longer,” Arren's voice was cold and low. It carried though the room, an unspoken power behind it.
The room finally silent he waved his hand in front of the mirror, it rippled into life.
An old man, his skin dark and wrinkled under gray brows and a bald head, dressed in loose, flowing, golden robes sat in the mirror at a high backed chair. Behind him stood Argia, his face blank.