Lady Silvereye (Prologue): Prologue

Prologue

~End of a Nation~

King Audrain Navarrede stood in front of the open window, sighing with relief as the shouting and blasts from below ceased for the night. Taliar's army had retreated back to their encampment, and his had slunk back behind the safety of the castle walls, tails between their legs. The young ruler had watched the battle all day, growing further upset as he watched the Tarian army advance slowly towards the castle itself. They wanted him, he was sure of it. Their king, Naltaer, wished to conquer his country, and the king of a defeated nation was never left alive to see its fall.

The frail lantern light on the inside of the castle walls faintly illuminated the returning troops, dragging their swords in the dirt wearily and carrying wounded men to the infirmary. Audrain turned away for the first time since dawn, pacing tiredly through his quarters. His thoughts were troubled, as they went through the events of that year; so few good things for him or his people.

He stopped pacing, as he heard a knock on the door, and an elderly woman stepped through the door. Her face was worn and lined with deep wrinkles, and delicate veins laced across the thin, bony hands that hung from the bottom of her robe's sleeves. Her hair was snowy white, and in disarray. Even her eyes, once a bright, vivid blue, had thinned, until they seemed like transparent pools of water, merely reflecting some wisp of sky.

Audrain looked up slowly, his face creased with weariness and defeat. “We won't be able to hold them off, will we?” he asked, offering the old woman a seat. She refused it with a brisk shake of the head.

“No, milord. I don't think we will.” She shivered, pulling her robes tighter around her thin frame. “You ought to close that window, milord. It's too cold in here.” He just shook his head.

“What are you so worried about, Elaine? That I'll catch a chill? Get sick?” He laughed hollowly. The old woman looked down at the ground, seeing his point. “It doesn't matter. We aren't strong enough to defeat them. I wouldn't be surprised, if tomorrow was our last day.” The king sighed, deep wrinkles creasing his young face. “Nistaire will fall. It may be after this night, or it may be the day after. But it won't be long.” He turned back to Elaine. “But she'll be safe, won't she?”

“Yes, milord. She will be safe. I am taking her tonight, while his armies rest.” Audrain nodded, and turned once more to look out the window. Sentries were trading posts on the castle walls. They didn't bother standing at attention; they knew as well as their King, exactly what was coming to meet them at dawn.
Elaine walked up to him, standing at his side and gathering her robes even closer to her, as the chill autumn wind whipped past the open window. “Milord, will you not at least see her? You have yet to welcome your firstborn in to the world.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I can't. I can't see her.”
“Oh, but sir! She is your daughter! She is the princess of Nistaire! Oh, sir, you should have seen her, when she opened her eyes. She has her mother's eyes, and...”

“Yes!” Audrain cried, glaring at the ancient from the corner of his eye. “She has her mother's eyes. Likely has her hair, as well. And her smile…” He closed his eyes, calming himself. “That is why I can't see her! You do understand, Elaine?”

The old woman nodded, turning around to leave the room. “Yes, I understand. But you act as if it were the child's fault that Meirona is dead. It could not be helped, though, surely you must see that! Childbirth is risky business, it is.” Audrain did not respond, so she started out the door. As an afterthought, she paused in the doorway, turning back once more. “She is the future of Nistaire, m'Lord. Surely that must mean something to you.”

The King of Nistaire only shook his head. “There is no future of Nistaire, Elaine. Taliar will overtake us. We are a dying nation, and that child is the last of the Navarrede line.”
Elaine shook her head sadly. “Will you at least name her? She… her mother never had the chance.” Audrain cringed at her words, before opening his eyes, gazing absently in to the distance, out in the hills where the armies of Taliar waited for the sun to rise, so that they may complete their massacre and receive their reward from their damned, bloodthirsty king. He remained silent for a moment, so Elaine turned to leave the room again.

“Arilyne,” he said softly, causing the old woman to pause in her tracks once again. “Her name will be Arilyne.” Elaine nodded softly, before walking out and closing the door, leaving the king to his own doom.

Elaine made her way towards the nursery, where she could already hear the infant's muffled cries filling the hall. Her robes swirled busily around her feet as she walked, and her small feet moved silently over the hard wood floors. She entered the nursery, taking in the homey smell of medicines and salves, while her ears were flooded with the tiny girl's shrieks. Elaine went to the cradle, looking sympathetically at the infant half-buried in blankets. The poor child was about to leave her homeland, possibly for good, and it nearly tore Elaine's heart in two. What was worse was that she would be an orphan. Her mother was gone, and though her hope-deprived father was still alive, watching doom come to meet him through his window, Audrain wouldn't be left alive for long. As much as it pained her to admit it, Elaine knew that there was little hope for Nistaire at this point. Naltaer wanted this land, and he was going to get it.  

