Champion of Winds: North Wind

[Deepstrike101]

When the four winds rise and the Calamities come,
The wounded Champion of Winds will wake.

...So begins the prophecy chiseled into the gates of the crypt beneath the Cathedral of Emary.
In the sweeping expanses and crowded cities of Arkir, nothing is what it seems.

This is a thread to collect critique on a novel I am working on. It is the first novel in a series of five. I will publish some chapters temporarily.

What is this series about? Well, it's about a lot of things. While in many ways it is a classic fantasy story with a load of fights during epic quests and legendary wars, I'm also striving to heavily invest in the characters themselves and make the story be about the people involved slightly more than about the battles they fight. It is a story told from many points of view and the series covers the rise and wars of four major empires.

So, here is the first book in the series. I hope you enjoy and leave suggestions for improvements!

When published, this novel will be called Champion of Winds: North Wind.

[Deepstrike101]

<Reserved for Table of Contents and other information>

[Deepstrike101]

Glossary

Agon- In Daeianism, Agon is the god of chaos/fire and corruption/darkness. He is associated with power and evil. Arkir- The largest empire in the world of Champion of Winds as of the year 8,872. It is envelops a large swathe of land from the center of the world map where it borders the Silver Sea to the Great Mountain Ring in the north. Arkir's capital is Delith, a city captured from the ancient Manadelian Empire that ruled most of the world until 5,946. Worthy of note, Arkir is culturally split between the Arkirian north and Delian south. Bellaria- Describes any force composed primarily of high-status men-at-arms. Bellarias are usually fielded by cities and states rather than individuals. Bellarik- Arkirian word used to describe men-at-arms of high status. Bellariks are wealthy and predominantly land owners. They fight as heavy cavalry. Most bellariks have served in the drugaria and are expected to remain loyal to their kaleens, unlike drugariks. Bellariks are expected to purchase their own equipment. Cathedral of Emary- The center of the Daeian faith and the largest structure in the known world. Its nine golden domes are thought to stand in the exact center of the Protected Lands, the geographical area wrapped by the Great Mountain Ring. It is thought that the Cathedral of Emary was built over the entrances to the pre-Delian catacombs. Arkirian history claims the Cathedral was built by the wizard-priestess Emary during the old days of Manadelith. If so, this structure is also the oldest in the world. The Cathedral of Emary is home to the Order of Delith, Arkir's most prestigious wizardry order, headed in 8,872 by Baenerus Garevian. Coliseum of Yerevat- A massive coliseum in Delith. It is said to hold up to 100,000 people. Gladiatorial games, wizard duels, trials by combat, and sports games all take place here. Cuerzava- A duchy near the north-west of the Tavronan peninsula. It was ruled by House Condari until 8,862, when Duke Rafil Condari was slain defending it and it was captured by the White Banner Army under Consul Rocarrio Derivi. Daei- A pagan Manadelian/Arkirian god. There are eight major Daeian (plural of Daei) in the Daeianism pantheon. The Daeian are each an embodiment of a certain branch of magic. Daei-Tal- A powerful spirit that serves a Daei. Daei-Talan is the plural form. Delian Hippodrome- A great chariot racing track in Delith. It holds monthly races. Delith- The grandest city in the world and capital of Arkir. Delith was founded by Galiphean colonists in 2,259. The city was situated upon ancient ruins of a pre-human civilization and countless precious artifacts and seemingly endless supplies of gold have been recovered from the catacombs below. Delith is known for the Emperor's Citadel, Cathedral of Emary, Coliseum of Yerevat, the Delian Hippodrome, and the Rock (Port) of Gatrames. Drugaria- Describes any professional force that includes drugariks, men-at-arms, or really any professional soldiers as the core element. It may be used to describe a squad of bodyguards up to an empire's entire army. Drugarik- The Arkirian word for man-at-arms. In Arkir, drugariks are professional soldiers hired on a contract. They are free to move from lord to lord and city to city. Only the drugariks hired by the Emperor of Arkir are legally obliged to serve in the army. Seniority is entirely based on the contract and reputation. Senior drugariks are heavy infantry and cavalry while junior drugariks are more often used in lighter roles. Most drugariks' equipment is paid for by their employer. Galiphe- The fabled birthplace of the human race. It is situated to the west of Delith. For the last century it has been a vassal state to Arkir, but has revolted in 8,868 and 8,871/2 with the Three Winter Peace in-between. Galipheans are famous for their large cities (previously independent city-states) and their extremely heavy shield wall spearmen. Imperial Guard- The elite legion that is based in Delith. This is the emperor's personal army. Much of it is composed of foreigners to avoid coups. The infantry are primarily drawn from Galiphe and Arkir. The cavalry are Tapocaporian, Tavronan, and Zemirealian. Kaleen- An executive ruling position in Arkirian cities. Kaleens are typically voted in by the city councils. They handle primarily military and law-enforcement manners. If a kaleen is deemed too incompetent and a city council fails to take care of the situation, an emperor may appoint a temporary kaleen to rule the city until the current crises has subsided. Lafgrad- A town in north-western Arkir, in the Ocean of Trees. Loose Banner- A knight or noble without lands, but with a retinue of loyal followers. Tavronan loose banners are the most common throughout the world due to the exile of the Tavronan nobility. Ocean of Trees- An expanse of forest in north-western Arkir. It is dense forest on a mostly flat plain. Cities here are far and few. Rak- An umbrella term used to describe any un-ordinary spirit or magic. Rock of Gatrames- The name given to the harbor where the ancient Galiphean explorer Gatrames landed to found Delith. In 8,872 it is a trading port without equal. Tapocapor- A kingdom to the north of Galiphe and west of Arkir, nestled between two mountain ranges. Tapocapor is famous for its light cavalry and loose-order spearmen. Tavron- A peninsula and cultural area on the south-eastern end of the Great Middle Ocean. The land was divided into around a hundred individual states ruled by nobles. It was swept by civil war in 8,859 and the surviving nobility was exiled. Tavronan Civil War- A revolution led by the White (or Blank) Banner Army against the Tavronan noble houses. Its leading figure was Rocarrio Derivi de Velan, a Velanese merchant. The war lasted from 8,859 to 8,872 and resulted in the defeat of the numerous Tavronan states by the united White Banner Army, allied with Arkir, and the exile of all of Tavron's surviving nobility. A single Tavronan Republic was established following the war, which is a close ally to the Arkirian Emperor. Three Winter Peace- A three year peace between Arkir and Galiphe from 8,868 to 8,871. Venthe- A county on the south-eastern portion of the Galiphean peninsula. It was conquered from Galiphe and colonized by Tavron in 7,893. Amazingly, Duke Alimer de Hernavi's political skills have allowed Venthe to retain its independence from Arkir. The count in 8,872 is Dalik Condari de Cuerzava. Zemireal- A kingdom-island of a large size to the east of Delith. Zemireal shares a close cultural connection to Tavron.

