End of Empires - Update Twenty-eight
Heaven's Pyre
Four Years
630 - 634 SR by the Seshweay Calendar
519 - 523 RM by the Satar Calendar
345 - 349 IL by the Leunan Calendar
1454 - 1458 AR by the Amure Reckoning
He is my body. Now do this. It is my last wish. Take the child now. He is our future. ~ Elikas-ta-Tisatar, on Talephas
I shall tell you, then. It is this: I believe in the Faith to my bones. I believe that ruin awaits if we should fall. ~ Javan Altaro
* * * * * * * * *
Snow drifted in through the chapel windows, settling slowly on the tiled floor. Once or twice, the wind would pick up and shift the piles from here to there, like pale sand dunes in some forgotten desert, but mostly they spun aimlessly, dusting Taleldil's hair with white as if to age him before their eyes.
Seras was used to the snow. The chapel had had real windows once, magnificently sculpted glass shards of a dozen shades, by the finest Moti craftsmen. But a storm had scoured the city three years back, howling down from the Kothai, coating everything with ice growing the buildings beards. The winds had battered at the windows until each of them popped cleanly from their frames, falling on the floor and smashing into a thousand pieces. Seras still had the glass shards in a chest somewhere, but good glass-workers were harder to find these days.
So the frames stood empty, and the snow sneaked in.
Dressed warmly against the winter air, a quintet of men stood in one corner of the chapel, their voices cutting through the chill air and practically slapping against the back wall. It was one of the young master Avelas' newest compositions, their voices fluttering like the snowflakes around them; the tall men setting a strong chord between them, and the others darting in and out of consonance and dissonance. Supposedly, the composer had dreamed it for horns, but found the instruments lacked the agility he needed. It was plausible, Seras thought the lines seemed to tax the singers dearly.
Seras, is it? a thickly accented voice came in a low tone. He turned, and saw a man bundled close against the cold, drawing his thin robes around him. A lowlander, no doubt, who had found his cotton to be of no avail in the Kothai.
Yes. And you? Faronun?
The man nodded. I am Meraio. And I would dearly like it if I could speak to you somewhere warmer. Meraio's teeth chattered as he looked intently at Seras.
The priest briefly considered refusing and making the lowlander stand in the cold, but eventually nodded. I must remain here until they finish, he said, gesturing at the ensemble.
The Faronun attempted a smile, but his lips seemed to be frozen in place. Seras turned to regard the singers, who moved from chord to chord with increasing tempo, their words growing muddled as they recounted a time before the arrival of the Prophet, their lines fighting more fiercely, as if battling for supremacy. Even the bass moved now, the absence of those roots like a hollow in the middle of the song as they rushed onward to a climax.
And like that, it was done. A final few notes, long and low, looking to the birth of the Prophet Kleos.
As the worshipers filed out, Seras went ahead of them, taking the Faronun to his own home, the snow crunching under their feet against the cobbles. Here, the air was warmer, a roaring fire blazing in the center of the house, as was his wife's custom in the winter. She was nowhere to be found, however; they mistrusted visitors.
You are a long way from home.
The Faronun did not respond for a time, simply standing by the fire and rubbing his hands together. Eventually, he spoke: Am I? My grandfather's grandfather hailed from Ioppson.
I don't count myself a citizen of Magha, or Asihkar.
Yes forgive my little joke.
But you have traveled a long way that is of no doubt. And I am not some high lord, nor a Patriarch, nor a Redeemer. I cannot help but wonder why someone would travel hundreds of miles to find me.
The Faronun smiled at this. If it makes you feel better, I have spoken to dozens of priests on my trek.
About what?
The Faronun continued to warm his hands, turning them from palm to back and over again, occasionally pausing to rub the feeling back into his fingertips. How familiar are you with the fourteenth canon?
'In order that the army of light may not be leaderless...?'
Then you know of our... ah... dispute?
