by MJ Blehart
Cam sighed, and stood. “This is...not something to be explained simply. You need to know a little background first.”
He paused, collecting his thoughts, and began in earnest. “Fifteen years ago, as I was fighting a boy for bread stolen from a merchant’s street cart, my staff was broken, and I retreated against a wall, cornered in an alley. He was probably sixteen or so, and twice my size. He smiled viciously as he cornered me, intent on killing, most likely. Boys that age killed. He raised his staff to strike, and in terror I lashed out, as if throwing my hands forward, I could ward him off, throw him away…and a fireball came from my outstretched hands.”
“He was thrown down the alley, burning. It would be the first time I used sorcery, and I was confused, sickened, and terrified at what I’d done. I hid away for days, crying, afraid. Sorcery, especially combat spellcraft, is dangerous, sometimes more to its user than its’ intended. For weeks, I could not accept what I’d done, and denied what had happened.”
Cam began to pace, Lyrra-Sharron watching him with rapt attention.
“I grew hungry. I had to move about. After I began to wander the streets once more, I snuck into a library.”
“Before they died, my mother and father had begun to teach me to read, young as I was. It came back to me quickly. At first, I wanted to learn how to rid myself of this power. But soon I realized what it was, what I could do with it. In time, I found old spell books in the largely forgotten vaults of the city library.”
“I took these, and studied them, until I learned how to read the ancient language, learned how to cast the spells. I would mark what magic did what, after carefully testing each.”
“I nearly killed myself many times, trying out spells in a language I could not understand, starting fires, freezing things, throwing stones around a room. But I persevered, and memorized as many as I could, impatient as I was.”
Cam took a sip of wine, set the chalice down, then continued his pacing.
“By the time I was sixteen, I considered myself a Sorcerer. I walked with a greater dignity, knowing that I was stronger than those around me. I would go into a shop, put everyone within to sleep, and leave with what I needed. I soon had coin in my pouch, and decent clothes on my back.”
Cam ceased his pacing, changing his line of thought. “It was not long before I exhausted the public library of Aldara, and I was unwilling, even with my powers, to go to the Historical Heart, and try to get into the old Royal Library. So I decided to move on. I traveled northeast, to Nevarna. I eventually found my way to Parfolla, the capital, and explored their library. It was here that I learned my purpose.”
Cam turned to face Lyrra-Sharron.
“A few nights into my studies at the library, as I slept, I had the most vivid dream of my life. It was a prophetic dream, I recognized almost immediately.”
“A circle of men and women stood around me, chanting the Prophecy of The Source over and over again. I knew, for I could sense it, as all magic users can, that these were wizards and sorcerers, legends from before The Falling. I found myself turning, and soon, only one paragraph of the prophecy was repeated by the circle:
‘To set the world upon a course,
to free these lands of War and Strife,
Comes the finding of The Source,
For which The Seeker comes to life.’”
Cam took a deep breath, the memory was still preserved, perfectly fresh, and he needed a moment before he continued.
“In time, this was all they repeated, and I was spinning around, ever faster, until suddenly I halted before one of them. A very old man, long beard, grey hair. The only one among them I could sense was stronger than me. He only said one word to me. ‘Seeker.’ Then the next was before me, a beautiful, but old woman. She, too, said but one word. ‘Seeker.’ Soon, as I moved around the circle, they all said that single word to me, ‘Seeker.’ When I returned to the old wizard, they began to spin around me again, repeating on and on, ‘Seeker, Seeker, Seeker’. Suddenly, it stopped, and all I could see was a great, growing light, blinding me, and a thousand voices as one said simply, ‘For which The Seeker comes to life.’”
Cam stood, his hands leaning on the back of the chair that had been his. Lyrra-Sharron gaped at him, reaching unsteadily for her goblet, taking a long gulp. She set it down, and took a deep breath.
“Are you trying to tell me that you...that you...that you are...”
“I am the Seeker of The Source,” Cam stated solemnly. “It is my destiny to unravel the greatest mystery left to us from before The Falling.”
