The Conquest of Kiynan

Kayla sat in the bow of the Undaunted, the flagship of the Fled. Her eyes were closed and she listened to the soft crash of the waves against the ship’s hull. She concentrated on the gentle rocking motion, ignoring the shouting and bustling of the nearby sailors at work. She had no troubles, no worries, no fears. She was calm, perfectly still. She did not hear the crude jokes of the seasick spearmen, nor the loud creaking sounds of the ship. There were no men nearby, no ship beneath her, no waves, no wind, nothing but herself and the soothing sound of Abron’s flat voice.

“You are alone in the world,” he intoned hypnotically, “you breathe, but there is no air. You do not fall, but there is nothing beneath you. You hear my voice, but I am not here. You are completely alone. There is nothing to trouble you, nothing to concern you, nothing but peace and calm surround you and fill you.”

“I feel it. I feel completely relaxed,” said Kayla, pleased with her progress, but containing her elation almost perfectly, not letting it affect her calm state of mind. “Can I cast a spell now?”

“No. Before you learn to use your emotions, you must first learn to control them. You must summon them at will, and let them slip away.”

Kayla could control her excitement at her progress, but she could not control her frustration at being held back. She bit her lip as the feeling of the hard wood beneath her manifested itself, and the voices of the men around her pierced her isolation.

“Now, concentrate. Empty your mind. You have no emotions at all. The fears, the concerns, the excitement do not return, but the calm… and the frustration leave. You feel nothing. You do not exist. You are unable to feel anything. You would feel nothing even if something existed around you, but nothing does.”

Kayla tried to go along with the exercise, but her boredom and frustration got the better of her and she opened her eyes to see Abron sitting cross-legged on the deck in front of her. As soon as she looked at him, his pale grey eyes opened and a look of mild disappointment crossed his face.

“I’ve done this so many times already,” Kayla complained, “I want to cast a spell.”

“You will never learn to use magic unless you first learn self-discipline, child.”

Kayla was about to retort that she was not a child, but she heard the sailors excitedly calling to their captain. She turned to see a dark mass of land quickly approaching them. She jumped to her feet and ran to the rail of the ship. There laid Ornland, the Old Continent, the land of magic. The land her people had fled long ago to escape the tyranny of the Houses and their magicians. At last, the Fled were returning to Ornland. They had left as a ragged band of fugitives, but now the Fled returned as a mighty people bringing their army to rescue their vulnerable neighbours.

Abron joined Kayla at the rail and a moment later, Thalamir hurried over to them. Kayla almost screamed for joy watching the approaching shore. Here was the land of song, the mysterious land of her ancestors. What wonderful discoveries lay ahead? She grinned up at the two tall men flanking her, but they clearly did not share her enthusiasm. Abron appeared quietly relieved to see his homeland, and Thalamir, as ever, appeared sullen and withdrawn.

Their aloofness did not diminish her elation however, and she turned back to examine their destination. A tall, wide tower presided over a low-walled city near the coast.

“What is that place?” asked Kayla.

“That is White Tower, the stronghold of House Pride.”

“House Pride: pride, reverence, awe” recited Kayla proudly.

“Those are their emotions, that’s right,” replied Abron.

“What magic can they do?” asked Kayla excitedly.

“They can form invisible barriers, and stir and control the winds.”

While Kayla, Abron and Thalamir observed the city, the sailors anchored the Undaunted and prepared to lower the small launches that would carry those aboard to the small harbour. The massive warship was the most fiercesome craft of all of Kiynan. Three enormous masts supported huge triangular white sails.

Alongside the Undaunted, an ad hoc fleet of boats carried the Fled army. A pair of broad, double-masted brigs, the famed sister ships Colossus and Gladman’s Gold of Tradewood carried the bulk of the supplies brought from New Ornland. The long, sleek triremes from Freshwater and Haven used to patrol the coasts around New Ornland, August Point and the Long Coast, Hammerhead, Sting Ray and Swordfish, carried troops. While the triremes were able to dock at most of the ports on Kiynan, and the heavy brigs could even dock at Tradewood, Brockton and Spire, White Tower’s harbour was not large enough for any of the ships. Small rowboats were lowered into the Silent Sea, loaded to capacity with soldiers and supplies.

Duchess Wiseman called Abron to accompany her as she boarded the first rowboat about to be lowered from the Undaunted. Kayla and Thalamir followed the Necromancer aboard the tiny craft; leaving what few belongings they had on board to be brought to shore by the ship’s crew. Thalamir and three sailors heaved on the oars, propelling the launch ahead of the others toward the shore. As they approached the harbour, Kayla saw a surprisingly small group of people gathered to greet them. As they neared the group, Kayla distinguished a figure robed in grey in the same manner as Abron. Five soldiers wearing white clothing, white cloaks, carrying white rectangular shields and long spears stood near the grey figure. As their small boat pulled into the harbour, Abron called out a greeting and disembarked.

“Greetings Lucia the Grey, daughter of Marhault,” he said ceremoniously.

“Welcome Abron the Grey, son of Hanna,” returned the grey robed figure.

Although the salutations were exchanged formally, Kayla sensed surprising warmth between the two. Kayla immediately liked this sombre woman; maybe she could liven Abron’s heart a little. She made a mental note to herself to find out whatever she could about these two.

“These distinguished folk are Kayla Freeland and Thalamir Lakechild of the Fled,” he spoke as the two groups met each other, “and this is Midia Wiseman, Mistress of Haven and Duchess of the Fled.”

“Welcome to White Tower,” acknowledged Lucia, “I am Lucia the Grey, daughter of Marhault, emissary to House Pride.”

“Why has Master Travis not come to greet us himself?” asked Wiseman with a hurt tone.

