The Sons of Omurath

Sorenan and Marcos regarded each other over the map that Mina had spread upon her desk. The warrior and the priest again questioned if the capricious gods had put them into the situation for the sole purpose of watching them fight. As though knowing the other's thoughts, both men sighed and turned their attention back to the map. “Althar is in Selath,” Sorenan said, “Abraxas would not have lied to me about this.”

“How are you so sure of this?” Marcos said in a testy tone of voice, “That man talks out both sides of his mouth and his ass. He's possibly the biggest crook of all the merchants from the south. Just last week he...”

Sorenan reached into his pocket and slapped the amulet he had taken off Abraxas onto the table in the middle of the map. Marcos looked down at the gilded brass and blinked. Abraxas always wore the thing and was rumored to sleep with it. While he was reluctant to touch it, the priest could read the glyphs of the desert dweller's gods. “You didn't kill him, did you?” Marcos said, concerned that the curse against one who harmed the wearer was going to roll over them.

Sorenan snorted. “No,” he scoffed, “I just took it. And I didn't let the fat bastard choke to death. I'm a regular humanitarian.” Sorenan looked over at Mina, who was dipping a fingertip into her cool tea. “He gave up the information but only for the opportunity to sell your order veils,” he said apologetically. Mina waved a dismissive hand and resumed tracing an intricate sigil on the surface of her cold cup of tea.

“And the sons of Omurath? Are you sure that they're not just trying to play to Althar's greed and get him to go on a raiding campaign, because they've done that...” Marcos demanded. He fell quiet when Mina placed a hand on his right arm. The priest-king of Dacia looked over at his wife. “We need to be sure before we act,” he said, “I can't commit troops to going after them if we don't have proof. There will be rebellion in the ranks if it happens.”

“Omurath's sons are a threat to us,” Mina said, “They have worked to destabilize Dacia for years. I was foolish to think that they would have forgotten us when they went away to Selath. You both know, as well as I do, that given the chance, they would burn Dacia to the ground just out of spite. My rejection of their father when he came for my hand laid the seeds of this mess. Omurath wanted to control Dacia and the floodplain. Now his sons seek it.”

“Julara would not allow them success,” Marcos said firmly, “She wouldn't.”

Mina looked at Marcos. “Julara's will is carried out by the actions of men, Marcos,” she said, “It will be a matter of weeks until we possibly see an army camped outside the walls. We should take that time to prepare.”

Marcos frowned down at the map. He looked over at Sorenan, who was running a hand through his shaggy blond hair. “And you?” Marcos said, suspecting he knew Sorenan's thoughts on the matter already. The priest-king did not want to ready his garrison for war. He did not want the waves of anxiety to roll through his city or to see the prosperous bazaar close. He preferred the current peace and calm.

Sorenan looked over at Marcos. His green eyes gazed deeply into Marcos's brown ones and he could see the fear buried within. Sorenan felt disappointed, for he had hoped that Marcos would have proven less like Abraxas. The man's disappointment briefly flashed across his face before he looked down at the map. “I believe the only way to secure peace is to prepare for war,” he answered, moving Abraxas' amulet aside. “Althar has a war party of several hundred strong if Abraxas is not exaggerating,” Sorenan continued, “If he succeeds in raising the sons of Omurath to his cause, he will gain several thousand men with them. And what ever allies they have as well. Include the tribesmen of the north and it may be enough men to take Dacia.”

Marcos' shoulders drooped in an expression of defeat. “Lycina is on her way to the cities of Halthor and Morvia,” Mina said, lifting her cup of tea to her lips, “This will bring us three thousand men. I have taken the liberty of sending messengers to the cities of Niad and Malath on the plain. It will take longer for them to arrive but if Althar does not move towards us within the month, it will give them enough time for at least the beginnings of Halthor and Morvia's forces to reach us.”

Marcos stiffened at Mina's words. He turned, his eyes opening wide with anger. As he drew breath to demand why Mina did not consult him, Sorenan spoke. “We have other problems aside from Althar and the sons of Omurath,” he said, “Rumors have spread through the city about us. And they are very close to the truth.” Marcos's outraged argument died on his lips as he paled.

