Chapter 1:
The Student’s Return

     The loud clanging of a bell brought the young Curate, Botir Dichivolli, trudging wearily down the corridor of the Study Hall towards the Main Gate of the Temple.
Passing a window overlooking the courtyard beyond, he glanced up at the full moon hanging balefully in the black sky beyond. Botir sighed. It was late, he thought. Who would need entry to the Temple at this time of night?
     At the end of the corridor, he reached the wide staircase that descended into the entrance hall. Like all the floors in the Temple, it was made of white marble streaked with black and green veins, the main colours of the Grinuaolli race. The walls were covered with tapestries depicting the various Caranrodien, the First Grinuaollis, and on the ceiling was a mosaic of a forest teeming with animals and birds. Botir walked down the steps, the sound of his bare feet echoed loudly in the ornate chamber. At the bottom he turned to his left. Small candelabra were set at regular intervals around the eight walls of the chamber and a huge gold chandelier encrusted with diamonds, opals and emeralds hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room.
     Nocturnal Duty was something he – like most of the other students in the Temple - dreaded. It meant having to spend the entire night awake in the Study Hall to fulfill the dictate that the contemplation of the ancient knowledge should continue uninterrupted during all hours of day and night. Additionally, those on duty were expected to tidy up the various lecture rooms and the library in preparation for the next day’s sessions. And, in the unlikely event that something of note happened overnight, the student on duty was supposed to respond and decide how it should be handled. Botir had been deeply immersed in a tractate concerning the nature of rain and its effects on the spiritual nature of rivers when the main bell of the Temple had rung. It could only mean one thing: someone was at the Main Gate and wished to enter.
     The Sacred Portal of the Study Hall was composed of two thick, dark oak panels, each with a handle of gold. One guard stood at each side and tediously stared ahead. They were dressed in the attire of the Temple, wearing fine chain mail over green and black robes. Each carried a sword and a bow at his side.
     As Botir approached, he waved the intricate salute of the Temple. In response, the guards stepped forward and gestured stiffly. Botir drew close to the door and stared at the handles. As he did, the sounding of the bell filled the chamber. Botir groaned and cradled his forehead with his left hand. It was late and his head hurt, and the ringing didn't help.
     “It’s past the middle of the night,” Botir groaned in Grinuaollish. “What manner of impatient creature lies beyond?” The guards did not respond, continuing to stare blankly ahead. Botir looked at them in disgust. “Well then, you might as well open the doors.”
     Wordlessly, each guard grabbed a handle. The doors opened noiselessly, revealing the Temple courtyard, bathed in the grey light of the moon above. At the end of the courtyard was its Main Gate.
     In the dim light, Botir could see a cluster of guards had gathered atop the wall and were peering down at something outside. Botir shrugged and began walking across the cool ground of the courtyard. His feet, like those of all Temple students, were bare to help them feel connected to the earth, and they twitched as he walked across the stony surface.
     When he reached the Main Gate, he motioned to the guards to open it. The heavy doors did not move and the guards had not seemed to notice him. Whatever had caught their attention on the other side of the wall seemed to have left them entranced. Botir looked up and grunted loudly. No response.
     “Esgalminuial Belegrûthion take you!” he shouted in exasperation. “What would the Conclave think of your inability to follow simple orders?” One of the guards seemed genuinely surprised to see the Curate standing in the shadows. He shook his head as if to clear it and walked over to the edge of the wall above the gate. A switch was flipped and the gates slowly opened. Botir stamped his foot impatiently. He was eager to see whatever had caused the highly-trained sentries to abandon their customary decorum.
     As the gates parted, Botir saw a white light glowing beyond them. It grew brighter, forcing him to blink. He stepped forward to stand under the lintel as his eyes adjusted to the glow. What he saw caused him to catch his breath. There, standing before him, was a feminine figure about five feet tall. Long, red hair fell almost to her waist and she was clad in a white dress with silver threads embroidered in intricate patterns throughout the fabric.
     Around her neck hung a small medallion, a circle of gold with the image of a bird in its centre, which Botir recognized as the symbol of Belethcristiel Teleplindëwen, Mistress of Air and Wonder. White light surrounded the woman, filling the air around her with countless shining sparks. At the edge of her aura, a Qiliv held the reins of a white horse.
     Without understanding why, Botir fell to one knee and bowed his head forward. “I beg pardon for my tardiness in allowing you entry,” he stuttered. “I am Curate Botir Dichivolli, servant of Noveldaion Quelleancaion, Master of Long Life, and student to Master Marlosse, Sage of Trees and Vegetation and Fifth in Rank on the Conclave. In the name of all those who dwell here in peace, I welcome you.” As he spoke, his head spun. He still had no idea who was standing in front of him, yet he was treating her like royalty.
     The female smiled comfortingly at him. She was Grinuaolli, as was evident by her sharply pointed ears, angular features, and upturned eyebrows. As he stared briefly at her visage he wondered if she was perhaps the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
     “In the name of Belethcristiel Teleplindëwen,” she said with a voice that sounded like chimes ringing in a light breeze, “I return your greetings. I am Oa-neth Billipuotroni of the Mayo Forest. I am a former student of the Temple and wish to ask the Holy Master’s permission to resume my studies.”
     Botir stood and wiped the sweat off his brow. Although the night was cool, he felt like a fire was burning in his head. “Well, sure” he blurted out, “I can’t see why not. I’ll just…” He caught himself as he realized what he was saying. I’m an idiot, he thought. Why have I become such a fool? In response to his obvious embarrassment, Oa-neth smiled. As she did, the glow surrounding her seemed to intensify slightly.
