Embers

Here is an excerpt from my latest creation:

Currently it is set as the prologue to the first of the Darkness Rising Trilogy, tentatively titled “The Argent Throne”

Comments and thoughts are always welcome.

8 Aeruusirde, 1364CR

The chamber was small, octagonal in shape. Its eight walls were black, carved out of pure onyx. In each wall was a single silver candle holder, in which sat a blood red candle. Its ceiling was low, a mere seven feet from the floor. The floor was also made of the same shiny black rock the wall were. There was a single large throne carved out of solid silver, on the back of which glittered a gem-set image of a phoenix.  An image of that same magical creature was outlined on the polished black floor in amber.

Without warning, the door to the chamber opened. Though it too was made of the same black stone as the rest of the room it glided open without a sound. A single hooded figure entered the room. The robe was of the finest silk imported directly from the island nation of Ceres. It was dyed a brilliant fiery red, with gold thread woven to look as flame, “burning” the left side of his body. The apex of the flame was directly over his heart. A single silver chain hung from his neck with a phoenix figurine, the holy symbol of the Church of the Vigilant Phoenix. The color of the robe marked this one as high ranking member of the clergy.

In fact, his was a solitary title, Keeper of Embers. The Keeper’s public duty was to maintain the records of the Church dating back nearly fourteen centuries when the Great Kingdoms – Cheshire, Hammon, and Vorlaria – were founded. It is the oldest title in the Church Hierarchy, never changing, in duty or form. As the Keeper of Embers, one was generally only answerable to Revered Flame, the highest rank a clergy of the Church of the Vigilant Phoenix could attain.

The Keeper strode into the center of the room, standing in the center of the amber phoenix and whispered a word of divine power, signing the symbol of Aeruus the sun god, patron of his order. As he did so, the previously unlit candles burst into divine flame, burning with an intense but low white flame. The effect caused all the bricks of onyx to shimmer, turning the entire room into a star field.

The Keeper then withdrew a silver bell from within the folds of his robe, again signed the image of the Lord of the Sun, and struck the bell three times. The sound was sharp and reverberated in the room. The Keeper slipped the bell back into his robe and waited.

A few moments after the third bell was struck, more figures entered the chamber. Twelve of them were priests, all male save one. Their robes were an ashen grey, with smoldering red trim. These men had a phoenix emblem in gold on the backs of their robes, marking them as Emblazoned Patriarchs. The patriarchs were the most powerful men and woman in the Church of the Phoenix, and all of Hammon.

Aeruus was the most prominent god of the people of Hammon. His status as ruler of the human pantheon of the Great Kingdoms was absolute. As such His will was represented everywhere, from the largest metropolis, to the tiniest hamlet. A temple, shrine or statue could be found depicting the majesty of the Sun God. The largest cathedrals were almost always dedicated to Aeruus.

The patriarchs arranged themselves in a semicircle around the phoenix symbol. Their heads were bowed and hands clasped in front of them. At some unseen signal, they all signed the symbol of the phoenix.

At that moment, three men entered into the room. Unlike the priests, the men were garbed in armor, silver chainmail to be precise. Their boots and gloves were accented in flame decals. On each of their chests was a blazing phoenix clutching a sword by the blade. This symbol marked all three men as members of the military arm of the Church, the Blades of the Phoenix.

Anton Davenport, the first of the men who entered, walked with a slight limp, a wound suffered during the last war. Despite his injury, he walked with confidence and his sharp green eyes took in everything. Around the phoenix emblem on his chest was four flaming spheres, symbol of his rank as a Commander of the Blades. He was a powerfully built man, his body showing that age had not dimmed his adherence to morning workouts. His auburn hair was cut short, as was military dress code, and he kept his goatee short as well. His hand absentmindedly kept going to the empty scabbard at his hip. Weapons were not allowed in this room. The only thing he was allowed to keep was his holy symbol, a silver phoenix adorning a silver chain that hung around his neck. As a paladin, he was never without it.

“Keep your wits about you”, Anton said to himself. He was nervous. He had heard about this room only in rumors. Unfortunately, most of those rumors ended very badly for those non-priests who went in. Rumor has it that the Keeper and his mysterious master interrogated prisoners here. If one believed the rumors, the Keeper and the master he served could even torture a soul if need be. That meant death would not be a release. The thought made him shiver as he stepped further into the room.

The second man to enter the room was Ian Crownguard. Like Davenport before him, he was a native of Hammon, and thus sported the auburn hair and fair skin that Hammonites were known for. He too was physically fit, and his looks made him very popular with females, both in and out of his order. Unlike the commander, he kept his head shave bald, only a soul patch adorning his chin, as was the current style for young men like Ian. In his mid-twenties, Ian was young for a Captain, but he was skilled with a blade, and even better with his wits. He was wise beyond his years, and had a gift for terrain. He could look at a map, and figure out the best places to put scouts, set up ambushes, where to set up camp. He could also look at a map once and have near perfect recall months later. These skills made him invaluable to the commander. Ian had an air of calm about him, as if he knew what the current proceedings were about. He glanced about the room and paused only once, on the robed figure of the only female, who barely nodded in his direction. His hands were calmly hooked into his belt and he stood respectfully, but completely relaxed.

