399 Post Cataclysm
The following is a summary of my research into the gods, their history, and the events that led to the cataclysm. I have left out conjecture as much as possible, but since most information was written by human scholars, some questions remain ambiguous.
I will be using the current standardized dating system of Before Cataclysm (B.C.) and Post Cataclysm (P.C.), but it should be noted that the Cataclysm occurred in the third era of Marianna, Year 235.
—Issaroh, The History of Divinity,
Part 1, 147 P.C.
Captain Bronwyn Amyna stared down the three disrespectful recruits who had arrived that morning from the war over the Iron Bridge to the south—a three-day ride if the soldiers came directly. Their injuries—a limp, two amputated fingers, and partial blindness—were enough to see those of privileged birth could retire from the front line. Now it was up to her to make sure they were still of some use to her country in the guard corps of Emestria. Not a single one had risen to attention. They idly talked despite her presence. Captain Amyna cleared her throat—no response.
“Ey, I thought they said the captain was supposed to come greet us?” asked a man with a bandage wrapped tightly over his left eye. He smiled wryly as he stared at Captain Amyna. Her icy blue eyes locked with his unbandaged one.
The training arena was lined by six-foot stacks of pine wood logs secured with bracers on either side. On the far side of the arena, three targets—simple human-shaped dummies—were positioned, their wood pocked and scarred by crossbow bolts used in practice. On the right, an assortment of armaments was arranged on racks, mostly spears, shields, halberds, but some swords and two heavy crossbows as well. The guard didn’t use rifles, so none were provided for practice—black powder was much too expensive anyway. Saltpeter mines had yet to be discovered in Emestria, if there were any. All of the mines discovered so far were in Tara, a nation far east of Emestria.
The morning’s sun seemed brighter because of the snow swept to the side of the arena. It snowed nine months out of the year in Northern Emestria. Light flurries happened during the harvest and renewal season. During the glacial season, powerful blizzards would blanket the land in a sea of white. Respite only came during the planting season.
Captain Amyna wasn’t in the mood to defend her title today. As both the youngest and first female captain of the guard, her identity should be no mystery to these men. She turned and walked over to one of the shields leaned against a rack. She lifted a bulky tower shield and dragged it over to the chatty man. This particular tower shield’s leather straps were purposefully loose, making it more difficult to hold. It was normally used as an example of why properly maintaining your equipment was so important. In addition, the curvature of the steel had been a prototype for a new shield configuration but proved difficult to hold because of the vibrations being focused on the wielder rather than dispersed around them.
“Three strikes,” Captain Amyna said, holding the shield toward him.
“What?” he asked.
“What, Captain,” she corrected, then dropped the shield at his feet. “If you can withstand three strikes then I will yield my position to you.”
He laughed and a wide grin crossed his face. At six foot two, he was a good four inches taller than his new captain and outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. Using two hands the man raised the seven-foot sheet of steel and brought it down, sinking the three-inch spikes into the sandy ground to stabilize it. The other two recruits widened their distance.
Captain Amyna untied her hair from her ponytail. The straight golden tresses waited patiently on her pauldrons. She loved to feel the locks follow in her wake as she fought. With a single hand, she hefted her massive greatsword from its scabbard on her back and leveled the four-foot straight steel blade at the man, calling her shot. He leaned his body into the curvature of the shield and braced his feet against its weight.
Amyna took two steps forward, pivoted on her third, and twisted, spurring the sword onto its trajectory. The muscles of her arm and shoulder tightened, controlling the strike. The wind whistled behind it as it cut through the air. At the last second, Amyna curved the strike up, bringing the six-inch flat of her sword against the shield, not wanting to waste a honed edge on a lesson. She struck right above the shield’s center, leveraging the shield’s weight against the man.
The resounding clap of steel on steel echoed in the arena, startling some guards performing mid-morning training. The recruit’s smile turned to shock as the shield’s purchase in the ground gave way and the vibration shook his hold of the leather straps free from his grasp. He faltered and stumbled backward while trying to regain his grip.
She pushed forward, bringing more weight to bear, and brought her weapon back for a second strike. It wasn’t needed. The recruit had lost his grip completely and stepped free of the massive steel slab, which now fell to the ground with such force that it provided more danger to him than protection. Her blade’s point now hovered inches from his throat. Captain Amyna’s steady grip prevented it from wavering or showing any sign of weakness.
