Chapter Three:
Aronal Hydran loved life.
He woke in the morning in the type of luxury that most in this area of the realms would find unthinkable, merchant lords in all corners of Daerlun looking to him in envy and rage. He slept between silk sheets from the unapproachable eastern realms, with a blanket fashioned from the hides of Raashmani minks. On each side of him was a woman that was among the most beautiful of the realms, both of which he had entertained the previous night. Nothing but the best for Aronal, and twice as much of that best as any man could ask. The smell of his breakfast was what woke him first, being prepared before him in the very corner of his bedchambers by one of the many neophytes that served him to earn his favor. Although most of his meals were prepared in the enormous kitchens of his estate, he loved the smell of baking bread and frying eggs in the morn. It was the last indulgence left to the boy he once was, who came of age in a one-room family dwelling smaller than this bedchamber.
"Aronal..." one of the two priestesses who shared his bed sighed as he rolled out from between the sheets "Come back to bed... the roosters have not yet even crowed ."
"Ah, but I have never been one to listen to a cock, have I?" He said with a joking wink "It is an early rise for a high priest of Sune, to match the late night revelry, I suppose."
The priestess with the shiny black hair and pale green eyes blew a kiss at him and rolled over to go back to sleep, while the other just made a sort of cooing sound and watched him walk over to the neophyte. The young, shy woman averted her eyes from the approaching high priest, which she probably would have done even were he not naked. She was poorly treated, he knew, like most of the neophytes were. He was sure that she had not been taught how to request so much as the simplest blessing, but had been instructed thoroughly in the care and maintainence of the middens. While the senior priestesses were allowed to wear luxurious dress of red and gold that were customized to emphasize all of their best features, the neophytes were forced to wear simple habits of a dusty scarlet. They faced especially severe penalties for being seen without their uncomfortable wimple outside their common quarters. Aronal permitted the priestesses their catty rites of initiation, but did not bother with them himself.
"Good morn, milord." She said in a mousy voice as he approached, trying to focus on cooking the eggs.
"And so it is." He responded, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her to him. He quickly sniffed behind one ear to inhale the scent of the perfume she was not permitted to wear, and let his hand wander upward along her belly. The young girl nearly spilled the eggs, but did nothing to stop him. The High priest was probably the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and she would do anything for him. Just as abruptly as he had began, though, he withdrew. Walking back to one of his legion of dressers, he pulled forth a red chamber robe and tied it with a golden sash. Stepping into green slippers, he prepared to begin his day.
"Wazi!" he called briskly.
The chamber door to his manservant's quarters opened, and the eastern man who had attended him these last couple years approached him with that bizarre combination of servile haste and simple grace that he had become known for. Wazi wore his customary outfit, which Aronal had always thought of as resembling pajamas, but he knew that his butler/bodyguard had more than one weapon improbably conceiled in those loose fitting folds of clothing. Aronal knew little of where Wazi came from, but had always had a taste for things of an eastern flavor. Since the end of the horde war it had been an advancing trend in Sembia to have far-eastern artwork and clothing as a way of displaying wealth and social status. Aronal, however, had trumped them all with his acquisition of Wazi's services. The man had been more than a trophy, though, doing everything from saving him from an assassin's blade to hand picking and preening his master's nightly companions.
"Master?" Wazi began with his customary one word question.
"Which vestment should I wear this morn?" Aronal asked, looking out his window to his splendid view.
"I believe that the fifth from the right in your second wardrobe should convey the message you wish to convey today." Wazi said articulately, and without hesitation.
Aronal opened the wardrobe he indicated and pulled forth the clerical vestement. It was of orange colored velvet with red silk trim. Its top was tight over the shoulders with a low neckline, crossed with a diagonal sash of stunning mauve. It came with a kilt with an opposing diagnal cut, in the Mulhorandi style. Altogether, an attention grabber. In that, Wazi was absolutely right. This morning was a morning when he wanted the undivided attention of the assembled clergy.
"What of this afternoon?" Aronal asked, viewing the selection help in front of his chest in one of the dozen golden-edged mirrors that surrounded his chambers. The still young looking and fair skinned blond man who looked back from the mirror with sparkling blue eyes smiled.
