The Ashes of Allmau: The Orfolk of Allmau

Chapter 1

 "He was more of a father to us than you ever were." muttered under breath, those damming words still found their way to her father's ears.

A loud crack punctuated the chatter. She twisted and fell to the cold paved floor of the Grand Hall with a gasp from the wealthy delegates, followed by a sobering silence.

Rosalyne was in shock. Her father, Heinrich, was known as a stoic, steely man. A tall, broad-shouldered, imposing character. Dressed in officer's uniform with a weighty cape anchored by a mantle of medals. He led the land through a post-war depression with measure, restraint and fortitude; rarely pushed to reveal a modicum of emotion to anyone, including his eldest daughter.

Her pale complexion, dappled with freckles was warm and blushed by the strike. Rosalyne placed a hand against her cheek. Tender to the touch, the pain shot through her body and stirred her from shock.

Her mother, a tall, slender, stately woman, sat beside her babe-blessed aunt. Between the two of them were Rosalyne's youngest brother and sister. Both blonde, blue-eyed twins. Boy and girl, dressed in their best and sitting like wide-eyed impressionable dolls taking in the scene. Her mother sat pensive on the edge of the sedan, as if ready to spring forwards but restraining herself as not to fuel the rumour mill of onlookers.

Rosalnye's confidante, her uncle Aultrig, having sensed Heinrich's spring-loaded anger, stood midstride to intercept. But all too late. A leather-faced, weather-worn adventurer sort, he had been the focus of the preceding seconds before the strike. The spotlight lingered on the three, yet none knew what to do.

Looking at her father and receiving little more than a twitch of his silvering moustache, her mind started to race. She knew what she needed to do. Looking to the floor, she composed herself and climbed to her feet. She gently brushed off her gown, cleared her throat, and without words made her way to the exit. Aultrig withdrew into himself as he tried to better understand what horrid changes this crumbling world forced within Heinrich's heart. His mind quickly turned to his wife and unborn child, sitting on the sedan. He looked to Heinrich instinctively for guidance, only to be scolded by a jealous glower.

As she navigated the corridors of the Guildhall, she realised that the slap had awoken something in her, it had changed her way of thinking. She couldn't simply sit back and wait any longer.

Heinrich had always stayed course. Resisting Eymier's implosion, such was the fate of the other realms of the old empire following its demise. Rosalyne tried to look beyond this. She was determined to do her bit in bringing about a post-imperial age. Unlike much of the older generation, she could imagine a world where Eymier, its former allies and even its enemies, could trade and work together for mutual prosperity. Not even the most ambitious leaders in the summit could perceive such things. But Rosalyne had a secret weapon. A source of unlimited hope and strength that helped her persevere, up until now at least.

The Guildhall's library was a beautiful space where creative carpentry and clever contouring transformed a large, bleak space into a forested grotto, complete with a babbling brook. Sitting above the archives it acted as the focus of modern knowledge for those who visited.

Rosalyne was one of the few rewarded with a key. This was a peaceful place that offered a sense of security only available through escapism. But this was not her destination. Beyond the domed glass roof could be seen eight tall towers. Originally viewpoints for architects and city planners, they were now abandoned, playing home to teenage trysts, smugglers stashes and Rosalyne's retreat.

She scaled the tower and entered the candle-lit cupola via a heavy wooden trapdoor, arriving to a hushed environment. The moment the trap door sealed, she gasped for breath and the first tear eked free. She kept her head down, trying her best not to let her emotions show, but the tower's tiny residents were sensitive to her distress.