The Madness is the common name for the cataclysm that put an end to Camac That Was, and nearly wiped out all humanity on Termag. Exactly what it was, or what caused it, is something that alchemists and philosophers debate without end. Many in the modern age assume that it was a particularly virulent pandemic, perhaps carried from another world by a sorcerer. Others speculate that Camac found a way to combine the powers of Fire and Water, and the contradiction itself was enough to drive the world mad.
What little is actually known comes from fragmentary records dating to the beginning of The Lost Years. It seems to have begun in the western reaches of the empire, and spread like wildfire across the known world. Many places only had a few days’ advance warning, if that. Over half the people were stricken, and were immediately driven mad. They often set upon their fellows (sane or not), and some of those who survived the horror took their own lives. The mad who were not slain (by their own hand or another’s) eventually died on their own after a year. The pandemic, if pandemic it was, may have lost strength as it journeyed east—it was said that the Eastern provinces were not as hard-hit, while the Land of the Dawn Greeters and the South Sea Islands escaped the worst effects.
However it was, the survivors numbered perhaps five percent of the original population. It was up to that tiny remnant to rebuild, and thus began the Age of Heroes.
Next: N is for: (The) Northern Reach
Showing posts with label Termag. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Termag. Show all posts
Monday, April 14, 2014 6 comments
Sunday, April 13, 2014 6 comments
L is for: Lesser Moon (and Greater Moon) (#AtoZchallenge)
Quoth the creation mythos: “When the Creator saw what the Evil One had done, he took away the name and office of the Teacher of Pride, but the Evil One would not yet repent. So in his divine wrath, the Creator broke the Evil One in two, and cast both pieces into the night sky, and they chase each other to this day. Thus do those who lay a curse invoke the power of the moon.”
As the Evil One no longer has a name, neither do the moons that represent him. Few people in modern times think of the Evil One shining down upon them at night; if they do, they thank the Creator that he was able to make some good use of the rebellious lesser god. Still, in augury, the Moon rune represents a curse. Usually, the curse becomes the central part of the augury, with the other runes perhaps helping to explain the nature of the curse. An ancient Northern practice placed a Moon rune atop a spear, which was driven into the ground where an enemy could see it. The cursing-post, as they called it, accompanied a spoken or written invocation that named the cursed one(s) and the punishment sought from the Creator and the lesser gods.
For the most part, Termag’s folk have been uninterested in astronomy. Other worlds are known, and sorcerers occasionally travel to them (deliberately or otherwise). In later years, that has begun to change, but the equivalent of Apollo 11 is a long way off.
Next: M is for: (The) Madness
As the Evil One no longer has a name, neither do the moons that represent him. Few people in modern times think of the Evil One shining down upon them at night; if they do, they thank the Creator that he was able to make some good use of the rebellious lesser god. Still, in augury, the Moon rune represents a curse. Usually, the curse becomes the central part of the augury, with the other runes perhaps helping to explain the nature of the curse. An ancient Northern practice placed a Moon rune atop a spear, which was driven into the ground where an enemy could see it. The cursing-post, as they called it, accompanied a spoken or written invocation that named the cursed one(s) and the punishment sought from the Creator and the lesser gods.
For the most part, Termag’s folk have been uninterested in astronomy. Other worlds are known, and sorcerers occasionally travel to them (deliberately or otherwise). In later years, that has begun to change, but the equivalent of Apollo 11 is a long way off.
Next: M is for: (The) Madness
Saturday, April 12, 2014 6 comments
K is for: Koyr and Ak'koyr (#AtoZchallenge)
Situated on the western Gulf of Camac, only a few days’ sail from the capital, Koyr was the third-largest city in the empire. It was primarily a shipbuilding center. Lumber from Vlis was floated down the Vliskoyr River to Koyr, providing a ready supply of raw materials. (On the southern coast, Stolevan was supplied by forests along the Wide River.)
Koyr’s distinctive features were the Iron Gate (a great treasure) and the acropolis just outside the city. Built on a high hill, it had seven walls rising up the hill like a layer cake. The hill itself was a vast underground city, riddled with hallways and rooms. The upper reaches held granaries and the like.
During The Madness, Captain Anlayt evacuated the sane to the acropolis, where they waited out the destruction in relative comfort. Once things settled down, the survivors removed the Iron Gate and set it up in place of the gate in the topmost wall. They renamed their home and refuge Ak’koyr (Koyr Above). As a safety measure, Captain Anlayt ordered all Koyr’s mad to be slaughtered, and their bodies thrown in the harbor. This injustice led the souls of the mad to walk Koyr for centuries, and the old city could not be resettled until the shades finally began to pass away some 2300 years later.
Still, with a large population of survivors, and ambition to match, Ak’koyr quickly became the chief city during the Age of Heroes. Many of the ruling families saw themselves as Camac Reborn, and made many attempts over the centuries to re-establish the empire under new rulers. The Conclave of Sorcerers moved its headquarters to Ak’koyr from Stolevan (which was in ruins), and those Captains whose territories were yet unsettled often made Ak’koyr their home.
Unlike Camac, which sought to provide all its citizens with a reasonable standard of living, Ak’koyr demanded much from but gave little to the least fortunate among them. Seeking some measure of freedom, some began to inhabit the lower reaches of the underground. They named their passages Nightwalk, and it became a de facto city within a city.
By the end of the Age of Heroes, Ak’koyr began to give up on the dream of empire. Their dominion always covered much of the Gulf, and there were brief periods where they had the Northern Reach and a few nearby Eastern provinces under their heel. There were several further attempts to reconquer at least the Northern Reach, but a few more centuries left Ak’koyr content to rule itself.
A generation before Accidental Sorcerers begins, the last of the shades faded from Koyr proper. Poor folk began to resettle the old city, claiming choice property and triggering a land rush. The old order was upended, and Ak’koyr became little more than a museum piece.
Next: L is for: Lesser Moon (and Greater Moon)
Koyr’s distinctive features were the Iron Gate (a great treasure) and the acropolis just outside the city. Built on a high hill, it had seven walls rising up the hill like a layer cake. The hill itself was a vast underground city, riddled with hallways and rooms. The upper reaches held granaries and the like.
During The Madness, Captain Anlayt evacuated the sane to the acropolis, where they waited out the destruction in relative comfort. Once things settled down, the survivors removed the Iron Gate and set it up in place of the gate in the topmost wall. They renamed their home and refuge Ak’koyr (Koyr Above). As a safety measure, Captain Anlayt ordered all Koyr’s mad to be slaughtered, and their bodies thrown in the harbor. This injustice led the souls of the mad to walk Koyr for centuries, and the old city could not be resettled until the shades finally began to pass away some 2300 years later.
Still, with a large population of survivors, and ambition to match, Ak’koyr quickly became the chief city during the Age of Heroes. Many of the ruling families saw themselves as Camac Reborn, and made many attempts over the centuries to re-establish the empire under new rulers. The Conclave of Sorcerers moved its headquarters to Ak’koyr from Stolevan (which was in ruins), and those Captains whose territories were yet unsettled often made Ak’koyr their home.
Unlike Camac, which sought to provide all its citizens with a reasonable standard of living, Ak’koyr demanded much from but gave little to the least fortunate among them. Seeking some measure of freedom, some began to inhabit the lower reaches of the underground. They named their passages Nightwalk, and it became a de facto city within a city.
By the end of the Age of Heroes, Ak’koyr began to give up on the dream of empire. Their dominion always covered much of the Gulf, and there were brief periods where they had the Northern Reach and a few nearby Eastern provinces under their heel. There were several further attempts to reconquer at least the Northern Reach, but a few more centuries left Ak’koyr content to rule itself.
A generation before Accidental Sorcerers begins, the last of the shades faded from Koyr proper. Poor folk began to resettle the old city, claiming choice property and triggering a land rush. The old order was upended, and Ak’koyr became little more than a museum piece.
Next: L is for: Lesser Moon (and Greater Moon)
Friday, April 11, 2014 7 comments
J is for: Jira the White (#AtoZchallenge)
Jira (“noonday sun” or “brilliant”) was Protector of the North during The Madness and its aftermath. Historians credit her with preserving much of what survived of Camac’s knowledge and customs for future generations. Little is known about her personal life, as she used her journal to record the events of the moment.
With the verified death of Her Sublime Majesty, as the only surviving Protector in or near the Gulf of Camac, the burden of ruling what was left of Camac fell to Jira. Despite repeated attempts to undermine her authority, primarily by Captain Anlayt of Ak’koyr, she was able to maintain order in the North and repel raiding parties from the East. It was through her efforts that much of the remnant of Isenbund relocated to the Northern Reach, and she accidentally established Woldland.
She bore a child by a liaison with Arbul the Blue, one of the only surviving mages of Camac proper, and others with Captain Phylok of Isenbund.
The web serial “The Lost Years” (on this blog) is primarily Jira’s story.