     “Perhaps it would be better if I asked him myself,” she said. “May I have permission to enter the Holy Temple?”
“Of course,” said Botir, taking a step back nervously. “In the name of Pheramûnion Dolenthangion, Holy Master and Teacher of the Great Temple of Bulëenion Carandelothion, I am giving permission to this guest to enter our domain.” There was no response from the guards. In truth, he’d not expected one. He tried to turn but found it difficult to divert his gaze from the vision before him. Finally, with great effort, he walked back through the gate and headed to the Main Doors. Oa-neth followed as the guards sighed in unison. In the darkness, the Qiliv quietly led the horse away.
     Botir scampered across the courtyard, eager to show his alacrity to Oa-neth, although a voice in his head kept questioning his newfound eagerness. He reached the Sacred Portal and pulled on the door handles quickly. The guards beyond drew forward, alarmed at the unexpected opening. It’s their duty and theirs alone, Botir reminded himself. He felt like slapping his forehead at his unacceptable breach of protocol.
     He strode through the Portal and into the main entrance hall. As Oa-neth entered behind him, the chandelier began to gleam brightly. The guards closed the doors behind them and then they too stood, transfixed by the sight. Botir looked anxiously around the chamber and then up the stairs. Except for the guards, they were alone.
     “Um,” he said nervously to Oa-neth. “I guess you should wait here. I’ll go… I’ll go get someone.” He turned to walk up the stairs and nearly fell backwards with surprise.
     There, halfway up them, stood a thin, tall figure, six feet in height. His skin was pale grey and flawless; his silver hair shone in the enhanced light of the room. His resplendent blue robes flowed onto the steps around him. In his hands was a green and black staff topped by a glowing green gem.
     “Young lady,” he said in a quiet, deep voice, “you will desist.” The look of disapproval on his aquiline face was unmistakable. The white glow surrounding Oa-neth dimmed and disappeared.
     The tall Grinuaolli walked down the remainder of the stairs, moving so smoothly he appeared to be gliding. He drew close to Oa-neth and looked down at her. The shorter Grinuaolli returned his gaze with a serene look. Botir retreated to the edge of the chamber and blinked furiously. Without her aura, Oa-neth looked more earthly, and he felt as if his head was finally cooling.
     “My Holy Master, teacher and guide,” she said softly. “I am returning to resume my studies, should you so permit.”
     “I see,” said the Master. “Oa-neth Billipuotroni, you were asked to take leave from your work here and examine matters of faith in the outside world. Have you done so?”
     “I have, my Master,” she replied.
     “Whom have you studied with?”
     “Her Sagacity, the Magistrate of Laiiâiel, Iartholien,” Oa-neth answered in an even tone. “Additionally, I was provided with an opportunity to delve into matters of faith with Lord Maher Makhsoud of the domain of Alladag. Under their tutelage, I regained those elements of my belief that I had lost. I am ready to recommence where I left off.”
     “I see,” said Pheramûnion. “You said you learned under one who is not a Grinuaolli. I would suggest there may be an element of heresy in that.”
     “Please hear my explanation, my Master,” said Oa-neth quickly. “Lord Makhsoud was quite instrumental in my development. It was he who explained the fundamentals of faith to me when I was quite lost in that matter. It was he who unlocked the power hidden within my soul. I would not be what I am today without his assistance and wisdom. Additionally, it was Her Sagacity, Iartholien, who recommended I study with him. Surely my Master would not object to her advice.”
     The taller Grinuaolli raised an eyebrow. Botir shivered as he stood off to one side. He had seen that look before. Sometimes, things exploded shortly after it appeared. Oa-neth continued to stare up at her interrogator, looking undaunted.
     “Your impetuousness has certainly increased since you were last here,” the Master warned. “It has been decades since even one of the Conclave have dared to speak to Pheramûnion Dolenthangion in such a fashion. I must know if the increase in your wisdom has truly been commensurate with the increase in your impudence.” Botir took in a short breath. In his mind’s eye, he saw the chandelier about to come crashing down. As if he had heard Botir’s sharp respiration, Pheramûnion turned to look at him. The Curate cowered under his glare.
     “Curate Dichivolli,” the Master said, “please escort our returning student to the guest quarters.” He turned back to Oa-neth. “The hour is late – or rather it is very early. In the morning, after prayers, you will join me in Mistress Lo-milw Isocyla’s offices. Its location has not changed and I am sure you remember how to find it. Then we will see if you have done what I asked and are worthy of reclaiming your position here.”
     Oa-neth lowered her head and nodded slightly. “With all praise to Bulëenion Carandelothion, I thank my Master for his magnanimous offer. I shall endeavour to exceed your expectations.” She walked over to Botir and looked at him expectantly. The Curate glanced over at Pheramûnion who nodded slowly in return. Then he turned and, together with Oa-neth, began walking up the wide stairs. When they had gone halfway up, the Master’s voice reached them.
     “And Oa-neth,” he said, “pray tell me, what is written in the Book of Wisdom, Chapter fourteen, Verse six?”
     Oa-neth turned, her brow slightly furrowed. “Before one who exceeds you in wisdom and experience, display not thine own inadequate powers of reason.”
     “Very good,” said Pheramûnion. “The others may have been impressed with that little display on your arrival here, but you will refrain from such meaningless demonstrations of power until I have given you permission to do so. Is that clear?”