One could hardly be an Iralliamite preacher and not know of your Conclaves' disagreement.
Meraio looked at him a long time now, studying his face, his hands seemingly forgotten and unmoving. At long last, he relented. What do you think of it?
It is an interesting theological point.
'Interesting?' Is that all?
I do not claim to be the Grandpatriarch.
In this day and age? You could probably get a few supplicants. The Faronun chuckled, but Seras remained stoic. Ah I suppose you'll be something of a hard sell.
Even if I were to agree with Reforged Church... I am one preacher in the corner of an Exatai notably, an Exatai that does not seem to agree. I would be risking life and limb for a cause that, frankly... I don't see much point in.
The integrity of our Church doesn't matter to you?
It does.
And?
And I think the reading of Canon XIV is fairly straightforward. The 'successors' of Kleo simply means the line of succession, not that he has many successors.
Can one man truly be given to understand the totality of creation?
The Grandpatriarch is an exceptional man.
Even exceptional men falter.
I do not see how the baying of a dozen lesser men is supposed to be more indicative of the light.
Maraio shifted to his other foot. How well can we see Athas from your window?
The sudden change of tack gave Seras pause. Not well.
Could I make a map of the city? From that vantage?
Of the street, more like.
And what if I stood in one window, and you stood in another. Would we be able to see more of the city?
Obviously.
And another man? And another? What if we had men stand in every window of the city, and passed a map between them?
I suppose you would be able to ah... Clever.
Thank you.
I remain unconvinced.
If one rhetorical device could convince you, you would not be a priest.
Seras smiled. Perhaps you would be willing to come in and sit a while? It seems we have more to discuss than I imagined.
I would be honored.
* * * * * * * * *
In the shadow of the lighthouse, a new building grew. The latest in a series of improvements to the capital Epichirisi, the Exarch Eres had recommended the construction of a grandly proportioned bathhouse cheaply accessible to all of the common people of the city. Cool water would be piped from the hills to the east, and either filled a great pool at the center, or was directed outwards to fill any of a dozen smaller pools, some cold, some steaming. The richly decorated Eresian Baths stood but a short distance from the center of the city, and soon their waters and surrounding ornamental gardens became a frequent haunt of the people of the city, but perhaps the most remarkable fact was that the Daharai had the time to build them at all.
In stark contrast to their immediate neighbors, the Republic while its foreign concerns did not evaporate was still not consumed by them. The civil war in Farea barely occupied a half of their field army, and the judicious application of the Orders' military might quickly sent the pretender flying before them. By the end of the year 631 SR, he had either been slain, or simply vanished without a trace, and his strongholds each subdued. The Orders gave the Golden Chamber a quick orientation before inducting them into their number, and as quickly as that, the two countries were inextricably tied.
A bit more ambiguous was the situation in the Hulinui. Javan Altaro's abdication had left the region chaotic at best, and his designation of several successors had only pushed it further. While the Gallatenes in the north did not seem intent on reclaiming the whole of the old empire, the successor states in the south nibbled at one another continuously, and the Republic surely had to feel a little anxious about their coast.
But for the most part, the post-Javani states continued to fight one another. The Nahari struggled to assert their authority over the loosely-affiliated Halarai satrapies, coming to blows with more than a few of them. The Roshate, just to the north, having concluded a peace with the Farubaida on its own terms, turned towards the Nahari instead and tried to take what they could in the borderlands. Neither one, though, ever threatened Daharai assets.
It was Astria, then, that occupied most of their attention, for here, the Exarch of Caon had appealed directly to them in an attempt to save his own city from the pro-Javani regime in Tadon. After a tense series of negotiations between the Satar, Gallatenes, and Carohans, the Opulensi had quietly been agreed upon as mediators. The Republic dispatched their own delegation to the region, and ensured that the civil war ended with minimal fanfare. The lack of other influences in the region simplified things greatly. The cities agreed to Samnar in principle, but with the unofficial approval of the Daharai, they each wrested so much power to themselves that the new king barely had any clout outside his own native city.