Next: K is for: Koyr (and Ak’koyr)
With the verified death of Her Sublime Majesty, as the only surviving Protector in or near the Gulf of Camac, the burden of ruling what was left of Camac fell to Jira. Despite repeated attempts to undermine her authority, primarily by Captain Anlayt of Ak’koyr, she was able to maintain order in the North and repel raiding parties from the East. It was through her efforts that much of the remnant of Isenbund relocated to the Northern Reach, and she accidentally established Woldland.
She bore a child by a liaison with Arbul the Blue, one of the only surviving mages of Camac proper, and others with Captain Phylok of Isenbund.
The web serial “The Lost Years” (on this blog) is primarily Jira’s story.
Next: K is for: Koyr (and Ak’koyr)
Thursday, April 10, 2014 7 comments
I is for: Isenbund (#AtoZchallenge)
Northerners dwelt in the chill isles of the Faraway North for longer than history can record. Over time, Camac absorbed the North into its empire, “and turned us into tall, pale Westerners.” Most Northerners lived in or near Isenbund, although each island had its own market village.
In the years leading up to The Madness, the North grew noticeably colder. Crops began to fail, and the North began importing food from the rest of the empire. After The Madness, the remnant was able to feed itself for a decade, but then came the summer that Isenbund’s harbor never thawed. Most Northerners relocated to the Northern Reach, but a handful opted to die in their ancestral city. The epic poem The Lament for Isenbund tells of the hardships they faced, and the yearning of those who departed, that their descendants might return one day. Isenbund became “the Icebound,” and even the Northerners accepted the name change over time.
In modern times, the North has begun to thaw… that book is written, and soon to be published. ;-)
Next: J is for: Jira the White
In the years leading up to The Madness, the North grew noticeably colder. Crops began to fail, and the North began importing food from the rest of the empire. After The Madness, the remnant was able to feed itself for a decade, but then came the summer that Isenbund’s harbor never thawed. Most Northerners relocated to the Northern Reach, but a handful opted to die in their ancestral city. The epic poem The Lament for Isenbund tells of the hardships they faced, and the yearning of those who departed, that their descendants might return one day. Isenbund became “the Icebound,” and even the Northerners accepted the name change over time.
In modern times, the North has begun to thaw… that book is written, and soon to be published. ;-)
Next: J is for: Jira the White
Wednesday, April 09, 2014 5 comments
H is for: History (#AtoZchallenge)
Fantasy can be thought of as an expression of humanity’s yearning for something greater—whether it’s finding the hero within us, or a power beyond ourselves. Part of that yearning is the desire to look back to a golden age—or all too often, to create one where one never existed (like so many in America try to do with the 1950s). The ancient Greeks codified it in their own lore, naming the Ages of Man: Golden Age, Silver Age, Bronze Age, Iron Age.
Fantasy, especially epic fantasy, represents this desire by depicting a true Golden Age (or at least one thought to be true). In Termag’s case, the Golden Age is known as “the time of Camac That Was.” Little is truly known about this time, that ended fifteen hundred years before the end of the Age of Heroes, but the hints that survived are tantalizing. The empire depended on magic more than technology, but basic medical techniques (including hygiene and germ theory) were known and survived the passing of the age. Camac may also have solved many social problems that we continue to struggle with on Earth. Camac That Was, and much of Termag’s population, perished in a cataclysmic pandemic known as The Madness.
The Silver Age, the Age of Heroes, is roughly two millennia of attempting to rebuild. Those efforts were hampered by both infighting and other round of Goblin Wars, and ultimately the dreams of Camac Reborn were abandoned.
In the Bronze Age, or “modern times” as the folk call it, people have not reached the peak of ancient Camac… or perhaps they have, but don’t realize it. (As far as the Iron Age goes, Termag may never get there. Iron is rare and precious.)
Next: I is for: Isenbund
Fantasy, especially epic fantasy, represents this desire by depicting a true Golden Age (or at least one thought to be true). In Termag’s case, the Golden Age is known as “the time of Camac That Was.” Little is truly known about this time, that ended fifteen hundred years before the end of the Age of Heroes, but the hints that survived are tantalizing. The empire depended on magic more than technology, but basic medical techniques (including hygiene and germ theory) were known and survived the passing of the age. Camac may also have solved many social problems that we continue to struggle with on Earth. Camac That Was, and much of Termag’s population, perished in a cataclysmic pandemic known as The Madness.
The Silver Age, the Age of Heroes, is roughly two millennia of attempting to rebuild. Those efforts were hampered by both infighting and other round of Goblin Wars, and ultimately the dreams of Camac Reborn were abandoned.
In the Bronze Age, or “modern times” as the folk call it, people have not reached the peak of ancient Camac… or perhaps they have, but don’t realize it. (As far as the Iron Age goes, Termag may never get there. Iron is rare and precious.)
Next: I is for: Isenbund
Tuesday, April 08, 2014 8 comments
G is for: Gods (#AtoZchallenge)
Termag has a number of religions, but I’ve delved deepest into the Western tradition. An abbreviated version of the creation myth may be the best way to describe it:
Among folk, it is customary to make a warding gesture (palms together, then spread apart) when mentioning a lesser god—especially the Trickster, who is thought to inspire pranks without shielding the pranksters from the consequences. Some traditions venerate ancestors as well.
An older religion holds that Termag is a living being, perhaps an avatar of the Creator. The Dawn Greeters, who live on a peninsula at the easternmost reach of the continent, worship the sun as a manifestation of the Creator, who continues to bring life to the world.
Next: H is for: History
Before there was a before, the Creator spoke into being the River of Time, that flows to the Sea of Eternity. Then the Creator made Termag and the other worlds, and placed them in a barge. He made the Tiller to steer the barge, and he may be seen in the night sky. … Then the Creator gave life to the worlds, and the people came forth. They ate of the good things that grew in the world, and were happy.It is also said that the Trickster, who taught jokes and pranks, may have joined with the Evil One, but never admitted it.
As the people grew in numbers, they could no longer feed everyone by roaming over the land. And so there were quarrels, and fights. The Creator was troubled by what they did, and sent the lesser gods (in some traditions, the Teachers, or Great Powers) to teach the people how to be civilized. The Creator charged the people to listen to the lesser gods, to respect their words, but not to worship them. …
But the Evil One, he who taught pride, said in his heart: “We are far above the people. Why should they not worship us?” And he tried to stir the other Teachers against the Creator. … But only the Teacher of Tools joined the Evil One, and only for a time, and soon repented. (Thus it is that all tools may be used for both good or evil.)
Among folk, it is customary to make a warding gesture (palms together, then spread apart) when mentioning a lesser god—especially the Trickster, who is thought to inspire pranks without shielding the pranksters from the consequences. Some traditions venerate ancestors as well.
An older religion holds that Termag is a living being, perhaps an avatar of the Creator. The Dawn Greeters, who live on a peninsula at the easternmost reach of the continent, worship the sun as a manifestation of the Creator, who continues to bring life to the world.
Next: H is for: History
Monday, April 07, 2014 6 comments
F is for: Fables (#AtoZchallenge)
Or fairy tales, or whatever you’d like to call them (since fables use animals). Parents tell their children bedtime stories—whether to settle them in for the night, to illustrate virtues or truths, or simply to help explain the world they live in. It’s no different on Termag.
“Once, in the time of Camac That Was,” is the traditional way to begin a children’s story. But how about a couple of examples? Links take you elsewhere on this blog.
The Three Builders
The Traveler
Next: G is for: Gods
“Once, in the time of Camac That Was,” is the traditional way to begin a children’s story. But how about a couple of examples? Links take you elsewhere on this blog.
The Three Builders
The Traveler
Next: G is for: Gods
Sunday, April 06, 2014 4 comments
E is for: Elements (#AtoZchallenge)
The classical elements—Earth, Air, Fire, and Water—are the basis of sorcery. Sorcerers perform magic by manipulating (or rather, harnessing) the chosen element or elements. Intermediate (usually third-year or later) apprentices and full sorcerers can combine two (or more) elements for more powerful effects:
The illustration depicts important truths about sorcery:
Next: F is for: Fables
The illustration depicts important truths about sorcery:
- Fire and Water don’t mix, at least by themselves. As described in my flash story Apotheosis, though, Earth and Air can act as moderating influences for the most complex spells.
- Chaos magic is outside the realm of sorcery altogether. As is its legendary opposite, Making.
Next: F is for: Fables
Saturday, April 05, 2014 9 comments
D is for: Dragonlore (#AtoZchallenge)
On Termag, dragons fall into three broad categories.
Elemental Dragons
The rarest and most powerful of all dragons—perhaps of all living creatures. At one time, Elemental Dragons may have roamed wild; but historically, they can only be awakened by magic. As the name implies, Elemental Dragons are associated with one of the four sorcerous elements:
Greater Dragons
Greater Dragons are extinct on Termag. While they could not breathe fire, they were highly intelligent and could speak human languages (if they cared to). However, they would not willingly work together or tolerate each other outside of mating season. Humans may not have set out to exterminate Greater Dragons; but hunting them (and their eggs) disrupted their ability to breed, and they died out.
