Chapter One - The Plot

She could hear the muffled voices in the courtyard below, the knights talking as they prepared to ride to the aid of the king. Yet all was blackness, she could see nothing. The tall girl stood at the window, rain dripping down the glass panes. Her brown curls were pulled into a grey net, revealing the grey pearl earrings that graced her ears. She wore a grey velvet dress, with white trimmings.

The big oak door muffled the sounds of feet in the hallway. The girl turned as she heard the familiar creaking as the door swung open. She heard two pairs of feet entered, and wondered who it was. One set she recognized as Marian, the maid, and the other, the other she did not know.

“M’lady, this is Edmund,” Marian said quietly. “Sir Paulo and Lady Genevieve have assigned him to be yer guardian.”
“Do they think I need I need a guardian? What would the enemy want with me?”
“I know not, m’lady. He is also to be yer companion.”
“Very well then, Marian.”
“Is there anything else ye be needin’?”
“No. Thank you Marian.”
“Yes m’lady. If ye need me, I’ll be comin’.”

Edmund looked at the girl. She was only up to his shoulders, and seemed thin and pale, yet there was some type of ethereal quality to her. Some of her brown curls had escaped from the net and framed her oval face. Her eyes were blue-grey, yet dull. It seemed strange to him, that he was looking at someone who had never seen the sun, who had never seen the moon, or the stars.

The two of them sat down, and silence ensued. Finally, the girl broke the silence.
“You wanted to accompany them, did you not?”

The boy turned to her in surprise. “How did you know?”
Her thin shoulder shrugged. “I learn these things. I won’t let my blindness make me oblivious to the outside world.”
“I wish I could go with them.”
“We don’t always get what we want, Edmund. If we did, we would have nothing to look forward to.”
“But how do you know? Is there any one person who knows everything, that they would know this? How can we know if we have not tried?” Edmund sighed. Then, a small book on the table caught his eye. “'Poems of Myrddin the Wise’,” he read.

A small smile appeared on her face. “It is my sister’s. She reads it to me sometimes when she is here.”

The boy, yet he was not a boy, flipped through the book. Nineteen years of hard work had turned him from boy to man, sooner than most in Elenaesia. He had hair as black as coal, and his green eyes shone bright as he glanced at a page here and there. Suddenly, something caught his eye. To my beloved daughter, Kathryn Eleniel, child of the stars. May you someday shine as bright as Elbrenhine, our beloved northern star. He looked up at the lady in front of him.

“I thought you said it was your sister’s,” he said, after a pause.
Kathryn looked at him, could not see him, darkness abounded. “Yes,” she said quietly. “It is my sister’s. I gave it to her, for it was no use to me. I was born blind, I have never held the shining wonders of the world in my mind, my eyes have never digested the beauty of flowers, I have never oohed and ahed over the colours of fabrics as maids worked on my dresses. I have never seen the rain on the windows, never seen the rich decorations my mother loved to put up during Yule. What use was the book to me? I could never look at its pages, have my hand caress the printed words, as my lips silently read the old familiar poems. So, I gave it to my sister. She has loved it, I can tell, from the slight creases, the small indentions in the cover, the feel of worn pages. And I rejoice more than I could otherwise. You see, Edmund, it is not always what we do that gives us pleasure – there are times when more joy can be gathered from knowing someone else is loving a thing, than loving it yourself.”

Silence came from the young squire as the words Lady Kathryn spoke sunk in. “What does the inscription mean, then, Lady?” he asked.
“Read it, please,” she said, memories of voices and smells coming over her. She remembered feeling the tears of her father landing on her face, the feel of his hands as they covered hers, the words he spoke, the embrace he gave, the love he gave to her.
“‘To my beloved daughter, Kathryn Eleniel, child of the stars. May you someday shine as bright as Elbrenhine, our beloved northern star,’” read Edmund.
“I was born in the night, the stars were especially beautiful that night, my father told me, and so he named me Eleniel, daughter of the stars. You know Elbrenhine,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips. “It was his dream, his hope, his faith, that I would someday see – and somehow, I’ve never quite dismissed it as strange. His belief that I would not be blind forever,” here she paused, “I don’t know. But somehow, it seems as if it would be, could be, true.”
“Truth,” repeated Edmund, a bit unconvinced. “Truth has a way of hiding itself from us, never letting us see it for what it really is. How can one find truth?”
“By seeking for it,” Kathryn said earnestly. “Seeking for it, never giving up. If you look for it long enough, it will come to you. Truth is truth, it can be nothing else.”
“Perhaps,” said Edmund, still without real confidence.
“Wait. And you will see. Truth has a sly sort of way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it, coming to face you head on. We can never be fully ready for it. In time, perhaps, we will be ready to see it. But can we truly understand it before we are ready?”
“Perhaps not,” Edmund conceded, though his voice showed it was not fully. “Perhaps, then, it is the true quest to seek out truth. But is that for everyone?”
“Truth comes on its own,” replied Kathryn. “You need not go on a quest, just wait for it in its own time.”
That evening after they both had retired, Kathryn lay on her bed. She had not spoken that much for quite a while. What was it about this boy? He seemed different than anyone she had met. And there was something about his voice – something she had heard before. But where? And when? And why did it seem so important to know?

