Chapter Two: Embark

Typothanas opened his eyes after coming out of a deep sleep. He slept in his hammock on the edge of his tree all night long. The book he was reading was laid out across his lap. He looked out and saw the towering elder trees and the houses high above the ground.

The entire village was connected by branches from adjacent trees that had intertwined with each other to create a bridge of sorts from one place to the other. The village, as always, was thriving with life and busyness. Elves were up harvesting fruit from the tops of the trees, as well as toadstools and vegetables from the ground. A system of vines and pulleys allowed them to send loads of produce from the ground to the trees.

From the corner of his eye he saw someone swinging on a vine in the direction of his tree. He watched for them to land on his ledge. He looked down as the elfmaid stood and looked at him. She was tall and slender, and perfectly shaped—like every elfmaid. Her hair was pale lavender, long, straight, and shimmered in the sun like sparkling amethyst. She had it let down and it billowed around her like a cape. Her eyes were the same splendid shade as her hair, hidden behind long, dark lashes. Her skin was creamy-white and without spot or blemish.

“Hail, Typothanas Tremiralan,” she said, looking at him with her dazzling eyes. He returned her gaze and raised his hand in greeting.

“Hail, Cæralahana Shimuin,” he replied.

“Are you having a good morning?” she asked.

“I have only just awoken,” he admitted. She laughed, and her face lit up with radiant beauty as she smiled.

“Typothanas, how can you sleep so late?” she asked.

“As I have told you before, it is because I stay up so late,” he said.

“What have you been doing to occupy your time as of late?” she inquired.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he replied.

“The chieftain wants to see you,” she said nonchalantly. She began to pick up things from his shelf and eye them with feline-like curiosity. He snatched the book end from her hands, and set it back in its proper place. She giggled and moved on to toy with something else.

“Did he say why?” he asked. He knew why the chieftain wanted to see him. The Azur’nthian ambassador must have sent a letter back to him, and the chieftain received it. He was in trouble; he hated trouble because it involved admitting that he was wrong, something he loathed. Shame, in his mind, was worse than physical pain.

“Someone said something about a letter,” she replied.

“I have to go,” he said, storming around his tree.

He had his belongings together and decided that it was time to get an audience with the chieftain. He left his tree and began walking across the branches from one tree to another, making his way to the center of the village, where the chieftain and his family resided. It was difficult to travel in the forest without running into other elves. He had a route, long as it was, that avoided the most people.

It took him several minutes to make his way through the tree city and to the chieftain’s home. He stood at the door and waited to be welcomed inside.

“Hail, Typothanas Tremiralan,” said Oraiosaman; he was the chieftain. Typothanas stepped into his home. The branches of the tree formed several tiers and rooms. For hundreds of years, Typothanas knew, Oraiosaman had his family had sang the tree to grow in a way in which they could dwell in it comfortably. Typothanas was living in a tree that his grandparents had done the same to. Lately, he had been singing to the tree to grow a second level where he could keep his books and musical instruments. He did not like only having one level and having his clutter fitted into nooks and crannies.

“Hail, Oraiosaman Gualinth,” Typothanas replied.

Oraiosaman was several hundred years older than Typothanas, but he did not appear that way. The growth process of elves was a slow thing, taking about fifty years to reach what would appear to be adulthood. A young elf or his parents could sing himself to be older and accelerate the growth process. Still, old magic that had been sung over the elven race for millennia would cause their bodies to reach a stage of development where they would practically stop aging. They had not learned the secret to real immortality yet, but elven song-mages were convinced that they were close to this development. Some disagreed, saying that if they stopped the natural process of growth and development, that it would kill the elf.

Nevertheless, elves could live to thousands upon thousands of years old, still looking and feeling as young as they did when they were only two hundred years old. Oraiosaman was in his nine hundreds, only a few decades away from a thousand. He was not the oldest elf in the commune, but he was the chieftain. He was strong and wise, having experienced several ages and eras of the world in his lifetime. He sat in a chair in his main room and was holding a letter in his hand. It had a broken, red seal on it—the seal of the king of Azur’nth.

“Please have a seat, Typothanas,” Oraiosaman said, motioning for him to sit down. Typothanas obeyed and sat, legs crossed before the chieftain. He never took his eyes off of the letter. Oraiosaman did not appear to be angry. Then again, elves were notorious for being able to hide their emotions from others. It was in their nature to keep their emotions bottled inside and not displayed outwardly.

“I received a letter from a human ambassador. The letter was addressed to you. How does she know of you, Typothanas?” Oraiosaman still had not looked away from the letter.

“I went to the crate where the humans leave messages for us. It was filled with decades of unopened letters. I took them home, read them, and wrote back to the ambassador,” he confessed.

