Prologue

Book one

Beginnings

Prologue Marared’s story

721 Diffryn province

Count Felice Diffryn was standing in the solar of his castle. His holding was on the border, and his standing was always a precarious one. It reflected in the exterior of his castle. The thick stone walls had been there for nearly a hundred years and it had been nearly twenty years since anyone in the family had the money to do some upkeep. Also there was never enough time, frequent border raids destroyed crops and no harvest meant no money from his tenants. Many of the young men on his land served all their free time in the militia, and the number of dead or maimed in his contingent was the highest in the entire kingdom. It worried the earl, but there didn’t seem to be a solution for this problem. He had to keep up a large army to be able to at least protect his people as well as he could against the raids. The king and queen weren’t much help. The official court policy was a very shortsighted one. There weren’t many wealthy or influencial nobles on this border, hence no attention and no money.

All this resulted in a drafty, old castle were on a bad way water seeped through the walls and lately moss grew on the inside of the walls. Clothes were always damp and pneumonia was the most common cause of death amongst the eldery and newborns. The mold also gave the place a stench which was made worse by the reek of too many people living together in a very small place. The count’s family was not a small one, and that was not even counting the garrison and servants.

Felice turned away from the window and looked at his guest.

The woman didn’t flinch under the scrutinising eyes of the count. She knew that she had nothing to fear here. Felice Diffryn was a big hulk of a man, not known for his sunny disposition or sense of humor. He was very capable of selling one of his daughters, he had seven of them altogether and not enough influence to make good marriages for even half of them.

“So how much are you willing to pay me for my daughter?”

The woman standing opposite him was in her later years, and the look in her eyes was a calm one. She had lived a long time and not many things fased her any longer. She wore the rich green gown of a full priestess of the Calanti. The Calanti was the ruling religion on the continent of Da’vorn. There were many other believes but none as adroit at winning political recognition at the courts of the two kingdoms Eryrion and Vegor. The Calanti higher priest often came from younger sons and daughters of the nobility and even before entering the church they had been schooled in politics and getting their way. This did not change after enterning the church. Mayn noble families paid for the honor of having one of their own in the church which made the Calanti rich enough to pay for favors as well.

Calanti priests were the judges of the countries. Lower priests travelled from dwelling to dwelling. Those who broke the law were brought before the priests and their rulings were followed without exception. Therefor were accepted there even in times of war and they were feared by many throughout the continent. Earning the displeasure of a priest of the Calanti could mean a death sentence.

Selene high priestess of the Calanti knew very well that is was not unheard of for minor nobles sell younger sons and daughters to the church, their position would very rarely become one of power and influence in later life. The structure of the church favored those whose fathers had paid good money for them to enter into the profession, but still noble blood was noble blood and none were turned away.

It still bought them influence and support and provided the children with a career and a roof over their heads for the rest of their lives. Count Felice was now contemplating that path for his fourth daughter Marared.

“I am willing to offer you the full support of the church in your province, my lord.” She said in a soft tone of voice.

He snorted a little, it was clearly not enough for the count. “Support doesn’t feed any mouths, priestess!” He moved away from the window and sat down in his chair behind his desk. The towerroom was chilly and he hoped the uppity priestess was feeling every little bit of the wind that sweeped through the cracks in the windows.

“No, but support might stop some of the borderraids. We do have some influence on the other side of the border. It might buy you some years of peace. And it might give you some more support from the crown, remember they revere the Calanti.”

Felice leaned forward. “Can you guarantee me that?” He asked sternly.

“Yes. Yes, I can. Ten years, no more.”

Selene said playing her hand a little. For reasons of her own, she wanted this child. Enough to let Felice know that she had more power across the border then he should know.

The count gave her a long look, then nodded his head. He realised very well that he was being played, but ten years would make a lot of difference, would give him time to rebuild, to be ready when the raids started again. It was enough to put his pride aside and it was not like he would miss one of him many daughters. If the Calanti wanted her, he would sell her for as great a price as he could get.

“Alright, priestess. You have earned yourself a new novice.”

He knew his wife would weep over the loss of this child. A good thing he had not married Evna for love, she had been a comely woman once but the birth of eleven children and the harsh life on the border had taken any loveliness she had once possessed and left a cold feeling between husband and wife.

Marared Diffryn sat in the small church of the village and watched the village priest father Ablone work. He was the only true friend she had and every moment she could escape from the castle she came here to watch him work Ablone did not follow the teachings of Calanti, he was a priest of Mons. Sworn to poverty his clothing was always the simplest, while he lived in a simple hut at the edge of the village next to the small church. He lived on what the villagers had to spare and in returned he looked after their spiritual wellbeings and was their healer as well. Ablone had been here for as long as Marared could remember. She could not remember the exact moment she had befriended the priest but whenever she felt the need to escape the castle and her family, this was always the place she turned to.

Marared was an unhappy girl, her father didn’t even know she existed, there were times when she doubted he could even remember the names of his seven daughters. And her mother was so busy giving birth and looking after the little ones that she had no time for her older children. There had always been a system were servants and the older children looked after the youngest. In this cold environment none of them cried much over the love they missed.

