The Druid's Muse (prologue)

Prologue

Magic. Mysterious and dangerous, it is the force that controls my world. Legend says it created life itself, and without it death would reign upon my race. Nowadays most people believe the legends are simply bedtime stories to tell their children, and magic is only a toy to be wielded by witches and warlocks. It seems the legends are true, though, and the magic that created us might not be able to save us. My elven nation remains virtually unprotected, lulled into a false sense of security after decades of peace. A dark magic has begun to rise, threatening everything. I don't know what to do.

Looking out into the night Eden saw the glow of oil-lamps blanketing the quiet streets of his city. Here and there lamps began to sway as the wind picked up, creating a symphony of creaks as if a wind chime hung outside his window. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a flame flicker and disappear into the night. At that moment he felt as fragile as that tiny flame and almost as helpless.

A cool breeze eventually whistled past the open window in his bedroom chamber, sending a chill down his spine. The wind picked up a bit and whipped at his loose fitting robe. Eden pulled the fine material close to his neck and rose to close the window. Before securing the window's latch he paused for a moment to take one last look at what had become of his beautiful kingdom. Once his Elven nation had flourished, the land being rich and fruitful, the people healthy and happy. Just outside his window was a spectacular garden, full of life and bursting with color. To compare the delicate hues of the flowers to the shades of a rainbow would do them a great injustice. The gardens covered acres of rich land and were carefully manicured every day to produce dazzling perfection. People used to come from far away simply to see the wondrous sight. But everything was different now. The gardens used to brim with life, warm the soul with a potpourri of smells, and inspire a proud city. Now there were only dried mounds of dirt, and rotten, decayed stumps of once magnificent trees. Even the small river, which flowed through the center of the garden, had all but dried into a lifeless ditch. As Eden stood at the window he noticed only the stench of rotted wood and stagnant water. It made his stomach turn. Not a single flower or tree had survived the death that ravaged the land.

A tear came to the eye of Eden Sylvestri, king of the Elves, as he watched a cloud of dust swirl in the wind over the lifeless gardens. He ran his hands through the thick, curly locks of blond hair that covered the telltale pointed ears of his race. He turned away with a look of sorrow painted over his face. His eyes were strangely penetrating and told of his life's events. They revealed intelligence and poise beyond his ninety-eight years. Eden was young to be a king. Nevertheless, in the short time he sat on the throne, his popularity had risen quickly throughout his subjects partly due to his charm, but mostly being a product of his charitable policies. Due to recent events, however, he felt that he was losing the trust of his people. It troubled him.