The Dragon Writers Collection Read online

  The Plains of Ash were home to one peaceful human tribe and several tribes of fierce nomadic sub-humans called Ashen, who commonly raided the Eastern Kingdoms of Eagle Forge and Galynburg. Although certainly they were a menace to the outlying villages, the Ashen Tribes were a not a serious threat to the sovereignty of the Eastern Kingdoms.

  Hurkromin, located across the Plains of Ash, beyond the land-bridge that led to the Far Eastern Continent, was the ancestral home of the Orkine Races and the Kingdom of Hurkromin. These races consisted of the hurkin, who were the most intelligent and powerful of the Orkine Races; the Orok Tribes, who existed mostly to serve as slaves and battle fodder for their hurkin masters; and the Ogres Tribes of the Ogrewall Mountains, who were large and powerful, yet did not bend to the will of the hurkin who were superior in numbers. The Ogre Tribes had, in fact, migrated away from Hurkromin long ago and settled on the Northern Continent near where the Wildlands bordered Alfheym, the home of the Crimson Elves.

  Hurkromin was the main threat to the sovereignty of the Eastern Kingdoms, aside from Imperial Arnathia; there were many reports that the hurkin were preparing to wage war on the Ashen Tribes in hopes of gaining a foothold on the Arnathian Continent. Although the Alliance of Eastern Kingdoms was strong, they were not strong enough to fight the hurkin horde and defend against Imperial Arnathia at the same time.

  For the time being, the hurkin would have their fill with the Ashen Tribes and the Alliance was content to let them fight it out; it was widely accepted, though, that Hurkromin would win that war. Meanwhile, the Arnathians simply allowed the threat of impending invasion simmer, hoping the Eastern Kingdoms would invite Arnathia to come to their aid. Arnathia planned to answer that call when it came, of course, but they would have no plan to leave.

  Centuries earlier an ancient order of peacekeepers had been formed. Once, this mighty order had spanned across both continents of the known world. Now the Zuharim held influence in a few strongholds of the Northern Continent and in the Eastern Kingdoms. Also called the Order of Zuhr, the Zuharim were the faithful warriors of Zuhr, the eldest and chief god of Llars. These knights and paladins pledged their loyalty to Zuhr and his son, Ulrych, believing Zuhr to be revered above all other gods and mortals, and believing the god Ulrych to be their spiritual general. The Zuharim promoted order and justice and acted as the law enforcement officers of the lands who had accepted them into their societies, even serving as officers in some armies. Followers of a strong code of honor and chivalry, they believed that they must convert people to the ways of Zuhr and Ulrych by deed and example.

  Zuhr was the traditional patron deity of the various Cklathish peoples, though the Zuharim were not largely present in those lands. Carym recalled that Emperor Arnath was a devout follower of Qra’z, the Lord of War. Arnath had decreed that all the Arnathian Empire would honor Qra’z as the superior god among all others. Other religions were frowned upon and regarded with suspicion and animosity. The practice of magic was considered blasphemous and had been outlawed throughout Imperial lands.

  “Carym! What are you doing?” Hearing a familiar voice, Carym snapped out of his reverie and realized that he was now in front of the Silver Star Inn where Zach stood waiting for him, as he did each morning.

  “Sorry, Zach. Lost track of time,” Carym swung down and tethered Altus to the hitching post outside of the Inn.

  “Uh huh. Let’s get to the Temple. I have no idea what they want us to fix today, but I’m eager to find out,” said Zach anxiously, shivering in the cold of the early morning.

  Qra’z was the Lord of War and he had a greedy side; the Temples of Qra’z were famously opulent. Zach knew the bishop paid his workers very well to encourage excellent work.

  “How much?”

  “One hundred Holy Imperial Crowns each.”

  Carym smiled, thinking of what he could do with that kind of money, and followed Zach to the temple grounds to meet their client. When they arrived at the Temple Square they were shocked to see that a long row of wooden lock stocks had been placed in the courtyard. A squad of Imperial Soldiers guarded a group of prisoners who were shackled hand and foot and were sitting pathetically on the ground.

  “Hey, aren’t some of them clergy?” Zach nodded with a scowl, confirming Carym’s suspicions.

