Did Prince Gwanor know that he would become the most noted hero of the age? I think not. Indeed, I believe that if I had met him before he embarked on his journey, I would not have considered him much of a great hero at all. But then, it is true that those we consider to be the weakest can always surprise us. For theirs is a hidden strength, masked by docility and a pleasant nature, but as strong as those who wield swords, boasting of great deeds and derring-do.
Fatima Mahawari, The Later Years, Volume II.
Gwanor fidgeted, restless as the seemingly endless procession of dignitaries entered the scarlet pavilion. It was high noon, and all who planned to be at Greater Faerie's peace talks had still not arrived.
He glanced over at his father, who was garbed in full plate armor, no doubt intended to convince all those assembled that King Peringain was the finest, most splendid king who had ever walked the halls of Greater Faerie. His father practically glistened, the silver plates emphasizing his pale gold hair, his cold grey eyes, the stark angles in his ivory face dramatized by the swirling vine tattoos of the Greater Faerie kingship that swirled around his eyes and ended at his pointed chin. He seemed built into the enameled throne, the thin layer of gold and the inset gems reflecting the light the sun streamed through the red silk onto his proud face. But Gwanor sensed a brittleness in the air. For all their perfumed silks and ingratiating smiles, the Amecrystan delegation was on edge, which was, of course, the point. Even though peace had been won , it was peace in name only, and his father's clothing choice was no doubt the first in a long line of maneuvers to slowly unbalance all the visitors. Greater Faerie's losses were greater than they appeared, and it would not do to appear weak.
To the right of the king, a tanned youth with rich chestnut hair lounged on his slightly less opulent seat. Thwanor was bored, and didn't care to hide it. If possible, the crown prince's cavalier attitude seemed to put the Amecrystans even more on edge. Gwanor could tell by their clenched fists and the way they gripped their robes in both hands under the handsomely carved oaken table.
Gwanor was good at deducing such things. Seventeen years of being a Greater Faerie prince had taught him to watch people carefully, to pay attention to subtle shifts in mood and tone. Those who did not stay adrift of the tides were liable to be pulled in, at least in his father's court. And, being the second-born, he knew the only way he could be of use to his father was entering into a marriage alliance with a noble from one of the other kingdoms. Until that day came, he would have to listen, watch, and wait.
He fixed his gaze on the modest altar, which had been pushed aside to make room for the table. Seven miniature statues had been carefully placed there. He knew them by heart. Ankhara the Black, Lady of Darkness, she whose domain is night. Celia the Yellow, Lady of Light, who blesses us with the gentle day. Nooraphin the Green, Lady of Life, she who makes the plants grow. Seitara the Red, Lady of Fire, she of the blazing eyes. Rihalla the Blue, Lady of Water, who makes the seas flow and the oceans roil. Kaolin the Brown, Lady of Earth, who made the form of all lands. Yulea the White, Lady of Air, who made the heavens above. He could almost hear the voice of their Deocater, old Father Fysel, reciting the Invocation of the Seven. For each Holy Goddess made one Race of Sylphite-Ankhara made the Ankharans, Celia the Celians, Nooraphin the Noors, Seitara the Seitarns, Rihallla the Rihallins, Kaolin the Linial, and Yulea the Yulers. And every member of the race must put Their Holy Creator first in all things, and put their statue Greatest on the Altar as a show of love and respect for those who they owe their very existence to. Gwanor knew the altar, even in its innocuous position, was a symbol of barbarism for some. He glanced at the Amecrystan priest (for that was the name by which their Deocaters were called.) He could tell who the man was by his lilac holy robes and by the way he was staring at the altar in outright disgust. The Amecrystans only believed in one god-the idea of multiple gods must seem anathema to the man's mind.