     “It is, my Master,” Oa-neth replied humbly. Pheramûnion gestured, and the two began again to ascend the stairs.

     The Great Temple of Bulëenion Carandelothion was a sprawling conglomeration of buildings and open land surrounded by a high, thick wall. It had been acquired by group of wealthy Grinuaollis several centuries before, in the time before the Empire came to this part of eastern Bamfortia. In those wild days, they had desired to create for their race a kingdom in which the Temple would be central. When the Empire came, the leadership recognized their dreams would not be realized in the face of the overwhelming force that the Imperial armies brought with them. Thus were the Grinuaolli lands incorporated into the Empire’s possessions. In their wisdom, the early rulers of the Temple had acquired far more land than they would ever need, and as the area around became more populated, judicious sales of farmland enriched the Grinuaolli coffers greatly. Although the actual area controlled by the Grinuaolli, which were known as the fairest race, had decreased over time, their holdings were still quite extensive.
     The Basilica in the midst of the complex where the formal worship was held dominated the compound and could be seen throughout the surrounding countryside. It was several storeys high and was built from gleaming yellow stone with a gold-plated dome and four silver spires on its roof. Surrounding it were nine smaller buildings. Eight belonged to the various Aspects of the Conclave, the council that managed the Temple and handled the religious affairs of the Grinuaolli race. The ninth, located by the western wall of the Basilica, served as a meeting place for the Conclave itself. The homes of the various members of the conclave were in the upper storeys of this building, with the Holy Master occupying the top two storeys. Standing between the buildings and the Western Gate was the large Study Hall. Here, thousands of Grinuaollis studied day and night, learning the ancient texts of the Caranrodien in hopes of increasing their understanding of the world.
     Botir and Oa-neth walked down the hallway, through the Study Hall., and outside, across the dark ground towards a long two-storey building set with numerous dark windows along its length. Botir led her to a small doorway and opened it.
     Once inside, Oa-neth closed her eyes and began to murmur to herself. “Mun iraptoun ist tris orrotenti,” she said in a slow, barely audible tune. A white globe of light appeared above her head, illuminating the room. She slowly turned to face Botir and smiled gently. “I assume that the Master still allows the students to use their skills where needed.”
     The young Curate nodded. “The Master is kind and gracious to his pupils. I cannot imagine he would object to your method of providing light to a dark place.”
     Oa-neth looked around the room. It appeared to be a simple foyer with wood-panelled walls. There was a large, open doorway in one wall and, in the shadows beyond, Oa-neth could make out a hallway lined with narrow doors. Botir led Oa-neth down a corridor. They stopped at the third door on the left and the Curate gently pushed it open.
     “These rooms,” he said, “are reserved for guests of the Temple. There are not many who make the pilgrimage anymore. The roads have not been safe since the Revolt of the Black Cult. Those who once travelled from afar to join us in worship now prefer to offer their prayers at home.”
     “How sad,” Oa-neth told the young Grinuaolli. “Once upon a time the Temple was full of those seeking out inspiration from the Caranrodien.”
     “Begging the lady’s pardon,” Botir ventured. “You were once a student here?”
     Oa-neth nodded. “That was many decades ago. I reached an… impasse in my learning and was told that the secret to overcoming it lay in the outside world. Since then I have travelled many roads and gathered what I needed to return here.”
     “What knowledge can be gained in the outside world?”
     Oa-neth looked sternly at him. “How long have you been a student here?”
     “Fifteen years,” said Botir. “I have held the rank of Curate for three.”
     “And in that time,” continued Oa-neth, “did you not review the Ethical Tractates?”
     “Well, of course I did,” Botir answered. “But I have not yet memorized them, if that is what you are asking.”
     “Then you may not recall the words of Telpelhug Rallathilon in the fifth chapter of the fourth volume. ‘Seek out wisdom where it may be found, for the study halls and houses of worship of the world are not knowledge’s only repositories.’”
     “I apologize most humbly,” Botir said, slumping his shoulders. “Obviously there is much I still need to learn.”
     “Don’t feel bad,” said Oa-neth in a comforting voice. “When I first came here, it was overwhelming for me, too. All the other students were able to quote by heart entire maxims that seemed to fit any occasion, and there were some who could recite entire volumes of lore from memory. It seemed so pretentious, but after I had learned enough I also began to see the value of the knowledge.”
     “I suppose you’re right,” Botir responded. “It’s just that when I look at the size of the library in the Study Hall, it seems impossible to dream that I might one day retain all that the sacred tomes contain.” His hand indicated the room behind Oa-neth. “This is your room for the rest of the night. Morning prayers are at first light, as you may remember, in the Basilica. Be prompt, for the number of students exceeds the number of seats.”
     Botir had almost reached the end of the hall when he turned again to face Oa-neth who was still standing in the doorway. “Milady,” he said softly.
     “I am not nobility that you should refer to me thusly,” she corrected.
     “But the light …” Botir started to say.
Oa-neth immediately cut him off. “It would appear the Holy Master would not have me display or discuss that with anyone yet. I think it would be best if it were simply not mentioned.” Botir nodded, wished Oa-neth good night and disappeared into the courtyard.
     Alone, Oa-neth settled into the small room. It was simply appointed, with a narrow cot, a small cupboard and a window overlooking the grounds. She lay on the bed and waved her hand. The globe of light vanished, leaving her in darkness. Then she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, hoping that the dreams would not disturb her in this place.