[Deepstrike101]

EDIT: This post of chapter one is obsolete and has been replaced.

[Deepstrike101]

Some background info that will be explained later.

There is a single creator of the Champion of Winds universe, who is called Aura. Aura is not a definite God like there is in Christianity, Judaism, Islam, she is the avatar of all magical energy in the world. She is like water- calm when there is equilibrium, yet she can be disturbed and given strength by imbalance. This will make sense when I explain the nature of magic in this world, especially "conservation of magic," in a later post.

There are eight other deities, who are the Daeian (Daei, single). These are in some ways like the Greek gods, but more powerful and far more destructive. They have servants called the Daei-Talan (literally, god-servants, Daei-Tal single). These are spirits of immense power, whom no mortals can hope to fight. The Daeian are worshiped by the populations of the Champion of Winds universe, but the gods they pray to are somewhat idealized versions of the real Daeian. The real truth is that the Daeian and their servants are born of magical imbalance and are volatile, each wants to remake the world in their image and annihilate everything else. The Daeian already destroyed the world once, after which Aura locked them away in the spirit realm and imprisoned the Daei-Talan far beneath the earth.

There is one more layer of spirits created by the Aura and the Daeian, and these are the Las-Talan, which means "all-servants." The Las-Talan are spirits of natural things, like spirits of the waters, spirits of the forests, and their goal is to maintain their locale as is their role. They cannot be forced to fight for any force, not even the Daeian.

Finally, there are the unforseen creatures and spirits which are together known under the less than politically correct umbrella term, "rak." Rak translates as tumor or cancer. Any creature that suffers a mutation or gains magical power it was not supposed to have is a rak. Any spirit that lingers in a way it should not is also a rak. It's a very general term and not all rak are evil.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Hi, Deepstrike101.

This seems an interesting world and you've given us an interesting beginning. I'll look forward to more.

There was just one thing I wanted to mention, though - I wasn't sure Atheray would start by calling his sister-in-law "Catherina", and then start calling her "Lady Catherina Velovois".

I can totally see that he might use both names - "Catherina" in private, with just friends and family, where he could be informal, and "Lady Catherina Velovois" (or "Lady Catherina Condari", if he got it right!) in public, where he might be expected to be more formal, perhaps - but that doesn't seem to be happening here. Everything seems to be in public (and the less-formal "Catherina" definitely is).

[Alwyn]

I am intrigued by this world, its peoples, places and dangerous witches. I wonder where the story will go from here.

[Deepstrike101]

Prologue
Rastisar Nelonov Iz Lafgrada

The air was growing colder by the minute, or so it seemed. Rastisar was beginning to shiver despite the thick linen gambeson underneath his maille armor. Winter was drawing closer with each passing day, and travelling north only accelerated its inevitable approach. Thin patches of snow already covered the bushes and tree branches along the road.

His deep blue eyes were frozen in place, looking off into the distance at nothing in particular. The endless winding curves of the deep-forest road had long ago begun to blur together. The pine trees that surrounded him stretched beyond the horizon in every direction, part of the Ocean of Trees that covered much of the heartlands of Arkir. The last rays of the sun were now brushing just the tops of the trees, soon to disappear altogether. Rastisar watched the edge of the sunlight climb higher and higher on a distant pine until it was finally gone. He stopped his horse and turned to the man next to him.

Duke Alimer was an old man with a receding hairline of thin, pure white, hair. Despite his aged appearance, his proud stature and lively gray eyes suggested a vibrant vigor seldom found in men who had seen as many years as him. Rastisar wondered with just a little awe how Alimer could display such energy after so many hours of riding.

“My lord, the time grows late,” Rastisar stated. “It would be safer to make camp for the night.”

“Safer?” Alimer asked with a hint of surprise. He too stopped his horse and turned to look at Rastisar. Alimer paused his eyes on the drugarik briefly, then gazed further back at the thirty other armored men to their rear. He looked at Rastisar once again.
Rastisar knew what Duke Alimer was going to say. He fought the urge to roll his eyes, the only part of his body not obscured from view by armor.

“I respect your experience, Rastisar, but come now… We cannot be more than two hours from Lafgrad. For a man who is a hero of the Galiphean wars, you are too often eager to complain about nightfall.”

It was an argument they’d had many times. Duke Alimer could be a great companion on the road or at a feast, but he also had the potential to appear incredibly condescending at times. Rastisar tried to stifle his irritation at the duke, reminding himself that Alimer was a foreigner. A foreign lord from a land where nobility was the norm and did as they pleased. Or, used to do as they pleased.

