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General Overview
On the Structure of the
Realm
General
Overview
“On
the western shore of Shane’s Sea, the Cayaborean kingdom begins. Soft,
sandy beaches that stretch for miles on end, alternating with rocky
expanses jutting forward into the foamy sea. Sprawling cities that
encompass beaches, their fortifications and quais reaching into the waves. Flags flutter in the
breeze above the quai, the red dragon raising its head lustily in the
wind. Ships glide across the sea, bearing the same dragon insignia;
the bulbous merchanters as well as the sleek galleons of war.
“And
above, more often than not, one sees the elegant wings of a horse dragon
swerve on the winds, its armored rider firmly perched in the saddle, his
eyes overseeing and guarding the borders of the realm. Seeing the
dragonrider, that is when you know that you have reached Cayaboré, the
dragon’s home.
“From
the shore of Shane’s Sea to the forested mountain chain of the
Laru’sedna in the west, from the mighty blue streams of the Pyu’ur
River in the south to the wasteland of the Deadcrossing in the north, that
is where the dragon rules.
“His
seat, the capital of Hallowton, lies one hundred miles inland, where the
Three Rivers join. In the crook of Mazhestik and Balangor’s Stream, the
Great Temples raise their prayers to the Heavens, led by the daily calls
of the Sacred Speaker to Dicerius. To their eastern side, on Balangor’s
stony lip, the Royal College of Wizardry spirals its towers and
auditoriums, while to the north, built on top a magnificent stone bridge
over the Haeskold River and sprawling onto both its sides, there is the
headquarters of the Royal Dragonrider Corps, with the horse dragons’
endless cackles and cries. Adjacent to it lie the halls of the Avionics
Force, the large ballooning structures that contain the gargantuan shapes
of our airships with their brightly gleaming, cylindrical hulls, ready to
launch into the sky with a full complement of sailors, propellant wizards
and a flight of horse dragons hanging from the perches below its hull.
“And
at the joining point of the Three Rivers, amidst the houses, the villas,
the roads, the market places, the manufacturies, the people, there is the
dragon’s home. Built of granite from Laru’sedna, Castle Elbyon is the
culmination of many architects’ dreams. Set within a ring devoid of
buildings, evermore filled with throngs of supplicants and merchants
supplying your every need, the castle walls tower over Hallowton with
their promise of protection and guidance, the darkness of the granite
perfectly painted over with shimmering white. Within the walls, one will
find a strange combination of corners and curves, wondrously shaped like
the land of Cayaboré itself, with lush,
lovingly tended gardens growing anywhere, even on top of the
buildings.
“At
the very center of Castle Elbyon, there is a triangular structure from
which three stone beams reach out in the directions of the Three Rivers,
of Mazhestik, Balangor’s Stream and Haeskold. Here the Dragon King
Rychaleu IX holds court, hears the pleas of the supplicants, and gives the
orders to protect his realm; here he receives the adoration of his people
who know that under the dragon’s wing they are safe.
“And
often you will see his highness in one of the gardens, with his wife
Castadebask, watching their children at play, foremost among them crown
prince Armyron who one day shall become the dragon whose wings encircle
our realm and keep it safe.”
Claemer
of Cayaboré,
Royal
Scribe
(excerpted
from his introduction to “Cayaboré the Mighty Nation”, 3134 A.E.)
“Yes,
I remember that awful day only too well. It was the late summer of ’39,
a pleasant year all around. The crops were looking fine, they had gotten
the right amount of sun and rain to provide us with the best harvest in
ten years. Our neighboring nations also had been unusually still that
year; Rek’atrednu in the north most surprising of them all. We had
almost gotten used to the brastoks trying to push their demonic legions
over the Deadcrossing every few months, uncaring about the weather. But in
’39, the airships had patrolled for naught, and all the fodder our
dragons received they had caught in the forests.