     As the tip of the sun appeared in the eastern sky, Oa-neth joined the throngs of students filing quietly out of their dormitories and heading towards the Basilica. It had long been the Grinuaollish custom to not speak before reciting morning prayers, an edict that led to the first service of the day being well-attended and starting promptly. As she walked with the others, Oa-neth thought back on the long period in her life when she had not offered prayers. She winced inwardly. There would be time to contemplate this later.
     Although she had risen early, Oa-neth found the Basilica’s long wooden pews to be nearly filled, and had to content herself with a seat in the upper levels. The wooden benches were arranged in a giant semi-circle and set in ascending rows. The cathedral had been designed to ensure that the assembled worshippers, no matter how great their number, would easily be able to see the centre of the room. In the middle of the circle stood a small dais surrounded by eight chairs. A square altar sat next to them, its exterior coated in silver and adorned with emeralds and opals. The ceiling of the cathedral consisted of small mirrors set in an intricate pattern. The sources of light in the cathedral were restricted to a few strategically-placed glowstones, but the mirrors reflected the light back and forth until the entire ceiling shimmered with their golden light. The north wall was covered in a giant fresco depicting the Caranrodien looking down at the worshippers.
     Oa-neth recalled the awe she felt the first time she stood in this place and realized that its impact was still with her. She sat down and fingered her amulet while waiting for the service to begin. All around her sat other students who were busy gesticulating to each other, the sound of the rustling of their robes filling the air. Although the edict forbade speaking, the students had long ago learned ways to circumvent it.
     A hush fell over the room as Pheramûnion Dolenthangion and the other members of conclave walked down a wide aisle and into the middle of the room. The eight members of the Conclave sat in chairs surrounding the dais while Pheramûnion ascended to stand in their midst. When he had reached the midpoint of the dais, he gazed at the assembled crowd for a moment, and then raised his staff. The glowing green gem on its tip seemed much dimmer than when Oa-neth had seen it the night before. He brought the staff down to the ground and as one, all the assembled worshippers, Oa-neth amongst them, rose and began the introductory hymn, the Thanksgiving Ballad of Bulëenion Carandelothion:

     “We are the race which is most fair;
     Let all those who doubt this fall away.
     Our wisdom and grace without compare,
     Surviving tribulations, come what may.

     There is no wisdom, credence or joy
     Among the other races so mortal -
     Indeed their very attempts to impress annoy -
     Our greatness is so total.

     Let all who gaze upon us be in rapture;
     And, if they contemplate their ways,
     A thought so bold they might capture,
     And consider the rest of their short days.

     For we are the Grinuaollis, proud and strong;
     Our abilities equalled by none.
     We will endure our lives are long -
     When the others’ days are done.

     And so we thank thee, Bulëenion Carandelothion,
     For the greatness you have bequeathed.
     Our prayers to you are never done;
     Nor is the fullness of your grace revealed.”

     Oa-neth grimaced to herself and she sang along with the others, the words and tune easily coming back to her. When she was younger, the verses had seemed to make sense and had fit in with her views of the world and the place of the Grinuaollis within it. Now, however, the experiences of her travels had taught her a different outlook, and she wondered if she could ever regain the sincerity with which she had once sung the hymn, which now seemed simple and childish.
     The service continued with various other hymns extolling the different Caranrodien - the Grinuaollis' patriarchs - as well as the facets of nature they claimed hegemony over. The intensity grew from hymn to hymn, finally reaching a fevered pitch as the Thanksgiving Ballad was repeated to close the service.
     Oa-neth glanced down at the dais and saw that the orb on Pheramûnion’s staff was now glowing brightly white. The Holy Master himself stood with his eyes closed, as if concentrating on the energy of the prayers surrounding him. As the sound of the closing hymn died away, he opened his eyes and looked around at the assembled worshippers.
     “Our First Ones are pleased with your devotions,” he announced, his voice ringing through the hall, even to its furthest corners. “While there is much suffering in the world outside, within our hallowed precincts, knowledge and peace still reign. This is not by chance, but is a result of our efforts and the blessings showered upon us by the founders of our race. These blessings are not free gifts - they must be earned through our thoughts and actions. No rest is permitted, lest the suffering which surrounds us find us as prey. May your efforts today receive blessing and success.” Then he turned and walked down the aisle, followed by the other members of the Conclave. When they had disappeared from sight, the students filed out of the Basilica towards the Study Hall.

     In the Temple, each student was assigned to one of the various Aspects of the Grinuaollish religion, a selection initially made on the basis of the individual’s ethnic background. Generally students were initially assigned to Masters from the same branch of the race, but after testing, were often moved to different Aspects befitting their intellectual and spiritual abilities. With time and proper study, they were allowed to branch out in order to learn in the advanced parts of other Aspects. Indeed, each Aspect held a ranking within the Temple with regard to the complexity of its subject matter, and there was a general desire amongst the students to rise as high as possible during their studies. When Oa-neth had first come to the Temple as a child, she had been assigned to Mistress Lo-milw Isocyla, a Grinuaolli-Fûrit from the Zadic Forest in central Paskanah. Her area of study was the knowledge of the stars and constellations, and it was to her office that Oa-neth now walked. Other Grinuaolli-Fûrits walked with her, some looking at the newcomer with curiosity, but she did not return their glances. Last night, the holiness of the Temple had not prevented the dreams from coming.