“The Master is occupied with readying his army to march,” answered Lucia, with what Kayla thought sounded like a note of bitterness.

The soldiers fell in around the small group and escorted them toward the tall tower dominating the walled city.

“How did the Wizards greet your news?” Abron asked Lucia quietly.

“Well enough. They gathered their troops and summoned their levies promptly upon receiving my warning. However, Master Travis was reluctant to move his forces and leave his lands without any defence or supervision. He was ever mindful of Mistress Lucinda’s hunger for land, and of his own serfs’ unrest. Like all magicians, he remembers the destabilizing effect the Flight had on his realm, and did not wish to provide an opportunity for it to happen again.”

As she spoke her last words, Lucia glanced casually at the Duchess, who either did not notice or chose not to reply.

“We do not have the time to indulge Master Travis’ insecurities. There has been no word from House Hope?”

“Master Travis insisted on sending his own messengers to the Bright Keep, after hearing about our own emissary’s fate. A pigeon brought us news of their safe arrival, but we have heard nothing of House Hope’s intentions. Mistress Lucinda undoubtedly suffers from insecurities similar to Master Travis’. Both Houses wait for the other to make a leap of faith.”

“The Fled have returned to Ornland, and now, they will hold Master Travis’ hand as he makes that leap. Mistress Lucinda will follow in short order. None can doubt the dire need for co-operation. Has there been news of the demons’ movements?”

“I’m sure you are aware of Lament’s fall, and Master Marhault’s death,” Lucia delivered the news of her father’s death flatly. “Sasha reported that Master Vanga refused to abandon the Blood Fort, and House Fury confronted Daimin’s forces there. They were overrun, but some of the Warlocks escaped to Castle Malice. Master Vanga was not among them.”

“Unsurprising, but still disappointing.”

Kayla looked from one Necromancer to the other, uncertain of what they had just discussed. Their tidings sounded dire to her, but they seemed to have taken everything in stride without any emotional reaction. The group arrived at the foot of the tower. Kayla noticed that although it appeared to be a brilliant unblemished white from a distance, upon closer inspection, it was a dirty grey. She also noticed that numerous large segments of the tower’s outside wall seemed to be missing. There were bricks above the gaps, seemingly firmly held in place, but how they were supported, Kayla could not understand.

The soldiers led the group inside the tower and to the foot of a spiral staircase. They followed the stairs upward for what seemed to Kayla as an unbearable length of time. When they finally stepped off the staircase, everyone but the soldiers was flushed and panting. The group continued into an oval room where three magicians dressed in white cloaks sat at a long oak table. The room was plain and unadorned, but Kayla was shocked to see that there was no outside wall, instead the entire expanse of the city and the forest beyond could be seen. Although she could hear the wind gusting, she felt no draft enter the room. She carefully walked toward the vacant wall and reached her hand ahead of her. As she approached the edge, she felt a firm resistance against her palm. She pushed against the unseen barrier, but it did not give, nor did it register any kind of tactile sensation, other than pressure. She turned back to look at the other members of her group and saw that this strange sight had also transfixed Thalamir and Midia. The soldiers turned and left the room, and the three white clad figures stood. As the Wizards turned to face the group, Kayla realized that their eyes were completely white, their pupils virtually impossible to see.

“Duchess Midia Wiseman, of the Fled,” announced Abron, gesturing to the monarch. “And these are two members of her entourage, Lady Kayla Freeland and Thalamir Lakechild.”

The Wizards contemplated the Fled nobles with impassive expressions. Finally, a tall, white haired man with a bushy white moustache took a minute step forward and spoke, his tone flat and empty.

“We had long wondered if we would ever set eyes on the Fled again. I was of the opinion that you would surely prove too weak to survive without the benefit of the wisdom of your betters.”

“Was that why the Faithful never pursued my ancestors?” returned Midia with a pleasant tone.

“I’m afraid the magicians of the day had no time to go chasing after a handful of foolish malcontents. They were too busy dealing with those who remained behind. You see, quite a number of you commoners had got the idea that they knew how to take better care of themselves than we did. They caused riots and minor uprisings all across Ornland. It took years to put them back into their place. For the sake of the commoners, it was fortunate our predecessors did not waiver in their sacred duty. Perhaps the peasants would appreciate our efforts now that they shall see that without our enlightened guidance, they would have regressed into despotism.”

Midia had managed to preserve her poise while the magician spoke dismissively of her ancestors, she had kept cool as he called her a commoner, but as he calmly accused her of tyranny, her smooth façade cracked.

“My ancestors abandoned your enlightened rule because they preferred to face uncertain death rather than certain enslavement,” sneered the Duchess. “Without the benefit of your guidance, my people began a new culture where individuality was prized rather than crushed. Under my rule, as under the rule of my mother and her father before her, my people enjoy freedom and prosperity unheard of in Ornland, from what I understand.”

“Our commoners serve us because we are learned. Our novices are the brightest of our commoners’ children; our own children are given no special standing. You pass authority by the randomness of birth. Do you think wisdom is passed along by blood?”

“Duchess, Master Travis,” interrupted Abron, “perhaps the finer points of the debate between theocracy and monarchy can be discussed at another time. Co-operation is critical if we hope to stop the Conjurer’s minions.”

Abron ignored the indignant glare the Duchess gave him, and turned to the leader of House Pride.

“Master Travis, tomorrow at dawn, the Fled troops will march to the Hall of Ecstasy. I trust your forces will be ready to follow them?”

A faint scowl marred Travis’ placid expression as he hesitated briefly. He quickly regained control of himself however, and nodded curtly. Apparently satisfied, Abron turned and walked from the room. Kayla and the others quickly followed.