Lesser Dragons
There are several species of Lesser Dragons still living on Termag. Like their larger cousins, they are intelligent, but do not speak human languages (although some believe they have an innate understanding of all speech). A superstition among many rural folk is that they house the souls of humans who died before their time.
And now, you know at least as much about dragons as most folk.
Next: E is for: Elements
Elemental Dragons
The rarest and most powerful of all dragons—perhaps of all living creatures. At one time, Elemental Dragons may have roamed wild; but historically, they can only be awakened by magic. As the name implies, Elemental Dragons are associated with one of the four sorcerous elements:
- Earth: Cave Wyrm
- Air: Cloud Dragon
- Fire: Firedrake
- Water: Ice Dragon
Greater Dragons
Greater Dragons are extinct on Termag. While they could not breathe fire, they were highly intelligent and could speak human languages (if they cared to). However, they would not willingly work together or tolerate each other outside of mating season. Humans may not have set out to exterminate Greater Dragons; but hunting them (and their eggs) disrupted their ability to breed, and they died out.
Lesser Dragons
There are several species of Lesser Dragons still living on Termag. Like their larger cousins, they are intelligent, but do not speak human languages (although some believe they have an innate understanding of all speech). A superstition among many rural folk is that they house the souls of humans who died before their time.
And now, you know at least as much about dragons as most folk.
Next: E is for: Elements
Thursday, April 03, 2014 5 comments
C is for: Camac That Was (#AtoZchallenge)
Unlike most of Termag’s historic great cities, Camac was not founded at the mouth of a river. It may have began as a fishing village, as are many small towns along the shores of the Gulf of Camac. It is situated on a natural harbor, though. What fragments of history survive from Camac That Was do not include its early years, nor what made it the nucleus of a vast empire.
What is known is that the empire advanced more socially than technologically. For example, gender roles were a foreign concept—at least in the West. The restive Eastern provinces were granted much in the way of self-rule, but their patriarchal customs were suppressed until The Madness destroyed the empire. Another example was the “none shall starve” laws. The Pearl Throne owned the land surrounding Camac proper; these lands were kept clear of trees or buildings to deny shelter to invaders, but plots were granted to the poor of Camac for gardening.
Without instant communication, governing a far-flung empire could be a problem—especially in a crisis. Thus, they created the offices of the Protectors, nine sorcerers who had the authority to act in the name of the Pearl Throne where necessary. The Eyes of Byula, a collection of scrying-stones, allowed Protectors to communicate with Camac when needed. Under each Protector were five or six Captains, military officers who had distinguished themselves as tacticians or strategists; Captains had the authority to raise an army when needed to defend their designated territories from external or internal threats.
The Madness destroyed Camac itself, and most of the empire. Today, Camac is home primarily to a handful of scholars, and several cooperatives that dig up stonework for use in other parts of the world.
Next: D is for: Dragonlore
What is known is that the empire advanced more socially than technologically. For example, gender roles were a foreign concept—at least in the West. The restive Eastern provinces were granted much in the way of self-rule, but their patriarchal customs were suppressed until The Madness destroyed the empire. Another example was the “none shall starve” laws. The Pearl Throne owned the land surrounding Camac proper; these lands were kept clear of trees or buildings to deny shelter to invaders, but plots were granted to the poor of Camac for gardening.
Without instant communication, governing a far-flung empire could be a problem—especially in a crisis. Thus, they created the offices of the Protectors, nine sorcerers who had the authority to act in the name of the Pearl Throne where necessary. The Eyes of Byula, a collection of scrying-stones, allowed Protectors to communicate with Camac when needed. Under each Protector were five or six Captains, military officers who had distinguished themselves as tacticians or strategists; Captains had the authority to raise an army when needed to defend their designated territories from external or internal threats.
The Madness destroyed Camac itself, and most of the empire. Today, Camac is home primarily to a handful of scholars, and several cooperatives that dig up stonework for use in other parts of the world.
Next: D is for: Dragonlore
Wednesday, April 02, 2014 8 comments
B is for: Bailar the Blue (#AtoZchallenge)
Bailar the Blue is one of the central figures in the Accidental Sorcerers series. As the sorcerer training both his daughter Sura and her boyfriend Mik Dragonrider, he has his hands full keeping them focused. :-)
Early years
It is said that many sorcerers are the sons and daughters of farmers, and that was true in Bailar’s case. Born to wheat and rye farmers in the upper reaches of the Stolevan Matriarchy, along the edge of the Deep Forest, his early years were no different than most other children.
When he was five, a sickness ran through his small community. His mother delivered a stillborn daughter, whom they named Sura (for the summer sun). Bailar himself was stricken by a severe ear infection, that left him temporarily deaf. A Healer was able to restore his hearing, but his balance was permanently impaired. He learned how to cope, and attended school like any other child (education to age 13 is compulsory in the Stolevan Matriarchy). One game that local boys played was to dare their peers to walk into the Deep Forest. The Forest never held any terror for Bailar; he felt secure and balanced there, and would venture far deeper than any of the older boys.
Apprenticeship
On one of his walks in the Forest, Bailar fell. His hand clasped a fallen stick, and the trees told him to take it up as a staff. A truism among the older folk was that only a mage could hear the voices of the trees. With two older sisters, Bailar was unlikely to have much inheritance, and his balance would not allow him to be a good roustabout (farm hand for hire). He seized an opportunity for a better life: he boarded the next barge going downriver, debarked at Exidy, and went to the home of Gilsen the White. Gilsen agreed to take him as an apprentice.
It was that first summer that Bailar ran into trouble. Gilsen took him to the Gathering of the Conclave in Queensport; it was there that Bailar discovered Captain Chelinn’s An Account of Other Worlds. Carried away by stories of great deeds and battles (combat magic had been put aside four hundred years ago), Bailar often neglected his studies in favor of teaching himself spells with little or no application in modern days. The result was that he barely passed the tests given to all apprentices after six years, earning the blue sash of Water magic when he demonstrated his ability to call the water by using a combat spell that launched huge gouts of water high into the air.
Days later, before the Gathering was over, Gilsen died in his sleep. Perhaps sensing that he was about to begin the longest journey, the one from which there is no return, he wrote two letters. In the first, addressed to the Conclave, he invoked his privilege to choose his successor as Sorcerer of Exidy, and he named Bailar. The second was to Bailar himself, in which Gilsen left Bailar all of his worldly goods (including his house) and a great deal of practical advice. As Gilsen had no daughters, Matriarchy law allowed him to inherit the entire property. While the Protectors were reluctant to let a new sorcerer take the post, especially one who had showed little interest in practical magic, the Conclave’s traditions demanded they respect the dying wishes of one of their own.
Early Adult Life
Bailar settled into his role as Sorcerer of Exidy. As his house was across the Wide River from Exidy proper, his quiet life allowed him to catch up on studies that he had neglected.
One summer morning, he found an infant girl on his doorstep, whom he named for his stillborn sister. His life began to change—and changed even more some twelve years later, when a boy rode an ice dragon to his door…
Next: C is for: Camac That Was
Early years
It is said that many sorcerers are the sons and daughters of farmers, and that was true in Bailar’s case. Born to wheat and rye farmers in the upper reaches of the Stolevan Matriarchy, along the edge of the Deep Forest, his early years were no different than most other children.
When he was five, a sickness ran through his small community. His mother delivered a stillborn daughter, whom they named Sura (for the summer sun). Bailar himself was stricken by a severe ear infection, that left him temporarily deaf. A Healer was able to restore his hearing, but his balance was permanently impaired. He learned how to cope, and attended school like any other child (education to age 13 is compulsory in the Stolevan Matriarchy). One game that local boys played was to dare their peers to walk into the Deep Forest. The Forest never held any terror for Bailar; he felt secure and balanced there, and would venture far deeper than any of the older boys.
Apprenticeship
On one of his walks in the Forest, Bailar fell. His hand clasped a fallen stick, and the trees told him to take it up as a staff. A truism among the older folk was that only a mage could hear the voices of the trees. With two older sisters, Bailar was unlikely to have much inheritance, and his balance would not allow him to be a good roustabout (farm hand for hire). He seized an opportunity for a better life: he boarded the next barge going downriver, debarked at Exidy, and went to the home of Gilsen the White. Gilsen agreed to take him as an apprentice.
It was that first summer that Bailar ran into trouble. Gilsen took him to the Gathering of the Conclave in Queensport; it was there that Bailar discovered Captain Chelinn’s An Account of Other Worlds. Carried away by stories of great deeds and battles (combat magic had been put aside four hundred years ago), Bailar often neglected his studies in favor of teaching himself spells with little or no application in modern days. The result was that he barely passed the tests given to all apprentices after six years, earning the blue sash of Water magic when he demonstrated his ability to call the water by using a combat spell that launched huge gouts of water high into the air.
