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The sun was very bright the next morning. Birds were chirping, the trees were gently swaying in the cool breeze, and the people of all stations of life in Il'Doran were undoubtedly enjoying the early temperate weather, before the humid, powerful heat of midday set upon them as it did every day.
This was the first time Anton ever wished he were one of them. One of the lessers, those not blessed by the calling of Aeremon. He wished he were the mason, toiling his life away shaping rocks and moving stone. He wished for the life of the simple farmer. Backbreaking labor to be sure, but no complexities to worry the mind.
Anton even wished for the life of the soldier. Not needed so much these days, but the drudgery of arms drills and guard duty would be welcome to him now.
Anything to keep him from having to walk alone into the heart of Soryan power.
This time he would approach from the front, on foot, instead of teleporting himself onto the grounds. The massive palace was formerly a secondary cathedral used by those of The Holy Order lesser in status to the Holy Masters. It was a bit out of the way, and as such it never really held much importance in the affairs of the Holy Order.
To be banished from city life out into this country palace was a punishment to be avoided at all costs back in the now lost days of the Church. Out here you were far away from the dealings of importance, and without those you could hardly hope to advance.
Still, it had to have been a galling gesture of peace to have to hand it over to the Soryans. At least it was to Anton, and he had not even been alive then.
The road to what the Soryans were now calling their Citadel had supposedly always been in a state of minor disrepair. As it was not used much, the brown stone was always cracked, and weeds made their way up through the broken stones. Anton had never visited the place when it was in the hands of the Holy Order, of course, but what he was seeing before him did not match the descriptions or illustrations that he had seen.
Now, the stone road had been repaved with immaculate, bright white marble, widened to what he judged must be double its previous width. The road was lined with large overhanging trees, and there had been much landscaping done on the sides of the road. Black iron metal fencework separated the road from the trees. Black, white and green - the colors of the Soryan Order.
Anton was forced to admit the new road was very pleasant. However, he could tell it had been done using their magic. He could smell the stink of it all around. That sort of thing was frowned upon by the Holy Order. The powers granted to them by Aeremon were not to be used for trivial matters such as roads and buildings.
Aeremon wanted mankind to use their own hands and minds to build to his glory. That was the difference between them and the Soryans, they just didn't understand discipline. Always, they looked for shortcuts.
The road curved ahead, and Anton's thoughts came back to his present. There was much traffic on the road, horses and carriages carrying all manner of supplies, and many more traveled on foot as Anton did. These were the people that Anton truly wondered about.
What business did such as these have with Soryans? Men, women and children from apparently all walks of life were traveling to and from the Citadel. He would have to find out what went on in there.
After all, it was an order.
Anton Merryn, you are now in a position to do what no other Brother of the Holy Order can do. Go inside of their circle and find out the things we need to know.
The Most High Holy Brother Maethias Duraine had said this to Anton only last night. He felt slightly sick when he remembered it. So he was to be a spy? A lowly spy?
Anton wanted the entirety of the Holy Order to rise up and sweep the Soryan infection from the land, as they should have done a generation ago. Instead he was to skulk around like a coward.
Discover their weaknesses.
Surely their rejection of Aeremon, their blasphemy and heresy were their greatest weaknesses? As long as the righteous of the Holy Order held Aeremon in their hearts, they must win the day. Mustn't they?
Anton asked the question to himself and winced. Of course they would win. He shouldn't have questioned.
The Most High had said something else last night.
...what do you know about dragons?
Anton shuddered. The Most High had refused to answer any of Anton's questions on the matter. Sometimes the way the High Clergy parceled out information like withered old misers was infuriating.
It was then that Anton paused, as all the traffic had stopped ahead of him. Looking up a short way, Anton saw that the people were trying to work their way through the large stone gateway that marked the entrance to the Soryan Compound.