The gift of a lovely statue to the Aortai and some impromptu training exercises later, and it looked like the north wouldn't be trouble for the Republic for some time hence.
And so it was to their south that the Daharai turned now, pressing across the Nakalani and into the island chain that they had still only begun to prod at. The Ilfolk, despite their somewhat objectionable religion, had escaped the ire of the Daharai after contact, almost certainly because of the northerners' other concerns. The Opulensi who had come into the region before the civil war had settled in the northern port, simply called Pulenser for their presence. They sought to coexist with their new neighbors, running a quiet trade route with the north, but otherwise turning a blind eye to the more bizarre of their native friends' practices.
The Ilfolk, too, had evolved over the years. Led now by an Epichirisi-educated politician, Palafte, they had started to centralize, and began to implement northern ideas of agriculture and production, harnessing the Opulensi merchant class to a growing export economy.
All that ended when the Orders attacked. Decreeing that the Ilfolk religion of the Slaangtempl could not, in good conscience, be allowed to continue, they sailed in full force from the isles of the Baribai, and landed at Pulenser with an army of several thousand. The local Ilfolk warriors could barely put up any resistance, only slaying a scant dozen of the invaders, and the Opulensi in the port raced to welcome the newcomers, insisting that they had long awaited this day. Despite skepticism from the Daharai, they were still happy to use the infrastructure that their compatriots had built up, however minimal.
Proceeding inland, the Daharai made for the Slaangtempl itself. Here, the long years of development worked against the Ilfolk, for what might have otherwise been a difficult journey for the invading force was instead a simple task they made along the widest and clearest road, and found themselves at the famed temple of blood itself.
The advance had been so swift that the Ilfolk scarcely knew the Daharai were attacking before they had already arrived. In a panic, the temple priests managed to evacuate some of the most holy and important texts from their libraries while the small garrison fought a brave but ultimately futile delaying action. The scant few minutes bought probably saved the heart of Ilfolk culture from utter destruction, but it did not save the Slaangtempl in an orgy of fire and somewhat older blood than it was used to, the place was put to the torch.
The Orders intended to rebuild the place as an Indagahori temple, and set about their work even as the occupation force tried to root out the rest of the Ilfolk resistance.
But this proved easier said than done.
Emerging from secret crevices in the jungles and hills, the Ilfolk fought a ferocious war of resistance, bleeding at the edges of the Daharai army and causing more casualties in the little engagements across the island than they had in any pitched battle. Finding the tropical clime not at all to their liking, the Orders' occupation force was bogged down in a very nasty little conflict.
Their circumstances quite similar, the Kothari opted for a different approach. With a thousand obligations in the north (most of them some variation on the Holy Moti Empire is collapsing), they looked at the war in Parna and concluded that it wasn't worth the investment of soldiers. Instead, they funneled an enormous sum to the king to continue his fight against Irnat, and limited their own involvement in the region to Tsutongmerang and the lands around it.
Here, in conjunction with the Trahana, they constructed or rather, expanded the harbor at the city into an enormous edifice, able to handle trade for what would likely be centuries into the future. Indeed, it was too large to be justified solely by Kothari and Trahana users, but fortunately for its investors the native Tsutongmerang merchants had begun to expand their own fleets. In any case, the coast exploded with merchant activity, and the arrival of a Farubaidan exploratory fleet crushed a nascent group of pirates in the straits.
The Carohans had sent similar fleets into the east, too, but there they were only resailing old waters. In the south, there lay seas that no known sailor had plied, and they were forced to proceed cautiously. The land of the Stato'i was the focus of their efforts here: the Carohans found that their island, or perhaps continent, extended for hundreds of miles further than they had anticipated. Indeed, the second attempt to round it met with little success what had seemed to be the last cape turned out to merely be yet another bay, and with supplies running low, they were forced to turn back once more (though not before, the scientists on the expedition noted, they had passed a good five hundred miles south of the equator.
