[Amanaduial the archer]

The Priestess was a patient woman, but her patience was being sorely tried as she waited outside the Queen's apartments, so eager was she to talk to Bekah. But she controlled her impatience and waited in the awkward, stuffy silence of the palace antechamber, unsure of what to say to Tarkan. The Priest, however, didn't feel the need to talk much, after some initial small talk - he seemed caught up in his own thoughts. So, after finishing off with pleasantries, the two descended into silence. Well, if you could call it that. Sound as muffled throughout the palace, despite it being an open, stone building, by the tapestries and rich rugs all over the palace, so very little noise pervaded the antechamber; but Zamara couldn't help noticing that Tarkan's breathing really was very loud.

After several rather uncomfortable minutes in which the Priest seemed rather disinclined to talk, the sound of a servant's feet were heard coming down the corridor. Zamara stood in anticipation. Tarkan sent her a condescending, superior look, then rose slowly and almost regally - and maybe it would have worked on anyone else, Zamara thought disapprovingly. The Priest was just about the least majestic individual she knew...

"The King will see you know, Priest Tarkan," the servant said nervously, eyeing the Priest with nervousness as if he was about to run. Zamara wondered about this - Tarkan had never struck her as being particularly terrifying. Sneaky, maybe, but terrifying...not so much. Tarkan smiled and, with a last, almost mock-courteous bow to Zamara, he left, radiating self-satisfaction at being called up first. The servant sent the Priestess an apologetic glance, then scurried after him.

Zamara narrowed her eyes after Tarkan. Of all the cheek, why had he been called first? Realising she was being petty, Zamara rose abruptly and turned to the tapestries on the wall behind her, inwardly seething. Tarkan had been sniffy with her today, almost as if she was beneath his notice, and what with that performance at the banquet in addition to that...Zamara shook her head, her eyes barely focusing on the delicate, angular figures in the tapestries. It seemed many people were changing, whether because of the Emissary or not. Evrathol's visit to the temple, the General Morgos' apology... And then there was the other matter, the matter of what Zamara had seen the other night, on the way back from the banquet, as she had chanced to look up at a balcony of the palace.

The priestess pursed her lips, her brow furrowing as she stared intently at the tapestries. Her eyes were indeed turning slightly blue, an unnatural colour for the Pashtians - she was not sure if others had noticed, but Zamara, although she didn't know what it was, had realised early last year that it was affecting her sight. But she was so sure of what she had seen...

One minute the king was there, the next....vanished!

Sinking into these worrying thoughts, Zamara's eyes suddenly caught on a detail of the tapestry. It seemed to be an early history of Pashtia, and was quite faded, but Zamara could still clearly see the images of a large group of people marching - or were they running? - away from a green, grassy land, women, children and all. But there were rather few children, and the weaver had caught the expressions of the people quite vividly: they wore faces of weariness and aged wisdom. Avari? It was what the pictures looked remarkably like, but there were far more of the elves that Zamara thought were in the city in the present age. At the front of them, one particularly elf stood out, his stance defiant, his face shaded by a silver-grey helmet with a magnificent white plume - obviously a leader of some sort. And behind...a damp stain marred the picture, making it hard to see who stood on the grassy land, making it was an indistinct mass of black, jagged shapes. But one figure the Priestess could see quite clearly: a tall, dark figure, his hand raised high, holding a sword, his dark face completely shadowed by a terrible helmet.

There was something about this figure that made the Priestess stop, and a shiver traced down her neck, the fine hairs at the nape rising as if in warning, despite the heat of the antechamber. But despite the way this figure stood out, he was like no elf she had ever seen - he seemed mannish, but somehow all-powerful... She wondered at how a picture, faded as it was, could convey such strength.

The writing beneath the figure was obscured by the damp, so Zamara moved on. She narrowed her eyes, bending down slightly, her long dark fingers tracing the pictures back in sequence until she came to the image a few frames that made her stop: a battle scene. She could see the defiant Avarin leader standing frozen, looking up at something as if in horror, and, following his gaze, saw...

Drat! Confound these stains! The picture was blurred, the dyes running into each other, but still, some details remained clear in the object of the elf's attention: the dark figure. His hand was held high still, but this time holding not a sword but something smaller, that glistened somehow, but was so tiny. Zamara leant in closer to see if she could work out what it was...

The sound of light, quick footsteps caught Zamara off guard and she spun around, her robes rustling softly. The sound must have caught the visitor's attention, for the footsteps stopped - a visitor with most astute hearing indeed then! She wondered whether it was one of the Avarin. Stepping forward so she could see around the corner into the corridor, Zamara smiled at Morgos himself, who stood with the expression of a trapped rabbit.

"Good day, General," Zamara said warmly, smiling at the elf.I was just thinking about you... "I was not aware you were visiting the King today?"

"Oh...no, no, I came to see the Prince," the General replied, seeming distracted. As soon as he had said the words, he somehow seemed to regret it, snapping off the end of the last word as if trying to take it back. His stern, wary gaze rested on the High Priestess, and then flickered past her to the tapestry - he must have noticed her looking at it before, she guessed. Had he seen this tapestry before? Zamara deliberated on whether or not to tell him about it - sure, what harm could it do? He had surely seen something like this before...

"General Morgos, later in the day, it is necessary for me to leave the city and go to some of the farms to the East. I wondered if I would be able to borrow an escort of a few of your soldiers?"

Morgos frowned briefly. "May I ask what this visit is about, that you might need protection?"

Zamara shrugged her shoulders lightly. "There are many strangers to the city of late, General, many changes." Her eyes rested on his as she hesitated, then added, "It is...a strange matter. Some villagers think they have seen a...a demon."

It was all the elf could do not to raise his eyebrows, Zamara noticed with slightly amusement. "A demon?" he repeated impassively.

"It is what they said. A strange creature, round in girth and larger than a man, without fur but apparently covered almost entirely in leaves, from which...eyes could be seen. And apparently creaking, almost like a song." She shrugged again. The General's intense, unbinking stare made her feel slightly self-concious. But there was a change in his expression now, which had come about as she was speaking, and he had taken a step forward when she mentioned the leaves. "Cr...creaking, you say, Priestess?" he said slowly.

Zamara nodded. "It is what was told to me. Why, have you any idea of what this creature could be?"

The elf hesitated, then shook his head hastily. "I shall arrange a guard for you. Was there anything else you wished to speak to me about?"

Zamara made up her mind. Stepping back, she angled herself slightly towards the tapestry behind her. "General Morgos, are you familiar with-"

A sound that Zamara recognised as the Queen's voice came from within her appartments, muffled by the silks on the doors so that the Priestess could not hear the exact words; it was closely followed by the commanding voice of what sounded like a chamberlain. Her call to enter, she presumed. She took a step away from the tapestry, almost guiltily. "Excuse me please, General-"

"Of course. Good day, High Priestess." With that abrupt dismissal, the elf was gone, striding away down the corridor. Zamara watched him for a second, then looked towards the tapestry thoughtfully...before dispelling all thoughts of it from her head and pushing open the door of Bekah's chambers to enter. Little did the Priestess know how important the faded, worn pictures of the bright elf's battle with this dark, godly figure would turn out to be...