“I yield,” the recruit said under his breath.
“What was that?” Captain Amyna asked, not moving her sword.
“I yield,” he repeated a little louder. “Captain,” he added before she resheathed her weapon.
The demonstration had caught the attention of one of her lieutenants, who was training a half-dozen men on defensive stances. The woman now approached. Few of the women in the guard kept their hair long like their captain, and the lieutenant’s closely cropped hair was completely hidden in her helmet. Only her frame and lack of a beard betrayed her gender.
“Lieutenant Jakul, put these three through basic. They need to relearn how to behave in front of their superiors.”
“Wha … No!” the recruit interrupted, forgetting his lesson already. “I know magic. I shouldn’t even be here. I should be in the noble guard’s employ.”
Captain Amyna turned. “Must not be from that great of a house if your father could not buy your way out of the war.” The man’s face turned beet red from anger, embarrassment, or most likely a combination of the two. “If the noble guard wanted you, they would have hired you and you wouldn’t be in front of me today.”
“Captain?” The concern in Lieutenant Jakul’s voice helped calm Captain Amyna’s ire.
Squaring her shoulders, Captain Amyna addressed all three of the former soldiers, “This is not the army. Some of your skills will be transferable, but your job in the guard is to protect the people of this city. Tensions are high, the people are scared, cold, and hungry. If you march about town brandishing your weapons, acting like soldiers, you will only be increasing their misery. You are lucky to be chosen for the guard. Don’t forget that. I expect all of you to treat the people with respect and dignity.
“Basic training for all three.” The captain headed in the direction of the great hall as Jakul started to issue orders.
Bringing up the recruit’s financial situation wasn’t something Captain Amyna was proud of. She had let him anger her with his comment about magic. When she was awarded the position of captain of the guard, she was also afforded the right to study magic; a right normally only bestowed upon those of noble blood. After two years of rigorous study, she had failed to cast even the most basic of spells. Her failure was well known and the implication in the man’s comment didn’t go unnoticed.
There was little food left when she arrived in the great hall. A half-dozen long wooden tables—able to accommodate up to twenty men each but now empty—were neatly arranged in the middle of the building. Like most common buildings in Emestria, the walls were of thick wood, and the few windows that were constructed were now shuttered to conserve heat. Mid-morning daylight seeped into the gap between the window and shutter. A large fireplace at the end of the hall provided the majority of the light but several candles were still set up to illuminate the tables further away from the fire.
As Captain Amyna approached the cauldron still lingering next to the door of the kitchen, the pungent aroma of cabbage increased. The stew was utterly devoid of meat, and only a few vegetables were scattered at the bottom of the cauldron. She scooped up as much of the broth as possible. At least that would have some protein. Grabbing one of the stale pieces of bread that remained, she sat in the now-empty hall. Most of the guard would have eaten before morning practice. Despite her regimented lifestyle, Captain Amyna still indulged her habit of sleeping in whenever possible. She wasn’t lazy, but handled her paperwork in the late evenings, when fewer interruptions would be expected.
“You know, if you came earlier, you wouldn’t always be eating scraps,” the surly old cook said as he carted the cauldron back to the kitchen.
“Well, you’d think the captain would be afforded the courtesy to have her meal set aside,” she replied.
“Can’t play favorites,” he said, disappearing behind a door.
Damn that man. Previous captains had their meals served in their chambers, and she was well aware the practice only stopped when she achieved the rank. If he were one of the guards, she could have beaten him into submission. Of course, he was not, and she had yet to figure out a way to obtain leverage over him and have her meals set aside.
She had experienced other similar insults that her predecessors never dealt with. Amyna had to pick her battles. There was a fine line between forcing compliance and fostering discontent.
After her meal, she decided to stroll down to the markets to search for more sustenance. Perhaps some fishers had stumbled upon a catch. Despite hating fish, she knew protein was protein. Her knee-high black leather boots echoed on the cobblestones as she walked through some of the poorer sections of Solstice, the capital of Emestria. Like the hall, the buildings were unpainted wood with clay-shingled roofs. Some of them lay in disarray, their doors either broken completely or left ajar. It was a grim reminder of how many were dying in the war with Rouke, now approaching its second month.
