Prologue

Prologue to my on-going story, Dawn of Hubris. I'll be releasing chapters periodically.

frigid winter wind whipped through the small, worn village of Salthustra, creating a billowing sheet of frozen rain and white, sparkling snow. The effect would have been surreal, with it’s own unique and ephemeral beauty, to anyone but the lone, solitary witness. Seemingly ignorant to the presence of both the wind and rain, the man gazed into the surrounding darkness,  his eyes never once touching the soft, glowing light that lay flickering in mute testimony to the onslaught of the wintry wind. A cowl of black material enveloped his head, further solidifying the aura of darkness that seemed to radiate from the man. His long black cape billowed around him as he slowly made his way through the high banks of snow, and among the broken and riddled road. His arms were proportionate to the rest of his long, gangly body, and his breathing even, undisturbed by the fierceness of the relentless wind, nor the persistence of freezing rain. He moved ever forward, without any inclination to where his destination might lie, or what his affairs may be. Slowly he ploughed on and on, through the many unadorned houses that dotted the inner tier of Salthustra, until at last he stopped outside of a home, just as unremarkable as any of the others.

         The house was lit from within, a roaring fire in the hearth, being tended to by a woman of middle-age. Her green eyes occasionally glanced to the window, and unseeing into the darkness that was outside of her home. The man had the cover of night, and still the element of surprise. The building itself was built well, even if no frippery ornamented it’s two windows, nor was there anyone whom could say, judging by the exterior of the home, that the people within lived a lavish lifestyle. The wind whipped around the man once more, yet he showed no sign of discomfort; rather a sort of easiness that naturally came with the caress of ones lover. The man peered pervasively throughout the window of the home, not once moving, yet taking in the small happenings of the house-hold.

         A man entered the room, said a few, quick words to the woman, and made his way back into the front hall. As he opened the front door, the dark man, tucked out of sight by the shrouded darkness, could see that this man was indeed dressed far too finely for the neighborhood in which he inhabited. A look of recognition flickered across the black-clad figure as the man stepped from his home, and out into the night. As he watched on, his gaze analyzing every movement being made, the man brought his ornate woolen cloak further about him, and marched out, away from the shelter that his home provided him, and into the desolate, and cold. He made his way along the rear of the house, and stopped near a pile of split wood, bending down to claim a few pieces. As he bent down, he lifted his left arm, and from his upraised hand appeared a sphere of golden light, warm, soft, life-like. It moved in such a way that it appeared a close companion to the man’s hand, shifting and turning in response to the hand’s every movement. As the man straightened himself, the light flickered, and died, leaving a blind spot where it had once existed. He shifted his now burdened arms, laden with evenly cut timber, and began making his way back inside the home. Once back inside, he fed the low fire, instantly rejuvenating it, and sent a cascade of madly dancing sparks up, into the chimney, and into the black, cold night.

         The black figure straightened himself, his task nearly at hand. He looked once more unto the house, as if his eyes had never left it. He witnessed the embrace of the man and woman, the solemn, loving look that left lingering sentiments on both of their faces. The man, his demeanor undiminished by the undulating cold, cocked his head to the side as a new sound pierced the night. The small, soft cry of a newborn child. It wailed for attention; for love; for nourishment. It sought life, yet it was the very reason that the blackened man was present. The child must perish.

         He would become the dealer of death in only a short time, it was his orders, it had been decreed. The child must fade into nothing more than a mere subtle memory, and the black man was ready to play his role. How he had waited for a chance to redeem himself, and now his very hour was at hand. Maybe now, after his glorious triumph over the small, velvet encased newborn, would they free his family. He could only hope.

         The black-clad man moved from the cover of darkness, and stole quietly, soundlessly across the snow, it‘s dull, golden hue a omniscient remnant of dried blood.  He stood at the archway that framed the dark wooden door, it’s brass knocker hanging uselessly from it’s determined place in the world. We all have a determined place in the world, the dark man thought. I will follow the path that leads to mine. He raised his hand, covered in a black, scaly glove that glittered dully like unpolished diamonds; or the sinuous folds of mottled steel, as if to knock. He stood there in such a peculiar way, his arm outstretched, his form braced, his mind set. He lowered his hand an inch, his palm open and facing the door, and with a sharp intake of breath, the night was rent with the horrible, scraping pains of a door being thrust into oblivion.

         Chaos consumed the night as the man made his way into the house. Another onlooker would have seen both the plain looking woman, and the ornately dressed man, whom now had possession of the small bundled child, give a jump, and make their way back into the corner of the room, their shadows elongated and stretched by the corporeal flames, dancing away merrily in their grate. 

         The woman stood in front of both the man and child, her arms outstretched, and a wild anger in her green eyes. As the dark man entered the room, the flames instantly died in their hearth, and the cold wind invaded the once-warm home. He stood before the couple and their child, and stared, not menacingly, not malevolently, but with a cold, impassive face that marked the death of others before them. With his hood no longer atop his brow, and with the sudden addition of the father’s ethereal light, the dark man’s features were thrown into sharp relief. His face was a twisted, ugly thing that was riddled and teeming with a large multitude of scars and fresh wounds. His eyes were a crisp blue, like ice, and his gaze as impenetrably cold, and they leered out from behind sunken sockets. His face was pale white, save for the shadows below his ice-like eyes. Laughter and joy had obviously long since vacated the cold, shrunken lips of this man. As his eyes peered side-long into the fearful faces of both the man and woman, he began a cold, mirthless laugh. His voice rang out like steel, and his tone was an undercut of the wretched betrayer himself.