“Seeker of The Source,” Lyrra-Sharron breathed. “It is here, in Sharron?”
Cam shook his head sadly. “I do not know. I don’t know where it is. I traveled all over Estaria, through Nevarna, Rannora, Garrock, Cordianlott, Medaelia, and finally Sharron, seeking clues to its’ whereabouts. But I’ve found nothing.”
The look on her face was one of clear skepticism. “Do you think that maybe after reading the Prophecy of The Source, you dreamt this because you wanted some higher purpose, and I can think of no higher purpose for a Sorcerer than to believe that he were The Seeker?”
“True enough. It wasn’t until the next day, after the dream, as I went through the library, that I actually came across the Prophecy of The Source for the first time. I had only read books that mentioned The Source, prior, but never read a copy of the prophecy. Imagine my surprise when I came across the text, and it said precisely as those in my dream had. I do not lie when I tell you that I had never seen it before.”
“How could there be not a single copy of the prophecy in the Aldaran library?”
“I was only ever in the Public library, and while many scrolls and tombs I encountered made mention of The Source, I never came across the prophecy. It’s very probable that the library at the Historical Heart had such. But you know as well as I do that while everyone is aware of the existence of The Source, and that there is a prophecy about it, most are unfamiliar with its text.”
“So the library never procured a copy before the Medaelian invasion. Or else it was removed before I got there. Or, as I am the instrument of the prophecy, I was not allowed to locate it until after my destiny was revealed to me, by whatever force drives this.”
Lyrra-Sharron simply blinked. “Do you...do you know what The Source is?”
Cam grinned ruefully. “No. I did not learn that in the dream. I only know that I am The Seeker, and that it is my destiny to fulfill the prophecy. That is why I came to Sharron, arrogant and cocky, self-assured in my power. That is why I must regain what I have lost. I know my destiny. Perhaps all too well.”
Lyrra-Sharron took a deep breath, and began to shake her head. “I must say, I never truly believed in the prophecy. If anyone else were to claim to be The Seeker, I would laugh at them. But you…what I have seen you do, what you must have been before you came here...Cam, it is almost impossible to believe...”
“I know,” Cam said, sitting. “I know. But I am absolutely certain, to the core of my being, that it is true. I have learned much since I...lost my power. Much about myself and the world I walk. This has been a trial, a test, and perhaps my passing this test is what will bring me to my destiny. I owe you more than my life, Lyrra-Sharron. The world itself may well owe you a debt of deepest gratitude.”
“I do not know about that. It is an astounding thing…but I believe you. I know, somehow, you are correct. You are The Seeker. To think, The Source will be found in my life...” she paused, and looked more closely at Cam. “The world will be changed forever, you know.”
“If the prophecy is to be believed, it will be for the better,” agreed Cam.
“Indeed,” Lyrra-Sharron said. She drank more wine, then found herself nodding her head. “I will not be able to hold you here forever, Cam Murtallan, and, I believe, when you find your complete powers again, you will likely continue the journey to your destiny. I hope that perhaps you will be with me long enough to see me set upon the throne as Queen
of Sharron.”
“Perhaps that is why I am with you,” stated Cam, coming to a sudden realization. “My being in Sharron must serve some greater mission. You said you would consider removing the law that banned sorcery in Sharron. If the prophecy is true...”
“Yes, of course,” Lyrra-Sharron interrupted, understanding his meaning. “Perhaps my Sharron will be a focal point for sorcery, once The Source has been discovered again. That may well be.” She paused a moment, clearly having reached a decision. “Well then, Cam Murtallan. I swear, if you help me to achieve the Crown of Sharron, I shall remove the law that bans Sorcery in the Kingdom, else may I die at the hands of my own father.”
“Then I am still with you,” Cam replied, adding, “for now.”
“I knew it had to be something incredible that brought you to Sharron so defiantly. But I never imagined it was this. Well…you have lived up to your end of our agreement. It would seem, then, that the time has come for me to tell you what you wish to know.”
