Empress of Clouds - Chapter 6

                       

Chapter 6

 

            The celebration of Yule in Lorm always officially began with the boar hunt in the morning of the fourth day before Midwinter’s Day.  And if she couldn’t be Jarrels’ Champion, Tolian was doing the boar hunt, that was certain.  It was customary for the noble warriors of the Great Houses to don their finest furs about their most ornate and decorative armor and hunt the fields and forests that surrounded the palace for boars which were then given to the townsfolk and peasantry.  Tolian had always loved the spectacle—the mighty warriors questing forth, tall and resplendent, upon their mighty steeds decked in Yule armor, trailing beads and the banners of their houses.  Dogs led the charge and screaming children ran behind.  Of course, there were no boar left in the vicinity, so the King always had some brought in and released just for the event.  At the first sighting of the sun above tree line to the east, the gates to the palace were flung open and out would fly the warrior huntsmen to the chase.

            Tolian was quite a spectacle in her own right, and she knew it.  She wore the immodest faerie battle armor given to her by Queen Ymrisiva.  It was a tiny garment of an impossibly light chain mail, cut to leave little of her curvaceous form to the imagination.  About herself she had draped the werewolf skin she had worn in her battle with the Demon a year ago, more for the shock value than for modesty or warmth.  The magickal properties of the faerie armor afforded ample protection from the December morning chill.  A pair of sturdy boots, a belt, and a sheath holding the legendary Moonsword completed her costume.  Following her were the two finest hunting dogs in the kingdom, or so she reckoned; after all, she had raised them from pups. 

            A deep defiance of tradition moved through her that morning as she walked quietly out to join the noblemen gathered on horseback by the main gate.  Let them gape.  Let them mutter.  With a graceful motion, she brushed back her roughly cut werewolf cloak to reveal more of her feminine charms.  Perhaps she stood a little straighter and thrust her breasts out a little further.  She knew her presence irritated the bulk of her peers.  Good, let them be irritated.  So what if there had never been a woman in the Yule hunt before.  There was one in the hunt now.

            She caught sight of Misk, her stable boy, waving his arms in the dim torchlight of the main courtyard.  As she neared him, she saw her silvery steed Whisper, a faerie horse (another gift from the Queen of the Faerie Realm) decked in the festive colors, dangles, and the royal blue banner of the House of Hemris, as well as another set of pendants, which Tolian did not recognize.  They were purple with white crescent moons on them.

            “Good morn, Misk,” she greeted him.  “What manner of emblem is that?”  She indicated the new pendants.

            Misk shifted a little uncomfortably, “Princess Brythia made them.  She instructed me to use those colors as well as your own, Your Highness.”

            “Indeed.”

            “Aye, Milady, she said that they are your colors as well, them of the Lunar Realm.”

            Brythia.  Her name brought a fleeting ache to her heart and a smile to her lips.  There would almost certainly be a great deal of fuss made at court about the lunar banners.

            Misk studied her face with much concern.

            “Don’t worry,” the princess said, catching him.  “They’re fine.  You’ve done a fantastic job with Whisper’s Yule armor.  You really outdid yourself this time.”

            The stable boy beamed with pride.  “I thought I should do something extra special this year.”

            And so he had.  Off the saddle and bridle hung the traditional beads, fresh fruit from far-off lands, and little bits of gold and gemstones.  Most of the “dangles,” as they were called, would fall off during the course of the hunt.  That was the point.  Hordes of young children would travel behind the huntsmen searching the ground for fallen treasures.

            The princess slipped lightly into the saddle.  The boy handed up the reins to her.

            “Thank you, Misk. You’re exceptional,” she said.

            His cheeks reddened and his smile grew ever wider.  He straightened a dangle and gently rubbed Whisper’s neck.

            “It’s easy to be, with a horse like this, Your Highness.”

            “Well, you make an excellent team; or the three of us do.  Wish me luck.”

