Col Sunbreaker, last of the Kings of Runahest, stood in the uppermost balcony of the massive, gilded and ornate building that men called the Palace of the Elders. His sun-bleached blonde hair danced in the gusting wind, and his nostrils flared as the wind brought the ashy scent of smoke. His face, worn and creased at only thirty-seven, a face graven with a semblance of age brought on by the responsibility of all who rule, peered out at the city. His city.
For four hundred and eighty-nine years, the city had stood, a brilliant, radiant jewel on the banks of the roaring river Cannimost, the jewel of the North. Runahest, founded below the Sundered Mountains over which Feralon the Elder led his people from the ruin of Pannalir and it’s vast Empire all those long years ago, fleeing the battered deserts of the Easternlands and the enemy that had brought them ruin there. The effects that ancient city and it’s people had wrought on the world were beyond description and number. The winding streets of carven silver, the towering pillars of inlaid bronze and gold, shimmering obelisks visible for miles beyond, above even the Sundered Mountains. Once, the world was dark and chaotic, a lawless land for lawless men. But the men of Runahest changed that.
With the sword and the fire, with the steel and the flame, they carved a kingdom from nothing. They brought the promise of freedom and hope to all the realms of this world. Over the years of war and pain, they had fought back the tides of darkness, brought order and light to a world in chaos. They had bound together all the nations of the world with a compact, a treaty that bound all like blood and held like steel, a pact called the Vigil. Never again, they had sworn, would war or hate take them. Never again would man spill the blood of man. A fool’s dream, but in those days, those days of hope, dreams had seemed possible.
Now, Col reflected, it was lost. The towers of bronze and gold were broken, shattered upon streets of silver, streets stained with horror and war long thought lost. As the sun drowned behind the Sundered Mountains and reddened the sky, a new light filled the darkness. The dancing, flickering beacons of flame lit the darkening sky as the sun set on Runahest for the last time.
The King turned, thumbing the grey iron brooch that pinned his silver-grey cape to his patterned tunic of woven gold. His dark black boots seemed to sink into the deep, rich fabric of the rug that lay stretched across his floor. Again, he cursed himself. They had forgotten their purpose, their struggles. Over the winding millenium, they had cast aside their Vigil, lowered their guard, and basked in their arrogance and their opulence. Too long. They had been fools too long, and when they understood, it was too late. Their enemies had grown too strong in their absence, and their allies too weak.
Aloud, he spoke, a rasping voice, sad and melancholy, echoing mournfully through the room, sliding along the walls of pearl and silver, dancing over his countless riches and falling upon no ears but his own.
“We were wrong.”
They had believed for so long that they could force all men to bend knee to the light, that if they waged war long and hard enough, they could bring about peace. But true peace is not born of fear. It is false and brittle, like the sword abandoned by the smith, like the wall of glass. And while mighty Runahest had basked in the fruits of her deceit, shadows and serpents had nestled in her heart. The despondent king turned, slowly, as a mighty groaning issued from behind him.
The largest of Runahest’s gleaming pillars tilted drunkenly to a side. Red tongues of fire licked up it’s base, gold and silver and bronze melting and crumbling. Around the base of the pillar, tiny figures danced in the darkness, illuminated by the roaring bonfire, some waving swords and spears in the air, chanting, a steady, thrumming buzzing of thousands of voices in unison. Slowly, slowly the chanting grew, rising in pitch till it grew to a thundering wave, a mighty crescendo that thundered over the city, rising into a jubiliant cheer as, with a grating and a loud snapping scream like steel on steel, the pillar tumbled to the streets below, crushing buildings and people alike under it’s massive bulk, like a fallen giant. A plume of smoke rose into the sky, a dark, choking smoke that blotted the last of the sun’s rays from view as night took Runahest.