Days later, before the Gathering was over, Gilsen died in his sleep. Perhaps sensing that he was about to begin the longest journey, the one from which there is no return, he wrote two letters. In the first, addressed to the Conclave, he invoked his privilege to choose his successor as Sorcerer of Exidy, and he named Bailar. The second was to Bailar himself, in which Gilsen left Bailar all of his worldly goods (including his house) and a great deal of practical advice. As Gilsen had no daughters, Matriarchy law allowed him to inherit the entire property. While the Protectors were reluctant to let a new sorcerer take the post, especially one who had showed little interest in practical magic, the Conclave’s traditions demanded they respect the dying wishes of one of their own.
Early Adult Life
Bailar settled into his role as Sorcerer of Exidy. As his house was across the Wide River from Exidy proper, his quiet life allowed him to catch up on studies that he had neglected.
One summer morning, he found an infant girl on his doorstep, whom he named for his stillborn sister. His life began to change—and changed even more some twelve years later, when a boy rode an ice dragon to his door…
Next: C is for: Camac That Was
Tuesday, April 01, 2014 10 comments
A is for: Age of Heroes (#AtoZchallenge)
Let’s just dive right into Termag: A to Z.
Like our own ages, the Age of Heroes is a convenient tag that historians give to a distinct period. In Termag’s case, it covers roughly fifteen hundred years after the destruction of Camac That Was. The first several centuries are often called “The Lost Years,” although that era is historically a part of the Age of Heroes. The beginning of the age was a dire time, as Jira the White, Protector of the North, wrote at the time:
At first, the remnant hoped to re-establish Camac’s government and reach, to protect the remaining populace and maintain what infrastructure and knowledge had survived. But as the East declared independence, and Isenbund and the Faraway North succumbed to climate change, the focus began to narrow.
Goblins, driven into hiding after the First Goblin Wars, emerged anew and threatened to destroy what little was left of humanity as well. The Second Goblin Wars spanned centuries, and ended with the final defeat and extermination of the Goblins in their fastnesses near Isenbund and what is now Roth's Keep.
End of an Age
With the Goblins wiped out, there were several attempts to reunite the old empire (largely by Ak’Koyr, which saw itself as Camac Reborn). But by this time, none of the population centers, old or new, were willing to give up sovreignty. Ak’koyr itself never managed to extend its rule beyond the western Gulf of Camac, the Northern Reach, and a few nearby Eastern provinces. The role of Protectors devolved into little more than the leadership of the Conclave of Sorcerers, and Captains as ambassadors at large or privileged adventurers (Captain Chelinn being a conspicuous example of the latter).
Sorcerers mark the passing of the Age of Heroes at the winding the Seventh Trumpet outside North Keep (on the shores of the Northern Reach), but historians mark it with the dissolution of the Council of Captains some fifty years later. With various nations going their own ways, and many territories yet wild, many Captains saw their office as a relic of an era that was gone forever. The Council voted to dissolve itself, and folk marked it as the passing of an age.
Next: B is for: Bailar the Blue
A is for: Age of Heroes
Like our own ages, the Age of Heroes is a convenient tag that historians give to a distinct period. In Termag’s case, it covers roughly fifteen hundred years after the destruction of Camac That Was. The first several centuries are often called “The Lost Years,” although that era is historically a part of the Age of Heroes. The beginning of the age was a dire time, as Jira the White, Protector of the North, wrote at the time:
Take twenty of the folk. Twelve of them fall to The Madness. Seven more perish, by the hands of the mad, starvation or accident, or their own hands. One is left to carry on, the horrors of the last few months forever etched on her mind. Can this tiny remnant re-establish order? Is it even worth trying?Three Protectors (of nine) and ten Captains (of fifty) survived as well. In normal times, Protectors and Captains were how a far-flung empire maintained order; they stood outside the normal system of governance, but were charged to take command during any crisis. Thus, in the greatest crisis in history, all looked to them for advice and aid.
At first, the remnant hoped to re-establish Camac’s government and reach, to protect the remaining populace and maintain what infrastructure and knowledge had survived. But as the East declared independence, and Isenbund and the Faraway North succumbed to climate change, the focus began to narrow.
Goblins, driven into hiding after the First Goblin Wars, emerged anew and threatened to destroy what little was left of humanity as well. The Second Goblin Wars spanned centuries, and ended with the final defeat and extermination of the Goblins in their fastnesses near Isenbund and what is now Roth's Keep.
End of an Age
With the Goblins wiped out, there were several attempts to reunite the old empire (largely by Ak’Koyr, which saw itself as Camac Reborn). But by this time, none of the population centers, old or new, were willing to give up sovreignty. Ak’koyr itself never managed to extend its rule beyond the western Gulf of Camac, the Northern Reach, and a few nearby Eastern provinces. The role of Protectors devolved into little more than the leadership of the Conclave of Sorcerers, and Captains as ambassadors at large or privileged adventurers (Captain Chelinn being a conspicuous example of the latter).
Sorcerers mark the passing of the Age of Heroes at the winding the Seventh Trumpet outside North Keep (on the shores of the Northern Reach), but historians mark it with the dissolution of the Council of Captains some fifty years later. With various nations going their own ways, and many territories yet wild, many Captains saw their office as a relic of an era that was gone forever. The Council voted to dissolve itself, and folk marked it as the passing of an age.
Next: B is for: Bailar the Blue
Monday, March 31, 2014 2 comments
The Termag #AtoZchallenge Index Page
When John Wiswell did this with his own world last year, I realized I actually had a theme that could generate 26 posts! This is going to be the most post-populated month in the long history of TFM, since December 2005 (I was doing multiple posts per day way back when, back before Twitter).
If you’ve wanted more on Termag’s backstory, you’re going to get it. A guilt-free infodump!
You can read the entries linearly, i.e. one after the other, by clicking the “Next:” link at the end of each post. Or, you can follow cross-links inside the posts. Cross-links open a new window or tab; “Next” links use the existing one. A few of the posts link to other stories on this blog, but none of them link to the books (there are links in the sidebar for that). The index below opens a new window/tab.
A is for: Age of Heroes
B is for: Bailar the Blue
C is for: Camac That Was
D is for: Dragonlore
E is for: Elements
F is for: Fables
G is for: Gods
H is for: History
I is for: Isenbund
J is for: Jira the White
K is for: Koyr (and Ak’koyr)
L is for: Lesser Moon (and Greater Moon)
M is for: (The) Madness
N is for: (The) Northern Reach
O is for: Oakendrake
P is for: Protectors (and Captains)
Q is for: Queensport
R is for: (Captain) Rietha
S is for: Sorcery
T is for: (The) Treaty
U is for: (The) Unfallen
V is for: Vlis
W is for: Woldland
X is for: Xorsecc
Y is for: Yes (ways to say it)
Z is for: Zharcon the White
Begin: A is for: Age of Heroes
If you’ve wanted more on Termag’s backstory, you’re going to get it. A guilt-free infodump!
You can read the entries linearly, i.e. one after the other, by clicking the “Next:” link at the end of each post. Or, you can follow cross-links inside the posts. Cross-links open a new window or tab; “Next” links use the existing one. A few of the posts link to other stories on this blog, but none of them link to the books (there are links in the sidebar for that). The index below opens a new window/tab.
A is for: Age of Heroes
B is for: Bailar the Blue
C is for: Camac That Was
D is for: Dragonlore
E is for: Elements
F is for: Fables
G is for: Gods
H is for: History
I is for: Isenbund
J is for: Jira the White
K is for: Koyr (and Ak’koyr)
L is for: Lesser Moon (and Greater Moon)
M is for: (The) Madness
N is for: (The) Northern Reach
O is for: Oakendrake
P is for: Protectors (and Captains)
Q is for: Queensport
R is for: (Captain) Rietha
S is for: Sorcery
T is for: (The) Treaty
U is for: (The) Unfallen
V is for: Vlis
W is for: Woldland
X is for: Xorsecc
Y is for: Yes (ways to say it)
Z is for: Zharcon the White
Begin: A is for: Age of Heroes
Friday, March 21, 2014 10 comments
A to Z challenge: Theme Reveal
Welcome to my world. If it feels lived in, comfortable, it may be because I’ve developed it on and off since 1980 or so.
This is Termag. A world of magic, of world-spanning empires, of a pandemic that destroyed nearly everything. A world of different cultures, matriarchies, rebellions, and wars. And above all, a world full of stories. And my theme for the A to Z Challenge.
For the month of April, I hope you’ll continue to stop by and see what Termag is all about. You’ll get a lot of backstory about this world that hasn’t appeared in the Accidental Sorcerers series, or any other book I’ve written to date. But I won’t be promoting my books (all that’s in the sidebar anyway).
I’ll try to keep them reasonably short. That’s not easy for me.
Now it’s your turn Sign in and find some other themes to check out…
This is Termag. A world of magic, of world-spanning empires, of a pandemic that destroyed nearly everything. A world of different cultures, matriarchies, rebellions, and wars. And above all, a world full of stories. And my theme for the A to Z Challenge.
For the month of April, I hope you’ll continue to stop by and see what Termag is all about. You’ll get a lot of backstory about this world that hasn’t appeared in the Accidental Sorcerers series, or any other book I’ve written to date. But I won’t be promoting my books (all that’s in the sidebar anyway).
