"Loss can be an end to things or a beginning. True loss only exists when it becomes a justification for surrender." - Sebastian I of the House of Corvin
The Lyric of the Lord
By Lucas Ithsarryn
Tempered in sorrow,
Scarred by vice
Risking to borrow,
Banditry's price
The son of Corvin, march against war,
Quenching, quenched in blood,
With family and people, driven out
Stratham's fall, Limbfield evermore
Black-clad killers, the hands of a coward,
Heralds of darkness, so it seems
Take what was stolen, next step to power,
The dreams of the lost, broken dreams
A sorrowful tear, show the world,
Alone, a scheming man's smile,
Begin from the ends, banners furled,
A noble new Lord in exile
He floated in darkness for an eternity, lost to the murk and stink of decay. Cold water embraced him, seeping through his clothes and burning against his left leg and chest, and he had the vague sensation of movement in short, rough bursts. The darkness gradually receded from pitch black to gray and the cold water sheathing his body now battled against a growing heat from within. Swimming in delirium, he hallucinated and fell deep within himself. The bursts of movement became shorter with long gaps in between and he became aware of fewer and fewer semi-lucid moments.
Sebastian woke up screaming, fighting off a pair of hands that reached for his throat.
"Settle down, young sir!" a man's voice commanded, "There is nothing to hurt you here. Just relax."
He found himself inside a tan stone building on a cot that was laid out next to five other similar cots. Three of the cots had occupants, all wounded and undergoing treatment by a young, white-robed woman. The man who had been trying to calm him down wore white as well, although he was much older, balding and wrinkled with a kindness in his deep, brown eyes. Bandages had been wrapped around Sebastian's left thigh and upper chest, all faintly smelling of herbal poultices and healing unguents.
"Where am I?" Sebastian demanded in a coarse voice, sitting up and slinging his legs over the side of the cot.
The movement triggered a sharp pain in the right side of his chest and he winced, wetly sucking in air through his teeth. His head swam for a moment, but he forced it under control.
"Easy." the man steadied him and pressed a cool, wet cloth to his forehead, "The fever still runs in your blood. It's safe here. You're in Merriton, at a White Order hostel."
Sebastian knew the White Order, although mostly by reputation. They were a small, independent group who took it upon themselves to heal the sick and feed the hungry. He remembered them offering aid to some of Stratham's poorer farms during a particularly lean harvest when he was younger.
"Merriton." Sebastian echoed, rising to his feet but still feeling dizzy, "How did I get here?"
The priest's eyes filled with sadness and his mouth turned grim. Sebastian followed him outside to where almost a score of corpses had been laid out on the ground, side by side. They were all former citizens of Stratham, escapees who had reached Merriton only to succumb to their wounds soon after. He couldn't help but wonder how many more had fallen in the swamps, never to be found again.
In the latter half of the arrangement, one of the bodies stood out from the others, devastatingly familiar, and Sebastian turned his back the moment he recognized her. Barely four years his senior, Seliece had watched over him since he was a child. Now she was gone forever.
"She dragged you in just before dawn two days ago, all but a corpse, and insisted we treat you before her." the priest revealed, "There we so many wounded from Stratham. Even if we'd been able to get someone to her, I doubt she would have lasted the night."
Sebastian swallowed his tears and inhaled a deep breath.
"And my mother?"
"Dead, I believe. The young lady told me she had to abandon her mother's body in the swamp." his sadness seemed to deepen and he placed a consoling hand on Sebastian's shoulder, "I see. She was your sister."
The young man didn't answer, instead striding back into the hostel building and returning with a long, cotton tunic and his sundered chain mail shirt in his left hand. He pulled the tunic over his head, careful not to aggravate his chest wound, but chose to continue carrying the heavy chain mail.
"Thank you for everything you've done." he told the priest, clasping the man's hand firmly in a gesture of appreciation, "But I have to get back."
Within an hour, he joined a caravan of White Order relief supplies bound north and west. The relatively short journey seemed to drag on forever. Every minute he was away from Stratham passed like an hour, anxiety twisting like a vise inside him. With his mother and sister gone, thoughts of only one other person dominated his mind. If his father still lived, Sebastian knew he would find him in Stratham. After witnessing the carnage of the attack first hand, he realized the possibility was slim, but he didn't care. He had to know for sure.