But he must not get the princess. While she was alive, there was still hope. She had to keep telling herself that; there was still hope. Always hope.

She gathered the girl in her arms, securing the blankets around her, before resting her in a wide cloth strapped around her shoulder, supporting the child's weight at her hip.

“Sorry child,” Elaine muttered, folding her robes around the precious bundle of cloth. “I'd carry you the normal way, but I'm afraid I may have to have both hands free, on this trip.” The babe relaxed, calming down as she felt warmth and darkness envelope her. The aged woman sighed with relief, and rested her hand on the child's head, being sure that she would remain quiet for a long time yet. If she could make it past Taliar's camp without being seen or heard, there was a good chance she may just make it all the way to Taliar.

Elaine made her way out of the castle walls, through a secret passage she'd made many years ago. Before she went too far from the castle itself, she turned around, bowing farewell to the weary sentries standing watch for the night. Then she left, swiftly walking through the darkened battlefield. She could still see some of the fallen soldiers in the tall grass, and she sent a silent prayer to the heavens for all of their spirits, Nistairen or not.

The old robed figure made her way easily past the Tarian camp; the soldiers were too caught up in celebrating their eminent victory, that they hadn't even posted lookouts, much less notice the King's advisor and newborn child sneaking past in the shadows.

Once she had evaded that obstacle, Elaine headed in to the small grove of trees that had once been her home. It was little more than a shack, and seemed almost as ancient as her, but it was out of they way, and well-hidden. A small, stout horse was tied to one of the trees, ears alert as Elaine drew closer. There was a full moon that night, though a film of clouds covered it, making the glade dark and grey.

Elaine worked quickly, untying the gelding and adjusting his saddle. She took only a staff and a leather sack full of provisions. She heard Arilyne beginning to wake up, and sighed, opening her robes to see the child. Her eyes were open, and wide in wonder. Elaine thought with satisfaction that she did indeed have her mother's eyes; bright, deep sea-gray, clear and shining as silver in the faint moonlight. Her father's prediction about her hair was true, as well. The child's hair was fair-colored, almost white- at least what wisp there was of it- same as her mother. It would darken with age, but it would still be the same soft gold.

The gelding turned his around a bit, rubbing his broad, dark muzzle against the baby's head. She laughed lightly, finding that the warm thing next to her was as soft as velvet, and whiskers that tickled against her frail skin. Elaine patted the horse gently, before pushing him away, mounting him slowly, trying not to upset the small child more than she had to. She needed quiet, and she, like any nurse, could tell that there'd be no such thing as stealth with a squealing, shrieking bulge hanging at her stomach.

When she was sure that everything was settled, with the short staff hanging across her back, and the food pack settled across the saddle's pommel, Elaine folded her robes over the young princess, securing them around her like a tent. She clicked her tongue at the gelding, urging him forward.

“C'mon, Skuari, you brute,” she chirped at him, smacking her heels lightly against his sides. The horse started forward with a jolt as Elaine tightened her grip on the reins. As they left the protection of the trees' cover, Elaine cast a single look back, making out the dark, faint shape of the Palace of Nistaire, and the glow of Tarian fires. Elaine pursed her lips, looking forward and turning Skuari towards the south. She had to be blunt with herself; Audrain was as good as dead. It was time to take care of Nistaire's future, even if its foolish father didn't believe that there was one.

She gently held the bundle over her stomach with one hand and heeled the small, dark gelding in to a run towards the mountains. Elaine prayed to whatever powers that would favor them to let her carry her precious cargo past the mountains and in to Taliar in safety. She had known since she devised this plan that if so much as a whisper reached their king, that Nistaire had an heir, troops under the red and bronze banner would search every nook and cranny of their new territory, until the fair-haired child was found. She smiled grimly to herself. We must make sure he doesn't find you there, won't we, little one?
So it was that as the night wore on and the army of Nistaire prepared to fight its last battle, an old woman of countless years made off for enemy country, carrying a small girl with naught but a name and her mother's silver eyes.

As the sun went down, an aging man sighed deeply, wiping traces of ale from his mouth, glad to nearly be done with his shift. His staff leaned against the shaky wooden wall behind him, soft and gray from lack of use or care. The old guard knew that there was no point in defending his post. The old Naos Manor hadn't been in much danger during the war, and since King Naltaer's victory three days ago, the guard had gone back to their old, lazy habits. The old man had spent his afternoon on duty deep in thought, singing his favorite ballads with a creaking voice, and downing a large flask of ale as he looked out in to the empty trees.

