The War of the Pyromancer

by P D Ceanneir

  ‘Yes Telmar. A Bani is a person who has an effect on the life forces of others around him; like a giant star sitting on the blanket of space drawing planets towards it. Their life force is stronger, impeachable, intoxicating and very destructive to most humans. They threaten the very fabric of time and are the creators of its evolution. A Bani, Telmar, shapes the world around them to their needs.’

  ‘Needs?’

  ‘Yes, Telmar, the world needs you.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Harlequin asked Cronos with a slight note of concern in his voice.

  ‘I’m offering hope.’

  ‘Hope?’ said Telmar.

  ‘Yes, hope. Hope for the future, hope that I can be free of the Lonely God. For in the future lies salvation for humanity in the form of the Blacksword, and you are the only one that can bring him into existence.’

  ‘Blacksword?’

  ‘Yes, the Demigod whose Bani surpassed all. The only being the Dark Entity fears!’

  ‘Fears?’

  There was another roar, this time closer.

  ‘It’s coming,’ said Harlequin. ‘It’s drawn to me.’

  Cronos shook his head. ‘That is unlikely, your energy is encased inside God Metal, and it would be difficult for him to sniff it out. Telmar, on the other hand, is a different matter.’

  ‘It knows he is here, even thorough Dream Projection?’

  ‘Clearly.’

  ‘He must leave!’

  ‘Leave?’ said Telmar.

  The ground shook.

  Cronos stepped forward and touched the baron’s forehead. The whole scene of the dream wavered before his eyes.

  ‘Bani…Blacksword…hope?’ giggled Telmar.

  ‘That is right, Hope,’ said Cronos as he disappeared, and Telmar fell into a deep dark sleep.

  5

  The madness that followed his return only lasted for a week this time. Cinnibar watched over him as he gibbered and ranted. On the night that it finally abated she woke to find him standing naked before the wall of her bedroom, scribbling mathematical diagrams and sketches on it in charcoal.

  She went to him, but he was in a trance and mumbling under his breath. He was drawing a picture of a door.

  ‘It’s coming,’ he said. ‘The Door is coming.’ He scribbled a word next to it, Melthonansa, and then Quanta, Ryaltown, Calcindanus, which were once great cities of the past that no longer existed due to some form of destructive cataclysm.

  Cinnibar fretted for Telmar’s state of mind. Each Link with the Earth Daemon stripped away another layer of his sanity.

  ‘Telmar?’ she said gently.

  He turned to her, his eyes wide and staring. ‘You’re a Waternymph, aren’t you?’ he said giggling drunkenly.

  She frowned. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘You try and control me, but you can’t,’ he laughed. ‘You can’t. Not like the others. You can manipulate men of weaker minds, Lord Sernac tells you to do it, yes? He will be your undoing.’ He looked back to the wall and wrote another word next to the others. ‘But it does not matter now, because the world as we know it will end when the Door comes.’

  The word said, Dulan-Tiss.

  6

  The letter from Namwi arrived the following month.

  After his last encounter with the Earth Daemon, Telmar had been falling into lengthy trances while staring into space. The countess’s physicians called them “Fugue States” and even Cinnibar found it hard to snap him out of it. His Pyromantic energies would build and even meditation did nothing to disperse the volatile energies any more. On two occasions he would scream in pain and then run outside to unleash the negative emotions into their corporeal form, a white-hot ball of superheat. The destruction he wrought on the garden courtyard was vast. It would take a team of servants with buckets of water many hours to put out the flames.

  These events were infrequent, but they were deeply disturbing for all of those around him. He nearly destroyed the Plaza Square on his first episode, burning the tall hedging on its northeast corner to ash. However, most of his Surges were directed skywards; they burned away the clouds and lit the darkness of the night for miles around.

  Soon Telmar was becoming famous for his madness and the word “Pyromancer” was becoming commonplace as rumours spread throughout the citadel. With rumour came fear and he had to have the palace guards shadow him wherever he went. The countess fretted for his safety.

