The day dawned again on Anor and without Trenewynn any longer. Aia slept in the quarters provided her by the Anor Temple of Sòl. When the morning light kissed her eyelids she arose from her sleep to brush her eyes.
The strange dreams had fled her as she awoke to face the morn.
In the temple naos she spied the elf Cardëlassë sifting through old documents. She approached curiously.
"Good morning, sir Cardëlassë. Did you see sir Trenewynn properly to the harbor?"
The elf set aside the documents on demonic genealogy and replied, "I did, he seemed quite hurried to leave though. Whatever discussion he had with lord Ramnicus has clearly put him on edge."
"I've been meaning to ask– sir Cardëlassë, did you know sir Trenewynn before our meeting in Anor. You spoke as if the two of you had met before?"
"Not me, but my grandfather, Mincelotaurë knew him once. He was called Vaelor then, but it seems that the people of Helios give him a different name now."
"If it be not a personal matter, then how did your grandfather come to know sir Trenewynn?"
"'Tis not. My grandfather met sir Vaelor in the southern tip of Alanor– that is the land which exists across the Lasad Ocean. 'Tis more eastern than even the men you call Eastmans, and proceeds farther than the Isles of Iseer, who are trade partners with many of Ar-Galahadrim, my kin."
"I did not know the world was so big…" Aia's thoughts moved with trepidation to the memory of the wraiths that hunted her and Trenewynn in the mountains during their journey.
"I never suspected that it could hold such dangers either, though I knew t'was not so much a kindly place I suppose."
"There are indeed many terrible things that have been wrought upon the Terra, yet there are works of wonder too."
The elf paused a moment, he closed his eyes to reminisce, "my home is called Taur-në-Lassruinë. The Forest of Flaming Leaves… There the vermilion trees stretch higher than the mountaintops of Anor and curl around the Hûn-në-Taur— the Heart of the Forest. Our line has long preserved the harmony between wood and fire. Each year we would venture to the Red-Eyed Mountain with the remains of the oldest and sickest trees. There in a painless heat the wood is consumed and made into the ash we spread through the soil— rejuvenating the forest and birthing the new trees."
The village priestess was charmed by the descriptions of far-off lands. She interjected, "can such a place truly exist in this world? It sounds quite magical. What are these vermillion trees? Do they truly hold leaves of fire?"
Cardëlassë shook his head, "no, not truly. But they turn a lush red color during the autumn season. According to legend, the Dryad Felmarië witnessed the destruction of many of the trees during the War of Choice. When the conflict finally ended, the Taur-në-Lassruinë was desolated. In order to restore it, she sang a song with such passion that it set her own body and soul ablaze. The ashes thereafter which spread throughout the land sprouted new seeds– each bearing the same vermillion color to the flames that consumed her."
"How marvelous, a truly noble sacrifice! But I wonder, why did you end up here so far from home?"
"A fair question. As a necessary aside, what do you know about the gift miss Aia?"
"The gift?"
"I believe your empire uses a derived term from old Effinitian… Magic, if I am not mistaken."
Aia understood then what the elf referred to, "well, as a priestess I naturally know the fundamentals of recognizing mysterious practices. But 'tis not my trade as a matter of course."
"Naturally, the gift can never be a trade. 'Tis a gift. But the priesthoods have always practiced forms of Theurgy, do they not? Therefore you should not be unfamiliar with the arcane."
"I know only of some minor Goetëa magics. As I understand it, sorcerers use Goetëa to perform mystical acts that enhance or otherwise alter the constitution of a subject. Hence why 'tis called the magic of vitality. Its primary interest to the church however lies in its use by conjurers to summon spirits. Though I know not how such summonings work."
The priestess smiled humbly, "afterall, 'tis not in my purview to study knowledge for knowledge's sake. We priests and priestesses learn so that we may shepherd– not master our flocks."
Cardëlassë nodded, "indeed, Magëa– what elves call the songs of sorrow and Goetëa– the songs of memory. I hear that the west employs the latter for its alchemy or to produce certain drugs. But the church restricts it for its many uses in summoning."
The elf's eyes turned to the west instinctively. A hand brushed the corners of parchment documents showing the known descendants of a Haraush'teth named Sodomus– the Depraved King. The caprine-headed demon bore the bloodlines of many dark creatures. It began with the satyrs and caprine Karfolk, the eight eyed goat demons, and more demonic creatures of the caprine animal family. At the end of the genealogy tree was the common sheep or mountain goat.
