Equimancer's Realm

by A.B. Robertson



  Equimancer’s Realm

  The First Book of the

  Cycle of Balance

  A. B. Robertson

  Equimancer’s Realm

  By A.B. Robertson

  Copyright 2014 A. Robertson

  Table of Contents

  Year 779

  Month of the Crab, Midsummer

  Realm’s Heart Island, The Academy

  The Sea Goat, Realm’s Waters

  Realm’s Heart Island

  The Black Scorpion Inn, Bogroot, Pyonia

  Apothecary Snakebite’s House, Cadentia

  Royal Palace of Stinger, Realm’s Heart Island

  Pyonian-Lazulian Central Garrison

  Summerwind Palace, Realm’s Heart Island

  Royal Palace of Sunflare, Realm’s Heart Island

  Bowman Mansion, Stingray Harbour, Pyonia

  Fegilovíxit, Areshadia

  The Academy, Realm’s Heart Island

  The Sweet Pain, Realm’s Heart Island

  The House of Houses, Realm’s Heart Island

  Month of the Lion, Late Summer

  Stinger Summer Residence, Stingray Harbour, Pyonia

  Apothecary Snakebite’s House, Cadentia

  The Academy, Realm’s Heart Island

  Fegilovíxit, Areshadia

  Royal Palace of Sunflare, Realm’s Heart Island

  Royal Palace of Stinger, Realm’s Heart Island

  The Hidden City, Realm’s Heart Island

  Fegilovíxit, Areshadia

  The Academy, Realm’s Heart Island

  Pyonian-Lazulian Central Garrison

  Royal Palace of Stinger, Realm’s Heart Island

  Realm’s Belly, Realm’s Heart Island

  The Academy, Realm Heart’s Island

  Fegilovíxit, Areshadia

  Summerwind Palace, Realm’s Heart Island

  Royal Palace of Stinger, Realm’s Heart Island

  Swiftarrow Manor, Pyonia

  Month of the Fox, Early Autumn

  The Academy, Realm’s Heart Island

  The Academy, Realm’s Heart Island

  Swiftarrow Mansion, Realm’s Heart Island

  Month of the Peacock, Mid-autumn

  Fegilovíxit, Areshadia

  The Academy, Realm’s Heart Island

  Realm’s Heart Island

  Island Counting House, Realm’s Heart Island

  Bowman Mansion, Stingray Harbour, Pyonia

  The Academy, Realm’s Heart Island

  Royal Palace of Warhorn, Realm’s Heart Island

  The Academy, Realm’s Heart Island

  Fegilovíxit, Areshadia

  The Academy, Realm’s Heart Island

  Month of the Scorpion, Late Autumn

  O Xamkkingran (The Bone Temple), Areshadia

  Royal Palace of Stinger, Realm’s Heart Island

  Royal Palace of Warhorn, Realm’s Heart Island

  Swiftarrow Manor, Moorfield, Pyonia

  Month of the Horse, Early Winter

  Realm’s Heart Island

  Month of the Ibex, Midwinter

  Téyávíxit, Areshadia

  Month of the Falcon, Late Winter

  Realm’s Heart Island

  Royal Palace of Stinger, Realm’s Heart Island

  Month of the Fish, Early Spring

  Seafoam Palace, Realm’s Heart Island

  Year 780

  Month of the Ram, Mid-spring

  Stingray Harbour, Pyonia

  Month of the Bull, Late Spring

  The Academy, Realm’s Heart Island

  Fegilovíxit, Areshadia

  Month of the Monkey, Early Summer

  Swiftarrow Mansion, Realm’s Heart Island

  The Hidden City, Realm’s Heart Island

  Azurian-Lunarian Waterways

  Bowman Mansion, Stingray Harbour, Pyonia

  Breeze Beach Camp, Azuria

  Realm’s Belly, Realm’s Heart Island

  Royal Palace of Stinger, Realm’s Heart Island

  Swiftarrow Mansion, Realm’s Heart Island

  Royal Palace of Stinger, Realm’s Heart Island

  The House of Houses, Realm’s Heart Island

  Appendix

  An Excerpt from the Book of Gods

  Acknowledgements

  Dedicated to the best tank I’ve ever known.

  Year 779

  Month of the Crab, Midsummer

  Realm’s Heart Island, The Academy

  The Structure sparkled in the summer sun.

  The Structure that embraced the whole of the Realm.

  The Structure; created by the Gods, made of Gods’ Glass.

  Or so the legend said.

  Gods’ Glass.

  The material that looked fragile and almost transparent, yet was indestructible.

  The Structure’s Centre - the highest tower in the World -, was located in the middle of the Capital, Realm’s Heart Island.

  The Structure consisted of three gigantic wheels.

  One in the skies, one on the ground and one below the earth; all held together by thirty-seven towers.

  Each spoke, wheel and tower was several dozens of yards in diameter, the length of each axis was two-thousand miles.

  Mordan Grimdor gazed vacantly at the light-blue shimmer of the Structure from the window of one of the Academy’s common dormitories.