  The letter from Namwi lay unopened on his desk for two days until he snapped out of his latest Fugue State. He noticed that someone had opened the letter and hastily resealed it. This did not surprise him. The Order monitored the letters he sent and those that he received. He even wrote them in his own cryptic code. There were times he thought he was a prisoner, or a pet in a cage.

  The letter was short, encoded, and written in Namwi’s neat hand. Its hidden correspondence asked him to come to Tuen House as soon as possible, because his mother was now abed and near death.

  Telmar left that night. He gathered his belongings and exited the town by a secret passage he had discovered months earlier that ran through the back walls of the Temple kitchens. It took him two weeks to get home.

  When he finally arrived, he found father and I there to meet him.

  7

  With three years of study remaining in the academy I had progressed so much that I was allowed to go on Field Missions with a fully trained Rawn Master. Luckily my first assessment was with my father, who took me on a negotiation mission to break up a dispute between the Mulang and Kelang Sects of the Nithi.

  The negotiations went well. My father’s skills at bringing these two warring factions together under a peace accord were exemplary, and I learnt much from him on that particular mission. We journeyed on to the Withers the next day. My father wished to see Count Talien for some reason, though I now know years later that both men were members of the Brethac Order.

  It was during our stay in the count’s Moorcroft Castle that we learnt about the ill health of the Lady Catlyn. Father and I cut our trip short to go and visit her. The ageing Rawn was close to death when we walked through the threshold of Tuen House, Lady Namwi was there to greet us and she gave my father and I a friendly hug. Even though I had never met her before, I found her to be the light of joy within that gloomy old house.

  Lady Catlyn I had met before, but the skinny shrivelled woman that lay in the four-poster bed of the largest bedroom in the house was almost impossible to associate with the sprightly old woman I remember in my youth. So old was she now that I feared that if I touched her hand she would crumple into dust. The sight of Telmar’s mother winded me with fear. If I were to live to be her age I would undergo the same Phaging process, and even though the Rawn Arts brought extended life, the result was a slow death from ageing. Males lived shorter lifespan than the more powerful females and the Phage kills within a few years. Females, on the other hand, had an ability to stall the process. How? No one really knows. Only by obtaining the extremely difficult ability of Ri do Rawn Masters finally cure himself or herself of the Phage’s ravaging effects.

  The day after we arrived at Tuen House, Telmar rode in on the back of an exhausted and dusty horse. Namwi was the first to see him as she watched from Lady Catlyn’s bedroom window. She rushed out to meet him, giving him a long lingering hug and finally bursting into tears, which she had bravely held back because we were there.

  My father and Telmar had not seen each other for over two years. My father confessed to me before the mission to the Nithi that he disliked the relationship between Telmar and his aunt. I agreed with him, but I also mentioned that it was none of his business. Father had laughed and slapped me on the back in a friendly manner. ‘Of all my sons,’ he said, ‘you are the most sensible.’

  Even though they had not seen each other for a while, their greeting was warm and heartfelt. Telmar embraced me and commented on my rate of growth since the last time he had seen me. I was almost as tall as he was. To me he had changed a
lso. He was thinner and had a few days growth of dark beard. He also had a haunted, faraway look in his eyes.

  Lady Catlyn woke for long enough to smile at her only son, holding his hand in a tight grip. Telmar smiled back and did not cry, though I know from his memories of that day he wanted to. A resolute force of will held the volatile emotions at bay.

  ‘Oh, where have you been, my son?’ said Catlyn in a thin whispery voice.

  ‘Far away mother, but I’m here now,’ said Telmar as he stroked the fine grey hair from her brow.

  ‘That’s good; your father gets quite cross when you wander off.’

  Namwi, sitting beside Telmar on a stool said, ‘her mind is wavering, she brings up memories from the past.’

  Telmar nodded slowly. ‘Sleep now mother, I will remain here with you.’

  Remain he did. Through the night Catlyn woke twice and spoke about meeting Efron; she explained that it was good to see him again after so many years apart. Her last words to her son were, ‘can I go to him?’

  ‘You can mother, give him my love,’ said Telmar, his voice breaking slightly as he spoke. A tear streaked down his cheek.

  Lady Catlyn slept again and never woke. She died before sunrise.