He didn't expect to see the old woman coming out of the forest at dusk, holding a large bundle in one hand and the reins of a dark little horse in the other. Her hood was pulled over her face, and even with her large, sweeping cloak on, the only sounds coming from her direction were the soft, padded sounds of hooves.

He stood up, catching himself on the back of his chair as he felt the ale's effect in his legs. Picking up his staff, he walked clumsily towards the crone, sneering. “Who's that?” he called out, holding the staff at his side as he tried to steady himself. “What're you doin', trespassing on this land?” His words were slurred with drink, and his slumped stature was hardly intimidating. The old woman came to a stop in the trees, patting the weary-looking horse on the flanks.

“There's a good boy,” she told him softly, before looking up at the man. “Sir, please. What lord do you serve?” The man drew a hand through his thin grey hair, deciding that she posed little threat to anything.

“M'Lord is Sir Camis Naos. You're enterin' his woods, ma'am.” The old woman just nodded, and the guard realized that her eyes nearly shone from under her large hood, glinting like an animal's in the dusky forest. Uneasily, he questioned her further, “What is it you want here, ma'am? We can't very well give you or your poor old nag any shelter.” Again, she nodded, and came further in to the clearing, the tired horse following her reluctantly. He had to resist the urge to back away from the strange figure.

“Sir, I have something you must take to your lord. And a letter, as well.” The drunken man furrowed his brows, wondering what she meant. Without another word, the woman rested some of her burden on the ground. It rattled like earthenware dishes. Then she came forward, carefully handling whatever else it was that she was carrying. “Good sir, please. Promise me you will take this precious thing to your lord? I am sure he can find a place for it.”

She came up next to him, and very carefully, slipped the bundle in to his large, oafish hands. Then she slipped a piece of paper in to the large pocket on his vest, and patted the heavy bunch of cloth lovingly, before walking quietly away, leading the small horse with a weary hand. The guard noticed for the first time that, even in the quickly dying light, the beast's sides shone with sweat, and his head hung low.

Warily, the old man brought the bundle in to the shack that served as his post, opening the door with a loud creak, and laid the bundle down on a dusty table. As he did, it stirred, and he warily unfolded some of the cloth hiding whatever it was the woman had meant to give his lord. The first thing he found was a small hand, curled in to a fist, then a small face, eyes closed. He stared, gaping and wordless. The little girl on the small table opened her eyes, meeting his with their soft gray depths. Swallowing his struggling words, he picked up the child, and without waiting for his replacement to come for the night, he took up his staff and empty ale flask, and made his way back to the manor. His lord would certainly want to hear of this, without delay.



As Elaine made off in to the night, she sighed wearily, hoping to find a safe place for her and Skuari to sleep and eat. The both of them had gone the whole four-day journey across the mountains and deep in to Taliar, without much in the means of food or rest. But the old woman felt a pleasant satisfaction settle on her aching bones. The child was safe, at least.

She had written a letter for the old Lord of the Naos Estate, telling him only the girl's first name, her birthday, and that she needed to be taken care of and raised in safety there. No mention of her origins, or her lineage. None of that needed to be known by anybody, so long as Naltaer was in power in this country. There was far too much risk that he would come looking for her eventually, and for now, only she and two others knew that Audrain of Nistaire's daughter was in hiding. They were all that needed to know.

For now, though, Elaine still had some loose ends to tie up. For one, there was the King's three-year-old son. The Tarian prince posed as great of a threat, if he grew up like his father. There would be no chance for young Arilyne to take back Nistaire, which Elaine knew she must. If the dark-haired brat grew up to be like his father… Elaine's resolve faltered, as she reluctantly finished her own thoughts. Then there will be no chance for the princess in her lifetime. No hope at all.

Elaine sighed to herself, stepping around a briar bush in her path. There was much to do, and very little time. There must always be hope. Someone she trusted must be sent to the young prince, as she stayed near this manor, watching over Arilyne in the years to come. Who knew how many years? Only when the time was ripe, could she be told who she was. It was a sad time, indeed, then; when an orphaned child could not even be told who her parents were, where her home truly was. When a respected advisor, nurse, and spy was forced to resort to such drastic measures.  

She ran a thin hand through her fine white hair, steeling herself for the journey ahead. She and Skuari still had a ways to go until they were safe as well. She turned one last time to the clearing where the guard had been. Good luck, little one, she prayed, resting a hand on her heart. I pray we see each other again, very soon.