Origins Pt 1

Preface


It was very late when they arrived. Hard men from the south riding under the banner of Lord
Gilderoy, bringing news of an attack on the castle of the MacMahon. The family all dead, the attackers barely beaten off. They were searching for some escapees from the attack and thought some might have come there.  As they approached the Grove of Cael Nev, they came upon a single Windrider who was on foot.
The night was dark and stormy, wind blowing the hard falling rain. Lightning lit the skies in spurts and sheets, sometimes blinding bright like day. Thunder so loud at times you could feel it strike you to the bone.
“Halt!” called the Windrider.  
“We are here to search the Grove,” said the leader of the troop of men.
“You may not pass for any reason,” said the Windrider.
“Our orders are to search everywhere, and our orders come from Lord Gilderoy!” stated the troop’s leader.
“Not even I could enter the Grove right now, as one of the coursers is throwing a foal as we speak,” said the Windrider. As he said this a full score of coursers stepped out of the shadows behind him. The smallest of them stood a man’s height at the shoulders, and weighed in nearly 2 and a half tons.  The largest was huge, and obviously not happy. The troop’s horses instantly became nervous.  “If you wish you can take the matter up with the coursers, but they are not easy to talk to.”
“If you will guarantee that none have entered in the last couple of hours, we will go elsewhere,” said the troop’s leader. After he did the largest of the coursers moved up and shouldered his mount, nearly making it fall, and him nearly fall off. A hoof nearly the size of his head flashed next to his face.
“I give you my word that no person could enter the Grove without the direct intervention of the gods themselves right now,” said the Windrider.
After several seconds, the troop leader got control of his mount. “Very well,” he said. The troop turned around and left much faster than they had approached.
A few minutes later a blanket of lightning seemed to strike the Grove itself. “Hammer of Thorn, God of Storms, War and Justice have Mercy!”  cried the Windrider. Suddenly calm seemed to settle down. Lightning continued to light the sky, but at a distance. The wind died out, and the sound of thunder ceased. After a few seconds a low rumble started up. It started to build in strength. At first it came from inside the Grove, but soon it came from everywhere. Coursers started coming in from every possible direction. Soon hundreds of them were charging in a huge circle around the center of the Grove. The ground shook with the force of their hooves, and the thunder of their gallop made even the thunder of the heavens sound weakened. After several seconds when it seemed as if the ground itself would not be able to stand the impact of the hooves any longer, they all stopped as one and faced inward. They all reared and gave cry at the same time, giving homage to the new birth. The future King of the coursers was born.
 
Chapter 1

The next morning dawned with clearing skies and sunshine peeking over the hills and crags. Captain Murdoch was no longer a young man.  Grey hairs now outnumbered the dark brown ones of his youth. Years had added a few pounds to his frame, but for a man of fifty years he was still very fit. The cold of the north here caused his southern born bones to ache. Injuries accumulated over many years of being a Windrider did not help; in fact he walked with a slight limp because of them. As he looked over his room and office he could not help but notice the stable it originally started as several generations ago. He missed the more elegant structures of the south that he grew up with, but had come to realize and appreciate the practicality of the solid structures the northern weather made needful. Back in the south this building could be a fort, and if he looked into the histories he would probably find that it had been used as one here.  He was just starting to drink his first cup of morning tea when his bell started to ring and someone started pounding on his door. Someone seriously wanted to get his attention. He got up and walked to the door.
Rupert McTavish was standing outside his door. He was out of breath and covered with mud. A tall well-built young man of fifteen years just starting to grow into the fullness of manhood, a combination of youth full confidence and awkwardness that was amusing to watch at times. “Senior Cadet Rupert McTavish reporting, Sirra! I mean Sir!” he practically yelled. The very last traces of boyhood still clung to his voice, but showed the very pleasant tenor that was developing. Murdoch raised his eyebrow at the lapse of proper etiquette. Even three years at the Academy had yet to remove the influences of northern culture, and likely never would completely. “What disaster has you beating down my door and breaking my bell before my morning tea Cadet?”  
