| |
The Nazcan Hegemony, in the 3012th Year of the Common Age
Journeying via translocation was deemed a feat in the world of Aisen. Only True Bloods bestowed with the gift could harness the mind’s energy to drive a tunnel through space, water or solid rock and cover vast distances in a matter of hours or minutes. And even then not all such enyra were skillful enough to navigate their way with utmost precision.
It was not so much forging the ephemeral corridors that connected one point to another or the travelling within that was the biggest challenge. Rather it was the exit that worried most.
If one was not precise enough, one could emerge in deep water several leagues from shore, above a yawning chasm, or on the edge of a volcanic cauldron. And anything or anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in the blossoming of a portal would be all but torn apart by the energies generated. Thus it was generally forbidden to open portals in populated areas and the majority of True Bloods preferred the tried and tested methods of transportation, eschewing swiftness for the relative safety of overland travel or passage across the seas by ship.
Such was not the concern of scions of the ruling house of Ylandre. The Essendris were among the most talented in the mind arts in all Aisen. One could count on one hand the number of True Bloods equal in strength to Rohyr Essendri, Ylandre’s youthful monarch and head of the Royal House. And while his kinsfolk of royal lineage might not be as powerful, they possessed most of the gifts associated with mental adepts and almost all had been highly trained in the wielding thereof.
The three Deira who emerged from the translocation corridor onto a wide plain mantled with pale green grass and dotted with scattered groves of evergreens and many a stony patch were not exceptions. They were well-born, evidently related to one another and a very comely lot, Yovan Seydon no less handsome, well-knit or lofty of height than his nephews, the twin sons of the Herun of Losshen, Ylandre’s most northerly fief. All three were dark-haired and blue-eyed though Yovan’s locks were a shade darker and Zykriel and Gilmael’s eyes a hue lighter.
Zykriel glanced behind him to ensure all their escort of six warriors had exited the pulsating portal. He then closed the opening which swiftly contracted until it winked out of sight. Catching Yovan’s brief nod, he urged his zentyr forward, the signal for the others to follow suit. The group traversed the plain at a brisk pace toward Elana, the capital city of Medav, current center of Nazcan political power.
The reason for their visit was ostensibly to negotiate the reopening of trade with this northwestern realm. Successful trade agreements between nations often led to mutual prosperity and closer political ties. Many alliances came about in the wake of beneficial economic relations. This had once been true of Ylandre and the Nazcan Hegemony.
Possessed of one of the more curious political systems of Aisen, the Hegemony was governed by a Triumvirate of a Prime and two Legates chosen from the four Herune or tetrarchs who ruled the quartet of nigh autonomous domains that composed the Nazcan realm. In reality, the Legates served in an advisory capacity leaving the reins of actual rulership to the Prime. This meant the entire Hegemony submitted itself to the supremacy of one domain for decades at a time.
This was ironic considering the realm’s nobility banded together two millennia ago, overthrew their Nazcan overlord and dismantled his domain. But the victors chose to retain their oppressors’ name to remind themselves of the remaining domains’ equality and keep ambitions in check.
Altogether bizarre, Zykriel thought, and proof that reality could be stranger than anything one’s imagination could conjure.
The last Prime to engage in diplomatic relations with Ylandre ruled during the reign of Rohyr’s great-grandfather. The succeeding Prime had allowed only a limited consular staff. His successor had gone further by resuming full diplomatic relations with Teraz, a principality hostile to Ylandre. Worse, an ill-advised, clumsily worded intervention by someone close to the throne exacerbated the tension and set back Ylandre’s attempts to rebridge the gap.
That was what made dealing with this realm problematic. One never knew if a new Prime would continue or overturn his predecessor’s decisions.
The reigning Prime was Eulan Shidara concurrently Herun of Medav. He had so far remained neutral in the conflict between Ylandre and Teraz as had the current Legates, the Herune of Savanar and Astura.
Rohyr desired to push the realm toward Ylandre’s side of the equation once more. The Hegemony made a formidable ally and could therefore be a dangerous enemy were it to back Teraz instead. Hence the keenness to negotiate with Eulan who had recently hinted at being predisposed to favor Ylandre in its ongoing quarrel with the principality.
Since diplomatic talks would be too direct an approach and alert Teraz to the attempt to reestablish an alliance, Rohyr had chosen the more circuitous route of economic relations. Hence the decision to send Yovan Seydon, his uncle and Chief Counsellor, and a representative from Losshen which had control of the northern trade routes.
Unexpectedly, Eulan had demanded that Zykriel and Gilmael represent their fief and sire rather than the Lossheni trade officer. But despite the suspicion that something might be afoot, it was agreed the opportunity to establish a new alliance with the Hegemony outweighed any unease over the Prime’s demand.
Zykriel breathed in the cool, crisp air, enjoying the refreshing scent of pine and heather. He had studied the geography of Medav and learned it was much like Losshen. It was also a land of mountains and moors with fertile valleys and thick forests. In the northernmost reaches, coniferous growth was the norm and the uneven landscape gave way to the tunneled hills and quarries of mining communities.