Yellowed snow in one of the drainage ditches to the side of the road where someone had emptied a chamber pot this morning caught her attention. Thankfully, the snow that still lingered in the ditches covered up most of the offending odors. During renewal and planting season, ice melting from the mountains would help keep these ditches clear. Citizens were supposed to use the outhouses, situated far from wells, but at night and in the glacial season they often resorted to the centuries old habit of chamber pots.
Fewer doors were broken as she approached the market district, and a few women tended their front steps, brushing away the light dusting of snowfall received last night. Most of the buildings were domiciles with stalls outside to sell their wares, mostly produce. Some were shops that supported tradesmen, cobblers, blacksmiths, leatherworkers, and the like. Without their usual trade, the market merchants had shut down one storefront right after the other—the streets were barren of relief. The ground had frozen solid and there was no produce. Nothing was open. No one was staffing any stalls. She would go hungry this morning.
Some kids played in an alley, but upon closer inspection, it was not a game. They chased after rats, trying to swat them with pieces of wood. Captain Amyna told herself that they were helping their parents keep the vermin under control or letting off steam, taking their frustrations out on the pests. She had heard the stories though. Her people resorted to eating rats and mice to stay alive. If the kids were lucky enough to catch one, they would at least have some food in their bellies today. She shuddered at the thought.
In previous years, even during the glacial season, the capital did not want for food. A stockpile of grain, root vegetables, and fish would have been prepared to feed them through the long nights. But their enemy had strategically planned an offensive right before the harvest. Rouke formed a blockade on the Iron Bridge’s southern gate and seized the farmland and villages, now cut off from Solstice. Without access to the Iron Bridge, there was no way to replenish supplies. During this time of year, the waters surrounding Emestria became infested with ice floes that threatened to demolish any boat foolhardy enough to brave them.
The citizens of Emestria were on half rations, hoping to last until the renewal season when they would be able to resume normal trade or maybe enlist the help of friendly nations. Corinth could still be considered an ally, and the non-aggression pact with Tara meant they would still trade if they could get around the Roukian blockade of the Iron Bridge. If not for the Emestrian’s tenacity, they would have surrendered long ago. Instead, they would slowly starve through a bitter glacial season rather than submit to their aggressors.
Emestria had nowhere near the wealth of Tara—who exported precious gems, metals, and saltpeter from their mines, but the emperor of Tara had a fondness for the iron mined in Emestria. Only that iron could be forged into Emestrian steel, a feat the Taran smiths had yet to replicate. King Bryant had gifted the emperor four hundred pounds of Emestrian steel in the negotiation of the non-aggression pact between the two countries five years ago. The steel wasn’t required for rifles or cannons, but it allowed a more accurate shot.
Amyna’s hate for Rouke filled her belly and she had forgotten about food by the time she returned to her chambers. A hundred years ago Rouke was nothing more than city-states that spent most of their time fighting amongst each other. But then they created a centralized confederacy and turned their sights on the lands held by other nations. Emestria had tried to negotiate a non-aggression pact with Rouke after they destroyed Lynnfield, but Rouke refused to take responsibility and actually expected Emestria to surrender more land to the burgeoning nation of Rouke in exchange for the pact.
A large stone building next to the training arena served as the barracks, but Captain Amyna instead headed to a smaller offshoot of the building. As captain, she was afforded a private room instead of group housing. The room was small, a few feet between the bed and the walls on all sides, with a small table in one corner that served as a makeshift desk since her meals weren’t served in her quarters. But it did have a washroom with a tub. Water could be heated in the fireplace, which Amyna now stoked with an iron rod. She kept the fire burning throughout the colder months, and the room smelled of burnt maple and smoke.
Captain Amyna removed her armor, the pauldrons and breastplate affixed via straps to her padded leathers. Previous captains wore full plate, but she needed her armor light and supple so she could move with ease, dodging in and out of combat. She had to be lithe, nimble, and clever since she didn’t command the magics others did. After every humiliating defeat, she had trained harder, until it didn’t matter how many spells her opponent cast because she would close the distance before the first rune of her adversary’s magic materialized. If she struck before the runes were complete, the spell would be interrupted.
