Echoes||Syrokai: Part Two

     Winding in and out of shadows with an unnatural grace, Syrokai made his way to his father’s room undetected. The door creaked open slowly, the candlelight from the corridor illuminating the face of an aging Darigan Lupe sleeping peacefully. The king of Syrokia slept on as his son padded into the room and let the door swing shut behind him.

     *****

     “Tragedy! Tragedy! King Syrokai the Sixth has passed to the Realm of the Ancestors!”

     News was sent out to all corners of the small island and by noon of the day following the king’s death the entire island was in an uproar. A huge crowd had gathered outside of the palace, screaming of foul play.

     It seemed the likeliest explanation. The king was only in his early forties, not nearly old enough for age to be a cause of death. Royal physicians had confirmed that the king had been in excellent health at the time of his death, physically if not mentally, at least. However, the same physicians had also confirmed that there was no physical evidence of violence, no sign of struggle in his chambers, and no trace of poison in his bloodstream. The king’s was a very troubling case indeed.

     Guards had been stationed around all entrances to the palace to keep the mob at bay, which was growing larger and more violent with each minute. It was at a time when the guards felt they were close to being overpowered that a voice rang through the crowd.

     “Let me through! Let me through, I say!”

     The voice was strong yet strangely calming, and an immediate change came over the crowd. The mob settled down, becoming silent and docile as a figure pushed its way through.

     Emerging from the crowd was a young Darigan Gelert in his early twenties, tall and well-muscled, carrying a large battle axe over one shoulder. He approached one of the guards, a ghost Draik, with confidence.

     “Pyrai? What’re you doing here, mate? I haven’t seen you since our days in the militia!” the Draik exclaimed, surprised.

     “Not here, Yarkry. I need to talk to you in private,” Pyrai said calmly, motioning towards a nearby guard house.

     Yarkry nodded. “Alright then.” He turned to the rest of the guards stationed around him. “Stay here, you lot. Try to disperse this crowd if you can. If not, just keep ‘em at bay till I get back.” The remaining guards saluted before turning back to the crowd.

     “C’mon then, Darkfang.” The Draik motioned for the Gelert to follow, and the two entered the guard house silently. Once Yarkry had locked the door behind them, and they had both taken a seat around a small table in the center of the room, Pyrai began.

     “What exactly’s goin’ on here, Yarkry? I hear the king died last night. Does anyone know how it happened?”

     “Unfortunately not,” Yarkry replied. “No one can give me a straight answer as to the cause of death, and I’m the captain of the guard, so you’d think if they were trying to keep it a secret they’d at least tell me.”

     “Yeah, at the very least they’d let you know if they had any information,” the Gelert agreed. “But what about the king’s son? How’s he taking the news?”

     “Better than you’d expect,” Yarkry said. “I don’t reckon little Roki ever much liked his father. The king was always very overprotective of ‘im. I think he may have even been a little bit obsessed with keeping the boy from having any life outside of taking over the throne.”

     “Hmm,” Pyrai muttered. “So when’s the coronation gonna be, d’you think? This island can’t go leaderless for very long, else there’ll be pandemonium before you can even blink.”

     “Aye, that’s true. I think the ceremony’s set to be tomorrow morning. What’s bothering you, Pyrai? You seem distracted.”

     “Huh? Oh, just thinking,” the Gelert replied, “You know back in the war not long ago the king granted me a great honor.”

     “’Course I know, mate. I was there, you’ll remember. You deserved that honor too, Mr. Great War Hero that you are.”

     “Yes. He offered me knighthood, but I turned him down. Upon my refusal, he made me an official counselor to the king, to be called upon in troubled times and to lend advice when needed.”

     “Yeah, it’s a grand old story, Pyrai, but what’re you gettin’ at?” Yarkry asked impatiently.

     “Well, he also told me that if he were to die that I should stay here at the castle and advise his son.”

     Yarkry perked up his ears a bit, interested. “So? That doesn’t seem like much to fret over, if ya ask me.”

     “It’s just that I left the militia about a year ago, the same time you became a guard. I got sick of the violence and the monotony of soldier life. I’ve settled down since then. I dunno if you knew this, Yarkry, but my son’s just been born a few weeks ago.”