It was much more picturesque than its neighbor Bavia, seat of the Vashtins. Illustrations of Bavia presented a bleaker, less varied landscape. It was the main reason its ruling family hungered for more acreage. Hence their occasional incursions into the countries whose borders they shared. They were a greedy, grasping dynasty who grudgingly relinquished rulership each time a Vashtin took a turn as Prime. They were the most aggressive of the tetrarchic families and the least trusted.
With a grimace, Zykriel turned his thoughts away from that turbulent domain and focused on the city they now approached. He exchanged a glance with Gilmael and knew his twin as eager as he to explore the de facto Nazcan capital.
Elana was an imposing metropolis, extensive of size and rich in history. Much like Ylandre’s capital of Rikara, it was not enclosed within high forbidding walls nor did the sentry towers loom threateningly over the six gates. Farmsteads, orchards and a number of vineyards dotted the land around the city while small ships, barges and other water vessels plied the river that abutted the western section of the wall.
Though not as great of length or broad of width as the mighty Azira in Rikara, Elana’s river was nonetheless impressive and a major resource for the capital. One of the city gates opened on a long wharf where folk debarked and cargo was unloaded for transfer to dockside warehouses or delivery to establishments and residences within.
But it was nowhere as crowded as the thoroughfare leading up to the eastern gate, the main entry into the city. The road was wide, well maintained and saw much traffic. Even now as the sun rode low in the sky, carriages and wains continued to rumble along it and various steeds ambled or trotted to and fro.
Curious stares followed the visitors from another land. Though plainly clad, none of the Essendris could be mistaken for ordinary Deira
Their horned and dappled steeds were a giveaway that they were not common folk. Everyone knew zentyra were lawfully bred these days solely by the Royal House and the great fief clans of Ylandre. And only Ylandrins of noble stock or officers and select warriors of the kingdom’s army merited the use of these rare creatures that had once roamed the North Continent and South Vihandra and the plains of Khitaira.
The Essendris’ features hinted at noble blood but that was no certainty. Many a commoner could pass himself off as highborn if all it took was a refined appearance. Neither were their stations necessarily confirmed by the cut of their tunics—knee-length, belted at the waist and the sword arm sleeve ending above the elbow—or the emblematic earrings that dangled from their left ears. Emerald embedded in gold for the twins and an uncommon bluish-gray milkstone set in ley-silver for the Chief Counsellor. But then, charlatans were known to pose as aristocrats so dressing in the fashion of the enyran uppercrust was no guarantee of one’s authenticity.
What banished all doubt was the way the three Deira comported themselves.
With confidence rather than arrogance. And acceptance of one’s superiority unmarred by boorish condescension toward others. There was an air about them of expectation of their due, but without the galling sense of entitlement the less secure of station often displayed. When stopped at the gate where city officials inspected foreigners’ travel documents, they did not take offense but awaited their turn patiently. Small wonder they drew much attention as they made their way into the city.
They rode down the stone-paved main street toward what was known as Embassy Row, the district where the diplomatic corps resided or held office. Zykriel took stock of the city that would serve as the Hegemony’s capital for so long as its Herun ruled as Prime.
Elana was a fortress town in its earliest days when the Hegemony had not yet come into being and Medav was a small independent state. The remnants of the original wall that surrounded what now constituted the city proper were still visible albeit much worn down or assimilated into various structures. The predominant color of the buildings was gray, a characteristic of most cities north of the Ylandrin border. The farther north, the less variety the quarries offered.
The city was saved from drabness by the profusion of greens and flora that blanketed walls and crept onto roofs, hung in colorful arrangements from eaves, formed herbaceous borders for drives or pathways and sprouted from pocket gardens before every structure. The scents of blossoms, foliage and herbs faintly permeated the air.
They turned onto Embassy Row which was two parallel streets located three blocks away from the government district. Here were the buildings that housed the offices and residential quarters of ambassadors and consuls to the Hegemony while a Shidara bore the Prime’s coronet and staff. When the Widhan chose another tetrarch to rule, the embassies and consulates moved to the new ruling domain and Embassy Row nigh emptied of its residents leaving the buildings in the care of basic staff and groundskeepers. However Ylandre had closed down its diplomatic holdings in Bavia rather than risk the safety of its staff in that hostile domain.
The Ylandrin consular house was one of the larger properties, the spacious three-storied mansion serving not just as headquarters for the kingdom’s diplomatic representatives, but also providing accommodations for visitors of note or high station.
Nowadays, with Ylandre’s diplomatic status downgraded to a mere consulate, the staff was likewise reduced from three dozen envoys and clerks and a contingent of retainers to a barebones team of two junior consuls, three scriveners and a handful of attendants. Zykriel knew the staff’s main functions were to issue travel papers to Medavi who sought passage into Ylandre, officiate at handfasting rites for Ylandrins residing in the domain, and provide sanctuary for expatriates unfortunate enough to draw the local authorities’ ire.
