Chapter 8: The Temple of Time
I turned slowly away from where Wagner had disappeared over the side of
the wall and faced my captors, the Zards. Chief among them was the King,
he being a foot or two taller than the others, with a graceful and
powerful pose that struck awe into the eyes of the beholder with its
innate command and dignity, both of which flowed from it as naturally as
water from a well. There were about twenty guards in the squadron that
protected the King, but it was not so much from the terror of them that
the Canitaurs fled, nor was it because of the guards that patrolled the
walls and were sure to join any fray attempted, it was instead an
apparent fear of the King, and rightly so, for his demeanor was fierce
and sophisticated, as if he were not just a warrior nor solely a
scholar, but a mixture of the two that gave him an aura that inspired
fear, some unseen presence that filled the air around him and sent his
neighbors into a reverencing awe reminiscent of a lover's sacred
euphoria, intangible yet undeniable.
As I turned to him, he smiled and greeted me softly and pleasantly, in
such a way that seemed contrary to his nature.
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