            With that, she trotted off to join the other huntsmen already assembled.  She noticed the colors of the House of Hemris, and worked her way in that direction.  Her cousin Kelvris was there.  It was not easy to move through the throng of mounted warriors, their stable boys, and the assorted well-wishers who crowded the huge courtyard. 

            “Well met, cousin,” said Tolian politely.  Kelvris was tolerable enough.  He was always friendly in person, though she knew that he had spoken sharply against her succession in his own circles.  Everyone was entitled to their own opinion, no matter how ignorant it might be.  At least she knew where she stood with him.  And the false facade of niceness was still better than the rudeness she encountered from almost everyone else. 

            Kelvris smiled narrowly and nodded.  “You look ravishing as always, Tolian.”

            She pulled her otherworldly horse next to Kelvris’ steed.  “Thank you,” she said.

            Kelvris leaned over, “Did you get a look at the boars your father got this year?  They’re monsters.”

            “I just caught a glimpse out my window yesterday, as they were releasing them.  I do think they’re the biggest he’s gotten by far, in a long time.  It should be quite the hunt.”

            “Let us hope so,” Kelvris agreed.  “Oh, here’s the King now.”

            With a tilt of his head, he indicated a balcony, hanging off the royal residence over the main courtyard.  Tolian looked to see her father emerge from a fourth story chamber onto the balcony used for public addresses.  The balcony was well lit by torches and the Lormian King’s golden robe, worn only during the Yule celebrations, reflected the flames in such a way that the robe glowed.  Holly was woven into his crown, which Tolian knew her father hated, but even the warrior sovereigns did not often neglect tradition.  Tolian strained to study her father’s distant face, and could not clearly tell his mood at first, but his smile broadened unmistakably as he looked down upon his knights in their holiday finery.  As always, the King’s steward Miderick, and Kiliordes flanked him.  A respectful hush fell over the courtyard.  All eyes turned toward the balcony and the King.  Tolris waited a few moments, his vision fixed upon the eastern horizon.  The anticipation was a powerful force as the warriors tensed their muscles in readiness and everyone held their breath. 

            At last King Tolris bellowed the words all were waiting to hear. “The Sun breaks.  Open the gates.  Let the Yule Hunt begin.  Ride.”

            Then the gates were thrown open and cheers echoed like thunder both inside the palace and out.  The dogs rushed out barking like a large pack of wolves.  Behind them, in a rush of excitement and power, sprang the huntsmen on their horses, galloping out of the palace into the town.  Crowds gathered along the main thoroughfare, waving and screaming praises to the riders.

            The hunt surged through Tolian’s veins.  She was lost in it.  With wild abandon, she raced at the front of the huntsmen through the narrow streets of the outer palace, and through the siege wall gate.  Breaking like an escaped predator, Tolian hit the field with a velocity, quickly distancing her even from the dogs.  She did not need the dogs.  She brought Whisper on hard over the frozen ground.  There was nothing but the wind, rushing cold at her face, and her prey.

            The crowds in and around the palace were twenty times as great as they ever had been before; but to Tolian they were a blur.  They were mere obstacles to maneuver around and vague images that distracted the eye from its quest for prey.  Perhaps she saw the smiling face of an excited child, but the sight did not register in her brain as it usually did. 

            She had cleared the dogs by a considerable distance now, riding impossibly fast on her impossible horse.  She turned her steed on some unthinking whim, wholly now a creature of instinct, driving hard towards the western tree line.  The sun’s earliest golden rays lighted a sizable object between a grove of oaks and maples and the small but venerable hamlet of Lormthof.  Tolian felt an irresistible fire burning within her, calling her on to even greater speed. 

            Deep inside, part of her knew what was happening.  It was the lunar power moving through her.  She was the Goddess of the Hunt, pure and ferocious.  Nothing could slow her from her quarry.  When she became dissatisfied with the speed of her faerie horse, she leapt off his back and moved twice as fast over the wintry ground on her own legs.

