Free Meuric

paused. He looked at the Kel’akh warrior and saw the uncompromising gaze of a man who had nothing to live for.
    â€œYour journey begins today, Meuric,” said the storyteller in a tone so soft that only the warrior could have heard. He had no idea why he was talking to him. Again, he saw the newcomer charging down the hillside with the armies of the world behind him. He stepped through the door quickly and immediately closed it behind. He could not have the warrior following him to where he was going.
    At the moment, the door slid neatly into its frame the storyteller’s world changed.

VI
    Meuric swung open the door straight after the storyteller had closed it, realising immediately that he would already be gone. The signature of the power that he emitted had vanished. “He” may be the wrong use of the word, considered the Daw’ra man. The incredible energy that pulsated from the storyteller had hit him like waves lapping against a beach, and when he had tried to discern the force behind it, he had been met with a blinding radiance that was almost too painful to look at.
    â€˜â€œYour journey begins today, Meuric,”’ the storyteller had said to him.
    How had he known who he was? To what journey had he referred? An image of him shot by arrows in a cave burst into his mind and he shivered. He was a fool for coming to Ay’den, he knew. Daring the prophecy to come true was probably one of the worst ideas that he ever had. Yet as the years passed, he found that he needed more and more forms of extreme excitement as boredom sank in more frequently. Besides, he had yet to meet the child and his mother and until that day happened, he told himself that he should not be overly concerned about it.
    He began to flit between the buildings of the town, barely making a noise as he moved, as he searched for his objective. Though dark, he knew that a being of such power would not be able to hide from him for long no matter where in the town he went. For those sensitive to the ways of magick it was just a matter of time until he picked up the storyteller’s trail.
    Ay’den was just like every other Kel’akh town. There was no discernible structure to the build-up of the settlement. The only regulation was that there had to be a certain sized gap between each structure. Circular homes made of stone and mud with thatched conical roofs littered the area all around him. In a town of this size there were no pens attached to the homesteads for their domestic livestock. The majority of the animals were kept outside the town in a specially built enclosure while a smaller portion were kept inside the town should they be attacked and forced to close the gates.
    He spied the well that supplied the towns’ only fresh water that lay in the centre of Ay’den. It was guarded at all times though there was unregulated free access to it. He nodded to the two guards who eyed him cautiously as he suspected they did to all strangers who were dressed as a well-armed warrior.
    He continued walking, silently moving through the shadows, offering only a cursory greeting to those few townsfolk who just happened to walk past him. He moved close by the Chieftain’s home, a three-storey high building, that marked not only his status but also allowed everyone to know where to find him. Eachann was his name. He was as canny a man as any, but it was his wife Fedelm who was the real power behind him. It was said that she could outwit a snake that was about to strike and, if that did not work, cut off its head before it had even realised it.
    The ground level was named the Great Hall. From here, the Chieftain would entertain dignitaries, hold banquets and discuss affairs connected to his region. The centre section was where the kitchens were, his servants lived and it also retained stores of all kinds. The uppermost level was where he and his family lived. Two sentries guarded the entrance to the Great Hall,