* * * * *
The hull measured two hundred and sixty feet from bow to stern, resting upon a cradle of stone pillars over dry land. Her strongest parts were made from oak, while the rest was made from white spruce and pine timber. The Doranil Star was built from the bottom up. Although the vessel once spent a large amount of time in the sky or at sea, her hull had to be strengthened enough to land with full cargo on dry ground. It was built during a time of war, yet the ship did not settle for a merely practical design. The builders spared no expense in a vessel that carried a god’s blessing. The symbols of the church and holy references, even holy scripture, was etched in gold designs throughout the ship. Even the figurehead at the front was a knight holding a shield before him, bearing the crest of Ganden. Everything was built so ornately, the golden plume of the knight’s helm ran in grand designs up the bowsprit and around the front guardrails. Every facing of the floating vessel, including the bottom of the hull, had large symbols of the church to identify the patron that held it aloft. It would not have been a far cry to compare the vessel to a floating church.
The holy ship had been designed for war, and it still retained some of its bite. There were a brace of ballistae mounted fore and aft, as well as devices amidships that once launched grappling hooks or other projectiles. The weapons had been repaired or replaced, but were now mostly for show. The time of the great aerial battles between divine chariots were now a part of history, even though one great vessel remained.
Built for sailing as well as flying, the ship sported five large masts to fit its large size. The first three were square-rigged, with the aft two having triangular lateen rigging. As a sailing vessel, its size and design worked against it. The ship maneuvered sluggishly in the open sea unless aided by its crew of clergy.
On its entertainment voyage, the vessel would carry over three hundred souls. The guest list included the most important nobles in all of Orlaun, as well as a number of citizens known for their influence in city politics. A number of entertainers sponsored by the local bardic colleges looked forward to making their names known. The highest ranking wizards of the Brotherhood of the Circles would host, even going so far as inviting some rival members of the Crystal Sun guild. Despite all these visitors, the real heart of maintaining the vessel originated in select representatives from the church of Ganden, as well as a highly trained crew. The crew included sailors who could sail the vessel at sea, and people whose sole responsibilities were devoted to the pleasure of the guests. The clerics of Ganden were a necessity, since without their devotion to their deity the vessel would not break its earthen bonds and fly. It was said that the god would cradle the flight of the vessel as if he was holding it in his own hands. Without the clerics to channel the god’s miraculous energy there would be no flight. The effort exhausted the clergy involved, because a team of devoted pilots would be chanting and praying continuously for any duration that the ship remained aloft.
The inner sanctum, where the clerics would pray for flight, was the holy nexus of the vessel. It sat in the center of the ship, below the helm castle. The helm castle sat in the middle of the sundeck, halfway between the fore castle and stern castle. It was on top of this structure that the navigator, crew captain, and an appointed cleric would guide the ship. The instructions for guiding the vessel were sent from the appointed cleric to the pilots chanting in the inner sanctum. In the days of the Godswars, enemy vessels would try to concentrate fire at the inner sanctum. If an enemy ship was able to disrupt or kill the chanting clerics, the ship would lose its miracle of flight and fall out of the sky. During times in which the vessel was sailing on the seas, the clerics could rest although at the cost maneuverability navigating the ocean waves.
Another feature of the divine chariot was the observation deck interrupting the strong hull two levels below the sundeck. While some archers and mages would fire upon enemy ships from the sundeck, another group could unleash death from the partial cover provided by the hull and the first sub-deck above. In times of war it had helped bring more firepower against an enemy, in times of peace it served as another sight-seeing deck for the noble guests. The adjoining rooms of the first sub-deck and the observation deck provided the majority of quarters for the guests of the voyage.