“There
were one or two skirmishes in the mountains, some ratpeople raiding a few
villages and easily cut down by our patrols. A few cases of Udrynpox
appeared around Jorovic, but the priests of Decalleigh were fast enough to
not only contain the pox from spreading but saved every single one of the
victims. It seemed a miracle; that disease commonly is hard to eradicate.
“Ibrollene
was once more to busy with themselves to bother us, the Topay Coalition
happily paid their tributes, while Kraznyczar was having trouble on its
border to the Blue Land. Scores of cúchulain broke through the dense
forests and harassed their eastern villages. The Kraznyczarians thought
that the wild dwarves must be controlled by the Romanii, that it was an
overture to war, and so they left us alone.
“It
was so perfect a year I was contemplating retiring early and finally
buying that farm I had been dreaming of for thirty years of serving in
King Rychaleu’s forces. I had already written out the request, signed it
and sealed it. The scroll was lying in a drawer of my desk when one of my
aides rushed in without bothering to knock first. His face, pale and
shocked, kept me from shouting at him.
“’The
king!’ he cried, pausing to catch his breath. ‘My lord, the king…
he’s…’
“I
felt my heart grow tight all of a sudden. ‘Speak, man! What is the
matter?!’
“’The
king is… lord, he is… dead.’
“I
stared at him as if he had gone mad. How could that be? Assassination?
Where were the alarms? The assassin should have been shoved before my feet
right now, rather than my aide reporting – and he should not have been
shaking this much. The aide – Varwettan – was a seasoned soldier who
had seen his share of cruelty on a battlefield, not one of the weaselly
scribes who fainted at the sight of a drop of blood.
“’How?’
I cried. But Varwettan only quivered, fear convulsing his face as he slid
down to the ground.
“Something
terrible had happened. Something that had turned a veteran warrior into a
heap of sobs. I grabbed my sword, fearing that it would be no protection
at all, and rushed out of my office, down the corridors to the royal
quarters. The guards jumped aside at my approach, and I only stopped at
the entrance to Rychaleu’s sleeping quarters.
“’Stop!’
Hiylar, high priest of Decalleigh, shouted and jumped in front of the
door. I almost shoved him aside when I noticed the golden glow of his
skin. The protection spell against disease? Active? Then Rychaleu must
have died of… But only the day before, he had been riding his dragon for
a hunt, and at the evening feast he had danced with the queen. He had been
so vigorous!
“‘You
must not enter, my lord,’ Hiylar said urgently. ‘It is too late for
his Highness.’
“’What
happened?’
“Hiylar
closed his eyes for a moment. ‘The boils, my lord. His flesh has been
turned to boiling liquid. There is… nothing left for you to
recognize.’
“The
boils. I shivered, and I understood Varwettan’s reaction. The disease
hit from nowhere, killed within hours. Like a grassfire it spread,
infecting dozens, hundreds within days. Entire cities could be emptied of
life within a week. But the last outbreak had been more than sixty years
ago! Had not the priests assured Cayaboré time and again that the disease
was extinct, that it would never assail them again?
“And
now it had taken his Highness. Before anyone else had been hit… A
suspicion grew within me, but I contained it for the moment. ‘What will
you do, reverend priest?’ I asked soberly.
“Hiylar
shook his head, his resolve weakening for a moment on the verge of tears.
Only a moment, then he nodded and said firmly, ‘What I must do, my lord.
Nobody must leave the castle. We will send out by magiscribe the order
that everybody who had been in physical contact with the king within the
last three days must report to the nearest temple and be immediately
confined. All clothes of his highness must be destroyed, also his dragon.
I understand he was riding yesterday?’
“I
nodded. Silly of me that I felt tears about the royal dragon being killed.
It was only a dragon, and my liege was already dead. But Rychaleu’s
death was so unreal that it would take a while before its full extent
truly registered on my mind. I exchanged a few more words with Hiylar,
then I wandered back to my office. May the gods forgive me for thinking
only coolly about how to continue. The crown prince was only thirteen
years old, a sheltered naïve child that had not even begun to shave. He
had shown some signs of growing up to be a good man, perhaps even great,
but that was still many years off. Rychaleu had planned to ease Armyron
into the kingship, give him a taste of the soldier’s life so that he
would understand the meaning of war.