  In the morning my father and I discovered Telmar and his mother’s body were missing. Both of us, Namwi, and several servants searched for him. Vanduke found him by the old tomb of the Elder Styx on the grounds of the ruined castle of Dorit Lorne. He had laid his mother’s small and frail body over the layer of dust that once were the bones of the Elder and closed the lid of crystal cover of the tomb.

  I was the last to arrive. When I got there, I heard Telmar and my father arguing.

  ‘You must stay away from me, Vanduke, the heat is rising in me!’ shouted Telmar.

  ‘You need help, focus man. Send these energies away,’ said my father in a gentle manner, but I could see the fear in his eyes.

  ‘I would if I could, but I have let it fester for over long since my journey,’ reproached Telmar. He saw my arrival and roughly pushed my father away from him. ‘Go!’ he shouted, ‘and take your son away from here.’

  Father did so, ignoring the confusion on my face as he took my arm and turned me around. As we left, I heard Telmar finally burst into heart-rending sobs.

  The Spark Ignites

  “As the war spreads, nobles had to fight back mobs of the lower classes in the citadels and father fought against son, washing their hands in their own family’s blood.”

  The First Civil War: Ringwald the Tolerant

  1

  For a day and a night the display of white flames issued forth from the ruins of Dorit Lorne Castle. As we stood in the forecourt of Tuen House, my father explained to Namwi and me of the Pyromancer’s curse. We stood and listened to his sad voice as Pyromantic fire blazed across the sky, dispelling the rain clouds and casting light and shadow over the mountains behind the ruined castle.

  ‘Will he die?’ I asked with a tear in my eye.

  ‘I don’t know, son,’ said my father.

  ‘I must go to him,’ said Namwi, but father restrained her and silently shook his head. She buried her head in his chest and wept.

  ‘I love him, I love him so,’ she sobbed, ‘but he does not see me in the same light.’

  ‘You are his light, Namwi, do not forget that,’ chided father. ‘He loves you more than you will ever know.’

  The next morning brought a tired and haggard Telmar back to the house. We stood in silence as he disrobed while he climbed the stairs. We never said anything as his bedroom door slammed shut. He slept for most of the day.

  Later that evening four riders rode into the range. A servant showed them to the house where Namwi and father greeted them. All four were minor nobles, squire lords lower in noble rank than a Baron, and they were surprised to discover that the Rogun De Proteous was there and each man bowed to my father in respect.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ greeted my father, ‘what brings you here?’

  The lords introduced themselves, and I was amazed to discover that these four were the holders of the Tressel Guarding Grants, lords of the lands of Kelpo, Sandbrea, Withermorne and Edgemuir. They were the descendants of the lords that agreed to hold Telmar’s great-grandfathers lands for him.

  ‘Begging your pardon, your majesty, but we come to pay our respects to the Lady Catlyn,’ said Lord Kelpo, who was the eldest and went by the more common name of Harlan.

  ‘You come all the way from Tressel to pay your respects, when she died only yesterday morning?’ asked father with a curious expression on his features.

  Harlan twisted his grey bonnet in his hand, a sign of nervousness. ‘To be honest, my lord, we have come to see the good baron himself.’

  ‘And the good baron is always happy to see old friends,’ Telmar’s voice came from the stairs behind us, and we all turned to see him as he descended to the room, freshly washed and dressed in fine clothes. He had trimmed his beard so it looked neat and it made him appear years younger. The haunted look from yesterday was gone. He looked more like his old self.

  At Telmar’s bidding we all moved into the sitting room. The four lords sat on the soft furnishings with Lady Namwi. My father and I stood by the tall bay windows. Telmar lent against the mantle of the newly lit fireplace.

  ‘It’s the Grandfather Act we four have come to see you about,’ said Lord Withermorne, a broad-shouldered man in his late twenties who looked more like a rugged navvy than a lord of many hectares of land. ‘The act has caused problems for us as well as for you.’

  Telmar held up his hand to stop him talking. ‘What’s the Grandfather Act?’

  Kelpo explained to him about the Law Reforms of the previous year and the changes to the Unused Laws of days gone by. I listened to this with growing unease and watched Telmar’s frown darken with every sentence that Kelpo uttered.

