Zarryiostrom Main Page
Chapter One
“Preparations”
.......... After two months of incessant construction on the city in general, and the Cathedral in particular, the frenzied preparations scarcely registered to Tavian Two-Blade any longer. He wasn’t exactly ignoring the work that was finally nearing completion, but it had gone on for so long now that it almost seemed commonplace—if indeed the word “commonplace” could be used to describe any aspect of the monumental undertaking in the first place. The sheer scale of the renovations the city had undergone was staggering, as was the cost of the entire project. The people of the city-state of Ithram had been working at a fevered pitch to prepare for the Convocation, a month-long celebration of the Ascension of Zarryiosiad, and as the date of the Convocation approached, the work had intensified ten-fold. The results the craftsmen and servants had achieved were already breathtaking, but every day brought another faded masterpiece back to its former glory. And though Tavian no longer truly noticed the workers, he never stopped admiring and appreciating the results. It was as if the city was transforming itself before his eyes.
.......... The tall, graceful elven mage walked through the city’s cobblestone streets at a measured pace, covering ground quickly and efficiently without actually rushing. He made excellent progress despite the large number of people, for even the densest of crowds would part for him as if by magic—sometimes without consciously realizing that they had done so. The people that did recognize him however, curtsied or bowed, or made whatever obeisance their customs dictated; after all, not every person in the crowd was native to Ithram. But native or not, the formal black robes of a Mage, and the staff and ornate medallion of a High Councilor were unmistakable. The large diamond embedded in his staff’s tip and the even larger one worked into his medallion had both been enchanted with a minor dweomer, making them shimmer with a swirling maelstrom of red and white energy; a signal to all who understood such things his mastery of both Fire and Storm magic. It didn’t matter if the people knew him by name; his formal attire combined with his noble bearing and powerful presence were more than enough to command respect all by themselves. People all along his path hurried to clear his way, and Tavian would absentmindedly acknowledge their courtesy with polite nods. Despite this, he didn’t slow his brisk pace, and he never stopped to engage in conversation. He wasn’t exactly being rude, but there were very important things to do today, and though he generally made it a point to talk to anyone brave enough to approach him, today he really didn’t need the distraction a protracted conversation could bring. For that matter, a mage of the High Council didn’t really have to walk at all, but Tavian always preferred to use his own feet whenever possible. He often told his sister Enaria that elves were not truly meant for city life, that they were instead meant to live simple existences in majestic forests near crystal clear lakes, but she would always dismiss his romantic view of Elven life with a slow exasperated shake of her head, as if he were too hopelessly backwards and simpleminded to even bother to try answering. She had never actually called him a yokel, but any time the subject came up he could tell that she was thinking it. For his part, Tavian could remember the first time Enaria had entered the city to begin her training as a Mage. She had been the yokel then, a young girl completely out of her depths, but Enaria had adapted very quickly—much quicker than he himself had in fact. It hadn’t taken her long at all to become a creature of the city, and sometimes he wondered if “corrupted” might not be a better word than “adapted” to describe her experiences in Ithram. She made no secret of the fact that she vastly preferred its busy streets and crowded avenues to the simpler structures and quiet grace of their home city of Cyn’Carath, and her once shy nature had changed to one of almost casual arrogance. Enaria had become a firm believer in the rights and privileges of the ruling class, and she took great delight in reminding people of her power and station. Her personal carriage was very grand indeed, pulled by four matching white elven steeds and driven by an elite member of the Mageguard in full livery. When people saw the carriage coming, they would rush to get out of the way; for if they didn’t, they would be run over…as simple as that. For that reason alone, Tavian believed that Enaria would never willingly return to their home, if indeed it still was her home. After all, in Cyn’Carath there were no horse-drawn carriages—and no crowds to make way for her.
