Chapter 1:
Ravendune
The
skies over the Dukedom of Ravendune were grim and foreboding that night. Icy
winds whipped through the forests of Pineshare, just east of the castle of the
Duke, sending man and beast scurrying for what shelter they could find. Storm
clouds, grey and swollen, were moving in on the eastern horizon and with them
came the growls of the thunder god, Aegor.
It
was the wind that had awakened the Duke, blowing open the shutters of his
bedchambers with a loud crack of wood against granite. He was awake Immedietly,
his eyes going to that of the ruined window. He muttered a curse at the storms’
intrusion, throwing back the covers of his bed; he lit a small oil lamp which
stood on his bed table. The lamp lit quickly, its’ soft golden light bathing
the features of the Duke.
He
was Ryan Von Ravendune, eighteenth ruler of the house Ravendune, eldest son of
Gandric the Great- who had defended Ravendune in the wars with Charlone. As his
son, Ryan had inherited one of the most powerful of the sixteen Dukedoms of
Amarcain. He had ruled wisely in his seven years as Duke. Ryan was in his late
twenties, twenty-seven to be exact, and he was in his physical prime. His body
was hard and lean, from years of training in the arts of warfare. His face was
handsome, strong cheekbones housed eyes of icy blue, piercing and intelligent.
His nose, thin and sharp gave him a hawk-like countenance. His lips were thin
and tight and his jaw was strong and pronounced. His hair was a golden hue,
close cropped. He looked like some mythical hero that had come to life. He was
Lord Knight of the order of Madrin, God of life and light.
He
rose from his bed to the cold granite floor, garbed in undergarments of thick
gray wool. He threw on a robe of rich black velvet, emblazoned with the
standard of Ravendune; a raven, with wings spread, framed by crossed swords. He
approached the window, pulling back the splintered wood of the shutters,
shivering as the cold night air filled the bedchamber. He looked eastward, beyond
the walls of the castle, to the tall swaying pines of the forest beyond. Again,
there was a crash of thunder, followed by javelins of lightning which lit the
sky for miles. There was something ominous about it all, for thunderstorms such
as this were rare this late in the autumn season.
His
brooding was interrupted by a commotion in the hallway outside his personal
chambers. There was the sound of footsteps and whispering. Soon, there was a
gentle knock upon the heavy oak doors to his bedchambers. He heard a voice,
that of his servant, Arithomus. “My Lord Duke,” he began. “There is an urgent
matter you must attend to.” Ryan proceeded to the chamber doors, pulling them
back and admitting him. “Please forgive my waking you Sire, but the High Priest
of Madrin is here to see you,” continued Arithomus. He was an elderly man of
slight build, with wisps of grey hair. He had been the servant of Gandric,
Ryan’s father. “High Priest?” repeated Ryan. “You mean Ignatius is here to see
me?” he asked. “That is correct Sire and he wishes to confer with you on a
matter of great importance,” answered Arithomus. “It must be, for him to come
at this hour,” said Ryan taking Arithomus by the shoulder. “Have Ignatius meet
me in the throne room, I shall be down shortly.”
“As
you wish Sire,” answered the servant, bowing quickly and disappearing down the
hall. Ryan turned, proceeding to his wardrobe. He took off the robe, replacing
it with a jerkin of black velvet which was cut at the knee. Over this he put on
a voluminous black cloak, trimmed in silver. He then pulled on a pair of knee
length boots of black leather and placed the crown of the Dukedom upon his
head. He proceeded into an opposite hallway, one which led directly to the
throne room. He emerged from behind the throne, pulling back the heavy black
curtain which concealed the entrance. He proceeded past the throne, peering
into the dimly lit chamber. Servants were lighting the wall sconces as well as
a brazier near the throne for warmth. Another servant brought him a cup of
mulled wine. The throne room was vast, its’ walls draped with tapestries
depicting acts of heroism and chivalry. The Duke seated himself upon the
throne, sipping his cup of wine and wondering what calamity might bring the
High Priest here at this hour. His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of
his servant Arithomus and three figures garbed in robes of white trimmed in
blue. “The High Priest Ignatius M’lord,” announced Arithomus, who then bowed
and exited the throne room. Ignatius proceeded forward, pulling back the hood
of his robe. In his hand he bore the standard of the Church of Madrin; three
swords joined in a “T” shape, symbol of the Holy Swords of Madrin, Galoth and
Artimedius; patron deities of the Brotherhood. “I am sorry to have disturbed
your sleep my Duke, but something has come up, an extraordinary occurrence that
must be brought to your attention,” stated Ignatius. He was middle aged, clean
shaven with whitish grey hair and a benevolent face. “Of course Reverend
Father,” replied the Duke who had now risen from his throne to meet Ignatius at
the bottom of the steps to it. “Come see, come and see,” said Ignatius,
motioning towards the other two priests, who each held a bundle before them.
“Just a few hours ago, Brother Antonius here discovered these poor babes
abandoned on the doorstep of the cathedral abbey. Naturally, we took them in,
fed and bathed them, when we saw these peculiar birthmarks,” he stated as the
two priests uncovered the infants pointing to a spot just below the heart.
“They are male twins my Duke and they bear identical birthmarks,” he added as
the Duke came closer. “Dear lords,” intoned the Duke, studying the birthmarks.
“They look like... swords. They bear the mark of the Holy Swords!” exclaimed
the Duke.
“Yes,”
said the High Priest. “It is just as the scriptures foretold, that unto
Amarcain would come three who bear the mark of the Holy Swords, destined to
wield the swords of Madrin, Galoth and Artimedius to defend the land against a
great and powerful enemy,” added Ignatius, making the sign of the Holy Swords
before him. “But Reverend Father,” began the Duke. “The scriptures speak of
three, where is the third child?” he asked.
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