Equimancer's Realm

by A.B. Robertson

  All his fears were forgotten, his exhaustion had vanished.

  All his senses were heightened; the World was beautiful and he loved everybody in it. He felt invincible, and thought that he would burst with delirious happiness.

  The following hours were euphoric.

  “What was that?” he asked her when the effects of the potion had almost worn off.

  “Vayítay órbóz.” As he had found out later, it meant liquid blessing.

  Apparently the drop had made her unusually talkative.

  Maister Raven-Zinn wasn’t a stupid man.

  Even though he couldn’t complain about the current outcome of things, he was sure that the more than accommodating hospitality of the tribe came at a price.

  He didn’t believe that they had landed in an erotic paradise to be rewarded for their wit and good looks; he knew his crew, most of them didn’t possess either.

  He was watching the tribe members intently. Some of them spoke a few words of the Ancient Tongue. He had tried his best to both learn about his surroundings, and to pick up as much of their language as possible.

  He discovered that the North Sareans had called their lands Areshadia. Originally, all Sareans had spoken the Ancient Tongue, but the Northerners were a secretive kind; over the millennia they developed their own language just to spite the Southerners.

  Slowly a plan had formed in Roderich’s mind.

  He had decided to act the next time he would see the Lady, who – as he had discovered - was Matriarch Vipra, but nobody addressed her by her name.

  “Úlmán, I would like to make you a business proposal,” he said, as soon as he was brought into her room.

  By then, Roderich realised, that even though Areshadians were about three hundred years behind the World – thus four hundred behind Kronuria – they knew business when they saw it.

  “After we’re finished,” she replied, ordering him with a gesture of her index finger to join her on her bed.

  Much later, she got up and sat on the masterfully woven spider-silk carpet, next to an ornate water-pipe and clicked her fingers at a servant for refreshments.

  Roderich watched her, trying to slow down his racing heart, waiting for her further orders.

  “You still want to talk?” she asked, patting the carpet next to her.

  He obediently clambered out of bed on shaky legs and sat down next to her, trying to collect his thoughts.

  It wasn’t easy; he knew he only had one shot at this.

  Roderich’s mind conjured up images at a feverish pace, based on both experience, and the scraps of information he had learned from the Areshadians; Kronurian inventions, an annual gathering of Areshadian tribe leaders involving human sacrifice, the drops of vayítay órbóz, the fate of male spiders… and his final thought of the Matriarch reading his mind.

  He knew it was a foolish notion, but it was the only explanation for many strange happenings during his time in Sarea.

  “You’re a clever man, Kronurian,” she said with an approving hint of a smile. Even though he had shared with her more intimate moments in the last five months, than with his late wife in five years, she had never bothered to ask his name.

  “Tell me your business proposal. Let’s pretend I’m interested,” she demanded, inhaling the vapour of the water-pipe, apparently tired of rummaging in his mind.

  He knew the rules; no flattery, no trickery, straight to the point.

  When he had finished talking, Roderich didn’t need to be a mind-reader to see that she was sold.

  She looked him intensely in the eyes. He held her gaze. He was sure she was reading his thoughts, but this time he didn’t mind.

  “I have two conditions though,” he said, marvelling at his own bravery and earning an icy stare.

  Nevertheless, they both knew he had a deal, regardless of his requests.

  “Firstly, I need to meet with the Southerners.”

  His gamble had paid off. She found both conditions acceptable.

  Thus ended the time of captivity for Roderich Raven-Zinn and his crew.

  Though their ‘torture’ kept going on for quite a while longer.

  Realm’s Heart Island

  “I understand,” Lord Boran Tauntall, Mayor of Irontown and the Governor of Covax, said with a sad smile and took his leave.

  He aimlessly wandered the streets of the Island for hours.

  He suddenly stopped, and made his way to the Stinger District. He went to the Temple of the Warrior. For a while he sat in silent prayer. Then, he asked the priest of the Warrior for a blessing. He went over to the Shrine of the Dark Lady of the Underworld, and received a blessing from one of Her priestesses.

  Great peace came over him. It was time to celebrate.

  He returned to his luxurious suite in the Imperial Island Palace, the most expensive guest house of the Realm.

  He told his manservant to have his bill settled, and ordered a sumptuous meal to be brought up.

  “Lobster, venison, flambéed chocolate pancakes, a bottle of Roditeean Sparkle, a bottle of Roditeean cognac and three cigars.”

  Once his manservant had returned, he pushed an envelope and a wad of ten-gold notes in his hand.

  “Give the letter to the concierge; tell him to bring it to the director of the Palace in the morning. Now go, have a good night and don’t come back until you have spent all this.”

  After the dinner and the bottle of sparkle were finished, Lord Tauntall opened the cognac and lit a cigar. He then went to the window, and opened it wide. Taking in the lights and sounds of the city, he inhaled deeply.

  He went to his desk, and scribbled a few lines on a piece of paper.

  Then, he pushed an armchair to the full-length window, and started working on his second cigar and third glass of cognac.

  For the first time in ten years, he felt happy.

  Deliriously happy.

