The War of the Pyromancer

by P D Ceanneir

  While the intake of potential Rawns filtered into the hall and took their seats, father and his two “aides” scrutinised the turnout. Most were male, some (and I believe the reason for my father allowing his two associates to come with him) were female. There were thirty-seven students in the intake, and by the end of many months of training, there will be much less. Becoming a Rawn Master took great discipline and devotion. To have the ability to control the four elements, Earth, Water, Wind and Fire, one would be committing a lifetime to its study and the harnessing of its power. Only a select few would have the aptitude to complete the training.

  ‘Who is she?’ said Vanduke, inclining his head towards a tall blonde girl with a fine completion and a dazzling smile. Hinton stretched his short neck from his stocky body to get a look.

  ‘Lady Sybil’s daughter,’ he said, ‘though I don’t recall the name’.

  ‘Tamberline,’ said Yovin. ‘Her mother is Dowager of Ladrum, she with the many acres of fertile land on her eastern borders. I only know about her because father was courting her mother only last month and I only learnt then she had a daughter.’

  ‘How far did your father go with the courtship?’ asked Vanduke.

  ‘Not far, she is twice his age, though by all accounts a comely wench I’m told,’ he said in his usual snobbish droll, which my father always found amusing.

  As the new aspiring apprentices settled on the pews, Vanduke allowed the thrum of chatter to wash over him. My father had the look of someone who did not take in any information, he was not a stupid man by any means, and I was always amazed at how much information he retained just by picking up titbits of conversation snatched from the mindless babble and save it for later use. This was something Telmar always found unique about Vanduke.

  Father scanned faces around him as he listened, some he recognised most he did not, but he saw one who seemed to stand out from the rest.

  He was standing one row in front of him to his left, adjusting his rucksack so he could stow it under his seat. He was tall and he had a mop of dark hair neatly combed, Vanduke could see that he was good looking, with a fine tan and an open friendly face. He sat alone at the end of his row with his arms folded, exuding a calm confidence while others chatted nervously around him. Vanduke thought there was something peculiar about him and it was only after a few seconds of staring that he realised he was the only one in the hall wearing a livery tabard. The sleeveless tabard was black with faded gold edging, on the front was a heraldic shield with a gold field and upon the shield was an image of a white eagle flying over twin crossbows. Above the eagle was a row of four silver stars linked together by a thin gold chain.

  Vanduke nudged Yovin.

  ‘Majesty?’ the young noble enquired.

  Vanduke indicated for his friend to look in front of him with his chin, ‘chap with the black livery on, seen him before?’

  Yovin rubbed at his downy cheek as he stared then shrugged, ‘could be Vallkyte, there are plenty of them here.’

  ‘I saw the crest,’ said Hinton excitedly, ‘the white eagle is from the Withers, Earl Talien’s domain, but I think he has a daughter, not a son.’

  Vanduke shook his head. ‘The shield was a vassal crest. The crossbows are a Ranger insignia which means Wither Rangers.’ Yovin and Hinton both stared at Vanduke with renewed respect. If they really knew my father they would not be surprised, whatever his faults his memory for heraldic devices was legendary.

  Hinton snapped his fingers, ‘it has to be the Lordship of Dorit Lorne!’

  ‘Baron Efron’s son then, but didn’t the baron die recently?’ said Yovin with a frown.

  Vanduke sighed, ‘yes I think your father mentioned it some time ago in a message delivered by a herald of the Barony Charter. Ah, yes! The four stars and chain links, they are of Tressel I believe.’ He looked towards the boy in the tabard, ‘so this is the new baron of Tressel.’ He looked at Yovin, ‘do you have a name, yet?’

  Both cousins looked blank and shrugged. Hinton said, ‘if he is Baron Tressel then his family has connections with the Charter and vast lands in Wyani. I seem to remember Baron Efron becoming rich with all of the inventions he patented.’

  ‘Nobility is not about money, Squire Hinton,’ said Vanduke with a note of disgust in his voice. Both cousins raised their eyebrows at him.