Smaller vessels were lashed in places along the sundeck. As with all seagoing vessels, this divine chariot had lifeboats to ferry passengers to safety. Like the ship itself, the lifeboats had a special design with the flight capabilities in mind. Every lifeboat had a globe at the bow filled with holy water and a blessed item from Ganden. In times of war, the lifeboats could actually be used as boarding vessels. A cleric of the patron deity could use the strength of prayer to guide the vessel through the sky, offering a chance to guide archers or boarders around an enemy ship. If there was no cleric on board, the boats had one safe feature the Doranil Star itself lacked: levitation. If for some reason the crew had to abandon the vessel while it was still in the sky, they could board these boats and push away into the open air. The boats would slowly descend to a soft landing even with no priest to guide them.
Doranil Star sat perched upon the stone pillars in the courtyard; the last of a dying breed of warships that had once battled for supremacy over the skies. Out of the dark pages of the world’s history, from a time of war, came this beauty of miraculous architecture. Even sitting upon land, one could view her and imagine what it would be like to sail the skies again.
* * * * *
Korrelothar had seen the ship many times and dreamed about flight until the creation of his precious vessel Dovewing those many years ago. He watched with amusement as Trestan and Cat stared down upon it with mouths open wide in wonder. The mage recalled what it might be like to be young again, and to see such a vessel ascend into the skies for the first time.
While the two travelers remained trapped in their awe, the elf mage spoke. “Trestan and Katressa, it seems you have been charged by your gods to safeguard those relics from harm. Indeed, you already have recovered them once. I see nay reason to stand in the way of the gods.”
He paused, looking down at the vessel. Trestan and Cat seemed to be only half-listening to him, so enthralled were they at the divine chariot. “You view it as your quest to safeguard the relics and the relics will be on board that ship for its flight. Well, I’ll just have to make arrangements for someone to reserve a cabin for you, so that you may go along on this voyage.”
Trestan and Cat were overjoyed.
CHAPTER 12 “The Launching of Doranil Star”
A beautifully sunlit day welcomed the memorable departure. Honored guests made their way past flowery avenues under a rainbow variety of snapping banners. The impressive Doranil Star lay ahead, at the end of a hand carved staircase. The masts of the ship held no sails this day. Instead, the rigging held up a series of canopies to shade the guests from the bright sun. Many had never seen the vessel this closely before. The sheer size and extravagance of it caused them to pause in awe.
Korrelothar stood alongside fellow members of his guild as he greeted the boarding royalty. Standing alongside the elf, among other guildmates, was the gnome illusionist Wendall. The gnome longed for the comfort of his missing mask: one that could make him appear human. He felt insulted that all these haughty nobles, the vast majority of which were human and simply born into power, looked down on one who had become powerful in his own right through determination and long hours of arcane study. Korrelothar comforted his friend, assuring the gnome that it was only the heart that mattered. In the current age of the world, they rarely had the pleasure of sailing the skies. No matter how things developed with the nobility, they all would enjoy the treat of floating over the world like the stars of the heavens.
The elf became busy with preparations for the journey. He constantly bowed to guests or engaged in the delicate arts of diplomacy. At the same time, he often conferred with apprentices and crew to give guidance with every small crisis that seemed to addle those preparing for the journe
y.
Another of Korrelothar’s guildmates scaled the decorated stairs and boarded. Jentan Mollamos carried only his middle-aged frame and layers of Orlaun-style dress, while a minor apprentice carried his baggage. Korrelothar met him with a scowl though everyone else had met the elf’s more diplomatic side. The mentalist assumed it was just due to the fact he could magically shrink his belongings and carry them easily within a small pouch, but instead he made a student bear the load. The poor apprentice had the punishment of carrying his bags for him, only to leave the ship in order to do mundane duties inside the guild while most of the rest went on their journey.
“The gods have truly blessed us with favorable weather by which to depart,” the charmer spoke as he approached the elf. “The day itself is filled with magic to account for a wonderful journey, and yet the real pleasure is yet before us.”
Korrelothar glanced at the apprentice struggling under the weight of the bags. “A pity all of us can’t enjoy this day. The view from the clouds is one best appreciated by the young.”
