CIRCLE OF SHADOWS Part 1: Shadow Chaser

Cold air billows through the great hall, lifting the tunics of the five men seated at the great oak table standing a few yards from the steps leading up to the throne.

Tugging playfully at the edges of the sheets of paper lying before the men, the wind moans past, whining at the solemn mood hanging like a shroud over the men gathered together. Books lie heaped together, littering the greater part of the table, several maps lie spread open, lead weights holding the edges down, marks and calculations scratched on the thick paper.

A loud voice cuts through the silence, the tone crisp and clear, rebounds from the grey slate rock walls.

‘Has there been any news?’

Startled, the five men look up from the pages, some dropping their pens on to the table, the clattering rattle echoing through the hall.

Taking a deep breath one man pushes his chair back and stands up, a fearful look crossing his pocked face as he looks at the new arrival standing on the steps next to the great chair.

‘No High Master. As off yet nothing. But the Trias are continually searching for any sign.’

Marck nods his head, a thoughtful expression crosses his face and he turns around, sighing imperceptibly as he ascends the

last few steps to his seat.

Black robes swirling around him as he turns, he sits down heavily, his palm resting lightly against his cheek as one finger taps gently in a spot below his eye.

Bristles of grey beard scratches against his hand, and he realises he has not shaved in over three days. Sighing, he drops his hand and sit backwards, tilting his head slightly to the back.

‘Uh... High Master?’

Sitting up straighter Marck looks at the advisor standing in front of him, his black tunic creased around his legs from the long hours of sitting around the table.

‘Yes Shan. What is it that you want to say?’

A small smile flits over Shan’s face, the pockmarks pulling into small creases.

‘We are awaiting the latest word from the Trias any moment now. They have been scouring the flow for almost two days non stop.’

‘Then it is good that I came. I have become weary sitting in the chambers by myself. My thoughts are scrambled and confused.’

‘That is understandable High Master.’

Marck smiles kindly to Shan, nodding his head in gratitude at his most trusted advisor’s words. A frown crosses Marck’s face and he leans forwards a little, his voice hushed as he speaks

to Shan.

‘When last did any of you have something to eat? Or rest for that matter?’

Shan looks meekly around the chamber at the four other advisors sitting around the table, shame burning hotly in his cheeks at Marck’s concern.

‘It has not been that long, High Master. Only a couple of hours or so.’

‘Shan! No one looks as rattled or as downtrodden as this after only a couple of hours. How long has it been, really?’

‘Uh... two days perhaps.’

‘Why?’

‘We have too much to do Master. We need to use the time available to us, too plan for any contingencies that might arise.’

Jumping from his seat, Marck motions to the four men seated around the cluttered desk.

‘Go! Find some food. Get some rest!’

Marck’s loud voice echoes through the silent hall, and as silence descends again the four men stand up from their seats. Bowing their head reverently towards Marck they turn and walk towards the great doors leading into the keep.

‘Shan. You go as well.’

‘But High Mas...’

’No Shan! Do not argue. You need the rest and until we hear

from the Trias there is naught that we can do.’

Marck turns around and sits down again.

‘I will go through the plans you all have been working on. That way I can be up to speed when you return from your rest.’

Shan nods his head thankfully and turns to descend the steps. As he walks away towards the far end of the hall, Marck’s voice reaches him, stopping him in half stride.

‘I will inform you as soon as the Trias return from their scouring, Shan. Then we will proceed with all meaning to resolve this issue we have at hand.’

Shuddering from the chill filling Marck’s voice, Shan walks on, fear wrenching his gut as he pulls the door closed behind him.

Marck watches dispassionately as Shan pulls the great door behind him, the door thudding gently as it comes to rest next to its twin. The golden inlays running across the wood glint in the bright sunlight pouring in from the windows high above his head.

Sighing loudly as he descends the stairs Marck walks slowly closer to the table, his eyes roving across the multitude of books and maps lying stacked over each other.

As he stops at the table he runs one finger over the pages, flipping paper edges to see pages lying beneath them clearly and quickly reading the scribbled notes made by his advisors.

With a shake of his head he moves closer to the map spread open in the centre of the desk, then bends over the finely drawn picture and gazes intently at the different places marked on it.

The island Nordth is encircled with a bright red ink line, indicating where they lie on the map. Eyes gliding over the water he follows lines unseen and peruse the closest areas to them, a deep frown etched across his forehead as he scrutinises the mainland.

Marck scratches his ear, drops his hand and places his index finger on the encircled island.

A monotone hum vibrates from his throat as he closes his eyes and his soft incantation floats into the air.

‘Te kolo de breit a kele o nom.’

He takes a deep breath to steady himself then incants louder then before.

‘Te kolo de breit a kele o nom.’

His words, crisp and clear, ring loudly through the hushed hall and the air around him vibrates ominously.

He opens his eyes, quickly lifts out a small dagger he carries hidden in his belt and makes a small cut on his index finger placed on the marked island. Standing quietly Marck watches the cut, the vibration in the air growing to a feverish pitch.

