Hall of Writings

Hall of Images

Hall of Science

Amphitheater

Exit to Lakelands

Prologue

Onaeus walked along the halls of the temple, his robes brushing the marble
floors. He walked slowly, breathing in the air he knew so well, and savouring the
feel of the temple. He closed his eyes, measuring his steps with an even stride. He
trailed his hand against the stone walls, feeling every crevice, every minute crack
in its rough surface. This was his home, had been for many years. He knew every
detail of the temple, knew where every candle stood, where every raven had its
nest. He was on one of the upper floors, where his apartments resided. He passed
numerous tapestries of famous battles as he walked, as well as the busts of some
famous nobles. Cleaning maids looked up from their dusting, and curtsied to Onaeus
as he walked toward the large brass double doors at the end of the hall. He pushed
lightly on the doors, and they swung open with no resistance at all, revealing a
spacious room, lit by the setting sun over the ocean to the west. Thick Azuron
carpets covered the floor, while a great torawood table rested in the centre,
imported all the way from Enchantica forest before the Blight. Bright paintings
covered the walls, and closed doors led to other parts of the apartments. The
furnishings were rich, rivaling the splendor at the imperial capital at
Dragonspire. Yet it was not these that made his breath catch in his throat. A door
opened from farther in the chamber, and his wife entered. A small woman, beautiful
as Kala, and stately as an empress, she never failed to amaze Onaeus. She evinced
no surprise at his arrival, was smiling serenely with that curious smile of hers.
Her long gown of pure white trailed behind her, lost in the murk of her room.
Slender gloved hands reached to clasp her husbands' "You have been gone, my love…"
she whispered. It seemed blasphemous to break the silence of the twilight. The sun
was just reaching the waves, casting long shadows in Onaeus' apartments. "Matters
of state, Mali," Onaeus returned, just as quietly. "I am the duke, after all…" "I
wish you weren't the duke," she said, leaning her head on his chest, her wondrous
eyes staring out to sea. "You are always in the Halls… I rarely see you anymore,
not since we were married. Oh, it seemed so long ago…" She trailed off, lost in her
memories. Onaeus looked down upon her. Even his pure white robes seemed dark
compared to her ivory face and gossamer clothes. Her black hair was a striking
contrast, only serving to make her more unique, dark against the darker night. "I
had to prepare the army, my love. We leave for the capital in the morning. Much had
to be done…" Even in his own mind his excuses, carefully thought up, sounded
pathetic. She looked up at him, and once again he was lost in those wondrous eyes
that seemed to look through him, into his soul. Her eyes seemed so filled with
meaning, they drove all thoughts of the coming days out of his mind. For now, all
that existed in this world was Malinalda. The sun disappeared into its watery
grave, and all was darkness, save for those eyes. 