Judging from his memory of the illustrations he had seen, Anton thought that the gate had been enlarged, as had the road. The doors to the gate were wide open but still foot, horse and carriage traffic had to slow to work it's way in and out. Anton was slightly annoyed. He had expected to be stopped at the gate by Soryan guards, but there were none in sight. He wanted to get this over with.
It looked as if these Soryans just let anyone and everyone onto the grounds? No one was checked or verified?
Fools, he thought, as he passed through the gate.
Anton concentrated when he walked under the gate, in case there were any Soryan spells meant to search him or disable him, or any other devious Soryan trick they might be thinking up. He felt nothing. Nothing active, at least.
So he was free to wander their lands as he saw fit? Anton then realized he had no idea where he was supposed to go. The Most High had been very sparse with details and specifics. He looked up to guess where he might start, and then he saw the palace. Except it wasn't a palace any longer.
It was massive. It really was a Citadel now, the white stonework was trimmed with black and green, there were towers everywhere. On those towers were large bold flags, swaying and flapping in the wind. Those green, white and black flags hit Anton hard, like a blow. He really was in Soryan territory now.
Quickly Anton realized he was merely in the outer area of the Soryan lands. There was much activity in this part of the grounds, it looked like stables and some sorts of shops, as well as some living areas. It was very strange to him. A sort of mini-township.
How could none of us know how much they have built back here?
It didn't seem likely that a fortress of this magnitude could be built under the noses of the Holy Order, and yet that appeared to be exactly what had happened. How many years had this been here?
Again, they must have used their magic, but it still could not have been done overnight, even with help from the Kelland, who were masters at building structures. Could it have? Just how powerful were these Soryans?
The Holy Order held nothing but contempt for Soryans, and were most definitely not interested in working with them. While there was peace, it was an icy, cold peace full of hostility on both sides. This was the first time Anton thought that attitude might have served them ill.
Trying to ignore the Soryans and pretend they didn't exist was obviously a mistake. That had allowed them to dig in and expand unchecked. Suddenly, the orders of the Most High made much more sense.
Anton moved closer to an inner wall that had another gate and there were indeed guards posted there. Soryan guards.
Bracing himself, Anton moved in front of the two men. Each one was thin, although one was a head taller than the other. Both were wearing their hair in those silly braids, and both also wore the black, white and green colors.
The light tunics were green with the Soryan Order symbol sewn into the front. it looked like two musical notes fused together. Very ugly to Anton's eyes. Black leather pants and boots completed the outfitting. Both of them wore swords.
"Good day to you, Holy Brother. This is quite an honor. You are the first of your Order to ever visit us here." The shorter one spoke to him. Anton listened closely for any trace of mockery or sarcasm, but if it was there, he didn't hear it.
I was here yesterday, you preening green fool, thought Anton. But instead of saying that he spoke differently.
"I'm here to see the woman you answer to, Soryan." Anton placed as much scorn as he could on the word "woman". The Soryans gave each other a look. Anton swore he could see a hint of amusement in their faces, but they didn't laugh.
"Of course, Holy Brother. Sister Nayala sent word to expect you."
Sister? Is that what these female Soryans were calling themselves?
Hundreds of years ago, some misguided, demented women who thought they were the equal of the Holy Masters demanded a place in the ranks, calling themselves the "Sisters of Aeremon". After every last one of the witches had been burned at the stake for heresy, the matter never came up again. Anton wished they could deal with the Soryans so easily.
These Soryans calling themselves "Sister" was a slap in the face to the Holy Order. Anton was disgusted.
As the guards parted and gestured him into the gates, Anton heard a voice. A familiar voice. "I'll take him Brothers, I've been waiting for him."
Turning to view the speaker, Anton was not surprised to see the smirking face of the Soryan he had encountered just the day before. The boy was dressed much the same, except Anton noted that this time he was wearing a large, ugly, mis-shapen sword on his back.
"I had prayed to Aeremon never to have to see your face again, Soryan." Anton snapped.
