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The Soryan Order was, without question, the greatest force for good Humankind had ever known.
These stories take place over 2,000 years before they were destroyed.
Anton Marryn made himself relax. He forced his breathing to slow and tried to quell the swirling thoughts in his mind.
There was a gentle breeze today, and it found its way underneath the folds of the heavy black robes that were the standard garb for one of his station within the Holy Order of Aeremon.
Anton found this to be a welcome sensation, a small break from the normal heat and relentless sun of this time of day. The grassy hill he was sitting on was at the very edge of a forested area, and Anton admitted to himself that he dare not seek shelter in the trees, as much as it pained him to do so.
From here, Anton could see much of the city of Aeremandt below. It was a stunning view. Aeremandt, the pride of the northeast, was indeed the most shining example of human ingenuity in the entire nation of Il'Doran.
The red tops of the towers of the Holy Church located in the center of Aeremandt were clearly visible across the distance, and the white brick of the towers themselves brightly reflected the sunlight almost like a beacon.
The city was densely packed, but smartly built. Anton felt a good measure of pride that although there were many extremely tall buildings that pushed the limits of human engineering, none, not even the Hall of the Order of Nine, were as tall as the great Holy Church of the Holy Order of Aeremon.
Here was the heart of the religion that had essentially built this country into what it was today. And this day thousands and thousands would pass through that building. Much as they did every day.
But he wasn’t down there. He was up here.
As he gazed on the city, small beads of sweat trickled down out of his curly, bushy hair and traveled down the sides of his face. Anton’s brown skin was slick from the sweating he was doing out here in the sun.
Forcing his mind back to its task, he tried chanting the words to the Holy Rite of Aeremon. It was a pathetic offering. Anton knew he was horribly mauling the tempo of the chant. He offered up his prayer to Aeremon that the God please forgive his poor chant this day.
This was in the pursuit of a higher purpose.
The sun was still high, marking the aftermath of midday. Anton sat cross-legged in his black robe. He felt very out of place, and then he felt fury that he should feel out of place here in this spot.
To the Hells with this, he thought. I came here for a purpose, and it’s time to begin.
A slightly built young man, Anton seemed to bend in the breeze like a reed. Then suddenly his body went rigid and a very faint blue light enveloped him. The light grew stronger in intensity until soon there appeared to be only a bright pulsating light on the hill and no longer a person to be seen.
Anton lost his concentration when he heard a quiet voice speak to him from the edge of the forest.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be doing this here.”
Anton, still sitting, twisted his body to address the speaker.
“What say you to me?”, he demanded, scorn clear in his tone.
The speaker addressed him once more. “I said, I don’t think you’re supposed to be performing your odes to your God here in this place, my friend.”
The blue light surrounding Anton winked out. He stood and eyed the stranger up and down. This was a boy, perhaps a little younger than himself, possibly 16 seasons old. He was dressed in the usual Soryan clothing. Black leather boots, dark green tunic with bare arms. The tattoos running up and down the boy's arms offended Anton's sense of propriety. The same with his braided, shoulder-length hair.
The most obvious thing Anton noticed was his smug countenance. He leaned against a tree with arms folded and there was a stupid smirk on his face. Anton could see no fear in him.
Not fifty years ago, the only Soryan tolerated in this spot was likely to be hanging here by his neck.
“You dare tell me where I can and cannot go, boy? This whole land used to belong to the Holy Order!” Anton drew himself up to his full height and glared at the Soryan.
Instead of answering in kind, the Soryan replied in the same quiet, even voice. “But now the land belongs to the Soryan Order, and it’s inappropriate to say the least for you to be here. Also, my name is Shaine Sharra, at your service.”
Anton snapped back. “I need no service from you, Soryan. If you have a problem with me being here, why don’t you run back to your masters and see what they have to say?” Anton’s heart was pounding. There was no way he would let this pompous fool force him to leave.
Shaine hadn’t moved yet, though. “Who do you think sent me here?”
Neither boy moved. The sun beat down on them as they stared at each other. The only sound came from the crackling of leaves as the wind wound through the forest.
Turning his back, Anton spoke. “I’ll not argue with the likes of you. I’m about to finish my Rite. You can watch if you want.”