“General Zalaz will …” he started in a quiet voice when Mina interrupted him.

“He will not be a problem. There will be no rebellion,” Mina said, “We are doing the will of Julara. Even in our relationship. If it was not, then it would not have happened. She will provide for our needs. Before we address Althar's problem, we shall call the council together.”

“And then what?” Sorenan said, doing his best to ignore the sinking feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.
“I will tell them what Julara commands and they will obey it,” Mina said mildly, sipping from her tea. Marcos gave a pained groan and ran his hands through his dark hair. He turned to Mina.

“You can't...” he started when Mina slammed her cup down on the desk hard enough to slosh out nearly half of her tea.

“Do not tell me what I can not do,” she said in a harsh tone, “Your rights may be that you determine what becomes of the city and the empire in the civil way. You may have rule over the empire and city in times of war. But you will not command me like some common chit.”

“Marcos,” Sorenan said as Marcos stared at Mina aghast with shock. Sorenan reached over and pulled the map away from the spreading pool of tea. “Marcos,” he said again, his tone a bit harder. Marcos looked over at Sorenan. It was clear that he was stunned and wounded by Mina's harsh words. “Go to Jorn,” he said, “I'll be along shortly.” Marcos looked back as Mina, who stared out the window. She was rigid with anger and Marcos questioned if it was with him. Silently, Marcos left the room and shut the door behind him."He will stand,” Sorenan said after the door shut, “Even if I have to put a pole up his ass to give him a backbone.” Mina said nothing. “The council will not be pleased,” he said.

“Let them be angered,” Mina said, “They have done nothing but whine about taxes and the price of grain. When they're not doing that, they're busy with their damned games. We have done no wrong. I will not keep silent any longer. If they know, then they know.”

Sorenan moved around the desk and behind Mina. As he set his hands on her shoulders, he could feel the tension running through her. The strain of keeping their relationship silent had worn mightily on her. Sorenan suspected that this was the reason for her anger, not the business of Althar and his companions. “I know that,” he said, “Marcos does as well.”

“Marcos does not,” Mina snapped, “He worries all the damned time what people will say. He...”

“Is afraid for you,” Sorenan interrupted her, “The temple is not bristling with arms and men. He worries that the council will put word out into the city and people will fall upon you. You are breaking tradition and the council...”

“Are a bunch of old men who can't see farther then their collective nose,” Mina said bitterly.

“That may be,” Sorenan replied, “But his fears are reasonable. I can not be with you at all times. If I can just walk in to the sanctuary, so can any other man.” Mina's shoulders sagged with defeat. Sorenan placed a kiss on the top of her head. “The council will not be pleased,” he murmured.

“Let them be angered,” Mina muttered, “I fear no man.”

Sorenan chuckled. “I did not say you did,” he replied.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Part One: Abraxas & Sorenan
Part Two: Sorenan & Mina

The Deer of Evandar

From Wikipedia

Deer feature prominently in the stories of Evandar. In some ways, the deer of Evandar are patterned after the white-tailed deer that I saw regularly on my family's farm as I was growing up. They are approximately the same size as white-tailed deer and have much of the same demeanor. The Evandari deer also share the white-tail of these deer so familiar to me. The stags of Evandari deer are on average 290 to 350 lbs when full grown. The does weigh between 150 to 290 lbs at maturity. Albinoism does happen more frequently in the population of Evandari deer, presenting in triple the abundance of the white-tailed deer of our world.

They are a staple of the Evandari diet. Under the reign of Erian the Hero and previous High Kings of the Seven Kingdoms, deer were considered to be fit for nobles and freed men alike to hunt. With the reign of Askemb the Usurper, deer have become the province of solely noble hunting. Albino deer are taken down but they are generally given as offerings in the temples of the god Sigurt. This is because the albino deer are considered to be descendants of the stag that Sigurt incarnated as at the beginning of the world.