Departure

Zungar had been sparring all morning with his companions. Covered with sweat
and dirt, and not a little blood, he was unprepared for the surprise visit from his
lord. He was out in the small training yard before the city barracks, clutching a
large wooden sword and a shield, trading blows with his friend Micah. Out of the
corner of his eye he saw a small group of white clothed people, coming closer down
the street, from the Temple. This distraction was enough for his companion, who
smacked him on the side of his head with a heavy oak practice sword. "Micah! Look,
I think some druids are coming this way!" He managed to stutter out, still reeling
from the powerful blow. "Hey! You over there!" Shouted Swordmaster Morran. "Did I
tell you to stop?" Zungar fell back into the sparring routine, but not before the
elderly warrior stepped down from his podium, and angrily approached the two
knights. He weaved between dozens of combatants, all of them training in the ways
of the warrior. The grizzled old man had the scraggly beard of an old prospector,
and had but one eye, but this only served to intimidate the young knights all the
more. "Halt your sparring!" Shouted the swordmaster. "If you allowed yourself to
get distracted like that in a real battle, Knight, you would be missing a head
now!" The old man pulled back, and delivered a mighty blow to Zungars' face using
just his fist. It was all Zungar could do to remain standing. He wavered on his
feet, but Micah reached a hand out and steadied him. Morran switched his deadly
gaze to rest on Micah. Tentatively, Micah removed his hand from Zungars' arm, and
Morran turned his eyes back to Zungar. "To think that they call you a knight…" He
muttered to himself. "In my day, a man was not called a knight until he had seen
battle… He was always dubbed with the sword of a man he had just killed…" Zungar
shifted his gaze to stare at the swordmasters' feet. Morran knew quite well that
Zungar had seen battle, as had Micah, though not on the same scale. However, none
of them had seen what Morran had seen, the swordmaster who had been a marshal
during the Westmarch Wars. It was simply easier to accept the swordmasters' rebukes
than it was to fight him. Morran stared at Zungar. "You are the most capable of all
the warriors on this field this day. And yet you still allowed yourself to be hit.
Our Duke announced that we would be leaving this day to go to battle. Do you want
to shame Nova Q'lynnesti?" He shouted at Zungar, who kept quiet, "Do you!?! I know
you do not… But I know you will all die out there…" He trailed off. They were
interrupted by the group of druids, that had arrived just in time to keep Zungar
from being whipped on the spot. Zungar recognized the duke among them, though he
had seen him only a handful of times, on very ceremonial occasions. Onaeus was not
a very old man, but he couldn't be called young either. Long black hair spilled
down over his shoulders. It was streaked with gray, but then again, it had always
been. A small trimmed beard adorned his angular face, his sharp nose accentuating
his piercing blue eyes. He was not handsome, but looked rather like some bird of
prey, always examining his victim for some weakness or another. He was clad in the
white robes of a druid, loose and flowing, with long sleeves and a deep hood, which
was down at the moment. A light cloak, also white, hung from his shoulders. His
clothes were all trimmed with thin strips of golden thread, announcing his rank. He
wore little jewelry, save for a thin silver band that circled his forehead, barely
visible beneath his long hair. He also wore a golden medallion around his neck,
small, but intricately carved with symbols of his goddess and the sun. It looked
freshly made, but Zungar couldn't tell for sure from where he was standing. Onaeus
was surrounded by a handful of druids from the Temple, similarly clad to protect
from the bitter northwestern winds. Many of them he recognized by face, but
couldn't remember their names. Others were new, rumoured to be from the far distant
eastern
shores, on the Sea of Azuron. 
"Swordmaster, I wish to inspect your warriors," Onaeus said quietly. He was
not prone to speaking too much, Zungar noticed.
Morran looked about him, at his troops standing around like gap-toothed
idiots. "Form up!!!" Shouted the swordmaster,
screaming at anyone not moving fast enough for his sensibilities. 
Onaeus looked on impassively as the warriors arranged themselves in a line,
their shields poised like so, their swords held in
exactly the same way. Their training and discipline was perfect, though the
swordmaster would never admit to it in front of them.
Onaeus walked down the line slowly, exchanging a word with each warrior,
trying to learn all their names before the war began. 
And then it was over. Onaeus and his druids continued on to the next barrack,
to the next battalion of warriors. Zungar and his
friends went back to their rooms, to polish their weapons and armour, and to
pack provisions for the long journey. After this was
finished, they were sent to help with the supply train. Many frustrated
quartermasters were attempting in vain to direct the warriors
as they piled supplies into the great wagons. Food was put into the medical
wagon, spare crates of arrows were put into the
officers wagons, and spare wheels for the wagons were put into the provisions
wagons. Eventually, everything was put into order,
and by then, the bells in the Temple rang for High Noon. The officers gathered
up their battalions, and marched to the Sun Square.