  Vanduke tried not to smile, ‘alright it is, money helps. We may rule over the people but we also protect them, as is our duty.’

  Yovin chuckled, ‘you sound like your father.’

  Vanduke shrugged, ‘I may dislike him at times, but I don’t question his philosophy.’

  4

  They sat through a boring speech by the Archmaster that introduced them to the academy, then a more detailed list of events by the Dean, followed by an inventory of supplies by the Bursar. The teachers sat at a long table at one end of the hall, at least four of them wore white robes. These, Telmar knew, were Ri. Powerful Rawn Masters who had the ability to merge all four elements together, an almost impossible feat even for a Rawn Master, which takes many years of practice. Because Ri were more powerful and knowledgeable than Rawn Masters they formed into a collective called the Ri Order, which became teachers, keepers of knowledge, advisors to high ranking nobility and, when the occasion demanded, dispensers of peace through force.

  After the speeches the teachers split the students into groups and left them in the capable hands of the quartermaster before the apprentices entered the dormitories. Most of their clothing they would keep, but the quartermaster issued each student with coloured tunics that informed the teachers of their ranking within the arts. They would also were elasticated coloured netting for their hair. Brown for the Earth Element was their first colour, and each student took their netting, three tabards and bedding solemnly as they queued up at the quartermaster’s store hatch. Everyone handed his or her personal weapons over to the weapons clerk at this point, so Telmar had to relinquish Basilisk until next term.

  The duty quartermaster looked with envy and awe at the sword. ‘A fine blade, young sir,’ he said as he placed a numbered tag on it and gave Telmar the end stub. ‘It will be well looked after.’

  ‘Hold a minute there, if you please,’ said a male voice from down the line of waiting students. A tall Ri with long white hair tied back into a brass cup which bobbed from side to side as he walked down the corridor, arrived at the issuing hatch. He stretched out a hand from the wide sleeve of his robe and the quartermaster obediently handed over Basilisk. Telmar watched with interest as the Ri looked over the blade and then scrutinised the Glemmarstone orb of the pommel. Vanduke, just seven feet behind Telmar in the queue, watched with mild amusement. He did not have his own sword; Tragen, a gift from his father, was already in the royal armoury for safekeeping.

  ‘Unless I’m very much mistaken,’ said the Ri, who although he had the hair of an old man, still looked young in features with no wrinkles that Telmar could see, ‘this was made by Lord Borran.’

  There were several audible gasps by the students behind Telmar. A sword by the great swordsmith Borran was indeed a special weapon. He made few, and all of them were unique. My father’s sword was one of the few made by him.

  Telmar nodded. ‘Yes it is, sir.’

  The Ri smiled, ‘calling me “sir” is a good start, though Master is more appropriate. I am Ness Ri, and you are Baron Efron’s boy, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes I am, Master. My name is Telmar.’

  Ness Ri nodded. ‘I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing, Telmar. He was a good student. I have fond memories of him during his time here. I hope you can live up to his reputation.’

  It was not a question, Telmar nodded silently.

  Master Ness gave the Skrol on the pommel another look then handed it back to the Quartermaster, who carefully placed it into a wooden sword rack.

  ‘Have you given it a name?’ He asked Telmar.

  ‘Basilisk, Master.’

  He saw the Ri frown and was about
to explain the name when my father stepped out of the queue and said, ‘the snake goddess of Nalobeanda, master.’ All eyes looked his way and Telmar stared at him with his eyebrows raised.

  ‘That’s correct, though I did not know anyone still taught Nalobeandan History,’ said Telmar.

  Ness Ri tried to hide a smile. ‘Prince Vanduke is a wealth of information. How did you know of Basilisk, majesty?’

  Telmar was surprised that the tall boy with the shock of blonde hair was a Rogun prince, but he was more amused at the look of panic on his face. Vanduke flapped a hand beside his ear.

  ‘Don’t quite know the details, must have picked it up somewhere, master,’ he said by way of explanation.