I’ll try to keep them reasonably short. That’s not easy for me.
Now it’s your turn Sign in and find some other themes to check out…
Saturday, December 14, 2013 2 comments
The Sorcerer's Daughter has Launched!
As Bailar and his apprentices help the Conclave prepare for conflict with the rogue sorcerers, Sura learns that she is a descendant of a noble House in the Alliance. But when she discovers the price of her history, it may be too late.
If you haven’t got it yet, there are links to stores that carry it on my eBooks page. Amazon and Smashwords have it now, more to come. There’s a bonus flash story that only members of the mailing list have seen otherwise, and excerpts from Angela Kulig’s Heroes and Vallenez and Tony Noland’s Verbosity’s Vengeance.
Around the blogosphere, check out these posts:
- Tony Noland interviews me about the new book
- Helen Howell reviews the story (thumbs up!)
Happy reading, and happy holidays!
Sunday, November 17, 2013 6 comments
Uncovering "The Sorcerer's Daughter" …
Uncovering the cover, anyway. Uncovering Sura might be the express lane to a messy and very painful demise. Things do get a little messy in this story:
It has been a grueling year—this will be the sixth story of mine launched this year! It’s with the editor now, and (OK, let’s be realistic) we’re looking at firing the Launch Cannon some time in early December. This story has quite a bit of action, especially toward the end, but I don’t want to give it away just yet.
As usual, +Angela Kulig provided the cover art, and there’s been a lot of ooh-ing and aah-ing over it by members of the mailing list. (You’re not on my mailing list? You really should be. You’d have gotten a first peek early this week.)
Stop yakking and show us the cover already!
Oh, right… here it is.
I’m just not sure how Angela’s going to top this one. I’m already pounding away at the fourth story, Into the Icebound, and the first draft is so close to being done I can taste it! (Uh… I jutht put my tongue on a glathier…)
Feel free to reblog this, share it on Google+, or whatever you like. +Patricia Lynne has a companion reveal post on her blog, with a mini-interview—go check it out!
In the third Accidental Sorcerers story, as Bailar and his apprentices help the Conclave prepare for conflict with the rogue sorcerers, Sura learns that she is a descendant of a noble House in the Alliance. But when she discovers the price of her history, it may be too late.Now I’m sure you all expect that Sura, Mik, and Bailar will just shrug and accept fate, right? Hahahaha!!!
It has been a grueling year—this will be the sixth story of mine launched this year! It’s with the editor now, and (OK, let’s be realistic) we’re looking at firing the Launch Cannon some time in early December. This story has quite a bit of action, especially toward the end, but I don’t want to give it away just yet.
As usual, +Angela Kulig provided the cover art, and there’s been a lot of ooh-ing and aah-ing over it by members of the mailing list. (You’re not on my mailing list? You really should be. You’d have gotten a first peek early this week.)
Stop yakking and show us the cover already!
Oh, right… here it is.
I’m just not sure how Angela’s going to top this one. I’m already pounding away at the fourth story, Into the Icebound, and the first draft is so close to being done I can taste it! (Uh… I jutht put my tongue on a glathier…)
Feel free to reblog this, share it on Google+, or whatever you like. +Patricia Lynne has a companion reveal post on her blog, with a mini-interview—go check it out!
Monday, October 21, 2013 6 comments
The Lost Years: Season 1, Ep. 11
Previous:
Episode 1 | Episode 2 | Episode 3 | Episode 4 | Episode 5 | Episode 6 | Episode 7 | Episode 8 | Episode 9 | Episode 10
Several soldiers peered around the corner, while the rest listened to the Imperial Keep’s collapse, then flinched back. “It’s gone,” one said. “The walls buckled, and one—” Stones tumbled and bounced by, showering the sheltered expedition with small debris.
“We need to go back,” one of the Strikers said. “Acrom jumped. If nothing else, we need to recover his remains.”
“Why?” Anlayt demanded.
“He was the one bitten by the walking dead,” the Striker explained. “One of the men tells me Acrom was growing sick. Acrom told him he would die but once, then when the wall fell away, he dived out. Head first.”
“Likely a fruitless pursuit to find him,” said Phylok, “as with this entire expedition so far. But we should at last make the attempt.”
As expected, Acrom’s body was buried under the rubble that was once the Imperial Keep. They sang his name at the place they guessed the stairwell had been, offering his soul to Heaven and beseeching the Creator that his body lie still, then returned to Harbor Street and marched west.
Passing through a poorer part of the city, Jira thought of her namesake, Jira the Brown. That Jira had come from such a neighborhood, perhaps this one. She and her friend Pyanya had become Thurun’s apprentices, so legend went, after they stole his staff. Pyanya the White was the more noted, a Protector revered as the Lady of Isenbund in the North. But the original Jira had done well enough for herself, a strong sorcerer and enchanter by all accounts. I will be happy, Jira thought, if they say of me that I was able to keep a remnant of the Empire alive.
The Western Gate was destroyed, and they clambered over the remains to reach the Western Road. “Looks almost normal out here,” one soldier grunted.
“If you don’t look behind you,” said another.
Indeed, for those who only faced west, it could have been an unusually quiet afternoon outside the capital. Grasses and brambleberries grew wild, but the clear zone around the city walls was allowed to grow and seed itself. Two years ago, the poor would have been gleaning the seeds and fruits, or tending small garden plots granted by the crown. The nearest villa was beyond the first rise, where the road disappeared on its long journey to Westmark.
“Patrol formation,” Anlayt ordered. “Captains on point.” The Bronze Circle formed around Jira once again. After what they had seen in the last few hours, she found the protective ring a small comfort. “For Camac… forward!”
The Captains called a halt before they topped the hill. Phylok sent two scouts forward; they slipped through the tall grass and returned after a short time. “The villa is damaged, but inhabited,” they said. “Windows are boarded up. There’s debris piled around the perimeter, and gardens inside. We saw the smoke of a cookfire.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“No.”
“They must be there,” said Phylok. “I would venture that the noise of our difficulties in Camac carried outside the city here, and the inhabitants are hiding. Perhaps watching us, while they gauge our intentions.”
“Strikers, form a defensive perimeter,” Anlayt ordered. “Protector, can you scry about us? Can you locate these residents?”
Jira nodded, and sent her vision outward. “There are no ambushes,” she said, her voice distant. “Nobody stands between us and their makeshift ramparts.”
“Are they in the villa?”
After a long silence, Jira smiled. “In an upper room. They appear to be having a heated argument. One woman is watching from the window, but as engaged as any.”
“How many?” Phylok asked.
“Eight… eleven. They do not carry weapons, but I saw crossbows in the receiving room. Implements that can be used as weapons: axes, scythes. A few hunting spears.” She came back to herself. “A young man looked around as I scryed the upper room,” she warned. “I would assume he is a sorcerer, but I don’t remember him from my earlier visits.”
“I am sure that Protector Jira is more than equal to any mage they have,” said Phylok. “I suggest we form up, and request a parley.” He nodded toward the bugler.
“I have no better idea,” said Anlayt.
The soldiers lined up along the Western Road, staggered formation, so that arrows or other missiles could only strike one at a time. The Captains stood before the villa’s makeshift gate, with a few of the Bronze Circle shielding Jira; she in turn covered them with a fender.
The bugler winded his horn, sounding the “parley” signal. Minutes passed, with no response from the villa.
“Give them another,” Phylok suggested, and the bugler blew again.
After a long minute, the front door cracked open. The Captains felt, rather than saw, eyes upon them.
“Citizens of Camac!” Anlayt bellowed. “Come forth, in all peace and harmony! We seek only survivors and information!”
Finally, the door opened. “Nine,” said Jira. “I expect the other two are covering us with crossbows.”
“Who are you, and what do you want?” It was the young man that Jira had noted during her scrying.
“I am Protector Jira, of the North,” she replied. “With me are Captain Phylok of Isenbund, and Captain Anlayt of Koyr, and four strikes of Camac’s army. We hoped to find other authority here.”
“Protector.” The young man bowed, hand to forehead, in the salute to a superior; Jira and the Captains noted how the others shed their wariness. “I am Arbul the Blue, of the Camac Conclave, until the recent trouble. Fortunately, I earned my sash before all that happened.”
“Are you all that is left of the population of Camac, then?” Anlayt asked.
“Indeed, sir. Many others fled the city, by road and by sea, so they may live on. You had no refugees arrive in Koyr?”
Anlayt frowned. “Neither by road, nor by sea, mage,” he said at last.
“Troubling.”
“So there is no authority,” said Phylok.
“We are the emperor!” An older man twisted free, and pranced forward. Arbul and several others gave each other exasperated looks. “Grand and glorious Camac lives on, so long as ourself!”
Arbul stepped forward, close enough to whisper, “Forgive him, notables. The others say he was mad long before The Madness, imagining himself to be His Sublime Majesty.”
