The Warning
[No prompt for this one, just my ongoing frustration with Tyrants And Generals who get dire warnings from seers, prophets or priests, and then a) DO NOT LISTEN, and b) kill the only reliable seer/prophet in the area because, you know, THERE IS NO POSSIBILITY THAT THEY WILL HAVE MORE QUESTIONS LATER]
The king approached the dungeon, his heart racing. He had consulted other seers, but they had all proved to be charlatans. This one was supposed to be different. This one had convinced even his most trusted captain that she was genuine. This time, he would learn his future.
The figure sat on a small stool, wrapped in a cloak against the cell’s chill. Her head was down, and he couldn’t see her face. Cadan, the captain, prodded her with the butt of a spear. “Seer! The king stands before you! Rise and show respect!”
“No. I am bruised, and I am tired, and I do not wish to.” The voice sent a chill down the king’s spine. He had not known a mortal voice could hold such weariness. She sounded as if a thousand years weighed on her too heavily to bear.
Cadan raised the spear again, but the king waved him away. “Enough, enough. I come, in a way, as a supplicant. We must be civil, at least.”
“I would find the change pleasant,” that weary voice said, and she lifted her head and pushed back her hood. Under it had been concealed dark hair cropped short, and the thin face of a girl surely not more than thirteen. It shocked him, to see that child’s face, after hearing that voice… and then he looked into her eyes, and he shivered. The eyes were even wearier than the voice, bitter and tired and hopeless. “I so rarely meet with civility,” she said, looking up at him with those terrifying eyes.