"Perhaps the martial uniform?" Wazi suggested "The farewell parade for the High Berghan's expeditionary force is at high sun, and everyone who is anyone will attend."
"Yes. As always, you are correct." Aronal said with a smile, looking at his sembian military dress uniform.
Once his companions for that night were politely shown the room where they could prepare themselves for the coming day, Aronal threw aside his robe and stepped into the central pool that dominated his chambers. The ever warm waters caressed him, and Wazi sprinkled soap flakes and wildflower pedals into the pool as if he were preparing a soup. Drying himself and donning his red silk ceremonial robe, Aronal kneeled before his personal shrine to the goddess of love and beauty. He had recited the tenets of faith many times in his life, but this day felt them more strongly than ever.
"Beloved Sune, mother of love, hear now these tenets of your faith. I believe in the beauty that radiates from the core of a being, revealing their soul. I believe in romance, as love will conquer all. I will follow my heart, where you have poured your love, and will use my love to awaken it in the hearts of others. I will encourage the growth of beauty by protecting it and serving as an example to those who would know beauty. I will never forget these or any other teachings of our faith, and will tolerate no encroachment of the hideous upon the faith. This I swear by your name. Blessings be eternal."
Once done with his prayer he sat down to breakfest at a simple table near the kitchenette where it had been prepared. He had dismissed the neophyte, but Wazi stood silently by. The food was surprisingly good, and he asked Wazi to request the neophyte for another morning. Perhaps he would even ask her name, if just for future reference or to drop it a few times into the right ears. Sniffing the single rose that was the centerpiece of the table, Aronal took a moment to reflect on just how good life was.
The house of Firehair was a site of beauty unrivaled in the realms. The high arch of the chapel ceiling was supported with marble columns that seemed to caress the ceiling more than hold it up. The artwork that splashed over the entirety of the domed structure depicted scenes of beauty and love that would melt the hard heart of a frost giant or give pause to a rampaging red dragon. Above it all, in the center, was the visage of Sune Firehair painted by the blind artist known as Lonek Silverbow, said to have gone blind after seeing the true face of Sune's avatar during the Time of Troubles. Directly beneath this smiling face of unspeakable comeliness was the alter, an edifice of formidable height. With the ingenious acoustics of the temple, the speaker could be heard throughout the stadium-sized stretch of pews that seemed to stretch all the way to Cormyr.
Thauna Maskalar had stood here many times over the decades, spreading the message of Sune to both the converted and those seeking the beauty that was Sune, but this was both the greatest and saddest day. She had adventured long and hard, seeking beauty and grace throughout the realms, but had settled here to do the duty that she had been groomed for by the goddess herself. She had grown too tired, though, of the politics of the temple and the endless revels that the younger priests insisted upon. She had announced months ago that she was stepping down as High Priestess of Sune, and today was the day for her hand-picked successor to step forth.
"Assembled Beloved, I present to you High Priest Aronal Hydran." Thauna said wistfully.
The assembly stood as Aronal approached the pulpit, and raised both their hands in the Sunite gesture of welcome. Once the matron of the temple introduced him they had all looked up in admiration. It seemed that Aronal's preparations had born the fruit that he had intended. This was the day that he had been anticipating for a very long time. A day he had been working for his entire time in the service of Sune. The next few words he spoke could very well determine his success or failure, but he approached without the slightest sign that his nerves were getting the better of him. Some took his confidence for arrogance, as others had made the mistake of taking his kindness for weakness.
"Assembled Beloved," He began with the customary opening "The blessings of Sune be with you."
"The blessings of beauty are everywhere." They all said in unison.
"Today we assemble here in the house of beauty itself to celebrate the dawning of a new morning. Our High Priestess, Beloved Thauna Maskalar, has earned the reward that is awaiting her as a tireless servant of our goddess. As you know, she has chosen me to assume the burden of her duties as she reaches the clearing at the end of her long forest. All of us wish her the best and the brightest of life, and I have no doubt that her stature among us will never be eclipsed as she assumes the position of Heartwarden of the faith. Stepping out of the hierarchy has ever been a privilege of the highest ranking of us, but the length of time that Thauna has endured in this position shows the dedication and heart that this woman is possessed of."