  ‘No doubt,’ said Ness Ri with wry humour in his voice.

  Vanduke face brightened a little as another titbit of information slotted into the recall area of his brain. ‘It may have something to do with the Nalobeandan statue that Aunt Cinnibar has in her temple at Sonora,’ he said.

  Ness Ri frowned, ‘I was not aware your aunt had such a rare artefact, or that you had any interest in it!’

  Vanduke shrugged, ‘my interest was merely superficial, master. It broke my fall when I slid down the staircase banister.’ The row of students began to titter. Telmar smiled and even Ness Ri tried to hide his amusement. ‘My aunt berated me so rigorously that I would not be able to hear properly for a full day,’ he said while keeping a straight face.

  ‘I can well imagine,’ said Ness Ri. ‘Perhaps next time you could slide down the stairs on a tea tray, much better fun and less dangerous to ornaments.’

  My father laughed along with the rest of the students, but stopped when the Ri raised his hand for them to listen.

  ‘I’ll leave you all to continue to your rooms,’ he turned towards Telmar, ‘we shall speak again, young Telmar.’ Then he walked back down the corridor.

  5

  Telmar shared a room with two others. He had a single cot, a plain wooden wardrobe and a metal footlocker at the bottom of his bed. The room, carpeted in a rich red colour that matched the drapes of the tall arched windows, was a fair size and close to the bath and steam rooms. The view outside was of the training yard; if he looked out of the window to the right he could just make out the tall gates that led to Market Town.

  He had just finished unpacking his clothes and folding them up on the shelves of the wardrobe when another student entered the room to take the last remaining bed. He was surprised to discover it was Prince Vanduke. My father explained to me on many occasions, have faith in your instincts and go by first impressions of people. What he saw in Telmar, he liked. Therefore, he ordered the quartermaster to change his rooms.

  The other two boys were brothers, sons of a wealthy Burgh Lord, so when the De Proteous walked into their room they were obviously nervous. They bowed and called him by his royal title. Vanduke jovially waved them away, saying that there were no ranks within the walls of the academy; men were all equal here.

  Telmar laughed at this and went to shake Vanduke’s hand. ‘So, you’re a historical scholar, a prince, and a man who loves the danger of a stair banister,’ he said as my father shook his hand in return. ‘I hope the broken statue was worth it?’

  ‘Longest damned flight of stairs on the continent,’ laughed Vanduke, ‘I would be a fool not to have a go.’

  This first exchange between Telmar and my father was to blossom into a friendship that would last for forty years.

  The Hoydart Wreck

  “I distinctly hope that my reign is as fortune blessed as my forbears predicted”

  Extract of King Sallen IV speech at his coronation, taken from the Kingly Mission: Maidus Clement.

  1

  Aln-Tiss. 3038 YOA

  A blue haze lingered in the valleys of the distant Sky Mountains as their, still snowy, summits glinted under the midday sun. The plain of Aln shifted and waved in the ripples of heat making the tall stalks of grass and barley dance eerily in the still air.

  Around me the sounds of nature twittered and hummed as I sat on a wicker-framed chair sipping sweet mint tea with Shanks on his apartment’s wide balcony. Pots of colourful flowers littered the edges of the balcony and large bees zipped back and forth along the row of open petals. The smell of lavender mixed with the mint from my tea was soothing.

  I tore my eyes away from the stunning vista to watch Shanks as he silently read from the black leathered ledger. Even with all of the research I was doing, Shanks and I had agreed to scrutinise his story in stages in case some aspects of it jogged a memory in him and I could add his observations to the book later.

  Finally he finished reading what I had written so far, closed the book, picked his glass cup up by the steel handle, and sipped his tea. He looked out at the view as he did so, saying nothing.

  It had now become tradition for the upper classes within Aln-Tiss to have a noon beverage before lunch. Usually an alcoholic drink like Keveni Rice Wine or the new, and extremely potent, Haplann Firewine, but Shanks had become tea-total since the Pyromantic Curse took effect on him, and I no longer supped ale or wine since I was given a curing draft of some herbal infusion from my sister-in-law, Lady Vara. Just the thought of what she put in it turns my stomach and I am indebted to her for ridding me of my dependency on alcohol.