     Mistress Lo-milw Isocyla was old, even by Grinuaollish standards. Some said she was the eldest of the various Masters and Mistresses, possibly of more years than even Pheramûnion Dolenthangion. Her wisdom was renowned throughout the Temple and most of Grinuaollish society. But her kindness was even more famous than her wisdom. It was said that she could inspire a student through a gentle word more effectively than a Chetu’ul slave master could motivate his charges with his cruel whip. Even the wrinkles on her face seemed to disappear when she smiled. Her students reflected her kindness in their actions, and were eagerly sought out as religious leaders.
     This morning, Lo-milw Isocyla had arrived immediately after services, eager for a chance to meet with the Holy Master. In recent months he had become seemingly aloof, sequestering himself in his private offices at every opportunity. But yesterday she had received word that Pheramûnion wished to meet with her in her own offices. Clad in a long, blue and black robe with a silver shawl, she rushed about to tidy her books and scrolls with an enthusiasm that belied her advanced years, her long, white, braided hair flying behind her. Then she brought out a decanter of von ruagi, a preferred Grinuaollish drink, and two crystal goblets.
     As she finished arranging her desk, a soft knock came at the door. Collecting herself, she walked over to the door and opened it.
     There, standing in the doorway was not the Holy Master she’d expected, but a young maiden, not more than one hundred years old, with long, red hair tied neatly in a bun and clad in a simple white robe. Around her neck she wore the amulet of Belethcristiel Teleplindëwen, and on her left wrist were two intertwined chains of gold and silver.
     “Can I help you, child?” Lo-milw asked. Oa-neth looked eagerly at her in response. The Mistress’ eyes narrowed and then widened as she recognized who was standing before her. “Oa-neth Billipuotroni! Is it truly you? How many years has it been?”
     Oa-neth curtseyed. “I am happy that the Mistress remembers such a humble student. It has been too many years since I have been graced by your countenance.”
     “Where are my manners?” said Lo-milw. “In my old age, certain things tend to slip the mind. Please come in. I have a few moments before an important meeting, and would love the opportunity to speak with you. Sit, sit! I have some von ruagi here. Would you care for some?”
     “No thank you, Mistress,” Oa-neth replied, sitting in one of the small wooden chairs that adorned the office. She glanced all around as she sat down. The room was much the way she remembered it, with all the shelves covered with ancient tomes and scrolls.
     Lo-milw walked around and sat down behind her desk. “As you can no doubt guess,” she said, clearing some space in front of her, “I have endeavoured to keep things as constant as possible since your departure. Tell me how you have been and perhaps a bit about your travels.”
     “Perhaps the maiden should wait until the person who summoned her here arrives,” came Pheramûnion’s voice from behind them.
     Both women immediately jumped to their feet. There in the doorway stood the Holy Master. He wore an ornate white, green and black robe embroidered with Grinuaollish runes. A golden mitre was on his head and he carried his staff in his right hand, its gem glowing softly green again. Around his neck hung an amulet shaped like a golden crown.
     “Be seated,” he said, striding into the room. At his command, both Oa-neth and Lo-milw sat back in their chairs. Pheramûnion walked over to another chair and sat opposite both. He rested his staff on his knees and took his mitre off, carefully placing it on the floor next to him. Then he gazed at Oa-neth, and she felt like his piercing blue eyes were looking into her soul.
     “Oa-neth Billipuotroni,” he said in his deep, slow voice. “You left this Temple some twenty-five years ago. You have now returned without warning and have asked to resume your studies. As a first step towards the consideration of this matter, I would like to know what you have been doing since you departed.”
     Oa-neth shifted in her chair to straighten her posture. “The Holy Master surely recalls our last conversation together. I had been troubled by fundamental matters of faith. I was told… asked to leave and seek out in the world what was missing for me here.”
     Pheramûnion nodded. “I would surmise that to be an accurate account. Continue.”
     “I travelled far and wide from here. Some of my journeys were pleasant, some not so, and I am sure the Holy Master will forgive me if I do not dwell on that which might trouble the ears. Suffice it to say that only a few years after I left here, I was completely lost in the world. My life had gone adrift and what the future held for me, no one could tell. But then Heaven smiled upon me and my fortunes changed. I met two friends who provided me with protection and direction. I stayed with them for several years until the Revolt of the Black Cult. The Holy Master is certainly aware of the small role I played in that.”
     “I am,” Pheramûnion said, “but your erstwhile teacher is not. Please speak of that.”
     “It was fifteen years ago,” continued Oa-neth. “At the time, my friends and I lived in the city of Melobam, in the province of Sauria. There we were recruited by the future leader of the Revolt. Without knowing it, we assisted him in some of his early plans. Eventually we realized the depth of the evil he was plotting in trying to resurrect an ancient evil long thought to have passed from the world. It was during this time I met with Lord Maher Makhsoud and learned how to regain my faith. Along with some others who had been similarly deceived, we worked to bring about Gormann Daggerheart’s downfall. With the help of the Empire and the grace of Heaven, we succeeded.”
     “All praise to Bulëenion Carandelothion and the Caranrodien,” whispered Lo-milw. “Those were dark times indeed for all those who lived in the Empire.” Pheramûnion said nothing, but continued to look at Oa-neth with his unflinching stare.
     “After that, our ways parted. My friends went off on their separate journeys. I travelled to the lands of the North, seeking out wisdom there. Five years ago I returned south and sojourned in the village of Laiiâiel. There I studied under the tutelage of Her Sagacity, Iartholien, Magistrate of the village.”