            The red-brown boar stood out plainly on the field, white from the heavy frost.  The fresh dawn’s light made the beast glow with an amber radiance most extraordinary.  The distant sun’s fury burned there, making the boar seem like a spirit of that solar fire roaming on the winter’s garden.  It moved towards the trees, where the grass was mostly shielded from the frost’s ravages, hoping, no doubt, to find softer ground for rooting.  It was completely unaware of Tolian’s rapid approach.  Just before the huntress cleared the last two hundred yards between them, the beast noticed her.  Its primitive face evinced a mix of great surprise, alarm and anger.  Two jets of frosty steam issued from its snout and its eyes narrowed.  Clearly the boar sensed danger, and turned fully to meet it.  It lowered its head and ran toward Tolian.

            A smile spread across Tolian’s face as she charged the boar, her werewolf skin cloak flapping behind her like the wings of a bird of prey.  And she felt like a bird of prey, too, as she practically flew over the frozen earth, fixed in her attack.  Fifty yards from the boar, as she and the boar rushed at each other, she swiftly drew the Moonsword from its scabbard.  The mighty weapon gleamed silver with a subtle purple sheen.  Without slowing her step, the princess pulled the sword back and threw it with all of her superhuman strength at the charging animal.  There was a flash of silver lightning as the blade passed through the boar.  The fire went cold in the beast’s eyes as the sword plunged completely through its body, burying itself in the frozen earth.  The animal crumbled to the ground, instantly dead..

            Tolian stopped [KR]If she stopped in her tracks, it was abrupt.  You’re being redundant here.      in her tracks.  She regarded the lifeless carcass of the prey for a moment, her face blank.  The huntress extended her arm with hand opened towards the lunar blade.  A wave of energy rushed through her arm and the sword shot back through the air and into her hand.

            Then she was Tolian again, her normal perception of herself returned.  She marveled at the shimmering blade in her hand.  She shook her head mildly in disbelief.  Its power (as well as her own) never ceased to amaze her.  The sword, like so many of the things about her, seemed impossible.  It was forged, if that was the right word, out of the substance of moonlight, distilled centuries ago by that legendary druid, Brythic.  In a secret laboratory, he had devised a method of distilling the rays of the moon into a metal stone over the long ages of time.  It was to be used as a weapon against the Demon, by the prophesied Druidic Champion, the only person who would be able to kill the fiend.  The druids were sure that she was the Champion.  It didn’t matter now, of course.

            What a quest that was, she thought to herself, remembering the adventures of the previous year.  Whatever had happened with the Demon, it didn’t really matter; it was her weapon, hard earned.

            She turned her attention to the boar.  What a mighty beast it had been.  She would not have been surprised if it was more than four hundred pounds.  Already the folk of Lormthof (those who hadn’t gone to the palace gate) were gathered around the animal.  The first boar killed on the Solstice hunt was the luckiest, bringing with it good fortune to the hunter and those who partook of it.  There was a round of applause for her, and a couple of children, a girl and a boy, came running up to her. 

            The girl could have been no more than seven and the boy four; both had the brown hair with copper highlights so distinctly Lormian.  They wore their best winter clothing, well-kept, festive hand-me-downs which had almost certainly been in the family for several generations.  They bowed as they neared her.  The girl held a wreath of holly before her.  “Thank you, Princess Tolian,” the little girl said.

            Tolian brushed the hair out of her face and smiled. “It was my pleasure, dear.”  The princess bowed low and the child slipped the wreath on to her head.

            “You’ve brought us the Solstice luck, you know,” the girl said beaming.  “And for yourself, too.”

            From behind Tolian a familiar, but nonetheless vaguely unsettling, voice spoke, “If there was ever a person who had less a need for luck, I don't know who it would be.” 

            Tolian straightened up, but did not turn around at once; she was enjoying the way the children’s eyes suddenly went all round and bulged in amazement.

