A House of Mirrors

You Can't Go Home Again

2007-02-22T08:13:00.000-08:00

"Come on!" Séah shouted as she ran through the woods. Boyd didn't bother answering but pushed on. They weren't following any path and the girl had a big advantage in being shorter than he was so that she could slip through the tangle of woods. Boyd's uncle, Séah's father, had been teaching the young shifter just this morning about new growth forest, the chaotic knot of plants that take over after pastureland is given up to the forest. This was the middle of summer, though, and the roads were crowded with merchant carts, some of whom would yell at the shifter children for getting in their way, and besides this was the best shortcut to the old keep.
Moonhold Keep was what the adults called it, but Boyd and his friends had always called it "the Castle". In truth it was nothing like a castle, with ramshackle buildings that were seemingly empty. The front gate was entirely missing, taken for scrap metal after the keep was first abandoned centuries ago, and no one had bothered to replace them in the three decades since the keep had been rearmed. It was something to do with the war, that omnipresent force that shaped the lives of everyone in Karrnath. Boyd was a little hazy on the details but he was sure it had something to do with other countries stealing food from Karrnath, or at least that's what the men in the common room of the Inn of the Four Winds said. Merchants from the big cities said people were starving from the war, though no one in Aisling seemed that hungry. The farmers had plenty of food for themselves and sold lots to the merchants to take to Atur.
He thought of going to that great city often, about how he would arrive there and join the army, become a great hero, and be knighted by the king. His aunt laughed at him when he told her about his plans, but his uncle growled. "No kin of mine is going to be a knight," he said once, "As soon be a slaver, or join the Silver Flame." He spit after that, like he always did, and Séah's mother snapped at him to not mention such things. In his dreams, Sir Boyd would cleave the vile Silver Flame soldiers in half with a huge sword, keeping them from stealing the babies of Karrnath. His uncle had let that slip once when his wife wasn't listening, the soldiers used to take babies and kill them as well as burning families' houses while they were still inside. Boyd couldn't believe that such awful people existed, but his uncle had such a grim expression there was no questioning it.
"C'mon!" Séah yelled again, from even farther up ahead, "You'll take all day like that, Eiboiduir!"
He didn't like that name and knew that she only used it to tease him, but he couldn't hold back a retort. "You'll twist your ankle, Séalgair," he shouted after her, "And I'm going to leave you here!" If she was using his full name, he'd use hers.
The girl just laughed, however, a high-pitched tinkling laugh. Within minutes they stepped out of the thick woods across a small stream from the Castle. It looked old despite the rennovations the soldiers had made, the masonry cracking and covered in moss. Boyd thought it looked perfect, though his uncle had said it would never survive a real attack. "It's just for show," he had grumbled once when he and Boyd passed by to fish in Ash Lake to the east. Whether or not this was true, the keep was usually fairly empty and the soldiers stationed there, an easy-going lot from the Steppelands, had no problem with children playing against the wall.
Both of the shifters were laughing now as they ran up to the wall, rocks in their hands. "For Aisling!" Boyd yelled in his best warrior voice, his voice cracking only once. Séah laughed in response and threw her rock hard so that it bounced off the wall with a sharp crack.
"Oi!" a voice yelled from the direction of the gate. The shifters froze in nervous guilt and turned toward the sound. A soldier in polished armor was striding towards them, his fists balled in anger. "What are you doing, you kids? Get out of here!"
Boyd didn't recognize the soldier and thought he must be new. He was still nervous but he spoke with what he felt was appropriate authority. "It's alright, Captain Herras said we could play here."
"Well Captain Herras ain't in charge any more and I said get lost," the soldier grabbed Boyd's shoulder and shoved him roughly in the direction of the woods, "So get lost!"
Séah squeaked and ran for the woods, but Boyd hesitated a moment longer looking back at the man in confusion. "Why isn't he here?" was all the young shifter cold think to say.
"None of your business, mutt!" the soldier snarled back and threw a small stone at Boyd. It missed him by several feet but Boyd still ran for the forest as quickly as he could. Crouching in the shadow of the trees, he and Séah watched the guard return to his gate post in silence. Glancing past the keep, Séah tapped his arm and pointed at a hillside behind the keep where a group of men milled around, some carrying buckets. That was where the old iron mine was, another site where he and his cousin used to play. It had been closed for years but it looked like something was going on there now. Was that why Captain Herras had left, why they didn't want him and Séah playing at the fort anymore? They knew enough not to get in anyone's way. They weren't infants. What was going on up there?
* * *
Boyd tightened his saddle straps and rechecked his bags again. He felt a pang of nostalgia thinking of doing this same thing years ago when he and his uncle had gone hunting for a week in the Nightwood. Things were very different now and Boyd wondered if his uncle would have recognized him with the wooden octogram hanging from his neck. If he could have seen Boyd, that was. His uncle was dead now, and the rest of the shifters had moved on from Aisling. All of them except Séah.
As if on cue, his cousin stepped out onto the front porch of the cabin and looked at him with mock criticism. "Aren't you ready yet?" she said in a frustrated tone, "I want to move into my new house, Eiboiduir."
The name didn't bother him any more, in fact he liked the traditional sound of it, but he pretended for the sake of the moment. "I'll leave when I'm ready, Séalgair," he said, concentrating on his saddle straps again, "Which will be a lot sooner if you're going to start whining." He had seen the tear stains on her cheeks, but neither of them would express their sadness in public. This was the only way things could be. If he didn't leave for the army, they would force Orman to and the elderly town speaker wouldn't survive basic training much less a battle. The only way.
Turning around to tell his cousin that he was ready, he found her already behind him leaping to hug him hard. As he hugged her back, Boyd reflected ruefully on how silent she was. When they were kids he used to think that she was a better stalker just because she was smaller, but he had grown out of that excuse. Séah was a wonderful hunter and would do well with the cabin he was leaving her. It was much better than the cramped room she had lived in at the inn for eight years and here she would be able to make a living selling pelts. It was the only way.
"Be careful," she said simply into his chest, and then took a step back to look at him with watery eyes.
"I will," Boyd answered sincerely, feeling tears enter his own eyes. He climbed onto the wiry gelding that Thom the butcher had sold him and looked at her gently. "Take care of the place. I'm coming back as soon as I can."
With that, Boyd Sahariah wheeled the horse around and galloped toward town where he was meeting the other recruits to head for Atur. It was the only way.