.......... So lost in thought was he that he didn’t realize just how far he’d actually walked. It wasn’t until the cobblestone avenue stopped abruptly at a giant marble archway that he realized he had reached his destination. The archway was the only break in a perfectly smooth stone wall, twenty feet high and hundreds of feet in both directions. The wall had not been constructed with bricks or stone blocks; it had been raised in an instant by Zarryiosiad herself, using her powers as an earth mage to create it in one piece from the very bones of the earth. So perfect was the white wall that even after 2500 years, it was still as smooth as glass. Not so much as a chip had broken loose, and not a single crack had formed. She had created the wall long before her Ascension, to allow her father some privacy from the worship of the citizens of Il’Amhar, and to provide him some protection from the assassins of the Fae’Rohs. Tragically, the wall had provided neither.
.......... Tavian passed through the marble archway and entered the formal grounds of the famed Cathedral of Zarryiosiad. The cathedral was a study in grace and elegance, and the man who had designed it had spent his entire lifetime overseeing its construction. It hadn’t been completed before his death, but his heirs had carried on with the construction using the detailed drawings and notes he had left behind, and the result was not so much a building as it was an artistic masterpiece. The grounds surrounding the cathedral were immaculately tended, with a large reflecting pool in the center of the courtyard. A 12-foot tall statue of Zarryiosiad wearing stylized and ornate armor stood on a marble plinth in the middle of the reflecting pool holding a sword in one hand and the ruling crook of a Fae’Roh in the other. A lion lay at her side—a feline guardian forever protecting his charge. That always amused Tavian, for in none of the histories or legends he could find of Zarryiosiad had he ever heard of her keeping a tamed lion as either a pet or a guardian. And even if she had owned one, somehow he doubted the greatest mage that ever lived had actually needed its protection. He supposed it really didn’t matter: the statue was absolutely flawless in every detail, and if the artist had decided to use artistic license in the creation of it, he had been entitled.
.......... Tavian did not stop to admire the glowing statue or the perfectly manicured lawns. Instead, he moved past both, and strode up to the ornately carved and gilded doors marking the entrance to the Grand Cathedral itself. The Dragon Guards at the door recognized him instantly, came to attention, and pulled open the massive doors for him. As he passed through the doors, the captain of the guard saluted him. Tavian acknowledged the salute with a nod, and then he passed through the doorway and entered the greeting hall. As always the hall was well lit, for one of the most ingenious designs of the cathedral was the gigantic arches that allowed for enormous stained glass windows. The midday sun filtered through those windows, bringing the stories contained in the colored glass to scintillating life.
.......... Tavian glided down the center of the Great Chamber’s main hall, finally slowing enough to take the time to notice the improvements. The renovators had not only restored the marble and granite, they had polished everything to a high sheen, and he found that the cleanliness pleased him greatly. The last Convocation (and the cleaning that had preceded it) had occurred almost a hundred years ago, and while the Great Chamber hadn’t exactly fallen into disrepair, it had required more work to clean it up than had been originally estimated. But thanks to the round the clock efforts of the servants, the marble had finally regained its glow, the golden statues had regained their luster, and the friezes and frescoes were awash with color.
The vaulted ceiling in particular was breathtaking. The story of Zarus the Liberator, and his daughter Zarryiosiad the Avatar, played out on beautiful murals from the ornate gilded doors all the way to the Great Chamber itself. The very first mural showed the Fae’rohs in all their glory, forcing countless generations of slaves to build colossal stone monuments to their greatness. The original artist had captured the cruelty of those insane beings perfectly; complete with mounds of dead and dying men and elves heaped up almost as high as the ziggurats they had died to build. A slave of even the least powerful of the Fae’Rohs would have been worked under the cruelest of conditions possible until he or she died unnoticed and unmourned, only to be replaced by yet another unfortunate soul in an unending cycle of meaningless death. Meaningless, for the Fae’Rohs were Earthborne—and so powerful were they that they could have raised the ziggurats in an instant using only their magic, in much the same way as Zarryiosiad had created the white wall surrounding the Cathedral. The Fae’Rohs chose to use slaves instead, forcing them to raise the structures one stone block at a time. Raising the ziggurats wasn’t the point, after all. The true point was absolute control.
