Queen of Swans

Prologue

Cool, watery moonlight cast itself momentarily over the gently undulating motion of the dark waves of the lake, glimmering the waters and surrounding grounds with a silvery, effervescent gleam that made all things pale and bluish-silver. A breeze as silvery as all things present ruffled verdant summer trees and blossoms, all pale with silver shadows, and carried itself to touch the greek temple that dwelt on an island, in the middle of the lake. Tall marble columns that shimmered white in the starlit night, a round marble base and a rotunda roof, ornate with a thousand swirls and scrolls, intertwined with leaves that were so real that they could have been expected to be ruffled by that light, water-cool zephyr.

The sound of a soft cello wove its melody with the lilting minor melody of two accompanying viols, and the gentle laughter of young girl's voices were carried by that wind, to the lonely shore. True, topiary bushes and trees and vegetation of all manner were pruned to a strange and ghosty beauty in the deep velvet of night, the vast gardens stretching almost out of sight, only interjected by little tinkling stone falls, or magnificient fountains spouting silver streams of water into the waiting basins, yet it was a lonely place, lonely especially for that one young man standing at the shore.

Even had he not been extrodinarily beautiful, there would have been many who would have remarked on such hard, cold eyes for such a young man. They were a brilliant shade of sapphire, but diluted to the color of the shadows that surrounded him by night, and were not a strange contrast to the handsome face, yet those eyes spoke of many more years of experience than that face betrayed. And the face betrayed nothing, as unyielding as his eyes. The zephyr ruffled midnight hair, and almost made him seem a young boy. Almost.

The luminescent moon merely looked upon him, and her gracefully gentle brilliance cast light upon his strange garb, a robe, black, and a long cloak, deep indigo, fluttered by wind to cast a sinister look upon him. The robe, a shimmering black silk heavy enough to be called that treasured cloth samite, and the cloak, was of brocaded silk-velvet, the brocading augmented by golden threads and fantastical embroidery, were rich and spoke of wealth. He wore a heavy gold chain around his neck, with a sapphire, cabochon-cut, the size of a hen's egg and smaller sapphires and black pearls swirling around the largest one. The cabochon had much fire for an unfaceted cut.

The young man, a sorcerer in truth, was abruptly awakened from his revere of the lake, and walked towards the water of the lake. The cold sapphire eyes never altered. There was a small boat attatched to the marble dock, yet he paid no attention to it at all. The boat was pushed, gently, by some unseen force, and headed by itself, to the little island. As for the young man, the air rippled around him, and he was changed in an unameable way, and a great, black hawk with glinting sapphire eyes spread its enormous wings and flew towards the island.