Prologue
Page 3 of 3

 

That very night, Tethern was busily putting away the implements that he used in his studies. It was later in the evening than one would commonly find him awake, but he found sleep later than in weeks past.

He held up a tiny, globular bottle and shook it briskly before his eyes. The ink well, he noticed, would require filling again tomorrow. It seemed that he had been writing more than usual lately, but his amplified habit of writing was due largely to, he believed, the stress and anguish brought about by the recent death of the queen. At sixty-six years of age, Tethern was expected to add his many years of experience to the already overflowing tomes of information found in the Nirdehnian temple. This was a responsibility for which he was remarkably well gifted and more than happy to carry out, especially as of late.

A portion of that evening’s literary works from which he studied included, Temple Policies and Regulations, an intimidating reference for even the most avid reader. Included was an addendum on the duties and responsibilities of the Nirdehnian monk who served as the Royal Advisor. Several points needed to be either added or changed to take in account the current political unrest.

As Tethern was replacing the ink well to its position on the top of his desk, an odd sound was heard, causing him to jump with a start and spill the remnants of ink.

A muffled scream? Rym?

Tethern quickly ran down the twelve stairs to the prince’s nursery to render any necessary aid. He feared that Infant Prince’s nurse may have injured herself, or worse, the prince. What he found when he turned the corner into the open doors of the nursery, however, was the sight of the nurse lying on the floor with a man standing over her.

“Sir!” he called out, “is Rym alright?”

His question was met with the odd, cool sensation of metal as it pierced his chest and entered his heart. The man ran from him and quickly left the area, leaving the elderly Tethern lying on the floor just outside of the nursery. The warm, red life that exited his body had soaked into his humble robe. Rym, barely conscious herself, but otherwise unharmed, crawled over to tend to her old friend’s wounds.

“Tethern!” she cried in a choked whisper.

“Surely this will bring him…” Tethern said in faltering gasps. “Surely this will bring him…”

“What? Bring whom? Who are you talking about?”

Then the Nirdehnian monk spoke a word that was alien to the young nurse. A word that the monk himself had not spoken for years.