.......... The second mural showed the coming of the human Waterborne, Zarus, and his rise to power as a great leader among the human and elven slaves. Tavian stopped for a moment to marvel at the intricate detail the restoration had revealed in the mural. Zarus had been a powerful and charismatic man to be sure, but Tavian felt certain that Zarus could not have been as sure of his path as the artist who had painted the mural had portrayed him. The light of wisdom and compassion glowed in the heroic figure’s eyes, but Tavian had a shrewd notion that desperation more than wisdom had had a hand in Zarus’ true expressions. Zarus had promised his people freedom, and had ultimately made good upon his word, but the journey had been far from an easy one. Zarus had led the slaves from the heart of the Fae’rohs’ strongholds and power, through thousands of leagues of burning desert and volcanic rock to the very ocean, with the greatest of the Fae’rohs, Ankhophtet, and his entire army pursuing like the very hounds of hell. When desolate land turned to endless water, many of the slaves gave up hope, but Zarus had planned well. He had known that the Fae’Roh would believe that the ocean would block their escape, and would be in no hurry to catch them. After all, they had nowhere to go, so escape was impossible. But Zarus had then done the impossible: he parted the ocean itself, and provided an escape for the desperate slaves.
.......... The third mural showed Zarus’ people arriving on Il’Amhar—the Isle of Amhar—known today as Illymar, and the death of Ankhophtet. Foolishly, Ankhophtet had pursued Zarus even onto the pathway Zarus had made through the ocean. Unfortunately for him, his army wasn’t fast enough to catch the desperate slaves, and though Ankhophtet had been one of the greatest of Earth mages, it had meant less than nothing when the slaves reached the safety of the island and Zarus had finally released his hold upon the parted waters. In an instant, the cruelest and most powerful Fae’Roh of them all had been destroyed, and Zarus’ people had gained their freedom. Tavian was a great admirer of Zarus; the strength and power it would have taken to part the waters was miraculous in and of itself, but to hold those waters at bay for the days it would have taken the slaves to reach Il’Amhar would have been a close approximation to hell for the mage.
.......... The fourth mural showed a more peaceful time for Zarus and the freed slaves. After the death of Ankhophtet and the destruction of his army, civil war had broken out among the Fae’Rohs. Lesser Fae’Rohs, long jealous of the power Ankhophtet had held, moved quickly to increase their own domains. Entire families of the Fae’Rohs were wiped out as the struggle for power became vicious, and eventually broke out into open warfare. Zarus used the respite the civil war had given him very well indeed. He organized the slaves and used them to build a great city, and made every man, woman, and child learn at least the rudiments of warfare. The once-hopeless slaves forged themselves into a nation, and that nation built an army. Il’Amhar became a bastion of defiance against the tyranny of the Fae’Rohs, and the name Zarus became a talisman for the slaves still under the yoke of oppression. As word of Zarus’ miraculous escape spread, more and more slaves attempted escape, risking death and worse on the faint hope of reaching Il’Amhar. Not all survived the attempt, but those that did found safe haven on the island, and the tales those slaves brought of widespread dissention among the Fae’Rohs dramatically strengthened the will of the new nation. For now they knew the secret that the Fae’Rohs had struggled so long to keep hidden: they were not gods, for they could be killed.
.......... As Tavian continued admiring the mural, a figure glided up to him from behind and said,
.......... “Breathtaking, aren’t they? When they were commissioned, there was some argument about the graphic nature of the depictions. Some of the opponents of the project wished the artist to soften the images or replace them with pleasant euphemisms. The Patriarch of the time rejected that notion, believing instead that to lessen the severity would lessen the impact. Looking at the images as they are now, I believe he was right. The series of murals perfectly captures the essence of what Zarus and Zarryiosiad endured, may they forever grace us with their wisdom.” Tavian smiled at the voice and turned to face the speaker.
.......... “Indeed. In fact, it’s a shame you let them fall into such disrepair in the first place. Masterpieces such as these require just as much care as the floors and benches.” Tavian gestured at several nearby initiates, busily sweeping the floors with straw brooms or polishing the woodwork and benches with oily cloths.
