“There was a time when the lands that encompassed the Flanaess were a testament to man’s awesome capabilities. Majestic palaces populated the countryside. Innovative magics discovered by a growing class of educated men dazzled each new generation and created unprecedented prosperity for all. Beauty, truth, justice reigned supreme. But everything that begins, must end; everything that grows, dies; light begets shadow; and so it was also with the great civilizations of the Flanaess.”
— Soban-Flammel-Ban, circa 596 C.Y.
Bakluni historian and survivor of the Great Cataclysm
CHAPTER ONE
“Alright, my Lady, the wheel has been repaired,” warned one of the Knights assigned to guard the carriage. A few moments later, the carriage lurched forward and she braced herself for the unpleasant journey ahead. Having spent every waking hour over the last four days at breakneck speed, I could sense every bump, divet, and slide in the roads. I never would have imagined that King Belvor IV would let them get this bad. Forced to confront the growing threat to the north, the King and the northern Noble Lords sacrificed everything that was non-essential to build up the Kingdom’s defenses. Apparently, the roads were considered non-essential.
“What is wrong, my Lady?” asked the aged man seated across from me.
“This trip, these roads…” I cut myself off, realizing how much harder this journey must be on a man who has seen over 80 summers pass. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
“I mean what is really wrong? You have not spoken in days.” His voice was always so gentle, so comforting. Though he looked upon me as though he knew my every thought, nothing in his serene gaze revealed that he shared the trepidation I felt. There were many times I would not speak for days, even weeks. But he rightly sensed that the reasons were different.
I looked outside, buying time in the hopes that he’d forget his own question. I felt weakened by fear. I glanced back, but I knew better than to hope that a few moments would divert attention from one whose penetrating focus and wisdom I had come to rely on.
“Why do you think the King has summoned me?” I asked.
“Is that what you are worrying yourself about? Is there something else?”
“No.” My voice was soft and low.
“My dear, there could be many reasons. Why worry yourself over such things? They are not within your power to decide, and all the worrying in the world wouldn’t change his reason for summoning you.”
His reply masked the obvious answer to my question: there could be only one reason why the Supreme Mistress of the Order would be summoned by the King to the northern reaches of Furyondy. The lands bordered the most monstrous empire ever known to man.
“You are right.” Sorulian was always right. The point was simple, but no less true: why worry? He had become my most trusted advisor and tutor. And though I had spent many years studying under his tutelage, there was much I still needed to learn. The path was long for those dedicated to the way of reason and peaceful serenity. The path seemed longer still in these dark and treacherous times.
* * * * *
I alighted from the carriage to find a sloping hill with two men-at-arms standing towards the crest. In the background, I could hear the distant sounds of horns, drumbeats, and screams that I suspected came from the other side of the hill.
When I reached the men-at-arms, behind them I could see the ground sunk by a about a meter. One of them seemingly tugged at the air, but in fact was pulling an invisible curtain aside to reveal the inside of a stone tower. I entered the invisible fortress.
Inside was a bee-hive of activity. A man in full-plate armor approached. “Lady Jolene, forgive the lack of formalities in the field of battle. The King has been expecting you.” He ushered me up three flights of stairs.
“My dear, dear Jolene,” greeted the King with wide open arms.
“Father,” I replied sheepishly. Saying those words brought back painful memories that I had spent nearly a decade trying to forget. My face buried in his chest was jarringly both comforting and discomforting.
“I needed you to come here, and so you have. I will not waste words when you can see for yourself. Come, let me show you our predicament.” He took me to the top of the fortification. The shouts of commands disappeared below me and replaced by the shouts of pain and desperation soaring over the crenelations.
Peering across the battlement I could distinctly make out the clash of two mighty forces. The black standard of the demon-lord’s army swept across the field, his winged demonic horde simultaneously darkening the sky, and beyond billowed the black sails that had carried them across both lake and river. The King’s troops were clearly outmatched. Only the besieged battlements below prevented a full rout.
