Six Pillar's Oath

Prologue When the land of Kandrin was formed by all manner of God all manner of peoples inhabited it. The elves did not govern forests while dwarves hoarded wealth inside mountains, trolls did not hide beneath bridges begging for scraps from humans who cultivated land and built cities. No portion of land was bequeathed to the care of just one race. All people were instructed to care for Kandrin, to ensure no race could rise above the rest each were given skills and knowledge the others would need. It was through co-operation that an understanding of the extent of these gifts was gained, that the power of magic was uncovered. Once again no race alone had access to these gifts, their languages and heritages each came with different aspects of the power, the secrets of nature, the cosmos, earth and life. Thousands of years passed from the creation and an understanding of the power of spoken and written word was part of the fabric of life. While healers, bakers, seamstresses and smiths used the power of word to nurture their communities there is always those who seek power for their own gain and to raise themselves above others. So the struggle between subjugator and protector became the province of magic too. Over the years many rose up against would be tyrants, thieves and torturers. Once such group became well known for their good deeds and fellowship, they would be the last of their kind, and their greatest sacrifice shaped Kandrin into something new. Now children do not shout the battle cry of Faerist’s Riders as they play, they could not tell you their names or where they came from. For that matter nor could the old man on his death bed. They are forgotten, remaining only in faded crumbling parchment or eluded to in myth. No one remembers that the six towers marking Kandrin’s protected borders, keeping the people safe were made with the Rider’s lives. No one knows what became of the one who remained, the seventh rider. Some said they died of grief, some said they took the throne and their blood flows on in Queen Valerie the Blessed, some believed they still roamed the country quashing evil before it can rise again. But now those rumours have faded lost to myth, like the elves, and the trolls, and the dwarfs. Kandrin is a land of humans now, and humans have short memories. Chapter 1 – Donelon Donelon sighed deeply, placing the newly received parchment down on the desk it curled back up and rolled to the floor. Leaving it there Donelon stood, his bones creaking, betraying his age, and made his way to the large canvas map on the windowed wall of his office. He reached out to the map and withdrew the pin from the northern tip of the coast. Rolling the pin head between his fingers he saw the glint of silver where the paint had worn away, how many times had he done this now? Donelon traced the dotted line along the roadways towards a crossroads near a small stamped castle, Nerving’s Keep. His quarry was back on track but far behind schedule, he noted the smell of autumn on the wind despite the summer heat which kept his windows open this late into the day, she would not make it to her winter hideout at this rate. Just as Donelon was about to push the pin into hole at the crossroads the door burst open. Donleon jumped, the pin fell. “There has been a sighting!?” the intruder, Harrin, demanded. Donelon took pleasure in waiting to respond, playing the feeble older man, despite only being forty two. He watched Harrin momentarily, his normally handsome features marred by the redness of his face and his panting from running all the way across the castle it would seem. As Harrin’s splayed hand across the door shifted into a fist Donelon knew he had made his point. “Yes, she” Donelon began. “Why didn’t you send for me!” Harrin demanded striding to tower over the older man his white armour adding to the avenging angel reputation he was building for himself.  However Donelon knew he was not in any danger, he had his own set of tricks. “I can hardly send for you if I do not have the chance, perhaps you should like to head back to training and I shall write a missive, call for a servant, have some tea made and wait for your arrival?” Donelon smirked. Harrin growled, “Her Majesty’s orders are for you to assist me, not sass me.” he somehow managed to spit through gritted teeth, an under appreciated talent, Donelon was sure. “Our target is back on track, a month or two behind her schedule to be certain. We can probably thank her absence for the spread of the summer shivers in the north-east. It seems that those who once protected her now are not so kind after the loses that plague brought, and we can thank them for this intelligence.” Donelon began returning to his desk and looking for the parchment. “I don’t care where the information came from spy-master, I care where she is. If she’s late she could be injured this could be my chance.” Harrin studied the map looking for the red pin a triumphant gleam already in his eyes. “Fisherman’s Leap Inn, just north of the Tanvey River, by the crossroads of Nerving’s keep. But by my calculations you would be better seeking her in Hopsley after that she tends to show up much further South in Kerring before we loose her altogether.” Donelon rattled off shifting papers across his desk as he looked for the missing parchment. “Excellent. Any more news send immediately to me on the road.” Harrin said rushing to the door. “Her majesty hasn’t sanctioned.” Donelon began, but the tail of Harrin’s cloak had already disappeared from view. There was no stopping that young man. Donleon began to look on the floor for both parchment and pin and was surprised to see the pin stuck in the map. Harrin must have done that. The parchment though, was still missing. The heat of the summer must have been getting to him, it was then that he noticed the fire burning heartily in the grate, he didn’t remember setting that, unless he had already burnt the letter? He returned to his desk and glanced once more at the map. “Hurry Penn,” he muttered to himself, “you’re running out of luck.”