Anton heard Shaine’s voice behind him. “I really can’t allow that, my friend.”
That was enough for Anton. This boy thought he could allow or disallow anything that Anton wanted to do? He spun, thrust out his hand, and quickly shouted. “I don’t take orders from you, Soryan!”
Even before he had finished screaming, gouts of earth had erupted upwards all around the surprised Soryan. Anton thought he heard a sharp blast of music, but before the Soryan could take a step, Shaine was completely enveloped in thick sheath of packed earth.
Anton could not help but laugh. He stood with hands on hips and admired his handiwork. The Soryan should break free in a minute or two. If it looked like he was suffocating, Anton would let him out, he supposed, but this should teach him to refrain from challenging his betters.
He heard a sound behind him. Spinning around again, Anton’s mirth died as he was confronted with none other than Shaine, who had apparently been standing there for many moments.
Shaine’s smirk was still in evidence. “Would you like to know how I got out of that?” Now Shaine stood with hands on hips and seemed to taunt Anton.
“Alright Soryan, deal with this!” This time Anton cast a spell he had been working on specifically to deal with Soryans.
There was no obvious physical effect, so Anton felt he should explain. “Shaine, is it?”, scorn was still permeating Anton’s speech.
“I’ve enacted a small field of silence around your person. Now no matter what wretched Soryan magic you try to perform, without your music it will come to nothing!” Anton folded his arms and basked in his triumph.
Shaine did not appear worried, or to react at all to Anton’s speech. Anton found this odd, since they both knew that a Soryan’s magic was their music. Without sound, they would be helpless.
The quiet stand-off went on for a long moment. Then Shaine lifted his hand and mouthed something. In the blink of an eye Anton was blasted backwards by what felt like a condensed hurricane of wind. Despite himself Anton screamed as he flew into the trees and tumbled head over heels in a very undignified manner.
Branches and leaves were still settling all around Anton as he began to pick himself up. He felt aches and pains and saw bruises developing on his arms - the damnable Soryan’s magic had actually hurt him. Most of all he felt astonishment that the boy had broken his spell.
Shaine walked casually into the forest and stood close to Anton in a relaxed, non-threatening manner.
Still smiling, he spoke. “I couldn’t hear anything you were saying, due to your spell of silence, you know. I don’t think you got that quite right.” The boy’s smirk was really unbearable!
“Would you like to know how I got out of that?” Again the insufferable mocking voice. “Really, you should consider this: If that was all it took to stop a Soryan, your people would have won the war.”
Anton’s eyes narrowed and he prepared another, more powerful spell from his repertoire. “We didn’t lose to you, Soryan!”
Just as he began the chant, he heard yet another voice call out.
“Now boys! This is no way to spend a beautiful afternoon!”
The two young men turned to see who belonged to this voice. Anton was shocked that he recognized this person.
“Deven Trathe! What are you doing here with these Soryans? Do the Holy Masters know you are here!?”
Deven did not wither under the verbal assault. Even though Anton had no authority to demand answers of him, Deven answered calmly. “Most likely, young man. I have just come from seeing them yesterday, after I met with the Order of Nine.”
“You met with the Order of Nine before you met with the Holy Masters?” Anton was very upset by this.
“Of course.” Deven replied in a very amused sounding voice. “Are they not the rulers of this land?”
Anton said nothing.
Deven was an emissary from the far off land of Kelland. Almost one thousand years ago, The Kelland had used their technology to terrorize the people of Il'Doran from the other side of the world. There were vast amounts of natural resources on this side of the ocean that were lacking in Kelland, and when they came to get them from Il'Doran, they did not come in peace.
After almost a century, the sorcery of the Holy Order of Aeremon grew in strength, proving to be a devastating and unbeatable power. Kelland, on the verge of complete destruction, practically begged for peace. The two nations had been trading ever since, and the horror of the terrible war was lost now over the generations. Today children learned dry facts from the texts of the history books.
However, in the process of defeating the Kelland, the Holy Order of Aeremon had come to a position of considerable power. In fact, since that time the Holy Masters of the Holy Order of Aeremon had been the true powers behind this nation, even if the Order of Nine ruled in name. That Deven had seen fit to call upon them first spoke volumes to Anton. Very unpleasant volumes.