When they finally reached Stratham's broken gates, a robust, young White Order priest met them with great relief and appreciation. Behind him, in the ravaged streets of the town, a number of men and women dressed in white robes and tabards moved about purposefully, assisting the survivors and helping to rebuild the town. The caravan priests immediately began unloading bundles of blankets, clothing, herbs and bandages from their cart while the young priest gave directions indicating where to place everything.
"Excuse me." Sebastian interrupted the man, hopping down out of the wagon and tapping him on the shoulder, "I'm looking for someone, a man. His name is Raen."
The priest paused for a moment in his work, considering the query with a mild furrow to his brow as Sebastian's insides twisted ever more tensely.
"Are you a relative?" the man asked.
"He's my father." Sebastian nodded slightly, watching the priest intently for an indication that he knew the man's fate, "The lord of Stratham."
The priest's expression became troubled and he shook his head sadly.
"You're a Corvin, then." he walked around the cart to a stack of salvaged weapons and armor and withdrew a worn but well-maintained longsword from the pile, "I'm afraid I have bad news for you."
He handed the sword to Sebastian and the young man recognized its significance immediately. He had seen it hundreds of times, belted around his father's waist, the only trapping of nobility the man had ever allowed himself. The last time he had seen it, it had been in the man's hand as he fought desperately to provide an opportunity for his family to escape. Tracing his finger across the Corvin family crest on the weapon's crosspiece, Sebastian closed his eyes tightly and bowed his head in a moment of somber silence.
"We found his body by the south wall, but judging by his clothes, we thought he was one of the fallen peacekeepers." the priest offered in apology.
"No, I understand." Sebastian pursed his lips in saddened contemplation, "He died fighting alongside good men to defend good people. He would have wanted it that way."
"I'm sorry." the priest consoled him with a strong hand on his shoulder, "What will you do now?"
Sebastian inhaled a deep breath and straightened his back, pushing his grief aside as best he could for the moment.
"The Light of Hope" Fountain -Talus, Larocia
"I'll do what my family would have wanted me to do." he resolved determinedly, "I'm going to make this right. I swear it on my life as the Lord of Stratham."
Over the course of the next week, Sebastian assisted the priests with the recovery of Stratham. He tended the wounded and distributed supplies to his people until the day a small contingent of Fort Davas guardsmen arrived with a message extending aid from Lord Adderly to the beleaguered town. Knowing the inevitable confirmation that the son of House Corvin had survived would put his life and the lives of those around him in great danger, Sebastian made a difficult decision. In order to spare Stratham more pain, he chose to leave behind both his title and his home.
The White Order priests understood his unfortunate predicament and agreed to smuggle him out of town before any more of Adderly's forces arrived. They waited until early the next morning, when one of the last White Order supply caravans arrived. After unloading the supplies, they created a false bottom in the bed of the wagon where they secreted Sebastian.
He lay still in as comfortable a position as he could manage for more time than he could measure. Without provocation, guardsmen inspected the wagon at the gates and at two separate points along the road. Each time, Sebastian held his breath in the closeness of his narrow sanctum, listening tensely as the guards questioned the priests and waiting for the moment when one would discover him. He had no doubt now that he had become a hunted man.
He endured the discomfort in silence as the wagon continued on, rolling over the uneven road until the sun had risen high in the sky and began to descend again. The planks that covered his hiding place abruptly lifted away and a tall, lanky, young man wearing a travel-worn red and gold tunic leaned over the opening with his hand offered out in greeting. He was clean-shaven and reasonably handsome, with a shock of unkempt strawberry blonde hair, pale, green eyes and a wolfish grin. |
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"Hello there." The man took Sebastian's hand and helped him up out of the cramped compartment, "Sorry, almost forgot you were down there, but no harm done. Road's as clear as it's going to get now."
Sebastian sat up in the back of the moving wagon, rotating his neck and stretching his stiff, sore muscles, thankful to finally be free of his cedar wood prison. Judging by the position of the sun, it was late afternoon, meaning he had spent almost six hours in hiding.
