As Joerg and I finally being to wind down our month-long discussion on Argrath and King of Sartar, I thought I would post this story. I wrote it with Heroes of the King in mind, though it was submitted after the fact. And no, I have no new news to report on this, other than to quote the official party line that it is being read. I can say that the future Glorantha Fiction Line editors are reading it, but I know nothing concrete beyond that. Thanks for everyone being so patient -- I am confident that it will see light, eventually.
Anyways, the following story is obviously derivative of some previously published sources. However, it relies upon my research into King of Sartar as I was doing the initial editing for Heroes of the King. It will undoubtedly change form, but the current version is done enough that I submit it for comments.
Hope you enjoy it.
Steve
KALLYR'S FLAME
by Stephen P. Martin
(based on material by Ron Nance and Jim McCormick)
The dark procession passed through streets lined with the people of the city. The only light came from an occasional torch that left details lost in darkness. The normally bright stars were obscured by smoke from the fires that still burned in the buildings and hearts of the city.
Kallyr came first, looking grim as she rode her horse. Her spear was in her hand, and the star on her brow shone more brightly than any torch. She was followed by a host of armed men. Argrath rode directly behind her, and at first it was difficult to tell whether he followed her or forced her forward. Sometimes she was cheered, and at those times it appeared that a triumphant mood arose within her, but always it faltered. I later realized that she must have been exhausted after the battle at Sword Hill, followed so swiftly by another fight outside Jonstown, where she had defeated the remnants of the Lunar garrison as they fled the rebellion in that city. But I understood why she could not stop to rest.
Three times figures hurled themselves at Kallyr from the pressing crowd, but each was stopped by outthrust spears and swords. Once Argrath's own blade cut down an assassin who dropped from a dark rooftop. These attacks only added to the confusion that sometimes made it impossible to see the Queen, save for the glow from her brow and the flash of the White Bull's sword.
The emotional blank left by the fierceness of battle and the silence of the Council had been filled by the townsfolk's fear and awe, seeing in their familiar streets the advent of either the darkest villain or the greatest hero. Only time would tell. That night Kallyr's entry sparked the city's most agonizing night. The people had known war and death. They had never dared wish for a return of hope itself.
I can see the entire scene in my mind, though I only heard later accounts of it. I was cloistered within the Palace with the rest of the Council, wondering whether we had bought damnation or salvation with our recent actions in the city. Kallyr had gone to face the Lunar forces at Sword Hill, and when word came to us of her rout we were gathered together by Montague Goodcandle, the Royal Librarian. So uncertain were we of our future that our alliance began to fray almost immediately, for we had not yet received word of the devastating magical attack that had given Kallyr time to regroup and utterly defeat the Lunar troops.
The menace of Pharandros of Tarsh, which should have overshadowed all other discussion, had barely been addressed. Many showed their frustration, especially Beti, whose anger was clearly visible each time her silent pacing brought her past me. The Queen of the Colymar was still new to the councils of Sartar, and not yet trusted by any of the members besides Montague and myself. That she was intractably loyal to Kallyr did not endear her to the others, that is certain.
Darrad presented the plan put forth by the captain of the Pavis Royal Guard, and considerable thought was given to the audacious proposal. Discussion raged for several days, but by the third evening, far into the night, even Goram Whitefang was dismissing Darrad's plan as reckless folly. Darrad in turn attacked Goram for being timid, and wondered aloud if the abundant years had made all of the clans nothing more than spinning parties of argumentative old women. He also questioned the Telmori tribe's loyalty to Sartar by bringing up their support of the Lunar puppet two years before. Still, neither side did more than snap at each other and accuse in shrill voices -- we were all too tired to come to blows.
Thus was the High Council divided against itself, each person suspicious of the other, only too ready to dredge up old wrongs. I wondered that dark, grim night if Kallyr would return to save us. Everyone knew she would have no small task forging these tribes again into the Sword of Sartar, but I felt the weariness of despair gnawing at the corners of my mind. Where was the spirit which had joined us under her for the last two years, the spirit of a united Sartar? Where was Argrath, the only one besides Kallyr who could have kept order in the Council, through fear if nothing else? (For I could not believe that he, at least, had not survived). And why could I do nothing but sit and listen, I who helped the Younger Storm Dragon unearth itself and Returned to tell of it? Such were my thoughts that dark night in Boldhome. Such were the thoughts of many, I think.