Tidings of Battle

2006-12-30T10:21:00.000-08:00

Gruden ir'Edrei, First Warlord of Karrnath and Commander of the Army of the Jagged Coast, kicked a stone sullenly through the garden. For one of the most important men in Karrnath he looked remarkably like a moody, dejected youth which was close to how he felt. During the Last War he was one of the most respected generals in Khorvaire, and he still garnered considerable respect among the Five Nations even in this age of diplomats. Still, when he backed Kaius III's bid to remove the Blood of Vol from power in his country, almost single-handedly ensuring the young king's success, he had done so out of a feeling of patriotic duty. Since that time he had been systematically separated from the realm of the court, even more so than he had been under the rule of the Regent.
Gruden had no illusions about what kind of role he would play in the monarchy. He was a soldier and a war commander and, however inspiring he was on the battlefield, in the throneroom he always felt like a farmboy invited to a fancy ball. The maneuvers and feints were much more complicated among bureaucrats and, frankly, he had no patience for them. When Kaius , well Kaius's court page Jael, suggested that he make Rekkenmark his political base, the move had seemed logical. Gruden, the war hero, would secure Rekkenmark while Kaius, the diplomat, would secure Korth.
Since then, though, Gruden ir'Edrei felt increasingly like an out-dated tool gathering dust in the attic. Kaius never sent for him to Korth and sometimes his letters to the king had returned with only a cursory reply penned by Regent Moranna. The last two times he had attempted to secure an audience with the king he had been deflected by that sniveling Jael and told that the king was too busy. That was a year ago and Gruden hadn't been to Korth since and rarely travelled even to Rekkenmark. After the summer passed and the excuse of hunting had worn thin, Gruden stopped trying to hide the fact that he was sulking at his family estate on the Jagged Coast. He watched as his flower garden withered with the coming autumn but he still spent much his days walking through it or the surrounding forests, all the while brooding.
On this day, the weather seemed to agree with him and brooded as well with a low-lying ceiling of dark grey clouds. Others, however, seemed determined to interrupt his thoughts. "Lord Gruden!" a voice called from the direction of the main house, "Lord Gruden, a message!"
The warlord turned to meet the page who sprinted toward him and silently read the letter printed on Sivis stationary. He paused halfway through and stopped, frowning, then re-read the entire thing twice. "When did this come?" he asked the page evenly.
"Just now," the young boy replied between catching his breath, "From the enclave... Lady Halia says we... should move out..."
"And move out we will," Gruden said with a confident smile. Karrnath was in trouble, there was rebellion by Atur and he would ride to face it, just like the war. It was troubling to think that violence could make him feel a purpose again, but Gruden put all of his emotions away in preparation for the battle. "Send word back to the king that we will ride immediately."
Instead of running, the page looked confused. "M'Lord, that message isn't from... It's from Lord Halas, look."
Gruden looked again and sure enough his brother's name lay at the bottom of the message. All of his grief and frustration came back in a wave but he fought it back. Karrnath still needed him, he would work out his ties to the king later. "Ready the commanders!" he told the page, hoping it didn't come out too harshly.