Rupert came to a form of attention and replied, “Sir I think your presence is needed in the birthing grove. Something is very odd, Sir. Murdoch let a few seconds pass before he raised his impressive eyebrows again in suggestion. “Sir, it’s the coursers, Sir. They willa no’ let anyone in to see the new foal, Sir. They even attacked me when I tried to pass, Sir!”
Murdoch took a deep breath as he considered this news. “Go and tell Randolph that his presence is required immediately at the birthing grove, then go to the Wood Elves enclave and request the presence of Starshadow. After that you may go get cleaned up and get a new uniform on.” Rupert looked a bit shocked at the prospect of dealing with such formidable personalities, but obviously something was very wrong in the Grove of Cael Nev. “Now boy, run!” Rupert took off like a shot, the advantages of youth, having recovered from his long run in from the Grove. Murdoch tossed his tea out the door, tossed his cup back in as he started out at a run himself. As he ran he gave a whistle, and after a few seconds he heard the pounding of hooves approaching from behind. As Snowbiter came alongside him, he mounted at the run, swinging onto his back with the ease of years of practice. Snowbiter was Murdoch’s windbrother, and within a few strides you could tell why they were called that. Snowbiter had a size and strength that no normal horse could match. Coursers were the product of magical and godly intervention, intelligent as any man, with a size and power that very few creatures could match. Capable of communicating mentally with those they chose to bond with when touching them, and the stamina to run at a full gallop from dawn tell dusk quite literally. When coursers galloped very few creatures could keep pace.
Snowbiter was typical of a courser stallion. A dappled roan in coloring, nearly seven feet at the shoulder and absolute perfection in motion, within those few strides the pair was moving at speeds that only a fortunate few men or elves had the privilege of reaching and surviving. As they went to the Grove, Murdoch asked if Snowbiter knew what was wrong, but was told that he knew of nothing being wrong. Even Snowbiter agreed that something was very wrong if events had happened as explained, and even more so if he himself had not been informed. After all he was the lead stallion of the herd here; he should have been informed of any major issue. If the mares were keeping people from visiting the new foal, something was very wrong. While out in the wild sometimes they might have to deal with predators, no predator would dare come within leagues of the Grove. The mares also loved nothing more than the attention that they and their new foals got here in the Grove. To keep children out of the birthing grove when a new foal was there, and even attack one, was something completely unheard of.
The trip that took Rupert likely twenty minutes of hard running took about two for the pair. Down a well maintained path that led to a grove of trees that formed a large circle with a meadow inside that was hidden by those trees. A group of Cadets and younger children was outside the grove, which was normal. What wasn’t normal was the Cadets were obviously keeping the younger children away from the grove, and between every pair of trees stood a mare. As far as he could see to either side stood a mare between every pair of trees, alert and placed to keep out anything. Murdoch felt Snowbiter reach out with his mind, and felt as he was pushed back. As they pulled up in front of the Grove, Murdoch slipped off of Snowbiter, but kept touch with him. He could feel it as Snowbiter reached out again, this time asserting his dominance as the lead stallion of the herd. This time the resistance crumbled. One of the mares gave way to make a path, and Murdoch and Snowbiter started into the Grove. As they did Murdoch told the Cadets to continue to keep others out. They made the way through the trees until they came to the meadow.
