The early autumn night sky, clear of clouds, glittered with stars and a full moon cast silvery highlights on the darkened forest. The trees circling the clearing, emblazoned by the golden glow of the fire, shadow danced as the flames slid hypnotically across the logs. A plume of smoke slowly snaked a path to the stars.

A young man sits cross-legged near the edge of the fire; his attention on the flames. His ice-blue eyes attempt to catch every nuance of the burning logs: a flicker; the glow of an ember; a small thread of smoke. He wears a simple woven tunic revealing a lightly muscled body. The headband of muted colors holds back his unruly black mane. Although a lowly stable groomsman in the king's service, he also commands the prestigious position of companion to Prince Linnall.

Trel interprets the fire.

A curl of smoke separates from the main plume; he watches it drifts slowly into nothingness. Trel shakes his head in dissatisfaction; the bound hair shimmering as it moves back and forth across his taut shoulders. Slowly, almost trance like, he reaches out for the stick lying near him with his left hand while his right hand pushes a stray lock of hair back behind the ear. He stares into the flames, mesmerized. With every muscle frozen, he sits quietly, waiting. The light dwindles. In a sudden flurry of motion, he shoves the stick into the fire and stirs the embers. The flames awaken and blaze upward with a renewed fierceness. He stands and stretches his arms into the sky to shake away the weary stiffness. He squints and attempts to pierce the dark shadows beyond the fire's light, searching.

The young man chews nervously on his lower lip.

A feeling of being watched can't be dispelled even though the night noises indicate nothing unusual. With a nod of disgust he lowers his arms and glances back over his shoulder to the area behind him.

Trel watches the prince sleep; a slow breathing, the reassurance of a deep and undisturbed slumber.

He again surveys the surrounding area, then with a slight nod of approval to himself, kneels before the fire and stretches his arms in front of him. Trel leans back onto his heels, arches his back and slowly arcs his head toward the heavens.

The enchantment begins.

A single flame bursts from the center of the burning logs and spirals upward. He stands and walks around the fire to the left, completing two full circles. A mere whisper, like that of a rustling within the wind, Trel's lips move ever so slightly while he quietly chants the invocation. Kneeling again, he stirs the embers, entreating the flames once more to climb toward the stars. He then rises and without hesitation proceeds to walk about the fire, this time circling to the right only once. He kneels yet again before the raging flames and holds the stick in front of him between his outstretched arms. The encompassing area is washed in tones of blue as the fire changes color. Trel quickly places the stick onto the logs; totally ignoring the flames as they lick at his hands and arms.

The fire-reading starts.

The blue light fades and the flames resume their flickering reds and golds. Trel's eyes unglaze and he seats himself cross-legged facing into the fire. He is soon intent on the dancing movements of the flames, glowing embers and spiraling smoke. Shaking his head, Trel watches a wisp of smoke curl heavenward.

"No," he shouts. The ensuing silence about the camp causes him to quickly look to where the prince sleeps and sees the young man moving. "By the shades of Aggoth-Bre, I have awakened Linnall," he says.

Slowly forest noises begin again as a cricket cautiously calls to its mate. Trel stands to face the prince and again begins a nervous nibbling of his lower lip.

The prince stands up from the shadows. He is near eighteen Full Season Circles in age. His blond hair in a slight disarray, Linnall pushes back his long locks and grabs his belt. The gold buckle, the only emblem that bears witness of his royalty, reflects the firelight as the prince wraps the leather strap about his waist. He approaches Trel with a smile on his face, a look of satisfaction in his eyes. His plain tunic matches that of Trel's and reveals young muscles still in development.

"Tell me, Trel. What did the fire say?" The prince's voice is not arrogant, but has a richness to it; one that will deepen with age. It is a voice that commands.

"Say? They don't say anything, except to only crackle, sputter and hiss like a viper in anger." The fire is to Trel's back, his face is hidden in shadows; the nervousness not so easily visible. "Why ask me what it says? The true question is 'Why are you not sleeping?'"

"Don't fool with me, Trel. The question is fire-reading, not sleeping. In the Snow Season I will have reached my eighteenth Full Circle. I now know of fire-readings. My father allowed me to watch the sorcerer, Zalran, perform such." The prince swells with pride in this proclamation of accomplishment. "It was not until I had seen Zalran perform the ritual that I realized that I had seen you perform the ceremony before."

"Zalran! That name.'" Trel thinks to himself. "If only Linnall knew the full truth of Zalran's past and of his true ambition. Caught! Just as Zalran had caught me years ago doing a fire-reading. Now the prince has caught me." The memory of Zalran throwing water upon the fire is vivid. Trel winces in remembrance of the beating that he received that night.

