ZARRYIOSTROM CHAPTER ONE BY NENE THOMAS

[putnamwitches]

Chapter One

“Preparations”

.......... After two months of incessant construction on the city in general, and the Cathedral in particular, the frenzied preparations scarcely registered to Tavian Two-Blade any longer. He wasn’t exactly ignoring the work that was finally nearing completion, but it had gone on for so long now that it almost seemed commonplace—if indeed the word “commonplace” could be used to describe any aspect of the monumental undertaking in the first place. The sheer scale of the renovations the city had undergone was staggering, as was the cost of the entire project. The people of the city-state of Ithram had been working at a fevered pitch to prepare for the Convocation, a month-long celebration of the Ascension of Zarryiosiad, and as the date of the Convocation approached, the work had intensified ten-fold. The results the craftsmen and servants had achieved were already breathtaking, but every day brought another faded masterpiece back to its former glory. And though Tavian no longer truly noticed the workers, he never stopped admiring and appreciating the results. It was as if the city was transforming itself before his eyes.
.......... The tall, graceful elven mage walked through the city’s cobblestone streets at a measured pace, covering ground quickly and efficiently without actually rushing. He made excellent progress despite the large number of people, for even the densest of crowds would part for him as if by magic—sometimes without consciously realizing that they had done so. The people that did recognize him however, curtsied or bowed, or made whatever obeisance their customs dictated; after all, not every person in the crowd was native to Ithram. But native or not, the formal black robes of a Mage, and the staff and ornate medallion of a High Councilor were unmistakable. The large diamond embedded in his staff’s tip and the even larger one worked into his medallion had both been enchanted with a minor dweomer, making them shimmer with a swirling maelstrom of red and white energy; a signal to all who understood such things his mastery of both Fire and Storm magic. It didn’t matter if the people knew him by name; his formal attire combined with his noble bearing and powerful presence were more than enough to command respect all by themselves. People all along his path hurried to clear his way, and Tavian would absentmindedly acknowledge their courtesy with polite nods. Despite this, he didn’t slow his brisk pace, and he never stopped to engage in conversation. He wasn’t exactly being rude, but there were very important things to do today, and though he generally made it a point to talk to anyone brave enough to approach him, today he really didn’t need the distraction a protracted conversation could bring. For that matter, a mage of the High Council didn’t really have to walk at all, but Tavian always preferred to use his own feet whenever possible. He often told his sister Enaria that elves were not truly meant for city life, that they were instead meant to live simple existences in majestic forests near crystal clear lakes, but she would always dismiss his romantic view of Elven life with a slow exasperated shake of her head, as if he were too hopelessly backwards and simpleminded to even bother to try answering. She had never actually called him a yokel, but any time the subject came up he could tell that she was thinking it. For his part, Tavian could remember the first time Enaria had entered the city to begin her training as a Mage. She had been the yokel then, a young girl completely out of her depths, but Enaria had adapted very quickly—much quicker than he himself had in fact. It hadn’t taken her long at all to become a creature of the city, and sometimes he wondered if “corrupted” might not be a better word than “adapted” to describe her experiences in Ithram. She made no secret of the fact that she vastly preferred its busy streets and crowded avenues to the simpler structures and quiet grace of their home city of Cyn’Carath, and her once shy nature had changed to one of almost casual arrogance. Enaria had become a firm believer in the rights and privileges of the ruling class, and she took great delight in reminding people of her power and station. Her personal carriage was very grand indeed, pulled by four matching white elven steeds and driven by an elite member of the Mageguard in full livery. When people saw the carriage coming, they would rush to get out of the way; for if they didn’t, they would be run over…as simple as that. For that reason alone, Tavian believed that Enaria would never willingly return to their home, if indeed it still was her home. After all, in Cyn’Carath there were no horse-drawn carriages—and no crowds to make way for her.
.......... So lost in thought was he that he didn’t realize just how far he’d actually walked. It wasn’t until the cobblestone avenue stopped abruptly at a giant marble archway that he realized he had reached his destination. The archway was the only break in a perfectly smooth stone wall, twenty feet high and hundreds of feet in both directions. The wall had not been constructed with bricks or stone blocks; it had been raised in an instant by Zarryiosiad herself, using her powers as an earth mage to create it in one piece from the very bones of the earth. So perfect was the white wall that even after 2500 years, it was still as smooth as glass. Not so much as a chip had broken loose, and not a single crack had formed. She had created the wall long before her Ascension, to allow her father some privacy from the worship of the citizens of Il’Amhar, and to provide him some protection from the assassins of the Fae’Rohs. Tragically, the wall had provided neither.