It was then, when Darrad, Annstad, and the other kings of the Kerofini were about to leave the Council, that a thunder of hooves was heard from outside. The arguing chieftains murmured among themselves, knowing that the sound was too loud to be merely another messenger bearing news of the battle. I was greatly relieved (no matter who the riders were), for I was certain that Tarkalor, the last free King of the Aldachuri, would have left with them. This would have angered the rest of the council beyond reconciliation, for many were still unsure of his loyalties.
Beyond all hope, it was Kallyr who strode into the hall. Her fawn cape billowed behind her, and her footfalls were light in her soft-soled boots of silda skins; the star on her brow blazed fiercely. Argrath followed sternly behind her, and would have commanded the room if not for her presence. Starbrow stopped in the center of the assembly and turned slowly, her eyes probing each face. The kings and cult leaders fell silent before her gaze, Montague's pleas for quiet abruptly loud in the room. The crackle of logs in the huge hearth beside me was the only sound after his muffled apologies.
Then Kallyr spoke in a strong, calm voice, without greeting or introduction. She called upon the Brother of the White Bull without looking at him, her strong voice filling the hall as she spoke the traditional chanted greeting. He answered immediately, his sword shining as he drew it in salute to his Queen. Beti's mood had lifted instantly upon seeing Kallyr, and she answered even before called on, her verse echoing in our hearts and ears. Kallyr then called upon the gathered lords and priests in turn, and each responded in the formal staves as the Queen of the Kheldon sang the Song of Allegiance, first sung by Sartar the Founder. With each recitation she petitioned their assurances of fealty, for themselves, their tribes, and their cults.
The voices of the Sartari leaders grew in timbre and rang ever louder in the hall, each trying to outdo the last. The confusion and hesitancy of a few moments before were banished with the shattered silence. Each king chanted his pledge, and the names of his sons who would follow the Queen into battle. Then the assembly would rejoice in the chorus before the next took up the chant. The song spread to the militia guards outside the door, and soon the anthem echoed through the streets and pockets of the city. All of Boldhome sang with one voice, and it was Kallyr's voice, no one could doubt that. Then, as the last chorus followed the Ballad of the Wind's Children, a strange and wonderful thing occurred.
The eastern gate of the Palace swung wide to admit Tyras the blind wizard, brother of Argrath and the leader of the Pol Joni magicians. He led the khans from the Barbarian Horde into the council chamber. His voice rose above the clatter of horse and shield as he also sang the sacred vows, pledging the Pol Joni in the service of Kallyr and Sartar. At that moment the Queen touched the diadem on her brow, and the star began to glow as though it were the Flame itself. The room filled with a silvery light as the final chorus swelled into a terrible roar, as the Sun burst above the Quivin peaks, striking the great shield of King Tarkalor above the hearth in the great hall. I could not tell then which it was that poured light on the shields and swords of the assembled warriors, the strength of Kallyr or the Sun. But hearts were gladdened by it, and the voice of every man and woman in the city, the voice of all Sartar itself, swelled into the thunder of victory.
I do not know who started the next chant. I suspect it was Argrath, though I am sure that Kallyr did not know he would; it might even have been Beti, for she was the White Bull's principal rival for the Queen's love. The phrase passed from person to person like wildfire. Soon the words "Light the Flame" echoed from the surrounding peaks as loudly as the silence of despair had, it seemed, only moments ago. Kallyr appeared embarrassed for a moment, then began to shine with joy as she realized that she was finally being given what she had sought since that first Council meeting she and I attended, fourteen long years before.