Specialized rituals in the handling of the heart of deer have evolved in Aethelmer and Ackmere. The heart is considered the seat of the deer's soul and thus is offered to Sigurt after being prepared for consumption. Only nobles and priests are permitted to consume the hearts of regular deer. Albino deer hearts are solely consumed by the regional high priests of the gods. The rest of the normal deer is consumed as is typical for medieval period usage of deer. Albino deer meet is used only by the household of priests. The skin and other deer products are crafted into items used by the priests of Evandar.

The deer of Dakon-Bar are of such abundance that the herds were maintained by the regular hunting by men due to a lack of natural predators. Some people have begun the attempt of domesticating deer but with little success. Rumors abound within Dakon-Bar that the fabled Grey Lady of the Wood has a connection with all the wildlife of the vast forest. As such, stories of her riding the deer as one would a horse or having a chariot pulled by them are told.

In Tarsus, deer became progressively more scarce as one moved farther north from Dakon-Bar because the predator population increased with the distance from Dragonwood forest. Deer do not form a primary part of the Tarsian diet. This place is taken over by sheep and goat. They are, however, considered a delicacy and generally the food of the wealthy.

New material coming soon!

I apologize for this blog being so quiet for so very long. Starting this week, I will be posting new material about the little world and continuing the story of Sorenan and Mina. One may be curious about the location of this story in relation to the places I speak of in my novels. This will be revealed as well as more about the nations surrounding Evandar.

It is my hope that you, my readers, will find this little world a place of richness, beauty, and powerful humanity. While some authors would discourage others from playing in their little worlds, I encourage it. All I ask is for there to be proper attribution and for you to follow canon. The world of Evandar has been my private playground ever since I was a child.

The reason why I am writing this series of books and I have this blog is very simple. I wish to share my little world with the 'real' world. It is my firm belief that the world of Evandar can be a place where we can explore what it means to be human and what our relationship with the world is. Philosophical questions like where did we originate and what is the purpose of life are themes that I want to see explored fully.

They are a task beyond my own measure. Thus, I open my arms and my little world to you, dear readers, so that you might help me with my quest. If you are interested in guest posting on here, please contact me.

The Umbrel Chronicles of Evandar are but the first steps of a very long journey. Come, join me and see what wonders await.

Book Excerpt: Shadow Fall

From the third book of the Umbrel Chronicles of Evandar, a work in progress:

“The letter spoke of her coming death but I refused to believe it. It said that you, the son of Agathe would have seen one of the many faces of evil. I assumed that meant the war and perhaps a glimpse of Askemb. You speak of this 'veiled one' with fear in your voice. Agathe's line is not known for fearing shadows,” Abelard said slowly, “Does this 'veiled one' still walk among the living? What manner of man is he?”

Some of the knot that coiled in Douglas's guts eased as he realized that Abelard believed him. When Abelard posed his question regarding the Veiled One, Douglas's guts knotted up again. He could nearly see the woman's near perfect face and snow white skin. The mercenary shuddered despite himself as he tried to put the memory of her cold, cold eyes out of his mind.

“She is dead, at least in body,” Douglas said quietly, reluctant to speak about her for fear of that cold creature's specter drawing near to him, “When Askemb put the head of Erian into her hands, she burst into flame. I want to say that lightning struck her but it was so sudden that I can not be sure. The woman was some kind of witch. Osric, Morguthu's white priest, came out of the fens of the Darklands with her at his side when he had gone into that cursed place alone except for his guide. The guide did not come back.”

Douglas ran his hands over his forearms, suddenly feeling chilled. “Many a man died for her blood magic,” he said, “Others said they deserted but I know differently. I saw one night when she took a man into her tent. At dawn, he did not emerge. I had men keeping watch on that tent through the night. That man vanished.”

As Douglas spoke, Abelard's expression became less guarded and he began to nod slightly. “You are truly the man that her Ladyship wrote of. You marched with the enemy, but were not truly of his number,” Abelard said after a few minutes of silence. Abelard leaned slightly to the right and made a come hither gesture.