Sometimes Rastisar wondered if the biggest mystery about Tavron, Alimer’s homeland, was why it had taken the peasantry over a thousand years to grow irritated enough to cast out their condescending lords. Again, this thought resurfaced and Rastisar released a dry “heh” at his internal joke.

Duke Alimer took Rastisar’s laugh as an admission that he was too cautious, knowing nothing of Rastisar’s true thoughts. “We will ride for just another moment and sleep in warm beds rather than on the cold ground,” he said energetically, trying to lift Rastisar’s spirits. “We are thirty-two knights. Who in this forest could touch us?”

It’s not so much who, Rastisar thought. He wanted to say it aloud, but again anticipated Alimer’s reaction and this time decided to keep that particular thought silent.
“Bandits, my lord. The same ones we were sent here to eradicate?” He suggested instead.

“They wouldn’t dare. Not against this many knights.”

“We’re not knights,” Rastisar corrected him. It was true. The Empire of Arkir had a title loosely corresponding to the knights of other cultures, the bellars they were called, but Rastisar was only a senior drugarik. He had no lands and no great wealth. If he had both he still could not have serfs- all men of Arkir were freemen. Even his armor had been paid for by the state when he enlisted to fight the Galiphean rebels.

The drugariks of Arkir were skilled soldiers and brave warriors hired by the Arkirian Empire to serve in the drugaria, the professional core of its armies. But they lacked the training and grace of true knights.

Rastisar knew that the duke understood this. Alimer had taken a liking to calling his drugarik bodyguards ‘knights.’ Normally Rastisar viewed it as a sign of fatherly-like affection, but in this situation Alimer was using the word to justify endangering his drugariks. The word took on a mocking tone in Rastisar’s mind.

Duke Alimer frowned at Rastisar’s rebuttal of the endearing term. He sunk into his seat, his vast reserve of energy appearing to be temporarily drained. “It’s all the same,” he said dryly. “We’re riding,” he added and dug his stirrups into his horse’s sides. The destrier bounded forward. Even when Rastisar and the other drugariks resumed their horses’ trots, the duke made sure to stay just a pace ahead of his bodyguards in a thinly veiled gesture that he had taken offense.

And fine, thought Rastisar, I’m his bodyguard, not a fool for his entertainment.

He wondered if he meant it. The duke truly was a pain to escort at times, frequently spurning the drugarik’s council, instead preferring rash action. At certain times, like then, Rastisar felt that the post was beneath him. He had taken the job because there was nothing else to do during the Three Winter Peace. When the newest war against Galiphe finally started he was already committed to guarding Alimer of Hernavi.

If I had a single wish, I would ask for the gift of foresight. If only I had known we would be back at war so soon I would never have agreed to nanny this bald-headed . It was a harsh thought, maybe harsher than what he meant, but he still felt better after thinking it, as if this thought had somehow avenged the waste of time he suffered from guarding the duke instead of earning glory on the field of battle.

And I could make some money by betting on the chariot races!

A smile slowly crawled to his face at the thought. The ancient capital of Arkir, Delith, hosted a chariot race each month. It was a mighty spectacle that could only be rivalled in sheer grandeur by the gladiatorial wizard duels held in the Coliseum of Yerevat. If only he could predict these races, he could become the richest man in Delith.

But why stop there? If I could see the future, that means I would know everything about everyone… I could predict battles and write prophecies. I would become the most powerful man in the world! And Kira, my lovely Kira, she could be my empress.

These pleasant thoughts chased away the cold and the nervous caution. Rastisar indulged in his fantasy, imagining what it would be to wield such power. Even the freezing darkness around him could not infringe on this sweet dream.

The sunlight had long ago faded from the sky, which was now pitch black, without even the moon to be seen. Some of the other drugariks had lit torches, but the light from them was faint. Through the trees Rastisar saw a bead of orange light appear. He squinted, trying to get a better look. The thoughts of majestic wealth and imperial splendor faded from his mind, replaced by a subtle sense of fear. Had they reached Lafgrad, or was this a camp, he wondered.

The other drugariks and even Duke Alimer perked up in their saddles, straining to get a better look at the glimmering light. They rode quietly until they cleared another bend in the road to reveal a large fire. The flames were as tall as a man, licking dangerously at nearby branches. More mysteriously, what appeared to be a wooden totem stood in the center of the inferno, yet did not look burnt. The blaze seemed out of control and even from a long distance Rastisar could feel its heat.

His training and instincts took over and he drew his ax from his belt. It was a wicked instrument with a long handle and a small ax blade at the end. The cutting edge of the black iron ax head was angled slightly down and the lower corner of the head ended in a sharp, cruel, point. He also took his shield, previously resting on his horse, and strapped it to his arm. It was a thick round shield, heavy and sturdy. The front was decorated with an elaborate mosaic of colors.

“What do you make of that, Rastisar?” Asked the duke, gripping the hilt of his longsword tightly with his right hand.

“I do not know, my lord,” the drugarik answered. He frowned at the fire, vaguely remembering the stories from his youth. “The elder women from the village where I was raised, they used to say that Old Believers live in the woods. They worship the Daeian with ancient totems deep in the hearts of forests.”

The Duke shook his head dismissively. “We’re not in the heart of a forest. We’re on a major road.”

Rastisar was about to agree when he noticed something out of the ordinary. The light of the inferno illuminated the surrounding forest enough that he realized they were no longer on the road to Lafgrad at all. The party stood in a long clearing roughly in the shape of an oval with the fire at the far end. Against his own desires, Rastisar could not help but also notice the vegetation around them was overgrown but looked dead and dry. The trees bristled with scraggly gray branches, very different to the lush green foliage the Ocean of Trees was known for.