At the center of the meadow were four bodies. The new dam was standing over three bodies, one a stallion who was obviously dead, body riddled with arrows. Beside him was the newborn foal, coal black from nose to tail, as all newborn coursers were. The foal looked up as they approached, and you could see the sparkle in his eyes of the freshly joined. He was far too young to have been joined, having just been born a few hours earlier. He was wrapped protectively around the body of a child. The child had an arrow in him as well. “That is Wabash… he was Windbrother to…” Murdoch started to say when he heard, ‘STOP! Do not say or think that name for now. That name is a danger to my Chosen, he is mine and I am his. I shall defend and serve with him with my last breath and with my last drop of blood, as did this honored Windbrother defend and serve his Chosen, until past the very last.’ Murdoch was shocked by the voice in his head. The sheer power of it was even more amazing than the obvious youth of it. He knew without asking that it was the foal, and it was frightening in a way, because he did not think coursers could talk to humans they were not touching, unless they were talking to their own Chosen. And even those that could talk to their Chosen without touching them were few in number. Murdoch felt Snowbiter brush up against him, and tell him that this young foal could talk to any he chose. And that his statement of danger was well founded, considering the politics of the day. After a few moments of thought, Murdoch grudgingly agreed.
Within a few moments both Rupert of Wellingham and Starshadow MoonHealer arrived. Both had the advantages of magic to aid them in travelling quickly. Rupert was a youngish man who looked barely past his teen years, although he was nearly thirty. Shoulder length white hair that was not the mark of years, but of magic, with a dark beard and mustache. Athletic body and carriage showed a vitality that would likely follow him thru many decades. His robes showed him to be a full mage, capable of great things of magic. His fitness and grace showed him capable in the physical world as well. He was well known for his command of a wide range of human magic for such a young mage. Starshadow Moonbeam was typical Wood Elf. Exotic beauty combined with slim muscular grace, both combined with not quite human features that guaranteed to draw the eye. She also looked to the human eye to be in her twenties, but considering her long lived elven heritage, she could very well be over two hundred years old. A well-known healer, she was a veritable calming force of nature just by her presence.
She made a move toward the boy child and checked up hard. “Sun, Moon and Stars have grace and grant peace! The physical damage is bad enough, but… can you see it Rupert?” she breathed with an air of astonishment.  
The reply from the human mage was tinged with awe. “The damage done to cause these psychic wounds must have been traumatic indeed. This is going to complicate healing immensely, if it is possible at all.”
Murdoch looked at each of them in befuddlement, “What are you two talking about?” As the elf stepped closer she seemed to be looking at more than the eye could see.
 “Every magical channel that this child has was ripped open by some sort of shock, and he has all four channels at his disposal.” The human mage said, “Ripped wide open to a point that if he ever learns to use even one to near full ability, that his abilities will make mine look like that of a hedge mage. And with his partial elven heritage, he may have the years to learn.” Rupert had a face and tone that was slowly starting to gather increasing outrage and overwhelming anger.
“This could be the very thing we need to do something about the situation with Lord Gilderoy. Finally!” said Rupert.
 “No,” replied Murdoch. As Rupert started to reply angrily he cut in, “Civil war, Rupert. That is what we are talking about. And that is what it would come to.”
Before he could draw breath to reply to that a soft feminine voice cut in, “Worse than that, the elves would be drawn into the matter due to family considerations. Not some of them, but ALL of them. And no I am NOT at liberty to discuss his lineage.” It was a sobering thought that even one nation of elves might become involved in internal human matters, that both nations of elves could become involved was a frightening thought.
 “In order to avoid that coming to pass, this event must never have happened. We will have to dispose of the body, and hide the boy,” said Murdoch.
“I can hear you. I am not deaf,” came a small voice, full of pain and loss. He was a small child who appeared to be about five years old. He had blond hair but otherwise seemed rather normal. Until you looked in his eyes, they were a deep purple that was somehow luminous. Those were eyes never seen in a merely human child.
The elven healer stepped forward and placed a hand on the boy,  “Peace be upon you Elder Child.”
As he started to drift off the boy replied, “Upon you peace rest Moon Sister.” She began to heal the boy, as the human mage began to destroy evidence of the Windbrother.  One of the mares offered to carry the boy to the Academy. But Murdoch said no, he needed to be taken to some small out of the way holding that no one would ever expect in the deep north country.
When asked how he could be sure they would take the boy in, he said, “In the deep back-country here in the north, who would dare turn away an injured child arriving on the back of a courser mare. They would swear him as kin before the gods themselves.”