In the Shadows

2006-09-01T13:06:00.000-07:00

The death of Xanthirion came as a surprise. And a disappointment. The illithid's failure to gain control of the portal was, of course, an inexcusable oversight and one which boiled down completely to arrogance. This failing was enough to have him executed, and the assassin was on his way when the bond had broken. Now, the dark being brooded, I am denied my portal and the pleasure of watching that maggot writhe in pain. The ekolid assassin would find clues, though, and from there he could find out who had killed Xanthirion, who had to be made to writhe in the illithid's place. He already had an idea, remembering the reports of the mortals foolish enough to challenge him in the jungles of Lakuurtz (or "Q'barra" as these new pests insisted on calling it), but the living shade refused to jump to conclusions. It would be too easy to blame to loss of the portal and the loss of his best power base in the mortal realm together on one group. If his suspicions were true, if these mortal vermin had indeed thwarted his machinations twice, they would suffer for years on the torture table. Until he was sure, though, he would not act rashly.
Stepping forward in the pitch black cavern, the Prince of Shadows approached the blood-stained table. His black cloak settled around him like a dark mist, and his three eyes peered through the darkness like invisible knives. He didn't need to see the table, however, he could smell the eons of blood which coated it: human, elven, goblin, even daelkyr. A riot of morbid scents. Reaching into a crevice in the nearby rock wall, the Prince grabbed a long wand. He extended the tip toward the body on the table, spoke an arcane syllable, and the tip darted forward like an insect stinger to stab into the corpses flesh. To the untrained eye, the body remained unchanged, but the Prince of Shadows heard its tiny gasp as clearly as a scream. The creature (he hadn't particularly cared who it was for some time) had screamed its vocal chords to shreds months ago. Its eyes were crusted shut with blood, and its limbs were mangled stumps. The Prince kept reviving it for more torture. Welcome back, he spoke into the creature's mind, I've missed our time together. As he replaced the wand, he couldn't help but smile at the creature. It was amazing how the tear ducts kept working even when the eyes had been blinded...

Of Fate and Battle

2006-05-08T09:24:00.000-07:00

During the Third Incursion of the Daelkyr War, when much of the eastern continent was overrun by the daelkyr and their servants, the Battle of Jorlasht marks the turning point in favor of the Dhakaani and Gatekeeper forces. The governor of Lakuurtz Province, General Kakuun Shal'derec, led the goblinoid forces, with High Speaker Macour Tuulduun leading the Gatekeepers. General Shal'derec fought bravely against the dreaded Render, the hobgoblin warlord who allied himself with the daelkyr, giving himself over to their madness. Many were frightened to face the blood-thirsty legions of the Render which purportedly as ferocious as their leader, tearing men apart for no other reason than to listen to their screams. The General was not so afraid, however, riding forward with his blazing scimitar overhead. It is said that the loresinger Relekat Yarrouc had assured him of victory beforehand and the General seemed the very icon of valor as he charged through the ranks of monsters toward the Render. The shining elf-made sword of General Shal'derec and the barbed sword of the Render rang clearly across the battlefield and it seemed to halt all other action for a moment. Everyone looked over to see the General's impending victory.
But Loresinger Yarrouc was wrong. The Render's blade cut down in a hideous arc, slashing through the General's armor and spraying red blood into the air. The blow was mighty, but some magic in the Render's blade made it even worse and Shal'derec's blood flowed freely onto the ground. The sight spurred the goblinoid forces onward and the Render was nearly killed by the onslaught, but pulled his forces back instead. After the battle, Yarrouc was ashamed of her mistake, claiming that she had caused the General's death. She spent a week studying the Draconic Prophecy to discover her error, but the search proved fruitless. Devastated and, some say, in love with the elderly General, Yarrouc took her own life soon after. Though the Battle of Jorlasht was a major victory for the Alliance, the war dragged on for months afterwards and the tragedy that followed the Battle itself made this one of the most bittersweet moments in the whole of the Third Incursion.