  “What’s going on here?” Carym nervously surveyed the scene.

  “If we were in Arnathia Proper, I’d say it was public discipline,” said Zach with an edge in his voice.

  “There has never been any such punishment in Hybrand before,” Carym was angry. “Especially at the opening of the Games!” He and Zach stared at the stocks with ill-disguised hatred.

  “Come on, we’re supposed to meet His Holiness, Bishop Darius for our orders.” Zach said quietly.

  “Look, that’s him over there by General Craxis. We better get moving, Carym, the crowd is starting to gather.”

  Carym glanced a moment at the scene. The prisoners were huddled together and surrounded by a circle of Qra’zim, the temple guards. Wooden bleachers had been constructed at one end of the square; the Arnathians had a legendary thirst for violence and blood that sickened Carym and most Cklath people. The fact that the bleachers were full of only Arnathians, except for the old Cheval family, was not lost on the two men. That lot fell in with the Arnathians during the early days of the occupation hoping to advance their status, unfortunately they were rewarded for their efforts.

  Even though the Chevals were privileged among the Arnathians, they were reviled among their fellows. Surprisingly, that revulsion had been exhibited by Lord Cannath himself. Cannath was the surviving member of the Du Val Hyr royal family, the former legitimate rulers of Hybrand before the occupation began, and the Chevals had long claimed to be an older family than even the Du Val Hyr family. Carym guessed they couldn’t get the recognition they wanted from their countrymen, so they got it from their occupiers.

  Carym sneered at the Chevals, resplendent in their Arnathian fashions, but he couldn’t help but spare a glance at young Willam. Carym had heard rumors that Willam and his younger sister Rashel had been speaking out against Arnathian privilege. It was rumored that the pair was on the verge of being disowned by the family House Father, called Hymsylf in old Cklahish. Carym had never been sure there was any truth to those rumors, but he did notice that Willam was an island of traditional humble Cklath garb in a sea of Arnathian opulence while Rashel was absent.

  “Damn Chevals!” whispered Zach.

  He knew that the Chevals were favored among the Arnathian nobility and more than a few Cklathmen had been jailed on the word of old House Matron, Elsa Cheval.

  Carym shook his head with a grim look on his face. They decided it was best not to enter through the main temple entrance. The pair hurried toward the gatehouse at the side entrance. Carym looked back and watched as a platoon of Qra’zim marched in perfect cadence into the square. The boot falls of the guard platoon struck like thunder on the cobblestones, reverberating off the temple walls. They were intimidating in their brightly polished armor with gleaming swords and their wicked Imperial short spears strapped to their backs.

  Carym knew that weapon well, and had spent grueling hours training with it during his service in the Imperial Fleet. It had a haft that was about two feet long with a grip at one end and a long blade made for slashing at the other, yet it could be thrown with deadly effect. The guard platoon was followed by a procession of the Holy Order of the Golden Dragon, the faithful warrior-monks of Qra’z, resplendent in their scarlet robes. Behind the monks came several opulently decorated horse drawn carriages that were likely bearing the governor and other Imperial noblemen.

  “What’s going on in the square today?” Zach asked a man guarding the side entrance. The man was stoic, standing in strict military “rest position,” his breath visible in the cool morning air. The guard slowly pivoted his head in precise military fashion and acknowledged them.

  “Are you the carpenters? Brother Roderious is expecting yo
u. He will receive you after these filthy heathens are dealt with. His Holiness, the bishop, has the unfortunate task of punishing them today, so the good brother will give you your orders instead.”

  This Arnathian guard spoke in a haughty and condescending tone. And he was no less threatening in his appearance than the other members of the Qra’zim.

  “What do you mean, ‘heathens’? Aren’t these men clergy?” Carym asked earnestly, recognizing the faces of two friends among the prisoners.

  The guard glared menacingly at Carym, unsheathed his sword and advanced on him. “All know there are no gods other than the Golden Dragon, Qra’z! These filth don’t worship the Golden Dragon, so they must be heathens!” the guard placed his sword tip on Carym’s chest. “Heathens in service of demons! Whom do you worship, carpenter?”

