Rays of sunlight streamed into the room through the carelessly closed shutters. Flies swarmed on the table, remnants of last night's dinner fighting over every scrap of meat. Drop by drop, wine from an overturned cup dripped onto the floor. The room was stuffy. Clothes, cutlery, and weapons were scattered across the floor. In the corner of the room, a man lay on a wooden bed. About forty years old, unshaven, he slept with his arms spread wide and snored loudly. When a ray of light from behind the shutters, which had been wandering across the bed for some time, briefly glinted on the blade of the sword strapped to the sleeping man's side, reached his closed eyelids, reaching his hand. His hand went to his face, as if to ward off the errant ray. To no avail. As if toying with the powerful man, the ray moved toward his other eyelid. The man opened his eyes. He slowly sat up in bed. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Disgusted, he glanced around the room. "I definitely have to get married," he thought sarcastically.
There was a pounding on the door. "What?" he growled. The door slowly opened. The servant cautiously poked his head into the room. Although he hadn't been outside long, he knew full well what the consequences of trying to wake the captain of the royal guard could be. "Captain, our king wants to see you in the throne room immediately," he said, carefully following the man's every move. More than one of his colleagues had had to endure a long time nursing lumps from the captain's boots, which he hadn't managed to avoid in time.
"When does the council begin?" the man asked.
"You've been conferring for half an hour.
" "Damn it, why didn't you wake me up sooner?
" "I was afraid," the servant replied honestly, quickly leaving the room.
The door slammed. The captain cursed under his breath. He quickly got up, put on his boots, checked that his sword was securely in its scabbard, and immediately left the room. How could anyone keep the king waiting so long? He must remember to give this servant a sharp earful. He strode briskly through the castle corridors. Soldiers passing him straightened up and raised their arms in greeting. The captain replied casually.
***
This was the largest and most lavishly furnished room in the castle. The throne room—a high vault draped in silk, beautiful marble columns, massive statues of knights clad in steel. In the center, several men sat at a round table. Their attire, posture, and gaze indicated that these were no ordinary citizens of the kingdom. They all sat intently, staring at the old man, who was the only one standing at the table, pointing at something on an unfolded map. He spoke loudly, gesturing rapidly. The creak of the large doors interrupted him. The men turned toward the entrance.
"Captain of the Royal Guard," the man announced as he entered.
"Really, Richard, you could at least wash up properly before meeting the king," the old man standing by the map greeted him.
"King," Richard knelt, bowing his head.
"Rise, Richard. This is no time for ceremony. "
The captain nodded to the men seated at the table. Practically all the rulers of the Northern Duchies were gathered in the hall. There was Rurik of the Fjords, Tasot—ruler of the marsh duchy of Nasyria, Godric of the mountains, and several other equally important princes and lords.
"Gentlemen," King Barion III, ruler of the Northern Kingdom, returned to the map, his expression worried. "The situation has never been so dire. This isn't the first time the Turleks have violated our borders, but never before have their attacks been so well coordinated. I sent my son Farion south with two thousand men, and he can't cope with them." Our spies report that a rather large fleet is stationed in the Turlec ports. I don't know what they're planning, but I don't like it at all. When my father razed their capital half a century ago, I thought we had already eliminated the danger from that direction. I don't know what all this is about. They rose too quickly. I sent for Farion. He'll arrive soon and perhaps bring some news. Now, gentlemen, let us advise you on what to do until then.
The men pored over the map.
***
Farion didn't arrive. He was killed on his way back to the capital. The attackers caught him in the forest. He had no chance. He and ten guardsmen against an entire band. Practically all were killed by arrows. The rest were cut down by swords.
Richard was on his way south. He left behind a city gripped by grief. Barion, overcome with despair, was unable to govern. Chaos began to creep into the kingdom.
Richard was on his way to Mytiel, the oracle. She summoned him while he was sleeping.
***
"Clouds are gathering over the kingdom, powerful black clouds. Richard, I won't tell you what that means. I'll tell you what I saw. I saw burned villages, I saw rivers of blood, I heard the groans of the suffering, I smelled the stench of burning flesh, I felt terror and something, something I can't explain. I felt the presence of something incredibly evil, something so terrible that all the legends and stories about evil seem like a mere fairy tale. With Farion's death, evil became strong. He was important, incredibly important. For only the hand of the rightful heir to the throne could destroy evil. He must return. He must be born again. Behold the stone. Within it is the soul of Farion. You must choose the woman who will bear the heir. She must be pure, innocent. In her womb you will place the stone. Only be careful that the stone does not touch human blood. Otherwise, all is lost. The world will be plunged into darkness forever."
***
Richard returned to the capital, shaken and lost in thought. The prophecy had worn him down. It was as if Mytiel were absorbing strength from those she spoke to. The precious bundle hung on his chest. He felt its burden, the weight of the task that awaited him. Mytiel had warned him that finding a candidate to become the mother of his heir would not be easy. Evil knew of their intentions. A single drop of blood on the stone, and Farion's soul would be gone forever. And only he had the power to oppose evil. Evil that had no form, evil that was to come. He felt its presence. In the gazes of the people he passed, he saw something that terrified him. Mytiel opened his eyes. Evil had long since seeped into the world. With every injustice, with every cry, it grew more powerful.
Yet Richard felt proud. He had been chosen to bear the stone. Of him would the prophets sing. On him rested the fate of the Northern Kingdoms. He straightened, looked ahead arrogantly. He raised his head proudly.
***
The soldiers scattered like ants in search of the shooter. Swords drawn from their scabbards gleamed in the sun. Some surrounded the man lying on the ground. An arrow was visible in his throat. Blood poured slowly from the wound. The man's tunic was already soaked with blood. The stone hanging around his neck was sticky and red.
Richard slowly closed his eyes. He was leaving. There would be no more songs.
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