The Five Kingdoms

Olafur sat the front pew of the chapel, his feet dangling just above the floor. He nervously eyed the Abbot as she grimly stared into the scriptures unrolled on the lectern, not reading, but perhaps immersed in prayer or contemplation. Alsam Lim, the rector, paced across the dais, fussing with his black, oily hair incessantly.

Finally, his patience frayed. “You must not give this boy the orb. It would be the height of foolishness. Keep it here, where we can protect it.”

The Abbot looked up from scrolls, and stared coldly at the Rector. “You yourself said that we would not be able to forestall the forces arrayed against us. We must do whatever is necessary to protect the Orb.”

“You wish to protect it by throwing it away,” Lim retorted with disgust. It was no secret he and the Abbot rarely saw eye to eye, but never before had Olafur seen them openly oppose each other. He stared down at the floor in embarrassment, wishing himself away.

“I have made my decision. Now leave us.” Lim bowed stiffly and swept out of the chapel. The Abbot, stepping off the dais, turned her attention to Olafur for the first time. The youth raised his eyes hesitantly, and was surprised to find her smiling sadly as she sat down on the pew next to him.

“I am forced to place a great burden on your shoulders, a burden no one should have to carry. If you were smart, you would refuse. But you are young, and headstrong, and I know that you will not.”

Olafur inhaled nervously. “I will do my best Mother to fulfill your trust,” he replied, resolutely. But he was seized by a sudden trepidation that he would let her down. He would do anything he asked of her, as she surmised, but he was not looking for danger. Life in the monastery appealed to him exactly because it was safe and calm, so very different from his previous life on the plains. He found himself sympathizing with the Rector, quietly questioning why she would think to entrust him with such a dangerous mission.

The Abbot sighed. “I know that you will, Olafur. Now listen carefully, as we do not have much time.” She pulled a small, square box from under her robes, the size of a melon.

“You must run to the village. Find a man named Hiram Fletcher, and give him this box. Whatever happens, do not allow our enemies to see you, or to get their hands on what’s inside.”

Olafur nodded quickly, and took the box as she handed it to him. It was lighter than he expected, and he slipped it carefully into his knapsack. He stood up, but could not resist asking one question.

“Who is it?”

“Who would attack the temple, you mean? Many people would like to get their hands on the orb, for its magic is powerful. But I have an idea who is behind this attack, and it won’t be the first time they have tried.” She stood abruptly. “Now go, Olafur, and do your best not to be seen. You must not, under any circumstances, be captured with that box.”

Olafur bowed formally and hurried to the Chapel entrance. As he ran through the Monastery, ready to do his utmost to fulfill the Abbot’s trust in him, the many unasked questions rattled in his head more loudly than his footsteps.

The Kingdom of Morena reigned over central Ashan for several millennia during what is now known as the Warring States period. Crown Hill, even at that time, served as Morena’s capitol. From the ancient keep turned fortress overlooking the city, Queen Dorothea governed her kingdom, usually directing several wars at once, without ever setting foot outside her well-fortified citadel. Her rule, often cited as more just than merciful, prided itself on maintaining the martial discipline necessary to preserve the kingdom’s territories in the face of near constant onslaught.

If you were to look at an old map of Morena, Crown Hill, would lie almost exactly at the center. The Adrielle River flowed through the capital, feeding the fertile plains that surrounded it. This area was under direct control of the Monarchy, although local governance was maintained by the minor nobles that administered the various counties and wards. The rest of Morena was divided into six Thanes, all of which owed direct allegiance to the Queen. They were Gaishun and Kolaida, known together as the Twin Thanes, the Euphemian Plains, Whisperwood, Thisbe, and Hesiod’s Pan.

To the North lay the Twin Thanes, Gaishun and Kolaida. These two cities stood at the foot of the Agni Mountains, facing each other from across the beginnings of the Adrielle River. The leather-skinned mountain tribes were kept at bay behind the Long Wall, which stretched many miles in either direction and marked the Kingdom’s northern boundary.

To the northeast, several days ride from Crown Hill, began the Nahalan forest. Even further northeast emerged the foothills of Ios. This mountain group, which gradually increased in height until forming the tallest peaks in all of Ahsan, were the meeting point of two separate ranges, the Agni and the Grey. The region, known as the Staircase to Heaven, was home to the giant races.

The Grey Mountains, at an almost 90 degree angle to the Agni Mountains, stretched towards the south. The Mountains were separated from Morena by the vast and deep Stone Canyon, which was impassable save by flight or magic.

