Itaynth

So richly garbed was the Guardian that some of his pendants and charms, were they to fall, would crush the attendants who beckoned him inside. They didn’t seem concerned, however. In fact, they seemed almost bored by his visit. It was an attitude shared by their master, a Skydancer dressed in jewelry and silks as golden as he was. They and the Guardian, however, were outshone by the splendor of his eyes.

“Viceroy,” the Skydancer greeted the Guardian. As he raised his head, his eyes flashed. Literally—arcs and sparkles of light leaped from them, tracing bright patterns against the marble walls. “I knew you would come.”

“You would?” the Viceroy asked, and immediately hated himself for it. More attendants pushed a great cart towards him; it held a bucket filled with ice and a gigantic bottle of champagne. His favorite—and it had evidently been chilling for some time.

“Of course. I know everything—and that’s why you’re here.” The Skydancer smirked unabashedly.

“Nothing but a know-it-all,” the Viceroy thought. He scowled as he took a swig of champagne. Might as well treat himself while he was here. He did not enjoy dealing with the prophet. No one enjoyed dealing with the prophet.

~ ~ ~
The Skydancer, Itaynth, was one of the few whose gifts were apparent at birth. “Open your eyes,” his nestmaids crooned to him. His parents were not present at his hatching, so it was these matrons who first saw him open his brilliant eyes. No pupils were visible—instead, there was a light so pure the darkness fled from the room. Clearly this child had been selected by the Lightweaver.

Itaynth’s parents were quickly given the joyful news. The last time he saw them was when they led the exalts to him. These newcomers wore clothes of pale yellow, and the Light rune upon them left no doubt as to which goddess they answered. They explained to Itaynth that he would be going to a new home where he could serve the Lightweaver. As he was taken away, he looked back. His mother was flitting around, proudly exclaiming that her son was a favored Acolight; his father looked on serenely, nodding in approval.

Itaynth was brought to a school for the Lightweaver’s chosen dragons. He wasn’t sure if he’d received his name from his parents or his mentors, but he did recall that it was his mentors who’d first told him that he was special. Those words imprinted upon his mind as his parents, nurses, and teachers never had, and they grew until they filled his soul.

~ ~ ~
“A prophecy,” the Viceroy demanded, once the champagne was gone. It had been good champagne, but it hadn’t soothed him much, because he knew what was coming next.

“The future is mine for the viewing, Viceroy. Which facet of it would you like me to describe to you?”

The Viceroy gnashed his teeth. “My children parlay with other clans. They claim it is just business, but I suspect they are planning to usurp my position. Their negotiations with those clans—I need to know how they’ll pan out.”

“Political intrigue! Exciting for your kind of dragon, maybe, but tedious for one like myself....” Before the Viceroy’s snarl became audible, Itaynth extended a languid paw. “It’s exhausting business, Light brother. Perhaps a little donation might energize my spirit.”

The Viceroy extracted a small bag from his belt pouch. While it was small enough to fit on his clawtip, it was almost as big as Itaynth was. He flung it forward; it landed with a crash. Gold and jewels flashed within it like predatory eyes.

Itaynth’s own eyes came alight as he leaned forward—not just with greed, but with the beginnings of a vision. As the light grew brighter, the prophet began declaiming what his second sight showed him....

~ ~ ~
In the academy, Itaynth learned to call up visions of the future. Since he began training at an early age, his abilities soon outstripped those of Acolights much older than he was. Other dragons lauded the accuracy of his visions, the ease with which he invoked them. No complicated rituals needed, no need to wait for the planets or the moon. All Itaynth needed was a moment to focus and see what would come to pass....

They heaped praises upon him, and many more besides: jewels, gold, fine clothes, food and drink. Even before he left the academy and struck out on his own, he was wealthy, for he offered a service few dragons could provide—and he was not afraid to charge what he wanted for it.

“A share of your finest wine—and I will tell you which of your vineyards will perish this year.”

“You’re extorting from me?!” the winemaker exploded. “Cheat! Charlatan! Go to the Shade!”

The prophet only chuckled. That year, many of the vineyards were attacked by ravenous insects, the vines chewed to bits. It had been so, so easy to foresee that. He could have told the winemaker about it, but talk was not cheap.

“Back this year, lady? Shall I tell you when the next swarm will emerge so that you can take precautions?”

And whatever misgivings the winemaker might’ve had, she paid the prophet’s price....

And so it went: Itaynth rejected those who couldn’t pay, “For after all, if I catered to everybody, that would leave me no time to rest!” The Sunbeam nobles alternately praised and cursed his name, for he gave sound advice, but always cut his price, so to speak, somewhere close to the bone.

The Viceroy was the latest in a long line of supplicants. There would be more in the future—there always would be. For Itaynth, whatever his faults, was still a dragon of the Lightweaver, and his visions were always the truth. Truth has its price, and like all fine things in the world—joy and love and honor, beyond jewels, beyond coin—it is one that is always painful to pay.

~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
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