toward him.
Rhys patted the valet’s shoulder, walked across the room to the window and hopped up onto the ledge. With his back against the cold stone, he peered out over the land which was growing brighter with the rising of the morning sun. He stared out over the fields, searching the horizon as if he was expecting someone to approach from that direction.
“Who is she?” his mother whispered in his ear, startling Rhys from his thoughts.
“What do you mean, madam?” he stuttered.
“Who is the girl who has you staring out into the morning with such longing?” she asked, a little smile playing on her pink lips. “I know a little about these things, Son. Tell me, who is she?”
Her question was met by more silence from her only son. She placed her fore and middle fingers on his forehead and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Then she looked him again.
“I had a dream last night, of a fair-haired girl with striking violet eyes. She offered me lavender, sage and thistles tied with a golden thread.”
Rhys’ eyes widened at the revelation and the shock was visible on his face, but he quickly recovered and answered, “What are you speaking of, Mother? I do not understand your meaning.” But the telltale blush which had already rushed into his cheeks ensured that his mother had received her answer.
Just then the doors opened and Jules, the head steward entered to announce breakfast. He turned on his heel and led the way to the dining room. Mucuruna smiled.
“We shall have our time to talk tomorrow Rhys; do not be late for tea.”
Rhys went to assist his grandmother from her seat and escorted her into the dining room. When everyone was seated, the platters, bowls and dishes were brought one by one to the table and then Jules went back to the sideboard to retrieve the first teapot. When he had finished serving the tea, he returned to stand just off to the side between the buffet and the dining room doors.
About halfway through the meal, there was a soft knock. Jules’ face distorted slightly with a mix of exasperation and disgust. He barely moved as he swiveled to answer the door. Opening it just slightly, he whispered to the person who was outside, retrieved a small roll of white paper and waved the messenger away stiffly. He walked over to the sideboard and laid a clean napkin over a small silver plate then placed the correspondence on top of it before making his way over to the head of the table and placing the dish beside Gwallawc.
“A message for you, sir.”
“Who from?”
“Merlin, my Lord.”
There was a collective gasp from the women and a grunt from the men as Gwallawc proceeded to unroll the stiff piece of paper. He glanced over the contents then raised his eyes to scan the faces at the table. The old man shook his head slowly from side to side as a grave expression settled into the grooves and lines of his forehead.
“It’s not good news I’m afraid, but gauging from what you endured at the inn, I doubt you will find Merlin’s news surprising at all. He has written:
‘My dear friend, Gwallawc,
‘It has been a long time since we have communicated and even longer since we have been in each other’s company. Considering the state of affairs in the land at present, perhaps it is destined to be even a longer instance before we will see each other again. For now, there is much more pressing and dangerous business to be attended to.
‘I have learned that your grandson, his cousin and his valet were attacked by dark forces a few nights ago at an inn on your shire and that they barely escaped with their lives. I've written this letter to perhaps explain what they encountered and offer some little advice about how they should proceed with this journey.
‘Firstly, they were roused into battle at Kenilwurt Cross by an evil being. The king of the Drows, a dark elf by the name of Erandur has been following the boy for several weeks. We are rather concerned about the access that he has had
Rhys patted the valet’s shoulder, walked across the room to the window and hopped up onto the ledge. With his back against the cold stone, he peered out over the land which was growing brighter with the rising of the morning sun. He stared out over the fields, searching the horizon as if he was expecting someone to approach from that direction.
“Who is she?” his mother whispered in his ear, startling Rhys from his thoughts.
“What do you mean, madam?” he stuttered.
“Who is the girl who has you staring out into the morning with such longing?” she asked, a little smile playing on her pink lips. “I know a little about these things, Son. Tell me, who is she?”
Her question was met by more silence from her only son. She placed her fore and middle fingers on his forehead and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Then she looked him again.
“I had a dream last night, of a fair-haired girl with striking violet eyes. She offered me lavender, sage and thistles tied with a golden thread.”
Rhys’ eyes widened at the revelation and the shock was visible on his face, but he quickly recovered and answered, “What are you speaking of, Mother? I do not understand your meaning.” But the telltale blush which had already rushed into his cheeks ensured that his mother had received her answer.
Just then the doors opened and Jules, the head steward entered to announce breakfast. He turned on his heel and led the way to the dining room. Mucuruna smiled.
“We shall have our time to talk tomorrow Rhys; do not be late for tea.”
Rhys went to assist his grandmother from her seat and escorted her into the dining room. When everyone was seated, the platters, bowls and dishes were brought one by one to the table and then Jules went back to the sideboard to retrieve the first teapot. When he had finished serving the tea, he returned to stand just off to the side between the buffet and the dining room doors.
About halfway through the meal, there was a soft knock. Jules’ face distorted slightly with a mix of exasperation and disgust. He barely moved as he swiveled to answer the door. Opening it just slightly, he whispered to the person who was outside, retrieved a small roll of white paper and waved the messenger away stiffly. He walked over to the sideboard and laid a clean napkin over a small silver plate then placed the correspondence on top of it before making his way over to the head of the table and placing the dish beside Gwallawc.
“A message for you, sir.”
“Who from?”
“Merlin, my Lord.”
There was a collective gasp from the women and a grunt from the men as Gwallawc proceeded to unroll the stiff piece of paper. He glanced over the contents then raised his eyes to scan the faces at the table. The old man shook his head slowly from side to side as a grave expression settled into the grooves and lines of his forehead.
“It’s not good news I’m afraid, but gauging from what you endured at the inn, I doubt you will find Merlin’s news surprising at all. He has written:
‘My dear friend, Gwallawc,
‘It has been a long time since we have communicated and even longer since we have been in each other’s company. Considering the state of affairs in the land at present, perhaps it is destined to be even a longer instance before we will see each other again. For now, there is much more pressing and dangerous business to be attended to.
‘I have learned that your grandson, his cousin and his valet were attacked by dark forces a few nights ago at an inn on your shire and that they barely escaped with their lives. I've written this letter to perhaps explain what they encountered and offer some little advice about how they should proceed with this journey.
‘Firstly, they were roused into battle at Kenilwurt Cross by an evil being. The king of the Drows, a dark elf by the name of Erandur has been following the boy for several weeks. We are rather concerned about the access that he has had
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