VENERANTS

I am not a queen because I rule, I rule because I am THE QUEEN.

Birthed in my heart. Alive in my veins…

***************

Third Throne Hall, Capital City, The North…

Elyra Emberfall stood on a perfectly circular silver-wrought platform at the heart of the hall.

A hundred and fifty-three silver chairs, each adorned with wings behind them, were all around her, but only eight were occupied.

The elders had their eyes and focus on her, even though most were still etched with reluctance.

They were all clad in green apparel- robes so long they caressed floors and sleeves long and flared, it nearly swallowed all their fingers.

Their heads were wrapped in ceremonial wrappings that were never removed, save when they were about to lie in rest or sleep; some in black and hint of white and others deep in burgundy and hint of black.

Perhaps it was for spectacle, but the ambience they carried was always felt and greatly revered.

Elyra’s body hadn’t yet recovered from the war’s blow, but she could not turn away from their summons to order.

The call was not only for her, it was a means to reassert control – a measure to keep any soldier who had heard of her defiance in check. It was also a declaration to the enemies already within their borders- that though their hold might feel fragile, the North still held the reins of its power and control.

One of the Venerants led the purpose of the gathering by voicing the honoured words to begin such a procession.

‘‘Veláth en’orien, tharven osúrel akai var’danil.’’ Venerant Echoborn voiced.

(Under the Heavens, our words are set and bound in truth this day.)

‘‘Veyr Zai’a’’ They spoke as one, Elyra included.

(Plea is lifted.)

‘‘We will hear you speak first, General Emberfall.’’ Venerant Echoborn said.

Elyra nodded once.

“It was not my wish to burden the Elders with my act, yet necessity left me no other course.

I acted to prevent their passage and to ensure their arrival did not birth a rumour sharp enough to wound the realm. In these times, the blade of whispered doubt is often deadlier than steel in the field.’’

‘‘So you do not deny your actions to be rash, driven by pride in your own abilities?’’ another Elder, Venerant Valessin asked.

Elyra turned slowly toward him.

“One of the gates safeguarding the Crown- the very gate that stands for the ruler yet to come- would have been defiled by men of their making. By the Heavens, they were stopped.

So I do not believe my actions as rash.’’

Venerant Echoborn sighed into his seat. Elyra Emberfall is known to be calm, even of temper, and warm-hearted. But she is also known to be crucifyingly will-carved and sorely determined- ‘the flame that does not die.’

Venerant Valessin heaved and then stood up from his seat.

‘‘Have you forgotten your Narai Vorthakar girl?’’ He demanded calmly as he took one step towards the elevated platform.

‘You have to stay calm Elyra. You must let him finish speaking.

Yes, he called you ‘girl’ for the very reason he is about to stand before you.

But you mustn’t let him get you…not again!’

Elyra clenched her teeth but didn’t say anything.

‘‘Have you so easily forgotten the Oath of the Pillars- the same sacred one that carved you into what you are?’’ he pressed, his voice rising.

Elyra stopped slouching and stood more erect.

Despite that, despite her height or the fact she was on an elevated platform that still added more inches to her, or the blaring understanding that the man was just a few inches above her waist, he always tried to make her feel like that ‘little girl.’

That girl she had sworn more than a thousand times never to remember, and yet in his presence and at the sound of his voice, more than a thousand times, her promise had blown away like dust.

It didn’t even matter that she had just laid to brutal rest more than a hundred men.

This one man was and is just…

‘‘Have. You?’’ he demanded, his voice rising.

‘‘No.

No, I haven’t Venerant’’

“Then tell me what oath you have betrayed? Speak it aloud and let the walls beyond hear you’’ Valessin insisted.

The seated elders looked among themselves, puzzled by Valessin’s persistence.

Their intent had been only to caution Elyra.

In truth she had done the realm a great service- sacrificing herself and stepping forward in its time of need.

Most who were once appointed to govern various stations in the City of the Crown have been dismissed in the growing turmoil.

The withering of fields, waters turning sour, and the dead multiplying- a few of the signs that point to the realm’s situation with the empty throne.

And summoning General Emberfall had only been to warn her, so she wouldn’t incur the wrath of the Oaths.

It was for protocol purposes and nothing more.

But such was the law within the Third Throne Hall: the voice of one is the chorus of all and the chorus of all is bound to the voice of one.

And so no word could rise against Valessin’s ruling, not while Elyra still stood within.

Elyra’s voice rang out loud,

‘‘Tovar el’Miren’kai, drae nor’kai ven’tha Relmath- valen shael dra’kai oruun.’’

(We are bound by the Pure of Oaths, and none may act where the Realm is touched- especially not by arcane hands.)

He stood at the base, straddling his gaze on her with a smile on his face- one only she could see.

‘‘The Realm thanks you Elyra… but it doesn’t erase your motive.

The fact that you did what you did because of your power still stands-”

Venerant Valessin still didn’t look back to meet the faces of the other Elders, and some of them shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“And for this, you shall lay down your greatblade, and take it up no more until the order is given.’’

Elyra’s eyes circled to impressive widths.

‘‘No- you cannot do this. This is not just.’’ Elyra voiced, her gaze shifting from him to the gathered elders, who looked equally stunned.

‘‘It is just, a voice from one is a voice from all. Now do so and begone girl.’’ Valessin snapped.

She ground her teeth as no one made to refute him.

He turned around and she removed her blade from the baldric on her waist.

She placed a quick kiss on the hilt before placing it at her feet. When she rose, Valessin was now on his seat, and he was staring at her triumphantly.

She bowed once before turning from them, her heart tearing at the knowledge of departing from her sword.

Her greatblade was a part of her.

She had shown interest in it when she had seen it in the rare arsenal of someone.

And rarer still, he had given it to her.

It had been for General Ivan Juno Cassius and she knew she would do all to get it back quickly.