“All
that had never happened, and now Armyron was already king. Only the
ceremony was missing. But he couldn’t rule, not yet. His mother
Castadebask was an airhead – very nice, friendly, but less brains than a
mule. She could not be allowed to step onto the throne in her son’s
stead. That would have been the certain downfall of Cayaboré.
“No,
there was only one person near the throne whom I trusted to do the
necessary things. But I could not proclaim myself steward of the
realm! Who would believe that I wanted the power only for so long until
Armyron could properly take over? I felt I had to make sure someone else
would suggest me for that role, and I was just considering my options when
I opened the door to my office.
“It
was pure coincidence that I looked down in time to see the boiling red
liquid stain the carpet, rivulets flowing towards my boots. A skeletized
hand lay just beyond the door, wearing a ring that Varwettan had always
treasured.
“The
boils had claimed their second victim. The disease was on the loose.
Everyone could be infected, no matter how healthy he felt at the moment.
Fear chilled my heart, as I realized that all my planning to become
steward could have been rendered moot already.
“Two
days later half the people at Castle Elbyon were dead. Twenty priests of
Decalleigh worked constantly to cleanse the places where human beings had
turned to liquid. They had cast spells of protection on everyone still
alive, keeping the disease outside of the body – or trapped inside. My
skin tickled all the time, the golden glow irritating me when I raised my
hand. Had the spell been fast enough to secure me? Or would I suffer the
telltale shivers soon?
“A
dozen priests from other orders were all over the place, trying to raise
the spirits of the survivors, but their own spirits were downcast enough.
There had been outbreaks of the boils at the dragonriders’ base, the
college of wizardry and the river harbor. Hundreds had died, and thousands
had fled Hallowton. Perhaps carrying the disease with them to places that
as yet had been untouched.
“Ironically
I was indeed steward of the realm, receiving all the information first
hand and having to decide what to do. Queen Castadebask had died within
six hours of her husband’s passing, and so had several of the highest
advisors. After a single day I was the highest ranking official in all the
realm still alive – short of the crown prince. One of the Decalleigh
priests I had assigned to constantly supervise the boy and to do all that
was in his power to save him, should he be taken by the boils. ‘I would
do that anyway,’ the priest had told me indignantly. ‘Make sure of
it,’ I retorted calmly, ‘or you will find your blood boiling,
with or without the disease.’
“My
own office was unusable. After Varwettan’s death, all the furniture had
been burned, including many memorabilia that I had collected over the
years. The throne room had been treated similarly, with the only exception
of the throne itself. This had been treated with a powerful protection
spell and brought to the temple of Decalleigh, in the hope that all traces
of the disease could be removed from it. For the moment, though, I had set
up several tables in the open, with a tent over us to shade us from the
sun. The weather was cruelly beautiful, no rain, only clear sunshine, with
a slight, cool breeze. Twelve priests of Darawk were manning magiscribes,
receiving reports from across the land and transferring my orders.
Soldiers guarded them, and three of my oldest companions served as my
advisors. Their heads might have turned as gray as mine own, but they were
still as sharp as ever. In that regard, I felt as secure as I could.
“If
it weren’t for the fact that Armyron insisted to be present all the
time. He distracted me every now and then, with the golden glow suffusing
his face. And a strange, unexpected expression on his face. He wasn’t
crying, as he had the moment I had told him about his parents. Instead he
looked attentive, watching me… He was only thirteen years old, yet his
pose, his face reminded me of the wise, regal looks of his father.
“After
a while, when I was reading a magiscribe report from the northern border,
Armyron suddenly spoke up, ‘Can it all be a coincidence? I mean, the
boils hitting the wizards and the dragonriders at the same time as the
castle?’