  ‘So you see, my lord,’ continued Kelpo, ‘the Guarding Grant laws are now null and void. Those holding lands in lieu of their owners have been granted “Grandfather Rights” for a fixed term of one year, which is up this autumn.’

  ‘With the king’s new rises on land-tax and exported commodities we are struggling to pay the crown,’ said Lord Edgemuir, a thin man in his early thirties, ‘even with the Tressel lands we are holding for you. Without them, we are destitute.’

  ‘Who passed such a reform?’ asked my father.

  Kelpo turned to him. ‘The Vallkyte parliament passed it through the stalls over nine months ago, my lord.’

  ‘I meant, which party presented the bill?’ pressed Vanduke.

  The four lords became silent; there was tension in the air.

  ‘I think I’ll take a wild guess,’ said Telmar. ‘Duke Cormack of Keveni, yes?’

  Withermorne nodded. ‘He had a hand in it, but for the main part it was his father, Count Beltane of Salford.’

  Telmar’s fist slammed into the mantle. ‘Damn them all! The Keveni family are playing me for a fool!’ he shouted.

  ‘Please keep calm, Telmar,’ cautioned my father. Telmar frowned at him for a second, and then nodded.

  ‘I am fine, Vanduke, I am fine.’

  ‘Lady Namwi,’ said father, ‘you are a lawyer of the Courts Committee, what do you know of this?’

  She shrugged. ‘I remember the bill being put through, in fact, some papers were drawn up by the committee that had a list of the old defunct laws, but the Guarding Grant was not amongst them.’

  ‘Then the bill is illegal if the committee has not sanctioned it,’ said father with excitement.

  Namwi shook her head. ‘No, my lord, the bill is over six months old. The time to appeal it is over. It is now set in stone.’

  ‘But we can still appeal to extend the lease of the Grandfather Rights,’ I said in an off-hand way, and received a respectful look from both Telmar and father.

  ‘By the gods, you’re right!’ said Telmar, smiling.

  ‘We would need a patron if we are to appeal,’ informed Kelpo.
>
  ‘I will patron you,’ said my father.

  ‘No Vanduke, it would not be wise of you to be seen acting on my behalf,’ said Telmar. He rounded on the four lords. ‘Go you now to Count Talien, explain everything to him, he will help.’ He turned to Namwi. ‘Is there any other way around this?’

  She shrugged. ‘None that I can see, but my father may know of a way. He once taught law at the college, if there is anyone that can help it is he.’

  ‘Then we make for Dulan-Tiss,’ said Telmar.

  ‘We’re coming with you,’ said my father. Telmar hesitated for a second them nodded.

  ‘Very well, the more the merrier.’

  As the baron left the room shouting for his stewards to saddle the horses, I turned to my father.

  ‘The academy is not going to like the idea of you taking me to Dulan-Tiss, it’s beyond our current mission parameters.’

  ‘We’ll worry about the academy later,’ said father, ‘right now I’m more worried about Telmar.’

  2

  I can count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times I have set foot in the city of Dulan-Tiss and this was to be my first. Granted, I visited it more often after the civil war when my brother Kasan became controller of its principality, but I never liked its ecclesiastical architecture and the stark white square buildings that flanked the wide streets. Though adorned with fine sculptures, as most were, they tended to be too clinical and unimaginative for me.

  We had taken the Traders Way through the Tarridun Ridge, stopping off at several coaching houses on the way and it was late in the evening by the time we passed through the main gates and into the city. Unfortunately, we had picked the wrong time to visit.

  Due to the ill-fated Merchants War and the king’s duty officers keeping a strict hold on imports and exports before payment, foodstuff dispersal became a huge problem within the city, forcing people to buy rancid meat and spoiled fruits after the many days of delay in wharf storage. This caused the common folk of the city to riot throughout the streets in protest and the raiding of food shops was common. Weekend markets, something the public always looked forward to, were on hold until the disputes ended. Yet, the citizens simmering anger of King Sallen’s harsh tax laws meant that the riots increased day by day.