He looked in alarm at the duke, but Alimer’s expression already betrayed the same realization. Shock and fear adorned his face, forming into a thoughtful grimace.

“It seems we have lost our way,” Duke Alimer finally said.

“My lord, we should turn back…”

“Turn back?” Asked Alimer, as if unable to make sense of the words. “Turn back, turn back… No, we’ll just get more lost. It’s better if we make camp now. If there are people nearby we will find them and get their help to find our way when day breaks.”

Rastisar rode up to Alimer and grabbed him firmly by the shoulder before he could start towards the blaze. “My lord, we need to turn back,” he insisted in a commanding tone. “There are fouler things in these woods than bandits.”

“Let go of me this instant,” Alimer barked back. He didn’t wait for Rastisar to release his grip, instead jerking his arm free. “I don’t believe in your Arkirian bedtime stories. I have enough years under my belt to know better.”

The duke spurred his horse and trotted towards the fire. Rastisar had shifted his ax to his left hand to grab Alimer, but now he once again gripped it tightly in his sword hand. Several of the drugariks had taken off after the duke while Rastisar moved slowly, taking great care to search for any threats in the tree line. One of the others rode up to him.

“The duke is as thick skulled as usual, Rastisar?” Asked Nevan. His face was not covered by the same maille mesh that Rastisar wore, and his young, almost boyish, face peered out from the open helmet. He had thin features and the cold made them white as snow. He was of a junior drugarik rank and his armor was lighter and colder than that of most of the men.

Upon his chest was a medallion that he claimed was blessed in the Cathedral of Emary and could ward off evil spells. It was a large wheel with eight arrows as the spokes, one representing each of the eight Daeian. Rastisar had frequently noticed that the medallion was an irritation to Nevan. It bounced and swung around at the first sight of motion, yet Nevan always insisted on wearing it.

Rastisar scowled in the duke’s direction, though Nevan could not see this. “More than usual. Stay on your guard, something is far from right here.”

Rastisar gave orders to several drugariks to search through the nearby woods for any signs of bandits, or… The Lady forbid, something worse. A quick search uncovered no hidden dangers, so Rastisar and his men approached the fire cautiously.

Alimer, flanked by several bodyguards, was staring at the totem in the center with a puzzled expression. “It can’t be wood. But if it’s not wood, what could it be?” He mused aloud.

“Sorcery,” Rastisar suggested as he approached.

“Lebayev?” Alimer asked.

“No, I’m not Lebayev.”

“Oh, Rastisar. Take off your damn veil, I can never tell who you are under that thing.”

The drugarik obliged, removing the maille mesh that covered his face. His face was not old, he was only in his mid-thirties. Yet there was a worn look to his eyes and the corners of his lips, just a faint suggestion that he had been through much during his life. His features were blocky and emphasized by his thick brown eyebrows. He had a neatly trimmed beard that followed his jaw line and up around his lips. At the chin, it was several inches long and braided into a two-pronged fork. An oddly shaped scar adorned his chin where the maille rings of his face veil had dug into his flesh as the result of a blow of a galiphean cavalryman’s falcata. The Galiphean cavalryman got worse in return.

“These Old Believers as you called them, are they dangerous?” Asked Alimer.

“They are certainly not friendly… But we’ve found nobody nearby. If they were here earlier, we might have scared them off.”

A distant rumbling began to shake the air, growing louder and louder. Rastisar’s eyes darted from tree to tree. He raised his ax and adopted a fighting stance, rotating from side to side. The rumbling was coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. Before he could ascertain the source, a white flash filled his vision and his body went numb.

Rastisar didn’t know if he was dead or alive. Only a bright white filled his vision and his ears rung. He could not feel a single part of his body.

Hours went by. Or was it minutes? Seconds? He finally got his bearing back- he was laying on his back, still in his lamellar armor. Slowly the feeling returned to his fingertips, then his legs, and finally the rest of him. Tingles flew through his body as if every part of it had lost circulation and fresh blood was finally flowing through his arteries. He sat up to find himself still in the clearing, next to the duke.

Duke Alimer appeared to be in the same exact state, looking around in baffled bewilderment. The rest of the drugariks had gathered around but offered no help, instead staring at the fire.

Rastisar followed their gazes and froze. In the inferno was a young woman with eyes brighter than the flames licking at her unburnt skin. Her flowing red hair seemed to radiate heat and power, majestic and as vibrant as the fire around her. She took a stride forward, emerging from the flames. Her eyes dimmed until they were a deeper red than her hair. Her dress looked like it was made of tiny red links like maille armor, yet a hundred-fold finer, shimmering in the firelight.

“Welcome to my home,” said she casually, as if inviting an old friend into her home.

Within seconds, two dozen weapons were brought to the ready, the drugariks prepared to strike. They were uneasy to say the least, some even backing away in fear. The horses, tied to nearby trees, neighed with alarm.

“Surely a lone woman does not warrant such threats. Come, my good men, put away your arms and enjoy my fire’s warmth.” Her voice was soothing and warm like a warm meal or hot tea on a cold night. It seemed to wrap around and hug the men like a blanket, relaxing them. “My lord, since you are my guest, perhaps you shall honor me with your name.”

Alimer at last found his wits and rose to his feet. He took a deep breath to steel himself and regained his composure. His voice was booming and commanding, like the snarl of an animal backed into a corner. “I am Duke Alimer de Hernavi, noble Kaleen of Lafgrad. These are the men of my drugaria. Who am I speaking to?”

“They call me Sepia Faruera, Priestess of Agon, Daei of Fire and Smoke.”

Rastisar stood up too, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in a deep frown. He was gripping his ax so tight that his knuckles were white. Sepia glanced at him briefly, her deep crimson eyes pausing for only a moment before looking back at Alimer.