The mad “emperor” joined them. “Good Captains, worthy Protector,” he purred. “Together, we shall conquer the other half of the world, then all will know the benevolent rule of glorious Camac. My court shall accompany us on this grand quest, and all will sing our praises.”
“Majesty,” said another, gently tugging the madman back, “your servants have just returned from an expedition on your behalf. Let them find their barracks, and take the rest they have earned, before sending them forth anew.”
“Wise counsel,” said the man who would be emperor. “Go, in all peace and harmony. Captains, your men have earned extended leave with pay. See that they reacquaint themselves with their… with their families.” He paused, looking confused. “You are all that… no.” He turned and stalked back to the villa, muttering all the way.
“Authority,” said Arbul. “I did not think to see this many sane people in one place, ever again. Let alone any remnants of governance.”
“Do you know who awakened the Cave Wyrm that was under the Keep?” Jira asked.
“No. I presume it was Nisodarun, or perhaps another mage gone mad.”
“Whoever awakened it, had control of her faculties,” Jira countered. “It told me that it swallowed Nisodarun by his own request, then allowed me to dispel it as commanded by the one who awoke it. The Wyrm, I presume, undermined the Keep. It collapsed.”
“That’s what we heard, then. I hope you did not unseal the Library.”
Anlayt grimaced, and Jira nodded. “We did. The walking dead are no more, but I did re-seal the entrance.”
“One of the mages was bitten,” said Arbul, his face twisting. “He lured the remaining walking dead into the Library, then I sealed them all together. If you released him, then… then I thank you. He was a dear friend.”
“He, and the others, are at peace,” Jira assured him.
“Protector,” said Anlayt, looking at the sky. “If we march now, we can reach the pier before sunset. I suggest we do not spend the night in the open, nor in the city.”
“And we would be an undue burden on the villa,” Phylok agreed.
“Arbul, you and your companions are welcome to come with us,” Jira offered. “North Keep has plenty of room.”
“As does Ak’koyr,” Anlayt insisted.
“And Isenbund,” said Phylok, “although you may not want to go that far.”
Arbul looked at his companions, then turned back to Jira and the Captains. “We will stay here,” he said. “For better or worse, Camac is our home. Our gardens, and the gleaning fields, are sufficient to feed us. We did rescue some livestock as well.”
“Arbul, I name you Protector of Camac,” said Jira. “I charge you to keep the peace, to train those who have Talent, and defend your home.”
“I…” Arbul fought to control his emotions. “On the name of Her Sublime Majesty, I do swear to these things. And, come winter, we shall bury the dead and clear the rubble. Perhaps, by next summer, the living will again dwell within Camac’s walls.”
“Strikers, marching formation,” Anlayt ordered. “For Camac… to the pier, then home!”
Episode 1 | Episode 2 | Episode 3 | Episode 4 | Episode 5 | Episode 6 | Episode 7 | Episode 8 | Episode 9 | Episode 10
 |
| Credit: Roy Lathwell |
Several soldiers peered around the corner, while the rest listened to the Imperial Keep’s collapse, then flinched back. “It’s gone,” one said. “The walls buckled, and one—” Stones tumbled and bounced by, showering the sheltered expedition with small debris.
“We need to go back,” one of the Strikers said. “Acrom jumped. If nothing else, we need to recover his remains.”
“Why?” Anlayt demanded.
“He was the one bitten by the walking dead,” the Striker explained. “One of the men tells me Acrom was growing sick. Acrom told him he would die but once, then when the wall fell away, he dived out. Head first.”
“Likely a fruitless pursuit to find him,” said Phylok, “as with this entire expedition so far. But we should at last make the attempt.”
As expected, Acrom’s body was buried under the rubble that was once the Imperial Keep. They sang his name at the place they guessed the stairwell had been, offering his soul to Heaven and beseeching the Creator that his body lie still, then returned to Harbor Street and marched west.
Passing through a poorer part of the city, Jira thought of her namesake, Jira the Brown. That Jira had come from such a neighborhood, perhaps this one. She and her friend Pyanya had become Thurun’s apprentices, so legend went, after they stole his staff. Pyanya the White was the more noted, a Protector revered as the Lady of Isenbund in the North. But the original Jira had done well enough for herself, a strong sorcerer and enchanter by all accounts. I will be happy, Jira thought, if they say of me that I was able to keep a remnant of the Empire alive.
The Western Gate was destroyed, and they clambered over the remains to reach the Western Road. “Looks almost normal out here,” one soldier grunted.
“If you don’t look behind you,” said another.
Indeed, for those who only faced west, it could have been an unusually quiet afternoon outside the capital. Grasses and brambleberries grew wild, but the clear zone around the city walls was allowed to grow and seed itself. Two years ago, the poor would have been gleaning the seeds and fruits, or tending small garden plots granted by the crown. The nearest villa was beyond the first rise, where the road disappeared on its long journey to Westmark.
“Patrol formation,” Anlayt ordered. “Captains on point.” The Bronze Circle formed around Jira once again. After what they had seen in the last few hours, she found the protective ring a small comfort. “For Camac… forward!”
The Captains called a halt before they topped the hill. Phylok sent two scouts forward; they slipped through the tall grass and returned after a short time. “The villa is damaged, but inhabited,” they said. “Windows are boarded up. There’s debris piled around the perimeter, and gardens inside. We saw the smoke of a cookfire.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“No.”
“They must be there,” said Phylok. “I would venture that the noise of our difficulties in Camac carried outside the city here, and the inhabitants are hiding. Perhaps watching us, while they gauge our intentions.”
“Strikers, form a defensive perimeter,” Anlayt ordered. “Protector, can you scry about us? Can you locate these residents?”
Jira nodded, and sent her vision outward. “There are no ambushes,” she said, her voice distant. “Nobody stands between us and their makeshift ramparts.”
“Are they in the villa?”
After a long silence, Jira smiled. “In an upper room. They appear to be having a heated argument. One woman is watching from the window, but as engaged as any.”
“How many?” Phylok asked.
“Eight… eleven. They do not carry weapons, but I saw crossbows in the receiving room. Implements that can be used as weapons: axes, scythes. A few hunting spears.” She came back to herself. “A young man looked around as I scryed the upper room,” she warned. “I would assume he is a sorcerer, but I don’t remember him from my earlier visits.”
“I am sure that Protector Jira is more than equal to any mage they have,” said Phylok. “I suggest we form up, and request a parley.” He nodded toward the bugler.
“I have no better idea,” said Anlayt.
The soldiers lined up along the Western Road, staggered formation, so that arrows or other missiles could only strike one at a time. The Captains stood before the villa’s makeshift gate, with a few of the Bronze Circle shielding Jira; she in turn covered them with a fender.
The bugler winded his horn, sounding the “parley” signal. Minutes passed, with no response from the villa.
“Give them another,” Phylok suggested, and the bugler blew again.
After a long minute, the front door cracked open. The Captains felt, rather than saw, eyes upon them.
“Citizens of Camac!” Anlayt bellowed. “Come forth, in all peace and harmony! We seek only survivors and information!”
Finally, the door opened. “Nine,” said Jira. “I expect the other two are covering us with crossbows.”
“Who are you, and what do you want?” It was the young man that Jira had noted during her scrying.
“I am Protector Jira, of the North,” she replied. “With me are Captain Phylok of Isenbund, and Captain Anlayt of Koyr, and four strikes of Camac’s army. We hoped to find other authority here.”
“Protector.” The young man bowed, hand to forehead, in the salute to a superior; Jira and the Captains noted how the others shed their wariness. “I am Arbul the Blue, of the Camac Conclave, until the recent trouble. Fortunately, I earned my sash before all that happened.”
“Are you all that is left of the population of Camac, then?” Anlayt asked.
“Indeed, sir. Many others fled the city, by road and by sea, so they may live on. You had no refugees arrive in Koyr?”
Anlayt frowned. “Neither by road, nor by sea, mage,” he said at last.
“Troubling.”
“So there is no authority,” said Phylok.
“We are the emperor!” An older man twisted free, and pranced forward. Arbul and several others gave each other exasperated looks. “Grand and glorious Camac lives on, so long as ourself!”
Arbul stepped forward, close enough to whisper, “Forgive him, notables. The others say he was mad long before The Madness, imagining himself to be His Sublime Majesty.”
The mad “emperor” joined them. “Good Captains, worthy Protector,” he purred. “Together, we shall conquer the other half of the world, then all will know the benevolent rule of glorious Camac. My court shall accompany us on this grand quest, and all will sing our praises.”
“Majesty,” said another, gently tugging the madman back, “your servants have just returned from an expedition on your behalf. Let them find their barracks, and take the rest they have earned, before sending them forth anew.”
“Wise counsel,” said the man who would be emperor. “Go, in all peace and harmony. Captains, your men have earned extended leave with pay. See that they reacquaint themselves with their… with their families.” He paused, looking confused. “You are all that… no.” He turned and stalked back to the villa, muttering all the way.
“Authority,” said Arbul. “I did not think to see this many sane people in one place, ever again. Let alone any remnants of governance.”