Another tentative feeler was sent out only half a dozen ships at most to the west, and found it surprisingly smooth sailing, reaching the Airendhe with almost no trouble, and bringing gifts to the court of the Trahana Emperor themselves before returning in a difficult voyage that battled the currents every step of the way.
A few of these ships might even have stopped in the kingdoms of the Gaarim and Zarian on their route back. Both of these tiny chiefdoms had greatly expanded their militaries in recent years, and began to launch wars of expansion in every direction outwards. The Gaarim had turned to a nascent cavalry force recruited from the highland horses that had only been introduced to the region with the recent trade ties to the north and managed to put to flight their overmatched foes. The Zarian, on the other hand, tended to rely on individual heroism and valor to triumph. In all likelihood, their borders would meet before too long and at that point they would have to deal with their first real neighbor in their respective histories.
* * * * * * * * *
Perhaps frustrated by their own lack of success on the mainland or in Auona, the Leunan Republic turned to the Nakalani. Striking out across the waves, they resettled the old outer islands that had once served as penal colonies and a naval waypoint. Not content with this rather minor scrap of land, they also funded an expedition into the deep unknown of the eastern ocean, perhaps fueled by rumors that the home of the Kitaluk lay across a relatively narrow sea.
If so, the rumors proved to be untrue. With no real clue where they were going, and lacking the naval technology to cover long distances reliably or, in some cases, at all the Leunans quickly discovered that the ocean had quite a lot of water and very little else. A very lucky few ships caught a current returning them home to the mainland, and a couple of slightly more lucky (or slightly less, depending on whose perspective you adopted) found a previously undiscovered spit of land in the middle of the ocean.
But several more simply vanished into the deep blue, and if they did in fact reach the home of the Kitaluk, no word of them filtered back through the Kitaluk themselves.
The survivors limped home just in time to greet the arrival of a Farubaidan expedition, and warned them against continuing east; the Carohans, having had no intention of going east at all, instead turned north, where they made port at Tarwa, and sent along a few ambassadors to the Archives at Parta, and even one or two who met with the Parthecan King Genda. Finally, they returned home, bearing holds full of indigo and better maps.
Parthe as we have already seen had escaped the eastern wars almost completely unscathed, and had a head start on their neighbors in half a dozen places, most obviously in the north. With the Leunans continuing to try to push across the seemingly endless Nakalani, and the Daharai far more concerned with the southern half of the continent, Parthe alone explored the northern coast. Trade flourished, particularly after they helped the Nakitsa build a new harbor at the mouth of the Lelian, and constructed a fortified depot to go with it. The timber of the Purolin Peninsula was floated to the port, which became a hub of new ship construction, and the route around the peninsula grew safer every year with new maps and increased development.
In Parta itself, Genda, perhaps inspired by the tales brought back from the far west by his most intrepid explorers, expanded the Archives still further, and complemented them with a new Academy. Designed to train its students in myriad subjects, much of its population would hail from the upper classes and the favored nobles. However, a few, too, would come from the common people, if they had the cleverness to get in.
Across the sea, the Acajuren Republic, apparently alarmed at the erosion of the ancient religion, began to enact a series of anti-Aitahist reforms, taxing these adherents heavily and more or less barring them from public office. It was an unsubtle move, and its meaning was doubly underlined when the Republic sent a thoroughly insulting missive to their neighbors in the Qasrai Empire.
The fact that they mistakenly addressed the Aitah there as a he was possibly the most insulting part of all.
However, the verbal tirade did not have the intended effect. The Qasraists seemed mildly disinterested in the Acajuren forces, even when they built up on the frontier. Only later did the news filter back through other channels as to why Qasra, hoping to take advantage of the collapse of Gallatene authority, launched an enormous assault across the frontier against his rivals in the Savirai Empire, targeting Gurach.
