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Winter, 494 A.I.

The fire in the hearth did its best to keep out the chill of winter, but every now and again a frigid breeze would win out. Cerydon shivered and pulled his blanket in tighter. He caught a whiff of his mother’s labor: a venison stew made with the fruit of the previous day’s hunt. His stomach grumbled, the piping hot stew calling to his baser needs. Mother had told him to wait until Father and his brother, Madros, had finished their work, but it was hard to be patient with the aroma of venison wafting through the air.

Cerydon could hear the two of them laboring in the forge next door. They had received a large order of axes from the local lumber company and had been working the forge since dawn. Cerydon wished he could be in the forge with them, but Father had told him he was still too young. Sometimes he wished he was his brother; at fourteen Madros was nearly as tall as Father already and as strong as men twice his age. Madros often boasted of how he would be a mighty warrior one day, and few doubted him. None of the boys and few of the men could best him in sword practice.

At last the ring of hammers on steel came to an end and a beleaguered pair trudged through the door connecting the house to the adjoining forge. They both collapsed into chairs next to the table, weary from the day’s work. Cerydon burst from his nest near the hearth and took position next to the bubbling pot of stew. Mother laughed and handed him a bowl. Just as Mother began to ladle him a portion of stew, a heavy knock on the door interrupted her. Much to Cerydon’s disappointment, she returned the ladle to the pot and answered the door. Cerydon tried to peek around her to see who thought they were so important as to delay dinner. He could barely make out the figures of two large men, the faint light of dusk glinting off of their armor.

Mother beckoned them inside, a nervous look on her face. Father stood to greet them, his face sharing Mother’s concern. Cerydon could see them clearly now; their armor was some of the finest he had ever seen. Their mail was emblazoned with a phoenix clutching a sword and shield. Cerydon had seen the emblem before, recognizing it as the insignia of the Altheri.

“Madros, you must come with us.” said one of the men.

“No,” said Father sternly, moving to stand between the strangers and Madros, “Not my son.”

“It is not your place to refuse.” said the same man, unfazed.

“Not. My. Son.” Father repeated slowly, the way he does when his temper rises. But instead of sounding angry, he sounded afraid. The men ignored him and turned their gaze to Madros.

“It… it is all right father.” Madros stood and walked towards the men. Father put a hand on Madros’ chest, preventing him from moving further.

“You do not know what they ask of you.” Father was almost begging him.

“It is our duty.” Madros said solemnly, gently moving Father’s hand aside. Father was fighting back tears now. Madros hugged him, then walked slowly towards the men. The two men nodded in acknowledgement and left through the door, Madros following close behind.

As the door closed, Father collapsed back into his chair, the tears flowing freely now. Mother went to his side and consoled him. Cerydon was confused. Why were they crying? Was it because Madros was going to miss out on Mother’s stew? Cerydon tugged at Mother’s skirt to get her attention, but she paid him no mind. Cerydon could see that she was crying now too.

“Where is Madros going? What is happening?” Cerydon begged Mother for answers.

“He… is gone.”

-----

Cerydon woke the next day to sunlight filtering through the window. He yawned, wondering why his father was not yet in hammering away in the forge. Normally his work began at first light. He sat up, squinting at Mother and Father’s bed to see if they were still asleep. Their bed was empty and Cerydon’s confusion began to grow. Maybe they are out at the market, Cerydon thought, pulling on some trousers and a tunic. He grabbed a warm cloak, a hunk of bread, and some cheese from the pantry and went out to look for them.

Cerydon wound his way through the bustling crowd that filled the streets on market day. Even on a snowy winter day, it seemed everyone was out of their houses to investigate the traders’ wares. As he worked his way through the mass of people, he caught a glimpse of a familiar set of armor. It was the men from the night before! Cerydon almost leaped with joy when he saw that Madros was with them. His joy quickly turned to dismay as he saw the three of them mount horses and trot towards the edge of town. Cerydon began pushing his way through the crowd, desperate to keep up with them. He burst through the edge of the crowd, only to see the trio turn off of the road towards the forest. He continued to run after them, but the distance only grew greater. Soon the trio was out of sight entirely, obscured by the dense tree line.