~ From Annals of the Third Daelkyr Incursion by Speaker Fastaal Hensi

In Times of War

2006-04-25T17:15:00.000-07:00

The sun blazed brightly as it crested the horizon, casting a seemingly cold light over the bare, blackened tree limbs of what once was Lakuurtz Province. Though he was raised on the western frontier, Kakuun Shal'derec had considered this his home since he'd taken the governorship here ten years ago. It was beautiful and vibrant then, a welcome relief from the general's longcareer against the daelkyr.
Then four years ago the vile creatures had attacked again, this time ravaging the eastern coast of Khorvaire. Kakuun couldn't help but feel that he had brought this curse to Lakuurtz, that the ghosts of war from his own past had somehow pursued him east. He had seen his hope for quiet twilight years disappear and then the verdant forests of Lakuurtz had burned away alongside it. Several younger generals had come to fight off the new infestation, but Kakuun whill had his rank and he'd be damned if he'd let someone steal this fight from him now. The kleptocratic lheshs and that psychotic Herkowtt who held the throne of the Archlhesh could swagger for all they wanted, but-
Kakuun's ranting thoughts were interrupted as the door to his chambers opened with a quiet knock. "Come in," the general called, keeping his eyes on the landscape outside the window.
"Good evening, general," a soft voice said behind him, "I thought you might be in need of a conversation."Kakuun was surprised to see Relekat, the young hobgoblin usually toured the troops before a battle, gathering stories for her poetry. He always valued her opinions, though, and realized that he did feel like talking. Relekat was the best loresinger he'd ever met and also a talented seer, but Kakuun knew she just understood how his old mind worked.
"Just thinking about the past," he said warmly to her, and finished buckling his sword on, "It's what old soldiers like to do." Many were surprised to see him carry an elven blade, especially because it seemed so fragile and ceremonial. Kakuun liked the image it created though, beautiful but dangerous, and knew that those critics couldn't understand the depth of life in the scimitar.
"I was just reading about that sword," Relekat said cryptically. Kakuun was more than a little surprised and looked up with a startled expression. "Are you familiar with the Draconic Prophecy?"
"Hmmph," Kakuun snorted, returning to cinching armor tight, "Tales for children. I'm surprised at you, Rele."
"Not at all," the loresinger replied, helping herself to a chair. "It may be old, but it's power is as potent as ever."

Blade lost in folly and Blade of savagery
Arrive with dawning sun, and dawning war.
Twin heralds of conquests' end.
Bright lanterns cast light upon the gibbering
Shadows, and banish the Nightmares."

Relekat's quotation ended in silence as the power of her voice faded. Finally Kakuun spoke up with a frown. "And what in the Night's Moons is that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Relekat said firmly, "That your battle with the Render was foreseen millenia ago and that it will lead to an end of the war. That's from a longer section about Lakuurtz, most of which I admit I don't understand. Your sword," she points to the scimitar, "And the Render's Blade coming together is a herald of peace!"
Kakuun checked his dismissive response and considered this option. If what Relekat said was true, he might see a peaceful retirement. The thought, absurd as it was, buoyed his heart and Kakuun smiled at the loresinger. "Well, let us not keep destiny waiting my dear."

The Fate of Karrnath

2006-04-20T22:43:00.000-07:00

He paced his chamber, seething with rage. The body of a court messenger lay on the floor nearby, blood pooling around it and staining the carpet. Kaius III, Crown Royal of Karrnath, could hardly care less, however, the information that the page had delivered amply justified the death. Those fools! he thought for perhaps the twentieth time that evening Their job was simple enough for a child and they have the gall to fail!
The so-called "adventurers" who had infiltrated Rolund ir'Tebracht's household at the behest of some third party had somehow slipped the grasp of his special police. That meant that they were already outside of Korth and probably outside of Karrnath itself, relaying their findings to whatever country was paying them. Civil dissention would make Karrnath appear weak, Kaius knew that even without his training at the Rekkenmark Academy, and his experience as a monarch for well over a century told him that a weak nation would soon be overrun, with or without the Treaty of Thronehold. Military action was not the only means to political domination, and Kaius recognized the danger of trade- and diplomacy-backed conquests. A weak nation could easily be turned against its leader and incited into rebellion to create an infant state completely dependent on the nation that had pulled the strings in the first place. Breland, Aundair, Thrane, Valenar... they would all love to have Karrnath on their leash and the spies who had gathered information on the rebellion could be well across the border into any one of them by now.
Willing himself to stop walking and turning back toward the body, Kaius attempted to will himself into a calmer mood. This situation will soon be solved, he thought to calm himself, the spies' information will be worthless within the week. A grim smile spread across his face as he considered the thought. He foresaw the leaders of the Blood of Vol collapsing in his grasp, their unworthy blood serving as fuel for his growing hunger. Grabbing a nearby goblet from the counter, he filled it with the messenger's blood and drank deeply. The iron grip of Kaius the Invincible would prevail yet again...