Captain Amyna’s shoulders slumped as she saw the new papers on her desk. A report of the war, along with what she dreaded most, requests for more of the guards she commanded to join the conflict. The guard corps had run out of volunteers long ago and although she did her best to select men without families, she would likely have to start sending those with older children to serve in the war. With a sigh, the captain sat at her desk and started to review the papers. The general, who commanded the army, was requesting twenty-four men. She would not only lose those men, but would also need to increase the number of guards that served double shifts to replace the army conscripts.
The captain took her files of the men currently serving in the guard corps and started to put check marks next to those that she would consider conscripting into the war. She rubbed her temple with each new mark as she went through the list. Thirty men were identified to serve and she went through the list a second time, circling those that she thought had the best chance of surviving or wouldn’t leave too many fatherless children.
A tap at her door startled Amyna. The benefits to living in the captain’s chambers could occasionally be outweighed by annoyances. Three hot meals a day versus cold stone floors. Privacy in a room barely big enough to maneuver in. A warm crackling fire and chambermaids knocking on your door to put more firewood in, even though you damn well know how to.
“Go away,” Amyna said.
“But miss,” the chambermaid replied.
“I can feed my lousy fire, and it’s Captain.”
“Yes, miss … Captain, but you have a summons from the castle.”
“Leave it at the door,” Amyna groaned.
“It’s important.”
“So is my bloody privacy.” Captain Amyna stormed the scant few feet to the door and opened it with a heavy hand. The maid proffered a single page of paper to her. She averted her eyes, unwilling to meet the captain’s gaze. Captain Amyna snatched the note and read it.
“Oh, bloody Chivas, lord of lies.” Amyna walked back to the fire and tossed the paper in along with a couple of logs. The maid didn’t leave but remained standing in the doorway, perhaps waiting for a reply.
“You’ve delivered your note. I’ll leave when I’m ready.” Captain Amyna stoked the fire again.
“Yes, Captain.” The maid pulled the door closed slowly. It did not make much of a sound when the latch reengaged.
“General Tiernan,” Amyna grumbled. She began the process of redonning her armor, latching the straps back on the padded leathers that lay over her white shirt. Any real general would not be summoning me to his war room. He would be on the front lines, with his men, risking his life. Instead, he’s calling on me to likely to request even more men from the guard to the army. To discuss a war that I’m not even allowed to fight in because I’m a woman.
General Tiernan had protested her appointment as captain, despite her winning the tournament affording her the rank. It was only when King Bryant himself had supported her claim that the general acquiesced. The king’s involvement did little to quiet the rumors nobles spread that she achieved her rank by whispering sweet words into the right ears.
Despite having no personal relationship with her king, she did love him—as all loyal subjects should. The invincible hero King Bryant was one of the few survivors of the catastrophe at Lynnfield. Her father had fought and died in that war and she now carried a sword similar to his as a remembrance.
When King Bryant’s brother had passed, the people secretly rejoiced that such a noble man would now lead their nation to greatness. That goodwill was squandered through the bickering and money lending of the nobles. The mighty nation of Emestria now stood on the precipice of disaster.
Captain Amyna grabbed a thick green cloak for warmth and wrapped it around her body as she left her room. The quickest way to the castle from here was through the nobles’ quarters. She debated going around. What would be more depressing: seeing the poverty her people struggled with or the luxury those with means enjoyed? Despite the war, the nobles still hoarded their wealth, entertaining delusions of buying their way into the good graces of Rouke when the country fell. Their houses will be the first to be pillaged and all their machinations will be for naught.
Private guards were stationed at the gates of the nobles’ quarters. One of the liberties of captain—yet to be stripped away—was the privilege of taking the shortcut through this part of Solstice. She stood in front of the guards, and they made no movement to unbar the gate until she parted her cloak, displaying the stamped insignia of claws and horns on her breastplate. She quickly covered the steel back up, ashamed of how it shone, having never seen war.
Even the streets of the nobles’ quarters seemed devoid of life. Expansive mansions of brick and glass windows were set apart from the paved street with rod-iron fences and gates. Plumes of gray smoke puffed skyward from their chimneys. During the renewal season, fragrant flowers blossomed in their well-manicured garden. The monarchy did not hold balls to curry the nobles’ favor any longer, being too poor to do so. There was little for the nobles to do aside from reading their books, acting out their plays, and lounging about, indulging in gluttony.