He stood there, tall, and proud, his golden hair rippling over his shoulders. His blue eyes gleamed with an evil glint in the sun. He was Orlando DiCaprio, Duke of the Seventeens. The Seventeens were a group of seventeen towns, called that long ago. The reason was lost amongst myth and legend, and now, what ever was the truth could not be discerned.

Beneath him, as he stood on the hill, he could see the army gathering there. It was not as well trained as he would have liked, but he currently only had the support of the Seventeens. He placed his hand on the hilt of his broadsword, wrapping his fingers around the handle, squeezing them around it, feeling the familiar coldness and hardness of the metal hilt. He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as he grasped the cool steel and unsheathed it, bringing it to shine in the sun.

The sword seemed to be without perfection upon first glance. The cold and hard of the steel shone as the sun’s rays bounced off. The brown leather wrapped about the handle felt rough in his hands, reminding him of the harshness of battle. The green stone at the end of the hilt shone, reminding him that his underlings must never learn envy and jealousy.

Orlando turned his attention from his broadsword to the troops. His second-in-command, Hayden Potter, a man with short brown hair was assembling them. Orlando sighed. Then he straightened up. Training would begin. His pre-trained army was ready to advance, Bonjon leading them. If all went according to plan, King Eldor should awake to find a nasty surprise in two days. If all went well. If all did not, certain people would pay.

The Duke strode over to his horse and mounted quickly. Slapping the rein against the creature’s back, he galloped down the hill. When he reached the bottom, he motioned sharply for Potter to follow him, dismounted and strode purposefully into his tent. This army must be ready soon. He couldn’t give the king time to prepare for another assault.

He looked up from the map of Elenaesia as Hayden Potter came and stood in the entry of the tent. A sharp nod of his head told Potter all he needed to know. Walking with a purposeful stride, he came over to the table, and looked at the map. Without further ado, DiCaprio began to speak.

“This,” he said, as he placed a marker over a dot on the map, “Is Aiulindale. To the west and the south, is Ge’irdae. Bonjon and the battalion he is leading will be assaulting Ge’irdae the day after tomorrow. By the time word reaches Eldor at Aiulindale, we need to already be on the move. If a messenger can get away from Ge’irdae at the soonest possible point, he should reach Aiulindale before morning. That means that we have two days to get this army moving. You shall take one battalion and follow the path of Bonjon. Binks will take a battalion and go the easterly route. He will attack the small towns in the way, and will lay assault on Eirtue and Minelido. Bonjon will switch tactics after the assault on Ge’irdae, and take a central path. I will remain here, with another battalion, should Eldor do the improbable and bring the battle directly to the Seventeens. I doubt that will be the case however.”
“If he does, what then, m’lord?” asked Potter.
“Then I meet him in battle, Potter. I am not afraid of him. He will see it. The battle plan shows it. He cannot risk harming more of the Seventeens than he can get away with, since I hold much of the agriculture and trading ports in my grip. I have only to expand my fist but a bit, and all of Elenaesia will be mine. Once I hold Aiulindale, I hold Elenaesia. And once I hold the torc, I hold the people. They will be bound to me.”
“M’lord,” questioned Potter slowly. “Since the king holds both the torc and Aiulindale, does he not hold both the people and the land?”
“He is not the true king!” snapped DiCaprio.
“How do you prove that you are?”
“If it does not glow for me, I will take care of matters privately, Potter. Prepare your battalion for marching. You have one day. You must be out of here before dawn the day after tomorrow. If all goes according to plan, we shall be sitting in Aiulindale with Elenaesia in my grip by this time two months from now.”

With a nod Orlando DiCaprio, Duke of the Seventeens, dismissed his second-in-command. Yes indeed, if all went well he would have his fist wrapped around all of Elenaesia. If he could somehow get the torc sooner, then he would have a stronger offense. But first, he must speak with Draziw. He must find out if it would work . . .