Douglas turned to find Alcuin entering in the room. He had a small wrapped parcel in his hand. “Queen Asriel sent this,” Abelard explained, “She said that you would have need of it. It was a strange thing for her to send. Before Alcuin gives it to you, though, tell me who sent you and what became of the Little Queen? It has been long since I have been at court. The last I saw the girl, she was but a babe in arms.”

“The Forest-father sent us and she is under his care,” Cynehilde answered and Abelard gave her a wry look. Something akin to distaste flickered over the man's features before he sighed. Cynehilde felt her chest tighten and then anger flooded through her veins at the thought that this doddering old man would scorn the former prince of Tarsus and the reason why Dragonwood was beginning to keep some measure of law. “The High King thought him more then suitable,” Cynehilde started and Abelard lifted a hand with another sigh.

“What is done is done. I will trust that the High King and his Queen were wise in this matter as they had been in others. The Usurper will not think to look for the Little Queen in the wood. He will search all of Dakon-bar, but the deep wood keeps her secrets,” Abelard said, sounding exhausted. He gestured that Alcuin give Douglas the wrapped item.

The big man took it in his hands and turned it over. The leather wrapping seemed hastily done. For a moment, Douglas questioned if the object had been opened. Abelard said, “If you would be so kind as to open it here. The Queen's letter was specific and said that only you were to open it.”

Douglas unwrapped the item and then dropped it to the ground with a gasp of surprise. The broad steel arrowhead that he had affixed to his arrows clattered at his feet. He stepped back, his eyes wide with horror. The startled man dropped the bit of leather that had been wrapped about it and as it fell a narrow ribbon of parchment fluttered free. His arrowheads were unique for they all had a maker's mark upon them. It was something that he insisted upon.

Winking up at him from the ground was the arrow with the bindrune that served as the maker's mark for the last blacksmith he saw. There was no way that she could have sent him that or have known who had made his arrowheads unless some form of magic was involved. Abelard and his man looked at Douglas in confusion as Cynehilde stooped and picked up the bit of parchment.

She looked at it and recognized Asriel's hasty handwriting. Cynehilde gave a silent prayer of gratitude that Asriel had insisted upon her learning to read with her entry into her service. In a low voice, Cynehilde read the dead woman's words. “Blood magic wrought my death. Blood magic shall avenge it. Your arrows shall fly ever true, by my blood,” she said.

Abelard and Alcuin looked at each other in askance. Douglas knelt and cautiously picked up the arrowhead. As his fingertips touched the wedge shaped piece of metal, an electric thrill ran up his arm. Douglas carefully turned it over in his hand. He tried to figure out what was different about this arrowhead compared to the others. Then he realized that the maker's mark was filled in with something, not merely blackened with grime. Asriel's words haunted him.

“Heart's blood,” he murmured. Cynehilde looked at him with a look of compassion. He looked over at Cynehilde. “What do I do with it?” he said, confusion and discomfort plain on his face. Cynehilde sighed and shrugged, at a loss for what to do as well.

“Wear it,” Abelard said firmly, “It was not long ago that huntsmen wore talismans. These tattoos are only half of what the huntsmen wore in my day. Each huntsman also wore a talisman of his first kill.” Douglas looked down at the arrowhead resting in the palm of his right hand. He thought about his father and the bear claw that he wore on a thong until his dying day. Douglas assumed that it was like the scars, a token of a hunt that nearly killed the tough old man.

“This was not my first kill,” Douglas said after an uncomfortable silence.

“It is in the service of the Stag,” said Cynehilde and everyone in the room looked at her. She set a hand on Douglas's arm. “You served as Kaileth's hand,” she explained, “It was not the Stag you freed but rather a hind. And in doing so, you allowed the fawn to reach safety.” Douglas thought about arguing with Cynehilde's interpretation of events but the weight of the arrowhead in his palm made him reconsider.

“Wear it?” Douglas mused. Abelard tapped his chin and made a thoughtful noise. Douglas looked over. Abelard made his way up out of his seat and over to Douglas. He looked down at the arrowhead in the man's hand.