"Name's Lucas." The man smiled congenially, "I don't believe the Whites told me your name."
"Sebastian." He replied, nodding briefly to the man and peering out through the wagon's cloth canopy, "Where are we going?"
Larocian Royal Banner
Lucas stretched out on the floor of the wagon and folded his hands behind his head.
"Withirk and, after that, who knows? But we're still a few hours away. Sit down and relax." He answered, contentedly allowing his eyes to sag shut, completely unfazed by the near-constant shuddering of the wagon as it traveled over the bumpy road, "Living on the run isn't so bad, Sebastian. Stick with me, I'll show you the ropes, you'll take to it in no time."
Sebastian sank down with his back against the low wall of the wagon frame and pulled his legs up close to his chest. There was no telling how long Adderly's men would be searching for him, but he wouldn't be able to go back to Stratham until he found some way to stop him. Propping his chin on his knees, he lost himself in troubled thought, with only the monotonous sound of the wagon's creaking wheels and Lucas' faint, restful breathing to keep him company.
Over the next two years, Sebastian learned a great deal from Lucas. Not a fugitive as he had originally thought, the man was actually a priest of the little-known Red Order, a struggling ancient organization that shared common ties with the White Order. Where the White Order devoted themselves to acts of charity, the red was focused primarily on a dedication to history and knowledge. Lucas' extensive knowledge as well as his modest command of divine magic made him a fine traveling companion. More importantly, he became a good friend. Since Sebastian had begun his self-imposed exile, friends and allies had been too few and far between. The pair survived mainly by losing themselves amongst various groups of other itinerant people, always moving from place to place while staying aware of any news that came their way about Adderly or the towns.
Stratham remained effectively lost to Sebastian. Edran Adderly's magnanimous offer of aid on behalf of Fort Davas turned out to be more of a thinly-veiled way to establish stewardship for his son, Kavas. Since then, taxes had risen sharply in the name of a "relief fund" which more than likely served only to swell Davas' coffers. The spirit of the Stratham Sebastian knew had been destroyed. The common folk rarely even referred to it by its proper name anymore, calling it Limbfield due to the abundance of corpses which had been strewn about the surrounding area for weeks after it had been overrun.
As he became more comfortable and competent living the life of a vagabond, Sebastian grew bold enough to seek support against Adderly, traveling from town to town and attempting to arrange clandestine meetings with their ruling lords. Most lords simply refused him outright. Even those who had felt pressure from Lord Adderly themselves and sympathized with his plight were unwilling to offer anything more than refreshed traveling supplies and perhaps a night's shelter. Without a noble house or a town to back him, Sebastian was simply too risky a prospect to support. He made a point never to bring unnecessary difficulty to those he visited and kept his presence as secretive as possible, knowing that they all had enough problems already without antagonizing the lord of Fort Davas, as well. After two years, Sebastian grew quite accustomed to both the procedure and the outcome.
He had just left another failed petition, this time with Lord Lok of Lokshire, and stormed, quiet and angry, down the street. Habitually, he kept to the shadows. Three times in the past six months, he'd been recognized and pursued by unsavory people, likely Adderly agents in disguise. Rumors of his survival had been circulating since the day he had first returned to Stratham and Adderly was likely paying very well for any information that could confirm those rumors. As the tyrant's influence continued to grow with the other lords Sebastian found that he could afford to linger less and less in civilized areas. Ducking in behind a dark tavern, he found Lucas standing at the back door, propped casually against the jam, leaned in close to an attractive serving girl and favoring her with a charming smile. Sebastian deliberately stepped into view and the girl started, hastily putting some distance between herself and Lucas. With an uncertain curtsey in Sebastian's direction, she backed into the building and closed the door.
Sebastian scowled unintentionally at her gesture. No doubt Lucas had already explained Sebastian's history to the girl, along with every sundry detail of the last two years they'd spent sneaking in and out of various townships seeking support against Lord Adderly.
Lucas was a good friend, as staunch an ally as he could have asked for during his exile from Stratham, but sometimes the man's fascination with his fallen house and the accompanying habit of telling the tale to every mildly interested party he happened across could be a bit trying. Such openness was likely what had allowed the Red Order to preserve great deals of history and culture since long before Larocia ever existed as a nation, but in their current situation it often became a detriment.