  Mordan was one of the lucky, lowly-born students, whose education was paid for by an affluent benefactor. In his case this was Count Nicholas Swiftarrow, his mother’s employer. After he had been informed about the noble patronage that would change his life, the seventeen year old Mordan left his hometown and his mother without looking back. He didn’t even mind that he had been a year older than most, when he had started Academy life. In fact, he considered it a stroke of luck; this way he was in the same year as his – by now – best friends.

  He was twenty-one now; this would be his last year at the Academy.

  What then? He still had no idea what to do after graduation.

  Of course, he had his aristocratic friends, who didn’t need to worry about their futures, as they had money, influence and privileges handed to them by birth right.

  Octarian Sunflare of Heliodoria, Sylvain Wintersky of Lectricka and Wolly Wheatfield of Vosia; all three of them Princes of the noblest houses of the Realm. They spent all their time together now, but what will happen once they graduate?

  Most probably over time he would become ‘Mordan What’s-his-face, you know, from the Academy’.

  He got used to luxury, to mingling with high society, to being invited by proxy to the most important events of the Realm.

  His hand involuntarily slid to his neck, and touched his Throatmark; the tattoo that was the size of a gold coin, and burned forever into the soft flesh between his collar-bone, depicting a candle over two waves. The Throatmark that told the entire World that he was a Pyonian.

  If he didn’t get his act together, he would have to go back to where he came from.

  How would dear old, muddy Pyonia compare to the sophistication of Realm’s Heart Island?

  He hoped never to be in the position to find out.

  After three rapid knocks, the door flew open. Octarian and Wolly came barging in.

  “Ready for training?” Wolly demanded.

  “Oh no. Not this again,” Octarian sighed when he spotted Mordan’s luggage.

  “Is this some kind of new obsession of yours? Packing your bags and then going nowhere?” asked Wolly.

  “I know… I just can’t make my mind up,” Mordan rubbed his face.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t come to Lectricka with us because of your travel plans. And you didn’t even to go Pyonia,” Octarian said reproachfully.<
br />
  “I just… dunno… I have a strange feeling that something’s not right. But when I’m all packed and ready, I keep asking myself ‘what the Hell are you worried about?’.”

  “Exactly. What are you worried about? So your mother accompanied Count Swiftarrow and the young Lady Swiftarrow on their journey. Isn’t your mother the little Lady’s governess?” Wolly asked.

  “Yes, but all she could write about in the last months was for us to meet, and then suddenly she says ‘don’t come, I’m going away’? It’s just so unlike her.”

  “How stupid would you feel if you turned up just to be told that she has gone travelling? Just like she said she would,” said Wolly.

  “Well, go if you feel you have to. Nevertheless, I’d like to point out that you would never make it back in time for the Sunflare Festival. And you wouldn’t want to miss that,” Octarian cocked his eyebrow at Mordan.

  “No. I wouldn’t want that. Definitely not.”

  “Why don’t you stay now, and go during the Autumn Break? I tell you what; I’ll even go with you. I’m sure your mother will be back home by then.”

  “Really? That would be great. Thanks, man,” Mordan slapped Octarian’s shoulder.

  “That will go down a treat; a Sunflare in Pyonia,” Wolly snorted.

  “Eh. What’s life worth without adventures?” Octarian shrugged.

  “Fine, I’ll stay.”

  “Come on then, son. What you waiting for? Get your gear on and let’s go. Professor Atlas will sulk for half the training if we’re late,” Wolly clapped his hands at Mordan, who started changing into his Falconer gear.

  “It’s hard enough to train with only one Sharker and three Falconers. I hope Trillian and Sylvain will get back soon,” Wolly went on.

  “You’re one to talk, you missed every single training session during the summer,” Mordan huffed.

  “Well, I’m back now. Sorry I couldn’t recount my adventures last night. I was exhausted.”

  “What are the Ermelian girls like?” Octarian grinned at Wolly.

  “Talkative. Virginal.”

  “So nothing to report then?” Octarian squinted at him.

  Wolly smiled mysteriously.

  “And how was the curious continent of Ermelia?” Mordan asked.

  “Mental. Mentally hygienic. I feel so healthy that it’s making me sick.”

  “I’m ready, let’s go,” said Mordan.

  “Just promise me one thing; we’ll go somewhere to drink tonight. Euposia is an alcohol-free zone,” Wolly pleaded.

  “Absolutely. We have to celebrate your return,” nodded Octarian.

  “Only virgins and no drinks over there? That is mental,” muttered Mordan as they left the dormitory.

  The Sea Goat, Realm’s Waters

  After five months of involuntary capture and nineteen-and-a-half years of a self-imposed stay, Roderich Raven-Zinn was finally on his way home on board his beloved ship, the Sea Goat.

  He was a wealthy Kronurian explorer and business man. A man of middle age, average height, average looks, but with big ambitions. Kronuria, which was just north of the Realm, was the most developed continent of the whole World.

  He had travelled the World and visited all continents; decadent Roditee, intellectual Ermelia, religious Euposia and of course, the Realm with its wondrous Structure. Before his current expedition started, there was only one exception – Sarea. The least developed and most mysterious continent of the World.

