Of the Three Kings and the Lightbringer

Fires dancing like serpents. Mist and smoke banish the light. Doom.

Panting, eyes wide open, and chest beating like a drum, Hubdeen awoke.

Startled, Lushayla woke up as well, dragged from the comfort of sleep in which she was briefly ensconced.

“Another nightmare”, she asked.

“A memory and a vision”, he replied. He trembled as he spoke.

She stretched her arms to him and he lay in her bosom, clinging to her as a child would its mother.

Thousands of years ago, Borg, covered the world in darkness and turned the hearts of Feline and all people to evil. Disease and sorrow filled the land, souls torn from bodies to feed the great appetite of the Enemy.

Although it had been generations since his ancestor, Ixarion fought alongside Pax, who alone Noi entrusted with the power to defeat Borg, the memory of it seemed to strike a few unfortunate souls.

The Magisters had told him, “You see what is hidden, what is forgotten”.

But the burden was heavy, and rest evaded him.

Hubdeen left the bed and walked to the balcony, where the cool evening breeze quelled the fires of his spirit.

Leaving Lushayla to sleep, he went to his Seeing Chamber. Being the only one who could open it, he entered quietly and closed the doors. A black stone sat on a plinth. He looked into it. It carried him across the kingdom, like a bird far above the fray of those bound to the urth.

He could see mothers putting their children to bed. Wherever the light of the moon and Tep touched, he could see. As he surveyed his kingdom, the slumber of his subjects, brought peace to his troubled heart.

“All is well”, he said to himself. “Where the night veils its secret, the day brings its troubles”.

A day like the one ahead of him needed clarity of vision.

He commanded the Akhtanit, in the tongue of Kings, “Show me the darkness, cast the light of the moon on the hidden vaults”.

Though he willed the Akhtanit to expose the depths of the mountains, the moon could not reach and he remained blind. Despite his best attempts, there were places even his eyes could not reach.

No trouble had come for over a thousand years, but with visions of fire and death, it was hard to be fully eased.

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The Tower of the Watch at the End of the World

Water rose around the tower of the Watch. The waves churned, mist rising and foam frothing between crests. Winds howled, sending a deep and bitter cold into everything that dared to stand before it. Except one thing: the Tower.

The single pinnacle stood on a rock, the last monument to the realms of the living. Beyond this point, there was no structure that attested the existence of the First Born, nothing to remember the people of the Urth. Despite the wails of the torment and the howls of the tempest, the bricks remained firmly fixed and the foundations deeply rooted in the ground.

Hewn from ancient stone in quarries long forgot, it was erected when the seas were calm and the sky was gay. Now, the skies at the end of the world were never gleeful. Now, the sky was always dark, writhing and convulsing, the sea squirmed beneath it. The sky and sea goaded each other to spread the dominion of chaos to the rest of the world.

But the Tower stood there, the sole light standing in their way. Once there were many other towers, but each fell when the hearts of the men who guarded them faltered. This one was the last, its name long lost to the annals of history. Now, a single watchman, a knight of the Order of St Nablus, a giant by the name of Tyraxes continued to man the post.

Every day, he filled Kastigar’s Lamp with oil, nourishing the flames that illuminated the way. On another dreary night, Tyraxes sat against the wall. The wind tried to taunt him, whispering words of defeat and inviting thoughts of surrender.

“I am not ruled by you, Howler! I command you, be gone!” Tyraxes yelled.

He stood up and walked down the stairs towards the cellar where barrels of wine were kept. In this crypt-like underground room, he was free from the constant jousting with the wind and sea, free to enjoy the drink for a time.

Made from Scharden grapes in the mountains of Spayern, the wine let out a slight burn from the swishing around of the bubbles in the Prösk. Unfortunately, he lacked the amenities of his mainland home, where discomfort and want struggled to enter the beds and sit at the tables of a nation whose bounty knew no end. So he drank the fine Prösk with a jug for ale, the same jug he used for a mileu of other tasks.

A small bell tethered to a rope rang, giving a gentle song, informing him that guests had arrived. He awkwardly and hurriedly arose, dusting himself off. He walked up the stairs, dressed in silver armour, and followed the rope of the bell. It led him to a small window, he saw it: a ship entering the tumult. The ship was caught between the sea and sky, which wrestled for it like dogs with a bone.

He shined Kastigar’s Lamp on the boat, thereby calming the wind and causing the sea to subside, allowing the boat to reach the Tower. What did this emissary have for him?

Tyraxes Received an Unexpected Visitor

The boat anchored at the wharf of the Tower. Tyraxes walked out onto the quay, into the hissing of the wind. But as long as he held Kastigar’s Lamp, he had no fear, for it stripped the wind of its power over him. The sailor on the boat threw a rope around one of the posts, pulling the ship closer to the wharf. The sails of the ship were drawn back and tied up. The sailors, of whom there were very few, pulled the small ship towards the wharf. They opened a door on the hull of the ship and the people aboard the ship stepped onto the gangway.

