The Rose Dagger

single moon rose above the horizon, shining and pregnant. The triplet suns had set, and now all that remained was the soft nighttime breeze and the slow chirping of insects hidden within the landscape. Then distant sounds could be heard, like clapping upon a dirt path. Hooves and feet, coming closer. The various singing creatures of the night paused in their melodies. Wooden wheels turned under a decorative carriage, pulled by four proud horses, one of which was smaller and of a fair white color.

Something golden poked out of the window of the carriage. Golden curls upon a head tumbled out of the window and reflected the moon's white light. The owner of the head had a determined but content look on her face. She closed her eyes as she tilted her head to face the moon that poked over the treetops so that the jewels hanging from her started to gleam. After a few moments her eyes opened to reveal their chestnut color as the young woman peered behind the carriage at the massive number of foot soldiers and guards following the path. She sighed and settled back into the cushy seating of the royal carriage. A slow smile spread across her lips as she thought to herself.

Elves had long ago wipes themselves out in civil war. Humans believed they were the only race in the world, created by the illuminated goddess Iva`na. They were proud and dogmatic, living under the rule of kings and tyrants.

In the ancient days there were many nations scattered throughout the southern regions of Hyath, a landmass of Palurine. There were places of peace but mostly of pain and strife. Battles were common between nations and inside nations. Rulers did not often care for the commonwealth and feudalism reigned. Eventually there were six nations left. Houtin and Secerba had the greatest powers, but were on opposite sides of the continent. The other nations were Mitelin, Ciunas, Moeras, and Grunerba (formerly Secerba).

There was a young girl, raised by a noble of Moeras. Named Aurelia, the girl never knew her mother, and looked nothing like her father – except for her deep brown eyes. She wondered why her locks were gold instead of brown or black, like many other humans in the kingdom had. Whenever little Aurelia asked her father about her mother, he answered vaguely or not at all.

Aurelia was a strong-headed and privileged girl. She was determined to learn the art of battle and swordsmanship, as well as academic subjects. One day, she knew, she would was destined to be married, but wished greatly for a life of freedom and independence.

When the girl was of age, a messenger from the dark kingdom of Secerba came to her father’s manor. The messenger threatened him, saying that the king Valatar would claim Aurelia for his bride or Moeras would burn into the swamps. His hands were tied; as he handed his daughter over for the good of the Moerasian citizens, he begged Iva`na for forgiveness. The noble appealed to his own king for help with fruitless results.

The golden haired girl was thus betrothed to King Valatar of Secerba, a man near thirty with dark hair and bleary eyes. He had no respect for his subjects or his responsibilities. Only a few days in his palace and Aurelia set her jaw and set her mind, vowing to kill the hedonistic man. After the grand wedding, while Valatar was busy with wine, ale, and any woman who gave him a second glance, Aurelia slipped away into the afternoon.

The landscape was dry and looked as if the life had been sucked out of every blade of grass. She fled across rolling brown hills until she came closer to the only river in the nation, where there was a small forest. The trees had many leaves, but they too looked brittle. Aurelia sat underneath one of these dry trees, wondering what to do next. The suns sparkled down through the unattractive trees, casting uneven shadows. With a furrowed brow she stared down at the fallow ground. Suddenly she felt a presence behind her and it sent a chill in her neck. Without turning her head, Aurelia strained her eyes to see out of their corners. An elegant, cloaked figure was peering back at her. She could not see its face, only the soft color of the cloak, that seemed to match the forest completely.

“Who are you?” she asked the mysterious figure.

A fair hand came around the trunk of the tree, and the body it belonged to followed. It was a female figure, despite the garments hiding her, but her face still could not be seen. Only yellow strands of hair fell from out of the cloak hood. Despite what little could be seen, she seemed to glow like the suns.

“You may call me Ialir. And I have come to give you a message, Aurelia.” When she spoke, it was like clear water over rocks in a stream.

The girl stood and threw the wedding veil off of her head. “I will not return to that swine of a king!”

The woman laughed in return, that sounded much like chimes in the wind. She began to speak slowly, and her voice deepened.

“When the child bears no longer the eyes of old, she will rise above and claim the flowering throne of gold.”

“What is that supposed to mean, ‘Iah-leer’?” Aurelia wished greatly for a weapon to protect herself with, but the presence of this woman was overwhelming.