If Jentan felt insulted by the elf’s reference to how he treated his apprentice, he did not show it. The mentalist turned Korrelothar’s own words around. “A pity indeed someone must stay behind and watch the guildhall while we are gone. Especially pitiful for those who seem to lack any grasp of some basic magical principles they should have been studying in the time they have been granted.” The middle-aged human looked down at his apprentice with cold eyes, though the young lad was busy staring at the wooden planks beneath his feet. “Maybe if one studied harder and didn’t misbehave in my class they would be entitled to treats such as sailing the stars.”
Jentan Mollamos, his charming smile back in place, turned away from the elf mage, “If you will excuse me now, I must be off to find if my quarters are adequate for my tastes.”
* * * * *
Lindon of Orlaun waited among the crowd in the courtyard. He and many others watched as the nobility filed past, accorded every honor and accommodation that could be provided. The minstrel stood dressed in fine fashion, though he wore his usual red-feathered hat and cloak. His few belongings sat in a bag beside his feet while his fingers kept busy. Those long, nimble fingers plucked at the strings of his mandolin as he looked over the lines of the impressive vessel. It was for this purpose that he didn’t mind waiting to board the ship. His mind focused on the poetry inherent in the divine chariot, transferring its meaning into music. Lindon believed everything had an appropriate tune to match its qualities. From behind the veil of those light blue eyes, he sought to capture the musical image of the mighty vessel on the strings of his mandolin.
Two fellow passengers seemed to be listening with interest to his incomplete notes. One dressed in a knightly manner, though his choice of armor discarded plate in favor of chain or leather around areas that would help with his movement. Nevertheless, the man wore the tokens of favor representing Abriana, Goddess of Love and Healing. The coraross symbol featured prominently on his necklace. Beside the young warrior stood a jewel of elven blood. A graceful lady with long, raven hair, whose movements suggested a dexterous quality of her own, stood beside her knight as they silently appraised Lindon’s melody. A beautiful dress complimented her curves, yet she wore a silver rapier at her left hip. By the steel in her spirit, and the worn look of her pack of belongings, Lindon estimated she was no stranger to adventure.
Lindon focused his thoughts on the ship, but during a lull in his playing the beautiful elf complimented him. “Your music carries to the ears and heart, milord. Dare I presume you might be giving a performance on board? I would very much like to hear more of your enticing music.”
The red-bearded minstrel turned to properly address her. He took off his hat and bowed with a flourish as he introduced himself. “Lindon of Orlaun at your service. I will be performing during this voyage among eagles and I would be most honored to entertain you. My thanks for your compliments Lady…?”
She smiled, “I am nay noblewoman, good sir. My name is Katressa Bilil, though you may call me Cat. Please nay more of this ‘lady’ nonsense either, I have worked for what I own.”
She gestured to her companion, “This is my beloved, Trestan Karok. He champions Abriana, Goddess of Love and Healing.”
“A pleasure to meet you, good sir,” said Lindon as he and Trestan clasped hands in greeting.
“Oh, I’d say the pleasure was mine,” the young knight responded. “You play so well. Might we hear that tune in its entirety?”
Lindon smiled as he hefted his mandolin. “I would love to accommodate you, holy warrior, but as yet I am unable. This song is inspired by the divine instrument before us. While I have a beginning, it doesn’t have an ending yet.”
* * * * *
A portion of the crowd parted for a procession of priests. Bystanders, even nobility, bowed in deference to them as the clerics marched past. Although the wizards of the Brotherhood of the Circles hosted the event, these clerics of Ganden were the ones who would bring flight to the divine vessel.