     “A wise woman,” murmured Pheramûnion. “A matriarch to our race.”
     “If only such things as simple words could adequately describe the depth of her knowledge,” replied Oa-neth. “It was to my great sorrow, and the sorrow of our race, when she passed away six months ago.” Lo-milw lowered her head and closed her eyes as she said this, but Pheramûnion continued to look straight at her.
     “The funeral,” he said, “was it appropriate?”
     “The entire village, as well as representatives from all parts of our race, were there, with the exception of the Culdac.” All three Grinuaollis spit as she said the word. Few enmities in the world were stronger than that which existed between the Grinuaollis and their cousins in the South. “I recall several representatives from the Temple as well, although they stayed only briefly.”
     “It was a difficult time for us,” Lo-milw said. “The Holy Master no doubt recalls that there were several Hobgoblin raids at the time. The roads were not safe.”
     “I do not doubt matters of the most pressing urgency prevented the Holy Master from attending the funeral,” responded Oa-neth. “After her Sagacity’s passing, I met with Astaldoberaidiel, the new Magistrate of the village. It was decided that I had learned as much as I could in Laiiâiel and that I could either be appointed as religious guide of the village or I could depart to further my training.”
     “It is a testament to the decline of our people,” said Pheramûnion, “that there were no other experienced teachers in an entire village. Were there many Chetz-Grinuaollis in Laiiâiel?”
     Oa-neth nodded. “A few. Some came from surrounding villages, which were no longer safe because of the ongoing Chetu'ul raids from the Yoram Mountains. Others were travellers looking for a place to live. They were welcomed as fellows into our midst and are making successful lives for themselves.”
     “Indeed a true testament to our decline,” Pheramûnion muttered. “Mongrels welcomed among the faithful.” Oa-neth looked briefly at the floor and thought of her old friend, Ritchar Grussilivri, the Chetz-Grinuaolli from Tzuba who had fought at her side in the Revolt of the Black Cult, but thought better of mentioning him. It was clear what the Holy Master’s opinions on the subject were and she did not want to irritate him.
     “So it was that when my time in Laiiâiel came to an end, I had to make a decision where to go next. And I never forgot the Holy Master’s last words to me. ‘You may return when your faith is strong and your questions answered.’ And so I am here now to ask permission to resume my studies.”
     “You have not told us everything,” said Pheramûnion. “There is the matter of the five years between the end of the Revolt and your arrival in Laiiâiel. Would you care to share the details of that time with me?”
     Although she could not explain why, Oa-neth suddenly felt that Pheramûnion already knew the answer to the question and was simply testing her to see how forthright she would be. “I was in the Qilivish Realm of Arnodon, deep within the Yoram Mountains,” she said after a momentary pause.
     “You went to live with Qilivs?” gasped Lo-milw. “Why in the name of Menehiriel Imernilwen would any self-respecting Grinuaolli do that?” Oa-neth looked over in shock at her old teacher. It was the first time she had ever said anything without at least a hint of kindness in it.
     “My teacher will forgive me,” she stuttered. “One of my comrades was a Qiliv who fell in battle. His name is remembered in song throughout the Qilivish Realms and the Empire, since his courage in the time of crisis was unwavering. It is the custom of the Qilivs to be buried in the Realm from which their family comes. He was from Arnodon, so I took it upon myself to ensure his body would be buried there. Afterwards I was invited by the elders of that place to remain, if I so wished, and I did so for five years, learning much Qilivish wisdom.”
     “Qilivish wisdom,” repeated Pheramûnion in a tone that suggested the two words did not belong together. Although the Qilivs were now a respected race throughout Paskanah, their ancient rivalry with the Grinuaollis had not abated with time. “And now you claim your faith is strong. Your questions have been answered?”
“They have, Holy Master,” Oa-neth answered.
     “By the Qilivs? Or by those of the pure faith, those of your own race?”
     “I have learned from all those who would seek to teach me,” Oa-neth replied firmly. “It is written in the Book of Wisdom that a student is like the thresher of wheat. She receives the crop, separates the grain and disposes of the chaff. I have done so with all the knowledge presented to me. If I felt what I believed was inappropriate, I would not have returned here.”
     A silence fell over the room after she said this and, even though Pheramûnion continued to stare at her, Oa-neth sensed he was lost in his own thoughts.
     “You will be readmitted to the Temple,” he said after a few minutes had passed. “I do not doubt that Iartholien taught you well and that your level of knowledge will acquire a high position in the Study Hall before long, but I will require you to earn that spot. Because of her obvious affection for you, Mistress Isocyla shall be responsible for your testing and should you meet her most rigorous standards, you will be assigned to her Aspect to continue your training.” Oa-neth looked surprised at the announcement. Lo-Milw’s aspect was the third highest in the hierarchy of the Temple. She had expected an initial placement in one of the lower Aspects.
     “It will be a pleasure to take on this promising student,” Lo-milw gushed, obviously thrilled at the news. “I shall being preparing the examinations right away.”
     Pheramûnion stood up. “When you have learned all you can from the Mistress, you will go to learn under Master Lhûnkilokëiel, Sage of Heaven. Should you reach his expectations, you might even join my circle. There is room in this Temple, in your heart, and in your soul only for the wisdom and knowledge of your race. You will be trained to expunge those defiled foreign elements, so that your belief will remain pure. And you will never use that impurity to advance your studies here. Am I clear?”
     “I understand,” Oa-neth said softly.