Within the genealogy tree was a separate branch of hypothetical descendants labelled "Rhovanë-Galahadrim," speculations on their heritage were numerous and documented them as a group of exiles living in the Sanguine Jungle.
"At its core, the distinction between Goetëa and Magëa is the magic from within versus magic from without. Those who practice Goetëa call upon the powers intrinsic to their own heart and being. But it comes at a cost."
"And you came to Anor for this reason?"
"Correct, to study the gift of memory, what you call Goetëa. I seek to understand it— so that I might unravel a powerful curse. To this end I have traversed the oceans and continents of the world, seen the Tower of Enith in Ankhorah, the White Citadel of the Azuna Desert, the ancient city of Sofia– last remnant of Effinitia's fallen past, and have even come here to Anor to read their ancient texts on the demonic. But alas, my searches thus far have been fruitless."
Aia perceived the mark of lament on his brow. She sought words of encouragement from the scriptures.
"I wish you the blessings of Sòl in your task. I believe that your careful labors will bear fruits– honest ends deserve no less."
"Perhaps yet– your optimism is refreshing despite the dusk clouds covering the world. I see now why sir Vaelor favors country life."
The two were fast friends as discussion moved to less serious matters. Cardëlassë had many tales from his travels across the world– of ages past and fallen empires which the elf had lived to witness himself.
When the day was on its tenth hour and one half past, the elf prepared to depart.
"I should go, the east border is my watch in the coming hour. You should see sir Artorius of house Drakkennide if you require safe passage through the mountains. His Grace Ramnicus gave his word to duke Drakkennide that he would keep the duke's younger brother safe from harm."
"But is the road outside the city not also dangerous?"
"For travellers, yes. For knights, not so much. I'm more concerned about the Dark Mists. Though staved by Duke Ramnicus, they remain a slow and insidious corruptor within the city. It would be safer to have the young scion removed from the western border if possible."
"Would that not be abandoning his post?"
"Perhaps, but rather that he would not be present for the conflicts to come. His Grace Ramnicus wishes that he leave the city before the end of the week. I think it would be best if you leave as well before then."
"What is happening in the empire?"
"Vain foolishness– nothing more."
On that note, Cardëlassë stood and exited the temple. Aia remained for a while to study the texts housed in the Anor Temple of Sòl, an opportunity rarely had for a small village priestess. She then departed at the eleventh hour towards the Black Keep— where the young Drakkennide spare held vigil.
The bricks were no less weathered by time than the rest of the city— or rather much more. Ancient and cracked; half festering with silver scales. A relic of the days when archwizard Ariel ruled in the shadow of Effinitia's fall. Even the iron from the gates and rainure chains were blackened and stricken with the same queer disease. But inside the soldiers dressed in buffed iron and bronze.
As Aia got closer to the Black Keep, she spied greater and greater numbers of men– armies from across the empire. T'was a force of eight thousand men. Tremendous in its scale— prodigious in individual might.
Ten of the one hundred Drake Knights from Drakkennide and about three hundred imperial cataphracts. As well as the sworn knights across the lands of Apollicos and Sumelo. T'was clearly a force beyond any mere border guard.
She could go as far as to the gates of the black keep. There Aia was halted by two guardsmen in grey.
"Halt! Who approaches the Black Keep? Make yourself known or scarce at once!"
"My name is Aia, I am a priestess of god Sòl. I have come to see to the wounded and to entreat with one of the officers on a personal matter."
"And who is the officer you would entreat with, priestess Aia?"
"He is the young scion of Drakkennide, sir Artorius Drakkennide. I was bid to seek him at the ushering of my teacher, sir Trenewynn– who visited his Grace Ramnicus yesterday."
A touch of informality graced the soldier's speech.
"You're here to see the bastard?"
But he was quickly reprimanded by his colleague.
"Imbecile! Do not go spreading the gossip of lordly affairs! Ignore that oaf– you may proceed priestess. The other healers and thurgists stay on the north end of the barracks. 'Tis left from the gates and on the first floor. You may stay there, the quartermaster will give you more details beyond the gates."
Aia moved beyond the gates and into the castle proper. Regiments of footsoldiers trained in the mud, some knightly sorts hosted duels as well. A group of squires transported colossal destriers towards the stables. The priestess took a moment to swallow these sights before the castle quartermaster directed her towards the healers quarters.