In truth, after living for two years without a true home, Sebastian hardly looked like displaced nobility and felt the part even less. After leaving Stratham, he had purposely divested himself of all trappings of his former life. Even his father's sword, the blade that bore the Corvin name, he left in the hands of the White Order priest who smuggled him out. His clothes were caked with road dust, stitched together in multiple places by his own hand, and his dark hair hung low and unkempt in his eyes, but Lucas always maintained that there was something in his bearing which alluded to noble ancestry.
"Come on. We have to go." Sebastian said mirthlessly.
Lucas straightened quickly and shot a quick, regretful look to the closed tavern door.
"Already?" he complained with a soft groan, "But I booked us rooms. And there are dice players in there. If we wait until they're good and drunk, we could walk away with some decent coin."
He paused, noticing Sebastian's lack of enthusiasm.
"Didn't go well with the lord, I gather?" he surmised with a raised eyebrow.
Sebastian shook his head and turned for the city wall, climbing up into the lower branches of a nearby tree and then jumping to the top of the wall itself. It was always the same lately. Harborview, Barleydale, Hopdale, Klopher, all of them.
"Lok is just like all the other lords." Sebastian remarked angrily, "He knows what's going on, but he's too scared of Adderly to make a stand. I'm surprised he even heard me out."
"Can you blame him after what happened to Stratham?" Lucas replied, accepting Sebastian's offered hand and deftly pulling himself up over the lip of the wall.
"It's worse." He pursed his lips tensely, "They're building a city."
In meeting with Lord Lok, Sebastian had learned that Edran Adderly and a group of other, like-minded lords had collectively claimed a huge piece of land south of Mount Isholm with the intention of bringing the heads of all of Larocia's ruling trade houses together for mutual benefit. Sebastian knew the truth, though. Adderly cared only for his own ambitious ends and this new city of Adderton was no more than an elaborate method to feed his arrogance and tighten his grip on the other trade houses. Anyone but a fool blinded by promises of power could see that Adderly intended the city to become his capital. And yet none other than Sebastian were willing to defy him.
"Oh." Lucas responded bluntly, equally perturbed, "So now what?"
Both men dropped to the ground side by side. Sebastian landed with a heavy thud while Lucas smoothly rolled with the impact of his own landing and came up into a springy crouch.
"I don't know." The exiled lord considered, stealing into the nearby trees with a troubled frown, "How far south have you ever traveled?"
Lucas followed close behind, skillfully picking amongst the branches, "As far as Thainesford, I'd say. There's not much else beyond that. Certainly no lords of any consequence if that's what you're thinking."
Up until now, Sebastian had believed finding support within the trade houses to be his only chance of unraveling Adderly's scheme, but there were other, less obvious factions which still held power in Larocia.
"What about that peninsula you once told me about along the south western shore?"
"Oh no, Sebastian." He stopped and shook his head sharply, his pale, green eyes, wide and unblinking, "Not there. You don't want to go to Zalmira. Those people aren't like regular folk. You can't trust them."
"I thought you said no one has ever actually been there since the fall of Shatterspire?" he continued undaunted.
"Um, well, no." Lucas hesitated, "But I've never heard a single tale about Zalmira that ended well."
"Do we really have a choice?" Sebastian countered, his face drawn and serious, "Someone has to stop Adderly. Who else can we turn to?"
Lucas opened his mouth in continued protest, but found no words. Gut instinct screamed at him to stay far away from Zalmira, but he could not leave Sebastian to face the place alone.
"I know the way." He admitted quietly, "But it's going to take a few weeks to get there, especially if we want to avoid the roads."
Sebastian nodded and continued marching through the brush. With every passing day and every trade house that allied itself with the lord of Fort Davas, Sebastian lost a little bit of hope and his future became grim. Now, with the situation more desperate than ever, he had found the strength to fight that much harder to protect the land he loved. He was prepared to risk everything to stop Adderly, even if it meant trespassing in Zalmira, the fabled City of Sorcerers.
- From the Book of Sebastian |