Marared had turned twelve last month, and was in that state between girl and woman. Her body had yet to fill out and she had the ungainly gait of a teenager getting used to the many swift changes going on inside her own body. She took after her father, sporting the same bright red hair, like most of the Diffryn family her eyes were a piercing green. Her nose was small and slightly pointed, and from her gait it was already clear that she would be tall for a woman. She would be a pretty woman if not a classical beauty, but if she stayed on the border this beauty would not last long if she was forced into the same life as her mother.

From her place in one of the deep windowsills she was watching Ablone who was mixing herbs together to make potions for the villagers. She had been here for nearly and hour now while neither of them spoke. The priest knew her well enough to wait for the girl to open up on his own.

“Father, I don’t want to leave.”

She said softly when she saw Ablone look up from his work for a moment.

“Can he truly make me?”

“He is your lord and father, young lady.” The priest answered her in a low melodious voice. Deep down he felt just as horrified about the whole matter, but there was nothing he could do to help her.

Felice’s offer to give his daughter to the church came as no surprise to the young priest. He was an intelligent man and an ambitious one, who kept an eye on the political situation of the county. Ablone liked Marared, she was an intelligent girl and he had tutored her in his few spare hours. She would do well in church hierarchy. Marared had both noble blood and brains, that combination could make her an abbess in less then twenty years. Sometimes it made him bitter that he, an intelligent man lacked the proper birth to climb the ranks to abbot. And his parents had not been rich enough to foster him with the Calanti. In his own faith he would never rise very high. Ablone was the bastard son of an impoverished knight. His only chance for promotion would be to find a highborn protector. The young knew how much Marared looked up to him, and he returned the feeling, but he wasn’t above using the girl as well. He knew that she was headstrong and stubborn and would rather run away then do anything against her will. But he had the power to mould her to his will. Well, at least for now, he had no illusions that he would keep that hold over her when she had grown up. But for now he could not afford for her to run away from home. Count Felice was no doubt aware of their friendship and his career would suffer if the girl went missing. However much he liked her, his own wellbeing had to come first. Much of the pietity he showed now was a mask to win favour of the church. If Mararaded did well and remembered their friendship in later years maybe there was still hope for him. It was not completely unheard of to switch faith later in life, and he would do it in a heartbeat to gain power within the Calanti church.

“I won’t go!” Marared said now. “I’ll run away. I am educated, I can read, and I can earn my living as a clerk!” She said giving him the sturbborn look that made her look more then ever like her father.

She looked at her only friend. Ablone was still young enough to be called handsome. He had curly brown hair, cut short in the fashion of the church and she found his large hazel eyes utterly captivating. Of late she had found herself thinking of him more often during her duties and her heart beat a little faster when she was with him. Besides Ablone was her only friend. Marared couldn’t imagine her life without him. But she would lose him anyway now, whether she went to the church or ran away and that saddened her. Angrily she wiped her eyes, not wanting to show weakness even in front of a friend.

Father Ablone walked towards her with a kind gentle smile on his face and tilted up her chin.

” You must obey your lord father, Marared. The laws of both the land and the church are very strict on that! A woman must obey her betters” He said sternly, but then mellowed a little. “My dear girl, you will be happy in the church, once you have learnt a little discipline. Even though you think life is harsh here, you still lead the life of the privileged rich. As daughter of the count you are special, in the house of novices you will just be one of many.”

She scowled at that.

“But remember, little flower, in the end you will have more freedom there. The first years will be bitterly hard.”

Gently he stroked her curly hair, by the gods, she was turning into a lovely creature. Ablone felt some regret that he would not see her grow up.

“But you have the brain and the birth to make a life for yourself there.” He continued.

“You can become somebody in the church. Think on it, you are twelve, if you remain here your father will marry you of to some poor baron in a year or two and you will be his houseslave for the rest of your life. Is that what you want? You will be like your mother having a baby almost every other year.” He gave her a shrwed look. “running away on the other hand would mean giving up everything from this life. You would be a nobody without status or money. Sure you would probably earn enough money to get by, but that would be all you could dream of aspiring to in life.” Is that what you want?”

She looked at him with those piercing eyes and he began to see dawning understanding there. Yes, she was clever for a lass her age.

“I will miss you, father.” She whispered. For indeed Marared didn’t really want to run away. She loved to be a count’s daughter and being a commoner would not sit right with her. Since she was small she had dreamt of having power by marriage. She dreamt of a handsome nobleman taking her away from the border and giving her the life of a princes.

It was not to be like that. But the priest was right, there were many roads to power. And she was not happy in her father’s castles. Except for Ablone she wasn’t leaving anyone behind that she cared deeply for. And therefore she had very little to lose and everything to gain by following her father’s wishes.

“I know, my child. But it will not be a parting for ever. I am sure our paths will cross again one day.” He gently stroked her hair, secretly relieved that he had not lost his touch with her. “I am sure they will.”

Marared smiled. “Thank you father. I will go. But don’t expect me to be a dutiful little novice. I will not be dutiful, not ever.”