"Tell me what it is, Trel," Linnall says. "Trel? Are you listening to me? Trel?"

"Fire-reading? You accuse me of having performed a fire-reading?" Trel stares at Linnall in mock disbelief. "I, a loyal subject, to commit such a feat?"

"I do not accuse you of a fire-reading, Trel. I am stating that you are able to do them." The prince's eyes flash with irritation.

The campfire flickers as the two stand appraising each other. The silence is only broken by an occasional night sound. Trel fidgets under the youth's steady gaze.

"And," Linnall says.

"And I ask again. Do you accuse me of fire-reading?" Trel furrows his eyebrows. "Even the king's son should know that it is treason for anyone but the royal sorcerer to perform such for one of the royal family. Many a demented witch has seen her death for attempting to fire-read in public. Now you accuse me? Does my young companion also accuse me of sorcery and even worse, of insubordination to the king?" Trel attempts to maneuver the conversation to another topic.

'Trel, please don't treat me as a child." The young man bows his head to look at the ground, eyes averted, his left foot lightly fidgeting. He then begins again, slowly, stumbling for words. "You know... I... I have seen you do it before tonight. You can do fire-readings." It is not a question, but instead a simple statement. He snaps his head up, a determined look on his face and stares at Trel. "I awoke during our journey to Asilla. You were fire-reading; but I didn't realize it. Soon after our return to Yorel, I saw Zalran perform one. I was reminded of you sitting at the fire and talking or mumbling to yourself. I started to tell my father, thought better of it and did not give it much credence, until now. I wasn't sure then, so I vowed to stay awake until you also went to sleep. If you had read the fire before, you might read it again. And you did."

Linnall spans the short distance between them and places his arm over Trel's shoulder.

"Please, Trel, tell me what you saw in the flames. I find fire-prophesy so very interesting."

Trel watches the petulance of youth fight with the knowledge of manhood; a need for acceptance, a desire to trust, the power of royalty and the strength of friendship swirl in conflict within the prince.

"My lord," Trel begins, "you have known me as your companion for five Circles. You say you have seen me read the flames before. Do you think that I would perform such a treasonable act to the king and read for one of the royal family? I have been a loyal subject in service to your father for almost eight Full Circles; and now, my dear friend, you ask me to read the fire and flames for you." Trel shakes his head and pulls away from the prince. "Only your father has the right to know what they say; and only Zalran can read the fires for him." Trel's words are cold, his look harsh.

"Trel, did we not share an oath of shield-sworn. With that pact I promised my life to your protection; even above my kingdom. Would I ask a friend to commit treason? Even though I am the son of a king, I do not command you to tell me. I ask as shield-sworn; the truth. Did you not read the fire?"

Trel vividly remembers the secret oath they swore to each other. He stands appraising his young companion in the light of the fire; casting fleeting shadows across Linnall's face. "A pledge sworn to death and sealed on the blood of the Great Gorgon-King, Orbeon and the kingdom of Adavinya. This young man will make a very good king. Never demands or commands of his subjects what he wants; instead he uses a tactful method to retrieve the information he desires." Trel considers while the inner battle between treason and shield-oath blazes like the fire behind him.

"As shield-sworn, my friend, Linnall." Trel's voice is slow and deliberate. "Yes, I truly can read the flames of fire. But, also, as shield-sworn, I implore you not to ask me what the prophesy is, or of my blunt indiscretion tonight."

"Trel, my dear friend, I will not ask the prophesy." Prince Linnall's eyes are alight with interest. "Where did you learn this skill? Did Zalran teach you?" The prince moves pass Trel to find a spot to sit near the fire.

"No." Trel's voice is full of distaste as he turns slowly and takes a place near the prince. "Zalran beat me when he caught me doing a fire-reading. He forced me to tell what I saw; then ridiculed me for its inaccuracies. I had just been taught the method and was but an innocent lad of twelve Circles."

"He beat you?" Linnall seemed surprised. "Did he do that often?"

"Many times, some worse than other; but he did not teach me fire-reading. He taught me none of his sorcerer's ways. It was Teloive."

"She taught you?" Linnall says excitedly.

"Yes, but why do you act so surprised?" Trel turns to Linnall and appraises his companion.

"This is the first proof I have of your elusive Teloive. You have mentioned her from time to time. I thought her to be an imaginary friend, such as my 'Black Man' when I was younger." Linnall smiles at Trel.

"Trust me, Linnall," Trel says and pats Linnall on the back. "She is very much real. She taught me a few other tricks. If you don't trouble me too much, I may show you one or two of them."

"Teloive is a witch?" Linnall's eyes widen in anticipation.