Captain Amyna revealed her armor again to be allowed admittance to the castle, but once inside, she was able to travel unhindered. The carpets that once adorned the stairs were sold long ago, along with the rugs that covered the cold stone in the great halls. The barren fortress was pitiful. It was dark as well; only a portion of the lamps were lit to conserve oil and wax. Before the ports froze shut, the monarchy was obliged to spend most of its money trying to purchase food.
As she approached the war room, the guards barring entry allowed her passage. Golden light illuminated the hallway as the doors opened. The scent of lavender, linseed oil, and a slight hint of mold wafted from the room. A large ornate table carved with the topography of northern Primerra dominated the space. Bookcases along the walls were littered with maps, scrolls, treatises on war, and tomes about military strategy. Inside the room, she saw the leathery face of the general, the frail features of the advisor, and, to Amyna’s surprise, the king. She knelt with such force her knee slammed into the floor.
“Your Majesty,” she greeted him, averting her gaze, putting a closed right fist over her chest, and bowing her head as low as she could in a kneeling position.
“Please stand. You can’t guard your king if you’re always on your knees.” King Bryant said before widening his eyes in surprise, likely now aware of the implication. This caused the general to guffaw and the gold-spectacled advisor to snicker. They were quickly silenced as the king frowned, narrowed his eyes, and shot them a disapproving glare. He cleared his throat and Captain Amyna rose.
King Bryant, the youngest of the heads of state in Primerra at the age of forty-two, was only seventeen years the captain’s senior, but his hair had grayed after assuming rule, and now his face was wrinkled and leathery with the stress of the current war with Rouke.
The doors behind Captain Amyna closed, and she noticed two soldiers in the corner. A woman stood between them—bloodied and bruised. Her wavy, light-red hair came down to her jawline. It was damp with sweat and clung to her round face. Her lip was split, and the skin of her face yellowed from not-yet-healed bruises. She was exceptionally short, easily only four and a half feet tall.
“With a heavy heart I lay bare the state of our nation,” King Bryant said. “Our coffers are nearly empty, the people are starving, and our rations are running out. We will be lucky to survive the winter at this rate, even if we hold our ground at the Iron Bridge. These are not secrets. The citizens have been whispering them for months. Morale is starting to falter and I’m afraid if things don’t change soon this war will be lost.”
“Yes, milord,” Captain Amyna agreed quietly.
“But we have been blessed with a chance at our salvation. Do you know of the Legendary Artifacts, Captain Amyna?”
“Old wives’ tales and myths, from what I understand,” Captain Amyna responded with disdain. This is not the time to be entertaining such whims.
“Yes, so I thought as well; items of such immeasurable power that whoever possessed them would inspire armies and conquer the world.” The king paused and took a book the advisor had been holding. Two scraps of leather sandwiched irregularly sized cotton pages. The book looked out of place compared to the weighty tomes against the far wall.
“There is a scholar.” King Bryant placed the book on the table. An End to War was written in sloppy cursive on the cover. “He has been researching them for some time. He believes that if one ruler could obtain enough artifacts, that country could stop all conflict between nations. With artifacts like these, no enemy would dare oppose Emestria.
“He has cataloged where he thinks they now reside, lost to time,” the king continued. “I thought it was merely a naïve dream, but if you found one, that would be proof that the others likely exist. Please, General Tiernan, fill her in on the rest. I’m needed elsewhere.” The king walked past Captain Amyna and out of the room.
“Bronwyn—” General Tiernan started.
“Captain Amyna,” she replied, correcting him.
“Captain, most of these items are rumored to be scattered across the globe, hidden in various tombs, ruins, and hoarded by powerful beasts. However, we recently intercepted a spy—”
“I’m not a spy,” the woman in the back of the room interrupted before one of the soldiers bludgeoned her, and she fell to her knees. Captain Amyna gripped her sword hilt and turned to face the soldier, a private in the army, not one of her men. Still, he shrank under her stare. Only the lanterns dared a hiss as they waited to see what she would do. She couldn’t stand them hitting a defenseless prisoner, even if she were a spy. Captain Amyna, satisfied that her point had been made, removed her hand from her weapon and looked back to the general. The men breathed a collective sigh.
