Call of the Herald

Book One of The Dawning of Power trilogy

Brian Rathbone

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2008 by Brian Rathbone.

White Wolf Press, LLC

Rutherfordton, NC 28139

Prologue

Within his cabin, General Dempsy adjusted his
uniform, making certain every medal was straight and every button
oriented properly. Moving automatically to counter the movements of
the ship was normally as natural to him as breathing, but he felt
unsteady on his feet, as if his years of sailing had suddenly been
forgotten. It was not a feeling he was accustomed to. At sea or
just about anywhere on Godsland, his power was undeniable, his
orders obeyed without question. There was one place, however, where
his power was surpassed, and even a man of his accomplishments must
exercise great caution: Adderhold, seat of the Zjhon empire. It was
from there that Archmaster Belegra ruled with an unforgiving will,
and it was to there that General Dempsy was destined.

He had no reason to expect anything but a
warm welcome, given his success, but there was an uneasy feeling in
his gut. Again, automatically, he adjusted his uniform, as if a
single stitch out of place could decide his fate. The general
cursed himself for such weakness, yet he jumped when there came a
knock at his cabin door. After cursing himself again, he answered
in his usual commanding tone: "Come."

Mate Pibbs presented himself and saluted.
"Adderhold is within sight, sir. We've been cleared by the sentry
ships, and there is a slip reserved for us. Do you wish to be on
deck when we land, sir?"

General Dempsy nodded, and Mate Pibbs saluted
again before turning on his heel. To some the salute is a source of
great pride and a feeling of power, and most times General Dempsy
felt much the same, but on this day it felt like mockery. After a
final check of his uniform, he made his way to the prow. From
there, he watched Adderhold grow larger and more intimidating with
every passing moment. It was a feeling that should have passed long
before, but the builders of Adderhold had done their job well. The
place looked as if it could swallow his entire fleet in a single
strike.

When they reached the docks, General Dempsy
was unsure of what to think. There was no fanfare; no throng
awaited the returning army, and there was not so much as a victory
dinner to celebrate their conquest of an entire continent. The
Greatland was theirs to rule, yet Adderhold bustled with
preparations for war. Barges surrounded the island, and they sat
low in the water, piled high with grain and supplies, ready to
transport the goods to the waiting armada. These were not the usual
preparations for an assault on a coastal province. The scale of
their provisions foretold a lengthy sea voyage, and the taste of
victory turned to bile.

General Dempsy knew, long before the page
arrived with his new orders, that the Church had declared holy war.
He tried to convince himself otherwise, but what he saw could only
mean an invasion of the Godfist, a preemptive strike intended to
stave off the prophecy. He thought it was sheer madness. Archmaster
Belegra would ruin everything by sending them on a fool's quest.
This was a hunt for some fantasized adversary, one not only
destined to destroy the entire Zjhon nation, but also one that
might herald the return of a goddess Archmaster Belegra and the
devotees of the Zjhon Church had both dreamed of and feared. The
devout believed that Istra would imbue them with miraculous gifts
but that her presence would also mark the return of their greatest
adversary.

In the face of such fanaticism, General
Dempsy struggled to maintain his equilibrium. To him, the Zjhon
beliefs made little sense. Though he had played his role in many
ceremonies, he believed none of it; he simply did what the Church
asked of him because it furthered his own goals. His military
genius had only served to strengthen the Zjhon and their beliefs,
and though it had granted him the power he desired, he suddenly
wondered if it had been a mistake--a grave and deadly mistake. To
say his army was unprepared for an assault on the Godfist was a
gross understatement. Two-thirds of his men came from lands that
had only recently been conquered; few were well trained, and fewer
still were loyal. With his experienced and trusted men spread
throughout the regiments, he was barely able to maintain control.
He knew it was a suicide mission and that it would be years before
they were ready to undertake a long-distance campaign.

Orders to get his army ready for the invasion
confirmed the insanity, and when he saw them, he requested an
immediate audience with Archmaster Belegra under the pretense of
misunderstanding the mission. It was highly unusual for any member
of the armies to meet with the archmaster in person, but General
Dempsy felt he was entitled. He and his men had offered up their
lives for the empire, and they deserved to know why they were being
thrown away.

Days passed before he was granted the
audience, and that gave him time to ponder every word he might use
to implore the archmaster to change his mind. When a page finally
arrived with his summons, the uncertainty was festering in his
belly. Archmaster Belegra was the only person with enough power to
have him executed, and his every instinct warned that the wrong
choice of words could send him to the headsman's block.

A slight figure in dark robes greeted General
Dempsy with little more than a slight bow. Though his features were
concealed within a deep hood, the general knew of him. He was the
nameless boy whose insolence had cost him his tongue. As he led
General Dempsy to a private hall, he served as a silent warning.
This had the potential to be a very dangerous encounter.

When he entered the hall, General Dempsy saw
Archmaster Belegra swathed in thick robes and huddled in an ornate
chair that was pulled up close to the fire. Though the years had
barely grayed his hair, he looked like a feeble old man. As austere
as ever, he did not acknowledge General Dempsy in any way, as if he
were oblivious to his presence.

