The War of the Pyromancer

by P D Ceanneir

  ‘Vanduke’s aunt?’

  ‘Yes, she is one of the co-founders of our order.’

  As the others mounted their steeds, and the captain trotted over to Lord Joaquin leading his mare, Telmar could not help but see the look of lust that Cormack gave to Namwi. The girl did not notice but went back to work on the wall.

  ‘Tell me, my lord,’ asked Telmar while still watching Cormack with suspicion, ‘what is this order of yours called?’

  ‘Ah, we have chosen an old title from centuries past. One that best represents us. We call ourselves the Brethac Ziggurat.’

  BOOK TWO

  THE RISE

  OF A

  PYROMANCER

  The Temple of the Insular Tabernacle

  “We birth, we suffer, and we depart. This is why such an insular life needs religion.”

  Lord Wisher, High Priest of the Derma Ken.

  1

  My first meeting with Telmar of Tressel was while being held in his arms at my Worshippers Anointing. I was barely a month old when he placed the circlet of ivy on my frizzy-haired head and uttered the words of succour from the My’thos Annulos, and then his position as my Godfather was secure. This, of course, like my birth, I was not to remember but only to learn as spoken word from my parents.

  My birth was a long and painful one for my mother, Curla. Tradition dictates that the first born sons of the Rogun Monarchical lineage are delivered on the square dais stone that sits in the centre of the Rings of Carras. Most high-ranking members of Rogun nobility gather to witness the birth, though to respect her decency, huge opaque screens of thick coloured silks surround her like a small pavilion, while her entourage of midwives fussed over her swollen belly.

  My father and Telmar were somewhere in the crowd. Both had started drinking when my mother went into labour and, hours later, they were slightly worse for wear. Still, my father managed to speak the words of Parental Discourse to the assembled crowd while holding me up to the dark clouds as the rain sluiced away birth fluid from my face.

  Apparently, I screamed louder than the wind that roared through the circle of towering monoliths.

  My father and mother had started their courtship several months before all of the apprentices were to undertake the Canndali. Father later discovered, through court gossip, that my mother was pregnant with me and this sent him into a frenzied panic, partly because the Trial by Fire was not just a final test of their skills with the Fire Element but also a balancing of human emotions. The Canndali was not something one undertook lightly. Apprentices meditated daily to bring their emotional state into harmony on the lead-up to the trial and any deviation of disciplines could prove fatal to the individual. But, most of all, Vanduke worried about his father’s reaction to my mother’s pregnancy. Usually a future king would not have any say in whomever he was to marry, because the rule of the state came before personal needs. However, King Valient was overjoyed to learn Carla was with child, and thrilled she was a daughter of a powerful noble and ally.

  My grandfather may have been stern with his son, but when I, and my brothers, came along, he was like a playful cuddly bear. Only in later years when we all grew to manhood, did he mellow towards Vanduke.

  As for Telmar, he continued to study and conditioned himself for the Canndali. In truth, his Pyromantic powers were slowly bubbling to the surface, but he managed to dispel them harmlessly while placing himself into a trance in front of Harlequin. The unique absorption abilities found inside the Powerball’s Glemmarstone stored the Pyromantic energy he ejected through meditation. The outcome of all of this was not going to be apparent to him until years later as Harlequins inner power grew and grew.

  Harlequin, to Telmar, was becoming an enigma. The Powerball was a vast resource of knowledge and was only too happy to show off his intelligence to his master, but at other times he dithered with half answered questions or went silent after dimming to a lacklustre shine. This was mainly due to Telmar’s constant queries on time travel, or the mysterious Door. The Powerball would “seize up” whenever an answer would clash with his pre-programmed rules on the Principal Edict.

  Both boys passed the Canndali easily. They were two, of the final ten, to finish from their intake that had originally started with thirty.

  As for the secretive society of the Brethac Ziggurat, Telmar learnt little, mainly because Vanduke also knew little or was reluctant to reveal too much to one unordained, even if he was a friend. What Telmar did learn from Vanduke was that the Order classed them as pre-acolytes. They were interim members until they reached the age of “man’s estate” which in nobility was twenty-two years old. However, this in itself was a lie; both of them would have to wait a further five years after they were free from Rawn obligations.

