The Chronicle of Zarathustra

By: Veltsyn Posted on: August 10, 2005

Last month had someone said we would be conquered, I would have thought him insane. Ashtan, with her mighty walls, and wise Archons, could never fall. Alas, that nightmare was indeed visited upon our fair city nary a week and a half ago. The gates now lie asunder and a despairing haze lies upon the city, thicker than the winter fog coming off the western ocean. The source lies lank over the captured Royal Palace--the flag of victorious Shallam. We should have seen it coming. We shou--

"Natael! Get the bloody door!"

My lord's voice from upstairs cut through my gloomy thoughts and I was suddenly aware of a loud knocking emanating from the handsome entrance door. I unfolded myself from my window perch and swiftly opened it, barely dodging another hasty knock, and glared at the man standing outside. He wore a cloak to ward off the evening autumn chill, but was otherwise devoid of distinguishing features.

"Lord Zarathustra?" he asked.

"He is currently busy in other matters. Any messages you have may be relayed through me." I replied sternly.

"Give him these gifts, some of Shallam's finest. This invitation also."

He said handing me a heavy wooden box with an ornate card placed on top. With that, he turned on his heel and left, swiftly heading down the street. Grumbling I turned back into the manor, awkwardly closing the door behind me. I gently lowered the package to the bottom of the elaborate white marble staircase and examined the gilded card placed in top. It read:

"To the Lord Zarathustra,
You are cordially invited to join the officers and nobility of Shallam aboard
the warship Crescent for an all-day formal ball in celebration of the great God
Sarapis. We eagerly await your presence at 8:00 tomorrow morning.
General Darius

I felt my right eyebrow rising upwards into my scalp. An invitation signed by the Shallamese Sultan's nephew was certainly an honor. Resisting the urge to crumple the stiff parchment, I instead laid it aside and pulled out my lone dagger. Not to shred the whole mess, as I would have liked, but to slit open the package. My duties including insuring gifts contained no unpleasant surprises. Inside were some Tasur'ken pearls, a pair of beautiful daggers from the mines in the Siroccians, and some expensive wines from Shallam itself. I uncorked one of the bottles and took a small sip, swirled it around my mouth and swallowed. After a moment I decided there was no venom, but it was indeed fine wine.

"Natael!" Zarathustra's deep voice descended again from above, "Who was at the door?"

"A package for you sir!" I replied as I returned everything back to its proper place.

"Well then, hurry up and deliver it!"

Sighing I picked up the box and trudged up the shining steps and down the stunning blue marbled upper hallway until I reached the slightly opened gilded doors of Zarathustra's lamp-lit study. Pushing aside the heavy door I managed to gently lay the package on the huge, polished redwood desk, emblazoned with the Zarathustran Eagle. On the other side surrounded by maps, crumpled parchment balls, lamps, and discarded letters, was Lord Zarathustra. Tall and well-built, with sleek dark hair and none of the obesity some of his fellows had, he was staring at the box intently with his fierce obsidian eyes.

"Do you know what this box contains, Natael?" he asked, pulling it towards him and opening it.

"Aye, my lord, checked it myself." I answered dutifully, "Harmless gifts and an invitation from the Shallamese."

"Excellent. I wonder how Delyn pulled it off," he said thoughtfully scanning through the gaudy card several times. "A talented individual. I believe he was the one who sent this package as well. He has arranged it so while the officers are busy dancing aboard the Cresent, we shall be swarming the city like a fire on the Sangre."

"Retaking the city!?" I repeated, at once surprised, excited, and skeptical. This was certainly wonderful news, though I could not imagine how he organized the resistance so quickly.

"Indeed." Zarathustra replied, sorting through the wines, "I began sending messages as soon as Shallam's flag flew over Ashtan. I encouraged citizens to sneak out of the city and arranged for Thera and host of mercenaries from around the continent to support us. All I need now is a single message."

"Has it come in yet my lord?" I asked excitedly.

For answer, Zarathustra flung the very bottle I had tested into the cold marble fireplace, shattering it. From among the pieces of glass and running wine, and despite the lamplight, my eyes picked out a slim wooden container. Barely breathing I strode to the fireplace and unscrewed the container. Inside, was a slip of parchment. With trembling hands I slowly unrolled it. A hastily written scrawl read: We wait.

"Yes!" I exclaimed elatedly, "This is it!"

Zarathustra grinned broadly and stood up sharply. "It is indeed past time. For both Ashtan's liberation and also for bed. We have a very early start tomorrow morning, as we must ride to the Black Forest. Meet me in the foyer before the moon has waned, fully armed and ready to ride."