.......... “Truly. Unfortunately, maintaining the murals takes a great deal more effort than we can achieve with mere brooms and wax. It costs a great deal more as well. Thankfully, the murals were sealed with magic shortly after they were created, so they can’t be damaged by time or neglect. However, the cost involved with cleaning them is far too prohibitive for us to do it casually. I’m afraid for the time being, cleaning them once a century for the Convocation will have to do. For that matter, that’s about how often we clean the formal dinnerware.” At that, Tavian laughed and said,
.......... “I don’t know about the dinnerware, but I do hope you remember to wash the napkins at the very least, Archidraconus Semarill. It would be an unforgivable sin if one potentate or another were allowed to see how remiss the clergy has become in its care of some of the church’s most important artifacts.”
.......... “I believe the Patriarch has mentioned something to that effect. I believe the word ‘excommunication’ was bandied about, as well as the phrase ‘mortification of the flesh’. I’m sure that the mere thought of the grave punishments awaiting any blasphemer who fails the church in its time of need has caused many a sleepless night for the initiates.”
.......... Tavian held out his hand, smiled warmly for his friend, and said,
.......... “It’s good to see you Ephraim. You’re looking well.” Archidraconus Ephraim Semarill took the extended hand and shook it, then said,
.......... “And you as well, Tavian. May I inquire as to the reason you have darkened my doorstep this beautiful day? Or are you just here to appreciate the artwork?”
.......... “I am here on business, Ephraim, but I must confess that the power of the murals actually did draw me in. All joking aside, what you’ve accomplished here is nothing short of miraculous, and I expect that most, if not all of the guests, will be overawed by the Cathedral displayed in all its glory. Your people are to be commended.” Semarill bowed graciously at the compliment, visibly pleased that the murals had had such an effect on his friend.
.......... “But enough of that; I came here to speak with my sister and with Archimagus DeVir, actually. I was given to understand that they were here.”
.......... “You understood correctly. They are in the main chamber with His Holiness at the moment. Shall I guide you?”
.......... “If you would be so kind, I would very much appreciate your effort.”
.......... “It’s no effort at all. And I promise to walk slowly enough that we can both appreciate the murals.”
***
.......... In the main chamber of the Grand Cathedral, another elven mage stood contemplating the murals, but for entirely different reasons than her fellow mage or his companion. Enaria Wintersong, Tavian Two-Blade’s younger sister, had always loved this particular image, and the restoration had revealed so much obscured detail that she couldn’t help but stare. It was as if she was rediscovering the image altogether, though she had stood in this very spot countless times over her many decades in Ithram. Out of courtesy for her rank, the priests always left her alone with her thoughts, believing that she was finding inspiration from the iconic imagery. In a way, she supposed she was, though it was very unlikely that any of the priests would approve of her thoughts. The exquisitely detailed painting depicted Zarryiosiad after her Ascension, transformed from mortal flesh into the form of a mighty dragon. The majestic dragon was standing in the very heart of the Valley of Flame, and had just single-handedly destroyed the united armies of the Fae’Rohs with a single white-hot jet of purifying dragonfire. It had been at this battle that the Fae’Rohs had been forever destroyed, and the rise of the humans had begun. Enaria often wondered how different history would have been had Zarryiosiad not been there, or had never been born. Would the Fae’Rohs still be in power, forever dominating the lesser races with their mastery of earth magic? Or would another hero have risen up to challenge the Fae’Rohs’ power? Enaria would have given much for the clairvoyance needed to see the answer.
.......... Most people came to this hallowed spot to honor the memory of Zarryiosiad and to remember the sacrifices her family had made for the good of the world. But Enaria came here for different reasons. While others gained inspiration and comfort from the thought of Zarryiosiad sacrificing herself to rid the world of evil, Enaria desperately wanted to know how she had done it. What power had she touched that had allowed her to destroy all who stood against her in a single instant? Enaria did not believe in a divine being, the way the prattling fools of the priesthood did. The only thing Enaria believed in—the only god she prayed to—was power: and no matter how much power she achieved, she always wanted more. Zarryiosiad had become a symbol to her of what she could accomplish if only she desired it enough, and so she had devoted her life to learning how the Avatar had done it.