“A man I know owes me a favor. He can make you something to hold it. It will take a day or two,” Abelard said, “When he is finished, I will send you into Ranyth myself. As a messenger of mine to the High Priestess of Roen. When you reach her, tell her everything that has happened. She was her Ladyship's foster-mother many years ago. If any can give you proper advice on how to proceed, it will be her.”

Douglas looked down at the arrowhead in his hand. A part of him questioned the wisdom of handing the artifact off. The old man patted the red haired one on the shoulder with his free hand. “Listen to me, lad,” he said, “I will see to it that this comes back to your hands. I swear it by the Stag's blood and breath. When Alcuin comes for you again, it will be ready. No mere pouch will be fitting for this relic.”

Reluctantly, Douglas handed the arrowhead over. Abelard took it with a solemn expression. “Lady Theodonia said that her husband's hand would bring something from the dead but I never expected this,” he said quietly. At the mention of the legendary High Priestess of Kaileth, Douglas looked to Abelard in curiosity. “Lady Theodonia, on the day that Erian was wedded to Asriel spoke a prophecy. It had three parts. The first was that Evandar would fall when the Hero's star set. The second part was that Kaileth would bring to the living the relic of the dead. The third was that the first to die at the hands of the true enemy would be the Lady and Lord of Forest Hold.”

“Forest Hold has no lord,” Cynehilde said firmly, “We are a free people.” Abelard nodded and tottered his way back to his chair. As he sat down, he looked at Cynehilde. He thought about how young she and Douglas seemed. Suddenly, Abelard felt his age and he couldn't help but feel dread that the coming year was to be his last.

Bereft of heirs or kinsmen, Abelard had only his household of servants. He looked at Douglas and realized that if he had taken the prospect of his own mortality more seriously when he was younger, he would have quite likely had a son the same age as the man standing before him. Abelard sighed heavily with regret.

Flora et Fauna: Fireweed

Fireweed's name is derived from the colors its fronds turn when the season turns dry and the warming effect that those powdered fronds have upon the body. Fireweed grows in rocky ground and in wastelands. It can be found at higher altitudes, but generally grows to its full height (approximately six feet) in the warmth of lower altitudes. Fireweed's leaves are lacey fronds that extend off of a central rib in a rosette pattern.

Immature plants have fronds that are approximately three inches long and an inch wide at most. Mature plants that are approximately three years old bear fronds that are six inches long and two inches wide. The central vein of the frond is pithy, like the central stalk of the plant. Mature fireweed has tiny orange blossoms on the ends of the central veins of the fronds during the summer. Late summer/early autumn, the orange blossoms are replaced by orange fruit that are approximately the same size as the blossoms (approximately the size of a small pea).

The fruit of Fireweed is coated with a waxy resin. It is inedible to humans, though birds seem to favor it. Fireweed fruit's juice is toxic and mildly corrosive. Its effect upon the body mimics that of an excessively high fever even as it causes renal failure. A single Fireweed fruit makes an average man extremely ill but recovery is possible. Two to three Fireweed fruit are lethal, difference being in how quickly renal failure progresses.

Fireweed stems and frond veins are useful as tinder when the plant has died, giving this plant its other name 'tinder wort'. The root structure is highly matted and strongly encourages nitrogen fixing. Farmers will allow Fireweed to grow in fallow fields, taking care to cut down the plant before it matures and bears fruit. High altitude Fireweed will tend to be shorter in the mature plant, standing on average approximately three feet high. If the conditions are particularly hostile, mature Fireweed can be found standing at a foot high.

In mid-summer, Fireweed's fronds will turn a range of red colors. At the darkest, it will be a rust color. At the lightest, it will be a brilliant primary red color. Fireweed that is used for medicinal purpose is collected while the red color. The flower bud will remain green on mature plants. Immature Fireweed does not blossom.

To use Fireweed fronds, one cuts them during the driest portion of the day. The fronds are cut off of the central stem, with care being taken to avoid getting the sap (which has the same toxic and corrosive qualities as the juice of the fruit) on oneself. The fronds are dried flat and then stripped along the central vein. They are then powdered and added to alcoholic beverages for consumption. Fireweed fronds are at times added to poultices after being mixed with alcohol, as the alcohol activates the chemicals within the Fireweed. Fireweed used externally will produce an effect similar to the application of capsaicin.

