Fawnlum Raijum, unaware of the despoiling of one fair land several years before, smiled as the breaking dawn of spring illuminated the world around her. Far to the west of the continent of Calador, across the body of ocean known as the Brierren Channel, sat her home in the southeastern region of the rugged island continent of Khostead. The mighty barbarian lass of the Coast of Storms kingdom brushed a stray auburn hair out of her eyes, as she overlooked miles of quiet countryside, from her rocky seat on the easterly ascending slope of the Rolling Meadow. Dumian, the city of her birth, came into view below her, framed by the cold mists rising from the grasslands in the sunlight.
Sitting with her arms bare, but being of the same stock as her great forebears, the elder daughter of Brajon and Saraty Raijum basked in the morning chill as if it were nothing, as she had done for all of her 19 winters.
Revering the change of season, her people welcomed the time of the land’s renewal, bringing with it growth to plants and buds. Hence the celebration of the Springtime Festival, out of respect for the Natural World. But as much as the short-lived mild months gave sustenance, so did the demanding winters add to their lives. With bitter winds and piling snow, Nature gave strength to those who endured, so they may call themselves rightful followers of mighty Diergon, god of battle and honor.
Such was the harmonious way, she delightedly reflected, as she absently adjusted the hand-and-a-half long-saber strapped to her back, and picked out friends and comrades arriving in the lower portion of the Meadow, as well as rivals from other territories.
The bustle of people intruded on her daydreams, as stands and long-tables were set up behind her.
A few dozen yards behind and to her right, the senior students from the kingdom’s southern school of magic stood, gathered beside the northern tree line.
Under the direction of old Powerlave, the chief instructor (also affectionately known as ‘Bushy-brows’), the ten most advanced pupils stood in a semi-circle with their hands clasped in front of them, quietly reciting a chant. Fawnlum watched very closely, with bright ardor to see what display of magic sprang forth.
She was distracted by the approach of a familiar face, and smiled as Eidgunn walked up.
Nodding in greeting, the senior cleric of Diergon took a deep breath of the invigorating air. “At a time like this,” he said, “it’s hard to believe we live with the threat of a red dragon coming upon us, as in the times of old.”
“We have the peace to savor it,” she answered, somewhat moodily. “Peace won by strength,” she added, as if it were an afterthought.
“Your battle-group did quite well recently in the Orsright Hills,” he said, still with a pleasant tone. “I heard about the battle in the valley.”
“I’ll wager Delscous regrets granting us permission to go, after we pulled members of his own family out of the ambush. If he wants to see me fail, he’ll have to do better than that.”
“You shouldn’t speak so of your countrymen,” he admonished her. “You’ve gleaned great strength. You and your battle-sisters are recognized defenders of our people now.”
“Not that my mother cares,” she grumbled. “And don’t tell me not to be so quick to judge her, either. She’s keeping me locked in her pledge with every shackle she can muster.”
In the moment he hesitated to answer, Fawnlum felt his concern for her wellbeing, weighed under the scales of his own place in the situation.
“I was there – ,” he started to say.
“I know,” she cut in, more sharply than she had intended. “My unmarried mother stood in your presence, for it was your job to mitigate the conflict. My honorable, old father held his place beside her, as she faced the unforgiving Creatif clan. And there I sat, inside her pregnant belly, as she used me as a bargaining chip, to assuage the charge against her.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then set me right!”
Then she added, more calmly, “Forgive me. No one has ever given me the details of that night, and here I am, taking it out on you.” She shrugged. “Of course, you can’t speak on it, unless given leave by my mighty mother, the Guardian-sayer.”
“Yes,” he said, more quickly than she expected, and she looked back up at him.
“Your mother did not take control of your life; but she did take on a great responsibility when she pledged herself as your Guardian-sayer. And she did make you part of her oath, whether you wanted it or not. By my own oath, I can’t act above that authority. No one can.”
His expression lightened, and the mood of assured confidence, which she had come to associate with him ever since her childhood, ebbed into the tone of his voice and manner. “But I can talk to others, within reason. Baneck will wait for you, no matter what your mother says.”
Then with a wink and finger held to his slightly upturned lips, he turned and strode off.
She watched him go, and silently admonished herself, for having snapped at him to begin with. Feeling better for his council, she let out a deep sigh to wash away her frustrations.
Just then, Powerlave called out. She looked in time to see the student wizards release their spells, and glowing motes of light, like candle lights suddenly freed from their wicks, shot skyward in circular patterns, spinning until they were out of sight.
As Powerlave dismissed them, the girl who had produced the brightest lights smiled and started to walk over.