“Why did you do that? That is not your responsibility,” Oraiosaman scolded.

“I was curious,” Typothanas replied simply.

“What did you write back to her?” Oraiosaman asked.

Typothanas recited the letter to Oraiosaman, recalling the letter to memory perfectly.

At last, Oraiosaman looked up from the letter, sat it down on the table before them, and looked at Typothanas. The two of them had met before and had conversations, but they did not have a relationship per se. Oraiosaman was very busy maintaining order in the commune. Typothanas was surprised that he had taken the time to meet with him directly over this. He was very adamant that every member of the elven community do his or her part and only his or her part. Typothanas had overstepped his boundaries by doing what he had done.

“Why are you interested in the world of men, Typothanas?” Oraiosaman asked. Typothanas thought to himself for a while, trying to best articulate his answer. That was a good thing about elves. Because of their longevity, they were usually very patient and willing to wait a long time. He took a deep breath and decided that he would be as honest as he could with his chieftain.

“I have felt for a long time that I do not belong here. You know as well as I, that I am not like other elves. I know that our forest is only a small part of the world. I want to see the rest of it. I would like to investigate other cultures, including that of men,” Typothanas explained.

“The world of men is a savage place. You had not yet been born when we were fighting the Sage Wars. The savagery of men with their hunger for power, and lust for magic is despicable. That is why the elders agreed that we would sever ties with them completely. And now you stand before me, defying that decision.

“You are a valuable asset to our commune, Typothanas. I have never seen a better archer, and the arrows you make are better than any we have. You are educated and talented. You have a pleasurable life here in the forest and I cannot understand why you would want to leave,” Oraiosaman replied.

“I plan to return someday; the forest is my home. I would like to learn more about the world outside of the forest. There might be a better life out there that I would never have knowledge of if I stay here. I would like to request permission to leave the forest indefinitely, in order to observe the world of the lesser races for myself,” Typothanas replied.

“You do not need my permission to leave, Typothanas. You are not a prisoner here. You are of age and can make your own decisions. It is only if those decisions affect the commune that I must intervene. May I request something of you?” Oraiosaman asked. Typothanas nodded.

“Please do not bring back anyone to the forest with you upon your return. Do not disclose the location of our commune, or say anything to endanger our people,” Oraiosaman said.

“You have my word of honor,” Typothanas said.

“I know that you are good for it. I am sure that you will want to prepare for your journey. Here is the letter. Their ambassador will expect a reply,” Oraiosaman said. He handed the letter to Typothanas, who took it and read it immediately.

Typothanas Tremiralan,

The invitation is still open and we would be most gracious to receive you. Would you like for us to arrange a carriage to pick you up? I anxiously await your reply and arrival.

Sincerely,

Farrina Snowchild
Ambassador of Foreign Affairs

“That is all, Typothanas,” Oraiosaman said. He waved his hand to let him know that he was dismissed. Typothanas folded the letter and put it in one of the pouches on his tunic. He had never been so ecstatic in his life—and terrified. He was about to embark on the journey of a lifetime. He would have to pack, and brush up on his Common. What would he take with him? He did not own much. He could probably take everything he owned save for the books.
When he arrived back at his tree he grabbed a piece of parchment and scribed a hasty reply to the Ambassador.

Farrina,

You may expect my arrival in late spring. It is not necessary to send a carriage. I look forward to my visit.

Sincerely,

Typothanas Tremiralan

He folded it and sealed it. He would have to take the letter to the edge of the forest as soon as possible. He would most assuredly need a map. His bow and arrows might prove to be useful. His grandfather’s rapiers that he used in the Sage War would definitely be coming along with him. They were his inheritance. His grandfathered had slain many dark wizards with those blades.

He stopped and took a look at his tree. In his hurried excitement to gather things to pack, he had only succeeded in making a mess of his room. He sat for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He took a deep breath and opened his mind and spirit to the serenity of the world around him. He could feel the life of every bird, insect and plant. He forced a rejuvenating calm through his body and opened his eyes. Now that he had calmed down a bit he had to prepare for the journey of a lifetime he would begin in just a few days.

Chapter One: The Ambassador of Foreign Affairs

On the eastern edge of the kingdom of Azur’nth there was an enormous forest. Aside from its size, it was also beautiful—in fact, it was arguably the most beautiful place in the entire kingdom. There were trees that would dwarf any tower, flowers with such an intoxicating fragrance, they were said to make any mortal believe he or she were in paradise. The animals and creatures of the wild roamed free, making their home where they saw fit.

While this forest was beautiful, it was also forbidden to outsiders. The elf folk lived in the forest, making their home in the tree tops. They were extraordinary and dazzling creatures. They aged slowly, and could live thousands upon thousands of years. They were also deadly and dangerous creatures. They were swift as the wind, quiet as a whisper, and did not take kindly to intruders. Any person, in fact, who wandered into the forest without permission was never seen or heard from again.