.......... Unfortunately, only the most rudimentary of information had survived the estimated 2500 years since Zarryiosiad had existed. Contrary to popular belief, there had actually been a few survivors of the battle—those who were quick enough or had sense enough to flee the carnage before Zarryiosiad had destroyed everything else—and all of their stories agreed on a single point: Zarryiosiad had transformed into a dragon, and had ended the battle with a single impossibly powerful breath of dragonfire, before dying at the hands of the greatest villain of the age, the vile Severius, the Dragonslayer. Enaria was one of the eight members of the Mage High Council, and so had access to all of the secret histories of the mages throughout history. Physical metamorphosis was indeed possible, but it required absolutely precise control. Mages had successfully transformed themselves into all manner of creatures, both mundane and fantastic. But the one thing that was incontrovertibly true—the one rule above all for any transformation—was simple: any attempt transform into the form of a dragon ultimately meant the mage would cease to exist, leaving only a mindless dragon behind.
.......... Every text she had read agreed on the same point: the hardest part of transfiguration wasn’t the actual transformation itself; it was holding on to your identity in the new form. The slightest miscalculation, the slightest distraction, and whatever form you had taken would consume your mind utterly, leaving nothing of you behind. There would be no recovery, no rescue, for there would be nothing of you to retrieve. You would become the creature you had transformed into for the rest of your days. Still, however difficult the task it was still possible to do it and survive…with one exception. Retransformation wasn’t merely difficulty when the creature you attempted to transform into was a dragon—it was flatly impossible. That hadn’t stopped countless mages throughout history from trying, however. There was always some fool who believed that he or she had the key that all those who had come before had missed, and would test their beliefs in the only way they could: they attempted the transformation. There was a room in the Mage Citadel dedicated to containing the results. Dragon skeletons lined the walls and filled the empty spaces, carefully reconstructed after all of the efforts of the other mages to undo the transformation had been exhausted. The skeletons were labeled with the names of the lost mages that had tried and failed, and a brief history of their lives was inscribed on a memorial plaque set beside the remains. The transformation itself wouldn’t kill the mage, but it was impossible for a mage that had become a dragon to reverse the process. A mage that failed to reverse the transformation was far too dangerous to leave alive, for even the least powerful of dragons was an extremely deadly creature, so the Mage Council would ultimately be forced to destroy the beast. The body would then be dissected and studied, and eventually, when there was nothing else to learn from the corpse, the skeleton would be reconstructed and preserved, then hung in the Draconic Hall as a warning to others of the fate that befalls all who try to touch the power of the gods.
.......... And yet, Enaria knew that the belief that a successful retransformation was impossible to achieve was a lie, for she was standing before the proof: Zarryiosiad had transformed, destroyed everything around her, and somehow returned to mortal flesh after the Dragonslayer had struck her down. That had never happened with any of the other attempts mages had made to recreate the power Zarryiosiad had shown. A mage that was killed as a dragon remained a dragon even after death. Had that not been the case, there would be no Draconic Hall at all, for there would be no corpses to study, no bones to preserve and recreate. And yet, the body of Zarryiosiad had been found by her few surviving supporters and had been carried out of the Valley of Fire to be buried with reverence at some secret location, and that location had been forever lost. For the second time that day, Enaria found herself wishing fervently for the clairvoyance necessary to locate that tomb. Without the physical proof that Zarryiosiad had somehow reversed the transformation, all she had to go by was legend, and Enaria wasn’t fool enough to risk her life on a 2500 year old story.
.......... A small sound brought her out of her reverie. So lost was she in thought that she had utterly forgotten her companions, and one of them had cleared his throat to gain her attention. She turned to look at the person who had made the sound, and for a full second her unfocused gaze failed to recognize either of the two men standing next to her. But the moment passed, and Enaria finally noticed both Archimagus Cedric DeVir and the Patriarch of the Zarryiostrom, Samuel Varic. Both of them looked bemused, with Varic openly smiling at her, and DeVir shaking his head in consternation. When they were sure she had mentally rejoined them, Patriarch Varic spoke.