She held her chin up high while saying that.

“The church will have to adapt to me, not the other way around. Diffryns bow for nobody.”

The priest could do nothing but smile. He knew full well that she meant it. And that she would be a handful. And that she would fail, many a noble youngster had said exactly the same thing over the years. Yet again her high birth would shield her from most of the fallout. A count’s daughter would be punished like any novice, but there were degrees in punishment. And the church was shrwed enough not to risk the life of the daughter of a count of the realm.

“Now go back to your parents, be a good girl and say goodbye to them.” He chided her. “I am sure that your mother is going to miss you.”

Mara nodded. She was sure her mother would miss the extra pair of hands to look after her youngest baby brother. But she doubted very much that it would go much further than that.

“I will father.” She said dutifully.

Davar Island spring 724

Gwenllian High-priestess of the Calanti church walked along the sandy beach of the holy island. Walking there calmed her, and it was about the only place she could truly be alone. Holy island was not big, the whole island only measured 6 by 4 kilometers in diameter. It was surrounded by sandy beaches with grassland and one tiny hill in the middle. Yet here on this small space between the kingdoms of the continent the highest ranking female Calanti priestess settled. It was her residence 6 months a year, the other 6 she alternated between the courts of the two kings on the continent. When on the island she was mostly occupied with church affairs and there was very little time to call her own. Today was the exception to the rule.

Lady Gwenllian was in her late fifties and though her body and face didn’t show her age, she could feel in her bones that she wasn’t getting any younger. She sighed, she had been High Priestess for over twenty years now, made so by a holy vision granted her predecessor. Yet she herself never had such a vision, and that worried her. Was she not worthy after all her years of service. Everyone revered her as a wise and just woman. Gwen herself knew better, knew how much of that had been sheer luck. Her rule had been relatively peaceful. The kingdoms had been more or less peaceful those years. There were always border raids but they didn’t cause political scandals. But now there were young folk on both thrones and young people had war in their veins. Since Makador’s accession to the throne of Eryrion the political situation had tensed up. And she feared for the future. Young king Makador didn’t have the respect for the curch that his father had had. And she could feel their position slipping day by day. What would that mean for the safetly of her people and her own legacy? Toughts like this scared her greatly. A successor needed to be trained. Even though she had been young when she came to power, the former high priestess had named her three years before her death and she had had time to adjust to the role. Could she do the same for her own successor. Or even worse what would happen if she died without naming someone. That had not happened for centuries in the history of the church.

She looked up from her musings when she heard laughter from over on the next beach. The high priestess walked over to the edge of the dune to watch several novices skinny-dipping and having fun. Gwen smiled. The girls weren’t allowed to. Regime for the novices was very strict. There was little room for anything else but eat, sleep, prayer and lessons. So she didn’t begrudge the girls their moment of fun. By the looks of them, they were some of the elder ones and they would be made junior priestesses soon. It would give them more time to themselves, but less to play. Priests just didn’t frolic. She remembered her own youth here vividly, how hard it had been for her to give up her childhood. Gwen had not been one of the easiest novices and neither were some of the girls she recognized down on the beach.

“What are you girls doing there!”

The peaceful atmosphere was ruined by a new voice and Gwenllian watched Britwas march down the beach. Britwas had only just been named senior priestess and took her calling very seriously. Too seriously for Gwen’s liking. She now watched her fellow priestess chide the girls from a distance. Some in her council of elder priests saw a successor in Britwas. The woman was in her early twenties, intelligent and had family-connections, her father was one of the counts who had his lands in the productive south of the kingdom and Britwas was his eldest and most beloved daughter.

Gwen had as always stayed silent on the subject of her own succession, she would not be pushed by her own juniors. The young woman had many admirable qualities, but she just didn’t like her. There was a fanatical fire in Britwas eyes, and that was one quality a High Priestess shouldn’t have. Politics called for a cool head at all times. And Britwas lost her temper all too easy. This may still pass as the woman was young and had time to learn. But the high priestess had her doubts. She had seen many a woman grow up and knew how to take the measure of a youngster. The High Priestess stepped back as the novices filed past her. She didn’t want the girls to see her, didn’t want to have to take official action herself as well. The girls were in enough trouble with Britwas on their backs.

“Who the hell does Britwas think she is!” She heard an angry raised voice. “She is only a few years older then we are.”

“Let it go, Marared!” One of the others said soothingly. “She was only doing her job!”

“Her job, my foot! She takes pleasure in following us around, punishing every little thing we do wrong.” The first girl said again.

“Ah come on Mara! What is it with the two of you? You are always at each other’s throat.” A third girl chimed in.

“Maybe we just don’t like each other, okay….”

By now the girls were too far gone to hear clearly. Gwenllian stepped out of the alcove again and shook her head. Another hothead. She had noticed Marared Diffryn before. Another highly intelligent girl and another with a temper to match her intelligence. If she didn’t learn to keep it down it could seriously hamper her career. She made a mental note to talk to the girl’s instructors. It would be a pity, she showed potential. But already the child came to her attention too often, and rarely it was in a positive way.