     “Very well. Mistress Isocyla, you will find a place in the Study Hall for the student so that she may begin her preparations.” With that, Pheramûnion walked out of the room. The door closed by itself behind him, leaving the two women alone.
     “I’m so happy for you,” Lo-milw said, smiling broadly. “I cannot remember the last time a student was readmitted after leaving the Temple. This is indeed a happy day. Come, I shall show you to your new desk in the Study Hall. It should not take me more than a week to prepare the requisite examinations. I’m sure you’ll easily conquer them.”

     Mosred, Duke of the domain of Mekarer, looked up from his desk as the door opened. There, in the doorway stood a young blond man wearing a fine suit and carrying a small scroll. He looked expectantly and Mosred waved him in.
     “Come, Thendalden,” the Duke said. “How is my ward doing this evening?”
     “I am well, milord,” Thendalden replied. He walked into the room and handed the scroll to Mosred who took it with curiosity.
     “When did this arrive?” he asked as he examined the seal. It was made of yellow wax and had the imprint of a small crown on it.
     “Just now,” Thendalden replied. “The courier states that he came directly from Imperius-on-Great-Lake.”
     “Is he still here?” Mosred asked. “I should like to inquire as to how his journey was. The lands can be dangerous, after all, and it behoves me to remain informed as to the state of the roads.”
     “You take your responsibilities so seriously, milord,” Thendalden noted.
     “If I am to justify the extra responsibilities His Majesty has privileged me with,” Mosred replied, “I must remain vigilant in maintaining them.” He broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. As his eyes scanned the writing, he began to frown.
     “Sir?” asked Thendalden, leaning over. “What is written therein that causes your visage to fall?”
     “I spoke too eagerly of responsibilities,” said Mosred. He put the scroll down and folded his hands in front of him. “It seems that His Majesty wishes to reverse matters. Now that life within the Empire is returning to the peaceful way it was before the Revolt of the Black Cult, he wishes to return to himself the authority he bestowed upon the nobility in its aftermath.”
     “A most distressing turn of events,” Thendalden said. “Does His Majesty not appreciate the efforts the nobility have engaged in to keep the land safe since the war?”
     “Perhaps not,” Mosred said. “It certainly suggests a certain ingratitude, if I might speak so boldly of His Majesty. After all, have I or my fellows abused this power that it should be repealed from us?”
     Abruptly, there was a sharp knock at the door. Thendalden rose and opened it to reveal a tall figure standing in the hallway outside. It was clad in a long, grey robe with a deep hood that obscured its face. Mosred stood up slowly and stared at the figure. For some reason, the room suddenly felt colder.
     “Who are you?” the duke demanded as the hairs on the back of his neck rose. The figure stepped into the room accompanied by a gust of cold air. Mosred began to tremble slightly as the figure approached his desk. Thendalden stood up and walked over to stand next to it.
     “A guest, milord,” he said. The figure stood silently, but even though its face was concealed, Mosred feel its eyes staring at him.
     “I do not recall issuing invitations,” the duke retorted. “Who requests your presence here this evening? How did you reach my office without being stopped by the guards?”
     “I invited him, milord,” Thendalden said. Mosred looked over at him in surprise. There was a sneer curling around the young man’s lips.
     “You did?” Mosred asked in shock. “How audacious. Who are you, sir? I demand to know your identity.”
     “He is here to assist you,” Thendalden said. “How fortunate the timing of this news from Imperius-on-Great-Lake. You are distressed that the Emperor does not seek to affirm your authority, but rather diminish it. Our visitor can help ensure your power increases with His Majesty’s approval.”
     “I hope it is not of treason that you speak, Thendalden,” admonished Mosred.
     “Not treason, but opportunity,” the younger man replied. “A chance to use the ambition of others to result in their destruction - and our gain.”
     “Now wait one moment, please,” Mosred protested. “Our visitor, as you call him, has not even granted me the courtesy of a greeting, nor do I know his appellation. Perhaps when such basic facts have been covered…”
     His sentence was cut off as the figure reached towards him with lighting speed. Before he could react, Mosred felt frigid fingers grasping at his throat. He began to choke and sputter, but the figure held him fast.
     “You will be silent,” came a hissing voice from underneath the hood. “I do not have to answer to one such as you. I have come to increase the power of the Duke of Mekarer, and I shall accomplish that goal with your assistance. Am I clear in my assertion?” It held up its other hand. The fingers remained covered by the edge of the sleeve, but it was clearly holding a large flask.
     Mosred nodded weakly. His legs began to feel weak, as stars swam through his field of vision. The figure released him and he fell limply back into his chair. Then the figure removed his hood and looked straight at him. The duke opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came forth.

     Biarith and Galuviel looked up from their sewing tables as the footsteps echoed down the hall. Smiling in anticipation, they stood up and straightened their dresses. The door flew open, revealing a tall man with limp black hair. His skin was pale and his body was covered in a long, grey-hooded robe. Standing behind him, smiling oddly, was Thendalden Legoma.
     “Who are you?” Biarith asked. Instinctively she took a step back and put her arm defensively around her daughter. Galuviel shrank back, a look of fear on her face.
     “I am Mosred, Duke of Mekarer,” the man said in a deep voice. “Do you not recognize your own husband, Biarith, Duchess of Mekarer?”
     “What madness is this?” Biarith asked. “Thendalden, who is this intruder, and why do you accompany him?”
     “Duchess,” Thendalden replied, “did you not hear his words? His is your husband and lord, Duke Mosred of Mekarer. How is it come that you do not know this?”
