Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(32)
The magus moved his bench a little closer to the circle. ‘Which story would you like to hear, sire?’
The king turned to Nikolas and Helena, now seated together, with Lukas on his father’s lap. With Nikolas’s thick black beard and broad-shouldered frame he looked every inch the king-to-be, while the beautiful blonde woman beside him was the model of a future queen.
‘Lukas?’ Nikolas said, never tiring of using his son’s new name. ‘What tale would you like to hear?’
Warm and comfortable in his father’s arms, his fear of the magus now somewhat diminished, Lukas spoke up boldly. ‘I want to hear about King Palemon and the eldren.’
The magus tilted his head at the king.
‘Very well,’ Markos said.
The stooped old man cleared his throat and looked down, before casting his eyes on the people seated in front of him. The silence grew for a time, broken only by the faint crackle of the last embers in the hearths.
Finally, the magus spoke.
‘Long ago, our people, and all other people, fought a terrible war with a race separate from our own, those we call the eldren. Where we are sometimes dark-skinned and sometimes light, the eldren are universally pale. Where we have brown hair and blonde, the eldren have hair of silver. Where we are strong workers, able to mine and shape metal, the eldren are thin and weak, and because they hate the touch of metal, they carry no steel or bronze weapons. But’—the magus let the word hang in the air for a moment—‘they can change their shape.’
Lukas shivered in his father’s arms, his eyes fixed on the magus.
The old man put out his right hand. ‘On one side was the kingdom of Aleuthea, greatest of all human civilizations. We still see their monuments in Sarsica, and it is clear that there has been no people so advanced since. Palemon, King of Aleuthea, is said to have lived in a palace nineteen stories high. The golden rays of the Lighthouse could once be seen from as far away as Myana, the Sarsican capital.’
All present were silent while they digested the magus’s words.
He then held out the other hand. ‘On the other side were the eldren in their magical land, Sindara. Their king, Marrix, was the most powerful eldran who ever lived. All eldren are magically connected to the ultimate source of life energy, but Marrix more than any other. When Marrix changed shape,’ the magus’s voice became low and ominous, ‘the whole world trembled.’
He now clasped his palms together and his thin arms tensed. ‘Some say that King Palemon started the war in order to claim Sindara for his own, and others that it was Marrix who vowed to end the human race. In any event, the war was long and bitter. Multitudes died on both sides. Bodies floated along the shores of both the Aleuthean Sea and the Maltherean Sea, turning the shallow waters red.
‘To do battle in the skies the eldren could become furies, men with wings like bats, and even dragons, huge reptilian creatures with wings each as big as this room. To fight in the sea they could become merfolk, men with tails like fish, and even serpents, monstrous sea snakes that could tear a ship to pieces. To war on land they could grow in size to become ogres, with the largest so big we call them giants.’
The magus started coughing and bent to pick up a cup at his feet; he was so old that the process took a long time, but Dion knew he wouldn’t appreciate any help. He sipped and then resumed.
‘If they could have changed for long periods the ancients would never have stood a chance. Palemon, king of Aleuthea, would have seen his proud kingdom laid to waste. But they could change for only short periods. For they sometimes went wild.’
Dion found himself falling under the spell of the magus’s story. Aleuthea was gone now; the stories said the island nation sank beneath the sea a thousand years ago. But signs of the ancient civilization still existed, and he’d once seen a crumbled ruin on the edge of the Aleuthean Sea where there were obelisks so big that the Sarsican builders knew neither how they were cut nor erected.
‘Seeking a way to gain an advantage over the humans, King Marrix made a magical horn out of a conch to recall the wild ones and bring them home. Blowing the horn brought all the wildren back to him, and if wildness was upon them they were reminded of their true selves and turned back. At the end of a terrible battle, when the human dead numbered in the tens of thousands and the fighting went on for so long that hundreds of eldren turned wild, King Palemon first heard its call. As he saw the wildren travel in the direction of the sound, he realized that the eldren now possessed a decisive advantage.’
‘What did he do?’ Lukas asked.
‘Shh,’ Helena hushed.
‘In a daring raid, King Palemon went to Sindara, the eldren homeland, and stole the horn. He put it in an iron box so that it could never be reclaimed, for no eldran can willingly touch pure metal. Raging, King Marrix launched attack after attack, but he was reckless, and ever more eldren became wildren. His army grew smaller with every sortie.’
Dion thought about the wildren rumored to infest the Sea of Serpents. Were all of them former fighters in the war against King Palemon?
‘Knowing he was close to victory, Palemon launched a great assault on Sindara. It was a mighty struggle, but he was finally victorious. Yet even in defeat Marrix could claim revenge, for after the war’s end, Sindara became a wasteland, a place we now call Cinder Fen. Any promise the land had for farming and mining was lost, for many wildren were, and still are, drawn to Cinder Fen, the same way a horse returns to its stable.’