Chapter One: First Sparks
John waited in ambush. The hated oppressors would have to come through soon. The small province of Surven had been conquered by Erondia, and he was leading the resistance. His father, the steward of Surven, had been slain in the initial conquest, and his Liege was still petitioning the Earl of the West to re-instate Surven’s independence. Until then, John was leading the remainder of the castle guard and a motley crew of peasants to make things tough for the occupying forces. From his vantage point in the tree he couldn’t see anything, but he knew an esteemed guest of the invading lord was arriving today; or would be, if it wasn’t for the ambush he had planned.
Hours passed, and John waited. “What if he doesn’t come?” John mused. “What if he comes by another route?” John quieted the problematic thoughts, keeping his mind on the job at hand. The other routes were covered, albeit not as well, and if the guest didn’t come, there was nothing John could do to stop that. Offering a quick prayer to Brereton, god of victory, his eyes returned to the path. Dusk was approaching, and then John heard the sounds of an approaching horse.
John waited a few more moments for his target to come into view of his hiding place, and took careful aim at the stranger. Strange was the word to describe him, he wore robes, like a Priest of Exidaid, but they were bright and garish. Blues contrasted with purples and greens, and odd symbols covered the entire robe. He wore an odd, crooked hat, tall and bent, fashioned from the same cloth as his robes. He rode side saddle, his robes too long to allow him to ride otherwise, and didn’t even have his hands on the horse’s reigns. However the horse appeared to know exactly where it was going.
He held his breath as he squeezed the trigger, and the bolt flew true. At least it seemed to, however when it reached the stranger it seemed to vanish. Confused, John knew exactly what he had to do. Dropping from the trees, he drew a short sword and stared down it’s blade at the now stopped rider. He could now see that his foe was podgy and poorly groomed. However his foe was not intimidated. Laughing heartily, the stranger made a gesture, and a gale struck up. Wind forced John to the ground, his sword dropped by his side. In a deep voice, stepped with authority the stranger spoke. “Arrogant child, attacking a wizard. I suppose they don’t have The Guild here, but still, surely one must know better. Follow me.” Muttering some phrase under his breath, the wizard calmly continued on his way.
John paused, confused, and began to walk away. However whenever he attempted to walk in any direction but along the path, after the wizard, gales tore him from his feet and forced him to follow. After the third time being blown several ells through the air, and then being dropped suddenly like a sack of turnips John decided that discretion, this time, was the better part of valour and followed meekly. Battered and bruised, broken in spirit, shattered in pride and thoroughly confused, John said nothing as the keep he once called home loomed closer and closer, taking on a terrifying aspect he had never noticed before. Everything in him told him to run, but he knew that it was futile. He was defeated.
Twice more in the slow and torturous trip returning home John tried to escape. Once when he thought the wizard was distracted. Later on he pretended to pass out, but the wind merely forced him along the ground at high speeds, ripping up his already poor quality clothing and skin. He was planning his third attempt, when the wizard spoke again. “I wouldn’t if I were you boy. You have to understand who you’re dealing with. I’m no mere hedge wizard or cheap conjurer. I am Articus Forron, wizard of the Sixth Tower.” The wizard’s voice dripped with arrogance and self congratulation. “Now, when we get to the castle, you are to immediately present yourself to the jailer, and ask for a cell, explaining who you attacked. I know you will, my winds of command will see to it.”
Helplessly, John found himself walking down the twisted and twirling stairs towards the dungeons. Step after step after step. At the merest hesitation, an impossible wind blew up pushing him onwards, threatening to topple him, throw him down the stairs, and potentially kill him. Suddenly John had an idea. He began running down the stairs, at double pace, remaining close to the wall. Any moment now he’d come past the old door, which never closed properly thanks to swelling with age and damp. He saw it and just as he came past it he dived to the right, into the room. Standing up slowly, with a feeling of success, he suddenly realised there was no wind billowing against him. Now all he needed to do was to open the old spy’s passage, and he could hide within the castle until he saw fit to make his escape.