            “A faerie,” shouted the boy, caught between terror and delight.

            “Findelbres,” exclaimed Tolian, now spinning around to get a sight of her friend.

There he was, a figure ghostly in appearance, almost translucent in the morning light.  He seemed tall and thin, but sometimes seemed not so.  His hair—was it gold or silver?  In either case, it possessed highlights in colors that weren’t known to exist in the mortal world.  His smile was friendly, but with a mercurial curl at the ends that one could never be certain about.  Those eyes —were they purple?  Tolian was not entirely sure about that, either.  His clothes were woven of unknown fabrics and furs from animals that did not live in the world.  His main garb, a heavy tunic with trousers in a strange earthen brown, possessed a vibrancy of unusual nature.  His boots where of finely crafted dark leather and his cloak was the most amazing shade of sky blue.  He wore no cap or hat, but had a slender circlet of white around his head.  He held the reins to Whisper up to Tolian.

            “Princess,” Findelbres said, greeting her with a slight bow and a subtle inclination of his head.

            Tolian stepped forward and embraced the faerie nobleman.  He had been one of her companions in her quest for the Moonsword, a staunch, but peculiar friend.

            “You know, I will never get over how fantastic you look,” said the elf.

            “Thank you,” replied the princess, genuinely appreciative.

            “Oh, that’s right, compliments don’t bother you anymore, do they?”

            “No, they don’t, and welcome, once again to Lorm.”

            “I thank you for your welcome, Oh, Glorious Goddess of the Moon, Empress of the Astral....”

            “That still bothers me,” Tolian said.

            “Thank goodness, I was afraid there for a second I had lost my power to annoy you.”

            Tolian laughed, “I don’t think that could ever happen.”

            Tolian turned, handed the still present little girl a small bag of gold, waved to the small crowd around the boar, and took the reins from Findelbres.

            “Come on,” she said, “I’ve got my boar.  Let’s go back to the palace and relax.  You must be tired.”

            “We of the Folk of the Sidhe do not get tired,” he corrected her.  “We get weary instead.”

            They walked slowly back across the field to the gates and towers of the Lormian capital.

            “So, friend Findelbres,” Tolain inquired.  “To what do we owe this visit?”

            “Are you serious?  How could I miss all of this festive slaughter, and see all of my favorite mortals in the process,” answered the faerie.  “And I have yet to be introduced to the baby.”

            Tolian raised her eyebrow and smirked just a little, “Well, you’re out of luck, I’m afraid.  Our druidesses have taken Relinder to Hyge Bryth for the Solstice.  But, Delorick’s here, and you know my father.  And Kiliordes, of course.”

            “I’ll get to see you as Jarrels’ Champion, at least.  That should be the sight.”

            Tolian chuckled. “Actually, Delorick is the Jarrels’ Champion this year.”

           

            They took their time walking, Tolian leading Whisper along by the reins.  It took them about an hour to transverse the distance that Tolian had just cleared in a matter of seconds.  When they got back, Tolian was surprised.  The palace of Lorm was crammed full of people.  The mighty capital was never busier than at Yule.  And this Yule was the busiest ever.  Merchants and artisans plying their wares filled the streets and courtyards that stood within the fortress’ walls.  Jugglers, musicians, and all types of street performers crowded every corner.  Delightful smells drifted from every restaurant and bakeshop.  The fall of Keythion’s Imperial Capitals to the north had left Lorm as the greatest city in that part of the world; a status it was ill prepared for.  Tolian had never seen that many people in the palace before, not even during the siege last year.  Suddenly Lorm was a cosmopolitan city bustling with hitherto unheard of economic activities.  The princess led Findelbres through the throng of people.

            “Well, you Lormians certainly know how to throw quite a party,” observed the elf.

            Tolian agreed, “Yeah, it sure looks as though we do.  Just wait until the Jarrels, then you’re really going to see something.”

 

Copyright 2004, 2015 Diana Hignutt