  Despite the sketchy – and frightening – information, and everybody’s best efforts to talk him out of his reckless plan, twenty years ago he set sail to be the first to explore the whole of the continent, and live to tell the tale.

  ***

  It all started in the spring of the year 759.

  He knew the risks, as did his crew. Once they passed Lawless Islands, the storms grew savage and never ceased. They were relatively lucky; they got shipwrecked only a few hundred yards from the coast of North Sarea. Miraculously, Roderich had only lost three of his men.

  Two days after they had crawled onto land, they found themselves captured by a large group of hostile men. They were armed with weapons Roderich only knew from ancient books, clad in black leather loin cloths, bracers and sandals. Unarmed and at the verge of dying from thirst, he and his men surrendered without a word, and followed their captors.

  After a forced march through the barren and wind-swept landscape, they arrived at a rock face. They were herded through a huge iron door that was covered in bones, into a vast underground hall.

  The air was stiflingly hot and moist, caused by steaming pools of hot water and a multitude of burning torches, made out of skulls. Pots of orchids were lining the walls, which were decorated with explicit depictions, showing half or completely naked men and women.

 

  Roderich and his men had momentarily forgotten about their delicate situation and openly stared at the images, causing some of them to blush furiously, others pointing, whooping and guffawing while they awaited their fate.

  On closer inspection, Roderich had noticed that the paintings were embellished with thousands of bits of precious metals and stones. His heart started beating faster; they must be sitting on top of a gold mine – literally.

  They were led through several smaller halls, all built and decorated in the style they saw at the entrance. Soon they found out that the wall images didn’t depict some ancient rituals; they saw several couples and even groups casually mating - and doing things to each other none of them could ever have imagined, not even in their wildest dreams - on silk covered couches, in the shallow pools of the vast halls, or simply up against the walls and on the floors.

  Modesty was apparently not a Sarean trait.

  They finally reached their destination; an inner sanctum that must have been the throne room, as it contained an ornate chair made of bones, on top of a dais at the back wall.

  In it sat a young, dark haired and olive skinned woman, whose expression made it clear that she was the one to talk to.

 

  She wore a garment that was very hard to call a dress; a leather collar from which hung dozens of long straps and a belt of the same kind, its long pieces reaching her ankles. Her whole outfit was black and didn’t leave much to the imagination.

  She also wore a huge amount of exquisite jewellery, but none of the captives seemed to pay any attention to that, except for Roderich, who again was amazed by the treasures this continent must have to offer.

  “Úlmán, o lodat,” said the leader of the squad escorting them, joining the others in falling on their knees and bowing their heads to the floor.

  “Órryokat vir!” she commanded, gesturing for them to rise.

  “Chammom yäkkit?” she addressed the leader.

  “Min kuban, Úlmán,” he replied with a little shrug of his shoulders.

  “Mísb nip o yotók,” she ordered the man, who approached Roderich and took a look at his neck.

  “Zegto íz chanatálo iy täldim,” he replied. Hat and hourglass in a circle.

  From the brief flash in her eyes, Roderich realised that the woman apparently liked the answer.

  She turned to the captives.

  “Do you speak the Ancient Tongue?” she asked, referring to the language of the Realm.

  “Yes, my Lady... if I may call you my Lady,” Roderich replied. His mother tongue was Kronurian, which was a corruption of the Realm’s original language, thus he was more than capable of holding a conversation in the Ancient Tongue.

  “Yes,” she said with a shrug.

  Roderich had the feeling that she wasn’t one to share information unnecessarily – particularly not with a potential enemy.

  “Your Throatmark states that you’re from Kronuria.”

  “That’s right, my Lady.”

  “Are you their leader?”

  “Yes, my Lady.”

  “Good.” She gestured to her men to take the prisoners away.

  Thus
started the time of captivity and torture for Roderich and his men.

  They were prepared for the worst, - for almost anything – except for what had followed.

  Immediately after they were dismissed by the Lady, they were fed strange potions and mostly raw, but quite delicious dishes, got bathed and then smothered in fragrant oils and led to different rooms.

  They all, without exception, – down to the scrawniest and ugliest member of the crew – were made to mate with different females of the tribe.

  None of the crew put up a fight.

  Very soon, they found out that it was not a welcome ritual, but one that became routine. At regular intervals.

  Most of them were sailors, stuck at sea for months, usually having to pay for similar treatment in one of the joyhouses of the World.

  Although there was no comparison.

  The girls of the tribe, most of them wearing similar outfits to their leader - or nothing, - seemed to have two goals in life; giving and getting pleasure in ways the crew never experienced anywhere else in the World – not even the famed joyhouses of Roditee.

  Months went by.

  Roderich’s partner was the Lady herself. Once a month he had been summoned to her quarters, which he then didn’t leave for three days.

  Usually, on the second day she would uncork the little vial that was hanging from her neck, and give them both a drop.

  Roderich knew that he would never forget the first time he had licked the drop off the back of his hand.

  It was as if an explosion of sunlight had filled his head. Within a fraction of a second the sensation had spread to every single fibre of his body.