The Record of the Heresy War
Prologue

The 5th Day of Summer, Year 905 (Vanic Reckoning)
In the Magic Guild, Vane:

Lemia Ausa stared idly out the window. The sun blazed merrily over the Magic City of Vane. A gentle breeze flowed into the old classroom, bringing with it the noises of children playing in the streets and the lingering smells of the summer festivals. She had enjoyed herself on the first day of the season, roaming the Magic City on her own, idly purchasing sweets and watching the commoners delight in cheap, flashy magic tricks. Free days for her did not come by often, and she would always venture outside the walls of the Magic Guild on those days; though she had no desire to belong to the class of commoners, she found their behavior – and their very presence in the city of Vane, whose magical reputation was known throughout the Silver Star – extraordinary.

"…and in the year 855, having visited the last of the four dragons, Dragonmaster Serian returned to Vane from the Meribian province of Caldor to assume the post of Premier," the buxom Patricia Lumach told her class, busily writing dates upon the slate with her back to her two students. "As the both of you know," she continued, "Dragonmaster Serian held the post until his son, Lord Baltosar au Minias, reached the traditional age of twenty years. Your father," Patricia said to her male student, briefly turning to him from the slate and flashing him a kind smile. He bowed slightly in acknowledgement, all the while taking notes. Lemia continued to stare out the window as though none of this were taking place, lost in her own thoughts.

"Dragonmaster Serian immediately gave Lord Baltosar his personal approval that he should assume the Premiership, which, of course, is necessary under the auspices of Immutable Law 6 in the Vanic Canon, which is … Lemia?" Patricia finally noticed the brunette paying no attention to her lesson and frowned. "Lemia? Lemia Ausa?"

"Hm?" the girl asked with a start. She turned to face her teacher guiltily. "The Canon? Laws, Mistress Lumach." She picked up her quill and absentmindedly scribbled a few letters onto her parchment.

"Immutable Law 6, Lemia," Patricia repeated stolidly, her mouth a thin line. "Recite it for us."

Lemia lifted her head to look her teacher in the eye, annoyed. This was the third time in an hour the woman had taken the liberty of putting her directly on the spot. As the Junior Premier of the Magic Guild of Vane, she would have none of this. Heat rose to her cheeks as she mustered all the authority she could into her fourteen-year-old voice: "Ask Ghaleon mag Falin, Mistress Lumach. I am sure he would fulfill your desires most readily." She emphasized his last name blackly; it pointed to Lyton blood – common blood – in the boy's mother.

Patricia Lumach raised a graying eyebrow and beheld the girl for a moment, almost surprised, in spite of herself, at Lemia's boundless arrogance. She turned to Ghaleon and asked, "Immutable Law 6, Ghaleon?"

Without looking up, Ghaleon recited, "The Law of Premier Legitimacy. The Heir to the Premiership of Vane will assume the position of Premier at the age of 20 years unless His father, the current Premier, publicly deems Him unready to assist Her Majesty in leading the People of Vane. In this case, the Heir to the Premiership will assume the position of Premier only when the current Premier gives His public approval or passes from this world. The Heir to the Premiership may not assume the position before the age of 20 years except in the case of incapacitation or death of the Premier His father." He brushed a few strands of long, silver-blond hair out of his eyes as he continued to write.

Patricia beamed. This student, at least, had the prerogative to be prideful if he so wished, but he was elegantly modest. Despite his heritage, he would make a most excellent Premier in five years; she only hoped, when the time came, that he would remember his doting teacher of Vanic History and Law. "Excellent, Ghaleon, as usual. You may go, for today. As for you, Mistress Ausa," the plump noblewoman announced, rounding on the Junior Premier, "You may stay here and write out the first ten of the Immutable Laws. I believe it would serve as a good review. Once you have finished, you may go." She turned to follow Ghaleon out of the room, but froze as something cold splashed against her back and neck.

Patricia Lumach wiped at her neck and regarded her blackened fingers in disbelief before turning, timorously, to face her female student. There stood Lemia Ausa enrobed in rage, her normally pretty face contorted in an expression of defiance, with her empty ink bottle quivering in her tight grip.

In the Shrine to Althena, in the Meribian province of Katarina:

The personal study of the High Priestess, unlike her office, was cramped and dark. Asari preferred it this way. She was a holy woman, but an academic in her own right. All she needed in her private room, therefore, was her miniature statue of the Goddess Althena and all of the oldest books the Shrine had to offer. She had been the High Priestess for about ten years, and in that short time had begun to command the respect of the most important leaders throughout the world, from the governor of Meribia, to the Majesty of Vane, to the chief of the traveling tribal settlement of Pao. All looked to her as a paragon of goodness and knowledge.

She did not eat or sleep unless her subordinates insisted; Asari was a busy woman, forever delving into the secrets of her religion. She was thin, perhaps even frail; her white robes hung very loosely from her bony shoulders, but what did that matter? There was too much that they did not know; the past three thousand years were murky, at best, in terms of the records kept by the residents of the Silver Star. Still, there existed some texts that she was forever poring over in her personal quest to become closer to Althena and uncover the mystery of the Blue Star. The emphasis placed by the Goddess on human happiness and revelry, Asari delegated to the lower priesthood. She had representatives from the Shrine in all the major cities; festivals were constantly held in Althena's honor. This earned her popularity among the common folk, and the time and peace required for any personal undertaking in the devout study of religion.

"High Priestess?" a light male voice at the door inquired timidly.

"Enter," she murmured, turning a page and trying to make sense of the odd runes in which the book was written. An adolescent in the robes of a novice stepped into the incommodious chamber and bowed as best as he could without knocking over any of the innumerable stacks of books. He waited, shuffling from one foot to the other and playing with his fair locks for a minute before clearing his throat, first quietly, then much more loudly, startling the High Priestess.

