A young man climbed the stone steps of the tall tower quickly, rounding the inner spiral counter-clockwise again and again and again. On each step of the first four full turns, each tread was of a different height, a common trick to slow invaders. But, since he'd climbed these stairs more times than he could count, his feet moved instinctively, smoothly, adjusting to the deeper or shallower depths by recall. At the anticipated dip of the sixty-seventh step, the only step he could remember tripping over, he reached out a gloved hand for balance. The ever-present cold of the tower seeped through the fine kidskin, making him shiver. He couldn't be sure he hadn't been watched. His hand stopped trailing the wall when he arrived at one of the lancets. Peering out through the narrow opening, he could see dozens of lights dancing far below to the west, from torches ringing the tents to bonfires dotting between them. Music, laughter and drunken song drifted up alongside the smells of roasting ox, fried onions, and smoked river fish. No one was standing there peering up at the tower, but still he couldn't relax. He climbed the last two full spirals of stone steps.
At the top was a simple wooden door. He took the small shuttered lantern he'd brought with him and hung it on the iron hook jutting from the wall. From a pocket he withdrew a key and turned it in the lock making a soft click. Unlocked, but still stubborn, the door resisted until Lachlan dug in with his shoulder. The protesting door finally succumbed and let him enter.
The darkness of the staircase was assaulted by the bright lights of the room. In addition to the torches hung generously along the curving walls, an enormous iron candelabra holding squat pillar candles hung above a giant lone table in the center of the room. More candles sat on stands around the room. They were all lit. Tonight was a busy night for the occupant. The young man drew a finger to his lips to shush the orange tabby curled upon a trunk by one of the many bookshelves. After lazily opening one eye, the cat yawned unimpressed and promptly returned to its slumber.
To the east of the room curved yet another small staircase. But these stairs were wooden and steeper still. A crude railing had been nailed to the wall for support. Maneuvering between the maze of bookstacks littering the floor and various stools, statues, and objects from places across the Realm, places he had only ever heard about, he strode purposefully towards it. He winced as the the first step gave a loud creak. He eased his foot to the next step and was relieved when it didn't echo the noise. He paused but after hearing nothing, continued climbing up. Then finally he pushed the trapdoor at the top outwards.
The biting cold night air rushed to greet him and suddenly he was surrounded by the night sky on all sides. But he was not alone up there. At the top of the highest tower in the largest fortress in all the Realm, stood a tall, dark-robed man. Lachlan's shoulders relaxed.
"Hail, Aeldorn, how fair you on this Noctis Vandalis, Night of the Wanderers?"
Standing rod still, the man merely craned his neck towards the speaker. "Ahh, Prince Lachlan. Honored, I am. What reason brings you here to join me tonight? Here, up in this lonely old tower with all the people celebrating down below?" He turned to face the prince, revealing a face lined with deep wrinkles, his once thick caterpillar eyebrows were just whisps. Yet they still arched impressively. His white shoulder-length hair was held back from his face in a long braid. His dark cap with gold trim was the only sign that remained of the once high rank he held.
"To watch the Taorisen, Reader of the Heavenly Script, Lord Aeldorn, last true Stargazer in the Realm, mark his telling of the coming year." The younger man took a playful bow.
"You were almost too late, Lachlan. I was beginning to think an old man and a flurry of shooting stars couldn't compete with the parade of beautiful candidates that are sure to be clamoring for your attention."
"I would never miss this." Lachlan's tone was light, "You must be mad, my old teacher."
Aeldorn shook his head. "Your mother will take notice of your absence."
YOU ARE READING
The Court of the Swan
FantasiIt has been almost 20 years since King Draith came to power and peace has settled across the Realm. But for Knights who itch for battle and a world where alliances are sealed with marriages between powerful and usually older noblemen and their young...
