MANDALABAND
- EL OJO DE WENDOR (1977)
Voces principales -
Eric Stewart, Maddy
Prior, Graham Gouldman, Justin Hayward, Kevin Godley, Paul
Young
Voces de respaldo -
Friday Brown,
Fiona Parker, Lol Creme, David Rohl, Martin Lawrence, Kim
Turner, Ian Wilson, Steve Broomhead
David Rohl - Pianos, piano Vox,
sintetizadores, clarinete, efectos de sonido
John Lees - Guitarras
eléctricas
Steve Broomhead - Guitarra
acústica y eléctrica
Jimmy McDonnell - Guitarra
Bajo -
Les Holroyd, Pete Glennon, Noel
Redding, Alf Tramontin
Woolly Wolstenholme -
Melotrones, sintetizadores, Cornetas Moog
Kim Turner - Batería, Rototoms,
Glockenspiel, campanas tubulares, tímpanos, congas, Tam-Tam
Kim Turner - Batería, Rototoms,
Glockenspiel, Vibes, congas, castañetas, percusión
Trompetas -
Andy Wardaugh, Mark
Gilbanks
Trombones -
Andy Crompton, Mike
Carlton, Dave Gorton
Cuerdas -
Hallé Orchestra
Coro -
The Gerald Brown Singers
otros
Once upon a time, long ago in an age before the memory of man,
when the world was yet young and full of virgin promise,
there was a land on this earth - a land of strange and
magical beauty - great rolling plains falling away from high
snow-capped mountain ranges, whose lower slopes were mantled
in the rich green of pine forests, and long winding rivers,
and a mighty inland sea that fed the great ocean to the west
with cool clean waters from the snowy heights.
The people of this land had built settlements where Mother
Nature had provided suitable terrain - some of these with
the passing of time had grown to cities, surrounded by high
stone walls to afford protection against the wild and
sometimes evil forces that roamed the untamed lands about
them.
Map of the Realm of Aenord
And in the southern region, bordened to the North by the
Great Lake of Wendor and to the East by the
Heights of Andulis, there prospered a civisilation of culture and
tradition born of many centuries. They were the Carthilians
and their capital city - Thôl Aenord, prospered in the rich
and fertile plains that were of the
River Wendil.
And as the sun slowly sank below the western horizon, the
great city of Thôl Aenord, rising out the plain, was bathed
in the red light of the setting sun. The giant cliffs
lowering behind glowed like burning embers, as the sunlight
rippled across gullied surfaces.
Oil lights flickered to life as twilight stretched across
the grassy plains and the sounds of contentment echoed
through the narrow streets and inns.
On the highest ramparts encircling the upper levels of the
city, all was still, except for the shufflings of the night-watch,
trying to keep warm in the cool of evening.
Behind the city, standing out from the cliffs from which it
as hewn, the silhouette of the colosssal statue of
Aenord,
king and founder of the city rose high into the sky. Far up,
set in its helm, glowed a beautiful large red gem,
reflecting the rays of the dying sun from within its depths
and eminating a pale shaft of light down onto the palace
below.
The huge colossus stood apart from the city, alone - but for
the whispering wind and the flickering of the eternal flame
kindled at its feet. Suddenly from out of the northern sky
the chill of a giant shadow moved silently over the cliff
tops. Soon the sound of enormous beating wings broke the
silence as a great winged beast descended from the sky
to a light on the shoulder of the stone effigy. From its
powerful back clambered a small party of shadowy figures,
their black armour glittering in the light of the fire far
below them. Soon they were stealthily scaling the rockface
carved in Aenord's likeness. Their leader came first to the
red gem set in its resting place and with one mighty blow
from his sword the stone fell into his clutching hand.
At once the skies opened as if a great force had been
released - the cliffs echoed with the crash of thunder and
the wind tore at the figures rapidly descending with their
trophy. As the great beast hurtled off carrying its
passengers back into the darkness, the power of the heavens
was unleashed with even greater force. A searing bolt of
flame flashed down upon the face of the colossus, shattering
the stone and causing a great shower of boulders to crash
down at the foot of the statue. Aenord's stone face no
longer gazed impassively over the plain, for the eyes of the
great monument had been torn away leaving the stern but wise
features scarred and broken.