The elves did not trust any other mortal race. Since the Sage War, they had closed their borders to the outside world, no one coming in and no one coming out. They lived in a peaceful commune only for themselves and their own way of life. They had resigned to leave the rest of the world and mortal races alone, hoping to cleanse themselves from the pressures to conform.
They were content, grateful even, for their solitude. They were taught not to worry themselves with the world outside of their forest. They could sing anything that they needed from nature: food, clothing, and shelter. They could spend their time learning a skill or trade. When they mastered one, they could move on to another. Their communist culture taught them to better themselves to better the whole.

But there lived in the forest one elf who yearned for more. He was young, curious, full of questions, and a deep thirst for knowledge and truth. He frustrated his parents and the elders because of his uncanny habit to challenge the elven way of life. He had spent his entire life exploring the forest. He was familiar with every tree and creature. He had mastered several trades already and had contributed to his society significantly. His curiosity had led him to the world outside of the forest: the world of men.

He had, on numerous occasions, asked his chieftain why the elves did not return the correspondence from the Azur’nthian diplomats. He was told the same reason each time: because the elves want nothing to do with the world of men.

I do, he would think to himself. Mankind had evidently taken an interest in the elves. While no man was allowed in the forest, there was a place at the edge of the forest where they could bring letters or gifts and leave them. An elven sentinel would take this letter or gift to the chieftain and he would decide what to do with it. For years though, the letters had stayed in the crate they were delivered in, untouched and unread.

He decided that this negligence was unacceptable and went to retrieve them. He went to the edge of the forest and collected the letters. Though he should have taken the contents of the crate directly to the chieftain, he was compelled to read them first. It took him longer than he would have liked because they were written in Common: a language he knew how to read, write, and speak, but it was not his native tongue.

The humans had been trying for decades to reestablish trade and commerce with the elven people. They made promises of gold and riches if they would send an elf as an ambassador from the forest to Effedeyo, the capital human city in Azur’nth. It was no wonder that these bribes had gone ignored; elves had no need for gold and riches. They did not live a life that was centered upon material wealth. Wealth was distributed based on need.

It only took him a month to read the hundreds upon hundreds of letters. He was taken aback to learn of so many things going on in the kingdom of Azur’nth. They had had three kings in his lifetime, as well as three people who acted as the Ambassador of Foreign Affairs. It was the person in this position that had sent the letters over the years. Most of them were invitations to balls, dinners, diplomatic meetings and such. They were very impersonal and unwelcoming.

He put the letters in stacks by decades and tucked them into a chest he had built in his tree house after he read them. He was not ready to tell the chieftain of what he had been up to lately. He decided to compose a reply letter to the current Ambassador of Foreign Affairs to see if her hospitality offer still stood. The most recent letter he had at the time was from months earlier.


To the Ambassador of Foreign Affairs, Lady Farrina Snowchild:

My name is Typothanas Tremiralan; I recently received your letters and I apologize for the delay in reply. I am interested in visiting your capital and learning more about your culture and the world of men today. Please let me know if this invitation still stands.

Sincerely,

Typothanas Tremiralan


He looked the letter over. He was fairly certain that the woman would be able to read the elven glyphs (even though his handwriting was atrocious). Some of the letters that she had penned were in Avrælin glyphs, the language of the elves. He was impressed with her calligraphy and understanding of the grammatical structure of the language.

He ran again to the edge of the forest to put the letter in the outbound crate. He wondered if his letter would ever reach the ambassador. He checked again in two weeks and saw that the letter was still in the crate, untouched. He felt the sting of disappointment, lost interest, and went on with his life.

Farrina awoke to the sound of birds whistling blissfully outside on her balcony. A gentle spring breeze wafted into her room making the flowing lavender curtains sway and dance. She rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms, yawning.

Suddenly, she remembered the importance of today. Her first instinct was to bolt out of bed and rush to get ready. Though she could hardly contain herself, she forced a calming emotion through her body and slowly threw her legs over the left side of the bed. She stood and walked to the bedpost to retrieve her robe. She wrapped the silken cloth about her body and walked to the balcony of her room.

The city of Effedeyo was already thriving, alive and full of activity. She could see the trade district full of bustling merchants erecting colorful tents to vend their merchandise. The clean, paved roads made it easy for them to cart around their goods. In the park, dozens of colorful kites darted back and forth above children enjoying the beautiful morning.

There was a moat and wall around the entire city, the wall large enough to race chariots on. There were only four entrances and exits into the city, a drawbridge at each pole. The roads were paved with white stone and landscaped with flourishing trees and greenery along the walkway. The city itself was divided into several districts: the trade district, the residential district, the park, the military ward, Sanctus Dei district, the Sage’s district, and the Crown district.