.......... “I thought that you of all people would appreciate the work that has been done to restore the murals. I remember well that when I was a very young boy, just after my family gave me to the church to be raised in the Faith, the Cathedral had a visitor. As an initiate, I was often given the task of sweeping these halls and polishing the benches and railings, and one day we were pulled aside and told that on that day we had a very important visitor. We were ordered by the Archidraconus at the time not to disturb this visitor, and to go about our tasks quietly so as not to distract her. To my great surprise, the visitor turned out to be a beautiful elf mage who stood in that very spot, and stared up at that painting completely lost in thought. I remember sneaking glances at this visitor as I swept—as did many of the other initiates—and I wondered what it was that she saw when she contemplated the painting. As an initiate, I knew better than to go against the orders of an Archidraconus for any reason. As the Patriarch, I find that I am suddenly in a position to ask that very person I watched so very long ago directly, without fear of a lecture or a switching. So I will. Archimagus Wintersong, when you stand in that spot and look up at the painting of Zarryiosiad Ascended—May She guide and protect us forever—what is it that you see?” Enaria, momentarily taken aback by the question, remembered an earlier thought and it made her smile. You would not approve of what I am thinking, old friend. Instead, after a moment’s thought she replied,
.......... “Zarryiosiad has been an inspiration to me my entire life. Any time my burdens threaten to overwhelm me or my responsibilities become too onerous, I have but to stand here and reflect upon the burdens and the responsibilities that Zarryiosiad herself undertook in her life. It gives me great comfort to know that no matter how great my duties may have become, or what obstacles may appear before me, they pale in comparison to those of the Avatar.” As she spoke, Varic beamed.
.......... “Just so. The lessons we have learned from Zarryiosiad’s example are legion. But foremost among them is that as great as our burdens may become, our sacrifices are as nothing when compared to the trials of the Avatar. I thank you for answering my question, and fulfilling a lifelong ambition.” Enaria bowed graciously to the Patriarch, all the while thinking if only my own lifelong ambition were so easily realized.
.......... Archimagus Cedric DeVir let this go on for a few more moments, then said,
.......... “If we could get back to business? Our burdens may not be as great as those of the Avatar, but they also aren’t getting any lighter with us just standing here.” Cedric DeVir had a well-known reputation for being very practical, and for not exactly being an overly enthusiastic patron of the arts. He could appreciate the skill involved in the creation of the mural, but to him it was simply another painting on a slightly grander scale, and paintings had no practical value. Both Enaria and the Patriarch turned their attention to him, and Enaria said,
.......... “I suppose we should. But allow me to compliment you on the restoration, Patriarch Varic. It has been masterfully accomplished.”
“Indeed it has, Your Holiness. I trust you were not charged too much for the effort?” Enaria, Cedric, and Patriarch Varic turned to face the new arrivals. When they recognized Tavian and Ephraim, they offered bows and handshakes amongst them. After the proper greetings had been exchanged, Patriarch Varic responded,
“Not at all, not at all. While I’m sure we might have found someone to do the work for less, sometimes you do get what you pay for. The group responsible for the restoration boasted that the results would be astonishing, but I never expected this.” Varic swept his hand upward to draw attention to the glistening silver dragon, forever poised in triumph over a burning wasteland.
“But as Cedric has reminded us, there is work to be done this day. Will you follow me to my offices? Ephraim, please join us.”
***
The Patriarch’s offices were very large and luxuriously appointed, but managed to feel warm and inviting rather than oppressive. There was a fair amount of ostentation in the décor, but that ostentation took the form of large oil paintings in ornate gilded frames and elaborately worked candleholders. At the end of the room was a large oaken desk belonging to the Patriarch, but instead of walking to his desk, he led the small group over to a comfortable meeting nook, with several high backed chairs arranged in a circle. As the three mages and the two priests took their seats, a steward appeared next to the Patriarch and stood waiting to see to any needs the guests might have. Patriarch Varic asked the group,
“Shall I have Bertrand bring refreshments? We may be here a while.” Enaria replied immediately.
“That would be fine, Your Holiness. And you’re right. This could take a while. There is much to discuss.” The steward bowed deeply, and disappeared as silently as he had appeared, and Tavian took the opportunity to begin the meeting.