General Tiernan continued, “We intercepted a spy that revealed information: one of these relics resides within our borders. In exchange for her life, she agreed to guide us to it. We have formed a small expedition. You’re to lead them into the White North to collect this scholar,” he said the word with disdain, “and retrieve the artifact. This spy refused to impart the location, despite our best efforts at convincing her. It’s in the mountain to the northwest, but finding the way into the tomb requires navigating a maze of tunnels that this spy claims to be able to do. We have assembled supplies and horses, and they’re awaiting your presence before departure. Gather what you need but be quick. Time is of the essence.”
“Sir, why am I being selected for this command? Surely there is a more suitable candidate.”
The general massaged his temples and sighed. “Captain, despite our differences, your men respect you and will follow your lead. You have always put the best interest of the nation above your own and I trust you will continue to do this.”
Tiernan turned his attention to the soldiers with their prisoner. “Take this filth out of my sight. Bind her and deliver her to the expedition.”
The men started to roughly escort the prisoner from the room. The woman winced and hobbled, and the soldiers had to practically carry her out.
As the doors shut, the general resumed speaking: “This spy and the scholar you are recruiting are enemies of the kingdom. If at any time you believe they are acting against the best interests of Emestria, cut them down and leave them to freeze in the cold. You’re dismissed.” The general turned his attention back to the table and began discussing battle plans with the king’s advisor.
Before exiting the castle, Captain Amyna heard a meek, “Excuse me.” She turned to see a maid quickly running up to her. It was curious that she would be addressed by one of the king’s attendants. “Our liege asked me to deliver this to you.” The maid handed her a folded parchment with the royal seal; Captain Amyna’s name was written in elegant calligraphy. She waited until she exited the castle to open and read what it said.
Captain Amyna, I have personally chosen you for this task because you are one of the last people who genuinely believes in me and this nation. It is not an easy one and I did not decide on asking you to do this lightly. The man you’re seeking is in exile on the North Shore, beyond the tundra. He goes by the name Miro Krestel, but it would not surprise me if he did not go by that name any longer. He will be reluctant to help, but he saved my life in Lynnfield. Hopefully, he’ll agree to assist you.
The captain tucked the piece of paper between her leathers and breastplate. Krestel was the name of an influential, noble family. They commanded most of the logging rights in northern Emestria, even some north of Solstice, but to Amyna’s knowledge logging on those lands stopped after the Battle of Lynnfield. It was odd that they would still have a member of their house residing north of Solstice, and she had never heard of an estate, let alone any type of lodgings in the White North. With a spy and a spoiled noble, this will not be a pleasant expedition.
Captain Amyna always believed in traveling light and did not need to gather anything for the expedition, aside from what she took with her that morning. But she stopped by her room to collect the papers dictating which men were to be sent to the war, and delivered them to lieutenant Jakul, who would most likely assume the captain’s duties in Amyna’s absence.
She made her way to the northern gate, where the troops were stationed. There were eight horses, two lashed to a wagon. A half dozen men lazed about, making jokes and otherwise commiserating. They were some of the worst men she commanded. Capable fighters but cocky, headstrong, and prone to insubordination. She wondered what they had been promised to accompany her on what she was now thinking was a suicide mission. If King Bryant himself had not asked her to do this, she would swear it was a ploy to send her to her death.
The White North was inhabited by all sorts of perils that were waiting to snap one up. Wolves as big as horses, leopards hell-bent on destruction, and sudden snowstorms were all things she worried she would have to contend with. The expedition would head to the northeast and follow the coast up. The air was colder, but they could avoid most of the forests that were so thick it was easy to lose yourself in them.
Captain Amyna mounted the best-looking horse and then called back at the men, “Mount up, we ride.” They milled about for a minute or two before finally climbing atop their steeds. One of them commanded the wagon and it lurched forward. Captain Amyna peered into the back to inventory what they had been provided: tents, rations, weapons, and a single rifle. Enough gunpowder for two shots. Not extravagant, but it would serve them well. Curled on the wagon’s floor, on a blanket was the spy—gagged, bound, and looking to be unconscious. Good, she thought. I will not have to worry about her running for a while.