“Do you know who awakened the Cave Wyrm that was under the Keep?” Jira asked.
“No. I presume it was Nisodarun, or perhaps another mage gone mad.”
“Whoever awakened it, had control of her faculties,” Jira countered. “It told me that it swallowed Nisodarun by his own request, then allowed me to dispel it as commanded by the one who awoke it. The Wyrm, I presume, undermined the Keep. It collapsed.”
“That’s what we heard, then. I hope you did not unseal the Library.”
Anlayt grimaced, and Jira nodded. “We did. The walking dead are no more, but I did re-seal the entrance.”
“One of the mages was bitten,” said Arbul, his face twisting. “He lured the remaining walking dead into the Library, then I sealed them all together. If you released him, then… then I thank you. He was a dear friend.”
“He, and the others, are at peace,” Jira assured him.
“Protector,” said Anlayt, looking at the sky. “If we march now, we can reach the pier before sunset. I suggest we do not spend the night in the open, nor in the city.”
“And we would be an undue burden on the villa,” Phylok agreed.
“Arbul, you and your companions are welcome to come with us,” Jira offered. “North Keep has plenty of room.”
“As does Ak’koyr,” Anlayt insisted.
“And Isenbund,” said Phylok, “although you may not want to go that far.”
Arbul looked at his companions, then turned back to Jira and the Captains. “We will stay here,” he said. “For better or worse, Camac is our home. Our gardens, and the gleaning fields, are sufficient to feed us. We did rescue some livestock as well.”
“Arbul, I name you Protector of Camac,” said Jira. “I charge you to keep the peace, to train those who have Talent, and defend your home.”
“I…” Arbul fought to control his emotions. “On the name of Her Sublime Majesty, I do swear to these things. And, come winter, we shall bury the dead and clear the rubble. Perhaps, by next summer, the living will again dwell within Camac’s walls.”
“Strikers, marching formation,” Anlayt ordered. “For Camac… to the pier, then home!”
Here ends Season 1. Season 2, “Dissolution,” will begin soon.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013 3 comments
The Lost Years: Season 1, Ep. 10
Previous: Episode 1 | Episode 2 | Episode 3 | Episode 4 | Episode 5 | Episode 6 | Episode 7 | Episode 8 | Episode 9
“Cave Wyrm!” Jira shouted. She dimly remembered a chamber, down in the foundations of the Keep, where the bones of a Cave Wyrm had lay waiting for a time of need. She worked a spell of binding—not the proper spell to bind an Elemental Dragon, but there was no time to prepare that one—and the Wyrm hung in place, not quite frozen but not moving toward them. “I’ll try to hold it! Go! Get to the ships! It won’t come for you through water!”
Who are you, mage? Everyone heard that voice of grinding boulders, even the first strike clattering down the stairs.
“I am Protector Jira, of the Northern provinces,” she replied. The Bronze Circle parted before her, but the strike flanked her, retreating no further. Brave soldiers, she thought, knowing that the Cave Wyrm could blast the skin from their bones in an eyeblink.
What is your purpose here?
“We seek the Eye of Byula that was in the keeping of the First Protector. If we find the remains of the First Protector, we will mourn him and lay him to rest.”
What you seek is gone. The Eye I swallowed, along with the First Protector, when the mad fool demanded I do so. Now dispell me, mage, if you would save yourself and your companions. I will respect your weak binding while you do your work, in accordance with the commands of the one who awakened me.
Jira bit back the questions she had, as the dragon was unlikely to answer them. A little searching along the Cave Wyrm’s flanks turned up a darker splash of brown, the dried blood of the mage who had awakened it. “A cloth, and water,” she commanded the Bronze Circle, and they were brought. Awakening an Elemental Dragon was simple enough—even a fresh apprentice could do it, given good Talent—but the binding spells, needed to keep the dragon from killing the mage and rampaging about, were more complex. It was said that pure motives were as effective as binding, but who had those?
Nevertheless, the Principle of Closure held. Blood and intent awakened an Elemental Dragon, and removing that blood dispelled it. Jira took the wet cloth, wiped the blood from the rocky skin, and the Cave Wyrm dissolved into a pile of stone and sand. Still, the floor swayed; the Cave Wyrm’s growth had come at the cost of the Keep’s foundations.
“Quickly.” Jira followed the Captains, following the Bronze Circle, down the long staircase. Their footing became more stable as they descended, but the rumbling continued.
“Will the building hold together much longer?” Anlayt shouted above the noise. Below them, soldiers shouted as a piece of the outer wall fell away.
“I have bound the stairs, from here to the ground,” said Jira. “We will reach the ground. After that, if the Keep falls, it falls where it will.”
Soldiers, men and women, spilled from the stairs and onto the ground floor. Strikers urged them forward, urged themselves by the Captains.
The Captains burst into daylight, then whirled about. “Protector Jira!” Phylok shouted. “Captain Anlayt, get the others away from here!” He bolted back into the crumbling Keep as Anlayt gave orders.
“Protector!” Phylok bellowed.
“Here!” Jira pelted over the rubble. Above her, rubble fell over but not upon her—she had raised a fender, a spell of protection. “Phylok, go!”
A large stone glanced off Phylok’s helm; he shook his head to clear it and stumbled toward the light. He felt a hand on his arm, pulling him forward, a voice urging him to move, move. Dim changed to bright, yet the hand and the voice pulled and pushed. He shook his head again, quickly, and lucidity returned. “Which way did they go?” Jira asked.
Phylok shook her arm away, but smiled and pointed. “That way. Protector, what happened?”
“I was rescuing an important piece of our history,” she said. “It has no power like the Eyes, but we need to remember a time when Camac and magic were both thought omnipotent.” She showed him the faded painting, of a man standing atop a vast monolith, itself hovering above a waterfront. Ancient script read: When Protector Thurun bringeth the Great Pier to Camac Harbor. MCLGPE.
“What’s that last part?” Phylok pointed at the letters.
“The apprentice closed his message the same way,” she said. “May the Creator and the Lesser Gods Preserve the Empire.” She sighed. “And we’ll need all their aid, I fear.”
continued…
|
| Credit: Roy Lathwell |
Who are you, mage? Everyone heard that voice of grinding boulders, even the first strike clattering down the stairs.
“I am Protector Jira, of the Northern provinces,” she replied. The Bronze Circle parted before her, but the strike flanked her, retreating no further. Brave soldiers, she thought, knowing that the Cave Wyrm could blast the skin from their bones in an eyeblink.
What is your purpose here?
“We seek the Eye of Byula that was in the keeping of the First Protector. If we find the remains of the First Protector, we will mourn him and lay him to rest.”
What you seek is gone. The Eye I swallowed, along with the First Protector, when the mad fool demanded I do so. Now dispell me, mage, if you would save yourself and your companions. I will respect your weak binding while you do your work, in accordance with the commands of the one who awakened me.
Jira bit back the questions she had, as the dragon was unlikely to answer them. A little searching along the Cave Wyrm’s flanks turned up a darker splash of brown, the dried blood of the mage who had awakened it. “A cloth, and water,” she commanded the Bronze Circle, and they were brought. Awakening an Elemental Dragon was simple enough—even a fresh apprentice could do it, given good Talent—but the binding spells, needed to keep the dragon from killing the mage and rampaging about, were more complex. It was said that pure motives were as effective as binding, but who had those?
Nevertheless, the Principle of Closure held. Blood and intent awakened an Elemental Dragon, and removing that blood dispelled it. Jira took the wet cloth, wiped the blood from the rocky skin, and the Cave Wyrm dissolved into a pile of stone and sand. Still, the floor swayed; the Cave Wyrm’s growth had come at the cost of the Keep’s foundations.
“Quickly.” Jira followed the Captains, following the Bronze Circle, down the long staircase. Their footing became more stable as they descended, but the rumbling continued.
“Will the building hold together much longer?” Anlayt shouted above the noise. Below them, soldiers shouted as a piece of the outer wall fell away.
“I have bound the stairs, from here to the ground,” said Jira. “We will reach the ground. After that, if the Keep falls, it falls where it will.”
Soldiers, men and women, spilled from the stairs and onto the ground floor. Strikers urged them forward, urged themselves by the Captains.
The Captains burst into daylight, then whirled about. “Protector Jira!” Phylok shouted. “Captain Anlayt, get the others away from here!” He bolted back into the crumbling Keep as Anlayt gave orders.
“Protector!” Phylok bellowed.
“Here!” Jira pelted over the rubble. Above her, rubble fell over but not upon her—she had raised a fender, a spell of protection. “Phylok, go!”
A large stone glanced off Phylok’s helm; he shook his head to clear it and stumbled toward the light. He felt a hand on his arm, pulling him forward, a voice urging him to move, move. Dim changed to bright, yet the hand and the voice pulled and pushed. He shook his head again, quickly, and lucidity returned. “Which way did they go?” Jira asked.
Phylok shook her arm away, but smiled and pointed. “That way. Protector, what happened?”
