Beings of legendary strength and might that had somehow risen to the exalted position. No one knew how it happened or where they came from. But they did know that the newcomers were never so settled as the older powers. That took thousands of years. Also, being newer to the world they did more often concern themselves in the world of mortals.
If this was the work of another, younger power, then there was no way of stopping him or her. Not by mortal men anyway. And there was likely also no way of knowing why they'd done what they'd done, or what was coming next. The only thing they could be certain of was that it would be big and likely deadly.
There was one other matter that concerned him as he brought them home – the fact that they had been let go. Tyrel had known his name – that Edouard had unfortunately expected given that he occasionally interfered in what she would surely consider her business. But she had also known his brother's. That had surprised him. And then she had let them go. There had always been hope of course. And he had been careful not to offend her. But still given that she knew their names, it seemed too easy.
He had the worrying thought that maybe this was all a part of some plan of hers. There were stories – no more than tavern gossip really – that she interfered in the affairs of the world. That her handmaidens did more than just spread her words. That they spied for her, and also sometimes acted. Whether that was true or not he didn't know. But they had been released far too easily in his view.
Still what mattered he supposed, was that she had let them go. He had to concentrate on that – and absolutely stay out of her business from now on.
Just less than an hour later they reached the inaptly named town of Breakwater where he lived, and drove up the long main street. Actually it was almost the only street. A long winding dirt road that wound its way lazily around the side of a gently sloping green hill. Why it was called Breakwater he didn't know. The origin of the name was lost to time. But certainly there were no rivers or seas nearby. It was just a typical farming town on a hill surrounded by leagues of flat land on which crops were raised and sheep grazed.
But it was a nice town. The houses and stores on both sides of the street were well maintained, and most people chose to keep a trough or two of flowers in front of their homes. It was custom. The buildings were an eclectic assortment. A mixture of stone and brick and wood. Some had thatched roofs, some slates and some tiles. And there was no rhyme or reason to the styles. But then Breakwater was an old town and had been settled at least a thousand years ago. As one building became too old to be of use or fell down a new one was built on the spot. The new one was naturally built in whatever style was popular at the time and of whatever materials were available.
It was a good town to live in. The people were friendly. Good folks who waved to them as they drove by. Edouard waved back as he always did. He knew them all. In fact he had spent more than a few evenings enjoying the libations of the two alehouses in town with many of them. Out here, far from the city and the watchful eye of his father, he could be a little more relaxed.
The town had developed to support the rich farmlands surrounding them. So nearly everything the people did was concerned with farming. The blacksmith shoed horses and beat metal for ploughs but he didn't touch swords or jewellery. The clothiers made work clothes and some leathers and furs for the hunters. Rough and serviceable garments, not pointless finery. There was only one seamstress and no tailor in town. There was no need for one. Unlike in Theria itself he was the only one who wandered around in a suit and waistcoat. The stores sold the things people needed rather than the luxuries that were so desired in the city. If he wanted something like that he had to travel
If this was the work of another, younger power, then there was no way of stopping him or her. Not by mortal men anyway. And there was likely also no way of knowing why they'd done what they'd done, or what was coming next. The only thing they could be certain of was that it would be big and likely deadly.
There was one other matter that concerned him as he brought them home – the fact that they had been let go. Tyrel had known his name – that Edouard had unfortunately expected given that he occasionally interfered in what she would surely consider her business. But she had also known his brother's. That had surprised him. And then she had let them go. There had always been hope of course. And he had been careful not to offend her. But still given that she knew their names, it seemed too easy.
He had the worrying thought that maybe this was all a part of some plan of hers. There were stories – no more than tavern gossip really – that she interfered in the affairs of the world. That her handmaidens did more than just spread her words. That they spied for her, and also sometimes acted. Whether that was true or not he didn't know. But they had been released far too easily in his view.
Still what mattered he supposed, was that she had let them go. He had to concentrate on that – and absolutely stay out of her business from now on.
Just less than an hour later they reached the inaptly named town of Breakwater where he lived, and drove up the long main street. Actually it was almost the only street. A long winding dirt road that wound its way lazily around the side of a gently sloping green hill. Why it was called Breakwater he didn't know. The origin of the name was lost to time. But certainly there were no rivers or seas nearby. It was just a typical farming town on a hill surrounded by leagues of flat land on which crops were raised and sheep grazed.
But it was a nice town. The houses and stores on both sides of the street were well maintained, and most people chose to keep a trough or two of flowers in front of their homes. It was custom. The buildings were an eclectic assortment. A mixture of stone and brick and wood. Some had thatched roofs, some slates and some tiles. And there was no rhyme or reason to the styles. But then Breakwater was an old town and had been settled at least a thousand years ago. As one building became too old to be of use or fell down a new one was built on the spot. The new one was naturally built in whatever style was popular at the time and of whatever materials were available.
It was a good town to live in. The people were friendly. Good folks who waved to them as they drove by. Edouard waved back as he always did. He knew them all. In fact he had spent more than a few evenings enjoying the libations of the two alehouses in town with many of them. Out here, far from the city and the watchful eye of his father, he could be a little more relaxed.
The town had developed to support the rich farmlands surrounding them. So nearly everything the people did was concerned with farming. The blacksmith shoed horses and beat metal for ploughs but he didn't touch swords or jewellery. The clothiers made work clothes and some leathers and furs for the hunters. Rough and serviceable garments, not pointless finery. There was only one seamstress and no tailor in town. There was no need for one. Unlike in Theria itself he was the only one who wandered around in a suit and waistcoat. The stores sold the things people needed rather than the luxuries that were so desired in the city. If he wanted something like that he had to travel
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