An alcoholic beverage that is produced in the mountains of Tarsus uses a small portion of Fireweed for its distinctive burning sensation. It is known as Fire Witch's Kiss or Witch's Kiss. It is used as a restorative and is much like whiskey, though the burning sensation is more pronounced. Witch's Kiss is rarely seen outside of the mountains of Tarsus. It is rumored that a similar brew can be found in the mountains of Ranyth.

Flora et Fauna: Hydraexia

The hydraexia plant, also known as ice root or hail wort, is a creeping vine. It grows as a parasite on old growth trees much like Virginia creeper. Hydraexia blooms once every seven years with large, showy white blossoms. The blossoms scent is an anesthetic. When dried, the petals can be brewed into a tea which can be used to treat mild abrasions and burns when cooled. Only the tea made from the petals is safe to ingest directly.

The root is a globular cluster of root balls ranging from the size of a pea to the size of a chicken's egg. Generally spherical in shape, the root balls of hydraexia are potent with the anesthetic properties that are in the blooms. An average adult human male consuming one of the pea sized root balls of hydraexia will suffer respiratory distress in fifteen minutes. A sensation of cold will pass through out the body prior to respiratory distress. Death from asphyxiation occurs shortly after the patient enters respiratory distress.

Some magi have created a distillation of hydraexia that is useful as an anesthetic and relatively safe to consume in moderate quantities. It acts to open up the bronchial passage ways and can be used to treat asthma and related conditions if taken in minute doses (a few drops per a pint of ale). Hydraexia poisoning can be remedied by way of fireweed ingestion if the fireweed is taken prior to respiratory distress.

Hydraexia is used by some folk magi as a weather working charm. These white roots cause numbing to the hands when handled. The person handling the roots will feel as though they are holding a piece of ice, hence the plant's common name of ice root or hail wort. To invoke a storm, a root ball is thrown into the air blindly over a field. The size of the storm is supposedly determined by the size of the root ball thrown.

Fauna and Flora: Bear root

Bear root is a plant that has long, slender leaves that are smooth edged in the young plant and jagged edged in the mature. The leaves on an immature plant are approximately one meter in length and on a mature plant three meters in length. It grows in marshy places and puts up a stalk of tiny flowers in the heat of summer. The flowers smell musky. When dried, the musk scent is more potent and it is used in poor man's incense. The stem of the stalk is hollow and is harvested in autumn after the plant has died back following the first hard frost to use for similar purposes as reeds.

The root of the plant is shaped roughly like a bear paw print. The plant propagates by way of seeds and root systems. The 'claw' of the bear paw is where the runner of the roots come from. In early autumn, the seeds are dispersed on the wind. They are very small and light with a tuft of fuzz that catches the breeze like cattail seeds. Mature bear root is approximately 22 cm wide at its widest point.

The root is covered in a brown colored skin with rootlets giving the appearance of fur. The flesh of the root is white when uncooked. Cooking the root, it turns a pale tan color. The skin of the plant is generally inedible to humans, but it and the upper portions of the plant are edible to livestock and wild animals. Songbirds greatly favor the seeds. Beavers are known to be especially fond of the roots and young stems.

The edible parts of the bear root plant are the root and the pollen. The root can be treated like a thick skinned potato. While it is possible to eat bear root raw, it is generally unliked because the taste is very starchy. Bear root pollen is a pale yellow in color and used like flour. It has a taste similar to cornmeal. It is very high in fiber content and while it can be baked like flour it is used in cooked dishes where flour would have been used (puddings, dumplings, steamed biscuits, etc.) because the interaction between the pollen and heated liquid makes the pollen easier to digest.

The leaves of bear root plant are sometimes stripped for the center vein which is used in cord making. The leaves are also sometimes woven as used as a component in building. They are also turned into pulp to make paper in some regions of Evandar (namely in Moesia). Bear root will overtake a place of still water if the local fauna does not control it.