Enough of the flattery, Arony. Thauna silently prodded into his mind, using the pet name she had for him since he was much younger.
"On this new day," he continued "I wish to assure you all that I will strive to continue the excellent example that Thauna has set and always keep first in my mind the security and prosperity of all worshipers of our great goddess. That I am the one that you can all turn to regardless of how hard things are, or how much things have gone wrong. It is a sad fact that life is not all beauty and love, and that we all need someone that will listen. I will be that man for all of you, for you have pledged your lives to advance love and beauty in the world. I love and honor all of you, who have answered Sune's call and not given in the dark and unpleasant nature of the world. From beautiful Evergold does Sune smiles on us all, and one day when our time on this world is done we will stand beside her amidst that splendor. So it is said."
"So it is!" The congregation sounded off.
"May the blessings of beauty and love kiss you all." Aronal said with a smile.
"Sune's kiss heals all!" They responded, unusually excited and happy in the recitation.
Aronal stepped down from the Pulpit and into the embrace of Thauna, who kissed him ceremonially and touched his forehead with the fire rose. The rose, although its stem had been cut over three decades ago, had never died. Over the years its bright red had discolored into fiery oranges and yellows in a flame-like pattern, and it was warm to the touch. Aronal kissed Thauna back, his tongue touching hers in a more intimate kiss than they had ever shared. This brought the crowd to their feet and filled the house of Firehair with hoots and whistles. They pulled back from the embrace and she touched the rose to his heart before tucking the stem into the small hole that had been poked into the breast of his tunic. Now that he wore the fire rose, he was officially the high priest of the house of Firehair. The cheers filled the temple, and both Thauna and Aronal needed to hold back tears. The years that they had known each other had not always indicated this conclusion.
"Go in peace, Thauna." Aronal said confidentially.
"Don't worry about me." She smiled "You're the one in trouble now."
That afternoon Aronal mulled over those words that Thauna had gifted him with at the parting of the ceremony. Watching the soldiers march by in lock step, raising their right arms in the traditional salute to the assembly during the pass in review, he found himself drawn farther into his past. He was resplendent in his red military dress uniform; a ungainly and uncomfortable thing of sharp creases, hanging metals, and inelegantly placed hanging cords. The senior officers of the guard to his left and right wore ones that bore much more attractive and honorable accessories, but the fact that he could stand side by side with them and seem a peer showed how much of the military was still in him. The priest showing up in uniform had been a surprise to the career soldiers, but it was one of the privileges of an honorable release from service that a Sembian soldier be permitted to wear military dress during military parades. If anything, the assembly had been incredibly pleased with the choice.
Standing on the balcony of the Berghun Hall, looking down on the spectator-lined plaza and parade grounds, Aronal felt very old. Nearly a thousand young men marched in the parade, and all of them were to leave on the morrow for the western campaign. The many smooth and unlined faces that stared at him as each element executed an eyes-right and salute combination plucked at his heart. Perhaps it was simply that the priesthood was softening his heart, or maybe it was something else entirely. These were not the hardened, professional soldiers of the guard, but rather the reserves that had been lightly trained over the years and intensively drilled in the three months since the High Berghun got word of the trouble in the west.
"Do you think that these young men are ready, High Bergun?" Aronal asked, turning to the man on his right dressed in blindingly polished brass plate armor that would certainly be exchanged for something a little more steely before this man's spurs ever touched a mount.
"What do you mean?" Algor replied mildly. "Do they not look prepared?"
The Merchant leader of Daerlun, High Berghun Algor recently ascended to his position upon the death of his predecessor, a spindly old man named Halath Tymmyr who had ruled from his death bed for many years. Daerlun had become so used to the old man that Algor's young , vibrant, and militant style of rule was not as much a breath of fresh air as a shock to the system. His comment caused Aronal to smile even as it caused Allathrast to grimice. There was no doubt that Aronal, Algor, and Allathrast were the three most powerful men in the city right now. Some of the merchant lords referred to them as the Trio of As. Even so, the surly Captain of the guard was pledged to Algor's service, even as he watched his influence wane from the height of power he enjoyed while serving Tymmyr.
