Authors: Stephen Zimmer
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The Unifier
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The Unifier’s infinitely deep, blue eyes absorbed the vision of worldly power gathered before Him.
The massed gathering of generals, nobles, lords, barons, counts, emirs, ambassadors, boyars, chieftains, prelates, bishops, and other various powers of humankind were assembled within the Great Hall, the stately edifice located on the second level of His towering mountain citadel.
The environment was much different from the last time the Unifier had convened a similar gathering, commanding the presence of emissaries and representatives of the secular, ecclesiastical, and other religious powers of Ave. That convocation had been just another routine audience with the Unifier, a time to deliver tributes, express loyalties, curry favors, and be issued expectations and commands. This occasion was much more than that. It carried the vibrant atmosphere of a formal celebration, on the eve of a grand new era, the air buzzing with energy born of anticipation and desire. It was a very befitting space for such a prominent, momentous assembly to occur.
The side walls of the long, rectangular hall were richly adorned with tapestries from many lands across the world. They were interspersed with the magnificent, recessed fireplaces that lent a further elegance to the hall. The various scenes of battles, eminent figures, and hunts played out splendidly upon the suspended cloths, the vivid, colorful designs woven by the most skillful of hands to be found within Ave.
Sunlight bathed the resplendent hall through the high clerestory windows, where the arched openings were set farther above in the walls. The light reached far into the shadows, revealing the hall in all of its grandeur.
Intermittent pilasters soared up the side walls to support intricately carved capitals, which in turn served to support the elaborate ribs of the vaulting gracefully fanning out across the ceiling far overhead. The ceiling itself was painted a deep blue, and dotted abundantly with stars of reflective silver. The series of chandeliers down the midst of the hall, whose multitudes of beeswax candles brought forth a scene of splendor from that ceiling when lit, were devoid of flames, but added to the stateliness of the environs nonetheless.
The brilliant painting of a white star wreathed in red flame graced the dark background of the apse, where the high dais was located. All eyes were turned towards the elevated stone platform holding the singular throne set into that apse, at the end of the majestic hall.
Standing upon the stone surface before the ornately carved throne, His head crowned in a bright golden circlet, was the Unifier. His piercing eyes seemed to look into each and every person in the room. He was clad in a long tunic of pure white silk, secured with a white belt brocaded with golden thread that was tied about His waist.
A sword rested in an ornate scabbard attached to the belt, the silver and gold inlaid hilt, circular pommel, and wide, upturned crossguard gleaming brightly. His rich locks of dark hair shined luxuriantly, with a slightly wavy texture. To those gathered, The Unifier was a living personification of strength and authority.
A few paces behind the Unifier, echoing the strength of His presence, were the members of His High Council; Gyriel, Morrigan, Niketas Palaeologos, Dragone of Girosan, Reginald FitzOsbern, Lothario Dandolo, and Ahriman.
The seven eminent figures were gathered in a semicircle upon the dais. Great warriors, Wizards, sages, and sorcerers, male and female, the members of the High Council were greatly feared by all who were familiar with them. They had the power to shake kingdoms to their foundations, able to speak with the unsurpassed authority of the Unifier. It was no secret that each one of them held great favor with the Unifier, more so than any king or emperor within all of Ave.
It was also lost on no man or woman present as to from whom the members of the High Council derived their lofty authority. While the seven of the High Council were rarely seen gathered all together before a large audience, none of those crowding the length of the hall were distracted from the singular reason for their collective presence.
The hall, from the bottom edge of the dais’ steps to the great, iron-banded pair of oaken doors in the back, was filled to capacity with representatives from lands that had placed their will into the hands of the Unifier. Many had come on very short notice, from the farthest reaches of the known world.
Most were very sore and exhausted from long travel by sea, air, or land, worn out by the forced pace of travel needed to reach Avalos in time for the imperative assembly. There were many who looked forward to the feast that would be placed before them that very evening, and to the undisturbed rest that would soon follow the prodigious repast.