     “Has he really? I didn’t even know you were expectin’, Pyrai. Congratulations! But I still don’t see your point.”

     The Gelert smiled at the thought of his newborn son, but it quickly faded. “Well, old Syrokai the Sixth wanted me to come live up at the palace after his death, which means uprooting my family. Counselor’s a life long position, ya know. I’ve set us up in a little village near the coast called Syritek. You may have heard of it. Very quiet, nothing like palace life. I don’t want my son to grow up cooped up in a great stone fortress his whole life. I want him to have the freedom we have now. In fact, and Kahlypsa and I discussed it for a long while, we were planning to take him and get away from this place as soon as he got old enough. Bad times are ahead, mate. I can smell the omens on the wind.”

     Yarkry said nothing for a time, thinking. The Draik nodded decisively. “Well, mate, I don’t reckon a soul knows about the old king’s wishes but you an’ himself, and he won’t be tellin’ anyone anytime soon. Tell ya what, I won’t tell if you won’t. You get yourself back home and you raise that young ‘um of yours right, and when the time comes, I’ll help ya get off the island. How’s that sound?”

     “I knew I could count on you, Yark!” Pyrai exclaimed with a hardy laugh, shaking paws with the Draik across the table. Yarkry stood, peering out the window towards where the mob had been gathered.

     “Looks like most of the mob’s cleared out. Well, my guards ‘ave got it under control, so while you’re here we might as well catch up, eh?”

     Pyrai glanced out the window, gauging the position of the sun before replying with a wide grin. “Aye, Kahlli won’t be expectin’ me back till morning anyway. I suppose I could risk it.”

     “That’s what I like to here!” Yarkry laughed. “So tell me... Kahlypsa... that wouldn’t be that ghostly Gelert gal you was pinin’ away for all during our soldier days, would it?”

     *****

     “Presenting his Majesty, the Honorable King Syrokai the Seventh!”

     The newly painted Darigan Lupe strolled proudly down the aisle, fur still slick and shining from the freshly administered paint. He smirked inwardly as the subjects lining the hall bowed down at his passing. The once calm grey eyes had been replaced by the blazing red of Dariganhood. These eyes, however, burned sinisterly with an almost unnatural light, one which danced and flickered in the candlelight like a living flame, nothing like the soft, inviting look they once held.

     The usual simple homespun tunics had also been replaced. The new king had discarded his late father’s simple wardrobe in favor of more elaborate garb, for what true king dressed like a peasant? None that he had ever heard of in his years of schooling. The long black tunic he sported for the coronation ceremony was beautifully crafted, the royal seal embroidered upon the chest in deep crimson. He had donned a set of crimson shoulder guards, complete with dangerously sharpened studs, which he had borrowed from the Captain of the Guard, Yarkry. This was merely the simplest of what was to come. Already he had his designs and measurements submitted to the most renowned seamstress on the island, the weaver of a majority of the beautiful tapestries hanging throughout the castle, a young ghost Gelert named Kahlypsa.

     He glanced to his left, spying a familiar flash of fire patterned fur in the corner of his eye. Kairo stood at attention next to his father, a slightly taller striped Zafara outfitted in the full armor of a Syrokian knight, holding on to his father’s helmet. Taking a seat on his throne, Syrokai waited for the applause to die down before waving signal of dismissal to the guards. Slowly but surely the hall cleared out, until only he and the two guards standing at attention by the door remained.

      Yes, things were going to change in this kingdom. He would make sure of that.

     *****

     Syrokai had made up his mind. The thought had come to him in a dream, and he felt compelled to put it into action. He must surround himself with more reliable knights. Captain Yarkry had been slipping him suspicious glares when he thought the young king wasn’t looking. The Lupe had an idea that his Guard Captain knew something he shouldn’t, or at least thought he knew something. This wouldn’t do at all.

     His renovations launching into effect, Syrokai had decided not to touch the guards and their positions. No need to give that irritating little Draik more reason to snoop about. His knights, however, were another story.

     The previous knights had been given an honorable dismissal with a promise of land and title, and now the newly promoted squires stood before him at attention, outfitted in freshly crafted armor of shining black emblazoned with the royal family’s crest in a bloody crimson upon the chest plate. At the head of these stood a tall fire Zafara, helmet held rigidly under one arm.