“The reason I came here to speak with you, was to inform you that we have had word from several of the delegations that will be attending the Convocation. By fortuitous coincidence, many of the replies came within hours of each other. Specifically, we have had word from the Kingdom of Dakkadia that King Madari himself, along with his wife and two children will be attending. King Madari’s wife, Queen Aveliad, will be bringing her son Phaedron as well.” Cedric DeVir, himself a Dakkadian, responded with a grimace.
“If Madari himself will be attending, his half-brother Morvandis will be sure to attend as well.” The other two mages nodded, though neither looked happy at the prospect. Archidraconus Semarill noticed the mages’ reactions and asked,
“Will this be a problem? Morvandis has been here several times in the past. As powerful a mage as he is, I would think you would be happy to have him here.” Tavian shook his head in polite disagreement.
.......... “Morvandis has a reputation for ruthlessness, but that ruthlessness is married to iron self-control. He takes his duty as the right hand of King Madari very seriously, and as such he will behave himself. The Convocation itself is important, but the most important aspect of this gathering—at least for the heads of state that will be attending—is the chance to arrange marriages, cement alliances, and conclude trade agreements. Madari is eager to attend: he has a young son of marrying age, and a young daughter who soon will be. Prince Valeriad is seventeen years old now, and Madari has to be thinking of arranging a marriage with one of King Orem of Illymar’s three daughters. Or two daughters, rather, now that Orem’s oldest daughter, Princess Tais has fallen out of favor. What interests me though, isn’t the possibility of an arranged marriage between Dakkadia and Illymar. What interests me is that both King Madari’s son and stepson are Powerborne. Valeriad is a Fireborne, and from all reports quite powerful, while Queen Aveliad’s son Phaedron is Waterborne, and supposedly at least as powerful if not more so. The mage council looks forward to seeing these two, to find out just what kind of mages they are becoming. I just hope for their sakes Morvandis’ influence hasn’t left them permanently marked.” Both Enaria and Tavian nodded, and Cedric fell silent.
.......... “From the perspective of the Zarryiostrom, we too look forward to meeting the aspiring mages” said Ephraim, “though for a different reason of course.” All three mages nodded at that, for one of the duties the Zarryiostrom took upon itself was the search for anyone able to wield Earth Magic. In the past, the Fae’rohs had used Earth Magic to enslave millions of people, and had caused countless deaths and limitless suffering, so as a result the church had issued a Condemnation against anyone who could touch the forbidden power of the Fae’rohs. Anyone found to have that ability was declared Anathema, and was hunted down relentlessly by agents of the church. The pursuit of these proscribed mages was an important duty of the Zarryiostrom, and every Powerborne, no matter what country they came from, had to be brought before the Tribunal to be judged. Should a mage pass the tests he would be blessed by the Zarryiostrom and then released completely unharmed. Should he fail, he would be condemned as a heretic and would be executed on the spot. It had been a very long time indeed since the last time the Zarryiostrom had found an Earth mage, and the priesthood considered that to be incontrovertible proof that their methods were working. The Mage Citadel on the other hand wasn’t so sure: most of the High Councilors believed that Earth mages had simply become better at hiding their true natures.
.......... The steward returned with a tray bearing different foods and drinks, and after he finished serving the guests, he once again disappeared as silently as he had appeared. Once Bertrand had returned to his pantry, Ephraim Semarill, who had yet to speak in the meeting, said,
.......... “We have had word from the Empire of Ferralin that Emperor Xan will be attending as well. For a while it seemed that he would send his son Lain to attend in his stead, but apparently his health has recovered enough for him to make the journey.” At 76, Xan was by far the oldest ruler still in power, but he was no figurehead. After fifty years of his leadership, Ferralin had become second only to Illymar in wealth, and he had used that wealth very wisely, building roads and cities, and a military to protect them.
“Xan must want to take this opportunity to personally arrange a marriage for his son. Lain is 23 years old, and as Xan’s only child, he stands to inherit the empire upon his father’s death.” At Ephraim’s words, Cedric DeVir again shook his head in polite disagreement.
“Xan may be looking for another wife for himself. Remember, despite his age, Xan’s tastes run towards…younger women.” At that Patriarch Varic snorted.