Yet such thoughts were pushed far to the back of their minds. For the moment, their attentions were fully focused upon the perpetually rising world ruler elevated before them.
Their eyes looked upon Him with a mix of fear, awe, respect, and loyalty in varying degrees. The Unifier had first risen with the authority of the seven great western kingdoms behind Him, and He was now crafting and nurturing the ascension of an unprecedented new order, all across the entire world.
As the vision of this new age was being unveiled, many believed that it was to be the most advanced and flourishing empire that any scholar had ever witnessed or written of. The Unifier’s power knew no boundaries, and it was becoming evident that no land or populace could stand in open opposition to Him.
The submission to His greater authority was not without reward, as the wealth and power of the high lords, leaders, and rich merchants of loyal realms were expanded to ever greater degrees. Wars had decreased, and trade had expanded, even if the former had not altogether ceased.
That the age had grown more difficult for millions of commoners in the kingdoms and empires, however, was of little or no concern to most of the prominent figures in the Great Hall.
With the Unifier’s seemingly mythical ability to lead, gain consensus, vanquish enemies, and expand power, it seemed to most that He was beyond human. Whatever deity or god any of them prayed to, they had no doubts that the Unifier curried the favor of the divinities themselves.
He did not age, He did not get sick, and He trod upon a path of astounding success, one that left His enemies broken and conquered in its wake.
The belief continued to be ingrained that no mere man could wield such power and authority. No ruler could possibly be graced with the incomparable victories that The Unifier had enjoyed, without having the greatest of blessings from a Creator or gods alike.
“Loyal generals, lords, kings, ambassadors, great merchants, emirs, boyars, and nobles, a profound time is at hand,” the Unifier began, His voice rising to a crescendo as it expanded to saturate the capacious hall with its melodious resonance.
His articulate, smooth voice was understood in all languages spoken by those within the Great Hall, a tremendous phenomenon that was further attributed to divine favor. One of the earliest stories in the Sacred Writings spoke of the disintegration of communication amongst the enemies of the All-Father in a distant age, as they tried to build a great tower to reach the heavens themselves. To have one voice that was understood by all, each in their very own tongue, was nothing short of a miracle, whose nature could not possibly have been derived from any dark source.
“I have called all of you here, as we begin the first step of our final struggle. Our armies are now massed to strike upon Saxany and the Five Realms. You have responded well to My call, as another great army and fleet is forming rapidly … growing with each day that passes … in the port at Thessalas.
“It will not be much longer before we move to attack Midragard. The end to this dying age, and a dying history, is now within sight. The time is soon coming when the greatest achievement in the entire existence of this world will be attained. An order such as has never been seen before will be brought to the whole world.
“You shall all be the richer for it. You will see that our paths go together, as one, in unity and common purpose. That which you seek is gained from the path that I guide you forward upon. It is a wide path, paved in gold, which brings together so many other paths. Only one narrow path, that of folly, does not join this triumphant way. Only the misguided and the foolish trod upon it with their archaic ways. Your destination lies just ahead with Me, and is now within sight.
“One world. One focus. One Great Authority.”
Some in the audience felt a deep tinge of unease at the Unifier’s bold, elegent words, but not one of them was about to speak out in protest. As if absolutely nothing radical had been said, the Unifier smiled resplendently at His audience, seeming to exude the warmth of an invitation to a great feast upon each of them. The effect was simply mesmerizing, encompassing all who beheld Him.
Though inexplicit, their minds viewed him as the living embodiment of all their hopes, as well as the incarnate change that needed to transpire to realize those lofty ambitions. When He continued with His oration, they were hanging upon His every word, as if He was speaking to them personally.
“You have no doubts of My intentions towards each of you. You have greater wealth, power, and resources than you have ever known. I have always given a strong hand to crush and suppress any that would be enemies of those who have given their full allegiance to Me. History testifies that this is true.