* * *

From a lower balcony in the Temple, Onaeus could see his warriors gathering
up. Very disciplined, they gathered in ordered
squares below in the Sun Square. Usually the Square was packed with vendors at
this time of day, busy with the sounds of
commerce, but Onaeus had today ordered all people to leave, to go back to
their homes while he addressed his warriors.
They were arriving from all parts of the city, gathering around their
battalion banners. Their captains were shouting orders in effort
to fit everyone into the Square, but their voices were lost in the wind long
before they reached Onaeus' ears. 
Finally, everyone was in the square, all the battalions were present. Barely a
thousand men, he noticed with regret. A bare pittance
against the legions the other duchies would provide. But he had never
regretted the pacifistic nature of Nova Q'lynnesti, and he
wasn't going to start now.
He slowly stepped up to the iron railing at the edge of the balcony, and
gathered a great breath.
"Warriors of Nova Q'lynnesti!" He spoke. His voice carried far out to the
edges of the Square without effort, as this plaza was
built for its acoustic effects. The army hushed immediately, listening
carefully to what the duke had to say.
"A long time ago, we marched forth to battle the armies of Westmarch, and we
won! A short time ago, we marched to face our
brethren that had turned against us… And now the Golden King is no more! This
time, my children, we go to help our brothers
and sisters in the east, against an even greater threat… Darkness has engulfed
Enchantica forest… We go forth to purge it!"
The army bellowed as one, their swords drawn and banging against their shields
in anticipation. The captains quieted them down,
and then Onaeus continued.
"We will march within the hour, the entire legion of the duchy. We will go to
Dragonspire Keep, there to meet with the armies sent
by the other dukes… All will tremble with awe when the knights of Q'lynnesti
thunder within the walls of the capital!" 
Once again, the army thundered with pride, warriors screaming that indeed
Q'lynnesti was the greatest of them all. Onaeus knew
otherwise, but saw no need to correct them, yet.
"Speed to you all," he concluded, "And know that Kala is with us!"
Onaeus bowed to the noisy crowd, and retreated back into the Temple, followed
by his advisors. The captains on the Square
below attempted to restore order, and the young warriors reluctantly stopped
cheering as loudly. Some stragglers continued, but
most of the knights formed up their ranks, and marched back through the city,
to the outer walls. All through the city, people lined
up on both sides of the streets, cheering the warriors on, delighted that
their children were going to be heroes.
Inside the Temple, Onaeus watched on, not noticing the bustling preparations
being done behind him. He was afraid to shatter the
great expectations of his people. He had been to war, and knew it was not
glorious… But there was no way he could convince
these young, hot-headed knights of that. He whispered a prayer that Kala would
look after them, and looked away from the city,
to go back to his sanctuary for a short time.

* * *

It was the evening of the third day by the time the army had reached the edge
of the forest. They camped around a small town,
which was perched on the edge of the Scarlet River. The townspeople were used
to strangers, often sheltering those who had
come for help from the druids. But they were completely unprepared to see an
army of their countrymen come to sit on their
doorstep. They were confused for a short time, until they learned of the
purpose of the army. At this point, the people welcomed
the warriors into their homes. The army could have been dispersed in this way
were it not for the captains, who made sure each
knight was in his place by the time the sun set. 
The next morning, Onaeus commandeered the bulk of the ferries the town
possessed. He began the labourious task of transporting
one thousand warriors, not to mention two hundred horses and nearly as many
supply wagons, across a swift and wide river.
Luckily, the boats were well built, made with pride by Q'lynnestine
boatwrights. Wide and flat, they were more like rafts than
boats, attached to a large chain that was just below the water. The chain
hauled the boats to the other side effortlessly, but the
sheer bulk of the army made the crossing take all morning.
It took yet more time for Onaeus to muster them on the far bank. He was riding
back and forth on his white mare, making sure
everything was in order. But his mind wasn't on the task at hand… He kept
seeing those eyes. 
In the end, he had the knights marching, and the cavalry sweeping ahead and to
the sides, more for the practice than any thought
that there would be an enemy close by. In this manner, they marched for two
weeks, along the flat, wide open plains of the
Coastlands. Farmers looked up from their crops as the army marched along the
road. They quickly turned back to what they were
doing; a similar army was rumoured to have come from Drak Kalthorne, along
another road to the south. The people knew
something was afoot, but thought that it would be safer if they knew nothing
of it, and left it to the capable people, like the knights
and the nobles, to handle.
     