“You may not see me, but I see your eyes, child. They are browner than the dead salque under your feet, deeper than the nearby duin. The prophecy is your destiny; I spoke it many years ago before you were born, before your mother died in childbirth. For only one of your lineage could possibly do what must be done,” with this she paused, the shadow of the trees shifting over her hidden face.

Aurelia, now considered a queen in the land she stood on, was dumbstruck. What could the stranger mean?

“What could you want of me?” she spoke in a hoarse whisper.

“All will be revealed in time, young one,” the cloaked woman replied airily. “There is more to the prophecy, but it would only help to confuse you more. I will say that a great being will visit you. Not I nor any could match His awesomeness, no matter His alignment.”

Aurelia could make out the woman’s smile as she receded into the forest. She lifted a hand and called out, but soon could not make her out between the brown trees that the stranger’s cloak matched so well in the setting suns.

Over the next few days, Aurelia wandered the strange and bleak Secerba. She became lost, mentally and physically. There was little food to find and less comfortable places to sleep in. Her white dress grew tattered. Then, on the seventh night, when she was near starving, she saw a shadow pass over the sky. The small fire she had prepared dimmed and all noise of the night dulled to a distant hum, like a dream. Before Aurelia could readjust her eyes, the shadow was in front of her, blocking out the stars in the sky and the dead, rolling hills that stretched in front of her.

The shadow was a man, or not quite. He began to take a more definite shape. He was cloaked, like the other mysterious stranger, Aurelia noted. Yet he had no skin, and he didn’t have to use shadows to hide his face – he was one himself. His form seemed artificial, and at any moment Aurelia thought he could burst into smoke and drift away. She sat, staring, her heart unable to move as the world stopped.

Mortal child. His voice didn’t appear to be coming from his form, but from all around Aurelia. I have a gift for you.

“Who – what…are…you?” she tried to get the words out of her mouth, but they stuck like molasses.

Naa Nav`ean. I am the Dark Lord, the Master of Shadow, the Consort of Light.

“You…want…to help…me?” Aurelia couldn’t believe what she was hearing and had only heard of this thing, this god, Nav`ean, in stories. Humans only worshipped the one goddess, Iva`na, The Maker of Light.

The spirit’s form shifted as if agitated. Yes, I do want to help you, child. I care for my creation. I want my humans to live together, not war against each other. You are the youngest race yet but not the last.

Aurelia was stunned. This lord of shadow was her creator? She must be dreaming.

“You’re lying!”

The shadow’s shoulders shook, and the young woman heard laughter resonating all around her. My dear, you should not challenge the ultimate God bearing you a gift. The gift I give will assist you, though to your mortal kind it may be called ‘evil.’ In the forests of the place you call Houtin there is a single flowering plant in a clearing. The flowers are red as blood, and from them drip poison even redder still. A single blow and your enemies will fall. Find this gift of mine and you are truly who you are meant to be. Let the Mea`Quessir guide you, Aurelia.

She heard a snap and suddenly she felt herself falling deep into cool water. She tore at the dark water, hoping she was swimming up. When she reached the surface she spluttered for air and found the shore. Aurelia fell to the ground, shivering as a blanket was brought over her.

“My, He isn’t very subtle,” said that musical voice the girl recognized.

“Where am I, Ialir?” Aurelia sputtered.

“In Houtin,” the woman answered simply as she helped her up.

For the next few days, Aurelia stayed with mysterious Ialir, never allowed to see her face, but quietly suspecting something wasn’t quite right about her. They discussed Aurelia’s vision and its meaning. Ialir was often airy and vague, but she gave Aurelia new clothes and presented her with a beautiful golden dagger.

The young woman had contemplated her current situation long and hard. Was she going to follow the god’s will and the enigmatic Ialir? She set off on her own one day in the early hours of morning, to search the vast Houtin forest for a clearing. After a week of wandering, she stood before a clearing, and in the center a single rose bush grew. Aurelia carefully inspected the plant, noticing its large, sharp thorns and the dripping syrup from the buds. Pulling out her golden dagger, she carefully cut segments from the rose plant and wrapped it around the small weapon. The syrup almost went through the leather gloves she wore.