“This path has not always been easy. But I have never led you astray. I have healed your lands. I have shown you the folly of fighting amongst yourselves … and you have all tasted the great power that we can bring forth together. The future will be no different for My loyal vassals, or for My enemies. The choice is each man and woman’s to make, an exercise of one’s own free will.”
The Unifier’s words thundered from His mouth, His voice having swelled again to fill the hall and the ears of His rapt audience.
“From the Seven Western Kingdoms, who have always stood as one behind Me, to the lands that have since pledged themselves as allies, to those that stand here this very day, know that the path ahead will still be difficult. But know also that it will lead to a world the likes of which none of you have ever before dreamed could exist … a world that you can only barely imagine.”
As the sound of His voice trailed off, a broad smile formed upon His face. His full lips spread wide to show His perfect, opal-pure set of teeth.
To a few of those standing nearest to the base of the dais, those teeth appeared at that moment to be unnaturally sharp and long. Those very same people dismissed the perception a moment later as being a mere trick of the light, spurred by their own nervousness in the sheer radiance of His overwhelming presence.
Though they knew not the reason, others in the hall who were not yet wholly subservient in heart and mind to the Unifier felt a coldness permeate their bodies. Their skin felt clammy before the chill sank deeper within them, causing them to visibly shudder in the wake of the Unifier’s open mention of that future world.
Among this small number were two Kiruvan boyars, whose senses were still struggling to adjust to the bold display of might and power all around them. There was something very foreboding and threatening underneath the brilliantly adorned images that most were holding fast to within their minds. Without the same anchoring grasp as those who were given over fully to the Unifier, the awkward sensation that these boyars endured only heightened their anxiety.
Yet as with the others, they were also not about to speak out, knowing that their voices would be shrill and tiny in the face of such regal authority. It was as if a force compelled them to remain complacent and silent.
For most, that unsettling feeling passed like wisps of smoke in a gust of wind, as the Unifier continued with His address once again.
“We are ending religious conflict. We are feeding the populations of great kingdoms and smaller lands. We are bringing an end to all wars. It is going to be an unrivaled golden age, and you will share with Me in the glory for bringing it about. Let no enemy stand in our way!” The Unifier boomed, His powerful voice thundering through the hall, as He thrust His clenched right fist high into the air.
The spontaneous gesture brought forth a vigorous roar of adulation from the gathered powers, representing countless armies, uncountable wealth, and immense populations from all across the surface of Ave. There was not one being in the room that would have doubted for a moment then that nothing in the world could stand in the way of the Unifier’s aims. All were caught in the throes of the intoxicating moment, as if a flood of euphoria and enlightenment was coursing thoughout the Great Hall.
Seeing the assembled powers that they were in communion with inside the Great Hall, many of the lesser lords and representatives of smaller lands felt a tremendous sense of relief that they had chosen to submit themselves to the rising Lord of Avanor.
It could be seen by all that it was sheer folly to stand against the Unifier. All of those gathered could not help but marvel at the great power of the Unifier, now expanded far beyond the initial collective power wielded by the Seven Western Kingdoms.
They could not see how anyone could even remotely hope to wage war against the exalted Eminence standing upon the great dais. There were even a few within the spellbound crowd who already had begun to feel pity for the Saxans, the tribes of the Five Realms, and Midragard.
Of that diminutive group that had still managed to retain a little compassion, in the face of all the exhilaration and unrestrained ambition, there were those two Kiruvan boyars, more than any other, that felt deep misgivings about the fates of the three targeted lands.
SECTION IV
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Dragol
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Dragol sauntered across the ground in relative silence, the only sounds of his passage the rustling of the grasses beneath his feet. He eventually reached an open expanse of ground, well beyond the outer boundaries of the encampment. He risked no great danger, as the area was still well within the perimeter guarded by the scouts and patrols, who labored so persistently to ward the sprawling mass of tents, supplies, steeds, and weapons.