"You may handle your personal affairs after you've properly settled here. We do not permit visitors– even transient ones, to travel as they please between the walls of the Black Keep. Should you wish to leave later, make sure to acquire permission from the Castle Master."
"And who would that be, so that I may know to seek him out?"
"General Radovid. He is typically found atop the west curtain wall, or else in his chambers within the barracks. Fifth level, last door on the south end if you should not find him on the wall."
Aia thanked the quartermaster kindly and stepped into the castle. There were few women inside. Some maids to clean the stables and dormitories, and two priestesses– one of Az, the other Alassochisma, to oversee any rites and funerals. The rest were of the male priesthood of Asur. Eunuchs of a stern countenance with identical scars cut across their shaved heads. They were both healers and military advisors simultaneously– responsible for reading the omens of war before the eve of battle. Whenever such a service may be required.
Each had dark skin and eyes– a preferred quality within the armed priesthood. For they wished to embody the spirit of war in all its terrible and splendid sordid, and so to intimidate their foes– the menace of a dark, deathly visage was desired by the priests of Asur.
Yet they were kindly, in their own stoic manner. Asur teaches that pride in service is essential to a good soldier.
In His words: "War breaks the spirit before it strikes the flesh. Kill yourself, subdue yourself, master yourself– and only then is a true conquest achieved."
For Asur was canonically a pacifist in his church. One who despised open battle, though he could not be defeated in it. The most frequently quoted of his teachings said, ""I ask not that you should merely endure conflict but strive to understand it. If into My Kingdom you wish to ascend, then show me a bloodless war."
The priests of Asur imitated this pursuit of "Gentle War," and were both disciplined as well as servicing.
They were of an odd lot that saw the pinnacle of war to be in menial tasks. Such tasks as helping the squires to move hay into the stables, transporting fresh water to the men training in the field, working the smithy to temper iron before battle, laboring with the oxen to transport heavy goods.
No matter how great or small their labors, a priest of Asur never complained or questioned why. Their thoughts were always moved inward, and never bothered to project themselves to the Terra.
Instead they pondered, reasoned, questioned why, that they should doubt, hate, or want. To reconcile this and more– such was the creed of Asur. Not to simply wage conflicts, but to understand their existence.
Aia too, labored in her own way. She worked alongside the other priestesses, and brought at noon the rationed soup to each soldier. Then once these works had finished, she at last sought the young spare of Drakkennide, whom a soldier informed her had taken to the ring in the training square to duel a captain from Calia.
"An elite of the empire I heard, one of those captains of the Cataphract division. I heard tell t'was a challenge he leveled the young Drakkennide after feeling slighted in his honor."
"By Sòl's good grievances… what could drive our finest to a rancorous rabble such as this?"
"My lady, honor is everything to a knight– particularly one of Drakkennide. I suspect the cataphract knows it too."
"Such political maneuvering from a mere soldier? Is this a bit of an overreach?"
The common levy laughed at Aia's criticism, "you can say that twice for me! But those fancy men from the capital have surely great helms to cover their greater heads. Theirs is not a commoner's wage, and so with a fat purse they now fancy themselves equals to the noble knights of Drakkennide. Although– I have heard it whispered that sir Artorius was a bastard."
"A bastard, can that even be true? Surely he embodies the noble countenance of dragons, as befits the line of Drakkennide."
"Yes, but these things are more mysterious to the eyes of us common people. What is known however is that the Drakkennide line is always famous for their scarlet eyes that glow with dragonfire. Yet sir Artorius' eyes are blue, quite unlike the traditional lineage. What's more, the late lord of Drakkennide, sir Galandohend– rest his soul, was of dark hair. Yet Artorius is fair and does not somuch resemble his supposed father."
"Hence 'tis rumored that he is a bastard as far as the north and south end of the empire? My, what terrible gossip– I would feel most troubled to have it nicking at my heels."
"As would I, my lady. But 'tis not important now. If you wish to see him, then you should leave, for soon his duel will begin in full. And then, no one will be permitted to honorably halt their match."
At once, Aia rose and proceeded towards the training square, yet she was a second too late. For the duel was soon formalized and a ring of men surrounded the two. She could only watch from afar and hope that things would proceed well.