  
  
The Journey to Dragonspire
       
 
  
Then, the army of Nova Q'lynnesti passed through the Dragonspine
mountains, to enter the Valley of the Emperor. Many great
cities resided within this valley, but the greatest of them all was
Dragonspire Keep. Rising from the centre of the valley like the boss
of a gigantic shield, the ancient castle stood atop the largest mountain
within the valley, overlooking her realm like the seat of the
king that she was. Battlements older than the race of man adorned her
walls, and high turrets raced to touch the clouds. 
Nestled in a valley between two wings of the mountain, was the city of
Dragonspire. She was a large city, with buildings filling the
valley, and spilling out onto the plain below. Larger palaces and manors
were perched on the slopes, affording a good view of the
city, and of the Valley of the Emperor at large. The buildings were
placed in a haphazard fashion, at least the ones that Onaeus
could see from where he was at the head of the Q'lynnestine army.
They were marching along the high road, a wide dirt track that had
already been trampled by the boots of thousands of marching
feet. Merchants and peasants swiftly took themselves off the road, to let
the army of shining warriors go by. The peasants'
dwellings were the first they passed, the ones that had no shelter in the
cities' valley. They were small hovels, many more than
existed in Soliath. The people within looked like a battered lot, yet
they still had that gleam in their eyes that something better must
lurk on the horizon.
Eventually the army passed by these people, and into the city itself. The
gates that guarded the valley were flung wide open,
admitting the warriors of the west with open arms. The white granite
battlements were bristling with flags, announcing the presence
of most of the other dukes. Onaeus duly noted this as he rode in, his
warrior-druids riding close around him, followed by the rest
of his army, the armoured footmen holding their spears in the air with
pride, their plumed helms waving in the breeze.
They emerged into the inner city, with its wide avenues, and small,
crowded houses. This was where the middle-class dwelt, in the
shadow of the Keep. The road he followed suddenly turned from dirt to
cobblestones, and all the streets were picked clean of
garbage and debris. The people lined up on both sides of the road, except
this time the people were welcoming new friends, rather
than saying goodbye to old ones.
The column marched until they almost reached the mountain. A huge plaza
opened up before them, empty of people, save for three
men on horseback. Onaeus knew them for minor nobles, though he had never
met them. That much was apparent in the way they
rigidly sat on their saddles.
"Halt!" Shouted one of the three. Onaeus looked at the man in
consternation, curious as to why this man would presume to
command the Duke of Nova Q'lynnesti. He looked even closer, and noticed
with some apprehension that the man wore the silver
circlet of the Duke of the Lakes. Yet the man was not Stein, but some
stranger he had not seen before. Indeed, he did not
recognize any of these three… Yet another wore the circlet of Enchantica,
and the other wore the bronze circlet of the Baron of
Tol Brandir. He didn't know these people, and only a short time ago,
other brave men had held these positions… What had
happened to them?
The one in the centre, the tall one wearing the blue cloak of the Lakes,
dismounted and looked Onaeus in the eye. "I can see your
questions, my Praetor. All will be answered in due time, when you speak
to the Emperor. For now, send your legion to the east
barracks. They will be quartered there with the legion of the Coastlands.
You must come with us to the Keep." With that, he
mounted up again, and rode back a safe distance.
Onaeus didn't know what to say, was still shocked at seeing these new
nobles. He finally uttered out, "Yes… I will go to the
Keep… Is Emperor Haldir still alive?" he had to ask, as nobody seemed the
same here. 
The dukes' face darkened, thinking that Onaeus was jesting. "Yes, he is,
and he will do so for quite some time."
Onaeus sighed with relief, and signaled his marshal to lead the army away
to the east. His bodyguard stayed with the marshal as
well, save for two knights he kept with him just for appearances. Zungar
and Micah, newly appointed to the dukes' bodyguard,
were ever-watchful for their lords' safety, even in the heart of the
imperial capital. Together with the strange nobles, the men from
Nova Q'lynnesti turned their horses about, and began the long ascent,
along the twisting roads, to Dragonspire Keep.
  
* * *