"No. She is neither witch nor sorceress. I'm not sure." Trel leaves the sentence unfinished and again searches into the distant moving shadows.

"Is something there?" Linnall lowers his voice and bends forward ever so slightly to also stare into the darkness beyond the fire's light. His hand reaches out to grab a burning stick.

Trel places his hand out to stop Linnall's movement. "Be still, there is nothing there. I had this feeling of being watched; but I believe it was you. Although." Trel's eyes dart back and forth looking, then shrugs his shoulders.

"Let us move on to other subjects." Trel grabs a stick and moves the burning logs about to encourage a better flame.

"When you were fire-reading, Trel, you said 'No'. May I ask why?"

"I said let us move onto other topics." Trel scowls at the prince and throws the stick onto the fire. "Too much has been said about the fire-reading."

"I only wanted to know why you shook your head so strongly when you watched the smoke go into the air?"

Trel breathes deeply, then glances at his companion. "Will you never give up? I will only say this to you. It revealed that my betrothed, Nori, will marry a man other than me. A man of wealth, by his appearance. I could not see his face. She will bear him a child." Trel's voice cracks. He allows his head to slump forward. "I should not have spoken," he whispers.

The pain and guilt of being caught in the fire-reading is strong on Trel. He knows that what will be, will be; his lovely Nori, beside another man. A vision of her moves through his mind: an albino with long white flowing hair; sometimes worn braided up mimicking the other palace ladies; ivory cream skin and long delicate fingers tipped with pink painted nails. The graceful image dances through his troubled mind.

"And when does this occur, oh mighty soothsayer of gloom?" Linnall's taunts breaking the solitude. "Nori and you are to wed at the full moon after the Festival of Nos'Rovlah."

Trel lifts his head up and glares at Linnall. "I know when I am to wed. Mock not my reading, young prince." Anger and humiliation build within Trel. He stands and faces the prince, the campfire to his back giving his outline a corona to match his anger.

"I do not mock your reading." Linnall shrugs while staring up at the shadow enshrouded person before him. "I only wish to point out what Zalran told my father: 'Not all readings come to pass.'"

"And now you are the expert, after only one reading by your mighty Zalran." Trel's eyes flare wide to reflect the fire. "Trust me, Linnall, I have read the flames correctly. Street hags and charlatans may misread. I do not. What could be, can be; what would be, will be." There is a fire in Trel's eyes; anger flows with the blood in his veins.

"So, if you have read the flames correctly; then, tell me, when does this happen?"

"I cannot tell you. The prophecy is tied to..." He turns from Linnall.

"Cannot? Or will not?" Linnall cuts off Trel's explanation. A new boldness swells in the prince. "Which is it, my friend? Surely, you can reveal something of the time when all this happens without telling me the prophesy."

"Gorgons! I will tell you about the gorgons!" There is almost a little boy quality in Trel's approach to the subject. His eyes are alight with the chance to speak as if this will set him free of the guilt.

"Then tell me, oh mighty soothsayer." The prince stands up and struts his way to a nearby tree. "Tell me of the gorgons since they are of my heritage and ruling." Linnall leans back. "The great gorgons belong to my father and someday to me." This new persona of authority and unusual arrogance in the prince irritates Trel.

Trel glares with furrowed eyes at the young man. Unsure, he starts. "I saw the SnowGorgon running with the JungleGorgon. A strange new gorgon, unknown to me, appeared in our land. The gorgons." Trel's voice stumbles. "The gorgons become fire. A fire so enormous, that they become one large gorgon of flames." He watches the young prince's eyes move quickly about in thought. "I should not have spoken." He sighs heavily then lets his head slump forward.

"No, no. You were right in telling me." Linnall pauses.

"Ah ha!" Linnall says and leaps away from the tree. His quick movements and arm-waving startle Trel from the reverie. "As you know, the SnowGorgon is only seen in the winter months north of here beyond the Iron Mountains in the Arctic Plains. The Junglegorgon is only visible during the summer in the Southern Hills near the South Pass. The fire? Hmm, that should be obvious." He stops abruptly, turns and faces Trel.

"A gorgon of fire? Trel! You speak of the FireGorgon!" Linnall almost shouts the name. The young prince paces back and forth in front of the fire. "Your gorgon of flames is obviously the Firegorgon. It is just a fantasy, a legend. The FireGorgon is not real; it is from the Fire Prophecy, a myth of long ago. It is said that the FireGorgon heralds the return of the Lost One." Linnall's hands wave in the darkness above his head in exasperation.

Trel can now see that the young man is obviously fretting. "I should not have spoken the words of the fire. I have committed treason."