"A humble servant of the Zjhon requests the
consideration of the Church," General Dempsy said in a polite tone,
trying to sound unassuming, but he feared it came out sounding
forced and insincere. Archmaster Belegra did not look at him, nor
did he speak; he simply extended his right hand and waited. The
general did not hesitate in moving to the archmaster's side, taking
his hand, and kissing the signet ring, wishing to dispense with
protocol as quickly as possible.

"The Church recognizes her child and will
suffer you to speak."

"With all due respect, Your Eminence, I must
ask you to reconsider this course of action. Launching an attack on
such a distant nation, when we've barely secured the lands
surrounding us, will put everything we've achieved at risk."
General Dempsy was more direct than was advisable, but he was
determined and pushed on. "It's not that I don't believe the
prophecies, but sending two-thirds of our strength on a--"
Archmaster Belegra raised an eyebrow, and Dempsy stopped. He knew
he was treading in dangerous waters, and he preferred to keep his
head.

"The prophecies are quite clear on this
matter, General, but I will refresh your memory if I must. Vestra,
God of the Sun, has ruled Godsland's skies for nearly three
thousand years, but he will not always reign alone. Istra, Goddess
of the Night, shall return to preside over the night skies. A
harbinger shall be born of her hand and will be revealed by the
power they wield. Thus, the advent of Istra shall be heralded.
Faithful of the Church, beware, for the Herald of Istra shall
desire your destruction and will endeavor to undo all you have
wrought."

General Dempsy despaired. The prophecies were
impossible to argue since no proof could be offered to discredit
them. They were sacred and above reproach.

"It is your responsibility to protect this
nation and all the inhabitants of the Greatland. The Herald of
Istra poses an imminent threat to the Church and the entire Zjhon
empire. The holy documents have rewarded us with clues regarding
the timing of Istra's return, and we must use these divine gifts to
our full advantage. To do otherwise would be sacrilege and
blasphemy. Is that clear?"

General Dempsy nodded, mute. He struggled to
find words that would drive away the madness, but they remained
beyond his grasp.

"You have your orders, General. You know your
duty; the army is to set sail for the Godfist by the new moon and
is not to return without the Herald of Istra. Go forth with the
blessings of the Zjhon Church."

Chapter 1

Life is the greatest of all mysteries, and
though I seek to solve its many riddles, my deepest fear is that I
will succeed.

--CiCi Bajur, philosopher

* * *

Immersed in its primordial glow, a comet
soared through space with incredible speed. Three thousand years
had passed since it last shed its light upon the tiny blue planet
known to its inhabitants as Godsland, and the effects had been
cataclysmic. A mighty host of comets followed the same elliptical
orbit as the first as they returned from the farthest reaches of
the solar system. Their light had already charged the atmosphere of
Godsland, and the comets themselves would soon be visible to the
naked eye.

The cycle of power would begin anew. Radiant
energy, though still faint, raced toward Godsland, bearing the
power of change.

As the force angled over the natural harbor
where the fishing vessels were moored for the night, it soared
beyond them over the Pinook Valley, and nothing barred its path.
Beyond a small town, amid foothills dotted with farmsteads, it
raced toward a barn where a young woman dutifully swept the floor.
A slight tingle and a brief twitch of her eyebrows caused Catrin to
stop a moment, just as a chance wind cast the pile of dirt and
straw back across the floor. It was not the first thing to go wrong
that morning, and she doubted it would be the last.

She was late for school. Again.

Education was not a birthright; it was a
privilege--something Master Edling repeatedly made more than clear.
Those of station and power attended his lessons to gain refinement
and polish, but for those from the countryside, the purpose was
only to stave off the epidemic of ignorance.

His sentiments had always rankled, and Catrin
wondered if the education was worth the degradation she had to
endure. She had already mastered reading and writing, and she was
more adept at mathematics than most, but those were skills taught
to the younger students by Master Jarvis, who was a kind,
personable teacher. Catrin missed his lessons. Those approaching
maturity were subjected to Master Edling's oppressive views and
bland historical teachings. It seemed to her that she learned
things of far more relevance when she worked on the farm, and the
school lessons seemed a waste of time.

Master Edling detested tardiness, and Catrin
was in no mood to endure another of his lectures. His anger was
only a small part of her worries on that day, though. The day was
important, different. Something was going to happen--something big;
she could feel it.

The townies, as Catrin and her friends called
those who placed themselves above everyone else, seemed to feed on
the teacher's disdainful attitude. They adopted his derogatory
manner, which often deteriorated into pranks and, lately, violence.
Though she was rarely a target, Catrin hated to see her friends
treated so poorly. They deserved better.

Peten Ross was the primary source of their
problems; it was his lead the others followed. He seemed to take
pleasure in creating misery for others, as if their hardships
somehow made him more powerful. Perhaps he acted that way to
impress Roset and the other pretty girls from town, with their
flowing dresses and lace-bound hair. Either way, the friction was
intensifying, and Catrin feared it would escalate beyond
control.