"You know what he speaks of, High Bergun." Allathrast spoke bitterly.
"I know what you would speak of, but this is hardly the time for it." Algor said through the clenched teeth of his frozen smile, barely moving his lips.
"What better time than now, when your folly is right in front of your face?" Allathrast persisted.
"Folly?" Algor said, still smiling "Is it folly to defend our borders from the Hobgoblins that have fled the chaos in Cormyr for the coffers and larders of our lands?"
"They are yet on the other side of the vast swamp!" the captain of the guard hissed.
"We have been through this. They threaten the Way of the Mantacore." Algor sighed.
"We have not yet..." Allathrast began, but was cut off by Aronal.
"Excuse me," Aronal interjected "but what has this argument to do with troop readiness?"
"We will discuss this further in private." Algor said firmly, his tone leaving no room for contention.
Aronal turned to one of the phalanx of lady warriors that made up Algor's personal guard, and silently praised his host's taste and style. He recognized her as one of his lovers from not more than a week ago. He gave her a wink and smiled at the flush that it brought to her beautifly stern features. It was obvious that there were some unresolved issues between the High Bergun and his captain of the guard, and he resolved not to get involved in them. After all, what had war to do with beauty and love? He had his fill of war in his youth, and now it was time to get back to the pursuits that were more befitting a priest of Sune.
Wazi's choice of a cloth-of-gold outfit for the revel was something that Aronal thought to be ostentatious, but deferring to the easterner's judgement had reaped huge rewards. The evening revel celebrating his ascension to high priest of the temple had been a succession of increasingly beautiful women dropping less and less subtle hints of their readiness to share his bed that night. He could have taken one, or all had he the notion. He refrained from such decisions, though, because the revel covered the entire Wild Wood, and he had been circulating from pavilion to pavilion in a relentless quest to make sure that every single celebrant was able to spend a moment with the new high priest. He had seen enough old friends and lovers to fill a novel in itself, and enough new faces to fill a second volume, but it was only at the very end of the night that something very extraordinary happened.
The high priest of the goddess of love fell in love himself.
She was a vision that evoked the goddess herself. The most vibrant red hair he had ever seen fell loose and unfettered, curled in tight ringlets, to the upper cleft of her posterior charms. Her purple dress was cut in two daring, plunging necklines that ended at her navel and slightly below where her hair swung. Her beauty was on display, and she walked as if she did not care who noticed. She was precisely what he was looking for, what he had been looking for. When she turned to look at him he was stunned by the color of her eyes. He could not immediately put a name to that dark color. Brown? Gray? Green? Hazel? All of these and none of them. Somewhere in the hinterlands between colors, like the shade of the oak leaves of a deepest wilderness glade in earliest autumn, before the leaves have a notion to change.
He felt his own feet walking more than he willed them to do so, as he saw her draw closer more than actually doing so of his own accord. Despite this feeling of uncommon inertia, the words came from his lips as easily and smoothly as they always had.
"Well met, my dear." He said "I don't believe that I've had the pleasure."
"I am new to the city, and to the clergy." She said with perky nervousness as she crossed her hands and rolled her eyes with a smile. "I assure you that I have a letter of introduction, and I was going to present myself more formally tomorrow..."
"No need to explain. I understand perfectly. " He assured her with a smile. "Anything can wait for a party, correct?"
She smiled radiantly at him.
"You are the high priest Aronal?" She asked "No one is talking of anyone but you."
"I'm flattered, but hardly interesting enough to so dominate conversation, I think. I am much more interested in you." He said directly.
"I am Fayel, an Acolyte of the shrine of Saerloon." she said formally, then more informally "I requested a transfer here because I was wickedly bored with that entire scenery."
"Well, I sincerely hope that the scenery here is more to your... liking." He said genuinely. He was aware that there were conversations and people around them, but they could have all been directed at him and he would not have noticed. She was enchanting.