The duke’s skin was slick with nervous sweat. His eyes darted around wildly looking for some explanation to Sepia’s arrival. With a flash of lightning, she had appeared out of nowhere, emerging from a blaze no human being could withstand.

“I see I have perplexed you, my lord. My apologies that my arrival was so startling,” she said in a soft and sincere tone.

“I am not startled… I just don’t understand. Are you an Old Believer?”

“Oh no, my lord!” She exclaimed with a laugh that danced through the air like flickering flames.

“Then who? What sorcery do you have?”

“As I said, I am a Priestess of Agon. I have no sorcery but the powers my Daei blesses me with. Agon has wished that I speak with you, and has brought you to me so that I may show you our power.”

Slowly Alimer’s face turned from one of fearful aggression to genuine curiosity. He let go of his sword’s hilt. All his life he had believed in Aura the Creator as the single god, but here was a priestess of one of the eight Daeian, and she was blessed with magic he had not yet seen.

“What is it that you want to show me?”

“The world as it truly is. I can unveil the greatest secrets of the world for you to see, and you will know all. I can give you the gift of fire and your life will burn bright forever, knowing no fatigue or age. I can give you the gift of power and you will wield magic mortals can only dream of.” Her voice grew louder and more commanding, yet softer and more inviting as she spoke.

To Rastisar’s horror, the duke was smiling and nodding as if the priestess was a naked woman offering herself to him. The drugarik could see sparks of infatuation in Alimer’s eyes.

“My lord!” Rastisar interrupted. “She is a witch of Agon. He is the deity of chaos and corruption. Do not let her honeyed voice take from you your reason.”

“Rastisar, I shall hear her out without your feeble complaints” Alimer snapped at his bodyguard. “Please continue, my lady.”

“My Daei demands no sacrifices and no payment from you, Duke Alimer of Hernavi. He only asks for your willing loyalty. In return you will be given anything your heart desires.”

She smiled warmly at him as if he were her lover and came closer. Some of the drugariks stepped forward to cut her off, weapons at the ready, but Alimer glared over his shoulder and raised his hand to stop them. He looked back at Sepia with awe and lowered his arms.

The priestess laid a hand over his heart and leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Rastisar thought he saw, just for a moment, the duke’s eyes flash with red. Alimer fell to one knee, head bowed before her.

Sepia now addressed Rastisar and the drugaria. “Agon offers all men the chance to shed their mortal chains and share in his limitless power. You have only to swear allegiance to him.” Her voice grew grand and powerful, like the crackle of a forest fire. It was compelling and mighty, impossible to refuse.

Limitless power, oh what I could do with limitless power! I would be a god amongst men, not a mere drugarik, Rastisar thought. He felt tired in a way, yet happy, the way a fatigued man feels crawling into bed for a long sleep late at night. He slid the ax’s handle back into his belt and let his shield drop freely to the ground.

“What must we do to swear our loyalty to him?” Rastisar heard a voice ask. It was his voice, and came from his lips, yet he did not make himself say it.

A broad smile spread across the priestess’s face. This smile was one of cruel satisfaction, completely unlike the sweet smiles she had shown earlier. “You must look into the flames and let Agon embrace you. Open your mind and soul to him and his power will course through your veins.”

“I wish to serve Agon,” said Alimer, standing back up.

“Then look into the fire, my lord. Let your mind go blank and drift off to sleep. All of you, drugariks, come watch the flames.”

Each man, even Rastisar, walked forward to the fire. Rastisar was shocked, for he had not given his legs any orders to move, and yet they had carried him until he was standing right next to the inferno.

The heat he felt radiating from the fire earlier was gone. Its flames felt lukewarm, even when he reached out and placed his hand in the blaze. Rastisar watched the flames dance between his fingers, leaving them unburnt as the priestess had been when she emerged from them.

He felt a spirit dancing in the flames, calling to him to come closer. The spirit’s voice was like smoke made into song and every time Rastisar’s mind reached out to grasp the meaning of the words, the wispy lyrics evaded him. He realized at last that the spirit was muttering a spell to him. It was mesmerizing. Rastisar knew this was not natural, that he was not in control of his own body, but there was nothing he could do. The allure of the spirit in the fire, perhaps Agon himself, was too powerful. He could not look away.

A very firm hand gripped his shoulder and twisted him away from the fire with a strong pull. Rastisar shrugged the hand off and returned to the fire. Once more, someone grabbed him from behind, but this time Rastisar found an armored fist colliding with his face, which sent him tumbling to the ground away from the fire. The spell of the flames was gone, replaced by a throbbing pain in his cheek and stars in his eyes.

“Rastisar, get up, damn you!” The voice was Nevan’s.

Rastisar looked up to see the young drugarik standing nearby with his back turned towards him. Nevan had his sword and shield in his hands and was facing Sepia, who was calmly watching from nearby.

“What the Hell is going on?” Rastisar demanded.

“She is a witch! I was under the spell too until my medallion exploded when I walked up to the fire.”

“Turns out that ugly thing was useful for something after all, lad!” Rastisar leaped to his feet and drew his ax. He looked at his fellow drugariks. All thirty of them were standing by the edge of the fire, staring into it, motionless. “Witch, release them, or I’ll have your head!”

“I’m not holding them prisoner,” she said in a steady matter-of-fact tone.

“Liar!” Cried out Nevan, his boyish features twisted into a grimace. “Give them back!” It was a desperate yell. Nevan was fearful of the witch, his sword shaking in his hand.

“I speak the truth. They are slaves to nobody but their own desires.”

“Enough,” said Rastisar. “I’ll put your head on a lance.” He advanced at a walking pace to the witch, ax at his side.

The witch began to walk back, showing that for the first time during their encounter she was not in control of the situation.

