The Book of Terrus: The Wise and Powerful

Chapter 2 - Center of the World

OoOoO

If Castle Armathain was the heart of Amenthere, then the Hall of Thrones was the heart of Castle Armathain. From this mighty room an ancient dynasty had been built, a dynasty which endured still. If everything else in the world were to change and fade with time, the Hall of Thrones would remain just as it had been in the days of First King Amenthis. His scions would see to it.

Constructed from beige marble of the highest quality, the carven pillars and polished floors met like waterfalls flowing into a pool of quiet water. Thrones long un-occupied lined the hall on either side, sheltered from crowding by shallow alcoves gilded with gold leaf. Each pair of seats was as individual as the royal couple that once graced them. Their occupants had long since passed into memory, but sometimes servants would swear that they could see shadows seated upon the empty thrones in the dark of night.

The current monarch of the Amenthis Dynasty, Mahir Amenthis, sat at the head of the Hall of Thrones on his own seat of power. Shaped with fire from a single block of rich macassar wood, Mahir's throne was high-backed and beautiful. The scorched image of draconic wings splayed across the backing behind Mahir, earning him the nickname 'The Dragonling King' by some of the bolder nobles at court. It was of course a harmless joke; dragons had not existed in Goran for thousands of years. Not since the days of First King Amenthis, Mahir's ancestor, in fact.

Today though, the true person of honor was not the king, but his son. Prince Hithon sat to his father's right in the second throne, a seat once reserved for a different person altogether. The death of Queen Gwynnis in childbirth almost a year previous was a wound still raw at the heart of the royal family. Still, Mahir's smile held only pride when he turned his gaze from the assembled nobles to Hithon.

The prince, who had been accepting congratulations from a family head, felt his father's eyes on him and looked up, heart-shaped face expectant. Mahir nodded slightly at the boy, reassuring him, and Hithon went back to receiving his guests.

This exchange was observed by a pair of ruby red eyes that gleamed with inner fire from the crowd. Their owner blinked, returning her attention to the people in her immediate vicinity. It was not like Arzai to be distracted.

Arzai, formerly of the Dorwiniel family, now a Red Obad of Goran's Magicol, was an imposing woman, and not just for her statuesque height and physique. Like any native of Syrion, Goran's famous cliff-side city, she was possessed of an olive complexion, precise, sculpted features and glossy dark hair. That alone did not make Arzai so striking though, nor even did her bright red eyes, a trademark of her innate magical ability. What made the Red Obad memorable was the utter surety with which she carried and conducted herself. Arzai could have told a Mooanese fisherman that the sea was made of wine, and they would very likely have had to dip a finger over the side of their boat before doubting her words.

It was not often that the Magicol made an appearance at formal events, and Arzai was in high demand among the court. Fielding attempts at social networking by members of the ever-hungry nobility was not Arzai's favorite activity, but today being the prince's Birth Day she made the effort regardless. She could do no less, especially when even Davenir, their introverted Grey Obad was himself surrounded by a cluster of nobles.

Noting an exception however, Arzai craned her neck in search of Margalee. Usually the northerner Blue Obad could always be found right in the thick of things. It was to her mild surprise and amusement when Arzai spotted Margalee's whereabouts.

Even with her back to the room, Arzai knew it was Margalee half tucked into one of the Hall of Throne's many alcoves by her distinctive blue-black hair and indigo robes. Margalee wasn't alone either. She appeared to be enjoying a rather close conversation with a tall southerner dressed in the garb of a retainer; no doubt one of the many servants of one of the many nobles and merchants in attendance today. Still, the servant was notably attractive, with curly dark hair and a broad mouth, and Arzai silently congratulated her friend on a bit of social prosperity.