"How can you say that the FireGorgon is part of your reading?" Linnall breaks into Trel's soft prattle. He spins about and faces Trel. "The FireGorgon is of my heritage; it is a part of regal legacy. How can you put your faith in a fantasy? The non-existence of such a beast should prove to you that you have wrongly read about Nori wedding another. She is currently betrothed to you, who would be so bold?"

"FireGorgon? I saw the FireGorgon? The Fire Prophesy? The Lost One?" Trel thinks to himself as he now realizes why Linnall is so agitated. "Believe me, Prince Linnall, that is why I spoke aloud and shook my head. The reading does not make sense, but the flames told me twice the same story. The gorgons and Nori are tied together; all are part of the fire-reading." Trel watches Linnall pace about the campsite. "I beg forgiveness, m'lord." he says to the young prince.

"No fear, Trel. The FireGorgon is just a legend. There is nothing that should be fretted. Prophecy is just prophecy. What could be, can be; what would be, will be. A scholar taught me that!" Linnall watches Trel grin at the phrase Lady Teloive had drilled to Trel over the years.

Another set of sharp eyes and keen ears have watched and listened to the tale. The Silverhawk lifts from the branch where it has sat in silence, spying. The wings flash their undeniable color in the moonlight, denoting its flight direction to be toward the castle-keep. The bird's exit is not unnoticed. Trel watches the Silverhawk's flight.

"We were being watched." Trel shakes his head slightly. "I should have noticed Zalran's familiar earlier. I did not follow my instincts. Caught again by Zalran."

As he watches the escape of the Silverhawk, he glimpses the three stars that streak across the dark sky, falling towards the horizon.

Linnall turns to look at what has caught Trel's attention and caused his friend's face to pale. A Silverhawk! A Silverhawk that obviously belongs to Zalran since they do not exist on this side of the Blue Hills. Prince Linnall is filled with remorse. He has forced Trel to speak and now he must live with this forbidden knowledge.

"Did you see them, Trel? The stars? A good omen?" Linnall is falsely excited in an attempt to bring Trel out of the moodiness.

"Yes, Lin, an omen." he responds. "An ill omen. As fast as the stars fell, the Silverhawk will let Zalran know my indiscretion. No later than mid-day tomorrow, Zalran should have the king's orders for my death." he thinks to himself.

* * * * *

The sorcerer glides over the floor, his robes flow with a slight rustle. The arcane embroidery of silver and gold on the habit glitters in the candlelight.

"Ah, my little one," Zalran says and listens to the bird.

"So, Trel has committed a transgression against his king? Oh, he still thinks he can read the flames of fire, does he?" The voice is deep, yet sweet. There is power in the voice; also sarcasm. Though many leagues separate them, the mind-link between bird and sorcerer is instant. "Well, let me see. Gorgons? Hmm... No fear, my precious one, these gorgons are but fantasies of Trel's vivid imagination. Teloive has ruined his mind to the truths of life. FireGorgon indeed! If the FireGorgon could be invoked, I would have already had done so. Therefore, so much for Trel's reading of the fire. Yet, the fact still remains, he has read the fire for one of the royal family, for Prince Linnall. A very dangerous prospect. Treason, punishable by death. And death he shall have." The vindictive laughter fills the room, an inhuman cackle. He rubs his hands together in satisfaction. The idea of Trel's demise and the ruining of such a good friendship between Trel and Prince Linnall makes this fortuitous moment glorious for Zalran. The thin lips curl upward in a sick smile of smugness.

"At last! Sweet revenge. I lost you as my servant; now the prince will lose you as his companion. An obstacle for many years in my plans for the dominion of the young prince, you now shall be removed. Finally, you have given me just cause to eliminate you. How you can remain so innocent and continue to fight my will after all these years is a notable credit to you, Trel. Nonetheless, death will be quick for you. I would normally prefer a longer lingering situation, but, this is the king's palace. Still, Prince Linnall will be mine." A long gnarled finger is placed on the lips, then taps absently in thought. "Hmm. I must assign a proper companion-teacher for the future king." The black eyes widen with a redden glint when Zalran quickly makes a realization. "Oh, yes, I believe that person will be an excellent choice. With his unsuspecting help, I will have complete dominion over Linnall when King Ariello is finally dead. All the power will then be mine. But, first, a potion, then I must make sure the king is awakened and warned of Trel's foul deed. Dalliance is for fools, quick action for the strong. All I have to do is just make sure." Zalran mumbles to himself while he starts his preparations for Trel's return. With the self-induced euphoria of such a hideous deed, he quickly moves about the room. Vials of potions send their fetid odors into the air. Zalran begins the proper spells.

Far away, the Silverhawk turns in its flight; something has caught its eye.