Night had drawn richly upon the wellsprings of darkness, as the large and small moons of Ave endeavored to make their appointed journeys across the velvety, ebon sky. Scattered swathes of clouds blotted out bright clusters of stars as they drifted overhead, but otherwise the evening was clear, and comfortably cool to the touch.
The giant Darroks were now deep in their slumber, the outline of their behemoth forms easily mistaken for moderately-sized hills under the shrouding veil of night. Only the rectangular carriages still affixed to their backs broke the temporal illusion.
Within the shadows of the Darrok’s looming forms, a number of broad tents housed both Harraks and their Trogen riders, resting in anticipation of the coming day’s exertions.
Clad only in a dark woolen tunic, coarse trousers, and a pair of leather boots, Dragol had left the better part of his protective clothing and equipment back within the confines of his tent. One exception was his cherished longblade, whose lengthy scabbard hung from the baldric resting snugly around his right shoulder. His left hand rested for the time being upon the leather-wrapped hilt, as he strolled by spear-carrying Trogen sentries, both of whom nodded respectfully towards Dragol as he passed.
He inhaled deeply, taking in several breaths of the crisp air, feeling it swiftly descend into his lungs. Breathing out was an equally pleasant experience, and the rhytmic pattern brought his entire body into a more relaxed state.
Looking skyward, and carefully studying the horizon, Dragol’s intense gaze quickly registered the shadowy form of a large Trogen patrol passing in the distance, faintly outlined against the dark sky. He could see that the patrol’s course was set just along the edge of the forest line to the east, precisely where the Trogens had to conduct themselves with the greatest caution.
Dragol wondered if they had espied anything at all, given that the enemy forces were not likely to mark themselves carelessly, with open campfires that would serve as stark beacons from leagues around.
The sky patrols were, in essence, performing a routine. It was highly doubtful that there would be any strikes against the encampments on the open grasslands.
Just a few leagues to the north from the Trogens was a massive, Gallean-led encampment. Its swelling numbers contained the invasion forces now poised to assault the lands of the Five Realms.
The two encampments, viewed from north to south, ran along a new kind of boundary, directly parallel to the first trees of the sprawling forests, hills, and multitudinous waterways of the Five Realms. The invasion force was positioned at the mid-point of the dark woodlands sheltering the enemy tribes, like a spear about to be thrust into the heart of a hunter’s quarry.
The Trogens, such as Dragol, with instincts sharply honed in the forges of a harsh existence within their homeland, were not about to underestimate their cautious, concealed adversary. The Trogen sky patrols were diligently maintained, as if there was always an imminent threat. Dragol and the other chieftains had seen to it that new routes were implemented wherever there was the slightest concern of vulnerabilities in the areas that the patrols warded.
With clearer skies and a pair of bright moons, any significant enemy force would be easily espied from the upper heights of the sky. Before an adversary ever got close to the encampments, the sonorous warnings of Trogen horns would have already roused a multitude of warriors, alert and prepared to resist any attack.
Though his physical eyesight scanned the wide spaces ahead of him, his mind’s eye was roving elsewhere. His heart was weighing heavily upon him, grappling with unyielding cares and resentments. He was not about to shy away from the inner tumult, as it was a favorable night to ponder the things that were bothering him.
Dragol continued to envy the Trogens that were soon to take part in the momentous battle for Saxany. He thought of Goras, his longtime comrade, companion, and fellow member of the Thunder Wolf Clan. Goras was on the verge of participating in the greatest battle that the world had yet known.
Dragol was not so envious that he wished otherwise for his stalwart comrade. He wanted nothing less for Goras, and was genuinely happy that the hardy warrior would have such an incredible opportunity to bring tremendous renown to the Thunder Wolf clan.
Nevertheless, Dragol’s own isolation from the impending battle, right at the cusp of participating in it himself, chafed sorely within him. The troubling thoughts caused him to clench his jaws tightly within his short muzzle, the tensions further stiffening his already taut neck and shoulder muscles.