         “The council will be very interested to learn of your little secret, Aurius.” came the cold, hate-livened voice of the dark man. “They will be very interested indeed. You not only keep possession of a child, but have taken a…” as he gave the woman an appraising look, noting the many features of her that would be invisible to the average human eye. “Druid. How odd of a choice for such an esteemed member of our community, wouldn’t you say, councilman?” The woman turned to look at the man behind her, the one who held her child, and her world. She kissed him once upon his lips, and onto her face settled a look of pure anger, hatred, and powerful rage. She turned back to the dark man as he resumed his one-sided conversation, and let forth a menacing growl.

         “I must say, councilman, this is a new development. I had not expected the mother to also be a magic-user. This, I daresay, complicates matters a bit.” He looked over the woman, watching the anger roil across her strikingly beautiful features. The man in the corner rested his arm upon the woman’s should, adjusted the weight of the newborn child in his other arm, and spoke for the first time.

         “Dear Cladius, why have you come here this night? To see this world undone? You know of the great power of my child, and even, I think, of my wife. She is not just a druid of the southern Kelthok woodlands, oh no! But daughter to queen Irianna herself! You cannot imagine the power I wield from even within my home. You come to me now, prepared to destroy years of research, of hope, of even the greatest luck; but why? Why must you be so stoically adverse to a new world. The council is fraught with corruption, lies, and deception. We have ruled unfairly, with our benign outlook on magic, and with our love of power, that some dare whisper of revolution! Maybe it is time, dear Cladius, that revolution came, and wiped clean the sins of our past. We cannot rule with our iron fist, yet revel in our hypocrisy and subordinate crimes. We are keeping Kulthast from flourishing into the grand nation that it should be!” With his speech finished, the man shifted the child back to his other arm, and dropped his hand from the shoulder of his wife. The cold man looked on, past the woman, past the child, and straight into the eyes of the councilman, and spoke with such hatred that the very room seemed to shake.

         “You dare suggest revolution? You dare call opposition to your kin? You wed half-bloods and half-breeds for the sake of diplomacy; yet for what? Nothing! You call me impassively adverse to a new world; yet I say, why fix what isn’t broken? Kulthast has lived under the rule of the council, your shared rule, for nigh on a millennia, without the threat of force from outsiders, or from traitorous intentions from within, until now. You, most esteemed councilman, must perish for the sake of our current order. Our status quo depends upon it!” He spat his last words with such hatred and malcontent that the glass shook within the window frames. The dark man dropped his gaze to the woman, shifted his stance, thrusting his arms to his sides and lifting his face towards the roof of the small home. A dark film began to materialize around him, a sphere of energy that seemed devoid of all life. His frost-like eyes pierced through the wildly green eyes of the druid-woman. Suddenly, with a brilliant flash of white-light, the woman was replaced with a lynx, powerful, lean, and coiled, ready to spring. She began to edge nearer the man, as the sphere around him grew. It began to contract, as if being pulled in multiple directions at one, dilating and compressing, until finally it began a small point within the man’s outstretched hand. With a horrid, banshee-like scream a sword appeared, adorned by man life-like skills. The blade was forged from what appeared to be black steel, with a stream of ice-like, glowing runes down the center of the blade, along the hilt, and even onto the handle. The baby began to wail once again.

         The lynx turned toward the councilman, her deep green eyes seemingly unchanged by her new form, and gave what appeared to be a great nod of her head, even as what might have been a tear escaped bother hers’ and his eyes. She turned then, letting out a ferocious, bestial war cry, and sprang. The dark man was ready. He brandished his sword with the ease-of-use of a practiced swordsman. The druid’s claws were just as sharp as the man’s sword, and just as quick too. They fought for quite a while, occasionally with a lunge on either side, and a side-step, narrow evasion in equal response. Neither side seemed to gain, nor lose ground. After some time though, it appeared that the druid was tiring, her movements were less lithe, her attacks less powerful, and the man’s attacks missed by a breadth. As she spent a great deal of energy into a last-ditch effort at tearing out the man’s throat, his sword ripped through her lower haunches, sending her sprawling, and with a great gash upon her legs. The woman fell, no longer containing enough energy to retain her animal form, and the man stepped over her, readying himself for the kill. As he raised his black sword above her heaving chest, preparing to plunge it her wet, beating heart, a great weight smashed into his chest, sending him flying through the air, and smashing into the pit where the fire had previously roared. The stone that formed the chimnney collapsed upon him, sending forth a billowing cloud of dust and debris. The councilman rushed forward, with the child in one arm, and grasped for the hand of his wife. Her breaths were short, her face pained. As he placed his hands near the top of her leg, he was unsure what to do. His wife was losing far too much blood, far too fast. He had never been a healer, but a diplomat. He looked into her eyes, still glowing with the wildness of her transformation, and felt the tears escape. The child in his arms looked around curiously, unafraid by the events that had just transpired.

         “P..p..please Aurius, you must keep him safe. He must come to no harm. Y..y..you know what it is that he must do, the power that he holds. Please, keep him safe.” her voice was weaker than her body appeared, it was frail, and lined with age that was not apparent by her body. The councilman, Aurius, looked down into the eyes of his wife, his love, his soul mate and slowly nodded. He squeezed her hand, one last time, and made a promise, “I will come back for you, my love. If the oceans and the divines both drive themselves between us, I will find you, or so I shall die in my attempt.”

         With that, she nodded, her eyes closed, and her breathing slowed. Aurius returned his wife’s hand gently, passionately back upon her chest, wiped away his remaining tears, and stared into his wife’s beautiful, peaceful face as a bright, white light enveloped both he, and his child. As the last of his tears fell, Aurius and his child disappeared, and his tear fell ever so gently, pulled along by gravity’s mastery over all things, living and not, until it fell upon the smooth stone floor, of his vacant home.

Author's Note

Need criticism! I realize that the PoV is a bit confusing at times, and I'll work to clean that up. I also plan on re-working the fight scene so that it makes a bit more sense.