  ‘I had forgotten about Harlequin,’ said Shanks, as he continued to stare towards the north. ‘It was as if he was an appendage of me as opposed to an independent entity. How could I forget him?’

  I said, ‘your father was a very clever man in creating an artificially intelligent Powerball.’

  He looked at me with sad eyes that seemed to be tinged red instead of a dusky grey. ‘The credit should go to the Elder Styx. He discovered Pyromantic Energy gave life to such as Harlequin. Though, I later fathomed that the Skrol he created was part of the Elders’ own personality and this gave him certain traits that I distrusted.’

  ‘How is that so?’ I asked.

  ‘He was very manipulative at times.’

  I nodded and poured more tea from the tall pot that sat on the table. I offered some to Shanks, but he declined.

  ‘Too much gives me heartburn,’ he said and smiled when I looked at him with shock. Then I laughed and he chuckled along with me.

  ‘Oh, that is rich! A Pyromancer who dislikes the burning sensation of Mint Tea when it comes back on him,’ I retorted, rolling my eyes.

  Shanks spread his arms wide, ‘no one’s perfect.’

  We sit in silence for a while enjoying the view from the balcony. The sun dapples the floor as it shines through the ivy that covers most of the marble edge rail, and I look at its hypnotic shifting shadows.

  ‘The Mastirton Maelstrom is a problem, isn’t it?’ said Shanks.

  I sigh as I look at him and nod my head. ‘If these stories get out, and believe me the truth of your life will not be kept secret for long, then I will have to edit most of the conversation you had with your pseudo father. Something like time travel will be a power too tempting by far for people to resist.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Shanks, ‘it’s unstable. My father claimed it had the energy to destroy the entire planet. It will have to be neutralised before too long.’

  ‘How?’ said I, incredulously. ‘I agree that something has to be done, but who, apart from the Elder Styx, knows how it works. Your father even mentioned that his Grymward might hold the answer. Did you even decipher it?’

  Shanks shrugged, ‘you have my memories, Vanduke. You tell me!’

  I groaned, exasperated at his calm demeanour. He pushes away his half-full cup and leans forward onto the table.

  ‘Did your father ever mention to you that he knew about the Door?’ he asked me.

  I was so shocked I could hardly speak, so I shook my head.

  Shanks nodded. ‘About a couple of months into my first year of training, I started having repetitive dreams about the Door. Most I would not remember; others were too horrifying to forget. Those ones wou
ld cause me to cry out in the night. Your father was always there to listen to my descriptions of those dreams before I forgot them, which I always did. Most of what I know about the look of the Door is through your father.’

  I could scarcely believe it. The relationship I had with my father was unique. With my brothers, Hagan and Kasan, he was kind, even tolerant, especially of Hagan’s impetuousness and lack of maturity, which reminded him of his own youth, and he always thought Kasan was too intense and cold like his grandfather. He recognised much of my grandmother in my personality and he found a kindred spirit in me. We would share so much, as if we were close friends, talk well into the night on a variety of subjects, and trust me enough to take me on important field missions. Therefore, to tell me nothing about my Godfather’s dreams irked me.

  ‘He never mentioned the Door to me.’

  Shanks could see I was upset but ignored it. ‘That’s probably because he thought it was a figment of my imagination. Which, for most of my life, I believed too, but now I know differently.’

  I frown. Even with his memories knocking around in my head, I sometimes disbelieve what I see. The Door could be real; I have no way of knowing until I stumble upon the memory that proves otherwise. For now I have to take his word for it.

  What I do know is that Telmar believes this mysterious Door to be the most terrible threat to life on our planet. The Mastirton Maelstrom is but a small glitch in the whole scheme of things. Yet, when I see that Door in my own dreams, I am gripped with fear and, unlike Telmar, I feel I do not have the courage to look inside.