Over the next few months, Aurelia traveled from village to village, becoming a ranger of sorts, dealing with the plain folk and sleeping outside. Over time she began to realize how sheltered she was and what life was like outside stone walls. True, she was trained more than other privileged women, but as she journeyed west, the land became less fertile and harsh. The peasants often suffered from the warring states. It was then that Aurelia began to decipher the meaning of the prophecy. She tried to reject her fate, even as her feet moved west. West, towards Secerba. When she finally reached the nation’s borders, she was horrified. Gunerba seemed wholly ruined on its border, even after having its independence for fifteen years. Aurelia witnessed the death of peasant families by Secerban soldiers, their blood spilt on the fallow earth they worked so hard to plow.

When she entered Secerba, Aurelia began to hear talk of the king. He had sent out spies to comb the countryside for his prize queen from Moeras, and instructed them to burn down anything that looked suspicious. This infuriated Aurelia so much that she turned herself in to King Valatar. He was most displeased that his reputation had been smeared when his prize had escaped from his grasp.

King Valatar looked at his queen in disdain. She was not dressed properly, according to Secerban tradition. Aurelia spat in his face and swore the marriage was never true if it had not been consummated. Before the king could have her locked away in a tower or whatever else he may have thought up in his dark head, Aurelia pulled out the dagger enwrapped with roses. He laughed arrogantly, a smirk playing on his lips until the moment she slipped the dagger into his chest. The Secerban king twitched violently on the ground and screamed his last breaths. Without the poison, the strike would not have been as lethal. Aurelia would have dropped the blade had it not been for the guards that stormed into the ornate room.

The first guard in halted and stared at the dead man. The second did not hesitate and charged Aurelia. In a flash she parried his sword, her eyes wide. With her agility, she ducked under the guard and fled the palace.

Aurelia was now the sole leader of a nation and the assassinator of a king. She fled all the way back to Houtin. There she was found by Prince Locidus, who was paying a visit to the royal forest. The young man immediately fell in love with the golden haired girl. When he asked her name, she frowned and hesitated, but finally answered truthfully. The prince widened his eyes, knowing she was an enemy of the state but also a wanted criminal of their greatest foe to the west. He invited her to stay in the royal keep of Houdin to be under the protection of the king.

Soon Aurelia fell prey to love as well. Despite this, she remembered the path she had set upon. She explained her life to the brunette prince who had stolen her affection. Locidus listened intently and spoke when she had finished.

“Secerbas certainly doesn’t have a throne of gold, or has a particular love of flowers. You say this Ialir stranger told you the prophecy? Have you studied the Elven language? Her name sounds…no, but that is not possible,” he smiled, thinking to himself.

“Indeed, I have not. The elves are all dead and the lands north of the high mountains barren.”

Locidus paced around the floor until his eyes locked with hers. “Aurelia, my love. Now I see what you must do. I shall give you my father’s army, and you will lead it. Together we could lead humanity to peace!”

So it was determined that Aurelia was to unite the split human kingdoms. She only hoped the ends would justify the means. Locidus gave her a fine, white mare and the Houtin army. Aurelia steeled herself for the coming trials. She knew some kingdoms would not give up without a bloody fight. To help her cause, she remembered the slaughter of peasants in Secerba, the battle-strewn lands and the misery of the people.

Thankfully the Houtin army was more used for intimidation than for battle. The fiery people of Mitelin negotiated with Aurelia, and signed a treaty that stated Mitelins were allowed to keep their bonfire traditions and wild festivals. Ciunas surrendered as well, only too happy not to have more blood spilt upon their tiny nation. The Ciunasian king was quite adamant about keeping their stellar magical schools under his jurisdiction, however.

Grunerba was not so obliging. Aurelia was nearly killed when trying to talk to royal representatives. With no other choice, the technical queen of Secerba marched the Houtin army into Grunerba upon her white mare and claimed it part of the Houtin empire. The opposing king spat at her, damning them.

“Iva`na curse ye! We can take care of ourselves!”

“You give us little choice, Your Majesty. I would have thought you thankful for my termination of Valatar of the West.”

The Houtin army was well trained and was better equipped than the battle-worn fighters of Grunerba. Many times through the fights, Aurelia doubted herself and the prophecy, wondering if she had perhaps hallucinated all of it and was massacring men in her insanity. She was a stealthy warrior, preferring to sneak on unsuspecting enemies, if only to avoid seeing their faces when they fell over and convulsed from the potent poison. Eventually the weary Grunerban soldiers assassinated their king, who would not surrender on his own.