.......... Tavian passed through the marble archway and entered the formal grounds of the famed Cathedral of Zarryiosiad. The cathedral was a study in grace and elegance, and the man who had designed it had spent his entire lifetime overseeing its construction. It hadn’t been completed before his death, but his heirs had carried on with the construction using the detailed drawings and notes he had left behind, and the result was not so much a building as it was an artistic masterpiece. The grounds surrounding the cathedral were immaculately tended, with a large reflecting pool in the center of the courtyard. A 12-foot tall statue of Zarryiosiad wearing stylized and ornate armor stood on a marble plinth in the middle of the reflecting pool holding a sword in one hand and the ruling crook of a Fae’Roh in the other. A lion lay at her side—a feline guardian forever protecting his charge. That always amused Tavian, for in none of the histories or legends he could find of Zarryiosiad had he ever heard of her keeping a tamed lion as either a pet or a guardian. And even if she had owned one, somehow he doubted the greatest mage that ever lived had actually needed its protection. He supposed it really didn’t matter: the statue was absolutely flawless in every detail, and if the artist had decided to use artistic license in the creation of it, he had been entitled.
.......... Tavian did not stop to admire the glowing statue or the perfectly manicured lawns. Instead, he moved past both, and strode up to the ornately carved and gilded doors marking the entrance to the Grand Cathedral itself. The Dragon Guards at the door recognized him instantly, came to attention, and pulled open the massive doors for him. As he passed through the doors, the captain of the guard saluted him. Tavian acknowledged the salute with a nod, and then he passed through the doorway and entered the greeting hall. As always the hall was well lit, for one of the most ingenious designs of the cathedral was the gigantic arches that allowed for enormous stained glass windows. The midday sun filtered through those windows, bringing the stories contained in the colored glass to scintillating life.
.......... Tavian glided down the center of the Great Chamber’s main hall, finally slowing enough to take the time to notice the improvements. The renovators had not only restored the marble and granite, they had polished everything to a high sheen, and he found that the cleanliness pleased him greatly. The last Convocation (and the cleaning that had preceded it) had occurred almost a hundred years ago, and while the Great Chamber hadn’t exactly fallen into disrepair, it had required more work to clean it up than had been originally estimated. But thanks to the round the clock efforts of the servants, the marble had finally regained its glow, the golden statues had regained their luster, and the friezes and frescoes were awash with color.
The vaulted ceiling in particular was breathtaking. The story of Zarus the Liberator, and his daughter Zarryiosiad the Avatar, played out on beautiful murals from the ornate gilded doors all the way to the Great Chamber itself. The very first mural showed the Fae’rohs in all their glory, forcing countless generations of slaves to build colossal stone monuments to their greatness. The original artist had captured the cruelty of those insane beings perfectly; complete with mounds of dead and dying men and elves heaped up almost as high as the ziggurats they had died to build. A slave of even the least powerful of the Fae’Rohs would have been worked under the cruelest of conditions possible until he or she died unnoticed and unmourned, only to be replaced by yet another unfortunate soul in an unending cycle of meaningless death. Meaningless, for the Fae’Rohs were Earthborne—and so powerful were they that they could have raised the ziggurats in an instant using only their magic, in much the same way as Zarryiosiad had created the white wall surrounding the Cathedral. The Fae’Rohs chose to use slaves instead, forcing them to raise the structures one stone block at a time. Raising the ziggurats wasn’t the point, after all. The true point was absolute control.
.......... The second mural showed the coming of the human Waterborne, Zarus, and his rise to power as a great leader among the human and elven slaves. Tavian stopped for a moment to marvel at the intricate detail the restoration had revealed in the mural. Zarus had been a powerful and charismatic man to be sure, but Tavian felt certain that Zarus could not have been as sure of his path as the artist who had painted the mural had portrayed him. The light of wisdom and compassion glowed in the heroic figure’s eyes, but Tavian had a shrewd notion that desperation more than wisdom had had a hand in Zarus’ true expressions. Zarus had promised his people freedom, and had ultimately made good upon his word, but the journey had been far from an easy one. Zarus had led the slaves from the heart of the Fae’rohs’ strongholds and power, through thousands of leagues of burning desert and volcanic rock to the very ocean, with the greatest of the Fae’rohs, Ankhophtet, and his entire army pursuing like the very hounds of hell. When desolate land turned to endless water, many of the slaves gave up hope, but Zarus had planned well. He had known that the Fae’Roh would believe that the ocean would block their escape, and would be in no hurry to catch them. After all, they had nowhere to go, so escape was impossible. But Zarus had then done the impossible: he parted the ocean itself, and provided an escape for the desperate slaves.