Not all of them would be entrusted with the task of keeping the great ship aloft. Sondra Oskires would serve her fellow priests in minor ways while enjoying this rare event. She paraded alongside her brethren as they wore the ceremonial robes of their faith. The plain, gray robes of Ganden bore the symbols of honor and service. One could tell the relevant rank of the clerics by the trim running down the front clasps of the robes. Sondra’s acolyte vestments displayed black trim down the front. Very few acolytes were blessed enough to be selected for this venture. Ordained priests sported a different shade of gray along the front of their robes. Those who had the power to give flight to the vessel wore the white trim robes of bishops. The church called them Chosen, while outsiders referred to them as pilots. In all the known realms, only these select few clerics had access to a divine chariot that could still fly. It was no wonder that the crowd parted to honor their approach.
Sondra walked while swinging a lit censer back and forth. The thurible burned with a sweet scent. Her natural, dark red lips joined the others in reciting a mantra of service. In the trailing smoke of incense, clerics carried chests bearing their symbols. These religious containers carried holy relics devoted to their god. While the Chosen would commune in prayer to lift the divine chariot into the air, the holy items would help provide a conduit for that flow of power. Sondra’s superior, Mother Evine, walked among those charged with bearing the holy items to the ship. Neither Sondra nor her fellow clergy wore any armor, not even helmets. They did have weapons stored among some of the containers for defense; however, it was more of a precaution than any real belief they would see any use. Sondra’s own light mace lay stored among those hidden weapons, as well as the rust-colored satchel she used as her healing kit.
The wheat-blonde woman looked up to the Doranil Star in amazement. Her voice lowered, losing focus on her mantra as she stared in awe. Every young cleric of Ganden dreamed of being a part of this creation. Sondra had never weighed her own self-worth highly, yet in the face of this magnificent ship she felt part of some great good. The young woman never thought she might have much hope of becoming a Chosen, yet in her dreams she could fly.
She resumed her chant. The censer gave off its sweet smell as she followed her brethren up the walkway to the ship. Sondra’s face lit with a rare smile as she stepped aboard.
* * * * *
On the streets outside the guild, a lone human woman attempted to make the flight on time despite awareness that someone was tailing her. The woman tried to make as much haste as she could without revealing her awareness of being followed. The woman dressed well, wearing many trinkets denoting her prosperity. Despite the advertisement of wealth, she walked without escort. The woman carried her own baggage.
The pursuer had spotted her and appeared to see through her deception. Montanya tried to hide herself in the crowds of the street as she followed the woman. The chiaso wore her customary scowl as her thin eyebrows narrowed in the direction
of her quarry. The homeless woman had not been idle in the time since she had stormed out of the Sanctuary for Those in Need, (or as she preferred to call it, a “copper pen”). She had a determined interest in the domid that had poisoned her. She had spent a good amount of her days patrolling the streets and searching for clues as to who the rogue had been. Her soft leather slippers and raggedy cloak made hardly a sound as she worked to keep her target in sight. Montanya wore her hardened leather chest piece and other leather padding over her clothes. She had reluctantly acquiesced and donned the garments given to her by the church of Ganden. Much as she liked her old clothes, they had been bloodied and dirtied by her previous fight with the halfling rogue.
Montanya worried a little about how the next fight would go, for it loomed ahead.
The chiaso had spotted a human woman carrying bags at a fast pace. From the start, the chiaso noticed how striking the resemblance was to the halfling rogue. This human had long brown hair braided up in a similar style to the halfling. The face and nose were long, though it was hard to see her freckles from where Montanya had been. The woman displayed an impassionate poker face when she looked about furtively, just like the halfling. Her strides showed grace and yet something intangible seemed out of place about the way she walked. In all though, this was a human woman and obviously not someone to be mistaken for a short halfling.
Except…hadn’t the halfling stolen a mask that could make her appear human?
Thus, Montanya followed the woman at a discreet distance and sized her up. It finally dawned on the chiaso there was something wrong with the human’s legs as she walked. It just did not seem completely natural. The illusion of the mask tried to hide the fact its owner had the short strides of a halfling, instead of the long easy glide of a human.
The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith Page 20