The buildings were highly wrought and made of the same strong, white stone that came from the Eterna mountain range north of the city. There was a glorious cathedral, a titanic palace, barracks and a stockade in the military ward, an auction house and town hall in the trade district, and a whole slew of houses in the residential district. It was a glorious city, a beautiful consign. It had been Farrina’s home most of her life, but still she had not become disenchanted with every sight, sound and smell.

“Yaru, thank you for this day and for your many blessings. I pray your Light would shine on me and that you would guide my words. Grant me wisdom. May I never forget your love and how much I need you,” she prayed aloud, “and bless the city of Effedeyo and its residents. May our lives bring glory to your name.”

She continued through her morning routine, singing to herself as she went about her affairs. She bathed and now sat fixing her hair and making up her face. Because she lived in the palace, she had access to the finest perfumes, oils and other cosmetics. She always kept her appearance modest, as her mother taught her was becoming of a lady like herself. She brushed on some purple and silver eye shadow for her eyes, light blush for her cheeks and a little color for her lips.
She ran a brush through her long, flowing red hair cut into layers. Her hair was thick and curly, but soft as silk. It was always a mystery as to where her red hair came from. Both of her parents had blond hair, all of her brothers and sisters had been born with blond hair, but she had been a red-head since birth. It was a deep, true, passionate red, almost a bright scarlet. She had been accused of coloring it with red dye but of course, had done nothing of the sort.

After glancing at the mirror and giving her face and hair a quick look, she moved to her wardrobe. The dress she chose to wear today was of the utmost importance. The king was meeting today with some very important people and, as his advisor, Farrina was asked to attend as well. He would be meeting with Vinigo Delrose, archbishop of Sanctus Dei in the region of Azur’nth, and Sir Regal Gallione, archmage representative from the Sages Circle. It would be the first time this year all three governing bodies would meet to discuss affairs, or one affair in particular. It was the most important issue going on right now. Talk and controversy was everywhere. The Church had, in recent months begun a crusade against the nomadic, desert-dwelling Ysaht people. Sanctus Dei declared it a holy war in the name of Yaru to convert the Ysaht people to believe in Yaru as their god.

When questioned about their decision to do so, the Church had given little more explanation than quoting a scripture saying, “it is the will of Yaru that all would come to know the Light.” They were doing the work of Yaru, or at least that was their explanation and justification for war. Farrina smelled scandal from the beginning. What more, the details of their crusade was shrouded in shadows and secrecy.

The Church was a powerful influence on the people and even the king did not dare oppose their decision openly. There were radicals and extremists, Ysaht sympathizers, who did enough of that. The riots and protests had died down as of late, no doubt do to the mysterious ‘coincidences’ of these groups’ leaders coming up missing without a trace. Naturally, people were afraid that they would be next. Farrina would not accuse the church of extortion, kidnap or murder but she thought them plenty capable of it. She had been in the world of politics far too long not to recognize foul play when she saw it.

She was in disagreement with the crusade and could not trust the archbishop’s judgment if he truly believed it was the will of Yaru to force the Ysaht, a sovereign nation separate from Azur’nth, not unlike the elves, to adopt their religion. It was absurd! How anyone could see otherwise was beyond her.

She requested the king send her on a diplomatic journey to Ysaht to meet their people, see the culture and most of all, to see the Church’s actions for herself. He had denied the request, saying that it was too dangerous and would interfere with the Church’s affairs. Disappointed, she suggested he call a meeting with the leaders of the kingdom. To this, he agreed. He wanted to hear the archbishop’s case first-hand, no doubt.

She was even more curious to hear Regal’s opinion on the matter. Regal was not the leader of the Circle but was undoubtedly his predecessor. A man named Norton was its leader but rumor had it he was deathly ill. Regal was standing in for him until his health returned or until his ailment claimed his life. So, for all practical purposes, Regal’s say in the matter was what counted.

He was an impressive man: intelligent, wise, good-looking, and powerful. He was rumored to be, though arguably so, the most powerful war mage alive. Farrina could only describe the man as subtly eccentric.

With any luck, and a dress that commanded authority, power and presence, she was hopeful to unfold the mysteries behind the Church’s conspiracy.

“Here we go,” she said, pulling a dress from its hanger, “perfect.” It took her several minutes to get into it but as she stood in front of the mirror, she was satisfied. She chose a purple dress that had flowing skirts of deep violet and the softest lavender.

The sleeves were slit and silky as was the sash tied round her waist. The dress was modest, not too low-cut and not too tight, but it was tailored specifically for her to accent every curve in her figure.