Given that few citizens were permitted to travel to Ylandre and no Ylandrins lived in the Hegemony at present, the consulate was a very quiet, almost somber place to be. Zykriel could only wonder how much more dreary it was for the consular staffs in Astura and Savanar.
He acknowledged the greetings of the staff with a small nod and warm smile. He imagined they must be delighted to have guests to leaven the tedium and loneliness.
Strictly speaking, their visit was not a diplomatic one. Nonetheless, Rohyr had instructed his uncle and cousins to reside in the neutral territory of the consulate and thus claim the protection proffered on envoys rather than stay in the Shidara castle which their royal blood normally warranted. The Ardan was not about to leave his relations at the mercy of the Prime should he have a sudden change of heart or his shifting sympathies be no more than a ploy to gain potential pawns.
––––––––
“What is Eulan Shidara like?” Yovan pressed the consuls for information over a simple dinner of quintail soup, smoked swylboar sausages, a mélange of northern root vegetables and cranapple tart. “Is he difficult to deal with?”
With so few staff left, only a section of the mansion was in use. The upper stories were closed off save for a few guest chambers. Only occupied or regularly used rooms were cleaned daily. The formal dining hall showed signs of having been hastily dusted and swept. But the many-branched lamp that hung from the ceiling was left unlit and the chamber was bathed in shadow save for the candlelit portion of the long table where the Ylandrins dined. Zykriel suspected the staff much preferred daytime however slow and boring the pace to the atmosphere of doom and gloom nightfall brought about.
The first consul glanced at his colleague. “He isn’t exactly difficult, Seydon-dyhar. But he’s quite aloof and reserved. It isn’t easy to read him.”
Gilmael took a sip of wine before remarking, “At least they’re upfront about their reticence as opposed to some who hide their machinations behind prattle.”
“And his sons?” Zykriel asked. The Prime had three who’d survived to adulthood.
“I would say the same of them, my lord,” said the second consul. “He’s trained them well in the art of dissemblance.”
“But they’ve gained much favor with the Widhan,” the first consul added, referring to the Nazcan council of nobles and church leaders charged with electing a new Prime. “There’s talk that they will choose Diarmin to succeed his sire. It will be a first in a long while if that comes to pass.”
“Yes, the last time a direct heir succeeded as Prime happened centuries ago,” Yovan said. “What of the younger two? Are they as capable?”
“Lioval is quite the rake. A patron of the fleshpots of Medav or so we’ve heard. We haven’t had much occasion to study Qristan. He stays in the background, whether by order or choice, we don’t know.”
“Which doesn’t mean he isn’t intelligent,” Zykriel said.
“Indeed, it doesn’t,” the first consul agreed. “Eulan’s sons aren’t official advisors to their sire, but we think he heeds their counsel more oft than not. Verily, I believe they’re all viable heirs, even Lioval for all his lecherous ways.”
“Will they be present during our audience with Eulan?”
“Diarmin always is. The others? I’m not sure.”
The second consul shook his head. “I think they’ll all attend if only for the opportunity to lay eyes on three of the Ardan’s closest kin. They’ll want to see for themselves what the Essendris are made of.”
Gilmael grinned. “I see the family reputation has preceded us.”
“But which version?” Zykriel mused.
Yovan snorted. He set down his cup and rose to his feet. “I’m for bed,” he announced a bit peevishly. “It’s been a long day.”
The twins chuckled as they and the consuls stood up.
“Not to mention you weren’t able to bid Uncle Mered a decent goodbye,” Zykriel teased.
“Uncle Yovan loathes not getting a proper sendoff,” Gilmael told the envoys with a smirk. “But given how ardently Uncle Mered goes about it, I don’t blame him.”
“Bite your tongue, Gil-min,” Yovan mildly scolded. “Not everyone is used to our particular brand of humor.”
He and the consuls left the hall and headed for their quarters. The twins however lingered while the retainers took away the dishes and wiped down the table.
“What say we take a look around?” Gilmael suggested. “Get a sense of the city. Meet some of the folk.”
Zykriel regarded his brother skeptically. “At this hour? Speak plainly. You just want to tumble some willing soul.”
Gilmael shrugged. “I believe I’m free to do as I wish.”
“Now you are. Again. You’ve broken, what, three betrothals to date? Or is it four? I’ve lost count.”
“Oh come now! They weren’t betrothals.”
“That isn’t what your aggrieved lovers believed.”
“It’s hardly my fault they thought warming my bed was tantamount to being formally affianced. Besides, I didn’t ask any of them to marry me.”
“Nay, you just intimated you might.”
“Which is still not an actual proposal.” Gilmael took Zykriel by the elbow and ushered him out of the room. “Ah, enough of this. Let’s not spend our first night here discussing my affairs. Admit it, you’re as curious about Elana as I am.”
“Not for the same reasons,” Zykriel muttered.
Nonetheless, he allowed a retainer to drape his dark gray cloak across his shoulders and followed Gilmael out of the house.