The Qasraist attack took their enemy by surprise, but only barely used to such attacks, the Savirai closed the gates and managed to weather the initial storm before rallying an army of their own. On the shores of Her Tear, the Qasraist army was utterly routed, the false Qasra slain by the spears of his foes, and his daughter, the Aitah, forced to flee into hiding in the desert.
With his army smashed, there was no one to really be angry at anymore. The Acajuren armies advanced on a broad front and captured the city of Mirais, but halted at the edge of the desert. None in their number wanted to enter the Face of the Moon.
Back in Iolha proper, continuing reforms raised discontent from an unexpected quarter the city itself. The Assembly gave each city in the Republic representation in their body; in particular, they focused on the first few cities conquered by Iolha, which had traditionally remained under the thumb of the main city. Those living in Iolha itself did not take kindly to the erosion of their power, but it stopped short of any sort of armed confrontation after a moderate display of force in the capital.
In any case, by late 634 SR, some had started to worry about the stability of the northern border rumor had it that in Lesa, the old, semi-divine king Jessen Harare had fallen seriously ill, leading to a bit of a power struggle between the various claimants to the throne.
Far to the south, the Rihniti did what they could to recover from the war that had slashed through their homeland, but in truth there wasn't that much to recover. The Leunan invasion had never reached the productive core of the kingdom, and so long as that remained intact, Rihnit would continue.
* * * * * * * * *
In a remote corner of the world, events passed far from the gaze of the great powers of the center. As the Satar devolved into an alarming civil war that might still consume the entire Karapeshai, the powers to their north and west took advantage of the respite from the threat of an expansionist Sianai to settle their more local quarrels. The Nevathi, despite supplying mercenaries to the south, did not join in the war between the Trahana and Vithanama, but this might have owed more to being pressed back in their own lands by mysterious raiders. In truth, everyone knew they were from the Telha Exatai, and the conflict between the two countries seemed likely to lead to open war before too long. The only other powers likely to challenge for dominance of the steppe seemed to collapse, or at least were focused in other directions the Sharhi nearly evaporated after a disastrous loss to the rebel Kyumai khagan, while the Adanai were picked apart by the three most remote Eshais.
The Telha expanded on another front, too, expanding into the territory of the disorganized Hai Vischa, though they made only a little progress here.
It was in the far north that a quiet people emerged, the Tadagang, who had thus far escaped the notice of anyone hostile. Relying on their community to emerge unscathed from the harsh winters of their land, they had once faced ferocious raids from the southern Lusekt, but that era had long passed with the subjugation of Luskan by Cyve and later the Karapeshai.
* * * * * * * * *
Only a year before, the armies of Gallat had reigned triumphant across the continent. Not that they weren't triumphant now the country had been saved from the last invasion, and all of its real enemies broken by the lightning campaigns of Javan. But the growing expectation had been for Javan to forge a Gallatene Empire at least until he died and plunged it into chaos.
Javan spared them the trouble by vanishing into the desert and plunging them into chaos anyway.
For while the Testament had laid out quite clearly what sections of the empire were to go to whom, the squabbling broke out almost immediately. The oddly-shaped borders of the Javani Roshate and the fact that the Halarai Satraps had barely listened to the world-conqueror, let alone the toadies who had followed him meant that a three way conflict had embroiled the south, while the Astrians quietly slipped out of the Gallatene orbit.
But in his essential mission, Javan had succeeded. Gallat was safe from southern intrusion, and while the rest of the empire squabbled over the scraps, the Halyrate stood quite aloof under the rule of Cavor. The Sadorishi, a militant order established during the latter part of Javan's reign, was granted a great tract of land in the Occaran Gates, centered around a fortified town at Talad. The hope was that the heavy investment here would beat back any further attacks from the desert, if in the very long term the friendly regime in place at Gurach fell apart.
The newfound safety allowed the Gallatene nobility to restart their political games, but these faltered very quickly as a new problem arose.