“I
tried to focus on the report as I answered, ’My liege, please be assured
that I will do anything to –‘
“Armyron’s
voice cut through my concentration. ‘You will listen to me, steward of
the realm! And you will answer my question!’
“My
first thought was that he was only a petulant child that desired
attention. Then suddenly I became aware of his words, and I remembered the
ugly suspicion I had at Rychaleu’s doorstep. ‘Forgive me, your
highness, I… it shall not happen again.’
“’Very
well. Now, please, give me your answer. Uncle Hendro.’
“A
cold tickle ran down my spine when he added that name. He hadn’t called
me his uncle since his tenth birthday, and now he tacked it on consciously
to take the sting from his orders. ‘My answer is… I have not had much
time to think about anything but handling the immediate tasks. But
you’re right. The boils hit strategically and cut off the head of our
defensive forces in one swoop. It doesn’t look like a coincidence.’
“Armyron
nodded grimly. ‘That means we are under attack, doesn’t it?’
“’Yes,
my liege,’ I confirmed and began scribbling orders on a magiscribe
paper. ‘But this is not the main point of attack. It is merely a
distraction.’
“The
boy might have grown up much in the past forty-eight hours, but he was not
adult yet. ‘How dare you… People are dying all around you! Hundreds
are dead, among them my father, my mother! How dare you call this a distraction?!’
“I
handed the magiscribe paper over to a priest who copied it to several
destinations I had indicated. ‘My liege,’ I told Armyron calmly,
‘people die in war. Thousands die. Many thousands die. Furthermore, just
to disable our chain of command does not serve any purpose – unless you
invade the country with regular armies. Our armed forces cannot be
coordinated properly, so the enemy believes, and therefore Cayaboré can
be taken easily. My liege, the deaths here are a distraction.’
“Armyron
swallowed hard, fighting down his rage. ‘But… Who is the enemy?
And what can we do? Can you coordinate the armed forces?’ He
sounded almost businesslike at the end, no small feat for a little boy.
“I
gave him a smile. ‘Let us hope and pray that we can do it.’
“Armyron
nodded, his teeth clenched together. ‘Right. Uncle Hendro, you know who
did this. Tell me.’
“’No
ordinary human can carry the boils to any destination and infect specific
people. No mortal person who would probably die from the disease
long before reaching that destination.’
“Armyron’s
eyes became slits and his voice tiny. ‘Rek’atrednu,’ he whispered.
‘The undead are attacking us. But there was no troop movement on their
side, was there? The airships that patrol the Deadcrossing did not report
anything.’
“’No,
your highness. They reported an increase in the smoke rising from the
crevices in the wasteland. That could be a – literal – smoke screen to
hide an army. I have just ordered H.M.A.S. Skylight to investigate,
with the senior Darawk priest on board. Eagle and Cloudfire
are to carry high level wizards into the Deadcrossing to detonate a line
of gas pockets between the smoke and our forces. That should buy us a
little time.’
“The
future king’s face tightened. There was a twitch in his eyes as he was
thinking, and finally he said, ‘That sounds good. Uncle Hendro, they
might try to spread the boils among those troops as well. The Decalleigh
priests must cast protection spells on our soldiers, especially the
airship sailors.’
“I
smiled. ‘Already taken care of. It won’t be enough, since there
aren’t that many priests out there, but we’ll try our best anyway, my
liege.’
“’Yes,
we will, Uncle Hendro,’ Armyron confirmed. ‘And we will win.’
“Today,
I am proud to say that the reign of King Armyron IV began indeed with a
victory. It was not an easy victory, nor was it fast, but Cayaboré did
win. And ever since, Armyron has proven to be a king worth serving under;
a king who has understood the meaning of all the lives at risk, a king who
has taken up the task of learning every detail about our defenses and
about our enemies. I wanted to lay down my position as steward of the
realm on his eighteenth birthday, but at his urging I stayed at the post
for seven more years. It was my task to run the realm while he spent the
time studying at the Darawk academy and in fact chose to serve (himself!)
as a soldier in the ordinary line of duty in every branch of our armed
forces. If my only achievement during those twelve years as steward has
been to buy Armyron the time to learn what is needed, it is an achievement
I will proudly take to the next life.”