“Indeed,” replied Cam, unintentionally mimicking Lyrra-Sharron, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. He had become concerned that she would not share, but realized he should not have been. Lyrra-Sharron was always true to her word.
“I explained how things work in Sharron, the Crown, the Council, The Common,” she began. “My father, King Varlock-Sharron, has worn the Crown now for over thirty years. He poses as a grand, but distant ruler. I do not know how he was, before my time, but Varlock-Sharron has become a tyrant, a despot who cares nothing for his Kingdom, his people, or his own family. Over the years, he has only grown more dangerous.”
Cam was giving her his full attention.
“I was not an only child, Cam Murtallan,” she continued, her tone becoming narrative. “I had an older brother, Karlock-Sharron, and a twin sister, Miara-Sharron. Both have been gone a long time, now.”
Lyrra-Sharron went on to detail for Cam the tragedies of their deaths, and the evidence of her father’s evil; his plans, his plots, the blood that soaked his hands. She detailed years of neglect, deceit, and treachery that were both hidden and protected from the world at large.
If what she said was true, Varlock-Sharron Anduin was a villainous mastermind, plotting to make for himself a legacy unseen since the time of Pallantir, while neglecting everyone, from the overall populous of Sharron, right down to his own family.
Cam was silent for a time. He considered her argument. If the face he showed the world were a mere façade, then Varlock-Sharron was an incredible con artist.
Cam considered his words before he spoke. “I was, of course, his prisoner for a time. Once, he himself oversaw my questioning and torture. He surprised me, cut me upon the rack, only to hear me scream. It was utterly cruel, totally detached.”
“You see my point?” Lyrra-Sharron questioned.
Cam raised a hand. “But then, before I was to be hanged, he came to me. He...seemed to need to justify his actions to me. I was...surprised, to say the least. Before he left, he offered to bring me quill and paper, to leave messages behind for any who would mourn me, promised to see them delivered. Not the sort of thing the miscreant you describe would do, Lyrra-Sharron.”
She laughed mirthlessly. “Your torture was brutal, I do not doubt. But even as his prisoner, condemned to die, he needed to keep you off balance. He likely came to you like that that as a last resort, hoping his show of kindness would finally draw you out, get you to speak. And while he would have made good on his word, and delivered your final messages, it would not have been done before he learned what he could of you from the notes you would leave behind.”
Cam pondered her words a moment. “I never thought of it that way. But given what you have told me today, it fits.”
“You were healed, cleansed for the benefit of those at your hanging, lest they feel sympathy for a burned, scarred, and beaten man. Do you understand now, Cam Murtallan? Your time in his custody was nothing compared to mine as his daughter and protégé. I speak the truth. Varlock-Sharron cares nothing for anything or anyone other than himself and his power.”
Cam inclined his head thoughtfully. “So now I understand what this is all about. We are aware of each other’s place, and have no more secrets. Does it change anything?”
She stood, pacing some, then turned to Cam. “That depends on your answer to this question. Are you still with me?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Then nothing has changed,” she remarked. Lyrra-Sharron walked to him, looking grim. “I confide in you the truth, Cam Murtallan. You have become one of my most trusted lieutenants. I need to know I can count on you, until the end.”
Cam stood, facing her eye to eye. “You know who I truly am, Lyrra-Sharron. If you hold my secret, then you hold my trust as well.”
She offered her hand to him. “So be it. We carry on as before, Cam Murtallan.”
“So be it, Lyrra-Sharron Anduin.”
*****
The Common was now almost one-thousand years old. It had been created after the end of the reign of Imperial King Pallantir, soon following the formation of the Kingdom of Sharron.
The City of Mintarn, where the assembly met, was once the capital of the country of Mintarn, one of the nations that merged with a smaller neighbor, its name forgotten, to form Sharron. For a time, Mintarn remained the new nation’s capital, while a city was built where Gara-Sharron now stood. When the capital moved, the legislative body voted not to depart with it. This would prove to be a typical gesture on the part of The Common.