  Once there was nothing more to drink or smoke, he stumbled over to the bathroom, and drew himself a hot bath.

  “Oh boy, aaa‘m shtinkin’ drunk,” he chortled when he almost fell over.

  Yet, his thoughts had never been clearer.

  He clambered into the tub and slit his veins.

  The Black Scorpion Inn, Bogroot, Pyonia

  Vandar Blacclaw had expected an entirely different welcome to his village.

  He had finished the Academy with top marks, and was about to start his career in the Realm’s Army as a Commander of a Falconrider squad.

  He had spent the summer with his friends from the Academy, but he wanted to see his mother before he started his army life.

  His snow-falcon Vanda had been given to him by the Academy in his first year; she was his pride and joy. He had had her since she was a chick. Professor Atlas Quickfin attuned her to Vandar and he had been allowed to name her. Because he joined the Army, he could keep her.

  He left Vanda behind at the garrison. He patted her back, and making sure nobody saw, he planted a kiss on the bird’s neck. He planned to present her to his mother and the villagers the next day.

  “Be good, girl, I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said to her and made his way on foot towards his village.

  No sooner had he set foot on Bogroot’s main street, he heard shouts from all around.

  “He’s here!”

  “Vandar has arrived!”

  “Get Mistress Blacclaw!”

  The innkeeper of the Black Scorpion hurried towards Vandar, took him by the arm and dragged him into his establishment.

  “We’ve all been waiting for you. Half the village is here,” he beamed at him.

  Mistress Blacclaw had arrived, throwing her arms around him, showering his face with kisses.

  “My boy, I’m so proud of you. So proud,” she said with tears in her eyes.

  The villagers shook his hand, bought him drinks and said ‘welcome home’ dozens of times. The noise was ear-splitting. When the inn started to calm down, the innkeeper asked for attention to make
a speech.

  “All raise your glasses to the first man from our village to become a Commander in the Army,” everybody obeyed, cheered and drank.

  “All raise your glasses to the man who has proven that even poor Pyonians can achieve great things,” more cheering and drinking followed.

  “All raise your glasses to the first Pyonian Army Commander who will join our cause and lead us to victory,” people cheered again and everybody drank, except Vandar who looked at the crowd in confusion.

  “Join?”

  The innkeeper looked at him uncomprehendingly.

  “That’s why you came, right? To join our movement. To put the Dark Empress on the throne. To fight the Sunflares… and if we have to, the whole of the Realm.”

  Vandar shook his head.

  “The Dark Empress? That’s just a myth,” he looked around in astonishment.

  Suddenly, deathly silence set in.

  “Watch your tongue, boy. She’s real alright. If not to support her, why did you come here?” the innkeeper demanded.

  “I came to visit my mother before I start my duty.”

  “Your duty? Within the Realm’s Army? What about your duty for your homeland?” the innkeeper’s voice became more and more hostile by the second. The patrons stared at Vandar incredulously.

  “The Realm is my homeland and I swore to defend it.”

  “You would defend your precious Realm against Pyonians?

  You would kill us to defend the Realm that’s keeping us in oppression?” the innkeeper shouted.

  Vandar looked at him defiantly for a moment.

  “Yes. If I had to, I would.”

  Mistress Blacclaw dropped her head.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t raise him to be a traitor,” she whispered.

  Shouts of ‘traitor’ disrupted the silence. The innkeeper signalled to some of the men, who grabbed Vandar, twisting his arms behind his back.

  “Just to be absolutely sure… if you had to choose between Pyonia and the Realm, which one would it be?” asked the innkeeper, his eyes sparkling maliciously.

  “I can assure you, with no doubt in my mind, that every time I would choose the Realm over any other place in the World. The Realm is my home with all its twelve countries, and I would die to defend it.”

  “How sentimental. Someone get me a bucket,” the innkeeper spat.

  Chuckles rippled through the crowd.

  “I mean it, you morons, someone get me a bucket of water.”

  When it arrived, the men pushed Vandar on his knees.

  “I’m asking you for the last time; will you join us?”

  “Never.”

  The innkeeper held his head under water while Mistress Blacclaw averted her eyes.

  Before the final darkness fell over him, Vandar thought he heard Vanda’s painful screeches echoing through the Pyonian countryside.

  Apothecary Snakebite’s House, Cadentia

  Rica woke with a start. For a second she didn’t know where she was. She had a crippling headache, was bathed in sweat and started shaking. She looked around and tried to remember… anything.

  Then it came back to her. She was in the apothecary’s house.

  The only place she knew.

  The place where she had woken up one day and realised that she couldn’t remember anything. Anything of the previous day, the previous month, her previous life. She didn’t know who she was; she didn’t know what she was.

  The only thing she knew, she needed her vial. She rang the bell, and seconds later she heard steps.

  “Good morning, my dear. Seems that someone has overslept,” Master Snakebite, the rake-thin owner of the house smiled his usual toothy smile.

  “Do you have my medication?” she whispered.

  “Of course, little Lady Rica.” He took out a small vial from the pouch that hung from his neck.