Bright red blood seeps from the cut and runs down his finger

towards the island marked on the map. The blood stops against an invisible barrier, seemingly floating inches above the paper and then it slowly begins to pool around the finger, following the ink circle outlined on the map below.

Gazing down at the floating pool of blood, Marck grins, a sense of power flashing in his clear blue eyes.

‘Do no roi tu asa senu.’

The whispered incantation hisses across the room and the blood quivers gently. A deafening silence falls over the hall and little by little the blood begins to move.

A thin line escapes from the pool of blood, arcs through the air and slowly closes the distance from the island to the mainland, stopping briefly at the coastline bordering Reish, before arcing north-westwards.

Frowning, Marck stares at the thin line tracing through the air, anticipation written clearly across his face as he holds his breath.

The red line comes to a hovering stop above the map and Marck exhales his pent up breath. Leaning in closer he picks up a pen, dips it into an ink pot and then scribbles quickly in the spot below the blood line.

‘Ro li opo to dera es.’ Marck says in a soft voice before lifting his finger from the map. As his finger breaks contact with the outlined island the blood line floating in the air quivers wildly, vibrating silently in the air before

evaporating with a soft poof into nothingness.

Marck breathes loudly as he places the pen on the table, wipes his finger off on his cloak and then bends over to inspect his scribbles.

‘The midlands?’ he asks softly to himself. ‘What are you doing there my son? Why has there not been any news from you?’

Marck pushes himself up from the table and walks to the stack of books, quickly browsing the titles before lifting one of the bound volumes from the stack.

Gilt edged letters flash dimly in the gloomy light from the windows, the etched name a shimmering gold against the dark brown leather cover of the book.

’Cyclical prophecies of the new age.’

Marck reads the title softly to himself as he studies the leather binding, gently turning the aged leather book around in his hands, before flipping the book open.

Flipping quickly through the pages he walks back up the stairs to his chair, sits down with a heavy sigh and then turns back to the first page of the book, eyes sliding side to side as he reads the faint lettering scrawled across the yellowed pages.

A frown springs up across his brow, deepening into dark furrows creasing his broad forehead, as he pages deeper into the volume.

A gnawing fear creeps into his belly as he studies the

writings, an awful sense of foreboding that spreads deep into the confines of his mind.

Bang!

Startled from his silent musings, Marck jerks his head up and looks into the direction of the sound. A slight breeze had picked up as he was engrossed in the book, billowing gently through an open window.

Marck closes his eyes momentarily before he gets up from the chair, walks over to the swinging window and looks out into the darkening distance.

Orange streaks spread through the deep purple sky, splotches of yellow bright against the red glow low on the horizon. Scattered fluffs of cloud dot the sky and Marck gazes across the turbulent seas surrounding the island spread out below the keep.

Marck stares out over the vista laid out before him, dark brooding thoughts boiling up in to his subconscious, making him blind to the beauty he always sees in the sunsets.

‘Master?’

A soft voice behind him breaks the silence and he turns around slowly.

‘Yes.’

‘The Trias is finished. They are awaiting your instructions.’

Marck stays silent, a grim smile tightening across his lips.

Pulling his shoulders back he straightens his back and begins to walk towards the table, the messenger trailing along silently behind him.

‘Tell the Trias that they must rest awhile. I shall inform the council members and then when they are all assembled we shall convene.’

Stopping at the table Marck lays his hands on the rough table top, shoulders tight and muscles clenched.

‘Tell them to be ready in three hours from now to report.’

‘Yes Master.’

Shuffling away quickly the servant leaves Marck behind at the table, the soft snick as the door closes the only sound indicating his departure.

‘So it begins.’

Sighing sadly Marck pushes himself away from the table and walks towards the great doors, his long strides carrying him rapidly across the distance.

Hands gripping the door handles firmly he pulls the great doors open, well oiled hinges barely squeaking under the immense weight of the iron cast doors.

Two black robed guards spring to attention as soon as they notice Marck standing quietly in the open doorway. Their unsheathed blades glint wickedly in the flame lit corridor, sharp tips resting against the tiled floor between their legs.

’Sirus! Find a servant and instruct him to awaken the council

members. Tell them we convene within the hour.’

Marck becomes still for a moment, the silence weighing heavily in the air.

‘The Trias has awakened!’ his voice reverberates loudly down the corridor.

Flicking a quick salute, Sirus sheathes his sword in a fluid movement of his hand and then hastily scrambles down the corridor.

Marck stares down the corridor, eyes glazed over and unfocussed and as he shrugs off the ominous feeling creeping up his spine he turns and walks back into the great hall. With his broad back stiff and head held high, he ascends the stairs to his chair, and sits down, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

Enjoying the last chance he has to savour the momentary peace filling the room.

Calming his thoughts he manages to clear his mind, the sense of evil crowding in on him slowly fading into the dark recesses of his mind.

Quietly he sits.

And waits.

The serenity of the great hall seeps into his body, filing his soul with long sought clarity and peace. He sighs heavily as the thought of the long battle ahead finally crashes down on him, and with his eyes closed he savours his momentary chance at respite and rest as he awaits the arrival of the Council.

And the hard choices they will have to make before the end of the evening.