The Lost Princess

Chapter Two: Gaearost

A cloaked figure walked purposefully through Gaearost, an ancient coastal city that had once been inhabited by elves. Scrimshaw shops and sandstone carvings had once flowed from the city's markets and into the other kingdoms and towns. The flawless sculptures and exquisitely crafted knives had been coveted by all. But that had been over a hundred years ago. Now the city was a hub for sailors and riffraff. The reason for the mass exodus of the fair folk of the city had been a sickness. No one knew how it had started, but everyone knew who had created it. Goroth. The sickness had been called the Duvain, meaning "beautiful darkness." It started with a burning fever and sores that developed all over the body, but it was named for the coma its victims prayed for. Once they were overtaken, they quickly passed away.

The elves were the only race that had fared well against the plague, since they were the last beings to still practice magic. But as their kind slowly succumbed to the fever and sores, their healing herbs and plants dwindled from overuse. Soon the elves as well became desperate for a cure. The plague was spreading through the water supply. The elves of Gaearost saw no hope as other races died and their own lay suffering. They fled, vanishing across the Eleniel Sea in search of a new homeland.

However, the elves of the forest kingdom of Celeblas remained. Unwilling to leave their home, they traveled deep into the forest where the plague had originated and reappeared with a cure. The rivers ran clean and the half-century plague came to an end. The people cried out for revenge, but Goroth had already fled, and the populations were so depleted that none had any desire to set out on great quests to find him. So they did nothing. With the absence of the sea elves, the city of Gaearost became a port city and nothing more. Years passed, and everyone seemed to forget about the great wizard who had poisoned them all.

Until he returned. After many years in hiding, Goroth had smaller goals—much more easily accomplished. Overthrowing the city of Calathil. A seamless infiltration of key players in the king's armies and courts.

The overthrow was hardly noticed or felt by the surrounding kingdoms, whose populations still had not recovered from the Duvain. The royal family was said to have been slaughtered, and Goroth claimed Calathil for himself. But this was not the most devastating fact nor what kept the other kingdoms at bay from trying to retake the city. Calathil was known for being in possession of the most prized artifacts in the land: the moonstones. Three powerful stones, one plucked from each moon that hung in the sky. The stones gave the holders the ability to wield magic—something mortal men had not since possessed. A gift all other kingdoms envied and feared. Goroth took the greatest of the three: the white stone. With the inhabitants still depleted and the wizard in control of the powerful artifact, there was no fight in the people. So again, they did nothing. And with any heirs to the throne rumored to have been killed, there was no one to lead the moon city. Or so it was said.

The figure shook her head, casting away the memories. She came to the edge of the city. The sun was heading for the horizon. Her golden eyes flashed with the same color reflecting off the sea. A breeze threatened to brush back the hood that covered most of her face. Reaching up, she tugged at the fabric, making sure it would stay in place. Amazing how short people's memories were. How lies could so easily refute the truth. After three years she hardly had any reason to hide her face. No one remembered the princess rumored to have escaped Calathil, or could even say for sure what she had looked like. They could not even remember her name. And as she stared out at the sea, Amara wondered if she had ever truly been that princess. Had it all been just a dream that she had awoken from?

She turned to the left, back into the streets, ducking down alleyways. Goroth had reached the port easily with his control over Calathil. His soldiers, however, were strangely absent this day, but this was to Amara's advantage. Whatever she had been before, she was now a thief and oftentimes much worse than even that.