She stared in the mirror again, giving herself one final look. She worked as hard as she could to hide every flaw with her makeup. The dress she chose was tailored to not show how lanky and thin she was. Her red hair made her choice of colors to wear quite limited.

“Time to go,” she said to the person staring back at her in the mirror. She unbolted the latch on her door and proceeded east through the castle corridor. Living in the castle was a luxury but it annoyed her to have to walk so far to get from place to place. They would be meeting in the king’s private dining room for breakfast.

The castle was busy and crowded with servants hustling about to clean or wait on a guest. It was also teeming with palace guards, placed at every post, door and entrance. Farrina was admired in the castle but she wanted to avoid stopping and talking to anyone if at all possible, so she kept her pace expedient.

Her heart began to race as she turned the last corner. Two guards were posted outside the door. They would let her pass because she was expected at any moment.

“Lady Farrina,” the guard to the right greeted her cordially as he opened the door and ushered her in. Meanwhile, the guard to the left kept a watchful eye on the corridor as if there were any danger at all in a castle so secure.

The King was the only person in the room at the moment, as Farrina had hoped. She arrived deliberately early to talk to him alone first. He stood and she bowed as was custom.
“Come, Lady Farrina,” he smiled warmly. They always went through the formalities even though they were the closest of friends.

“Your Majesty,” she smiled in reply. His expression became grim when the door closed behind her.

“This is risky, Farrina, calling a meeting like this,” he said sternly.

“But necessary, Highness. Surely you see that Sanctus Dei is up to something with this so-called crusade! They are hiding something I intend to find out what,” she answered.

“It is important that you do not verbally assault them, Farrina. I do not want to offend the Archbishop. That will only create unrest in the relationship between the Church and Crown. They have a tremendous amount of support and something like this could divide the kingdom,” he warned.

“There is already division in the kingdom, Highness. I have been quite open about my feelings about the Church’s crusade,” she started to say.

“And that has caused problems enough as it is,” he interjected. Farrina fought the urge to roll her eyes as she continued.

“People know that we oppose it. It’s immoral and tyrannous from a diplomatic standpoint. The people see that,” Farrina pointed out.

“We don’t know anything about it, Farrina,” he pointed out.

“Because of their secrecy!” she shot back.

“That is what this meeting is for…to bring light to the subject,” he replied.

“Will you order them to cease?” she asked.

“While I have the technical authority to do that, it would be most unwise. It would show people disunity in the government and it would create rifts and rents within the population. The Church could turn the people against me with very little effort. No one likes a heretic king; I am not looking to be dethroned, Farrina…or worse yet: burned at the stake.”

“They wouldn’t dare! The scheme would be exposed and whatever gain they are seeking in this crusade would be lost,” she said.

“Still, it would upset the balance of authority between the Church, the Crown and the Circle,” he concluded.

“It’s only a matter of time before someone takes initiative and upsets the balance, otherwise, nothing will be done,” she argued.

“That time is not now. With election so close…” he trailed off.

“Your family has been on the throne longer than any other family in history. Long has the Tirge family served the kingdom of Azur’nth, and longer still, it shall! The people love you, Your Majesty, and they will follow you,” Farrina said.

“You’re right. My family has been on the throne for a long time, each ruler more benevolent than the one before. But if we are to do away with the election entirely, we cannot be opposing the Church; it looks bad—like I’m hungry for control and absolute power,” he said, shaking his head. Because of the old way of things, the three branches having to represent each issue, changes that needed to be made took a long time to implement.

The issue was a huge point of controversy because it would be taking power out of the hands of the people, and of the Circle and Sanctus Dei. Obviously, both of the other governing bodies did not approve of an absolute monarchy but were willing to negotiate a limited monarchy where checks and balances were still in place between the three branches. Farrina thought this idea to be quite prudent. No man should have that much power, even a man as noble and as good as Omandan Tirge.

“Do we know Regal’s stance on the matter?” Farrina asked, hoping to hear he had changed his mind.

“He is as frustratingly neutral as always. It looks like it will be a bout between us and Vinigo,” he sighed.

There was a knock at the door and Farrina turned her gaze.

“Yes?” the king replied, beckoning the guard to enter. He opened the door and stuck his head in.

“Your Highness, the archbishop and Sir Gallione have arrived,” he announced.

“Permit them entry,” he commanded. The soldier nodded and opened the double doors leading to the dining room. He motioned and two men walked into the room. The first was short and pudgy, clean-shaven and red-faced. He was dressed ornately in the white and gold, Sanctus Dei, clergyman robes. The second was a tall, muscular man with long, wavy black hair, and a short, well-kept beard. He was dressed in blue robes with silver trim at the sleeves, hood and hem. The first was Archbishop Vinigo Delrose, the second, Sir Regal Gallione of the Sages Circle. With the king in her presence, Farrina stood in a room with the three most powerful men in Azur’nth. Even though she was also a person of importance, it was intimidating nonetheless.