In the next hour they talked relentlessly, spanning the length and the breadth of the wildwood arm in arm. It came as no surprise to anyone that Aronal had been the first to share the company of the beautiful new acolyte. He had an enviable ability to find new companions, even among priests of Sune. At the grand gazebo they danced the Strut, a fashionable and less-than-courtly dance that the upper crust of Sembia had recently claimed as their own. His left hand clasped her shoulder, and his right encircled her waist, while both of hers rested on his chest, as they Strutted to the rhythm of the large band's smooth music.
"I am enjoying myself immensely, Aronal." She said, on his insistence that she dispense with the more formal address everyone else was using.
"It pleases me greatly to hear you say that." Aronal said with his winning smile firmly in place.
"I'm afraid to say that I must be going, though." She said, a sense of melancholy falling over her.
"But the night is still young." He said, trying to keep a sophisticated tone and bearing.
"I have an early start tomarrow, as it is my day of introduction." She insisted, pulling away from the dance and taking one hand in hers.
"Well... then I am assured to see you in the morrow." He said with a tight lipped smile.
"Most assuredly." She said with a wider smile that hinted at a girlish giggle.
"It has been a great pleasure to meet you, and will be greater still to meet you again in the morrow."
"The pleasure will be all mine." Her reply was sultry, and she drew close, but seemed to reconsider and withdrew just as suddenly.
"Tomarrow?" He laughed.
"Tomarrow." She replied.
He watched her go, as frozen as when he had first saw her, until she was swallowed by the crowd. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and turned to present his face to the world. Love? No, most assuredly not. After all, was he not a High Priest of the Goddess of love. He was the one in control of love, not the other way around. At least, that is what he told himself as he mingled back into the vast crowd of the Wildwood.
Fayel sauntered out of the Wildwood and into the city proper, murmuring thanks as a valet throwing an all-concealing cloak over her revealing dress. The streets of Daerlun were as much a part of the festival as the temple grounds were, and a young lady could not be too careful. Not that the woman who wore this visage had every cared overmuch about caution. As she walked in the darkness her features shifted and changed with the spell of illusion that she wore. It was not her true face, but rather another that would serve her better in walking down the street. Now dark-haired and nondescript, plainer than her true form, she would not get a second glance from anyone. That, for now, was her main objective.
"How went it?" The unsurprising voice came from the darkness.
She turned to the mouth of the dark alley that the voice had come from, flicking her hand to beckon him forth. The troublesome mage had too much of a liking for the shadows, and she relished any opportunity to drag him out of them.
"It went better than anticipated." She said once he had drawn nigh.
His disfigured face looked pointedly at her with his one good eye. His command over illusions were a match for hers, and could have assumed a more pleasing appearance with but a few words, but he had ever refused to do so. The stubbornness of the man was much more ugly than his face.
"Was he everything that you imagined?" The black-garbed mage asked with a perverse smile.
"So much more than even he knows." Fayel replied.
It was then that her illusion abruptly expired, as such things were not eternal, and her true form looked face to face with the ugly mage.
"We need to find some means of extending your intervals with His Excellency without such an obvious use of the art." The mage stated blandly "If our plans are to bear fruit, the soil must be more fertile."
"Find me the spells that I need to extend the durations, and I will take care of any fertility that need be involved." She said dryly.
"You should not take this situation lightly. Sune's followers are not vigilant snoopers like Helm's cronies across the way, but they are not fools either." The ugly wizard spat at the mention of the all-seeing eye, some old animosity evidently bubbling over into saliva.
"Karthas...you and yours are instrumental to this plan, but do not think that you can lecture me as if you are the rudder that steers this vessel." She said imperiously.
"I know, I know..." He said with a dismissive wave "I am but one of the sails that propels it along to its inevitable conclusion."
"Very much so." She assured him.
"What of you, my dear? Are you in control of your own destiny?" Karthas asked.
Stepping out of her own shadow, Talindra wrapped one arm around the shoulder of the ugly wizard. He smiled back at her with the one side of his mouth that still moved.
"Destiny is a thing for Tymorans and the Beshibites to argue over." Talindra insisted "I put my faith not in such things, but in the Maiden of Pain."