The assembly hall was a six-hundred year old structure, modified over time to include lighting with oil piped through, and internal plumbing. They would meet here almost daily when in session, which would be for periods of two months, followed by a month’s pause, followed by two more months in session. This was supposed to allow the legislators time to return to their homes, and learn of new issues that needed to be addressed, to be certain the voice of The Common was always current.
The meetings of the assemblage ranged from three to nine hours at a seating, and included among their topics infrastructure, crops, city/town/village law, crime, and the ability of Crown and Council to rule the Kingdom.
Although the assemblage had no real power - all they did was discuss and pass resolutions to send requests and information to the Council and Crown - this was an important body of the government of Sharron.
The voice of The Common was considered the voice of the People. And in a nation the geographic and populous size of Sharron, without such a body, the Crown might easily lose track of the people it governed.
Anywhere from seventy to one-hundred and ninety people sat in on the proceedings at any one time, depending on municipality representatives, and any and all nobles present. Standard attendance was about one-hundred ten or so.
Twenty feet up from the floor was a gallery, where anyone could sit and view the proceedings, though entrance to the balcony was very well guarded - no weapons of any sort were allowed. Many tapestries hung from the gallery down, representing the arms of each community, and many of the noble houses.
At the top of the walls there were large lancet windows, the vaulted ceiling rising almost one-hundred feet above the floor.
The Chamber was a huge affair, like the legislative body itself. The seating was arranged in an oval pattern, along the east, south, and west, from a central floor area moving up a step each level. This provided an un-obstructed view of the leadership, or any on the floor. Each row was a long table with seats all around, broken up with three aisles down the center, and an additional aisle on each end.
Generally, attending nobles sat in the front, followed by city representatives, then town representatives, then village representatives to the back.
The Order was seated to the north, on a raised platform, devices of office hanging behind.
A bell was rung three times, bringing the members to their seats. The Order, those who stood as the overseers of this assemblage’s activities,
proceeded into the chamber. As they took their seats, the Herald rang the bell twice more, then intoned in his loud, booming voice, “Common to Order! Common to Order! Pray attend the Speaker, Erlonn Broyva, Representative of Anduin!”
Erlonn Broyva, attired in his robe of office, entered the main chamber alone, to the light applause of many representatives. He ascended the short stairs to the raised dais, giving a wave to the assembly when he reached his chair. He gestured to the Herald, and took his seat.
“The Speaker wishes attendance slated!” intoned the Herald.
The Chronicler, Baroness Beviara Kurmann, arose, holding up a scroll. “Those seated in Chambers on this day numbers one-hundred thirteen gentles, my Lord Speaker.”
Erlonn Broyva nodded his head to her, and Baroness Beviara sat. He again gestured to the Herald.
“The Speaker wishes the minutes of the last seating read!” he intoned.
Lord Umar Norick arose, and took up a scroll from the Chronicler. This was the duty of the Underchronicler at meetings.
Erlonn Broyva hardly paid attention, nearly done with the formalities of the proceedings. It was almost time. He looked out, and noted the addition of two young nobles up front, as well as a woman claiming to represent the village of Wolnav near the back of the chamber. Everything was nearly in place.
Lord Umar set down the scroll, looking to the Speaker. “That is all, my Lord Speaker,” he said formally.
Erlonn Broyva glanced in his direction, and he sat. It was rare for the Speaker, or for that matter any on the Order, to not be of noble birth, save one office. But for some reason, Erlonn Broyva had won an uncanny unanimous vote. And no one, it was said, ever seemed to find they had anything unpleasant to say about him.
The title of Speaker carried little weight and almost no power, but did grant him authority over nobility, at least in Common. Not that that meant much, if anything, to the peerages.
Erlonn Broyva arose, ready to play his part. He looked to the Herald.
The office of Herald was the exception, having almost always been held by a commoner. Garen Val-Sharron had a huge voice, and had now served in his place for nearly twenty years. Representing the Town of Dorkun, he was respected by nobles and representatives alike.