The Tellanon

4. Old bones

"Allen said there were Dragons down in Nazren. Are there?” Her sister asked, pulling at her dress. Emyra looked down and smiled.  Lynn had painted her face full the shapes of Dragons, in black paint. She recognized Allen’s hand in them. Stupid though he was, the guy had talent in painting. He had once drawn her face full of Dragons as well, years and years ago. 

“No,  Lynn. You know Dragons died in the second age. Allen’s making a fool out of you. Don’t believe everything he says. ” She answered. It was true, about the Dragons. Emyra herself had believed that was untrue for a while, because if the Elder People still dwelt in Nazren, why couldn’t Dragons? The legendary Wanderers of Dal were real, the Elder people were, Dragons had to be as well, right? They weren’t. The Elder People hadn’t been hunted down, merely chased away  to make room for the newer generation. That was in the second age. Some people had caught glimpses of the Elder People, but no one but crazy old men claimed to have seen Dragons. Emyra had only accepted that when she was eleven. Even at fourteen, she still clung to a distant hope. Dragons might change the world. The world needed changing. The Tellanon needed changing, they needed to go away. Not Berren, but the rest of them.

“I’m going to the College, to the Library, okay? Tell mum where I’ve gone, Lynn. Bye.” With that, she stepped out of the door, not even waiting for an answer. Her bag was on her shoulder, her dress reached no further than her knees, and her red hair was bound back with a black ribbon, and she didn’t want to be inside any longer. It was May now, and summer was coming. The sun shone brighter every day, and the city air shimmered with heat. Merrón had an extreme climate, with very hot days in summer, and really cold days with lots of snow in winter. She loved both, but preferred summer. There was more to do, more to see, people were happier.

It was an hour before noon. The sun beamed down from up high, the people laughed, and Emyra met Berren in a small alley. He wasn’t allowed to go inside the Library, due to his birth. It was a stupid rule, Emyra thought.  Foreign people were as much, maybe even less, likely to ruin the Library than thénish ones, but still weren’t allowed in.  Berren was a Tellanon trainee, he should be allowed in anywhere, as he would soon only stand lower than the Great Commander of the Tellanon.  For now, however, she thought it would be better to dress him up as an Agalathian and pretend he was her friend. People knew her to be from Agalath, and if they still didn’t believe her, she’d make use of her reputation as witch.  He wore her brother’s clothes; Allen wouldn’t miss them, her father would. They were a bit big for Berren, but they’d do. To hide his obviously Valharian hair, she’d given him an Aslon, a summer-hat, actually meant to shield workers from the sun. It had a broad brim, and a piece of cloth hung out of the back, shielding the neck from the sun, and was one of the most useful pieces for disguise ever. Emyra knew a lot about disguise, for some reason.“Name, date of birth, home.” The librarian said, shoving a paper towards each of them. He was old, and rather rat-like. A pot of ink and two pens followed soon after the slips of paper, and he signalled for them to go on. Emyra looked at Berren, and gave him a reassuring nod. He was nearly unbeatable with a sword, and yet he shivered in fear at the very thought of lying.  She thought of how his order had been created by sweet lies, how the Tellanon had taken over simply by lying, and acting, and pleasing. 

Once, about four hundred years ago, the Young King had to take his father’s place to make way for his son. It was like that still, four hundred years later. The Old King voiced the older generation, and the Young King voiced the younger. The Old king would make way for his son when the latter’s son turned thirty. That one time, four hundred years ago, the Young King had to choose out of his three sons,  triplets, who would take over the throne. It should have been the oldest, but seeing as no one knew which of the three it was (except for the sons themselves), that didn’t bother the king. He chose his second son, whom he thought was more fit to be king, instead of his eldest. This bothered the elder greatly, and in his wrath he devised a plan. He knew his brother was struggling with the kingship, so he offered his assistance.  The new king accepted it gratefully, and slowly the elder brother grew in power. He was the voice in his brother’s ear, he was the puppeteer and his brother the puppet dancing on his strings.  He was the true young king.  Now,  followers thought they might gain wealth if they joined him, so they formed an elite order of people, and let both kings dance on their strings.  No one opposed them, most even thought this was better. Two kings and a great order of elite advisors? That seemed fair, they thought. If they had thought otherwise, many a thing would be different today. Berren wouldn’t have seen Merrón, ever, for example. He would never have stood side by side with Emyra, as they wrote down their history. His a lie, hers a fact