“Killing me will not stop the process. You are too late!”

“Rastisar!” Cried Nevan with alarm ringing in his voice.

Rastisar turned around to look at his companion. Nevan was pointing at the fire. The drugariks were no longer staring into the flames. The stood shoulder to shoulder in two ranks with their weapons at the ready, looking at Rastisar and Nevan. Their skin was as white as snow but their eyes were glowing red like hot coals.

“Rak,” Rastisar gasped in shock. They’re real! Daeian save us.

He lunged at the witch, prepared to bury his ax in her chest. The witch only took one step back, raised her hand, and whispered a word.

Rastisar saw a flash of flame and sparks from somewhere below, and then blackness, but for some speckles of light like stars. He wondered if he was slain, but the searing pain from his torso and panicked yelling from nearby suggested otherwise. The drugarik realized he was looking up at the sky. He raised his head to look around. Sepia was standing nearby, expressionlessly looking at Rastisar. A single white raven sat on a nearby branch, watching in the same way.

He looked at his wound but found none. His lamellar armor’s lacing had been burnt away on his stomach, but the steel plates had held fast.

Nevan was nearby, screaming at the approaching drugariks to stay away. The advanced ominously, without a word, brandishing their weapons. Finally, they were just several meters away. Nevan muttered a prayer and sprung forward, swinging his sword at the head of one of the men.

The drugarik caught the blow with his rim of his shield. The arming sword bit several inches into the edge and the drugarik brought his ax down on the sword blade near the handguard, knocking it from Nevan’s hand.

Rastisar tried to stand up but the pain in his chest was too great. His armor had stopped the bolt of fire yet he felt his ribs had buckled from the impact. The spell had done him in after all.

Nevan drew a dagger from his belt, but it did him no good. The drugarik he was fighting hooked Nevan’s shield with his ax, then delivered a powerful blow to the lad’s ribcage. Nevan’s maille held firm against the blow, but Rastisar could just make out the subtle crack of a rib among the commotion. The lad was knocked down. The drugarik approached for a finishing blow with his ax, but Nevan parried the blow with his shield and managed to bury his dagger in the unprotected calf of his assailant.

The drugarik grabbed Nevan’s knife hand before he could pull it out and deliver another strike. The dagger remained planted in the man’s leg, fiery red blood oozing from the wound. The drugarik had not made a noise or even recoiled from the pain caused by the dagger wound. He only raised his ax once more in the air, his merciless eyes burning like torches from under his helmet and maille face veil.

Rastisar closed his eyes and awaited death.

[McScottish]

Ooooo, cliffhanger...

I like it!

This is getting good, and I can only commend you for undertaking such an enterprise as novel writing; I have been tempted many times, but each time my innate laziness and procrastination has thus far done me in.

You shall have rightful rep for this, good sirrah, and may we get another glimpse into your creation soon.

[Alwyn]

Great chapter! The witches of this world are powerful, it seems - witch hunting sounds like a very dangerous profession!

[Deepstrike101]

Chapter One: The Young Lord
Count Dalik Condari de Cuerzava

“The carriage is stopped again. We must be here,” said Count Dalik and moved the curtain out of the way to see. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight outside. He looked around the plaza.

When he was satisfied, he pulled the curtain back into place and took a bottle of wine from the bench next to him. “A cup of wine, my love? It will be some time until the council is assembled. We may as well enjoy ourselves.”

Caterina smiled and nodded. Her big blue-gray eyes were full of joy that their long journey had finally reached its conclusion, at least for a short time. The road from Venthe, their castle, to Lafgrad was exhausting, even in a carriage. Each day their convoy would travel several dozen miles to avoid staying in the woods overnight.

Count Dalik heard rumors all along the route that bandits were roaming the countryside rampantly, killing or kidnapping all they could find, especially at night. He’d heard some even wilder tales about men possessed by demonic spirits prowling the woods, but these he dismissed out of hand. He had neither time nor patience for children’s tales.

Dalik poured his wife some wine into a ruby-colored crystal glass and passed it to her. Caterina took a sip and looked out of the window too.

“I imagined it to be a bigger city. The province is so big, yet the capital is so small,” she said.
“Not a lot of people live here. Everyone knows only trees and bears reside this far north in Arkir.”

“Well, I’ve seen far more people than bears thus far,” she said with a giggle. Her features were still more like those of a girl than a woman, even though she was nineteen years of age. This was especially true when she laughed with a wide smile and crinkled her nose. Even her voice sounded too young for her age.

“Give it time. We still have our return journey in a month. The snows are still melting and the bears aren’t awake just yet.”

“Oh!” She exclaimed, startling her husband, and nearly causing him to spill his wine. “Can we visit Delith on our way back? Please?”

“Why do you want to visit Delith?” He asked with a little irritation in his voice.

“They say it’s the grandest city in the world. They say that it is so big, its roofs stretch beyond the horizon.”

“Maybe that was true a few thousand years ago, before Arkir conquered it.”

“No,” she protested. “It’s just as big as it was in the days of the Manadelians. If lovers have as many children as they do, how can there be any less people there today than before?”

The naivety of Caterina’s question amused Dalik and he chuckled briefly. “Sweet girl, you don’t know the world at all. Wars and plagues can kill men faster than they can be born.”

“I’m not a fool, Dalik. I know of wars and plague. But Arkir has dominated this part of the world for so many years. When was the last time Delith was sacked?”

She had a good point. It had been centuries since an army stood at Delith’s gates. Dalik shrugged, unwilling to answer her question to the detriment of his argument.

“Exactly,” she taunted. “Besides, there are so many things to see there. The Cathedral of Emary or the Coliseum of Yerevat. Maybe we can even see a chariot race!”