“Gentlemen, I can’t thank you enough for travelling all this way on such short notice. Please make yourselves comfortable,” the king said, motioning to the table.

“All in good time Your Highness. First, who is this enchanting young woman?” Vinigo asked as his eyes hungrily scanned over Farrina’s frame.

“Lady Farrina Snowchild, his Ambassador of Foreign Affairs,” she said, extending a hand, “we’ve met before, actually—twice.”

“I apologize. I meet a lot of people and have a tendency to forget faces,” he took her hand and kissed it.

You won’t forget me after this meeting, Archbishop, I assure you of that, she thought to herself darkly.

“Farrina, you grow more beautiful every time I see you, which is not often enough, I’m afraid. With Norton ill there are a great number of affairs that require my constant attention,” Regal approached her. She offered her hand and he kissed it tenderly.

“It is, as always, a pleasure to see you, Regal,” she said simply. She looked to the king for the next step.

“Gentlemen, let us sit and eat breakfast as friends before we start talking about politics and ruin our appetites, shall we?” he motioned again to the table where a breakfast feast lay at their disposal. Normally, servants would fix their plates but talks of this nature had to be kept secret.
They made meaningless small talk during the meal, and updated each other on their responsibilities in the kingdom. Farrina did not take part in this but was mildly amused at how easily the men turned it into a contest of who was busier and more important.

She could see both men scrutinizing her every move. She was careful to eat an ample amount of food, not too much, but enough to show a strong, healthy appetite. There was no allowance for weakness with men like this. Little things like that spoke volume of her security and confidence. These men would prey on the slightest sign of instability. She wanted them to be intimidated or at least rivaled when it came time to debate.

“I hope the meal was to everyone’s liking,” the king said politely.

“Delicious. I hope you don’t take offense to my request to skip past anymore formalities and get down to business,” Regal sat up straight in his chair, “that is if we are all done eating,” he shot a glance and sneer at the archbishop who was still greedily cramming a pastry into his mouth.

“Quite, quite,” he replied with a mouthful of food as he wiped his chins with the napkin.

“Very well,” the king began, “we know why we are here and what it is we are here to discuss: Sanctus Dei’s crusade against the Ysaht people. I think it best, Archbishop, if you explain your decision and reasons for this controversial matter.”

“First of all, it is a crusade for the Ysaht people, not against the Ysaht people. Second, this is not my decision, it is Sanctus Dei’s decision and the will of Yaru,” the archbishop had hostility dripping from every word.

“Very well, would you please be so kind as to enlighten us about Yaru’s will to campaign a crusade for a sovereign nation?” The king fought for composure as he spoke. Farrina knew for a fact that he never liked the archbishop. Regal remained expressionless, but still alert and attentive.

“You could hardly call them sovereign or even civilized. They live in caves and tents out in the desert near oases. They are a broken, tribal people with no central government and no written law. They worship nothing; they are barbaric and ruthless, enforcing death penalties without trials to criminals.

“What we are doing is a mercy. We are showing them truth and Light.”

“By forcing them to adopt our religion?” Farrina blurted. She had meant to make it a statement to show she did not buy what the archbishop was selling. Still, laden with sarcasm, the question had served its purpose.

“If they refuse the Light, they are infidels, agents of Darkness, minions of Havaeltr and deserve no mercy,” he snapped, glaring at Farrina menacingly, not realizing that he had contradicted himself, saying first they were bringing mercy, and then saying the Ysaht people deserved none.

“That’s not necessarily true, Archbishop,” Regal spoke up, “I do not serve or worship your god, or practice Sanctus Dei as my religion. Still, I assure you that I am no servant of Havaeltr.”

“Yes, may we all remember that you serve your own ambitions through your magic—for which you will answer for one day,” Vinigo sneered, “your disbelief…”

“Disbelief? You are sorely mistaken, Archbishop. I believe in Yaru and I am aware and even reverent of his power, and in that of Havaeltr’s. Still I serve neither, which is likely the case of the Ysaht—if these barbarians are even aware of the gods,” Regal pointed out.

“He presents a point worthy of note, Archbishop. Very little is known of their culture or beliefs,” the king pointed out.

“Yet you seem to be quite educated in the ways of the Ysaht. How, pray tell, did you come across this information?” Farrina finally spoke up. Her eyes never left Vinigo. She remained calm and comfortable, or wanted to appear as such.

“What do you mean?” Vinigo asked.

“You mentioned that the Ysaht live in caves. I was not aware the desert housed any caves…or oases for that matter. I take it that you have at least been there to see this new development in the land. Is it due to irrigation?” Farrina inquired.