Realizing that he was allowing himself to fall back into a strained inner state, so soon after easing himself down, he consciously focused upon relaxing his body again. Shaking out his powerful arms, and breathing in deeply, Dragol quieted his mind as much as he could. In a few moments, the Trogen warrior gradually felt the tightness ebb once again from his arms, shoulders, and neck.
Yet even if he could loosen the physical symptoms, it was all that Dragol could do to refrain from shouting out at the top of his lungs, erupting in a raucous cry of frustration and rage. Few warriors who had shown as much worthiness as Dragol, especially among his rugged, courageous kind, would ever have been restricted from the chance to measure themselves against such an unrivaled challenge. In the western marches of Saxany, upon the Plains of Athelney, two massive, determined armies would clash with titanic thunder.
Dragol could not deceive himself, in that the battle for the Five Realms was shaping up to be a conflict that would be much different in nature. It was far from what he had hoped for, when he had first arrived at the border region. Hiding and wary, the tribal warriors were scattered throughout the densely forested lands. It would be absolutely impossible to force the tribes into open battle, of a similar nature to the impending clash in Saxany.
Dragol knew that the tribesmen could not forever evade the Unifier’s combined forces, whose multitudes would be swarming into the depths of the woods once the command was given. Once they had penetrated the forests and began to spread throughout them, their reach would be too extensive for the enemy tribes to avoid.
Even worse for the enemy tribes, the ranks of the invaders included some elements that were very well-suited for the forested environs. Very recently, more than one Trogen sky warrior returning from airborne patrols had spoken of very unusual entities sighted within the allied forces encamped to the north. Word had rapidly spread among the Trogens that a war band of the fabled Atagar had been brought in for the impending battle. The Atagar hearkened from the mysterious land of Yanith, located across the seas to the west of Kiruva. Filled with its legendary, towering forests, Yanith was reputed to be an exceptionally dangerous woodland environment, and the Atagar had thrived within it for generations. The strange, rodent-like beings were undoubtedly being utilized for their exceptional skills and experience within a woodland environment, one that paled in comparison to those of their homelands.
The stories of Yanith intrigued the Trogen chieftain enough that he desired to see the Atagar homeland for himself one day. He could only imagine the kinds of creatures that lurked within the depths of those dense, colossal woods, both upon the ground and within the lofty boughs of the enormous trees said to populate Yanith’s forests. A vivid hint of the nature of those denizens came in the form of the brawny, predatory cats with the sabre-like teeth that the Atagar raised and trained, called Licanthers.
Though a part of Dragol regarded the Atagar as little more than glorified rat-men, he could understand their tremendous value for the very different type of fight that would be facing the invaders of the tribal lands. The enemy tribesmen intimately knew the pathways, ridges, hills, creeks, rivers, trees, rocks and every other natural feature within their lands. From evasion to ambushes, the advantages would certainly lie with the defenders due to their knowledge of the terrain.
The coming invasion would take speed, dexterity, and the ability to navigate, and swiftly learn, such a terrain, to bring the battle to the enemy quickly. The Atagar, at the very least, would be formidable adversaries within any forest environment. As scouts, they would be invaluable.
In addition to the Atagar, there were also recent reports of a small number of Gigans being present within the Gallean camp. The hulking Gigans were far less of a mystery than the Atagar, as Dragol’s own homelands bordered the native lands of the Gigan clans to the east. Both the Trogen and Gigan territories lay just north of the broad principalities of Kiruvar, with the ranges inhabited by the great Mountain Trolls completing that boundary.
The brutish creatures, as a race, were relatively stupid and simple in Dragol’s estimation. Over the years, he had become well acquainted with their ways and tendencies, though he was still perplexed by their reclusive nature.