She started, and looked at him for a full ten seconds before realizing that she had left him waiting. Awkwardly she attempted a smile. "I apologize, Lexis. What is it that you require of me?"

"There is someone to see you, and she refuses to speak to any of us," the boy replied, smiling back at Asari. He knew how hard she worked – much harder than he ever did – and always found amusing her reactions to interruptions. "Only you, High Priestess."

Asari frowned. "Can you tell me anything else about our visitor?"

Lexis chewed his lip and thought carefully. "A girl, High Priestess. Very pretty. Around my age, maybe. No, younger. I really can't tell where she might be from. She's too sophisticated to be from Caldor or Meryod, but seems too … I don't know, innocent … to be from anywhere more important."

The High Priestess shrugged, unperturbed. "You may show her in," she said, standing. "I will meet her in the antechamber. Please ask one of the priestesses to prepare some tea for us."

The boy bowed again and scuttled away.

On the Silver Sea, en route from Saith to Meribia:

"You'll love it, Dyne," the half-beastman known as Mel de Alkirk promised him, clapping his companion on the back with his mighty right hand while taking a drag from a pipe with his left. The two of them made an interesting pair, lounging on the deck of Mel's ship. "The weather's great, the beer's delicious, and the women, mate…" Mel's eyes closed in blissful contemplation of all Meribia had to offer a youth entering his prime. The thirteen-year-old boy named Dyne rolled his green eyes at his older friend. "You know I'm too young for things like that, Mel."

"Nonsense!" he claimed. "A fella's never too young to enjoy the finer things in life. And you're no ordinary fella," he continued. Dyne grunted assent as modestly as he could. "We'll stay with my brother until we can find a place of our own, and then we'll see about proper training for those skinny arms of yours. A real blade, Master Caldors, think on it!"

The younger boy sniffed. He did not like the colonial surname that had been applied to all the residents of Caldor Isle by the conquering Meribians over a hundred years ago. Mel did not seem to notice. "The White Dragon certainly seemed to think you had some pluck. It's no easy feat, meeting him at your age. You'd make a prime addition to Meribia's armies."

"And what about you?" Dyne inquired. "I thought you had nothing to do with the army?"

"Too right, too right," Mel rumbled. "It's back to the same old for me, mate."

"Well, what if I want to stay with you?" the younger boy asked mulishly. "I don't have any friends in Meribia. Maybe I don't want anything to do with the army, either."

Mel shook his head. "We'll see," he replied, taking another drag on his pipe. Inwardly, however, he knew it would be best for his young friend to make a respectable name for himself; he would wish the path he had taken on very few people, if any.

Back in the Magic Guild:

"Lemia, I must express the most extreme displeasure at your woeful misconduct," her mother informed her from across the coffee table. Linira Ausa was a formidable woman, premature wisdom etched into the lines of her cheeks. The Majesty of Vane was a political and diplomatic mastermind, hailed from Lann to Lyton for her prodigious skill in dealing with everyone, from the lowest peasant under her rule to the most powerful of foreign dignitaries. Why, then, she always failed so magnificently in reaching out to her own daughter was something she would never understand.

"Mistress Lumach has been nothing but kind to you," she continued softly, sipping her tea. Lemia poked at a crumpet disinterestedly. "Why you should repay her efforts to impart to you all her vast knowledge with nothing but disdain and disrespect is, I must confess, entirely beyond my comprehension. You, my child, are an Ausa, the next in the Vanic dynasty spanning nearly a millennium of Majesties; and yet, this is not bespoken by your appalling behavior."

Lemia did not speak, but continued to play with her food. Her mother's nostrils flared as she carried on with her soliloquy: "You will, one day, rule in my place, as you are all too aware. Know, then, that the primary prerogative of a ruler is not to oppress her people, to expect them to be at her beck and call, but instead to serve them. One day, the entire House of Lumach will be subordinate to you, as will all four of Vane's noble houses. You must learn to become the ruler of your people before that day." When Lemia still remained silent, Linira sighed gustily.

"The fault is my own," she admitted gingerly. "You have been raised with too much emphasis on your station. Darrin does not exhibit your tendencies," she remarked, naming Lemia's older brother. "He cannot rise to the position of Majesty, as you; once he comes of age, he will be the General of our armies forever, and one of your own Cabinet, should you wish. The Heir to the Premiership—"

"What about the Heir to the Premiership?" Lemia suddenly interrupted. "Yes, Mother, tell me," she continued mockingly; "What about dear Ghaleon mag Falin, the darling of that witch Patricia Lumach and the offspring of that dead Lyton slattern whose soiled name he bears? What about–"

"Silence." Lemia stopped talking immediately. Linira Ausa had stood from her seat. For a full minute the two women stared into one another's brown eyes. Finally it was Lemia who relented, and looked away. She barely heard her mother's words.

"From this moment, I forbid you to attend your regular classes with the Heir to the Premiership. You will take all your lessons with me after nightfall. You are forbidden to leave the walls of the Magic Guild." Lemia suddenly looked at her mother, horrified; Linira was impassive, her voice steely. "I will not inflict upon my people a daughter whose education I have most shamefully neglected. You may go to your bedchambers and write Patricia Lumach an apology. I shall know whether this has been done."

Lemia turned to go, stunned. As she opened the door of her mother's office to leave, Linira called out behind her in a dangerous voice, "Alalia mar Falin was a great prophetess whose talents were unique throughout the world. I forbid you to speak ill of those who have far surpassed your abilities, which are meager at best."

The Majesty of Vane watched coolly as her daughter's step faltered, then quickened; Lemia slammed the door and ran, as quickly as she could, away from her mother.