“Not personally, but…”

“So you haven’t seen their way of life in action first-hand,” she pointed out.

“No, but…”

“Don’t you think it is important to study and understand a culture before you just invade their land in the name of a god they’ve never heard of?”

“Now see here! You have an awful lot of nerve to make me out to be some sort of tyrant or war-monger! We are trying to help these people! To make them see the Light!”

“Make them?” Regal pondered aloud, “Surely you meant show them the Light, yes, Archbishop?”

“You know what I meant! They are living in outer darkness and in desperate need to see the Light,” Vinigo was red-faced and upset, just where Farrina wanted him.

“I would think then it would be more prudent to send clerics and missionaries on your crusade, instead of soldiers,” Farrina retorted. There was a silence. She knew she had struck a nerve in all of them.

“The soldiers are for our protection,” Vinigo said finally.

“Protection from what, may I ask?” the king narrowed his gaze.
“From the Ysaht. They’re ruthless! They will kill anyone who intrudes into their desert!”

“Sounds like more trouble than it’s worth,” Regal interjected with a logical, matter-of-fact tone.

“It is necessary to sacrifice sometimes, and a great honor to die in the name of furthering the Light,” Vinigo said.

“If it is such a great honor, why do you send soldiers? This will only threaten the Ysaht, who evidently have no interest in worshipping Yaru or converting to Sanctus Dei as their source of Light,” she challenged, and the tensions seemed to rise.

“Forgive me Archbishop, but I do not hear any good explanations, or reasons why you see this to be a prudent move for Sanctus Dei,” the king admitted.

“If they succeed you could bring them under your rule, and expand your kingdom, Majesty,” Vinigo offered as a legitimate reason.

“I have enough issues at hand, enough people to serve. I have no desire to rule a people who do not want to be ruled,” the king countered.

“Yes it would seem such a trivial matter for you to have to worry about, what with election only a year and a half away. The will of Yaru is for the Church to discern, not the Crown. This kind of setback could hurt your campaign,” Vinigo smiled darkly. This was his subtle threat to the king to leave things as they were. He did not flare up with anger as he looked he would for a moment.
“You’re right, Archbishop. I did not mean to interfere with Sanctus Dei’s affairs, only to better understand its position in all of this,” the king replied calmly. Farrina was in furious disbelief. He was cowering away from the Archbishop like a dog with his tail between his legs.

“And Sanctus Dei will of course keep you updated with the progress of the crusade, Your Majesty. I think we can see this is not something worth fussing over so…”

“Regal I would love to hear your thoughts on this matter,” Farrina interrupted. She silently begged Yaru to give someone besides her the courage to speak out against this atrocity and madness.

“My opinion in this matter is of little consequence. I will not put too much concern into it. The Church’s affairs are their own. It is, after all, their commission to share the Light with the world. How they go about it is up to them and their god, not to me,” he concluded. Farrina knew that it was apathy that ailed him. It was only slightly better than the king’s cowardice, but it was so much harder to understand. Farrina knew for a fact that Regal’s youngest son had enlisted in the Sanctus Dei army, and had been taken a prisoner of war, along with many others, and had still not been found dead or alive.

“Have there been any updates on the whereabouts of your son?” Farrina asked strategically. Regal’s expression intensified momentarily.

“No. Most likely he has perished. Prisoners of Ysaht do not often return,” he replied somberly. “He knew when he enlisted, the danger he faced. It was the choice he made.” His lack of emotion and worry alarmed Farrina. Did he not love his son? Did he not hold the church responsible for his capture and probable death?

“What is your son’s name? I will have my officers look into it,” Vinigo offered.

“Leonardo Gallione…but he would have enlisted under the surname Wayreth,” Regal explained. Vinigo’s eyes widened and his expression was that of shock.

“What was that name? Waylan?”

“Wayreth: it was his mother’s maiden name,” Regal replied.

“I know of Wayreth, he was on my son’s escort to Saint Oloran and…” Vinigo trailed off.

Regal’s eyes gleamed of hopeful concern for just a moment.

“And?!” Regal urged him to go on.

“I’m sorry, Regal. My son’s escort was attacked and taken prisoner by the Ysaht. Oran told me that a young man helped him escape but died of battle wounds before he could leave the camp. He said his name was Wayreth.”

Regal, after a moment’s silence said, “Well then, I’ll have to wonder no longer.” Farrina saw him hide the pain, grief and sorrow on his face. The other men had their heads down so they did not see.

“I do hope you’ll stay and enjoy the city while you are here. Unless you need to leave and tell your family and make arrangements…” the king looked at Regal with genuine and sincere concern.