The next fight was against Secerba. Loyalists who did not wish to give in to a murderous queen like Aurelia gathered forces and fought the Houtin enemy. These were mostly the wealthy, who prospered on the backs of the suffering common people. Many of the lower class joined and took refuge with Aurelia, believing she was the rightful ruler through marriage. Aurelia herself had said she did not want to be considered married to Valatar, but understood its significance now. She was acting the part of a great general and leader, more determined with each foe she faced. In the end, Aurelia and her army beat down the loyalists and claimed Secerba.

There was only one nation left. As the host entered Moeras, Aurelia’s stomach sunk into the saddle. She had not seen her father in almost two years. Would she have to fight against him? Surely he knew who the Secerban warrior queen was. The marshes of Moeras were known to be exceptionally dismal, and the day the host entered they seemed even more foreboding than Aurelia could ever remember.

The army approached the Moeras Citadel, a large city holding many of the middle class of the nation. Suddenly fire, ice, and blackness rained down from the battlements. Houtin and Secerban soldiers fell over from the magic pummeling them. Spellcasters of all shapes and sizes were muttering and gesturing from up above, throwing down their powers. All of them wore combinations of purple, red, and black on their robes. Aurelia narrowly missed a sharp ice bolt as her horse reared in fright. She ordered the large doors to be broken down and the archers to fire at will on the powerful mages and warlocks. Spells continued to fall as arrows shot from all directions toward the battlements. Screams were heard and some spellcasters fell over the walls. The general knew there would be no negotiations for Moeras now.

When the doors were at last broken through, Aurelia charged into the Citadel at full speed. She knew this fight would take more lives than any of the previous. It was fortunate this was her homeland, as she quickly steered her white horse in the direction of the king’s castle. Her horse’s hooves clattered loudly against the cobblestone, echoing against the walls and empty streets. All citizens appeared to be gone or hiding. Aurelia jumped off her mount, surprised more to find no guards in the halls of the king. As she ran through, there was no sign of any noble, any subject, any official. Finally she threw open the doors to the throne room. The blue flags of Moeras that should have been hanging all across the hall were gone, and instead replaced with purple and black flags, portraying a great eye. Aurelia stood in the center of the stone room, until she looked at the throne itself. On it sat a proper looking man with an extreme smirk on his face. She couldn’t help but think of Valatar, but this man had premature grey hair.

“I knew you would come,” he spoke in a voice that was so thick with contempt Aurelia could feel it in the air. He wore a tabard with the same symbol as the dark flags, and his black robes were lined with decorative silver. His black Vandyke beard had spots of grey, a sure sign that his energies were being used in magical endeavors.

“Kellen. Lord Kellen. Of the Order of the Eye?” Aurelia recalled the internal political struggles when she still lived in Moeras.

“The same,” he sneered and shifted his foot. Aurelia watched and gasped in horror. Under his foot was the bloodied corpse of her father.

“I’ll kill you for this!” Aurelia screamed, and her sword flashed out of her left sheath. The golden dagger still hung at her right hip.

Lord Kellen laughed and flung his hand up in the air. She was cast backward, thrown across the room, skidding against the marble flooring. As she stood and regained her balance, Kellen raised his hand again. It formed a claw and he removed his foot from over the corpse. Aurelia watched in dread as her father rose from the marble tiling and began to hobble over to her. He – or the body, rather – pulled a sword from the sheath at his waist. The young queen and general could only shake her head in disbelief. Thoughts raced through her mind, memories of her father and memories of the prophecy she was supposed to fulfill. The dead noble raised the sword and swung it at her. She yelled in pain as it missed her neck and cut her shoulder.

Aurelia glanced back at Lord Kellen, gesturing his hands like a puppeteer, a confident smile still on his face.

“Light preserve me!” she gasped as she parried another attack from her dead father. Or Lord of Darkness. A foreign thought came to her mind. She could not fight her own father, even if he were controlled by one of his old competitors.

“Gaendila ta!” a clear voice echoed. A flash of yellow-white light blinded Aurelia. The corpse of her father shot up into yellow flames and disintegrated. When it was over she turned to see Ialir standing in front of her protectively. The hood of her cloak was down and Aurelia could scarce believe her eyes. Pointed ears protruded about an inch out of her yellow hair. Her entire form appeared to glow.

