The Easel Chronicles

Chapter Fourteen

Dismounting Elben, he strode to the door of the tower. This place was peaceful and quiet, the wizards that walked about did so as silently as graveyards. At a far field, Aravoen saw his mother's horse. Since he did not know who to talk to, he walked towards the horse, which did not show any sign of fear at his approach. As he patted the horse's back, someone walked up behind him. He turned to see who it was.

A tall old man stood there looking back at him from behind dark brown eyes. His white flowing beard and hair ran smoothly around his face. His robes were of pure white. His staff that was in his hand was of white wood, unblemished. The stone on its top was pure white and shone in the sunlight.

"I am Cidarcorin," he said. "You must be Aravoen, King of Eduin. Welcome to Horowitz."

"Aravoen I am," Aravoen said. "But no king am I. I am just the hidden prince, My Lord."

"The line of hidden princes," Cidarcorin replied, "lives on in you. Is not the line of the hidden princes the line of the kings of Eduin?"

"Yes."

"Is it not the line of Amleth eldest son of Eldon?"

"Yes."

"Is it not from Eldon that the line of Ebill was continued?"

"Yes."

"And is not the line of hidden princes, of which you are, the only surviving line in all the peoples of Ebill better known as the Easel?"

"Yes, My Lord."

Cidarcorin looked at him with sympathy. "Do not run from who you are, Aravoen. The blood that flows through your veins is the very blood that flowed in Samhain, the first of the Taras of Ebill. You are the King of Eduin and in being the last of the eldest line you are the king of all the Easel; Eduin, Ebrithia and Elliyon."

Aravoen looked at the old man calmly without fear, for a time gazing into the dark brown eyes. Only the stars knew if he had a choice he would not be the hidden prince at all, never mind a king. He wondered why it had to be he that was born as the hidden prince and why the task of reclaiming the dignity and honour of Ebill rested on his shoulders. Why could it not be one of his ancestors or even descendants?

As if he knew what Aravoen was thinking, Cidarcorin said, "A king is not made a king, a king is born a king. None of us choose how or who we are born to be, Aravoen. The path of life is different for all as they are born. The best you can do is to choose how to be who you are born to be. The sooner you accept it, My Lord, the better for all of Elasia, and from what I have heard time is not a commodity we have any more. Now come inside, the council awaits you."

"My horse..."

"Pay the horse no heed," was the reply. "Let him wander the plains of Horowitz for food and drink, for there is plenty enough for a whole herd."

Aravoen followed him through the great door. They entered a large chamber with stairs running in a winding sequence up to other levels in every corner. The lighted walls and high windows gave enough light to the chamber. In the centre stood around stone table. Set in the sides of the table were the words of an ancient craft, one long lost to Elasia.

They approached one of the corner staircases and went up, circling around all the levels in silence, Aravoen trying to respect the wizard's silence. After what seemed to be hours, though it was a short time, they landed on the topmost floor. Aravoen looked over the rich wooden and well-embroidered rail. Down seemed so far that he could see only specks of people walking. He felt lightheaded at this sight.