  Both, newly accomplished Rawn Masters, would stay on at the academy for three more years as they took on a role as administrators, and ran teaching programmes to aid the older masters in training. This was a new reform installed by my grandfather some two years previously and would modernise an otherwise old and stuffy curriculum. It did not go down too well with the current Administrative Collegium of Rawn Masters, but it did change things for the better and this event became the forerunner for my father’s later skills as an ambassador to the Court of the Rogun King.

  Telmar stayed on at the academy for five more years. He majored in both Skrol Divination and Mathematics. He became so well known for his intellect that his learned peers often asked him to give speeches on his studies of Cosmos Theories, a unique way of concluding difficult mathematical problems by using a large amount of chaotic algorithms called Abstract Solutions. However, as always, things change. About a month before my tenth birthday, my father and Telmar received invitations to go to the traditional ball of the Insular Tabernacle Gathering at the Citadel of Sonora, an auspicious event that drew many of the continent’s powerful and richest nobles.

  The very moment Telmar stepped through the gates of Sonora’s palace, the history of the continent would change, forever.

  2

  The messenger hopped impatiently from one foot to another as he waited on the quay for Baron Telmar’s ship to dock. He had slept for three days in the harbour’s local tavern, called the Dossie Lyn, and he could feel the need for a hot bath to get rid of the lice he must have got from the unclean bedding.

  He knew what the young baron looked like from the description he had received from the producer of the message, he also knew him by reputation as all powerful Rawn Masters were in those days, but he was also aware that Telmar was travelling with Lord Ness, and everyone knew Lord Ness. The Ri and the new Rawn Master had travelled to Tenk of Mubea over a month ago. Telmar had accompanied his onetime Master to help him decipher some ancient artefacts with Skrol etchings on them. The current Sultan was a keen collector of such historical items, and because of Lord Ness’ links with his family in the past, always kept the more interesting artefacts to one side for the Ri’s biannual visit. Lord Ness was one of the few outsiders allowed to enter the sultan’s palace library and Telmar felt it was an honour to be included in such a trip. Of course, his analytical mind had much to do with it. No one was more adept at reading Skrol than Telmar.

  The young messenger ran towards the group of men disembarking from the ship and pushed through the mob shouting out the baron’s name. Lord Ness heard him first and waved him through just as he stepped off the gangway.

  ‘Begging your pardon, my lord,’ he said as he bowed, ‘I have an urgent letter for Baron Telmar of Tressel.’

  Telmar, who was several bodies behind the Ri, shouted anxiously over their heads. His first thoughts were of his mother; even though the Phage was upon her, and she aged somewhat every year, she remained sprightly and never stopped working on the ranch and farm. There were days he worried for her and this worry would always fester into a cold negative energy in the pit of his stomach. Yet the messenger was not from Dorit Lorne. He was richly dressed, probably the youngest son of a wealthy merchant who was work
ing for a noble.

  ‘I’m Telmar,’ he said as he reached him and took a flat vellum case from the boy. The messenger bowed again and then disappeared into the throng of foot passengers that streamed off the ship.

  The letter inside the case was made of thick expensive parchment, edged in gold leaf and finely hand written in glossy brown ink.

  Telmar, Barron of Tressel and Lord of Dorit Lorne

  Is hereby invited to the most prestigious Gathering of the Insular Tabernacle

  Set to ordain on the Sixteenth day of Jithi 2974 YOA at the Palace of Sonora.

  Dress formal

  ‘Well, well, well,’ said Lord Ness, reading the invitation over Telmar’s shoulder. ‘You must have made an impression on somebody!’

  ‘How so, Master?’

  ‘Not everyone gets to be invited to the Gathering. I did not realise you were religious.’ It was not a question, but Telmar heard the curiosity in his master’s voice.

  ‘I’m not really,’ said Telmar half-heartedly.

  ‘Well the Gathering is part of the Free Worshippers, the Derma Ken. They have been around for a thousand years and known to be the richest religious order in the land. Of course, they do not get on well with the charity-based religions of the Rogun, Rogul Ken and the Vallkyte, Vallkis Ken, but that is beside the point. It’s who you know in society that determines how you climb the ladder of success, my boy.’