Dalik could see his wife was excited about the prospect, but he knew that the architecture and festivities were not all his wife wanted to see in Arkir’s ancient capital.

“Fine,” he relented. “But on one condition.”

“Yes?”

“You must promise me that you won’t seek out Atheray while we are there.”

Her mood sunk faster than a rock cast into the sea. “Why not?” She demanded angrily.

“Because I don’t intend to add two months of travel to our journey so you can run around Delith looking for someone who doesn’t want to be found.”

“He is your brother and my friend. We haven’t seen him in four years!”

“If he wanted to see us, he would have returned to visit.”

“That’s not fair, he has duties to the Imperial Guard. We have not seen my uncle Alimer in twelve years, yet that does not mean he has no desire to see me.”

“Caterina, I will hear no more of this. Now come, it is time that we unload our carriage and find accommodations.”

Dalik opened the door of the carriage and stepped out. The fresh air and setting sun felt good on his face after a long ride in the carriage. His brown hair, almost shoulder length, blew back in the wind. He helped his wife out of the carriage.

Caterina and Dalik’s appearances contrasted sharply with those of the crowds of Arkirian locals wandering the plaza. They wore clothes typical of Tavronan nobility. Dalik was dressed in a silk jacket with vertical red and tan stripes. Each stripe’s edge was trimmed with golden lacing. The pants were a plainer dark beige.

Caterina wore a deep burgundy dress with white and gold lacing decorating almost every bit of it. The shoulders were puffed up and the back of the collar reached up to her ears. The front of her dress was cut to end just above her breasts so that none of her cleavage was visible. As she emerged from the carriage, she also put upon her head a red hat with a large pheasant feather. Large square earrings made of diamonds hung from her ears.

The clothes of the Arkirians passing by were far more plain, mostly white, red, or brown shirts and dresses of linen and wool. Some of them paused briefly to marvel at the strangely dressed foreigners who parked a carriage in the plaza. Dalik paid no head to these passerby’s.

“Terry!” Dalik called. Hearing the count summoning him, a boy of nine rushed over.

“Yes, your lordship!” His face was eager, his blue-gray eyes large and round like saucers. His overgrown and unwashed brown hair was scraggly and stuck up in every direction. He wore a decorated linen shirt and trousers. A tobacco pipe stuck from his small lips, smoke spilling out from the end.

“I told you to stay away from that,” Dalik scolded as he yanked the lit pipe straight from Terry’s mouth. “It’s bad for your health and such behavior is unbefitting of a highborn man.”

“I’m sorry, your lordship. It won’t happen again.” The boy was more surprised than apologetic. He had rushed over forgetting that the pipe was still in his mouth.

“See to it that it doesn’t, or I’ll send you home to your father sooner than look at you again.”

The young boy stared at his feet in shame. Dalik knew that the page was struggling to hold back tears.

“Dalik, show the boy some mercy,” Caterina interjected.

“Where did you get the pipe?” Dalik asked Terry. It was a typical Arkirian tobacco pipe. The wood was old and the black paint that had once covered it had long ago worn away.

“Mister Kanik gave it to me.”

“See Dalik, I told you that drugarik is a bad influence for the page. Why did you have to hire him?”
“Caterina, we will talk about it later. This is not the time.” Dalik turned back to the boy. “Terry, I want the horses watered and fed. Then make sure my armor is polished. I want to wear it to the council tonight.”

“Yes, your lordship.”

“Thank you, Terry.”

Dalik took Caterina by the waist with both arms and kissed her. “I’m going to go into the governor’s mansion and ask which rooms Alimer has set aside for us and ask where the servants can sleep. I will be back soon, my love. Make sure the drugariks don’t all run off to some inn the moment I leave. Some of them need to remain to guard our provisions.”

Caterina agreed to wait and Dalik crossed the plaza to a large building. It was one of just a handful of buildings to be built of stone rather than wood, and it was by far the biggest. Its columns and domed roof resembled the architecture of southern Arkir and Delith rather than the more rural north that Dalik and Caterina were now in.

As he walked, he noticed that the merchants were closing their stands early. At least, they were closing far earlier than was typical. A squad of city militiamen with spears and shields marched by on what looked like a routine patrol.

There are a lot of militiamen… Surely, they can’t know about the council tonight, can they?

He considered the possibility. The council that he was to attend soon was hostile to the Arkirian state. While the town militia would know nothing of the meeting, barring the possibility of a traitor, they must have noticed the two dozen Tavronan high nobles arriving recently.

Hopefully they will think nothing of it.

When he agreed to attend the war council two months earlier, he knew he was taking a risk. It had seemed remote and unimportant. But now it felt so real and he felt a tinge of adrenaline in his blood as his heart beat like a drum.

Dalik climbed the dusty stone stairs leading into the palace and paused at the top, looking around. Where is the doorman?

A middle-aged man with curly brown and gray hair in Tavronan garb brushed past him and pushed the great oak doors open. “This isn’t Tavron, this is Arkir. You have to open the doors yourself here, young lord.”

“Myself?” Dalik echoed as he entered the mansion.

“Yes, yourself. Even the governors don’t have serfs here,” the man said. He paused shortly after he walked in and Dalik stopped next to him.

The governor’s mansion appeared larger on the inside than on the outside. The main hall that Dalik found himself in was the domed portion of the structure, and the dome only began four stories above the ground floor. It was beautifully decorated with paintings of the eight Daeian, the Arkirian pagan gods.

Almost every part of the structure was a bright hue of red, orange, and yellow. A wide spiral staircase wrapped around the circumference of the room, heading up to the fourth level.

Many locals in higher-class looking clothing rushed from one corridor to another like honey bees running a great bureaucratic hive.

“I am Count Dalik Condari de Cuerzava.”