Hendrostezhan
of Cayaboré,
Chief Commander of the Royal Armed Forces (ret.), Hallowton
(excerpted from a conversation recorded in “Cayaborean Chronicles”,
Ed. 3169 A.E.)
On
the Structure of the Realm
“The
realm of Cayaboré is certainly among the most powerful of nations found
on Gushémal. By necessity it is powerful for it is surrounded on all
sides by mighty nations that have ever been bent on expansion. Yet Cayaboré
has been thriving for many centuries, despite Kraznyczar to the south,
despite Ibrollene in the east, the Thousand Islands on Shane’s Sea and
what today is Rek’atrednu in the north. (Even before the northern land
fell under the control of the brastoks and the necromancers, Keroull had
been a strong rival that had never been trustworthy.)
“As
a result of so many enemies, the Cayaboreans have closed their ranks very
tightly. Every single person is included in the defense of the realm,
every one is in a clearcut chain of command, whether he or she is a
soldier, a priest, a wizard, a merchant or a farmer. All know their place,
all receive their orders from the king, all are truly interwoven into the
realm.
“At
the age of eighteen, every able-bodied person is inducted into the armed
forces for three years during which they receive intensive training. After
that, in regular intervals, they will return to their units for repeat
practice, and in case of a war, they will immediately go back to active
status.
“But
even before being drafted, they have extensive training in school. Schools
are plentiful in Cayaboré, and attending school is mandatory until the
age of fifteen. Aside from reading and writing, mathematics, history, and
basic courses in understanding magic, there is a wide range of physical
education, including weapons drills with mock swords and spears.
“Those
who display sufficient magical abilities are required to take extra
courses for a year, whereupon they can decide whether to pursue a career
in wizardry. Such a career is widely popular, since the state sponsors the
applicants to the colleges of wizardry – where the teaching also
includes military tactics and strategy -, and the wizards are well
regarded servants of the state.
“It
might surprise outsiders that Cayaboré would thus promote wizardry, since
in other lands the wizards are notoriously independent. But in the
dragon’s realm, they are in fact part of the armed forces, although a
wizard automatically receives an officer’s degree. His level of freedom
is considerably higher than that of a soldier (or ordinary officer), yet
he undoubtedly is part of the great fighting machine that Cayaboré is.
“The
same goes for clerics. Basically, every kind of worship is permitted –
provided that the priests and their followers pledge their unwavering
support for the king. It is therefore not surprising that a number of
believers in the Tonomai god live in Cayaboré, and that their priests are
as well regarded as a priest of Haguen.
“All
clerics are subservient to not only the king but also the Sacred Speaker,
the High Priest of Dicerius. (A strange thought that the priests of the
Tonomai god have to answer to a believer in a different faith, but this
only goes to prove how tightly knit the Cayaborean society is.)
“Priests
also regularly serve in the armed forces, and all can be ordered to
perform special services. Especially important and especially closely tied
into the web of the state are the priests of Darawk. They are one of the
pillars of our society since it is from their ranks that the teachers of
our children come, the keepers and dispensers of knowledge. They maintain
the vast libraries of Hallowton and the other cities, they work closely
with all other branches of clerics, wizards and scholars in general to
improve the dragon’s realm.
“And
they provide one further important function as they man all the magiscribe
stations across the land. Every city, every town, every village has a
Darawk temple, small though it might be, but each is connected via
magiscribe to Hallowton, wherefore steady contact is maintained. The same
function Darawk priests perform in the armed forces, allowing each unit to
stay in touch with headquarters.”
Dinam
Aryl,
Royal Scribe, Hallowton, Cayaboré
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