Their unmatched strength could have won them far larger territories than their clans now occupied. As it was, while there were occasional skirmishes in the border regions with Trogen clans and the Kiruvans, the Gigan clans remained quite content to hunt within their own territories, and war amongst themselves.
The announcement of the Gigan presence within the invasion force had given Dragol great pause, as it was unprecedented. No outside ruler had ever been able to harness the Gigans’ fearsome strength for their purposes. Dragol knew that no human king would have hesitated for a moment to bestow an abundance of riches to employ the ferocious creatures in their service.
It was quite an anomaly to Dragol that the Unifier had been able to secure the use of Gigans in such a fashion, gaining an immediate advantage in almost any battlefield scenario. Whatever had transpired between the Unifier and the Gigan clans, the circumstances of the Gigans going forth from their homelands, to be used in foreign wars, mystified Dragol.
It defied all precedents, as the Gigans cared for so little beyond hunting and the inner matters concerning their clans. They were rather crude artisans when it came to the making of weapons, clothing, or tools, and they knew little to nothing of metalwork or trade. The Gigans dwelled amid towering mountains and deep gorges, natural barriers that sequestered their homelands, apparently satisfied with plentiful game and their ancient clan traditions.
The relations between Trogens and Gigans had been fairly benign over the years, seldomly declining to outright enmity. Though encounters and communications were random, scattered irregularly between the neighboring Trogens and Gigans, their interactions had most often been of an amicable manner. There were only a few times when renegade elements of Gigan or Trogen clans had battled along the border regions of the two races. The bloody, costly ends of those incursions and skirmishes had been more than enough to stifle any notions of outright war, if such thoughts were ever held by individuals of either race.
As the invasion of the Five Realms and Saxany loomed, the Unifier had somehow been able to bring the Gigans down in force from their mountainous homelands, and pull them far away. The only reason that Dragol could fathom was that the Gigans participated for very similar reasons to those that had secured the involvement of the Trogens. Both had long suffered at the hands of a venemous, powerful enemy, even if the brunt of that long-standing oppression had fallen upon the Trogen clans.
The Northern Elves often marauded in force from their protected islands, off the northwestern shores of both Trogen and Gigan lands. Their cruel raids were also launched from a couple of very valuable areas of mainland taken in the past from the Trogens and Gigans.
Most disturbing and agitating to all Trogens, a population of Trogens had been cut off from the rest of their kind in the taking of those lands long ago. Those unfortunate Trogens now lived in thrall to the Northern Elves. They were made to labor unendingly for the vile beings, whose pallid appearance echoed the cold, pitilessness of their hearts.
There was nothing that the Trogen slaves could ever hope to appeal to, as the ageless Elves saw themselves as the first fruits of creation itself, imbued by the Creator with a preeminent position over all creatures dwelling in Ave. The cruder, mortal Trogens were viewed as mere fodder, to be used in the service of such blessed, exalted beings. Dragol’s kind were considered to be sentient, expendable cattle, to be used however the Elves deemed fit.
Despite possessing lethal martial skills, honed over long ages, a Northern Elf did not enjoy any significant advantages in single combat with a fully-trained, seasoned Trogen warrior, much less one of the towering Gigans. Exceptional at archery and the use of crossbows, the Elves fought most often from a distance, less inclined to risk their enduring, age-defying lives by setting blade against blade. Moving nimbly through shadows, they had culled many Gigans and Trogens alike from positions of concealment, sending poison-tipped shafts deep into the flesh of victims that were not given a chance to acquit themselves in battle.
Their mastery of the two mortal races relied upon their long-established naval power, and their own teeming masses of sky-steeds. Their advanced shipbuilding had resulted in the creation of a formidable fleet, whose constant pressure over the years had successfully prevented the Trogens from ever fielding, or even developing the skill to fashion, larger watercraft. The Northern Elves had trained and developed large numbers of a very special, fearsome kind of Skiantha. With appearances like winged lions, they were ferociously hostile to the Harraks, as if an inherited enmity existed between the two.