  ‘Have you ever been to one of these Gatherings?’ Telmar asked.

  ‘Good grief no, I am too busy worrying about the important things in life!’

  Telmar laughed. Then he noticed the name on the bottom of the invitation. He pointed it out to Lord Ness. The Ri nodded.

  ‘I noticed,’ he said. ‘Cinnibar, the Countess of Sonora, is a Havant of the Inner Tabernacle and the most powerful noble in Sonora. Have you ever met her ladyship?’

  Telmar shook his head. He had only heard Vanduke talk of his aunt from time to time.

  ‘An inspiring lady, kind and very respected, though dauntingly so. Do not forget she is the king’s sister and, as the old political saying goes, her “hand does not stray far from the throne”.’

  ‘I shall try to remember that.’ Secretly he suspected the “hand” belonged to the Brethac Ziggurat and they were responsible for the strange invitation. He was barely listening to the Ri.

  Lord Ness pointed to the invitation, ‘you have but three days until the gathering. Will you postpone your journey home?’

  Telmar nodded. They had sailed back a week early, having accomplished all they could at the sultan’s palace.

  ‘I will find lodgings in the city centre and a good tailor; I have money enough for a short stay and the hire of a good horse for the homeward journey.’

  ‘Then I will go home by way of Dorit Lorne to let your mother know of your delay.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Master.’

  The Ri shrugged. ‘It’s the very least I could do for you, seeing as I dragged you away at short notice. Besides, I hear the Lady of Dorit Lorne’s cooking is famous throughout the land and I look forward to the venison stew you told me about.’

  Telmar shook hands with Ness Ri and bade him a safe journey. It would be the last time he would see his old Master for another five years, most of which would be spent in Sonora.

  3

  The climate in the north of the continent was always warm for most of the year. Jithi was the hottest month and the streets of Sonora were practically baking in the heat. Telmar factored this into his style of dress when he went to a reputable tailor. He ordered clothes from the window display, which were made of a light, thin material needing little or no adjustments. They were made from a dappled dark green cloth, with a golden sash and wide gold-flanged epaulettes. He wore black highly polished boots and bought a new leather scabbard and harness to match so he could wear his sword by his side in a more formal position.

  He found lodgings at the Orchard Grove, a comfortable inn on the quiet west side of town overlooking the City Park. While most of the flora in Sonora housed desert plants of cacti and palm trees, the City Park was lush with mature oak and tall fir from the Sky Mountains.

  On the day of the Gathering, Telmar was slightly nervous. Usually a quiet confidant man, he occasionally felt anxious when introduced to new situations. He meditated that evening to douse the burning in his stomach and then took a single-horsed coach to the palace.

  The Palace of Sonora was by far the oldest structure in the citadel. It once belonged to an ancient king called Sono, who gave his name to the region, but sea raiders from far off lands ended his kingship long before the Assassi arrived to take it for their own. The palace sat on a low, wide crag overlooking the main entrance to the west of the harbour. It had long square outer walls with many windows and a central fort, reminiscent of three castellated keeps stacked one on top of the other, which sat in the centre of the massive courtyard.

  Telmar showed his invitation to a guard in purple livery, who then ordered a young footman to escort him into the main hall.

  The hall was a tall oak-beamed structure that arched high to a peaked roof. Six gigantic crystal chandeliers hung from the thick rafters, each placed to highlight the sumptuously painted ceilings. On the ground ran a long and wide golden carpet that stretched from the main door to a row of tiered tables bowing under the weight of food. Roast pig, duck, swan and an assortment of steamed tuber and root vegetables, decoratively piled onto each of the tiers. Servants carrying silver platters were filling up their trays with smaller morsels from the tables, and moving around the throng of about a hundred finely dressed nobles. One such servant, a dark haired girl of about his age, was standing at the door when he entered. She offered him a fluted glass with Keveni Rice Wine in it. He thanked her as he took it and she blushed at his handsome smile.