  Choosing not to push his luck, Carym dropped to one knee and made the sign of the Golden Dragon, with his hand. “I worship Qra’z. I was merely inquiring about the demise of my fellow Cklathmen. I was not aware that the church had taken this position; forgive me, I meant no disrespect.”

  Carym suddenly remembered why he had given up meddling in the affairs of others; it often led to trouble with the Arnathian military or the Qra’zim, who were not as fond of his fellow Cklathmen as Carym was.

  The guard stared at Carym for a moment, then sheathed his sword and said no more. Carym rose to his feet and walked cautiously through the gate toward the square ensuring he was out of earshot of any of the Temple Guards.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Zach hissed.

  “I don’t know, but I think we just barely escaped joining those prisoners in the square. I had no idea that the Church of Qra’z had abandoned its position of tolerance toward other faiths,” Carym whispered quietly, still in shock from the encounter.

  The young men saw several Imperial dignitaries gathered around the bishop, Brother Roderious, and General Craxis. They watched as the bishop stepped onto a raised platform and the prisoners were marched in line before him, spear points pressed in their backs. The guards stopped the prisoners in front of the platform, removed the shackles from their legs and backed away. Guards armed with crossbows were positioned nearby in case the prisoners tried to escape, although there was certainly little chance of that.

  The bishop, resplendent in silver and golden robes with a large white conical hat atop his head, held a tall golden staff in his right hand that was topped with a dragon’s head, the symbol of Qra’z.

  Although the head of the Imperial Church in the Northeast Territories was old, having reached his eighty-fifth year, he was remarkably fit. Close to seven feet tall, the bishop towered over most men. With his baritone voice and penetrating silver eyes he commanded respect. It was widely believed that the bishop could actually see a man’s soul, and his glare could burn a man’s skin with holy radiance when he was angry. Today, the bishop made sure he looked squarely at each of the prisoners before him.

  “Greetings Hybrand Imperial Territory! May the great and powerful, all-knowing Qra’z bless you this day, which stands as the opening day of the Brotherhood Games. These criminals before you represent all that the Brotherhood Games seeks to end. They are heretics who spurn the might of Qra’z and encourage dissidence!” he paused for a moment.

  “The Most Holy Emperor has been in holy communion with our god. Qra’z is not pleased! The Lord Qra’z has been tolerant of these infidels among us for too long. They have been given the chance to convert of their own free will, yet they do not. They enjoy the privileges of life in the Arnathian Empire, yet they do not show Qra’z the proper thanks he deserves. From this point forward, all heretics and infidels shall be arrested on sight and offered a chance to repent and convert.”

  There was a murmur of agreement throughout the spectators and even a few of the Chevals nodded silently in agreement with the charismatic pontiff.

  “The thankless heathens of this and other conquered lands have fostered evil in the hearts of men for far too long!” he bellowed. “The heathen religions support and encourage crime and deceit. Our Lord Qra’z has commanded that this will be tolerated no longer!”

  He turned his attention to the men in front of him. “By decree of His Most Holy Majesty Emperor Arnath, by the Grace of Zuhr, Defender of the Faith, and His Eminence Lord Patriarch Verazu, all subjects shall be given the opportunity to change their heretical ways; else they face eternal damnation on the Fires of Hades!”

  The bishop scanned the gathered throng of Arnathian settlers and made eye contact with any who would dare to look toward him. The gathered Arnathians muttered their approval as the bishop turned to face the prisoners.

  “Should you choose not to repent, you will be given seven days to change your minds,” he sneered as he looked down upon each of the prisoners. “After seven days, if any of you have not yet converted, you will be put to death!” He paused again before facing the crowd of approving Arnathians. The bishop was fond of drama and he enjoyed making a spectacle of those whom he labeled heretics whenever possible.

  “You men claim to be clergy,” he spat as he spoke the word, “Clergy of Zerva! All know that Zerva is not a goddess but a demon witch who possesses the souls of men! You stand before me charged with heresy and treason. I will give each of you a chance to convert and save your souls from an eternity of damnation!” The bishop stepped down from the platform and approached the first shackled man, who stood proudly.