"Shaine. You can call me Shaine. And now you doubtless see how much use there is praying to Aeremon?"
The guards faces became frozen at that moment as righteous indignation overtook Anton. "YOU...DARE...!?!", Anton spluttered, and he felt the power rising in him.
Shaine immediately raised his hands, palms out in a gesture of submission. "Please, I apologize! I meant no offense, I was far out of line. Please forgive me." Anton was halted by the immediate apology. He tried to calm down.
Both of the guards were glaring at Shaine, and the young Soryan had the good grace to look embarrassed.
Shaine's head was bowed a little, which Anton enjoyed. The young Soryan spoke. "I'll lead the way from here. Come Anton, we go now to meet Sister Nayala."
Anton bristled at the term, and the familiar use of his name, but he held his tongue and fell in line behind the Soryan.
Immediately, the two began moving upwards, traveling a staircase lining the outside of the closest tower. For a time, neither boy spoke, and Anton could hear the sounds of music carried on the wind from a distance.
Then Shaine broke the silence. "So do you know anything about dragons?"
...what do you know about dragons?
"I know what everyone knows. They aren't bothering us, so we should leave them alone."
Shaine shook his head, looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Actually they do bother us, as you should know."
Of course Anton knew, he had just been hoping to keep conversation to a minimum. Despite the task he had been set, it still pained him to have to lower himself to speak to Soryans.
"There was an attack just this year." Shaine said as he looked backwards at Anton.
The two were now beginning to gain altitude, having followed the winding staircase upwards and around the outside of the tower. Anton could see the great sprawl of the massive complex. There were many, many Soryans within the structures going about their business. Some were floating and flying. Anton was becoming slightly intimidated, and the damnable music was growing louder! They were obviously moving closer to the source.
"I know that, Soryan!", snapped Anton. "It was months ago in the outer lands. The Holy Order drove it off, and there was no mention of any Soryans coming to help."
Shaine didn't turn around as he talked. "Actually some of our number were there, and that is why we asked for you now."
"Get to the point, Soryan. I'm growing weary of your voice. I'm growing weary of climbing these stairs, and I'm tired of that blasted music!" Anton was almost ready to turn around and leave, face the wrath of the Most High later.
Shaine stopped and turned quickly to face Anton. He gestured behind himself.
"We're here."
Anton could see that the stairway leveled off into a large, sprawling terrace just beyond Shaine.
From up here, you could look down on most of the Soryan lands and be treated to a breathtaking view. Though Anton was less concerned with the view outward, than the view inward.
Leading inside the tower from the terrace were three large arched doorways. Anton could tell that inside was the source of the music he had been hearing. He moved closer to the doors, and drew back. There was no floor on the inside. From what Anton could see, there were no floors at all in the entire tower, only walkways lining the insides where every floor should have been.
Almost all of the space in the tower was filled with Soryans.
Anton watched as they flew and sang their songs. They slowly spun and twirled to their music, somehow narrowly avoiding bumping into one another. There was something else nagging at him about the music, the cacaphony. He was hearing string instruments, horns, drums. There were none to be seen, though.
"The instruments...", Anton spoke, "where are the instrumental sounds coming from?"
Shaine smiled, a little smugly. "Soryans are more than our voices, you know."
Anton shot an annoyed look at Shaine. "I didn't come here for a performance, Soryan. Can we get on with this?" But he turned his face back to the spinning mass of singing, air-dancing Soryans.
"Nayala is in there. We must wait a bit longer until she is finished with her practice."
"You call that...practice?" Anton rounded on Shaine. He was disgusted. Soryans, singing and dancing all day while honest folk worked and lived humble lives devoted to Aeremon.
Shaine was obviously amused, but before he could answer another voice broke in. A female voice.
"We call it practice, and fun. You must be Holy Brother Anton Marryn?"
Anton turned as the woman floated out of the open doorway and landed on the terrance just steps away from them. Her skin was perhaps a little darker brown than average, and her long black hair was pulled back and worn in a thick braid.