He began to walk further into the room, but was launched backwards by a sudden billow. He suddenly found himself rolling down the stairs, bruising on every bounce, the cold and hard stone unyielding and unmerciful. Bouncing against a wall, he managed to pull himself to a stop, and then soon found his feet. Head downcast, he gingerly continued walking down the stairs, thinking of nothing except the next painful step. He suddenly realised that this was it, he’d lost. He couldn’t fool the magic; he had to follow Articus’s instructions to the letter. A tear ran down his cheek. “It couldn’t end like this! It just couldn’t!” Suddenly he realised that it was going to end like this; that life isn’t fair. This was the end of the road.
Each step seemed like a new defeat, with him not even daring to hesitate, going from loss to loss, surrender to surrender. He heard the sound of his footsteps, echoing and taunting him, each one a proclamation of his cowardice. Over the last month, John’s world had crashed around him, and today it was finally over; all that remained of his old life was rubble. He would likely end his days, ill and desiccated, starving and thirsty in the dungeons, too weak to even stand. He would be forgotten, unremembered by all but the dead. Even his name would be scratched out of the annals of nobility, perhaps he would be a footnote in history. John Pyra, last of the Pyras, lost Surven to invading forces. Verifying the existence of John Pyra is difficult, as he is no longer in the annals of nobility.
He finally arrived, his head bowed and his voice subdued. Walking up to the jailer he murmured “Can I have a cell? I assaulted Articus Forron.” The jailer stepped back, confused. “Punishment for assault is a day in the stocks lad, I think whoever sent you down here was giving you a scare. You go apologise to this Artikus lad, and think about what you’ve done.” John paused momentarily at hearing this, realising that he had fulfilled the letter of Articus’s instructions. If this didn’t work, all he’d get is a few bruises, and if it did, he was free. He walked away, with growing elation at his newfound liberty. The spell was broken, he could escape. He formulated a plan, and started running up the stairs, two at a time with the energy and vigour of freedom. He ran to the spymaster’s room, and walked through the old door that never closed. He found the section of wall that wasn’t attached, and pulled it out. Stepping through the gap, he carefully replaced the wall section behind him and then made his way quietly to the hidden room. He offered silent thanks to Tassan, the family god, for making him the 6th son, and apprenticed to the spymaster.
When he arrived, he made sure that no-one had entered the room, and spoke the password to de-power the rune of explosive tension, designed to explode if anyone entered the room while it was powered. Once he entered the room he quietly closed the door, reapplied the rune, and watched the glow return to the arcane sigil. Next he decided to check the chest. Reaching into the chest, he removed the carefully organised false reports, and then the false bottom of the chest, before pulling out the most recent ledger of reports and catching up on the events of the last months.
Sateday, first of Oregust
Prior reports of the mobilisation of the Doge of Drakeward have been false. Instead of moving south, as if he were to invade Green Hall, he turned east. This bodes poorly for us, more information is needed.
Fewday, eighth of Oregust
It seems that the Doge of Drakeward is moving this way. Lord Pyra has left the castle, leaving command to Mark, Heir of Surven. Lord Pyra hopes to petition the Earl of the Westerlands to edict this war over, for Surven has no hope of withstanding a protracted siege.
Sunsday, twenty seventh of Oregust
Today both Mark and Tom have died, leaving me in command of the castle. I passed command on to Harrow Schmendrick, the Castellan of the Guard, and fled the castle. I hope to gather information regarding Drakeward that will help Lord Pyra’s cause. I am no fighter, but an informant and advisor in the ways unseen, so I shall help in the ways that Tassan sees fit.
Here John stopped, crying over the memories of his older brothers. Although they were much older then him, they were close. Tom taught John all he knew about fighting, and he could remember watching Tom die from an infected arrow wound. The priests did all they could to heal and cleanse the wound, however Exidaid had ordained it not to be, and the vileness had slowly choked Tom from the inside. Mark died instantly, falling from the walls after a piece of shrapnel pieced his head. He was too far gone for any of the Priests of Exidaid to even attempt to do more then scrape into a coffin.
