In Camelot’s Shadow: Book One of The Paths to Camelot Series (Prologue Fantasy) by Sarah Zettel
Authors: Sarah Zettel
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Euberacon rode once more in sight of his habitation. To most eyes, the place he approached looked to be a single, crumbling tower, the remains of some fortress of the Romans, or perhaps of the Saxons and their failed war against Arthur. The bright rays of the rising sun touched on pale stone mottled green by moss. The whole structure listed to one side and any builder with half an eye would have said that it would collapse completely with one more winter.
To Euberacon, it was a palace like nothing else the length and breadth of the whole cold, crude isle. It was built of pure, white marble. Its four towers were topped with gilded roofs that flared with vibrant light as the morning touched them. Inside the single gate was a courtyard walled with cunningly painted tiles, so it seemed he rode into a fantastic garden of drooping trees laden with fruits of red and gold. A fountain spread its bowl in the center of the yard, showing a mosaic of all the ocean’s fishes swimming in sapphire waters. Another mosaic, this one depicting delicate, twining flowers, spread out beneath his horse’s hooves.
This place could appear to be many things; a cottage, a grove of trees, a single miraculous tower standing on its own rooftop. The spells that protected it and shifted its appearance were of ancient origin, and costly in time and material. They were, however, well worth the care he had taken with them. This was a small land, and for the time being, he must remain hidden.
During the day he was the master of this place and all its forms. At night, there was uncertainty, and there were shades that passed where his eyes could not see. But he had found his cure for that, and once she was done working her other mischief, he would bring her to him.
A boy of about ten years entered the tiled court, bowing respectfully. Euberacon passed the boy the horse’s reins. With the competence of an experienced stablehand the boy caught hold of the animal’s bridle to hold it steady as Euberacon and dismounted retrieved the saddle bags that held his trophies. If one looked steadily into the boy’s eyes, it could be seen that he stared too much and did not blink quite enough. In his mind, the boy was still fostering in the hall of one of the islands many petty kings. He remained unaware that his foster mother had sold him for a potion to rekindle her straying husband’s lust for her.
The few servants that kept Euberacon’s house had been purchased for similar prices. The fact that he needed to descend to such barter for his most basic needs galled him, but he had schooled himself long ago to patience. Each day brought him closer to his victory.
A bird sqwaked overhead. A raven perched on the windowsill of the north-west tower. More of them circled over head. Kerra had returned, then. Good. He needed to speak with her about recent developments.
But first, he needed to confirm his suspicions.
The south-east tower was Euberacon’s alone. No mortal servant, however completely enchanted, entered here. On the first floor was his sleeping chamber, its door bolted and barred with oak, ash and magic. The chamber immediately beneath the gilded roof held a small menagerie of caged animals: doves, ermine, foxes, crows, wrens, and their like. These he fed and cared for with his own hands, ensuring their health and well-being so they would be ready when he had need of them.
But at this time, no such sacrifice was needed. He climbed the spiraling stairs only to the second story. Light and cold filtered in through the arrow slits in the outer walls. Warmth was the one thing with which he could not supply his dwelling. It was the constant reminder of where he truly was.
A silver key hung on a chain around his neck. Euberacon unlocked the ash-wood door in front of him and entered his private work room.
The scents of herbs and rare essences overlaid the less savory odors of old blood and decay. Euberacon uncovered the brass brazier by the door and dropped fuel
To Euberacon, it was a palace like nothing else the length and breadth of the whole cold, crude isle. It was built of pure, white marble. Its four towers were topped with gilded roofs that flared with vibrant light as the morning touched them. Inside the single gate was a courtyard walled with cunningly painted tiles, so it seemed he rode into a fantastic garden of drooping trees laden with fruits of red and gold. A fountain spread its bowl in the center of the yard, showing a mosaic of all the ocean’s fishes swimming in sapphire waters. Another mosaic, this one depicting delicate, twining flowers, spread out beneath his horse’s hooves.
This place could appear to be many things; a cottage, a grove of trees, a single miraculous tower standing on its own rooftop. The spells that protected it and shifted its appearance were of ancient origin, and costly in time and material. They were, however, well worth the care he had taken with them. This was a small land, and for the time being, he must remain hidden.
During the day he was the master of this place and all its forms. At night, there was uncertainty, and there were shades that passed where his eyes could not see. But he had found his cure for that, and once she was done working her other mischief, he would bring her to him.
A boy of about ten years entered the tiled court, bowing respectfully. Euberacon passed the boy the horse’s reins. With the competence of an experienced stablehand the boy caught hold of the animal’s bridle to hold it steady as Euberacon and dismounted retrieved the saddle bags that held his trophies. If one looked steadily into the boy’s eyes, it could be seen that he stared too much and did not blink quite enough. In his mind, the boy was still fostering in the hall of one of the islands many petty kings. He remained unaware that his foster mother had sold him for a potion to rekindle her straying husband’s lust for her.
The few servants that kept Euberacon’s house had been purchased for similar prices. The fact that he needed to descend to such barter for his most basic needs galled him, but he had schooled himself long ago to patience. Each day brought him closer to his victory.
A bird sqwaked overhead. A raven perched on the windowsill of the north-west tower. More of them circled over head. Kerra had returned, then. Good. He needed to speak with her about recent developments.
But first, he needed to confirm his suspicions.
The south-east tower was Euberacon’s alone. No mortal servant, however completely enchanted, entered here. On the first floor was his sleeping chamber, its door bolted and barred with oak, ash and magic. The chamber immediately beneath the gilded roof held a small menagerie of caged animals: doves, ermine, foxes, crows, wrens, and their like. These he fed and cared for with his own hands, ensuring their health and well-being so they would be ready when he had need of them.
But at this time, no such sacrifice was needed. He climbed the spiraling stairs only to the second story. Light and cold filtered in through the arrow slits in the outer walls. Warmth was the one thing with which he could not supply his dwelling. It was the constant reminder of where he truly was.
A silver key hung on a chain around his neck. Euberacon unlocked the ash-wood door in front of him and entered his private work room.
The scents of herbs and rare essences overlaid the less savory odors of old blood and decay. Euberacon uncovered the brass brazier by the door and dropped fuel
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