     “This is treachery,” Biarith exclaimed. “I do not know who you are, sir, but I shall call for the guards to evict you, if you do not leave immediately!”
     “The guards will not evict their lord and master,” the man said. “Very well, if you have become so ill as to not recognize me, I shall have to give you a proper remedy.” He reached into his robes and pulled out the large flask. After uncorking it, he began walking towards Biarith and Galuviel.
     “We are not in need of remedy, sir!” replied Biarith. “Guards! Guards!”
     Thendalden laughed as she screamed. “This illness has not only affected your memory, but also your hearing. The guards will not assist you. Why waste your breath?”
     Galuviel dashed forward suddenly. The man swung with his free hand, catching her with his forearm across her neck. She fell to the ground and began grasping at her throat. In a single, rapid movement, the man knelt down and poured the contents of the flask, a thick red fluid, into her mouth. She thrashed and clawed at him as he did, but then a moment later, settled and began to swallow deeply. Biarith leapt forward and ran around the figure, but Thendalden grabbed her arms as she tried to manoeuvre around him.
     “Wretch!” she shouted, as she struggled vainly to escape his firm grip. “My husband took you in when your own mother abandoned you, provided you with a home and a proper upbringing. Is this how you repay such a debt?”
     Thendalden laughed maliciously as the man stood and walked towards them. When he reached Biarith, she spit at his face. Without pausing to wipe his skin, he gripped her chin with one hand and forced the flask into her mouth with the other. She struggled and the red fluid began to drip down the sides of her chin. After a moment she too settled and began swallowing greedily. Behind them, Galuviel slowly rose to her feet, a blank look in her eyes. Thendalden released Biarith and she took a slow step forward, breathing heavily as she did. As her eyes glazed over, she looked at the tall man standing in front of her.
     “More,” she whispered. “I must have more.”
     “Who am I?” he asked.
“Lord Mosred of Mekarer,” she replied. “My husband, my master and my love.”
     “An excellent recovery,” the figure said.

     His Holiness, Prefect Sklaar Arvell of Arges had come to Mekarer several years before to seek employment as the spiritual leader of the domain. Since then, he had conducted worship in the Duke’s castle, attended to the religious needs of the population of Mekarer and served as a spiritual guide to Mosred and his family. In all that time, the residents of the castle, the nobility amongst them, had always shown him the proper respect. He was treated with deference during public functions and never disturbed while studying his holy tomes in his quarters. His rooms functioned as his private library, with bookcases lining most of the walls and icons of faith hanging in every opportune place. When the knocking came at the door, it therefore surprised him. He rose quickly and opened the door to see what emergency had resulted in such a strange breach of protocol.
     As the door opened, Thendalden Legoma strode into the room and walked over to stand behind Sklaar’s desk. The prefect looked over at the lad and frowned. Although Thendalden was of considerable height, Sklaar was much taller with a long, white mane of hair that he usually tied back.
     “Young man,” he said slowly, “this is most unexpected. To what do I owe the honour of this visit?”
     “To curiosity,” Thendalden said. Sklaar looked at him closely and saw a trace of nervousness on his face.
     “Is there a question you wish answered?” he asked.
     “In a manner of speaking,” Thendalden replied. “You are a prefect, trained in the ancient religious rites and wielder of the Holy Power.”
     “As it is granted to me by the grace of Heaven,” Sklaar replied. “What is your question?”
     “Is it true that the Holy Power gives one the ability to repulse true evil?” Thendalden asked.
     “That is what is taught,” the prefect said. “Why do you wish to know?”
     “To see if you can oppose me,” a deep voice said behind him. Sklaar whirled around and came face to face with the stranger, who smiled thinly and punched the prefect across the jaw.
     “Who dares?” he stuttered, blood dripping from his broken lip. “I am a prefect, the spiritual guide of this domain. To strike me is to invoke the very wrath of Heaven.”
     The man stepped back slightly as Sklaar spoke. The prefect straightened himself and immediately took note of the reaction. “Ah, so this is your evil, Thendalden,” he muttered. “I warned the duke about you. Nothing good could come from your origins, but he didn’t listen.”
     “Old man,” snorted Thendalden, “you have missed a great change. Before you stands the duke.”
     “Lies shall not penetrate my domain,” Sklaar said. He pointed his finger at the man and began praying in a slow tune. “So huc sognam ligiri putis, upiros buno on ribas letonas elecrobas it fractausos putoro putis!” His hand began to glow with a soft blue light. As it did, the man’s face twisted slightly and he took another step back.
     “I warn you,” he hissed, “not to oppose me. I am master of this domain. You stand alone and cannot thwart me.”
     “We shall see,” Sklaar said. He raised his other hand, which was also bathed in light and point its fingers at the man. “Atonem cunoareto ti on furu ontirfocoent!”
     The stranger recoiled again, as Sklaar took another step forward. Suddenly Thendalden ran forward and struck Sklaar across the back of his skull. The prefect moaned and fell to his knees. The young man raised his foot and kicked him across the jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor where he lay motionless. The figure straightened up and walked into the room as smoke began to rise from the various icons scattered about the room.
     “Enough,” he said, as Thendalden turned the unconscious priest onto his back. “He shall not drink. It wouldn’t affect him anyway. Take him down below, then seal the room. I am Duke Mosred of Mekarer now and there is much to do.”
     Thendalden smiled viciously and obeyed, dragging Sklaar by his legs out of the room.