  “Thrayador Bruahn, you are the leader of this church, are you not?” he asked the first man, sneering.

  “Indeed, I am Your Holiness,” he replied properly. Thrayador was keenly aware of the precariousness of this situation.

  “Repent! Declare your soul for Lord Qra’z the Enlightened Dragon and renounce the demon you claim as your goddess!” he shouted for all to hear. The prisoner, forced to stand before the bishop, stood proudly in his earth colored robes with his shackled hands before him but, wisely, he remained silent. He knew that any words other than ‘I repent,’ would be turned against him. The two holy men stared at each other for a long moment.

  “Very well,” said the bishop as he turned to his elite Qra’zim guards, “Captain, put him in the stocks!”

  “Sir!”

  The captain signaled and Thrayador Bruahn was dragged to the stocks and locked in place. As the bishop continued down the row of prisoners, one by one the men maintained their silence and the bishop committed them to the stocks. The wily bishop had expected no less. In fact, he would have been disappointed if these men robbed him of the opportunity to condemn them to an eternity of damnation.

  Carym looked at the gathered dignitaries and saw Lord Cannath among the Arnathians, a grim look on his face. Cannath was of the royal bloodline of Hybrand, last of the House of Du Val Hyr, and widely looked upon as a sellout by his people. For treacherous reasons Cannath’s grandfather, who was brother to Kiernan, the last Thayne of Hybrand, had supplied the Arnathians with the names and locations of the thayne’s generals, advisers, and other nobles having any claim to the throne. Arnathian assassins murdered every person whose name was supplied to them by Cannath’s grandfather in one bloody night. Many innocent people, including children, had been murdered that dreadful night. The Cklath are a people who take great pride in family and value their children above themselves; such a horrific event was beyond their capacity to forgive.

  Their country had been surrendered to the Arnathian Empire in the dark of night and all its means of defense had been rendered impotent. A group of Cklathmen loyal to the murdered thayne organized an attempt to repel the Imperial forces. Hopes of reinforcements from the Cklathish Thayne Connor Anuryn I of Bythyn, were dashed when a fierce Vaardic fleet aided by the Arnathian Navy intercepted Thayne Connor’s fleet as it descended from the north reaches of the sea. Badly outnumbered and sustaining heavy losses, they were forced to turn back. The rebel movement was crushed and almost every man capable of fighting against the Arnathians was imprisoned, pressed into service in t
he Arnathian Army or killed.

  Various liberation movements had, over time, extended their hands to Cannath’s grandfather, then his father, and now Cannath himself, in hopes that he could negotiate better terms for his countrymen. Yet time and again, Cannath and his predecessors neither accepted aid nor took part in any rebel movement. As a reward for his loyalty to Arnathia, Cannath’s grandfather had been granted the title of Count of the Empire. He was figurehead ruler of the territory, but a rich one and that made him happy. Yet the title of Count was not a hereditary one and neither Cannath nor his father had been granted the same title.

  There were rumors about Cannath, too, Carym remembered. Some said that he failed to support rebel movements to this point because he knew they had all been doomed to fail. Carym wasn’t sure.

  “Dryume Oakharam, do you renounce the evil demon witch?”

  Carym’s attention was drawn back to the bishop as he heard the name of his old friend, the druid. Carym watched with trepidation as the bishop removed the gag from his old friend’s mouth, he was the last of the prisoners present. Fearful for his friend’s demise, Carym watched closely and saw that the old druid’s lips were moving.

  “Speak your faith, heretic! Whom do you serve?” the bishop shouted. But suddenly, Dryume disappeared in a puff of smoke! The deafening silence was broken after a moment by a curious murmur from the crowd.

  Bishop Darious looked around furiously as the crowd began to rumble. He turned to the crowd, “You have witnessed an example of demonic sorcery. This is a grave situation, I’m afraid.”

  The bishop addressed the crowd, smiling inwardly; he couldn’t have planned this better. “These druids are evil demon-worshipers, savages who engage in human sacrifices! They eat human flesh and they are criminals of the lowest sort! Dryume Oakharam will be hunted down and destroyed in a fashion befitting a demon worshiper!”