Without a word, Kallyr turned to Elmalandti and Krogar, the highest representatives of Orlanth in the land, and I knew that she sought the blessing of the King of the Gods. The room quieted as the two conferred briefly, then motioned for Perandal and Harmastor, the other storm priests present, to join them. Together the four of them began the invocation of the Thunder Brothers, the stormsons of Orlanth: xxx Thunderous, Kargaard Windlord, Drolgar the Brave, and Vingkot the Victorious. No one was particularly surprised when Tamara Threeslice joined in, calling upon Orlanth's warrior daughter Vinga to give her blessing as well, though it was not part of the tradition. Only Perandal looked displeased, but he said nothing, a wise move considering Kallyr's favoritism towards the Vingans.
As the five chanted, clouds began rolling in from north, west, and south, and all took this for a favorable sign. Without a word, knowing beyond any doubt that we would follow, Kallyr turned and left the council chamber. Argrath and Beti were behind her, side by side, and the rest of us rushed to be the first to follow. As we walked to the Court of the Flame, the people of the city began gathering, sensing the currents of destiny in the air.
Kallyr approached the Brazier, and the members of the Council gathered around her a short distance away; the people of the city stopped below the Court, for they knew their place in the ritual, even after so long without a Prince. The Sun continued to shine as it rose and the clouds gathered, and the priests were visible to all as they rose into the air and flew to the top of Thunder Ridge. Their quiet chants served as a counterpoint to Kallyr's suddenly raised voice.
"Hear me! Hear what I have to say," she shouted to us and, I thought, to
Orlanth himself. "I am Kallyr, Queen of the Kheldon. My mother was Enerin
Ironeye, Queen of the Kheldon before me. My father was Loricon, as
honorable and brave a warrior as ever there was among the Orlanthi. His
father was Rastoron, who died at Grizzly Peak with Tarkalor, the greatest
king of Sartar. Everyone present knows that he was the son of Jarolar."
"Jarolar was the son of Saronil Sartarsson, the first Prince of the land.
He was Prince himself after his father's death, and was famous for
fighting the Lunars. I have listened to the High Council of the land. I
have listened to the people of the city, who have known a generation of
war. I have listened to the Thunder Brothers, the storm sons of Orlanth.
I am here, in this place, at this time. Does anyone here question my
right to light the Flame of Sartar?"
The crowd was silent, and even the priests on the ridge had stopped singing. After a moment, Kallyr continued. "Hear me, Orlanth! Hear what I have to say! My people call upon me to serve them, and to lead them."
Kallyr turned to Beti, who moved forward and stood next to her as she spoke again. "The tribes of the land have sworn loyalty to me, and call upon me to serve them, and to lead them."
Finally, she turned to Argrath, and the nomads ranged behind him. "The enemies of the Lunars have forsaken their ancient quarrels, and call upon me to serve them, and to lead them. What say you -- shall I lead them, or shall the forces of chaos take your land and your people, forever?"
The clouds had continued to gather as Kallyr spoke, and the day grew dark as a hard wind began to blow like a cyclone. Argrath had moved next to Kallyr when she faced him. The last gleam of the Sun struck his sword as he drew it and held it aloft, for a moment matching the fire that blazed from the gem she wore. No one moved as darkness flowed over us.
We waited for what seemed an eternity, though in reality it could not have been more than a few moments. Kallyr, Beti, and Argrath looked into the Brazier, searching for some spark. The priests on the Ridge searched the sky for a sign from Orlanth. The crowd below watched the figures on the dais, hoping for a miracle. But I looked at Kallyr alone, for I knew that whatever was to come, it must come from within her.
A bolt of lightning lit the gloom as it struck from the clouds, blinding everyone with its sudden brightness. Then we could see again. The Flame of Sartar rose into the air like a tower, lighting even the faces of the priests on the Ridge, two hundred feet above us. Everyone afterwards said that they had heard Orlanth's voice proclaiming Kallyr, but I was looking at her, and saw Argrath speaking at the same time. Even if the god had not spoken, however, there could be no doubt that the lightning had come from the Lord of the Storm, and no one could doubt Kallyr's qualifications after that. After a generation of despair, hope had indeed returned, for there was a Prince in Sartar again.
Stephen Martin
ilium_at_juno.com
- -----------------------------------------------The Book of Drastic Resolutions
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