Gadolor

Ten Million White Diamonds

Dawn sent pale winter sunbeams over the land.  Snow lay across it in a thick white blanket. Golden light struck Astor’s valley fort like brilliant arrows from the East, casting a long shadow behind it.

Winter’s silence was shattered by the blast of a horn. Within the fort, men jumped to life, blinking away sleep as they reached for weapons. The captain ran from his quarters, his boots hastily laced, sword-sheath in hand. On the eastern wall, a watchman stood with his horn upraised. “Report,” the captain called.

“One horse approaches from the Pass,” the man returned, squinting against the sun, “It is Lortosan, by its gear.” The captain’s face fell. One horse from Lortosa—the king had warned him to expect a messenger. His soldiers assembled in the shadow of the wall, their steel in hand, ready to receive the rider. “Open the gate,” he ordered.

Blinding sunlight poured through as they pushed the gate back, straining against the weight of a snowdrift. The field of white shattered the light, glittering like a sea of diamond, impossibly bright. The horse approached, plowing snow before it, its breath a golden halo of steam, the rider silhouetted in the cloud of brilliance. “Good men of Astor!” a voice hailed, “Quick are your eyes and light your feet, even at the crack of dawn.”

A hand grasped the captain’s. It was torn and bleeding, obviously chaffed by chains. Blood stained the rider’s ripped clothing, and weariness bent him in the saddle. Yet an air of triumph lay about him.

As they moved away from the blinding light, the captain looked up at a face he knew. The men gave a cry of wonder, for this rider was their prince.