The next report was in his own hand, as he took up the mantle of acting spymaster of the castle when his master left. Although there were no reports, he chronicled what he could.
Monusday, 28th Oregust
Today marks my first day as acting Spymaster. There is little to be done here, most of my hours are spent leading the crossbowmen on the walls.
Fewsay, 10th Septvember
Today Harrow died, defending the outer walls against the breach. His younger brother Raek Schmendrick has been promoted, and leads the castle defence. Martin is still with the priests of Exidaid, and can not lead us is battle, and all of my other older siblings are out the castle. Gerald is at court, and Erik we have not heard from in seasons. Leaving me the youngest, technically in charge, but I am inexperienced, and leave our defences in the hands of Mr Schmendrick.
Wetday, 21st Septvember
Today we abandoned the outer walls, they are breached in too many places. We retreat to the Keep, where we should be able to hold for some time.
Highday, 30th Septvember
Today the Keep has been breached. The defending forces have surrendered, in return for safe conduct to exile. Raek told Martin and I to leave, anonymously, and to make our way south to Court and join father in his petitions to restore us our lands. However, the roads are being watched by the Doge’s men, and we decided to wait anonymously in the villages until the roads are safer. Martin and I are taking sanctuary in the Church of Exidaid. The Doge doesn’t dare breach the sanctuary of Exidaid.
The last entry is written hurriedly, John remembers the panic of writing it down. They escaped by joining the priests moving out of the castle to the church. He remembers walking along with the novices of Exidaid, silently keeping his head bowed as they walked out in their white robes. The guards didn’t want to bother the priests of Exidaid, because who knows when they would next get hurt in their line of work? Some amount of injury is almost inevitable when you’re in such a violent line of work, and many of the guards owed their health, if not their lives to the mercies of the white priests and Exidaid. You don’t treat priests with anything but the greatest respect, because their lord is almost certainly more powerful then yours.
Several quiet weeks in the church went by. John found himself collating reports from a number of the peasants who were dissatisfied by the new regime. A few families fled, but most remained. After all, one lord in a castle that never speaks to you is no different to another, and this new lord wasn’t going to bother messing in the affairs of the peasantry. However some felt some commitment to their old lord, having been treated kindly and fairly in a dispute, or possibly having had their crops wrecked or family killed in the invasion. Only a very few supported the new regime, those who had been punished for crimes under the old for the most part; the greater part of the populace was mildly negative.
So it turned out that the invader had decided to set up court here for a few months, probably to deter any armies sent by lords more sympathetic to the plight of Lord Pyra. The holes in the walls his siege machines had left were being quickly repaired, and the army he had brought were being brought back up to fighting strength. Re-enforcements arrived in small bands, some mercenaries were hired, and the rebuilding for the inevitable attack was increasing. John had made sure that the peasantry, if let into the castle would do everything in their power to make defending hard, and if not, would assist with the siege. Those with farms close to the castle had already had their farms destroyed and their crops looted; the farms further out were safe, as whoever wanted the land wanted the foods and produce intact.
John waited these months for the incoming siege to come, and did all he could to prepare for when it came. However, when the invaders had held the castle for a full six months, and no attack had come, John could wait no more. The Doge had returned home, leaving an occupying force to hold the castle. A new lord of the castle was expected to arrive any day now. For John, this was the last straw. He grabbed his crossbow, visited the peasants he knew were most loyal to him, and set up a number of ambushes across many of the roads. The most likely road he kept for himself. Soon, there would be a reckoning.
Back in the present, John resolved that there would be a reckoning at the first opportunity. But he must not rush it. Wizards were no ordinary men, and first he must find out the limits of this wizard’s power. Then, he would crush him.
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