Anton noted with disapproval that she was wearing skin tight clothing with ornamental sashes draped around her. There was very light armor about her shoulders. Again, it looked more ornamental than functional. The woman's face was what struck him most. She looked only perhaps 10 years older than himself. This was Nayala, the terror of the Holy War?
"You are in command of the Soryan Order?", Anton could not help himself. His contempt for the Soryans had now reached new levels.
She didn't take offense. Instead she laughed, and Anton was forced to admit that when she smiled her eyes sparkled and she was quite striking. He stared for a moment too long and she noticed. Her slight smirk shocked him back to reality and he looked down at the floor.
"No, I'm not in command of the entire Order, I have been given the task of coordinating this particular mission." Her eyes were on his face, trying to find his. Anton forced himself to meet her gaze.
"Mission? You mean suicide mission. Facing a dragon with only two of us will mean our deaths." It was simple truth, and Anton spoke it as such.
"Perhaps. But we don't want you to face the dragon. We just need you to observe and rescue where necessary."
"Rescue? Rescue who?" Anton snapped.
Shaine spoke now. "The Bly-nnar people. They will be the ones in danger from the dragon."
"The Bly-nnar? I know of no Bly-nnar people."
Shaine spoke again, this time with a condescending tone. "The Bly-nnar live on the other side of the world from us, on the Baradia continent between here and Kelland."
Anton was aghast. "The barbarians?! You expect me to help barbarians against a dragon?"
Shaine was about to speak, but Nayala reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder. Shaine closed his mouth and Nayala spoke instead.
"The Bly-nnar live in fear of dragons, and we are in a position to help them, and ourselves. The more we observe of the dragons, the more knowledge we gain, and we can use that knowledge to protect ourselves better."
Anton shook his head. "The Bly-nnar have no civilized culture, they cannot understand our language, and they attack us on sight. They rule by the sword, destroy anything they do not understand and are not capable of understanding that we want to help them, much less capable of reciprocating. At least the Kelland are of some use."
Now Nayala shook her head. "Not everything is about what we can get from others. Besides, every culture must rise from the muck and the mud. We were no different ages ago, and now they need a chance. Since we have mostly made things difficult for the dragons in our lands, the Baradia continent is where they go to feed and raid."
"The attacks have been near constant in recent years. If we allow this to go on what civilization the Bly-nnar have managed to create will cease to exist. They'll all be hiding in caves and foraging between dragon attacks."
Anton wasn't moved. "Well, tell these Bly-nnar to move south to Kelland, the dragons never bother them there. Besides, the barbarians resemble the Kelland in appearance, they must be some sort of kinfolk."
Shaine spoke, still smirking. "But doesn't Aeremon say to protect the weak?"
"Aeremon says to protect the meek! The meek!", Anton yelled back, spittle flying from his mouth. "These barbarians are anything but that!"
"Duly noted.", Nayala spoke with an air of finality. A flat look from her wiped away Shaine's smirk and the boy looked down at the ground. She seemed to want the conversation back on track. "True, for whatever reason, the dragons live in the north, and do not care to move south past Baradia. While this is good for Kelland, it places us squarely within their range. Now are you willing to help us or not? I'll ask the Most High to send someone else..."
"No, no...", Anton said hurriedly.
Discover their weaknesses.
"I'm here to help. Just tell me when we're supposed to leave on this rescue mission." Anton said the last dejectedly. He was not looking forward to potentially risking his life for barbarians.
Shaine grinned and spoke excitedly. "When do we leave, Holy Sorcerer? Right now, of course."
Anton opened his mouth to say that they must be joking. But when he saw Nayala's face he realized that she was serious. She was looking into his eyes. Searching for cowardice?
Never.
He drew himself up to his full height and steadied his voice.
"Fine then, Soryans. Let's go."
Click to read Chapter 4 - One Night in Baradia |