Cerydon sat down and began to cry. Madros had not even said goodbye. No, he thought, surely he had just forgotten. He just needs to be reminded of his manners! Cerydon took a moment to compose himself, searching for the determination to keep going. He made his way to the edge of the forest, following the hoof prints in the snow. One of the hunters in town had taught him how to track game in the forest; following the horses was a simple task. He knew he had to keep up a good pace, lest the gently falling snow obscure the tracks.

As the day wore on, Cerydon began to get nervous. He had yet to catch a glimpse of the riders, and even his warm cloak could not keep out the biting cold. He had eaten his bread and cheese long ago, and was growing hungry. If he did not find them soon, he would have to turn back. Just as he was about to turn back, Cerydon heard the whinnying of a horse. He followed the sound to the mouth of a cave, where he found the horses tethered. Cerydon could see the cave stretch back far beyond the light of the sun. He searched the saddle bags on the horses, ecstatic to find a torch and a flint and steel nestled in one of the bags. He lit the torch and ventured deeper into the cave.

The cave was strangely warm, so much so that Cerydon had to shed his cloak. The deeper he went, the warmer it became. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow. He had expected the cave to be treacherous, but it looked as though someone had carved steps into the floor of the cave. He followed the steps carefully, hoping to find Madors at the end of them. After what felt like hours of careful navigation, he saw a glimmer of light ahead. He descended the remaining stairs in leaps and bounds, eager to see Madros again.

The cave opened up into a huge cavern, and Cerydon could tell by the smooth floor that someone had carved out the base of it. The light was coming from a raised platform in the middle of the cavern, but Cerydon could not see the source. Beyond the platform was another tunnel, from which the faint echo of the clinking of armor could be heard. Cerydon ran to the tunnel, but froze as the light in the room flickered. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see something moving on the platform. His curiosity overcame his fear, and he crept towards the platform. A set of stairs was carved into the side of the platform, leading to the top. As he climbed the stairs, he noticed that they were covered in a layer of ash. Cerydon climbed the final steps and stood on the edge of the platform.

The platform was covered in a strange pattern of glowing red lines and glyphs. In the center was a small pool of lava which spat out small globules onto the platform as it bubbled. Even from a few meters away, the heat was intense. Cerydon raised a hand to shield his face and crept closer to the center. The glyphs on the floor seemed to glow brighter and brighter as he got closer to the center. The lava’s bubbling grew more intense as well. Cerydon was tempted to turn back, but he wanted to get a better look at it. He was a less than a meter away when the lava began to shift and rise straight up from the pool. Cerydon wanted to turn back but was paralyzed by fear. As the lava rose, it began to take the shape of a person. He took a half-step back, trying to will himself to run. Before he could move any furtherr, the lava shot forward and enveloped his left arm. Cerydon collapsed in agony; the heat of the lava spreading from his arm through the rest of his body. Cerydon’s vision began to fade, and soon there was nothing but darkness.

-----

Cerydon came to in his own bed. Mother was sat on the bedside, gently dabbing his forehead with a warm cloth. He cracked his eyes open, and saw Mother’s stern face.

“You are lucky to be alive, little one. What did I tell you about running off into the forest alone? If those hunters had not found you, you would have died.”

Cerydon could tell that Mother was angry, but he was too tired to care. He had never felt so exhausted. Cerydon murmured a faint apology before closing his eyes again. His thoughts drifted back to the cave. It was almost as though he could still feel the heat from the lava as it had grabbed him. Yet here he was now, back at home. Had it all been a dream?

_________________
Guardian of Casadia
Master of the Slayers Guild
Minister of Hermertian History