“Argh! Elf! You’re supposed to be dead!” Lord Kellen growled from his throne and stood up in his vexation.

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you believe that human myth when you were trained by Antraen, a Mori`Quessir himself,” Ialir said distastefully.

Lord Kellen’ eye twitched. His voice deepened. “Antraen is an ant to me. I trained him and all the others, and they are bound to me!”

Aurelia could hear her own heart in her eardrums as she watched Ialir’s turquoise eyes darken. When the child no longer bears the eyes of old…

“Quen Verin!” Ialir suddenly screamed shrilly as she pointed a tapered finger at Lord Kellen.

“The same,” the voice mocked Lord Kellen’s. His skin and eyes began to turn red and he grew in size, his presence dwarfing the two women.

Before them stood a great and terrible demon. He stepped forward, which was a large way. His clawed, red hand made swipe at Aurelia. Two things happened at once. Ialir yelled something and more white light short forth, blasting the demon’s side. At the same time, Aurelia had seen the movement and ducked under the red demon’s legs and climbed out behind him.

He boomed a laugh at Ialir and shoved her aside with his hand. “You cannot kill a son of Nav`ean, elf.”

Aurelia had her golden dagger out, which dripped red poison from the thorny rose vines still wrapped around it. “But Nav`ean’s creation can,” she whispered and shoved the dagger as hard as she could into the demon-god’s lower back. He yelled and turned around, his red eyes rolling into his oversized head. Before falling to his knees he swiped Aurelia aside much the same as he had Ialir. The demon writhed in pain and his form sizzled, black and red smoke curling from the body until all that remained was Lord Kellen.

He gasped and with all the power the human man could muster, rasped, “It’s not so…easy. My followers will continue w-with Antraen’s work!” With that he fell dead on the floor.

Aurelia held her head, dizzy from the heavy hand that had swatted her like a fly. Everything from the past hour flooded back to her. When the child no longer bears the eyes of old…

“Ialir!” she gasped and looked up at the elven woman, who stood before her. “Why did you not tell me – of all this?”

“I am sorry, it had to be this way. Your mother made me promise never to tell you what you were, but I suppose I’ve broken that in a sense.”

“My mother? What I…am?” Aurelia couldn’t quite fit it all together in her mind.

“Aurelia, I helped your mother through her childbirth. I am also her mother,” Ialir said heavily. It seemed to reverberate throughout the throne room.

“That’s not possible…you – you’re an elf. You don’t look a day over twenty…” Aurelia stumbled over her words. “And…and…” Aurelia gestured dumbly to her own ears, seeming to imply she had no pointed shape on them.

Ialir nodded sympathetically. “I can assure you I am much older than twenty, and being your grandmother would make you one-fourth elven, as my husband was human. ‘When the child bears no longer the eyes of old, she will rise above and claim the flowering throne of gold.’ The prophecy I made also stated that neither elf nor human could do the task you have done. If you gathered, I am a prophet. Here, let me help you up, my child.”

It took time for Aurelia to accept all that had happened. Her father’s death she mourned most of all, and she did not blame him for her engagement to Valatar. Now the ordeal was done. All six kingdoms were one, and with the marriage of Aurelia and Locidus, Secerba and the empire of Houtin would have even stronger ties.

Aurelia smiled and glanced at the moonlight shining through the carriage window. The wedding reception had been wonderful and now she turned to her husband in contemplation.

“Locidus, I don’t think Houtin is a good name anymore.”

He sat opposite her and he raised an eyebrow. “You don’t? What would we call this empire then? I’m not going to name it after you, if that’s what you want,” he grinned.

“Ghelinfal,” she said simply. “Shining, yellow…”

“Oh, I see,” he responded humorously. “You want an empire named after your hair.”

She shook her head. “For the Light, of course,” she whispered. It didn’t matter who created the humans, she decided. Even the Lord of the Dark must understand his humans strived for goodness.

And so, Aurelia gave to the people what they never had before: peace. The Ghelinfal Empire stretched from coast to coast, united as one. They raised the Rose Dagger as the symbol of all humanity, a sigil of passion and conflict, unknowingly given to them by their true creator. The empress would not admit any elves existed and refused to speak of her heritage, but rumors and tales of old spread again over the land.