“And I didn’t know Cuerzava still had a lord after Rafil Condari’s head ended up atop a pike.” This was a crude joke aimed at Dalik’s father.

“Watch your tongue, or I will remove it,” the count snarled, hand jumping to his rapier.

The older man looked at Dalik over and smirked as if the young noble was not threatening to run him through with a sword. “You amuse me, Count Dalik. You have more bravery in your heart than I thought.”

The man’s beard was thick and whiter than his hair. A vertical scar adorned the right side of his lips and a diagonal one sat just above his left brow. His eyes were curiously a deep Arkirian blue rather than Tavronan blue-gray, but his expensive black coat was definitely of Tavronan make. A white cloak hung from his left shoulder, kept there by a thick leather strap that ran across his chest. A heraldic medal, typically indicating the noble house of the wearer, was pinned on his chest. The symbol on the medal was a long-beaked white bird of some kind, with three large chain links drawn underneath it.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Jean-Carl. I’m afraid my house is too obscure for a young lord such as yourself to know of it. I apologize for my humor, I have never been known for my empathy. I too often speak without consideration.”

“Perhaps they’ve too often let you keep your tongue,” Dalik suggested coldly.

The man laughed, throwing Dalik into confusion. “I see that you do have a sense of humor, Count Dalik. But tell me, your lordship, what castle do you rule if not Cuerzava?”

“Venthe, to the southwest of Galiphe. It is a small land, but I do enjoy the freedom.” Dalik said, taking his hand away from his sword. “And you, Jean-Carl?”

“I lost my lands long ago, your lordship. I am what you would call a loose banner,” he said with a crooked smile. A loose banner was the term to describe a knight or nobleman who was deprived of his lands but still had loyal followers to fight in his retinue. “But there’s nothing unusual about that,” he added.

It was true. Ever since the Tavronan Civil War, many of Tavron’s knights and lords had been wandering the world with small bands of faithful servants. Many offered themselves for hire, others were content with purchasing castles to calmly reside in. Dalik had met more loose banners than he could count while living in Venthe.

“Indeed. I suppose that is why you are here? To join our voyage and earn back your land?”

“I’m afraid there is little tonight’s council can do to aid me in that goal… But I am content to watch and listen.”

“Why?” Dalik asked suspiciously, recalling the militia patrol outside.

“Knowledge can be more powerful than legions of men. I think that this council can teach me something I need to know.”

“And what would that be?”

“It’s nothing that needs to concern you, young lord. Just some private curiosities.” Jean-Carl reached into his coat and pulled out a miniscule scroll, no larger than his thumb. “May I ask a favor of you, your lordship?”

“That would depend on the favor, Sir Jean-Carl.”

“It is a small thing, I swear. I ask only that you carry this paper on your person for the next week.”

“Why?” Dalik’s patience was quickly ebbing.

“I am sorry to be so vague, but all I can say is that upon it I have written some information that may be of use to you. I only wish that you swear to Aura you will not unseal this scroll until the time is right.”

What the hell does that mean? This man must be demented if he keeps scrolls to give out to strangers.

“How will I know the time is right?” Dalik asked.

“You will know beyond all doubt, your lordship. Please, take it.”

Dalik reached over and took the scroll from Jean-Carl’s weathered hand. Without so much as looking at it again, he thrust the paper into a black money purse on his belt.

“Thank you. Now I will be prepared for whatever vague misfortune may come my way.”

“You mock me, my lord. But it is all the same. That paper will be of use to you yet.”

Dalik rolled his eyes. Clearly the man he was speaking to was mad. “Any other life-saving prophecies today, sir?”

“No, your lordship.”

“Good. I must be going. Would you happen to know where I can meet with Duke Alimer?”

“The meeting chambers are on the second floor, but you will not find the duke home at present.”

“I can wait,” Dalik said as he turned to walk away. Jean-Carl bowed his head and strode to a room on the left, disappearing down the hallway.

Making sure that Jean-Carl could no longer see him, Dalik took the paper from his money bag and broke the seal. He unrolled it but found no ink on the page. It was blank.

The count scowled at the hallway down which Jean-Carl had just disappeared. He crumpled up the paper and stuffed it back into his money bag.

“What a waste of my time.”

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Well, this is intriguing - we don't know (yet) what has happened to Alimer, and now we have mysterious pieces of paper that may end up being useful later on (or may not, because of Dalik's failure to follow instructions). I'm looking forward to finding out what happens...

[Deepstrike101]

Chapter Two temporarily removed to be rewritten.

[Deepstrike101]

I edited one of my above posts to include an up-to-date glossary for the more confusing terms used in the story.

Edit: How is the balance between plot, narration, and dialogue? Is there a different balance of the three you would like to see?

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

The post explaining the relationship between the different gods and spirits has gotten me intrigued, it sounds like a very interesting setting.

I haven't had a chance to read the chapters yet, but I'm looking forward to getting round too it. +rep

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

I edited one of my above posts to include an up-to-date glossary for the more confusing terms used in the story.

Edit: How is the balance between plot, narration, and dialogue? Is there a different balance of the three you would like to see?

It's fine for me, so far - but I think I can only answer the question properly once you're quite a lot further in. I'd generally expect that balance to vary somewhat between chapters, so it's difficult to judge without quite a few chapters (or a whole book) to look at. Anyway, no objections so far, at least!

[Alwyn]

Good chapter! I particularly enjoyed the conflict between Dalik and Caterina over seeing Atheray - and Dalik's confusion over the lack of a doorman, highlighting a difference between cultures. I wonder why Jean-Carl wanted Dalik to hold onto the scroll. Perhaps there is something subversive written on it, using invisible ink, and Jean-Carl is going to accuse Dalik of being an enemy spy?