“No, they’ll find out in due time. Honestly, we figured he was going off to his death when he enlisted. He has been dead to us for quite some time. I’ll be here for a few days. You can find me in the Sage District. I’ll be staying at the academy.”

“I’ll be here for a few days as well,” Vinigo said, getting up from the table, “I trust this meeting is adjourned?”

“Yes, for now. I am still lacking some information about the crusade,” the king insisted.

“Sanctus Dei will keep you informed. Good day, Regal, Your Majesty, Lady Farrina,” he gave her a disdainful look and his tone was slightly biting when he said her name. The men filed out and it left Farrina and the king to themselves.

“Farrina…” he started

“Don’t!” she glared at him.

“I had no choice!”

“I never knew you to be a coward. Your father would have never allowed madness like this in his kingdom,” she snapped.

“My father had never seen Azur’nth so peaceful and united!” the king countered.

“At what cost? The Church is doing this crusade for some personal gain, what I don’t know. People are dying on both sides while they crusade a holy war in the name of Yaru and you have the power to end this but don’t because of an election,” she shot back accusingly. He hung his head shamefully.

“What can I do?”

“Well, doing nothing certainly isn’t the answer. You know my feelings and advice in this, Your Majesty. I’ll leave it in your hands from here,” she proceeded towards the door.

“Don’t expect much…” he said bitterly as she left.

“Believe me, I don’t,” she muttered under her breath, disappointed. This day was disastrous! She would not quit. Somehow, some way, she would stop this crusade if it was the last thing she did.

“Yaru…give me strength…”

She stormed off to her study and sat down at the desk. She noticed that there was a letter addressed to her written in elven glyphs. She nearly tore the parchment trying to break the seal and read. Her eyes poured over the letter and her eyes widened with excitement as she read.

Prologue

The sky was alive with a sunset that no artist could capture with a canvas. Fiero was setting in the western horizon. The sky was colorfully ignited with every hue from the brightest yellow, most passionate red, and the deepest purple. It was a magnificent sight.

Too bad we’re going east, Leonardo thought bitterly.

A gentle breeze waltzed through the air and made the blades of lush, green grass sway and dance with a rustle, over the rolling hills of the kingdom of Azur’nth. Wild, white dandelions swirled through the air moving in perfect time with the wind.

Leonardo and Oran proceeded eastward on foot, with their backs to the sunset. They could not have asked for a better day to return home. In the distance, still several miles away, the Narblan River awaited them. Another day’s travel east was the Vernadi: headquarters of the Church in the kingdom of Azur’nth.

These men were rough, rugged and weary from travel. They were unshaven, and unkempt, sunburned, and weather-worn. They had to move at a grueling pace for they were likely pursued. It was a wonder they had not been caught and recaptured. Were it not for their vigor and stubborn determination to live, they would almost welcome death after what they had been through.

Leonardo would have to stay hidden. He would be branded as a deserter or heretic. He had done his duty as a soldier; he had protected his liege with his blood, sweat, and tears fighting for the Church. He had given four long years of his life waging a war he did not agree with. Now that he knew the truth behind the conspiracy, he could never return. The Church would have him killed quietly and pass him off as another casualty of war.

After Leonardo was certain his friend would arrive safely at the Vernadi, they would part ways forever. He would never be able to return to his life as long as the Church was the highest law of the land. He would have to start a new life—become someone else—Leonardo would be no more.

It’s not so bad, he thought to himself.

He glanced at Oran. He looked as exhausted as Leonardo felt. Oran would be able to return. Open arms would be awaiting him, celebrating his return even though he also knew what the Church was really up to. He knew the true nature behind the Ysaht people, and the reason why Sanctus Dei crusaded against them. The difference between the two of them was position. Leonardo was a soldier; Oran was a clergyman, but he was more than just any clergyman. He was the High Cleric of Yaru and son of Archbishop Vinigo Delrose, who presided over the entire kingdom of Azur’nth. He would be trusted to keep the evils of the Church secret; Leonardo would not.

Leonardo knew Oran would say nothing about what had happened while they were prisoners in Ysaht. Still, he could trust his friend to lie for him and say he was dead so that Sanctus Dei would not come after him or those he loved. He wanted to forget everything and run away, but everything he knew and believed about right and wrong told him he should proclaim the truth from the mountaintops, expose the Church’s conspiracy for the fraudulent war for greed and personal gain it was. He let out a heavy sigh of disappointment in himself. The same apathy he wanted to see cured was the very disease that afflicted him to silence. He knew the war was not his fault, but to know the truth and say nothing was cowardice.

He continued eastward, determined to put Ysaht and Sanctus Dei behind him forever. Let someone else be brave. Let someone else oppose the Church. He was firm in his decision. He hung his head in sorrow the rest of the way to the Narblan River.

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

—Edmund Burke