“I was rescuing an important piece of our history,” she said. “It has no power like the Eyes, but we need to remember a time when Camac and magic were both thought omnipotent.” She showed him the faded painting, of a man standing atop a vast monolith, itself hovering above a waterfront. Ancient script read: When Protector Thurun bringeth the Great Pier to Camac Harbor. MCLGPE.
“What’s that last part?” Phylok pointed at the letters.
“The apprentice closed his message the same way,” she said. “May the Creator and the Lesser Gods Preserve the Empire.” She sighed. “And we’ll need all their aid, I fear.”
continued…
Tuesday, October 08, 2013 4 comments
The Lost Years: Season 1, Ep. 9
Previous: Episode 1 | Episode 2 | Episode 3 | Episode 4 | Episode 5 | Episode 6 | Episode 7 | Episode 8
The throne room had the appropriate grandeur for an empire that spanned half the world. Phylok thought, with some irreverence, remove the rubble and rotted corpses, and it would look almost right.
“There.” Anlayt pointed across the room, to where pieces of the throne lay scattered. “Go and see if I am right.” He looked pale.
Jira, accompanied by some of her honor guard, crossed the room. She too, remembered what this place once looked like, and her mind kept trying to superimpose the was over the is. She saw a dismembered corpse among the rubble—Her Sublime Majesty, greeting her from the Pearl Throne—shreds of red and gold strewn across the dais—the robe of state—a hand outstretched in welcome, wearing the Three-Gem Ring—a dried hand on the dais, the Three-Gem Ring dangling from one finger—
“Oh gods,” Jira gasped, staring at the torn hand. She turned to the others. “What happened here?”
“Speculation is unhelpful, at this moment,” said Anlayt, but without his usual force. “Protector, do you verify that those are the remains of Her Sublime Majesty?”
In a year of difficulties, Jira would later write, the most difficult moment of all was this one, the hardest thing was to keep the tears from her eyes and the sob from her voice. “I do,” she said, letting her voice echo through the ruined chamber.
“Then let us gather her remains,” Anlayt suggested. “We can lay her in the tombs. Then, we can see about finding a successor.”
“A dim hope, that,” said Phylok. “But the attempt must be made.”
“And so, to the Western Road? Protector?”
Jira hesitated. “I wish to visit the Imperial Keep first. It’s a slim hope, but perhaps the Eye of Byula, that was in Nisodarun’s keeping, is still there. Having two Eyes, this one and Kontir’s, would let us hold together what is left.”
The Imperial Keep was another place where Jira’s memories kept trying to impose themselves over the present reality. That it was High Summer now, the time she had always come to share wisdom with the other Protectors (as other mages gathered in Stolevan), did not make it easier. A musty smell, the odor of disuse, had long replaced the familiar scents of tea, sweaty apprentices, and that storm-like smell of Air magic in use. She thought about sharing tea in the sumptuous Meeting Hall with her peers, laughing over a forgotten trifle, and a wistful smile came to her.
“Protector?” Phylok brought her back to the present. “Lead the way.”
“Where should we look first?” Anlayt asked.
“The First Protector’s private chambers,” said Jira. “I know not where Nisodarun kept the Eye, but his work area would be the logical place to start looking. Protector Kontir likely spoke to him regularly, as he has an Eye. That is the place to start.”
Unfortunately, those chambers were up ten flights of stairs. They set a marching order, Jira behind the Captains to guide, and began the climb. As they reached the first landing, Jira laughed.
“What about this situation is amusing?” Anlayt scowled.
“The First Protector used to run up this staircase, at least once a day,” said Jira. “He said it kept him young and fit. Indeed he was fit, for a man past his sixtieth summer.” On the other hand, a year of heavy burdens had left Jira and the others fit as well. So they marched, stopping halfway up for a brief breather, until they reached the final landing.
“This entire floor is—was—the First Protector’s chambers,” Jira explained, gesturing at the overturned furniture. The dented remains of a tea service lay heaped in one corner. As with most other places here, it smelled of disuse and decay. “This first room is a public receiving area. I only visited his work area once, but I doubt he moved it.”
“What should we look for?”
“A small box, about a span each direction.” Jira frowned, thinking. “I don’t think it’s ornate.”
“Could you not just scry for the Eye?” Anlayt asked.
Jira gave a sad laugh. “One would think so,” she said. “But the Eyes only find by magic. They cannot be found by magic. Odd, but powerful enchantments often include such oddities. Not always by design.”
“What was that?” a soldier asked.
“A tremor,” said Anlayt. “Perhaps the foundations have been undermined. Let us find what we came for.”
“This way,” said Jira, leading them through wide doors. “Oh!” She stopped, as a stronger tremor shook the Keep. “Captains, I suggest you lead your strikes down and into the street. I can protect myself if—” The tremors became a constant shaking. Tumbled furniture slid across the floor, tapestries swayed. “Captains, go!”
Too late—the floor in front of them burst upward in a shower of rubble. Something that looked like a maw of pointed teeth, at the end of a ridged tube, reared above them.
continued…
|
| Credit: Roy Lathwell |
“There.” Anlayt pointed across the room, to where pieces of the throne lay scattered. “Go and see if I am right.” He looked pale.
Jira, accompanied by some of her honor guard, crossed the room. She too, remembered what this place once looked like, and her mind kept trying to superimpose the was over the is. She saw a dismembered corpse among the rubble—Her Sublime Majesty, greeting her from the Pearl Throne—shreds of red and gold strewn across the dais—the robe of state—a hand outstretched in welcome, wearing the Three-Gem Ring—a dried hand on the dais, the Three-Gem Ring dangling from one finger—
“Oh gods,” Jira gasped, staring at the torn hand. She turned to the others. “What happened here?”
“Speculation is unhelpful, at this moment,” said Anlayt, but without his usual force. “Protector, do you verify that those are the remains of Her Sublime Majesty?”
In a year of difficulties, Jira would later write, the most difficult moment of all was this one, the hardest thing was to keep the tears from her eyes and the sob from her voice. “I do,” she said, letting her voice echo through the ruined chamber.
“Then let us gather her remains,” Anlayt suggested. “We can lay her in the tombs. Then, we can see about finding a successor.”
“A dim hope, that,” said Phylok. “But the attempt must be made.”
“And so, to the Western Road? Protector?”
Jira hesitated. “I wish to visit the Imperial Keep first. It’s a slim hope, but perhaps the Eye of Byula, that was in Nisodarun’s keeping, is still there. Having two Eyes, this one and Kontir’s, would let us hold together what is left.”
The Imperial Keep was another place where Jira’s memories kept trying to impose themselves over the present reality. That it was High Summer now, the time she had always come to share wisdom with the other Protectors (as other mages gathered in Stolevan), did not make it easier. A musty smell, the odor of disuse, had long replaced the familiar scents of tea, sweaty apprentices, and that storm-like smell of Air magic in use. She thought about sharing tea in the sumptuous Meeting Hall with her peers, laughing over a forgotten trifle, and a wistful smile came to her.
“Protector?” Phylok brought her back to the present. “Lead the way.”
“Where should we look first?” Anlayt asked.
“The First Protector’s private chambers,” said Jira. “I know not where Nisodarun kept the Eye, but his work area would be the logical place to start looking. Protector Kontir likely spoke to him regularly, as he has an Eye. That is the place to start.”
Unfortunately, those chambers were up ten flights of stairs. They set a marching order, Jira behind the Captains to guide, and began the climb. As they reached the first landing, Jira laughed.
“What about this situation is amusing?” Anlayt scowled.
“The First Protector used to run up this staircase, at least once a day,” said Jira. “He said it kept him young and fit. Indeed he was fit, for a man past his sixtieth summer.” On the other hand, a year of heavy burdens had left Jira and the others fit as well. So they marched, stopping halfway up for a brief breather, until they reached the final landing.
“This entire floor is—was—the First Protector’s chambers,” Jira explained, gesturing at the overturned furniture. The dented remains of a tea service lay heaped in one corner. As with most other places here, it smelled of disuse and decay. “This first room is a public receiving area. I only visited his work area once, but I doubt he moved it.”
“What should we look for?”
“A small box, about a span each direction.” Jira frowned, thinking. “I don’t think it’s ornate.”
“Could you not just scry for the Eye?” Anlayt asked.
Jira gave a sad laugh. “One would think so,” she said. “But the Eyes only find by magic. They cannot be found by magic. Odd, but powerful enchantments often include such oddities. Not always by design.”
“What was that?” a soldier asked.
“A tremor,” said Anlayt. “Perhaps the foundations have been undermined. Let us find what we came for.”
“This way,” said Jira, leading them through wide doors. “Oh!” She stopped, as a stronger tremor shook the Keep. “Captains, I suggest you lead your strikes down and into the street. I can protect myself if—” The tremors became a constant shaking. Tumbled furniture slid across the floor, tapestries swayed. “Captains, go!”
Too late—the floor in front of them burst upward in a shower of rubble. Something that looked like a maw of pointed teeth, at the end of a ridged tube, reared above them.
continued…
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