To the south, in the vast Euphemian Plains, lived the diminutive humanoids known as the Hanner Dyn, or shortstriders. The plains ran all the way to the Great Ocean. No one in even the furthest memory has ever ventured beyond the continent in that direction, because the way was blocked by the Orospu Islands, home to the chromatic dragons.

To the west of the plains, the multiple branches of the Adrielle formed the Herpelon Delta. The swamp was inhabited by all manner of reptilian races, including some dragons. Not far to the north, near the widest point of the Adrielle, lay the city of Whisperwood.

Even further west began the Eilleithisan, or the Great Forest, home to the Faerie. It was a mystical and mysterious forest, and its inhabitants remained aloof from most of the constant battling of the neighboring kingdoms, only allowing themselves to become involved when their own way of life was threatened.

To the far west of Crown Hill stood the holy city of Thisbe. This Thane was charged with protecting Morena and its borderlands from the great evil of Skeldya, whose domain began just beyond the border in the Dead Hills.

Finally, occupying approximately the midpoint between Crown Hill, Thisbe, and Whisperwood, rested the economic bastion of Hesiod’s Pan, which acted as a trade center and market place for all the outlying rural areas.

With enemies at every corner, Morena faced a constant struggle for survival, a survival that, through a knotting of fateful events, would suddenly come to depend upon a group of young teenagers from a small, nondescript village known as Moon’s Thresh.

Cal, having to travel the furthest, reached the cave last. By the time she arrived, the moon was past its midpoint, and she cast a long shadow that reached Dish and Dusty as they huddled together, excitedly discussing the attack.

“There’s no way it’s humans. I say they’re from the Forest,” Dish contended, sporting the same dark cloak he has always worn for their midnight adventures. As such, his body was nearly invisible, even with the light streaming from the entrance. Only his face, sharply contrasting his dark hair and the blackness behind him, could be clearly distinguished.

“We’re too far from any borders,” countered Dusty. The golden-brown hair on his neck and cheeks, almost thick as fur, radiated in that same light, and his riding jacket, a dull red, would have looked handsome at the previous night’s festival dance. But he would stand out like a donkey in a horse race, should stealth become imperative. “The attack must have come from bandits. No other explanation makes sense.”

“You know as well as I do it could not be bandits,” Cal interrupted. Her friends turned simultaneously, the relief shining on their faces.

“It seems unlikely,” Dusty conceded. “But no other explanation makes sense either. Who would want to attack a village as poor and far from anything of importance as Moon’s Thresh?”

“They aren’t attacking Moon’s Thresh. It’s the Temple they are after.”

“The Temple? A bunch of old monks and nuns? Who would attack them? The Temple of the Sun?” Dish laughed at his little quip, but Cal ignored it.

“Like you said, Dusty, no other explanation makes sense. Moon’s Thresh is remote, hard to reach, deep in the hills, and has zero strategic importance. Bandits have not been spotted in this part of Morena for ten years. It could be Fairy Folk, from the Eilleithisan, like Dish said, but why would they secretly pass through fifty miles of occupied land so they could launch a surprise attack on Moon’s Thresh?”

“The Temple, of course,” Dusty concurred. “I should have realized. There are countless rumors about the treasures it holds.”

“So what’s the plan, Cal?” Dish asked, flashing a smile.

Cal thought of her father’s instructions. “We wait. It’s too dangerous.”

“Wait? While our homes are being destroyed? We have to do something to help.”

“Dish is right, Cal,” Dusty agreed. “We can’t sit by with our families in danger.”

Cal should not have been surprised by her friends’ impetuous show of bravado, but tonight was not the same as stealing pies or rustling goats. “We aren’t playing games anymore. We could be killed.”

“I don’t believe you’re willing to do nothing. I thought you wanted to be a general?”

Dish was right, though her father had no idea it was her plan to study military strategy at university, not academics. And no, she could not sit by while the village was under attack. But she was still scared.

“Okay, but we have to be careful.” She stared pointedly at Dish.

“Always.” The smile flashed again.

“The first thing we need to do is get some reconnaissance. Here’s the plan.” With Dusty and his magical sphere providing the light, and her father’s sword laying next to her, she used a stick to quickly sketch out directions in the dirt of the cave floor. Her father would be angry with her, but really, he had only himself to blame. He never should have taught her everything he knows.