  She often wondered whether she was really a Lady, or whether she had been indeed called Rica. She couldn’t remember. For a while she kept asking the apothecary and his housekeeper Gunda dozens of questions. All they said was that she had been brought here by friends, and they were told to look after her. Whether they knew more, she didn’t know.

  She took the vial and drank down its contents greedily. In a few moments she felt the familiar sensation spreading through her body.

  “Maybe I’ll lay down for a little bit” she stammered.

  “Yes, yes, that’s a very good idea, my dear. Gunda will bring your breakfast soon. Rest for now.”

  She hardly heard him shut the door behind him, as she closed her eyes to savour the effects of the potion.

  Royal Palace of Stinger, Realm’s Heart Island

  “Blessed be

  The One Creator,

  The Two Genders,

  The Three Qualities,

  The Four Elements,

  The Seven Old

  And the Three New Gods,

  The Twelve Houses

  And the Structure.

  Deliver us from Zego’s

  Disciples and Minions.

  Balance will be upheld.

  So be it.”

  Empress Sidonia finished her prayer while she shot a disapproving look at her husband, who spitefully kept his thin lips pressed together. Unfortunately not for long.

  “Do you have to say that bloody piece of rubbish every time we’re about to eat?” her husband, King Scypian Stinger spat after the servants left the dining hall.

  “It’s the Prayer of the Realm; it stands for everything I believe in.”

  “It stands for everything that’s wrong in this World. Your damned Balance! That’s the pretext for why they took our country. That’s why you’re the Empress of Nothing! Do you ever do anything at the Houses’ meetings? Have they confirmed at last that we’re getting Pyonia back?”

  He looked at her aggressively, trying to coax her into a full-blown argument. Annoyingly, she just looked at her plate and carried on eating.

  “Go on, just ignore me. You’re just like your father, that coward of a Windscale. I’m more of a Stinger than you are” he hissed with disgust.

  “That’s why we shouldn’t have married in the first place. If it wasn’t for my mother’s brilliant idea to keep our bloodline clean by making me take you for a husband, I could have married somebody else but my own cousin.”

  Scypian and Sidonia were not cousins first grade, they merely had the same great-grandmother, but for Sidonia it was still too close for comfort.

  “But of course, inbreeding is such a lovely Stinger tradition, explains all the degenerates in our family.”

  She looked at Scypian with contempt. He could feel the loathing radiating from her with such intensity that it took him aback for a second.

  “Maybe that’s why we can’t have an heiress to the throne. The Gods dislike the union of relatives. They must be punishing us,” she said, expecting the outburst to follow.

  She didn’t have to wait long. He jumped up, grabbed his plate and hurled it at the wall.

  “My fault is it?” he screamed, spittle gathering in the corners of his mouth.

  “If your great-aunt was still alive, you wouldn’t dare to talk like that. She would show you how to be a real Empress of the Stingers.”

  “I would like to point out, that if my aunt was still alive, I wouldn’t have to be Empress. That would be the only upside about her not being dead. Besides, just in case you’ve forgotten, she was the reason why we lost our country in the first place.”

  “Damn you, you don’t even want to rule! If it’s such a bother, make me the Representative,” he said for the thousandth time.

  Along with the Bullsbloods, Moonstones, Wheatfields, Mountainborns and Seafoams, the Stingers’ rulers were female, the heads of the other six houses were male. The Gender Rule made sure to keep up the tradition.

  “You could appoint me. The Royal Council would have no objections,” Scypian hissed.

  Even though the Gender Rule was binding, the r
ulers could appoint a family member to represent the country in the Realm’s Government in the House of Houses. While the Emperors and Empresses wore the crown, it was the Representatives who wielded real power.

  “The last thing the Realm needs is you as the Pyonian Representative.”

  He stormed towards the door shouting “I wish I could have married your aunt!”

  “So do I,” she said before he slammed the door after himself.

  Empress Sidonia of House Stinger was in fact Empress of nothing; that much was true.

  The last war was instigated by Stingers in the name of their traditional God, the Warrior. They had convinced the Warhorns – who worshipped the same God - to take part in their “holy war,” but of course it wasn’t about religion, just plain hunger for power. Not that it was ever very difficult to awaken the Warhorns’ lust for fighting.

  Sidonia’s late great-aunt, Empress Vultona decided that she had had enough of the elections of the House of Houses and went to war to finally have a Stinger Empress of the Realm. The resentment of the Stinger dynasty had been building for centuries. They were the only house who had never had a Realm-wide ruler.

  Empress Vultona, Ruler of Pyonia, the living embodiment of everything the Stingers stood for, had decided to take matters in her own hands.

  She was ruthless, cruel, and vengeful, with an unhealthy appetite for power. Real Pyonians adored her.

  With the Warhorn Emperor she gathered – beside the official Royal Armies of Pyonia and Covax – tens of thousands of mercenary and militia troops, and everybody who could be talked or blackmailed into joining their cause.

  The bloodiest war in the history of the Realm went on for seven years, but in spite of all the effort, ferocity and tactics displayed by the Stingers and their allies, the last battle ended at the Stinger Summer Residence of Pyonia with their defeat, exactly fifty years ago.