  At the sight of all the food, Telmar’s stomach gurgled hungrily. He took some smoked salmon pate on a thick sweet pastry from a passing tray and washed it down with the wine. Just as he was about to finish the glass, a hand roughly slapped him in the back and he spluttered. He turned to see my father chuckling.

  ‘You bloody fool, I nearly choked!’ said Telmar wiping his lips.

  ‘Sorry, but am I glad to see you here,’ said Vanduke.

  ‘I was in the neighbourhood.’

  ‘I know. You arrived three days ago with Lord Ness.’

  Telmar looked surprised and Vanduke laughed.

  ‘This citadel, my friend, is a Brethac Ziggurat haven. Nothing goes on without them knowing about it.’

  ‘So all of this…?’ said Telmar sweeping his arms to encompass the room.

  ‘…is purely for the benefit of the Order,’ cut in Vanduke. ‘The Insular Tabernacle is actually a front for what goes on behind the scenes.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Well, we will find out, won’t we?’

  Telmar learnt that his friend had received his invitation over a month ago while on a mission with Master Mendel in the Wildlands. ‘A dispute between the Kelang and the Mulang Sects of the Nithi, Master Mendel was quite impressed with my negotiating skills. But in all honesty I would not be surprised if those barbarians destroyed each other in a civil war.’

  ‘That’s very unlike you to say that,’ said Telmar with some surprise.

  Vanduke shrugged. ‘I try to be neutral in the affairs of men, but there are times when I see the truth of the matter and only one solution, even if it is the wrong solution, solves the issues.’

  ‘And what solution is that?’

  ‘I will leave it up to Master Mendel and Mad-Yantis of the Kelang Sept to sort out. Both are members of the Order anyway.’ He saw Telmar look at him with curiosity. ‘Perks of the Order, my friend, it is who you know that counts,’ said my father as he tapped the side of his nose. Vanduke smiled and looked over Telmar’s shoulder as someone he recognised approached them. Telmar turned to see Cormack, with an older man sharing similar features but greying hair, walking towards them.

>   The older man shook hands and bowed to the De Proteous, then shook Telmar’s hand. ‘Baron Telmar, it is an honour to finally meet you,’ said the man in a rich nasal tone. He wore a robe of thin blue velvet with a white fur collar. The medallion around his neck had the enamelled crest of Keveni on it.

  ‘Cormack, Duke of Keveni, I presume?’ asked Telmar and the man smiled without acknowledgment.

  ‘My son has mentioned much about you.’

  Telmar looked at Cormack the younger who seemed flushed and embarrassed at this meeting and would not look at the baron.

  ‘I’m sure he has. Cormack and I go way back,’ Telmar gave the duke his best dazzling smile. It would have charmed any normal person, but the duke was not fazed. Instead, he looked up at the ceiling.

  ‘Do you know who painted the masterpieces up there?’ he asked.

  Telmar looked up. Most of the artwork was of the known My’thos. Tri-Nut, Hagan, Kwi-Aqua and Arcun, they were in a variety of poses sitting on white fluffy clouds, all of them offering their hands to humans who were reaching up towards them in rapt wonder.

  ‘I know little of the history of the palace, my lord, but the brush strokes and style is reminiscent of the Parsonage Workshop, perhaps Palatino?’ said Telmar in an offhand way. He caught the duke’s surprised look and he tried to stop himself from smiling.

  ‘It is indeed the work of the great artist Palatino. You are much learned, my lord, though I have already been told this, yet I usually like to see it for myself. You know how gossip can skew one’s impression of someone without meeting them first.’ He pointed up to the paintings. ‘Love, labour, loyalty and a strong sense of teamwork allowed Palatino and his student artists to complete this masterpiece, which incidentally, is the code that we adhere to.’ Telmar did not have to ask who the “We” was. He felt as if the duke was lecturing him, and did not like it.

  ‘Actually, my lord, the “Fresco of the Ascension” as this is called,’ said Telmar, ‘was commissioned by Lord Haler some ten years before Palatino was born. He asked Palatino’s older cousin Rialto Massimo to paint it but he died while the commission was half-complete. Palatino merely finished the north west corner in the style taught to him by his cousin.’