.......... The third mural showed Zarus’ people arriving on Il’Amhar—the Isle of Amhar—known today as Illymar, and the death of Ankhophtet. Foolishly, Ankhophtet had pursued Zarus even onto the pathway Zarus had made through the ocean. Unfortunately for him, his army wasn’t fast enough to catch the desperate slaves, and though Ankhophtet had been one of the greatest of Earth mages, it had meant less than nothing when the slaves reached the safety of the island and Zarus had finally released his hold upon the parted waters. In an instant, the cruelest and most powerful Fae’Roh of them all had been destroyed, and Zarus’ people had gained their freedom. Tavian was a great admirer of Zarus; the strength and power it would have taken to part the waters was miraculous in and of itself, but to hold those waters at bay for the days it would have taken the slaves to reach Il’Amhar would have been a close approximation to hell for the mage.
.......... The fourth mural showed a more peaceful time for Zarus and the freed slaves. After the death of Ankhophtet and the destruction of his army, civil war had broken out among the Fae’Rohs. Lesser Fae’Rohs, long jealous of the power Ankhophtet had held, moved quickly to increase their own domains. Entire families of the Fae’Rohs were wiped out as the struggle for power became vicious, and eventually broke out into open warfare. Zarus used the respite the civil war had given him very well indeed. He organized the slaves and used them to build a great city, and made every man, woman, and child learn at least the rudiments of warfare. The once-hopeless slaves forged themselves into a nation, and that nation built an army. Il’Amhar became a bastion of defiance against the tyranny of the Fae’Rohs, and the name Zarus became a talisman for the slaves still under the yoke of oppression. As word of Zarus’ miraculous escape spread, more and more slaves attempted escape, risking death and worse on the faint hope of reaching Il’Amhar. Not all survived the attempt, but those that did found safe haven on the island, and the tales those slaves brought of widespread dissention among the Fae’Rohs dramatically strengthened the will of the new nation. For now they knew the secret that the Fae’Rohs had struggled so long to keep hidden: they were not gods, for they could be killed.
.......... As Tavian continued admiring the mural, a figure glided up to him from behind and said,
.......... “Breathtaking, aren’t they? When they were commissioned, there was some argument about the graphic nature of the depictions. Some of the opponents of the project wished the artist to soften the images or replace them with pleasant euphemisms. The Patriarch of the time rejected that notion, believing instead that to lessen the severity would lessen the impact. Looking at the images as they are now, I believe he was right. The series of murals perfectly captures the essence of what Zarus and Zarryiosiad endured, may they forever grace us with their wisdom.” Tavian smiled at the voice and turned to face the speaker.
.......... “Indeed. In fact, it’s a shame you let them fall into such disrepair in the first place. Masterpieces such as these require just as much care as the floors and benches.” Tavian gestured at several nearby initiates, busily sweeping the floors with straw brooms or polishing the woodwork and benches with oily cloths.
.......... “Truly. Unfortunately, maintaining the murals takes a great deal more effort than we can achieve with mere brooms and wax. It costs a great deal more as well. Thankfully, the murals were sealed with magic shortly after they were created, so they can’t be damaged by time or neglect. However, the cost involved with cleaning them is far too prohibitive for us to do it casually. I’m afraid for the time being, cleaning them once a century for the Convocation will have to do. For that matter, that’s about how often we clean the formal dinnerware.” At that, Tavian laughed and said,
.......... “I don’t know about the dinnerware, but I do hope you remember to wash the napkins at the very least, Archidraconus Semarill. It would be an unforgivable sin if one potentate or another were allowed to see how remiss the clergy has become in its care of some of the church’s most important artifacts.”
.......... “I believe the Patriarch has mentioned something to that effect. I believe the word ‘excommunication’ was bandied about, as well as the phrase ‘mortification of the flesh’. I’m sure that the mere thought of the grave punishments awaiting any blasphemer who fails the church in its time of need has caused many a sleepless night for the initiates.”
.......... Tavian held out his hand, smiled warmly for his friend, and said,
.......... “It’s good to see you Ephraim. You’re looking well.” Archidraconus Ephraim Semarill took the extended hand and shook it, then said,
.......... “And you as well, Tavian. May I inquire as to the reason you have darkened my doorstep this beautiful day? Or are you just here to appreciate the artwork?”
.......... “I am here on business, Ephraim, but I must confess that the power of the murals actually did draw me in. All joking aside, what you’ve accomplished here is nothing short of miraculous, and I expect that most, if not all of the guests, will be overawed by the Cathedral displayed in all its glory. Your people are to be commended.” Semarill bowed graciously at the compliment, visibly pleased that the murals had had such an effect on his friend.
.......... “But enough of that; I came here to speak with my sister and with Archimagus DeVir, actually. I was given to understand that they were here.”
.......... “You understood correctly. They are in the main chamber with His Holiness at the moment. Shall I guide you?”
.......... “If you would be so kind, I would very much appreciate your effort.”
.......... “It’s no effort at all. And I promise to walk slowly enough that we can both appreciate the murals.”