Tyraxes helped them up to the quay.

“Guten Tag, Freunde”, Tyraxes greeted.

The sailors remained quiet, remaining aboard the ship. Instead it was two people dressed in fine red and golden robes who walked out. They seemed to be the real passengers, Tyraxes surmised.

One of them a tall elven man with skin that had patches of brown and peach, lively hazel eyes, and long perfectly combed silver hair, replied to him, “Guten Tag, Herr Tyraxes”.

The other, a lady who looked to be his sister because they seemed so similar except that she tied her hair in intricate braids and adorned her hair with flowers and pins ornamented with jewels like pearls and diamonds.

Tyraxes led them inside the Tower and closed the door behind them. They sat down at the table using their arms to awkwardly pull themselves up to the unusually large chairs — chairs suitable for a giant.

Tyraxes said, “Schade! Aber, ich habe keine Essen dass ich Ihnen bieten kann, aber ich habe Wein herunter”. (“My apologies but I don’t have any food to serve you, however I have wine underneath”)

The man replied, “No, fear not, the same strength and nourishment that Kastigar’s Lamp gives you, shall be given to us. It’s light gives life to all in its vicinity”.

Tyraxes nodded, set his jug down on the counter and sat at the table.

“Herr Tyraxes, I am Prince Akhtan of Spotania and this is my sister, Princess Ikhmaela”.

Tyraxes immediately stood up from the chair then genuflected.

He said, “I did not realise you were a Prince, sir”.

“Rise, Knight of the Order”, Princess Ikhmaela commanded, “Our jack must have fluttered so much that you did not see the royal arms upon it. It is no fault of yours”.

Tyraxes stood up and returned to his chair.

“What brings a Prince and Princess of the House of Madriana to the edge of the world?” Tyraxes asked.

“Hmm, a good question indeed”, Akhtan said, “Then I will not mince words. The Queen has decided that this tower is to be abandoned and her forces are to fall back to the Tower of Jügelmor, 40 nautical miles to the north east”.

“Mein Herr!” Tyraxes exclaimed, “If we give up this Tower, there is nothing stopping the wind and sea and whatever manner of darkness and dread that rides upon them, from getting closer to our realms”.

Impatient, Ikhmaela replied, “Herr Tyraxes, Look around you. This is the Last Tower at the Edge of the World! The seal keeping the enemies of Light out, has frayed, allowing tossing waves and dangerous winds to breach into our territory. Our Kingdom has long fought to rebuild some of the towers, but the wind and sea have been adamant and no other rocks or islets could be found between the Second Line and the First Line of the Towers, the latter of which this Tower is the last to stand. What happens when the cold gnawing at your bones and seeping into your flesh is too much, or the light of Kastigar’s Lamp grows weary and dim that it has no more strength to keep you?”

Akhtar replied, “You will fall. Look how the sea tosses even behind the tower. While some of the Tower’s strength keeps much of the Tumult away, the anger of the outer reaches has seeped through. 300 years ago, when you began your watch, Herr, Tyraxes, you recall that the Tumult of the Wind and Sea was faraway, on the horizon, and the area all about you had been tranquil and unperturbed”.

Ikhmaela interjected, “Yet now, we can barely moor because of how violent the waters have become. A strategic retreat to a reinforced barrier is a wise decision”.

Tyraxes replied, “What happens if in three hundred years, the second line falls? Shall we keep retreating until the sea and wind have flooded our country and drowned every man, woman and child under the sea and all that is left in the world is a deep and unrepentant darkness?”

“Sir, I command you, in the name of the Queen, to abandon this Tower”, Ikhmaela said sternly, the light of her eyes twinkling and air about her filling with a delicate light, her adamance radiating like a halo.

“Well, Your Highness”, Tyraxes replied, “The Crown has no authority here! The Order of St Nablus is beyond the Crown’s prerogatives here. You cannot command me and have no authority over me”.

Akhtan then said, “Then we have come to plead with you. You are among the last of your kind, and your strength will give strength to our men in the long war against the darkness”.

Ikhmaela said, “Be that as it may, Herr Tyraxes, if you continue to stay here, know that we cannot come back and realms of the First Born will forget about this Tower and Sir Tyraxes who alone stood defiant at the Edge of the World. You will be alone, forever”.

Tyraxes looked down and clasped his own hands tightly. He replied, “So be it”.

Unable to convince him, they simply left in silence. Just before they boarded their ship, Akhtan said, “May the light of the All Mother, our Goddess Noi, shine upon you and sustain your Lamp”.

With those departing words, it would be last time that Tyraxes spoke to another person ever again.