Briskly Sage stepped out of the carriage. She followed the whip. They walked up the the stone path that lead to a castle, sitting in the middle of an island surrounded by an impressive moat. Gallia's castle was far more exclusive than Galvenston's. Gaurds were stationed with lanterns on either side of the wide draw; administering who left and entered the castle. Once they were within the confines of the castle walls. The draw bride was mechanically raised, to cover the space where an entrance had been.
The winding passage ways were lit up with candles on the walls. Sage followed the whip, all to aware of Drakmor's presence behind her. A million thoughts of regret were racing through her mind. Why had she kissed the man? It was impulsive and perhaps reckless. Drakmor was her friend the last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize their friendship, but it seemed she had already over complicated things with a kiss and forbidden feelings for the man, she thought. Mentally, she scolded herself, she didn't and couldn't have any feelings for Drakmor other than friendly ones. Even so, she walked faster, putting some more distance between them. The less rational part of herself was somewhat hurt.
After what seemed like Eons they were led to a large throne room. The room was a simple and intimidating space. On a raised alter two thrones sat side by side. One for the Emperor and the other for his wife, as they would conduct meetings here with their ruling Lords and Lady's here. Behind the thrones was a large red curtain. Always pulled shut; giving mystery to what it concealed. In front of them stood an older man, with a long gray beard that extended past his waist line. Sage recognized the friendly old man. It was Yolous, the Emperor of Gallila. The whip bowed before leaving the room. Sage and Drakmor bowed respectfully towards the Emperor.
When they stood up, Sage realized the Emperor's face was solemn. She had seen him only a few short months ago, but he looked like he had aged years since.
“My Prophet speaks of a worrisome presence in the area,” he announced.
Before Sage could ask who this mysterious Prophet was. Yolous held up his hand to usher them forward. He pushed aside the long red velvet curtain that reached up to the twenty foot high ceiling.
The only thing behind the curtain was a small round table made out of marbled. On top of the table sat a red pillow. Whatever sat on the pillow was covered by a swatch of fabric.
Sage stole a glance at Drakmor, who became guarded as Yolous's hand went for the swatch of fabric. He lifted it revealing what was underneath.
Sage gasped in horror. Yolous shot her an offended look.
“F-forgive me”, she stammered, averting her eyes from the marble table. “I wasn't aware that your prophet was a severed head.”
Yolous gave her a slight nod. His hand patted the sleeping head's black curly hair. Sage dared a look at the head. Judging by the subtle beard forming under it's chin, she guessed it to be male. Yolous patted the head one more time and it's large gray eyes opened.
“Odyous, “ Yolous addressed the head. “repeat the prophecy you told me earlier.”
Odyous's voice came out deep and deliberate, “Of course Emperor. There is a force of dark magick, moving in on the Syrian's. It will lead to the death of many Empires, and give birth to a stronger, darker one. Loyalty and allegiance will be tested. It is a war, I fear we cannot win.”
“Nonsense,” Drakmor growled. “If this head is suggesting we pledge loyalty to the Syrian's or face inevitable death, I assure you there is another answer. There has to be!”
Yolous shot Drakmor a warning look. Drakmor lowered his voice. “I think I know what the dark force is, I know what he wants.”