With equal suddeness the torment abated leaving behind its
trail of destruction.
The beautiful red stone was gone and so was the radiating
light that had bathed the surrounding countryside in its
bounteous warmth for the last half century of Aenord's
reign.
It was late afternoon when Florian returned to his roadside
cottage after a day spent cutting timber in the woods of
Midvale. The boy had lived in the royal hunting forests of
the Northern Realm for all of his eighteen years and on his
own since the death of his father Fellbrand some five years
ago. The Royal Hunt had neglected the deer forests for many
seasons and Florian only knew of the pageant and colour of
those carefree days from the stories relived by Fellbrand on
long summer evenings past as they sat by the fireside
together.
As he set himself to the task of repairing the much
weathered thatch of the cottage roof he noticed, down the
narrow road, a cloud of dust rising amidst the tall trees,
and soon he heard the pounding of many hooves. As he climbed
down to the mossy ground a company of soldiers entered the
clearing. With the raising of a hand their leader brought
them to a shuddering halt before the cottage door. The
captain dismounted. His faded and dusty uniform told of many
weeks travel; as he drew near Florian could see the face of
a man in his late thirties beneath an unkempt growth of
beard.
Florian meets Brant of Riddack
"I am Brant of Riddack, Captain in the Royal Guard of King
Aenrod, for whom we are on an errand. We are in need of your
hospitality and water for our mounts. If you be loyal to our
King pray give us shelter awhile in your stables and talk to
me of the news in Midvale." Florian welcomed Brant and his
men and when their needs were tended and rest was upon them,
he invited the captain to take ale with him by the warmth
and comfort of the log fire in the cottage. Florian became
quite excited by the thought of learning news from the far
off capital, for rumours had been rifle in the principality,
of great troubles in Thôl Aenord. The captain's story
confirmed what had been told. Well into the night they
questioned each other and in time Brant's attention rested
upon the young man seated by his feet. He asked the lad many
questions of his past, his life in the forests and of his
years and parentage. Florian felt discomfort at this sudden
interest in him and perceiving this, Brant at length told of
his mission; to find a young man who, as foretold in the
prophecies of the oracle, would save the capital from the
evil end which was nigh and retrieve the
Eye of Wendor
stolen by Silesandre, the
Witch Queen. He told of his search
for eighteen years with his father - Argonbard, a great
friend of King Aenord and commander of the cavalry. They had
travelled the realm without result in the quest for this
saviour, and fatefully Argonbard had drowned after being
thrown from his mount into the Wendil Marsh three years ago.
Brant had to take command of the company to continue the
search, and so it was that he had arrived in Midvale in the
cottage that was Florian's.
Brant told of the oracle's dream and that Florian was of the
right years to have
been born at the time of the stealing of the magic stone, as
was the prediction. There
was but one more prophecy to be fulfilled, for the boy told
of in the dream would be in
possession of strange marks upon his body on either side
beneath his arms. Florian
removed his shirt and Brant beheld at last the fruits of the
prophecy, in the form
of two birth marks. His searching was at an end and still
the Carthilians might yet
be saved from the destruction that was nigh.
As the sun climbed the skies above the tall trees a soldier
was sent forth to the House
of Archives in Midvale, to bring confirmation of Florian's
birth date. He returned in great
joy, for the lad was born in the very hour of the stealing
of the magic stone. Florian
was made ready to journey with the riders to the capital
city and before the coming
of noon they were on their way, hearts filled with joy that
their searching was done
and the saving of the Kingdom was more than but a forlorn
hope. Florian had little
time to think amongst all the excitement, and perhaps that
was for the good, for little
could he have guessed what the future had in store for him
as he rode off on his great
adventure.
As the plain stretched out in front of the riders Florian
beheld great cliffs rising in
the distance, and behind, the mighty snow-capped peaks of
the Heights of Andulis,
standing sentinel, their summits veiled in the misty grey
cloud that rung over the plain.
They rode on down the Great Southway as their path turned to
the South East. After some
time the cliffs fell away to form a huge arc in the
mountains and for the first time Florian
saw the great capital city of Thôl Aenord. The road now
passed through fields, the size of
which the young lad had never seen before, but their soils
were bare and dusty
and the pasture withered.
