A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [1]
And all the while outlander mages eyed the rich Vale of Aglirta and thrust their own hands into the fray, and the fabled Faceless lurked behind all, and the Band of Four rushed hither and other, seeking to set wrongs aright…
Yet the slaughters and Dwaer-seekings continued apace, and none of all those hard-riding folk foresaw the Great Doom rushing to meet them.
Or rather, the apocalypse that their own deeds were bringing down swift and hard upon their beloved Aglirta-and all Darsar around it.
Prologue
Lamplight flickered back from the bright-polished rims of a dozen Delcamper shields. A young man in a magnificent silk shirt stared past rich blue tapestries into that dazzle, and murmured, "For if all the world my love forsake… her life like a flame the wind doth take… doth take…"
He sighed heavily, tossed his parchment down, and speared an innocent quace-fruit with his quill. "Oh, to be the bard they dunk I am!" he quoted darkly, glowering out his open window at the stars.
Flaeros Delcamper brought his boots up onto the gleaming top of his best bedchamber table with a crash, and leaned back in his chair.
Fighting dragons was easy-now, composing ballads, that was hard.
The shore breeze rose, bringing the familiar tang of the sea to him. Restlessly, Flaeros swung his feet back down and sprang upright, striding across the room in an idle parody of a gliding, courtly dance. Slapping his palms down on the sill, he stared out over Ragalar Bay, its waters shimmering under the light of the rising moon and the familiar vault of stars.
He'd stood here on early evenings for years, looking out at a little slice of Darsar-a slice that rolled or blew past uncaring how haughty or coin-bright the Delcampers might be, or noisy and bustling the gray city of Ragalar might become. His great-great-grandsire had stood in this room when as young as he was now, and undoubtedly stared out at these same stars. This castle, Varandaur, seat of the Delcampers, had stood here like a grim, weary fang of stone for five centuries at least, looming over this corner of Ragalar Bay-the tower he was standing in, all nine floors of it, actually overhung the waters, jutting up and out above the spray like the prow of a great stone ship, and-
A chime sounded musically behind him. Flaeros whirled around. What could befall at this time of night?
It sounded again, like a discreet servant's cough. The Bard of the Delcampers smiled thinly, and called, "Enter!" Then he raised an eyebrow. 'Janthlin?"
"Of course, Lord Flaeros," came the dignified reply.
The bard turned back to the window, so that only the stars saw his smile flash into a broad grin. Janthlin always sounded so world-weary, so pained to humor the nobles he served. Face composed, Flaeros turned his head. "What brings you up here after moonrise?" he asked the row of shields. "Is someone in need of a song?"
"Nay, m'Lord. We are well supplied with music, down-hall. A minstrel of the road is harping in return for candlefeast and a bed. He's come from Aglirta, he says, an-"
Flaeros whirled around and strode past the servant like a rising storm. "Yes, Janthlin, you've done well. My thanks! Aye, my thanks!"
The last words echoed back up the stair in his wake. The old servant turned, tottering slightly, to watch the young lord's shadow race down the wall, and grew a slow smile of his own.
So like his father, this one. Flits like a bird, leaps like a flame… Janthlin's smile died as his thought came inevitably to the next line of that old ballad.
Dies cry unheard, naught left but his name.
That was the thing about ballads. All too often, they went where you didn't want them to. Like love.