“Younger women? Ha! Children you mean! Xan is at best a pedophile, and at worst a murderer. He has been married over a dozen times in his life, and has outlived all of his wives. His latest wife died less than a year after they were married, and she was 14!” Everyone in the meeting nodded in agreement with the harsh assessment. Enaria waited for a moment and said,
“I think we all know what kind of ‘man’ Emperor Xan is. But he is still a vastly powerful ruler, and must be afforded every courtesy. And while his reputation for…unpleasantries...may be true, the other rulers may not care. He is 76, and by all accounts his health has been marginal for years. That would make the prospect of a marriage to either Lain or Xan very attractive. What’s a year or two of unpleasantness for a daughter compared to an alliance with the largest military in the world? Further, Xan would have to be very careful in how he would treat the daughter of either Illymar or Dakkadia. Either country could be a credible threat to Ferralin. The last thing Xan needs is a war with either country.” Tavian leaned forward slightly, and everyone turned to him.
“That brings up something I’ve been studying. The more I look at the situation, the more I see a problem arising. Right now, all three realms are stable and prospering, but any move by one house to secure an alliance with another may upset that stability. Ferralin has the largest army of the three great houses, but no navy to speak of. As such, Ferralin is not a threat to Illymar’s dominance on the ocean. Illymar has the strongest navy, but its army is by far the smallest of the three, making the threat of invasion practically non-existent. Dakkadia’s army is smaller than Ferralin’s, but they are better equipped and trained. As a warlike state, their mercenaries are unparalleled on the field, and they have a reputation for victory. Their navy is relatively small but very powerful on a ship for ship basis, and their new weapons are absolutely devastating. Their new class of warship carries these new weapons, and Illymar is very worried about what these weapons will mean for them.” Tavian raised a hand and a burning map appeared in the middle of the circle, and slowly started spinning. The glowing map showed the main continent and the island of Illymar, with fiery lines dividing the continent into political entities. Tavian continued,
“The prize is obvious. Standing between the Empire of Ferralin and the Kingdom of Dakkadia are the Badlands, and the Badlands controls the only passable land route to the eastern lands. This makes the Badlands an incredible prize for both Ferralin and Dakkadia, and a serious threat to Illymar. Should Ferralin or Dakkadia seize the Badlands, Illymar would move quickly to neutralize the threat to their markets. Worse, the other side would be sure to attack as well. Dakkadia can survive an attack by Ferralin. But they would be overwhelmed by the combined forces of Illymar and Ferralin. The same holds true with a Ferralin invasion of the Badlands. Dakkadia and Illymar would combine to destroy them. Hence the stalemate.” Archidraconus Semarill spoke then,
“It would seem that Illymar has decided who they would rather side with then, for King Orem had already betrothed his eldest daughter to Xan’s son. Xan must be coming to try and salvage the situation.” Cedric DeVir nodded in agreement.
“Indeed. I have reports that the Dakkadian army had already begun preparations to increase the size of their army in anticipation of the threat of a combined Illymar and Ferralin. Repairing the damage Tais has done to the alliance with her willfulness may be impossible. You know how touchy Xan is about his honor. A second daughter may not be lofty enough for his son. Orem may well have to make concessions to repair the damage Tais has wrought. We shall have to see in what form the concessions will take.”
Patriarch Varic waited a moment for the others to finish, then said,
“Orem may decide not to pay reparations at all, and instead ally himself with Dakkadia. Remember that the royal family of Illymar has not had a Powerborne in several generations. Madari has two sons—both Powerborne—and an intermingling of the bloodlines has to be an incentive to Orem. Frankly, Dakkadia would stand to gain much more from an alliance with Illymar than Ferralin would, but the Illymari royal family stands to gain at least as much—if not more—from the alliance. The chance to inject fresh mage blood into the family will be a high priority.” He stood up and spread his hands towards his assembled guests.
“There is no doubt that tensions will be very high at the Convocation. It will be up to us to monitor the situation and diffuse that tension whenever possible, and in the most diplomatic way possible. Unfortunately, this won’t be easy to achieve. Should we fail in this duty, there is a good chance that open warfare will be the result.” He looked at his guests, and there was no disagreement on any of their faces.
(c) Tina A. Thomas and Steven C. Plagman.
End of Chapter One
*
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