The Prologue.
“Behold. Herein is trammelled The Evil of all time.
Seek not its deliverance, for there is none.
Meddle not with this Abomination, for it is The Destroyer of Worlds.”
Much had come to passing since the old storyteller had closed the second volume of The Tarsius of Amriath on the eve of the lighting of the Beltane fires in the summer since passed. The quest of Eldamar into Astalan had prevailed; The Darkling tyrant and his Hordes, who had held that ruined land in thrall, were laid to waste in full sum; and the Dread Imposition settled upon the Lokis of Storien-Rhudd was smitten down. Eldamar had, as had been foretold; taken bond with Artanis Seregon, once Cabal Mistress of the Wiccen Rede of Arfeiniel... she, whose Wiccen Rede sisterhood was destroyed at their settlement at Bradda, and who now carried The Golden Child. Winter had howled in from off the grey, flinty mountains, choking the Shining Lands in mantles of drifting snow. Now, the seasons had turned, and the time of the weaving of the Oimelc Corn Maidens was nigh to hand. The nights of the Tell had come around once again.
In the passing span since Rhynam, the old storyteller, had last sat in his great oaken chair, and, at length, had moved closer to the hearth, warming in the fire-glow in readiness to begin the Tell in the great Gathering Hall of Calverstock surrounded by the throng of eager listeners; The Golden Child had been birthed on the eve of Lammas, safe in the Halls of Arlanronde, distantly to the west.
The Lady Artanis had brought forth a beautiful daughter, as had the presage so been made. In accordance with this foretelling, Artanis had named the child Kathalyn. The infant held eyes, close in hue to those of the Lady Talith of Rhom; being a shimmery greenish-blue; as like, the throat of a pheasant on a bright summer’s day. In this was to be seen a melding of the deep green eyes of Artanis, and the Amethyst-violet eyes of Eldamar. The infant had small sum of hair as yet; but what there was, held a whisper of woodland strawberries amidst the pale blonde wisps. This hue was so very much softer than the flaming red hair of her mother, and yet… there could be no dispute held that she was not her mother’s daughter.
As laid in his covenant, the Lord Laumil, Council Master of Elisriendell had garrisoned Arlanronde with a half-cohort of his Elisriendell Range-Masters. To this end, the western wall of Arlanronde had been breached with a great, arched gateway leading to an outer closure, walled about... as of the main wall. Herein, his Stone-masters had raised a fair sum of dwellings for the kinsfolk… the bond-mates and younglings of the Range-Masters. Arlanronde had become a true settlement in the Shining Land.
When her time stood upon her, Artanis had embraced an undemanding childbed on the eve of the lighting of the Lammas fires… as had been foretold by the Old Woman of the People of The Hollow Hills, and too… by Beriana, the Mage of Eredun.
Attended by Rodwen, wet-nurse to Eldamar’s, and the Lady Arlanna’s son: Tharlan and the young Sorceress, Catalyn Silverleaf of Lothluthil; she had birthed The Golden Child in the span of a little more than the passing of three Sundial shadows. As was custom, Eldamar had taken the infant to the casement overlooking the great closure of Arlanronde, where thronged the company of the garrison; and had held her to their sight. In a great voice, lit by the flare of the Lammas fire below, he named her with the forechosen naming, thus…
‘Greet you now, Kathalyn Seregon, Infant of The Light.’
A great roar had burst from the assembled throng, as The Golden Child was welcomed into the company of Arlanronde; and as they roared their welcome, in the skies to the west there darted and flared a clutch of shooting stars, as if in portent of things to come.