     These new knights had undergone a particularly harsh training session in the wilds of the island before they were allowed the honor of knighthood. On the island there existed three types of soldier: militia, guard, and knight. Knights, while serving as commanders within the militia, were also granted the role of the monarch’s closest circle of trusted advisors. They must be prepared to protect their king at all costs and in all scenarios. The training had taught them the skills they would find necessary to uphold this duty.

     These particular knights, numbering ten in all, had been hand chosen by Syrokai himself from the available squires of correct age. These were those he perceived to be the most loyal and trustworthy among them. The rest had been offered guard positions or high ranks within the militia.

     Sir Kairo the Blaze, most trustworthy of all, stood proudly at their head as the king strode up and down the ranks, examining those he had chosen with an air of appraisal. At last Syrokai paused before the Zafara.

     “This bunch has much potential,” he stated, gesturing to the knights. “You are dismissed.”

     Sir Kairo saluted smartly and turned to follow the rest of the knights through the tall oaken doors. The guard on duty closed the door behind the last knight. Syrokai beckoned the yellow Eyrie over.

     “Fetch me Eelin Fleetmane,” he commanded simply before turning away.

     “Right away, your Majesty.” With that, the guard departed, leaving the hall empty.

     Syrokai took a seat upon his throne with a satisfied sigh. Already the future of his island looked bright. Beneath his tunic, the claw he wore everywhere burned warmly.

     *****

     Sleep took the young king early that night. It had been a tiring day. Now, as his eyelids fluttered closed, the familiar soothing voice spoke again.

     “You have done well, my Liege. Soon your utopia will take form, and then we will lay the plans for my revival. This night, however, I bear worrisome tidings. I have sensed something within the realm of my confinement. There are omens upon the wind. In my ears voices whisper to me the words of a prophecy. It is an ancient verse, spoken in long forgotten tongues that few remember and fewer understand. It is a language from my early years, from the years of my destruction, and it does not bear well in my mind.

      “A hero reborn shall awaken them soon,

      Pelt streaked with lightning of gold.

      His namesake and weapon, one and the same,

      Echo of the heroes of old.

      Blessed with powers he cannot yet control,

      An army of evil destroyed by his will,

      Scars of the sky line a face bright with youth,

      Product of a destiny yet unfulfilled.

      “This is the closest I am able to render the verse in the language of your people, but I am certain you realize the meaning. They are coming again, the ones who sought to destroy me all those ages ago. These Echoes of the former assassins will seek my destruction as once they did. They will seek your destruction as well, for you are the one aiding me. They will seize your kingdom and everything you will work for in the years to come. You must stop them before this happens.

     “I can feel the proximity of the one who will assemble them. He is here, on your island, and in the years to come he will only grow stronger. It will be less than a score of years from now when you must confront him. You must destroy him then, before he is able to assemble the others and combine their dark magic to overthrow you. Beginning tomorrow, you will place a ban on all unauthorized travel to and from this island. We will trap him here, unable to flee before his dying day. Now sleep, my king, and arise to the dawn of a new era.”

     “Yes... I will obey,” Syrokai mumbled in his sleep.

     As the young king fell into unconsciousness, the claw against his chest flared with heat once before falling back to dormancy. Outside of the chamber, the guard on duty thought she could hear a low, sinister cackle floating on the breeze.

     *****

     Miles away from the chambers of the sleeping king, on the other side of the island, a small village lay, the inhabitants covered in the comforting blanket of sleep, soothed from consciousness by the gentle lapping of the waves against the nearby shore. Within one of the small dwellings a tiny Gelert babe lay sleeping, his fur a vibrant blue. Upon his shoulders glowed two golden arrow shaped birthmarks, peculiar, but seen as a blessing by his overjoyed parents.

     The pup snuffled once, kicking at the air, then fell silent, dreaming small dreams as he settled into peaceful slumber, unaware of all that lay before him.

The End

Author’s Note: It’s been a while, I know, but I hope you enjoyed this mini-installment of the Echoes series! Look out for more to come, and a big thanks to all of the readers for their continued support!