And now he was here. With the Soryans.
Shaine’s smirk was like a punch in the face to Anton. “Yes, he’s been here since last night, we’ve had much to discuss.”
Deven put a hand on Shaine’s shoulder. “Now let’s not read into things too much. I just thought it best to speak to all representatives of this great nation.”
Anton was brushing off twigs and leaves from his robes. He had privately always considered the Kelland to be traitors. When the civil war between the Holy Order and the Soryan Order had been at its height, the Holy Order had reached out to the Kelland to help turn the tide.
They refused, saying they did not want to interfere in the politics of another nation. Unofficially, many in the Holy Order thought that the Kelland never forgot the indignity of being shown their status of second place in the world by the Holy Order all those centuries ago. This was the perfect time for revenge.
Maybe they meant to ally with the Soryans after all? Use politics to hand them the entire country?
Anton didn’t trust Deven at all.
“And what can you possibly trade with Soryans? Certainly not magic. It’s not magic like ours but it’s still magic, and the Kelland abhor magic.”
Deven was always calm and collected. He smiled as he answered. “True, we don’t care much for the sorcery of this land, but we do care for knowledge. The Soryans have been most forthcoming with ideas and information, and so have we in return.”
Anton said nothing, but simply looked over the emissary as he stood in the trees. The Kelland engineers had helped the Holy Order to build their grand Holy Church, after all. Maybe they were helping the Soryans with their own building projects?
Looking closer at the man, Anton could see that Deven was an older man for his people, possibly in his 50th year. That was near middle age for a Kelland.
The emissary was very tall and powerfully built, seeming more like a warrior than a diplomat. His skin was a pale pink color and the man’s hair and short beard were sandy brown with touches of gray throughout. The blue eyes were the most striking though. These things marked him as an outlander in Il'Doran.
Additionally, his dark blue suit was made of some material unknown to Il'Doran. Most of this was covered by his light gray cloak. There were many black markings around the fringes of the waist-length cloth. They probably meant something, but Anton didn’t care.
By themselves, the Kelland were nothing. Their technological weapons and devices were too pitiful to provide any real threat, and they knew this. But in conjunction with the Soryans..?
Anton felt a bit sick. With a new purpose now, he strode forward. “I’m leaving, Soryan. Have your hill, if you must.” He nodded at Deven. “Ambassador.”
“Good day...”, Deven started speaking, but Anton began disappearing before he had taken three strides. By the time he would have taken four, he was gone.
Deven turned to Shaine with a big smile on his face. “I hate when they do that!”
Shaine laughed out loud. “So do I, my friend.” Then he looked around at the forest. “It seems we’ve both made a mess of things here today.”
Then Shaine began to hum a lively sounding tune. Before Deven’s eyes the trees reformed. As Shaine’s melody continued, broken branches returned to their parent trees and the earthen prison created by Anton seemed to melt away into the ground. Soon there was no evidence of any misdoings.
“Incredible.” Deven’s eyes were wide. Shaine finished his tune and seemed satisfied with what he had done.
“So I understand you leave tomorrow. Are you still riding in those metal ships?”
Deven raised an eyebrow. “Metal ships? Those metal ships travel at many times the speed of sound, my friend!”
Shaine seemed unimpressed. “We can have you home instantaneously, if you’d like. You and your ship.”
“No, I must decline your kind offer. I’d prefer to avoid your sorcery if I can.” Deven’s tone was wry. He could tell that the boy didn’t really understand his aversion to magic.
“Suit yourself, Ambassador.” Shaine turned and again began to hum a song. His body lifted into the air and in a burst of speed he flew off into the distance. Deven shaded his eyes and tried to follow his progress, but soon he lost sight of Shaine in the glare of the sun.
Now alone in the woods, Deven considered what he had seen here. This was the most valuable information he’d received in his entire visit.
The sun was still high in the sky as he began whistling softly to himself and moved off into the trees.
Click to read Chapter 2 - Holy Orders
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Chapter 1 - A Hillside Meeting