“We are without hope,” I said almost reflexively. My heart stilled, and my fingers grew numb. Had the world gone mad, I couldn’t help but wonder. Had the gods forsaken us to be swallowed by the tides of the demon-lord’s dark forces?
With every passing refugee and returning soldier, news of the Old One’s horror grew. His despotism of despair and tyranny had grown to encompass almost all the northern lands, driving its frontier upon the King’s land. His humanoid armies whipped up by cackling demonic lords struck fear into the hearts of his hapless victims. Many an unfortunate survivor of their devastating sweeps returned terror struck: often babbling, catatonic shells of living people. They were the new living dead.
Iuz the Old, Iuz the Evil: whatever his moniker, it was only spoken in whispers, if spoken at all. Once long ago used to scare children into good behavior, his name now brought even courageous cavaliers to their knees. His legendary cruelty, deceit, and tyranny have implanted itself into the subconscious of every person living in the central Flanaess. Morale seeped with every passing defeat, each defeat seemingly passed with every new day. Having devastated the Kingdom’s northern neighbors, Iuz turned his forces to strike one of the last bastions of all that is good. What could be done?
“Jolene, Jolene, we must not be so quick to abandon hope, that is our enemy’s favorite weapon,” his words sounded like the strong, courageous warrior-king she had always known, but his eyes spoke differently. His rule had been one long battle against Iuz, trying to prevent the Kingdom’s
apparently unpreventable fate of falling victim to its greatest enemy.
“I need you to convince the southern nobles of the urgency of action. Without their immediate help, the northern lands will quickly collapse, and soon will theirs.”
“But why me?” I asked. “The southern nobles are your subjects, not mine.”
“You have hidden yourself from politics too long my dear. Let me explain: they need to see that the heir-apparent to the Plar of Veluna has committed to Furyondy; they need to see that lands further removed from their own have their utmost concern. When a power greater than them, with less interest than them, tells them they must act too, who are they to refuse?”
“Veluna is a theocracy, as I might remind you King Belvor; the Plar – let alone the self-reputiated heir-apparent of the Plar – has no real power.”
“You are wrong. Everyone knows that the Heart and the Soul of Veluna act as one. And when you reclaim your rightful place as heir-apparent of the Heart, you will win them over quicker still.”
I hated these games. There was a time when politics meant something to me, but my heart was broken and my spirit lost. It would have been the height of irony to have the ‘Heart’ of Veluna attempt to rule with a broken heart of her own. Nonetheless, I had not the will or strength to be Plar.
“This must be very tough for you. But we both lost something when Thrommel did not return. Yes, you lost a fiance, but I also lost my only son and the kingdom lost its future king. My dear, that was ten years ago, you cannot forever grieve. Duty to your citizens requires otherwise; indeed, duty to civilization as we know it. The Kingdom once again asks for your hand.”
I could not tell him, nor anybody else, that the grief that palled my heart was not for his son who had disappeared. No, the love of my life was also my greatest shame. Duty required me to sacrifice it, and duty required me to bare that sacrifice on my own. Nobody knew the fate of the heroic prince except Thrommel himself, and nobody knew why I had repudiated the office of the Plar and withdrew from public except me. It was duty. The King’s invocation of my love’s banisher hurt deeper still.
“I will do what I can,” was all I could honestly offer. The tower shuddered, followed by a thunderous crack of a distant tower crumbling. He was right of course, but did I have the will to do it? I would fake it if I must.
“Good. I have ordered a strategic withdrawal that I hope will bait the enemy to follow us west along the southern lake shoreline.” His voice grew stronger, and a hint of the old warrior returned. He continued, “We have our strongest battlements along this line. We will end up sacrificing many men today to effectuate this ploy. The alternative would be disasterous, as you know our defenses are weaker toward the south…”
The King continued to talk of battle and political strategies. I knew I should have been listening to his every word, but all I could think about was what I had spent ten years trying to forget. Some wounds never heal.