"Yes my liege," I bowed grandly. Both of us knew that we would hardly sleep this night.

Even before the appointed time, I was pacing the floor of the foyer, my booted feet making no sound on the cold marble floor. I barely noticed the dim moon shining through the large windows, making no reflection upon my black cloak and dark-lacquered scale mail. At my belt was sheathed my dirk and coiled whip, and at my back was my darkbow and a quiver of poisoned arrows.

"Ready?"

I spun quickly with dirk and whip drawn. At the bottom of the staircase was the cloaked figure of Lord Zarathustra, broadsword strapped to his armored body and blackened tower shield across his back.

"Sorry my lord. Just restless," I muttered, sheathing my weapons, "Aye, I've been ready.

We left the manor like a pair of shadows, flowing across the empty cobblestone streets and slipping past the sleeping guardsmen. A little way past the gates we met with a similarly cloaked and hooded figure, who led us a short ways off the highway towards a wooded copse. Inside were two horses, which I recognized as my mottled gray and black gelding, and Zarathustra's black warhorse. The man bowed to Zarathustra, then melted into the darkness. Without saying a word we mounted and rode swiftly south, a mix of excitement and fear palpable in the air around us.

The moon was just above the horizon when we arrived at Zarathustra's destination, in the heart of the Black Forest past the town of Thera. The sight that greeted my eyes was astounding. Well over a thousand armed figures were amassing in the large clearing. My sharp eyes picked out the uniforms of Guardsmen and Theran soldiers, banners bearing the arms of the Ashtani Guildsmen, and countless mercenaries. As we rode into the clearing all motion stopped and rapidly the entire army saluted Zarathustra, clenched fist to heart.

In the dead silence, a single soldier rode up forward to Zarathustra, and handed him a single banner on a pole. I was unable to identify it from what I could see. Nodding his head at the man, who promptly rode back into the now-formed ranks, Zarathustra brandished the bound banner and in a booming voice addressed the gathered army.

"Greetings, people of Ashtan, Thera, and promised soldiers. You have gathered here for one purpose only and that is to take back what was ours. This coming combat is the most important one of your lives. In joining in this cause, you are becoming part of a history. This battle will create a power to topple Shallam's supremacy and eventually equal or even surpass it and our story will be told and retold until all the details are forgotten, until only the significance is left. This is a battle for our home. This is a battle for the future. This is a battle for the Ashtan."

With that, he set the pole in his left stirrup and began to ride north to Ashtan, with me at his side. Behind us marched an army to topple the imperial fist of Shallam.

The sun was just peeking its head over the eastern horizon as we stopped our march a mere thousand meters from the makeshift wooden gates of Ashtan. I saw many of the soldiers glance uneasily at the scurrying Shallamese atop the walls, and the cries of alarm from within the city. Nocking an arrow to my bow I watched Zarathustra turn his horse again to face his army.

"Soldiers! Let not the cries of the easterners cause you worry. You fight on the winning side today! For we fight for the Bastion of the North! We fight for Ashtan!"

"For Ashtaaaaaaaaaaaaan!"

The cries ripped from our throats as one, shouting of our love for our fair city. We began to move, first just a walk, then a trot, then finally a full out charge, following our leader. The wooden gates grew closer and closer and finally arrows began flying in from the ramparts, but even the hissing flights could do nothing to stop us. A mere 100 meters from the walls the gates simply exploded inwards under a sudden hail of magical energy from the magi in the rear and we swept inwards like a silver, flashing tide. My lord and I lost ourselves in the red haze of combat as his broadsword reaped a gruesome harvest and streaks of poison-tipped death sped from my bow.

Surprised and unorganized Shallamese fell before our charge as we flooded the streets and buildings. The Royal Palace was liberated in a single sweeping run, the easterners falling like rain. Soon the Shallamese we met simply threw down their arms and surrendered, beaten and broken.

As I wearily dropped my bow, the skin on my fingers ripped raw, I glanced at Zarathustra. Though also cut and bloodied his face was shining brilliantly, his body haloed by the rising sun. Behind him on a flagpole atop the Royal Palace, the flag of Shallam was ripped down, in its place was risen the flag Zarathustra had carried into battle. I felt a smile grow on my face, as recognition dawned upon me. Flying on a field of green, the color of Ashtan, was the Zarathustran Eagle. As I watched, a sudden breeze picked up, and it began to catch beneath the wind.