Only a year removed from the Ascension of Javan, the Airani Roshate effectively declared its hostility.
The roots of this conflict lay in the decades prior, where the reforms of Risadri had brought Gallatene (and therefore, Orthodox) Maninism more into alignment with what their own populace had already started to practice the veneration of the Haradim, or saintly and righteous figures as exemplary models of the pursuit of Manin; particularly that of Alon and Talad. The Airani countered that this amounted to something quite close to crypto-Aitahism, and in response elevated the Ward of Almadi, Ahala, to the position of High Ward.
The usurpation of the title from the Gallatenes not to mention the fact that it disregarded the still very alive and well High Ward in Gallasa was an insult that could not be ignored. In response, the Gallatenes called the Sirasonan Synod, inviting delegates from across the Maninist world, and receiving them from as far afield as Oltheng, the Karapeshai, and the Brunnekt (and everywhere in between). The mission of the Synod was quite simple to hammer out exactly what had gone wrong, decide what to do about it, and ensure the Faith remained united.
A first and critical component of the Synod decided that the veneration of the Haradim could not be construed as Aitah-worship. Indeed, aside from both counting Aelona among their number, the two practices could not be more divergent, but getting it down in writing was helpful in and of itself. They rapidly moved onto codifying the practice of choosing the High Ward. What had once been a rather eclectic tradition derived from accumulated ad hoc procedures had to be stripped down and revised the High Ward had to be chosen by the most senior and experienced Wards (and the representation of several of the more obscure Maninist countries would be secured at this time as well), in a conclave that met in secret among the small and isolated peninsulas and islands that lay to the south of Sirasona. Here, they would remain isolated from any outside influence, ensuring that the opinions of temporal rulers such as the Halyr and Rosh did not impact the decision.
And lastly, they condemned what they termed an obvious power grab by the Airani. The stage seemed set for war.
But at the same time, it seemed that neither side had really anticipated the religious conflict coming to a head so quickly. The Airani had barely mobilized their army, readying it on the frontier but mostly holding it back as they appealed to far-flung sectors of the Faith to declare their support for Ahala. The Gallatenes, though they seemed eager to leap into action, were surprised by this relative inactivity, and did not seem to have an offensive game plan. Instead, they appealed to their own allies to declare their support as well hoping for some aid from the Javani if nothing else.
The response was lukewarm. Ereithaler, a stalwart ally of the Gallatenes from the start, declared that they would never recognize Ahala. A few more kingdoms followed suit, but none lent significant military aid. Still more hesitant were any allies of the Airani: while a delegation from within the Karapeshai declared tentative support, no independent monarch moved to support them.
As no help seemed to be coming from abroad, the Gallatenes sprang into action alone. Raiding the shipping that entered the Airani ports, they damaged one of the critical income sources for the Roshate, even as they sent agents into the country to attempt to garner support on the ground. All this culminated in an assassination attempt on Ibala's life, and while it would prove unsuccessful, the Roshate was surely on their back foot regardless.
The Gallatenes did not stop here, and the next blow would be rather more devastating. As the Airani guarded their border closely, the Gallantenes boarded their ships and raided the northern coast, assaulting Kardil, Manas, and Bayad from their harbors, storming the latter two before anyone from the Airani army could even react. Kardil hung on by the barest of margins before a relief force from the frontier forced the Gallatenes to withdraw, but the other cities now lay under a foreign flag.
The worst outcome was avoided, however. A Gallatene raiding force led by Cavor himself made for Almadi but the successor did not prove quite the equal of Javan himself (or, perhaps, his allies in this desert were a little fewer than they'd been in the Savirai) and the scattered Siran forces remaining in the region were able to repulse him at the last possible second.
They'd been able to avoid the death of the High Ward, and the sack of their capital, but things looked less than rosy for the schismatic Airani.
. This greatly improves my view of your actions.