Korbal Chevalle was the third man to enter. He was outwardly similar to the other two men. Though he kept his hair short, he sported a soul patch. He also sported a scar under his left eye where an orc arrow nearly took his eye. His uniform differed in only one respect. Underneath his phoenix emblem, a shield with a spiraling stag horn emblazoned on it. This shield was the Chevalle crest. The Chevalle line was a long and proud one. Not only did every generation boast at least one paladin, or holy warrior, of Aeruus, but every man or woman spent at least five years in the knighthood in service of the temple.

Like Thian, Korbal too seemed unperturbed by the events going on around him. “Well, it is my turn after all,” he mused. He was quite aware of the nature of this room, and at least of one particular ritual that took place in it. The Chevalles had always had a special place in the Church of the Vigilant Phoenix.

The three men stopped in the center of the room, inside the borders of the phoenix on the floor, Anton in front, Thian behind and to his right. Korbal took his place behind and to the left.  The room became deathly quiet; the only sound was the tap of Anton’s scabbard against his mailed thigh. The tapping was the result of Anton’s involuntary reach for his sword hilt. Again.

“Damn it to hell,” Anton swore to himself, “Get a hold of yourself, for Aeruus’ sake! It is not as if this was your first battle.” He relaxed, envisioning this room as just another field of battle. His eyes took in everything, the subtle shifting of the men behind him, the candles in each of the walls. The paladin’s gaze focused on the back of the room, where the throne was. It was shadowy there, and the shadows made him begin to feel uneasy again. Anton’s eyes shot towards the back wall. “Did that darkness, just get darker?” he asked himself.

Without warning the amber phoenix began to glow. Anton’s hand shot up to shield his eyes. A sideways glance told him that his companions had done the same. The priests he noted, had not. Their collective heads were angled downward, facing their open palms in prayer.

“Bastards could’ve war-”, he started to mumble but froze, transfixed by the figure sitting on the previously empty throne.

Everyone who lived and worked in the Church of the Vigilant Phoenix spoke excitedly about the room all the priests and knights were currently gathered in. The Ebon Crypt some called it; others named it simply the Black Chamber, still others called it the Chamber of No Return. Only a handful of the faithful knew of its existence.  When needed, the patriarchs would escort the summoned to the chamber. Those escorted would be led blindfolded through the labyrinthine hallways that made up the vast underground level of the Church. Not many of those escorted in walked out again.

The subject that drew the most gossip in the Church however, was the being who called this chamber his home. No one knew when the being who called himself Allfather Ember came to the Church. No one knew why he was never seen around the grounds. No one knew why he didn’t make himself publicly known.

What was known was that since his arrival the Church of the Vigilant Phoenix grew in both scope and power.  Under his guidance, every city, town, and village had at least one location dedicated to the Sun God. Under his advisement, the Blades of the Vigilant Phoenix was formed and was widely popular. The Blades were a force to be reckoned with, single handedly responsible for maintaining the borders of the theocracy of Hammon.

It was also known that while he was a fervent acolyte of Aeruus, some said blessed by the god, he was merciless to the forces of evil. It was said he was even crueler to those that displeased him. That alone made him higher in rank than even the Divine Flame, Aeruusan Vatore IX. It was said that the Divine Flame never made a decision without consulting the master of the Eclipse Chamber, as it was properly called to the Church’s inner circle.

There he was, the being known only as Allfather Ember, sitting in his throne, stiff and regal. His imperious gaze swept over the men assembled before him, settling on Anton. He was dressed in robes of the purest white, with shining gold trim. On his brow was a golden circlet with a phoenix made of crushed rubies. He appeared to be well advanced in age. Though the robes hid most of his features, his knobby bony fingers betrayed his age. His face too was gaunt, skin pulled tight, his eyes were terrible to behold. The left one was milky white in its sunken socket. The right was a burning orange set into onyx, a fitting replacement for the one he lost many decades ago. The most frightening thing about him was his skin. It was ashen grey, as if he had been burned alive and pulled out only after all his vitality had been burned from him. The spice scent emanated from his direction, as if he was attempting to hide the smell of burned flesh.

The priests suddenly chanted “Blessed be Allfather Ember. May his light burn eternal!” The sudden chant caused Anton to look back at the priests. They had dropped to their knees in supplication. A chill in the back of his neck told him Allfather Ember was still staring at him. He turned slowly, willing himself to be confident, and met the gaze of the archpriest. Though his eyes looked like those of the blind, Anton knew without a doubt, that they were boring into his own, nay, into his very soul! Still he forced himself to look back into those milky pools, aware even as he did so, that sweat was beginning to form on his brow. His hand clench onto empty air, again.

“Damnit”, Anton growled inwardly.

© Yves Desince, II and A Darkness Rising, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Yves Desince, II and A Darkness Rising with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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